#blackout burden

[flicker-bot]

 @faultfindingfirebot​ asked: [  pull  ]  sender  pulls  receiver  closer  to  them 

Flicker was just using the elevator, thinking about leaving for a short walk before it would be his recharge time, when all lights in the firehouse went out and the lift came to a halt. The young mech startled.

The lift had reached the ground floor, but it had stopped a moment too early and when Flicker rushed forward, his ped caught on the gap. He stumbled with a sharp yelp, but just then he felt someone grab his arm before he’d hit the floor. When he was pulled closer, he recognized the figure in the dark.

“Uncle Wave!” Flicker gasped and turned his headlight on. “What happened? W-why did the power turn off?”

[lurkinginnernarrator]

in the spirit of thanksgiving

Cang Qiong should have an age old traditional feast.

Depending on who you ask:

It's great. Food, wine, the people you grew up next to and fought side-by-side with. The disciples you've raised.

It's terrible. Awkward small talk, other people's insane opinions (think modern day politics and stuff but xianxia), the adult versions of your fellow disciples(cousins) who either you bullied, or they bullied you, your terrible first kiss, AND those brats you have to teach/the one teacher that just hates you

(Shang Qinghua hates this feast. So, so much. Drunk peak lords, drunk hallmasters, drunk disciples. )

And there's dancing. It's great. It's terrible. All depending on who you ask.

Shen Yuan's first feast makes him dislike them. Between the distance acting as Shen Qingqiu puts between him and everyone else, and the empty void he feels in his ribcage it's not the best. He won't even think or acknowledge it, but it's there.

The feast reminds him of the family dinners from when he was younger.

But there isn't a Shen-mei to lean over to and show stupid memes, there isn't an Er-ge to gossip with, and there isn't a Da-ge to have a late night meaningful conversation with that sticks with you for the rest of your life.

Instead it's a bunch of strangers.

He doesn't actually know them. At all.

To everyone but him, these are the people who they've lived next to for years, shared meals, little joys and burdens, the monotony and life-changing events. Inside jokes and ribbing about choices you made as a teenager.

To him, it's the same as having a meal alone in a bustling restaurant: It's warm, full of laughter and gentle smiles, jokes and stories. And there he is; standing alone.

What's worse? To be completely unknown, or for people to believe they know you, and know your shared history, and be wrong. To have no-one acknowledge you at all, or to be held accountable for actions that are not your own?

As soon as it's socially acceptable to leave, he does so. He shoos all of his little disciples away, telling them to enjoy the festivities.

He comes home to an empty, cold house. At least it's quiet.

(The next feast is bearable. What makes it good is he and Airplane retreat back to the bamboo house together and get blackout drunk. They laugh, they cry, they dance (and sing but they don't remember that.). )

[darksigns-exe]

a comforting touch - noah sebastian x reader

warnings: none

word count: 658

masterlist | taglist sign-up

You can tell that Noah’s had a rough day as soon as he slips through the door of your shared apartment. His shoulders are uncharacteristically slumped and the persistent furrow in his brow reveals everything you need to know.

You meet him by the door as he toes off his shoes. 

“Long day?”

He nods, evidently not quite in the headspace for long conversations. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

It’s always difficult to tell what he needs in moments like these, and sometimes you’re not even sure if Noah really knows himself. 

He’s quiet for a moment longer, before he reaches out for your hand so very hesitantly. Seeing him so reluctant always makes your chest ache a little. You follow him without another question. 

Noah leads you into your bedroom. 

You know what he’s after. 

In the months since you and Noah started going out, you had developed a few little routines. Especially for the days when one of you is feeling low. You’ve come to find that Noah likes to get as close as he can when he’s feeling low like this. Usually, you’ll end up in bed together with him practically wrapping himself around you. 

Noah looks so timid while you draw the blackout curtains shut. He stands next to your shared bed, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him that it’s okay to get comfortable. You assume that he’s had to make a boatload of big decisions today, usually that’s what gets him to his point. Once you’ve checked the thermostat to make sure that the room is nice and cool, you come to stand in front of him again. 

“You wanna get comfy with me, honey?” You ask softly, reach for his hand. 

A nod later, you help him shed most of his clothes. And once you’ve stripped down to your own underwear you move to find a comfortable spot in your bed. Noah follows quickly, forming himself against your body. He buries his face against your chest and you feel him draw in a deep breath. Your fingers find their way into his hair, cradling him against you. Noah’s arms soon snake around your middle. His hold isn’t as tight as it sometimes is, but you can still tell that he needs the comfort of your warmth more than anything else. 

You’re happy to hold him for as long as he needs it. Knowing that he trusts you so wholeheartedly that he lets you see him like this only makes you feel more sure of this. You haven’t been together for long, it hasn’t even been a whole year yet, but you’ve never felt more comfortable around another person. If you could you’d take every bad thought away from him, you’d carry every burden upon his shoulders if that would help. But you know that there are things you can’t do for him, all you can do is offer your comfort and support when he needs it. 

You don’t know how long you hold him like this, trailing your fingers through his hair to soothe his wired up mind. Eventually, you feel him press a kiss to your sternum. 

“Feeling better?” you ask softly. 

Another kiss is pressed against your skin, “A little.” 

You can’t quite see his face, but you can tell that he has that mischievous little look on his face again. 

“Well, we gotta get that to a lot. We can order something to eat, and then you can beat my ass in Mario Kart again.” 

“Good plan.” Noah hums, still barely detaching himself from you, “Can we stay here for a bit longer though?” 

“Of course. Whatever you need, my love.” 

Noah finally shifts back enough for him to be able to look at you, “I love you, you know that right?” 

“I do.” you reply, pushing the mess of hair away from his forehead, “I love you too.” 

taglist: @th4t-em0-k1d @malice-ov-mercy @fadingangelwisp @baddestomens @chey-h @theanarchymuse95 @sitkowski @deathblacksmoke @concretejunglefm

@xmads-omensx @saythatuwill @lacy1986 @somebodyels3 @ladyveronikawrites @ferduttini @circle-with-me @collapsedglasshouses

[lizzy06]

Jujutsu Kaisen Fanfic Recs!!(AO3)Pt.1

Main Masterlist

[For part 2 -> Pt.2]

The Blind Date Show by NatoriousJANExo (Humour, Blind dates) Each chapter has a different blind date which they shoot in a studio.{ALL CAN BE READ STANDALONE}

No Pairing(The fic that nourishes/ destroys your soul)

The Burden Of Grief by Redwarrior2003 (oneshot, angst, family feels) Kong shiu gives megumi a clarity to his past.. [COMPLETED] Animals of regret by tteokcrossing (oneshot, toji tries to be a good parent) Toji lives. Neither teaching nor parenting are his strong suits, but he ends up stuck with both. [COMPLETED] Piano Joint by KatInnRotato (oneshot, Domestic fluff, humour) When Toji told Gojo his last wish instead of killing him, Gojo asked him to 'take responsibility' ...so now Toji's domestic life began. [COMPLETED] Father of Mine by oceansgrey (fluff, humour, toji tries to be a good parent)- Toji upon being left by his now ex-wife is stuck taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki and he also ends up getting the job of combat specialist at jujutsu tech [ONGOING] Blackout by Xhoi (Mystery, Toji as shikigami)- In an attempt to improve himself after his fight with sukuna, megumi summons a shikigami he has never seen before. It doesn't listen to him and acts on his own. Also he doesn't why his teacher is so scared and alert. [ONGOING] End of Beginning by may_aar (No curse au, Uncle sukuna, hurt/comfort)After the sudden passing of his brother and his wife whom sukuna hasn't met in 13 yrs, he has to take guardianship of his nephew.{This is so good!!} [ONGOING] Out of the Night That Covers Me by rainyconcrete (Angst, Hurt/comfort) An ancient necromancer resurrects Toji and Megumi is to acknowledge the loss of family along the way. [ONGOING] Terminal by jules(talefeathers) (oneshot, Angst, Hurt/comfort, death) Megumi Reunites with his family in after life. [COMPLETED] Yuji's adventure with his big brother Sukuna by semisEmi - sukuna did not know he has a brother until he turned 26... with the help of his friends he traverse through his new life.[ONGOING] In Another Life by Yunaminayuna (collection of oneshots, fluff and humour) collection of Fushiguro family drabbles and short fics [COMPLETED] Three times Toji apologizes to his Son by calmthyself (Domestic fluff, Hurt/comfort)And the one time Megumi apologizes to his dad.[ONGOING] The Problem with Ms.Itadori by PsychaoticButterscotch (Alternate au, toji trying to be a good parent, fushi mama lives) Yuuji's mother , she's weird - But Megumi doesn't say anything about it, Mama always said to not say anything at all if it's something not nice. [ONGOING]

Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader

Flowers for u- 1.Dandelion 2.Sunflowers by yuukiqwq(temporary unrequited love, love confession) 1.Dandelion- His heart beats only for you while yours beats for someone else, so he made a wish on a dandelion, hoping it would come true. 2.Sunflower- He only has eyes for you so why won't you look his way [COMPLETED] Not Many women by Lemon_Pepper_Fox (modern au, smut) you have a crush on yuji but you really like his brother sukuna. [COMPLETED] Blooming Cactus by poeeee(fluff, humour, idiots in love) Transferring schools in the middle of the year is never easy and then you are stuck with an uncooperative partner for history project. [ONGOING] Yuji's Caretaker | Sukuna by Sukunasuka (slowburn, family fluff) You are a new kindergarten teacher who loves your job. One of your new students, yuji, gets in trouble frequently forcing you to call in his caretaker quite often who also happens to be your neighbor. [ONGOING] With you, I Hurt. With you, I Love by VinVictory (High shool au, fluff) You are busy taking care of an injured Yuji as his caretaker and his older brother is busy falling in love with you. [ONGOING] Intrusive Thoughts | Sukuna/Reader by Visaliar (High school au , stalking, psychology) After becoming a forfeit to someone's bet, y/n is left heart broken. To add to her troubles, she has a mysterious stalker who daily send pictures he takes of her secretly. [ONGOING]

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Fair game by yemyem (Angst, Friends with benefits, Jealousy, Fake dating) Gojo is kind of your boyfriend but he fucks other girls too as he doesn't want anything serious so geto offers to help u out...that's fine..right? [ONGOING] Hello Again by MixyX21 () You are the new staff at jujutsu tech and one of your coworkers is Gojo Satoru, you ex fiancé who left you on your wedding day 10 years ago. [COMPLETED]

Gojo Satoru x Leiri Shoko

let us stand a chance by keouil (oneshot, fluff) gojo and shoko are invited to megumi's pta meeting.[COMPLETED] Close isn't enough by randsomprose (oneshot, getting together, making out) shoko confronts satoru about his stupid 'nobody will ever need to be alone again' comment before the fight with sukuna. [COMPLETED] To Say the Least This Is ... by starrybride (oneshot, slice of life, fluff) Shoko comes home a little too late for Satoru's liking. [COMPLETED] It’s past 3AM (I see you again) by moonlightsonata(mintedcaffeine) (oneshot, angst, hurt comfort) Both shoko and satoru can't sleep so they spend the night together. [COMPLETED] Sunny with a chance(with Gojo) by tiressian(fluff and humour, tooth rooting) Satoru comes back again.[COMPLETED] six step backwards by dickwackerlao (Time travel fix-it, sugushoko and satosugu on side, angst, fluff and humour) Shoko goes back in time and makes things different. [COMPLETED] Tale as old as time by starrybride(old japan, werewolf shoko) Japan is ruled over by three clans, descended from the gods, populated by humans and supernatural creatures. When one of those ruling clans kills Shoko's childhood friend, she heads to Kyoto to seek vengeance on the clan that killed him. Along the way she receives help in her quest from an unlikely source. [ONGOING] The Infinity Between Us by OddLittleSpider(Slice of life, Friends to lovers, slowburn) Gojo asks shoko to marry him, what exactly are his intentions? [ONGOING] Companion Proposal by jokerxpanther (Friend to lovers, slowburn, Domestic Fluff) Gojo asks shoko to marry him. [ONGOING] My Best Friend? by Kate_Loves_S4toshoko (friend to lovers, gojo is an idiot) [ONGOING] i hold the longing of the winter in my hand by Anonymous (friends to lovers, mutual pinning) Shoko saves satoru's life at the cost of her soul [ONGOING] COLLECTION: satoshoko mixtape by tiressian- standalone satoshoko stories in one place for our brainrot

[iniquitousyearning]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Thirteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Angst, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Emotional Manipulation, Begging, ThighRiding, Masturbation.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

The moment you stepped into Mattheo's private dorm, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions churned within you. The room, drenched in shadows and dimly lit by a few strategically placed candles, seemed to echo his enigmatic personality. Deep emerald and silver tapestries adorned the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood, mingled with the faint aroma of whiskey, creating a heady atmosphere that hung like a thick fog.

