#and carries the sentiment wherever they go

[omanu]

i just watched the new netflix docu about elvis' comeback show..... god i wanna kill myself. it was a tad dramatic but i get the sentiment, it was so good to see him like that. i never really thought about the stakes at the time, i wish we could know more about what was on elvis' mind but it makes me happy that ppl saw the genuineness in him, i wish life had been kinder to him too... godddhdjs thats why i really dont like watching docus abt him everything is so bittersweet, my heart hurts all the time i feel sorry for him and his family and shit like, it's just really tragic to me, I've always felt like this toward him even before becoming a fan. i wonder what kind of energy spikes this feeling in my brain

[milawritess]

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow — Gojo Satoru

pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

synopsis: crushed by the pressure of his work, Satoru and the reader's relationship begins to spiral. You do everything you can to make him happy, but you fear it's not enough. Maybe it never was. After a miscalculation that could have resulted in innocent lives being lost, the situation takes a turn for the worse.

Word count: 17k+ (I'm sorry in advance)

genre: heavy angst with happy ending

warnings: heavy angst, swearing, reader is a motherly figure to Megumi but their relationship is a bit strained, mentions of depression and self-doubt, reader is a sorcerer, fighting, insecurity, arguments, and breakups (?), descriptions of gore, mentions of sexual intercourse (mdni), depictions of a complicated and untraditional relationship, reader gets hurt, hardly edited/proofread (oops), gojo is fed up and mean :(

a/n: this is the first and longest thing I've ever posted on here lol. I felt like there was a lack of sorcerer!reader, so I played around with that concept a little bit. other than potentially shitty writing (sorry for any typos or grammatical errors), I truly hope you enjoy <3

sequel & blurbs

“Get out.”

The hash sentiment lingers, hanging heavily in the air. 

“Well, hello to you too.”

He hears your feet shuffle across the floor as you stumble to take your shoes and coat off. “I just came to check on you.”

“And I’m fine,” he responds without moving, one arm up, draping over his aching eyes. He lies on the living room couch, one lanky leg propped up at an angle.

“You’re clearly not fine,” you respond, seeming unphased. “Have you eaten anything?” You ask, waiting for a response that never comes. “Okay, I’ll make your favorite ramen.” 

He feels the side of the couch dip, your hand settling on his chest. Your fingers were greedy like you couldn’t stop yourself from playing with the fabric or caressing his taut muscles. Your voice is gentler when you speak this time. “Do you want an ice pack? Some tea?”

You two have done this dance before. You come home to find him exhausted, overworked with a migraine that could tranquilize an elephant. And just like always, you carefully slip his shoes off and unbutton the sleek black jacket to his uniform. It’s hard for him to stay mad about anything when you’re this kind, this caring. 

“Satoru, please say something.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Your voice was so gentle. So sweet, saccharine, and so fucking patient. A voice you only ever reserved for him and for his ears only. A gentle whisper carried in a gentle breeze. It was his favorite sound. 

But not tonight. 

So you try something else. Sweet kisses along the corner of his lips. You’re even bold enough to move his arm, the arm he was using to desperately block out any light or simulation. You kiss his eyelids, his forehead, and cheeks—feather-light. Your hand slides up his chest before reaching his face. You caress your thumb under his closed eyes, and your other hand finds his hair, gently massaging his temple. He has all of you. Every bit. 

“Let me take care of you.” If it were any other night, your breath fanning his neck would have shattered him; goosebumps would have wrecked his body, he’d shiver, and everything in him would ease, and all of his stress would slip away into nothingness. He never had to be the strongest with you. You would render him down to nothing but a simple man with just a few words. “You don’t look too good, honey. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” For a woman so strong in your own right, a woman of unyielding dignity and poise and unwavering determination to succeed, this is his favorite side of you. 

But not tonight. 

When his hand clasps your wrist, he feels your whole body freeze against his. Maybe you were surprised. Maybe you predicted this and were preparing yourself but-

The tongue-lashing dies in his throat when he opens his eyes. Just a peak to your face makes him falter. You were pouting. Worried. “I’m fine.” it’s harsher than you deserve but kinder than the thoughts swirling through his head a second ago. 

He’s agitated. Stuck in the same old system that continues to fuck him over—his students over. 

And yet, you just looked too beautiful. 

You pull away, finally taking the hint. Then, you stand, fully removing yourself from him and stepping away. Your body heat quickly disappears from where you once sat, and he quivers. The room was quiet once again. 

The room remained quiet even as you placed a hot bowl of ramen on the table beside him, a glass of water, and two pills. 

You slept alone that night. 

-

You remember when you first met Megumi. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

You never would have expected that to be the the words from a child you had just met. You raised a brow. “Well, aren’t you a fucking, brat?” 

You were different back then—colder, angrier. You were similar in that sense.

Oddly enough, maybe that’s what gravitated him to you.  

You’re not sure when it happened, but gradually, the harsh edges of you began to… change. Not entirely softened, as thorns remained, but you bloomed, red petals and all. You grew softer, kinder, more patient—and finally—your heart had made space for others. The fear of loss remained, but you had never cared for someone so fragile. No one had ever cried for you, reached for you with small chubby fingers, or depended on you as he once had. You never had someone in your life that needed to be nurtured, protected, and guided. 

He was just a boy. 

Over time, you realized that if you remained unchanged, perhaps he would never grow into the man he needed to be. You’re not sure why he picked you, why he looked up to you of all people, but he did. He found comfort in you and followed you like a little duckling with a little waddle and permanent scowl. 

There wasn't a rhyme or reason. He chose you, and you chose him. 

Soon enough, you were waking him up for school, running your hands through his messy, dark locks. You were making him bento boxes, running to parent-teacher conferences, and having hard but meaningful conversations with him in his room about his troubling behavior. 

Then you were hugging him as he cried, as he revealed the same dark thoughts you once had about yourself. 

You wished this world wasn’t so cruel, so dark. You hope that in a different life, he would have grown into a normal kid, with hopes and dreams and a list of things he wanted to do and go out and experience. You didn’t want him to be shackled to a world that’s left you so scarred.

You fought for any sense of normality you could give him. If that meant confronting the higher-ups, so be it. At times, you even confronted Satoru. 

He was just a boy. 

Fire never harmed you;  it never dared to scorch your skin. You commanded and held domination over nearly every flicker of heat. He was so small when you met him; you remember the first time you saw his small form shiver in the cold. It made you anxious. Despite buying him the heaviest winter coat you could find, you were beside yourself, always wondering—is he warm enough? 

But, long were the days of you bundling him up in his jacket, tying his shoes, and tugging beanies over his dark hair and red ears. Long were the days of you clasping his little hands in yours to bring them warmth when the air grew too bitter. He grew older, smarter, wiser, and stronger. The boy that used to cling to your skirt after a hard day at school now stood inches taller than you. 

You knew that one day he’d leave you, and you were okay with that. Seeing him so ready for the world made you happy. You worried—of course you still worried—but you were so proud. He was hesitant, unsure at times, and sometimes even looked back to you for assurance. 

You were always there, smiling, ushering him along. 

You can do it. I believe in you. 

You grew up together, you think. Sometimes, you wondered if he ever paid for your shortcomings, or if he remembered your failures as a caregiver, but just like you did him, he’d assure you with a soft nudge and a gentle smile. 

He knows you did the best you could with what you had.  

He was just a boy. 

Your boy. 

He wasn’t yours, but you loved him like he was. Only as he grew did you realize the lines you had crossed. 

He doesn’t remember his mother, but you’re sure he remembered her smile, perhaps her touch, or the sound of her laughter. You never meant to impose on her memory.

When it happened, he had just gotten into Tokyo Jujutsu High, and Satoru took him on his first official mission. You no longer had the means of pushing this off; you couldn’t beg Satoru or the higher-ups for another month, another week, another day. Megumi wasn’t a normal kid. He was a sorcerer and needed to start fulfilling his duties and mastering his technique.

“You can’t avoid the inevitable. You can’t protect him forever,” Satoru had once told you. 

You knew he was right. 

You stayed home that day, anxious and worried, but you knew Megumi would be alright. Satoru was with him. Even if the tall man was a bit harder on Megumi than you, you knew he’d keep him safe. 

However, your worst fears came to fruition. Megumi wasn’t the same after that mission. 

You remember. Satoru’s eyes were stern that night while Megumi's eyes never left the floor as he made his way to his room. 

You remember thinking—what could I do to make my boys happy again? 

After all, they were your everything, the reason you stood here now with a full heart. Things were newer for you and Satoru then, but he kissed you that night, warm, large hands gently holding your cheeks. He missed you a little bit extra that day. You were nervous, hesitant to fall into the sanctuary of his embrace, but it was only a matter of time until you were fully, devotedly his.

 “Are you okay?” You had asked, only for him to nod his head. 

“Yeah. Of course, I am, angel. Megumi is shaken up, but he’ll be alright too.” 

You made Megumi’s favorite dinner that night—the same beefsteak he’s raved about since he was only six. Well, he never raved, but you perfectly remember the first time you made it, which happened to be the first time he tried it. He could barely get his chin over the table to scope his food into his mouth. He wasn’t good with chopsticks yet, so he used a little fork, which he held in his tiny fist. His little eyebrows raised before dipping down, creasing at the inner corners as he concentrated on the flavor. He murmured it’s good, and you remember being so proud of yourself. That was one of the first times you felt that you were doing something right by him. You made the same dish on occasion, and time only helped you perfect the recipe. 

Megumi never came out of his room that night. The lights were off when you knocked. Even after hearing no response, you had cracked open the door, poking your head inside. 

“Gumiii,” you stepped into his room. He was on his bed, groaning as you flicked the light on. He turned his back to you. “I made your favoriteee.”  

You had sat on the edge of his bed, a hot plate of food in your hands. “C’mon, it’s the beefsteak you like. Nice and warm.”

“‘m not hungry,” he had grumbled. 

You sighed. “The mission must have been unpleasant.” He remained still. “I’m sorry, Gumi. Satoru said you did well! I’m proud of you—” he flinched from your touch, snapping his arm away from your reach. You froze, having felt the coldness of his rejection. “If you don’t want to talk about the mission, how was your first day at your new school?” You asked. “Do you have any classmates you like?”

“Just quit it already…” he had murmured. “I’m not in the mood.”

Your shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. My first mission was tough too, and you already know I wasn’t great at making friends either–” you winced, biting your tongue.  This was coming out all wrong. “… are you okay, Megumi?” 

“I’m fine!” He clipped, pushing himself upright in bed. “Just leave me alone and stop acting like you’re my mom already!”  

You remembered—and just the memory of that night shambled your heart. You could never forget the hurt those words caused and how you couldn’t show it. 

You had smiled wearily. Then, you placed his dinner on his desk. “…you’re right,” you echoed. “I’m not her, never could be. I’m sorry if I imposed. I never meant to.”

You never spoke of the incident, but you remembered that things were tense between Satoru and Megumi for a short while after that. You told Satoru to drop it, but you had a feeling the poor boy received a tongue-lashing from Satoru. You were never sure, though, and you could never prove it. 

You just remembered feeling cracks in the foundation of the home you never knew you had so carefully crafted, brick by brick. Some of the warmth was gone—a warmth you never knew was quite there until it wasn’t. 

Little by little, you pulled back. Megumi moved into the student dorms shortly after, and he needed you less and less. You no longer made him bento boxes or his favorite beefsteak. You bit your tongue with the lectures: Megumi, that’s not nice, or Megumi, you need to have more faith in yourself. You can do it.  

Though the bitter bite of cold never entirely touched you, heated by an unquenchable fame, you pulled back your hand when you reached for him. He left you seared—burned. 

You still worried. You never knew if you were giving him too much or not enough. So, you left most of the mentoring to Satoru now.  It’s been a few months since the incident, and now you only ever speak to him if he approached you first. 

That's why you were happy when you spotted him in town. You offered him a small, shy wave. He unexpectedly approached you and asked how you were and what you’d been up to. However, the most unexpected part was when he asked if you were busy. You shook your head, and it was impossible to hide you beam when he offered to get you hot chocolate from the same coffee shop you used to take him to after school in the colder months.

However, it seemed you weren’t the only one confused by Satoru’s recent behavior. 

“Huh?”

“Gojo didn’t want me going on my mission,” Megumi reiterated. 

You blink a few times, tapping your fingers against the styrofoam cup in your hands. “Huh. He’s never done that before.”

“He doesn’t think I’m ready. He took the mission himself.”

“He said that? That he doesn’t think you’re ready?”

“Well… not exactly.” He scowls slightly, looking down at the cup of hot chocolate. “But he damn well implied it.”

“Gumi,” you frown at the boy. He doesn’t make eye contact with you; he looks forward now, gazing out the window and watching the fresh snow coat the ground. 

He was upset. 

“He could’ve at least taken me with him.”

For a moment, you see that same little boy you met over ten years ago and that same dejected look on his face after being let down one too many times. It breaks your heart. 

“If Satoru took the mission and went alone, I’m sure it’s for a good reason.”

He wants to say more but opts for something quick and sweet. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You have to do something. Quick. Anything to make him a bit happier. “I have a mission later in Osaka. I’ll be catching the 2 pm train. Wanna come? I could use the extra help.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking, you presume, but he nods. “Yeah, sure. I don’t have anything else to do.” 

“Great! And just so you know, we’ll probably be dealing with a grade one or two.” 

He pauses momentarily before calmly asking, “And you need help with that?”

“Uh, yeah. Any help is much appreciated. Plus, I haven’t seen you much recently.” You smile brightly, and he turns his head, eyes finding the ground, looking a little bashful. 

“About that…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you wave him off. “You’ve been busy with school, and I know that.”

“But that’s not–”

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you smile again, resisting the urge to reach across the table and gently squeeze his hand. “I get it.”

He gives you a look, a small disgruntled scowl. He wanted to say more.

“Alrighty then.” You stand, stretching from sitting in the chair. “I’ll buy you another hot chocolate for the road. We should probably start getting ready to leave.”

-

The mission goes well. An abandoned warehouse in Osaka conjured up a nasty looking grade three, but Megumi held his own just fine—like you expected. He’s grown much stronger and more sure of himself. You’re proud. Seeing how far he’s come certainly puts a smile on your face. He’s not a little boy anymore, you realized. He’s growing into a fine young man. 

Urg. Stop getting emotional. 

However, after stopping for a later dinner, you both arrived home late, around nine or so. 

“You did good tonight, Megumi,” you tell him for the nth time. 

He rolls his eyes, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. “You’ve told me that already.”

“I know, I know. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m proud of you. You’re getting so much stronger.”

Instead of brushing you off like all the other times, he sighs before offering a forced “thanks.” 

“Alrighty then. Try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you and the others sometime tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Get back home safe.”

You nod, smiling. You make sure to watch him as he goes, making sure he gets inside before turning around. He’s capable of taking care of himself, but some habits never grow old. Making sure he gets inside anywhere safely has always been something you’ve prioritized, whether he was going to a friend's house, school, or boarding the train. 

You loved him like your own, but you knew he wasn't. After all, it was only a few months ago now that he reminded you that he wasn't yours.

You’re not my mom. 

It hurt—it still does—but you never held it against him. You still loved him nevertheless. Your relationship might have shifted but it doesn’t negate the fact that you care for him and would gladly give your life if it meant keeping him safe. 

Then, there was Kugisaki and Itadori—two others slowly weaseling their way into your heart. They’ve helped Megumi so much; he might be too proud to admit it, but they’ve helped him come out of his shell; they were his friends, and you knew they had each other backs. 

You sigh, a translucent cloud of white floating up and above your head. Just like always, your thoughts shift to blue eyes. Satoru. You’ve missed him today. No calls or obnoxious spam texts. It’s not unusual per se, especially when he gets busy. Regardless, you missed him.

But, something is bothering you. He wasn't communicating with you and he usually tells you these things. Even if he didn't have the time to tell you something right away, he'd eventually find a moment to talk to you. This time around, he didn’t. He didn't tell you he was leaving or about the whole ordeal with Megumi.

He just got up and left. You woke to a cold bed and an empty house. No text message, no note with a silly doodle. When you called him in the morning, it went right to voicemail. Eventually, when you pull up your shared text messages to check for anything new, you only saw the message you sent him from the day before. At a loss, you type out a quick message. You didn't think it would make things better, but at least it was something.

I hope you have a good day today :) 

It was all you could really muster up after last night. He seemed so agitated, and so fed up. You blamed it on stress; he isn’t usually like that. Usually, his touch was careful, calculated as if you were fixed of glass. You missed his lame jokes and mischievous grins when he was up to no good. You weren't offered any of that last night. Or the night before. Even the night before that. 

You’re starting to worry. 

He always bounces back so quickly. The only thing that typically gets him this mad are the higher-ups. Which, in Megumi's case, makes sense. You can see why Gojo would intervene if they gave him a dangerous mission. 

But why didn’t he take Megumi with him, at least?

Hm.. maybe it was beyond Megumi's skill set. Would the elders be stupid enough to set him up? They did it to you long ago, but they wouldn’t be bold enough to do it to the boy with the ten shadows technique, would they?

Or maybe Satoru… just doesn’t want to be near you?

Urg. You roll your eyes at your own selfish thoughts. Satoru wouldn’t do something like that. He’s already overworked as it is. Maybe you should make him something. A nice dinner? Or maybe he needed a pick-me-up? Kikufuku? You’re sure you could find the recipe online. 

You're torn, so you decide to make both. Maybe you'll even put on a nice dress. 

You decide to call him, and after a few rings, he answers. “Hey, honey,” you say sweetly, happy he even bothered to answer your call. "I was wondering when you’d be home tonight. I want to make you a nice dinner.”

He’s quiet again—too quiet. “Dinner? Tonight?” 

“Yeah, you’ve been so busy lately. I figured you’d like that.” 

He hums into the phone, sounding a bit lighter. “Dinner does sound nice…” 

Your smile widens. You could hear the underlying stress in his tone; it was flatter than usual, but at least he was trying. “... I’ll even put on your favorite dress?” 

He chuckles a bit. “Tempting, but I’ll probably have to leave after dinner.”

“Oh,” you murmur, wincing slightly at the rejection. Maybe you’ve gotten too spoiled—too accustomed to him pushing off his responsibilities all for the sake of spending a few more moments with you. Were you being too greedy?  “Are you okay? They’re not stretching you too thin, are they?”

He sighs in a carefree tone. “I'm doing fine. Same old thing, just a different day,” is all he offers, but you can tell he’s withholding. 

“I can help, y’know,” you offer gently. “If you have too many missions, I can take a few off your plate.”

“Nah,” he tells you a bit arrogantly. “It’s better if I handle it.”

Now you’re really starting to feel the distance. He usually reserves the softer parts of him for you. You suppose he just didn’t have the patience to do so right now. “You, uh, got into it with the higher-ups I heard,” you mention, trying to keep the conversation going but approaching from a different angle. “Megumi was telling me you even took his mission. I think he was a bit upset you didn’t take him with you. How come you never told me?”

“How come you never told me you were going to Osaka? Or the fact that you took him with you?”

Your stomach twists, unease bubbling in your chest. You didn’t like where this was heading. “I– it’s never bothered you before,” you manage, though your voice falters, dying down into nothing but a whisper. “And it’s not like you’ve been… wanting to speak to me recently. I haven't had the time to tell you much of anything," your trail off, your voice slowly fading before you begin again. "Did I do something to make you mad?”

The silence that follows is unbearable—longer than you ever imagined it could be. “Satoru… Please just talk to me.”

“I gotta go,” his tone is cold, clipped, and final. 

There’s a click as he hangs up, and the silence becomes deafening and threateningly absolute.

-

You realize you miss the way he used to look at you. Not the way he'd gaze at you, but in the way he would gaze into you, as though you were ever the only thing that ever really mattered.

After your last conversation with him, you were unsteady. You hated how you stayed in bed for hours, analyzing everything he's said to you recently, dissecting his every action. You hated how needy you suddenly felt, even while laying there, in his bed, in his clothes. He paused just a second too long before answering you now, as if he had to must up the courage and energy to do so. His laugh no longer came out easily. Others might miss it, but you never could. It was still rambunctious, taking up a whole room, but to you, it felt forced, brittle even. You've known Satoru at his best, and you've also known him at his worst.

When he looks at you now, you wonder if he's really seeing you. Painfully, you realize you haven't seen him; not without his eyeband on at least. Last night you did, for the first time in a while, but he seemed agitated.

The worst part was that you didn't know how to bring yourself to confront him. You struggled, unsure which pretty words and cadence would unluck the distance between you two.

Did something happen on one of his missions? Was he stressed? Had the higher-ups pushed him too far, testing his patience?

Or was it you? Was this somehow your fault?

Did you scare him away? Have you said too much, cared too deeply, loved too loudly?

You weren't sure, but you had to try something.

You were grateful you were cooking him dinner tonight on your day off. It was the least you could do, and you adored taking care of him. You choose hot pot, something you and Satoru have tried at home before. It took over a few hours to prepare, but it was worth it. You made two broths, you sliced up shabu-shabu and wagyu beef and even went to the extent of watching a video to make a dipping sauce. Unfortunately, you forgot one of the ingredients for the kikufuku mochi and didn’t want to risk making something he didn’t entirely like. Luckily, you had spare time to run down to the kikufuku store right before it closed. Of course, you grabbed all his favorite, two boxfuls, in fact. He was a big guy, so you hoped you had more than enough food for him to indulge.

You and Satoru were together. Though he never outright asked you to be his, you knew. It was an unspoken thing, and you were content with that. For as goofy and eccentric as that man could be, it was rather surprising how he was never outright with what he was actually feeling. 

He was damn good at showing it, though. In more ways than one. 

You feel it in the way he’d always reach for you after a nightmare. Shaking, needy hands tightly clasping at your waste, fearful of you disappearing and slipping to a place where he could not reach you. Don’t ever go where I can’t follow. Please. His face would nuzzle into your neck, sharply inhaling your scent. You’d hold him, whispering endless promises. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Or it's okay. Breathe, my love. I’m with you. 

You feel it on the nights he’d pin you beneath him, his grunts and moans echoing in your ears as he fills you so completely. He’d beg, no demand you—tell me you’re mine. Only mine. 

And, of course, you’d eagerly nod, overwhelmed with the pleasure only he could strum out of you so perfectly. ‘m yours. All of me—yours. 

You feel it in his protective gaze, his eagerness to hold you in the life vest of his arms. You felt it late into the night, damp bodies pressed against one another; low lighting, quiet laughter, and secrets revealed. His dreams, his wishes, his what ifs—the parts of him that no one knew or considered. Or when he handed you a silver key with a handsome and cheshire grin. What do you say? He was lovely, every bit of him, especially his gentle and selfless heart that you would never take for granted like the rest of the world seemed to. 

