#(not her not her I'm angry but I'm not angry /at her/ I'm not going to take it out on her it's not her fault the job is a nightmare

[coolemmasulivan2]

Back on Track

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After a fight with Lando, you’re nowhere to be found when he leaves for Austin, making him fear the relationship is over. But when you arrive at the track with Max, he gets a second chance to make things right, and the two of you reconcile.

Word count: 2061

Even though we're going through it And it makes you feel alone Just know that I would die for you Baby, I would die for you, yeah

You and Lando rarely fought. You’d been together since his final season in Formula 2, a bloody long time, and you could count the big fights on one hand. But this one was different. This was the worst of them all.

It was his last day at home before flying to Austin, and somehow everything went down.

"You're being clingy!" He shouted, running a hand through his messy curls, frustration etched on his face.

You stared at him, stunned. "I’m being clingy? Me? Lando, we’ve been together for years, and I have never asked you for anything. The one time I do, and this is what you say? Wow."

"Yeah, well, you’ve never acted like this before!" His face hardened, eyes sparking with irritation you weren’t used to. "Seriously, if you suddenly want some boyfriend who’ll sit around every night, watching dumb TV shows and cuddling you to sleep, maybe you should find someone else."

You shook your head, disbelief morphing into something different, something more hurt. "Maybe I should do that!"

He was beyond pissed. "Then please, do! I'm going out and I'll do the same." He turned, grabbing his jacket without a second glance. and strode out, slamming the door shut behind him.

You flinched at the echo, the silence crashing down around you as tears started to well up. "I hate you, Lando Norris." You whispered into the emptiness of the apartment.

Lando sat in the VIP section of his favorite Monaco club, gazing blankly over the crowded dance floor. The music pulsed, people laughed and danced, but his thoughts were miles away, thinking of you.

Max leaned in, breaking Lando’s trance. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" Lando shrugged. "Was it that bad?"

Lando sighed, his gaze distant. "It was! It was the worst fight we’ve ever had." He swallowed, the words bitter. "She probably thinks I’m cheating on her right now."

Max’s eyebrows shot up. "What are you talking about? Why would she think that?"

"Because, I pretty much said that." Lando muttered lound enough for Max to hear over the music.

Max looked at him, incredulous. "Why the hell would you say that, you absolute idiot? You love her."

Lando exhaled heavily. "I was angry! I didn’t even think. I just… said it. I realized how bad it sounded the second I left."

Max shook his head, staring at him with a mix of pity and frustration. "Well, congratulations: you’re an idiot!"

"Thanks for the information."

It was late when Lando finally got home. The apartment was dark, and silence filled the rooms. He stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, his mind caught between whether he should crash on the sofa or swallow his pride, apologize, and lie beside you.

He waked to the closed bedroom door, standing there for a long moment, nerves filling his body. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he stopped himself. He stepped back and with the sting of guilt he fell down on the sofa.

You were deep asleep when a hand shook your shoulder. Groggily, you opened your eyes to see your best friend sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes barely open, hair rumpled from sleep.

"What?"

She yawned, rubbing her eyes before looking at you. "Your phone won’t stop ringing."

Blinking, you glanced at the empty nightstand, remembering you’d left your phone in the living room. "What time is it?" You muttered. "It’s probably Lando. We were supposed to leave for Austin early."

She groaned, pulling a pillow over her head and laying down next to you. "Then answer it or turn it off. It’s too early for this, and I’m exhausted."

"She rejected my call!" Lando exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the apartment.

Max raised an eyebrow. "That’s good news."

"How is that good?"

"At least we know she’s okay." He said. "And still mad at you, which is probably deserved."

"I don’t even know if she was still here when I got home last night. The bedroom door was closed, and I just… crashed on the sofa. I only realized she was gone this morning."

Max nodded thoughtfully. "So, what’s the plan now?"

“I don’t know,” Lando groaned, slumping into a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. "The team’s going to kill me if I miss this flight."

"So go!" Max said firmly.

Lando looked up, shaking his head. "No way. I’m not leaving without her."

Max rolled his eyes. "Look, she knows you have to leave, Lando. Sooner or later, she’s coming back, and when she does, I’ll bring her to Austin myself. Just go."

"What if she refuses to go?"

"She loves you. She'll want t make things right. Trust me!"

Lando hesitated. "You promise?"

"I promise."

You slipped into the apartment two hours later, knowing Lando would be gone by now. The silence felt heavy as you shut the door, but before you could make it to the kitchen, Max appeared, stepping out from Lando’s streaming room.

You jumped, clutching your chest. "Max! What the hell? You scared me!"

"Sorry!" He said, raising his hands in apology.

"What are you doing here? Is Lando still here?" You glanced around, half expecting him to walk out from somewhere.

"He left. Had to, or he’d have missed his flight."

You made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and taking a long sip. "I thought you were going with him."

"I am. I was just waiting for you."

You looked at him, understanding dawning slowly. "Max, I don’t think going with you is a good idea." You sank into a chair at the small dining table, and Max sat across from you.

"That’s not true."

"Max, you don’t know how he treated me, the things he said…" You swallowed, voice shaking. "He told me I should find someone else. And said he would, too."

Max leaned forward, shaking his head. "Look, he was furious and stupid. Belive me, I know what he said, and he regrets every word. He didn’t even want to leave. I practically had to drag him onto the helicopter."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "Max, I don't know."

"He’s an idiot, but he’s an idiot in love with you. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone, Y/N. He’s been calling you non-stop, hoping you’d pick up, and he’s completely torn up about it. So please, come with me. Let’s go to Austin."

Lando had been unusually quiet all day. Practice had gone well, but not well enough; the Ferraris were ahead, and so was Verstappen. His mind should’ve been on the upcoming sprint qualifying, but all he could think about was you and the fight. He could only hope that Max was somehow convincing you to come to Austin.

"Everything alright? You’ve been quiet, which is… not like you." Oscar asked, glancing over at Lando as they wrapped up filming a video for McLaren’s social media.

"Just tired." Lando muttered.

Oscar hesitated, then asked gently. "Where’s Y/N? Lily told me she was coming."

Lando’s jaw tensed, his eyes flicking up to meet Oscar’s. "I… don’t think she’s coming." He admitted, his voice low. "I messed things up pretty badly."

Oscar raised his eyebrows. "Want to talk about it?"

Lando shook his head, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Not really. Just… hoping I haven’t lost her." He said, more to himself than to Oscar.

Lando was suiting up, pulling on his gloves and securing his helmet, trying to lock his focus onto the upcoming sprint qualifying. But the knot of anxiety in his stomach hadn’t eased since he arrived, knowing he might have to go through this entire weekend without you there.

Just then, Max appeared in front of him, grinning. "Hey, mate. Just came by to wish you luck. And, by the way…" Max lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder. "She’s here."

"Fuck... thank you for bringing her."

There, standing quietly near the corner, arms crossed and headphones on, was you. You looked a little nervous, a shy expression on your face and when your eyes met, you quickly looked away.

A wave of relief fell over him, and he instinctively took a step forward, desperate to close the space between you. But Max put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Not now." Max warned. "You’ve got a sprint to think about. You can talk to her after."

"But—" Lando began, his eyes darting back to you, a urge to apologize.

A couple of mechanics also intercepted him, nudging him toward the car with hurried reminders. "We’re starting in a few, Lando."

Lando clenched his jaw, glancing back at you. Taking a deep breath, Lando slipped into the car, his heart beating a little steadier, his mind clearing. For the first time all day, he felt ready. You were here and that was everything.

You watched the qualifying from the garage, heart pounding with every lap. It was always like this: nerve-wracking, pride and fear as you watched him push himself and the car to the limit. But today, your chest felt even tighter, knowing the tension lingering between you.

When the session ended, Lando finished fourth. Relief mixed with a bit of pride washed over you as you clapped, your gaze fixed on him as he came into the garage.

The moment he spotted you, he didn’t hesitate. He strode over and without a word, he reached for your hand, gently but firmly, and led you out of the garage toward his driver’s room, ignoring the curious glances around you.

Once inside, he closed the door. "Y/N… Babe, I’m so sorry."

You looked down, your arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me, Lando. You didn’t just walk away, you made me feel like I was… too much."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand again. "I was an idiot. I don’t even know why I said those things. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. None of it was true. You’re not ‘too much.’ You’re… everything to me."

"I thought you didn’t want me anymore."

He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. "That could never be true. I can’t imagine any of this, my life, racing, anything, without you." He brushed a stray tear from your cheek. "I was terrified you wouldn’t come. That I’d ruined everything."

You took a shaky breath. "Max convinced me… told me you didn’t want to leave, that you were just… scared of losing me."

"More than you know." He said, his hand holding yours firmly. "Please forgive me, Y/N. I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you."

"I don't want you to give up anything, Lando."

"I know. I know. That's not what you asked me."

After a long moment, you squeezed his hand. "I’m here now." You said softly. "Let’s just start with that."

Relief flooded his face as he wrapped you in his arms, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go. "I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful you’re here. I don’t want to mess this up ever again."

You gave him a gentle smile, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "I didn’t come all this way to hold onto what happened. Let’s just… move forward. Together."

He smiled. "Together."

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. "Lando?" A team member called from the hallway. "They need you back in the garage in five!"

Lando glanced back toward the door, then returned his gaze to you, clearly torn. "Go!" You murmured. "I’ll be here when you’re done. I’m not going anywhere."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. You melted into it, letting the last of the hurt dissolve in his warmth.

When he pulled back, he looked at you with a smile . "I’ll be quick." He said, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting it go and heading toward the door. Just as he opened it, he paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time. "I love you."

"I love you too." You whispered.

[queermania]

i am angry. and i'm upset and hurt and disappointed and reeling etc. and i have my own personal feelings about what people have or have not been advocating for over the last few months leading up to this but i'm not sure any of it matters right now and i'm not sure why everyone is so ready to turn on each other. it seems pretty obvious right now that the problem wasn't third party voters or even people who abstained. it wasn't harris's stance on palestine/israel (in either direction). it wasn't the cheney endorsement. it wasn't anything related to her policies one way or another or anything we've all been arguing about for months now. none of it even fucking mattered, based on the numbers.

it's not a secret that this country hates women and loves white supremacy. i'm not going to make it easier for them to get rid of me, or you. i refuse to hold a knife to the throats of the people who are ultimately on my side, just because we might disagree about how to accomplish something. i am going to link arms with you and we're going to move forward together. we're going to do our daily clicks for palestine. we're going to donate e-sims and to pcrf. we're going to donate to ukraine. and abortion funds. we're going to continue helping with the border crisis. and trying to unfuck the climate. and whatever else we need to. we're going to get organized and we're not going to wait until the next election cycle to do it. we are also going to make sure we sign up for healthcare and take care of ourselves.

there are a billion things we need to do (and feel free to add links and resources to this post if you want to pass them on) but i'm simply not going to waste my energy fighting with people who aren't trying to kill me when so many others want me dead.

[yanderefarm]

I need us pretending/threatening Emil with a divorce even after saying we wouldn’t 🙏🙏

this is a part 2 to this story

in your villain arc fr. i know if emil knew how you were manipulating him and playing him like a puppet he wouldn't even be mad he'd be like "thats hot wtf"

cw;; drugging, cheating, non-con (implied), abuse, manipulation

oh your poor husband, he's so pathetic and easy to break.

after your brutal breaking of his body with the cheating scandal you had been oh so generous to help him rebuild his all his lost favour. his ever loving husband who loved him past his worst flaws gave him a better reputation just by staying by his side. all he had to do was give into you, take you places, stop holding you at arms length like he was afraid of you running away and getting close to him at the same time. really all you wanted was more of his love and if that meant you had to break him down to nothing then you guess that's what you would do.

you walked into his office to find him surrounded by people, a familiar sight since his last scandal. you pushed past them to his desk, watching emil flinch away from your presence. you didn't need to yell and get angry this time, you knew exactly how to break him.

