#I can feel the ability disintegrating

[eternal-moss]

Hello Gamers. It turns out that I’ve done all my homework (somehow) ((miraculously)) which means I can spend this evening drawing/writing rather than doing maths until midnight. Yippee. This doesn’t happen very often, hence the urge to announce it.

[pathologicalreid]

central nervous system | s.r.

in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: being drugged, threatened sexual assault, season 10, blood, broken glass, in a bar but reader doesn't drink, jareau!reader. word count: 1.7k a/n: oh dear. this week was so eternally long. work was crazy busy i worked overtime and almost ended up in the hospital which all led up to me taking the lsat today. crazy shit, but margovember will prevail. also! i'm hoping to get masterlists updated tomorrow if that's something you've been waiting on.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” an unfamiliar voice intrudes on your private thoughts, looking around the bar that you had been planted in to see if you could catch your UnSub before he had the chance to attack someone else.

He sets a glass in front of you, and you drop some cash on the wooden surface, you shrug, “I’m in town on business.”

The bartender laughs heartily at your response before shaking his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—that’s a line I hear a lot.”

Your face warms at the recognition that the bartender was flirting with you, but this is a man who gets paid to be nice. You take his words at face value and sip at your drink, “Well, I have no reason to lie to you,” you squint at his name tag, “Jackson.”

He wipes down a spill, hooking the rag over the sink, and smiling at you, “Well, it’s nice to meet an honest woman.”

Following him with your eyes as he walks away, that last comment rubs you the wrong way, but Jackson Gleason was the bar manager, and Garcia had already cleared him from the suspect list.

You find yourself wishing Hotch had sent you into the bar with an earbud to communicate with the team, but instead, you were handed a phone, preprogrammed to alert the team if you hit the power button. There was a plainclothes officer somewhere in a corner to keep an eye on you, and the rest of the team was at the precinct or in an unmarked van outside.

Kate had coached you to the best of her abilities, but this wasn’t your first time going undercover. Catching serial rapists was more her speed, but she was pregnant, which immediately took her out of the running. Sipping from the thin straw in your glass, you let your eyes wander around the bar, antique posters and advertisements are littered across the walls, and someone just started playing Radiohead on the jukebox.

Eyeing the phone in your purse, you sigh, stirring the ice in your cup listlessly.

“Can I get you another? Maybe something stronger?” The manager offers, returning from the employees-only door with a new package of straws to restock the bar.

You shake your head, holding your empty glass out of him to take, “The same thing is fine.” Ignoring the fact that you don’t drink—you couldn’t drink on the job; all you’d been given was a coke.

He raises his eyebrows at that, “Suit yourself,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were trying to hand off your already dirtied glass to him and filling a clean cup with ice and coke.

Brushing it off as company policy, you thank him for the drink, placing another few dollars on the bar and smiling at him. Over your shoulder, you glance at the plainclothes officer, engaging in an animated conversation with another patron over whatever sports game is playing on the TV. You suspect he’s a little too good at pretending to be off the clock.

You make a face at the straw in your glass, and the bartender notices, “Sorry, just ran out of plastic.”

Taken aback, you use the paper straw anyway, sipping at your drink while you still can—knowing the straw will inevitably disintegrate.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice something wrong, a dull ache in your chest exacerbated by a slight rise in your body temperature. Your fingertips feel hot like they would after coming inside from the cold. You look down to find the emergency phone in your purse, but your head droops with your eyes, every controlled movement before a struggle.

“Hey,” Gleason says, jutting his chin in your direction, “You don’t look so great.”

A different version of yourself would’ve given him snark in return, but that different version of yourself would’ve been able to feel her extremities. “Woah,” You breathe, trying to swing your legs off of the stool only to find that you’re much higher from the ground than you initially thought.

When you lift your head again, whipping it back so hard you’re afraid it might fly off, he’s standing directly in front of you, “Why don’t I take you out back? You can get some fresh air,” the offer is innocent enough, but it rubs you the wrong way. His hand is on your waist, at the very least you know that’s wrong—you have a boyfriend, and it’s not this guy.

No, your boyfriend is outside of the bar in a van, waiting for your signal because you’re… oh. “No,” you whisper, trying to get your breathing under control. “I’m— Where’s my phone?” You’re digging through your purse as he stands you up and guides you to the back of the bar, closer to a large exit sign.

Sirens are going off in your head, but even they sound separated from your situation. “I can call a cab for you,” he assures you, leading you by your arm and closer to the back door.

“No,” you say again, “I really need my phone…” his grip tightens on your wrist, practically dragging you out of the bar while you use your free hand to find your phone, pushing the power button before it slips out of your hand, clattering to the ground. “That really hurts,” you tell him, now able to give more of your focus to evading the man who was most decidedly not Jackson Gleason.

Pulling your arm back, you manage to break free from him, the momentum from your struggle sends your hand flying into a picture frame, shattering the glass and causing the UnSub to spin on his heel. “Look at what you did,” he seethes, gripping your hair at the back of your head and forcing you to look at the shattered glass.

Your mouth gapes at the sensation of your hair being pulled until there’s a rush of cold air and he pushes you forward, into the waiting arms of someone else, “Woah, hey, I’ve got you,” Spencer says, keeping you off of the floor and, with the help of someone else, carrying your dead weight over to one of the booths.

Spencer clambers into the booth seat first, seating you in front of him so that your back is pressing against his chest. You let out a low groan when he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping your body from flopping onto the sticky hardwood.

“Do you know what you took?” He asks, pressing his face into your hair so that the two of you can keep your voices down.

Vaguely aware of the way his fingers are pressing into the pulse point on your wrist, you shake your head, “I didn’t take anything.”

He hums in response, “You were drugged. I— I’m so sorry we didn’t realize who it was sooner. By the time we realized there was a discrepancy in Jackson Gleason’s file, you had already pushed the alert button,” he tells you, being careful not to move around too much. “Can you lift your head for me? It’ll help your breathing.”

With tremendous effort—and some help from Spencer—you lift your head, letting it rest on him. Now, you can see that the majority of the bar has cleared out, Rossi watches you nervously from the bar, telling Spencer something about paramedics. You huff, “Where’s JJ?”

“She’ll meet us at the hospital, love,” he answers you, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Trying to adjust yourself, you shake your head indeterminably, “No, it’s… I need my sister. I need my sister.” Somewhere—a past version of yourself, perhaps—you knew that JJ was at the hospital, speaking with one of the survivors.

Spencer speaks with someone that you can’t see, they’re standing in your periphery, a mangled blur of a person. Moments later, something cold is pressed to your face, and the sensation makes you jump, “Ow,” you whine, though it doesn’t hurt.

“Ducky?” Your sister’s voice rings through the phone, and you’re surprised to hear her using your nickname. Although, your status as JJ’s little sister tends to come through when you’re hurt.

You hum into the receiver, “Hi, J,” you greet wearily.

A sigh of relief is her next response, “Hey, Derek said you’re waiting for the paramedics to take you to the hospital, and I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive. Does that sound alright?”

“It’s cold in here,” you mumble, wondering if Derek is the blurry shape remaining in your periphery.

There’s a pause on her end before she speaks up again, “I’m sorry, Ducky.” There it was again. “You’ll be okay though; you just have to wait it out.”

You nod as a jacket is laid out on your lap; Spencer must’ve heard you mention being cold to your sister. Your boyfriend whispers something to you, “Spencer says the paramedics are here and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

JJ laughs slightly on the phone, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Yeah, J,” you whisper, letting someone take the phone from you. You frown at Spencer, “I don’t feel quite right.”

Helping you get on the gurney, Spencer holds your hand while an EMT wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, “He likely gave you a central nervous system inhibitor.”

You nod slowly, wrinkling your nose when the other paramedic shines a light in your eyes, “I am nervous,” you answer. Trying to listen to the medical personnel as they explain what’s going on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. One of them crudely wraps a cut on your hand to staunch the bleeding, but you couldn’t even remember when it started to bleed.

Anxiously, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t bite down on your lip,” Spencer instructs, “You could bite right through it and not even realize.”

Releasing your lip, your eyes widen at him while he pulls a blanket over your shoulders. “That’s scary,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It is scary.”

[multifandomme]

A Dangerous Game

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha is forced to admit that her feelings for you, an escort, are far more than transactional.

Genre: Smut, (mommy kink, power dynamics, exhibitionism vibes, semi-public sex, pet names, praise kink, light degrading, strap ons, fingering), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 3k.

A/N: This is a gift for @ionlylikemarvelforthewomen as it's her favourite fic.

This piece is for day 7 of kinktober under the 'semi-public sex' prompt. This is a new and modified version of a fic I wrote in 2022.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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“You’re so tense.”

A brief silence engulfed the lavish hotel room, your adept fingers digging further into the canyon that separated Natasha’s shoulder blades, softened grunts escaping her.

“Yeah,” she scoffed, her expression disgruntled due to the pain that materialised from your attempt at reducing the knots that hardened her muscles. “That’s not the only place.”

Natasha sighed loudly as you released her from your grasp, jogging her shoulders to assure that you had been steadfast in your endeavours. Over the last few months, Natasha’s visits had fluctuated to the point of concern, appearing at this same hotel room more than thrice a week. 

You couldn’t complain, Natasha a model client, respectful, obedient and left your pockets brimming with wads of cash. Knowing so little about her didn’t help stymie your overriding worry for her and for yourself, a bizarre kind of comfort surrounding you whenever her presence was near. You could not place the feeling, nor begin to describe it, though you did know that whatever it was that you had felt could only spell danger, territories that were better left unexplored.

“You know, you should probably find a better outlet than this,” you advised, the compassion that brimmed in your voice soon passed off as a mindless suggestion. “There’s only so much I can do for you, Natasha.”

Natasha surged upwards, swiftly abandoning her prior position perched on the edge of the bed, the sound of her kissing her teeth in irritation echoing out into the expansiveness of the room. The topic always seemed to incite inflammation, though you were all too wary of becoming too intertwined with a client, knowing the hardships that arose from personal experience.

You had your rules and at first, adhering to them provided no issue, though as the time passed and the frequency of your meetings grew, so did the temptation to shirk the consequences. Thus far, only two rules had withstood the test of time: no personal information that exceeded necessity and no visible markings left behind. 

Even with such boundaries in place, Natasha was undeterred, resolute in her pursuit of abandoning the latter. And when the throes of pleasure engulfed her in her entirety, her mind and desires unencumbered, she would beg, plead, do anything to convince you to reconsider your judgement. You had yet to relinquish, though you feared that one day she would reign victorious and break you, at times, you secretly hoped that she would.

“What I want is for you to do your job," she flared, frustratedly, "that is what I pay for, no?"

The smart remark almost triggered the emergence of a chuckle from you, profoundly amused by her ability to implement avoidance tactics whenever this particular topic was called into question. Instead of permitting her the delusion of her ardent denial, you decided to probe further in the hopes of collapsing her walls.

In an effortless manoeuvre, the black silk robe that shrouded your lingerie from view disintegrated into a velvety pool at your feet, Natasha’s gaze possessed with immediacy as you strutted towards her.

“Are you certain that’s all you want?” You interrogated, sultrily, your voice like honey as you attempted to distract her from the daring nature of the question. “I see the way you look at me. This isn’t just a fuck for you and you know it.”

Tenderly, you reached out to trail the soft skin of her cheek with your thumb, the gesture impeded as Natasha batted you away with intent, her guardedness rebuilding itself before you. Without a word, she travelled to the furthest corner of the room, her attention redirected to the cityscapes that lay beyond the window. An audible sigh exuded and you knew that your prodding had instilled a festering sense of doubt inside of her. 

“So what if it is more?” Natasha challenged, bluntly, the words falling from her lips as if her inner monologue had accidentally blurted its way out of her mouth, unchecked. “I know what I’m doing,” she assured, though the flickering of her eyes conveyed a distinct uncertainty, as if her lips were speaking of a truth she inherently knew she could not uphold.

The last sentence tugged a quirk from your eyebrows, a smug smile plastering itself across your face as you sauntered over, your lingerie-clad form shadowing hers from behind. Instantly, her breath hitched and the boldness that she donned only seconds prior seemed to ebb away until it had dissipated completely. Your smirk seared into the side of her neck as you attacked her pulse point with softened kisses, delicately as to activate the docility that bubbled just below the surface. 

“It’s a dangerous game that you’re playing,” you purred, sexily, your fingers creeping down to cup at her pussy, Natasha’s body tensing in surprise until she surrendered to the glimmer of pleasure that it delivered.

Natasha gasped softly, her legs shifting with heightened impatience as her thighs clamped firmly around your hand to attain further friction.

“I like dangerous games,” Natasha breathed, weakly, and you could tell from the way in which she spoke that her eyes were tight shut, a pliable state beginning its activation.

“Oh, I know, baby,” you whispered, your fingers abandoning her pussy to make quick work of her breasts, the light patronisation in your tone causing her to groan aloud. “But they’re not so fun when you lose, hm?"

“I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I’ll be so good for you.”

“Kneel,” you barked, authoritatively, pleased to discover her immediate compliance, dropping to the floor without a protest nor a sound.

Natasha’s obedience could not be faulted, revelling in the way she stared intently, her beautiful green eyes glazed over as she awaited your instruction. She would ask and beseech to be debased, which often led you to wondering what she was like in her day to day life, wondered what had shaped her into the quaking mess below you. 

“Good girl,” you praised, earnestly, a hand ruffling absentmindedly through her silky locks.

“Thank you, Mommy” Natasha blushed, a feeble smile playing on her lips as her eyes averted to the floor below, a slight glint of  apprehension filling her.

“Let’s see that pretty face of yours, hm?”

Orbs of serpentine raised to meet yours, her beauty undeniable as it captivated you with no means of escape. Delicately, you thumbed the apples of her cheeks, noting how a rosy hue began to appear. The deft touches allowed no prior warning as to what would occur next, though Natasha knew, her eyes tight shut as your palm thrashed against her cheek. Scarlet tinged her cheeks with vigour, adrenaline coursing through Natasha’s veins as she simpered, devoid of thought.

“Thank you, Mommy,” she beamed, dumbly as she excitedly braced for another wrecking impact.

But, you had other plans for her.

“Open that pretty mouth for me, angel,” you instructed, flatly, a hum of approval exiting from you as she promptly abided. “I think it’s time that Mommy put it to good use, hm?”

Natasha inwardly ascended at the idea, nodding avidly with her jaw widening at your request, her tongue slipping out from her mouth. She loved to be at your disposal and her features shone with enthralment.

Roughly, you stuffed two digits into her mouth and hummed in extolment as Natasha laved them generously with saliva, swirling her tongue with passion. Her pink lips blossomed into a deep shade of crimson, swollen below her valiant endeavours. The enthusiasm dripped from her, spurring you on as you pushed in further, a spark of bewilderment flecking her stare.

“Such a good girl,” you cooed, retracting your fingers to find a string of saliva dangling, momentarily retaining connection until it fell away.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Natasha enthused, her teeth peeking out to nip softly at her lips, her appetite noticeable, burgeoning. 

“Is someone getting needy already?” You probed, knowingly, Natasha’s face flushing with sheer humiliation as she pried her eyes from you in aversion. “Tell Mommy what it is that you want.”

A faltering gulp sounded, a pause of silence prevailing until you drew her chin upward and subsequently forced her into meeting your eye line. 

“I want you to fuck me, Mommy,” Natasha divulged, shyly, her blush all but darkening as the words exited her lips. “I want you to take me where everybody can see.”

“What a filthy little slut,” you taunted, unable to bite away the smirk that had subconsciously upturned your lips, more so when you had caught Natasha in a state of utter transfixion, taken by the large windows.

The redhead’s pupils visibly dilated as the fantasies flooded in her mind, robbing her of coherence as she imagined people staring up from the city below and gawking at her nudity, studying her. Unknowingly, a desperate mewl fell from her mouth, her arousal beginning to seep against the material of her underwear.

“Take off your clothes and face the window for Mommy, princess,” you purred, the sound of your voice able to coax her from her state of entrancement. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

The eruption of hasty movement behind you signalled Natasha’s expeditious compliance with your request, barely a minute having gone by before she quietly reappeared, her exquisite form unveiled, bare. Your mouth salivated profusely at the image of her, clearing your throat as a means of regaining the concentration that had been briefly stolen from you. 

The remnants of sunset light projecting through the window seemed to encompass her physique in gold, her irises boasting a milder green as she twisted to regard you, praying that you would sate her limitless hunger.