You feel it when he comes home from overseas and how his strong arms hold onto you just a bit longer, a bit tighter. You feel it with how he smiles into your neck or that one time at the airport when he lifted you up and spun you around, uncaring who saw. 

You feel it in the way that it was unspoken. You feel it in his cursed energy and how it perfectly intertwined with yours, reaching for you, comforting you when his hands could not. You especially feel it in the necklace he gifted you—the one your fingers were playing with now: a silver chain with cerulean sapphires, the same breathtaking shade of his eyes. His cursed energy, carefully imbued into the stones, was like carrying a piece of him with you—always, wherever you may go, and it rests directly above your beating heart. 

He might not voice it, but you feel it. He loved you. And you certainly loved him. 

So when had it become so hard to reach him? Why does he seem so intangible all of a sudden? Something deep and unsettling blooms in your stomach. 

And now that you think about it…

When was the last time you two did any of that? When was the last time his careful hands caressed you?

Only Satoru could make you this worried or make you feel this displaced. A sense of panic strikes you, and you pull out your phone to text him when you realize he’s thirty minutes late. Usually, that wouldn’t bother you, but–

After only three rings, you're sent to voicemail. When you check his location, he’s at the high school. Should you check on him? Or would that make him… mad?

He toru! Dinners ready. When do you think you’ll be home? Miss you. 

You bite your lip. He quickly read your message, but those three little bubbles never show up. 

Nothing. Just nothing. 

Maybe he’s staying up late writing the report for his latest mission? 

“eek!” Your phone pings, and after a round of hot potato, you see he’s texted you back. 

Only to be met with more disappointment. 

Dealing with something urgent. Don’t wait up. 

You frown, knowing you should drop it, but you can’t. 

Satoru…

He’s typing faster now. What?

You pause, thumbs hovering over letters you hesitate to type. What’s going on? You’ve been off lately. 

I’m fine. Just busy. 

Do you want me to bring you dinner to the High School?

Those three bubbles appear and disappear more times than you can count. No. I said don’t wait up. 

You know I don't sleep well without you.

He responds in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Your patience is wearing thin for the first time since this ordeal started. Are you saying you won’t be coming home tonight? 

You’re offered no response. He doesn’t even open your message. For the second night, you lay in a cold bed. Except, Satoru doesn’t come home. 

Only he could fracture you so completely. 

-

During your next mission, you brought the whole trio along. According to the report you were handed, you were only dealing with a grade three, but there was also an Infestation in the area. You could use the backup.

You had initially asked Megumi, but once Yuji caught wind, he was adamant that he tagged along, and, according to Nobara she had nothing else better to do. 

“Are you guys sure? It’s your day off.”

Yuji shrugs, both arms up, hands up and behind his head. “Yeah, I’m game.”

“Me too,” Nobara voices with a small glint in her eyes. “I got something new I want to try out anyway. We didn’t get to go on a mission last week as it is.”

You paused. "Huh? Gojo didn’t take you on any?”

“Nah,” Yuji shakes his head. “I think he’s been busy or something.” He looks at Kugisaki. “Hasn’t Gojo-Sensei seemed a little… off?”

Nobara nods. “Uh yeah. He hasn’t been himself at all. We figured you’d know something,” Nobara says, curious eyes scanning you. 

“Huh… I’m not sure. We haven’t gotten around to talking lately.”

Megumi hums, though it sounds more suspicious than his usual passive tone. 

Though they weren’t necessarily your students, you figured there was no harm in taking them. You've done it before and having them around was always like a breath of fresh air—reminding you of why Satoru dedicates himself so fully to his cause and being a teacher. They give you a reason to get stronger and keep fighting. You loved these kids and all their bickering. 

Except, this mission doesn’t go anything like you had expected. The report was wrong—a grade two was ambling through the abandoned schoolhouse. That was fine; the four of you were more than enough to kill it. The infestation was a bit overwhelming, but you had their backs, and they were nothing but pesky small curses lower than a grade four. 

Everything went well when the ambush happens. You all saw it: right in front of your eyes, a grade one emerging from the shadows, born into something nasty. It's skin oozed a sickly black slime that clung to its misshapen body. Its face—or lack there of—was dark and amorphous, split by a jagged maw that stretched impossibly wide, revealing rows of sharp serrated teeth, ready to cut and slash through flesh like a meat grinder. Other that is daunting appearance, the only other notable thing about it was its speed.

You told the kids to back down, but it was already too late. They were already involved, stuck in the heat of battle and fighting as a seamless unite. They were more than capable of standing on their own. 

But you needed them out of here. Your obligation was to protect them no matter how eager they were to help. However, before you could think of your next move, the curse made one last self-preserving attack. It opened in wide jaws, releasing several red beamed energy blast aimed directly at stone pillars. 

You had no time to think, only react. In an instant, you surged forward towards the trio, faster than their eyes could react. Grunting, you knocked them back, glass shattering as you kicked them through a window. You felt the impact ripple through your body, fully knowing you knocked the wind out of Megumi and Yuji. However, they recovered quickly, their instincts sharp enough to catch Nobara–

Right in time before the building collapsed. 

The building groaned like a wounded beast, its entire frame buckling from lack of support. Stone walls crumbled into clouds of dust and debris, windows shattered in explosive bursts, steel beams twisted and snaped with sickening shrieks. The ground trembled violently as the structure gave way, collapsing into a chaotic heap of concrete, rubble, and smoke, swallowing everything beneath. Including you.

You survived. Reinforcing your body with cursed energy made you strong enough to withstand the impact, and your heavenly restriction certainly helped. Nevertheless, you still took on quite a bit of damage from the tons of metal and concrete.

You woke up under the rubble with a startling gasp, choking on the dust. Were you out for a few seconds? Minutes? You were unsure, but the only thing pushing you to stand was the panic coated in Megumi’s voice. He was calling for you, and so were the others. You could hear the strain in their voices, the utter distraught. You healed your broken leg and the gash on the corner of your forehead, ceasing your gushing blood. You gathered yourself and your strength before pushing. They found you quickly after that, noticing a heap of rubble moving. They ran, rushing to help you push back concrete that threatened to suffocate you. You never did like tight spaces. 

Thankfully, you were alright. The kids were safe as well.

However, the curse had escaped. Megumi was visibly shaken, his fingernail cracked, bruised, and bleeding from digging urgently through the rubble to find you. 

Everyone was on edge. It wasn't their fault you didn't react quickly enough. You were more than capable; maybe that's why the failure stung so much.

You let yourself down. You let them down.

You were spiraling into a dark place quickly. The guilt threatened to swallow you whole. Gojo was still nowhere to be seen. You didn't have the strength to call him. You’re not sure what you could even say. You’ve fucked up before, but never to this extent. Not to where a whole building collapsed. 

“Good morning. A tragic incident occurred last night when an abandoned school collapsed around 7 pm. Authorities are currently investigating the cause, and preliminary reports suggest that the collapse could have been due to a structural weakness—one of the many reasons why the school was abandoned in the first place. We will continue to monitor the situation as more information becomes available–"

Megumi gently grabs your phone and locks your screen. Wordlessly, he shakes his head before pocketing your device. You’re too exhausted to ask for it back. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sensei?” Yuji's voice was soft, the first voice to break the ice. You look up from your hands, unsure how long you’ve been lost in thought. You force a small smile as you gaze at the three kids. You were sitting across from them in the waiting area outside the council room. 

“I’m alright. Are you guys?"

“We’re all fine,” Megumi cuts in quickly. “We’re– we’re more than okay.”

“That's good,” you trail off. “That's really good.”

Uncertainty hung dangerously in the air. What happened now? You were okay, but for how long? 

You knew you were in for a lashing with all the collateral damage you caused. It was supposed to be a simple mission. This wasn't supposed to happen. You four were fine, but did anyone else get hurt? 

You flinch at your own thought. You don't think you could live with yourself if innocent lives were lost.

“Sensei?” Yuji's soft, unsure voice cuts in once more. When your eyes make contact, he smiles brightly. You can tell it’s forced. “After this, wanna go get something to eat? There’s this great sandwich shop down the street!”

“Y–yeah!” Nobara sits up straight after being less than conspicuously nudged by Yuji. “It’s pretty good. We went the other day–”

The council room door creaked open. The higher-ups were waiting, shrouded in shadows and faces hidden. Even if you couldn't see them, the tension was palpable. Even without seeing them directly, you could sense their anger, smell it as it rolled off of them in a quiet, unspoken fury. You glance at the kids once more, this time with a gentle, reassuring smile curling at your lips. 

Everything would be okay.  

-

Everything was, in fact, not okay. 

The air was heavy as you entered your office. Your limbs ached, your head throbbed, and every breath felt like dragging glass through your lungs. You had thought the worst of it was over, and slowly, you felt your body begin to shut down, but only when there were no prying eyes to see how you compensated for your injuries. Even after using RCT, you had a limp—your bones were mended but not quite right. Your head was no longer bleeding—but still, you weren't quite right. 

You dismiss it as exhaustion; after all, you had just learned RCT not too long ago. Maybe you missed something. However, this wasn’t anything you couldn't handle on your own. You could see Shoko, but why bother her? You’ve endured far worse. Dealing with a sore body and a headache for the next few days wasn’t out of your jurisdiction. 

When you open the door, a flickering lamplight reveals a tall frame standing by your desk. Even before your eyes dance upon his sharp and still silhouette, the air shifts—your soul already knows he is there. Satoru.

But, his eyes never meet yours; you weren’t blessed enough to see them, a bright blue illuminating in the absence of light. His eyes were covered with a familiar dark cloth. However, you didn’t need to see them to know that the usual warmth they held as he gazed upon you was gone. In its place was a coldness that turned your stomach.

“Satoru–”

“I know,” he says, voice clipped as he turns to face you. “I read the reports.” Your heart sinks as he haphazardly tosses the report down to your desk. 

You’re exhausted, unsure of where to even begin. So many questions floated in your weary mind. Where were you? When did you get here? Please, don’t be mad at me. 

It’s funny how all your dignity, poise, and strength to endure are gone with him. You already took one berating from the elders, and you’re not sure you could handle another. 

Not from him. 

“But, I want to hear it from you.” He stepped closer, his height making him all the more domineering. “What happened out there? And how the hell are my students caught up in all of this?”

“The report was wrong. It was a grade two, not three, but we handled that just fine. We cleared out the area and completed the mission, but we were ambushed. A grade one appeared, destroyed the pillars, and–” You hesitate, unable to form the words. “Well, you know what happened.” He’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. “I–I did everything I could, Satoru. The students were fine, but the curse got away.”

“Everything you could?" His voice echoes. "I don’t need excuses. Certainly not from you. You endangered them—all of them. They’re not even your students!” He snapped, his voice rising in a way you’ve never heard before.

You bite back the lump forming in your throat. “I thought you, out of anyone, would understand the circumstances.”

“...Understand?” He utters back, a quiet fury rolling off him in waves. 

 “I made sure that–”

“You failed,” he snaps, voice laced with malice. “Enough. Just stop it. You were reckless and went behind my back, and you let a pathetic grade one get the best of you.”

Your chest tightened, crumbling at the weight of his tone. “Went behind your back? I did no such thing.”

“They could have been hurt because of you!” You visibly flinch, his words carrying more weight than the debris that had buried you—broken bones and all. 

“I’m recommending you be demoted to grade two.” 

What?

“You can’t do that. Satoru, you can’t–”

“I can,” he said coldly. “and I will. You failed, and not only did you fail, you went behind my back and involved my students. Your recklessness caused this,” disdain coats his voice, and he sucks his teeth. “I was gone for two fucking seconds, and you damn near ruined everything. People could have died. My students could have been injured. So stop being a nuisance and just do as you're told from here on out.”

No. 

No, no, no, no. 

You fought for years to get to grade one. A woman with a name of no renown—this society was never in favor of you; the system was set up for you only to fail time and time again. For years, you were held at grade three, then grade two, all because of your name’s sake—all because you were a woman. You didn’t have the luxury of being as good as other sorcerers; you had the burden to be better. 

Even now, at grade one, they continue to undermine you and undervalue you. You knew you didn’t have room to make mistakes, for they would tarnish every bit of good you have done. You thought Satoru understood that. You thought he viewed you as an equal, someone strong enough to stand by him. You thought he valued you, respected you. 

You never thought a mistake, a stupid mistake, would lead to this. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. 

“This has nothing to do with my rank. You don’t believe me. You don't trust me. After everything–”

Hearing his scornful laugh, your vision begins to blur. “Don’t make this personal. You fucked up, and now I have to clean up your mess.”

Your ears begin ringing. The pounding in your head becomes too much and threatens to crack your skull open once more.

“But it is, isn’t it?” You whisper. How could it not be personal with how he's been treating you for days? “You haven't been able to look at me in weeks. You speak to me as if I’ve become nothing but a burden to you—a nuisance. What did I do to deserve this?”

He remains silent, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he grits his teeth. Point proven.

Your heart painfully twists with each beat. “Do you even… care about me anymore?” You’re not sure why you say it, why the words slip past your lips, but they do.

He read the report and he hadn't even asked if you were okay. Maybe it was a selfish thought, but it makes your chest ache. You just wanted to go home, crawl in bed and hold him. However, you knew that wasn't in the cards right now.

“Don’t twist this into something it’s not.”

Your voice finally wavers before him, cracking as you press on, desperate for him to understand—desperate to have him by your side as he has been for so many years.

“You’re casting me aside like I’m... worthless."

It was cruelty, a quiet and deafening insult for him to demote you of your status—but more specifically, your place beside him. That hurt runs deep, to the point that feelings of betrayal start seeping into your veins, poisoning you, antagonizing you. Belittling you. It was a sharp dagger you never expected—searing with a hatred that threatened to cripple you. This wasn’t just about your position. He was a man of unchallenged stature, of the highest status and regard, lowering you, demeaning you with his every word, every action. 

When did things go so wrong?

Yet, even now, you question yourself. Were you being dramatic? Were you taking this too personally? Were you being selfish?

Because he was right. Every word he's said so far was right. You failed. You put them in danger.

You stand there, a hollow feeling growing in your chest. The sting of Satoru’s words cut deeper than any blade you’ve faced. His jaw tightened, his gaze hard as steel and cold as ice. “You gave me what I never asked for.”

“Don't you dare!” You snap, finger trembling as you point his way with an accusatory jab. “Don’t you dare pretend this is nothing.  You know me better than anyone. How could I not take this personally? I’ve done nothing but stand by you, love you, trust you–”

“Like I said, I never asked for any of that,” he utters sharply, his carefully composed exterior shattering. “Whatever we were was nothing more than fucking convenience.” 

Suddenly, he stops, freezing at the onslaught of his own lethal words. His next words seemed to die in his throat. The damage was done. 

Exhausted, defeated, numb. His words hit you like a death blow. “... Convenience?” Echoing the very word that came from his lips—a sound you hardly recognize comes from your mouth, a small slip of the anguish tormenting and swelling in your body escapes. 

The necklace around your neck, the very one he had given you, seemed to pulse against your skin, warm and alive. It carried a piece of him, a piece of you, a guiding hand in the absence of light: a thread, an anchor—a way home. 

Suddenly, you hated it. Hated the way it sat so close to your heart, hated the warmth, his energy; you hated that, even now, his words cutting so deep, unraveling the fabric of your being, it comforted you, reaching for you. 

You yanked it off, the chain snapping in two as you held it in your trembling hands. 

He falters, his whole being frozen. “What are you doing?” he asked, quiet and tense, blanketed in uncertainty. 

“I don’t want it,” you say, voice quivering, threatening to fail you at any moment. His energy—the only energy that blended so perfectly with yours—reached for you, and so did his trembling hands. Reflexively, you flinched away, retreating further into the room and further from him. “Don’t,” you shake your head. “Don’t touch me. Not with your hands, not with your energy. Don’t.”

Silent tears stream down your face. You are unable to look at him, and your breathing is shallow and unsteady. You open your hand, letting the necklace drop to the floor. The faint sound of metal hitting wood echoes in the suffocating silence of the room. 

There’s a soft knock on the door. It creaks, slightly opening. “... Y/n sensei?” came an unsure voice.

You stiffen, and suddenly, you can sense them, three nervous students standing outside your door. Too caught up with Satoru, you had entirely missed them. You clear your throat and dry your cheeks with the back of your hand before turning to the door. You walk over, opening the door wide enough to see them. 

“Sorry if we’re interrupting, but we just wanted to know if you still wanted to come out for dinner with us...” 

Fuck. How much did they hear?

You take a breath, and it’s shakier than you anticipated. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice. Let me grab my jacket, okay.”

Yuji only offers an unsure smile. Norbora has a hard time even looking at you, while Megumis's eyes are solid and unyielding, glaring right past you. His hands were in his pockets, balled into tight fists.

You don’t know what to do other than quickly turning. Within a few ushered strides, you were at your desk, grabbing your coat off your desk chair; you’re careful to avoid Gojo, who manages to plaster on that big fucking grin. 

“Heard you guys were up to no good while I was away.”

“We were fine,” Megumi interjects before Yuji could open his mouth. “More than fine.” 

“Y–yeah, everything ended up being just fine. Y/n-sensei made sure of that,” Nobara awkwardly adds, shifting her weight on her feet. 

“Ah,” Gojo nods. “Well, make sure you get some rest tonight. We’ve got a long day tomorrow! You guys will be training with the second years!” 

You hated how he could act as if everything was alright while you were fighting back tears. It was another jab, a suckerpunch to the gut. 

You just needed to get out of there. 

-

After dinner with the kids, you headed out on your own the following day. You went home, stuffing some clothes in a bag before spending the night at a cheap motel. Before getting with Satoru, you always floated from place to place, never truly settling. Those days, all you carried on you was your backpack. You didn’t have a home or many possessions you could call your own. You just had yourself.  

I guess old habits die hard. 

Megumi was the first to text you: I went to Gojo's house today and didn’t see you. 

All good! I’ve been busy running errands.

Nobara text you sometime after.

Hey Sensei!! Let me know if you’re available today! Let’s go shopping!

You responded rather quickly. Sorry, I’m not around today. Maybe ask Maki? Or maybe Yuji and Megumi would like to tag along.

But guys suck :(

Then, there was Yuji: Hey, Sensei! Let me know if you want ramen! The gang and I got you since you covered for us the other night! I even got coupons! 

You weren’t sure what to say. You always covered for their meals (no exceptions), but you knew they were just trying to be kind. You double-tapped and hearted the message. 

You appreciated them more than anything, but frankly, it was a bit embarrassing. You never meant for them to overhear you and Satrou that night in your office, and you were never one for pity. If it were anyone else, you would have called them out and told them off. However, you wouldn’t dream of doing that to the kids. They were trying to support you in the only way they knew how, but it wasn’t their responsibility to worry about you. 

Surprisingly, Shoko was the next person to contact you. You never stopped by my office. I’m assuming you’re alright?  

Smiling gently, you responded. Yeah, no injuries to report. 

A building collapsed on you.

You scoff, imagining her deadpan expression. Heavenly restriction, remember?

That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt. 

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Yeesh. Just meet me at the bar you like downtown. 

That’s where you are now, Shoko’s favorite bar, tossing back your third shot. ”Take it easy. I don’t feel like dragging you home tonight.”

“Ah. I’m alright, Shoko.”

“You don’t look it.” 

“Neither do you with those bags under your eyes.”

She brings her drink to her lips, mumbling “touché” before taking a swig. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Vivid memories pressed to the front of your mind of the building collapsing. “Satoru is demoting me. After the elders ripped into me, I found him waiting for me in my office.”

“He– what? Jeez,” she took another sip of sake. “Out of everything, I didn’t expect that.” 

“I– we haven’t been doing too good. I’m not sure if there even is an us after last night.”

“Huh. He did seem a little out of it today.”

“Somehow, I kinda doubt that.” There’s a beat of silence, and you swirl the liquid in your cup. 

“If it means anything, he asked me about you. Asked if you were alright.” 

You smile a bit sardonically.  If Satoru really wanted to find you, you knew he could, as he had the means to do so. From here, you were only about five miles away from his estate. It’s not like you were too for his eyes to see.  Suddenly, that thought bothers you, and you find yourself almost subconsciously concealing your cursed energy.  

“Is that why you texted me?”

She gives you a weird look. “Partially. I had my own concerns.” 

“Like what?”

“If I’m being honest with you, you’re not great at RCT. I wanted to check and make sure everything was alright. It eventually catches up with you if you don’t do it correctly. I’ve seen it cause irreparable damage before.”  

“Ah. I guess that makes sense.”

“You should come to my office tomorrow so I can check–”

“I think I’m gonna quit.”

“…what?”

“I mean, that’s what they really want, right?”

“If you do that, they’ll find the easiest excuse to label you as a traitor. A cursed user.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Since day one, they’ve been trying to paint me as a villain.” 

“So don’t give them what they want,” Shoko bites back. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “Listen, I can’t stop you. You are going to do what you want to do at the end of the day, but you don’t need to do this. You made a mistake.”

“I’m just tired,” you tell her truthfully. “For months, I’ve been pretending, going through the motions. I've been miserable. Megumi hasn’t wanted me around much. He’s older now, and he doesn’t need me anymore–”

“Of course he does,” Shoko cuts you off. “He’s still a kid.”

“And I’m not his mother,” you retort bitterly. “Then, there’s Satoru. He’s been so distant.  He used to always be in my corner and make everything better, but I don’t even have that now. Now, all of the jujutsu society thinks I’m a liability. He thinks I’m a liability. Maybe it’s why he’s grown to resent me so much.”

“Please. Just stop talking,” Shoko remarks, overwhelmed with how quickly you were talking. She wasn’t necessarily a fan of conversations like these, but at least she listened. “I’m here if you ever need anyone. And please, don’t let this fester. I would rather not lose another friend.” She takes a large gulp this time, finishing her drink before gesturing for a refill. ���Tsk. Satoru is complicated—I get it—but he wouldn’t want you to leave. Neither would Megumi. That kid loves you. Maybe you and Gojo just need a break.”

A break? Ha. That was one way of putting it. However, it already felt much more like a breakup, and its permanence frightened you. Like many other things in your relationship, it was never voiced but certainly felt. 

“Yeah,” you say softly, body buzzing as you down your fourth shot. “Maybe you’re right.”

-

You start walking home after having drinks with Shoko. It was a long walk, and you took your time. You weren’t in a rush to head home to potential chaos. The thought of staying at a hotel crossed your mind, but you had nothing to change into. Frankly, it didn’t matter where you went either. It’s not like you’d be able to sleep any better. 

Though, it’s not like you were going back home to anything good. You were suspended without pay; you couldn’t go near the school grounds or exercise any curses—a stipulation you rolled your eyes at. If they thought just a few measly words would stop you from exercising a curse, they would be more idiotic than you thought. 