"i want a divorce."

you placed the newspaper on the desk to punctuate your sentence, the headline was a young noble woman's testimony of how the king had cornered her at the last royal banquet. another lie you had paid a pretty penny to get out there. you knew emil's head had been fuzzy since the last scandal, all it took was hiring a woman from a family desperate for money to force herself on him and then lie about it. he didn't even remember the night, he couldn't argue with you about it.

you heard his pathetic sob. that sound he would never usually make in front of anyone else. you turned back to see him still surrounded by his advisors and other noblemen but among their shocked faces you could see your husband had tears in his eyes.

"out." you ordered and they very quickly filed out leaving you two in a familiar position.

you walked back to the desk and stared down at him. your husband, already a broken and confused mess, hung his head like a kicked puppy dog so you couldn't see his eyes you could only hear him crying. you let out a heavy sigh.

"what am I supposed to do, emil? you clearly don't love me."

"that's not-"

"how many more women do i have to find out about before you admit it?"

"i don't remember that night... i don't think- i-"

a silence formed between you both only interrupted by his crying.

"i remember that night. i remember you left the party early to get some fresh air and you didn't come back."

he was shaking.

"..... if you had just talked to me we could have come to an agreement about concubines. if you didn't want to be with a man all you had to do was tell me. you don't have to keep humiliating me publicly and then lying about it."

"im not ly-"

you slammed your hands on the table making him flinch.

"you are. you're lying to me. you slept with the maid and then you lied about it and i forgave you. i forgave you because i thought you would learn your lesson."

"please... please punish me again please anything else... kill me, torture me, hate me, anything but leaving me..." he finally looked at you and you could see his pink eyes were cloudy and confused as tears dripped down his face.

".... that's pathetic emil. you want me to beat you but..." you forced your own tears along with your voice cracking. "you can't even say you love me."

emil tried to stand up, stumbling against the desk as his legs wobbled underneath him.

"don't leave me. please." his hand weakly grabbed your wrist

"do you love me?"

"yes."

"how am i supposed to trust that? how am i supposed to trust you? can you even say it? can you tell me you love me?"

"i...i...."

you ripped your hand away from him making him stumble again.

"I'm going to get the divorce papers ready. you're going to sign them."

you turned on your heel and left your husband sobbing in his office.

your plan to make the great emil landorr your mindbroken bitch was going along perfectly. it was going to be harder to drug him when you moved into the queen's palace but you were confident that the separation would drive him just as crazy.

[helen-with-an-a]

would you consider a part 2 to be the best?

maybe everyone realises reader making an effort and she starts to get closer at team bonding nights etc. then gets angry and thinks everyone will go back to hating her but happy ending

Hiiii - so I hope you enjoy this - I might make another part, I might not - I'm not quite sure

Be The Best part 3

AWFC x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Description: R joins the team on a trip to the cinema

Word Count: 4.4k

Deciding what to wear – it seemed like such a simple task, yet it was the one thing consuming your thoughts. It was more than just picking an outfit; it felt like the key to unlocking your entire evening. If you could just figure out what to wear, then maybe everything else would follow. The outfit could set the tone, give you confidence, and make you feel ready to face whatever was coming your way. Or at least, that's what you kept telling yourself, over and over, as if the right choice of clothes could somehow solve all your other problems too. The pressure to get it right was overwhelming, as if choosing the perfect outfit would magically make everything else fall into place.

But it wasn’t even a special occasion – it was just the cinema. A casual, relaxed outing, nothing crazy, nothing formal. Just the cinema. You were going to watch a movie, sit in the dark for a couple of hours, and maybe grab a snack or two. No big deal. It wasn’t like you were going to a fancy dinner or an important meeting. Just the cinema.

And yet, it wasn’t just the cinema. It was the cinema with your friends, work colleagues, people you have definitely bullied at times. You knew you had to strike a delicate balance – casual, but not too casual; relaxed, but still put together. It wasn’t simply about the clothes. It was about perception, about how the others would see you and what they would think. Every choice seemed to carry a weight that extended far beyond fabric and fashion. Would they notice if you were too dressed up, standing out like you were trying too hard? Or would they judge you if you were too laid-back, as if you didn’t care at all?

For most people, it was just a routine outing, something they had done countless times. But for you, it was uncharted territory, an experience you’d only heard about or seen in movies themselves. The idea of sitting in a dark theatre, surrounded by others, watching a story unfold on a massive screen – this was completely new. You didn’t know the unspoken rules, the social cues that everyone else seemed to take for granted. How were you supposed to act? What was the right amount of enthusiasm or restraint?

And what about conversation? That was another minefield altogether. You knew the basic rule: no talking during the film. That part seemed straightforward enough. But what about before the film started, when everyone was finding their seats, shuffling in with popcorn and drinks? Was there a right way to initiate small talk in those brief moments of dimmed lights and hushed voices? Should you comment on the previews, ask about their day, or maybe even crack a light joke to ease any tension? Or would it be better to keep it simple, just a casual greeting before settling into the silence? The uncertainty gnawed at you, making it difficult to predict how you should approach those moments.

And then there was the aftermath, the part that seemed the most daunting of all. What would you talk about after the film ended? How do people usually transition from the intensity of the movie back to regular conversation? Should you start with your thoughts on the film, maybe offer an opinion or ask for theirs? But what if your opinions didn’t match? What if you missed a key detail, or your interpretation was off? Would you come across as clueless or out of touch? You didn’t want to be the one who misread the mood, who either overanalysed every scene or brushed off the film too casually.

What if they didn’t want to talk to you? That fear was the heaviest of all, lurking in the back of your mind and casting a shadow over everything else. Leah had promised that you were welcome to attend the team bonding event, insisting that it would be a good opportunity to relax and connect away from the pressures of the football field. But did they really want you there? Was her invitation genuinely extended on behalf of the entire team, or was it just a polite gesture, something she felt obligated to offer? The thought gnawed at you, making you second-guess every detail of the evening.

You had been so mean to them for so long – too long, really. Screaming had been your only form of communication, your voice always raised, always harsh, leaving no room for warmth or understanding. It was as if yelling was the only way you knew how to convey your thoughts, your frustrations, your demands.

Images of Kyra’s terrified eyes flashed across your mind, haunting you in those quiet moments when the noise of the day had finally died down. You remembered the way she would flinch whenever you called her name, her eyes wide and fearful, as if bracing herself for the inevitable onslaught. It wasn’t just once or twice – no, those moments were all too frequent, etched into the fabric of your daily routine. You could almost hear the echo of your own voice, sharp and cutting, as you berated her for the smallest mistakes, things that now seemed so insignificant in hindsight.

You had changed four times already, each outfit a different attempt to strike the right balance, to somehow capture the perfect blend of casual yet polished, approachable yet confident. Each time you thought you’d found the right look, doubt crept in, nagging at the edges of your mind until you found yourself back at the mirror, scrutinising every detail. First, it was joggers and T-shirt – too casual, you decided, too close to something you’d wear lounging around the house, not quite right for an evening where you wanted to make a better impression. Then came the one dress you owned – simple, comfortable, but suddenly it felt too much, as if you were trying too hard, the exact opposite of what you wanted.

You tried again, opting for a more relaxed outfit, a sweater and a pair of tailored pants, thinking this might strike the right chord. But as you stood there, looking at yourself, the reflection staring back seemed off, like you were wearing someone else’s clothes. You looked like you were going into a business meeting. It didn’t feel like you, or at least not the version of yourself you wanted to present tonight. So you changed again, this time into something more middle-ground, some baggy jeans and a top. But even then, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right.

As you stood there in front of the mirror, surrounded by discarded outfits strewn across the bed, you wondered if maybe the clothes weren’t the real issue. Maybe it was the fact that no matter what you wore, you couldn’t escape the history you carried with you, the reputation you had built, and the uncertainty of whether any outfit could really make a difference in how you were perceived.

Your phone buzzed on the desk, the familiar vibration cutting through the thick fog of your thoughts. The sound startled you, pulling you out of the endless loop of doubt and second-guessing that had been consuming your mind for what felt like hours. You glanced over and saw the screen light up with your alarm, its insistent tone a stark reminder that time had finally run out. There was no more room for deliberation, no more opportunity to agonise over every detail.

It took you longer than expected to get to the cinema, your nerves slowing you down at every turn. The streets seemed unfamiliar, the route winding through a part of town that you rarely ventured into. As you navigated through the maze of side roads and intersections, you couldn't help but notice how different this area felt from your usual haunts. It was quieter, more residential, with an air of nostalgia that hung in the evening breeze. The buildings here had a certain charm, with their old-fashioned storefronts and quaint cafés, each one exuding a sense of history that made you feel like you had stepped back in time.

When you finally arrived at the cinema, it wasn’t what you had expected. You had envisioned something sleek and modern, a polished building with neon lights and a buzzing crowd. Instead, you found yourself standing in front of a place that felt like a hidden gem, tucked away from the busier parts of the city. The cinema was smaller, more intimate, and as you approached, you were struck by its unexpected charm. The exterior was unassuming, with a classic marquee that displayed the film titles in black letters against a white backdrop, the lights around it softly glowing in the dimming light.

Inside, the atmosphere was cozy and inviting, a far cry from the sterile, impersonal theatre you had walked past as a kid. It was cute – more retro than you had anticipated, with an ambiance that immediately put you at ease. The plush blue seats lined the aisles, each one a deep, rich shade that contrasted beautifully with the cream-colored walls. The seats looked like they had been carefully maintained, their upholstery soft and welcoming, as if they had been chosen for comfort rather than just practicality. The walls, with their creamy tones, added to the sense of warmth, their subtle detailing suggesting a bygone era when cinemas were more than just places to watch a film – they were places to experience something special.

"Hey, I'm glad you could make it," Kim said softly when she saw you arrive, her voice warm and welcoming. There was something genuine in her tone, a sincerity that caught you slightly off guard. It was as if she truly meant it, as if your presence was something she had been hoping for rather than just politely acknowledging. Her smile was gentle, her eyes reflecting a kindness that made you pause for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

You had been so wrapped up in your own anxieties, so convinced that your arrival would be met with indifference – or worse, thinly veiled discomfort – that her friendly greeting threw you off balance. For a split second, you hesitated, searching for the right words, something casual and appropriate to say in return. But nothing came out. Instead, you grimaced awkwardly back at her, your lips twisting into a half-hearted smile that you knew looked forced.

It was as though your body had betrayed you, refusing to cooperate in this moment of unexpected kindness. You could feel the tension in your shoulders, the way your jaw tightened as you struggled to mirror the warmth in Kim’s voice with an expression that didn’t come naturally to you. Inside, you were cringing at your own inability to respond with the same ease, the same natural friendliness that Kim seemed to embody so effortlessly.

Your grimace felt clumsy, a stark contrast to her welcoming demeanour. It was as if all the insecurities you had been trying to suppress suddenly bubbled up to the surface, making it impossible to relax and just be in the moment. You worried that Kim could see through your awkwardness, that she might pick up on the discomfort you were trying so hard to mask. Would she interpret it as reluctance? As a sign that you didn't really want to be there? The thought made your stomach twist, amplifying the awkwardness of the situation.

But Kim, ever gracious, didn’t let it faze her. She continued to smile, her eyes softening with understanding, as if she sensed your unease but chose not to dwell on it. Her kindness was unwavering, a quiet reassurance that perhaps, despite your own self-doubt, you were more welcome than you realised. “I think you’re the last one to arrive.”

“Sorry, it took longer than I thought to get here,” you said, your voice tinged with an apologetic edge as you finally caught up with Kim. You tried to sound casual, but the nerves were evident in the way you fumbled with your words. Your gaze flickered around the room, searching for something to latch onto to avoid the awkwardness of the moment.

