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sixosix · 1 year ago

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(OFFICIALLY) SWEPT OFF YOUR FEET

i. summary in which everyone knew you were in a relationship, except for you.

ii. warnings wc 1.5k, profanity, reader will be angry: couple fight scene but not really, alhaitham is kinda dumb here, but he loves you and you love him and that's all that matters, ending is kinda lame... ft. tighnari and cyno

iii. written for my big sibling @earthtooz hope u like this one earf ily

“Hey, Alhaitham?”

He hums noncommittally.

You nestle further in his arm that’s draped lazily over your shoulder, his other hand and his attention occupied by a book. He doesn’t respond again, but he does glance at you for a moment while you shift, adjusting his arm more comfortably.

“Tighnari sent me a letter the other day.”

“Hm.”

“And it was real sweet, you know. He sent over fruits and told me you have your share in my package. He didn’t want to send them to you because he said the fruits would have expired by the time you’d read the letter.” Alhaitham doesn’t deny it. “But I read something extremely strange in the letter that had me dropping the fruits out of pure shock.”

Alhaitham still doesn’t reply. But you know him well enough to know that he’s no longer reading—just keeping appearances.

“Did you read it?”

“...No.”

Obviously. “Ah, well. Let me quote it, as I feel the need to share it with you as well.” You sit up straight and push Alhaitham’s book away from his line of view. “He said, ‘For the insufferable, lovely couple. It’s been a while since you two have visited. How are you and Alhaitham doing? Write back soon.’ And then he taped a flower.”

Alhaitham’s mouth twitches into a half-smile. “You look miffed.”

You scowl. “Alhaitham, of course I’m miffed! Since when were we a lovely couple? And why are you not surprised? Were you the one to prank them?”

“No one’s trying to fool anyone,” he says smoothly, picking up his book once again. As if he just hasn’t caused your crisis. “Tighnari is simply being a good friend and looking for something to nag us about.”

“Alhaitham, since when were we a couple?” you demanded again, shaking his arm. “Did I miss something? Did I wake up one day and forget about being in a relationship with you?”

“Haven’t we always been in one?”

“No, we have not?”

Alhaitham casts you a glance. “You sound unsure.”

“Because you seem so sure of yourself for no reason,” you fume, itching with the urge to hurl the book at his face. “I didn’t even know you were even into me like that!”

“I let you kiss me on the cheek every night before you leave my house. Sometimes, you don’t even leave my house, so we sleep on the same bed.” As if that explains anything. And did he fling out these reasons to Tighnari, too?

“Well, I do it because I’ve been doing it since we were, like, six. And you never told me to stop. Plus, it’s just a cheek kiss—that’s way different from an actual kiss actual couples do,” you say, getting increasingly infuriated with each word that’s coming out your mouth. Why do you have to explain how relationships work to Alhaitham? Surely he’s read a guide about love in the millions of books he’s touched?

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t start kissing me the way couples do, then.”

Oh, this bitch. “So you knew that I liked you?” Your voice wavers, and you feel a little pathetic. “And that’s what prompted you to start spreading lies to everyone? Is this some joke to you?”

Immediately, his expression is swept off of amusement. “Y/N,” he says as you feel your lips tremble. “Y/N, that’s not—”

“Shut up,” you say. “How long has this been going on? Since when have I been outside of the biggest inside joke, huh?”

“It’s not like that. I thought—”

“Oh, you thought, didn’t you? Yet you didn’t think I don’t want my feelings to be played like—like—” You can’t even bring yourself to say this. You know that Alhaitham can be mean when he wants to be, but making a joke out of the feelings you’ve desperately hidden for years?

“I need to leave.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to announce it. Was it because you rarely even leave his place? Each step feels wrong. You don’t want to be mad at Alhaitham to this extent but you’re hurt.

You ignore Alhaitham’s hurried, “Where are you going?” because you don’t have an answer to that. Wherever you go, you always end up in Alhaitham’s arms.

You forcefully push the door open and march off, head spinning, humiliated. You hear Alhaitham’s steps fall into place after yours. It’s pissing you off even more that Alhaitham doesn’t even look the slightest bit frazzled, as if you impulsively sprinting off is just a walk in the block for him.

Then you spot Cyno in the middle of a street. He catches your wrist before you can avoid him.

He blinks, mildly surprised to see it’s just you and not some food stall thief. “Y/N.” Cyno tilts his head slightly to acknowledge the man a few feet away from you. “Alhaitham. Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing!” You don’t question why or how Cyno is here, shoving him aside—which proved to be a little difficult given how he’s pretty strong for such a tiny man.

“You’re crying,” Cyno points out as you try to push him away as if you aren’t aware of how your face feels uncomfortably hot and how tears are sliding off your cheeks.

“It’s a marital dispute,” Alhaitham says, directly behind you.

His voice makes you scowl. So infuriatingly sexy, and you’re mad at it. “We’re not married!”

Cyno nods, serious. “Yes, I only heard about the engagement.” At your stunned silence and Alhaitham’s reluctant stillness, Cyno clears his throat and steps aside. “I suppose I’ll leave you two to it. I don’t know how relationships work.”

You groan as Cyno walks off, “Great, so even Cyno thinks we’re a couple. Who’s next, Lesser Lord Kusanali?”

Alhaitham looks away. “Well—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Your wrist seems keen on being dragged around by men today, it seems. Alhaitham firmly tugs at your arm, pulling you close to his chest, his gaze intensely searching yours. But all he would be able to see is your scowl. And all you can see is his handsome face.

“Y/N,” Alhaitham says, your name in his voice a sweet murmur. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t think you would react that way.”

“What, you think I’d just roll with it?” you spit with dripping bitterness.

“Yes.” You're taken aback as you gaze at him and find his expression to be entirely genuine and open. “We fell into a friendship so easily. I fell in love with you the same way: naturally. I thought…” And then his usually blank face twists into something unpleasant. “Forgive me.”

“Alhaitham, you idiot. You bastard. Do you have any idea how relationships work?”

“No. All I know is how to be with you.” He wipes a tear off your cheek. “But it appears I’m not even doing that right.”

“Fuck you.” You bat his hand away. His face falls. “You don’t get to act all sweet to me like that. I spent years thinking you would never see me that way, and you get to decide one morning that we’re in a relationship, just like that?”

“You’ve liked me for years?” Alhaitham’s eyes are a bit wide, totally missing the point.

“Alhaitham.”

“I ask you out every dinner. And you say yes each time.”

“I didn’t think you meant it like that!”

“I did mean it like that,” Alhaitham says, and again with that ‘so sure of myself’ personality. You hate it. You love it. “And I meant everything I’ve ever said to you like that. I didn’t tell anyone anything; they just assumed on their own, and only then did I realize how it did seem that way. It was my selfishness that didn’t try to deny their assumptions.”

Alhaitham’s usually so difficult to speak to, especially when it comes to expressing his true emotions. You often find yourself filling the silence, and he seems content with it. However, he appears desperate at this moment, as though you’re planning on leaving if he doesn’t give you a reason to stay.

You are too weak. “So you like me.”

“I do.”

“…And you want to… be in a relationship with me.” Alhaitham nods. You're beginning to feel flustered as the realization sets in that the man you've always dreamt of is holding you intimately in the middle of nowhere, and also confessing that he feels the same way. “Ask me out properly, then.”

Alhaitham looks at you incredulously. Did he think it was over?

“Do it, Alhaitham. Woo me. Win me over. Sweep me off my feet.”

“...Y/N,” he hesitates, his face tinted pink, vaguely embarrassed. “Go out with me. In that way.”

It sounds demanding and clumsy, but it’s perfectly Alhaitham, so your heart beats out of your chest and your face splits into a grin all the same.

You wrap your arms around his neck. “If you’re gonna be my boyfriend, you’re going to do it right, you hear me? You won’t just let me do anything. And you will start—officially—tomorrow by telling everyone that we are not engaged nor married.”