Still, maybe it’s good to take some time off. Maybe you should stay at the hotel. If you were lucky, they’d have a washer and dryer. 

Then, your phone starts to ring—a unique ringtone that a white-haired idiot assigned to his contact one day after you let him “borrow” your phone. He even changed his contact photo; years later, you never had the heart to change it. 

Your heart aches when you see the contact photo of him, his goofy smile and gorgeous eyes peeking over his black shades. You answered hesitantly after a few rings. 

“Hello?”

“Heyyy,” you hear, his voice light and cheery yet, lacking its usual spark. “Where are you? I know I missed dinner the other night so I picked up your favorite on my way home!” 

Back to normal? Just like that?

You take a breath, reeling in your emotions. It wasn’t normal, per se, but you could tell he was trying, stepping cautiously over the ice he knew could shatter at any moment. 

“I’m not home, right now.”

“Huuuh?” You can hear the slight whine in his voice, and you can imagine him pouting like a small child. You expect him to carry on with his theatrics, but he hesitates. “When do you think you’ll be home then?”

“Uh, I don’t really know,” you trail off, unable to keep up his faux mirth and bravado. 

 “Well, if you don’t want to sleep next to me tonight, I can just take the guest bedroom!” For a moment, he sounds hopeful.

Honestly, he’s just making your head spin. 

“Honestly, I think it’s best if I stay out of the house for a little while, Gojo.”

There’s a beat of silence before you hear his nervous laughter. “Gojo?” he remarks dejectedly. “Can’t remember the last time you called me that.”

You were unsure what to say; you hadn’t even realized you initially referred to him by his last name until he pointed it out. You want to tell him sorry—for everything, but your tongue tenses in your mouth, and your throat threatens to close up. You hated it when he got like this, and typically, you’d do anything to make him smile again. 

But you’re hurt, and he caused that hurt. 

“I wanted to talk to you about the other day,” he adds quickly, unable to withstand your silence. 

“What’s there to talk about?” You ask softly. “What done is done. I messed up.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. It can’t be undone now. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your stomach drops your heart twists and aches. Was he going to officially end things with you? A bitter, more cruel half of you whispers—you weren’t even officially together to begin with. However, none of that even matters; he has too much of you, too many pieces of your frail heart in the palm of his hands. You were irrevocably his, but was he ever yours? 

Just a few weeks ago, you thought you would have an entirely different answer than the one you have now. You're too afraid to face him or the truth. You were guilt-ridden, your pride and dignity torn to shreds. Hearing that he no longer wishes to be with you would be too much. 

Honestly? 

You’re not sure how you’d react. If you’d sob, if you’d remain stoic, or if you’d flip a table and trash every one of your possessions. You’re at wit's end, and the level of fallout threatening to break free from you was immeasurable. 

So, you finalize what you had been contemplating just five minutes ago. “I think I’m going to stay at a hotel, Gojo. I need space. Time to think.” 

“I don’t want us to go to bed mad at each other,” he says lowly, his voice reverberating through the phone. You shiver. “It doesn’t feel right.”

You hated this. You fucking hated this. 

Your chest tightens, and your knees weaken. You wanted to give in. He always had that power over you. He ruled your heart so effortlessly. You yearned for him, your heart singing a million love songs, beckoning him back to you. 

But you couldn’t. You were too mad. You felt cast aside as if you were nothing but an afterthought—after all these years. Yet again, you feel the foundation of your home cracking, and your knees go weak yet again. You take a shuddering breath right before repeating the exact words he threw at you just a few nights prior—words that so effortlessly dismantled your spirit. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

-   

You’ve always had a habit of running. It was easier for you than most. You figured you’d go back to that cheap motel in Tokyo, but you were too restless. Too angry. Feelings of betrayal ran deep, and the guilt nipped away at you until there was only a void. 

Before you could leave, though, you call a number you knew by heart. Stepping onto the train and holding your phone to your ear, it rings. For a moment, you assume he’s asleep. It was getting late, but after the fifth ring, the line clicked. A groggy voice peaks through. 

“Sensei? What’s going on?”

“Megumi,” you breathe out. “Hi. Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Nozomi 1, departing from Tokyo and heading to Kyoto, will depart shortly. Please be careful of your footing while boarding. Please refrain from using mobile phone inside the train–“

“You’re leaving?” The tiredness in his voice is replaced by something else you can’t quite place. 

“Only for a short while. It’s not like I’ll be working anytime soon,” you chuckled nervously. “But I just wanted to let you know. It didn’t feel right leaving without speaking to you first.” 

“Oh,” is all he can muster up at first. “I– when will you be back?”

“I’m not sure,” you answer him honestly. “A few days, maybe.” 

“Well… Can we visit you? I’d go alone, but I think Yuji and Nobara would kill me if I did.” 

Oh. You hadn’t expected that. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Um, yeah. When I figure out where I’m staying, I’ll let you know.”

He sounds worried. “You don’t know where you’re staying yet?”

You snicker. “Ha, this is, uh, kinda an impromptu thing.” 

“… and you’re sure alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright. I just wanted to tell you.”

You can tell he’s not exactly satisfied, but he isn’t one to stop you. “Well, text me where you’ll be staying in a few hours. You should probably hang up now, though, and figure it out.”

You smile softly to yourself. He always was a kind boy—kinder than he’d ever reveal. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Goodnight, Megumi.”

“Night.. I’ll call you later. Be safe.”

When you hang up, you feel a bit better. 

- 

The first night was hard—really hard. Sleeping away from Satoru was incredibly difficult, but so were his sharp words that relentlessly bounced around in your mind.  You found no peace by your window, watching the last of that day's sunlight slipping away behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the dead trees covered in snow.

You could almost feel his presence, like the cast of your shadow on a wall—following you, mirroring your every move. Your phone never rang with his ringtone, your phone never buzzed with a new text. Yet you stared at the shadows for a bit longer, a bit more intensely, waiting for two blue eyes to illuminate the space. They never did. 

Kyoto's stillness seemed to reflect your own, waiting for something to change, waiting for something dead and wilted to bloom once more. 

However, even all the way over in Kyoto, bad luck seems to follow you like the plague. You were walking to a small corner market to grab something to eat when you felt the disturbance in the air—tasted it on your tongue. You hoped that surge of cursed energy wasn’t what you thought it was. You would have loved to be proven wrong, but your instincts were keen like a hound trained to hunt. 

A curse womb opened right above a Kyoto High school. 

You were definitely getting fired after this. 

You knew a cursed object was most likely responsible for this. Considering it happened at a school, you were more than willing to bet a strong cursed object was placed there, most likely intended to ward off any other strong curses that might otherwise appear in the area. You assumed the seal broke, probably after hundreds of years of suppressing the power of the object. You’ve dealt with a case like that before.

You couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Three stupid students—ghost hunting of all things—removed the seal. The decorated white cloth tightly wrapped around a black skull was torn, and its viscous cursed energy soared, tinting the sky black. 

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you hissed under your breath when you slammed open the classroom door. “This way, c’mon!” You didn’t have to tell them twice. Book it, and you stay by their side for as long as you can. You had to put up your veil, but only after they were far enough. 

You got impatient, however, especially towards the kid who had been recording everything up until now, where you crushed his phone in your hand. 

“Wha– hey! You're gonna pay for that!”

“What the hell is more important? Recording or your fucking lives? Shut up and run!” 

The air suddenly cracks with a tension that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It’s here. You could feel it—the dark, oppressive presence creeping across the courtyard, lurking. You yourself could see it with your eyes, but you felt it. 

Your senses were better than most. It was partially why you and Yuji got along and trained together so well. You were just like him when you were younger. Granted, he wasn’t born with cursed energy like you were, but your heavenly restrictions were nearly identical. 

You stop running when you reach the edge of the courtyard, but those three kids carry on in a scram. Holding the cursed object in your hands, you raise the skull in the air. It takes a considerable amount of force, but you crush the skull, black dust coating your hand. There’s a hollow screech, and you hope that’s the end of it. 

Of course, your bad luck persists. 

Typically, destroying the cursed object that’s created a cursed womb kills it or at least nullifies it. The exception is when the curse is an S-grade; those wombs are damn near impenetrable. 

Destroying the object seemed only to irritate the curse as it began crawling out of a bloody sac. 

You hold up your fist, index, and pointer finger together, pointing to the sky along with your thumb. A crimson veil pours down, covering the entirety of the school. However, you sense three others within your veil just as you seal off the area. 

“Yo, Y/n sensei!! What the hell are you doing here, loca!” A deep laugh echoes across the courtyard. 

Christ. You knew that voice from anywhere. 

You glance over your shoulder and see a few unexpected faces. Utahime and two other students—Miwa and Todo who looks way happier than he should be, considering the circumstances. 

The newly born curse loomed menacingly overhead, its red eyes gleaming like coals in a dying fire. It was tall, with protruding joints that snapped into place. Its black and sleek hair extended beyond its long, contorted body. Its face was painted white and cracked as if crafted of aged porcelain. Its kimono was white, stained with splashes of red and black goo. You stood firmly in place, fire crackling at your fingertips, your breath steady but sharp in the cold night air. Todo and Miwa joined your side quickly, and Utahime offered you a firm nod from the sidelines. She was entrusting you with her students.  

Quickly, the courtyard became a battlefield, filled with the crackle of burning energy and the hum of raw power. 

The curse lunged, zipping through the air. You were faster, your body twisting and moving with fluid grace. You raised your hand to strike, a jet of flame bursting forward, crackling against the air. The curse shrieked as the fire seared its back, black smoke rising from its melted skin. 

It recovered too quickly for your liking. It rolled through the flames like water through a sieve, reforming and lunging again, its claws gleaming.

Your senses were on fire—every shift in the air, every sound, every movement was magnified. You could hear the heartbeat of the curse, the faintest tremor of its form as it coiled to strike. You could smell the thick, sour scent of decay that clung to it like an ancient smog. And you could feel it—the deep, heavy weight of power pressing down on you, making your muscles tighten and strain against the oncoming attack.

The curse moved to strike again, but you were already there, rolling beneath it, body twisting in a perfect arc, and feet hitting the ground in a spring-loaded motion that sent you leaping upward. Your fist, wreathed in fire, crashed into the creature’s chest.

The explosion of heat sent the curse reeling, but it was only a momentary distraction. It retaliated, slashing the air with a massive, clawed hand. Three energized strikes were headed your way. You reacted with seconds to spare, but Miwa stood directly in the line of fire. You knew her simple domain wouldn’t be summoned fast enough, but she didn’t. It would be a miscalculation that ended her life. 

The claws tore through your side, then whipped down in a sickening arc, ripping clean through your arm. The pain came in an instant—a blinding, searing agony that burned through your body. You didn't even have time to scream.

You staggered back, a cry escaping Miwa’s lips as she looked at the bloody stump where your arm used to be. Blood poured and squirted from the wound, but there was no time for that. 

"Get back!" you shouted to the blue-haired girl, voice raw. She wasn’t nearly ready for this; Utahime gravity overestimated her abilities or underestimated the cursed strength. Regardless, the girl was too distraught to do anything at this moment. 

There’s a rush, and you suddenly realize you are outside the heat of battle. Todo went in, guns blazing, but you could only waste so much time. Todo was strong, way above his current ranking, in your opinion, but it was only a matter of time before that curse cut him down, too. 

Without a second thought, you dropped to your knees. The pain was overwhelming, but you focused, drawing from the reserves settled deep within your core. Your energy surged, and tendrils of fire spiraled around the wound, filling the air with intense heat. 

“Sensei! Are you alri–" Miwa gasped, her feet coming to a haunt as she watched in awe and terror as your arm began to regenerate—pulsing with energy. The flesh knitted itself together, bone and sinew reforming in a frenzy. 

But the process wasn't easy and certainly didn’t come without a price to pay. Your body screamed, the regeneration draining your reserves. You were already weakened, and the battle had just begun. Tsk. 

Todo found his way back over to you two, panting heavily. “How are you doing over there, Sensei?”

"Clap," you say, voice strained. "Now." He looked at you, bug-eyed, but he nodded. He didn't hesitate. 

He brought his hands together in a sharp clap, and everything shifted. “Alright! Let’s dance!”

In an instant, you found yourself on the other side of the curse. You inhaled deeply, heart pounding, immediately launching yourself back into the fight.

The curse roared in confusion, disoriented, but it was too late. You were already in motion. Your feet hit the ground in a fluid motion, and with a vicious snap of your wrist, fire erupted once again. This time, it formed into a massive whip of flame that lashed through the air.

The curse hissed as the whip wrapped around its neck, and you pulled with your whole body. Never losing your grip, muscles straining, you move forward, wrapping the flames over your arm again and again, pulling tighter and tighter until you smelt the pungent odor of the burning flesh around its neck. You wrapped the whip around your arm one last time before turning your body and pulling the whip from over your shoulder, viscously yanking and slamming the curse to the ground and into submission. 

The curse struggled, its body writhing, but it was weakened. Miwa went for the opening, summoning her New Shadow Style: Simple domain. She’s gotten better since the tournament, and you acknowledge with a grave chuckle as she instantly draws her blade, slicing the curse directly across its chest cavity. She cost you an arm, but deep down, you knew she had the conviction to win and succeed. 

Todo doesn’t wait. Another clap. Another shift. You and Todo swapped places with the curse itself this time, and the curse had no time to react. He goes for a punch, cracking the curse with a quick jab, followed by a right hook. He claps again. The moment the curse materialized in front of you, disoriented, you surged forward, throwing everything you had left into one final strike.

It twisted in anguish, its body crumbling to the ground before its remains turned into ash.

Then, there was nothing.

The air grew still. The ground beneath you is scorched but calm. You sucked your teeth, silently berating yourself. 

You hated using your technique. Frankly, you opted not to unless you absolutely needed to, which was the main reason why people hardly knew about it. It wreaked havoc, leaving nothing but indomitable infernos that refused to be quenched like normal flames. They left nothing destruction in their wake—hungry to consume and spread. However, you’ve gotten better at controlling it—you’ll give yourself that. The only thing burned here today was the grass in the courtyard. 

You stood there for a moment, panting, your body trembling with exhaustion as you collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. “Y–you did it!” Miwa cheered. “I had no idea you knew RCT. Thank you for helping me back there.”

“What the– Miwa, we won! Show some conviction!” Todo cut in, flexing his biceps. 

“He’s right,” you managed a weak smile as you worked on catching your breath and easing your fast-beating heart. You collapse to the ground, still gaining your breath. "We did it."

You hear footsteps approaching from behind. Tilting your head, you see Utahime standing directly above you. 

“Oh. Hi ‘hime.” 

She smiles a bit, but her face remains hardened. You straighten up a bit, catching on to her attitude. Something wasn’t right. 

“You guys did a good job. However, another problem has arisen across the city.” 

“Huh? Another one?” Miwa asked, brows tugging inward. She shifts her weight from one hip to the other. “That's like the fifth one today...”

They continue on in their conversation as you drop your veil, sniff the air, and concentrate on your surroundings. A sense of foreboding strikes you under the dark ambiance of the sky. Even after killing that S-grade, things don’t feel right. 

“Thanks for joining us,” Utahime says, drawing back your attention. “I nearly had to call for backup.”

You scoff, glancing up at her from the ground. “Something doesn't feel right, Utahime.” She nods, agreeing with your observation. “When did the reports come flooding in?”

“About an hour ago now.”

“Hm,” you wonder, thinking back to when you first found the cursed womb. “That’s about the same time I first sensed the presence of the cursed womb. They’re most likely connected.”

“That's what I thought. The presence of the cursed womb must have irritated some of the curses in the city, most likely because they were drawn to the energy fluctuations the cursed womb caused. It's good you were here. We're stretched thin right now. If you don’t mind staying, we could use your help. The other students are out on missions across the city, and things just keep getting worse.” 

You smile up at her before pushing yourself back up on your two feet, brushing the dirt from your pants. “Sure, let’s get going–” but as you stand, it feels as if a bolt of lightning strikes you down or as if your chest has been cracked open by a sledgehammer. The agony was too great to even scream as you fell to your knees and crashed back into the ground. 

It was lights out. 

-

It was quiet. Dark—a vast, unending expanse of nothingness that swallowed you whole. An endless drift. It would have almost been peaceful if not for the faint pull at the edges of your awareness, like an anchor trying to tether to something you couldn’t see. 

But then came the first sound. 

You heard voices—muffled cries. Please wake up, said one voice. Please stay with me, came another. 

Pain began to throb somewhere in the background, dull and distant. Disembodied as if it belonged to someone else. 

Don’t you dare leave me. The voice was sharp, demanding, cracking under the weight of fear. You knew that voice and remembered all the sweet things it used to whisper to you. Your heart takes a painful lurch. You can hear its occasional beat in your ears. We need you. I need you. 

Oddly, you were cold.

You were drifting again, further and further. The anchor was slipping. You were sinking, your head hardly above water, when another muffled voice broke through—whimpering, sobbing. Your heart lurches painfully.

Mom, please don’t go.

The words pierce through the nothingness, shattering it all to bits and pieces. The words pull at you, a lifeline you hadn’t known you clung to and needed. Images begin to flash, and suddenly, the voices are no longer just voices. Your heart suddenly burns as though the memory of life itself is fighting its way back into you. 

Your eyelids were heavy, limbs weak, unresponsive—cold. You were so cold, but it wasn’t enough to stop you from crawling out of a black pit that threatened to swallow you whole. There’s a faint sensation of pressure, a hand tightly gripping yours. 

Light begins bleeding into the edges of your awareness. You sucked in a deep breath, lungs empty and greedy. 

Then, your eyes fluttered open.  

You blinked a few times, realizing how hard it was to breathe. Breathing was supposed to be an automatic response, but you had to force it, each breath dragging along the back of your throat like sandpaper. You’re weak and shivering as you use most of your energy to sit up. You were in an empty room, you realized—the sharp smell of sanitizer permeating your nose. 

You push yourself out of bed, knees buckling under your weight. You catch yourself, gathering whatever bits of strength you have left. Your teeth clattered. You were freezing. Shaking, you wrapped the white blanket over your shoulders, gripping it tight before you trudged towards the door.

The hall was mostly empty, all except for a sleeping boy slouched over in a chair beside your door. Your heart squeezes. 

“Megumi,” you whispered his name. You stare at him for a moment, unable to bite back the tears that nip at your dry eyes. 

You wrapped the blanket around him, tucking it gently around him. However, he flinches, jumping straight up in his chair. “S-Sorry,” you tell him quickly with a watery smile. “You looked cold.” 

“You…” the word was a raw and weak whisper. His eyes widened. It took a moment for recognition to settle in, but once it did, he spoke again. “You’re awake.” He stood up from his chair, and you stepped back, offering him space. “You’re awake,” he repeated again. 

Then, you start to wonder just how long you’ve been out of it. Days? Weeks? The thought of months terrifies you, but before you can even go down that loophole, he’s hugging you tightly. “You’re awake,” he says once more, his voice breaking. 

However long it was, he’s right. You’re awake. You’re here, living and breathing. You wrap your arms around his torso, patting and rubbing his back soothingly. “Yup… I’m here. I’m awake.” 

You let him be the one to pull away, letting him take however long he needs. You enjoyed it regardless. You couldn’t remember the last time you hugged him. 

When he pulls away, his eyes are red. He sniffs a bit, backing up and taking the blanket off his shoulders. This time, he’s the one wrapping the fabric around you. He’s frowning a bit as he does. “... you’re the one that’s cold,” he notes quietly. 

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” He asks softly, brows furrowing. 

You shook your head. No. Frankly, you didn’t remember much of anything right now. “I was on my way with Yuji and Nobara. We got on the train after you let me know where you were staying.” That’s right. You texted Megumi when you figured out where you’d be staying. You thought they’d come over sometime in the following days. You had no idea they were rushing to see you on the next available train. 

He places his hands awkwardly on your shoulder before gently guiding you to the chair he was sitting in moments ago. As you go to sit, your body seems to forget how to move for a moment, and you lose your balance. He catches you quickly, carefully helping you down into the chair. “When we got to Kyoto, we realized quickly how bad things were over there.   We started helping out at the Kyoto school, dealing with the curses that had been lingering in the area where the cursed womb opened up. Eventually, we ran into Todo and Miwa. They told us what happened.” He grunts, kneeling down so he’s at eye level with you. 

You’re silent for a moment. “How long was I out for?”

“Pushing four days now.” 

The memories strike you like a fright train. “Are you okay? Is everyone alright?” You hadn’t realized you had reached for his cheek. 

He grabs your wrist, thumb gently caressing the back of your hand before pulling your hand away, guiding it back to your lap. He moves the blanket until it's covering you again.  “We’re all fine. Everything’s been dealt with. Yuji and Nobara went down to the cafe to grab some lunch. They’ll be thrilled when they come back.”

You tilt your head. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

He smiles a bit. “I didn’t want to leave you unattended.”

You don’t know what to think. You’re just happy you’re back. Happy because he was happy. You always hated it when he worried about you. You never believed it was his job to do so. However, he stayed by your side and protected you when you couldn’t protect yourself. 

You wiggle your toes and roll your shoulders before standing again. “You shouldn’t be standing–”

“I’m alright, I promise,” you tell him, dismissing his concern. “I just want to walk around, okay?”

He stares at you intently, unsure, but he seems to have no energy to argue with you. “... alright,” he relents. 

He follows you closely as you drag your feet across the floor. You don’t know where you are walking, but you want to stretch your legs and regain a sense of your body. You are weak, but you need to move. 

You ask the question you were too hesitant to ask: “What about Gojo?”

He huffs. “He left a little while ago. Said he’d be back shortly,” he scoffs. “Bullshit if you ask me.”

“Megumi,” you sigh his name with a soft reprimand. 

“He should be here,” he responds disgruntledly. “He should be by your side, and he’s not."

You stay quiet. You’re not exactly sure what to say to him when you agree. Maybe Gojo was done. Whatever this was, whatever relationship you had—maybe he didn’t want you anymore. You look ahead, fighting your own body that threatened to collapse at any moment. You could feel Megumi’s eyes on you, but you didn’t have the heart to look at him right now.

You were afraid you would sob if you did. 

Though you had never walked these halls before, the hospital's layout was quite easy to catch on to. After taking a fourth right turn, you see your room in the distance. A stubborn part of you says to keep going and keep walking, but the exhaustion is catching up to you quickly. If Megumi hadn’t been by your side, cautious eyes scanning you, you might have kept going until you passed out. You realize that the strength you had was nearly depleted. Only trickles of your cursed energy remained, and it would be a long while before you gained it back. 

You hear footsteps behind you. Quick and ushered. Megumi turns before you, his whole frame tensing.  He sucks his teeth and clicks his tongue. “So he finally shows up.” He speaks in a sardonic tone, loud enough for anyone in the hallways to hear.