“No worries,” Kim replied with a reassuring smile, her tone light and understanding. “Was there much traffic?”

“Uh, no,” you began, your voice wavering slightly. You cleared your throat, trying to steady your nerves. “I mean, there wasn’t much traffic. I just – I've, I’ve just not been here before, so …” You trailed off, the words sputtering out like a car sputtering to a halt. The sentence hung in the air, unfinished and awkward.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. It wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of the location that threw you off; it was the whole social aspect of the evening that felt out of place.

“Hey, you came!” Leah shouted from across the lobby, her voice ringing out with a burst of enthusiasm that cut through the low murmur of conversation. The suddenness of her greeting was a relief, taking the spotlight off Kim and saving her from having to respond to your earlier, awkward attempt at small talk. Leah’s energy seemed to fill the space, her bright smile and warm manner making it clear that she was genuinely pleased to see you.

“Hi,” you whispered back, the word barely escaping your lips as you struggled to match her enthusiasm with your own shaky confidence. You felt a pang of awkwardness, compounded by the realisation that you were still adjusting to the surroundings

Leah, unfazed by your quiet response, continued with her upbeat tone. “Do you want to grab some snacks before you go in?”

Snacks? The word hit you like a revelation. You had always thought of the cinema as a place where people just sat in darkened rooms and watched movies, perhaps grabbing a quick drink from a vending machine if they were really desperate. But the idea of having snacks felt almost revolutionary. The concept of indulging in something edible during a film was so foreign to you that you blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard.

You looked around, taking in the lobby’s setup with new eyes. It was bustling with people moving toward a counter where a variety of snacks were displayed. The counter was an array of tempting options: large tubs of buttery popcorn and colourful sweets. The whole scene seemed like an elaborate concession to comfort, something you had never considered part of the cinema experience before.

Alessia, who had joined Leah in welcoming you, turned to you with a warm smile. “What’s your go-to?” she asked, her tone inviting and friendly. Her curiosity seemed genuine, and it made you feel a bit more at ease.

You hesitated, glancing at the array of snacks before you, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your uncertainty evident. The variety of choices seemed almost overwhelming, and you weren’t sure where to start.

Alessia laughed lightly, a sound that was both comforting and disarming. “Ah, a ‘see how you feel’ kind of person,” she said, nodding knowingly as if she understood your approach. Her laughter and casual attitude made it clear that she wasn’t judging you, but rather finding your indecision endearing.

“Um, no,” you replied, feeling a bit embarrassed as you tried to explain. “I’ve not been to the cinema before.” The admission felt awkward, and you braced yourself for whatever reaction might follow.

Alessia stared at you, her eyes widening in shock. “What do you mean?” she asked, disbelief evident in her voice. “Surely you went growing up? I know we don’t have much time now, but still.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of your admission feeling heavier under Alessia’s surprised gaze. “Uh, no. My, uh, my dad said it was a waste of time,” you said, your voice trailing off. The memory of your father’s dismissive attitude made you feel vulnerable, as if you were exposing a part of your past that was uncomfortable to revisit.

Alessia’s surprise was palpable, her mouth forming a small “O” as she processed what you had just revealed. Her eyes widened, clearly taken aback by the information. It was as if the notion of someone never having been to the cinema before was a concept so foreign that it took her a moment to fully grasp it. Her reaction was a blend of shock and genuine curiosity, making you feel even more self-conscious.

You could feel your face flush with embarrassment as you watched her reaction unfold. The realisation that you had just divulged a personal detail about your upbringing – a detail that seemed to have left such an impact on Alessia – made you mentally kick yourself. Why couldn’t you have just gone along with her question, given a generic answer, and avoided this awkward revelation altogether?

As Alessia’s initial shock gave way to a more empathetic expression, you mentally berated yourself for not just playing along. She could almost hear the internal dialogue in your head: “Why did I have to be so honest? Why couldn’t I just say I like popcorn or candy and leave it at that?” You bit your lip, hard, gasping slightly at the familiar pain.

But as you watched Alessia’s expression soften into one of understanding, you also noticed the subtle shift in her stance. She seemed genuinely concerned and determined to make sure you felt comfortable. Her initial shock had transformed into a compassionate response, as if she was now more committed than ever to ensuring that your first cinema experience was enjoyable and welcoming.

“Well, usually I go for some popcorn,” Alessia said with a casual shrug, her tone easy and conversational. “But I decided on Pick ‘n’ Mix today.” She paused, as if considering the options and her own choice. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and excitement, reflecting a genuine enthusiasm for the variety of treats on offer. “If you get some popcorn, we could share?” she suggested, her offer smooth and natural, as though it were the most effortless thing in the world.

“Y-you want to share?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. The shock in your tone was palpable, your words tinged with disbelief. The notion that Alessia, someone who had been so kind and welcoming, would offer to share something as simple as popcorn with you felt almost surreal. The gesture seemed magnified by your own insecurities and the weight of your past interactions with her

.

You stood there, momentarily taken aback, struggling to reconcile Alessia’s warmth with the harshness you remembered from your own behaviour. It was as if her kindness had momentarily suspended reality, making you question whether you deserved such a generous offer. You had been so accustomed to keeping others at a distance, to reacting defensively or with hostility, that the idea of someone reaching out to you with genuine friendliness felt foreign and unexpected.

“Of course, come on, let’s get some popcorn,” Alessia said, her smile broadening into a welcoming expression that seemed to dispel any lingering awkwardness. Her enthusiasm was infectious, a burst of positive energy that made you feel more at ease despite your earlier reservations.

Without missing a beat, she reached out and gently grabbed your elbow, her touch both firm and reassuring.

The film wasn’t necessarily your choice, but as it played out on the screen, you found yourself increasingly engrossed. You never really had time for films – growing up, your father had made you watch old matches and now, as an adult, you did the same. There was something about the action, the romance, the unexpected twist at the end that drew you in and kept you close.

Sitting wedged in between Alessia and Leah wasn’t too bad either. In fact, it turned out to be one of the more pleasant surprises of the evening. Alessia, seated to your right, had a laugh that was genuinely infectious. Each time something amusing or surprising happened on the screen, her laughter would bubble up – a warm, genuine sound that was impossible not to be affected by. It was the kind of laugh that seemed to fill the room with a sense of shared joy, creating a subtle but tangible bond between you and the rest of the audience. Her enthusiasm was both comforting and uplifting, making the film experience feel even more enjoyable.

Leah, on your left, contributed to the cozy atmosphere with her own unique presence. She kept up a quiet commentary throughout the film, her murmurs barely audible but filled with insightful observations and humorous remarks. Her comments were like little nuggets of insight, offering a fresh perspective on the film's twists and turns. You had expected that her talking might become distracting or irritating, but instead, it had the opposite effect. Leah’s commentary felt like a private conversation that added another layer to your viewing experience, one that was both engaging and endearing.

Rather than finding Leah's remarks bothersome, you found yourself appreciating them. Her thoughtful, almost reverent musings about the film’s plot and characters added depth to your own viewing experience. It was as though she was sharing a part of her own enthusiasm and understanding with you, making the film feel more interactive and immersive. Each comment was delivered with a subtlety that ensured it didn't disrupt your enjoyment, but rather complemented it, adding an extra dimension to your engagement with the story.

The combination of Alessia’s lively, infectious laughter and Leah’s quiet, reflective commentary created a perfect balance that made sitting between them a surprisingly enjoyable experience. It turned out to be a blend of energy and insight that enhanced the film’s appeal, making the whole experience feel more communal and enjoyable.

“Oh, my god. That was so good!” Stina cheered as you all left the theater, her excitement practically radiating from her. Her blonde ponytail whipped from side to side with each enthusiastic hop down the steps, creating a lively and contagious energy that seemed to spread through the group. Stina’s reaction was a burst of pure, unfiltered enthusiasm, her voice ringing with genuine excitement about the film you had just seen.

Conversations about favourite scenes and surprising plot twists began to bubble up, each person eager to share their thoughts and opinions on the film. It was as if Stina’s initial reaction had unlocked a wave of shared enthusiasm that everyone was eager to join in on.

“Yeah, that twist at the end was incredible!” Steph chimed in, her voice laced with amazement. “I didn’t see that coming at all.” The sentiment was echoed by several others, their faces animated with excitement as they recounted their favourite moments. The film had clearly struck a chord with the group, and the sense of collective satisfaction was palpable. Had this been what you were missing out on every time you declined an invite?

Before you could get too far into your head, Kim came up behind you, her shoulder gently nudging yours in a friendly, almost reassuring manner. The touch was light but deliberate, a small gesture that drew you back from your swirling thoughts and into the present moment. Her presence was warm and grounding, a reminder that you were part of a group, and her approachable demeanor made it easier to transition from the excitement of the film to the next part of the evening.

“So, what did you think?” Kim asked, her voice filled with genuine interest. There was a subtle anticipation in her tone, an expectation that your opinion would contribute to the collective conversation.

“I liked the film. It was very good,” you responded, your voice steady but still tinged with the residual excitement from the movie. You were still processing the film’s impact and the lively discussion that had followed, and Kim’s question provided a moment to articulate your enjoyment. It felt good to share your positive reaction, to be part of the enthusiastic response that had characterised the group’s reactions.

Kim’s eyes brightened at your response, and she smiled with a hint of mischief. “Good enough to come to dinner with us?” she asked, her tone light and inviting.

You froze for a moment, a sudden wave of uncertainty washing over you. Did Kim really want you to join them for dinner? The question seemed to echo in your mind, stirring up a flurry of anxious thoughts. The idea of continuing the evening with the group was both inviting and intimidating, and you couldn’t help but question whether you truly belonged in this social setting.

A twinge of apprehension gnawed at you as you considered the possibility of making a mistake. What if you inadvertently did something wrong or said something out of turn? The fear of misstepping or failing to live up to the group’s expectations loomed large. You imagined potential scenarios where your actions might not align with the group’s dynamics, leading to awkwardness or discomfort.

And what if you got angry with them again? What if you ruined the night? What if you did something wrong and they kicked you off the team? A tight knot of anxiety bubbled up in your chest, making it difficult to fully embrace the invitation. The prospect of making a good impression and avoiding past mistakes felt like a significant challenge. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that Kim’s invitation was a gesture of goodwill, a sign that your presence was valued and welcomed.

“Umm, yeah, yeah, I think so,” you said, your voice gaining confidence as you spoke. “If that’s ok with you?” The question was as much about seeking reassurance as it was about confirming your participation. It was a polite gesture, ensuring that your presence was welcome and that you weren’t imposing on the group’s plans.

Kim’s smile widened, and she gave you a reassuring nod. “Absolutely, it’s totally okay,” she said warmly. “We’d love to have you join us. It’s just a casual dinner, nothing too formal. We’re all going to this great place nearby – should be a lot of fun!”

[noira-l]

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞

⋆ ★ '𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞' - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

chapter summary: Satoru hadn’t anticipated how fiercely he’d stay by your side through the night, watching every fevered breath, feeling every shake as if it were his own. He never thought he’d feel this protective, this bound to you - not until you nearly slipped away.

warnings: description of wound, blood, poison, fever, first aid (more or less adequate), hurt reader (it's okey in the end), caring Satoru.

author's note: I'm alive, who missed me? <:

The moment you step through the door, your leg gives out beneath you. The strain of keeping yourself upright has drained whatever small reserves of strength you had left.

You stagger, one hand grasping the wall, and then gravity wins. The door clicks shut behind you as you sink to the floor, gasping. Pain thrums through your leg with every heartbeat, each pulse reminding you of the wound carved into your flesh, raw and barely bandaged. Cold sweat beads on your forehead, and you shiver, feeling as though the warmth has been leeched from your bones.