Cautiously, you approached, slowly as if you were stalking prey, only Natasha wanted to be captured, wanted to be devoured with carnal desire. Again, you found your place behind her, the soft silhouette of your black lingerie firmly pressing up against her. Natasha’s nakedness allowed for effortless access, taking her breasts into your hands as you played roughly with them. 

Her nipples stiffened instantaneously, perhaps furthered by the slight plummet in temperature her lack of clothing had incited. But she was breathtaking, her head relaxing backwards to bruise against your clavicle, her lips in fatally close proximities.

“It feels so good, Mommy,” she complimented, despite the shakiness of her breath, her eyes settling to a close. “I want more of you, I need it. 

The encouragement that she had offered was not lost on you, and only invigorated you with a heightened sense of accomplishment. Your hand trailed downwards, snake-like, the obstruction of her underwear no longer stymying your efforts as you made immediate contact with her delicate flesh. 

What had greeted you had racked you with genuine surprise, her arousal leaking languidly as you gathered it amongst your digits. Natasha sighed in annoyance as you quickly retreated from her, though her eyes became instantly restored with anticipation when you dangled the glistening fingers before her mouth.

“You’re dripping, princess,” you whispered as you sank your fingers into her mouth to be cleaned. “What a desperate little slut and all for me.”

Natasha cried out in response, the sound ebbing out into a lustful moan the minute your hand returned to where she needed it the most. She bucked sporadically, the volume of her protests only intensifying as you continued to prolong her suffering, rejoicing in it. 

“Please, Mommy,” she pleaded, her voice no louder than a softened whisper, her energy dwindling along with her patience. “I need you inside of me.”

Her pitiful pleas rang out like music to your ears, your free hand wrapping around her from behind to secure itself around her throat. Fixed in place, Natasha’s motion was thwarted, every trace of control stolen from her. A frenzied jolt reverberated through her as she felt you align your fingers against her pussy, an all-encompassing tremor claiming her when you finally slipped inside. 

As you thrust steadily inside of her, you scattered her porcelain neck with pecks, occasionally delivering an aimless bite as she panted. The lewd sounds that emitted as your fingers buried inside of her filled the vicinity, echoing, your addiction to her only reaching new heights. And just when you suspected that Natasha was approaching an orgasm, you removed all contact from her.

“Bend over for me, angel,” you insisted, a devious expression lurking upon your features. “Let Mommy see that pretty pussy of yours.”

Natasha obliged, her cheeks hued scarlet, palms pressed to the glass of the window as she presented her exposed pussy to you. Arousal splayed the area around it, fluttering as it clenched around the absence of your fingers. The woman groaned exasperatedly as you prodded her from behind, a probing digit stuffing itself inside of her just to feel the way she constricted desperately around it. She wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer, you knew that.

“Do you want to cum, princess?” You asked, mockingly, the evidence staring you in the face as she quivered lightly, her face disgruntled in displeasure at being denied. 

“Yes, Mommy,” she sobbed out, her head knocking against the glass, her shallow breaths tainting its clarity with translucent condensation. “Please, please.”

Hastily, you raced to collect her favourite toy but not before landing a quick slap against her ass, earning a squeal from Natasha. In the silence, Natasha could hear the sound of you securing the harness around you, her eyes peering around from her position as she stole a sneaky preview. You could almost see her pushing up to her tiptoes in preparation, her breasts squashed against the window for all to see. Her zeal was unrivalled.

“Aren’t you a good girl?” You praised, noticing the way she had modified her position, your hands ghosting her sides until they settled in firmly against her hipbones. 

“Yes Mommy,” Natasha acceded, delightedly, her palms spread as she gripped the window with a harsher force, readying for what was inevitable. “I’m your good girl.”

The tip of your strap on slid against her pussy as you teased her, before its entire length disappeared into her warmth. Natasha collapsed forward, saved only by the sturdiness of her arms as her breasts rocked methodically against the glass. You held her in place with an unyielding grip around the back of her neck, erratic breaths of oxygen spring from her as she adjusted to the intrusion, delighted in the sensations that it activated. 

“Oh, mhm,” Natasha moaned, shamelessly, the volume exceeding anything you had procured from her to date as she assisted you in rutting against the toy, taking it deeper than you had thought possible.

“You like that, princess?” You growled, breathlessly, tightening your grasp upon her until a brute force incurred. “Do you like it when Mommy fucks you like a whore?”

“Yes, Mommy, oh, fuck-”

With Natasha’s fiery locks wound around your fingers for leverage, you forced her closer, her body solidly against you. A wandering hand sought the apex of her thighs, pinching and rubbing at her clit as she began to convulse in your arms. 

“That’s it angel,” you encouraged, zealously.,“cum for Mommy.”

Natasha craned until her lips ghosted yours, intent on overstepping the boundaries and willing you into a kiss. For once, you did not possess the self-control to deny her, did not want to. She was angelic, the repercussions pushed so far into the back of your mind that they ceased to exist. So, you surrendered to the gravitational pull, claiming her lips as she jolted, her words stifled by your mouth as she unraveled. 

Natasha kissed with undying passion, the flames felt as soon as the contact was made. Her tongue infiltrated your mouth, sharp teeth tugging at your bottom lip as her moans were breathed into you. Abruptly, she broke the connection, staring into your eyes with an expression you could not quite fathom. 

“I like you,” Natasha blurted, her breathing still uneven, though her eyes were more alert than you had ever witnessed as they burned holes into your own, unyielding.

The tension hung in the air like thick cloud cover, an unnerving quiet whipping up and taking you under as you pondered your response to her confession. Toying with her first was always the more enjoyable option and thus, you decided to do just that.

“You like the way I fuck you,” you corrected, feigning seriousness, your gaze narrowing in order to convince her of the facade. “There’s a difference, Natasha.”

“If you don’t feel the same,” Natasha began, moving to collect her clothes from the bed, “then just say that.”

Laughter rumbled inside of you, unable to be stifled as it burst out from your throat, a hand covering your mouth to no avail. Natasha merely glared at you with fury unbridled, dejected, hurt. 

“Why are you laughing?”

You settled upon the edge of the bed, observing as Natasha willed herself into a state of fluster.

“Why don’t you take a look in the mirror, princess,” you suggested, the unexpected segue enough to pique Natasha’s curiosity, though she was still highly perplexed by the sudden redirection.

“I know I look a mess, I-”

“No,” you interjected, guiding her to the full-length mirror beside the bed and studying her features as the situation slowly ebbed out into clarity. “Look.”

Natasha stared mindlessly for a moment, her eyes dulled until she finally caught sight of what you were attempting to unearth. Her hands flew up to survey the skin of her neck, purple little bruises decorating the previously pale skin.

“You broke the rule,” Natasha gushed, wide-eyed, confused. “You marked me.”

You nodded, knowingly as you pulled her to take refuge on your lap. Her mouth was still lightly agape in shock, burning questions flocking to her mind.

“You… don’t mark clients,” Natasha remembered, the words exiting her as more of a question, as if she was confirming your knowledge of its sentiment.

A beam plastered itself upon your face, Natasha’s naivety bringing a warmth that seemed to persist. In that moment, everything seemed to fall into order, unable to take your eyes away from the ethereality of the woman in front of you. Softly, you pressed your lips against hers, hoping that the act would be enough to convey the words that you had struggled to find.

“I know,” you mused, “but I think it’s time that we both admit that we’re more than that, hm?”

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[after-witch]

Horrorfest: All We Are [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: All We Are [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Synopsis: Shigaraki wants to cuddle. You want to die.

For Horrorfest request:

If I may request, Yan Shigaraki with a reader whose quirk is instant regeneration! As in, when he touches them, they do start to turn to dust, but their quirk pulls them back together at the same rate - without any sort of external painkiller, however, they can still feel their body continually decaying at his touch and it’s incredibly painful though it leaves no lasting damage due to the nature of their ability. And Shigaraki is asking for cuddles!

Hopefully this isn’t too specific, and happy October!!

Word count: 515

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader gets decayed over and over, mentions of suicidal thoughts

“Stop crying,” he mutters, impatience tinged with the bitterest touch of regret. You hate that tone in his voice–this morsel of pity that he dangles above you like rotten grapes. It would be better if he didn’t muster up any remorse at all for the way he hurts you, how much he hurts you.

That is to say–badly, and often.

“I can’t,” you manage, throat dry, acrid. It hurts to talk. That’s because he touched your throat early in the evening, fingers stroking the flesh as he murmured hot against your cheek. The skin of your throat flaked away and he pulled away just as the decay reached the flesh underneath, scorching your lungs. It healed, sure. But the lingering burn is still there. Like touching a hot stove.

Well–the other pain makes it hard to voice a thought, too. You can’t forget about the other pain. It’s a constant, now, with his arm around you. But instead of wearing his protective gloves, his hands are bare. 

All the better to touch skin to skin, so that he can pretend this is normal and he is normal and you aren't falling apart under him.

Falling apart–not in the way you might want to fall apart with someone you loved. Not in a way that leaves you sprawled on the bed, had thrown back, eyes glazed over in bliss.  

Falling apart as your flesh decays again and again, the sound of it disintegrating–the sound of your whimpers–on a terrible loop. He turns up the volume on the cheesy romance movie and you're not sure if he pretends not to hear, or if the sound coming from his old speakers really covers it up.

It doesn’t matter that you come back together. It still hurts. It takes its toll. It makes you want to throw yourself off a building, if you could get to the top of one. He won’t let you. He won’t let you get very far at all; you’re his doll, his comfort toy, something he holds close when he wants to feel something.

All he makes you feel is pain.

He turns towards you. and there's that pitiful look again,  and you wish your quirk would let you put your hands on his face and make it go away. It’s useless junk. 

“I just want to hold you,” he says, soft. Like it’ll make you feel sorry for him. “I can’t touch anyone else. Not like this.”

Like this–you think. As you fall apart and come together and fall apart and come together. 

As he reaches his thumb up to wipe at your tears, and you have just enough awareness to jerk your head away. Even he pauses, realizing the mistake, and turns his head back to the TV. Pulls you closer–fuck, it hurts–but keeps his fingers away from the delicate flesh of your cheek.

“We’ll do something you like later,” he says, matter of fact. His way of apology. “After we cuddle for a while longer.”

As your body crumbles and reassembles itself on repeat, you can’t bring yourself to be grateful. 

[sorcerersseestars]

love sweet, taste bitter

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

To you, Gojo Satoru is your silly, loving boyfriend. But Gojo Satoru is also the strongest sorcerer in the world, and that comes with its risks—for both you and him. When his Infinity fails to activate, your mission takes a turn for the worse.

Aka one of you gets hurt, and the other has to bear it.

Warnings: injuries and violence, a gun is used, blood loss, hidden inventory arc spoilers, fight btwn Gojo and reader, reader implied to be shorter/smaller than Gojo, slightly suggestive (not rlly), lowkey a lot of kissing tho??, bad communication skills, emotional whiplash bc gojo doesn't know what to do w his feelings

Word count: 9.2k

*Gojo and reader are in their early 20s

"Cursed technique reversal: red,” Gojo calls out casually, lazily flicking his right index finger at his target.

The curse—hardly an intelligent one, far from being special-grade—stares at the brilliant light with bulging eyes. It's a deer in the headlights, transfixed by Gojo’s power and paralyzed with fear. You can only imagine how that would feel.

You tear your eyes away from the sight of the curse disintegrating into nothing. It's not as gruesome as most curse exorcisms, considering the potency of Gojo’s attacks, but the curse’s expression fading into nothingness still makes your skin crawl. You almost pity the horrible creature.

In comparison to the macabre scene you just witnessed, Gojo's enthusiastic noise of approval nearly gives you whiplash.

"Another job well done by yours truly!" Gojo grins, giving you two thumbs up. "Now let's hurry before that new boba place closes. You said you really wanted to try it, right?"

It takes you a moment to respond, your mind still processing how insanely fast your boyfriend was able to eradicate a threat that would have taken you both a good strategy and a fair bit of time to exorcise. It took practically no effort for Gojo to eliminate, and you know that he fears no curse. For you, fear grips you each time you face off with a curse, no matter how big or small. It doesn't feel fair.

Your fingers curl into a fist as you struggle with your emotions, frustrated with yourself. When you look to him, beyond his shades and into his powerful eyes, something akin to envy pulls at your gut. It makes you feel sick—you're viewing him in the way everybody else sees him. But when he walks toward you, smiling so wide that he looks goofy, your thoughts of his abilities melt away and are replaced by an affection so strong that your chest hurts.

His eyes are so beautiful, their perpetual sparkle even visible from under the dark film of his shades. His cheeks are tinged pink from your constant gaze on him, and it still amazes you that you have the ability to make him fluster at all. His lips are stretched into a toothy grin, his eyes crinkling along in genuine happiness. Your stunning boyfriend that you still can't believe ever gained an interest in plain old you.

That's right. To you, he's not the Honored One, he's not Gojo Satoru. He's just your boyfriend, just your Satoru. Just your boyfriend who is obsessed with anything sweet.

You roll your eyes lightly, a small chuckle bubbling up in your throat, “You mean, the place you've been begging to go to all week?"

He walks to your side, sighing loudly as he approaches. His deft fingers subtly adjust his sunglasses, pulling them down in an attempt to garner your sympathy. The expression on his face is priceless—the strongest sorcerer in the world is pouting because you insinuated you might not want milk tea.

"Don't be so mean, sweets!” He whines. "You said you wanted to try it out, too.”

“Hm, did I now?” You say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I don’t recall.”

He steps closer, towering over your smaller form. When you dwell on that thought, you suppose you should be scared. You see him brutally destroy curses, leaving no trace of their existence behind. He could do that to you, if you wanted to.

Even knowing that, you aren’t scared.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel his strength through the solid grip he has on you—his arms lovingly cage you in.

Even though he’s done this many times before, your breath still catches in your throat, and your heart races at the proximity.

“C'mon, l know you've been craving brown sugar boba all week... And they even have that tiramisu flavor you go crazy for…”

He nuzzles in close to your neck, warm breath fanning down your nape. When he's this close, you can't resist anything—and he knows it, too.

You sigh as if he's ruffled your feathers, but you can't help but let the chuckle you’ve been holding in escape past your upturned lips.

“Do they have cheese foam?" You hum.

You yelp as his fingers dig into your side—and then your entire body is wracked with heaving, boisterous laughter.

"What a silly question. Of course they do! Only the amateurs lack the essential toppings,” He shakes his head playfully. “Any more funny business out of you, and you'll get punished again."

You twist around in his grasp to face him. Your hand reaches up to ease his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, putting his vibrant blue eyes and pale lashes on display.

“You're so pretty it's unfair,” You pout. "Leave some for the rest of us."

"And yet everyone's always trying to steal you away from me," He counters.

"Says the head-turner," You say with a smile full of your adoration for him. “Haven't you noticed that the rest of the population—myself included—never has all eyes on them when entering a room?"

He shrugs, “How would I know? You think my eyes are on anyone else once I see you?"

The insinuation has heat and electricity coursing through your entire body. He wears a smirk as if he can feel the flames licking your skin. You lower your gaze, suddenly shy.

A warm hand cups your check, gently nudging your face close to his. Your eyes instinctively flit up to his, drinking him in.

His eyes are bright behind his shades. You laugh softly when his shades fully slide down to the edge of his nose as he lowers his head to yours.

“Makin’ fun of me, babycakes?” He pretends to pout, but his tone is playful and warm.

“Maybe,” You tease. “I mean, you are freakishly tall and have glow in the dark eyes. And you call me all sorts of weird names.”

“You–!” He gasps. “You are such a rascal, y’know that? A fiend, even!”

“Mmm,” You hum, humoring him. “Well, would such a fiend as myself do…this?”

You lean in, savoring the warmth of his hands on you. His skin, smooth from its lack of wear due to his Infinity, skates across your skin effortlessly. Your lips are about to touch his, only inches away from bliss, when you both are caught off guard.

There’s a loud bang. So loud, in fact, that your ears ring as soon as the sound waves hit your eardrums. You stagger back from Gojo, crouching down and immediately covering your ears with your hands. You look up at your boyfriend, expecting to exchange confused glances, and are not prepared in the slightest for the scene in front of you.

His eyes are blown wide, shades now missing. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead and all color has drained from his face. His expression quickly crumples, lips parting and yet no sound escapes him.

A shudder runs through you—something is very wrong.

Then his shaky hands begin to move, and he quickly clutches his side. Right under his ribs, a stream of blood begins to run down his body, escaping between his fingers. You watch in horror as it pours down at an alarming rate, and you begin to put the pieces together.

Satoru has been shot.

