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tima7fa · 6 months ago

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Eyes Are The Gates To The Soul

Tf!Sukuna Ryomen x Concubine!Reader

Contents:some heavy themes, sukuna being an asshole, not really romantic, blood kiss?, slightly suggestive, sukuna calls reader "sweet lotus" and "darling", reader has a scar across the face, slight showing of obsession (sukuna), no use of y/n, I don't like this, character study but I'm really bad at it, sukuna kinda doesn't act like sukuna so forgive me folks, sukuna ryomen is his own warning tbh

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Hideous

That's the term that always accompanied your presence, due to the disfiguring scar that marred your mouth and cheek. The individual in question, Ryomen Sukuna, was well acquainted with your plight. The villagers had offered you as a sacrificial lamb, nothing more than a disposable offering.

He had the option to decline.

Yet, he chose not to.

The reasons behind his decision remain uncertain to him. You appeared delicate, a fragile woman, dwarfed in comparison to his own formidable stature. He understood that even the slightest touch from him could shatter your fragile bones to pieces. The evidence of constant mistreatment was evident in the way your skin clung to your skeletal frame. The garment you wore could hardly be classified as a kimono; it was a mere tattered cloth. Additionally, half of your face was obscured by a lotus-embroidered fabric secured by an upper lace, fashioned into a dainty bow behind your head.

You were a far cry from conventionally attractive.

That was the consensus among the villagers. He had the option to refuse and exact revenge on them for daring to disrespect him through this hideous creature. Yet, he did not. He should have. Perhaps it was those eyes that captivated him. They were the sole aspect he could focus on when he gazed at you. Your eyes were the only discernible feature.

Designating you as his concubine seemed not suitable, and many would agree. How could such a lowly being attain the position of the king's concubine? It was an outright display of disrespect. After all, he was not just anyone; he was the king of curses, the all-powerful Ryomen Sukuna. In comparison, you were insignificant, an unsightly and hideous entity. Some might have overlooked your ascension to concubine if you were not such an eyesore.

You did not desire to be sacrificed to protect those wretched individuals, the ones who had mistreated you since birth. Vague memories of your mother being burned alive haunted you. The stench of charred flesh and witnessing your mother's agonized screams were unbearable. Yet, not a single person showed her an ounce of compassion. You despised them. The way they treated you as if you were a bastard child, a product of adultery. You vividly recalled the torment inflicted upon you by your father, who began to yearn for your mother again after being the cause of her demise.

As your body gradually matured, your father's gaze transformed into a repugnant predatory glare. The scar he inflicted upon your face mimicked the one your mother bore. Every time he laid his hands on you, you felt an overwhelming urge to puke. His comments about your resemblance to your mother made you contemplate self-annihilation. Each time you bathed, you vigorously scrubbed your skin until it turned a burning red, even drawing blood in some areas. The revulsion you felt toward your own body was indescribable. The day that man perished brought a sense of liberation, and beneath the cloth concealing half your face, a hidden smile emerged.

Now, your fervent hope is that this village, filled with detestable inhabitants, meets the same fiery fate as your mother. They do not deserve to live, nor do they deserve the privilege of breathing and leading peaceful lives, devoid of care in the world.

___________________________________________

"Make her more presentable."

With that command, you were abruptly handed over to the maids who bowed anxiously, displaying their respect for their king. Yet, he paid them no heed, his four eyes locked onto your gaze. Remarkably, you refused to avert your eyes. Normally, in the presence of this man, one's gaze should naturally shift downward. However, you held your ground, never once diverting your gaze.

He huffed dismissively before turning away and striding off. Your eyes followed him, fixated on his receding figure as he grew smaller and smaller. The maids beside you sighed audibly, relieved that they no longer had to prostrate themselves. Their expressions twisted with disdain as they regarded you, a sight they were accustomed to. "Let's start by bathing her." one of them suggested.

The bath itself could accommodate twenty people, a testament to the luxuries of the wealthy. As you undressed, you gingerly dipped your feet into the water, mentally preparing for the expected chill. To your surprise, the water was warm, enveloping you in comfort. It felt almost inviting, coaxing you to drift off to sleep. The maids recoiled in horror when you removed the cloth concealing your face, for it was a scar that not even makeup could conceal. Nevertheless, they attended to you diligently, beginning with your unusually long hair, a result of never having the means to afford a pair of scissors. They proceeded to scrub your body, a canvas adorned with blue and purple bruises. Strangely, it did not elicit pain. At least, that's what you convinced yourself.

After the bath, the scent of roses clung to your skin, an aromatic residue from the bathwater. They applied oils to your body and hair, meticulously attending to every detail. They trimmed your nails and tidied your hair, leaving it neatly styled. You pondered why they didn't cut it shorter, but you didn't bother questioning them. Subsequently, they dressed you in a kimono, meticulously fastening the obi and obijime. Truly, the affluent are coddled. They need not lift a finger, as everything is handed to them on a silver platter. Not that you were complaining; it was a novel experience to enjoy such privileges.

As the maids styled your hair, you hummed contentedly, fixating your gaze on a spot on the wall, conjuring faces in your imagination. Once they finished, they presented you with a feast, a veritable abundance of food. It could easily satiate thirty people. Did Sukuna intend to fatten you up to savor a more substantial meal? You wondered as you began to eat, only to have the maids promptly correct your eating mannerisms. How infuriating. Why should you learn the "proper" way to consume food? For heaven's sake, it's simply nourishment, and you certainly weren't dining like an animal. Although, in their eyes, you were likely no more than a beast. They even went so far as to correct your sitting posture, deeming it unladylike.

Tonight, you drifted off to sleep on a plush futon, relishing the comfort afforded by the opulent surroundings. You had glimpsed a taste of the opulence enjoyed by the rich, and you were content. The thought of tomorrow, whether you would become his next meal, briefly crossed your mind. However, you swiftly dismissed it. After all, your wrists remained slender; Sukuna likely preferred his victims with a bit more flesh, not mere bones.

___________________________________________

Months elapsed, and your health steadily improved, resulting in a much more favorable appearance. However, you had yet to catch a glimpse of the man responsible for your newfound opulent lifestyle.

Today, you made the decision to venture outside into the garden for the first time. Until now, you had remained sequestered within the confines of your chamber. After all, there was little incentive to venture out when the maids attended to your every need and little was demanded of you—simply staying silent and breathing was sufficient. Nevertheless, today you yearned for a breath of fresh air. Even you could grow weary of the sight of the same chamber, furniture, and faces adorning the walls and ceiling.

The garden was a sight to behold, meticulously maintained, as one would expect. You pondered whether Sukuna had an appreciation for the beauty of nature. However, you found it difficult to imagine such a scenario—a rather amusing thought, nonetheless.

"The mouse has finally emerged from her hole?"

A familiar voice sounded beside you. You glanced to your side to find him standing there, arms crossed over his chest, while the other pair dangled loosely at his sides. His approach had gone unnoticed, highlighting just how vulnerable you must appear in his eyes. He wasn't looking directly at you; instead, his gaze remained fixed straight ahead. His voice had been a rarity in recent months, but it possessed a distinctive quality that had been etched into your memory. Raising one hand, you pulled up the sleeves of your kimono and began kneading the flesh on your wrist. This action seemed to pique his interest, as his lower pair of eyes fixated on your movement. "What are you doing?" he inquired.

From the beginning, you should have realized that the maids were preparing you as the next course for the King of Curses. It became apparent once they applied a different oil to your skin. Did he prefer the taste of flesh seasoned with rose oil? You had discreetly sampled it when the maids weren't looking, and it tasted awful. The only redeeming qualities were its color and scent. "Do you enjoy consuming women who lack substantial flesh?" you replied, countering his question with one of your own. "What?" His face now turned towards you, all four eyes focusing intently. "I possess very little flesh, so I doubt you would derive pleasure from devouring me," you added with a sigh. Everyone has their preferences. Well, at least the lavish life had been enjoyable while it lasted.

"What kind of consumption are we discussing here?" he huffed, appearing somewhat amused. You noticed a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. Did he find this situation entertaining? "Are there different types?" you inquired, furrowing your brows. He seemed to tense as he averted his gaze, fixing his attention straight ahead once more. "Forget it." he dismissed. "I am not here to consume anyone. I was not even aware that you would step out of your chamber." He scoffed, yet he seemed to take notice when you took a step away from him. "I said I'm not here to consume anyone."

"I am simply being cautious. You might change your mind." you replied, tugging at your sleeve to occupy yourself. You heard him sigh, perhaps out of annoyance, who knows. "I did not bring you here to devour you."

"Nevertheless, you might still change your mind." you argued, unwilling to take any risks. "I believe I might change my mind if you continue to be this irritating." he declared, his grip on his biceps tightening. It was becoming apparent that provoking the King of Curses was not a wise course of action. "You've just proven my point..." you groaned softly, realizing the futility of continuing the conversation.

For a while, silence hung between the two of you, initially carrying a certain tension that gradually dissipated over time. "Why do you keep me around? I had assumed you would dispose of me once you had your fill." you broke the silence, but he offered no response. He himself lacked an answer to that question, a rather absurd realization. He simply walked away, leaving you to ponder the matter on your own. You decided it was time to return indoors; you had experienced your share of fresh air, and that was enough.

___________________________________________

You found yourself inexplicably seated on the ground, hands planted firmly to support your upper body. Tilting your head upward, you locked eyes with the figure before you—Sukuna. He cast a fleeting glance your way before resuming his heavy, enraged strides. A shiver coursed down your spine, regret flooding over you. You should have remained hidden away in your room.

Sukuna was no ordinary individual. Known for his merciless killings, he was not one to simply "forgive and forget." How could you forget such a fact just because you had a seemingly harmless conversation in the garden? This man had the power to slice you into countless pieces, showing no mercy to anyone. And you, in truth, held no special significance. Your right arm throbbed from the impact of the accidental collision with him. You couldn't help but wonder how it would have felt if it had been intentional, rather than a mere accident.

Dusting off your kimono, you rose from the ground. If you wished to avoid a premature demise, you knew you should confine yourself to your room, remaining silent and simply breathing. Otherwise, you would be cutting short your insignificant, pitiful existence. Returning to your chamber, you berated yourself for getting ahead of your station. You were nothing more than a nobody, and if Sukuna decided to end your life, you would perish. No one would come to your defense. In the past year, you hadn't even bothered to establish connections, not even with the maids. Perhaps you should have, as it might prove beneficial in the future.

You had recently begun forming connections with the staff, finally making an effort to remember their names. Previously, you had dismissed such endeavors as futile, convinced that death was inevitable. However, you had recently come to the realization that you didn't want to die. You weren't ready to surrender just yet. It might seem foolish, but you were only human after all. Humans clung to life until the bitter end. Staying alive had become your primary mission. Be compliant, follow the rules, behave like a lady, stay silent, and speak only when spoken to. One thing you had learned about this cruel world was that women were merely objects of pleasure and vessels for bearing children.

Therefore, you mustn't overstep your boundaries. Remain silent and endure whatever comes your way. Despite bearing the title of a concubine, you were still a nobody. A year had passed since your arrival, and Sukuna had not once visited your chamber. You were nothing more than a useless, pitiable excuse for a person. Not a single day went by without the memory of his enraged expression haunting your thoughts. You had been fortunate once, but becoming arrogant would surely seal your fate. The next encounter would likely be your last.

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You were overcome with a profound sense of dread upon receiving the summons. The shattered remnants of the delicate teacup, from which you had been sipping moments ago, now lay scattered at your feet like a shattered mirror of your own fractured composure. Why had the formidable Lord Sukuna requested your presence to dine with him? For this was no mere request - Sukuna's words carried the inescapable weight of absolute command, regardless of how they were phrased.

For the past two years, you had carefully cultivated a life of deliberate obscurity, purposefully making yourself scarce and unnoticeable to all, even earning the unenviable title of "the forgotten concubine." Sukuna's other consorts did not even view you as a challenge, granting you the blessing of fading entirely from his consciousness. And yet, here you were, called to his presence once more after such a prolonged absence.

The temptation to take your own life crossed your mind, but you swiftly dismissed such a cowardly act as unworthy. "I understand. I shall attend His Grace forthwith." you replied solemnly to the servant, who swiftly departed to relay the message.

'His Grace' - how the honorific now dripped with ironic bitterness. There was a time, you recalled, when you had addressed Sukuna with the casual familiarity of a friend, narrowly escaping punishment for your irreverence. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you smoothed the delicate fabric, adorned with the embroidered lotuses, tying its lace into a small bow that got covered with your hair and made your way to the grand dining hall.

Sukuna was already present, elbow propped upon the table, chin resting contemplatively in his palm, exuding an air of bored indifference. The sumptuous feast laid out before him remained largely untouched. You bowed low in deferential obeisance. "Greetings, Your Grace." A muted hum of acknowledgment was his only response, granting you tacit permission to take your seat at the opposite end of the grand table. Your gaze studiously avoided meeting his, focused instead on the ornate tableware arranged before you.

"Your Grace, huh?" he muttered, a note of curiosity laced through his words. "I don't recall you ever addressing me so formally before. What changed?" Indeed, a great many things had shifted within you. You steeled yourself, replying. "My apologies for my previous rudeness and lack of proper decorum."

I am now more acutely aware of my station and position within these hallowed halls.

Your response, however, did not seem to satisfy him, for he scoffed dismissively before turning his attention to the sumptuous feast laid out before him. You wondered what it was he truly sought to hear from you, for he appeared decidedly unsettled by your courteous words.

"Why aren't you eating?" he questioned, an edge of impatience coloring his tone.

"I did not wish to presume to partake without your express permission, Your Grace." you replied demurely.

In truth, the very prospect of consuming food in his imposing presence filled you with a sense of profound unease, as if your stomach might rebel at any moment. Yet, you dared not voice such trepidation aloud.

"Don't wait for my permission to eat," he grumbled, his irritation palpable. "Begin when I do."

"As you wish, Your Grace." You grasped your chopsticks, your eyes falling upon the delicate rolls of futomaki. Raising the morsel to your lips, you hesitated, your ever-present veil of concealment still in place.

"The hell are you doing?" he growled, his brow furrowed in annoyance. "Just take that damn cloth off and eat like a normal person."

You swallowed thickly, your gaze averted. "The scar upon my face is rather unsightly, and I did not wish to disturb your meal with its unsightly presence."

His response caught you off guard, for he scoffed dismissively. "I've consumed human flesh thousands of times. A little scar is nothing I haven't seen before."

Was that his attempt at providing some semblance of comfort? If so, it had been a rather shitty effort. Yet, you dared not voice such an assessment, for you knew all too well the perilous consequences that could arise from such irreverence. Slowly, you removed the delicate cloth, placing it within easy reach upon the table, and resumed your meal, acutely aware of his unrelenting gaze upon you.

The sudden summons had taken you by surprise, leaving you to wonder at his motives. Had your chance encounter in the past provoked this unexpected audience? Yet, the passage of time since that incident made such a reaction seem oddly delayed. A myriad of questions threatened to spill forth, but you dared not give voice to them, fearful of overstepping the bounds of propriety.

Remaining silent and obedient, you knew, could risk boring the capricious Ryomen Sukuna, for he demanded constant entertainment. However, you were uncertain whether drawing his interest would be a prudent course of action. A life of peaceful obscurity was your fervent wish, though you harbored doubts as to whether such a fate was truly attainable.

To your astonishment, Sukuna seemed unbothered by the scar that marred your countenance. In truth, for a man, such a blemish was often viewed as a mark of honor and bravery – a notion that, in your current circumstance, seemed utterly incongruous. Yet, you dare not dwell upon such fanciful musings, for his very presence filled you with a profound sense of unease.

You continued your meal in silence, offering only the briefest of responses when he posed questions, effectively stifling any attempt at meaningful discourse. Sukuna, you sensed, grew increasingly vexed by your reserved demeanor, a stark contrast to the spirited disposition he had once witnessed.

Your repeated apologies, too, seemed to grate upon his nerves, and you had somehow managed to strike the delicate balance between captivating his interest and avoiding his wrath.

___________________________________________

You had inadvertently piqued the interest of Ryomen Sukuna himself.

You were not the only one to have discerned this fact, as his other concubines had also become acutely aware of the shift in his attention. At first, your increased frequency of shared meals with him had not seemed to elicit any particular reaction from the others. However, when Sukuna began to visit your personal quarters more often than before, the jealousy and resentment of his other companions began to simmer.

Soon, the insults and petty acts of harassment commenced, as the other concubines sought to undermine and humiliate you. Yet, you remained steadfast in your composure, recognizing that their outbursts were rooted in the delusion of a genuine, romantic connection with the capricious daimyo. In truth, you all were trapped in this gilded cage, bereft of familial or social ties that might offer the prospect of escape.

The lack of reaction from you seemed to gradually extinguish the interest of your tormentors, and you were able to return to the semblance of a peaceful existence, though the frequent visits from Sukuna himself continued to weigh heavily upon your mind.