Alhaitham dips his head down, your chin trapped by his fingers. “We will be, eventually, though. And I can just start now. Officially.”

Your confusion doesn’t last for even a second when his lips meet yours in a kiss. You’ve been wooed. Won over. Swept off your feet.

earth i hope u know it took me months to find a good plot for your man this was a feat in itself. also i copy pasted your tags love u.

also if u caught the title while it was called swept over your feet shut up…. Please. this didnt have a title originally 🙁

#alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham fluff #al-haitham fluff #genshin x reader #alhaitham fic #genshin fic #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #alhaitham x y/n

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visionsofcarnality · 4 months ago

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can we get headcanons for gilf!Joel maybe? his slicked back hair in tlou ep3 stirred something in me 🥵🥵🥵

i like the way you think…

Silver Fox ! Joel Miller Headcanons NSFW!!

Traditional old man in every sense of the word, he doesn’t make cheesy comments when you grab a door handle but he does give you a scolding little glare that totally doesn’t light a fire in your panties.

Self conscious about his somewhat saggy skin around his chest, middle, and extremities even after you’ve assured him until you’re blue in the face. You do help him though. Watching how attracted you are to his body even aged as it is definitely strokes his ego.

Has an online refillable prescription for Viagra that gets delivered to his apartment, and when he takes it he becomes an absolute fiend.

Usually without the Viagra he still is able to throughly satisfy you with ages of foreplay and a nice thorough fucking, leaving you both satisfied after one climactic round.

But when he takes Viagra-

You better clear your schedule and invest in a massage gun for your legs afterwards because you are going to be SORE.

I’m talking several positions, screaming until your throat hurts, your pussy feeling raw and used, daylong marathon sex.

Joel doesn’t seem to soften even a fraction until your body is wailing in protest and you can’t feel your thighs anymore.

You don’t think he could possibly have any more left in him until he’s once again emptying his heavy, full balls into your cunt; adding to the previous loads from the past six rounds he’s already shot into your body.

When he’s not fucking you stupid with the assistance of his little blue pills, he’s treating you like the princess you’d expect he would.

Don’t even think about carrying your own groceries, what are you, crazy?

Speaking of groceries…

If you aren’t living together yet best believe he’s on your doorstep every Sunday at 11AM with a truck full of groceries, dropping them off after church let’s out and he’s free to go to the store.

He makes you sit and continue sipping your coffee/tea while he puts them away, simultaneously checking the sell-by dates of everything in your fridge and pantry like a man obsessed.

Like a true old fashioned southern boy, he won’t tell you he’s in love with you. But he will point out the amount of things expired in your house.

“Come on, now. You’re gonna get sick, this is ridiculous-“ As if he hasn’t brought you your favorite brand of cereal and all your preferred snacks. Even all those “Shitty, organic, cardboard crap” things you love.

Never had a good plate of grits? He’s making them meticulously for you the morning after a hookup. “Eat, you need it. That stuff’ll keep you goin’ all day.”

Is all too supportive of your flimsy little sundresses. The gauzy fabric floating around your legs like a visualization of your perfume, nearly beckoning him closer. Even when you’re looking like a good little church girl in your soft, flowy dresses… all he can think about is how easy it would be to bend you over and have his way with you.

Which he does the second he brings you home from his cousin’s cookout in the suburbs.

Did I mention that he got a vasectomy after his divorce? Still, seeing you with his now adult daughter makes him daydream about getting you pregnant.

Which he finds insane… He doesn’t want any more kids, he physically can’t have any more kids… But the only thing he can think about right now is burying his cum in your pussy and keeping you pampered in his house with your belly full of his babies.

That vasectomy won’t stop him from trying his damndest, though. Especially after Sarah (who he had young) has her first baby and he watches you hold the six month old infant for the first time.

This man is a GENTLEMAN in the most old fashioned sense of the word.

Like, I cannot stress that enough.

If you’re an independent person, prepare to be thoroughly pampered.

His old fashioned chivalrous ways may be frustrating sometimes but it really does come from a place of just wanting to show his love.

Like when he insists on driving you everywhere whenever you go places together, or when he always finds a way to move you to the side of his body furthest away from the sidewalk when you walk, or when he automatically picks up your purse when you meet so that he can carry it for you.

But you forget all about those minor annoyances when he bends you over your kitchen table and pounds you into next week, muttering nonsense about how you’re too young for him or how you’re such a dirty girl for wanting him and his old man cock.

You moan his name when he grips both your hips in a tight but loving hold, all too willing to forgive him for his incessant door opening when you’re all dumbed down on his cock, the cock which is now way too hard and blood filled because he definitely popped one of your favorite blue pills a while ago.

But much like the gentleman he is, after he fucks you into a blissed-out stupor, he carries you to the bed and wipes your spent pussy clean, cuddling you into the mattress and running his hands through your hair while you both come down from your highs.

When he does get insecure about the age difference between you, all you can do is kiss his leathery, stubbled cheek and wrap your arms around him… Convincing him with your actions instead of words that his age is only a factor in your attraction to him… And that you love him for what makes him him.

this post got way too long but NONNIE I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE!!

#dirty old man joel #slutty old man i love him sm #i wasn’t expecting my joel content to get this much traction but i’m so grateful for all you guys who are also stuck in the daddy issues #my father problems are coming in so hard this week #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #joel miller #joel the last of us

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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‘John price with a single mother this’ ‘Simon Riley with a single mother that’

Yeah yeah keep yapping. Now ME? I think we’re seriously undervaluing the sheer perfection that is Johnny fucking MacTavish with a single mother. He’s insufferable. If there’s an opportunity to worm his way into your life permanently, he’s taking it. My brains fixated on newly moved in neighbour reader and Johnny just comes back from being deployed and there’s this pretty woman next door and woah! bonus points! She has a baby!

He’s bouncing off the walls. He’s sick. Almost first thing he does after seeing you come in and out the flats alone a few times is ask if your lad is around. Has to try so hard to pretend to be sympathetic when you say he did a runner when he found you you were pregnant.

He’s actually spectacular with babies. Makes a point of it whenever he sees you with the kid too; always makes her chuckle, goes out of his way to prove that he’s great with kids. Works his way into it, builds a rapport so when you’re called into work for an emergency you just can’t miss the first person you go to for babysitting is Johnny. When you get back, he’s ‘asleep’ on the couch with the baby on his chest and you just don’t have it in you to wake him so you just sit on the other end of the couch and wait. When he does ‘wake up’ it’s a bit late to be kicking him out so you just offer to let him stay night (this becomes a reoccurring theme).

Starts referring to the you and baby as ‘the bairn’ and ‘his lass’ long before he even asks you out. Asked out for drinks? No, sorry. He’s got to go home to his lass and the bairn. Is he busy this weekend? Yeah he’s taking his lass and the bairn to the amusements. Frequently confuses work colleagues and friends alike because when did Johnny have time to A. Get a girl and B. Shag her enough to knock her up???? Will NOT correct anyone who calls him your husband or the baby’s dad, and will actually get upset if you do.

The moment you agree to go out with him he’s micromoving you into his flat (he’s already looking for houses). Has pictures of you and the baby up on his wall in less than an hour of you being his girlfriend. The ‘spare’ crib is already assembled. He’s already picked a ring. He’s insane. He’s in love. He’s known you for like three months. He’s already got the next like two pregnancies planned out (he wants a big family. No he hasn’t asked you yet). Actually kind of deludes himself into forgetting the baby isn’t his biological child. Wdym it’s not his kid it looks exactly like him??? I think he would actually get a little violent if the baby’s father randomly popped up demanding visitation out of the blue. Said baby’s father is not heard from again.