His name leaves your mouth in a panicked howl and then you can't speak anymore, as if all the air has escaped from your lungs. Your mind is ripped back to when Toji Fushiguro sliced Gojo to shreds in front of you. His blood splattering everywhere while you watched on in horror, immobilized and completely useless, not able to do anything but watch the terrors unfold. Not again, not again, it can’t happen again, is what replays through your mind.

You have no more time to linger on that chilling memory. More pops sound through the air, deafening you and spiking fear in the blood that rushes through your veins. It can't happen again. You can't see him like that again.

You immediately throw yourself at your boyfriend, desperately trying to shield him with your body, even though it’s nearly impossible with how tall he is. You shove him down, attempting to cut down his frame to meet yours so that you can cover him, and notice something odd. You can still feel his warmth—your skin brushes against his, when it shouldn’t. Not right now, it shouldn’t.

You move to the side with quick steps and try to pull him along with you, but are unable to. Your heart sinks. He’s completely dead weight. You’re strong in your own regard, but there’s no way you can pick him up and take off with him.

"Satoru, please! C'mon, we have to go, we need to. Please," You plead with him, gripping him so tightly that your hands ache. When he doesn't respond, you start to shake him, trying to get any reaction out of him, but to no avail.

He’s in shock. It’s obvious with his lack of reaction, with how he lets himself be man handled under your body. He prides himself in his ability to protect those around him—he wouldn’t just let you put yourself in the line of fire if he was in his right mind. You know fully well that Gojo could eliminate the shooter in mere moments if he assumed his normal calm and nonchalance—but, unfortunately, his mind is in a freeze state. The bare skin under your fingertips is evidence of this, which only exacerbates your rising panic.

“Your Infinity!” You shout, your voice raw from panic. “Satoru, your Infinity! You need to turn it on! Now!”

Still grasping Satoru tightly, you endure the next round that is emptied into the space next to you—a bullet whistles by your ear, too close for comfort. Gojo’s breathing is ragged, his eyes staring into nothing and appearing so far away at the same time.

You duck down to his eye level and grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Satoru, please! Snap out of it! Please!”

For a few seconds, his gaze locks with yours. His eyes, usually such a vivid blue, are darkened by how large his pupils are. You plead with him, unable to keep your terrified tears at bay.

Then you’re slightly bumped back, now pressing against what feels like a wall, and your body becomes weak with relief. He finally activated his Infinity.

But you're not out of danger yet. Your brain scrambles as you try to figure out how to get out of this while your boyfriend is evidently in shock.

You dare a glance back, eyes scouring the landscape, and immediately curse. As you suspected, you are most definitely being sniped. The enemy has the advantage of higher ground and generous foliage for coverage, while you and Satoru are exposed out in the open clearing below. If you had more time and brain power, you could triangulate their location, but that's just not possible right now.

Even if you were able to surmise their location, you don't even think you can fight back right now, not with how exposed your position is and with how vulnerable Gojo is in this state. And if you can't fight, then you have to flee.

Projectile weapons are ineffective against a moving target—this simple knowledge is what sways your decision. Even though it didn’t work before, you grab Satoru, still trying to keep him low, and begin to run. You breathe a little easier when he moves along with you.

More shots whizz past you, but you keep going, pumping your legs as fast as you can while making sure to be the rear guard. It’s obvious that they’re targeting Gojo—if they hit you, it would merely be collateral damage. The bullseye is on Gojo’s back, not yours.

You don’t stop running until you hit the tree line, and even then you hurriedly usher Gojo behind a stocky trunk many meters back. Before you can catch your breath, you're ripping off your jacket with haste. Quickly realizing that the material is not ideal for the job you intend it for, you quickly tear your shirt from your body. It’s sweaty from all your activity, but it’ll have to do.

You brush away Gojo’s hands, firmly pressing the cloth to his wound. You practically collapse onto your boyfriend as you apply firm pressure, your forehead dipping down to rest on his shoulder. You're wracking your brain for what to do next when Gojo gently pushes you back, places his hands on yours, and shakes his head.

You can't help but think the worst. What does that mean? Is it like that time? Am I too late again?

“I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but y-you're bleeding so much that I have to. Fuck, I’m really sorry for making you run, I’m sure that made it worse, but we just had to get away from whoever was shooting, oh god, how badly did they get you, fuck, this is my fault–”

You don’t realize you’re rambling until he cuts you off. You don't realize you're crying until he brushes the tears away.

“Hey. Stop, sweets. I’m fine, it already stopped bleeding.”

“What? But that can’t be, you were literally shot–”

He raises his shirt, revealing a pink layer of new skin.

He offers you a weak smile, but something is off about it. “Reverse cursed technique, remember? Nobody’s gonna take me down that easily.”

You release a big breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The weight on your shoulders finally eases as you look over his new layer of skin.

“Oh fuck, I’m so glad you’re okay,” You sniffle, leaning in quickly for a hug. “I–mmph!”

You stumble back a step, blinking in surprise. This has never happened before—you hit his invisible barrier.

His eyes widen. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to–“

“No, no, it’s okay!” You wave your hands, trying to dispel his apology. You feel flustered and stiff, awkwardness seeping into your mannerisms. “It’s good that it’s on now.”

It’s then that the disturbing thought hits you. Maybe he should always have his Infinity on. Maybe you’re endangering him.

Gojo holds out his arms for you, now inviting you in. You pause, your thoughts echoing through your head. You take a beat too long—you know he senses your momentary hesitation, and how slowly and gingerly you come into his arms doesn't feel right.

“You okay? Did you get hit?” He asks, squeezing you tightly in his arms. “Fuck, please tell me you didn’t.”

With your head pressed to his chest, you can hear how rapidly his heart beats. He’s scared. He’s scared for you, even though he was the one who got hurt.

His hands run over you, checking for any injuries. You pull yourself out of his embrace gently to still his hands.

You shake your head, “No, I’m fine. But you…you got hurt, Satoru. They shot you.”

And it’s absolutely your fault. If you hadn’t been touching him, this never would have happened. He let his guard down because of you.

“I’m alright now, sweets,” He reassures you, but his tone is again tinged with a strange emotion you can’t put your finger on. “Promise.”

“But–!” You exclaim, about to spill out all of your guilty feelings. The words don’t come, though, stopped by another fear. Will he also realize it’s your fault and get rid of you? Will he realize he doesn’t need you?

“Here,” He says, unballing your shirt and placing it in your hands. “This is proof that I’m fine. Your shirt’s..."

He inspects it funnily, scrunching up his eyebrows and staring at it intently, making a show of it to make you laugh. "...pretty clean and ready to be worn again. Well, unless you don’t want to…can’t say I wouldn’t mind you not putting it back on…there is a little speck of blood on it, after all...”

He smiles at you, a true grin that manages to lift up your weary heart. You burst out laughing, and swat his arm before you hurriedly take it from his hands.

“Satoru! We almost just died and you—” You still can’t contain your laughter, but it stops abruptly once you feel a large wet patch on your shirt. When you pull your hand back, your fingers are stained red with a surprising amount of blood.

“I swear it closed up before you…” He frowns, trailing off. His face turns serious for a moment, but then you touch his cheek with your clean hand and give him a quick peck.

You shrug, “It’s okay. No biggie.”

Face still close to yours, he chases your lips as you pull away from the peck. He kisses you deeply, catching you by surprise and forcing you to hold onto him for support.

"Satoru! I'm gonna get you all bloody with this hand..." You softly protest.

"Don't care," He murmurs quickly, leaning in again and kissing like you don't need to breathe. "It's mine anyway. Just like you."

"Mmph—Satoru—but you need to get looked at properly," You manage to say. "We have to go."

He reluctantly lets you slip out of his arms, sighing as he straightens to his full height.

He groans loudly, frowning at you, "Party pooper!"

"Yeah, yeah, get yourself ready," You fold your arms, acting like you didn't just immensely enjoy that.

He raises an eyebrow at you and smirks as his eyes scan your body.

"What?" You ask petulantly.

He sounds more excited than you’d like, “So…no more shirt?”

You sigh, exasperated, and quickly smooth the shirt back over your body. He laughs and wraps himself around your smaller form, squishing you back against his chest. You relax against him, digging your nose into him, taking in his comforting scent. You both are silent for a few moments, soaking up each other's presence.

“That was scary,” You whisper.

Gojo sighs, “It was pathetic, that’s what it was.”

You snap your head up to look at him. “Hey. What are you saying?”

He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just…let’s just head back.”

“Satoru…” You start with a warning tone.

“Don’t wanna talk about it right now,” He says flatly. “Besides, we should go back and see Shoko just in case. I want you to get looked over, too."

You want to question him further, but hold your tongue. You know better than to press him when he’s like this.

“Huh? Why’s that?” You simply ask instead, genuinely confused.

He frowns as he looks at your head, scrutinizing it as if something was wrong. Before you can question him, he forms a fist and–

Knock, knock.

“You think it’s in there?” He asks seriously. “Sounds pretty hollow.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief at the absolute disrespect. There’s no way he just knocked on your skull to check if your brain is still in your head.

“GOJO SATORU! Are you- are you implying I don’t have a BRAIN?!” You screech, taking hold of his sorcerer jacket to jostle him around. “Do you have a death wish?!”

He laughs, then uses the same fist to roughly rub your scalp. He even gave you a fucking noogie!!

“That’s it! Take me to Shoko.” You pout, crossing your arms and turning around so your back faces Gojo.

“Aww, sweets, you want a second opinion?” He coos, moving forward to wrap his arms around you from behind. “I’m sure she’ll be able to confirm it…”

“Ugh!”

"...with how willingly you throw yourself into danger."

You stop smiling. "What?"

He's not smiling either, and its absence looks strange on his face. His gaze is almost cold. "Don't do that again."

There are no words that come to your mind, but you wish you could protest and justify your actions and convince him that it was necessary. Instead, you stand there dumbly, transfixed by his cold aura.

Then he smiles sweetly again, as if that hadn't just happened. "Let's go, shall we?"

Shoko sighs loudly at your arrival. "What was it this time?"

"Actually, we're not sure," You admit, looking to Gojo to see if he has any possible answers. When he says nothing, you continue, "We didn't see what—or rather who–it was. 'Must have been a cursed user."

"Even Mr. Six Eyes didn't see them?" Shoko asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's hard to believe. And here I was always thinking he should leave some eyes for the rest of us."

She looks to Gojo teasingly, but he doesn't take the bait. Shoko looks to you with a questioning gaze that says something like—what's up with him?

"It's complicated..." You supply vaguely.

"Well, whoever it was must be bad news," She says. "How did they get Gojo if you couldn't see them?"

"They had guns," You explain. "It was a sniper...or a few snipers, I'm not sure if it was just one or if there was another one too. Their aim wasn't the best, but they got Satoru one time...they shot a few rounds at us, but I guess they got lucky with that shot."

You can't look at him. If you look at him, you'll see his skin pale and washed out from the blood dripping down his abdomen. You'll see his body lacerated and unrecognizable from Toji's ruthless assault. You are always useless, hopelessly useless.

You look at your feet instead and ignore the sour taste of bile in your mouth.

Gojo's cocky snicker brings you back to attention, "They were pretty terrible. They only got one hit, but they should have known better. As if that loser shit would work against me."

Shoko's eyes are on you again, and you know why. Gojo doesn't normally get injured. And by someone with nothing more than a gun? How could he even get hit with Infinity?

Even if you were speaking, you're not sure you would have the strength to tell her. It's my fault he didn't have his Infinity on, is the answer that resonates painfully in your chest. The guilt threatens to consume you whole, but you push it down.

"Everything is 'loser shit' to you with RCT," Shoko decides on. "But I have to say I'm just a little surprised you got hit."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm all good now," Gojo says dismissively.

"Let me see at least," Shoko rolls her eyes. "Aren't you here to see me for my medical expertise or what?"

"What, we can't see our dear friend otherwise?" You tease with a pout. "You wound me, Shoko."

"That wouldn't be ethical of me,” Shoko plays along, then turns back to doctor mode once she starts getting her supplies ready. "Did you get hurt too?"

“No, just Satoru,” You say with a shake of your head. “You don’t have to check me over.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “I’ll come back to you.”

“Huh? But Shoko…” You trail off, seeing she has already begun inspecting Gojo.

“I’m all good,” Gojo rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t have quite the usual touch of playfulness it usually does. “C’mon, Shoko, don’t waste your time on this. We both know I can’t really get hurt.”

He winks at you, and you smile in return. That almost makes you feel better—he’s being more like himself.

“Uh-huh, but they certainly won’t let me rest until I do a proper check-up,” Shoko says. “You’ve got a persistent one, did ya know?”

He only chuckles at that, giving her some peace to look him over and prod him here or there.

“Well, you’re all good, as expected. It doesn’t seem like there’s any soreness, which is a good sign.”

“My RCT isn’t just for show!” Gojo says proudly. “Works just as good as yours, Shoko.”

She rolls her eyes, “Uh huh. Now, let’s get on to your ‘sweets’.”

You stick your tongue out at her, blushing, “Shoko, I have a name!”

“Not in these parts,” She teases easily, waggling her eyebrows at you. “Alright, just sit up straight for me now. Just gonna prod you a bit, okay?”

You nod, unworried as you let her hands inspect you. You relax and are about to crack a joke about getting a free massage from bestie Shoko, but you find yourself writhing in pain instead. You definitely didn’t expect yourself to wince—and yet you find yourself doing so, hissing out in pain as a stinging suddenly surfaces on your back.

Gojo sits up in alarm at your reaction and quickly jumps up from his cot, making his way over to you and Shoko. “What’s wrong?”

He’s practically hovering over you before Shoko shoos him away with a wave of her hand, motioning for him to let her do her job. He keeps away, but his gaze is trained on the spot her hand is touching.

She lifts your shirt fully, carefully inspecting the wound. It’s bleeding steadily, yet neither of you even noticed it before this moment.

“You got hit?” Gojo practically mewls. He’s never sounded this small and weak before. “But you were—I thought you were fine..."

Now it makes sense why your hand was tinged red when you pulled your hand back from the shirt earlier. It wasn't from Satoru's wound at all—it's your blood.

When you turn to Satoru, you look into a mirror. You know that's how you must have looked earlier when you looked at his bullet wound in horror.

“You probably didn’t feel it because of the adrenaline," You hear Shoko telling you. "It appears to be a graze, but it got you pretty good. There’s no bullet or shrapnel, which might be why you didn’t feel it in the moment.”

You feel embarrassed for some reason. “I seriously didn’t feel anything…it’s fine, then, right?”

Satoru is pale again. Emotions swirl in his agitated eyes—you can’t quite decipher them, since they cycle so fast, but he looks…haunted.

But he shouldn't, not when everything boils down to being your fault.

You immediately turn your attention to Satoru, becoming apprehensive about the look in his eyes. You smile at him softly, eyes crinkling along with your lips, trying to signal that you’re really okay, that there’s nothing to worry about.

But you don’t see the pool of blood steadily growing behind you, Satoru does.

“I’m okay, Satoru,” You smile, but it falters when Shoko presses gauze against your wound.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Shoko sighs. “Lay on your stomach and try not to move too much. I'm going to wrap you, okay? I need to grab some things, but I’ll be right back.”

"Okay..." You accept softly, still surprised by this turn of events.

You obey Shoko's orders and begin to lower yourself onto the hospital bed. You grit your teeth when the skin on your back stretches, irritating your newly discovered wound. You blink once and suddenly he's by your side, holding you steady and angling you so your back doesn't have movement while he gently lays you down.

"Thanks," You say. "I'm fine though, Satoru, really..."

“You don’t see yourself,” He speaks lowly, quietly. “Worry about yourself some.”

You’re left reeling at his words—more so by how he says them. His voice is so weak, uncharacteristically soft and completely candid.

“I’m fine,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t even feel it. It can’t be so bad then, can it?”

You don’t miss the way Gojo’s jaw sets. He didn’t like that response. You see something you don't understand in his eyes, a flash of a strong emotion you didn’t anticipate. You avert your gaze, but it’s burned into the back of your eyes.

The click of Shoko’s heels alerts you of her return. Gojo watches his old friend carefully, taking in her furrowed brow and the way her eyes jump between your wound and her supplies, analyzing. She seems confused, as if she underestimated the severity of your wound. His hands curls into fists, watching your blood drip over the edge of the bed and dropping messily onto the ground below.

Shoko pulls her gloves on swiftly, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and preparing it for application.

“Sit tight, my friend,” Shoko tells you with a deep exhale. “I gotta get started on this. First I’m going to sterilize it, then you’re going to need stitches. I’m sorry to say we won’t have the luxury of time to sedate you for that.”