Seeking refuge, you resorted to the ruse of claiming illness, sequestering yourself within the confines of your quarters. As you sat upon the zabuton, contemplating the best means of avoiding his unwanted attention, you carefully dried your damp hair, your thoughts consumed by the need to devise a plausible excuse to keep Sukuna at bay.

At that moment, the door suddenly slid open, and Sukuna himself stepped through the threshold. In the wake of his imposing presence, his attendants carried boxes tightly wrapped in intricate Furoshiki cloth.

"Ah, my sweet lotus has finally awoken. I was beginning to worry I might have to summon the imperial physician once more." he remarked, his voice laced with a palpable undercurrent of sarcasm. Advancing closer, his massive form cast a looming shadow over you, a vivid reminder of your chance encounter in the hallway.

"Your grace, you're here.." you murmured, your tone flat and devoid of any discernible emotion. A cursory glance at the boxes carried by the servants quickly dissipated your interest, as your eyes returned to meet his penetrating gaze.

"What? Not happy to see me, my sweet lotus?" Sukuna said, his voice tinged with amusement. He observed you in silence, his eyes intently fixed upon your every movement. "Perhaps you'd like to be carried back to bed?" He chuckled softly, his hand reaching up to gently brush a stray, damp lock of hair from your face. "I would hate for you to overexert yourself."

"I'm fine, thank you for your concern, my lord." you swiftly dismissed the suggestion, your hands continuing their work as you dried your hair. "I'm grateful for your visit."

Sukuna raised a single, skeptical eyebrow, his mouth curling into a sardonic smirk. "Are you? It seems to me that you have been actively avoiding my presence of late." His tone had grown low and serious, his eyes scanning your countenance with an intensity that belied his true intentions.

"Is there something amiss? Perhaps if you were to obtain a bit more rest, you would find yourself in a more amiable mood to converse." he mused, his voice tinged with a hint of feigned concern.

"I assure you, I am not avoiding you, my lord. I would never dream of such an act." you responded, your tone resolute.

"You're not?" Sukuna remarked, a subtle note of disbelief coloring his words. "Then why is it that you so often shrink away from my presence? I cannot help but suspect that this supposed illness of yours is nothing more than a convenient excuse to elude me." He took a measured step closer, his towering figure casting a looming shadow over your seated form.

"You would do well to be more forthright and transparent with me, my lotus," he said, his eyes filled with a palpable disdain. "I have little tolerance for liars, especially those who lack the decency to even fabricate their falsehoods to my face."

You knew he had seen through your deception. Lying to Sukuna was a perilous endeavor, yet you steeled your resolve. "I assure you, my lord, I am not being untruthful."

"Oh? So you're telling me that you are not, in fact, avoiding me, yet your actions suggest my very presence is unwelcome," he said, his gaze darkening as he reached out to cup your cheek, running a calloused thumb along the contours of your lips.

"You may well be able to deceive others with your falsehoods," he whispered, his voice laced with a palpable undercurrent of danger. "But when it comes to me, I see through your every attempt at obfuscation. I know when you are hiding something from me, my lotus."

"I merely required a respite," you sighed, resigning yourself to a degree of honesty. "Spending time in your company has incited jealousy among your other concubines, and they have taken to tormenting me. I sought refuge in my chambers to avoid such unpleasantness." It was not a complete lie, but rather a carefully constructed excuse that sounded plausible.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed perceptibly at the mention of the other concubines' actions. He fell silent for a moment, his gaze intently fixed upon you.

"Those concubines should know better than to provoke you," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. "And you, my lotus," he added with a scoff, "you should have come to me directly. Hiding away in your chambers is not the solution." Reaching out, he gently took hold of your chin, compelling you to meet his unwavering gaze. "This matter could have been resolved swiftly had you confided in me, instead of resorting to avoidance."

"Please, do not kill them," you requested, "but rather punish them accordingly." You did not wish for their lives to be forfeit, only for them to face appropriate consequences for their actions.

Sukuna's lips curled into a sardonic smirk, a gleam of dark amusement sparking in his eyes. "Oh? Are they truly worth the exertion of my time and energy to be punished?" he mused, his tone tinged with a hint of derision.

"Very well," he conceded, the corner of his mouth twisting into a cold, cruel smile. "Consider it done. I shall personally see to it that they are dealt with in a manner befitting their transgressions." Turning his gaze back to you, he added, "And as for you, you will accompany me for the remainder of the day."

___________________________________________

You found yourself the recipient of an increasing number of gifts, though you were unsure how to truly feel about this development. Silently, you accepted these offerings, allowing them to accumulate untouched within your chambers, left to rot without ever being utilized.

This apparent disregard for his generosity seemed to have caught Sukuna's attention. How dare you not make use of the gifts he had bestowed upon you? Your seeming ingratitude clearly annoyed him, stirring a rage within that threatened to consume his composure.

"My sweet lotus," he began, his words seemingly benign, yet his tone spoke of a simmering fury lurking beneath the surface. That familiar endearment, so often used to address you, now carried a palpable undercurrent of menace. "Are the gifts not to your liking?" he asked, stepping closer until his looming figure cast a shadow over your seated form.

You sat upon a zabuton, positioned atop the tatami floor, your hand pausing in the act of combing your hair as you caught his reflection in the mirror before you. "My lord, I assure you, I appreciate all that you have gifted me. They are truly lovely." you responded, your words ringing hollow even to your own ears. No matter the quality of the offerings, you could not bring yourself to feel genuine gratitude for them.

"Do you now?" he scoffed mockingly, leaning down until his breath caressed the shell of your ear, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror's surface. "Or are you merely saying what you believe I wish to hear?" A shiver ran down your spine at his words.

"My lord—" you began, only for him to cut you off. "Enough with the obedient act, my sweet lotus."

"I despise the vile creatures called humans," he trailed off, one of his hands reaching out to pluck the comb from your grasp, "but I loathe liars even more than I hate mankind, and i have a already made it clear before." The comb glided smoothly through your hair as you maintained unwavering eye contact with him through the mirror, your silence becoming a tacit acknowledgment of his accusation.

"If you value your life, I would advise you to speak the truth." Sukuna warned, his grip on your chin tightening, causing you to wince. Your gaze lowered reflexively, but he quickly rectified that, roughly guiding your eyes back to meet his through the mirror.

"Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, darling." he commanded, a grin replacing the frown that had previously marred his features.

Your hand reached up to grasp his wrist, your nails digging into his flesh as you felt the tightening of his fingers on your chin. His gaze fell to where your nails pierced his skin, and his grin widened with amusement. "Make me bleed. Go on." he chuckled, and you complied, watching as his blood tainted your nails and dripped down to stain your kimono. The metallic scent of the blood hit your nostrils.

"You've made a mess. Why don't you clean it up, darling?" he mused, releasing your chin and raising his arm slightly, positioning the bleeding wound before your mouth. You moved your head back, causing it to press against his chest. "Why are you so afraid? I can assure you, my blood tastes amazing." he said, pushing your head forward until your lips connected with his wrist, the crimson liquid staining them.

You kept your lips tightly sealed, and he withdrew his wrist, studying your face. "Red suits you, my sweet lotus." he murmured, his gaze focused on your lips, his thumb gliding across the plump of your lips smearing is blood, before he captured them in a rough, demanding kiss. You tried to pull away, but his hand held the back of your head in place, and his lower pair of hands snaked around your waist, anchoring you to him. His free hand caressed your cheek, a stark contrast to his forceful actions.

His tongue easily slipped past your lips as you opened them in a failed attempt to speak, and his eyes remained locked on yours, which you struggled to keep open amidst the overwhelming situation. Your hands gripped the fabric covering his chest tightly, and you felt tears forming in your eyes as you fought to draw breath.

Finally, he pulled away, but remained close, his breath caressing your skin. A thin strand of saliva connected your lips before it snapped, and you were left breathing heavily, striving to regain your composure. His laughter echoed in the room.

"What? Can't handle a simple kiss?" he taunted, his voice laced with amusement.

"There's a long way to go, darling."

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ky-landfill · 2 years ago

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#fic rec #to the red planet Mars #by r_astra #heavy themes #bruce and jason are telepathically linked #so bruce feels a portion of the pit rage #jason todd #bruce wayne #lazarus #this fic is incredible #a bit dark though be warned #vidicated jason #pit rage

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madsmadart · 8 months ago

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HEAVY THEMES WARNING!

(Repost from 2022)

Had a tough moment a while ago that I channeled into creative writing. Angst is hard for me since it makes me feel down and emotional but I wanted to power through and finish this. I don't like giving Kirby much dialogue so I had to rewrite my script. Read top to bottom (sorry for slightly confusing formatting)!

#heavy themes #serious post #madsmadart #madsmadfanart #the kirby krew #kirby #kirby art #kirby fanart #dedede #king dedede #kirby king dedede

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pandemoniumwritingsstuff · 9 months ago

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You are not defined by your past

Evan Buckley X reader X Eddie Diaz

*Gifs are not mine*

Pairing: Evan Buckley X reader(She/Her) X Eddie Diaz

Summary: When your past comes back in the middle of the night, your boyfriends are here to help you through this moment

Trigger warnings: Polyrelationship/ Past rape, sexual assault/ Ptsd/ Trauma/ Nightmare/ Self harm(sort of)/ Loads of crying/ Panic attacks/ Anxiety

A/N Like I say everytime, English is not my first language, so if there is any mistake, feel free to tell me. Be really cautious reading this story, there are heavy topics talked about in this story, it's just me trying to cope with my feelings with writing

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You woke up in a pool of sweat and sandwiched between Eddie and Buck after yet another nightmare. It was the third one this week. You got out of bed, making sure you didn't wake up any of your boyfriends. After you went downstairs, you slipped yourself into the bathroom. You started the shower and went in. You scratched your skin until it was red and raw; you had to get off the feeling of his hands on your body. Some of the scratches even started to bleed after a while. You didn't know a long you had been in the shower until you heard the door opening and the voice of Eddie, calling you."Baby, are you okay in there? You've been in there for quite a while. " If it wasn't for the shower curtain protecting you, he would have seen you and your body full of wounds. You tried to answer with a steady voice but failed miserably."I'm fi-fine, I'll be out in a mi-minute." You couldn't make out what Eddie whispered to Buck, but a second later, the curtain was being opened. Buck and Eddie gasped when they saw the state of your body; covered in wounds and bleeding. They immediately went to hug you but stopped when you flinched violently. Buck tried to reassure you."Honey, we aren't gonna hurt you. What's going on? Talk to us, please. " You stood there frozen, tears filling your eyes while you felt like you couldn't breathe anymore. When you started clawing at the skin of arm, Eddie stepped in and held you so you couldn't hurt yourself any further. You thrashed and tried to free yourself from him, but there was no use he won't let you go. "That's it, honey, breathe. Can you take a deep breath for us?" It was like you couldn't hear him because you kept trying to push him away."Let me go, please. Please, don't hurt me, don't don't hurt me. " " Sweetheart, look, it's me, Eddie, and here is Buck, look" He said while pointing Buck standing in the middle of the bathroom. He was looking at you worriedly with tears in his eyes, like he knew what was going on. After fighting to free yourself from Eddie for a long time, you ended up tiring yourself out and fell on the shower floor. Eddie and Buck were at your side in a moment and were careful to ask "can we touch you honey?". And when you gave a tiny nod, they gathered you in their arms. Holding you so hard like you were going to disappear at any moment. You didn't how long you sat there, on the shower floor until you felt Buck picking you up and carrying you and bringing you to your shared bed. Once the three of you were settled, they landed a kiss on your cheeks and Eddie said "We'll talk tomorrow, sleep well our darling girl."

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While you were sleeping

Once you were asleep, Buck asked Eddie, "Do you know what caused that?" "No. Do you think it has to do with what happened on call today?" "No it seems to be much more than that. What happened today was scary, but it can't be the cause for tonight breakdown." "We'll talk to her in the morning. Maybe she'll open up" And with that, Eddie and Buck placed themselves on each side of you: Buck on your right and Eddie on your left.

——————

In the morning

You woke up once again sandwiched between Eddie and Buck, but this time you weren't scared out of your mind, feeling his hands everywhere. You tried to get out of the bed without waking up your boyfriends, but as you were sitting up, Buck's eyes started to open. "Good morning honey, how are you feeling? Better than last night?" "Better, but I'm pretty sure you are wondering what happened last night. Why I was acting so scared and panicked" "Eddie and I are worried about you, but we won't force you to tell us something you don't want. You tell us what you feel comfortable telling us" "I want to tell you what happened to me, but I'm scared of how you will react" "Angel, whatever happened to you in the past won't make us leave and we won't ever judge you for it" Tears brimmed your eyes, and you started shaking. Buck brought you close to him, you buried your face in his chest. Eddie woke up hearing your cries and looked at Buck worriedly. He touched your back in order to bring comfort, but you flinched violently. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to, I'm sorry" "It's okay, it's alright honey" Eddie reassured you. "But it's not, I'm not okay, I'm scared that he will come back and do it again" "Who's he baby?" "The man who-the man who-who" " The man who what honey? It's alright, we won't judge" "The man who ra-raped me when I was younger" You sobbed. They both asked simultaneously "Can we hold you honey?" "But I'm dirty, filthy, impure" "That doesn't matter to us. What happened to you in the past does not define you, you are not defined by your past" "In our eyes, you are still the girl we fell in love with, regardless us knowing about your past or not. We won't ever leave for something that you didn't choose to happen. Something that was brought upon you, against your will" "For now, all we want is to help cope with your past. Help you through the difficult times and love unconditionally" "We will love you forever"

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Thanks for reading. Again I apologise for any grammatical mistake in this story

Pandemonium

#9 1 1 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #Evan Buckley x reader x eddie diaz #trauma #imagine #Heavy themes

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geegers22 · 4 months ago

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I watched Heavenly Delusion yesterday and…

Holy shit I need a mental health day just to unpack that. I’m at work right now absolutely failing to pay attention because this story is all I can think about.

I think I really must love fucked up media because this show grabbed me by the throat and did not let me go, and I loved every second of suffering. Same way AOT and CSM did.

Oh wow that was an experience and a half. I have a new favorite series and I’m going to read the manga next. I can not stress how good this show is but I can not in good conscience recommend it to anyone without a strong content warning.

If you can take it, please watch this underrated gem.

#don’t watch this show #this is your final warning #it’s for your own good #unless you’re like me and you’re into fucked up shit #then run DONT WALK to experience this #ahhhhhhhh #heavenly delusion #tengoku daimakyou #heavy themes #seinen anime

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iamgodsoopsie · 11 months ago

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Astarion Headcanons (that you probably won't like) Pt. 1:

Part 2 link

BG3 does an excellent job at depicting SA trauma and the beginning of the healing process/journey. Many of the headcanons I've seen floating around (intentionally or unintentionally) gloss over the uglier side of healing from (prolonged) trauma. I'm not judging anyone for magically healing him, he's fictional after all, but I'd like to make some more ...realistic... headcanons.

Disclaimer: Everyone's healing process looks different, but they tend share commonalities. These headcanons are based on my own experiences. Not everyone who is healing from their trauma will experience what I have or have experienced it like I have.

[Please don't message me with explicit details about your trauma. I am at the point in my healing journey where I can share my experiences, and commiserate with other's similar experiences, but I am unable to support others in a more personal manner at this time. I wish you the best of luck in your healing process/ journey.]

Spoiler warning

Mental illness, SA, & DV Trigger Warnings

These headcanons are based on an Astarion who is still a spawn and romantically involved with a Tav who honestly loves him and isn't abusive or manipulative. Also Cazador is dead and Astarion got to stab him. They also assume that he himself does not turn into Cazador 2.0 or Wish.com Cazador.

He needs a LOT of love and patience. Which, frankly, many people don't have.

He's messy af. If "Damn bitch, you live like this?" was a person it'd be him. C-PTSD is a hell of a drug. I think he wants to be more organized and clean than he is, it's just going to be a looong process for his inside appearance to match his outside appearance. (His appearance may stay mostly the same or drastically change).

---Don't believe me? Just look at the outside of his tent: it's mostly organized and sophisticated, but the inside is messy and he sleeps on a plank of wood with a threadbare stained blanket.

He'll struggle with control issues rooted in his anxiety until he finds a way to channel that energy in to something productive and/or healthy.

---He'll veer between controlling micromanager (aggressive) and door mat (people pleasing/ passive) until he finds his (assertive) middle ground.

Anger issues ahoy! He went through "200 years of shit. PURE SHIT!" and had to dissociate/repress his feelings to 'survive'.

---Stabbing Cazador was cathartic, but it only released the surface level of his repressed rage.

-----An interesting line from the game that I haven't seen enough people talk about: When you tell Astarion to keep his cool when Cazador is goading him, Cazador scoffs and sarcastically asks Tav if they've witnessed his "fits of rage". (Of course a "fit of rage" to Cazador is probably Astaion having a slight frown when Cazador wants him to smile and be a pretty toy to show off.)