Anyways I’m insane and in love with Johnny MacTavish and his silly deranged ways send tweet

i want you to know that i woke up to get some water in the middle of the night and happened to check my phone and see this and i had to physically hold myself back from answering it at like. 3am.

first of all, i love you. second of all? i love this. i have been repeating "his lass and the bairn" in my head for like five hours now. johnny deluding himself into thinking the baby is actually his? that little gasp you heard was the last little bit of air in my lungs escaping before i expired and died.

there's no way he wouldn't end up saying something batshit crazy like "look at his wee little nose - just like his daddy's huh?" and you'd just be frozen staring at the two of them. maybe your baby's nose does look a little like johnny's but - that doesn't mean - is he just joking or -?

#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #soap/reader #the way im actually tagging this so i don't lose it

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sergeantsporks · 1 year ago

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Actually, I’m going to give MORE nonromantic wolf traits to werewolves

Werewolf bf won’t hold your hand in the winter because he’s obsessively walking in your footprints for snow-walking efficiency and so no one will know how many “wolves” are in the pack

Werewolf bf will eat anything past the expiration date because it hasn’t technically actually gone bad yet, don’t worry about it. He’ll get rid of it if it’s stinking and rotten.

Werewolf bf has really sweaty palms and feet because of wolf musk glands in wolf paws

Werewolf bf has stashes of food all over the house and buried in the snow during the winter (cache behavior), even sometimes with food that HAS TO BE REFRIGERATED, BRIAN, PUT THE GROUND BEEF BACK IN THE FRIDGE

Werewolf bf buys way more food than you need, and does it infrequently because “it’ll feed us for a while.” If you can find his caches. And if they’re still good by the time you find them. He’ll eat it if it’s not though.

Werewolf bf circulates through like 4-5 different grocery stores across a 50 mile radius to approximate a large hunting range. Which is fine, but except grocery shopping could take him anywhere from 30 minutes to three hours, depending on which one he picks.

#werewolves #wolves

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driftingvoid-155 · 6 months ago

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Love the idea that the longer Mike is undead, the more ‘human’ things he forgets.

He never was that great of a cook but after years of not eating, he no longer remembers even the most basic principles for cooking. He forgets to grease a pan. He doesn’t remember how to best cut up vegetables for what he’s trying to make. Did this food go in the oven or was it made on stovetop? Did it matter? Did ketchup need to go in the fridge or not? How long did it take for milk to expire? How much did people even need to eat? Was it three times a day? More? Less? It’s things he thinks he remembers but when faced with doing them, realizes he doesn’t.

He forgets what it’s like to feel short of breath. He doesn’t need to breath so why would his body ever demand air again? He can’t for the life of him recall what that tightness felt like or the feeling of his chest burning after running.

Blinking. Though he doesn’t have eyes, he has eyelids. But what use are they when he no longer has eyes to keep from getting dry?

Smell. Most his senses took a hit after Ennard left him but his sense of smell was one thing that was gone for good. Both a blessing for he couldn’t smell himself, the awful stench of death he knew he gave off, but a curse as he no longer could recall what flowers smelled like. What the air of spring carried. What about rain? He knew he used to love the smell of rain but now all it brings is a dampness that clings to his already aching bones.

In that same boat, touch. His nerves were fried, decayed away to the point that the only things that did hurt were the things deep inside his skin where a few were still functional. He forgets the way some fabrics used to irritate his skin. How his nails biting into his skin actually used to bite, leaving behind a sharp sense of pain to bring him out of his thoughts instead of just a dull throbbing. When someone brushing a hand over his skin was actually a sensation instead of something he didn’t even acknowledge because to him, it wasn’t even there. Warmth and cold are nothing but emotions now, the latter something he felt much more than the former. Everything felt numbed to him and he forgets how those alive feel, experience, so much more than him.

Sleep is another thing becoming more and more foreign to him. He can’t remember the last time he fell into true unconscious. He used to try and sleep, pretend at the very least, but the longer time went on, the more he gave up. His ‘sleep’ now including closing his eyes, feeling the sense of sleep but yet still aware of everything going on around him. Perhaps that’s why he agreed to Henry’s plan. So he could feel that true darkness he longed for once again. He’s so tired and he hasn’t slept in so long.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #my hcs #scooped michael afton

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tideswept · 2 months ago

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So, the good news! I found a new place. Almost packed up, and the cats and I will be on our way on Sunday. (They are very excited and not at all acting like little devils about me packing up our things.)

The bad: I have to start the job hunt from scratch, as the new place is 30 miles away, a couple cities over. Florida, why are you like this.

The bad-bad: I need help again to pay my rent by the first.

My offer to anyone who donates is that I will happily write a fic, provide beta reading, moodboards, or anything else you can think of as a thank you gift. Here’s the current list of upcoming requested fics, so anyone who has given a prompt, you have not been forgotten! (and if you haven’t yet given me a prompt–the offer doesn’t expire. And in case the list hasn’t updated yet, DO remind me!)

Ko-fi

FOR OCTOBER: $550/$850

Your safety, comfort and happiness come first, so please don't worry if you can't donate. And if you'd rather not see this post, #berrybad is the tag you can block, come yell at me if I ever forget it. I will deserve it. 😔

#berrybad #now time to answer asks #and comments #because i certainly am not avoiding cleaning the bathroom #no siree #you can't prove anything

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barren-heart · 10 months ago

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Did Harvey just reveal Guillermo’s season 6 ending?

Critics Choice Awards, Deadline. 2024.

S6 speculation below:

…I think the best thing I can take from playing Guillermo De la Cruz is it's never too late to find yourself. It's never too late to be reborn and to reinvent yourself. And there’s no ticking time bomb expiration date to anyone of us to what our dreams and hopes can come true…Well,we start where we left off, and sometimes dreams and aspirations don't turn out the way we want them to...but I think that that's the whole point of rebirth,right? It's like a renaissance. It's happening again. And you take a new direction, new ideas, a new approach. So I'm really excited for the audience to see a new layer to Guillermo.

These are the key words from Harvey’s interview:

1. it's never too late to find yourself

2. Reborn

3. Reinvent

4. Ticking time bomb

5. Expiration date

6. Rebirth

7. Renaissance

8. Happening again

9. New layer

There’s a lot of references to reinvention and rebirth as well as time and hopes and dreams.

We know that Guillermo’s dream of being a vampire ended in season 5 when he learned that he couldn’t go through with killing humans.

There’s a stress of new ideas and directions, which sounds like Guillermo’s ending will not be any of the things he has been already: familiar, bodyguard, slayer, vampire.There’s going to be a new direction for Guillermo that he possibly hasn’t considered.

There’s a huge focus on time and rebirth, Harvey points out this message several times in the interview. He repeats and emphasizes reinvention and renaissance. Almost like being born again.

And the show has accomplished something like what Harvey has mentioned. Something that is technically not a new idea at all. And that’s energy vampires.

Energy Vampires life expectancies are a ticking time bomb. They have an expiration date. They live only for 100 years. And on that 100th birthday, they expire.

Except, they don’t expire. They give birth to a baby version of themselves and are basically born again or undergo a rebirth.

A storyline that was hinted at by not yet fully explored is the creation of the energy vampire. We know how they die and how their life cycles begin again, but we don’t know how they are made.

And I believe this is the season we find out. And Colin will help Guillermo by helping him turn.

I revisited some parts of season 5 when I considered this. Namely:

1. Guillermo’s inability to kill

2. That he didn’t want to say goodbye to his mom

3. That he said he still wanted to be a vampire

Becoming an energy vampire solves all three.

Guillermo can still see his mom without the threat of her killing him. He also doesn’t have to feed on humans in the traditional way, namely he doesn’t need to kill. And this way he will live forever, even though he will die every 100 years.

I get how this may not be what we want or expect. I, probably like you, want to see Nandor sink his teeth into Guillermo more than anything. But I don’t think they want to give us that…at least not easily.

I do have a full theory on how we get to have Nandor turn Guillermo. But I will make that into its own separate post.

#what we do in the shadows #WWDITS #WWDITS s6 #WWDITS theory #wwdits meta #harvey guillen #guillermo de la cruz #colin robinson

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b0nten · 1 year ago

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BLUEBELLS, YOURS TRULY.