You gulp. Your pain tolerance is okay, but you really hate the feeling of anticipating pain. Knowing something will hurt is infinitely more scary to you than getting injured in battle, when your adrenaline is high and it just happens without warning.

You reach your hand out hesitantly, feeling silly for needing comfort just for a few stitches, and are surprised by the immediate grasp on your hand. It’s tight but not uncomfortable; it’s warm and it grounds you.

You grit your teeth and try to limit your whimpers of pain as she treats your wound. You can’t stop yourself from squirming when the needles pulls at your skin again and again, even when she places a heavy hand on your back to hold you in place. All throughout, Gojo’s hand squeezes yours, carrying you through this uncomfortable ordeal.

When it’s finally over, you feel exhausted.

“You did great,” Shoko praises you. “Your wound should be all good for now.”

You let out a small chuckle of relief, almost giddy to be done with the dreaded stitches. You sit up and slide off the bed, wanting to get back on your feet to feel some normalcy, to convince yourself you’re fine.

You truly felt nothing before, but it must be catching up to you now. Your knees threaten to buckle under you as dizziness overtakes you—you wobble on your two feet.

Both Shoko and Gojo rush to you, each taking a side to support you.

“You lost a considerable amount of blood,” Shoko warns in her doctorly tone. “Slow down and take it easy from now on.”

You laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head, “I’m good! Just stood up a bit too fast.”

Shoko releases your arm, but Gojo doesn’t let go. He holds you steady, even pulling you toward him, supporting the majority of your weight.

“I can stand, y’know…” You laugh softly, finding his overprotective actions a bit amusing. But all the humor drains from the situation when you meet his gaze.

You see it in his eyes again, a dark flicker that almost makes you nervous. Before you can muster the courage to question him about it, Shoko interrupts your silent musings.

“Listen closely. I know you like to be up and about, as you just demonstrated, but I want you to limit your movement as to not disturb your stitches. A little walking should be fine, but do not exert yourself. No exercising or training for the next few days. Come see me in three days so I can clear you—if it’s looking good—for activity.”

You resist a sigh, settling on a playful roll of your eyes. “Yes, mom.”

She smirks, “Good. Now get out of here, you two, before I get your couples cooties.”

“Har, har, har,” You pretend to laugh, before sticking your tongue out at her. “Very funny, Shoko.”

It strikes you that Gojo has been unusually quiet, not joining in on your mutual jokes. When you spare a glance, you observe that his facial expression is neutral, if a bit strained. No smile, no cocky smirk. That’s uncommon.

You look at Shoko, exchanging more unspoken words with a few blinks. That confirms it—he’s acting strange.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but he know he won’t tell you here.

“Ready to go?” You ask instead.

“Ready as ever,” He tries a half smile. It’s not very convincing.

You nod and lean into him, angling your head to smile up at him. Your smile is innocent and sweet. His chest squeezes at the sight, full of a jumble of emotions. He doesn’t reveal any of them; he absently plays with a strand of your hair instead.

As you look up at him, closely examining his soulful eyes for any traces of the emotion from earlier, to see if it still lingered. But the intense emotion is gone, replaced by an even and controlled gaze, leaving you to only wonder at the clear flash of anger you saw earlier in his bright eyes.

When you come back home, Gojo is unusually quiet. He mumbles something about taking a shower when you get back, leaving your side as soon as he gets the chance. You really wouldn't mind, but he seems rather... avoidant, especially with his ensuing actions.

You plop yourself down on your couch, trying to get comfy while keeping your back straight, a nearly impossible feat. Feeling restless, you tap your foot while you watch condensation from a glass on the coffee table in front of you drip down the sides. With each drop that falls, your heart beats a little faster.

You prepared a cool glass of water and a bowl of Satoru’s favorite sweets for when he's done, anticipating a binge of a show you both recently discovered. But, instead of an evening full of your usual snuggles on the couch, him getting handsy while you ‘protest’ about missing the show, you are woken up to a different reality.

When you hear the click of the bathroom door, you straighten in your seat, excited to be close to him again. But before you can even call him over to the couch, Gojo heads straight to your bedroom. You wait a few minutes, assuming he's just changing, but you grow uneasy as the time ticks by.

Maybe he just wants space. Well, how long should you give him? Should you ask him if he wants space? But what if he's waiting for you? Does he just want to be in bed instead?

You wait and wait, tapping your foot anxiously on the floor and checking your phone every few minutes. When the supposed appropriate amount of time has passed, you hesitantly approach the bedroom.

You find yourself knocking on the door before you enter, even though you've never done that to your shared door before.

"Hey, Satoru?" You call out tentatively.

You stand in the doorway, scared to cross an invisible boundary. A sheepish smile is on your face, even though you try to get your lips to stretch normally.

He's on his phone, just scrolling. Oh, maybe he just got distracted by TikTok or something.

"Hm?" He barely responds, not even looking up.

“Is something bothering you?” You ask, worried. “Is it your side?”

“Why would it be my side?” Gojo asks flatly.

Your brow creases in confusion, but you try to keep a light tone. “Oh. Uh, what’s wrong, then?”

"Nothing, why would anything be wrong?" He gives you a tight-lipped smile. His tone is so strange—bordering on sarcastic—and you don’t know what to make of it. As he stands up and passes you, slipping out of the room hastily like you are what’s bothering him. The thought turns your stomach.

You pause for a beat, frozen in the doorway as you process what just happened. Then you turn around, eyes following his form as he enters the living room and unceremoniously sprawls across the couch. He crunches on some candy you brought in the bowl.

Okay. Maybe you should be more direct.

You walk over to him, cautious but trying not to appear nervous, “Satoru, can we talk?”

“We are talking,” He smiles oddly.

“You know what I mean…” You say with a note of annoyance coming through in your tone, then it turns softer. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

“Yes.”

You blink rapidly, surprised by his blunt answer. You take a seat next to him.

“Okay…could you tell me what I did?”

“…”

He’s not faking a smile anymore, which is a start. His lips are set in a firm, flat line, instead. His jaw is clenched and his neck muscles are emphasized due to how taut they are; you have rarely seen him tense like this. Your chest aches—what did you do?

“Please, Satoru, what’s wrong?” You ask again, each word filled with care and concern. And somehow, it seems to kill him.

“What’s wrong?” He echoes back loudly. “What’s wrong is that you stood in front of me while there was incoming fire! You can’t just do that.”

That’s not what you expected.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

“I just– fuck, why would you think to do that?” He stresses, pulling at his hair. “You took too much risk—you can’t use RCT!”

“Yeah, me and like ninety-nine percent of all sorcerers. Like it matters. You think I thought of that?” You huff.

“‘Like it matters?’ Are you hearing yourself right now?” He scoffs. “It matters a lot, and you know it does. It’s reckless.”

“When it comes to you, it doesn’t.” You say hotly, unwavering.

“It does matter. You got hurt when you shouldn’t have. When you didn’t need to!”

You’re surprised by his outburst. “I–I was only thinking about protecting you, okay? I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking about that! Caring about getting hurt? That was the last thing on my mind.”

“Yeah, it’s obvious you weren’t thinking,” He sneers. “There’s no need to risk your life like that. Absolutely no need.”

Your jaw drops in shock, and you try not to feel hurt. “You can’t be serious right now, Gojo. You were in no state to protect yourself. I was…doing my best, I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“I still got shot,” He argues back immediately, painfully reminding you.

A small, pained gasp escapes you. You spin around as fast as you can—tears are freely falling without your permission.

You want to tell him that’s not fair, but you don’t trust your vocal cords right now. Not with how tight your throat is from trying to hold back sobs that would surely wrack your body if you let them.

The guilt that has been trailing you all day now collects at the pit of your stomach, practically eating you alive. You feel physically sick. He’s right. He did get shot. He was vulnerable, his Infinity lowered because of you. If…if the bullet had gone through his head, what could you have done then?

You stand up as steadily as you can. You don’t spare him a single glance; you can’t, not with your face crumpling as you try your hardest not to cry. You exit the living room swiftly, holding it all in, all of your emotional pain but also your physical pain. Your wound is throbbing and it even feels hard to stay standing right now.

You finally round the corner into the hallway. Now out of view, you let yourself stagger down the hallway, succumbing to your dizziness. It’s your fault, your fault, only your fault. You can’t handle this right now.

You walk aimlessly down the hall, just wanting to get away from him right now. You wind up in the bathroom and lock the door behind you. You stand in front of the mirror, looking for something redeeming within yourself, but all you can see are your pathetic tears and guilt swimming in your eyes.

You grip the edge of the counter, so tightly that it begins to hurt and your fingers tremble at the effort. You feel unsteady, like the brain Gojo teased you don’t have is lacking oxygen. Maybe you really lack one if you think you could possibly be the right match for the strongest.

You sink to the ground, finally releasing heaving sobs that have been trying to claw themselves out of you. They’re muffled by your hands, which you press firmly against your mouth in an effort to contain your noises, but some of the sound leaks between your fingers. You stuff some of your shirt into your mouth to bite down on, trying to hold it all in, trying to hold yourself together.

Your breath hitches at a throb of pain from deep within your back. It hurts so much, even with the pain reliever Shoko gave you to take. It hurts more than when she was threading the needle between your folds of skin; it’s deeper than that, sharp and intense and robbing you of a normal breathing pattern.

Despite your efforts to keep quiet, pained whimpers start to leave you. And worse—panic floods you, taking advantage of your poor state of mind. All you can focus on is the stabbing pain that refuses to dull.

You rip off the gauze with shaking hands, terrified to see its state. But confusion fills you when there's only dried smears on it—that must be from earlier. If your wound is still closed, then why does it hurt so much?

You shift on the floor, limbs giving out. You contort in pain, which only makes things worse, pulling the stitches to their limits. They stay intact, but the tension brings waves of pain to your back. A yelp is ripped from your throat at a particularly painful pulse.

The thunder of incoming footsteps gives you both fear and a sense of relief. On one hand, you didn’t want him to hear; on another hand, right now all you crave is your boyfriend’s comfort.

“Hey, what was that?” He asks from behind the door, sounding on edge.

“Satoru…” You mewl out in pain.

He calls out your name, voice now urgent. You cringe at the resistance of the lock against his attempt at opening the door.

“M’sorry, I locked it,” You sniffle. “Stupid of me.”

But he still appears in front of you, a locked door holding nothing to his defiance of space and time. He takes one glance at your crumpled form on the floor and curses. All of the tension from earlier melts away, replaced by genuine worry and need.

“What happened? You okay? Did you fall?” He asks as he hurriedly crouches next to you. His hands reach out to you, gently pulling you into his lap. You wince as your back bends, aggravating your wound.

You shake your head. “No, it’s just—agh, fuck—just my back, it suddenly hurts so bad.”

He grimaces. “Can…can I take a look?”

You give your consent and he quickly peels your shirt up. His fingers shake as he does so, even though he doesn’t mind the sight of injuries or blood. Or, at least, when it’s not yours.

He slowly pulls your shirt up just enough to reveal your wound, fearing the worst. You shiver when the fabric chafes against your graze, and he murmurs an apology upon seeing your discomfort. One of his hands rubs soothing circles on your waist.

When he inspects your injury, he’s met with red, puffy skin—the area around your stitches is clearly inflamed, but not unsually so. He breathes a low sigh of relief.

“It looks a bit swollen,” He determines before pulling your shirt back down, careful not to let it touch your wound this time. “But not too bad.”

“It feels bad,” You whine.

"I know," He says gently. “I’ll call Shoko in a second to make sure it's alright. Do you want to head to the bed first?"

“Yes, please,” You request softly.

He hooks an arm under your knees, the other cradling your back. “Alright, sweets. Up we go."

He handles your weight like it’s nothing, and easily unlocks the door you stupidly locked on the way out.

Unshed tears prick your eyes. You couldn’t carry him earlier, even after he had been shot and couldn’t move. You are incapable, unable to handle what he can on a daily basis. Can your relationship really be mutual if he always has to act as the strongest? You could barely protect him earlier.

"It hurts that badly?" He references your teary eyes without mockery, only softness.

If only your tears were from that pain.

"It could be worse, I guess," is what you settle on, neither a lie nor the full truth.

"Could I make it better, maybe?" He asks with a suspicious smile. Before you can answer, he swings you around a few times like he normally would when he carries you, which draws a genuine laugh out of you.

"You're gonna make me dizzy!" You complain, but your smile is so pure and wide, something Gojo doesn't miss.

"You're so beautiful, sweets," He says, affectionately rubbing his nose against yours. You feel warm from the closeness.

You look away shyly, "Yeah, right."

"You don't believe me?" He asks huskily, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Ugh! Put me down and call Shoko already! It stills hurts," You pout.

"If you say so," He says, but his little smirk is still planted on his face. He lays you down carefully, gently releasing you onto the pile of blankets.

He then turns around and dials the doctor in question, "Yo, Shoko."

You close your eyes, trying to ward off the radiating pain with deep breaths. Gojo's phone call turns to background noise, the words indecipherable.

You tune back into the world at the end of his conversation.

"Okay, thank you so much Ieiri."

You faintly hear Shoko's disgust on the other end of the line, "What's going on with you?? Please never thank me like that again, yuck!"

You can't hold back the giggle that bubbles up at Shoko's reaction. Gojo blows a raspberry into the speaker and promptly hangs up on her.

"What's the verdict?" You ask.

"Well, sweets," Gojo sing-songs. "Did you forget to do something?"

You look up in thought, your brows furrowing, "I don't think so..."

"Really?" He says, then produces a familiar orange pill container. You're forced to stare at it as he shakes it in front of your face. "What about this, hm?"

"What? I already took one," You say, a little indignantly. "When we first got home. It was so horrible tasting and was a giant horse pill, too...Ugh, get that bottle away from me, might as well throw it out. I don't want to take anymore later."

He cracks the bottle open, pouring one into his palm. You narrow your eyes at him. Before you can ask what he intends to do with it, that same pill is shoved into your mouth followed by an amount of water so large that you almost begin to choke.

You cough on the water, and he pats your back accordingly, as if he expected this.

"What-?! Are you trying to waterboard me? I said I already took one, and-" You cough again. "God, where did you even get that water from anyway?"

"Mm. But you didn't notice the pill this time, right?" He looks satisfied with himself.

You deadpan. "No, but-"

"Besides, you were spacing out before we left the infirmary. Shoko specifically said to take two pills when you came home, or else the pain might get bad."

Your face feels hot, "Oh, did she now? Hah hah...I must have misheard her..."

He sighs, and it's only now you notice how tired he looks. There's a lull in your conversation, and you use this time to truly observe him. Dark circles are prominent under his eyes—how come you never noticed that?—and his eyes hold a look of defeat.

He breaks the silence, speaking softly, "You worry me, y'know? When I came in and you were convulsing on the floor...I don't want to see you like that again."

You stay silent, not willing to risk jeopardizing this rare moment of complete and utter vulnerability from Gojo.

"And when Shoko lifted your shirt and there was so much blood pouring out of your back..." He closes his eyes, screwing them shut. "I didn't know what would happen. That really scared me. Even when Shoko said you'd be fine, I didn't believe her until it stopped. And even then, you looked so weak...you still do, and it kills me."

He looks down at the ground, between his hands that are interlocked so tightly that it looks like it would hurt.

"It fucking kills me inside that you got hurt protecting me, and you didn't even notice. If that bullet had come any closer, you-"

He stops abruptly, voice breaking. You reach forward, taking his large hands in yours.

"But it didn't. Look at me, Satoru. I'm fine, I really am. I promise."

He shakes his head vehemently, and you're shocked to see liquid trickle down his face. You almost startle when he embraces you so tightly that you can barely breathe, as if you could disappear at any moment. His head rests on your shoulder, effectively hiding his expression from view.

He whispers by your ear, "What's the use in being the strongest when I freeze up like that? I put you in so much fucking danger."

"Satoru, look at me," You ask again, but his head stays tucked in the crevice between your shoulder and collarbone. "Please."

He slowly raises his head, revealing the expression he tried to conceal. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are tinged pink; it makes your heart hurt.

"You're not the strongest to me," You say. "You're not even Gojo Satoru. To me, you're Satoru. Just Satoru. You're human and have emotions and memories and trauma, just like everyone else."

You steel yourself for your next words, the ones that have been haunting your thoughts since he got shot.

"I know that what happened reminded you of that...that time with Toji. I-it felt the same for me, and this time...this time I couldn't stand to watch idly. I would rather die than watch that happen to you again. Especially since, this time, it was definitely my fault."

"Your fault?" He laughs dryly.

"Yes!" You instantly cry out, causing his eyes to widen.