Satoru comes running from around the corner then, taking deep breaths. Your brows slightly pinch together in confusion. “S–Satoru,” you stutter, walking closer. “When did you get here?”  He looks disheveled. Alarmed. Was he just running? 

It was hard trying to figure out what he was feeling or experiencing when that black eyeband covered his eyes. However, you noticed the bouquet in his hands, a delicate combination of soft and tender hues: pale pink and roses, white peonies, deep pink lilies, and baby’s breath delicately wrapped along sprigs of greenery. 

You place a hand on Megumi’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go eat with the others?”

“But–”

“I’ll be alright,” you explain to him in a soft tone.

He hesitates, torn between staying and leaving.  He was unsure if he should leave you to handle this alone, but after a moment, he backed down, probably realizing he shouldn’t stand between the two of you and what needed to happen. With an irate glance shot at Gojo, he turns, pocketing his hands as he makes his way to the stairs. 

Only when the door shuts do you look at Satoru again. 

He stays unusually quiet, his face unreadable. Frankly, it was rather unsettling. You had no idea what was going through his mind. “I–I’m sorry!” you blurt out the first words that crash to the surface of your mind the moment you see him in his entirety. There was no hope of holding back. After days spent away from him, lost in his absence, and days dancing on the edge of death, the words tumble out of you before you can stop them—unbidden, unstoppable. “For everything. Y–You must have been stressed with work and other things. My fuck up only added to your plate. I get it, ya know? It's selfish of me, even now, to rely on you so much when there’s a whole world that needs you. They are not my students, and I put them in danger.” Quickly, the tears gather in your waterline again, but you blink them away. “I–I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll… I’ll go. I’ll get out of your way, and you won’t have to deal with me bothering you any longer–”

“Can I touch you?” The question comes suddenly, softly, and almost hesitantly. 

You blink a few times, puzzled, but then, you unravel, folding inward under the weight of his voice. Your breath hitches in your throat. Was he still holding onto what you had said that night? Was he haunted by the barriers broken and the others so carelessly assembled? 

He still wanted you? 

You didn’t want him to let you go. Not yet. Not ever.

Like a dam breaking, you surged forward, closing the space between you two. Seconds later, you feel his resolve crumble. He crushes you to his chest, flowers falling to the floor. His arms enveloped you with a force that robbed you of breath, your feet nearly coming off the ground as you both stumble backward. Trembling, he clung to you as if you were an anchor in a world that threatened to tear him apart. There were no words—the unspoken agony and grief were far too overwhelming to put into words—if there even were words for it. 

I’m sorry. I love you. I’m glad you’re okay.  You felt it all with him. You could feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, hear its frantic rhythm match your own.

His hands were shaking, one tangling in your hair, the other wrapping entirely around your frame and squeezing your hip. He buries his face into your neck, and his hot breath is ragged and uneven as he inhales your scent. “I thought–” he swallows, shaking his head. “I didn’t know where you were—for a second time.”

Your cursed energy was low, more depleted than it had ever been. It explains why you were so weak, so frail. When he saw your empty bed, he must’ve panicked. He ran to you, anxiously following the weak traces of your presence. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and the familiar silk of his eyeband rubs against your skin. You gently tug at the fabric with the tips of your fingers. His breath hitches, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he stills as you slip the black band from his face. He lifts his head just enough to rest it against yours. They were that same stunning shade of azure—bright and impossibly vivid, glowing softly as if they carried the remnants of a forgotten star. Captivating, otherworldly, yet achingly human—something he’d often forget from time to time. 

“You promised,” he murmurs, voice broken. “You promised.”  

“What are you talking about?” you ask just as brokenly. 

Suddenly, one of his hands grasps your neck, and you choke on your words. He doesn’t squeeze tight, but the look on his face is enough to make you gasp. “I couldn’t feel you. I couldn’t feel you anymore,” he says achingly. 

Your chest tightens, nails slightly digging into his forearm. You open your mouth to speak, failing more times than succeeding. You wanted to speak, but the words lodged in your mouth. 

“I–I don’t understand.”

“You’re not wearing it anymore,” he murmurs, his nose brushing softly against your cheek. The necklace you always wore—his gift to you, the one that held a part of him, a part of the two of you—was gone. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, an absence that gnawed at him like hunger, an emptiness he could never satisfy. 

His voice wasn’t angry, far from it. It wasn’t even harsh, but something in it—a quiet desperation—made the air between the two of you quiver. 

“You promised you’d never go where I couldn’t follow,” he whispers again. “Remember?” 

You nod in his hold, tightly pursing your lips together when a few tears escape, dripping from your eyes.  He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours again, gazing deep and unwavering into your eyes. I remember. His grip on your neck loosens until he removes his hand from your throat completely, gentle fingers pushing down your shirt's fabric. His fingers trace your skin, the empty spot where your necklace once laid. 

Then, it suddenly hits you. “Oh.”  

He could feel you as much as you felt him. If you were ever too far from him—out of the range of his sight, out from where his hands could reach for you, that necklace was a beacon, a beckoning, a lighthouse in the storm that guided you home—guided him home. 

You squeeze him tighter. You missed him. You really missed him. 

“How did you find me?” 

He takes a moment to breathe, trying to settle the rapid beat of his heart. “Utahime.” He wheezes out a pained laugh. “She called me panicking once you collapsed. I got there as quickly as I could.”  

You copy his laugh, albeit coughing a bit from the pain blooming in your ribs. You hated to admit it, but the longer you stood, the more your body began to hurt. “I should just heal myself and get this over with.”

“Don’t,” his grip tightens on you again. “you’re using it wrong. There’s damage, lots of it,” he tells you, wiping at the blood that had stained your skin at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Any more and–” his eyebrows furrowed deeply, the weight of grief and guilt tugging his features. The corner of his lips tightened. “Shoko operated on you for hours. You nearly died.”

He sees what others cannot, his gaze piercing the surface to something deeper, something raw. He sees the world through an entirely different lens, and right now, the sight of you seems to pain him dearly. 

For a moment, you wonder just how much damage is hidden within you and how much it must weigh on him to see it. “Shoko might have gotten you out of the woods, but she told me you’d need a few more rounds to get you back to normal.”

“That makes sense,” you murmur, allowing your entire body weight to ease into him. He accepts you with open arms. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Or twenty.”

“I missed it,” he utters, voice thick with regret. “If I had just looked a bit closer, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I fucked up. I could’ve prevented this.” His careful grip on you tightens as if you’d slip away from him once more.  “But,” his tone softens. “You did so well. You took care of that cursed womb before I could even get to the scene.” Even through his pain and wallowing, his heart swells. He was proud of you. 

He bends down, grabbing the flowers he dropped before moving towards you again. “Oh gosh,” you hide your face into his neck as he reaches down, one arm hooking under your legs as he lifts you. You don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m definitely fired, aren’t I?” 

He carefully guides you back into your room. He manages to toss your flowers on the counter by the window. “Don’t worry about any of that. I’ll handle it. ‘Kay?” He places you down on your bed, but he hesitates, not wanting to fully pull away. 

Your eyes flicker, recalling the night of your augment. You knew this was the reason behind his haunted expression. You recognized the torment because you, too, had felt it. “You’re mad,” he observes relatively quickly.

You didn’t want to bring it up. You weren't necessarily mad, not anymore, but even near death couldn’t make you forget the pain he had caused with words he so carelessly struck you down with. 

“What you said… Hurt me, Gojo,” you look down at your hands, feeling selfish for even bringing this up after nearly dying. However, you knew this conversation was inevitable.  “Even if you were right I felt cast aside. Useless. Why didn't you tell me you felt that way before?”

“No… don’t say that. I was being stupid. I over reacted. I know you'd always protect those kids and that's exactly what you did. You’re not weak or a nuisance, or... convenient.” you flinch at the word. “You’re far from that. I need you to know that.”

“...Then what am I?”

“Everything,” he shudders. “You’re everything.” His lips brush over your forehead, your cheeks, and eyelids, each kiss tender and lingering. But then he pauses, his smooth lips hovering just above yours. He’s always been so confident, so self-assured. You’re unsure how to react.

You were sitting on your bed, feet dangling just above the floor. He is leaning over you, one large and warm hand on your thigh, the other cupping your face gently. He was close, but not close enough. Even bent at the waist, his height keeps him just out of your reach unless he leans back down just a bit more…

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, giving him all the assurance you have to offer.

You were hurt, but you still wanted him.

You still loved him. 

His mouth was warm and soft—testing the waters and treading carefully. His grip on your thigh tightens until– 

He lets go. You feel the tension in his body dissipate, and finally, he allows himself to fully enjoy you—taste you. The kiss deepens, and you swear it brought life back into your frail body. He overwhelms you now in the most delicious way possible. Your toes curl, and your tight embrace eases. Your arms go weak, your hands moving to run down his chest, his taut muscles quivering in the wake of your touch.  Every moment was a promise, every brush of skin a new vow. No words were spoken, but you both heard everything that had been held back, everything that had been left unsaid. 

I’m sorry.

I love you. 

I love you.

I love you. 

He smiles against your lips, but you don’t stop or pull away, catching and nipping at his bottom lip. Then, you kiss him again, slotting his top lip between yours. “You really love me, huh? Hehe.”

Oh. You hadn’t realized you said it—whimpered murmurs against his lips. No wonder why he looked all dopey and smiley. 

“You’re not going to make me grovel for forgiveness?” He pecks your lips again. “This seems too easy. I know you’re still mad.”

You chase after his lips. “Of course, I’m still mad,” you mutter against him. “But I thought I would never see you again.” Even as he frowns, you pepper his lips with kisses. “Plus, it's not like you to grovel.”

“I would for. Only for you, of course.”

You giggle, nipping his lip a little harder. “Yeah,” you rolled your eyes. “I’d like to see that.”

Oh no. You’ve made a grave mistake. You knew you messed up again the second the words fell from your lips. There’s a glint in his eyes now. 

“Oh, my beautiful, angelic Queen! I know I have displeased you. Please accept my humble apologies!” You squeak at the suddenness of his actions. He sinks to his knees dramatically, and his palms meet the dirty floor, and so does his forehead. “I am at your mercy! I have failed you greatly, and I wish to make amends.”

You swat him on the back of his head, but it's not nearly enough to hurt him or deter him from whatever this is. “Gojo! Don’t bow like that! Get up!”

“But I can’t!” He whines. “You must forgive me! I will spend eternity on my knees if it means I can regain your favor, my perfect, beautiful, divine Queen. You alone rule this sinners heart!”  He inches forward on his knees, squeezing himself between your legs. His hands find homage on your waist as he nudges his face into your stomach.

Your eyes roll skyward. “Only you could apologize and insult me at the same time, Satoru,” you grumble, looking down at him before running your fingers through white stands. 

Suddenly, he looks up from this position, resting his chin right beneath your ribs, grinning ear to ear. “You called me Satoru~”

You feel your face flush, heat gushing to your cheeks and ears. “Shut up. You’re such an idiot. Can you get up now?”

“Nah,” he says lazily, burying his head into your stomach again. His voice comes out muffled. “I’m trying to make amends with my Queen. Let me, will ya?”

You ease, realizing you won't be able to stop him from doing what he wants. Even if it was a bit theatrical, he was doing his best—you know that because you know him. You let your nails gently graze his scalp as you continued to pat him. He hums, almost purrs, as your other hand finds his shoulder, squeezing him gently before running your fingers under his shirt, caressing his skull and the taut muscles in his back. A beat of silence passes, but you find yourself uncaring.

You had him back in your arms. That’s all that really mattered to you right now.

“Look, I know… I know I messed up,” he begins, voice so low, you nearly miss it. “I’m not great at this—saying the right things. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was stressed. I was fed up with the higher-ups and fed up with my missions, but that’s no excuse. If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat. You deserve better than what I was giving you. I’m gonna try to be better… for you. For us.”  His words hang in the air a bit awkwardly, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his voice. It couldn’t be missed. He shifts a bit, moving to kiss your belly. Then, his large hand wrap around yours, guiding your hand closer to his lips. He kisses the back of your knuckles tenderly as if the act of his apology could never be enough.

“You want me to stay?”

He squeezes you tighter. “Of course I do. What would I be without you?”

“Hm. You’d still be Gojo Satoru. Even without me.” 

“I don’t want to imagine a life without you,” he mutters. “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow. I've already told you that…”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper sweetly, patting his head. He nudges his head further into you. “The world will always need you.”

“I will always need you. So please… stop talking like this.” He pinches your side, making you squeak. Finally he looks up, an unimpressed expression gracing his features. “And don’t ever leave the city to get away from me. When you told me you were going to a hotel, I thought you meant in Tokyo.”

You chuckle nervously, looking elsewhere. “Yeah… Sorry about that.” 

“Next time, take a walk or something. I dunno, go touch some grass if you get tired of me.”

A small smile escaped you, followed by a quiet laugh that shook your shoulders. You pat his back three times before kneading him softly. “Okay, humble peasant. You've groveled for long enough. Now lay with me,” you demand him. “I want you to lay with me. I’m so tired.”

“Psh. I’d hardly fit on this bed.”

“Whatever,” you tell him, scooting over. “I’ll make room. Get in, string bean.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

 It’s a bit awkward at first with his lanky form, but he makes it work. It was a tight fit, and his feet slightly dangled off the bed, but he made no objections. With your back to his chest, he held you against him securely.

“You’re cold,” he observes out loud when you start playing with his fingers. It’s a bitter realization, a deafening one on his part. You know it bothers him, especially as he wraps the blanket around you tighter.

He tries not to let it show. However, he quickly becomes restless and you know he isn’t sated. He begins to move. “Let me go get you another blanket.”

“Nooo. Stay here.”

“Huh? But you’re freezing! And you’re never cold!”

“I’m already warming up!” You intervene with a small giggle, tugging him by his jacket. “Just shut up and lay with me, already.” He hesitates before unbuttoning his black jacket. When he was determined, there wasn’t any stopping a man like him, and right now, he was determined to get you warm.

He lays his jacket over you, spreading the fabric out, smoothing away all the wrinkles, and making sure you're covered. It might as well be a blanket with how long it was over you. Bonus points because it still carried him warmth and smelled like his cologne. A blend of earth and wood with a hint of something darker—smokey and smooth. You always loved the scent. Whenever he walked by, it brushed past you like a gentle breeze over still water, warm and inviting, with subtle notes of leather, musk, and vanilla. 

He grunts a bit before easing into the bed again. “My little icicle- ow,” you shot your elbow back, getting him right in the ribs. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” He chuckles, before wrapping his arms over you one more. He brushes your hair from your neck, his breath fanning against your skin. He kisses you there once, twice, three times before saying something familiar. 

“I could sense when you left Tokyo. I didn’t know what to do. Even with my eyes, I couldn’t find you. You were just gone. Don’t ever go where I can’t follow." He kisses your neck. "Please.”

You turn around, searching for his lips. He melts into you once again, squeezing your side sweetly. “I promise,” you murmur. “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” you say, voicing back the same promise he made you. He smiles faintly against your lips.  

When you woke up the next morning, your necklace was there. It was back where it belonged, sapphires resting gently over your steady beating heart—carrying Satoru’s silent promise.

Wherever you go, that’s where I follow. 

-

a/n: I honestly don't know how I feel about this but if you made it to the end I hope the nearly 18k was worth reading. If you couldn't tell its based off the song Die With A Smile. Honestly, I think I might have been happier by making this a bit longer and flushing out some of the scenes more, but I was trying new things and I was excited to post my first jjk post :) however its getting late now but if there's any typos or errors I notice later I'll edit as needed.

anyways, if you'd like to see more gojo x sorcerer!reader let me know! also I really hoped you liked the bits I added with Megumi (he's just a smol bean).

likes and reblogs are always appreciated! :p

[shanefuckingscott]

Sevika Headcanons 🦾

🚫Men and Minors DNI🚫

What I think Sevika would be like generally. a little bit of switch Sevika. 🦾

SFW:

She can cook well. She just doesn't cook OFTEN. I think that's something people don't get, but I think she's a good cook.

If you can't cook, she'll happily cook for the both of you.

If you can't, she'll probably most definitely make fun of you for not knowing how to use a knife, but she'll be happy to cook for you.

As long as you wash the dishes.

She does not have a type at all. Physical appearance? None. All she wants is someone competent, and someone that is okay with her not being home as much. But she does make it up to you.

If you have long hair, she'll braid it, and even help you oil your scalp once in awhile, like her mother taught her to.

If you have short and buzzed hair, she likes to run her hand through the freshly buzzed hair, and also like to help you oil your scalp.

Amazing with henna. You once bought her some henna, and she teared up a little bit, since it's been a long time since she's ever done henna on herself, ever since her mom died.

She decorates you with henna once in awhile, during her free time, and she likes to teach you about her culture that her mom has passed down onto her, and you help her heal her inner child by doing that.

You like to get her in touch of her culture, and she likes you even more because of that. In Zaun, there's not much of a place for sentimentality, but this, her culture, her mother is a part of her, and you like to remind her that with what happens everyday, she's still herself. That she's not just a woman fighting for the freedom of Zaun, that she's also herself.

She tends to forget that, after all.

TOUCH STARVED AS HELL.

Won't let just anyone touch her, only you, though.

She's actually really clingy. I mean, REALLY clingy. You'd be surprised. Of course, she still has a reputation to maintain, but even so, she doesn't shy away from showing you love outside the comfort of your own home.

Her love languages are definitely Acts of Service, Physical Touch, and Gift Giving.

She likes to do small things for you, like make you a cup of coffee in the morning. Charge your phone, when you're asleep. Give you a massage when you had a particularly bad day.

I lied. It's not small things, she does EVERYTHING for you. Opening doors wherever you go. Helping you change out of your clothes when you're drunk. Carrying you wherever, when your feet feel tired. Anything, you name it.

For gift giving, she likes getting you stuff that remind her of you. Like, a particular flower, or trinket, that she thinks you'll love, she'll find a way to get it. If she can't however, she'll just tell you about it. "I saw a butterfly. Reminded me of you" Anything.

Sometimes, when she goes away for long periods of time, you better expect 2 things. 1. she'll come home with alot of bruises and cuts. 2. She brought food, or a little trinket.

When Sevika is out for a work trip, she'll call you the whole way there, until she has to get off the trainz and actually do business.

Hates, hates, hates when you're the one going out, and it's her rest day. She's not stopping you from having your own life, she's just a baby that wants your undivided love and attention. And who are you to deny her of such?

Not often jealous, but extremely possessive.

I lied, she is a bit jealous, but not because she doesn't trust you. She doesn't trust other people.

One time you were out at night and a guy catcalled you. Ooh, boy, let's just say he was beyond saving at that point.

She's EXTREMELY loyal. That actually goes without saying, but just wanted to put that out there.

And you're as loyal to her as she is to you. That's what she admires so much about you, not just the love, but the loyalty, and how she knows that you're always on her side, and you'll choose her no matter what.

She loves, loves, loves it when you cut her hair. You're the only person besides a barber that can touch her hair.

She's really careful of not hitting, or crushing you with her robotic hand, and at first, she doesn't even touch you with it. But when you show her it's okay, and you're not scared of her, she loosens up a bit, and lets you hold it. With caution.

She likes it when you caress her face, and absolutely loves it when you kiss her knuckles. Even on her robotic hand.

She giggles like a little girl, when you two are alone. It's kind of cute to see her that way. That's her way of showing her vulnerability.

She loves drama. There's alot of perks of being the right hand woman. She gets to hear everything going on in Zaun. Although she is a quiet woman, she'll tell you everything that happened throughout the day, any drama that she comes across, and you guys laugh together about it. "Did you know (name) and (name) just got divorced?! Turns out (name) was a cheating prick!" She gossips to you. you of course match her energy, and be as shocked as her, "I fucking knew it!"

That was your bonding time with her. Yup, gossiping.

She sleeps with her on your chest, and you cuddle her head, and wrap your legs around her.

Her idea of a date is having you on top of her on the couch, as you both binge eat, and watch some horror together.

She is a bit of a scardey cat, when it comes to horror, so often times, her grip tightens on you, and she'll hide her face in your chest. You pause the movie, and comfort her, and change it to comedy, or something.

NSFW:

She's a bit of a switch.

She gets really turned on, when you comfort her in your chest though. Sometimes you think she just does it for the attention, but you don't seem to mind.

"You want me to change it, baby? Yeah?" You say, as you run your fingers through her hair. She nods. "mhm"

she says, and you change the channel immedietly. She flips the two of you, and now she's on top of you. You're now watching a dumb sitcom, and she's peppering your face with kisses.

You giggle at her antics, but don't try to stop her. "Oh, my baby, were you scared?" you coo at her, your legs high above the air, and you caress her face.

"Mhm, so scared." She says to you. She takes your sweater off, admiring the view. She's careful not to crush you with her bionic arm, as she goes down, and licks you nipples, and sucks them, and plays with the other tit with her other hand.

She likes making you moan, the louder the better. When you try to put a pillow over your head, or you try to use your hand to cover your mouth, she's grabbing it away from your mouth, to let you moan freely, and loudly.

"mhm, s-sev! More!" She likes it when you're needy, fucking loves it when you beg. "S-sevi, please!"

She can't say no to you that long, so she gives in almost immedietly, right after she teases the fuck out of you.

She takes your pants off, and sniffs your panties. (Yes, we got ourselves a panty sniffer, but it's okay, it's her, and we love her.)

"Y-you're such a perv!" and with that, she throws your panties somewhere on the floor, and she spreads your legs apart. You moan. She takes a good look at your wet cunt.

She takes a finger, and runs it along your silky folds, "mhmm, se-vika! s-stop teasing!" She smirks at you, and she finally goes down, not giving you a second to process that she's taking a stripe of your cunt. "A-ah, hmm, sev-ika, yo-u fe-el so g-good"

you can barely speak properly.

she eats your pussy like its her last meal on earth, she just hits all the right spots, and you pull her hair a little harder, and moaning louder.

and just like that, you were about to cum. like magic. Her tongue should be kept in bars, for how good it feels, it's unfair.

"s-sevika, I'm cl-ose!" You moan out, your take your hand, and fondle your own tits, while you moan her name "se-sevika!!"

"Cum for me, baby, I want you to come in my mouth" she tells you. It's like a magic word at this point when she tells you to cum for her, you actually do.

"o-oh yes! hmm, fuck!" You throw your head back, your grip on her hair tightening, and you push her deeper, and deeper into your pussy.

You were practically drowning her. But you know this is what she wants. This is what she loves.

After awhile, when you calm down, you pull her up, and lean in for a deep kiss. You can actually taste yourself a bit in her mouth.

When you finally gain the energy, you smirk at her, "Now it's your turn baby~" You say to her, pushing her on to the couch, and make her lay there. You position yourself between her thighs, and you pull per pants off.