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ albeit rarely, rindou overthinks, and frequently, ran doesn’t think too much.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ this is like the “backstory” for the ring. MAYBE i’ll turn it into a multiple part. i also put it in the timeline where everyone is happy because i really love everyone being friends. wrote it because rays’s version destroyed me !!!!!!!!!!!

he spins the ring on his finger. he slides it off. he looks at it. he lets it hang from his neck, on the chain. he sighs.

“now what the hell is up with you?” barging in, ran asks. “who shat in your cereal every morning for the past two weeks?” he says, opening the kitchen cupboard to take — funny enough — some cereal out.

“i’m not in the mood, ran.” his younger brother spits back, head falling against the wooden table.

“hey now, there’s something really wrong with you if you’re acting like .. this.” pointing at him, he sits down, fat bowl of cereal clashing against the dark block, spilling some milk onto it. “now, spill.” with mouth full, he tries to choke out the words, spoon in his brothers face the moment he gulps down the first mouthful.

“you’re gross sometimes.” rindou just sighs, looking away.

“what’s with the ring?” ignoring the insult, the lanky haitani just continues his questioning. “by the way, the blue doesn’t look that bad on you.”

“it’s mine, and i got a matching one for y/n.” the other explains, “thanks, by the way. it was her idea to dye it like this.”

“you wanna propose to her?” his older brother asks, chewing loudly. “y’know we’re still just teenagers?”

“no shit, big head.” rolling his eyes, rindou feels the exasperation dig its roots deeper into his brain. “i’m not proposing. yet. but i don’t know if i should give it to her.” he finally says, letting ran in on his worries.

“and why not? what’s that? cartier, right?”

“no brand can escape your gaze, you’re really unbelievable.”

“thanks, bro, love you too.” as he swallows his last spoonful, ran winks.

“not in a good way.” the younger sibling announces, earning a displeased look from his brother.

“now you’re the annoying one. fuck’s going with you two?” ran finally snaps, trying not look worried. after all, he loves his brother, but they don’t do that kind of talking.

“she’s leaving next week” rindou finally manages to choke out.

“what? what do you mean?” his brother asks, taken aback by the sudden information.

“her student visa’s expired. she’s gotta go back home until gets it renewed.”

it pains him to even think about it. he hasn’t eaten in almost fourteen days, ever since he found out. but what pains him even more is how excited you are about going back home. about going away from him.

he thinks it’s selfish, because he knows how much you’ve missed your parents and how much you’ve waited for a holiday that’s long enough to return.

“if the flights take four days in total and i want to stay for two weeks, then i’d rather not go anymore.” you always said. “i want to spend as much time as possible, without having to rush anything, y’know?

but maybe sometimes love is all about being selfish, loving someone with your whole heart. maybe he wants to never let you leave without him. maybe he can’t let you leave without him because he can’t stand not being an 8 minute subway ride away from you.

“don’t tell me you got some of those control issues, the pretty tiktok girls say they’re not cute at all…” ran comments, dodging an uppercut by a mere second.

“can you take me seriously for once? i think she wants to break up with me, she called me over today saying we have to talk.” rin frowns, blond-blue bangs covering his tired eyes. “i shouldn’t have believed that tiktok reading that said good news are coming my way.”

“you’re so fucking dumb, lord have mercy.”

“excuse me, ran?”

“you’re excused. let’s get this straight: does it really matter to you wether she’s oceans away or in meguro? what do you think she’s gonna do, break up with you only to return in three months and see you everywhere? do you really think y/n’s that kind of girlfriend? throw away three years BECAUSE OF A VISA?! fuck outta here with that insecure crap, rin. i raised you better than that.”

on the inside, ran smiles. oh, how he loves knocking sense into his younger brother. truly the best activity.

“now go and talk to her.”

rindou hesitates.

“i won’t say it nicely the second time around.” the older one threatens, and rindou jolts up from his chair and bolts through the door, house slippers still on, door wide open. before ran can say anything else, rindou’s voice echoes from the staircase into the kitchen:

“i’ll buy a new pair when i get back, don’t start bitching, please! i’ve got a girl i have to convince not to break up with me!”

his older brother laughs as he pulls out his phone.

sister in law

(16:22) he’s on his way.

then, a ping fills the empty space.

sister in law

(16:23) already talked to mikey. everything’s going great.

(16:23) love you, big head

(16:23)🫰

maybe ran’s not gonna tell you the reason rindou is running like a maniac through minato ward right now.

ugh, is his head really that big?

tagging: @h4nman BECAUSE YOU MADE ME CRY😡😡😡 ; @sirachano0dles <3 i might start a taglist if i make this into a multiple part fic?!?

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dolphin1812 · 1 year ago

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“The lion shaking off dogs” is an appropriate comparison for the barricades, bringing back the imagery of wild cats being rebellious in contrast to the law-enforcing dogs!

Marius and Enjolras are terrifying (and Hugo even uses “terrible” for Marius here).

It’s sad that Courfeyrac has lost his hat, but at least he jokes about it a bit! And while it’s sad on the personal level, it’s important for appearances. Without hats and cravats, the men at the barricades are much less distinguishable on the basis of class. Even death doesn’t bring equality in this book (we saw that with Fantine), but at the barricades, they might actually all die as equals, indistinguishable from one another without these class markers and all branded as disloyal rioters.

Their “jokes” are much darker now, though, with the lightheartedness of earlier chapters vanishing.

Hugo brings up the Trojan War and epic verse here, and he seems to draw on it in writing. In the Iliad, there are long lists of names of the dead with the occasional brief description of how they died (he quotes an example). That’s how we learn of the majority of Les Amis’ deaths:

“Bossuet was killed; Feuilly was killed; Courfeyrac was killed; Combeferre, transfixed by three blows from a bayonet in the breast at the moment when he was lifting up a wounded soldier, had only time to cast a glance to heaven when he expired.”

(I’m sorry for including this line). But here, we see that there’s still no time to grieve, even as most of the group dies in quick succession. Combeferre gets a bit more detail, but only to remind us that he was a medical student, more interested in healing than in combat. And yet even as a healer, he’s not spared, killed when he was trying to treat someone (possibly an enemy, too! He’s described as a soldier).

In epics like the Iliad, there’s a section called the “aristeia” where a hero shows his prowess on the battlefield. This is Enjolras’ aristeia. He’s the only one who hasn’t taken any blows, and he’s fiercely defending the barricade in a way that definitely reminds us why he’s “terrible.” He’s paralleled to a god, and he’s certainly “god-like” by epic poetry standards here.

#les mis letters #lm 5.1.21 #enjolras #bossuet #feuilly #courfeyrac #combeferre #marius pontmercy #at least some of the translations miss joly's death?

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moonshynecybin · 3 months ago

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Hi Callie, hope you're feeling better today, was trying to think of a soft FCO thought yesterday but I fell asleep so back to it today it is.

It doesn't fit with the main timeline I drew forever ago but it goes with something you talked about once so.

Valencia, Marc and Valentino, things finally reaching a good tentative point between them, being told on Thursday that they've done a good job throughout the year and they don't have to see each other during the break and they'll be fine to post about them breaking things off sometimes soon.

Now, scene sometimes during the weekend, can be on Monday for testing as well (very much a detail, anyway).

Can't decide where it happens exactly (paddock, pit lane, etc) but Valentino intercepting Marc while he was walking somewhere (garage, motorhome, etc), grabbing Marc's hand and pulling him close.

Marc's first reflex is to look around to find the cameras, his eyes anywhere but on Valentino until Valentino squeezes his hand, calling for his attention, using his name as well.

"Hm?" Marc turns his head back to Valentino, almost bumping their heads together.

That's where he realizes they're close, Valentino's nose now pressing against his temple, his other hand on Marc's waist.

"Easy," Valentino says, his breath brushing against Marc's cheek, left thumb applying pressure to his stomach, rubbing over the material of Marc's jacket twice.