"Haven't you realized by now?" You practically sob. "None of this would have happened if I hadn't been touching you. Because your Infinity lowered for me—fuck, it makes me sick saying this out loud—they were able to really hurt you. I'm the one endangering you, and i-if this keeps up then..."

He says nothing. Now that you admitted it, there's no taking it back. And there's no way that he can or should accept this. There's no way he should accept you, you who are so useless and weak and stubborn. And yet...

"That's all?" He says seriously. You're struck with a flash of frustration and anger at his dismissal, but the hard look in his eyes tells you he is just as frustrated and will not budge on this point.

"We'll be more careful. It's a lesson learned for sure, but I'm not giving you up anytime soon. That's what you wanted me to say, isn't it? That I was going to let you go."

You look down shamefully, "W-well..."

He barks out a sharp laugh, "That's not happening. Do you know why?"

You avoid his gaze, and your voice comes out small. "You pity me?"

"I love you." His voice is firm and so sure; it leaves no room for doubt.

Your eyes snap back to his. There’s no bandages or glasses in the way to obscure the emotion shimmering in them—an endless sea of affection and intensity and something else that you couldn’t capture in words even if you tried. Love.

He loves you.

“I love you, so you can’t be reckless. You just can’t, okay? I’ve been going crazy knowing you got hurt, but I couldn’t handle it if…” He takes a sharp breath. “It’s selfish of me, but I don’t fucking care. Nothing can happen to you. I’ll take all of your hits and all of your missions if it means you’ll be safe. You’re the one person I can’t handle losing.”

“Then you’ll understand I feel the same way,” You say with a determined look on your face. “It’s not like I planned to do what I did. It was all instinct. I didn’t care what would happen to me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” He admits, voice raw and so unlike his usual self-assured tone. “You don’t value yourself enough. You matter so much, sweets, more than I could ever say in words. I’d do anything for you, to keep you safe.”

You counter, “And I would die for you, Satoru, because I love you. And I wouldn’t ever regret it.”

Your determined admission renders him silent.

Then he chuckles, “You’re stubborn, aren’t you, sweets? Of course you sound all cute and mad the first time you tell me you love me.”

Your eye twitches, but you exhale into a smile. “Maybe. But so are you!”

“How about this?” He proposes. “How about we both stay alive, live happily ever after, and drink boba and eat kikufuku for the rest of our days?”

“I think I know where this is going,” You say, suspicion clear in your voice. But you can’t stop the way your heart jumps at his words, the insinuation of spending the rest of your days with Satoru making you weak inside.

“Well, sweets, I have an idea,” He says softly, but his words are filled with excitement.

“Hmm?” You muse, playing along. “What is it?”

“I think we need a sweet treat to make us feel better. Don’t you think so? Maybe we could…check out that boba place I talked about earlier?”

“The one ‘I’ said I wanted to go to?” You ask, using air quotes and shaking your head in amusement.

“That’s the one!” He grins, throwing himself around your form. He squeezes you tightly, nuzzling into your neck. “I love you so much that I’ll treat you, seeing as you want to go so badly. Not that I really wanted to go or anything…”

“You’re such a bad liar!” You laugh, pinching his cheek. “But, Satoru…I meant what I said.”

You look at him seriously, not willing to let this slide. You don’t expect him to match your intense energy, but he does.

“So did I. You don’t have to worry about that anymore, because I’ll never let that happen again. I’ll always be here for you, sweets. I’ll always protect you. You can try, but I’ll never make that mistake again. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me, so I won’t let it. I love you too much to let it happen.”

Your heart feels like it could burst. You sniffle, not able to hold the tears back.

“Aw, is my baby crying?” He teases, gently thumbing the tears away from your cheeks. “You okay?”

“Mhm, just happy,” You nod and let out a watery laugh. “Hey, Satoru.”

“Yeah?” He hums.

“Do you love me enough to give me the last kikufuku later?”

You expect him to joke along with you, but he’s perfectly serious in his words back. Only you seem to have that effect on him.

“Even that,” He chuckles along with you, unbridled warmth and affection swimming in his baby blues as he gazes at you, eyes never leaving your form. “Even that, sweets.”

gojo masterlist <3

A/N: I don’t feel like this is the highest quality writing, but I felt really compelled to write this for some reason, so…oh well! <3 I hope it still turned out okay.

Also Satoru definitely should have apologized but I feel like he’s stubborn and hates apologizing so I left that out <3

I think this is the first time I've managed to not use (Y/N) HAHA, sometimes I see comments on other posts about how much it disturbs their immersive experience, so I'm going to try to limit my usage of it from now on...personally, I've seen and used it for so long that it's just part of my x reader vocabulary, but I understand why people don't like it lol.

Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you had a great day today !! <333

[lieslab]

Are you with me?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After struggling with being underweight, you binge out of desperation to gain weight and that's when your boyfriend finds you.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.6K

Trigger warning: Insecurities, implied underweight reader, mentions of weight, weight loss, binging, calorie counting, and a mention of nausea.

A/N: I believe that this is the final request I had. I'm so sorry for making you wait forever, life has been hard and this topic is a bit too real and relatable. Please know that your weight doesn't define you. Whether you are thirty pounds, three hundred, or three-thousand, you still deserve love and respect. You are allowed to love yourself no matter what you look like.

Society can be really fucking shitty and harsh. Don't let it tear you down. This is your life and maybe we do only get one. Eat the slice of cake on your birthday. Indulge in your favorite coffee. Weight can fluctuate and be lost or gained, but good memories last a life time. Don't let yourself miss out on experiencing them because you think your weight and the way you look is holding you back. It's easier said than done, but it's entirely possible <3

_ _ _

The brain is a chamber and each thought is a bullet. A complex system full of neural pathways that define who you are. The brain controls your entire being. Your personality, your motor skills, the cognitive ability to retain information, and pull it out later. 

Beneath the skin, we’re all just bones. Chipped and withered skeletons that will one day disintegrate into nothingness. They say life is a blessing. We should cherish it to the best of our ability. We only get one life, supposedly. If that’s true, then why is it so hard? 

Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Thick and thin. Taut skin stretched over hollowed cheekbones. Round cheeks full of facial fat. Sharpened and softened jawlines. No matter what yours looks like, you only get one. 

A random genetic lottery thanks to your parents. You might hate yourself or you might love yourself. No matter which one wins, there always seems to be hiccups. Those times of turmoil where you just can’t seem to go on another day because you are trapped inside your body. The machine that causes you to breathe, it feels like a burden to some. 

You cannot control how the outside world perceives you. You cannot make everyone like yourself. Chasing idolization and devotion is a great bomb of self-destruction. Feelings can be fatal and if you’re not careful, they will be. Drowning in insecurities and letting them weigh you down while the days pass you by isn’t a good way to live. 

Yet…you just couldn’t help it. The way you looked was just overwhelming. You were a mess. Physically, nobody could see it. Mentally, you were overwhelmed and falling apart. Unraveling at the seams and spiraling out of control. 

The whispers of your insecurities had turned into a sympathy of screams. Scorching hot tears streamed down your cheeks in the kitchen. Your weight has always been an issue. People don’t second guess the things they say at times. 

“Gosh, you’re so skinny, you need to put some meat on your bones.” 

“Is that really all you’re going to eat?” 

“One blow from the wind and you’re going to fall over at this rate.” 

Some people are blessed with rapid metabolisms and some are cursed. No matter how much you consume, your body works it off. Over and over and over and over and over. Just when you think you’ve gained a pound, the scale says you’re down another half of a pound. 

What does your boyfriend think about it? He always says you look wonderful, but does he really mean it? What if he’s lying? Members of your family have stated that you look like you’re on your deathbed. 

What if you’re not good enough? What if this body isn’t great? What if nothing changes? What if you’re cursed to be this weight forever? What if? What if? What if? 

It was a spur of the moment decision. Ever since you lost another two pounds within the last week, something inside of you seemed to snap. That’s when you found yourself tearing through kitchen cabinets. 

Thoughts were swirling as you ripped open the package of oreo cookies you bought. It was one and then it was two and you blinked and half the row was gone. Crumbs caked your lips and all you could do was wipe them along your sweater sleeve. 

As much as you were spiraling, you were desperate to gain control. Surely, if you ate enough, you could put on a pound or two, right? Right? You had to. 

Crinkling filled the air as you opened a bag of brand new chips. The kind that were too salty and you knew they weren’t healthy, but you did it anyway. Life felt better with the occasional unhealthy snack. People weren’t perfect and neither were you. 

Staring at the back of the calorie contents, you lost track of how many chips you placed in your mouth. People didn’t seem to binge on the fruits and vegetables. 

It was the sugary sweetened foods that stuck to your sides. The salty chips and pretzels. The kind of food that was full of empty calories, but you didn’t care. You were desperate to gain a pound. 

People don’t understand what it’s like until they’re there. You will never understand what it’s like to be skin and bones until it’s all that you are. You will never understand what it’s like to carry around a pudgy stomach that bounces with every step until you are there. 

Weight fluctuates and bodies are different. We only get one, but it’s so easy to abuse it. To never eat enough. To over consume and eat too much. You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong with your body. 

You ate your food and that was that. It wasn’t a ton of food, but it wasn’t like you were starving yourself either. Yet, at the exact same time, your body seemed to stay thin. 

The more you spiraled, the more you lost track. You didn’t remember what you put in your mouth. Everything tasted like defeat, even the oreos. 

It kept going and going. Your stomach began to ache with the amount of food you consumed, but you couldn’t stop. It was overwhelming and all too much. Everything hurt and you just wanted to break down and sob. 

When you caught the reflection of yourself in the microwave, that’s exactly what you did. The lump in your throat pulsed and the tears welled up again. The box of crackers in your hand dropped to the floor and you grabbed the counter top for support. 

Your body caved and slumped over the cold marble top. With a forehead pressed into the marble, you cried. You cried because it wasn’t fair. You cried because you hated what you were doing to your body. You cried because you were worried about how you were perceived. You cried because everything was overwhelming and too much. You hated yourself and it hurt like hell. 

Piercing sobs racked the empty kitchen and bounced off the walls. They reverberated back to you and you were left alone with the heart-shattering reality of what you were doing. You ate so much, you were nauseous. 

Your stomach twisted and churned. A fresh layer of saliva coated your tongue. The queasy feeling caused you to squeeze your eyes shut. All you could do was just cry harder. 

Your sobs were the first thing that Chan heard when he unlocked and pushed the door open. Fear struck his heart and he ripped off his bag. Not caring that his laptop was in it, it dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. 

He rushed into the kitchen and found you slung over the counter. “Baby? Baby?” His hand went to your back and he tugged you into his arms. 

The warmth of his chest made you cry harder. You hated that this was who you were. Why couldn’t you have another body? Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t it just be different? 

“What’s wrong?” His eyes scanned your face. “Why are you crying? What’s going on? Are you hurt?” His hands gently cupped your cheeks. He positioned your face up towards him. “Please talk to me.” 

“I-I hate myself,” you uttered hoarsely with a hiccup. “I’m not good enough. I can’t gain weight and I’m a walking skeleton and I-” 

His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”  A reassuring thumb ran over your cheek. 

“My body isn’t good enough. Not for you. Not for me. Not for anyone.” 

Knowing that you thought so negatively of yourself, it stung. It shoved an arrow through his heart and he shook his head. “Listen to me, you’re perfect the way you are. Just because y-” 

“You don’t get it!” You snapped angrily. Your hands shoved at his shoulders and he stumbled back in shock. “You don’t get it because you’re perfect! You can gain weight and you can lose weight. You can do whatever you want and I-” Your voice cracked and cut off. 

He didn’t utter a word. He knew you were struggling, so he just opened his arms. With a quivering bottom lip, you let yourself fall forward. Sturdy arms grabbed you and he pressed your head against his chest. 

The steady lull of his heart made you burst into tears. A weak and hoarse apology fell from your lips. All he could do was quietly shush you as he rubbed your back. 

“I know that it’s hard. I know what it’s like to struggle with your self image. Maybe I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’m right here and I love you. Please don’t push me away just because you’re struggling. I might not understand, but we can figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere and you know that.” 

That last reassurance was the final straw. Your knees buckled and your fingers dug into his cotton shirt. Down the both of you went and you landed on his lap. 

He pressed you against him as tight as he dared. With your eyes shut and your forehead pressed into the nape of his neck. He soothed you softly while rubbing your back. 

Even if he didn’t understand exactly, he’d wait here for as long as he had to. He’d be here until the kitchen was pulled into darkness and the sun went down outside. He didn’t care if he had to be here all night. 

He’d do whatever it took to remind you that no matter how you saw yourself, you weren’t entirely alone.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

[gumbootillustrations]

divine warriors loredump!

so yeah, the divine warriors! admittedly, i'm fascinated by them - i rlly rlly wish that we'd gotten to see more of them + their powers/domains/abilities in mcd, especially considering that they're a driving force behind the plot. so, i've gone ahead and done some redesigns for the sigils (above) and expanded on the domains and abilities of the divine warriors within the context of ashes, ashes.

more under the cut!

irene retains her matron title. for her domains, i rlly wanted to lean into her being a deity of life and family; as such, her official domains are  life, light, healing, childbirth and parenthood, fertility, marriage, tradition, beauty, and romantic/familial/platonic love. menphia also has domains over aspects of love (namely over sexual/carnal/manic love), but i wanted them to sort of have an aphrodite ourania (irene) and aphrodite pandemos (menphia) sort of vibe. in terms of the abilites that her relic gives its wielders, its a lot of what's seen in canon mcd: lots of healing and light abilities, but also some dimensional manipulation and time manipulation stuff thrown in there for the shits and giggles.

for shad, i rlly wanted to play into him being both a mirror and a foil for irene. where irene creates, he destroys; where irene brings life, he brings death. his official domains are that of death, darkness, chaos, the afterlife, change, rot and decay, the Nether, bloodshed, and madness. although he's also a war deity like menphia (and, to an extent, esmund and xavier), he's mostly associated with the worst bits of battle - the blood, the rot, the awful awful deaths, that sort of thing. his relic grants its wielders a lot of destruction-associated powers like disintegration and rot/plague/death stuff, but also some shadow and blood manipulation as well.

like a lot of other folks, i felt like enki was the best fit for a knowledge deity. he looks after scholars, librarians, witches, and inventors; officially, his domains are those of knowledge, air, magick, prophecy, the weather, winter, reason, and lightning. from here, you'll start to see pretty much all the warriors having some sort of like. elemental association? is the best way i can put it. i've sort of based it off of the minor arcana of the tarot; the suit of swords, which is associated with air, is the suit of knowledge and the mental realm, which i thought was fitting for enki. enki is also one of the four seasonal divine warriors (the others being esmund, menphia, and kul'zak); he gets winter, mostly because of his centre of worship being in gal'ruk. wielders of his relic get air and weather manipulation powers, as well as powers related to memory and access to witchcraft (if they aren't witches already). they also gain clairvoyance.

esmund! again with the tarot symbolism; esmund is associated with the element of earth and the physical world, hence the mountain in his sigil. his domains are those of protection, earth, wealth, autumn, boundaries, earthquakes, guardhood, and the harvest. the domain over the harvest might seem a little left field but it makes sense i promise! i sort of saw esmund's association with the harvest not only being because of him being an earth deity, but also because i feel like being able to provide is a form of protection, and given the setting of mcd, i feel like being able to provide a good harvest is a part of that. this is also why he is associated with autumn. regarding the abilities that his relic provides, there's a lot of earth manipulation and barrier/force field creation stuff in there; his relic wielders are also freakishly stronger and more durable than those who wield other relics, sort of playing into esmund himself being a tank.

i changed menphia's title to 'the conqueror' because i thought it'd be a bit more fitting for her, especially considering how i'm working tu'la in ashes, ashes (more on that later). i also changed her colour scheme to more of a blue/copper theme despite her being a fire goddess - i thought it was neat, considering that blue flames are those that burn the hottest. her domains are those of warfare (the glorious bits), fire, soldiers, political power, summer, passion and courage, festivals and celebrations, and sexual/carnal/manic love. i'm still not suuuper sure on the abilities that her relic gives its wielders, but there's definitely some pyrokinesis and emotion/heat manipulation, along with some combat-specific foresight in there. i'm open to suggestions!

nothing much really changes regarding kul'zak. he's a nature deity and watches over journeymen and particularly sailors, given that he's a water/ocean deity; he's often worshipped by pirates. officially, his domains are travellers, water, animals, the wilderness, the cardinal directions and navigation, hunting, and spring. i really wanted to lean into him being a man of the wilderness and not really having a home in urban environments. as such, his relic grants its wielders a lot of wilderness-based abilities, like shapeshifting, water and plant manipulation, and camouflage, with a bit of teleportation in there for all your wandering needs.

xavier is probably the divine warrior that i've changed the most. first off, he becomes a divine warrior in ashes, ashes where he isn't in canon mcd. i also really wanted to lean into him being the founder of the jury of nine, hence his title - the justiciar. he's associated with the domains of guardhood (along with esmund), loyalty, metal and metalworkers, justice, balance and order, peace, brotherhood, devotion, and artisans. where esmund looks after the more physical side of being a guard (being your lord's shield and spear, aka the protection side of things), xavier looks after the more emotional side of being a guard - the devotion to your lord and the comradery that you share with your fellows. his relic's abilities capitalise on that, with its wielders being able to both amplify and nullify the magick of the people they're fighting alongside/against. there's also a bit of metal manipulation and a lot of supportive magick in there too.

and, as a fun little tidbit - a lineup of the divine warriors! (the layout is inspired by @star-boi0720 - the way you lay out your drawings like this is mint as 🤩)

i'm still not suuuper happy w kul'zak or irene's designs but i'll get there in the end i guess :)

[devils-minion-cult]

Okay, I was thinking once again about how weird the “Rashid” cosplay was, and of course I understand the psychosexual weird power play, but I’m feeling silly right now: I want the weird groundhog-day-esque meta-crack of the IWTV show from Armand’s perspective (the last two weeks or whatever) where instead of a time loop, he’s just zapping people’s brains and watching it fail in real time. (Yes, I know this is less “crack” and more “horror” but. I’ve decided I like the idea of Armand pathetically flailing at his disintegrating life with his godlike mind powers while disrespecting everyone’s agency like. If you can whack people's memories, why stop in the 70s, y'know?)