You take a whiff of her sex, and she smells absolutely amazing. You take your time with her, your tongue slow, sensual, and you taste every part of her. When she moves around alot, that's when you decide to take your hand, and wrap it around her legs, and hips, to keep her from pushing. She's pulling back, little by little as she gets closer and closer.

You pull her back, practically wrestling her, "You're not going anywhere, Sevi" You say firmly, and get back to what you're eating. She huffs, and whimpers, and she grips your hair tightly, her body stiffening up, and you can feel her grind herself on your tongue, you let her dance for a bit, until she's almost close. You put 2 fingers in her pussy, and pump it fast and hard, in contrast to the slow, and sensual licking of her clit.

She's grinding more and more now, her grip ever so slightly getting harder, and harder. "F-fuck, princess, you're s-so fuck-ing good, mhm, I'm almost there!" She sobs, you smile while eating her out, and maintain eye contact with her, you pull back and slowly finger her, just teasing her a little bit. She whines even more. "Hmm, baby, I want you to look at me when I make you cum. Got that?" She looks at you flustered, and she nods.

You smirk, and you put your mouth back on her, and your fingers pump faster and faster, and there she is trying her best not to throw her head back.

"c'm fr m, bby" You say while you suck and lick her clit.

And with that, her body convulses, her head thrown back, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, and she grinds on your face more, and more. You close your eyes, enjoying the tastes of her juices coming out, your fingers still fast, and your face getting soaked from her squirting cunt.

You pull back, and take your fingers out of her. You lick her clean, not missing a spot, and you make her suck on your fingers, as she pants, she opens her mouth, and suck it clean.

You get up, and get a towel for her, she's still experiencing the aftermath of her orgasm. "Enjoy yourself, baby?" You ask her teasingly with a smile on your face.

She rolls her eyes, and it honestly looks like she's making a sex face at you right now. You chuckle, and cuddle up to her naked, and she giggles at you.

"I love you so fucking much, Sevi." You look up at her, cupping her cheeks with your hand, and you went up to kiss the top of her head.

She's still catching her breath, bit alot calmer now, and she smiles at you. "and I love you, princess. Janna, that mouth of yours, huh?"

You both giggle for the night, and fell asleep just like that.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Okay, so is it obvious I like writing switch Sevika, or not?

This was actually a bit of an emotional roller-coaster to write, but I kind of like it.

[darkmuffinstudios]

headcanons/delusions that i have for the bad sanses part 86 because i'm not normal

(apologies for the length this post will be. I needed to write all of these down or I would explode <3)

(These can be general headcanons, found family, queer platonic, or poly if you want to interpret them in any way ^^)

All of them. Every single one is touch-starved.

Despite all being touch starved, all of them have different (typically negative) responses to being touched suddenly/without warning.

Killer's love language is touch, both giving and receiving (funnily enough).

He also has a habit of sneaking up on the others. This is half-unintentional, since he's light on his feet naturally and makes no sound whenever he walks.

For no coincidence at all, Killer also has been thrown the most by the gang.

He doesn't resent them for it at all.

Cross wears his old uniform (despite his initial dislike for the design) a lot. He claims its out of habit, but deep down, it's because it *proves* that he was worth something once. It's his accomplishment as a royal guard, and that's something that despite the bitterness of the job, he takes pride in. Yes, he still hates the design, and yes, he hates how complicated it is. But he also appreciates the attention to detail, how meticulous and organized you have to be to put it on.

If the last bullet point didn't emphasize enough, Cross has self-worth problems.

So does Killer, but he's accepted it.

Nightmare has a catacomb of trinkets and items alike that has grown sentimental value over the years. He visits there when he's feeling particularly nostalgic, usually in the quiet of the night.

Dust doesn't like seeing his own bones. Gloves, long sleeves, scarves, hoods, slippers and socks- nothing can show. It's probably because of all the dust that practically clung to him from all the people he's killed. It's stained his fingers, his knuckles, his feet.

Horror's eye can actually roll to the other side of his head if he tilts his head enough. No, it isn't painful.

Something very stupid that Horror does (rarely) is he stores small things in the hole in his head. Yes, that one can hurt if forgotten.

Killer has so many cats that it's a problem. Nightmare can't bring himself to make him get rid of any though.

Dust has trained a murder of crows in Nightmare's realm. They follow him in the trees whenever he goes out to walk, and he keeps small pieces of food from his dinners to feed them.

Cross cannot, for the life of him, hide whenever he feels embarrassed (and he feels this often).

Not to say Cross can't mask his emotions. You know, with all the royal guard training and all. And the trauma.

Nightmare suffers from chronic insomnia. He can't bring himself to relax enough to. Although, he doesn't mind mimicking the behavior when he naps with any of the guys, if only to encourage them to sleep.

Nightmare feels safer when sleeping near or with someone in his bed. I'd say its because he probably got jumped as a kid whenever he slept. They're all long dead, but do it enough and the body never forgets.

Killer always picks up small little gifts for the guys every time he goes out. He'll look at something and go "Hey, he'd like that", and nab it. Probably a behavior he picked up when Nightmare first brought him on, since he noticed Nightmare liked to collect things.

Cross's love language is receiving gifts and words of affirmation. (haha). Everyone has picked up on this already, and abuses this knowledge to no end.

Horror waits for everyone to start eating before he eats his own food.

Horror also always carries emergency snacks/food bags with him wherever he goes. Not necessarily for himself though.

Dust loves pancakes. His mood immediately improves if he eats them.

Killer has a large scar that never quite healed right.

Nightmare used to write with a feathered quill. Killer had gotten him a very nice fountain pen long ago though, and he's since abandoned the quill.

Horror has a garden in the back that Nightmare helps him out with. Horror was more interested in crops and harvest, while Nightmare was particularly fond of flowers and trees.

Dust, Killer, and Cross help out with the garden sometimes. They just don't maintain it as diligently as the aforementioned two.

Dust paints. Killer joked about it being therapeutic and artsy and shit, but Dust actually ended up liking it. He could finally express the mess inside his head without any words.

Dust has his own painting room in a part of the castle. It has lots of windows and art hung on the walls.

All the gang occasionally visit Dust while he paints, most simply sitting and watching the brushstrokes. The only one that has actually also drew in that room was Cross. Dust and Cross kind of bond like that.

Cross helps the most with cooking. Horror typically likes to be in charge of the meals/food in the house, but greatly appreciates Cross's help. He feels he's the most reliable, anyways.

Killer does whittling/woodcarving. He makes little figures, knives, intricate pieces, coasters, kitchen tools, etc. His favorite to make is little cat figurines though.

Cross's room is the most clean/organized/empty. Unlike the others, he didn't customize his room in the slightest (keeping the bare minimum of bed, dresser, shelves, etc.).

It is the MTT's mission to fill Cross's room with so many things. Dust gifts Cross paintings to hang on his wall. Killer places little wooden cats on his shelves. Horror places a secret snack stash for Cross, and continually resupplies it.

Nightmare can play a lot of instruments, actually.

Killer has begged on his knees (dramatically of course) to hear Nightmare play ever since he found this out (which was before any of the others even joined). Nightmare doesn't humor him though.

For the life of him, Killer cannot sing. It makes him so mad. Like, he's off-pitch, tone-deaf, off-beat.

Which is funny since I think all the others can sing very well. Horror hums in the kitchen sometimes, Dust sings quietly to himself in his room, Cross is too shy to sing but can, and Nightmare is just musically inclined.

Killer is a little insecure about it.

Okay, he's very insecure about it, but that doesn't stop him from belting out his favorite song like a fool. Like, he understands he's bad, and accepts that fact whenever he's feeling extra confident. But the times he isn't... yeah.

Horror likes it when someone naps on him. Free weighted blanket.

Dust often naps in the weirdest places. In closets, in the wedge between a table and couch, on a high-window sill.

Dust also has back problems. I wonder why.

(A personal favorite of mine: ) Nightmare keeps someone to his right/keeps his tentacles to the right of himself. Since he lost his eye, he has quite the large blind spot, hence why he compensates for it with one of his boys/his tentacles.

Nightmare isn't actually all that athletic. Whenever they all go out, he's always the one that gets left behind the most.

Cross has a habit of matching the walking pace of the person he's with.

Horror can pick up all of them. Very easily. With one hand. Not all at once, of course, but if Dust or Killer are trying to sneak some snacks before dinner, he grabs them by the scruff of their jackets.

Horror lets Cross eat snacks though (encourages it, even. Bro should probably eat more).

Nightmare is a tea-holic. He has a large supply of all of his favorites in the kitchen cupboards. He keeps medicinal ones in both the kitchen and infirmary. They have several kettles. He collects tea sets.

Killer is the best at making tea. Something about his attention to detail, as Nightmare puts it.

The only person that drinks coffee regularly in the castle is Dust. He needs it to deal with everyday bullshit. Coffee makes Cross, Killer, and Horror too antsy. Nightmare sometimes drinks coffee, but not often.

Both Horror and Dust hate it when you change the laundry detergent. They are very particular about the smell. They very much like the scents they chose, thank you very much.

I HIT THE WORD LIMIT??????

I didn't even realize I was writing that much, but I guess I got pretty carried away, haha.

This was downright therapeutic though- I might to this again soon/some other time ^^

[rinnstars]

being yours!

let him be useful to you

itoshi rin x reader: yandere ish?, angst on rin’s part, not proofread + likes n reblogs are really appreciated!

he’s used to be being left behind - its a common occurrence for someone that’s used to being silenced to fit in, from being left out of class discussions, to being left behind by friends and eventually even his own brother that swore to be with him until the end of time. and sometimes, despite your reassurance and love that he doesn’t once doubt, he thinks you’ll be better off without him - you’re much more talkative and extroverted, youre friends with everyone else that he has probably never talked to, youre much brighter than he is. and sometimes, he thinks youre truly better off without him - you’ll get to have lunches with all your friends rather than sit around beside him in the empty classroom eating, you’ll get to go home early without waiting for his football practice to end, you’ll no longer have to deal with a bother like him that rather dulls the mood.

so he’ll make up for his subpar personality he feels, make up for the way he self-destructs and leaves you on read on hard days, make up for the way he can’t be the picture-perfect boyfriend that he knows you adore from your collection of love mangas in your room or from korean and chinese dramas you talk to him about. he’ll settle for being useful to you, after all people wont throw away things that are useful to them right? he knows you wont - you keep our digicam despite its battery issues simply because its still usable to take photos of you and him, you keep your old and flat heat pads because you can still use them when your stomach hurts a little too much, you keep your old water bottle despite the few times it leaks. and sometimes he wonders if you keep him around because you like the sentimentality of your relationship, after all you’ve been with him since you two were kids the same way you keep your old photo albums and toys and textbooks because you can’t bear to throw away because of the memories. he hopes you keep him around because he’s useful - he’ll carry your heavy bag to and from school, even in between classes, he’ll help you queue up for lunch letting you rest about and talk to your friends in the meantime, he’ll pick off the ingredients you don’t like off your food with his hands carefully without any flaws. he hopes he’ll be useful to you - he’ll be the tissue to wipe away your tears either with his lips or with his hands, he’ll be the heat warmer that recently stopped working whenever your hand or legs grow cold by embracing you with his warm self, he’ll be the sweet treat for you, transferring candies hidden in his mouth in yours as he merges yours and his lips into one. he wants all of him to be useful to you - his hands will carry and hold any burden that’s too much for you, whether emotional or physical, he wants his legs to carry you without a single stumble to not make you doubt yourself as he carries you as though youre a royalty in a horse carriage to wherever you want to, he wants his eyes to help you find items you keep dropping and missing whether that be pieces of papers, hair ties, or even house keys.

and he’ll work hard to be your pride and joy - be the best striker in the world, be better than anyone else, be the best infatuation you’ve ever had. he wants your attention on him no matter what - please don’t look away from him, not even for a second. he thinks you just might be the sun to his chloroplast-like body, his sole reason that he’s still breathing if only for you. and maybe its stupid, its childish to want you to look at him, even if its simply because he’s helping you out - he craves it. so use him, milk him for all he’s worth and keep your eyes on him - he wont ask for anything more. because that means even if you fall out of love one day, even if the look in your eyes is becoming less and less infatuated, even if you no longer feel this same burning fire that will consume him, you’ll stay with him - the same way you still keep pens that no longer have inks, notebooks that have run out of empty pages, earphones that no longer connect properly to your phone for the memories.

but for now, when that school bell rings, he’ll without fail walk up to your desk, pack your things with you and carry your bag for you just to see you beam at him like an angel with that look full of love he knows he’s already addicted to.

[cosmopoliturtle]

Dune Lung - Vernorexia Bestiary

"Sand has been piling up in the wildlands lately. A sigh of Spring’s breath, billowing past ruins of old kingdoms, bringing us mementos in the form of scattered ash– roiled petals of the long dead. Folk say the sandy breeze carries the lost voices of ghosts, murmuring goodbyes to loved ones and last hymns to anyone who would hear them. Wherever the dust piles up most, the voices seem to be stronger and more numerous, and curious folk go missing.

The source of these uncanny utterances are Dune Lungs: once a deterrent of monsters, they have since joined their ranks. Kingdoms once further along than ours discovered certain sounds could be channeled through communication apparatuses to ward away or paralyze the angry beasts marching through the growing desert. It was trial and error to find the right frequencies, but once identified, they could be weaponized to great effect.

For many generations, sacred sounds kept these kingdoms safe, but Spring is a patient devil. The petals of the departed clogged the contraptions, and the lingering anguish within their essence animated them into hungry golems. With voices that bristle with electricity and heat, they speak false affirmations and sing melodies to lure prey into a sentimental stupor, knowing exactly what the desperate or the melancholic want to hear. I feel guilty admitting that when I find the night hours vexing, I have sat on the rim of their hunting grounds, the faint music under the sand helping me sleep. During dawn’s first light, regardless if a potential victim is near, I can hear them mumbling together: “the angels are coming, the angels are coming…”

Vernorexia

Omens of Spring

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Abu Dhabi GP

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

The paddock in Abu Dhabi was alive with speculation, buzzing with fans, journalists, and team members all eager for a hint about my future. The grand finale of the season always carried a mix of excitement and melancholy, but this year, there was an extra layer of uncertainty surrounding me.

The whispers had been growing louder ever since Lance’s recovery updates started trickling out. Aston Martin had been clear—Lance Stroll was close to returning, his seat waiting for him. And while I had known from the beginning that my position was temporary, the thought of leaving the grid now, after everything, was a weight I couldn’t fully ignore.

Walking through the paddock, I could feel the questions hanging in the air, the lingering glances from reporters and fans. Even the drivers seemed more cautious, their words carefully chosen whenever the topic of next season arose.

Max was one of the first to address it directly. During a quick chat before FP1, he leaned against the Red Bull garage, arms crossed. “So,” he started casually, though his tone betrayed genuine concern, “are you staying quiet on purpose, or do you not know what’s happening yet?”

I gave him a small, tight smile. “A little bit of both,” I admitted. “Nothing’s finalized, and I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up—including my own.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “You deserve a seat. Everyone knows it.”

The sentiment was echoed throughout the weekend. Charles stopped me in the paddock later that day, his usual friendly grin replaced with a more serious expression. “Whatever happens, you’ve proven you belong here,” he said firmly. “No one can take that away from you.”

But the most touching moment came from the fans. During the driver parade, the cheers for me were louder than I’d ever heard. Banners with my name and messages of support filled the grandstands, and one sign in particular caught my eye: “Wherever you go, we follow.”

It was overwhelming, the love and support from people who had seen me at my lowest and celebrated my highest moments.

Back in the Aston Martin motorhome, I sat with my PR team, discussing how to handle the inevitable questions during media duties. They suggested vague answers, emphasizing that nothing was confirmed yet. I nodded along, but deep down, I hated the ambiguity.

When I stepped into my first interview of the day, the question came up almost immediately.

“So, with Lance on the mend, fans are wondering—will we see you on the grid next season?” the journalist asked, their tone curious but careful.

I hesitated, choosing my words cautiously. “Right now, my focus is on finishing this season as strong as I can,” I said. “Beyond that, we’ll see what opportunities come my way. I’ve loved every moment of being part of this incredible sport, and I hope to continue being involved in some capacity.”

It wasn’t the answer they—or I—wanted, but it was the truth.

Later that evening, as I scrolled through social media, I saw countless posts speculating about my future. But among them were messages of hope, support, and belief in me. Fans declaring their unwavering loyalty, drivers posting subtle hints of solidarity.

One post from the official F1 account stood out: a photo of me with the caption, “No matter what the future holds, this season will never forget her name.”

As the weekend in Abu Dhabi carried on, I couldn’t help but feel a quiet excitement bubbling under the surface. After Thursday Media Duties, The contract had finally been signed. While the paddock was busy speculating about my future, the truth was something I was holding close to my chest, savoring the satisfaction of knowing that I would still be on the grid in some capacity next year.

My vague comments during interviews only fueled the rumors. I’d hinted at signing a contract once but kept the details shrouded in mystery. The fans and journalists seemed convinced that I had secured a seat with a different team for 2025. Theories ranged from Williams to Sauber, and I even overheard someone mention Haas. It was almost amusing to watch the speculation spread like wildfire.

After the final practice session, I found myself in a quiet corner of the paddock, scrolling through social media while sipping a bottle of water. The hashtags #WhereWillSheGo and #GridQueen were trending, alongside countless fan theories dissecting every interview I’d given that weekend.

“Are you enjoying the chaos you’re causing?” Lando teased, walking over with his trademark smirk.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I didn’t mean to cause chaos,” I said. “I just... I’m not ready to tell anyone yet.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So you do have something lined up.”

I gave him a pointed look, a playful smile tugging at my lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” he said with a chuckle, walking away.

What no one knew was that I had signed a unique deal. Starting in 2026, I would be joining Cadillac when they entered the grid as a new team. It was a dream opportunity, one that aligned with everything I wanted for my career. But instead of taking a year off before their debut, They’d struck an agreement to have me race the 2025 season on loan with VCARB.

The deal was a win-win. VCARB needed a driver who could perform well and help mentor their reserve driver, Isack Hadjar, a young talent brimming with potential. Isack had initially been slated to step in as the team’s driver for 2025, but VCARB wanted him to be fully prepared for the demands of the sport. Their solution? Pair him with someone experienced who could help him grow both on and off the track. And that someone was me. They also really liked the idea that Isack wouldn’t have to join F1 only for major changes to take place the following season, forcing him to relearn everything just as he might have found his style. 

I had to admit, I liked the idea. Isack was promising, and mentoring him while continuing to race felt like the perfect way to stay sharp for 2026. It also meant I wouldn’t have to endure the uncertainty of sitting out an entire year, watching from the sidelines as the grid moved on without me.

By Sunday evening, the whispers had reached their peak. Reporters and fans alike were waiting for an announcement, but I kept my lips sealed. Even my closest friends on the grid were left in the dark. The only person who seemed to suspect anything was Fernando, who had an uncanny ability to read people.

“You’re too calm,” he remarked as we walked through the paddock. “Whatever happens next year, you already know where you’re going, don’t you?”

I smiled, shrugging. “Maybe.”

He gave me a knowing look but didn’t press further.

Free Practice 2 was supposed to be just another session to shake down the car and refine strategy, but this sport has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them. The sun blazed down on the Yas Marina Circuit, and I was just starting to settle into a rhythm, my mind locked on squeezing out every ounce of performance. My engineer, Landon, chimed in on the radio.

"Car looks good. Let’s get a couple of consistent laps here," he said, his voice calm.

I responded with a crisp, “Copy,” and pushed forward, picking up speed as I approached the next lap. The track felt alive beneath me, the vibrations of the car reverberating through my body. But everything changed in a split second.

Ahead, Jack Doohan misjudged the timing of an overtake attempt. I caught the movement in my mirrors as his front tire caught the rear of my car. It was like watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion. My car snapped out of control, the rear spinning violently to the left. An immense sense of deja vu washed over me at this moment. Before I could react further, Jack’s car slammed into my side, t-boning me with a force that jarred every bone in my body.

The impact left no time to breathe or recalibrate. The world spun again, and just as I began to process the collision, Alex Albon’s car collided with my rear. The second hit sent a thunderous jolt through me, and all three of us careened off the track. The barriers loomed closer at a terrifying speed until we slammed into them with a sickening crunch of carbon fiber and metal.

I felt the breath leave my lungs on impact. Pain radiated through my chest and arm, sharp and unforgiving. My ribs protested violently with every gasp of air, and my left arm throbbed with an intensity that made me want to scream. But I didn’t. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand—getting out.

The cockpit felt like a trap. Jack’s car was wedged into my side, and Alex’s car was pressed against my rear, pinning me in. I tried to move my arm to unclip my harness, but a wave of pain stopped me. I froze, forcing myself to push through it.

Through the haze of pain, I noticed Jack already climbing out of his car. He was moving fast, a look of panic etched on his face as he scrambled toward me. Moments later, Alex was there too, sprinting to help.

“You okay?!” Jack shouted, his voice laced with urgency.

I nodded weakly, though every inch of me screamed in protest. “Yeah... I’m fine,” I croaked, though the lie felt bitter on my tongue.

Alex and Jack worked together to help me climb out. Jack supported my right side as Alex steadied me, their hands firm but careful. I winced as my ribs protested the movement, but I kept quiet, refusing to let them see how much pain I was in.

Once I was clear of the wreckage, I leaned against the barrier for support, taking shallow breaths to avoid aggravating my chest. My vision blurred slightly, but I forced myself to stay upright, to project strength. The medics arrived within moments, but I waved them off.

“I’m okay,” I insisted, brushing off their concerns. “Just a bit shaken.”

Jack’s brows furrowed, and Alex crossed his arms, both clearly unconvinced. “You don’t look okay,” Alex said, his tone skeptical.

“I’ll be fine,” I replied, mustering a weak smile. “Just need a minute.”

They didn’t push further, though their worried glances lingered. The adrenaline coursing through my veins dulled the worst of the pain, and for now, I convinced myself it was nothing more than bruising.

Back in the paddock, I avoided the medical center, slipping away before anyone could insist on a check-up. My tolerance for pain had skyrocketed since the crash in Vegas, and I told myself this was no different. A few bruises, maybe a sore arm—nothing I couldn’t handle.

As I sat in the team’s garage, replaying the incident in my mind, a fresh wave of frustration washed over me. The crash hadn’t just shaken me physically—it felt like a cruel reminder of how fragile everything could be. But I couldn’t dwell on it. For now, I swallowed the pain and prepared to face the rest of the weekend, unaware that the fractures in my ribs and arm were more than just a passing ache.

The team worked tirelessly overnight to get the car back in shape. By the time FP3 rolled around, Jack Doohan and Alex Albon’s cars were repaired and ready to hit the track, but mine wasn’t as lucky. The damage to the chassis and rear suspension from the crash was just a bit too extensive to make it back in time. I’d have to sit this one out and wait for qualifying.