"I'm not sure it's smart to be all close and cozy right now if we're supposed to break up in a couple of weeks."

Getting the words out is a more painful process than Marc would ever want to admit, his attempt at regaining control of the situation thrusted on him a couple of days ago pretty bad for now.

Valentino tenses up next to him, his recovery quick but not enough for Marc not to notice.

There is a kiss pressed to his temple, soft. And then, Valentino pulling away, squeezing his hand one last time.

"Careful today, I'll see you tonight."

[Debated for way too long whether or not Valentino would also say something along the lines of "Don't be stupid" or "Don't think too much, you're going to hurt yourself" but maybe went the vulnerable wayTM in that one.]

HELPPPP i DO love the idea of this being post vale essentially saying he’ll nuke the relationship by being seen at a club with someone else but it hasn’t happened yet… they both know that they have an expiration date after the race weekend and they’re dreading it but they have this soft little language built between them where they still reach for each other… marc can’t believe he let this happen to him AGAIN so he’s shut down—lashing out but it’s just stating fact— and vale would think the same thing he did in sepang, that marc is looking at him absent minded, like he doesn’t care— but he’s spent enough time with him now to see through it, a bit. not enough to call off the breakup (he wants to be sure marc wants him for HIM and he can not, will not, allow himself to be vulnerable enough to have that convo. yet. we need to torture him some more. maybe they DO break up the fake relationship and marc goes on a date with another guy…..) but enough to still put a hand on his shoulder, his waist… enough to press a soft kiss on his forehead and feel the way marc flinches like he’s been punched…

#in terms of him being worried about marc getting hurt i literally don’t even think he can say ‘be safe’ for yearssss it’s so scary for him #but he’s gonna touch his twink. that’s one thing he’s gonna do. once that seal gets popped it’s on like donkey kong #motogp #callie speaks #asks #rosquez #forced coming out au #i love you maïna i DO feel better #also tiktok keeps sending me your vids on my algorithm i’m like HEY

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hauntedhokage · 2 months ago

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PART 14: Proposals pt 1

WORD COUNT: Kirishima wants you with them full time, now that you’ve smoothed things over with Bakugou. But is it too soon for the two of you to be comfortable under the same roof?

SUMMARY: 1.4k

WARNINGS: none, just the KiriBaku content I’ve been wanting to write since the start

[series masterlist] | {ao3} | [tumblr masterlist] | {ko-fi} | [spotify playlist]

Kirishima was nervous.

Never had Bakugou ever seen his lover so nervous that he was practically dancing around a real conversation, but he was going to let it slide. Whatever was going on was something he trusted his boyfriend to bring up when he was ready to do so - since it likely had something to do with either their work or their parents. He was never nervous to talk about their little anchorwoman, so it couldn’t be that, which was why the blonde was going to let it go.

Until he couldn’t.

Two days was much too long to dance around a subject, signifying the concept of hiding something rather than simply being conflicted about bringing it up - and that just wouldn’t do. A text to the beautiful news woman asking what was wrong with her boyfriend was met with a response that she also didn’t know what was bothering one Eijirou Kirishima.

‘Idk but he’s your boyfriend too? Ride him into the sunrise and he’ll say something after that I’m sure.’

That wasn’t helpful, but he doesn’t tell her that since she knew it wasn’t helpful. Which was fine, because he’d get to the bottom of it tonight. Neither of them would be out on patrol, it was date night and they were staying in for their dinner date and a movie, and he’d find time to ask the question that was not yet burning but definitely had some embers lit in the blonde’s curiosity.

The time comes when Eijirou returns home from running errands, delivering the bottle of wine and green onions that had been requested to the kitchen where Katsuki is working on cooking dinner.

“Can I ask why you’re being cagey?”

“Huh?”

“You’re dancing around me, like you’re hiding something or afraid to tell me something so I’m asking if you’re okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” The way Eijirou starts doesn’t bring any comfort to Katsuki, who was trying his best to keep patience while the redhead took a deep breath. “Our lease is expiring soon.”

“It is.”

“And so is hers.”

Ah. He was catching on to what had Eijirou so nervous. The proposition of having the little news lady with them all the time rather than most of the time.

“I’d like for her to live with us full time, shared lease and all of that. But I need you to be okay with it, and I wasn’t sure how exactly to ask without-“

“Yeah, I get you.” Katsuki has to cut off the nervous rambling, for his own sanity more than anything else. “But she already practically lives here, why would it be a big deal?”

“You guys are still in the puppy love stage of dating, I wasn’t sure how weird it’d be for you - or if it’d be weird at all.”

“Not puppy love for me, it’s more than that, for one. Two, not weird, and three, does she have thoughts?”

“Haven’t asked. Wanted to clear it with you since she normally asks what you’re wanting before telling me what she wants.”

Of course she would. Her consideration of his comfort was pretty annoying, considering the fact that he’d probably do anything for her. She didn’t know that he was that down bad, but he hoped she’d figure it out soon. It wasn’t like he was good at admitting those things.

“I like having her with us, and feel better knowing that she’s coming home to us here every night so we’re not worrying about whether she made it home okay. We’ll just have to get a three bedroom so we all have a personal space.”

He hasn’t even looked up from the cutting board, just continues to chop at the green onions he’d been given in an effort to hide the blush that’s warmed his face at the thought of having her around all the time and all of the possibilities that came with that. He was so down bad he was truly fucked, having both of his partners in the same vicinity, but it’d be fine.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just expected you to freak out a bit more.”

“We spent like twenty minutes making out on the couch the other day. And then another thirty taking turns making out with you before she had to head to the station. I think we should be okay.”

There’s no tension in his shoulders, no jaw clenching or bottom lip biting, none of Katsuki’s tells that he’s uncomfortable or compromising. Just a blushing man who has moved on to cutting the tofu on the other cutting board while the vegetables cooked.

“Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes, are you picking the movie?”

“Was thinking we’d finish the season of that Chinese drama about the princess needing to travel to her arranged marriage.”

“Yeah while trying to get out of it? I like that one. We should watch while we eat, makes more time for the handsy stuff since we have to be up early.” And now Katsuki is grinning, clearly pleased with himself while also excited for the evening they had ahead of them. He’d have to let her know that he figured it out and dealt with Eijirou’s cagey behavior and then rode him into the sunrise as she suggested.

“Oh, let’s watch the news first though?” Eijirou asks, turning back into the kitchen to look at Katsuki. “She’s got the video package and interview with Hawks about the Hero Commission and future projects.”

“Of course.”

He wanted to watch that anyway; she’d been so nervous about finally meeting Hawks despite all the coverage she’d done on hero activities. He’d actually sat down so she could run practice interview questions, and he was eager to hear Hawks’ answer to her question about increased community service for heroes outside of their paid duties and the response to future Fight Nights. Hero work should be more than just punching people and getting paid for it, and her ideas surrounding avoiding another Fight Night were worth consideration - she just didn’t know that he’d already taken her research to Hawks for consideration. So far, he’d only heard positive things about it but he hadn’t heard about how it went over with local and national governments - just high ranking heroes and retired ones.

Plus she said she’d wear the red shirt they both liked so much, since the floral one she’d worn when he’d been interviewed was now saved for just him and Eijirou as a symbol of some pivotal points in their relationship. He really liked the red shirt.

And he was extremely smitten with her. So much so that his eyes were glued to the television, except for when he was grabbing drinks for himself and Eijirou. Even then the redhead was watching intently, grinning when Hawks commended her for her help on the ground during Fight Night and her continued service keeping Red Riot in check.

“He’s right y’know.” Katsuki comments as he sits down again, setting their glasses on the coasters in front of them.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a handful, in multiple ways.” The statement is accompanied by a strong hand gently grabbing Eijirou’s thigh. There’s no complaint when that hand moves higher, but a whine does escape the parted lips of his boyfriend. Eijirou was needy, with a high libido and even higher level of touch starvation, going even a couple days without some kind of sex was equivalent to being put to death.