He will try to push you away and 'test' you to see if you stay consistent in respecting him and his boundaries. He needs to make sure you don't turn into a Cazador when you two are in an argument. He needs to be sure that his "No" is respected when in a steamy moment after a dry spell.

---This probably won't be as intense as it otherwise would've been because of what you two went through together, but he'll still do it.

-----He probably doesn't realize what he's doing, and when he does he'll shame spiral.

I hope you are prepared to patiently give lots of reassurance and affirmation about the same things over and over again.

---It'll sometimes seem as though he is seeking permission, but if you ever act as though you are giving him permission instead of affirmation/ reassurance he will become very defensive.

He's indecisive but unwilling to listen to your input.

---He went from 200 years of having no control or ability to make his own decisions to suddenly being free, he's going to feel overwhelmed.

-----He'll eventually realize that you have his best interest at heart and that you are not telling him what to do, you're offering suggestions to help him make an informed decision.

There's so much more but I'm tired. He'll eventually heal and live a happy and healthy life, but it'll be a bumpy road to get there.

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alexandria-alexis · 10 months ago

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The point of no return

The life that Charles Leclerc shares with the outside world is very different to the life he leads behind closed doors.

It comes as a shock to him when he realises that the one person he can trust is the man who he has spent his entire career fighting against. Max Verstappen.

NC-17

Heavy Mentions of Domestic Abuse

Charles Leclerc / Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc / Original Male Character(s)

(Please read the tags before beginning)

Thank you for all the support. Chapter 1 & 2 are out now <3

#max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen #f1 fanfic #heavy themes #rating: nc17

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berryispunk · 5 days ago

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Day 17 “Wander” of @thedrabblecollective’s challenge

today contains mention of dr*g addiction so be aware of it before reading

He’s wandering restless through his apartment.

10 minutes. She said she needs 10 minutes.

The cravings were bad, hitting him out of nowhere.

He fidgets with the keychain she gifted him a while ago.

A photo of them.

Happier times.

Something to hold onto.

10 minutes feel like a lifetime if all you can think about is your next fix.

He looks at it.

She’s his everything. He promised to stay clean.

9 minutes and the world around him keeps spinning, the addiction screaming his name.

Finally the front door opens.

“Frankie?”

Her panicked eyes on him.

“I am okay.��

longer and more detailed version of this found here

If you kept track until here or just now joined: thank you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

feedback appreciated as always

#francisco morales #triple frontier #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie catfish morales #fanfiction writer #drabble #drabblechallenge2024 #angst #dark #heavy themes #glimpsesofus #berryfiction

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cinnasweetss · 9 months ago

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Out Of Bounds (M) - sim jaeyun

PAIRINGS: jake x female reader, afab reader

SYNOPSIS: in which jake is your little brothers best friend that knows absolutely no boundaries when it comes to you.

GENRE: smut, pwp.

CONTENT: jake is super whiny, one-sided pining, reader is slightly older, overuse of the word ‘noona’, jake def has a thing for older women, mentions of drinking, masturbation (m), mentions non consensual groping, mentions of verbal threats.

jake is everything but a pleasure to be around. endless flirting, groping, threats aimed at your boyfriend, and other unspeakable things. all done where no one can hear you beg him to just leave you alone, just this once. or hear him grumble about how much he likes you, and won’t stop.

jake is like your brother too, just a little bit more annoying. although his actions can be a bit much, you know he’s a kind hearted boy deep down with pure intentions. even if his actions can be a bit much. it’s nothing you can’t handle.

your never bring this up to your brother either. never would you deny him of a friend just because he has a very insatiable desire for you. boys will be boys! your friends say their siblings friends develop little crushes on them too. but jake’s feelings and wants for you are not little.

so, it’s no surprise that he calls you late at night after a night of drinking with your younger brother. overcome by the feeling of needing to hear his best friends older sister. just to settle him. that’s it.

your phone rings next to your pillow, pulling you from your slumber. it takes a minute for you to roll over, sighing when you pick up your phone and see ‘sim jake’ written across the screen.

“hmm? what is it?”

you know he’s been drinking. that’s why you don’t hesitate to answer. “Just…thinking about my noona.” his noona. you’re always referred to that way. his voice is slow and slurred, hinting at just how much he’s drank by now. “are you drunk?”

you have to say you're flattered. extremely. to be on his mind even when he’s drunk and has likely been around plenty of drunk women says a lot. “a lil- little bit..." you hear an exhale come through the speaker, and another noise follow. "jake, how much did you drink? do you need me to come get you?" you’re sitting up out of your bed, ready to throw on clothes and leave just incase he does need you. there’s a short pause before you hear his voice again.

“Can you- fuck... can you say my name again?" he sounds out of breath, and you can faintly hear some very suspicious sounds coming from the other end. those words mark a new boundary that’s been broken. adding to the multitude of broken boundaries. "what are you doing?" his tone sounded very suggestive, and it makes you stop, pressing your phone closer to your ear. "Thinkin' about you, noona..." he responds, and this time, he moans. "Jake..." you don’t mean to feed into him. not all all. you're just utterly shocked and at a loss for words. but most of all, worried about this would affect your relationship with him. "oh, fuck.” he's shameless in the way he moans, loud and whiny, begging you to say more. "tell me, noona..." he starts, moaning directly into your ear... "y-your panties...what color are they?"

“they’re…red..”

"ahhh, shit." you can hear him struggle with himself like he's imagining you in red panties , likely doing something lewd. "today...in the kitchen. did you like it? when I touched you?" ‘touched’ is too sweet of a word to describe what he did to you. groped, manhandled, fondled, is better. overpowering you when you tried to push his hands away from your chest, beg him to stop before your brother sees. tell him he must learn how to control himself.

“you cant...touch me like that...it isn’t right.” those are words you’ve said to him a million times before. words that go through one ear and out the other without a second thought. "cant help it. fuck, fuck, i'm so close! keep talking, please noona!" you can hear him increase speed in whatever he's doing, which, sounds exactly like he's jerking off.

"you're so pretty, too pretty, noona..." he rambles on in his fit of pleasure. telling you how much he wants to kiss you, and fuck you between very loud moans. "wish I could cum in you instead...agh! I gotta have you...gotta make you mine." his words bring heat to your cheeks despite the vulgarity of it all. "Jake..." you start, the other seemingly seconds apart from coming undone. "yes? yes, yes, noona!" he pants over the phone, whining and struggling to hold himself back from cumming before you get to respond. "maybe one day." those words from you are all it takes, a "fuck i'm gonna cum! i'm cumming! fuck!" being yelled into the speaker as he releases every pent up emotion he has for you in the form of one intense orgasm.

sim jaeyun, is way Out Of Bounds.

#enhypen smut #enhypen #jake sim #jake smut #cinnasweetss #sim jaeyun #smut #heavy themes #enhypen imagines #kpop bg #enha x reader #enha smut #enhypen jake #enhypen jaeyun #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #cinnasweetss: out of bounds

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crowandmousewritingco · 3 months ago

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Another Cog in the Murder Machine

Paring: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x fiancé!reader

Words: 6.2k

Rating: R

Warnings: The reader gets purposefully misgendered, mentions of drugs and past addiction, mentions of character death (it's Tom, I'm not gonna scare y'all like that), heavy mentions of violence, blood, weapons, and cleaning injuries

Summary: You’re a teacher at a high school and you’re engaged to the local helicopter flight instructor. You’re nearing the final day of school -and your wedding- when all of a sudden there’s loud, unexplainable pops followed by the piercing sounds of screams.

Author: Mod Crow

Notes: This ended up being longer than I was anticipating and here we are. It's almost 6.3k words of pure angst. This is my entry for @sp00kymulderr's MCR challenge, and I got Teenagers. I was honestly hoping to the song, and when I did, I got super excited for this one! That being said, this is a darker 18+ fic so MDNI. If you click the "Keep Reading," you know what you're getting yourself into. (Y'all have been warned)

You tip-toed around your bedroom, careful not to wake the still sleeping man who you planned to spend the rest of your life with. Looking over to Frankie you can still hear the soft snores leaving his parted lips. Normally he’d be awake with you, but Frankie and you had a late night, the two of you had gotten caught up in wedding planning.

Turning away from Frankie you continued your path to your shared closet. Reaching for the handle you take it and quietly turn the knob and pull the door open. Hearing the all too familiar squeak of the hinges you curse under your breath. Normally Frankie was the handyman between the two of you, but you had promised to fix this. Once the squeak stopped and the door was now fully open, you flip the light switch. With the closet full of light, you start the search for what you are wearing to work.

Deciding that it would be a nice surprise for Frankie, you grab one of his well loved flannels, this one a deep forest green. With the shirt in hand, you flip the light switch once again, turning from the closet you gently push the door closed with your hip. Starting towards the dresser by the bedroom door, you look at Frankie once more and smile softly. Stopping half way to the door you turned and quietly tip-toed to Frankie. Once over him you crouch beside the bed. With your eyes level with his, you reach out and move a few strands of hair from his face. Leaning forward you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, with your lips hovering over his forehead you whisper a soft, “I love you” before standing back up and continuing to the door.

Parking your car in a spot that luckily had shade, you sit there for a moment. Today is the final week of school before summer vacation, which means two weeks till your wedding. Two weeks till you become Mr. Morales, just thinking about it made your stomach fill with butterflies. Taking a deep breath, you calm the storm of butterflies, and grab your shoulder bag. Turning off the car, you push open the door, the tepid summer air filling the car. Stepping out of the car, you swing the door shut behind you. Once closed you reach out and press the block lock button beside the handle. Hearing the beep, you turn and start towards the school.

You only recently became a teacher, specifically an environmental science teacher at the local high school. Reaching into your shoulder bag, you fish out your ID lanyard that would unlock the front door. Now standing at that said door, you run your name badge across the outside scanner. There was no beep, instead you heard the locks unlock. Grabbing the heavy door, you pull it open. Stepping into the building a chill ran down your spine, you couldn’t understand why they kept the building so cold.

Making your way to the main office you listen to the sound of your shoes echoing slightly in the empty halls. Pulling open the office door, you walk in saying a soft “hello” to the receptionists as you walk past them. Before you could go to your classroom and get things set up for the day, you needed to check your mailbox, and then get a cup of hot cocoa from the lounge.

Just before you had a chance to check your mailbox you heard an annoying, yet familiar voice, Mr. Waters. “Oh well if it isn’t my favorite science teacher!” As much as you wished he was being sarcastic, he wasn’t. For some reason when you started here, Waters took a liking to you. A repeatedly shot down liking. Not only was he persistent, but he was also bigoted. He isn’t the first man to blatantly ignore your identity, and you know he won’t be the last.

“So you and the mister are getting married next week right? So that’ll make you a Morales, Mr. and Mrs. Morales.” You close your eyes and quite literally bite your tongue, which you nearly bit through hearing his chuckle. “That does have a nice ring to it, but personally I like Mr. and Mrs. Waters. Now that has a nice ring to it.” Opening your eyes you turn your attention right to your mailbox.

“Oh look at me, I got lucky. No mail.” Looking at Waters you force a smile, “Have a great day Greg,” Turning from Greg, you start towards the lounge, “I like the former more, Mr. and Mr. Morales. Have a great day Mr. Waters.”

Once out of the offices hidden behind one of the receptionists, you turn towards a small hall that leads to the teachers’ lounge. The teachers’ lounge was also about ten degrees warmer than the rest of the building, but today the lounge had the audacity to be about twenty degrees warmer. “Sweet Christ.” You mumbled under your breath as you made a beeline for the sink. Grabbing your “Flying Fish’s” mug off of the drying rack. You remember when you came home with the mug for Frankie.

The two of you had just moved into your first apartment, he had just gotten back from wherever he went off with Santi and the others. When they had returned, they all came back one man short. No one told you exactly what happened, and all you knew -at the time- was that Tom had been in an accident and he was killed.

It took Frankie a while to come back to you after that, a lot happened between the two of you. One of those things was cocaine, and it nearly killed Frankie, but you refused to leave him. Frankie needed someone in his corner at his lowest, and you loved this man too much to allow him to go through it with anyone other than yourself.

After fighting Frankie for months to get help, he finally caved. As you drove him to the center, he had started to get moody thanks to withdrawals. One of the biggest moods that he went though, was sadness. He kept telling you to leave him for Benny or Ironhead, that they’d be able to be a real husband for you one day. You had let him cry and get all of the noise in his head out. Once his talking turned into soft jerky sobs, you reached over and placed your hand on top of his. Swallowing back your own sobs you managed to say, “If I’m marrying anyone, it’s you Francisco. I don’t want to be a Miller, I want to be a Morales. I’ve wanted to be a Morales since our first date at that lame little arcade.” Thinking back to it caused a soft chuckle from your lips. Hearing you chuckle caused Frankie to settle a bit, “Y-Yeah, that was a pretty lame place. But that’s where I fell in love with you mijo.”

While driving to the rehab center Frankie continued to sniffle and take shaky breaths. Resting your hand on his thigh, you rubbed your thumb gently across the top of his knee. By the time the two of you had made it to the center Frankie had calmed down enough for the two of you to say your temporary goodbyes. Watching him walk into the building you could feel tears invading your waterline, blurring your vision. Frankie was originally only supposed to stay at the facility for a week, two weeks max. In the end, Frankie had stayed for nearly two months. You were torn in the beginning, you wanted him healthy and clean, but you didn��t want to spend anymore time away from him then needed. You had soon fallen into a place of contentment and happiness for the man you loved. The two of you had a goodnight call every night he was gone, and from the way it sounded, Frankie was determined to get clean for yours and his future. When it was finally time to pick him up, you brought a little gift for him from that lame little arcade. You had pointed it out then, it was a white mug with some kind of fish on it and the fish had wings, and above and bottom the fish, was the words “Flying Fishes!” From what the two of you had come to was that it must have been a funny childish expletive.

Chuckling at the memory, you smile softly, flipping the mug over and place it under the Keurig Machine. Looking at the K-Cup holder, you spun it slowly. When you saw the hot cocoa, you grabbed one and popped it into the machine. After you closed the top, you pressed the eight ounces button, and listened to the machine come to life. While you stood there waiting, you hummed softly, pulling out your phone. Turning on the screen you saw how you still had no notifications, chuckling you thought to yourself, ‘Aww I must have worn him out yesterday with the planning.’

Hearing the machine come to a stop, you opened the top and grabbed the used pod. Throwing it in the nearby trash can, you grabbed your mug and made your way to your classroom on the second floor. Walking through the halls of the school you took the silence that still hung in the air, it was in these moments that made you realize just how loud teenagers really are.

Once at your classroom, you grab the small ring of school keys and find your classroom key. Unlocking the door you push it open, flipping the lights on carefully with your mugged hand. Leaving the door wide open, you head to your desk to set down your things. With things out of your hands you start the process of setting up for the first period.

“Good afternoon, with today being the last week of school I don’t expect any of you to do any school work. That being said, the principal doesn’t like it when I just have you guys watch videos,” You turn towards your desk and grab the stack of paper, holding it so that the class could see you continue on, “That’s why we’re going to fill out this page while we watch some Bill Nye.” As you spoke you watched as everyone in class changed their expression when hearing you say Bill Nye.

Splitting the stack into five small stacks you hand one to each person sitting in the front row, “Take one pass it back, if you need a pencil I still have a few in the pencil cub on the counter there.” You gesture towards what used to be a cup full of pencils, now however, it holds only seven pencils. You knew leaving them out they’d get taken, but that’s what you wanted, if someone was taking a pencil that means they needed one.

Once the papers were passed back -and the remaining back up- you asked a student closest to the switch to get the lights. You stood there a second, seeing if you’d have to make a decision for them as to who gets to do it. Before you could open your mouth however, you watched Savannah stand and get the lights. “Thank you Savannah.” Hearing her soft acknowledgement, you bent over slightly to look at your computer screen. Humming softly you click on the video and look to the front to make sure it was being projected.

Nodding at the sight of the video you press play and grab the small remote on your desk. With the video playing you adjusted the volume so that it would disrupt either of the teachers who you shared a wall with. Once it was at the perfect volume you set the remote down next to your laptop. You took this moment to sit at your desk and enjoy the coffee you got yourself during your planning break.

You sat there in relative quiet, only having to remind the class that this is a treat for them once, before you heard the first unfamiliar sound. You thought maybe it was a sound from outside, turning your chair to face the window, you push yourself up from the chair and scan the outside, “What the hell?” You mutter under your breath so that none of your students heard you curse. The second time you heard that sound again, it was closer, and accompanied by screams. Whipping your head to your class, you could see the realization wash over their faces, the sight of fear and terror was evident.

Quickly grabbing the remote you paused the video, “Okay guys, let’s get ourselves into lock down position,” Looking around your class you found the jocks, “Tristen, Caleb, and Kody can you guys move a couple of tables to block off the doors?” None of them answered verbally, but they didn’t need to, by the time you had finished your question the three of them were already in motion. Looking back to Savannah, you pull your keys out of your pocket and gently toss the keys to her, “Savannah, while the boys get those tables can you start leading everyone to the classroom’s back closet?” It took her a moment to respond, but when she did, you could hear the tremble in her voice. Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath, opening your eyes you scan your class once more. Taking mental count you feel your breath catch in your throat, “Oh no. No no no no no, I’m missing two students. Fuck.”