Standing on the pit wall, I clutched my notebook, trying to keep the frustration at bay. FP3 wasn’t a wasted opportunity if I could still learn something. My eyes stayed glued to the screens, watching the other drivers navigate the circuit. Every turn, every braking point, every attempt at a daring overtake—it was all data for me.

"Look at Turn 9," Landon pointed out as he leaned over my shoulder. "That’s where a lot of people are losing time. You might be able to gain a few tenths there if you nail the exit."

I nodded, jotting it down in my notes. My mind was already running through scenarios, imagining different approaches I could take. The crash had shaken me, sure, but it hadn’t robbed me of my drive. If anything, it only fueled my determination.

As FP3 wrapped up, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I wouldn’t let the crash or the whispers of doubt in my mind hold me back. 

Qualifying was a whole new beast. As I climbed back into the cockpit for the first time since the crash, I took a deep breath, trying to block out the lingering aches in my ribs and arm. The adrenaline helped dull the pain, and once the engine roared to life, it was easy to push everything else aside.

Q1 and Q2 were grueling, as I fought to get back into my rhythm. Each lap felt like a battle—not just against the clock but against my own doubts. Landon’s voice over the radio kept me grounded, reminding me of the areas I had identified during FP3.

“Turn 9 looking better,” he said after one lap. “Let’s carry that into the next sector.”

By the time Q3 rolled around, I was in the zone. The car felt like an extension of myself as I pushed it to its limits. I knew the competition was fierce, but I wasn’t about to back down. On my final flying lap, I found that sweet spot—every corner flowing into the next, every braking point executed perfectly.

When I crossed the line, I glanced at the screen. P4. Relief and pride washed over me. After everything, I had clawed my way back to the upper half of the grid.

“P4, solid effort,” Landon said over the radio, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

I allowed myself a small smile, but it didn’t last long. The reminder of the 5-place grid penalty quickly tempered my excitement. The component replacement from the crash had come with a cost, and now I’d be starting P9.

Back in the garage, the team was quick to offer words of encouragement. “You’ll make it up in the race,” one of the mechanics said.

I nodded, masking my frustration. Deep down, I knew they were right. I’d been in worse positions before and clawed my way forward. But this time, it felt personal. P9 wasn’t where I wanted to be, but it wasn’t the end of the world either.

As I reviewed the data from qualifying, my focus shifted back to the task ahead. Tomorrow was a new day, a chance to prove myself all over again. P9 was just a starting point, and I was determined to turn it into something more.

The annual Abu Dhabi drivers' dinner had always been a bittersweet event. It marked the end of the season and carried with it a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. This year, it felt different. I wasn’t just there to celebrate the season but also to say goodbye to this chapter of my career, even if it was temporary.

I arrived fashionably late—not intentionally, but traffic near the circuit had been a nightmare. As I walked into the private dining space, the air buzzed with laughter and the clinking of glasses. The drivers were spread across several tables, some already deep into conversations, others casually lounging and sipping their drinks.

“Over here!” Lando’s voice cut through the chatter, his arm raised in an exaggerated wave. He had saved me a spot, right between himself and Franco.

Sliding into the seat, I was met with Franco’s soft smile on one side and Lando’s mischievous grin on the other. The two had become constants in my life recently, both in their own ways offering me the support I didn’t realize I needed.

“You’re late,” Lando teased, nudging my arm.

“Blame the traffic,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “Or maybe I just wanted to make an entrance.”

“Mission accomplished,” Franco said with a chuckle. “You turned a few heads walking in.”

I glanced around the room, noticing a few curious looks from the other drivers. It wasn’t malicious—more like a mix of admiration and curiosity about what my next steps might be.

Conversation at the table flowed easily, with Lando cracking jokes that had everyone laughing and Franco chiming in with his own dry humor. At one point, the topic turned to the upcoming season.

“So,” George said from across the table, leaning forward with a sly grin, “are you going to tell us where you’re driving next year, or are we supposed to keep guessing?”

A chorus of “Yeah!” and “Come on, spill it!” erupted from the others.

I smirked, swirling the drink in my glass. “You’ll find out soon enough,” I said cryptically. “Let’s just say I’ll be racing.”

“In Formula 1?” Lando raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

“You’ll see,” I replied, keeping the mystery alive.

As the night went on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Drivers wandered between tables, catching up with each other, but Franco and Lando stayed firmly by my side. It was a comfort I didn’t take for granted.

At one point, Franco leaned over, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You okay?”

I nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Just taking it all in. It’s weird, knowing this is the last race of the season.”

“You’ll still be part of the family,” he said, his tone reassuring. “No matter where you go, you’ll always have us.”

Lando, catching the tail end of the conversation, chimed in. “Yeah, don’t think you’re getting rid of us that easily. We’ll be keeping tabs on you—and if you’re not performing, we’ll roast you on Twitter.”

I laughed, the sound genuine and light. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

3rd person POV

The lively hum of the drivers' dinner enveloped the private dining room, with conversations weaving between racing stories, friendly banter, and speculation about next season. At one of the more crowded tables, tucked subtly in the middle of it all, an unspoken dynamic was on full display, catching the attention of several drivers who couldn’t help but notice.

Franco and Lando sat on either side of her, their proximity anything but accidental. It was subtle at first—Lando sliding an untouched piece of bruschetta onto her plate under the guise of rearranging his silverware, Franco subtly nudging one of his appetizers closer to her side without drawing attention.

Max Verstappen, seated a few spots away, observed quietly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as the scene unfolded. He’d noticed this shift for weeks now. The way Franco’s posture softened when she spoke, his usual aloof demeanor melting into something gentler. Or how Lando, typically quick to dominate a conversation with jokes and playful remarks, fell unusually quiet whenever she shared a thought, his attention focused entirely on her words.

“She hasn’t touched her drink yet,” Max muttered to Lewis, who was seated beside him.

Lewis followed Max’s gaze, his brow lifting slightly as he caught Franco leaning closer to quietly offer her a sip of water instead. Lando, on the other hand, was halfway through one of his animated stories but cut himself off mid-sentence when she turned to him with a question.

“They’re obvious, aren’t they?” Lewis mused, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he watched the younger men.

Max exhaled, his protective streak showing as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s not a bad thing, but... she’s been through enough. If they’re going to step up like that, they better mean it.”

Lewis chuckled softly. “You sound like a father sending his daughter off to prom.”

Max shot him a glare but didn’t deny it. His protectiveness wasn’t something he could help, not after seeing her pull herself back together after everything Henry had taken from her.

Meanwhile, Lewis’s perspective was a bit more nuanced. He saw what Max did—the way Franco and Lando lit up whenever she smiled at them—but he also saw how her confidence was slowly rebuilding, brick by brick. The attention and care the two drivers showed her weren’t one-sided. She seemed more at ease with them by her side, her guarded demeanor softening into something more open, more trusting.

“You think she notices?” Max asked quietly.

Lewis shook his head. “Maybe not yet. She’s got too much on her mind. But when she’s ready, she’ll see it.”

Their conversation paused as the table erupted into laughter, her voice cutting through the noise as she quipped back at something Lando had said. Both younger men grinned, but it was the subtle shift in their body language that caught Max and Lewis’s attention again. Franco leaned just a little closer, his arm resting on the back of her chair protectively. Lando, ever the jokester, seemed ready to defend her against even the most harmless jabs.

“You know,” Lewis said after a beat, his tone quieter now, “it’s not just about them. It’s about her realizing that she’s loved—that no matter what, there are people here for her. Whether it’s them, you, or me.”

Max glanced over, his expression softening just slightly. “She doesn’t have to do this alone. That’s what matters.”

“And she won’t,” Lewis replied firmly. “She just needs to know it.”

As the night wore on, Max and Lewis continued to watch, their silent observations only confirming what they already suspected. Franco and Lando were falling for her—hard. And while Max’s instinct was to shield her from anything that could hurt her further, Lewis’s approach was more grounded.

At one point, Lewis caught her glancing over, her expression a mix of gratitude and confusion as she seemed to pick up on the subtle gestures from the two drivers flanking her. He gave her a small, reassuring nod, silently promising her that she’d figure it out in her own time.

By the end of the evening, as the drivers began to disperse, Max caught her on her way out. “Hey,” he said, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. His voice was steady, the kind of unwavering tone that made you listen. “You know I’m always here, right? You don’t even have to ask.”

She smiled softly, nodding. “Thanks, Max.”

Lewis, standing nearby, added with a gentle smile, “And if you ever need to talk, really talk, I’m here too. No pressure, no judgment. Just me.”

Her smile widened slightly as she looked between the two of them. “I know. And I appreciate it—both of you.”

As she walked away, flanked once again by Franco and Lando, Lewis glanced at Max. “She’s going to be okay,” he said confidently.

Max nodded, his gaze fixed on her retreating figure. “Yeah, she will. And if she’s not, we’ll make sure she gets there.”

[lucy90712]

heyyy can you please do a dating Kenan Yildiz headcannon🎀

- Kenan isn't just your boyfriend he's so much more than that he's your best friend too you were friends before you started dating and Kenan never lets that bond go he wants to always be there for you at any time whether that be as your boyfriend or as your best friend 

- He always treats you like a princess he always makes time for you and plans romantic dates at least twice a month he tries his best to do weekly date nights but he likes to take you out to a nice restaurant or something similar a couple times a month to make up for the amount of time he spends away from you 

- You are always his main priority so he always checks in with you to make sure you are happy and are coping with whatever you have going on at that time he always likes to make sure life isn't too much as he knows his reality is quite crazy and full on so he likes to make sure you are keeping up and if you aren't he wants to help you 

- This sentiment is carried through every second of your lives if you need him he will be there no matter the day or time he'll be there he can't always be there physically but he does his best to help you from wherever he is and if he has to he'll get his friends to go to you if you just need someone there

- Kenan is completely obsessed with you from the moment you met he was completely infatuated with you and that only got worse when you actually started dating he is so in love with you that sometimes he doesn't even know how to process his feelings towards you. He is so in love with you and he doesn't care what anyone else says they can make fun of him all they want but he knows how he feels and he knows he's never going to love anyone else more than he loves you 

- He can be quite clingy after a long day all he wants to do is have his arms around you for the rest of the day he is literally attached to you at the hip as you try to do anything he always has his arms wrapped around your waist and his head in the crook of your neck as he just wants to be close to you and you will never complain about having him be so clingy 

- His love language is definitely physical touch his hands are always on you when you are around but he also loves to give you gifts at the end of every week he likes to bring home something for you to show his appreciation for you even though he tells you everyday how much he appreciates you. Usually it will be something small like flowers or your favourite snack but sometimes he'll get you something he knows you've been wanting like a new book or a switch game you can play together

- Kenan never has a bad word to say about you when anyone asks him about you he will only ever say how truly amazing you are not just as his girlfriend but as a person. Even if you’ve had an argument Kenan will never speak badly about you as he knows anything he says won’t be true and he’ll feel awful about it later. He knows that you receive a lot of hate on social media and he never wants to add to that so he wants to show people how amazing he thinks you are in hopes that it makes even a small bit of difference 

- You two don’t often fight as you are good at communicating with each other and you know what annoys the other so you don’t do it but of course there are times that you do argue like any other couple but you always make up within a few hours. Kenan has a rule that you never go to bed angry at each other after one argument and a night apart that really hurt you both and since your relationship has been so much better 

- He is your biggest supporter and you are his he loves seeing you there to support him at his games wearing his shirt but he loves to be there for your achievements more. He would never skip something that is important to you even if he gets in trouble for missing training he doesn’t care. He knows that you will be in his life longer than football so he wants to be there for all the big moments in your life

- Kenan already knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you so he makes sure he treats you that way you aren’t just his girlfriend your his future and he always wants you to know that

[mama-qwerty]

Loving your analysis on the Sonic 3 lore. May I request a deep dive into Agent Stone’s character? I just think he’s neat and had some character development throughout the films.

In talking about Agent Stone, we have to talk about Robotnik's mindset and dynamic in relation to him. Stone doesn't exist in a vacuum, and it's his relationship with Robotnik that helped shape him over the course of the movies.

Gonna get looooong. Again. Because I just can't shut up when I get started.

In the first movie, Stone's simply an assistant, an over achieving second to Robotnik. (Possibly the only agent who could stand to put up with him for so long.) He was a little brown nosey, and portrayed the stereotypical characteristics of a really good assistant that we see in other media, going back as far as Radar from M.A.S.H. He anticipated his boss' needs, and supplied them almost before they were requested.

Robotnik obviously didn't respect him, even if he liked how Stone made his latte. Although I'd be hard pressed to think of anyone Robotnik actually respected or liked, honestly.

But it was curious why Robotnik then created a likeness of Stone to keep him company on the mushroom planet. It could be explained away that Robotnik was used to talking about his plans out loud, used to spouting about how brilliant he was, and what he felt were clever quips and barbs at those he deemed 'lesser' than himself, and needed an audience to do so. Not to mention, having a 'companion' of sorts helped keep him focused. Since Stone had been his latest lackey, the most recent sycophant to hang on his every word, he simply went the most convenient route and used him as a placeholder for this required role.

But was that all there was to it?

Robotnik went to the trouble of carving a face onto the rock. Carrying it with him wherever he went as he traversed the planet, seeking out sustenance and shelter and concocting his Rube Goldbergian machinations to make himself a cup of mushroom coffee. As a man of science, a man who prioritized his own survival and logical nature over useless sentimentality, it's curious he would go to the trouble of not only creating a likeness of Stone, but 'wasting' precious energy and cargo space carrying it around.

Which indicated that Stone's presence had a greater impact on the doctor than he admitted or realized, even to himself.

This is further reinforced by the doctor's manifesto, as referenced in the Sonic 2 pre-quill comic. In that, we learn that Robotnik left this as a sort of instruction manual for Stone to "rebuild [Robotnik's] glory on a mass scale". It guided Stone to "rebuild [himself] as an instrument of pure science", and helped Stone to infiltrate the Mean Bean and rise through the ranks to ultimately own it, and create that as a home base for further operations.

This indicates that Robotnik saw promise in Stone, and trusted Stone more than he'd likely trusted anyone else. Yes, it was all to build a society that Robotnik orchestrated, but the fact that he created the manifesto, with the intention of having Stone read and implement it, showed a greater reliance on Stone than previously indicated.

So Stone is in place, having transformed the Mean Bean into a secret base worthy of the best super villains. And now he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

All the while having to deal with the public.

As anyone who's worked in any kind of customer service job can tell you, dealing with the public day in and day out can drive anyone to thoughts of villainy. That last customer Stone deals with is a prime example of this, with the rude looks and actions, and overall disdain and contempt for service people in general, and possibly him in particular.

He misses the doctor, because he understood the doctor. Robotnik was a big thinker, someone who had higher aspirations and goals than anyone he'd ever met before. He didn't hold a high opinion of the general public, and the more Stone deals with them, the more he understands that mindset. And through the manifesto, Stone likely felt even more connected to Robotnik.

It's possible that Stone's feelings for the doctor didn't start out as a more personal, emotional kind of love. It's possible, and likely, they were simply admiration, because Robotnik was incredibly intelligent, and never let anything stop him from achieving his goal. In Stone's experience, it was possible that the previous people he worked with didn't have that level of dedication. So when he got with Robotnik, it was refreshing to see someone taking his position seriously, and not simply 'doing a job'.

But when Robotnik was bested by the hedgehog, and sent to the mushroom planet, Stone may have felt a little rudderless. Since he was working with Robotnik, and Robotnik himself had been wiped from GUN's database, Stone may have been a casualty of that as well. He was simply a 'lowly agent', so it wasn't that much of a loss to wipe him, too.

Either that, or he intentionally kept himself hidden to avoid being captured and grilled regarding anything else Robotnik may have been doing. Stone strikes me as the kind of man who can blend in with a crowd, and disappear at will.

He knows the system, and knows how to exploit it.

When the doctor returned, Stone was thrilled. Everything he'd worked for up to this point was finally going to be recognized, and he wanted nothing more than to pick up where he and the doctor left off, working together and striving for a better world.

Since Stone had been working at the Mean Bean, a place within Green Hills, he likely saw Sonic on and off. He couldn't blow his cover, no one knew he'd worked with Robotnik, after all, but GOD, seeing that hedgehog would have made the bile rise in his throat. This little alien, this cocky little furball had bested the doctor and sent him away, as though he were in the wrong. And this entire town supported it! And here was this blue rat, living here on Earth as though he belonged.

That fact alone would have pushed Stone even further to the side of Robotnik, thinking that the general public is nothing but "primitive, sport-cheering, social media-scrolling knuckle-draggers". They'd cheered the defeat of a genius, one who was simply trying to capture this unknown alien element that has proven itself capable of destruction on a mass scale, and call him the bad guy. Yes, his methods had been maybe a little unorthodox, but when dealing with such an enemy as an alien with super speed and the ability to create large blasts of energy, you had to think outside the box.

But he was finally back, and he'd brought yet another little spiky furball. And had left with it, leaving Stone behind yet again. But that was okay. He would return. Stone was sure of it.

And he had. But he'd been . . . different. Gotten the Master Emerald, and was . . . changed. And when GUN showed up, Robotnik had put his genius on display, and taken Stone with him this time. It was glorious, but had taken Stone a little bit to catch up. (Thankfully there was a manual!)

Then everything had gone pearshaped again, and those furballs won.

No matter.

Stone was a patient man.

He knew GUN's procedures and it took hardly a moment to infiltrate their ranks. He used their own technology and manpower to find Robotnik amid the rubble, and scurried him away to heal and regroup. One of the things included in the manifesto was blueprints of many machines and creations, and Stone had put Robotnik's drones to work building a giant crab bot.

GUN may have had eyes everywhere, but the ocean was still a mystery in may ways. And it hid may a secret.

But as the doctor healed, he fell into a deep depression. Being bested by the blue rodent not once, but twice, had done a number on his psyche. He'd lost all drive for world domination. His access to any of his drones and bots had been all but severed, and there were only a scant few satellites still in orbit with them aboard. Hardly enough to wage an all out assault, especially with THREE alien vermin on Earth to challenge him.

No. Robotnik was utterly demoralized.

But Stone stayed by his side. He kept Robotnik comfortable, and tried to reignite that spark within him. Tried to suggest heists and schemes to keep his spirits up. But it was to no avail. Stone stepped up, assuming a caretaker role, and offering support whenever he could.

He kept tabs on GUN's comings and goings, and when the board lit up after Shadow was released, he went to investigate. He found those rodents pinned down by drones, but not just any drones, Robotnik drones. This wouldn't do. If anyone was going to use those drones to take out these annoying little furballs, it would be Robotnik himself.

So he killed the drones--with the annoying side effect of saving the rodents--and returned to base. The aliens had followed, but he was keen enough to realize they had a common enemy.

An alliance was formed, and Stone had to admit that it was good to see the doctor more like his old self. Unsurprisingly, Robotnik very quickly narrowed down the source of the hijacked drones, and the group quickly went to investigate.

But then they'd found that old man. And Robotnik had tossed Stone to the curb because suddenly he had found his 'real' family, someone who would love him unconditionally.

And it hurt.

Stone never fooled himself to think he was ever on Robotnik's level. He was nowhere near as smart as the doctor, and couldn't even comprehend how the man thought. But he'd thought they were more than simply villain and henchman. Robotnik trusted Stone, more than he'd ever trusted anyone else. Stone had seen Robotnik at his lowest. At his most vulnerable. And didn't care.

Typical henchmen wouldn't stick around when the boss is defeated. They wouldn't drag his body out from under a felled robot and keep him safe. Help him heal. Fetch him burritos and cheap novels and steal cable to hook him up with episodes of La Ultima Pasion to help him pass the time.

Stone was still following Robotnik's manifesto, even when Robotnik himself had given up. Because he had faith that the doctor would eventually snap back to himself. That he would realize that the world needed him to correct it.

And that someday, maybe, Robotnik would see Stone for being the one person who'd stood by him, from the very beginning.

And he had.

When it was too late.

Robotnik's message to Stone as he managed to stave off the final explosion of the ARK gave Stone that validation he'd been looking for. Told Stone that, even though Robotnik was terrible at expressing himself, he had, in his own way, loved Stone right back. Appreciated Stone. Valued Stone.

And that's all Stone had ever wanted to hear.

And maybe, that gives Stone the encouragement he needs to continue with Robotnik's manifesto.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

[junnieverse]

— TAEHYUN AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ! 💭

➙ boyfriend taehyun thoughts

pairings: kang taehyun x gn!reader

genre: fluff

request: " Hello <3. Kang Taehyun as boyfriend ? Don't overwork yourself pls "

warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread

a/n: hi anon, thanks for this request and cute message, make sure you follow it too. this got much longer than I intended but we all need some tae in our lives, what an angel <3

he would be such a dreamy boyfriend

but then again this just may be me projecting but who wouldn't be completely smitten over taehyun

he's smart, funny, kind, talented, stunning and the best of all, he can cook!

definitely the type of boyfriend to prefer stay in dates because he wants to cook for and/or with you

gatekeeps how he does his magic tricks but he shows you a few of the easy ones he knows

all of his FULLY shirtless pictures he takes go straight to you and then he crops them to post for fans (sobs hysterically)

taehyun remembers every little thing and detail about you that you've told him, he's like a (y/n)-pedia, sometimes he even remembers things that you forgot

massages

just thinking about it has me screaming into a pillow swinging my feet

taehyun will give you a massage whenever and wherever you need one

was slouching the entire day studying? he's going to massage your back and shoulders

had to walk in heels the entire day? not only will he carry sneakers or flat shoes for you but he will also give you a piggy back ride and then massage the tension away in your feet

where do I order my own kang taehyun?

not overly affectionate in the sense of giving especially in public but he loves receiving it from you

hug him, cuddle with him, kiss him all over, doesn't admit it much but he loves it

if he's not holding your hand then his arm is around your waist

he loves head scratches :((

so whenever he sees you relaxing he'll join you and lay his head on your lap and your hand automatically plays with his hair

definition of 'ask and you shall receive'

if you ever so mention something you've been wanting or you thought it looked cute, best believe he is going to get it for you even if you didn't actively ask for it

tyun is very much dominant and a provider sort of man in my opinion, in that aspect of wanting to take care of you and get you whatever you want

all he wants in return is your love, he will do everything else to shower you with his love in every way that he can

he almost never actually gets mad at you

he does that cute little thing where he puffs out his chest and has his hands on his waist and playfully scolds you acting all serious

because you find it so cute, you end up laughing and he breaks character

but in the rare cases where he is upset or you both do fight, he is definitely the type to talk it out because neither of you can go to sleep angry

if you do try to leave angry at him and tell him you're sleeping on the couch, well best believe he will sleep on that couch with you

if you both have similar music tastes then there's definitely multiple shared playlists you have and you always recommend new songs the other should listen to

girlfriend privileges are real

let's you win during play fights and when you catch on he lies claiming you won fair and square so you get bragging rights that you're stronger than him

oh new txt album and songs coming out? you've heard them even before they were released

he will carry your shopping bags, all you have to do is buy whatever you want to your heart's content and he will carry everything and pay for it too

he always goes out his way to show his love to you with big and small gestures but he brushes it off like it's nothing

bf who listens and maybe the s/o who talks alot trope?

genuinely such a great listener and support system

he makes sure to listen to all your vents or just be a shoulder to cry on when you're feeling down

quite sentimental with the gifts he picks out for you so it'll often times be something that holds a certain memory or it just reminds him of you

"Just saw this and picked it up along the way." he would say as if it were nothing special

despite seeming tough around everyone else, that is your squishy marshmallow

tyun gets so soft around you

his favourite way of kissing you would be cupping your face in his hands before he leans in to kiss you

the most obvious one, the best girlfriend privilege of dating kang taehyun, he sings to you all the time

[juststoriesintheend]

I. Faith

Chapter Pairing(s): Master Sol x f!Reader

Chapter Content: unrequited feelings, the force, swearing

Word Count: 3,534

《 [series masterlist] 》 《 II 》 《 III 》 《 IV 》

Osha is lost. You know she is strong, capable, that she can take care of herself without issue, but that knowledge doesn’t stop your heart from worrying. She’s suffered so much since the return of her sister, since her past was dredged from the very depths of her heart and brought to light for all to see, that you fear it will lead her to ruin if she isn’t found. You don’t want that for her. You don’t want to see her light fade from the Force. But her disappearance only further solidifies your concerns, sends you pacing the halls of the Polan.