“Week?”

“Tragically.” The word comes out as a soft moan when Katsuki squeezes the growing hardon through the sweatpants he’d changed into. “You’ve both been busy and my hand is subpar.”

“Hand isn’t enough when you’ve already been to Heaven.”

“You get it, baby.”

Why either of them expected to focus long enough to finish the three episodes left of the season was comical, but the sentiment of the suggestion that they’d have a quiet evening was nice in and of itself to Katsuki, even though he was the one who initiated this time.

“Also pretty needy tonight, babe?”

“Missed you,” is all he says at first, leaning in to kiss at his boyfriend’s neck in the spot that he knew tickled. “Hate when our schedules don’t line up.”

“Kats, baby, please don’t tease tonight.”

“You’re an insatiable brat,” the blonde scolds, grinning at the tug to his hair to guide him back to look into the scarlet eyes he loved so dearly. “But I love you for it.”

“Love you, too. Wanna take me to bed?”

#alp #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou imagine #kirishima x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo imagine #kiribaku #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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IN THE DREAM I DON’T TELL ANYONE, YOU PUT YOUR HEAD IN MY LAP ; SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; ever since the battle in shinjuku came to its conclusion, nothing’s been the same as it used to. but you don’t think anyone is doing quite as badly as shoko.

word count; 4.5k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader, canon-typical mentions of death (iykyk), angst, hurt/comfort (but not very heavy on the comfort), jjk spoilers (up to chapter 236!!), mild gore (mentions of blood, autopsies and general gore-ish imagery? nothing too bad tho), shoko ieiri deserves better, includes gojo slander (stay safe gojo nation)

a/n; first of all i just wanna apologize to the shoko girlies for writing angst when we’re already so starved of content, i have like 50 fluff drabbles planned for her but chapter 236 threw me into a mental angst pit so </3 yeah. i love my wife!!

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while.

the thought sneaks its way into your subconscious, as your feet carry you to her morgue — a rotten thought you just can’t seem to rinse away.

it’s not very hard to notice. she doesn’t talk as much, for one. not that shoko was ever much of a talker, but now the silence around her is deafening. thick and heavy like the spine of a knife. and she smiles even less.

you can’t remember the last time you heard her laugh.

the crescents beneath her eyes are darker than ever, darker than you thought possible. a murky purple that you’d find soothing in any other context, but like this it’s just revolting. her eyes are deep and dark, the same as ever, but now they’re glazed over with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

apathy, maybe.

or bloodlust.

the scent of cigarette smoke that follows her is suffocating. indistinguishable from her natural scent. you don’t know if she’ll ever be able to scrub the tobacco stench off her skin.

(you’ve given up on counting the exact number of cigarettes she smokes each day. you’re not sure you want to know the answer.)

she doesn’t even look alive, anymore. like some part of her already reached its expiration date. a spectre, wandering the hallways, filling the air with the slow, ominous clacking of her heels.

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while — and it’s so obvious. her grief is so heavy, her sleep-deprivation so severe. you’d have to be blind not to notice it.

so why hasn’t anyone said anything?

you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to suffocate the bitterness swimming inside your veins. it’s a dumb question, really, because you already know. you don’t want to acknowledge it, because it’s so unfair, but you know. of course you do.

no one has the time to. it’s as simple as that.

no one’s doing well, anymore. not since shinjuku.

not since gojo died.

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing. always with her, tucked away within those eyebags, in the pockets of her coat. in that smell of tobacco, never-fading, always lingering. it follows her like a ghost, like something she’ll never quite be rid of.

(like something she doesn’t want to be rid of.)

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing, and it always has been. but recently, it’s been downright overwhelming. it used to be subtle, the kind of thing you notice if you look close enough. if you squint. if you even care enough to try.

but now, it’s more like a haunting than a simple ghost.

(geto. nanami. yaga. and now gojo, too.

how many people does she have to lose before whatever’s watching is satisfied?)

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while, and it’s obvious, and it’s sickening. she still does her duty to a tee, but she isn’t quite there anymore. gaze always forlorn, as if she’s trying to convince herself of something.

and yet no one says a thing.

everything is one big mess, right now. you don’t want to blame anyone. everyone’s exhausted, completely and utterly spent, but they’re still planning it all out. even in the midst of their mourning. because they don’t have any other choice.

this is not the kind of situation where you should be pointing fingers. a part of you is angry, livid even — but you know the others are doing just as badly. it’s not like you aren’t, either.

still, though. isn’t this just too unfair?

”i brought you coffee!”

making sure your voice doesn’t waver is tougher than you initially assumed. just the sight of her sends a tremor running through your ribs; sunken down in her chair, papers in hand, eyes scanning the pages methodically. papers of what, you’d like to ask — but you already know.

(she’s reading through the post-mortem examination report, again. searching for something you don’t understand. you’re not sure she does, either.)

and she looks exhausted.

try as you might, your voice ends up sounding a little stale, as it flows from your lips and reaches her ears. but the attempt is there — the attempt to sound cheerful, calm. normal. to give her something to hold on to.

shoko looks up at you, and her lips curl in a way you think is supposed to form a smile. it doesn’t. her eyes look into yours but it’s like she’s not seeing you at all.

when you go to give her the cup of espresso, your fingertips touch. only for a second, before she curls her fingers around the ceramic handle. she receives the coffee with a small murmur of thanks, but you don’t notice because you’re too busy thinking of how cold her skin feels.

(cold like a ghost. cold like death.)

shaking away the shivers down your spine, you allow your gaze to trail over the morgue. it looks the same as always. cold, empty. foreboding. today, you think it feels just a little chillier than usual. matching the temperature of the outside world, where everything lies buried in heaps of snow and frost.

hesitantly, you plop down in the seat right next to hers. with such a narrow distance, you can smell the tobacco sticking to her clothing. it makes you want to throw up.

(you try not to look over at the couch in the corner of the room, where a certain someone used to slack off. his awkwardly long limbs would dangle off the edges, and shoko would pretend that she didn’t enjoy his company. you were more than content with silently admiring the smile she was trying to hide.)

shoko doesn’t look at you, professional in the way her eyes run across the files. cause of death: damage to central intestines, subsequent loss of blood. from a cut to the stomach, right below the liver and spleen.

you look away before your eyes can read another line.

leaning back in your chair, you exhale a tiny sigh. desperate to fill the silence with something, anything at all. you scramble for topics, racking your brain.

(what could you possibly tell her that she doesn’t already know?)

”the others are still planning everything out,” you speak, playing with your fingers idly to distract yourself. ”i think it’s going well.”

shoko hums, unaffected. ”that’s good.”

she’s speaking to you, but that feeling of unease still won’t go away. her voice sounds still, flat. empty of emotion. but you can tell she’s trying to be polite.

that’s no surprise. shoko isn’t the type to ever show how she’s truly feeling. she’s not the type to ask for help, either. people come to her for help, not the other way around. that’s all she’s ever known.

(in that sense, the two of them were alike.)

but that just makes it all the more important for you to be there. even if you’re a little awkward, and even if you can’t do much. even if it’s only for a moment or two, you want to see her smile. you want to feel for yourself that she’s really there.

looking over at shoko, you wring your hands together, the cold air of the morgue nipping at your sweaty palms. she’s drinking from the cup, one finger around the handle as her other hand flips through the papers.