Clearing your throat, you speak softly, “Boys, don’t completely cover that last door, we’re missing two of our friends. I have to be able to open that door in case it’s one of them. Now, go to the closet. Close the door behind you guys, don’t open the door for anyone unless you hear me say it’s okay or if you hear me knock on the door in the beat of Bill Nye’s theme song. Okay?” You stared at the three boys in front of you, you could tell that Tristen -the biggest of the three- wanted to say something, probably something to argue that it isn’t safe for you out there. Before any of the boys could say anything however, more pops rang out, followed by more screams.

Looking at the three of them you gesture for them to go, this time, no one tries to say anything, they simply listen. Once the closet door is shut you quietly make your way back to your desk for your cell phone. Opening the top left draw you reach in and quickly find your phone. Once out of the draw, you don’t bother closing it. Unlocking the screen you saw that Frankie had texted you sometime during the start of the final period.

‘Hey baby, you didn’t wake me up with you this morning. So I didn’t get to give you a proper goodbye this morning. I’ll make it up to you tonight ;)’

Reading his text you couldn’t help but let out a sad laugh. Feeling the tears well in your eyes you decided to sit on the ground behind your desk so that you were out of sight. Take a shaky breath in, you hit respond.

‘Hey babe, sorry I didn’t wake you this morning…I really should have. Something is happening at the school so I may be late tonight. I love you with all my heart Francisco Morales’

*Frankie’s POV*

The buzzing in his back pocket caused Frankie to stand up from his bent over position he was in. Grabbing the shop rag from his other back pocket, Frankie wiped the grease from his hands. Once his hands were clean, grabbing his phone he unlocked it and read over it. Reading that last sentence, he felt an unexplainable chill to run down his spine. In the five years the two of you had been together, you have never once used his whole name, not unless you were yelling at him.

Without responding to your text, Frankie tried to call you. And when you didn’t answer that first time, he tried again. And again. And again…By the fifth time of no answer, he took his well-worn hat off, and raked his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. Replacing his hat, Frankie did the only thing he could think of, call Pope. Navigating through his phone he found Pope’s name, and hit the little phone icon. Bringing the phone to his ear, Frankie fidget with the metal band that sat around his ring finger.

“Hey Fish, what’s up? Change your mind on letting me host the bachelor's party?” Hearing Pope chuckle, caused his breath to hitch, and based on Pope’s reaction he heard Frankie.

“Frankie, what’s wrong?” Hearing the difference in Pope’s voice made Frankie close his eyes, and sigh out.

“Santi, I could very well be overreacting, but Marito…he isn’t answering his phone. And before you say,” Frankie did his best Santiago voice, which didn’t remotely sound like him. “Fish he’s a teacher, he’s teaching,” Dropping the voice he continued, “Before I called he texted ‘I love you with my heart Francisco Morales’.” Frankie stood there a second, even Santi knew that Fish’s whole name never comes out of your mouth if you weren’t arguing with him over something, which had been years at this point.

“How many times did you try?” Any hint of joking that was in Santi’s voice before was completely gone. Frankie knows this voice, it’s the voice that Santi uses when he’s going over mission plans, or if he’s about to give bad news. Clearing his throat, Frankie reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

“I don’t know, five maybe six times. Why does that matter? If he didn’t answer call two, why does it mat-”

“Catfish, shut up. It matters because it gives you an idea of how long he’s been M.I.A. I would say if he was surprising you by showing up early, he’d be too busy driving, but your guy's car has that hands free answering option.” Frankie closed his eyes, he knew Pope was trying to lighten the mood. Sighing softly Frankie went to respond, when his phone started buzzing against his head.

Pulling the phone away to see the screen. Seeing your name pop up, Frankie quickly offered a ‘good-bye’ to Santi before answering the call.

“Hermoso, what’s going on? Is everything okay? Do I need to co-” Frankie could hear your ragged breathing, and then he heard your hushed, pained voice.

*Your POV*

“H-Hey Frankie. Look, don’t come to the school, it isn't safe right now. I just wanted to hear your voice, and tell you that I love you.” You had stopped trying to fight the tears about ten minutes ago, when you were attempting to help an injured student get into your classroom. The student was just out of your reach, he had to have been a freshman because you didn't recognize him, and he didn’t know your name when he reached out for you.

You couldn’t help but look down to your hand, it was splattered with blood, none of which belonged to you. Clearing your throat, you went to continue in your hushed tone, but Frankie was faster. As you listened to him, you squeezed your eyes close and bit back your sobs.

“Marito, what is going on? And before you say nothing, I can hear it in your voice. And, and, before you ask, yes I’m already on my way to the school.” Letting out a shaky sigh, you drop your head.

“F-Fine. There’s an…an active shooter. I’m fine, my students were safe last time I was in my classroom. I know what I did was stupid, why would I leave the safety of my classroom? There was a student who was shot in the thigh, laying about three feet away from my door. I thought maybe I could go get him and help him back. But when I got in reach, he was shot. In front of me. I couldn’t…I couldn’t save him. His…his head was…it was…” You kept trying to finish your sentence but it just wouldn’t leave your mouth.

“Shhh Marito, I know. I know baby, I’m almost there. So is Pope. Were you shot? Are you okay?” Hearing Frankie ripped you from the scene replaying in your head. Shaking your head, you swallow dryly.

“I-I’m fine. I wasn’t hit, I think I was able to outrun whoever it was. I know my kids are fine because I locked the classroom door before I tried for the student. I was able to get into the teacher’s bathroom on the floor below my classroom. Frankie, am…is this how I’m going to die?” The thought wouldn’t leave your brain, no matter how hard you tried to force that thought out.

“Hey. No. None of that, do you hear me? You aren’t dying in a school bathroom, do I make myself clear mijo? Now, I need you to breathe with me, si? Just like how you taught me when I got back. In for four,” You followed with Frankie, you took a shaky breath in. “Bueno, now hold for two.” Normally this would be easy for you, holding your breath for two seconds is nothing, but right now it feels impossible. “You’re doing great Marito, now out for six.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you slowly let your breath out.

“Thanks Frankie, I heard sirens not too long ago so I can’t imagine I’ll be in here too much longer right? They sent everyone out here right? I-I mean, this is a building full of children, and people wouldn’t let anything hap-” The sound of the bathroom’s door slamming open caused you to slap a hand over your mouth.

“Marito, what's happening? Is everything okay?” You wanted to answer Frankie, you wanted to scream out for help, but you couldn’t. As you sat there on the toilet, knees pulled up to your chest. As you sat there, hand over your mouth, you could still hear Frankie on the other side of the phone, and it seemed like he may have caught on. Frankie went from asking you if you were okay and still there to softly talking to you, “Just stay quiet” and “It’s okay, you’re getting out of there”, the occasional “I love you” could be heard from Frankie. It wasn’t until you heard him say, “I’m here, there are cops everywhere Marito.”

You watched as black gym shoes walked past your stall door to the furthest one, you felt yourself relax slightly. Moving your hand you take a shaky breath in, you wanted to tell Frankie that you loved him back, but now you’re set out to say it back to his face.

When the footsteps stopped you carefully placed your feet on the ground. The moment your feet hit the floor however, there was a loud metal hitting metal sound. The sound caused you to jerk your feet back up to the toilet. Hearing the sound a second time it registered exactly what the sound was, and when the realization hit, it felt like being hit by a train, ‘Oh God, they’re kicking the stall doors open.’ Squeezing your eyes shut, you buried your head in your knees.

*SLAM*

One door closer, you knew it wouldn’t take long for the shooter to open your stall, or at least try. You thought you were being clever locking the stall door, but now it may have been for nothing.

Hearing the stall next to you get forced open, you tried your hardest to hold in any noises, but the suddenness of the slamming sound caused you to jump slightly, a gasp leaving your mouth. You couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that the shooter did hear, but it was obvious Frankie heard.

“Mijo what’s going on? Is everything okay?” Listening to Frankie you could hear a familiar tone, a tone you’ve only heard a couple of times. ‘He’s petrified, and I can’t tell him that it’ll all be ok-’ You were ripped from your thoughts when there was a bang at your stall door.

“Oh you think you’re smart huh? All you’ve done for me is made it easier, it’ll be like shooting for a fish in a barrel.” Staring at the stall door, you could feel your hot tears running down your face. As you sat there waiting, you decided to talk. With eyes closed, you whispered softly to Frankie, “Thank you for being you. I love you Fra-”

*POP POP POP*

*Frankie’s POV*

“Thank you for being you. I love you Fra-” Then three -unmistakable- gunshots rang out. Standing there, phone pressed to his ear, he wanted to call out to you but he couldn’t. It was like reliving the death of Tom, only this time it was him who lost someone. Sure when Tom died he felt like he lost a small part of himself, he lost a friend, damn, it felt like he lost a brother. But you? You were the love of his life, someone who refused to give up on him, even when things got dark after Tom’s death. Moving the phone from his ear, Frankie hung up the call. Looking around the crowd he managed to find Santi. Speed walking over to the Santi, Frankie kept his eyes down, hiding his face to the best of his abilities with the bill of his worn hat.

“God Fish, you look like shit.” Frankie raised his gaze so that his eyes locked with his friends. Staring at him Frankie closed his eyes, reaching up he wiped his eyes. Opening his eyes once more, Frankie cleared his throat, it felt like his heart was in his throat.

“There were three gunshots as he went to tell me he loved me. There was no sound after that. Pope, he’s…he was shot three times, in a bathroom stall. He’s…Pope I-I think he’s…” Frankie couldn’t bring himself to say the word, dead.

Dropping his gaze, Frankie stared at the ground, he had lost a friend and that nearly killed him. Without you? Without you will kill him. All Frankie ever wanted was to start a family with you, but he can’t. You were ripped away from him by the hands of some pissed off teenager.

Looking to the school, Frankie could feel his blood starting to boil. “Why the fuck aren’t these guys going in there?! There are kids in there and they’re all just standing around like this is all some kind of fucking game.” Looking at Santi, he noticed that Santi had been staring at him. As the two of them stood there, Frankie shook his head softly before looking Santi in the eyes and gave him an all too familiar look, the ‘I’m fixing this myself’ kind of look. Santi looking between Frankie and the school, he understood why Frankie was willing to go in head first, but if on the chance you were still alive Santi would be damned to let his friend die.

“You aren’t going in there, Fish.” Frankie watched as Santi crossed his arms over his chest. Frankie couldn’t help but clench his fists a few times before relaxing slightly. Frankie closed his eyes and thought for a moment, ‘It’s obvious he won’t go in there with me, I’ll just go in alone.’ Opening his eyes, Frankie gave Santi a nod.

“Fine, I’m not going in.” Looking at the growing crowd that was being held back by the extra officers, he continued on, “But I’m going up there so I can see if he gets carried out and is alive.” Without letting Santi get a word in, Frankie sped walked through the crowd, shoving his way to the front.

Once at the front, Frankie scanned the area. ‘Getting around the cops this way is going to be next to impossible.’ Looking at the side of the school, Frankie saw that there were officers going in through some of the school’s side doors.

‘Bingo.’

*Your POV*

*POP POP POP*

You had always thought the volume of a gun going off was the worst part, because it had been for the longest time. You had never been shot before, so when you opened your eyes, not feeling anything at first you were confused. The moment you looked down however, you saw that there were two -growing- spots of what looked the color of mud, the dark maroon of your blood dulling the green. When the searing pain hit your brain finally allowed you to connect the dots. You’ve been shot twice. Luckily, the third shot missed your face.

Clamping your hand over your mouth, your left hand goes to cover the wound that seemed to be bleeding the worst, the shot through your upper right bicep. Keeping your hand over your mouth, you stayed as still as possible, not wanting the kid on the other side of the door to shoot again. When you finally heard the bathroom door open and close again, you dropped the hand from your mouth.

Looking down at yourself again, you put your now free, shaky hand over the second hole. Pressing your hand on the wound on your right side you felt a white hot pain that radiated from where your hand sat all the way to the middle of your back. Squeezing your eyes shut you felt an unfamiliar tightness in your chest. Trying to take a deep breath, you feel the searing pain again, this time worse. Nodding to yourself, you lift your head and look at the stall door. You could see through the forced holes that were now there. Moving your now blood painted hand from your chest, you grabbed a hold of the handrail and pulled yourself to your feet. The moment you were upright, you felt yourself wobble on your feet. Taking a moment you try to calm the spinning that your head was doing.

When the spinning finally became tolerable, you unlocked the stall door. Walking out of the stall you looked around for a moment. You knew fighting would be pointless with you in this state, so now you had a choice to make. Barricade the doors? Or try to get back to your classroom? As you stood there thinking, you began to realize something. It was getting harder to breathe.

Looking down to your side you pulled your hand away slightly, feeling the air hit the wound it ran a chill down your spine. Looking at yourself in the mirror you wobbly walked towards the mirror. Once in front of the mirror you grabbed the edge sink, your blood covered hands painting the once stark white with a bright shade of red. Looking at yourself in the mirror you could tell you weren't in a good enough state to attempt going back to your classroom.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you bit back the cries that wanted to escape, not because you didn’t want to be found. No, it was because breathing was now getting harder, the only thing that didn’t cause an excruciating amount of pain was short pant-like breaths. Dropping your head, you opened your eyes. Staring down at the flannel you thought for a moment, you had to get the bleeding to slow, and you could think of one way to help the slow flowing waterfall of blood that was leaving through the hole in your bicep.

Standing up right, you carefully unbutton the flannel. Once fully unbuttoned you slowly slide the blood soaked shirt off. With the fabric now off of your body, you could look at yourself in the mirror a bit better. As you stand there, taking in your exhausted and battered form, you mindlessly find the hole in the sleeve of the once perfectly worn and loved flannel. After a moment of merely playing with the edges of holes, you tore the flannel. You continued to tear the flannel until it no longer resembled a shirt.

Taking one of the pieces you carefully place the middle of it under your arm. Holding the scrap of fabric in place with your body, you manage to somehow tie it over the hole. It could have been tighter, but something was better than nothing. Looking at yourself in the mirror again, your eyes focused on the hole on your side. Or at least that’s what your eyes tried to do.

As you stood there, you could feel a fog creep into your brain. The fog was only the beginning, soon you could feel your limbs getting heavier and heavier. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shake your head slightly. Opening your eyes, you looked from the mirror to the pile of scrap fabric and to the door. If you stayed in here there was no telling how it would take for someone to find you, and you might not make it if you aren’t found sooner rather than sooner.

Grabbing a couple of scraps, you wadded one up and pressed it to the hole on your side. Clenching your teeth through the pain, you gently push off of the sink, and with wobbly legs, make your way to the bathroom door. Grabbing the handle you push it open slightly. You slowly peek your head out of the room. Listening to the deathly still air, you could still hear the sounds of screams and gun fire, but it sounded like it was coming from the other side of the school.

Slipping out of the bathroom, you press the wad of fabric a little hard. Looking down the hallway, you could feel yourself being torn in two. Do you leave for your own help? Or do you go back to your classroom and protect your kids? Thinking it over for a moment, you nod softly and make your way to the stairs. You only had to go up one flight of stairs to your floor, and find your classroom, you could do that. You’ve been doing it for an entire school year.

Once at the bottom of the steps, you placed a shaky bloodied hand on the railing. Pulling yourself up the stairs, you had to stop every couple of steps. Without being able to suck in full breaths, climbing the stairs was harder than you were expecting. After what felt like an eternity, you were finally on the third floor.

Standing on the top of the stairs you listened to the air once more. Things were quiet for a moment, but when the silence was shattered you nearly jumped out of your skin. The source of the disturbance sounded like it was just under you. Swallowing dryly, you pushed off the stair railing. Walking down the hall you felt the fog come back, only heavier this time. Turning slightly, you made a beeline for the wall of forest green lockers. Reaching out, you felt the chill of the metal. Holding yourself up right, you pressed the wad of fabric against yourself harder, the radiating pain making you grit your teeth.

Trying to focus on the little breaths that you can take in, you try to force the fog away. After a moment of trying to clear the fog, you registered the sound of footsteps coming towards you. You could also feel your hands getting heavy and the pain that was once howling in your brain, had silenced. You didn’t hurt anymore. Turning your head towards the person, you tried to focus your eyes on them, it took you a moment but when you felt relief wash over your battered body. But that was the last thing you saw before you felt yourself slowly slip into a barely alive, unconscious state.

*Frankie’s POV*

Sticking close to the walls of the school, Frankie moved through the maze of halls. When he finally found a flight of steps, he heard those all too familiar pops. Frankie couldn’t tell what floor they came from, all he knew was that they were happening on one of the floors above, maybe even on your floor. With that thought in head he felt a fire light under him as he made his way up the school’s stairs.