Your anger simmered just below the surface as you practically shoved Mattheo off you, his arrogant figure slumping onto the edge of the opulent bed, running a battered hand through his messy hair as he stared at you. The room's opulence felt suffocating, practically a mirrored image of the turmoil roaring within you. Your eyes roamed the space, catching glimpses of Mattheo's life--scattered parchment filled with scribbled notes, half-empty potion vials, and a tangle of dark robes strewn carelessly on a chair.

You couldn't ignore the mounting frustration, the way his careless demeanor clashed with the chaos he had unleashed in your life.

"This," you seethed, running your hands through your hair as you fought to keep your voice steady, "this has to stop, all of this."

Mattheo met your gaze, his expression unreadable. The room seemed to shrink around you, suffocating you between its walls. Your anger crackled like electricity in the charged air, the weight of the night's events pressing on your chest like a crushing burden. You knew you should leave, escape the suffocating atmosphere of his room, but an inexplicable force held you in place, rooted to the spot. The battle within you raged on, torn between the allure of his dangerous world and the need to protect your own sanity.

"Here we go again," Mattheo mumbled, his voice carrying a tinge of exhaustion, collapsing back on his green duvet. "Give it to me, Raven. Get it all out."

"Can you please not be insufferable for five fucking minutes?" Your words sliced through the charged air, your frustration escalating with his casual dismissal of your anger. "Do you even understand what just happened? Your already suspicious brother just found me walking you back to your dorm on a Saturday fucking night while you pretended to be blackout..."

You took a determined step forward, your anger palpable, radiating off you like heat waves. "Oh, but wait, you wouldn't know that he was suspicious, because when I tried to tell you about it, you basically told me to shut the fuck up, among other things..." you let your words hang, heavy and loaded, hoping they would pierce through his indifference. "Your ignorance is going to ruin my life, Mattheo. I don't think you realize it...or maybe you do, and you just don't care."

"My brother doesn't know fuck all." Mattheo grumbled, his frustration evident as he brought both palms to his face, rubbing his eyes wearily. "And even if he did, what's he going to do? He has no proof."

You rolled your eyes, exasperation boiling within you. "He could still kick me out of the guild...could tarnish my reputation with Dumbledore...the possibilities are fucking endless, Mattheo. Didn't you see the way he was looking at me? Did you not hear what he said?"

"Yeah, I saw the way he was looking at you alright," he said, irritation lacing his words. "Fucking pri-"

"Enough, Mattheo," you spat, your voice cutting through the air as you stepped closer to him. "Stop acting like you own me, like I'm yours to protect, control, or possess. It's time to face the facts. This is becoming too much. We've both admitted that we can't stop thinking about each other...how can we continue this after that?"

"Same way we always have, Raven," Mattheo said, sitting up to meet your eyes, leaning back on his palms. "We have this conversation every week. One of us says we can't do this anymore, but then the cycle continues...you know you can't resist this..."

"Gods, Mattheo...even on my tiptoes I wouldn't be able to reach your fucking ego." You hissed, stepping closer again, your skin pricking with frustration. "And I love how you say that like I've ever had a choice...like you haven't already embedded yourself in my fucking soul..."

Mattheo's lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent, his eyes searching yours for answers. The air between you crackled with tension, heavy with unspoken emotions. His usual confidence wavered, and for the first time, he seemed at a loss for words.

"I was fine with this until you took it too far, until you started making things complicated...the Tom thing has me sick..." you continued, your voice softening despite the anger that still lingered within you. "We're trapped in this vicious circle, Mattheo. Every time I try to pull away, you pull me back in, or vice versa...we're both tangled in this mess we've created, and I don't know how to break free..."

His expression remained unreadable, a mixture of frustration and helplessness flickering in his eyes. It was as if the reality of your words had finally caught up with him, forcing him to confront the depth of your entanglement. A heavy silence settled between you, Mattheo's gaze locked onto yours, his facade of indifference crumbling in the face of your honesty. He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly, but no words escaped his lips.

"Why?" you whispered, the weight of your words hanging in the tense space between you, crackling with unspoken emotion. You took a single step closer, your eyes searching his for a glimmer of understanding. "Why can't you admit that this needs to stop? That this can't continue?"

Mattheo blinked, his gaze flickering over your face, his lips parted, and his voice, tinged with uncertainty, left his throat in a hoarse whisper. "I...I don't know."

"You don't know?" you hissed, frustration bubbling within you. "You're willing to ruin my fucking life over an I don't know? Do you seriously hate me that much?"

As though a switch had been flipped, Mattheo stood, closing the distance between your bodies in a movement so forceful that you stumbled backward. His large palm found your arm, steadying you in place in front of him. His eyes, darker than the midnight sky, bored into you, filled with emotions you couldn't decipher.

"I don't hate you, Raven," he said, his voice firm, the intensity of his gaze paralyzing you.

Your heart stalled, your body near collapsing under the weight of his words. "You don't--"

"I never hated you," he repeated, his tone harsher this time, his grip on your arm tightening. "I couldn't fucking hate you even if I tried, and believe me, I have tried."

You were left speechless, entirely at a loss for words. The revelation shook you to your core. "You...but..."

"You make me fucking crazy, you make me feel like I'm always on the verge of losing control...and I don't lose control, Raven...not like this..." he growled, his voice a low, husky timbre that sent shivers down your spine.

Anger radiated off him, tangible and wild, as if it could set the room ablaze, surrounding your body with ease.

"You're a fucking mystery...everyone sees you as the school's brilliant little good girl, buried in books and academics...but underneath all that, you're so much more..." his free hand found your other arm, pulling you closer. "You're everything...you're honest, remarkably witty, and fuck, you have the sharpest snark that could keep any bloody asshat on their fucking toes..."

The intensity of his gaze softened for a fleeting moment, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath the rage.

"You said I don't know half of the woman you are, but I do...I know all too fucking well, and part of me wished I didn't..." his voice was almost a whisper now, your heart hammering against your sternum like a frantic caged bird. "And that's only because you make it impossible to hate you."

"You're drunk..." your breath hitched, caught in the raw honesty of his words. The air seemed charged with tension, heavy with unspoken desires and regrets. "You don't mean any of this..."

Mattheo's jaw clenched, the tension in the room escalating with each passing moment. His grip on you tightened, the pressure sending a shiver down your spine. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, his internal turmoil mirrored in his intense gaze. It felt like his words were crashing against the walls of your mind, struggling to find a place to settle, leaving you in a state of emotional disarray. He averted his eyes, as if seeking refuge from the intensity of the moment, his silence speaking volumes, his thoughts a storm brewing behind his gaze.

"Raven...I..." his voice escaped him like a fragile whisper, hanging in the charged air between you. "I don't hate you...I hate Berkshire for fucking touching you...I hate my brother for trying to fucking get with you...I even hate Zabini because I overheard him telling Malfoy that he'd have your virginity in a fucking day if he tried..."

His words hung heavy in the room, a raw confession that left you speechless. Mattheo's eyes, usually steely and confident, now held a vulnerability you had never seen before. The truth of his emotions enveloped the space between you, suffocating yet strangely liberating. You found your voice, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

"I don't want you to hate anyone...you shouldn't hate anyone over a girl you can never fucking be with..." you said, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and resignation, the reality of your situation hanging heavy in the air. "Don't you see the problems here..."

Mattheo's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes clouded with an emotion he refused to acknowledge. Slowly, he released his grip on you, his fingers trailing away reluctantly as he retreated towards the worn-out couch in the corner. With a flick of his wand, he cast a spell that enveloped the room, muffling any sound and concealing the scent of the illicit substances he was about to indulge in.

Sinking into the couch, he seemed to meld into the shadows, the dim light casting eerie shadows across his face. His hands moved with practiced ease, rolling a blunt with expert precision. The room filled with the acrid aroma of marijuana as he took a long, deliberate drag, the smoke swirling around him like a protective veil, momentarily shrouding his vulnerability.

"You're right," he said, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around him like a shield. "I see the problems, Raven. I see them crystal fucking clear."

Your heart pounded forcefully, its rhythm echoing the turmoil within you. Mattheo's ease with the weed fascinated and disturbed you simultaneously. He inhaled the smoke effortlessly, hardly flinching at its burn, filling the room with a scent that made your head spin and your body loosen, momentarily dulling the ache that was roaring through your limbs. Your throat felt drier than cotton, aching with the need for moisture, as you released a long, shuddering sigh. You blinked, unable to tear your eyes away from him, taking a hesitant step closer.

"Why do you do that?" Your voice was a fragile whisper, laden with genuine curiosity. "Drink, smoke...it's like you're never sober."

Mattheo's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, a guard descending over his features as he took another drag from the blunt. The smoke swirled around him like a protective shield, veiling his true sentiments.

"It's numbing, Raven," he said, his voice a low rasp, smoke curling around his words as he spoke. "Quiets the chaos for a little while." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, a raw honesty flickering in their depths. "And it’s just a temporary fix...then I'm back to reality, back to wanting things I can't have."

Your pulse quickened; Gods, he was scarily vulnerable tonight. You'd never seen this side of him, and it left you utterly bewildered. Every word he uttered tugged at the strings of your empathy, threatening to unravel your carefully crafted resolve. You knew you had to put an end to this, had to sever the ties that bound you, but his vulnerability was like a persuasive melody, tempting you to stay, to comfort him, to succumb once more to the magnetic pull of his pretty words.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you huffed, forcing a small, half smile. "Those pesky demons, huh..."

Mattheo's laughter rippled through the room, punctuated by the tendrils of smoke that swirled around him like spectral dancers.

"Yeah," he said, the bitterness in his voice cutting through the air, his tone dropping to a near-missable whisper. "Who would have known that the worst one would be disguised as a fuckin' sweet little angel..."

For the hundredth time in twenty minutes, you felt like your lungs had seized function, the air in the room growing heavy. The smoke from the blunt hung in the air, a haze of confusion and desire, intertwining with your senses. Your fingers trembled, desperate for the feeling of being buried inside his hair, craving the intimacy that only Mattheo could provide.

Unable to find the right words, you let your feet carry you closer to him, drawn like a moth to a flame. His eyes met yours, the intensity in the room building with each step, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air like a storm on the horizon. As you stopped roughly an arms length away from where he was seated, the room seemed to pulse with raw, unspoken desire, the tension between you reaching a breaking point, yet neither of you dared to move further. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in a suspended moment, where everything seemed possible and yet infinitely complicated.

"Come here, Raven..." he murmured, putting the blunt out on the tray next to the couch. "Please."