”does it taste okay?” you ask, softly. if only you could ask her that under better circumstances, with cups of espresso made with better coffee machines than those at jujutsu high. ”i made it myself, so…”

”it’s fine.” shoko takes a sip. dragging her syllables out, as if mustering the will to speak. ”don’t worry.”

short sentences. almost cold, but you know better than that. she just doesn’t have it in her to pretend that everything is normal, anymore.

and it makes you uncomfortable. this silence.

a couple months ago, it would have felt comforting; a quiet, peaceful kind of solitude shared between the two of you. nostalgic, like the smell of morning dew. or the way moonlight feels on your skin when the world falls asleep.

the silence you had with shoko always felt so tender. a single moment of peace, before the other shoe dropped. just that one moment was enough to give you the hope you needed to make it through another day.

you loved being silent with shoko. you loved her silence, the way she could soothe your very soul without saying a thing.

but now it only stings your skin. you fear that you might drown in it.

there is nothing to say. you want to ask her how she’s doing, but you already know. you want to ask her why she’s still reading the files from gojo’s autopsy, but you already know.

you want to ask her if she can still keep going, like this. but you already know.

she doesn’t have a choice.

(something crumbles, deep inside your chest, like ashes cast into the sea.)

”hey. shoko?”

she hums, again. weak. quiet. absentminded, acknowledging your words but not really hearing them.

you take a deep breath.

”i think i’m going to quit being a sorcerer.”

silence.

for a moment, nothing happens. nothing moves, or speaks. the air is cold and crisp and carries no meaning, no words, nothing at all.

like time is frozen. frozen like all the bodies shoko’s had to dig inside these past few months. frozen like gojo was when she found him in the snow.

frozen like your youth, a glass marble kept in your pocket for moments when you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is about to slip away. then you’d take it out, and look deep inside it. watch the swirling of greens and blues and purples. that streak of indigo right in the middle of the glass. memories of the past, to give you comfort.

to remind yourself of why you’re doing this. to give you a reason to keep moving forward.

(south or north, it doesn’t matter. stay as you are or move forward, look to the past or to the future — none of it matters if you aren’t alive. that’s the conclusion you came to.)

shoko’s expression, too, is frozen. it doesn’t change, even as you let those loaded words fall from your tongue. you watch her carefully, out of the corner of your eye. she doesn’t even look at you, gaze still glued to the tiny letters detailing exactly what gojo’s pulse was at when he got cut.

but something flickers, in the depths of her irises, so fast you barely catch it. something you can’t identify, but it’s still something. it’s movement. it’s alive.

”not right now, obviously,” you elaborate. suddenly a little nervous, now that the words have been made manifest. ”but… you know. once all this is over.”

not sure what else to say, you trail off, fidgeting with your fingers again. voice wavering pitifully towards the end of the sentence, because deep down you know it’s not a question of once, but a question of if.

(if this ever ends. if i don’t die tomorrow, or the day after that.)

you swallow the lump in your throat, and look at her. trying to find her eyes. trying to keep her alive for as long as you can, this sequence of motion, this moment frozen in time.

trying to reach her.

”you won’t ever have to worry about me dying,” you throw in, like the words are light and not heavy as bricks. but you know she needs to hear them. ”i’ll leave, and then — and then…”

staring down at your lap, you link your hands together. exhaling, a little breathless. sheepish, in a way. ”… well. i don’t know. i haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

you never had the chance to. you didn’t even really think of it as a possibility, as something you could do. and you know it’s not a possibility for shoko. the choice to be a sorcerer was never hers, from the very beginning.

a user of the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing almost any wound, more power and capability than a child should ever have. invaluable. she’s saved so many lives you’re sure she’ll be reborn as a god.

but the choice was never hers.

a soothing kind of ache blooms in both your palms, as your nails dig into the soft skin. hard enough to form crescents, like the ones under shoko’s eyes, that she’ll never be rid of no matter how much she sleeps. the choice was never hers.

isn’t that just too cruel?

they don’t deserve her. none of them do. the elders didn’t, the jujutsu world doesn’t — not even the students. no one deserves it; everything she does for everyone, day and night, just slaving away in the morgue or her office. cutting up curses and old friends. every second of the day, always that same buzzing of her name being called.

shoko, someone needs healing, come quick!

shoko, i know it’s 2 am and you have work tomorrow, but there’s a curse that i need you to dissect.

shoko, i think i got a paper cut, would you mind taking a look?

none of them deserve her.

you think of gojo. a flash of white hair, a grin brighter than the sun. a bloodstained smile — one shoko had to wipe away.

something ugly claws its way up your throat.

none of them deserve her. especially not him.

what were you thinking, leaving her all alone like this? so much for being the strongest. you couldn’t even stay alive.

why would you die with a smile on your face? do you have any idea how cruel that is to her?

you idiot. don’t you know how much she missed you?

— yeah. none of them deserve her. gojo doesn’t, the world doesn’t, and neither do you. no one does.

what shoko deserves is to live a normal life.

and she never will.

it’s foolish. it’s naive, a juvenile daydream. but you wish for it so, so badly. so much that even just the thought alone feels like too much to bear.

you wish you could bring her with you.

you wish you could take her hand in yours, and run away. leave it all behind, every single thing, without caring about the consequences. you’d hold her hand and never let it go, and then you’d run and run until you were both high on adrenaline and breathless laughter.

maybe you could go somewhere, together. somewhere better. outside of japan, where there are less curses. money wouldn’t be an issue, you both have more than you know what to do with — one of the perks of having a job that’s bound to kill you. you could settle down in some smaller town, peaceful, maybe a little secluded. just to make sure no one finds you.

maybe you could open up a little shop, together. or spend all your days tangled up beneath the blankets, catching up on lost sleep. talking and whispering, like you’d do back at the sleepovers you used to have. you’d make her coffee every morning, and tea every evening. you’d spend the rest of your life trying to make her laugh as loud as possible.

there’s nothing you want more. absolutely nothing. there never will be.

— but you can’t ask her.

you can’t ask her to come with you, no matter how much you want to. that’d be the cruelest thing you could possibly do to her.

she would never agree. you’d only be hurting her more. so selfish, all of these wishes. it was so much simpler back when you were just kids. when you didn’t have to care about duties or responsibilities. when your cognitive empathic abilities were just a little more lacking.

a sigh flows from your lips. resigned, but somewhat hopeful, all the same. tainted with the murmurs of a memory that’ll never happen.

”maybe i’ll open up a bakery, or something.” you tap your fingers against the desk, smiling a little to yourself at the thought. or trying to. ”then you could come visit.”

shoko looks into her cup of coffee. watching the swirling of the vortex, the abyss that gazes back at her. she doesn’t look at you but you can tell she’s listening. then she puts the cup down, and you glance at her now-empty hand.

shoko’s hands have always been pretty. even when they’re covered in grime, or stained with blood. thin, a little bony, smooth skin obscuring clear blue veins. moles litter her hands like stars in the sky; one right beneath her pinkie, another by her wrist. the more you look, the more you find.

tentatively, you broach the distance between you. curling your fingers around her slender ones, where they rest on her lap. linking hands. it’s a slow movement, drawn out and careful, accompanied by the heavy beating of your heart.

(her skin is cold to the touch. your skin buzzes with unease, but you don’t let go.)

then you smile. a small thing, not really optimistic, but the attempt is there. something for her to hold on to. looking deep into her eyes, admiring the hazel glow that never quite left them.

”i’ll give you free pastries.”

a moment passes. shoko’s fingers squeeze around yours — weakly, but it’s there. movement, motion, life. a way of reaching out. a way to hold on.

her eyes continue to trail over the page, but you know she’s not reading any of the contents. you’ve caught her attention. a small victory, but you’ll take what you can get.

”i don’t like sweets,” she reminds you, leaning back a little in her chair. allowing her eyes to flutter shut, at last — and it’s not much but it’s something. a moment of relief for those tired, tired eyes. more tired than any 29 year old’s should be.

”i’ll change your mind,” you promise, mustering up enough will to sound smug. ”my pastries will be out of this world. you’ll get a sweet tooth in no time, sho.”

she exhales a breath, vaguely amused. your smile widens, hopelessly. her happiness was always the root of yours, wasn’t it?

then she looks at you, one eyebrow raised in lazy scepticism. ”can you even bake?”