Once on the landing between the first and second floor, Frankie reached around to his back, pulling the handgun from his waist line. After the mission when Tom died, he had become weary of carrying the weapon with him everywhere. So instead, he decided to keep it tucked on his side of the bed if the need for it arose. What Frankie had never imagined using it for this, he knew if it came down to it he’d have to shoot the kid doing this, but the feeling in the bottom of stomach told him what he already knew. Frankie didn’t have it in him to kill the kid, no matter what he’s done, he wants to be a dad with you. He has a kid now, she’s only six but he knew he would be furious if some random person killed her.

Shaking the thoughts from his head Frankie made a beeline for the closest wall. With his back pressed against the wall he carefully looked up and down the hallway. As he looked towards the way of your classroom he saw something that looked like someone was bending over slightly, and they had definitely been shot in the upper arm. Readying the weapon in front of him, Frankie slowly and cautiously walked towards the figure.

As the distance between him and the mystery person, he soon recognized the person. He had spent the last five years learning as much as he could about you. Relaxing his stance, he quietly called to you. At first he used the nickname that he came up with, marito, when you didn’t respond to that he called out your name. When you still didn’t react Frankie could feel anxiety fill the pit of his stomach. By the time he was several feet from you, he watched you turn your head and look at him. Seeing your face caused Frankie to stop in his tracks for a moment, you were paler than normal and you were covered in sweat and blood, as to whether or not it was all yours he couldn’t tell. As he continued to study you, he noticed you slowly start to sway slightly on your feet before collapsing.

Rushing to you, Frankie attempted to catch you, and he had. But in that process he hurt himself as well. As you fell Frankie reached out and managed to get a hold of your arms so that he could pull you into him, while pulling you into his grasp he had stepped forward, his foot landing in a small puddle of blood. Trying to take that small extra step to you, his foot slipped in the liquid. Catching you isn’t what hurt him. What hurt him was the way in which he protected you from slamming into the floor, twisting and attempting to pull you on to him. Laying on the floor, Frankie groaned slightly. He hadn’t managed to land square on his back, instead his entire left side slammed on to the cold linoleum flooring. Opening his eyes, Frankie looked to his chest. He had managed to catch you and it seems you didn’t meet the same cold hard fate as him.

Trying to carefully move you off of him, Frankie felt a shock of pain from his left arm. Clenching his jaw, he let his head fall back onto the ground. As Frankie laid there thinking, he heard doors being thrown open down the hall. “Fuck.” Frankie murmured the curse to himself.

Looking at your unconscious form, Frankie clenched his jaw once more. Trying to move you again, Frankie pushed through the pain in his arm. Once he had managed to move to the ground beside him, he was quick to his feet. Looking down at you, Frankie breathed out, crouching down, carefully he slid his fine hand and arm under the bend of your knees. With his injured arm he, once again, fought through the pain and managed to pick you up. You were by no means too heavy for Frankie, but with only one fully functioning arm. Breathing through the pain, Frankie looked down the hall in the direction of your classroom. The same direction as the sound from earlier. Thinking for a moment Frankie scanned the area around him, when his eyes fell on the custodial closet door he made his way towards it. As he drew closer he said a silent prayer that the door would be unlocked.

Once at the door Frankie blindly felt around for the knob for a moment with his good hand. Grabbing onto the door knob Frankie breathed in and unknowingly, held his breath. Feeling the door knob twist Frankie let out the breath he was unaware of holding. Pushing the door open, he scanned the room. It was a small room but it had a way to lock the door from the inside and it could be barricaded if needed. Walking over to a relatively empty area, he gently sat you on the floor, back placed on the wall. Kneeling beside you Frankie carefully took off the bandage you had made for your bicep. Once it was finally off, Frankie looked around for the first aid box. When he failed to find it by looking around he stood up and walked towards the lone desk. Pulling open the draws he saw that the first two he opened were filled with junk, the third one had tools, and the fourth one had the first aid kit.

Grabbing the kit, Frankie spun on his heel and walked back over to you. Kneeling down once more, unzipped the kit. Looking around inside Frankie found the things he knew would help, the rolls of crepe bandage, gauze, and finally a small bottle labeled ‘saline’ that was in the kit. Thanks to his time served, then the contracted missions, and Benny’s matches, he had become pretty good at bandaging people up.

Before Frankie started disinfecting the wound, he gently pulled you forward. Looking at the back of your arm Frankie found what he was looking for, an exit wound. Gently leaning you back against the wall he started preparing to wrap the wound. Grabbing a couple of squares of gauze, he picked up the saline and ripped the top off. Once open, he poured some on the bandages. After wetting the gauze he carefully cleaned the area around your bicep wound. Frankie had managed to clean a majority of the blood that had dried before he picked up a roll of the gauze and made quick work of wrapping it around the still bleeding wound. Once it was wrapped, he picked up the crepe wrap and wrapped that around as well.

Moving his attention down, he carefully moved your hand and the blood soaked wad of fabric that you were holding to your side. Swallowing dryly, Frankie could feel panic start to swim through his veins. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the tears that wanted to pour down his face. Opening his eyes, he carefully reached around your back. Feeling around a chilling realization hit him, there was no exit wound this time, which meant you still had a bullet in you. Grabbing on to the collar of the undershirt you had decided to throw on, he pulled, ripping the shirt down the front to expose your bare chest and stomach to him. Scanning over the rest of your chest and stomach Frankie noted that you had only been hit with two of the three shots.

Turning his attention back to the first aid kit, he rummaged through it once more, his slightly bloodied hands painting some things with a light coating. Grabbing the weird plastic tweezers that practically every first aid kit has. Looking back at you, he also decided to pull out a small amount of alcohol prep towelettes. Tearing open one of the towelettes, he wiped the tweezers down, setting the pad on your outstretched legs. With the cleaned tweezers, his eyes fell to the bleeding wound, as he carefully placed the tweezers on the towelette he had laid down moments earlier. It was obvious that this wound was bleeding worse than the other one, so he knew he’d have to work fast.

Shaking his thoughts away, Frankie grabbed a few more squares of gauze and the saline. Using almost the rest of the liquid, he wet the gauze in hand and started cleaning the area around the entry wound. Once most of the dried blood was gone, he picked the tweezers up and the remaining saline he took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time he’s dug a bullet out of someone, but it is the first time he’s done it to someone who he loved like you. Leaning forward he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, with lips hovering over your clammy skin he whispered a soft sorry.

Leaning back, Frankie turned his attention to the wound once more, dumping a small amount of saline onto the wound he watched as it cleared the area enough for him to find it with his finger. Eyes flicking to your face for only a moment, closing his eyes Frankie slowly pressed his finger into the wound. Upon doing so, it was enough to pull you from your unconscious state, pain flooding every sense for a moment.

*Your POV*

You weren’t sure where you were when you felt your consciousness slam back into you. Eyes shooting open, you go to make a sound of pain, but you feel a hand clamp over your mouth. Panic and pain course through your veins, you follow the stranger’s arm up his body. When your eyes landed on Frankie’s worried face, you wanted to comfort him and tell him everything would be okay, but that was a promise you could make sure came true. Closing your eyes again, you leaned your head back, resting it on the wall.

Feeling Frankie remove his hand, you swallowed dryly, slightly numb to the pain. That was until you felt Frankie’s finger bump into what you were assuming was the bullet. Slapping your own hands over your mouth you squeezed your eyes shut, tears flowing down your cheeks despite your eyes being closed. As soon as his finger hit the bullet, he pulled his finger from the hole. Your jaw falling open, you suck in short and pained pants of air, even if you wanted to scream out in pain, you didn’t think you were capable of doing so.

“I’m sorry mijo, I had to figure out where the bullet was. This next bit though…” You watched Frankie avert his eyes from yours, you knew what that meant. This was going to hurt way worse than earlier.

“Do…it…” Your voice was airy and soft. Seeing him look back at you with an ‘are you sure?’ Nodding softly, you closed your eyes once more, not wanting to see it coming nor happen.

“Okay. This shouldn’t take me more than five minutes.” Frankie spoke softly. As you go to respond you feel a searing hot pain in your side. Clenching your jaw, you held in the pained screams that wanted to escape.

As you sat there pain on the front of your brain, you heard someone try the door. Eyes shooting open once more, you twist your head to the door. As does Frankie. Looking at him you shake your head and talk softly, “Keep…going…” With the verbal instruction Frankie nodded softly and continued his work at retrieving the bullet.

Feeling the white hot searing pain once more, grinding your teeth, you hold back the screams of pain that want to rip their way through your throat. After what felt like an eternity, you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Looking down to the wound, you could tell it was irritated from all the attention it just received. You could also now see that it had started bleeding -just slightly- more now. Without talking, you watched as Frankie rolled up a small thing of gauze before looking at you. You knew what the look was, he had given it to you only moments early, and once again you responded with a nod. The feeling of the dry gauze being forced into the opening surprisingly hurt less than you were expecting, or maybe it’s because it isn’t moving around.

Once the gauze was packed in, he picked up the final gauze squares he had grabbed out of the kit. Pressing the gauze into your side he looked at you and nodded his head towards the gauze. Raising a shaky hand, you place it on top of the gauze to hold it with slight pressure, but mostly to make sure they don't fall. You watched as Frankie once more dug around the first aid kit, this time pulling out a roll of bandage tape.

As you watched Frankie tear off a few pieces you could feel the fatigue and brain fog coming back. You tried to say something to Frankie so he knew but your voice was failing you. With the small bit of strength you had left you moved your hand from the gauze and on to his thigh. You watch through blurry eyes as he lifts his head to look at you, and once more you feel yourself slip into the quiet black.

*Frankie’s POV*

Watching you pass out once more, Frankie nearly drops the wound dressing. Luckily he had leaned you against the wall because instead of falling forward or sideways, your head leans back on the wall.

Looking back to the supplies in hand, Frankie finished with the pieces of tape and an extra gauze. Placid the gauze on top of the ones that you were holding in place only moments earlier. With the dressing on your side securely, Frankie starts thinking. If the two of you stayed here, you could die. If he left you here to get help anything could happen. If he carried you out with him there was a chance that the two of you could die, but Frankie wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Taking a steading breath, Frankie stood up, groaning at the pain in both his -now bruising- left arm but also his knees. Once standing up right he looked down at you, he could see you breathing, but something about it seemed…wrong. Feeling that familiar heaviness in his stomach Frankie grabbed the brim of his worn hat, lifted it off of his sweat-dampened hair, and scratched the top of his head. Replacing his hat, Frankie crouched down once more. Slipping his arms under you, he thought for a moment of the best way to carry you out. Obviously, the first thought was how he was holding you now, your legs bent at the knee over one arm and your back and head being supported by the other. There was a problem though, if he had to arm himself, it would be impossible to. Planting a soft kiss to your forehead, Frankie carefully -and painfully for him- laid you over his left shoulder. Your head hung down his back while your legs were in front.

Looking over the room once more, Frankie grabbed the gun from his waistband once more. With his gun in hand and you over his shoulder, he turned his attention to the door. Walking the short distance, Frankie hesitantly reached out and grabbed the door knob. Before pushing the door open, he planted his ear to the door and listened. After a moment of waiting and listening, he pulled his head back and carefully twisted the knob. Pushing the door open, Frankie glanced around the immediate area he saw that was empty of people. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, Frankie snuck out the room. Catching the door before it closed all the way, he slowed the close, not wanting to make a loud thump sound.

Once in the hall, Frankie did one more scan. When he was certain the area was empty, Frankie made a beeline for the stairs that he had ascended some time ago. Going down the stairs was far easier on his knees, and he was thankful for that. Once Frankie stood at the top of the last set of steps, he stopped once more and listened. He could hear something but it was too muffled to pinpoint what it was.

Putting the gun away, Frankie pulled out his cellphone. Turning it on Frankie navigated his way to his contact book. Scrolling through the list he found the man he knew would help. Santiago. Clicking the small phone icon, he raised it to his right ear. Listening to the ringing Frankie could hear whatever was making that sound earlier, slowly getting closer, though he couldn’t tell if it was on the second floor or the first.

“Fish? Where the hell did you go man? Your truck is still here and yo-” Frankie could hear the worry in Santi’s voice, though was not the time.

“Pope, I need you to get the spare key from the toolbox in the bed of the truck. Once you have the key, drive to the east side of the building. I-I think the door number I came in through was 7. You’re also going to want to open the door before I get there. There is no time to explain, just get a move on it.” Without waiting for Santi’s response Frankie hung up the call. Pocketing his cell phone, Frankie retrieved the gun.

Taking one more deep breath, Frankie started down the final stairs. Now on the first floor, he scanned the area. As he scanned the area, Frankie heard a familiar sound, one that took a moment to click. Turning to look behind him, he locked eyes with some kid standing at the top of the stairs Frankie had just come down from.

“Kid, you should stop now, you can just drop the weapons and walk outside.” Frankie reluctantly raised the gun in his hand, really didn’t want to shoot the kid, but if he gave him no choice… Being pulled from his thoughts, Frankie’s eyes refocused on the movement of the kid doing the same to Frankie. Slowly backing up Frankie looking around the kid, something else he could shoot.

Raising his gun, Frankie fired at the window behind the kid. Frankie, not wanting to stand around and watch the glass, took that moment when the kid turned to do the same. Running towards the exit, Frankie could feel his shoulder growing damp. Looking at the open door, Frankie turned towards it. Running through the doorway, Frankie threw the door shut. Pressing the button on the handle, Frankie heard it click lock. Doing the same with the deadbolt, Frankie quickly -yet cautiously- he pulled you from his shoulder.

Sitting you on the floor, your back being supported by the wall, Frankie looked over your wound dressings. Muttering out a soft curse, he noticed your side dressing. You were bleeding more than he was expecting, taking off his well loved hat Frankie raked his fingers through his wettened hair. Replacing the hat, Frankie turned to look around the room. As he turned Frankie’s eyes landed on the bodies of what appeared to be school staff of some kind. Swallowing dryly, Frankie turned back around and looked down at you. Crouching down, Frankie placed two shaky fingers to the side of your neck. As he searched for a moment, he did something he hadn’t done since before leaving for the army, Frankie prayed.

When Frankie’s fingers found your pulse, he felt himself relax, but only a little. While he had found your pulse, it was weak and barely there. Moving his hand from your neck, dropping his hand to yours, gently picking up your hand he brings it to his lips. Planting a gentle kiss on the engagement he proposed to you with. Pressing your hand to his face Frankie took a steadying breath, pushing past the pain he was currently in.

“I made a promise that I was going to marry you one way or another Marito, and I’m keeping that promise.” Pressing one more kiss to the ring, Frankie placed your hand on your lap. Standing up, Frankie picked you up and once again, put you over his shoulder. Whispering a soft ’sorry’ to you, Frankie grabbing his gun one final time. Unlocking the room’s deadbolt, Frankie paused for a moment hearing the deadbolt retract back into the door. Standing there the only thing Frankie was able to hear was his pounding heart in his chest. Deciding to continue on, Frankie grabbed the handle and twisted it just enough for the lock to pop.

Waiting for another moment, Frankie took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open, head peeking around the door towards where he had run from. When Frankie didn’t see anyone, he pushed the door the rest of the way open and started towards the door he had snuck in through. As he made his way towards the door Frankie felt a weird chill run down his back, it was too quiet. With the door nearing, Frankie could see his truck just outside on the road, Santi standing next to the open passenger door. Once at the door Frankie pushed on the bar that ran along just under the window.

As the door opened, Frankie watched as Santi raised his eyes from his phone screen to the two of you. Santi’s face going from confusion to something akin to a mix of panic and fear. Once close enough to the truck he could hear Santi’s distraught voice.

“Holy shit Frankie…Is he still..” Frankie pushed past his friend and carefully put you in his truck.

“He’s alive, but barely. So get in the goddamn truck drive.” Frankie looked at his friend, despite his voice sounding cold and angry, the look on his face told a different story. Frankie’s face was painted with terror and pain, which was enough for his friend. Without talking Santi nodded and headed to the driver's side. As Frankie climbed into the truck he looked at his friend, the tears he had tried too hard to hold in till he had a moment alone. Allowing his head to roll, Frankie -now looking at the roof of his truck- felt a hand on his thigh. Looking down at his lap, Frankie sees your blood-stained hand, a small wave of relief washing over him.

*Your POV*

A month later

Leaning forward slightly, you let the nurse responsible for your oxygen therapy, take off the oxygen mask. Looking at her you smile, offering a small nod as a ‘thank you’. As you carefully stood from the hospital chair, you looked towards the therapy area door open. Normally the only people allowed back here through the doors are hospital staff and other therapy patients, so when your eyes fell on the all too familiar sun kissed skin and the deep espresso brown hair, you could help but perk up.

“Frankie.” Your voice was weak and mouth dry, after your therapy your mouth was always like a dried sponge. It seems that your fiancé had remembered your complaints because almost as if he knew what your next question would be, Frankie pulled his hand from behind his back. At first you were confused, you were expecting a small Styrofoam cup full of ice chips, like you’d normally get from one of the nurses. It was like Frankie could read your mind, because as he stepped closer he chuckled softly.