Louis decides to explore his past and brings an actual therapist in? Armand has to zap everyone’s brains ten minutes in because that therapist said things that were upsetting!

They have to drag fascinating boy in from the 70s because Louis keeps attacking the therapists? Fine!

That boy keeps remembering Armand and what happened far too quickly for Louis to get his closure or whatever? Okay, wipe everyone’s memories, this isn’t the end of the world, let’s come up with a humansona, Rashid probably won’t mind if he steals it, let’s see how long that lasts, etc.

(Like. Would this actually work, in terms of show canon? No! Would it be extremely upsetting for everyone involved? Probably! Sorry once again for another Weird Idea, I have lost the ability to be normal about this show.)

Brb sending this to every fanfic author I can think of

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Possessive

Gojo Satoru x AFAB!Reader

summary: y/n (a non-sorcerer) tries to get away from Gojo, her controlling partner, but he only pulls her closer. no plot just smutty smut smut but I heard plotless is a pro and con in this context ;)

word count: 1,726

a/n: WOW it took me way too long to post this, but Happy New Year, all! if you want to be on my JJK or my Gojo taglist let me know!

tw: she/her reader, controlling behavior (this is toxic and is abuse IRL! this is only hot bc it’s imaginary), unprotected sex. creampie, fingering, p in v sex, oral f receiving, dubcon

masterlist

“Because I’m unhappy, Satoru! You never listen to me, and every time I’m angry you just throw money at me like that solves the problem! I deserve a real relationship, not one where I feel like I’m always talking to a brick wall and can never really make my own choices!” He’s quiet, that stupid smirk still on his face. Ugh. “I’m leaving.” I turn around to grab my keys, in a decorative bowl right behind me, and he’s there.

One of his long, coaxing hands slips around my neck, tilting my head back, and the other one snakes around my waist, pulling my body into his. His breathing in my ear sends a shiver all the way down my spine. “I’m sorry, baby. I never meant to make you feel unhappy.”

I try to pull away, reaching for my keys again. “It doesn’t matter, I’m done. Just let me go.” Instead of listening, he quickly grabs my arm, pinning it to my chest with his first hand, and reaching out to touch my keys. The second his finger makes contact with them, they disintegrate, and my stomach drops.

“You won’t need those. I promise, after tonight—“ He starts kissing my neck, sucking on my sensitive spot and leaving a hickey, causing me to gasp. “—You won’t ever want to leave again.“

“Gojo, st—“ He cuts me off by turning my head around to kiss me on the lips, reaching under my skirt to rub on my clitoris through my underwear. I break the kiss, trying to push him away. “Gojo— ngh!” I moan in surprise when I feel his fingers slide under my panties and dip into my folds, the sudden pleasure making me forget my exact situation. Gojo removes his blindfold, and I realize my mistake— I should’ve known he would do this.

Domain expansion. Before I know it, I’m being gripped by several of Gojo’s hands, his fractals of digits ripping my clothes to shreds within a mere second. Some arms are holding my arms down, some are holding my legs open, others are massaging my breasts, others are twisting my nipples, and a pair are squeezing my neck, the pressure slightly decreasing air flow and making me feel lightheaded. Gojo comes into view, towering above me. He removes his clothes and says, “If I wanted to make it easier, I would just let more hands do it, but I want you to know who’s making you feel this good.” He drops down to his knees, leaning over me. “Something I don’t tell other people about my abilities, specifically about the Unlimited Void, is that I can control what kinds of stimuli someone receives — I’m not limited to just everything or nothing.”

My eyes flutter, struggling against the hands at my throat — I’m not being suffocated, I just don’t feel in control of my body. He smiles cunningly, sliding his hand down my torso. None of the other hands have stopped their prodding and preening, and he can see my eyes reacting to the arousing behavior. He captures my lips in his, slithering his tongue into my mouth, and inserting a finger into my gummy walls. “Oh!” My exclamation is swallowed by his devouring mouth, and my back arches as he starts to pump his long finger in and out, curling it into my g-spot.

He seamlessly transitions into adding a second finger, and then a third, each eliciting louder moans from me. His palm is rubbing against my sensitive nub, and I feel the extra pressure with every pump of his hand. It feels so good. It feels so good. It feels so good! I moan, all the twisting and tweaking of my body coupled with his fingers filling me up brings me closer, closer, and closer to the edge, his hand slamming into me until—

I let out a sob when he pulls his hand out, licking all of my juice from his fingers as he stares into my eyes. My hole is clenching around the air, my cum drooling out. “You’re making a mess, sweetheart. Let me clean that up for you.” He grabs his member, giving it a few strong pumps, then uses his tip to wipe up my liquids, rubbing it against my slit. He presses his tip into my hole, waiting for the clenching to stop— “You can’t start too early, or you’ll be all worn out.” —Before finally pushing all the way in.

“Satoru!!!” I cry out, my walls squeezing around him when I feel his full length. “Baby, please!” But he won’t play nice. He moves in and out of me at an even pace, and every time I start spasming around him, he slows down to an almost painful pace, waiting for it to stop before gradually speeding back up again. I’m mewling, begging for him to give me my release, even trying to hump up into him, but he only pulls himself out of me, not letting me get to my orgasm.

He pauses, seemingly thinking to himself. “I wonder how close I can get you with my mouth?” He slides down to my pussy, nestling his face between my thighs. I can feel his breathing on me because of how close he is. His tongue darts in, drawing a circle around my rim before sliding in, poking and prodding in me as I struggle to rub my lips on his face. I find an angle that works, where my thrashing makes the tip of his nose rub on my clit. I can feel myself getting closer to my high, and I close my eyes, embracing all the different sensations I’m experiencing all at once, but my body betrays me when it starts shaking. Gojo laughs into my lips, the vibration almost pushing me over the edge, and he pulls his face away. “Did you think I didn’t know what you were doing? Silly girl.” I whine, trying to shake my lower half, but he’s nowhere near me, it seems. More hands grab my hips, holding me so I’m completely immobile. He tsks. “When I told you only I can ever make you cum, that included yourself and any scheming tricks you thought you could pull.”

I can’t see him because my head’s being pulled back, but I can feel him when his lips wrap around my bud and his tongue starts swirling around it. He sucks as he works, and I moan again, thinking that I’ll come undone for sure, it feels so good, if only he’d let me finish! He lets go with a loud pop of his lips, coming up to kiss me, my sheen coating his velvety petals like morning dew on a rose. I taste sweet and bitter in my own mouth, but I don’t have time to savor it as he fills me to the brim, and starts thrusting away. “Ah! Satoru, I’m close! Please tell me I can cum!” I beg him, my voice wavering from the overstimulation of my whole body, all my points of pleasure telling me I can never leave this man. He’s right. No one else will ever tear me apart in as sensual of a way as he does.

He hums, laughing as he pleasures himself inside of me, burying himself to the hilt, pulling far enough out that his tip becomes visible, then quickly burrowing all the way back in, over and over again. “Okay.” He picks up his pace, and the dam breaks — everything that had built up pours out, my orgasm flooding out each time he pushes himself into me, and my head’s spinning as I’m stuck bawling from how good it feels. My entire body is rigid and shaking, and Gojo’s still going, the other hands going crazy, all madly fondling every part of my body.

Tears sneak out of my ducts, and Gojo licks them up, smiling like the devil while his eyes bore into mine as he nears his own release. My pussy is still fluttering around his cock, and I haven’t stopped babbling about it being too much, too much, when I feel my reservoir filling up again. “Sa-to-ru-oh!” I manage, though I’m not sure what I’m even trying to say.

“Say you’ll stay,” He commands in a deep, smooth voice, and I melt beneath his piercing blue eyes, the sweat glistening on his skin, which feels sticky as his hips collide with mine, his balls slapping against my second hole, the fractal hands all reaching for the most sensitive spots and caressing them in just the right way.

“I’ll— I’ll stay!” I respond, incapable of thinking about what he’s asking of me, and his thrusts turn from measured to erratic. I feel his hips begin to stutter, the other hands all becoming even more aggressive if even possible, and the final push that takes me over the edge is feeling his length pumping out his seed inside me, making everything squeeze just a bit tighter. My rubber band snaps, and the other hands all disappear as my body spasms out of control, my back completely arched as my hips move to meet his of their own accord, his own continuing to pound into me until he has nothing else, and he stills, rubbing his hands up my naked body until he cups my face with both of them, kissing my lips, then looking at me with a hunger yet to be satiated reflecting from his eyes.

When my body finally calms, I eventually notice that we’re still in the living room. He scoops me up, and while he holds me I realize that he’s already hard again. “We’re not done yet, I hope you know. Remember now, my love, you said you would stay.” He takes me to our bedroom and sets me down in the middle of the bed, flipping me over so I’m on my hands and knees, and slapping my ass. “If you ever try to leave again I’ll give you so much pleasure that you’ll pray for me to stop it, and I won’t, because this is mine. You’re mine. Do you understand?” I nod my head weakly as I wobble on all fours, and gasp when he yanks my head back by my hair. “Oh, y/n, you’re my good girl.” He rams himself into me from behind.

taglist: @ekaterinatepes

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗜 𝗱𝗼

CW: Lovesick!Mammon x reader, angst, sfw

Notes: Hey, I've been cramming for the really important exams I've told you guys about, so I haven't wrote anything, but I found this on my drafts. I know a lot of you are here for spider-verse content, but this is all I had

Imagine choosing Mammon not because he's your favorite, but because he loves you the most. When you had to choose, Mammon's name blurted out of your mouth so effortlessly that one might confuse it with true love. And you do love him, but he'll always love you the most.

All of your suitors love you, all of them in a sickeningly, aching manner, but none of them compare to Mammon. The others would gift you the universe, to him, you're the universe, the others the others love you more than life itself, to him, there's no life without you. Mammon hopes with all his heart he'll never have to choose, but if it's you or his brothers, it's you. It'll take him time and tears to decide if he had to, but the answer is you.

When we are seduced by greed, we keep wanting more and more, more money, more attention, more pleasure, more than we can handle, but you have greed incarnate longing for nothing else but you, not even his sin is strong enough to make him desire something or someone if is not you, he gets sick to even think about it.

Mammon who would call the most beautiful, divinely crafted creature "ugly" if they ever propositioned, and he would mean it, no one can even dream to compare to you.

Mammon who wouldn't sell you for the ability to control every particle of gold in all three realms

Mammon who isn't even dramatic when he tells you he feels like dying when you're not around

And after knowing this, one would think that Mammon's love for you is absolute, the absolute epitome, the absolute unreachable true meaning of love. But you'd be wrong, because Mammon's love is like universe expanding before our very eyes, but we, feeble creatures cannot comprehend everything that the expansion of the universe entails, just like not even Mammon is capable of completely grasp how much love he has for you, he just knows it overflows, that his body will never be able to contain it, that he fears one day he just won't be able to keep it together and something will happen to him.

And he knows that you chose him because of this, he accepts it, he won't even touch the subject, afraid he might do something that will drive you away from him. But you're honest, you always tell him why you are with him, and you aren't a bad partner at all, you love him, truly, you would die for him, and he knows he has your loyalty, you won't be unfaithful, even if it's with the one that you really wanted, your first choice.

Mammon who in the night, holds you so tight, as if you'll disintegrate in front of his own two eyes if he doesn't keep you together by force. He breathes your scent, you play with his white locs.

"Don't ya dare leave me for some other guy" he tries to sound tough

"Mammon, love, don't say nonsense. They don't love me like you do."

[etrevil]

I need to talk about how well Bones did the skk apology/confession scene.

Like, oh my gosh, the lightning. Red and blue contrast? Yes. The focus solely being skk, and no unnecessary still frame of other characters (mourning the Fyolai scene rn)? YES, AMAZING, PERFECT.

They captured Dazai's expression so well. He looked miserable, he looked so deep in thought, like he was saying goodbye to that one, good, beautiful aspect of his life (Chuuyaaaa 😭).

His eyes were closed, he was taking a walk down memory lane, he was thinking back to when they were fifteen, he remembered when they held hands to defeat Rimbaud, when No Longer Human took affect and-

The cut using Dazai's ability made me need a moment. And then we have the close-up to his face, followed by Dazai finally opening his eyes after about half a minute of flashbacks. Of memories where he and Chuuya connected.

And then we have his close-eyed smile, so we don't see what he's actually feeling, where he's practically baring his teeth. He's back to his cheerful, devil-may-care persona while leaving his partner, a person others have described he shares a soul with and mimics perfection together (cough, Adam, cough), to drown.

I was offended on Chuuya's behalf, and I felt like tearing out the smiling menace's hair follicle by follicle when ONLY Chuuya's hat came into frame.

It was like I was experiencing chapter 101 all over again when it came out. And that, I think, is when I realized Bones did well on this. Amazing, even.

Because one thing I genuinely feared was the anime-only fans missing out on the emotions the manga brought out. What if the anime leaves out important bits about their relationship?

But this episode made me relive the night Dazai drowned Chuuya and there wasn't a next chapter to settle to fears. It made me feel so much injustice that I couldn't even cry.

I was absolutely scandalized by Dazai's "See you later, alligator!" (in one translation, cause the official uses the same, simple "goodbye!" as in the manga) and that makes me love it even more- because of course that little shit would bid Chuuya farewell like that.

Because of course, it's soukoku, and this is what they do best: secret codes, phrases only they can understand, soulmatism… And I like to think that see you later can either pertain to Chuuya coming back, or Dazai joining him, if you will.

tl;dr is that Bones did what we wanted and served the same emotional damage to the anime-only fans.

Alright so maybe this was all over the place but I think I finally got my thoughts down. I'm still not fine after this episode lol, and I probably never will be considering we might get chapter 109 animated at this rate and pace.

If that happens, I'm gone. Just, disintegrated. Nothing more.

What a year to be alive 😭

[josephquinnswhore]

all for love - joel miller x female reader

Summary: things have changed between you and Joel since arriving at jackson. How can he make it up to you?

Word Count: 3.8k

Content Warning: angst, insecurity, mention of sexual harassment, fluff, slight possessive Joel. Joel opening up to reader. SMUTTT. Oral F! Receiving, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, daddy kink, joel calling reader a good girl. I think that’s it!

7 days passed since you arrived at Jackson, Wyoming with Joel and Ellie, finding Tommy and a whole community of children families and elderly made your heart yearn for more, it made you envious. The dynamic between you and Joel had shifted in the worst way, your bed unbearably cold as you lie alone with no warmth to comfort you. The cold winter air seeping through the cracks where the seal in the old window had disintegrated, the winter clothes you piled on in layers did nothing to sooth the harshness of the winter bite on your toes and fingertips.

You’re grateful that you have running water and electricity to take hot showers once a night and a lamp to read your book for half an hour before bed. Like part of a routine you always turned the lamp switch off when you heard Joel’s heavy footsteps trudging towards the house in the snow after the hours he’d been on patrol. You would wake from nightmares while he was gone, normally of Joel being attacked and getting infected, and read from 12:10 to 12:40 till Joel got home safe. Like clockwork everyday.