That is how Sol finds you. You sense his presence in the moments before he turns the corner ahead of you, but you actively avoid looking him in the eyes. You know what he’ll say, you know the patient wisdom you will see in his eyes, and you find yourself hoping to avoid it at all costs.

“You are worried.” He doesn’t need to say it, but you find that the sound of his voice is soothing, even when stating the obvious. It soothes the frantic peaks of your anxiety a hair.

“I know.” It is easy to forget yourself, to forget how your emotions extend beyond yourself. He must have been fighting against the onslaught of your thoughts for the past hour, if not the entire flight here. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

The raising of his hand, palm out, halts your apology, but the gentle curve of his smile softens the blow. “You are not the only one. I fear for her safety, as well.” Sol finally bridges the remaining space between you and settles his hand upon your shoulder. Warmth emanates from the point of contact, spiraling down your arm and across your shoulder blade, the familiar, comforting sort of warmth Sol always carries with him. “We will find her,” he says.

I hope so, you think, but you do not voice it. You know what he would say if you did. Hoping to beat him to it, to project the confidence and certainty you wish you had, you echo the sentiment back to him. “I have faith in the Force.”

Sol smiles again, something tender and sweet that crinkles by his eyes. “That is all we need.”

Savareen is a remarkable place, vibrant and wild in ways unlike anything you’ve ever known before. The ocean is blindingly blue, the sand of its beaches dazzlingly bright, and the flowers that dot the inland sand dunes are the most colorful, most delicate purple blossoms this side of the galaxy. It’s a pity, then, that you’re not here to sightsee.

The wind tears at your robes like it tears at your voice, ripping it from your throat the moment you speak it. “There are too many life forms around, I can’t sense her!”

Sol nods. He stows his own scanner at a loop on his belt and reaches out through the Force with you, his arm extended and eyes shut. You follow suit, but not before you take a moment, a fleeting thing, to admire his profile against the shimmer of the sand. When you finally join him, his signature is glowing brightly in the haze of the Force. Tendrils of his essence spread out before you, drifting past and through every dune and rock and streak of grass, Osha’s name the only question he brings with him. Wherever she is, she is beyond either your reach or his. Which is concerning in its own right. Sol’s mastery of the Force is much greater than yours and if he cannot sense her, then she is far away indeed.

“Should we split up?” You struggle up the slope of a particularly steep dune, tripping all over your feet and the sand and the dangling edge of your robes as you go. “Cover more ground?”

“No.” And suddenly, he’s there, his hand at your arm, pulling you up when your feet fail you. “This planet is uncharted, easy to get lost in. We will find her together.”

The peak of this particular dune offers a rather bleak view of the landscape - sand and gravel for as far as you can see, with small mountain peaks in the distance. Some of the valleys nestled between dunes sport streaks of purple where flowers have cropped up, perhaps feeding on water run off when it rains or a water source beneath the surface. But there is no sign of Osha. Defeat burns hot and heavy in your chest, and you wish it didn’t. Savareen is massive, an entire planet’s worth of desert and ocean, and if Osha does not wish to be found, then there is only so much you can do. It worries you that this mission may be one that remains incomplete - forever.

Sol starts for the bottom of this dune, where the flowers crop up among the stones, but he takes his time. The sands shift so easily under his feet that he can only go so fast. You are hesitant to follow.

It takes him a moment, but he stops and turns when he notices you haven’t been following. His eyes squint against the sun. “Your concern for her burns brightly.”

There was never any point in trying to hide it, but you are still frustrated that he read you so easily. “Yes,” you answer, slowly. You try to recenter yourself in the Force before continuing. “But I’m sure if I weren’t so anxious, I would sense the same from you.”

The awkward, tilted smile he offers you in response is confirmation enough. “She needs us. She needs you, and I cannot do this alone.”

No, you don’t suppose he can, not when he embarked on this mission without first clearing it with the Council. Neither of you should be here and you both know it.

The sand shifts quickly and quietly when you take your first step down. You find yourself thanking the Council, the ancestral Jedi, anyone who cares, for the choice to clothe Jedi in tall boots. At least that way your feet aren’t drowning in sand.

“Sol, if you think I’d ever let you do this alone, you’re an idiot.” You slide past him, letting the sand take you where it pleases, but the stunned expression on his face doesn’t go unnoticed. You can feel it, even without the Force. “Osha needs us both. And I, for- ah!”

Your boot lands on a rock, and the sand beneath it gives way to empty air, and in a single moment you’re lurched forward and sent tumbling down the remainder of the dune. Somewhere in the distance, you hear Sol shout your name, but it’s lost to the wind and the rushing of your blood in your ears. This dune is big, but not so big that you have all the free time in the world before you smash your head upon the rocks at its base. You need to act now.

The Force is vast. Even after a lifetime of learning to fold yourself within its weight, it still manages to steal your breath each time you reach for it. This time is no exception. You try to imagine yourself as something very small drifting through something great and soft, something gentle and slow - a drop of water in a tiny brook, a petal skipping over a field of grass - hoping to slow your descent. For a long moment, you’re not sure that it works. You are still falling, the sand still surrounds you, but…

Something in the Force moves. It is a mighty thing that blasts its way past you, though you still can’t tell which way is up or down. Everything is fast and hard, and you’ve decided to come to terms with the fact that you’re probably going to have a very nasty gash somewhere on your body when you finally finish tumbling, until suddenly everything is solid. Your mind still spins, but your body has stopped.

You take a breath. In. Out. You open one eye. There’s a wall of sand before you. You open the other. It’s littered with the broken branches and battered flowers from the blooming bushes you had noticed earlier, but no rocks. No great stones for you to dash your head upon, nothing that might endanger you. Just the violet petals of the Savareen flowers and the faint yellow trail of pollen they leave behind. Your mind reels as you drag yourself into some vaguely comfortable sitting position. Did you do this? You suppose you could have, but summoning a wall of sand to protect yourself hadn’t been your intention.

It’s then that you hear your name on the wind. Sol. Though you’re still dizzy and half dazed, you swing your head in the direction of his voice just in time to see him staggering the last few paces separating you, the sleeves of his robes swinging this way and that as his body dips with each step. He drops to his knees before you, and you find yourself breathless at the gesture.

“Are you alright?” he asks. Already, he’s brought his hands to cup your face, seeking out any injuries with a sort of crackling and frantic energy you have never seen from him. “Are you hurt?”

You nod. “‘m fine. I-I think.”

He wears gloves. You’ve always known this, but it’s a fact that hits you particularly hard now that he is touching you. In the back of your mind, you’ve absently mused on the feel, the scent, the everything about them, though it had never been intentional. Not fully. They are soft, you find. Worn with age and the hilt of a well-loved saber, sanded down until they grow thin at the seams and his warmth seeps through to whatever he happens to be touching.

Sol frowns as he brushes his thumb over the ridge of your cheekbone. Electricity shoots down your spine. “You have…”

“What?”

A quick glance down, though, shows streaks of yellow over the white and brown parts of your robes: the pollen. The flowers must have dropped their powder when you fell, or perhaps when Sol summoned enough sand to stop a runaway fathier. Curious, you swipe your finger over your shoulder and sniff it.

“It smells like petrichor,” you muse, and that, for some reason, is enough to make him laugh. You wish he would laugh more often.

“A remarkable observation.” He stands and offers you his hands, watching patiently while you brush the remaining pollen from your clothes. “Come on.”

The wall of sand catches your eye as you move. Before your question can manifest itself, you find yourself drawn to Sol, your gaze, your body, your very essence leaning and leaning until you finally fall into him. It’s possible you’re still a bit dizzy. “Was that you?”

He braces himself against the influx of your weight as his arms come around you, and it strikes you just how soft he manages to be while also staying strong. He smiles that crinkle-eyed smile you have always loved and nods. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, suddenly enraptured by the gentle slope of his jaw and the rich, earthy hue of his eyes as they flicker down, down to the cleave in your robes and the sudden thrumming of your pulse as it leaps from your throat. It strikes you hard, then, that you feel more exposed under the blazing of the sun and your layers of clothing than you ever have before. Startled by this discomforting realization, you scramble out of his arms on wobbly legs. “We should, uh, get going. I don’t want to lose her.”

It’s hot. Far too hot. Savareen is a desert, of course, so the heat is to be expected, but it feels strange this time. You feel strange. Already, you’ve shrugged off the outer layer of your clothes, but your body seems only to grow warmer with each passing moment. It’s awful.

“D’you think we’re any closer?”

Sol’s head tilts in your direction, his expression unreadable. “I have a read on her ship,” he says with a nod to his scanner, “but I still cannot sense her.”

Oh, thank the Force. The sooner you find her, the sooner you can get off this dust bowl and strip out of your clothes to enjoy something cool and refreshing. A real shower, or an endless glass of some chilled, fruity drink that freezes your brain. Even an ice bath sounds appealing. Or a visit to Hoth. Anything, so long as it quenches the fire that’s blazing beneath your skin.

The dunes have evened out into something more walkable - a blessing in its own right. Pebbles and larger rocks pepper the land while the mountains loom ever closer. The sun drifts down toward the softly sloped peaks, and the flowers sway in the wind, and everything feels itchy and tight and utterly unbearable. You cast your attention to Sol and feel completely, irrationally angry watching him exist without being as miserable as you are.

“Aren’t you melting, Sol?” Hands pry at the neck of your robes to loosen them even more, but they come back damp with your own sweat.

He halts, rather than answer. Soft brown eyes - warm, always warm, like a fire in the dead of winter, like the earth heated by the light of the sun - study you without words, without judgment, without a shred of the misery you feel now, and you hate it. You hate it so much that it makes your stomach churn and your thighs ache.

Your mouth parts to fill the empty space he leaves behind. “I swear, this planet’s a fucking sauna. How can you stand it?” You don’t care that you’ve never truly sworn in front of him before. It’s too difficult to keep up appearances right now. You are not the perfect Jedi you’ve always wished him to think of you as, you are hot and you are tired and you want this to be over as soon as possible. “What the hell is she doing out here, anyway? Running? From what? She couldn’t have picked a nicer spot? We’d have a harder time finding her on Coruscant and at least it wouldn’t be so fucking miserable-”

“Are you well?”

It’s his tone that gives you pause. Not once in the past sixteen years has he ever spoken to you like this, like… like there’s something wrong with you, like your very presence offends him. It’s unlike him. And it hurts.

Scowling, you start to lumber past him. “Are you?”

His eyes close and hardly a moment later, you feel a force pressing lightly against your sternum. A Force. His Force.

“Are you studying me?”

Sol’s brow furrows in your direction. “Your mind is clouded, confused,” he says, and he does it with such calm. How is he so damn calm? “What’s wrong?”

He has the audacity to ask you this?

“Look around you! We’re in the middle of a kriffing desert, Sol, and you wanna know ‘what’s wrong’?”

The heat of the sun seems to beam itself directly into your brain. (Something logical in the far reaches of your mind curls in on itself.) You shouldn’t even be here. None of you should. (You’re so angry, screaming inside your skin as this planet boils you alive, and you don’t understand why.) This whole mission is a waste - a waste of time, a waste of your resources, of the bond between you and Osha, between her and Sol. What the hell was she thinking? (Something isn’t right. This isn’t right.)

Sol’s compassion eats through your heart when he looks you in the eye. “I’m worried about her, too, but-”

“She’s an idiot,” you snap, and your vehemence startles even you, though you fight not to show it. (Why are you so angry?)

The irritation that lances through his sigh, through his voice, is a victory, small though it is. “I understand your anger, but it will not help us find Osha.”

He’s right, of course. Some Jedi instinct deep within you knows this to be true.

“Anger is chaos,” he continues. “It burns bright, but it only serves to confuse and to tear apart that which is unified.”

There is no chaos, there is harmony. You learned those words from your own Master, and you have heard them from Sol’s own mouth countless times by virtue of being Osha’s friend all these years.

A memory sparks.

“Center yourself.”

A younger Osha, about twelve and practically vibrating with emotion, sits cross-legged under her Master’s watchful eye. She fidgets, restless and uncertain; you can feel it from the alcove where you linger.

“I can’t,” she says, and you can hear all the things she wishes she could say tied tightly together with a thread of restraint.

Sol almost smiles. “You can.”

He moves to sit across from her, his cloak spread out around him like the tresses of a waterfall. He does it with such grace, so effortlessly. It���s why you can’t help lingering where you don’t belong, watching something that isn’t yours to see.

“You do not need to fear your emotions, Osha. They are not an enemy for you to fight, but an ally that gives you strength.”

Being five years your junior, Osha’s skills with the Force are still young and struggling to flourish in the overgrowth of her past that still haunts her. You remember being her age, how the world around you felt too big to make sense of, how you tried your very best to be a good padawan but always felt lacking. Meditation does not come easy to you either, not even now. Yet you find yourself intrigued by Sol’s approach to the issue. He comes to Osha’s level and meets her where she struggles, he brings warmth and understanding, a patience that runs so deep you wonder if it’s a piece of the Force that threads directly through him.

“It is through our emotions that we can find peace, but only by using the Force as our guide.” Osha nods quietly, her eyelids twitching as she attempts to reconnect herself, but Sol smiles. He always smiles. “Breathe deep. Find me in the Force, Padawan.”

On Savareen, you feel the echo of that memory breeze through you, body and soul. With it comes a peace that is quiet and unassuming, shrouded in Sol’s very essence. He’s reaching out to you, you realize, offering you his hand. Offering you peace.

Find me in the Force.

You are a Knight now. You are not the young child you once were, nor the teen who snuck through the Temple halls in search of mischief. You are better than this, you are above such petty and aggressive means of expression, and Sol knows it as well as you do.

Find me.

There is something that looms large over your heart and mind, something that clouds your judgment in a way unknown to you. Through the Force, you sense it curled up like a predator lying in wait as it courses through your veins. Through Sol’s peace and the calming guidance of his presence, you find that this thing brings fire and passion, that it simmers low in your belly and boils your brain while lashing out at anything that does not bring it satisfaction.

“There’s something in my head,” you say.

“I see it.”

“It hurts.” You hadn’t fully realized it until this moment. “Sol…”

His hand curls around your bicep. It is meant to be a comfort, but all it does is make your body scream. You cry out, half agonized and half electrified, and very nearly fall over, as if his very presence were the source of it all.

The planet seems to swim around you, the sand bleeding into the sky into the mountains into everything and nothing. Desperate for relief, you claw at the hem of your robes until they start falling apart at your chest. Your cloak is long forgotten, the tabard and overtunic ripped off your body and thrown aside, everything is discarded until you find yourself in only your undertunic and trousers. The boots are on very thin ice.

Everything hurts and everything is hot. Wherever your clothing touches you, it burns like a brand, but even in the midst of your desperation you can’t bring yourself to completely strip, not in front of Sol. Not like this. Some final shred of dignity still clings to your consciousness and you won’t allow yourself to bare your body to him. Not when… After all these years, he’s never known. It would kill you if he discovered it now.

You fall to your hands and knees in the sand, panting. “Sol, what’s wrong with me? What’s happening?”

Sol will know. He always knows.

But as you slip onto your stomach, your mind still screaming and your body on the verge of implosion, you catch a glimpse of the Master you’ve loved for the past eight years and all you see on his face is fear. Confusion. Uncertainty.

And then you see nothing at all.

taglist: @wolffegirlsunite

[radioisntdead]

After extermination day

Hazbin hotel x reader with some Alastor x reader

Warnings: :]

Song used

Wake up, say good morning to

The hellish daylight shined through the curtains and onto your sleeping face, effectively waking you up, you stretched out your limbs.

That sleepy person lying next to you

You turned onto your side to see if he was there, sleeping off his injury like he was supposed too.

If there's no one there, then there's no one there

He wasn't.

You let out a sigh as you crawled out of bed and sluggishly made your way to get ready for the day.

But at least the war is over

You could faintly hear Niffty chasing after something in the halls from just outside your room, despite the hotel being rebuilt better then ever it still had the occasional roach come in.

It's us, yes, we're back again

You eventually made your way down the halls, you never thought that you'd miss the way the original hotel looked, it was a little worse off but you grew used to it, maybe you were growing a little too sentimental.

Here to see you through, 'til the days end

"Morning Charlie, Vaggie!" You greeted the couple with a grin as they returned the greeting before passing by you, probably to drag the king of hell out of his room that despite only living in the hotel for barely half a week already had a concerning amount of rubber ducks overflowing in his room.

And if the night comes, and the night will come

"Morning Angel," You passed by Angel who instead of waking up like the others was returning from a late night at the studio, things had changed yes, but not everything had.

"Night' toots." He yawned before throwing open his rooms door, you could hear Fat nuggets squeal at his owner's return.

You continued on down the halls, eventually passing by the tribute painting of Sir Pentious.

"Morning Pentious." You brushed a hand over the frame that held the painting, you all knew that there was a large chance that you wouldn't live to see another day, but you didn't expect Pentious to go out the way that he did.

You missed your dear friend, you could only hope that he was at peace wherever he ended up.

Well, at least the war is over

Husk had his head in his arms, sleeping at the bar, cradling a bottle in his paw.

Cherri bomb was having a mind numbing conversation with the last remaining egg boy, you decided not to interrupt and continued your way to find a certain deer.

Lift your head and look out the window

Rosie stared outside the window of her emporium, watching as cannibal children played in the streets and as the older people chatted like any other day.

Cannibal town had lost many that day, funerals were prepared, people were injured, some injuries would never be fully healed, many mourned for their losses of friends, family, lovers.

Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go

But yet it still thrived, just like any other extermination day, not everyone survived it.

Listen, the birds sing, listen, the bells ring

Rosie let out a sigh as she saw Susan strolling up to the emporium, wearing an exorcists wings as a new fashionable shawl.

All the living are dead, and the dead are all living

No one would outright say it but they were surprised that Susan of all cannibals survived and came out without even a scratch.

The war is over and we are beginning

Fear the old lady.

Gridlock on the parkway now

The Vee's carried on business as usual, Vox was especially disappointed that Alastor had, in fact not died, and was instead thriving! He wanted to do unmentionable things to the radio demon.

All totally murder related of course!!

The television man is here to show you how

Katie killjoy and the other guy, what was his name? Tom French? Trench? did an segment on whatever the newest chaos was happening in hell as per usual.

The channel fades to snow, it's off to work you go

Valentino was unfortunately still alive, hopefully he would get taken out soon enough, maybe by Susan, she could use a another shawl.

But at least the war is over

"Are you fuckin' kidding ME?!" The first man screamed as he grabbed and pulled on the horns that were attached to his head, ignored by the majority of sinners that passed by.

Turns out holding mass murders yearly no matter the reason, was still a sin, and the first man, once a winner, was now a sinner.

A filthy, disgusting, no good sinner.

Hell hadn't changed much, or at all since extermination day, there was some anxiousness in the air of what will the next extermination day hold? Will it ever come? Heaven on the other hand.

She's gone, she left before you woke

Lute was still angry and still missing an arm, she wasn't getting that back anytime soon, especially since her prosthetic wasn't done yet.

As you ate last night, neither of you spoke

She would sometimes feel her missing arm although it wasn't there anymore, the pain would be unbearable, but it didn't compare to the pain she felt from the lost of Adam.

Dishes, TV, bed, the darkness filled with dread

She kept his Halo on her nightstand, it was... Comforting to have.

But at least the war is over

Sera was shocked that Charlie's redemption idea was successful, sinners could be redeemed.

Lift your head and look out the window

Many thoughts went through her head, was it a good idea? It was possible yes, Sir Pentious was pure proof of that, but was it a good idea? Surely there were sinners that no matter what they did would never truly be redeemed, like Valentino for example.

But then there were sinners that could be redeemed, like Sir Pentious.

It would take time for her to fully accept that things were changing, that sinners could be redeemed, that allowing Adam to hold the exterminations was a horrible idea, how many sinners that were murdered could've been redeemed? And how many of them couldn't?

But once she did accept it? How would she go about it? She did certainly owed not only Charlie a proper apology but Emily as well, withholding information from someone could be worse then a lie sometimes.

Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go

Emily was ecstatic that Charlie's redemption hotel was a success! Sinners could be redeemed!

She had so much fun showing Sir Pentious around and getting him situated in his new place of residence, one day Charlie could visit again, and see that her dreams were a success!

Emily couldn't wait for that day to come.

Listen, the birds sing, listen, the bells ring

Sir Pentious didn't know what exactly he was expecting to happen when he selflessly sacrificed himself for the hotel, double hell? Permanent darkness maybe, but not heaven, he didn't expect to have a whole color palette change.

All the living are dead, and the dead are all living

He missed his friends Family at the hotel, he missed the times they shared, but at least he had some of his egg Bois with him, oddly enough they were now hard boiled but they were there.

It would take him awhile to get used to everything but he was slowly getting comfortable, he even made a friend other then Emily, a spider winner by the name of Molly.

The war is over and we are beginning

She oddly enough reminded him of Angel dust, maybe it was the spider appearances?

We won, or we think we did

"Morning Niff!" "Good mornin- oh! Outta the way!" You passed by Niffty who was still chasing that roach, you chuckled before continuing your way.

When you went away, you were just a kid

Climbing up the stairway to a certain deers new and improved radio station.