“I…I uh…” You could see Frankie’s cheeks grow pink. Frankie was a massive teddy bear on the inside, so whenever he did something for you he would start to get flustered, and you loved it. “I got you one of those cherry agua frescas from that little in the wall ma and pa bodega down the street from your favorite book store, I thought you might like something a little...normal?” Taking the cup from Frankie, you closed the distance between the two of you and pulled him into a hug, careful not to bump your still healing surgery scars. Feeling Frankie wrap his -non-casted- arm around you. Staying in the hug for a moment, you breathed in Frankie’s cologne.

Pulling away you looked up to Frankie, pressed a quick to his lips, then pulled away, and took a much needed drink of the tart drink. Swallowing the cold liquid, a pleased sigh escaped from your lips. Offering the cup to Frankie, he shook his head softly.

“I’m okay Marito, I got a coffee with the guys while I waited for you. By the way, if Benny asks me one more time what it felt like to break an elbow, I might show him.” You tried to chuckle alongside Frankie, but you still couldn’t without pain and the risk of re-collapsing your lung.

After you had finally woken up in the hospital, it had been a week since the shooting. You couldn’t remember all of the details after seeing Frankie coming towards you in the hallway, and some of the events before then were spotty. From what the doctors -and Frankie- say is you ended up getting hit twice, once in the left bicep which required minor surgery, and one in the the right side. That shot was the one that almost killed you, at least that’s what the doctors said. Apparently the bullet had just barely grazed the bottom of your right lung causing it to collapse, which in turn caused the breathing problems and chest pains, those you do remember.

Frankie on the other hand had gotten out far luckier than you. When you had passed out, he caught you, but you made him slip, or at least that’s how Frankie tells it. According to the doctors, Frankie’s break could have been far worse than just an elbow, if he had fallen differently. In addition to the broken elbow, the slip -then subsequently all of the running- Frankie had nearly tore his MCL, turns out years of traversing uneven environments has an effect on your knees.

Taking another sip, you motioned for the door, “Come on.” You lead the way from the inpatient care wing to the parking lot of the hospital. Once outside you stopped walking, closing your eyes and turning your face to the warm sun, you basked in its warmth. A pleased hum sounding from your throat as a happy but lazy smile slipped onto your face.

“As handsome as I think you are and as much as I’d love to just stand here and admire you, the boys have a surprise for you back at the house.” Opening your eyes, you looked at Frankie. One of the first things you had told him after they started discussing your release, was that you didn’t want some big party or something, you just wanted to go home and relax while you recovered, and it had been that way till now.

“Frankie, I told you guys that I didn’t want a party or something.” You whined softly, a pout forming on your face.

Without talking, Frankie grabbed your hand and took the lead to the truck. A pleased smile plastered on his face.

“Don’t worry it isn’t a party,” Frankie looked at you, a sparkle in his dark chocolate eyes. “Or something.” He did his best impression of you. Hearing his impression you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully.

“I do not sound like that.” You playfully argued, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. As you got closer to the truck you could see someone leaning against the truck. Getting closer you could see who it was.

“Well look who’s alive.” Santiago said in a playful teasing tone. “It’s good to know that the doctors fixed you up Marito, if you had to stay in there any longer, I would have had to come stay in your room with you just to get away from Fish.” Santi chuckled, pulling you into a hug. Feeling his warmth as you hugged him, you relaxed a bit.

You loved Pope, but you loved him in a way that you had never felt before, a familial love. A brotherly love. Growing up you were an only child, but then you met Benny, and you couldn't help but hang around him. You had just started college and he was trying to make a name for himself in the MMA scene. Somehow he had managed to talk you into coming to one of his fights while you were at a bar one night before finals. While there though, you got to meet the others. Tom was -as you’d learn is just how he is- quiet and withdrawn, Will was sweet and on the quiet side, then there were the other two. It was obvious from the moment that your eyes met Frankie’s dark brown ones, that he was falling…and so were you. As for Santi. Santiago definitely found you adorable, but he found you adorable in the sense of wanting to protect you, so from that day on he assumed the role of an older brother, the others soon figuring out ways to fit into your life.

Pulling away from the hug, you looked up to Santi, he motioned for the truck. You knew what he was saying despite not using any words. Looking at Frankie, you could see that he was already standing with the door open for you. You couldn’t help but smile at the man who you’d be calling your husband once he had his cast off and once your wounds healed enough. Closing the distance between Frankie and you, you could see that loop-sided smile you had grown to adore. Right outside the truck, you pressed your lips to his cheek then climbed in.

The drive from the hospital to Frankie and your shared place was a short one. Seeing the house come into sight, you smiled and rested your head on Frankie’s shoulder. As Santi pulled the trunk up the driveway, you felt Frankie plant a kiss on top of your head. Once the truck was off, Frankie climbed out and held his hand out for you to take, which you did. Climbing out of the truck, with a small bit of help from Frankie, you were careful not to twist, stretch, or move wrong, scared you might hurt and mess up the work the doctors did when finishing you up.

As you stood on the driveway, hand still in Frankie’s, you looked up to the slightly taller man. A relaxed smile on his face. With your free hand you reach up and rest it on Frankie’s warm cheek. Feeling him nuzzle into your hand, you smiled at the action.

“Thank you,” You spoke just loud enough for the man in front of you to hear, and by the flash of a confusion, you could tell he didn’t know why you were thanking him. Chuckling slightly you continued, “For saving me. It was dangerous, you could have died in there. You shouldn’t have done that, but you did.”

“I’ve lost friends and that feeling almost killed me. Mijo, if you died, it would have killed me. I made a promise to you that I was marrying by any means necessary, and I plan on keeping that promise.” Hearing Frankie talk, you could practically feel how much this man loves you, and that feeling was enough to make you tear up slightly. Without allowing the man to wipe away your tears, you pulled his face towards yours and planted your lips on his. Frankie’s kisses always had this magical ability to not only wake the butterflies in your stomach but they also make the world around the two of you melt away into oblivion till it was only the two of you.

“Transformer!” Chuckling into the kiss, you pulled away and planted one kiss on his lips before turning around to look at Benny. The nickname he had chosen for you happened as a joke a couple of weeks after you had told the boys you were trans, at first Will had playfully smacked the back of Benny’s head. It wasn’t supposed to stick, but it did, and you had come to love hearing Benny calling you it.

“Benny! I told you I was stronger than I look.” You pretended to flex your still healing arm, which made Benny laugh slightly. Putting your arm down, you stretched carefully, taking a deep breath in. Relaxing, a quizzical look found its ways to your features for only a moment. Taking a second deep breath, you figured out what you were smelling, a cookout. Look over your shoulder to Frankie, you gestured to the fenced off backyard.

“You better stop Will before he burns the burgers, and make sure two slices of cheese get put on my burger. Last time he said he did and it clearly only had one slice.” Your tone was light hearted and laced with a jokingly teasing tone. Watching as Frankie nodded and walked past you, he placed a hand on your back and pulled you in for one more kiss. Pulling away from the kiss, lips hovering over yours, Frankie spoke in a hushed tone.

“I love you hermoso.” You smiled and pressed your lips to his, before pulling away once more.

“I love you too Frankie.” Your voice was slightly louder than Frankie’s. Pulling away completely, you couldn’t help but to tap Frankie’s ass, before motioning to the backyard once more.

“Get going, I’ll be back there in a second.” Pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, Frankie headed towards the gate. Turning your attention to the other two you smiled, before clearing your throat.

“Come on boys, let’s go make sure those two don’t start arguing over who gets to grill.” You couldn’t help but let an airy laugh out, before they headed for the same gate.

Watching the men disappear into the backyard, you looked up to the sky once more. There were clouds, but not so many where they blocked the sun, except for every so often. Smiling, you dropped your gaze to the backyard fence at the sound of a loud voice.