The world is a haze, blurring at the edges, when you hear footsteps approaching. Satoru rounds the corner from the bathroom, fresh from a shower, towel hanging loosely around his neck. His easygoing expression melts into something sharper, concerned, as he takes in the sight of you on the floor. In an instant, he’s kneeling beside you, a glint of worry in his usually playful eyes.

"What happened?" his voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a tightness as he scans you up and down, noting the grimace of pain on your face and the pale pallor of your skin. His gaze drops to your leg, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the hasty, blood-stained bandage barely covering the wound.

You open your mouth, trying to find words between labored breaths.

"The curse… managed to cut me." you breathe in sharply, feeling the sharp sting with every move "I thought I’d taken it down, but… it was too fast. Didn’t think… giant mantises could move like that - and have poison."

A muscle twitches in his jaw, tension he’s not hiding well. He’s silent for a moment, eyes lingering on your trembling form. He sees the traces of cursed energy clinging to you like grime, faint but still visible, a reminder of the battle you’d barely walked away from.

"Why didn’t you go to Shoko?" he asks, his voice barely above a murmur weighted with worry.

You shake your head, wincing at the movement.

"She’s on a mission." you manage, pressing a hand to your leg as another wave of pain hits "Called into the field… many sorcerers injured… a few hours ago. No one else was at the school, so I thought I could make it back here."

His lips press into a thin line, his hands moving carefully to lift you into a semi-sitting position. There’s a tenderness in his touch, but his eyes flicker with something darker, frustration perhaps, or worry bordering on anger. Gojo isn’t one to easily reveal vulnerability, but right now, with you barely holding yourself together on the floor, he can’t quite keep that mask intact.

"Of course, she’s gone the one time you need her." he mutters, his tone edged with a faint bitterness, though you sense it’s not directed at you. His gaze sweeping over you again, worry deepening as he notices the torn fabric of your trousers, the swollen, raw skin beneath.

You lean back against the wall, struggling to keep your focus on him.

"I didn’t expect… it’d be that strong." the words almost get stuck in your throat.

He stays silent for a beat, just watching you, eyes dark with a mix of emotions. A part of him is angry - angry that you’re hurt, angry that you didn’t have someone with you, angry that he wasn’t there to keep this from happening. But beneath that anger is something gentler, something softer, a deep and aching worry that he doesn’t quite know how to voice.

"Come on." he says finally, sliding an arm beneath your shoulders. He lifts you effortlessly, the strength in his arms steady and comforting, his presence a quiet anchor against the storm of pain clouding your mind. You let yourself sink into him, too exhausted to put up a front, to pretend you don’t need his help.

He carries you into the bathroom and sets you down on the closed toilet lid, his grip steady as he angles you so he can get a better look at the wound. Under the brighter bathroom light, you can see his expression in clearer detail, and it startles you. His brow is furrowed, his mouth pressed into a hard line, and his eyes are filled with a worry so unguarded it makes your chest tighten.

Satoru’s gaze drops to your leg, his fingers hovering just above the jagged, angry gash that runs down the back of your calf, twisting around your ankle. Blood has soaked through the bandage, and even with your makeshift attempt to clean it, the wound looks angry, inflamed, a sickly hue that promises infection.

"This is nasty." he says, his voice rough, almost reprimanding "Why didn’t you call me?"

You swallow, your throat dry "Didn’t want to… bother you."

A flash of something raw crosses his face, and he shakes his head slightly, exhaling slowly, almost as if he’s holding back something he doesn’t want to let slip.

"You’re an idiot." he murmurs, but there’s no bite to his words. If anything, he sounds… pained.

You don’t have the energy to argue. Instead, you close your eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over you. Your whole body aches, a dull, throbbing reminder of just how close you came to something far worse.

"I’ll clean it." he says, his tone more determined now, almost fierce. "But you better hang on for me, okay?"

Satoru's gaze lingers on your leg, the torn fabric of your trousers exposing the angry wound. Blood seeps through the makeshift bandage, and he sighs, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.

"We need to wash that out." he says, his tone gentle but firm "It’s full of dirt, and it’ll only get worse if we don’t clean it properly."

You nod weakly, shivering.

You feel dizzy, aware of the sweat clinging to your skin, the grime of battle pressing against every part of you. With trembling hands, you fumble with the zipper of your trousers, barely managing to pull it down. Without a word, Satoru kneels beside you, steadying your weak hands, and helps ease the fabric down your injured leg. It’s a painful process, the edges of the torn cloth brushing against the wound, and you stifle a wince.

Once you’re free of the ruined trousers, he carefully peels back the bandage. Then, he leads you to the edge of the bath, settling you down carefully.

You cling to his arm, the warmth of his skin grounding you, even as you shiver with exhaustion and pain. He reaches for the shower handset, steadying you with one arm as he angles the stream of water toward your leg. The cold shock of it against your wound makes you hiss, but he holds you steady, his hand firm against your back."

"Can you manage the rest?" he asks, his eyes searching yours, worry etched into every line of his face.

You swallow, nodding weakly "Yeah… I think so."

Without hesitation, he lifts you, maneuvering your weakened body gently into the bathtub. You sink down, propped against the smooth edge, barely able to keep your balance. Satoru hands you the shower handset, glancing at you with a flash of hesitation "I’ll grab your clothes and a few other things. Be right back."

He steps out, closing the door behind him, and you release a shaky breath, steadying yourself against the cool porcelain. Quickly, with the last bits of strength you can muster, you strip down to your T-shirt and underwear, not daring to risk the energy it would take to remove more.

You aim the water at your leg, wincing as the steady stream cleanses the wound. Blood seeps from the cut, but at least now you can see the full extent of the damage. You start to wash the rest of yourself, scrubbing away the sweat and grime, the cold water biting into your feverish skin.

Satoru returns, nudging the door open just enough to peer inside. His eyes go to the wound on your leg first, but then he frowns.

"You’re going to need to wash everything, not just your leg. The poison… it’s on your back and shoulders too." he looks you over, and it dawns on you with a jolt that the curse’s toxins must have spread further than you realized - your own saliva could be contaminated, even the air around you carrying a faint trace of its energy.

You feel too weak to do that.

You blink at him, feeling a pang of embarrassment.

"Can you… help?" your voice is barely a whisper. You know you’re in no state to do this on your own, your limbs heavy and unresponsive, and he can see it too.

Satoru’s gaze softens, though there’s a flash of exasperation in his eyes as he takes in your shaky form, barely propped up in the tub, trying to cover herself as much as possible.

He rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You’re practically falling over, and you’re worried about that?" he shakes his head, voice laced with a little humor "Look, we’re saving your life here. I don’t exactly have time to look at anything else."

His words, casual and dismissive, calm you in a way you hadn’t expected. You nod, letting go of the tension you’d been holding, trusting that, here and now, it’s just Satoru, your friend of so many years, who’s seen you at your best and your worst.

"Alright." he murmurs, kneeling by the tub again "Let’s get this over with."

He rolls up his sleeves, and you feel the comforting warmth of his hand on your shoulder as he carefully tilts the shower handset, rinsing away the grime that clings to your skin with the help od soap. His movements are gentle, precise, almost tender, as he washes the cursed remnants from your back and shoulders, his hand bracing you as you sway, your body growing weaker with every passing second. His presence is steady, calm, and somehow, amidst the pain and exhaustion, you feel safe, anchored in the familiar strength of his hands.

As the last traces of cursed residue wash away, he pulls back, grabbing a towel to pat you dry, careful not to touch the wound. His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is heavy but filled with a quiet understanding.

"Let’s get you dressed and out of here." he says softly.

He moves quickly, settling you on the edge of the tub with a clean washcloth and a fresh T-shirt, stepping back to give you a bit of space. You pull on the shirt, feeling the clean fabric slide over your raw skin, cool against the feverish heat radiating from your body.

Satoru, meanwhile, tosses your soiled clothes into the washing machine, setting it on the strongest cycle he can find, muttering something under his breath about how you’re lucky he knows how to handle this.

Once you’re dressed, Satoru lays out a small collection of supplies on the bathroom counter: disinfectant, gauze, bandages, and a pair of tweezers. His eyes flick from the wound on your leg to your face, studying the pallor of your skin, the way you struggle to keep yourself upright.

You feel Satoru put a tourniquet over your wound. How he presses it quite firmly to stop the bleeding.

"This is going to hurt." he says softly, glancing at you apologetically "I need to disinfect it - just a heads up, it’ll probably sting like hell." as he reaches for the bottle, your body sways, and he’s there in an instant, steadying you before you can fall backward "Alright, maybe I’ll keep the talking to a minimum."

He removes the cap, and the sharp smell of antiseptic fills the air, a reminder of all the injuries you and Satoru have shared over the years. He tilts the bottle and lets the liquid run over the wound, and the pain hits you like fire. You bite down hard on your hand, desperate to hold back a scream as the disinfectant sears through the torn flesh.

With the wound cleaned, Satoru reaches for the gauze, dabbing away the last traces of blood, his movements firm but gentle.

His eyes flicker with worry as he notices you growing paler, your breathing shallow and ragged. You feel the world slipping in and out of focus, every sound muffled, every movement dulled as if you’re underwater.

"Stay with me." he says, his tone low and urgent as he gently turns you, propping you against the bathroom wall and shelves. You feel the steady pressure of his hand on your shoulder, grounding you, even as your body starts to surrender to the effects of the poison.

A heavy fog begins to settle over your senses, blurring everything into an uncomfortable haze. You feel the poison’s grip tightening around your chest, your breathing growing strained. There’s a strange, prickling sensation beneath your skin, as if something dark and sickly is pulsing through your veins, coiling in your muscles. Nausea churns in your stomach, and you feel lightheaded, disoriented, the edges of your vision starting to darken.

Satoru works quickly, threading the needle with practiced precision, hands steady as he begins to stitch up the wound. Each prick of the needle sends a fresh jolt of pain through your leg, but you’re too weak to respond, each stitch another beat in the slow, agonizing rhythm of your recovery. He disinfects every few stitches, his expression tense, focused, his usual carefree air replaced with quiet determination.

The process drags on, each moment stretched out by the poison clouding your mind, making time seem thick and viscous, every movement of his hands slow and careful. You drift in and out, barely aware of the steady movements, his touch grounding you, keeping you tethered to reality. The burning in your veins intensifies, and you start to feel chills spreading over your skin, cold sweat breaking out along your forehead and back.

Finally, Satoru steps back, tying off the last stitch. He examines his work, the line of neat stitches running down your calf, still red and raw but now contained, held together as best as he can manage.

"When Shoko gets back, she’ll be able to fix it properly." he says, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face "But this… this should be enough for now."

You try to respond, to thank him, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you just nod, leaning back against the wall, your breathing shallow. He stays close, one hand resting lightly on your shoulder as he watches you with a steady, protective gaze.

Then he gathers you into his arms and lifts you effortlessly, cradling you with an unexpected gentleness as he carries you to the bed. Every nerve in your body feels heightened, raw, and the sensation of his hands steadying you sends a faint shiver through you, not entirely from the poison.

You barely register the journey across the room, your awareness fading in and out, but you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, a quiet pulse beneath the strength of his embrace.

When he lays you down, you sink into the bed, feeling the softness of the mattress beneath you. The coolness of the pillow presses against your cheek, a comforting contrast to the heat radiating from your fevered skin.

He put you on your stomach.

The fabric feels strangely vivid, every thread, every crease brushing against your skin as though it’s magnified. You close your eyes, sinking into that small moment of comfort, barely noticing the sound of Satoru moving beside you, but the weight of his presence is an anchor, waking you as you drift.

"Do you feel sick?" his voice cuts through the haze, pulling you back "Like… are you going to throw up?"