The moment he'd uttered that word, the moment it had left his lips, your defiance crumbled, leaving your sanity in tatters. With timid steps, you approached him, and he drew you onto his lap. Your thighs straddled him, his battered hands finding firm a hold on your hips, the grip so tight it felt like it could crush bones. The intensity of his touch ignited flames on your flesh, just like it has done endless times before.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still, your surroundings fading into insignificance. His touch became a lifeline, grounding you in the tumultuous sea of emotions. His lips barely moved as he uttered the words, each syllable laced with a heaviness that echoed the weight of your shared desires.

"One more night," he murmured, his voice a soft caress against the charged air. "Then that's it."

A reluctant agreement hung on your lips, the weight of reality pressing down on your shoulders like an unbearable burden. The ache of impending separation settled in your chest, and yet, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull that kept drawing you back into his arms, no matter the cost.

"One more night," you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if acknowledging the fleeting nature of your shared moments would make them more tangible, more real. "Then we're done."

A soft hand glided along your side, its roughened patches snagging slightly on the fibers of your cardigan. He traced the contours with a careful touch, his gaze drifting down to your chest, tracing the hidden curves beneath your attire. With a subtle pull at the hem, he met your eyes once more.

"Take this off..." he whispered, the desperation clear in his tone. "Take it all off."

Not needing a second prompt, your trembling fingers delicately worked on the buttons, skillfully releasing each one, your eyes never wavering from his intense gaze. His hands, possessing a gentle yet electrifying touch, traced a sensuous journey up your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Every movement felt like a carefully orchestrated dance, a silent agreement between you two.

The sweater cascaded to the floor, a soft thud underscoring the charged atmosphere, before your hands moved to your blouse, the air thick with anticipation and desire. As soon as it was undone, Mattheo helped you shimmy it off and tossed it onto the growing pile on the floor. You shivered at the sudden cold air on your bare chest but the warmth from his body quickly enveloped you, heart stalling as he leaned into you, reaching behind your back to expertly undo your bra. After a moment, it too fell to the ground.

"Fuck..." he purred, darkened obsidian eyes fixed on your chest. "Look at you..."

His hand moved to your neck, his thumb tracing a path down your collarbone, before sliding over to one of your breasts. As he twisted and pinched your nipple, your head fell back with a moan, your body arching towards him, evoking a deep growl from his chest. Your hands moved to the hem of your skirt, ready to peel it off your body when he halted you, pulling your hands up to rest on his shoulders.

"That can stay on..." he murmured, voice hoarse with desire. "My sexy girl in her short little uniform skirt."

He leaned in to capture one of your breasts in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin and sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You moaned, sinking deeper into his lap as pleasure overtook you, shuddering as you felt the outline of his erection pressing against your needy centre.

"Take off your panties," he commanded gruffly, his hand moving to slip his fingers beneath the waistband of your skirt. "I want to feel you..."

You eagerly complied, shimmying out of your panties and tossing them aside. A moment of hesitation washed over you, a wave of shyness and vulnerability making you feel exposed. Your gaze faltered, tracing a path from his lips to his chest, a nervous lump forming in your throat. Despite the anxiety, your fingers found their resolve and moved to the buttons on his shirt, meeting his eyes once more as you began to slowly undo them.

"I want to feel you, too, Matty..." you murmured, your voice horse as he met your eyes. "Please..."

Without wasting a second more of time, Mattheo manoeuvred himself out of his shirt, tossing it to the pile on the floor before leaning back, allowing your eyes to roam his now bare chest. Your lungs stalled, your cunt clenching with need as your gaze trailed from his thick shoulders, adorned with a tapestry of scars, cuts, and bruises--down to his defined, sculpted abs.

Each mark seemed to carry a weighty narrative, a testament to his resilience and strength. Your eyes traced the lines and contours, your thoughts weaving a web of admiration and empathy. Mattheo's abs were sculpted with precision, each muscle defined and rippling beneath his skin. They formed a chiseled landscape, emphasizing his strength and dedication to physical fitness. The play of light and shadows in the room accentuated the contours, creating a captivating pattern that drew the eye. His abdomen, toned and firm, brought an unspeakable heat between your thighs.

Mattheo's gaze raked over your naked body, lips parted in exasperation, releasing a long breath before he shifted closer only a little bit, his eyes focused on your hips.

"Do you ever touch yourself?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper, slipping his hand toward your heat.

Your lungs stalled, taken aback by the question, but when his eyes met yours, you nodded, feeling a flush of embarrassment spread over your face.

"And do you think of me when you do it?" he continued, his thumb circling your clit and sending jolts of pleasure through you.

"Yes," you gasped, your hips moving involuntarily against his hand. "I do..."

Mattheo's eyes were intense, locked onto yours as he stimulated your body, jaw tensing as you ground against his crotch, fingers digging into the flesh on his shoulders as though it could anchor you to reality.

"Yeah?" He leaned in further, nibbling on your earlobe, slowing his pace on your clit, leaving you squirming against him. "You think of my hands? Touching you like this?..."

Your breath caught in your throat at his bold question, but there was no denying the raw desire coursing through your veins. You nodded, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, Mattheo..." you gasped as he sunk his teeth into your earlobe now, groaning as your fingers dug into his skin. "Your hands...your mouth...all of it..."

A wicked grin curved on his lips as he leaned back, his eyes locked with yours. "Show me," he murmured. "I want you to touch yourself for me...show me what you like...show me the effect I fucking have on you..."

Without giving you a chance to respond, Mattheo's strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer before he shifted you over so that you were straddling only one of his thick thighs, covered still by the fabric of his black trousers. You gasped as a jolt of arousal shot through you, and he leaned in close, hands finding purchase on your hips.

"Ride my thigh," he said roughly, his eyes dark with desire. "Show me how you'll take care of yourself since I won't be able to anymore..."

Your heart slammed your sternum, an unadulterated lust scorching your skin melding with an inexplicable hurt in your chest. Masking your pain, you pulled bottom lip between your teeth, slowly beginning to roll your hips against his thigh, gasping as you felt his muscles flex beneath you.

"Yeah, just like that, Raven..." Mattheo growled, aiding your hips in moving, gripping them tightly with his strong hands and pressing you down firmly against him. "Fuck, you're so wet...that's all for me, isn't it?"

He watched you intently, his gaze focused on every move you made, and as you rubbed yourself against his leg, his eyes turning darker with desire.

"Yes, Matty..." you moaned, breath torn with overwhelming pleasure. "All-fuck-all for you..."

His abs flexed as you moved against him, rippling beneath his skin with each thrust. You could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the scent of his musk, making you wild with need for him. Your fingers moved to your clit, rubbing fast circles around it as you felt the pleasure rolling through you. You whimpered softly, the heat building into a slow burn as the sensations grew more intense. You spread your legs wider, pressing down on Mattheo's thigh with increasing pressure as you moved faster.

Mattheo watched in rapt attention, his gaze fixed on your fingers as they played with your clit. His own body was tense with desire, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, singlehandedly spurring you on.As you continued to grind against his thigh, you could feel the pleasure building to an almost unbearable crescendo. Every movement, every touch of your fingers, every flex of Mattheo's muscles was driving you toward the edge of ecstasy.

"Fucking hell, Raven..." he groaned through barred teeth. His gaze was fixed on you, intense and hungry, like a predator stalking its prey. "You're making me so fucking hard..."

His body was a wonderland beneath you: hard and smooth, with rippling abs and strong thighs that tensed and relaxed as you worked yourself against him.

"Shit..." you mewled, spurred on by his words, his eyes, his hands, everything about him. "You wish I was doing this on your cock, don't you, Matty..."

The sensations were overwhelming: the friction of your slickness against his leg, the feel of his hands on your hips, the sound of your breathing growing ragged and uneven as you drew closer to orgasm. You pressed down harder, panting with need as you felt the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Mattheo's eyes never left you, drinking in every detail of your movements, savouring the sight of your flushed skin, your lips parted in ecstasy, and the way your body quivered with desire.

"Fuck, yes, baby..." his pupils dilated with a mix of satisfaction and hunger, feeding off your pleasure as though it were his own. "I would fuck you so fucking good...I'd make you cum on my cock so many times you'd lose count..."

"Oh...shit..." His abs flexed noticeably with each grind of your hips, the defined muscles contorting beneath his smooth, pale skin. You could feel the power and strength beneath your fingertips as you reached out to touch his sculpted abdomen, tracing the lines and feeling the firmness beneath your touch. "I wish you fucking would..."

The sensation of your fingers sliding against your clit sent electric sparks of pleasure coursing through your entire body. The strokes became faster, more urgent, driving you closer to the edge. Every nerve ending was alight with desire, amplifying every sensation, every breathless moan that escaped your lips.

"Don't fucking say that right now, Raven..." his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you against him with even more force. "I'm barely fucking holding on...one more word like that and I'd flip you over so fucking fast..."

Your eyes rolled, your lungs sputtering, his words filling your veins with magma. "Fuck, Mattheo..."

As he watched you, he began to grind his own groin against your thigh, adding to the sensations that were already pushing you toward orgasm.

"God you're so fucking hot," he murmured, his voice low and breathless. "I'll be thinking about this every time I jerk off...fuck, you're just the dirtiest little thing Raven..."

You could feel the muscles beneath your skin tensing, ready to explode with pleasure. Every touch from Mattheo was like fire on your skin, every sound he made was like fuel to your already raging inferno. You could hear his breath quickening as well, matching the rapid pace of your own.

His grip on your hips tightened, his voice tight as he fought through a groan. "You're close aren't you, princess?"

"Yes," you moaned, head falling back, fingers increasing their pace on your clit. "I'm so close, Matty..."

"Fuck," his breathing was ragged as he ground his groin against your thigh. "Beg for me, bitch...beg to cum all over my thigh like the good little slut I know are."

The words sent a thrill through your body, stoking the fire that was already burning within you. You met his gaze with wide, pleading eyes, your orgasm on the very edge of rattling through you.

"Please, Matty..." you whispered, the desperation clear in your tone. "Please let me cum...please let me cum for you..."

"Mm." Mattheo's fingers dug into your skin as he ground his groin against your thigh, his movements growing more urgent as he sensed your climax building. "That's it, let go for me baby..."

Your whole body tensed as you felt your orgasm approaching, like a wave rising inside you. Mattheo's leg was slick with your arousal, and the thought of covering him completely sent you over the edge. You cried out, your voice raw with pleasure, as the first tidal wave of your orgasm hit you like a fucking train. Your whole body shook as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your hips bucking against Mattheo's leg. He held you close the entire time, his hands gripping you tightly as you convulsed in ecstasy.

Your breath came in short pants as you slowly came back to yourself, your head resting against his chest. Mattheo let you catch your breath for a few moments, his own breathing still ragged as he held you close. Finally, he leaned back to look into your eyes, his hand cupping your cheek.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, admiration clear in his voice. "Absolutely fucking filthy...but beautiful...so beautiful..."

Your heart swelled with affection for him, and you leaned in to kiss him without even really thinking twice about it, his lips were hot and insistent against yours, his tongue tangling with yours in a heated dance. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve and dip with hungry fingers. You could feel the fire starting to build within you again, the memory of his touch sending shivers down your spine, his insistent erection pressing against your thigh, your fingers crawling down his chest before softly grazing over it.

"Let me take care of you now," you whispered, your words a gentle caress against his lips, acutely aware of the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. "Last chance, Matty..."

"No." His response was unwavering, his grip firm yet tender as he pulled you closer, repositioning both of you so you lay lengthwise on the couch. His body enveloped yours, offering a comforting embrace, while his fingers traced a soothing path, brushing your hair away from your face. "You've done more than enough for me."