“You coming Marito?” You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. You were surprised that it was Benny yelling out to you using the nickname that Frankie had come up with. Nodding to yourself you started towards the same gate that the others disappeared behind. “Yeah I’m coming, I was just enjoying the clouds!” As you finished your sentence, you stood at the gate. Pushing open the gate, you saw all of the boys, and Will’s wife and kid. Standing there for a moment, you took in everyone who had come here just to see you. You knew marrying Frankie made you a member of the family, and it was now that you knew exactly what that meant. Smiling, you thought to yourself, ‘It’s nice to finally be home.’

```````

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary

Thanks to the lovely @tsunami-of-tears for the dividers I found and ended up using. I ended using two different dividers instead of one. They were both really nice how could I only use one?

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tima7fa · 6 months ago

Text

Talk To Me

Gojo Satoru x Therapy

Contents: satoru being stupid, reader is a therapist, reader is sugurus sister, didn't adress it that much because my hands hurt and I'm lazy, mention of character death, I honestly don't think this is very romantic probably more platonic, I hate this actually for some reason, this is the longest shit I've written in a while

Note: Satoru doesn't know reader is sugurus sister because she has a different last name, and while she was studying at the same school suguru never knew he had an older sister reader knew she has a younger brother but she never approached him or said anything to him what she regrets the most

And do not attack me yall I don't know how therapy works okay? I've never been there even tho some people tell me I should go to therapy

"Suguru geto is dead."

Your hand froze, the pen you were holding punched a jagged hole through the paper, which became surrounded by a spreading pool of ink. You stared blankly at the damaged sheet, the room falling silent around you in a suffocating hush.

Your gaze slowly met the somber expression of the man seated across from you. "Why are you telling me this, Principal Yaga?" you asked, your voice laced with a veneer of mournful softness.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "He was your younger brother-"

"No," you interjected firmly, cutting him off. "I do not know such a man, so please do not speak of him to me here." The harshness in your tone was palpable as you released your grip on the pen, crumpling the ruined paper into an uneven ball and tossing it into the nearby wastebasket.

"You were always a terrible liar, you know," Yaga remarked, reaching a hand out to gently wipe the tears that had carved burning paths down your cheeks. "I would have believed you if your eyes weren't betraying so much grief."

"I'm not crying because of him," you protested desperately, though your futile attempts to stem the flow of tears proved fruitless.

"Child..." Yaga murmured, pulling you from your seat and enveloping you in a comforting embrace. You clung to him tightly, burying your face into the reassuring solidity of his chest as you surrendered to your sorrowful outpouring.

After some time, you finally managed to regain your composure. Yaga handed you a stack of files, and your eyes immediately fell upon a photograph of a white-haired man.

"There is someone I need you to help," the dark-haired man began. "Satoru Gojo." You uttered the name of the renowned child prodigy, staring at Yaga with a look of confusion.

"Satoru and Suguru were close friends, with a deep connection to one another..." Yaga trailed off, his expression heavy with concern. "The one who ended up killing Suguru... was Satoru himself. And he is not in a good mental state."

"I know I'm asking a great deal of you, to help the person who took your brother's life, but-"

"I'll help him," you interrupted, offering Yaga a weak, but resolute smile.

The man's eyes widened with surprise, but his gaze remained clouded with worry. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

You simply nodded in response, steeling your resolve to assist the one who had taken your beloved sibling from you.

___________________________________________

It's absolutely preposterous. No, wait - it's downright hilarious. Satoru Gojo, of all people, being forced into therapy? What a cruel twist of fate. He never wanted this, never needed this. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, he's been strongarmed into it, all thanks to Principal Yaga's meddling.

Surely, this has to be some sort of twisted joke. But alas, he has no choice in the matter. It's either submit to this ludicrous therapy session or risk losing his teaching position - a job he cherishes, as it allows him to continue molding his students, pushing them to heights greater than even his own.

And so, here he sits, in this cozy little room, across from a woman armed with a pad and pen, scrutinizing him through his thick black shades. How is he, a sorcerer tasked with the mastery of curses, supposed to confide in this simple human about the intricacies of his life? She likely doesn't even have the faintest idea what "cursed energy" is, let alone the trials and tribulations he faces on a daily basis.

But he can't ignore the neatly maintained amount of cursed energy emerging from her.

Of course, he has no intention of revealing anything of substance. If he so much as mentions the nature of his work, she'd probably have him committed to a mental institution faster than he can blink.

"So what brings you here today, Mr. Gojo?" the woman asks, her voice dripping with false sweetness, a saccharine smile plastered across her face.

Satoru huffs heavily, the irritation seeping into his tone. "I'm not here by choice. Principal Yaga forced me to come here."

"I know," she responds, and Gojo raises a brow, surprised by her candor. "And I can see that this is your first time here."

"I'm asking you why do you think you're here," the therapist probes, her brows furrowing as Satoru satoru shifts in his seat, crossing his legs defiantly.

"Because I was forced to be here-" he begins, only to be swiftly interrupted.

"Why?" she presses, her tone infuriatingly calm and measured.

Satoru falls silent, staring at her blankly, his irritation palpable. This is supposed to be his time to vent, and yet she keeps interjecting, undermining his attempts at explanation. He already finds her immensely grating.

"Mr. Gojo?" the therapist gingerly tilts her head, awaiting his answer. Satoru sighs heavily, the frustration clear in his voice.

"Because Principal Yaga thinks I'm in desperate need of therapy," he spits through gritted teeth, the mere recollection of that argument making his blood boil.

"What about you? What do you think?" she probes further, her expression maddeningly serene.

"That all of this is stupid. I'm not in need of therapy - I'm perfectly fucking fine," satoru retorts, turning his head away to gaze out the window, where the rain has now begun to fall. He's the strongest sorcerer, for God's sake - he doesn't require aid from anyone.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't need it," she calmly asserts, and satoru can feel his nails digging into the flesh of his biceps through his clothes, crescent-shaped indentations surely imprinting his skin.

His gaze snaps back to her, a scowl etched upon his features. "The hell you mean?" he spits, his tone dripping with venom. "I just told you I was forced to be here. Why the hell don't you understand that?"

"If you were actually fine, Mr. Gojo, you wouldn't be here," the therapist repeats, her saccharine smile infuriating him to no end.

"Since it's your first time here, I'll explain to you how therapy works-" the therapist begins, only to be swiftly cut off by satoru's acerbic retort.

"I know how it works. I spill my guts out to you, you give me some useless advice, write some bullshit on your pad, diagnose that I'm somehow mentally ill - blah, blah, blah," he interjects mockingly, rolling his eyes with palpable annoyance.

The therapist pauses, staring at him for a moment before chuckling softly. "Therapists aren't actually supposed to give advice, as we know that it won't help our clients in any meaningful way or may even make them feel worse. So we avoid doing that. Rather than giving you advice, we guide you to see how your feelings, thoughts, choices, and actions affect one another. And we teach you about emotions, thoughts, coping skills, facing fears, and more."

Satoru scoffs in return, unimpressed. It doesn't matter to him what her job description entails. How the hell is he supposed to feel comfortable when he's paying a person to listen to him? She doesn't genuinely want to hear his problems (not that he has any, of course). And who knows, she'll probably gossip about the shit he says with her friends.

"Now, how about you start telling me about your day?" she inquires, switching the subject, having likely noticed his lingering irritation. Satoru scoffs, as though that were a mind-numbingly dull question.

"My day? Same as any other day," Satoru shrugs. "What do you want to know? The weather? I took a very interesting dump in the morning? Got myself some food, did whatever the hell teachers do - the usual."

The therapist sighs, seemingly ready to give up on that line of questioning, or perhaps regretting having asked it in the first place. Even so, she jots something down on her pad, and Satoru isn't sure if what he said was actually so worthy of being noted.

"Do you seriously have to take notes? What was so important in my answer to write down?" he questions, his tone mocking.

"Everything you say is important, Mr. Gojo," she replies with a hum.

"Really? Is it really that important that I took a dump this morning?" Satoru laughs derisively. Therapy is a joke, as far as he's concerned.

The therapist looks at him with those eerily calm eyes once more, her irritatingly artificial smile still plastered on her face. "You're a teacher - what did you teach your students today?"

What.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me what subjects I teach?" Satoru looked at her suspiciously, wondering if Yaga had somehow explained to her that he is a sorcerer.

"You're a jujutsu sorcerer. There's no need for me to ask what subjects you teach," she replied calmly.

Satoru leaned in, his elbow resting on his thigh as he held his chin in his palm. "You seem to know a lot about me, doc. Just who are you exactly?" A grin appeared on his face, as he considered the possibility that she might also be a sorcerer like him. Outside of the jujutsu domain, humans don't typically know who Gojo Satoru is.

"I'm your therapist," she simply replied, and his brow twitched slightly. "You know what I'm asking, miss."

"What do you think?" She tilted her head, smiling at him. Of course, she would turn the question back to him - it always has to be about his feelings and thoughts in therapy.

"You are a sorceress," he muttered, no longer doubting the amount of cursed energy he felt in the room. She must be a skilled sorceress, able to maintain her cursed energy at a small, unnoticed level surrounding her.

But why would Principal Yaga assign a sorceress to him? Was this some kind of trick? The woman before him is probably not even a real therapist. Still, he's never heard of her name before - perhaps she's a sorceress from another nation?

"Close. I was a sorceress," she revealed.

Satoru's brow furrowed. Why did she quit? And why did she become a therapist? Just who is she exactly?

"Now, why don't we get back on track?" she inquired, smoothly switching the subject and ending his train of thought.

The rest of the session was simply her attempting to get to know him better, or rather, analyze him. However, satoru did not give her that opportunity. Why should he? Yaga had only instructed him to attend therapy, not that it had to be effective. Honestly, satoru did not particularly care about this endeavor.

Why should he divulge information about himself to someone he barely even knows? Not to mention, she is being paid to listen to him - she is not doing this out of her own volition or good-hearted intentions.

She likely does not truly care about his problems (not that he has any, in his opinion). So why should his feelings and thoughts matter to her? She is merely performing her job, nothing more, nothing less.

Satoru has no intention of pouring his heart out to a complete stranger he knows little about. He understands that therapy is meant to provide him with a safe space to be vulnerable and open about everything. But he does not feel comfortable in this room.

___________________________________________

Satoru sighs, leaning his cheek against his fist as he relaxes in the chair in front of her.

"You worry too much," he says casually. "Why don't we ever talk about your feelings? We only ever talk about me."

Satoru is aware that she only wants the best for him. He simply does not care. He is here because it is mandatory, not because he wants to be. He does not believe he needs therapy, despite her claims otherwise. As his therapist, of course she would tell him he requires this treatment.

It has been a month since their therapy sessions began, and satoru has not been the least bit cooperative. The only aspect he has enjoyed is the freedom to freely criticize the higher-ups without anyone chastising him or telling him it is inappropriate.

She would always listen intently to every word that came out of his mouth, diligently noting things down in her little pad. Honestly, not even his own students gave him the same level of attention that she bestowed upon him. He couldn't help but appreciate the fact that his feelings mattered in this space, that what he said truly held significance. He liked that. And he couldn't deny that he enjoyed her undivided attention on him.

"Because I'm your therapist, and I'm supposed to listen to you. Not the other way around." She sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "How many times do we have to go through this conversation?" She looked utterly exhausted, and he almost felt a tinge of guilt for making this so difficult for her. Keyword: almost.

He knew that she was simply doing her job. But he didn't care - he would make her tired of him until she gave up on him.

Yet, at the same time, the thought of her giving up on him left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't really want that.

He shrugged, smirking. "As many times as you want to," he said, with his ever-present sense of humor. "I can keep dodging questions all day, if you like. I'm perfectly fine just existing in this room while you try to wrangle me into being vulnerable."

"However, I can't say the same about you, doctor." He taunted.

"I am not trying to make you vulnerable, I'm trying to help you understand your feelings and maybe find solutions for your problems, Mr. Gojo," she said calmly, as she crossed her legs and leaned back into her chair.

Satoru rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hand dismissively as he slumped against the back of his chair. "Help me understand my problems. Solve them. Figure out why I am the way I am. Heard it all before."

He knew he had to be here, in therapy, every week. However, that didn't mean he had to be vulnerable or cooperate with all this touchy-feely stuff. He simply didn't like that kind of thing.

"What makes you the happiest, Mr. Gojo?" She began asking him again. Seriously, how many questions did she prepare for him every time? He couldn't deny that he didn't dislike the fact that she worked so hard, just for him.

Hm.

It was a question he had genuinely considered. What made him the happiest?

"Fighting," he said after a pause. He gave a casual shrug. "I enjoy fights. They're fun. And when they get hard, it makes me want to try even harder. So... I guess that's what makes me the happiest - winning a difficult fight."

"The rush of adrenaline makes me feel... I don't know, excited? You know," he muttered, finding it somewhat challenging to articulate.

She scribbled some more notes in her pad. "Is there any fight that made you especially happy?" she then asked, her gaze shifting back to him from her pad.

"Mhm," he hummed, a small smirk forming on his face. This was a fun question for him. "Well... there was the time I got to fight a special grade," he said, the smile widening as he recalled the memory. "And that time I beat Toji. That's a really good memory."

"I would've died. But he didn't use a cursed tool, and didn't cut my head off," he chuckled, as if it were something to be happy about. "You should've seen the look on his face when he saw me, the one he supposedly killed, still alive and kicking."

"But I can't say I'm not grateful to him. Because I got to finally learn how reverse cursed technique works," he said with a wide grin on his face, and she followed suit by taking more notes in her pad.

He noticed her actions and stared at her with an exaggerated eyebrow raise. "Go ahead, make your notes about me being a sadist and liking to inflict pain or something. Then go back and analyze it with all your other therapist friends."

"I already said this before, whatever happens in this room will stay in this room, Mr. Gojo," she replied. "So be not afraid to spill anything to me."

"Yeah, yeah," he smirked, amused.

"What's my diagnosis, doc?" He tilted his head, staring at her as she lifted her head up from her pad to meet his gaze. "I'm a very bad person, don't you think? I love the pain I inflict on curses, I love the way they fear me, the fear in their eyes makes me feel so fucking excited," he laughed loudly.

"And when their blood taints my skin and clothes, it's such a disgusting texture yet it makes me want to be covered more with their blood. It feels so fucking amazing," he stared at her, awaiting a visible reaction, but he was met with nothing but an empty smile and empty eyes.

He hates this. He hates her. She's just an empty shell.

"You're just as crazy as I am, doc. Aren't ya?"

___________________________________________

But before she could say anything, the session had already ended, and Satoru was quick on his feet to get out of there.

Satoru rolls his eyes at her words and sighs. He leans back into the chair and spreads his legs, getting comfortable.

"This is such a pain," he mutters. "Do we really have to talk today? There's nothing to discuss. I'm peachy keen."

"Mr. Gojo, I need you to be a little more cooperative," she uttered gently.

"Do you, now?" Satoru's tone was dry, like sandpaper, his expression unchanging. He tilted his head slightly to the side. He could tell she was running out of patience, but that didn't stop him from being intentionally difficult. In fact, it made it more fun for him. "Yes, it's for your own good."

Satoru chuckles a little bit. "Aaaand here's the old 'it's for your own good' trope again, huh?" He shook his head, feigning mock disappointment. "I thought we were done with that by now, honestly."

"I do think that you really need this," she said seriously. "Look, Mr. Gojo, you might show your playful and cheerful side to everyone around you, but that is only a way to make them feel safe around you. I don't know what it's like to be the strongest, but I know that it can get pretty lonely standing on your own on top."

"You make it sound like I'm unhappy or something," he replied, shaking his head again. "Is it really so crazy for you to think that I'm perfectly fine being by myself? That I prefer being alone?" A small smile appeared on his face again. "I'm not lonely, doctor. I get more attention than I want, actually."

"That's not it," she sighed, shaking her head. "I know you have friends, you're a pretty talkative person and also a person who's approachable." She gave him a small smile. "Still, being surrounded by people doesn't mean that you feel the warmth of comfort. You keep them around you but still hold a certain distance between you and them that you never let them cross. You never let people get too close to you, which is a problem because you're isolating yourself from the world even if you think you're doing the opposite."

His small smile faded, and he rolled his eyes as he began to look agitated. He sat up, leaning forward towards her, his elbows on his knees. "What's with the armchair psychology? Where are you even getting all of this? You don't know me. You can't just assume these kinds of things based on just a few therapy sessions."

"I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, and please do correct me if I'm wrong. But there are a lot of people who feel lonely even while being surrounded by people," she sighed.

"Regrettably, I struggle to forge meaningful connections with others," he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. "They fail to comprehend me. They do not know the true me. They would be unable to accept me as I truly am, so I ceased exerting the effort. I stopped attempting to force something that was simply never going to materialize. Therefore, I shall keep everyone at a distance, for that is what they deserve. I do not grapple with the kinds of issues you presume I do, so desist in your efforts to analyze me."

She replied softly, "They are unaware of your authentic self because that is the outcome you desire, Mr. Gojo. If you are unwilling to be truthful about your personality and emotions with another individual, can you genuinely call that a connection? A relationship? It is all constructed upon walls of deception, intended to keep them at bay."

Satoru's response was tinged with bitterness. "So you are asserting that the fault lies with me for people's rejection, correct?" He leaned forward, his arms crossed defensively over his knees. A sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I have made attempts to be honest with others. I have exerted the effort before, yet all I ever received in return was judgment and fear. I shall not place myself in that position again."

"The fault does not lie with you that they do not like you. However, the fault lies with you in presenting a false persona to them daily. Allow me to pose a question - from all the individuals surrounding you, can you name a single person who truly knows you?" she inquired.

Satoru's expression darkened at her words, the façade he maintained for others striking a chord. How could she discern this about him? It irritated him, albeit slightly. His gaze hardened with annoyance.

"No," he admitted in defeat. "I am surrounded by those I call friends, yet not a single soul among them truly knows me."

"Why not try opening up to them?" she suggested. "I will not ask you to confide in me, for I understand you do not particularly enjoy conversing with me, and that is perfectly acceptable. However, I am certain that at least one person would be willing to listen. Believe it or not, if they truly care for you, they will accept you with all your vulnerabilities and flaws."

A scoff escaped his lips at her proposal. "I'd rather not," he stated firmly. There was a sense of finality in his tone, and he was resolute in his decision. He had no desire to open up to anyone. That struck him as a waste of time.

"Even were I to open up to someone, there is a zero percent chance they would genuinely accept me for who I am. It is merely wishful thinking on your part, and you know it," he added.

"I would be truly delighted if you felt inclined to open up, Mr. Gojo. I sincerely implore you to believe me when I say I am fully attentive and receptive to whatever you wish to share," she sighed.

"Yeah, yeah..." he responded dismissively.

Satoru maintained his smirk, genuinely impressed by her unwavering conviction. He leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin pensively. "Why are you being so uncharacteristically kind?" he inquired. "Most therapists I've encountered are arrogant, know-it-all types. You, on the other hand, seem far too amiable. I'm not entirely convinced."

His expression suddenly hardened as he leaned forward, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You're deceiving me," he declared. "You must have some ulterior motive. Therapists do not pose those ostensibly benevolent questions out of pure kindness. You must be attempting to extract something from me - perhaps a salacious story to sell to the press, or you may have a reporter willing to pay handsomely for such information. Or, it could be that you are merely trying to bolster your own image, and I am the unfortunate individual you intend to 'utilize.' Well, let me inform you of something, my dear."

He seized the arms of her chair, pulling it forcefully towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. Satoru could hear the subtle hitch in her breath, a sign of her surprise at his sudden, assertive action. Maintaining unwavering eye contact, he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You should understand," he whispered, "that I am no stranger to individuals who believe they have me all figured out. So no matter how genuine you may seem, my dear, I am not so easily cracked." With that, he reclined back in his chair, releasing his grip on her seat. "You'll have to try something else."

For a moment, she remained silent, before letting out a soft sigh and offering him a gentle smile. "Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Gojo." Her words, rather than indignant, carried a sense of empathy.

Satoru's eyes widened in surprise. He had expected her to refute his accusations, to insist that she harbored no ulterior motives. But instead, she had responded with gratitude for his candor.

He stared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her facade of kindness to crumble. Yet, it never did. This woman, it seemed, was genuine in her compassion.

"If you feel uncomfortable in my presence, please do not hesitate to request a different therapist," she suggested, her tone measured and understanding. "I would be more than happy to make the necessary arrangements."

Satoru's expression darkened at her offer. "No," he said, his voice harsher than he had intended. He paused, taking a breath to regain his composure. "No, I want you," he stated firmly. "I'm cooperating, aren't I? If I wanted someone else, I would have requested a change long ago."

Satoru took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly at her gentle suggestion.

"You were more cooperative than before. And I appreciate that," she said, offering him a warm smile.

Satoru blinked in surprise. He had not expected such a genuine acknowledgment of his progress.

"So... what?" he asked, tilting his head as he considered her words. "You're saying you're proud of me?"

"I am. You're doing great," she hummed softly.

To both her and his own surprise, Satoru suddenly burst out laughing – a loud, unrestrained sound that filled the small space as he leaned back in his chair, clutching his stomach in an attempt to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he managed after a moment, taking a deep breath as he looked at her. "That... that just took me by surprise."

"No, please don't apologize," she quickly reassured him. "I must say, this is the most expressive I've seen you in this room." She chuckled lightly.

Satoru couldn't deny the truth in her words. His laughter finally subsiding, he smirked, crossing his arms. "Expressive? I guess if you count 'laughing like a maniac' as being expressive, I can agree."

He paused, a touch of amusement still in his tone. "I guess I'm improving, if I'm entertaining you."