You shake your head slowly, your energy too sapped for anything more, feeling the faint throb of pain in your temple. He’s kneeling beside the bed, his hand a gentle weight on your shoulder as he leans closer, concern etched into every line of his face.

"Describe everything. I need to know all your symptoms."

You take a shaky breath, struggling to pull the words together "Leg hurts. I'm cold… but then hot. Like everything’s shifting." you murmur, the words slipping from your lips as your mind tumbles in and out of focus "And… weak, like my whole body’s just… fading out."

The colors in the room start to shift, hues intensifying, bleeding at the edges. When you close your eyes eveything melts into shades of blue, green, red, each color swirling with an odd, dizzying vibrancy. It’s like looking at the world through a prism, everything blurring, a kaleidoscope spinning faster than you can process.

You're almost unconsious.

Satoru’s presence cuts through the storm of sensations.

You feel him gently shifting you, slipping a pillow under your head. The cool touch of glass presses against your lips, and you blink, realizing he’s holding a glass of water, coaxing you to take a sip. A bowl rests nearby, in case you lose the fight with the nausea twisting your stomach. His fingers press against your forehead, the touch so light you barely feel it, but his hand lingers there, measuring your fever with a touch so practiced, so deeply familiar that it calms you, just slightly.

"You’re burning up." he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your hairline. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath, hear the quiet note of concern in his voice "I can see your cursed energy pushing back against the poison. Like.. you’re… changing colors."

You shiver, his words blurring in your mind, but you catch the awe in his tone, like he’s witnessing something strange, extraordinary. It’s rare for him to speak this way, in that quiet, fascinated way that tells you he’s seeing more than just what’s in front of him.

Satoru leaves only briefly, returning with a bowl of cold water, painkillers, and a wet cloth.

You feel the chill of the compress on your forehead, cooling the fever that pulses through your body like wildfire. He lifts you just enough to help you swallow the pills, his hand steady at your back, holding you up as you sip the water in slow, careful gulps.

You feel his gaze on you the whole time, watchful, attentive.

In these moments, he’s a different person, his usual lighthearted attitude replaced with an intense focus, a deep concentration that only you ever see.

He glances at his phone, frustration darkening his expression. He’s tried to reach Shoko twice already, and the fact that there’s no response is gnawing at him. But he’s determined to do what he can, to keep you grounded, to be the anchor that holds you steady.

Gojo takes a seat on the edge of the bed, his hand never leaving you. He gently adjusts your position, lifting your head onto his thigh, and you feel the warmth of his leg beneath your cheek. He explains it as a practical choice, a way to keep you close so he can apply the compress more effectively, but deep down, he knows it’s more than that. He feels an overwhelming need to keep you close, to hold you in this small way, as if his touch alone can keep you anchored to reality, away from the poison’s grip.

You shiver, twitching slightly, and he reaches for the cold compress, his movements slow and methodical, applying it to your fevered skin, watching as your colors shift under his hand, an unsteady pulse of cursed energy working to fend off the poison. He catches the slight shake in your limbs, the way your fingers curl weakly against the sheets, and his heart clenches, a rare feeling of helplessness creeping in, something he’s not used to feeling, something he hates.

You mumble something unintelligible, a stray thought slipping out as your mind drifts, and he brushes his hand over your hair, soothing, grounding you with every touch. His fingers glide through your hair, alternating between stroking and holding, his other hand keeping the cool cloth pressed to your fevered skin. He watches you intently, every shift in your expression, every change in your breathing, his mind racing through what he knows about poisons, healing techniques, anything that might help, anything to hold off this ache in his chest.

Satoru stays there, keeping you steady through the fevered haze, murmuring soft reassurances, promising that you’ll get through this.

As your colors shift and the fever twists through you, his presence remains constant, a steady, comforting warmth, his hand a lifeline anchoring you to him, keeping you from slipping away.

★ --

The first hint of dawn is creeping through the window when Satoru hears the faint sound of the door opening. His eyes are bloodshot, exhaustion pulling at him, but he remains steadfast, pressing a damp cloth to your forehead. It is so more from stress and emotion than actual fatigue.

He hears Shoko’s soft steps approaching, and relief flickers over his face as she enters the bedroom, her figure slumped with fatigue but her expression sharp and focused. He left the door ajar for them, some time ago.

"Finally." Satoru murmurs, a mix of relief and irritation in his tone. He shifts slightly, not wanting to disturb you as you rest against him, your head still on his thigh "I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up."

Shoko takes one look at you, her eyes narrowing as she assesses the wound, the sickly pallor of your skin, the traces of cursed energy still clinging to your body.

She drops her bag beside the bed, rubbing a hand over her face to shake off the fatigue "I came straight from the mission. Intense night." she says, her voice low but urgent "Tell me exactly what happened.”

Satoru glances down at you, fingers still brushing lightly over your hair "There was a curse. She took it down, but… it got a cut on her leg. I’ve tried to keep the fever down, cleaned it up as best as I could. She’s been shaking, hallucinating… the poison’s deep." his voice tightens, uncharacteristically raw, as he looks at Shoko "I didn’t know what else to do."

Shoko’s gaze softens momentarily, catching the strain etched into Satoru’s face, the tired set of his jaw "You did everything right." she says quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder "You kept her stable. That matters."

Satoru exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just a fraction "She was in and out all night. Sometimes calm, other times - " his voice trails off, and he shakes his head slightly "I’ve seen her hurt before, but… not like this. This poison - what do you think about it?"

Shoko sighs, pulling on a pair of gloves and gently lifting the bandage on your leg to examine the wound.

She winces as she sees the dark edges of the cut, stitching and the sickly tinge spreading along your calf.

"It’s a nasty one, that’s for sure. This looks like a mix of cursed energy and biological venom - a very specific combination." she frowns, pressing two fingers lightly to the skin around the wound, feeling the pulse of poison still present "It’s a wonder she even made it back here. This could have killed her on the spot."

Satoru’s jaw tightens, a muscle twitching as he watches Shoko’s hands on your leg "I’ll make sure that curse stays dead." he mutters darkly, almost to himself. He looks back at her, his expression determined "Can you heal it?"

Shoko nods, her face serious as she focuses on channeling her cursed energy, her hands beginning to glow with the familiar light of her RCT.

"Yes, but it’s going to take time. This poison is tenacious; it’s woven itself into her system." she glances at Satoru "I’ll need you to keep her as still as possible."

He shifts slightly, adjusting his hold on you, keeping your head nestled against his thigh as he watches Shoko’s every movement.

"Got it. Just - be careful." he adds, his voice softer.

Shoko gives him a brief, reassuring sigh "I’ve got this. She’ll be okay." she lowers her hands over your leg, the energy pulsing gently, slowly seeping into the wound. The sickly edges of the cut begin to recede, the venom slowly neutralized as Shoko works, her focus unwavering.

After a few minutes of silence, Satoru speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper "Thank you, Shoko. I… I don’t think I could’ve handled it if…" he swallows, not finishing the sentence.

“She’s got it, Satoru. And you… you did what you could. Don’t sell yourself short." Shoko doesn’t look up, her gaze still focused on her work, but her voice is gentle.

He scoffs, trying to mask the emotion that slips into his voice.

"Yeah, well, she didn’t give me much of a choice, did she?" he looks down at you, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles against your shoulder "Just… hurry up."

Shoko rolls her eyes, though there’s warmth there "Patience isn’t your strong suit now, huh?"

Satoru chuckles softly, the sound tinged with exhaustion "Not when it comes to this." he glances at you again, his thumb brushing over your temple "Not when she’s… like this."

A silence settles between them as Shoko continues her work, the energy enveloping your leg, steadily neutralizing the poison, knitting torn tissue together, each pulse bringing you back, bit by bit.

She glances up at Satoru, catching the quiet, pained expression on his face as he watches over you.

"She’ll be fine." Shoko reassures him, her voice firm, resolute "You can rest now, you know?"

He sighs, the weight of the night pressing down on him "Not yet. Not until she’s awake."

★ --

You woke slowly, the scent of something warm and savory drifting through the air. Blinking, you turned over, feeling the ache of lingering soreness but also a sense of relief.

The night had been a fevered blur, but now your body felt… calm. Healed.

You rubbed your eyes, still swollen from the restless night, then glanced at your leg. It didn't hurt. The skin was smooth, completely healed - Shoko’s handiwork, no doubt.

Beside the bed sat a plate with a perfectly folded omelette, a glass of water, and a couple of painkillers.

You looked at the clock. 10 a.m. A pang of worry crossed your mind about the kids, but you knew they’d be at school by now, likely ushered off by Satoru.

The ache in your stomach urged you to eat, so you settled back against the pillows, finishing the omelette with slow, grateful bites and washing it down with water. Once the plate was cleared, you felt ready to get up.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you tested your balance, feeling a bit unsteady but strong enough to manage. You headed to the bathroom, splashing cool water on your face to refresh yourself, then changed out of your sweaty clothes, pulling on something more comfortable.

In the kitchen, you went straight for a glass, filling it with water and sipping slowly, the coolness settling your insides. The quiet calm of the flat wrapped around you, and you leaned against the counter, feeling grateful for the silence.

After a few moments, you decided to make some tea, craving something warm. You moved slowly, filling the kettle, finding tea leaves, feeling each motion ground you as you set everything in place. It felt good to be upright, even if your body still carried traces of exhaustion.

Then you heard the door click open, the faint sound of footsteps as Satoru entered, his presence filling the space instantly. He slipped off his shoes and headed straight for the bedroom.

You heard the pause as he saw the empty bed, and moments later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway. His eyes met yours, relief softening his usually guarded gaze, he took off his glasses.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes scanning over you, checking for any signs of weakness.

You gave him a small smile, feeling steadier with each passing moment “Better. A little sore, but… much better." you reached for an extra cup and set it beside yours, silently inviting him to join you "Tea?"

He nodded, coming over to stand beside you as you poured. The silence felt comfortable.

As you finished pouring his cup, he began to speak "You know, you really scared me last night. I thought - "

But without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his chest. For a heartbeat, he stilled, surprised, but then his arms came up around you, pulling you close. He held you tightly, his chin resting on top of your head, a gesture so simple yet so deeply comforting.

"Thank you." you murmured against his shoulder, your voice soft but filled with all the gratitude you couldn’t quite put into words "For everything. For taking care of me… I don’t know what I would’ve done."

His hand moved slowly up and down your back, steady and reassuring

"Hey… don’t go teary on me now." he teased, though his voice was low, his grip on you unwavering "What else was I supposed to do when you passed out on the corridor floor?"

You laughed softly, a bit of the tension easing out of your body as you leaned into him. For a moment, neither of you moved, just standing there in the quiet warmth of the kitchen, holding onto each other.

He pulled back just slightly, looking down at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

"Next time." he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear "Try not to pick fights with curses the size of giant mantises, okay? If that happens, call me straight away, clear? Or better, let there be no second time, got it?"

You chuckled, rolling your eyes "I’ll keep that in mind."

He grinned, hugging you once again.

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

tl: @kalopsia-flaneur, @dainslumi, @syneyam, @idiotgojo, @itachiiwrites

[moku-youbi]

Go fuck yourselves so hard. I cut every trump supporter out of my life 8 years ago. I haven't spoken to my mother or any of the extended family on her side since the last time he won. I also cut off any third party voting friends back then.

It was painful and lonely. Don't you fucking dare act like liberals aren't willing to call out or cut off those in their lives who vote against their best interests.

Also, all your smug, third party wouldn't matter bullsit? Go take another look at the midwest wall. Michigan and Wisconsin at least would have been won. Possibly Pennsylvania, too.

Yeah, I've donated extensively to your cause and I'm furious on your behalf. I'm so angry at Biden and Harris's behaviour around the war and silencing protestors. I'm wounded for you. I've felt so helpless when all I've had to give is what we're able to donate, and that there's nothing I personally could do to help Gaza and Palestine beyond that and being vocal.