Your mind reeled with disbelief, completely taken aback by the intimacy of the moment. Your body tensed involuntarily as you found yourself pressed against the warmth of his chest, small beads of sweat glistening off his skin. Inhaling sharply, you caught a scent that mingled with his natural aroma, a hint of weed still lingering in the air. As you exhaled, a sense of surrender washed over you, your eyelids growing heavy with drowsiness as you eventually drifted off without even realizing it.

—————-

Here’s chapter fourteen->

[moonybelgug]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖

warnings: !MDNI! gn!reader, lots of sloppy kisses, he fiddles w your diddle but it’s barely described, kaeya was drunk but he’s getting better <33

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Waking up next to Kaeya… The light pours in through the cracks of the curtains as the warm winds blow through and caress your skin. He shifts with the direction of the breeze, leaning on top of you even more. His hair tickles as it tangles with your body, so you gently push it behind his ear, caressing the sharp line of his cheekbones. Kaeya’s eyes flutter open, and he catches your wrist, pressing kisses on your palm.

“Good morning,” he purrs as the kisses travel up your arm and into the crook of your neck. He tucks himself there, nuzzling into the warmth.

“Do you feel any better?” You ask him as you run your fingers through his long blue hair.

“Well, I don’t quite remember how I ended up in your bed, but I can’t say I mind it.”

You sigh at this statement, and you turn to look at him, pinching his cheek and causing him to whine.

“Take better care of yourself. If I have to see you drunk every night, I’ll stop finding you attractive,” you threaten, making him laugh softly. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him again, kissing any place of open skin.

He knew he needed to stop. But it’s, as they say, easier said than done. And though you didn’t seem to notice, he had been visiting Angel’s Share less lately since you returned. He figures loneliness was a factor in his killer habit.

His hands travel south, slipping into your underwear, prodding at you there before you dig his hand out.

“Can you even get it up?” You tease him, looking at his pouting face behind you.

“Can’t I say thank you?” He purrs into your ear, his hand on your tummy again as it tries to snake back in between your legs. You turn as he does this, and you pull him in, kissing him softly as he begins working his magic on you, surprised at the sudden affection but happily receiving it.

Your lips never stay still against each other and never part. Even if you stop to take a breath, there is still contact. You make sure of it, holding him close as though he may slip through the cracks of your fingers. He’s elusive, even with his hand between your legs, his mouth glued to yours. He’s hard to pin down or even read. It didn’t always used to be like this, but he’s changed as he grew up, and so have you. Though… you have noticed him staying around more. Had it been a few months ago, he would have left by now, leaving you only with a kiss. And come to think, every time you’ve looked for him at the bar, you haven’t found him.

You keen in his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull him in deeper to you, making him catch himself on the bed before he rolls fully on top of you. You feel him laugh as his hand stills in your underwear. You don’t even care about that.

“Kaeya, I’m sorry,” you say, kissing and licking at his lips. He tilts his head in confusion. “I shouldn’t have snapped earlier. Come here.”

You guide him between your legs, his hips between yours, as you continue to kiss, thinking about how he showed up at your doorstep last night, drunk as a skunk. You had berated him as the time, making him shower and drink some water. You had found it extremely annoying and yet the whole time, he was just wanting to be near you. Sure, you both knew he needed to stop getting blackout drunk but you did feel a little guilty for treating him like a burden.

“Thank you for coming home.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖

[forallthethingsyouvemadeof]

so, are you gonna listen?

jay knows you so well— so well— to make you kneel. or at least, to make you listen to him.

cw: not-so-demanding!jay but he's actually a sweetheart dw.

"how long are you going to be like this?" a pair of sharp eyes looking at you, so sharp you could barely breath. "i can walk on my own," you reply, knowing well it would be a hell to walk in this condition.

this morning you decided to get all the photo frames hung. since jay has been so busy, asking for help would be a burden for him. and you seem to be able to do anything on your own. but your legs decided to give up so you end up stumbled upon frame's glasses. ah, you should use a freaking couch instead of this tiny chair. this what make jay furious, you couldn't even ask for help. "what am i, darling? tell me."

it took you a long pause before answered, "husband." jay tilts his head, displeased. then he continued, "whose husband?"

"mine," you say, looking away while giving him an answer. the fact that you are trapped forever with that man give you an incomprehensible feeling. "good. even better if you would face me every time we talk," he cups your shoulders, turn you around, facing him. "stay still, let me take you to the couch and treat this so that you would thank your lovely husband," jay speaks, his tone's so flat and deep you could feel the anger. but still—

"i can do that, you should go to work now."

"you still wanna walk on your own? okay then, go ahead," jay watches you trying to stand up. your legs trembled and your body shivered. you could barely take one step ahead, a short blackout and you're back again in starting line. well, i guess this one is terrible. before you could try again, a familiar voice interrupted, "how is it, darling?"

your throat feels dry, it's painful even for taking a gulp. you pluck up the courage to face jay whos been looking at you for a while now. "help me," you finally give up. "pardon? what did you just say, miss?"

tears forming in your eyes, you're about to explode, yet you still continue, "please ... help me."

"well then, my wife is in pain, i must say yes to that." jay carries you as he speaks. he smiles. somehow it gives you peace you didn't ask for. jay always thinks that your eyes are your charm. those teary eyes couldn't be more beautiful

he sat you down on the cream couch you both bought two months ago. not taking too long, your sole filled with bandages and a pretty black ribbon. jay said it'll be prettier if we decorate it a bit, and it's indeed—pretty.

"jongseong," you say, even though your throat hurt like hell. "yes, darling." oh what a sweet voice. "don't call me miss," a look of confusion appears in front of you. "huh?" jay giggles. prettiest laugh you've ever heard.

"okay okay, then—

is my wife willing to listen to me from now on?"

[sweet-evie]

A Piece of the Whole

A glimpse into the life of a single dad who's doing his best.

masterlist || pt 2

Content ⚠️: Established Relationship, afab!oc, fem!oc, nameless!oc, she/her/hers pronouns for Satoru's S/O, Tragedy, Childbirth, Maternal Death, Mentions of Blood, Angst, singleparent!gojo, dad!gojo

Never Grow Up Pt 1

May 5, 2012: Sanno Hospital

Throat tight and heart shattered, Satoru choked down the remainder of his grief and promised himself the luxury of breaking down when he was alone. He couldn’t do it now… Not here. Not in front of doctors who offered him sympathies. Not in front of Shoko who sat beside him with equally mournful eyes.

How would he even begin to tell Megumi and Tsumiki?

The latter was especially excited through the phone when he and his partner rushed to the emergency ward almost a full day ago when her water broke.

Almost as if she read his mind, Shoko laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We should get things sorted out. Finish the paperwork and get the kids.”

Satoru swallowed around two mouthfuls of cotton balls and pushed his blackout sunglasses further up his nose — a sorry attempt at hiding how defeated he felt and how his eyes were full to bursting with unshed tears. It almost felt wrong to start moving again, as if the world hadn’t stopped turning the moment she took her last labored breath.

Logic told him this wasn’t the end… He was still Satoru Gojo — still the head of the Gojo clan, still saddled with the responsibility of instructing first year students at Jujutsu Tech, still needed to exterminate curses that cropped up too frequently for his liking. Being a father to a newborn was an added responsibility that he looked forward to for the past nine months and it was all because he had his Love by his side. He promised his lover and his would-be daughter his time and commitment, because if he couldn’t shoulder the burden of sheltering his baby in his own body and going through painful labor to deliver said baby into the world, then he would pour all his effort into taking care of the mother of his child and his new baby.

His Love did the work — uncomfortable, strenuous work that cost her her body image, her mental well-being on some especially hard days, and her general comfort.

What a woman…

What a woman she had been.

He’d asked her once why any woman would willingly do this to herself, knowing the possible complications, the risk, the changes, the toll, and she had smiled at him — amber eyes glinting in the afternoon light of the apartment they called ‘home’ — and told him that any woman who willingly went through pregnancy allowed it for different reasons. But for her, it was because—

“Loving her is loving a piece of you. And I love you wholly, Satoru.”

The strong smell of antiseptic brought him back from the memory he had been reminiscing about. The busy humdrum of a hospital outside the private room reminded him that his life might have ground to a halt, but others’ didn’t.

The Love of his life perished at the cost of delivering the baby she loved so much, and the world wouldn’t care.

“What do I tell her family?” Satoru mumbled, giving Shoko a verbal response at last.

“The truth. You can’t exactly hide it.”

Maybe he could get away with having his Mom deal with that. Their families had never been exceptionally close, but Satoru figured it was the least his mother could do after the woman had initially expressed her disapproval when they announced her pregnancy to his clan.

The main gripes had been the fact that she was not a sorcerer, they were not married, and his lover did not possess any sort of public influence that could benefit the Gojo clan.

Not that it mattered now…

His Love had passed away.

“At least her family would hate me enough not to bother with trying to file for custody. I don’t think they’d be happy about the baby either.”

“I doubt they’d be unhappy. It doesn’t matter if they do try to file, Gojo. Your parenting rights exceed theirs.”

“I know.”

Satoru stared at the empty bed and its flattened sheets. It looked too sterile — too clean. It was a far cry from the blood and the screaming and the smell of death that had permeated the room not too long ago. The smell and horrible aftertaste of death’s door was an all too familiar sensation to him unfortunately — especially after Megumi’s own father had brutalized him five years ago. He hated that his Love had to know what that was like before she succumbed to it.

“Have you met her yet?”

“Not yet.”

Regrettably, he hadn’t thought about the infant ever since he watched the light leave his Love’s eyes. She was the center of his world and truthfully, more important to him than a baby he barely knew. Of course he grieved her.

But now that Shoko brought it up, it added another horrible taste in his mouth. Just a month ago he’d felt so carefree as he laid beside his pregnant partner, shamelessly cooing and fawning over the unborn baby in her womb, making a show of how excited he was to be a dad, and already making plans to teach her plenty of things. Now his life flipped upside down at the onslaught of tragedy that befell his girlfriend.

The doctors had whisked his daughter away to the NICU to monitor her closely and provide care after the mother passed away near the end of delivery. The Love of his life didn’t even get to see her baby before she died… Didn’t even get the chance to speak her name so they could print it out in the tiny tags they kept around newborns’ wrists to identify them in the nursery.

Her last coherent words were impassioned pleas thrown out in the midst of her suffering, punctuated with labored breaths, gasps, and blood — so much blood that stained the white sheets pink and orange.

“Love her, Satoru. Promise me. Promise, please? Promise me. Love her. She needs you.”

Did she feel her own life slipping away? Was her strength sapped bit by bit with each gasp and strained scream? They’d taken her body to the morgue an hour ago, but he swore he could still feel her near bone-crushing grip on his fingers — regrettably a pathetic source of consolation during her labor. His words of whispered encouragement didn’t hold a candle to her pain and suffering. 

It couldn’t save her from rapid blood loss and cardiac arrest.

Pathetic…

The strongest sorcerer of the modern age — abundant in financial resources and political power, yet useless in the face of death and loss. This was his curse.

“It’s only been half an hour. Did the doctor say anything?”

“They might keep her there for the whole day or for weeks for all I know.”

“You should go see her.”

“I—”

Shoko’s tone was soft but firm as she reached out, squeezed his shoulder again, and made for the door. “I’ll come with you.”

=OoOoO=

Entering the neonatal unit was not as complicated as he first assumed. The entrance to the unit was armed with a cache of hand sanitizers, disinfecting alcohol, antibacterial liquid soap, face masks, and other paraphernalia meant to prevent spread of infection. Next to that was a station for handwashing. The place smelled of a strange yet pleasant mix of scented rubbing alcohol and baby powder.

The nurses had asked both him and Shoko to don hospital gowns over their clothes, plus wear gloves and masks. If the situation had been a little less grim, he would have argued with Shoko over whether these precautionary measures were really necessary for him when he had Infinity and his immune system was tougher than beds of nails. She would have told him how ridiculous he was being, and he would have countered with an argument that revolved around the idea that he was the last person carrying transferable diseases in the entire hospital.