”nope,” you deadpan. ”but i’ll learn. you’ll see.”

this time, shoko almost chuckles — and it’s more than you’ve gotten out of her in recent memory. god, you missed that sound. a little raspy, from all the cigarettes, but still so honeyed and smooth. hearing it makes you feel as if everything will turn out fine, in the end.

(what a powerful thing, for a voice to do. one so lovely it anchors you to the earth.)

a faux pout curls its way to your lips, and you squeeze her hand lightly. ”don’t laugh, i’m being serious!” your pout shifts into a soft grin, a little teasing. ”i’ll get you addicted to sugar instead of nicotine.”

”haha…”

shoko laughs. shoko laughs and it’s beautiful.

shoko laughs, a genuine laugh, and it’s so beautiful that you almost don’t notice the tears in her eyes. almost.

and then you realize your mistake.

a memory comes to you, then. you recall a hushed conversation, beneath a cloudy summer sky. the air was heavy with the scent of lilacs and cigarette smoke. two people were beside you, and all you cared about was listening to the tilt of their voices. that, and nothing more. a time before everything and everyone went south.

(”you know, shoko. you really should drop those death sticks of yours.”

”i don’t want to hear that from the guy who needs 40 grams of pure sugar every day just to function.”

”rude! and as far as addictions go, sugar is a cut above nicotine, don’t ya think?”

”whatever. just worry about yourself, gojo.”)

by the time you realize, it’s already far too late. the tears have already begun to fall. little droplets of grief, sticking to her skin.

they trickle down the contours of shoko’s face, and fall onto the paper in her hand, smudging the letters. she clutches it tightly, crinkling it, just to make the damage worse. her other hand is still holding yours, chipped nails digging into your skin gently.

but she keeps laughing. low, hazy laughter — pained. she sounds like she’s in pain, and that’s because she is. even if no one ever cares to mention it.

(how cruel, for her to be born with the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing any physical wound; leaving her with too many mental ones to count. never to be healed or acknowledged, in this life or the next.)

you can only stare. helpless to her sadness. her eyes are a little red, and she’s biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood — a drop of scarlet falls onto the paper, and you think of gojo again.

you think of shoko finding him. running to his side. doing all she could to heal him, to patch him up — getting blood all over her hands and clothes. red everywhere, staining the pure white of the snowfall. like something out of a painting.

she did all that she could. pressing down on his chest, positive cursed energy pouring out from her fingertips in tandem with the snow. pressing two shaky fingers to his pulse point, just in case. just to find any sign of life, absolutely anything. hoping so tenderly that she’d feel the flutter of his pulse. that he’d get up, and laugh obnoxiously, and ask her if she really thought he’d leave her behind so easily.

you’d never seen her look so scared. so desperate, a primal kind of fear you’ve learned to associate with self-driven survival. the way some animals can claw their way out of a predator’s stomach if they’re swallowed whole. but she did that to save him. trying to claw him out, herself. from the belly of the beast.

she did all that she could.

but gojo didn’t do anything. he just laid there, split in two. frozen in time, eternally young. watching the sky. smiling.

(what a wonderful way to die. what an awful thing for an old friend to find.)

before your mind can catch up, your body acts. muscle memory, in the way your arms curl around her midriff to bring her close. tucking her into your side while she sniffles and cries. still laughing, like she’s still trying to convince you that she’s fine. like she’s isn’t falling apart at the seams.

the dam breaks. the ice shatters. everything comes crashing down — and you’re there to pick up the pieces. despite everything.

it’s not enough, it never will be. but at least it’s something.

it’s heart-wrenching, the way she clings to you. like you’re the only thing she has. the dry laughter that spills from her throat devolves into sobbing, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, nails clinging to the fabric of your clothing like she’s trying to anchor herself. broken sniffles fill the space between you as she hides away, in the crook of your neck.

(the sound makes you feel like someone drove a knife from your sternum down to your stomach.)

all you can do is hold her. quietly, delicately. as if she could break if you squeeze her too hard. as if she’d shatter like a sheet of glass if you were to say the wrong thing again.

you hold shoko like she’s fragile. because she is, regardless of what anyone else says. because she’s a human being, and she’s grieving, and she needs this.

eventually, she musters up the will to speak — and it’s awful, raspy, broken syllables she has to force out of her throat.

she chokes on the words like they’re poisonous. like she’s been carrying them around for decades, bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be let out.

“don’t — don’t end up here,” shoko pleads, voice wavering through the syllables. full of fear. “please.”

you know what she means. she doesn’t have to say it, because you know.

don’t end up in my morgue. don’t end up on my autopsy table.

shoko sounds meek. she sounds close to falling apart. you’ve never seen her like this before, clutching onto your sleeves as if begging you to stay.

“you’re — you’re the only one i…”

she doesn’t finish, cut off by a broken sniffle. but she doesn’t need to.

you’re the only one i have left. i can’t lose you, too.

please don’t die. please don’t leave me behind.

a shaky inhale. your arms tighten around her waist, tugging her closer. praying that she’ll feel the steady beating of your heart, the undeniable proof that you’re alive. that you haven’t left her yet.

you blink away the tears in your eyes, grasping for control over your wavering voice.

“i won’t.”

and maybe it’s cruel, maybe it’s the cruelest thing you could do to her — making a promise you know you might not be able to keep. but you do so anyway. helpless to her sadness. at the complete mercy of her grief. you’d do anything to stop the tears from falling, to soothe the turmoil in her chest.

“i won’t let you be alone, shoko,” you murmur into her hair, with all the comfort you can possibly muster. ”not now, or ever.”

three words yearn to be spoken, resting on the tip of your tongue. three little syllables, desperate to be heard after living in the back of your throat for so many years.

and for a second, you think you might say it.

you think you might say it, breathe life into the statement. you can almost taste it, can almost hear it. can almost see what her expression would look like.

but shoko sniffles, and hugs you tighter. protective, like you’ll leave if she doesn’t. so tightly that it hurts a little.

and you swallow the words, once more.

right now, this is enough. it’s enough that you’re alive, that you’re here. that’s what shoko needs, right now.

she doesn’t need your love. she just needs you to stay alive.

so you will. you decide that you will, no matter what. you’ll leave, and you’ll open up a shitty bakery that won’t get any customers — and you’ll give her free pastries for the rest of your life. you’ll get her so addicted to sweets that she’ll have no choice but to come back for more.

shoko cries like a child. filling the silence of the morgue with her shaky breaths and quiet sniffles, little hiccups and whimpers. the tears never seem to stop, and you wonder how long it’s been since she last let them fall.

you hold her in your arms, smoothing a palm down her back, counting the bumps of vertebra — and don’t say anything. there’s no need to.

for now, the soft patter of your heartbeat is enough.

ijichi stands just outside the morgue, unmoving. not saying a thing.

it’s muffled, hushed and quiet, but still audible. the sound of childlike crying. the kind all sorcerers do their best to keep to themselves.

in his arms lie a bundle of papers. the final pages of gojo’s autopsy report. it’s important that shoko sees them — vital, according to her. something about the six eyes, the possibilities they hold. the hope that maybe, just maybe…

— he clutches them tightly, and then walks away.

#the wlw urge to leave everything behind and start a bakery together……#idk how to feel abt this i just!! needed to get some shoko thoughts out!!! she’s my fave jjk girl and i love the way her grief is portrayed #i just hope gege does her justice but i have a good feeling that he will!! if not its on sight #she’s so special to me. the airport scene hurts sm because she really is all alone now :(( its so fucked up i SOBBED into my pillow #well i mean. she still has ijichi. and i love him dont get me wrong but like. STILL #im delusional tho so i think next chapter shoko will use her rct to heal gojo #and then we’ll get a scene of him leaving the airport with shoko. trust me gege and i are like this🤞#sorry for basing all my titles on siken poems. anyway go read ’i had a dream about you’ its so shoko #shoko ieiri #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk 236 #jujutsu kaisen 236 #…. i think. thats all the tags…….

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