Yet you sit here gleefully ridiculing me for the fear I feel for my family right now. We had a shitty choice, as is often the case in our country. And because people prioritised one atrocity over another, we're now facing a very real threat to the lives of gay and trans folk, women, and poc here. You saw what was happening to your people and said white liberals need to pay. But they aren't the ones who will pay, in blood. It will be the brown people, the immigrants, disabled and trans folks, the visibly other.

It will be the people who have loved and supported you, who've hurt for you. We'll be the ones bleeding out beside you now.

Uncharacteristically political take, I know, but I personally think if you want to blame any particular group of voters for Trump getting elected it should probably be the people who voted for Trump

[sanguineterrain]

Femjay you say 👀 how about the classic "you're alive?!" confrontation with a sprinkle of pining

sprinkle of pining you say-oh dear! i've dumped the whole bag in! along with a jar of erotic violence! whoopsies...

female!jason todd x afab!reader. violence, angy jay, reader being held down, crying, reunion. remember that girl best friend you had highkey lesbian tension with? yeah.

****

It's her eyes you recognize first, oddly enough, through her cracked helmet. You shouldn't recognize her at all, with how everything about her has changed. Even the way she looks at you is different. You've never seen Jay Todd so ferocious.

"You weren't supposed to be here!" she screams.

It's true, you weren't. You stumbled across your dead best friend by accident, found her hissing and vicious with a shattered helmet and a smoking gun. Four dead men surround her.

"Get out."

All you can do is stare. She's alive. She's back. She's yours.

"Jay..."

Okay, you lied. This wasn't an accident. This was fate that you played a hand in. This was what was bound to happen after Jay got too close, let herself get seen. You've had an itch for months, eyes on your back. You're a civilian now, sure, but you loved a bat once.

She pries off her helmet and your breath hitches. God, she's beautiful.

"What is wrong with you? You could've fuckin' gotten shot."

Your legs start moving. Your arms part. You expect the feel of a soft cape between your fingers, black curls to tickle your chin due to a height difference you never let her forget.

Jay drops her gun, grabs your wrists, and knocks the wind out of you in a graceful takedown. You can't even be mad.

"You're alive," you choke out.

When she was Robin, you had a slim chance of physically overtaking her. Now, double in size and muscle, Jay keeps you pushed to the ground with no chance of getting free. Her hands hold you by your wrists, body hovering close so you can't move much.

Her eyes are wild. A mix of blue and green. More green than you remember. Her irises have swallowed her pupils and her curls are knotted and frizzy. You feel inexplicably hunted.

"How dare you?" she spits. "How fuckin' dare you come here?"

"Jay," you say softly, unable to keep your eyes fixed on one part of her. You're afraid to blink and make her disappear.

"I could've shot you," she says. "You could be dead right now."

"You're a good shot."

You mean it as a compliment. Jay only seems to get angrier.

"I have to be. I'm the only one keeping myself alive," she says. You make a weak noise in your throat.

"I should've looked for you," you say.

She scoffs. "Don't say stupid shit. You're smarter than that."

"I should've," you insist. "I should've found you. I felt you."

"Yeah? Feel how I could tear you apart? It comes so easy now, you have no idea. 'M fuckin' soaked with blood."

You stay silent. Jay's eyes flash. She leans in, breath hot on your ear.

"Are you scared?" she asks like she knows the answer.

But she doesn't.

Your legs part further so she can kneel comfortably. You shake your head.

Jay snarls. "You should be. I've killed people. I'll keep killing."

"It's okay," you say. "You're angry. It's okay to be angry. I don't blame you. No one does."

"Stop talking like that!" she yells, tears in her eyes. "Stop talking like we're friends. We aren't friends. You don't know me!"

"But I do," you say, limp beneath her, like a lamb caught in a wolf's bite. "Jay, I do."

"No, you don't," she snaps. Her voice is mocking, brittle. "You know your fancy publishing job in a big shiny office, away from this shithole, and-and fuckin' Paul from Marketing who brings you banana pancakes from the diner."

Your breath comes out in a careful exhale. "You've been keeping tabs on me. How long have you been back?"

Jay's mouth quivers as she bares her teeth. "I took you to that diner. It was mine first."

"It never stopped being yours," you say quietly.

"You—" Jay growls in frustration. Her hands squeeze your wrists. "This isn't how it's s'posed to go. Hate me, hate me. I'm a monster."

"You're not."

"You're fuckin' deluded," she says, eyes glassy with tears. "Fuckin'—sleep so heavy, like I can't slip in and smother you. No one would know. Make tea in your-your robe, don't even pull the curtains shut. I can see you. Anyone can."

"I missed you, Jay," you say, a heart-shaped lump in your throat.

"And so what?" she asks, tears falling down her cheeks. "So fuckin' what if you missed me? You kept living."

You try to pull your hand free, and to your surprise, you do. Jay lets you slip out of her grip. You use your free hand to hold her scarred cheek, wipe her tears with your thumb.

Jay is perfectly still for several moments. Then she wraps two big hands around your ribs, pulls your shoulders forward like nothing, and rests her cheek on your chest. She shakes into your skin, kneeling between your legs.

You hug her head, smell her new-old smell, and let her curls tickle your chin once again.

[saintzweig]

nsfw patrick zweig x camgirl!reader

– PART ONE HERE i know this is long overdue i'm so sorry :") i had to start over multiple times!!! this is not proofread because that's literally my brand atp

pinkponyclub is now live! click here to watch

patrick blinked at his screen, the cursor of his laptop stood still on the link that he's all too familiar with. the pink color taunting him as he debated whether or not to click on it. there's this unfamiliar feeling settling on the pit of his stomach, now that he has a face and name to put on the body he's been jerking off to. what's worse is you still don't know that he knows.

it's been nearly a month since your presentation and you hadn't talked since then, aside from the occasional greetings whenever you'd bump to each other on campus. it's been that long as well since he's watched you, and it's been painful. for some reason, he can't seem to touch himself without his mind going back to you, the urge to watch you once again getting stronger every minute. he aches for a release yet the guilt of knowing your biggest secret overpowered it.

"dude" art yelled over the defeaning music, "what's your plan? you getting laid or what?" the two tennis players found themselves squeezing through a bunch of sweaty young adults, having been invited to a frat party by some guy on the tennis team.

patrick shrugged, "dunno, dude." they finally made it to the kitchen, looking over the kitchen island filled with alcohol drinks and snacks which they helped themselves to.

"come on. you have to, man." the blonde spoke, grabbing a red cup and filling it with whatever the fuck's on the punch bowl. "you've been sloppy and irritable, you need to find someone to fuck before you get in trouble with the team."

"don't tell me you're still thinking about that girl" art said to which patrick just rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his cup and unsubtly grimacing at the taste.

he made the mistake of telling art about his dilemma, well– he didn't exactly tell him. art caught him staring at the website when he came back to their shared dorm after practice. 'you pay for that shit?'

"look, if you're still hung up on it just tell her that you know. it's not a big deal"

the brunette glared at the latter, "and say what? i know that you're a camgirl and guess what, i'm your biggest donator"

"we're in college dude, you're bound to come across a someone who sells themselves online atleast once" art said without a beat, unaware of the short figure that stood behind him. "patrick?" oh shit.

"wait, wait" patrick chased after you, which was difficult because of the hundreds of shoulders slamming into him. "let me explain"

you reached the patio when you turned to him, "you know?" your expression wasn't angry– you looked pale, nervous, like someone had just discovered your biggest secret. which he did. and he told someone about it.

"yes, i know. i didn't mean to, okay?"

"you didn't mean to know?" you look at him confused, your eyes wide and lips wobbling. he knows this isn't the best moment but he can't help the heat pooling in his stomach, you look so pretty looking up to him like this.

patrick sighed, rubbing a hand over the lower part of his face. "it just kinda happened. i recognized your room."

your eyebrows furrowed, "you recognized my room? what does that mean?"

"it means" he sighed, "i've watched you an embarrassing amount of times to the point that i recognized your room."

there was an awkward moment of silence while you processed what he said. not only did he find out that you're basically a porn star, he had just confessed to paying and jerking himself off to you.

"are you going to tell anyone else?" your voice was timid, scared. the way you looked at him caught him off guard, as if he holds so much power over you at this moment. it should make him feel bad, but it did the opposite. he thinks it's sick that the way you're looking up at him at this moment is giving him the urge to take advantage of you in your most vulnerable state.

but he still he ended up on your bed, watching you set up your laptop on your desk, turning the grainy camera on. "i won't tell anyone if you do something for me." which you accepted with absolutely no hesitation, which surprised him. you're willing to do anything for him to keep your secret from everyone else– and it's not like you haven't been fantasizing about him for weeks now, and you know you're going to make shit ton of money tonight so you have nothing to lose.

the camera light lit up, signalling that the live is starting and slowly, people started coming in. a few of them your loyal fans, proudly calling themselves your paypigs.

you walked over to the bed, climbing over patrick and settling on his lap, his hands immediately finding its place on your hips. you almost moaned as you felt your clothed heat press down on his bulge. patrick licked his lips, swearing he can feel your wetness through the fabrics separating you. his thumbs grazes the exposed skin just above your underwear while your hands were placed on his chest. the camera was pointed downwards, leaving your flustered faces out of the stream.

patrick begins to guide your hips, rocking you back and forth. you bit your lip, and patrick swears this is the hottest thing he's ever seen. he's so used to watching you on screen, never even thought of having the opportunity to actually feel you.

you take his hand from your hips, letting it rest on the hem of your pretty pink panties, mouth slightly parted as you stared at him with an inviting look. he immediately got what you meant, dipping his finger inside and coming in contact with your cunt, grazing your sensitive clit before feeling the slick. "you've wanted this for a while now, haven't you? think i haven't caught you staring at me like that?"

a whine bubbles up your throat, not even giving you the chance to lie and say no. he inserts his finger slowly, groaning at how warm you feel inside. "fuck, you look even prettier in person. such a shame they can't see your face, hm?"

without warning, he flips you over– mindful of the camera. your head hits the pillow and he slips himself in between your legs, grinding his erection on your core while his hand gropes your breasts under your thin tank top. his lips are on yours, he can taste the hint of your flavored lipgloss. "you have no idea how many times i've jerked myself off to you" he groans into your mouth, making you buck your hips up to meet his. "you like that, huh? like thinking about me fantasizing about you?" all you can do is nod.

he scrambles to sit up, tugging your panties down your legs. "can't wait anymore, need to fuck you now" he tugs his boxers down, freeing his hard cock. your mouth gapes at the sight, his thick and veiny members staring right at you. his tip is furiously red and leaking. you lift yourself up slightly, watching him spit onto his hand and rub it all over him as he positions himself at your entrance. his other hand pushes your knees up as he pushes himself in gently. throwing his head back as he grunts, your warmth and tightness swallowing him in. you arch your back in mixed pain and pleasure, "s-so big"

he chuckles, "i'm not even halfway in, pretty girl" he lets a few seconds pass before moving his hips in rhythm, your skin sticking together. if you haven't forgotten about the camera right now, you might've moaned his name, having practiced it multiple times by yourself. it seems like he had the same thing on his mind, catching the look on your face. "wanna moan my name right now don't you?" he smirks, his strokes getting deeper, making it harder for you to contain yourself as you mewled helplessly under him. "do it, want you to say my name" he breathes out, watching the way your chest rise up and down faster at his words.

"come on, say it" he grunts, the room filling up moans and the sounds of your bodies moving in rhythm. "be a good girl, hm?" and that was your last straw.

"p-patrick" you bit your lip, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head as he hits your spot over and over again. you swear that you can feel every single on of his veins inside you.