But there was none of that…

He was quiet and subdued, even as the smiling nurse led them through.

She was not one of the nurses present during his baby’s birth, so she obviously didn’t know. Satoru wondered if she would have treated him differently if she knew. He let Shoko take care of the technicalities of the conversation. They were talking about IVs and breathing measurements and vital signs — everything that Satoru knew he should be paying attention to.

But he knew, despite his baby’s sensitive condition, that she was completely fine — that she was alive and that she would pull through.

His daughter’s cursed energy signature was readable outside of the unit. It thrummed and doused her in it completely like a second blanket. It wasn’t tightly reined or controlled, as expected from a newborn. She had more than the normal amount a sorcerer would have too — that tiny body housed enough cursed energy to match the output of a Grade 1 sorcerer.

He followed a step behind Shoko and the nurse, sunglasses now pushed to the top of his head so he could see everything. The tiny and insignificant curses that usually plagued hospitals were nowhere to be found — hiding from him most likely. 

Their little group stopped at the eighth infant warmer.

There she was — the fruit of his Love’s efforts.

Tiny, fragile, covered in a pink blanket, eyes half-open, her tiny arms and legs moving, and a nasal cannula in her nostrils.

“Normally, it’s really hard to tell which baby belongs to which parent because they all look so similar.” The nurse giggled at Shoko, gesturing to the rows and rows of dark-haired babies in identical infant warmers or incubators. “But your baby stands out from the rest. She’s hard to miss.”

“She’s not my baby.” Shoko corrected the nurse.

“Oh— My apologies, Dr. Ieiri.” She turned, about to address Satoru.

He was already standing over the tiny bed. The size of the infant warmer when placed right next to his towering height created a comical scene: a six-foot plus giant leaning over a restless baby.

“I can see where she gets her hair, Mr. Gojo. You have a very beautiful daughter.”

Her words barely registered in Satoru’s brain; his mind too preoccupied by the sight of his Love’s sweet angel. She’d begged him to love the little girl — made him promise. She had pleaded with every ounce of breath left in her rapidly deteriorating body.

And the sight of this tiny girl — her small fists curling and uncurling, small body wiggling and twitching underneath the soft blanket, and her head turned to his side with those eyes squeezed shut — broke what was left of his battered heart.

“She’s so small.” Satoru mumbled, seating himself on one of the stools they placed close to the infant warmer. (Truthfully, all newborn babies looked tiny compared to Satoru Gojo). 

Cautiously, he placed his elbows on the transparent edges of the warmer, watching the little girl closer, oblivious to the way Shoko and the nurse watched him.

“Is she a healthy size?” He spoke slowly, quietly; Six Eyes never straying away from the new life he’d helped create.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo.” She watched as Satoru fiddled with the name tag wrapped loosely around the newborn’s chubby wrist. A name hadn’t been given, so the tag simply read ‘Baby Gojo’. “If we could have her name, we could reprint a new tag.”

A name… If they could have her name.

Satoru stared at the thin white piece of photo paper between his fingers.

Born on the fifth moon at the beginning of the end of Spring, delivered at 11:43PM, firstborn child of the head of the Gojo clan, offspring of the strongest sorcerer alive.

The name left his lips unbidden, uttered as a reverent prayer and offering to a love he lost and equally gained. It was the name his Love had chosen — a fitting name for their baby girl and her powerful birthright, his Love had said.

“Satsuki… Her mother named her Satsuki, with the kanji for ‘blossom’ or ‘moon’ and ‘princess.’”

“A fitting name for a lovely girl. Your wife must be so proud.”

“She is…”

She would have been…

Satoru nodded along to the nurse’s kind comments, still wholly focused on watching his daughter. The nurse excused herself to accommodate a colleague’s inquiries, leaving him and Shoko alone amid the row of infant warmers and sleeping babies.

“You could touch her.” Shoko nodded once, noting how cautious Gojo was.

Uncaring of any protests, Satoru slipped off the glove that covered his right hand and gently slid two of his fingers into the space between her curled fingers and tiny palm. Her skin was warm and she was so so so small. It was a sight to behold: a daughter holding on to her father’s finger — a prelude of how they would behave around each other three years down the line. 

He was a stranger to fear, but in this moment, perhaps he could admit to feeling apprehensive — that his most delicate grip could shatter her. Satsuki deserved utmost care and tenderness — the kind that only a mother could give… The kind that Satoru so obviously lacked. He could put a roof over his daughter’s head, give her clothes to keep her warm, provide food in abundance so she would never starve, financially support her so she would never want for a single thing in her life, and protect her from every threat. All of that, and he would still be incapable of restoring the warmth and comfort Satsuki’s mother could have brought her — had she been given the chance.

That’s what hurt the most, he figured… Satsuki would only know of her mom — would only experience her through the thousands of pictures and videos Satoru had stored in memory cards and camera phones throughout the years. Satsuki would never know how sweet and warm her mother was, how affectionate and kind and patient. And no matter how much Satoru would strive to convey all of that through his stories and his actions, it could never measure up — could never bring proper justice to the firsthand experience Satsuki would have had, if only Fate wasn’t cruel to Satoru Gojo and everyone he loved.

He pulled down the mask that covered half of his face as he gently stroked his daughter’s hair. There was so much of it — a full head of white, a blanket of snow. He could fit her entire head in the palm of his hand. He marveled at all of her, now that he had been staring for quite some time. Thin and pale eyebrows matched her long white eyelashes. Her nose, her mouth, the shape of her face — it was all his. In this at least, no one could doubt her paternal lineage. (Not that anyone would dare to question Satoru Gojo if he claimed a baby was his — look-a-like or not).

“Oh my god, she’s all you.” Shoko muttered over his shoulder, echoing his own musings as she finally got a closer look for herself.

“Would the clan elders still insist on a paternity test, do you think?”

It was a half-baked attempt at humor, but Shoko did smile a little underneath her face mask. There was some truth to that claim. 

Satoru’s family weren’t the happiest group of people when they found out he got his girlfriend pregnant. They lived in modern society, but the biggest clans of the jujutsu world held fast to traditional beliefs, even if said beliefs dated all the way back to the 18th century. Satsuki was born out of wedlock, so in their judgmental eyes, she was illegitimate — unworthy of the Gojo name and certainly not fit to inherit any asset or receive support from the clan. But Shoko doubted that claim would stay for long — not if Satoru would have anything to do with it. He got what he wanted one way or the other (and for the most part). She knew her friend.

Shoko wagered that this family conflict would persist for a year or less… Satsuki is and forever will be entitled to the name ‘Gojo’, and Satoru would even put her in line to be the next head of the clan — patriarchal traditions be damned.

“How’s her cursed energy level?” Shoko asked out of curiosity. It had been on her mind ever since she and Satoru wandered into the unit.

“As stable as can be expected from a baby. The amount matches a Grade 1 sorcerer.” 

Shoko reached over the edge of the infant warmer to fix the blanket covering Satsuki’s body. “You think she’ll have Limitless?”

“Maybe. It would be better for her if something unique manifests instead. You never really know until kids hit five or six.”

Satoru continued to speak quietly as he scanned his daughter’s face, watching closely as her little eyelids fluttered and peeled themselves back halfway, revealing bright amber irises. At this, he had to smile.

“She has her mommy’s eyes. Of course she does.”

His Love would have adored her. She’d fawned over Satsuki from the moment they went to their first checkup. She had smiled so wide when they heard the steady beat of their little girl’s heart for the first time, and she told him all over again that her horrible nausea in the mornings, her swollen feet, her migraines, and all her troubles were worth it — even if he so obviously thought otherwise.

“Loving her is loving a piece of you. And I love you wholly, Satoru.”

A piece of him…

Satsuki was a piece of her too, wasn’t she?

Satsuki was the embodiment of her love — the remnant Satoru resolved to cherish for the rest of his days from this moment forth.

Shoko went looking for the nurse and left him alone for a moment, and Satoru contented himself with the view of his daughter staring listlessly into a mess of colors and shapes that her still-developing brain barely identified. Giving her the sincere smile she deserved, he held one of her tiny hands again and kissed her fingers — a promise of the life and future he would give her for as long as he was able.

It would be a long long while until he would see his Love again — longer still because their daughter needed him now. 

Wherever she was, perhaps watching over him and Satsuki, he sincerely hoped his Love heard the utterance of the very same words she’d told him that time he asked. His Love was right…

Loving the girl was loving a piece of her mother. And ever since that evening on Christmas Eve so many years ago, he’d loved every bit of his lover everyday, more than he did the day before until the moment she took her last breath. 

“I’ll take care of our little girl. I promise.”

[kunasthiast]

My God (2)

If last night's events are already stressful as it is, today's much worse than ever. With a visit to your father's office, what could go wrong?

Oh yeah, everything!

a/n: okaaaaay, so i'm halfway Chapter 3 as of posting this one >.<

I reaaally appreciate all your notes, reblogs, & comments for the taglist – it makes my heart flutter so much & it gets me so excited to finish this story already T^T

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + angst, Yakuza AU, Enemies to Lovers Word Count: 2,877 All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

<- previous • next ->

Taglist: @cr1sta11y @idk-bro-gay @tojis-ball-sack @thepurpleempath @fangirl-332 @jijijihanji @thedondiva45

As the first light of dawn crept into your room, a small gap in the blackout curtains that you forgot to fully close last night betrayed your efforts to keep the morning at bay. Yep, definitely starting the day this bad, how else will the rest of the day be like?

“Fuck,” you exclaimed so early in the morning. Or so you thought. Grabbing your phone from your nightstand, you tapped the screen to peek the time. 

9:54 AM.

With a groan, you closed and threw your phone somewhere in your room and laid down on your stomach. Face clearly being suffocated by your pillows. This life sucks.

“Why does it have to feel this way?” You said with a groan.

Flipping around, and lying on your back, you stared blankly at the ceiling. Absolutely feeling so devoid of everything in life. Your eyes are as empty as the void. It’s like everything was sucked out of you.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you walked over to the window and yanked the curtains shut, shutting out the intrusive light. The darkness offered a slight comfort from the harsh reality of the day ahead, but you knew you couldn't hide forever.

With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself to your feet and began getting ready for the day. Each movement felt like a chore, every action weighed down by the burden of disappointment and betrayal. I hate everyone already.

As you made your way downstairs, the familiar sights and sounds of your family's mansion served as a stark reminder of the life you were born into. Despite the opulence that surrounded you, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at your insides.

Walking to your father's office, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited. The door loomed ominously before you, a silent barrier between you and the truth that lay beyond. 

With a heavy sigh, you told yourself, “Here goes nothing.”

Summoning all your courage, you pushed open the door and stepped inside, steeling yourself for whatever may come. Little did you know, the events of the day were about to take a turn you never saw coming.

—

“Okay, first of all? What the fuck!” You erupted, your voice dripping with anger and disbelief as you confronted your father.

His face tightened in disappointment at your choice of words, “Language, dear,” he chided, his tone laced with irritation.

Yeah, never mind all the fucking respect he deserves. Scoffing at him, you paid his scolding no mind, too consumed by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. 

“Might I remind you,” pacing back and forth, you continued with your voice trembling with pent-up rage, “that you promised me a lot. A fucking LOT of times! That I’m the next head, only to have you pass it over to Sukuna – who by the way isn’t even a part of our family. I’m your family, your flesh and blood, damn it! I’m not even processing this properly yet and now you’re telling me that you already got me on a fucking arranged marriage to someone from the Gojo family? Oh, fuck off, father!” 