And if you lost it all, and you lost it

You opened the door, not bothering to knock, did no one teach you manners?

Alastor went on hosting his radio show, talking about whatever, you didn't really pay attention, only watching him as you leaned on the door way waiting for him to notice you.

Well, we'll still be there when your war is over

It didn't take long for him to do so, with a raised eyebrow he motioned for you to come in as he smoothly switched from talking to putting on music.

Lift your head and look out the window

"My dear! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" He asked spinning around in his chair.

"You weren't in bed, Al, you're supposed to be resting," you moved towards him softly closing the door behind you.

Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go

"Nonsense my dear, I am perfectly fine, fit as a fiddle if I do say so myself!" You frowned at the radio deers words, you knew damn well he was not fit as a fiddle, he nearly reopened his stitches just the other night.

Listen, the birds sing, listen, the bells ring

He got up from his chair and held out his hand to you for you to take.

"Care to join me for a quick dance, Mon étoile?" He asked, a grin reluctantly spread out across your face as you took his hand.

All the living are dead, and the dead are all living

You missed the time before extermination day, you missed Sir Pentious, you missed the old hotel, if you could you would've cherished it more, but it was too late for cheesey sentiments like that, all you could do now was cherish the people in the new hotel now.

And focus on the lovely dance you were having with your still injured partner.

The war is over and we are beginning

Things were changing quickly, for better or for worse you were sticking with this hotel, with Charlie, with everyone in this place through it all.

Here it comes, here comes the first day

You didn't know it yet but after this dance Charlie would come bolting up the stairs excitedly letting the two of you know that a sinner wanted to join the hotel, and that the wall had been taken down and if Alastor could fix it because the duck man was distracted making ducks.

Here it comes, here comes the first day

Afterwards you and Alastor would go greet the sinner, a song would take place and beef would be beefed between the deer man and the duck man.

It starts up in our bedroom after the war

You wouldn't change any of it for the world.

It starts up in our bedroom after the war, after the war

Good evening folks! Guess who finally posted angst ON ANGST WEDNESDAY FOR ONCE HAHAHAHAAH SUCK IT PROCRASTINATION,

This is more bittersweet than angst though but we don't talk about that, I wrote this in like two hours, like I hyper focused on this, I'm gonna schedule the fic IT BETTER POST THIS TIME OR IM BITING TUMBLR, As always thank you for tuning in and Goodnight folks!

pssssst! You should join our discord! You get to witness my 5 AM writing screams with snippets

[drabblesandimagines]

Request for Joshua getting married?

I got a bit carried away from a drabble with this one. Anon, please lemme know what you think! x

-- Joshua Rosfield x female reader, fluff, tiny smidge of suggestive spice at the very end

It was foolish to think the two of you would’ve ever got away with a quiet affair, not when the Bearer of the Burning Quill was around. When Joshua had announced his intention to marry you, Cyril had appeared laden with parchment denoting the wedding rites of the Phoenix over years upon years.

The Undying had been so loyal to Phoenix that he had found them quite impossible to refuse, especially when some had expressed their joy at the prospect of being allowed to see such a ceremony, unsure if it would be held in their lifetime.

“A small, short ceremony at Phoenix Gate,” Joshua had proposed as a compromise. “Then whatever else you want, wherever you want, my love.”

How could you refuse?

The gown is prepared for you, a vibrant red, off the shoulder sleeves, gold threads embroidered throughout in the pattern of feathers by hands far more skilled than your own – the same hands that now help you dress, murmuring words of how much it is an honour to prepare the Phoenix’s bride. The finishing touch is to be a circlet of pure gold, studded with rubies, fetched from the vault below the sanctum.

“Every partner of the Phoenix has worn this as long as the records have been kept,” Cyril had said in his usual soft manner as he placed it upon your crown, before stepping back with a bow. “Long may the tradition continue after today.”

You barely have time to look at yourself in the mirror when you are ushered out of your chambers and towards a waiting carriage.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” Clive offers you his hand as you emerge from the sanctum at dusk. As the First Shield, sworn to protect the Phoenix, it is only right he is charged with escorting the bride to him. “I will go as far to say that you will render my brother speechless and I know we would both admit that will be quite the feat.”

You smile, thankful to have him there. “Thank you.”

You accept his hand, squeezing it a little too firmly as you step up into the carriage, wary of the adoring eyes of the acolytes on you, those not granted an invitation but wishing to catch a glimpse all the same. You let go of Clive’s hand as you situate yourself on the bench within and he soon joins you, sitting opposite. A lantern burns brightly from the ceiling and the windows are shuttered – not that it matters as the sun continues to set.

“Are you going to be okay?” You ask as the carriage sets off on its journey. He looks perplexed at your question, so you continue. “With the ceremony being at Phoenix Gate, I mean.”

“Indeed - I made my peace there a few years ago. It will be nice to make a happier memory there of gaining a sister, though.”

“Mm.” You smile at his sentiments. “I am afraid I am a little nervous.”

“Allow me to assure you that Joshua will be even more so.”

--

The ruined stone walls of Phoenix Gate have been ladened with candles – the flickering flames greeting you as Clive once again offers his hand to escort you down from the carriage. The ceremony itself is going to take place within the chamber – right in front of the door Joshua was due to enter all those years ago.

A single Undying acolyte waits by the entrance, head bowed low, heavy brown cloak in hand. They hand it to Clive, wordlessly, before retreating into the chamber, not once raising their eyes from the ground.

The First Shield shakes out the cloak from its folds and pauses. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He drapes it over your shoulders, fastening the clasp underneath your chin before gently pulling the hood down low over your face. He guides your arm through his and steps forward, kicking at the door once with his foot before they are opened before you.

It is hard to see beneath the hood, but from the shadows on the floor you know the chamber is littered with even more candles. Dozens of Undying are lined up along the sides and the whole room is silent, besides the occasional spit of flame and scuff of yours and Clive’s footsteps on the stone.

He leads you up to the makeshift altar and you so desperately wish to lift your head, to see Joshua’s eyes but the scorn of Master Cyril prevents you from doing so. If you can just be patient for a few more moments, you can stare into his eyes as long as you like.

“We are here this night,” Cyril’s voice booms around the chambers – much louder than you’ve ever heard him speak before, “to witness the union of the Phoenix and his beloved. First Shield, do you confirm the one you have escorted here is the one the Phoenix wishes to wed?”

“I do confirm.” Clive’s hand then takes your own and he holds it out in offering. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you feel Joshua lace his fingers with your own – though it had only been a day, you had missed his touch something awful in the lead-up.

“Phoenix, do you confirm this is the one you wish to bind your heart with?”

Joshua’s other hand grips your chin, tilting your head up so you can finally meet his eyes. Tears brim his own as he smiles – not being able to see you has been akin to torture. He is dressed more or less the same as usual, though his somewhat frayed red cowl has been replaced with a new one, embroidered with the same gold thread pattern as on your gown.

His hand moves from your chin to grip the hood of the cloak – a flame dancing between his fingers as he does so. In a blink of an eye, the cloak disintegrates in a flash of fire, revealing your gown to an audible gasp from the acolytes watching. Joshua’s face slackens, rendered speechless as Clive foretold, wide-eyes… Cyril gently nudges his foot with his own, a reminder he does need to answer.

“I… I do… I do confirm.” He’s almost breathless, before the boyish grin creeps back into place. “Absolutely, completely confirm.”

“And, my lady,” Cyril turns to you, your fingers still entwined with Joshua’s, “do you confirm that the Phoenix is the one you wish to bind your heart with?”

“I do confirm.”

“Then may the binding of your hearts here on this night shield the firebird’s flame forevermore.”

Joshua wastes not a second before he has wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you forward into a deep kiss – as if he needs you to breathe. For once, you are unaware of the eyes of the Undying upon you, feeling that you and your husband are the only ones in the chamber before the silence is broken by applause over your shoulder – Clive trying to bring a little joviality into the crowd. Slowly, the acolytes join in and Joshua pulls back from the kiss to murmur in your ear.

“Thank you, sweet one.”

He tucks his arm through yours and leads the two of you back through the chamber, the Undying bowing their heads as you pass, back to the carriage you and Clive left only minutes ago – Joshua had promised the ceremony would be short, after all.

Aided by Joshua’s hand, you climb back up into the carriage and he follows to nestle in at your side, shutting the door before peppering your face and neck with kisses.

“Joshua,” you giggle, the carriage once again lurching forward. You were heading back to the sanctum where more Undying will be waiting to see the Phoenix and his wife and at this rate you’re going to be as red as your gown by the time you arrive.

“I can’t help it,” he withdraws. “It’s this dress – you look… I mean…”

You laugh again, cupping his face with your palm. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He moves your hand from his face, kissing your knuckles. “So much.”

You stare into each other’s eyes, soaking in your first private moment with your husband -  the word makes your stomach flip – before he lets go of your hand and plucks at the fabric of your skirt.

“Hm.”

“What are you thinking?”

He bites his lip before he responds, the boyish grin returning. “I am wondering if, when we enter our bedchambers, this gown will burn as quickly as the cloak did.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[licorice-tea]

When The Tide Comes Out

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x reader

Content: angst, fluff, h/c kind of… also kissing😽

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: first time writing about Ace!! also i LOVE orville peck and this scenario just fit perfectly with this part of his song, “Blush”! Ace is so like… cowboy adjacent, too, so i think this kind of music is fitting for him! please enjoy and lmk what you think <3

There’s something ‘bout men that I don’t understand

You never would know how Ace did it. The constant solo traveling, having to find a new place to sleep every night, and not knowing where home is. Because, well, his home is a ship. He’s brave and responsible enough to take care of himself- you know that much- but still…

It’s a lifestyle that makes no sense to you.

On the other hand, you’ve never been one to stray far from home. You prefer to stay on your island, only going on the occasional vacation with family or friends. Still, you’ll always know where to come back to when the fun is over. And even then; you’re surrounded by people who carry the same feeling of comfort as your bed would.

Ace doesn’t have that. And he doesn’t seem to need it, either. He races around the globe in search of revenge. He calls it justice, but when you see the fire in his eyes- normally so full of warmth and comfort- you’re confused. It’s a scary look, one that you’d hate to ever see directed towards yourself. But, Ace could never direct such rage toward you. He barely gets to see you, why waste any time on bitter feelings?

Yet, he always leaves you. You’ve opened your door to him countless times; told him he was welcome to stay for as long as he wants. And every time, he chooses to leave after a night or two.

They’re always leaving wherever they’ve been

For what must be the hundredth time, you walk Ace to your front gate. You live in a nice rural area near the beach, and your front yard has its own garden and fish pond. It’s picturesque, and a home that most people (couples, specifically) could only dream of owning someday.

He hugs you tightly, burying his face in your hair with no shame.

“I miss you already.”

“Then stay.”

Ace shakes his head, surely messing up your styling, before he pulls back to face you. “You know I can’t.”

A thought tries to escape your mind, but your lips press together after a second thought. His hands brush a strand from your cheek- and you let him for a moment- but then you catch his wrist. “But you can, Ace.”

Brush it off with a shrug, I don’t know much about love

He sighs and a wince passes over his features; as if he’s in pain. “Let’s not do this right now, baby, please.”

“Don’t you baby me, Ace. You leave me alone for months on end and- and what? I’m supposed to just be content with seeing you for a few weeks out of the whole year?”

“… I’m sorry, I really am.”

This time, you’re the one to sigh and shake your head with a pained expression. “No it’s… I know what you’re doing is important to you.”

“But you’re important to me, too. You’re where home is.” The sentiment squeezes your heart- it feels like it’s about to burst.

“I know.” You try and offer a smile, so at least your last few moments together for god knows how log will be happy ones.

He laughs dryly at your obviously forced smile. Ace feels like he’s failing you, in all honesty, with no solution or viable compromise that will suit both his career as a pirate and the love he wishes to continue growing with you. “I’m not doing too great at this, am I?”

“You’re doing your best.” You pull him back in for another hug, and whisper against him. “I love you, Ace.”

He smiles into your neck. “I love you too.”

Still I give it a try now and then

You’re the first one to let go, pushing him away gently. “Go, before I try and stop you.”

His smile is strained, yet still bright and handsome. “I’ll come back sooner next time, okay?”

“You better. Or else I might have to find a replacement.”

Ace laughs and you giggle along with him. “Nah, I’m not too worried about that.” He presses a sweet kiss into your lips. “I mean it though. I want to make this work, and I want to be here with you.”

This time around, your smile is more genuine. “Then I can’t wait.”

Your hands turn his hips away from you as you playfully push him out the gate and toward the beach. “Now go so you can hurry back!”

The two of you laugh as you run down to where his raft is stationed on the shoreline.

Saddle up and ride on down

“You have my vivre card?”

“Mhm,” you pull it out of your pocket, “and you have mine?”

Ace lifts his hat to show you the card stitched onto it. “Always.”

He pushes the small boat out of the sand, and it floats in place. It’s powered by his own devil fruit, so there’s no concern of it drifting away without its owner. Who, as he turns back to you, gives you a look of longing. After a moment his face moves closer to yours, so you’re both smiling softly and nearly connected at the lips. Ace grips your waist and kisses you. It’s more passionate this time, and full of all the love and desire he has for you that he can fit into one action.

You huff in amusement. “Be safe.”

Ace nods. “I will.”

Maybe when the tide comes out

With reluctance, Ace releases his hold on your sides and wades in the shallow water. First he throws his bag on it, then lifts himself onto the deck of the Striker.

You wave goodbye, and he waves back. Theres a halo of sunlight cast from behind his dark curls and broad shoulders. Then, with a few sparks so as to get further from you and not accidentally burn you, the Striker moves further into the rising water. The realization that it’s high tide washes over you much like the waves themselves. You’re soaked up to your knees by now, but it’s no matter. You would swim across the whole ocean if only to get closer to him.

Ace and the Striker grow smaller and smaller in the distance, but you can still see his arm waving high in the air. You wave back with equal zeal, hopping up and down. His shouts of “I love you!” and “I’ll see you soon!” grow quieter, so you’re not even entirely sure when he stops.

Eventually, once he’s out of your field of vision, you turn back. You walk the same path up the beach- 2 pairs of footsteps still visible in the sand from your trip down to the shore just moments before.

Without your lover’s laughter in your ears, the creak of the gate is nearly deafening.

[slashertrash]

Hello! I dunno if your requests are open but can I get Bubba, Jason, Freddy and Micheal with a soft, short, female S/O who carrys around a small teddy bear everywhere? Thank you!

Sure thing, hun! Hope you like it! 💖

Bubba

Bubba finds you to be the cutest thing he’s ever seen! So small, so kind and so adorable! Just like a real life doll!

He squeals in delight whenever he sees you carry around your teddy bear. He even tries to make it a friend out of cloth and other materials laying around the house or farm.

He keeps an eye out for your teddy bear for you and gets worried that it might get dirtied up, he ends up cleaning it if that ever happens.

Bubba makes sure his brothers don't mess with you or your fuzzy friend. <3

Jason

Jason thinks it's real sweet that you still hold on to your old stuffed toys. He might have some laying about the cabin as well.

Pamela couldn't let go of any of his old belongings. So there might be some of Jason's kids toys still intact.

He might let you touch or play with them...Only if you're really careful, they hold a lot of sentimental value to him.

Overall thinks you're a real sweetheart, he loves that you're still in touch with your inner child and find joy in the little things in life.

Also finds your height difference cute, he loves picking you up bridal style around the cabin.

Freddy

Freddy here likes to tease and make fun of how "childish" you are for carrying around a teddy bear.

Would probably take it from your hands and try to get you to get it back by chasing him around. Now who's being childish....and kind've a jerk

You don't know why he's so bent on annoying you with your teddy bear. You're starting to suspect that he's jealous of it.

He's not! How idiotic would that be! ...ok maybe just a lil'

Freddy also likes to tease you about your height.

He gives you nicknames like: Shorty, Shortstack, Doll, Mouse, Tiny, Cupcake, and many many more small related things. Each day he comes up with a new one.

Michael

Michael likes your small stature, he loves throwing you over his shoulder with such ease. He enjoys having such power over you.

He finds your soft and caring personality to be...comforting? In his own mysterious way.

Michael has seen you carry around your teddy bear wherever you go. He doesn't think he's ever seen you without it. He's a bit curious as to why.

Doesn't understand the infatuation you might have with it. It's just a dumb stuffed toy, he thinks to himself. He might get the urge to stab into it and rip it into pieces, but ops to hide it from your view.

He's definitely jealous of it. Why not give him all the attention you're giving to your teddy bear?

After searching the entire house, and panicking trying to find your teddy bear, he ends up just leaving it at your bed without you noticing.

That night he goes out and doesn't come back 'till later in the afternoon of the next day.

When you finally notice him in your house, he's holding a bloodied up stuffed rabbit, and hands it to you. Maybe it's his way of saying sorry, for making you worry so much over your teddy.

[glitterforashes]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐞. ; 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 (𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑) 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

>>>>> hey ya'll, first post since the beginning of time basically. happy new year! i was reading some cassian headcannons recently anddd i just don't like the way he's baby-fied. like, did you guys even pay attention in silver flames?? he's very much a tough love kinda guy. so i thought i'd share my take on how he'd treat you if you were his partner! also sorry if the formatting is weird, from this point on i'll be writing from my laptop!

he doesn't mind you wearing his clothes, but he prefers you don't.

he'd take it as you don't have enough of your own clothes to wear and would buy you more.

loves lethal but pretty women. like, knowing you could take down a full grown male whilst wearing a dress.. whoooo he will be allll over that.

needs a partner who doesn't depend on him to breathe. he values independence and strength within ones self.

checks on you, subtly. does not ask "are you okay?", just walks by wherever you are and gets a read on you and your body language to distinguish if you're alright or not.

if he deducts that you're not okay, then he'll ask.

he'd stand in front of you and just ask straight up what's wrong. won't ask "is something bothering you?"-- he already knows something is bothering you. he just needs to know why.

loves to instigate and push your buttons, only if you're grumpy. knows when to be serious.

imagine you're just in a pissy mood. he's the kind to poke your sides and say things to annoy you to see you pout / get mad.

ends up making you laugh in the end.

is a practical and sentimental gift giver. doesn't believe in buying crap you don't need. unless you ask nicely and give him a kiss.

his love language is acts of service. if you wake up before him in the mornings when he has a mission to make him coffee-- he loves that.

loves coming home after missions to you if you didn't go with him. first thing he's doing is scooping you up and holding you for a while.

isn't very affectionate in public. definitely favors that silent communication you guys have.

eyes you down from across the room, communicates through eye contact and small gestures and smirks.

around the inner circle he's a little better. becomes more flirtatious and teasing.

don't get it twisted-- he makes it known that you're reserved at home and out and about.

his scent is all. over. you.

is extremely jealous. it's not an insecurity thing though. it's more like "how dare this low-life have the audacity to speak to my woman?"

isn't very touchy unless it's behind closed doors. he's definitely a stereotypical elevator boyfriend. like, if you two were in an elevator, he'd be on you before you could blink.

is literally so funny unintentionally. makes you laugh so much you get stitches in your side.

eats. like. a. horse.

this man is huge. gigantic even. a ford f150. it's no surprise he has the appetite of a great white shark.

he would 100% dutch oven you. dies laughing everytime he does.

is undyingly loyal and loves you so much it would make him puke, but that doesn't mean he'll just throw away his own self respect and morals.

tells you when you've messed up or been rude. is always straight up and honest even if you're not going to like what he has to say, because he wants the best for you, but he's not going to spoon feed it to you.

he doesn't really care about physical appearance-- but he cares about the way you carry yourself. for example, if you're walking around the house in casual clothes that you've been in the past two days he doesn't care and will still be all over you, but if you show up to an important meeting in like leggings and a blouse he's gonna be upset.

everyone knows the night court has a certain appearance to upkeep. he will not tolerate you messing that up for yourself, or for the rest of the circle.

loves you though!

"cass. go away." you grumbled, standing at the foot of your bed that was covered in various papers, maps, and documents you would rather throw into a fire than actually read through. cassian was hovering behind you, hands on his hips, dressed casually for once. he had just returned home from a three day long mission to the autumn court, and he was all but ready to get some much needed alone time with his partner. "i've been gone for days and you can't look away from your work long enough to kiss me?" his voice was suddenly against the curve of your ear and his arms had found their way around your waist. his chin came to rest atop your head as he looked down at the pile of papers as well, a small smile gracing his lips as he felt (and heard) the sigh you let out. "you're being a distraction." despite your uninterested tone and the furrow in your brow, you had to stop yourself from instantly melting into him. the familiarity and comfort of his warmth, scent, and general touch enveloped you all at once and made it hard to think straight.

"hmm," his hands began snaking down to your hips, being way too light and feathery with the touch to be purely innocent with no ulterior motive to tickle you. "you don't usually mind distractions when it's me." he teased. you turned in his arms and faced him, ready to tell him off for being annoying when suddenly your feet weren't touching the ground and your back was on the mattress. well, the papers that covered the mattress. in the blink of an eye cassian was straddling your thighs and tickling your waist, pinning you down with his enormous body. "cassian!" you shrieked, still annoyed at him but involuntarily starting to laugh at the sensation. you were simultaneously worried about ruining the documents and laughing at him as you flailed, the smile on his face only making things worse. or better. you couldn't decide just yet.

"say you missed me." he cooed, tone smooth and playful as you thrashed like a fish in a fishing net, hands uselessly slapping at his biceps and chest. you gasped for air, trying to force the words out and failing. you could only manage one word responses. "cassian--" you wheezed, "i missed-- stop it!" you pleaded, now too amused to care about the mess you were making of your previously meticulous layout. "cass i can't-- i can't breathe!" cassian laughed at the way your cheeks turned pink with the force of your laughter, his hands coming to a suspicious still. "say it," he chuckled, leaning down until your noses were touching. he gazed into your wide eyes with his lidded ones, a smirk on his face as he ran his hands up and down your abdomen, waiting.

"i missed you," you huffed, out of breath and still slightly giggling. mostly in fear that he'd start tickling you again but still. "awe, what was that? i can't quite hear you." he put his ear towards your lips as you laughed again, no longer angry or worried about anything in the world. "i said i missed you!" you tilted his face to you in the same moment he began laughing and pulled him into a kiss, both of you laughing and giggling through the entire thing. you broke apart smiling, watching him as he sat up and grabbed you by your hips before flipping the both of you over effortlessly, positioning you so that you were lying on his chest and he was lying on his back.

"let me hold you," he mumbled into your hair, making you laugh again. "i have work to do." "i'll help you do it later. let me hold you." he repeated, and you obliged. "what would i do without my big illyrian baby?" you mumbled against him, finding immense comfort in the rumble of his chest that came when he chuckled. "who knows?" he asked. and you decided you didn't even want to think about it.