"that's it, that's it pretty girl." he soothes you, grunting at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him. "wanna make you cum. bet these pigs want that too" he glances at your laptop, cock throbbing at the sight of the two of you on the screen. "can i?" he asks as he turns back to you.

you nod, eyes filling with tears and stomach clenching as you feel your climax approaching. your hands pull him in closer, nails leaving marks against his back. he nuzzles himself on your neck, biting and leaving marks all over. you reach up to tug on his curls, "f-fuck, pat. feel so full" he lets out a shaky breath on your skin, thrusts getting sloppier.

you can barely give him a warning as you feel yourself nearly on edge, "p-pat–"

"let it out, it's okay. cum for me, pretty girl. i got you" and you melt instantly in his arms. your back arched and your head thrown back on your pillow, turning limp under his body in seconds. he lets out a low groan as you tighten around him, feeling your fluid coating his cock inside you. he pulls out in a haste, hand wrapping around his base as he moves himself near your face, "wanna cum in your mouth" and so he shoves himself inside of you. immediately you hollow your cheeks and bob your head as you take him in, and he shoots his cum all the way down your throat. eyes on each other as his cock throbs between your plump lips. he pulls out, watching you swallow every bit. "shit, so pretty like this" he takes thumb and wipes the spit on the corner of your mouth.

"your next live is on friday, right?" he pants, completely disregarding how embarrassing it is that he's memorized your schedule at this point. "i'll be here, can't let you do this alone now."

[iichfilwypj]

percy hates cats (no he doesn't) | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of ares! reader (it could be anyone actually) ღ warnings: none! ღ wc: 440

“Please, please, please, please” Although she swore she'd never beg to any man, Percy was making things way too complicated, and she had to resort to extreme measures. 

"No! Cats aren’t my thing…" She looked at him with wide eyes, smacking his shoulder and tilting her head at the small, curious cat watching them from the floor.

Percy rolled his eyes -right, like it understands us. 

When she began to crouch down, he almost scooped her up over his shoulders to stop her from touching it. "Touch that cat, and you’ll be hooked," he warned.

“I know, that's the whole point." When she moved her hand gently in front of her, the little cat moved right up to it, instantly snuggling against her fingers.

Percy watched her close her eyes tightly, gripping his shoe with her other hand, as if trying to contain the surge of violent cuteness. Mentally, he was cursing his romantic side for inviting her to this stupid dinner at this stupid restaurant in this stupid street.

“Oh, for Zeus, put the cat down.” But he’d already lost her. His girlfriend was standing straight, the cat cradled in her arms.

She was crearly ignoring him as she shoved her bag into his hand and started her way toward their apartment without a second glance.

“I’m dead serious, I’m not responsible for that thing!” he called after her, getting a dismissive hum in response.

Percy clenched his fists at his sides and took a deep breath. He looked around the empty and dark street thinking about what to do.

“If a monster shows up, it’s going to be my bait!” she raised one of her hand to flip him out and kept walking, completely unbothered.

Everything’s fine. Everything is great. I don’t even have to look at the cat. It’s completely hers; I’ll just pretend it doesn’t exist. 

"Percy Jackson, where is my cat?!" She stormed through the door, anger flashing across her face. He looked up at her from the bed, tucked under the covers up to his neck as he watched a movie.

"How would I know? Do I look like your cat? Do you think I am Pythia or something?" Sure, as if she couldn’t see the bump on his chest under the blanket.

Liar. Complete liar. He was lying shamelessly at her, and if there was one thing Percy couldn't do well was lying.

"Oh, so if I go and pull the blanket off of you, what will happen?" She locked the door without breaking eye contact, her arms crossed as she watched Percy visibly gulp and glance around the room, feeling intimidated by her.  

“W-well, I'm gonna get very angry.” he said. She took another step forward, and Percy gripped the blanket, pulling it closer. "And cold." 

But before he could stop her, his girlfriend had pounced on him, yanking the soft material off his body to reveal the little kitten curled up on Percy’s bare chest.

Aww, how cute!

The sweetness of the moment lasted only a few seconds, as she quickly remembered how the boy had complained for weeks about the poor animal. 

Wait, you little piece of shit.

She began pinching his shoulder multiple times, while he tried to get her away from him without disturbing the kitty. “Stop it, you crazy-”

“What?!” 

“My love! I meant my love!” but she kept pinching him.

He saw no other option but to resort to his worst method (oh, she was gonna get so mad to him after all of this): one hand reached for his girlfriend's waist and began tickling there, causing her to fall to her side laughing loudly -and screaming a lot of curses at the same time, somehow. 

The cat was very much asleep, accustomed to these things. I guess family is the one you're stuck with, huh?

hello hola! rushed end because why not? sorry about that here is this pinteerst image to apologize :) i love u all! <3

[regarding-the-moss]

Aaaaalll of this. His first go round? I was 29 and had tiny kids. Now my oldest is looking at this thinking the last years of her childhood just slipped through her fingers and she's gotta spend it fighting fascism instead of just learning how to be a person. I'm so angry about that I don't even have words for it.

I don’t know how to explain this well…but I’m 30 years old and I feel like I’ve had to ‘sacrifice’ my entire adult life to unprecedented times, the pandemic and daily anxiety over hateful politicians and whatever rights they want to take away on any given day and I’m just so fucking tired

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

People like to complain about the scene in the NightWing palace in Darkness of Dragons, but I think it's brilliant how the scene manages to bring out all four characters' (Moon, Winter, Qibli and Kinkajou) biggest flaws, and watch them play off one another.

I think it's pretty safe to say that Winter's biggest flaw is that he's hot-tempered--if you get him mad, he gets very confrontational, and that's what happens here. He gets very rightfully angry that Moon and the others are defending the dragon who took his autonomy and is trying to commit a genocide against his people, and he flies into a rage, eventually knocking over the vase and injuring Moon. I'm not tone-policing Winter here--he had every right to be furious, however in his anger, he hurt his friend. However, he's not the only person whose primary flaws are being brought to the surface here.

Since the very beginning, naivete has been among Moon's flaws, along with a desire to believe the best in people. This is compounded by her mind-reading abilities, as she has the expectation that she understands people. There's a telling moment in MR where Qibli asks her if she loses her faith in dragons since she can see their motivations and thoughts, and she tells him that she actually believes better of other dragons because she reads their thoughts. She's settled into a complacency in her belief that a) dragons are all good at heart and b) she's so used to seeing everything, that she doesn't really compute that people can be hiding things from her or that she doesn't have a full picture. You have to remember that as much as Winter was justified in his anger, Moon didn't know what was going on, because Darkstalker was deliberately hiding what he was doing from her so that she still believed in him. She's reeling from the knowledge that Darkstalker lied to her, broke promises and is trying to do horrible, horrible things, and to her credit, she comes around to understanding Darkstalker's villainy, she just manages to hit Winter's triggers as she does so.

And that brings us to Qibli and Kinkajou, who sided with Moon over Winter. Since the beginning, it's fair to say that Kinkajou has been established as very loyal and also not exactly known for her critical thinking skills, and back in MR, she tells Winter that although he's very handsome, if he hurts Moon, she'll take Moon's part. And Kinkajou does, because Moon's her friend and Winter's angry and she isn't thinking about what she's doing.

Now, it's no secret what Qibli's biggest character flaw--say it with me now--having to be the hero and be universally liked. Now by this point in DoD, Qibli is quite smitten with Moon (something he's competing with Winter over) and she's become the apex of his 'desire to be liked and perceived as A Hero'. So, it's his instinct that when Winter--Qibli's romantic rival--is getting angry and confrontational with Moon, is to side with her against Winter, so that he'll come off as the nice guy, and the hero (and this is coming from someone who is a Qibli fan who ships Moonbli, so I'm not trying to hate on your fave).

I think it's just really interesting to analyse how all of their individual character flaws came together and clashed, creating the conflict.

.

[eisforeidolon]

Question: [After an exchange about her holding a bag of popcorn] So my question is really random, but I know that Jared can pick up Jensen really easily, so Jensen, can you pick up Jared?

Jared: Yeah.

Jensen: Can I pick him up? Yeah, I pick him up all the time. I swing by his house, he hops in, we go somewhere.

Jared: The first time he picked me up, he was like, uh, hey, here's a quarter, my mom told me to call her when I met the man of my dreams. Jensen's very strong, he can physically pick me up, yeah.

Jensen: Yeah, I can pick him up. [Jared walks over and they start jockeying about] I mean how do you want me to pick him up? [Jensen grabs Jared around his legs and hoists him up briefly, then Jensen says something to him away from the mic and lifts Jared up across his shoulders, carries him off to the side of the stage, and twirls him around before putting him back down]

Jared: [claps Jensen on the chest] Does that answer your popcorn question?

Jensen: You're so rigid. Was there a point to any of that? You just wanted to see me pick him up?

Jared: [points and mimes laughing and clapping] Yes, yes.

Jensen: [also mimes laughing and clapping, then eating popcorn]

Question: So there's a lot of edits of you guys out in the world, do you ever watch any of them?

Jensen: A lot of what?

J2: Edits?

Jared: Like manips? [Jensen cracks up] Manipulations.

Jensen: [mouths oh and cracks up more as does Jared] Like my nips?

J2: [point to their chests]

Jensen: There's a lot of that out there, too. I will say that one of the more gratifying things in life that I have achieved is being able to text gifs of myself. [Jared says Yes! and cracks up] And it drives a lot of my friends who are not in the industry -

Jared: Batshit crazy.

Jensen: batshit crazy. [fake angry] You can't use yourself, it's not fair!

Jared: It's cheating!

Jensen: And I'm like [shrug emoji pose] and then I'll send another of just me going like [makes similar gesture but smaller][laughs].

Jared: Yeah, so I guess it does have a use.

Jensen: So happy about that. So whoever knows how to do that, keep doing it, I don't know how that happens.

[q8qwertyuiop8p]

NEW SILCO STUFF ALERT ⚠️

Riot just released a game play trailer for something called "Jinx fixes everything" where (present-day league?) Jinx seems to go back to places she knew in her childhood- the arcade and the last drop, both of which seem to be now abandoned. (It comes out Nov 12)

In the last drop, their are two paintings of Silco- a painting of him cutting a red ribbon, Finn by his side with his hand on Silco's shoulder, to the right of it is a small portrait of Silco's face from the scarred side. Jinx says "Urgh!" in anger? Frustration? Upon seeing these.

It's difficult to tell but I think they have once again messed up his face, though perhaps not as bad as last time. But I'm excited for some new silco art! There is a third painting to the left, depicting chembaron Chross, but that was all they showed of it, so it's possible it has Silco as well!

What is that smile? Why is his nose too small? 😡 Now I know what Jinx was angry about.

[cherryblossombankai]

Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: angst, seriously it's just angst, alcohol, mentions of anxiety and trauma, sort of implied toxic relationship, breakup, sad, depression, jealousy A/N: I'm so sorry for this :) Tag List: @pixelcafe-network, @actuallysaiyan, @helloiamadrawer, @satorustar, @sweet-chocolate-sweet

You knew deep down that breaking up had been for the best, or at least you’d believed Aizawa when he said it was for the best. Aizawa was still trying to overcome his trauma, and you're no walk in the park to live with either. Stubborn and moody on the best of days, paralyzed with anxiety on the worst of days. You knew it took him some patience at times to navigate life with you, but he wasn’t a walk in the park either. You thought you were each other’s person until he asked for space. You gave it in hopes he would eventually realize that he needs you.

It had helped you along the healing process when you believed he was as miserable as you. You took comfort in the image of him curled up in bed, mourning the scent of your perfume fading from the pillow. At the very least, it made you feel less pathetic for still sleeping in his shirt every night and refusing to wash it because he'd no longer be lingering in the stitches. 