Your father remained unmoved, his expression unreadable as he calmly countered your tirade. “Honey, it’s just the way it is. Take it or leave it. And, for once, try to act like a respectable daughter,” he retorted, his words like a slap in the face, dismissing your turmoil cold-heartedly.

His indifference fueled your frustration further, and you fought to contain the seething anger threatening to boil over. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered, the weight of betrayal heavy in your chest with your fidgeting fingers.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, your father returned his attention to his book that you unfortunately cut him off from reading earlier, effectively ending the conversation. “I’m busy. Come back when you’re done with your tantrum. Now, leave.”

“I’m not gonna do as you say this time. I’m not gonna marry anyone from that fucking family,” you confidently declared with the fire still burning within you. “I’m not gonna be your fucking pawn, father. I’m leaving this family. So, deal with it.” 

Fuming with indignation, you stormed out his office. And, let’s not forget, you slammed the door hard when you left.

This is not the day I’ve envisioned to have today.

—

Back in your room, the weight of the recent events bore down on you like a heavy burden, pressing against your chest with a suffocating intensity.

Yet, there are no tears threatening to fall down anytime soon, just the palpable heartache and silent screams echoing through the depths of your soul. Please, I’m too strong for this.

As a way to make yourself calmer, that can help you gather your thoughts, you decided to go to your restaurant. Yes, the restaurant your father gifted on your 18th birthday. It’s apparently his gift symbolizing his support for your aspirations outside the family’s legacy. 

A bitter scoff escaped your lips, “Well, fuck legacy.” Words heavy with anger. As you made your way out your room towards the mansion’s carport, you know in yourself that you got to leave this place. “Yeah, I won’t go back home here,” you mutter to yourself as you approach your car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you revved the engine, the purr of the powerful machine echoing throughout the carport. But, as you were getting ready to live, your thoughts inevitably turned to the arranged marriage your father and the Gojo family had arranged.

Just the mere mention of this family sent shivers down your spine. Yeah, I fucking hate that family. They’ve been your family’s rival from the start. Always the territorial disputes, the dirty, underhanded tactics, and the arrogance that runs throughout every family member.

And, then there was Satoru – the one your father chose as your groom. Well, he has no choice, Satoru’s the only heir of his family, definitely of flesh and blood.

To call him attractive would be an understatement – Satoru has that magnetic, alluring charm that was impossible to ignore. Heck, he’s beautiful. With those azure eyes, fluffy white hair, and velvety voice, he’s every woman’s dream – except you. You’re not even sure why you think his hair’s fluffy!

But, all beautiful things have ugly sides. And his was a huge ass dent to his looks. He’s a fucking asshole. Clenching your jaw, you tore yourself away from your thoughts and the carport, steering yourself towards the way to your restaurant.

The drive to the restaurant made you forget everything for a moment. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. As you pulled into the parking lot, the sight of your restaurant filled you with a sense of calmness. 

Stepping out into the cool embrace of the wind, you savored this feeling that offers a temporary calmness within the raging storm inside you. 

“I’m so glad to be back,” you murmured to yourself.

Pushing open the door to the restaurant, you were greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling kitchen, the savory aroma of spices and herbs filling the air. Your staff, surprised by your unannounced visit, immediately greeted you with a mixture of surprise and fear. You rarely visit. Rarely.

You may own this business, but, you couldn’t really care less about the business side of these things as you’re too busy learning everything your father taught you with. And, this one’s not a part of it. Or, so you think!

He just gave this one to you when he learned you love to cook – which definitely by the way is a short occurrence in your life. You were bored, you learned how to cook, you made everything you’ve been craving for, and now you were bored, again.

But, you can’t deny the calmness that cooking brings you. It takes you out of your thoughts and just focus on prepping and cooking everything up.

Uraume, your most trusted confidante and your restaurant’s head chef, immediately approached you with a knowing look.“You’re only here when you’re stressed,” they remarked, their tone a mixture of sympathy and understanding.

You chuckled wryly as you made your way towards your office. “Yeah and today is no exception,” you replied, the weight of the previous events pressing heavily upon you. “I’ll whip something up in the kitchen. You know what to do.”

As you entered your office, you felt the sense of zen and calm wash over you. With each passing moment of taking in the familiar surrounding, the tension began to ebb away. You slipped into your chef’s jacket, your mind already buzzing with ideas for today’s creations. 

Glancing at the clock, you noted the time – 11:21 AM. Perfect timing. Your restaurant is supposed to open in a few minutes, but you instituted a rule long ago: when you were here, no one is allowed to enter the kitchen, and the restaurant will be closed to the public.

A tub of orange chicken sounds nice.

—

Sukuna's luxurious penthouse was filled with the soothing sound of water coming from the shower as he emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. With a flick of his hand, he silenced the insistent ringing of his phone, its screen lighting up with a call from Uraume, his most trusted confidante.

Walking across the marble floor towards his bedroom, his thoughts drifted to you, your demeanor from last night.

He knows you’ve been expecting to become the next head. He knows how frustrated you are feeling after the announcement has been made. He just knows. And, it amuses him to see your reaction, the way you wore your emotions so openly. He’s keen on observing you.

“Cute,” he mused to himself with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Dressing himself in a black slack with an unnecessary tight black folded sleeves, definitely outlining his sexy physique, topped with a suspender, Sukuna admired his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, more like it. His demeanor exuding with such confidence, power, and authority.

Adjusting his reading glasses, his mind buzzed with what’s to come for the day – negotiate with the Naoya from the Zenin family regarding the territorial disputes, dealing with the underground firearm deliveries he missed last night – all in a day’s work for a man of his calibre. 

Yet, amidst the chaos of his busy schedule, thoughts of you lingered, an unexpected distraction in his otherwise meticulously organized life.

Shaking this off, Sukuna stepped out onto the expansive balcony overlooking the city skyline. Before he could go on with his day, there was one matter that demanded his attention. Gotta see princess first.

As he reached for his car keys, Sukuna’s thoughts went back to you, a nagging reminder he couldn’t quite shake. How the fuck are you doing now. And, he can’t believe he’s this worried about you.

Brushing aside the thought for the nth time, Sukuna exited the penthouse with a confident stride, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As he was walking towards the elevator, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Glancing at the screen, a smirk tugged at his lips as he read the words: “She’s here.”

“Talk about coincidence,” he chuckled to himself.

Yeah, he can’t wait to meet you.

—

Sukuna stepped out of his sleek black car, the sharp click of his shoes against the pavement. He approached the entrance of the restaurant – which has a sign that says ‘closed’ – and his gaze fixed with a single purpose: to see you.

Pushing open the door that Uraume left unlocked for him, he stepped into the warmth of the restaurant, the savory aroma of the spices and herbs enveloped the cool air. The whole place is completely deserted with only Uraume sitting at one table. 

“Where is she,” Sukuna commanded as Uraume pointed towards the kitchen as their answer.

Sukuna’s eyes swept across the room, his gaze setting on the bustling kitchen where you were too focused on. There was a flicker of intrigue in his eyes as he watched you move, completely absorbed in your culinary hobby. You once told him that it was just a hobby and it sticked to him.

As he approached to observe you, the noise of the kitchen seemed to dim. Sukuna’s presence filled the space around you. Sensing him, a prickling sensation at the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine. Can’t this day get any better?

Turning, you met his gaze head-on, your expression guarded. Yeah, still attractive. You roamed your eyes on his whole physique, with a quick glance at his folded arms that showed his defined biceps. Okay, wrong move because the fluttering pterodactyls in your stomach are back.This made you sigh and cut your gaze off him.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice tinged with a hint of irritation and skepticism. Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your boldness, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“I came to see you, princess,” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with charm. You swear even without looking at him, you can see his smug smile that you want to wipe off his face and kiss – okay, what the fuck was that?

You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious tone and breathed heavily to clear up your thoughts, choosing to focus on your cooking instead. Sukuna’s presence is a distraction you didn’t need, especially not today. To top it off, you’re not ready for another confrontation.

“I don’t have time for your games, Sukuna,” you retorted, your voice firm. “If you’re here to eat, then see yourself out.”

Sukuna chuckled at this with his hands unfolding to raise it to a low surrender pose, “I don’t have games for you, princess. You know that. Just came here to check in on you.”

“How did you even know I’m here?”

“Uraume.” Oh, yeah. Even though Uraume’s your trusted confidante, they also are Sukuna’s trusted confidante. It just works like that.

Sukuna’s response only fueled your frustration further. The pterodactyls in your stomach long gone. Of course, Uraume would rather reveal your whereabouts to him that tell you how they even got close with Sukuna. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance at that.

"I assure you, princess, I mean no harm," he reassured, his voice smooth as silk. "I simply wanted to see how you're holding up after last night.” Yeah, he’s here to gloat.

Last night. The mere mention of it sent a wave of emotions crashing over you – anger, betrayal, frustration. You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your composure in front of him.

“I’m fine. You can have the fucking title as the head of the family all you want. I’m out of this family,” you replied curtly. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism, as he leaned casually against the wall near the door.

“Why leave?” He challenged, his voice dripping with casual disdain. “You’re just proving to your father that you’re not deserving to be a head. Too weak for this shit, princess?” 

“Oh, fuck off, ’Kuna. You don’t know anything,” you shot back, your tone sharp with annoyance.

Sukuna’s facade of nonchalance faltered for a moment, replaced by a feigned hurt expression. “It hurts my pride that you don’t acknowledge me that much, princess,” he said, his words clearly laced with mock sincerity.

“I can see it in your face,” he continued, his tone shifting to one of quiet intensity. “You don’t think I deserve to be the head.”

“Because you really don’t,” you retorted, your words cutting through the tension like a knife. “You’re not even blood-related to father, to us. Just a stranger who climbed up the ranks.” Yeah, you’re quite harsh on this one.

Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your brutal honesty. “Yet, a stranger better than the supposed one-and-only heir,” he quipped, his amusement evident.

Fed up with the conversation, you flipped him off. 

Sukuna chuckled, his laughter filling the space between you that made your eyes roll – you swear, you almost blacked out from that eye roll.

“Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I’m just a phone call away, princess. You know and I know that I’m on your speed dial,” he said with a wink and a smug smirk yet his tone is surprisingly genuine and a bit flirtatious.

But before he could make his exit, you called out to him, the desperation evident in your voice. “Wait.”

Oh, fuck his captivating eyes. Fuck his infuriatingly sexy smirk. Fuck the way his muscles strained against his tight shirt. Fuck those damn eyeglasses that he doesn’t even have to wear because he has a clear vision! Fuck everything, it’s all too much. I just need a way out so fuck my plan, too.

Sukuna paused, turning back to fix his gaze on you with a newfound intense curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Missed me already, princess?” His lips curled into a smug grin as he spoke, a hint of amusement lacing his words. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gathered the courage to blurt out the unexpected request. 

“Marry me, ‘Kuna.”