Joel knew what you were doing, before his feet reached the first step of the front porch your lamp was switched off, the light no longer illuminating through the curtains, he knew it was your way of saying you weren’t up for a conversation.

Admittedly Joel did shut you out first, to protect himself, his heart and integrity. Seeing you in a real house, cooking real food and doing chores while treating Ellie like your own, he felt like he was betraying sarah, it felt like he was replacing her and he had to squash the possibility of playing house and husband with you before he gave it a second thought.

Being away from you wasn’t easy, it was the opposite in fact. Joel’s heart felt like it beat slower when you weren’t around, desperately needing you around to pull it out of its depression. He missed your straight-up honest attitude, you didn’t let him get away with treating you or Ellie badly, called him out on it and made him own up and for the first time in decades, he apologised to someone. Your bravery was something he admired, your sense of confidence in your ability to protect and defend, you didn’t need Joel to take care of things for you as you were perfectly capable.

Another insecurity Joel had to worry about, even if he did want to be with you, there were no shortage of men here that had taken a liking to you, there was no reason why you wouldn’t just ditch him and find yourself a suitor to have a family with to live your dream. Your job at the bar only increased the chances of his insecurities becoming a reality.

Your fingers nimbly tied your boot lace as you hear the snow crunching underneath his boots, the familiar rhythm and heaviness of whom became all too familiar with, rang in your ears sent your heart racing in the worst way. The sky had just begun to fall into a deep shade of black indicating the end of the day, the street lights being turned on to provide some sense of direction through the town. Why was he home so early, sure you were curious but more so overcome with a feeling of dread, not prepared for an argument and not prepared to let his behaviour slide.

You worked the bar a few times a week from 6:30-9:30pm, trying to do your bit for the community, even though they claim you do enough by doing the entire towns laundry.

You made work on tightening the laces on your second boot In preparation to tying them, as his foot steps ascended up the stairs you assumed he would go to his room, they stopped right outside of your closed bedroom door. A knock on your door echoed in the lonely house.

“Ellie?” Your voice stable, knowing it wasn’t Ellie but still wanting an escape from this conversation.

The door opened and Joel stood leaning against the door frame. “Sorry to disappoint. Can I come in?” You rushed tying your lace, checking your watch. 6:15pm sure you had time, but you really didn’t have the capacity to deal with Joel right now, not when you had a whole three hours of dealing with the drunks that hit on you every night. “No, sorry. Gotta get to the bar or I’ll be late.” You pull your jacket from the cupboard and slide your arms through, providing some warmth in contrast to the cold look your face presented. “Right, right. Let you get goin’ then.” He took half a step away from your doorframe, barely enough room to squeeze by with your puffy jacket on and you nod to him, “Dinners already prepared in the fridge. Half an hour at 220. I’ve already eaten so you two enjoy.”

Lie. You hadn’t eaten. The thought of food made you sick when your stomach was full of anxiety.

The probable chance or running into the Joel was slim, but some nights they finished early and wanted a few rounds to loosen up before they head home for the night. “Hey,” Joel’s hand on your arm stopped you momentarily, your eyes finally meeting his. “You doin’ okay?” You smiled the fakest one you could conjure and he let go, “of course, just don’t want to be late. Goodnight Joel.” You were out the front door before Joel could reciprocate your farewell. Standing alone in the cold house made his heart ache, it yearned for you, it hurt you to see the bags under your eyes and liveliness absent from your eyes. Your eyes stopped sparkling and the smile only he has seen is gone, where your nose scrunches and your crows feet are visible around your eyes, teeth baring and laughter filling his ears as his favourite melody.

You get to work dreading the evening ahead of you, wanting to read a chapter of your book and go to bed, finding no solace in the environment full of drunk men yelling and one pinching your ass as you walk behind the bar. You swat his hand harshly and sneer, “touch me again I’ll fucking cut you off and you can go home by yourself you miserable prick.” He muttered as he walked off to his buddies all you heard from his mouth was ‘bitch’. Yeah, fuck off you drunk.

Your friend Jed comes to the bar and orders a shot of vodka, witnessing the interaction you just had his eyes offering nothing short of supportive, “looks like you need this more than I do babe.”

You laugh and shake your head, “nonsense Jed I need the whole bottle with the fuckin bullshit week I’ve had.” He slides the shot back to be refilled, and you fill it. “Trouble in paradise?” He questions and you look to him, dropping your facade. “Just sick of loving a man with no emotional intellect. I don’t even know if he likes me let alone capable of loving me. I’ve given up Jed and it hurts.” Your elbows find the bar and you lean your head in your hands, “maybe you need to talk it out, put your feelings out there.” You bite your lip in thought before rejecting your friends idea, “I dunno. Maybe I should just try to move on, the women here are drawn to Joel like a moth to flame. I don’t stand a chance.”

“You need to give yourself a break babe, cause I know the amount of men in this bar alone that would love to take you out is more than you know.”

You laugh polishing a shot glass before reaching for his, pouring them both to the brim with vodka before clinking them together and cheering, throwing the shot back and swallowing. “Alright matchmaker, let’s see what you’ve got.” His face reeked of mischief but you ignored it and got back to cleaning the stickiness of the bar top and trying to polish the dried water stains off the glasses.

Joel didn’t know how to fix it, he didn’t know how to have you and Ellie while keeping Sarah in his heart, he wished he knew how to figure it out.

He wasn’t expecting how helpful an overly nosy 14 year old could actually be. By the time Ellie was ready for dinner it was 9:13pm.

“You love her. You’re scared of losing her like how you lost-“ Joel glared at Ellie from across the dining table. “All I’m saying is you don’t have to feel guilty Joel. You’re allowed to be happy. You’re both miserable and it’s making me depressed so you’d better fix it. I don’t want her moving out for some weird guy down at the bar.”

Something switched in Joel, the realisation of what he felt for you, how he wanted you, the thought of you with someone else made him sick. Which led him running through the snow to the bar, receiving weird looks as he approached, the cold air in his lungs had him kneeled over trying to catch his breath.

He walked into the bar and approaches you, the stickiness of spilled beer from the floor clung to the bottom of his boots like velcro.

He sits at the bar and you look at him with wide eyes, “what can I do for ya this evening?” Using the same tone you did with the rest of the men, it stirred something in Joel that felt like he would combust. “Cut the fuckin shit. Y’know how I like it.” And without another word you poured Joel a double Whiskey no ice and slid it across the bar to him. The alcohol tingling his lips, lit a fire inside his stomach. He knew whether it was selfish or not tonight he would declare his love for you, it’s the least you deserved, an explanation instead of an excuse.

Joel sipped on his whiskey and you eyed him suspiciously, “what are you doing here Joel? Where’s Ellie?” He threw the cup back, emptying the contents and hardly making a face as he swallowed the bitter substance.

“Cant come and have a drink? Shes fine, sleepin.” The gruffness in Joel’s voice defined the underlying tiredness he was trying to fight off.

“Oh my god, Joel hiiii,” Jed greeted him with a sly smile standing next to him. “What a coincidence we were only just talking about you before,” Joel shot you a look that you ignored, glaring at Jed for throwing you under the bus. “Anyway that guy over there wants to take you home if you catch my drift, names Jerry or something.” You look over to where a middle aged man, possibly in his 30s not much older than you sat with a wide grin, waving his hand to you. He was handsome, his blonde hair framing his face nicely and those green eyes looked stunning in the lighting of the bar. Joel turned to look at the man and his body tensed, noticeably. He turned to you and sneered, “fuckin pretty boy bet he’s never worked a day in his life,” you scoff and roll your eyes refilling his glass before shouting, “last call” for drinks as you’d be closing up the bar in 5 minutes.

Apparently that attracted the pretty blonde-Jerry over. However he wasn’t interested in drinks. “5 more minutes eh beautiful, can I take you home afterwards?” Joel’s eyes are watching how you handle this interaction, jealousy fuelling every spark in his body to punch the smirk off his face, instead he does something possibly braver.

“Not happening blondie, she’s comin home with me like she does every night.”

Jerry watched you for an answer and took your silence for confirmation and sped off glaring at the two of you. Ignoring Joel, you quickly sanitise the tables and place the remaining dirty glasses in the dishwasher, they could be polished tomorrow. You were desperate to get home and be in your bed, door shut and away from Joel, he wouldn’t allow that to happen though. Not tonight. You shove Joel out the door wordlessly and he exits without a fight, you lock up and storm home, Joel beside you matching your pace with an all familiar burn in his lungs.

The front door to your house was quietly opened, the urge to run and hide from Joel was overwhelming. Wondering if you should check on Ellie, you untie your laces and kick off your boots with a huff, the full ache of your heels unrelenting even after freeing them.

Your attempt to make an escape was, well, a failure. Joel’s hand wrapped around your wrist pulling you back to face him, an unreadable expression on his face. “Let go of me Joel, now.” Your voice was steady and he shook his head, holding you to face him, “you don’t get to do this Joel! You don’t get to shut me out then speak for me when someone actually shows interest!” Joel scoffs, “he doesn’t care about you, he would’ve fucked you and left you the next morning.” You pull your arm from his grasp as tears welled in your eyes, “so what! at least he showed fucking interest in me, spoke to me, wanted to be around me.”

Joel inhaled and exhaled deeply, his brown eyes starring deep into your own, “I’m sorry..” you froze. Joel is, apologising? You listen, waiting for him to continue, “it ain’t right what I’ve been doin’. Just seeing you in this house it’s.. hard.” You frown and your heart sinks, he doesn’t want you around, living in the same house as him. “I can pack..” Joel shook his head, “Its not like that. It reminds me of before, with.. Sarah. I want you, this. I’m scared of forgetting about her, her face.”

Joels brown eyes glistened as tears welled in his lash line, eyelashes wet and his body slightly slumped as he began to sob quietly. Your arms embraced Joel and held him to you in an attempt to ground him, his head on your shoulder you swayed back and forth attempting to find some comfort, he was going to spiral into a dark place if you didn’t. “She would be proud of you Joel. For helping Ellie, saving her. She would be proud of the man you’ve become.” Your waist felt bare without Joel’s hands on them and he held your face, love pouring from his eyes and holding you close to him.

“That guy at the bar I- I couldn’t stand it, seeing you be available for other guys. Want you to be all mine.” You lean into Joel and kiss him, “I’m all yours, Joel.” It starts slowly as you both explore each other but quickly becomes heated and more fast paced in a fit of passion, his teeth graze your bottom lip and you moan into the kiss. Joel’s hands find your ass and lifts you up and you squeal in surprise, a smile on your face, a genuine smile that Joel had missed seeing.

He thanked his arms for not giving out on him in his weakening state accompanying his old age- as he carried you up the stairs to his bedroom and falls as his legs hit the back of the mattress forcing him down, your body still clung to his on top of him. He breaks the kiss and your bodies are heaving, gasping for air as you stare at each other hungrily.

“Wanna treat you real good darlin’, if you’ll have me?” You nodded and Joel smacked your ass harshly, “use your words darlin’, need to hear you say it.” Your cunt clenches around nothing as Joel demands your verbal consent.

“Y-yes please-please Joel.” You stutter begging for him to touch you, “since you asked so nicely darlin’”, your nipples uncontrollably hardened and the ache in your cunt begging to be tended to. Joel unzips your coat and pulls your shirt up over your head, kissing all over your neck down to your collarbone nipping and leaving bruises down to the top of your tits.

Territorial bastard.

His eyes admired your bra before discarding it and immediately toying with your breasts, tweaking pinching and meeting his lips to roll his tongue around it to stimulate you. His warm hands explore the curves of your body, touching and tracing shapes over your skin lightly enough to tickle sent goosebumps over your skin.

“Wanna show you how much you mean to me darlin’,” you nodded and circled your hips, grinding down onto his rock hard cock being restrained by two layers.

Joel flipped you to your back and shushed you, “it’s okay baby, ‘m gunna look after you.” His mouth leaving hot wet kisses from your torso to your cunt, your body feeling hot and trembling in anticipation. Joel’s hot breath on your cunt was enough to have you bucking your hips into nothing, desperate to be touched, whimpering to him, “please Joel, please, please touch me.”

His mouth attached straight onto your clit and the moans that left your mouth sounded heavenly to Joel. “Fucking pussy tastes so good darlin’.” He groaned into your cunt making you twitch into his face, hands finding their way into his greyish hair and giving it a small tug, Joel’s hips grinding against the mattress at the action. Once he saw you were dripping, he slipped a thick finger into your hole and started pumping, slightly relieving the full ache that rested in your stomach for too long. Your hips met the thrusts of his finger and expertly he added another causing you to throw your head back onto his pillow, moaning and savouring his smell. You could feel the tension building in your stomach as he fingered your cunt, curling them perfectly into the puffed up tissue while his tongue rolled around on your clit. Moans leaving your mouth louder and more frequent as you chased your high. “Please Joel- harder, harder. Fuck yes daddy!”

“C’mon darlin, that’s it. That’s a good girl, cum for daddy.” Joel calling himself daddy was the last push you needed before you came undone, “fuck-fuck Joel! Fuck I’m coming,” your legs trembling and body feeling as if it were made of gelatine and your ears ringing were happening simultaneously as a result of your orgasm.

Your chest heaved trying to catch your breath, coming down from your high, “please Joel, need you in me so bad, need your cock.” You begging, desperate for his cock made it twitch, unbuckling his jeans and kicking off his jeans you made a motion with your hands to come closer. He complied. Your hands traced the buttons of his long sleeve shirt before looking up at him through wet lashes, “can I?” Joel hesitated, insecurity creeping up but he pushed it away and nodded. You unbuttoned the buttons one by one, making sure he was still comfortable, pulling his shirt off his arms and tossing it onto the floor with the rest of the pile. You gasp looking at him and Joel’s ears turn red with embarrassment. “Know I’m not the best lookin anymore but-“ you cut Joel off with a kiss, shutting his insecurity down. “You’re so beautiful Joel.” You caress his chest and pecks before kissing them, the heat that surrounded your face was comforting, you twirl his chest hair in your fingers, taking him all in.

“Want you and only you Joel. Fuck me, please.” Joel obliged, pulling his briefs to his knees letting his cock spring freely, the cold air making it twitch. A gasp left your lips as you saw him, he was huge. It was the most perfect cock you had ever seen. “I know darlin’, you can take it. Promise you.” You whimpered and nodded as his tip rubbed up and down your entrance, pushing the tip in slowly and stopping halfway to let you adjust. Your face was scrunched up in pain and Joel kissed your lips tenderly, “gotta breathe darlin, I’ll wait for you.” You took some deep breaths ignoring the burn in your cunt as Joel stretched you out. Eventually getting used to the feeling you wrap your legs around the back of his thighs encouraging him, he pushed in till his balls were up against your ass, your cunt taking his cock, swallowing it greedily.

“Ff-fuck darlin’, pussy so fuckin tight and wet fuckkkk, this all for me huh?” You nodded pathetically, “all for you Joel, only for you.” Joel grunted, pulling his hips back and slamming it back into your sopping warm cunt, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix gently, enough to cause a gentle sensation of pain and pleasure. The tightening in your stomach began building embarrassingly quick as Joel fucked you, his large hands gripping your hips, groaning at the feel of you. “Fuck! Joel fuck ‘m gunna cum! Wanna cum on your cock daddy please.” You became a sobbing mess beneath him as it all became too much, completely cockdrunk and blabbering as if no thought could rationally form in your brain. Joel mercilessly pounded into you, riled up even more, loving the sight of you trembling, sobbing and completely delirious at the feel of his cock.

“That’s it baby, good girl-such a good girl taking daddy’s cock, my girl gunna cum for me? Come on darlin’ cum on your daddy’s thick cock,” your entire body trembled as you reached your orgasm, writhing under Joel within his grip, face stained with your tears and mouth swollen from biting your lip. Screaming his name like a prayer, “yes-yes FUCK! YES Joel fuck please-please cum in my pussy, fuck need it so bad daddy.” Joel’s balls twitched at how you begged for him, his release instant after, “fuck darlin’ love you so much.” He shot his warm cum into your cunt, knowing it would invade your womb in search for an egg. His body stuttering as he huffed trying to catch his breath, his cock going soft inside you. He kissed your lips and pulled out, his cum dripping onto one of the three blankets on his bed.