You were fine, truly. Most days you only cried a couple of times, and you hardly ever typed up a text you'd never send anymore. At least not when you're sober. The things you’d never sent while knee-deep in a bottle of wine, well that’s a different story. It ranged from “I miss you so bad” to “Why don’t you love me anymore?” but you never sent them, and that’s what matters. 

 "I'm on the path to healing. thank you very much,” you'd bragged to your friends over dinner. You meant it! Things were really starting to fall into place. 

Until it wasn’t anymore. 

All it took was one event to have your healing facade crashing down faster than you built it up. He didn't even like selfies, that's what he told you over and over. He would scoff and cover his face every time you tried to lean in to catch a snap of the two OF you together. More than once he went on a half-hearted rant about ‘living in the moment’ instead of stopping to photograph everything. You only have a handful of photos to prove that you didn't hallucinate a five-year relationship. 

Yet there he is on your timeline, snuggled up to a pretty girl who called him ‘baby' in the caption. His arm is wrapped around her. He's leaning in...He's smiling. 

Fuck, you love his smile. It was such a rare sight when he belonged to you. You wonder what this girl has that you didn’t.

Later that night, you and your roommate split a bottle of wine. 

"I hope he thinks of me when he fucks her," you ranted to your roommate. 

You were pacing the living room like a caged tiger. A caged, drunk tiger anyway. You were angry. How could he? What right does he have to be happy when you still whisper his name when you make yourself cum?

"I'm going to call him!" 

Your roommate thankfully finds your phone before you do. She swipes it OFF the coffee table while you're digging around in your pockets.

"Nope, that is a horrible idea," she says.

"Why? Don't I deserve answers? Closure?" you sit beside her on the couch. Your puppy eyes were almost enough for her to change her mind, but she didn't. 

"Of course you do, but not like this."

After your ranting and raving becomes sleepy, your roommate — No...your hero — tucks you into bed. She covers you up with a soft blanket and pushes your hair off your face. 

"Do you think he misses me?" you whine. "I want him to miss me.”  

"He'd be stupid not to miss you,” she says, too kind to break your delusions for now, “Get some sleep."

~

It felt like your heart was ripped out. Seeing a stupid selfie was one thing. Being face-to-face with the happy couple in the produce section of your favorite grocery store is another rotten thing entirely. Aizawa doesn't even live in this neighborhood. You can’t fathom why he’d decide to date someone from the same neighborhood as you. 

You're frozen to the spot. Your nails dug into the fragile flesh of the peach you were testing for ripeness moments before your worst nightmare came true. Aizawa doesn't notice you but, to your surprise, she does. Her smile falters and she quickly looks away as if making eye contact with you was painful for her. It was odd to see. You want to look away too, but seeing them is like watching a car crash. No matter how badly you want to look away, you just can’t.

"Oh, hello," Aizawa says when you finally shift into his line of sight.

"Hi," you fake a smile. You were hoping maybe you’d be able to seem genuinely unphased. 

It’s hard to be unphased when he doesn't have to fake a smile. His smile is real and you know she’s the reason for it. 

You clear your throat, "How are you?" 

"I'm good. Uh, this is my girlfriend, Ami."

"Nice to meet you." you lie for the sake of friendliness but refuse to shake hands. 

"I've heard so much about you." Ami says. "About your hero work, of course!"

“Right, of course. Thanks."

“We should get going, babe," he says and places his hand on her back. 

Babe? When did he become a guy who said something like 'babe'. It makes your stomach turn as you walk away. You used to make fun of people who said ‘babe’ together. 

"Why was I not enough for you?" you text him that night. Your eyes are so blurry with tears that you don't even think you could read his response. Not that he will ever respond, you figure. 

You roll onto you side, letting the tears flow from your eyes into the pillow. You clutch on tightly to the fluffy teddy bear he’d bought you for the last birthday you’d spent together.

"Don't do this," he texts back

.You drop your phone onto the bed, and you bury your face against your teddy bear. The muffled scream you let out is full of pain. You still love him. You know you shouldn't, but you want him back. You can taste him on your lips still. 

“Why? Because it's not on your time? Because you're not in control?" you text back.

"No! Because you're being emotional again.” 

“Again? God forbid I have feelings.” 

Aizawa was always so controlled. It was infuriating to know that no matter what you say you will never get under his skin the way you want to. He doesn’t respond for the longest time, and you decide to try once again to get to him. 

“Of course I'm emotional. I fucking love you."

When he doesn't respond, you get the message. There's nothing else to say. He's over you, or he wants to be. All you can do is pick up the pieces.

[pinksugarscrub]

Compromise

Hobie Brown x fem! reader

This is my response to the 2024 elections

word count: 1,065

~

The sky managed to encapsulate your mood perfectly. Dreary and dark with clouds soaked to the brim like sponges.

Tick

The city was surprisingly quiet. The bodega closed and Midtown students stuck indoors due to the incoming storm

Tick

You hated how quiet it was.

Tick

With a loud sigh you press down harder on the volume button. Music flooding your ears at a decibel that surely wouldn’t be healthy in the long run.

She meant well. Gwen always meant well you reasoned but that didn’t make the ache in your chest lessen.

Cold and half eaten, your dinner rests on the counter. A loud tick! managing to slip past the chorus of your favorite song.

It was his song first.

With a groan you switch to another song. A different song.

‘What if you’re too different?’

The ache in your heart makes itself known again. Traitor.

‘What do you mean?’ you laugh awkwardly.

Gwen’s eyes furrow and as much as MJ wants to speak up, she doesn’t. Just keeps her head down while idly skimming through the popcorn.

‘I mean, think about it.’ Gwen shifts. Facing you while you prepared another batch of hot chocolate. ‘He goes to protests. You do petitions.’

‘I don’t see a problem with that,’ you answer. Confused as you watch the milk bubble.

‘Ok, let me rephrase. He’s determined in his views while you are the least confrontational person I know.’

MJ cringes as she crushes a kernel between her fingers.

‘What are you going to do when you have a disagreement?’ Gwen asks.

‘Look, what are you getting at?’ you huff. Glaring down at the chocolate tablet as you plop it in the pot.

‘I don’t think this guy is right for you.’

The room goes quiet. The cozy atmosphere you worked so hard on achieving vaporizing into thin air.

This was supposed to be a relaxing night after exams. It was supposed to be an escape with your friends. Not…this.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Gwen starts. Fingers digging into the couch cushions. ‘Hobie sounds like a really sweet guy. I'm just…worried.’

‘Gwen maybe we should-’

‘No,’ you interrupt. Glancing over to MJ’s hunched form. ‘I want to hear what she has to say. Go on, say it.’

The words sound so much more condescending than you had intended but there’s an anger bubbling alongside the milk.

Gwen, never one to back down, straightens in her seat. A stubbornness you praise but now feels like a nuisance.

‘He’s anarchist! You’re a pacifist. You may want the same things but you will both do very different things to get them.’

‘You guys.’ MJ’s voice strains to be heard above the hurt. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t want you to lose your dignity over someone just because you want to please him.’ Gwen continues as her eyes narrow. ‘You’re already listening to punk music which you used to detest and what about the clothes you’re starting to buy?’

‘What about it?’

‘It isn’t you!’

‘I’m allowed to change my mind!’

‘Are you?’ She scoffs, ‘or is he doing that for you?’

You jump as a loud boom shakes the picture frames on your wall. Frantic you slid off your seat to place some distance between you and the balcony window.

One drop turns to two. Then three. Then it’s pouring so hard you feel like water will stream through any second to create an entirely new ecosystem in your living room.

Maybe the reason you were so angry, was because you knew she was right.

Slowly settling on the edge of the couch you stare at gloomy New York and she stares right back. Taunting you. Mocking you. Asking when it was your turn to break and let the tears fall.

You’re too different.

One hiccup turns to two. Then three. Then tears roll down your face while water trickles down the window pane.

You never should have yelled. You were just angry and rightfully so but Gwen was worried. She always worries. She always means well.

The lock to your apartment turns. Wet boots squishing against the welcome mat.

“Lovie it’s dangerous to leave your door unlocked. If I had been a…”

Hobie is at your side within seconds. Fruity drinks long forgotten as he pulls you into his arms.

You’re not sure what to do. The selfish parts of you don’t want to stay buried. They want to grab onto him and never let go. But how unfair would it be to keep him from finding the happiness he deserves?

“Hey, hey,” he whispers. “Talk to me darling.” Kissing the crown of your head and running his hands up and down the length of your arms.

You shake your head. A hiccup stuck in your throat as the tightness in your chest grew.

“Alright, ok. I’m right here.”

He gently coaxes your arms to wrap around his waist. When you finally respond he presses your head to his chest.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

God, who were you kidding? He was perfect for you in every way.

Hobie sways the two of you on your feet. Rubbing between your shoulders and taking deep even breaths. Soon enough, yours matches his own.

Droplets hit the rail of your balcony and suddenly you can hear the city again. Car horns and kids running down the street. The sun peaking through the clouds before hiding behind complexes and office buildings.

Slowly you pull away. Cinnamon and leather, your new favorite scent.

“Atta girl…” Hobie’s eyes are filled with worry as he reaches for you cheek. “You ready to talk?”

He smiles slightly as you nod. Pinching your cheek and forcing your eyes on him. “I’m all yours.”

You tell him everything. How sorry you are for snapping. How confused and scared you are to lose him. A future you envision and a life you want to share.

You don’t expect him to walk away but you certainly don't expect him to slide one of his rings on your finger.

“Who said I couldn’t change my mind too?” He mumbles. Kissing the knuckle adoring his ring. “Love is all about compromise innit?”

You’re left at a loss for words.

“I can’t promise you perfection. Gwendy’s right. We’ll always have our problems but at the end of the day…”

Your heart lurches as he places a kiss on your lips.

“I’ll always want you.”

-

We're not talking about sunsets, are we?

[cullenssweatyballsakk]

I just had an epiphany.

There's a tiktok trend, where people post pictures of them and their father/mother/paternal figures. Typically the parental figure was emotionally absent, a deadbeat, or manipulative/abusive.

No hold on, I'm going somewhere with this.

Cullen and Meredith.

I want to dive deep into their relationship, and how we actually don't see much of it. This is where headcanons come in.

By the time Cullen came to Kirkwall, he was traumatized, mentally broken, and grieving not only his friends in the circle, but his parents that died during the blight. Now let me explain where I'm going.

I have a theory.

A game theory, if you will.

I believe that Cullen, in his broken state, began to idolize Meredith, and view her as a mentor at least, and a sort of maternal figure at most. I believe somewhere in-between.

Meredith was cruel to the mages, treating them unfairly and making many mages tranquil for small offenses. Cullen most likely saw this as justified, because of the trauma he went through in Kinloch Hold and how he viewed mages as 'non human'. Meredith saw how full of hatred he was, and how he idolized her heavy-handed punishments. She played into his fears, feeding him skewed beliefs. She wanted him to feel his hatred, and to let it consume him as it did her. As long as he was full of hate, angry, hurt and traumatized, he would be a perfect pawn to enact her bidding.

So she favored him, almost like a favorite 'son'. She promoted him quickly, and made him her right-hand man. In reality, she didn't give much of a fuck about him. She only cared about him because he was useful. Maybe in her own way, she cared about him, but probably not much.

Cullen thinking so highly of her is probably why her red Lyrium poisoning went unnoticed for so long. He didn't want to have any doubt in his mind about Meredith. To him, she was 100% right, and after all he's seen, he probably wouldn't have been able to handle her being wrong.

He most likely thought that the sheer numbers of blood mages was why Meredith became more and more strict, without realizing the reason as to why there were so many blood mages. The vice grip is that Meredith had on the Kirkwall circles balls was why the mages there began to resort to blood magic. They were tired of being harassed and beaten, which Meredith allowed under her supervision.

Okay thanks for coming to my ted talk