[bayetea]

I think that something to keep in mind about hazel is that in her first life sammy was the only person in the world who has shown her kindness. her mom was only ever nice to her when she was providing her with income. hazel is living in a society that considers her race subhuman and even members of her own community hate her because of the rumors about marie. she isn't just ostracized at school she's explicitly stated to have experienced violent bullying from other kids and yet she still protects them from being harmed by her cursed gems. she was neglected and abused by her mother and she still gives up elysium so that marie doesn't have to suffer in the afterlife. the very first time hazel retaliated against abuse was when she fought back against gaea - and her retaliation got her killed. her character is so effusively kind in a world full of hatred and injustice because she knows that she can't let herself succumb to bitterness like her mother

I think those months after her birthday when she was abducted to alaska are genuinely the absolute worst of her life specifically because she lost sammy, and his absence etched a crater-sized hole in her chest where his kindness once was. she can't get that from anyone else anymore. the alaskans don't welcome her and pluto can't reach her there and her mother is dying slowly right before her in an evil plot to destroy the world that she feels complicit in. genuinely her only option in this situation had always been to run away so that she couldn't be used as a pawn anymore, which she considered during those horrifying months but couldn't because gaea would retaliate against her mother. so hazel does what she always does: allows herself to suffer for people who have treated her poorly

and this post isn't about frank or percy but I think that this is something to contextualize as it relates to frazel and the percy&hazel dynamic. the foundation of her relationship with them is simply the mutual kindness and trust that they're able to develop in such a short time because they very quickly recognize the good inside of each other. hazel puts herself in harm's way to save frank and percy numerous times and it isn't one-sided like things were in her past life, they emphatically do the same for her as well. frank and percy show her how they care for her in ways that are so earnest and vehement (frank saying "we're not going to let you die again," percy saying "we're not letting anything happen to you", etc). as characters for whom the past is a source of conflict one way or another (hazel's blackouts and intense feelings of guilt over gaea, percy breaking down over his lost memories and getting triggered by things that conflict with his understanding of the world i.e. the evil centaurs, frank redeeming his ancestor's besmirched legacy and figuring out how to use the family gift), they readily offer kindness and understanding in the present without asking each other to suffer for it

and this is especially true of frank: by accessing hazel's blackouts and experiencing the events of her past life, he is sharing her heaviest traumas and burdens so that she doesn't have to experience them all alone. this burden-sharing is transitory; frank gives her his firewood, which is literally his life - and his life is the thing that finally grounds her. his life anchors hazel so that she doesn't get blackouts anymore (and he forfeits the weight of his heaviest burden to a person he can trust to take care of him). this thread of frank preventing hazel from being overtaken by adversaries of her past continues numerous times throughout son of neptune, most significantly when he shapeshifts for the very first time to save her from alcyoneus and when he comes up with the plan that gives hazel the chance to finally defeat her old enemy - and that's when she kisses him for the very first time. I consider this the very essence of their romance: reciprocation. it's not "you make me whole", it's "I love you and trust you to care for me as I care for you", it's "in being with you, I discover new depths within myself", it's "knowing you has given me the strength to grow"

so that's basically my favorite thing about son of neptune and I think a lot of people forget how intense the emotions in that book managed to get. it's not the most popular pjo novel but I don't think any other book in the franchise has evidenced how deeply three people who have literally just met (frank only knew her for 3 weeks pre-son) can touch each other's hearts by virtue of simply being kind to each other. like those boys LOVE hazel and think she's a wonderful person and express that repeatedly and I think that's just so sweet because she finally gets to have this in her second life. she really deserves to be cherished like that <- my longwinded way of saying that hazel was the gem all along, just like her mom finally realized in her last words before they died

[batsycline69]

Chapter Five: Merely Players

Summary: A terrible trip to a coffee shop, four smashed knuckles, and a city-wide blackout later, Red Hood is in your apartment.

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 5k

Warnings: profanity, canon-typical violence, descriptions of insecurity and feeling inadequate, mentions of injuries, childhood neglect/tense home situation briefly described, reader is really going through it, events of No Man’s Land referenced, chekov's batman

A/N: hiiiiiii it's been a hot minute. i made you a playlist for this chapter pls enjoy 💛

SERIES MASTERPOST | PREV

After the quake and the inescapable chaos that followed, your days were marked with tense silence. Rattling air conditioning units filled the void where your parents’ voices would be. You would grow to miss that dreadful quiet. It was better than the yelling that came later.

Gotham had been destroyed, but yours wasn’t the only family that lost nearly everything. At least you all made it out. All of the hollow reassurances seemed to lose meaning after a while. If your outcome was good, why didn’t your family seem happy?

Every need after seemed like too much to ask. And year after year, you shrank. When you dreamed of aftershocks, you kept it to yourself because your family was still asleep. If something upset you, you knew better than to draw any attention to it. You just so desperately wanted something to feel right, so you chose not to be a burden. No one else talked about their problems, so why should you?

With time and distance, you grew again. Moved back to Gotham when you could because home was still home, even if it looked different than it once did. Filled up the space you hadn’t dared to for so long. Or at least you thought so. Because a few harsh words from Jason felt like ten steps back.

You can’t really pin it all on him, but his abrupt exit from your life certainly hadn’t helped. Old fears shook loose. And yeah, maybe all those fears and insecurities made things cumbersome. You kept catching yourself trying not to make waves. If you didn’t need anything from anyone, maybe they wouldn’t notice all the issues you tried to hide from sight. The ones that peaked through and scared him off.

Last night, the sticky notes Jason left in all of the books you’d let him borrow nagged at you. Coming across the first one was an accident, but once you saw the familiar, scratchy handwriting, you knew you couldn’t stop thinking of all the others. These notes you’d once treasured—smiling to yourself as you read them—turned into a cruel taunt. Jason left them for you to see, but you didn’t want to see them anymore. Every reminder was—is—a stab at your bruised ego.

You stayed up later than you should have, and in terms of feeling well-rested in the morning, all that crying before bed didn’t do you any favors. A morning trip to your favorite coffee shop was supposed to resolve your funk, but the sight of Jason standing in line, Parable of the Sower dangling from his stupidly big hand, killed that dream entirely.

That was hours ago, but even still, you feel like you’re operating just a second behind everything else. You sat, stewing in your apartment, staring down Jason’s sticky notes until you couldn’t take it anymore.

So when you go to throw them all out, a sudden voice in the alley has you so surprised, you don’t even make out what was said. You spin to look towards the sidewalk, forgetting that the hand you moved is the only thing keeping the dumpster lid open.

The hard plastic clamors down onto your knuckles. A second passes without pain, though it only makes the waiting more cruel because you know what follows.

On top of an exhausting day, you’ve gone and smashed your hand in front of Red Hood.

Only once he’s at your side do you realize his voice was the one that caught you off guard. The light funneling in from the street reflects off the leather of his gloves as he reaches out for you. “Shit. Lemme take a look.”

“Fuck no,” you spit, voice pinched with pin. Tears swim behind your squeezed shut eyes. If you look back up at him, he’ll notice. And tears from the pain are one thing, but you know once you start, things will only snowball from there.

When you wanted something to replace your heartache, humiliation and a broken hand is the last thing you’d had in mind.

Venomous as you try to be, Red Hood doesn’t falter. It shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does. Only a handful of months ago, you found him bleeding in this same alley, waving off gunshot wounds like they’re nothing to bat an eye at. What are you compared to the dangers he faces? What fury could you send on him that would be anything more than a ripple to someone used to a tempest?

Hood sighs audibly. “Can you show me at least?” he asks.

You’re searching for some sort of sign he’s going to run away as you look up at him, though you’re not sure what exactly you’re expecting to find. Just Hood and his helmet, the hunch of his shoulders. His looming presence that you first saw emerge from the shadows the night you met Jason.

Jason. All this time, and you still can’t get him off your mind. Can’t unlink him even from this masked stranger who’s path time and time again crosses with yours. Who you can’t separate from Jason even now that he’s left you.

Every twitch of your finger leads to bright, throbbing pain. You scrunch your face up as you lower your hand enough for him to see. Even just from the quick peak you spare—wiping the tear that falls away quickly with your unscathed hand—you know there will be an ugly bruise. Carefully, you stretch your fingers out before bending them slightly when he asks if you can move them. He’s gracious enough to ignore your hitched breath.

“Good. Not broke, at least,” he says, giving a small, satisfied nod.

You imagine you must seem so feeble compared to him. Crying over a hand that isn’t even broken. Feeling sorry for yourself over a broken heart. Acting as if the best you didn’t have to offer him was an umbrella when he got shot.

The remains of your pity party are cut short, however, with a flash of light. You only catch a glimpse. Red Hood is on you fast, firmly pushing you back into the cool brick of your building. His bulky frame blocks your view. Not until a thunderous boom fills your ears do you realize Hood is sheltering you.

An explosion. And another soon after. Distant, but close enough to feel the ground rumble beneath your feet.

Now, your eyes are wide, trying to peer behind Red Hood to see what’s going on, but his size makes it impossible. Your mind races trying to fill in the gaps. Tries to convince you the ground is still shaking after it stops. Makes you brace for aftershocks that don’t come.

“What was that?” you whisper when the roar finally dies down.

Red Hood holds you where you are a moment longer. Large hands grip your arms firmly. “I don’t know.”

You haven’t been this close to him before. If you had even half of your mind in the present, you would smell gun oil and his body heat warming the leather. Instead you just smell ash.

When he takes a step away, you take a lungful of fresh air. Your shoulder leans up against the brick, taking stock of all the buildings still standing around you.

Darkness swallows the alley before either of you gets another word out. Gotham’s ever-present hum falls to silence. Even Red Hood seems more silent than ever. You’re thankful, at least, you have the glowing eyes of his helmet to reassure you he’s still there.

“Fuck. Must have been the power plant.” He glances over to where a warm glow brightens the starless sky. “Alright, stay here.”

You tense even more, eyes going wide and desperate. “Wait, are you coming back?” You hold your throbbing hand against your chest, while the other struggles not to reach out and grab his sleeve like a child. Guilt twists in your stomach; he probably only stumbled on you by accident, and here you are begging him to stay.

“Yeah,” he replies as if you’ve said nothing selfish. “Of course.”

As he jogs off to the sidewalk, you back against the wall of the alley, obscured by the dumpster. What you’re trying to hide from, you’re not sure, but the darkness unnerves you. Tugs at the corners of your mind as memories try to worm their way up to the forefront of your thoughts. The pain in your hand brightens as you clench your fist tighter when you need something else to focus on.

Without Red Hood at your side, more tears slip loose. They feel more substantial as you fight against your fears. Not just about heartache. Not even just about the pulse in the meat of your hand. You slide down, crouching low to be certain the ground is no longer shaking. But no amount of convincing yourself seems to save you. A desperate voice inside of you is screaming, warning you Gotham is going to split open all over again and swallow everything whole. That your life will be uprooted all over. That you don’t have Jason anymore, and there will be no one to help you with the mess but yourself.

Before you can go farther down the rabbit hole, Hood’s voice pulls you out. “You good?”

You startle slightly at the sound of his voice, foolishly wiping away your tears in a vain attempt to look like less of a mess than you are. You’re too aware of the hitching of your breath, making a grand effort to steady it as you nod.

If Red Hood believes you, and you’re certain he doesn’t, the helmet hides any sign. Maybe it’s better you can’t see his doubt. You don’t want to know how bad you really seem right now.

“Alright,” he says. “Get up in your apartment. I’ll meet you there.” You figure you’re not wearing your distress well when Hood quickly adds, “probably don’t want your neighbors seeing me with you, right?”

All the walk up your stairs, you feel miles away. Not inside your apartment, not in familiar halls, but buried beneath rubble. The air inside feels stuffy, makes your lungs squeeze uncomfortably. Your ears are straining, waiting to hear rattling picture frames and plates. Instead, you hear the chattering of people inside their apartments as you pass.

An explosion in Gotham isn’t news. The average Gothamite probably didn’t bat an eye. Yet again, you seem to be the only one with a problem.

Red Hood has already worked the latch of your window open by the time you make it inside. His thick thigh swings inside, then the other, and he expertly pushes himself all the way through.

You watch from a distance, still lingering by your front door. Hood moves effortlessly, but you are frozen in place, immobilized by phantoms you’d convinced yourself you shooed away.

Only when he moves to close the window are you nudged from deep in your head. “Keep it open, will you?” You don’t look at him as you ask. Don’t want him to see the desperate, cagey look on your face as you phase between your memories and the present.

“It’s freezing—”

“Just for a little. Please.” The cold air keeps you sharp. Soothes the ache in your lungs that you have to convince your mind isn’t really there.