"So, got something else to ask me, doc?" he inquired, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Tell me, do you know who you are, Mr. Gojo?" she asked, her gaze steady and her tone sincere.

Satoru's features twisted into an expression of annoyance at the question. "Of course I know who I am," he retorted, the defensiveness evident in his tone. "What is this, a therapy session?"

"I'm not asking you about the position you've been forced into, and definitely not the personality made up," she said, shaking her head. "I'm asking you – do you really know who you are?"

He let out a dry laugh, the irritation seeping through. "Who I really am? What kind of question is that? Are you seriously going to ask me to define my entire existence right now? Are you expecting me to have some groundbreaking revelation or something? Because I hate to break it to you, doctor, but I'm tired of all this self-reflecting nonsense."

"Tell me the first thing that comes to mind when you think about yourself," she sighed, her patience unwavering.

Satoru tilted his head back with a sigh, closing his eyes. He was doing this not because he genuinely wanted to, but to get her off his back.

After a few moments of contemplation, he responded, "The strongest. I'm unreachable, untouchable."

"If you ask someone else the same question," she trailed off, "what's the first thing that comes to mind when they think of Gojo Satoru? They'll reply with the same thing. But is it really what you want?"

He opened his eyes, looking at her with a furrowed brow. "What I want?" he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "What I want is for you to not ask me weird questions that have no point or answer. I'm perfectly fine with being unreachable and untouchable. That's how I's always been. It's the natural order of things."

"Is strength really what defines you?" she asked. He raised a brow. "What's your point?"

"Do you know who you are?"

"Tell me, will you be Gojo Satoru without your powers?"

This question - it struck a chord within him. He remembers the day Suguru left, and the question that had remained unanswered until now. He had chosen to ignore it, but now it was haunting him once more.

Without his powers? His powers had been such a central focus in his life; he'd never truly considered his life without them. He... didn't even know who he would be. He was Gojo Satoru, the strongest of the strong. Take that away, and who was left?

He couldn't answer that. He simply remained silent, looking down at his hands, his grip tightening on his knees as he felt a sense of defensiveness.

But then, he stopped himself, his grip loosening as he looked at her, still frowning but with slightly less irritation in his expression.

"The therapy session is over," she said softly. "I want you to think about this question and try to find an answer to it."

Satoru let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, the session was finally over. Despite being overjoyed that he no longer had to continue, his expression darkened a little, his brow furrowing in thought. He knew he would be thinking about this, whether he wanted to or not. She didn't even have to ask.

He stood up from the chair and left the room without giving her a last glance. He heard her say something about how he should take care of himself.

The drive back to the Gojo Clan's compound was spent in relative silence. Ijichi kept a watchful eye on Satoru, who remained uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were consumed by the question posed to him during the therapy session.

As the car pulled up to the gates of the compound, Satoru suddenly spoke. "Ijichi," he said, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty, "if I weren't the strongest, would I still be Gojo Satoru?"

Ijichi's gaze shifted to Satoru, surprise flickering across his features at the unexpected question.

"Of course," he replied without hesitation. "Your strength is a significant aspect of who you are, but it is not the essence of your identity." He watched Satoru for a moment, noting the expression on his face. "May I ask why you're asking this, Gojo?"

"Just something that I thought about," he said dismissively.

The rest of the evening was spent in a haze of thought for Satoru, tossing and turning in bed as he wrestled with his questions, doubts, and insecurities. They swirled in his mind, keeping him from finding respite. He had never felt so uncertain, so lost before. Who was he without the mantle of the strongest? What did he even have left?

He tried to shake off these thoughts, to push them to the back of his mind, but the questions persisted, gnawing at him like a relentless ache.

Gojo's thoughts returned to the question she had asked, "Do you know who you are?" He couldn't help but scowl at the recollection. He had taken offense to the question then, but now, alone with his thoughts in the quiet of the night, he found himself truly grappling with the magnitude of that question.

Who was he? This question had never posed a challenge before. He had always known who he was - the strongest. That had been his identity for as long as he could remember.

___________________________________________

The days that followed were restless, as her questions flooded his mind at all times - while teaching, on a mission, or at home. Her question occupied his mind constantly.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. There was no point in lying here, unable to sleep. He needed air.

Satoru grabbed his jacket and threw it over his shoulders before quietly making his way out of the room, the floor creaking under his feet in the otherwise silent compound.

As he walked, the echoes of his footsteps reverberating down the hallway, he couldn't shake off the persistent questions that had been plaguing his mind all night.

He reached the entrance of the compound and stepped outside into the cool night air. The stars twinkled above him, a blanket of sparkling lights against the inky sky. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the quiet and the solitude.

But even in the silence of the night, the questions stayed with him, refusing to give him peace. He found himself facing an identity crisis that gnawed at him like never before.

Satoru walked, the snow crunching beneath every step his feet took. He walked with no destination in mind, hoping that maybe the movement and the fresh air would help clear his mind. Yet, no matter how far he walked, he couldn't escape the questions that haunted him.

Suddenly, the thought struck him - perhaps he needed guidance. But who could he turn to? His mind flitted through the people in his life - Nanamin, Ieiri, Ijichi, but ultimately he dismissed each one. They would never understand what he was going through.

But the thought persisted. He couldn't shake off the idea of her help. She had already managed to get under his skin, planting this seed of doubt that had grown into this existential crisis. Perhaps she was exactly the person he needed right now.

Satoru clenched his fists, silently cursing to himself. He had always prided himself on being in control, but now, here he was, considering seeking help from the very person who had caused his turmoil in the first place.

But it was late at night, would she even help him if he called her right now? Would she help him without getting paid, without being in that stuffy room?

As the dial tone rang through the line, anxiety began to creep into his mind. What if she didn't answer? What if she hung up once she realized it was him? He had never called her outside of their sessions before. Why would she answer now?

After what felt like an eternity, the line clicked open, breaking the silence. Satoru's heart pounded in his chest. She had actually answered.

"Hello? How may I help you?" Her voice was sleepy and confused at the late call.

Satoru hesitated for a moment, the sound of her tired, confused voice sending prickles of guilt through him. Should he really be doing this? But he had already come this far; he couldn't back down now.

"It's me," he finally said, his voice low and a little apologetic. "Gojo Satoru. I - I need help."

"Mr. Gojo?" She was suddenly wide awake, she didn't expect him of all people to call. "Of course, where are you right now?"

"I'm... I'm outside," he replied, a hint of shame in his voice. He didn't know how to explain where he was or what he was doing out so late. "I was walking. But I can't stop thinking about that question you asked me in the session that day. And it's driving me insane. I - I need answers."

"Can you be more specific? I'm on my way— ah, shit!" She cursed as she hit her foot with something she wasn't able to see in the dark, she quickly put on her jacket and her scarf and went downstairs.

Gojo heard the clatter and curse from her end of the line, making him flinch slightly. He felt oddly guilty for waking her and even making her come out at this late hour.

"Be more specific?" he repeated, his irritation seeping into his voice. "Isn't it enough that you threw my whole world off-balance? Now you need more specifics...?" But his tone softened as he mumbled, "I guess it'd be better if you were here."

"No. Where are you right now exactly?" She asked, putting her shoes on and finally going outside as it had begun snowing. She quickly got into her car.

Gojo huffed out a sigh, glancing around to get his bearings, "I'm about three miles north of Jujutsu High."

He was still outside the compound, which meant he had walked a considerable distance in his thoughts. The snowflakes were slowly falling from the sky, each one descending gently to the ground. Gojo stood there, watching them fall, waiting for her to arrive and, hopefully, provide some clarity to his chaotic thoughts.

"Okay, stay where you are. I'll be there in 10 minutes." She said as she started driving. "Tell me how you've been feeling today?"

Satoru rolled his eyes slightly as he heard her questioning. This woman just didn't know when to quit. But he was here for an answer, so he might as well satisfy her with some small talk beforehand.

"I've been feeling lost," he admitted after a moment, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "Like everything I've ever known about myself has been turned upside down." He paused, a hint of resentment in his voice. "All because of what you said during the session."

"I see. It's good that you've thought about it, Mr. Gojo," she muttered softly.

"Is it?" he snapped. "Because right now, I feel like you've thrown my whole world off-balance. And for what? Because you wanted me to 'think about it'?" Satoru let out a bitter chuckle. "You're cruel, you know that? Or perhaps you just find pleasure in messing with my mind."

"A person needs to know themselves before trying to help themselves." She said. "You don't know who you are."

"And whose fault is that?" He muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. "I had this issue before, but I had somehow gotten rid of it. But now that you've planted this seed of doubt again, all I can think about is questioning who I am. It's maddening!"

He let out a bitter chuckle again. "Are you happy now, that I'm having this crisis?"

"Thank you for sharing your feelings." She said, as if trying to comfort him.

"Don't act so sweet, like you actually care about how I feel," he snapped. He was tired, irritated, and at the end of his rope. "You have no idea what this revelation is doing to me. My whole identity was built upon being the strongest. If you take that away, what's left of me? Who am I without that identity?"

She parked near Jujutsu High, getting outside of her car. "I do know what you're feeling right now, believe it or not I was in the same state that you were in." The snow crunched beneath her shoes as she started searching for him.

Satoru scoffed slightly, disbelief clear in his voice. "You know what it's like to have your entire identity shattered like this? Please. As if you could ever understand my struggle. I've dedicated my whole life, my very existence to be the strongest."

He shook his head, his expression a mix of bitterness and desperation. "But now, all I have are questions. Why am I here? Who am I, if not the strongest? It's like a never-ending abyss of uncertainty."

Here is the expanded version of the dialogue with more descriptive language:

She strode towards him, her eyes finally landing on his familiar form. "Turn around," she instructed gently.

Satoru's brow furrowed slightly, confusion etching across his features at her sudden command. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly pivoted to face her, his expression guarded, eyes wary.

"Where's your blindfold?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He blinked, surprised by her question. In the whirlwind of emotions, he had nearly forgotten about the blindfold when he left the compound. But what did his lack of the customary covering have to do with anything?

"I don't have it," he responded slowly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't want you to have a headache." She spoke softly, aware of his unique situation - the six eyes that made him perceive the world differently, often leading to painful migraines. Reaching up, she untied her own scarf. "Here, put this on."

Satoru stared at her, a mix of surprise and wariness evident in his gaze. He was unaccustomed to anyone showing him such genuine concern. She had already managed to see through his carefully crafted bravado and delve into the depths of his mind, and now she was extending this empathy? It was unsettling.

Still, he hesitated for a moment, torn between his reluctance and the throbbing ache pulsing at his temples. Finally, he reached out and gently took the scarf from her outstretched hand.

Satoru carefully wrapped the soft fabric around his eyes, tying it securely in place. It felt unusual, a stark contrast to his familiar blindfold, yet it offered a surprising sense of relief. The gentle pressure against his eyes was soothing, and the plush material was a comforting contrast to the chill of the night air.

He took a shallow breath, feeling a slight easing of the headache. He couldn't deny the scarf was helping, but it felt peculiar to be seen and cared for in this way.

"I want you to think about the moments in your life that didn't involve your powers," she said gently, her words a gentle nudge.

Satoru's expression darkened slightly at her prompting. His life had always revolved around his abilities, especially after discovering the rarity of his Six Eyes.

But the thought did pose an intriguing question. He had never truly considered the times when he wasn't constantly using or contemplating his powers.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. "What if there are no such moments?"

"Right now, right here. You aren't using your powers," she pointed out. "I'm sure there have been many instances in your life where your abilities weren't the primary focus - going out with your students, spending time with friends, studying, taking walks, even just everyday tasks like eating or running errands."

Satoru's frown deepened slightly as her words sank in. She was right. In that very moment, he wasn't relying on his Six Eyes to protect himself or perceive the world around him.

He couldn't deny the existence of those more mundane, seemingly insignificant moments in his life that didn't revolve around his powers. Simple joys like laughing with his students, or the solace he found in the company of his friends - times when his abilities weren't at the forefront of his mind.

"You're human, Mr. Gojo," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "So, please, don't treat yourself as if you're not. Your power is a part of your identity, but is it really everything about you? That's the question you need to ask yourself."

Satoru's breath caught slightly as her words sank in. He had spent so many years defining himself by his power, by his role as the strongest, that it was difficult to imagine there was anything else to him.

But she was correct. His abilities were a part of him, but they did not encompass his entire existence. He was more than just his powers. He was a jujutsu sorcerer, a teacher, a friend, a human with emotions and a complex inner world.

"Now let me ask you again," she trailed off. "Do you know who you are, Mr. Gojo?"

Satoru exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of clarity wash over him. He understood now what she was trying to convey. His identity was not solely tied to his powers. There was so much more to him than that.

He lifted his head, the scarf over his eyes lifting slightly. His voice was quiet but sure.

"I am Satoru Gojo. Jujutsu sorcerer. Teacher. Friend. Human. And so much more."

"Exactly." She chuckled. "I'm proud of you."

Satoru felt a flicker of something unfamiliar stir within him at her words. He had never heard someone express pride in him, at least not on an emotional level. Usually, it was about his prowess or his accomplishments in battle.

He gave a small snort, trying to downplay how her praise affected him. "You make me sound like a child, Miss Therapist," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh..sorry, I didn't mean to come across that way," She quickly apologized.

Satoru waved her apology away with a dismissive hand gesture. "No, no. I wasn't offended or anything like that," he reassured her. "It's just..a little surprising, that's all."

He gave a small laugh, shaking his head slightly. "People usually praise me for being the strongest, not for being...human. But it's not a bad feeling, to know that someone is proud of me as a person. So thank you."

"No. Thank you for being truthful with me, Mr. Gojo," She hummed softly.

A small chuckle escaped Gojo's lips, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You know, I'm not sure why you're thanking me for doing the bare minimum," he teased. "Being truthful should be expected, shouldn't it?"

"I'm thanking you because I know how difficult it is to be truthful about yourself with someone and to be truthful with yourself," She chuckled.

Satoru's smile widened slightly. Her words carried a sincerity that resonated deeply within him.

"You're right," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not easy. In fact, it's damn near impossible sometimes." He took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh.

"Being honest with yourself, and with others...it requires a certain level of vulnerability and courage, and frankly, I'm not always very good at it."

Here is the response with more detailed and descriptive wording:

"That's perfectly understandable, you are only human and thus not impervious to imperfections. We all have our flaws, fears, and moments of fallibility at times. But that is what makes us distinctly human, what sets us apart from the animal kingdom. We have the capacity to learn and grow from our mistakes, to confront and overcome our fears, and to refine our shortcomings. " She spoke softly, her voice tinged with a gentle empathy. "You should never forget that you are just as human as anyone else—" Her words were suddenly interrupted by a delicate sneeze.

Satoru flinched slightly as the unexpected sound pierced the crisp, cold night air. On some level, he was somewhat relieved that her soothing words had been cut short, as they had started to hit a little too close to home for his comfort.

"Bless you," he murmured, his tone a curious blend of playful teasing and genuine concern. "It seems the frigid weather has gotten the better of you."

"Sorry about that...I'm just not terribly well-suited for cold climates," she admitted, rubbing her hands together in a futile attempt to generate warmth.

Satoru couldn't resist the temptation of a mischievous smirk. Here he had been feeling vulnerable and exposed, and now the tables had turned, with her appearing to be the one struggling against the biting chill.

"That's not something one usually hears from someone who was living in the northern regions," he teased, unable to resist the opportunity to poke a bit of fun. "I thought the hardy folk up there were practically immune to the cold."

"Well, you see, I wasn't actually born and raised in these parts, i just lived some years there." she chuckled.

"Ah, I see," satoru nodded, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes. "So you're not a true northerner. That certainly explains a lot."

He paused for a moment, a mischievous thought crossing his mind. "But you'll never truly adapt if you don't embrace the cold," he declared dramatically. "And what better way to do that than by engaging in a good old-fashioned snowball fight?"

Without warning, she hurled a tightly packed snowball directly at him, the frozen projectile striking him with surprising force.

"You should be more careful!" She laughed as she scurried away.

Satoru was momentarily caught off-guard by her sudden attack. He blinked, stunned for a moment, before a wide grin spread across his face.

"Oh, it's on now," he declared, his eyes twinkling with competitive delight.

He swiftly leaned down, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it into a compact, aerodynamic ball, before launching it towards her with remarkable precision.

"Agh!" She groaned as the snowball hit its mark, but her laughter quickly followed. "Cheater!"

Satoru chuckled, not holding back a hint of smug satisfaction. "Cheat? Perish the thought, my dear," he declared, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. "I'm merely making use of my natural talents."

He quickly formed another snowball, his movements quick and elegant, and with a flick of his wrist, he released it, aiming straight for her. "I am, after all, the reigning champion of snowball warfare," he boasted.

"Hey! Go easy on me!" She laughed again, retaliating with a well-aimed snowball of her own.

"Easy? What is this, a snowball fight for beginners?" Satoru teased, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He dodged her projectile with effortless grace, his steps light and fleeting like a shadow.

He swiftly countered with his own snowball, a perfect shot that struck its target, causing her to stumble slightly. "Come on, you can do better than that," he taunted, reveling in the adrenaline of their playful conflict.

"No fair!" She whined as she threw another snowball, this time finally hitting him squarely. "Ha!"

Satoru let out a theatrical groan, pretending to be wounded by her snowball. "Oh, the agony," he clutched at his heart dramatically, a grin betraying his amusement. "I've been hit! What a catastrophic defeat this is."

Not one to be outdone, he swiftly retaliated, launching a flurry of snowballs in her direction with deadly accuracy. "You can't stop the king of snowballs!"

She deftly dodged his barrage of snowballs, her movements agile and nimble. "The rightful queen of snowballs will reclaim her throne!" She chuckled as she threw another well-aimed projectile.

Satoru raised an eyebrow at her declaration, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Oh, is that so? The rightful queen of snowballs, you claim to be?"

He evaded her snowball easily, his laughter echoing through the night. "Well, let's see how rightful you truly are!" He retaliated with a series of perfectly aimed snowballs, each one a testament to his skill and precision.

Some snowballs found their mark, but she quickly retreated behind the shelter of a nearby tree, emerging to launch her own volley of icy projectiles in his direction. "You're cheating!" She accused playfully.

Satoru laughed heartily, his eyes glinting with a competitive spark. "Cheating? Or simply better at this than you?" he teased.

He ducked, weaved, and dodged her snowballs with a casual ease that made it appear as though he were dancing rather than engaging in a fierce snowball battle. "Admit it, darling. I'm just naturally gifted at the art of snowy warfare!"

"Nuh uh!" She laughed, her voice filled with playful defiance as the relentless snowball fight continued.

As the intense battle of wits and wintry wonders wore on, their laughter filled the night air, echoing through the trees. Satoru's competitive spirit was fully ignited, and he wasn't holding back. His movements were swift and precise, each snowball hitting its mark with remarkable accuracy.

"Admit it, admit it!" he called out, his voice teeming with playful taunting. "You can't defeat the Snowball King!"

"The queen will reclaim her rightful place!" She said playfully as she suddenly ran up to him and tackled him, sending them both tumbling into the soft, powdery snow. "The king has fallen!" She laughed triumphantly.

Satoru's eyes widened in surprise as he felt himself falling, his balance thrown off by her unexpected attack. He landed on his back with a thump, sinking slightly into the snow, a look of mock indignation on his face.

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be, queen?" he chuckled, his tone filled with playful defiance. "You really think you can take down the king with a sneak attack like that?"

"Yeah!" She laughed as she straddled him, triumphantly launching a handful of snow directly into his face. "Payback!"

Satoru sputtered and spluttered as the cold, powdery snow landed on his face, momentarily obscuring his vision. But the unexpected sensation of her sitting atop him, coupled with the icy touch of the snow, sent a shiver of exhilaration down his spine.

He blinked, his eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle as he grinned up at her. "Oh, you think that's payback? That won't do. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

And in a sudden, swift motion, he flipped them over, now pinning her down to the snow, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. He took a handful of the icy powder and gently placed it in her mouth before she could react. "How does snow taste, my queen?"

She quickly spat out the snow, coughing and sputtering, but he merely laughed in response as he collapsed down beside her, both of them lying in the snow, their breathing heavy from the exertion of their playful battle.

After a moment of catching their breath, satoru turned his head towards her, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, a result of the cold. He couldn't help but find her endearing in that moment.

"I would like to know more about you, miss therapist," Satoru murmured, his curiosity piqued. She was silent for a moment, contemplating his request. "What would you like to know?"

"I don't know... perhaps you could start by telling me why you decided to quit being a sorcerer?" Satoru's expression sobered slightly.

She paused for a moment before speaking. "I was previously involved in a perilous mission and perished back then, but I still clung desperately to life. So I made a binding vow, offering my cursed technique in exchange for the preservation of my life, I suppose." She shrugged, as if the matter was trivial. "I'm sorry to hear about your experience," I responded sympathetically.

"It's alright, the practice of sorcery simply was not meant for me. Instead, I have decided to become a therapist, helping people who are part of the jujutsu community, as I understand the daily realities they face as sorcerers."

He hummed thoughtfully as he looked back up at the sky. "That explains why I have never heard of you before," he mused. "Do you have any surviving family members?" he inquired.

"They have all passed away," she replied solemnly.

"I see," he said quietly.

"I apologize for-" he began.

"No need to apologize," she assured him. "I understand your curiosity."

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