Joel returned with a warm washcloth and wiped you and himself clean. Walking to his closet, he pulls out a large sweatshirt of his throwing it on the bed in front of you, finding clothes of his own to wear to bed. You put on the sweatshirt, smiling as you inhale Joel’s fragrance. “Got cum on your blanket by accident.” You mutter in embarrassment, redness overwhelms the natural colour of your skin. He lets out a small laugh, “lucky I know a real pretty girl that does the laundry.” You huff out a laugh and lie down next to Joel, pulling the blankets ontop of you, “daddy, eh?” You smack his arm and he holds his arms up in defence. “I love you too Joel, now turn around, wanna hold you.” Joel complies and turns with his back facing you, you hold him in your arms the warmth radiating him lulling you to sleep. You wondered what the town would think of Joel “the badass” miller if they knew he was the little spoon. The thought amused you, but you loved your little secret.

[sadieshavingsex]

I think I've really started figuring out something about relationships and why mine seem to end so intensely. So this is just a little thought experiment, and, as always, I'm not an expert and I'm mostly writing this to talk to myself - take what resonates and leave the rest! So without further ado...

I think that these are some of the most basic ingredients a good relationship can have:

each partner having a baseline ACCEPTANCE of the other person and the ability to "let them do them" authentically

each partner being able to set BOUNDARIES that allow them to continue "doing them," as well as being able to tell the other "no" and stand up for themselves in order to keep those boundaries in place

each partner being COMFORTABLE with the concept that the relationship MAY NOT WORK OUT and truly being okay with stopping the relationship if it begins to go south

When these things start to get compromised, all hell breaks loose and you start the really vicious insecure attachment style cycles we've all come to know and love.

First of all, if someone starts to feel, for whatever reason, that this relationship "MUST WORK OUT," you are headed for disaster - this will create a scenario where at least one person in the relationship is more susceptible to letting go of their own boundaries if the other person asks. If there is any kind of question of the other partner not being able to accept them or their boundaries, the partner who feels things need to work out will simply let go of their boundaries for the sake of the relationship rather than stand up for themself or be able to walk away. Then you have a situation where boundaries are disintegrating and acceptance of the boundaryless partner is potentially starting to become conditional, so you've got the other two pillars of the safe relationship starting to fall.

Soon enough, you're in a very deep cycle. Putting aside your own boundaries for another person, no matter who they are, starts to breed resentment, and you start to feel unaccepting feelings toward the other person's behavior and probably feel that you're participating in an unequal power dynamic where they are making the rules of the relationship. Without your own boundaries, you likely start to impinge on your partner's - if you have to give up so much to be with them and earn their acceptance, they'd better be giving up the same! And then, the more that either of you give up, the more you probably start to subscribe to the sunk cost fallacy - you've changed so much for this person, so now you have to stay together even more, because this relationship would just be a total failure and violation otherwise.

FRIEND. Let me just say it right here from the start: if you stick to the three pillars above, you will probably be able to maintain a much healthier relationship with your partner and yourself!!! Because when you are not bending over backwards in ways that harm you, it's likely that you expect less of that from your partner as well. If you maintain the boundaries, it's probably easier to maintain your acceptance of each other, too. And if you keep your comfort with being alone, you're able to decide to leave in a respectable, peaceable way if the other relationship pillars start to fall in a way that makes you uncomfortable. I feel like these 3 pillars are the way to have a healthy, happy relationship with realistic expectations, that can still end really amicably if it needs to! But if you lose one the whole thing comes crashing down.

[mixelation]

as much as Tori would hate JJK, wouldn't she hate MHA more? I feel like she'd get very annoyed by all the pseudo science covering up what is very much magic. Yes, getting sick from rats made you grow engines from your legs. Well obviously your ability to hate society means you can disintegrate cities by touching the ground. bunch of posers

HMMMM interesting question. I think it depends entirely on how deep she gets into the science of the world TBH. I don't actually remember ever getting annoyed by the pseudoscience explanations in MHA, probably because they're internally consistent in terms of zany comic book logic? where as i felt the exposition in JJK often didn't make sense internally, on the narrative level. so i think if you went and hunted down an MHA scientist and grilled them, i think they could produce satisfactory answers. meanwhile JJK characters just spew absolute nonsense, which is the frustrating part

[codenamesazanka]

Why do you think hori decided to make decay one part of overhaul? I know many fans believe its so he can awaken the reconstruct part later but that sounds too contrived

hmmm, my take is... it's to make the world more boring, making AFO a super dick who's responsible for everything wrong in the world, and so relieve a burden from the Heroes.

It is my belief that people are too caught up in the Overhaul part (while also too dismissive of Overhaul the guy), and part of that is the need for copium for Shigaraki to come back and save his League/redeem himself. They need a miracle for the League to survive, and they need an excuse for Shigaraki to not be treated badly by the Heroes afterwards. If Shigaraki has 'Overhaul' quirk, and proves himself by having the ability to 'heal', then Shigaraki can justify his existence to the Heroes as useful/less lethal/benevolent-due-to-healing-power. I know that's not what's intended, but that's what it comes off as. Shigaraki with 'Decay' gets killed by a Hero; but Shigaraki who comes back (especially as Tenko) with a different quirk can stay? It's a bad look, even if coincidental.

(But who knows! Maybe he will do exactly that. We're at Horikoshi's mercy.)

I think the derived-from-Overhaul thing is just to make AFO a super asshole who went out of his way to make A Very Dangerous And Scary Quirk, one that will guarantee ostracizing status for Tenko because society already discriminates against 'villainous' quirks - and by doing so, actually gives Hero an easy out of doing something about their quirk society.

Decay - a five-finger automatic touch disintegration quirk - is a highly, easily destructive and lethal power. If it's naturally existing, if a five-year-old can randomly awaken this ability, it spells out trouble for the world. How would parents respond to their child having such a quirk? How to treat this child with the full love and respect they deserve - because all children deserve full love and respect! - without alienating and hurting them? How would one raise this child to be mindful and careful and responsible, without also overburdening them or making them feel like they're a dangerous monster?

Is the solution to make Shigaraki/Tenko wear gloves? That seems simple at first, what if Shigaraki/Tenko doesn't want to? What if gloves are annoying and gives him rashes from wearing them all the time or it interferes with his hygiene? What if he simply wants his hands free? But when his gloves are off, people get antsy and nervous around him, worrying about that 'what if'? How do you balance personal autonomy and other people's safety? How do you balance "what is convenient for other people" with "what is right for me?"

Decay is a really interesting quirk to exist in a world where quirks can be anything and in a story that asks what it means to live in a superpowered society. We've seen that HeroAcaLand is not very kind to people with quirks that gives them trouble fitting in with a norm. Quirks that violate taboos like Toga's; quirks that give people 'scary' or 'gross' appearances like heteromorphic quirks ; quirks that are seen as 'villainous' - the people holding these quirks (which is their innate ability, a natural part of themselves as much as their eye color and limbs!) get mistreated because society lets their prejudices and preconceived ideas take over and taint their treatment of such individuals. This is a problem in the world of bnha, but it's rarely ever touched upon besides a general lesson of basically "tough luck, mind yourself and suck it up until things get better".

People have pointed out that Toga's quirks and heteromorph quirks has got this covered, but Decay is unique in its seemingly mutation manifestation and its extreme aspects. It's automatic except for a few conditions; it's immediately lethal. It would be been so good to see how Heroes handle that.

Deku stops Decay only because he's in the dreamscape and can just imagine himself not getting disintegrated. How convenient! If it had taken place in real life, how would he have dealt with Decay in a way that wouldn't have scared Tenko off yet also protected Deku's and the Shimura's safety? Would Deku tie the five-year-old up with black whip? Would Deku hold (and break) his wrists like he did with Shigaraki in reality? Would Deku have to evacuated the Shimuras, leaving poor Tenko to watch a Hero save people *from him*, and then remain alone for however many agonizing minutes? Would Deku be forced to stay far away and yell encouragements while waiting for backup, for the right Hero with the right quirk to come (essentially mimicking what Heroes made Bakugou go through in the first chapter?) It's good for Deku to want to rush in and save people without a thought, but what to do in situations where he cannot get lucky and cannot do that without dying? When the 'trouble' he's facing is the very victim themself?

If Decay was naturally occurring, these are questions Heroes must deal with, these are incidents and emergencies Heroes must be ready to face. Hell, these are things parents must be prepared for and have drills and plans set aside if it ends up being their child with such a quirk. (Like, it's awful that Kotarou's instinct when faced with an unexpected and scary quirk being 'whack your son with garden shears' instead of 'calmly assess the situation, remember what the parenting book said about quirk manifestation, and comfort your child'??? And no, I will not take 'Kotarou's just a dick, nvm him' as an answer. It's not about him specifically anymore, I'm talking about what a parent should have done in this situation in general. Because Nao just died! She loved her son and tried to go to him and died!) These are questions society must find solutions for. Otherwise, tragedies will happen; fear sets in; people don't get saved.

BUT as it turns out, Decay is not naturally occurring. AFO created a quirk like this for the ultimate tragedy, meaning tragedies like this don't actually happen. At worst we get Eri's case - her dad disappears but without too much mess, and there's a wind-up time until the next incident, and we even get a visual warning in her horn growth. And thankfully we have Aizawa, an adult, already a licensed Hero, there to keep her in check. And if tragedies like this don't actually happen, that is not a thing Heroes have to lose sleep over. Quirk accident resulting in multiple casualties? A quirk that kills so easily? A quirk that appears in a suffering child and interacts with their background in the worst way? A quirk that would've subjected the holder to a hard and isolating life (largely due to other people's attitudes towards it!) and if Deku's a Hero who wants to save people, what will he do?

Well. Not a thing Deku has to think about. Wasn't real. What a relief.

[rainytypology]

Enneagram system

A rewrite/more in depth post of the Enneagram system compared to my last post on it. Not an expert. May change later.

If you like kpop and typology, check out my blog. I do type analysis on idols and typology notes.

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What is Enneagram?

I mainly took notes from Riso Hudson theory.

A typology system that categorizes personalities into 9 different types. Each type is numbered from 1 - 9.

Each type has a desire and fear that motivates their actions in life.

Core and Wings

Core: Our main type. It is the foundation of our personality and does not change.

Wing: Acts as a complement to our core. Wing can be one of the two types that sit beside core type. E.g a core 2 can have a 1 wing (2w1) or 3 wing (2w3). But is not necessary to use since wings can change and/or can be balanced.

Levels of Development

Summary of healthy - unhealthy levels of personality

- Healthy levels -

Level 1: Liberation

Let go of self image so we are free to express ourselves however we want. Self acceptance of all traits.

Level 2: Pyschological Capacity

Begin to identify with positive qualities in our personalities and learn to improve ourselves with them.

Level 3: Social Value

Still strongly identify with our set self image and make effort to maintain image. Want to share our good talents and abilities to make a positive effect on self and others.

- Average levels -

Level 4: Imbalance/Social roles

Idealization of self image; have a major focus on either good or bad qualities, no in between. Fear is an obstacle here.

Level 5: Interpersonal Control

Insist on self image being accepted by others, which can cause conflict. Can lead to controlling and manipulation.

Level 6: Overcompensation

Overcompensate due to underlying negative feelings. Desperate for others' acceptance.

- Unhealthy levels -

Level 7: Violation

Desperation for acceptance leads to violation of one's self and others. Serious conflict can occur. May victimize themselves to excuse offensive actions.

Level 8: Obsession and Compulsion

May be overly obsessed with an image of who they want to be. Deceives others

Level 9: Pathological Destructiveness

Most unhealthy state, display very toxic traits and behaviours, may have mental breakdown

Disintegration vs Integration

Or basically Stress vs Growth

Disintegration: When under heavy amounts of stress, a type will go into their disintegration type. They will pick up the negative traits of that type and act like the unhealthy version of it.

Integration: When maturing/developing positively, a type will go their integration type. They will pick up the positive traits of that type and improve their character.

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* I will only give short descriptions for the triads. I will explain more in depth in individual posts.*

Centers of Intelligence

There are 3 centers of intelligence. Each center shows how and why we solve issues in life.

Gut/Instinct/Anger (types 1, 8, 9)

Gut center focuses on reacting and taking action immediately. This triad has an issue with control and anger.

1: Often perfectionists who repress their anger in order to remain morally good. They see their anger in a negative light.

8: The most open and comfortable with their anger. Uses it to assert boundaries, especially since this type fears vulnerability.

9: Often a passive type that dismisses or downplays their anger. They fear conflict and may worry being more assertive will cause a negative effect on themselves and others.

Heart/Image/Shame (types 2, 3, 4)

Heart center focuses on self identity and connections. This triad wants love and recognition and do what they believe is best to get that. They struggle with self worth.

2: They want to be needed and helpful to others. Pride themselves on being of service. Wants to receive love and to give love.

3: The most image oriented type. They always try to show their best selves and best efforts in order to seem admirable. Fears being worthless.

4: Wants to create a unique image for themselves, believes being boring will make them unloveable.

Head/Thinking/Fear (types 5, 6, 7)

Head center focuses on ideas, making rational decisions, and gathering info. This triad deals with fear and uncertainty.

5: The most internalized head type. 5's want to gather as much knowledge and resources as possible in order to stay secure and independent.

6: Quite an anxious type who seeks security through relations with others.

7: This type fears pain and suffering and seek out experiences in order to avoid negativity.

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Other triads

- Harmonic Triads -

How types handle conflict, coping mechanism

Reactive (4, 6, 8)

Reactive types are not afraid to show and speak about their true feelings. They may seem "dramatic" in a way.

4: Melodramatic and self absorbed in negative feelings, drowns in intensity

6: Will argue, stick up for the right thing, moody, anxious

8: Big and loud reactions, can be very fiery

Positive (2, 7, 9)

Positive types dislike negativity and conflict and have their own ways of avoiding such tension. Optimistic during hard times.

2: Actively tries to be a good and kind person, only tries to focus on the good aspects of people

7: Seeks out fun opportunities to make their life exciting (basically distraction)

9: Values harmony and peace, will not risk any type of action that will disturb these values

Competency (1, 3, 5)

Competent types are often perfectionists who want to show their best selves. Objective and rational.

1: Strives to be correct and right, wants to be precise in what they do

3: Represses softer emotions to keep up a certain image, thrives with work/passions so they can be the best at what they do

5: Detached from feelings to remain logical and objective, knowledge seeking

- Hornevian Triads -

Relationships with others, how they get what they want

Assertive (3, 7, 8)

Assertive types go against people to get what they want. Do not back down easily, can seem aggressive and forceful.

3: Pushes through obstacles for achievements, goal oriented

7: Asserts their right to have fun, refuse to be restricted

8: Asserts power and strength, places boundaries

Withdrawn (4, 5, 9)

Withdrawn types are very internalized and do not show their needs openly. Deals with things alone.

4: Feels something is wrong with them internally, feels misunderstood

5: Detached from others as to not drain their own energy, will figure it out themselves

9: Introspective, lets life happen

Compliant (1, 2, 6)

Compliant work with people to get what they want. Builds relationships for security, wants to be helpful to others.

1: Doing the right thing instead of one's own wants

2: Focus on other's needs more instead of self

6: Tries to build a safe and secure environment by getting ppl to work together

- Object Relations -

How we are affected by others, our own affect on others, how we react to personal wounds

Attachment (3, 6, 9)

Seek out bonds and companionships for particular reasons. Individuality vs adaptation.

3: Changes their image to suit whoever they are with in order to meet expectations

6: Creates support systems to help with their self doubt and indecisiveness

9: Adapts to the energy of the environment to keep harmony

Frustration (1, 4, 7)

Triad gets frustrated when their needs aren't met.

1: Has a need to improve every little imperfection they find

4: Dislikes shallowness, longs for depth and complexity

7: Not enjoying experiences, not feeling fulfilled

Rejection (2, 5, 8)

Their own needs feel unimportant to others, so they reject their own needs as well.

2: Rejects the need to receive love and guidance, instead focuses on connecting with others and helping them.

5: Ignores and minimizes all their needs, offers knowledge and expertise in some hope of being acknowledged for their intelligence.

8: Rejects by being never putting their guard down, wanting to appear strong and as the protector of others.

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Subtypes

Claudio Naranjo theory

There are three subtypes/instinctual variants that show our drive in life. There are 27 different subtypes in total.

Self Preservation (Sp)

Focuses on physical safety and security. Our physical health, financial security, obligations, and comforts.

Sexual/One - on - one (Sx)

Wants intensity and deep connections, one on one relationships are preferred.

Social (So)

Prefers to be in a community, wants to create good connections and bonds with others. Socially aware, focus on group goals and contributions.

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Tritype

Katherine Fauvre theory

A minor but still interesting piece of Enneagram. Tritype is formed of your 3 dominant types from each center. The first number will always be your core, followed by your other 2 dominant types.

E.g 369. 3 = core, heart. 6 = head. 9 = gut.

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Enneagram notes

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