Eyes you can’t see bore into your skull. How not okay you are, despite your insistence, is becoming more and more obvious, and you weren’t making a convincing case to begin with. And you hate that Red Hood can see it all coming down. You just want to convince someone you’re fine, because you’re not convincing yourself.

His mercy comes in the form of sparing you any further questions. He allows you silence as you fixate on the curtains wafting in the breeze. His boots are heavy on your floor as he roams into your kitchen, avoiding the creaky spot in the linoleum right in front of your fridge.

Yet again, your fingers curl into your palm, trying to give yourself something to tie yourself to your body.

Hood’s voice is what does it, an unexpected lifeline while you’re drowning in your history. “Least this is still frozen,” he says, pausing when he realizes you haven’t moved from your spot by the door. It takes a disjointed second before your eyes flicker to the bag of frozen peas in his hand. He nudges his helmet towards your couch. “C’mon.”

Maybe you’re making things up, but you swear you can hear sincerity through the modulation. You chalk it up to your sorry state. Since Jason left, things had gotten hard. You got up every day, you let life continue, but it felt like something had hollowed out inside of you. And in its wake was something starved to be seen.

You just want to feel important to someone. Loneliness is making you lose it. You need to get out more instead of making up some imaginary friendship with a guy who’s just caught you on the night you were barely holding yourself together. Poor Red Hood was just the sucker that had to deal with your emotional fallout.

You set aside your insecurities long enough to follow him over to the couch. This time, you set your hand in his palm as he holds it out for you. There’s no more fight. Not right now, at least. Not while your mind and your body feel like two entirely different entities.

He’s careful as he holds the bag wrapped up in your ratty dishtowel to your knuckles. “This alright?”

You nod, unsure how steady you’d be able to keep your voice. There’s no optimism it wouldn’t come out quivering or strained. Maybe you’d just start sobbing there and then. You wonder what his voice sounds like without the modulation. What face must be looking at you with disdain as you bat more tears away. Tears that get harder to hide once the sniffling starts.

Right now, you’re happy for his hand, the warmth of it settling beneath the chill of the bag of peas. You’re happy for the wind that rolls through your open window and sends a shiver down your spine. That cold has more bite than the one that settled over your body like a shroud.

The bag ends up in your hand as Red Hood shrugs the worn leather jacket from his arms. Without the bulk, you’d be able to see the definition of his muscles the suit provides, but focusing on anything at all seems like too big of an ask. “If you’re gonna insist on keeping that open, at least take this.”

Warm weight from his jacket settles over your shoulders. The kindness makes your lip wobble. You don’t want it. Don’t want to weigh him down with what will follow. Now the lump in your throat is too persistent to swallow.

When it’s clear you’re not feeling chatty, Hood busies himself with lighting candles throughout the apartment. The low glow of flame doesn’t offer the same solace as it normally would. There’s no relaxing atmosphere. You stare at the candles, doing your best to reassure yourself the flames aren’t straying from the wick.

Red Hood mutters something to himself you don’t catch.

After a graceless sniffle, you clear your throat and thank him. Why he’s so dedicated to helping you, you can’t be sure, but he just waves you off.

“It’d be a pain in the ass to light all these with your hand hurt.”

He’s not wrong, especially when it’s your dominant hand still throbbing beneath frozen veggies. But he doesn’t have to care. You should be meaningless to him. Just another nobody he’s helped out before. Didn’t need to get you something for your hand because you could do it yourself. Didn’t need to look out for you when you’re clearly on the verge of a breakdown. It’s Gotham; it’s not like you would bat an eye at the cruelty this city has to dish up.

“Do you have to go do something about the power?” It’s not the question you want to ask, but it provides you with some distance from what’s really on your mind.

Red Hood’s scoff sounds harsh beneath the helmet. “Not my gig. Let one of those do-gooders take care of it.”

“It’s not like you’re busy,” you mutter.

The broad line of Hood’s shoulders tense. “Listen, no offense, but you’re a mess right now. I’m not going to leave you alone.”

A mess. Don’t you know it. You just wished he was polite enough not to say so. But no amount of feeling sorry for yourself would give you that pity from Red Hood, apparently.

Your exhaustion comes to a head. If you’re not fooling anyone, there’s no point in hiding it. Or at least that’s how you comfort yourself when you finally breakdown into sobs. You don’t even have to look up to know Hood has gone tense beside you. He signed up for helping you out with your injured hand, not providing emotional support to someone who was well past help, but here you are, suckering him into your mess yet again.

Self-consciousness finds you even as you bawl, not giving yourself a moment of relief. Your chest heaves, head falling towards your lap in an attempt to save even a sliver of dignity in front of a dangerous vigilante.

He lets you cry anyway. Part of you really just wishes he’d leave right now, but for some reason, you feel certain he wouldn’t. Big Bad Red Hood sits alongside you as your breath hitches and tears drip onto your lap. He lets your whimpers fill the room. You allow yourself to pretend the weight of his jacket is an arm. Like you’re being held. You let yourself think it’s Jason, because if you’re already feeling pathetic, what’s making it worse?

You want something good, but it feels like every good thing you reach out to grab slips through your fingers. Your whole day has been a parade of good you were never allowed to keep.

When your sobs finally weaken back to sniffles, your old couch groans as Hood leans forward. The tissue box he grabs looks so small in his hand as he passes it over to you. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks.

“No.” You’re lying, but if you started to confess to Red Hood about your problems, you think you’d actually crawl out of your skin.

He gives you the silence you ask for. You miss the screeching of train wheels on the track outside your window. It would fill the space with the even less welcome sound of you blowing your nose. If Hood’s silence is a tactic to make you feel even more self-conscious, it works, because somewhere along the lines, your intentions get lost.

“It’s just….it’s going to sound, I don’t know, pedestrian, probably,” you hedge.

“Okay.”

You hate that he sounds so fine with whatever is going to follow. He shouldn’t care about any of this.

“I saw my ex today. I mean, he’s not even really my ex. We were never technically together.” Another sniffle. “It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I mean, we weren’t together. But...but I think I loved him. Which is also stupid.”

You could keep going, share the long list of things circling your mind endlessly. But Red Hood’s complete silence no longer feels like a pass to continue. A tension charges the room so strongly you’re surprised the lights don’t all turn back on. You prepare yourself to hear that he doesn’t care about your romantic problems; what would make you think he actually wanted to hear about it?

“What happened?”

Not the response you were expecting, given away by the way your eyes flicker up in surprise, even with the tears still swimming in them. Maybe he’s asking about the breakup, but you’re not going to tell Red Hood your ex thought you were too fucked up to keep around. You content yourself to tell him about the coffee shop.

“I don’t know. He was there one second. I looked away, and then he was gone. Nothing happened.”

That’s the simplified version. The long one is catching sight of Jason in line and feeling like the whole world came to a stop. Dark, wind-tussled curls sticking up, strands of white brushing against his forehead. His cheeks had been flushed pink from the cold.

Before you could hide—or at the very least look away—the barista calling your name out caught his attention. You froze like it would somehow save you from being seen. And then a woman beside you whispered to her friend, “is that Bruce Wayne?”

You didn’t care, not at first. Not until Jason’s eyes landed on him. Because when Jason looked back at you, his expression was guarded. Jaw set. A dangerous, unfamiliar glint in his eye.

The barista called your name a second time. You turned away from Jason for only a second to get your drink, but by the time you turned around again, he was gone. You wanted to hurry after him, but Bruce Wayne directly blocked your exit. He stood in the very narrow isle of the coffee shop, leaning against the back of some smitten woman’s chair, crooning about the home in Switzerland he’d love to take her to. You didn’t try to hide your irritation as you tried to alert him to your presence.

Once he finally left the orbit of his own ego, he straightened up and gave you a quick once-over. “Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he’d said as his hand pressed along the small of your back as he allowed you to pass. You left immediately. Even if the thought of pouring your drink over his expensive suit sounded like just the thing to improve your mood, you knew you didn’t have the energy to deal with the backlash.

“I bet your ex didn’t think it through,” Hood says, bringing you back to your tiny apartment yet again. You must look confused, so he continues. “About breaking up with you. You seem great.”

You let out a tearful scoff and sniffle. You want this all to be about Jason still. You’re wishing for the comfort of heartache over the nagging of your youthful fears. Memories of the past threatening to bury you just as the fragments of buildings had all those years ago.

“I’m not interested,” you say, making an attempt to lighten the mood, draw attention away from how torn up about everything you are. There’s no way he’s coming on to you. Besides, even if he was, you already fumbled a tattoo artist. You don’t have high hopes for your chances with a vigilante.

“No. No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.

Maybe you’re kidding yourself. Maybe you should just let Hood fuck you five ways to Sunday if it made you thought it would make you feel like someone wanted you around. It wouldn’t help, though. Wouldn’t starve you of want for what you know you can’t have. What doesn’t want you back. And you really don’t think you’d survive the embarrassment of accidentally calling Red Hood your ex-boyfriend’s name.

“I’m so mad at him,” you mutter, your voice rough with stray tears. “And I’m mad at myself because I didn’t see it coming.” Your confessional, at least, keeps your mind off everything else. The quaking from the non-existent cataclysm seems to fade along with the flashes of a life with a very clear distinction of before and after.

“Well...if you feel...the way you feel,” he mumbles, “would you take him back if he apologized?” It’s impossible to tell if he sounds bashful or not. Like saying love out loud intimidates the fearsome Red Hood.

“I don’t know.” If you had any sense, you would say no and mean it. But you don’t feel like lying tonight, so you settle for a half-truth. “Depends on the apology.”

How are you supposed to explain to Red Hood what it was like to wake up alongside Jason, waking up to the warmth of him with his heavy arm draped across you? What do you have to say to Red Hood about the rough comfort of holding Jason’s hand as you walk along the street? Those aren’t memories to share with him. Even if they’re yours, thinking of them now somehow feels forbidden. Your heart protests it every time you try. Your brain wants only to think of the smell of his cigarettes and how late he’d been for your appointment all those months ago, but that’s just a road that reminds you of the lingering scent of green soap when he’d come to your place after a long day at the shop.

You’re supposed to just move on from Jason, yet he’s literally etched into your skin.

He stays for a while longer. You don’t tell him about your memories of crumbling earth or of Jason. Neither of you speak much longer. He assures your knuckles ave been iced enough, and the peas go back in the freezer. When even beneath the warmth of his jacket, you begin to shiver, you allow Hood to close the window.

Eventually, you know the ground isn’t shaking. You pass some silent test that prompts Red Hood to ask if you’ll be okay on your own. You say yes. Somehow, you always manage, right?

He slips through your window as skillfully as he entered. The flames he lit dance in the wind before the window slams shut just enough to close all the way.

In the new emptiness of your apartment, you gaze off at the candles like you’re tracking the rate at which they burn. You’re still dizzy with your evening, glancing at the spot Red Hood had occupied only minutes earlier as if looking for a sign it actually happened.

Time slips away, and you realize you’ve turned your night over in your mind to the point of exhaustion. You blow out all the candles, save for one you carry to get ready for bed. When you emerge from your bathroom, you almost forget Red Hood closed the window on his way out.

Your curtains wave in a small breeze. The darkness is unnerving; you’re not used to it. On an average night, even with the lights off, you’d have residual streetlight slipping inside.

Cool night air prickles your skin as it brushes over your exposed arms. You slam the window shut, thrilled at the idea of finally crawling into bed after the day you’ve had. Without company to distract you, you realize how heavy your limbs feel. Even the weight of your head feels too heavy for your neck.

A deep voice cutting through the silence and darkness of your apartment abruptly changes your plans.

“What do you know about Red Hood?”

A horrible second passes in slow motion. The second between registering an unfamiliar voice in your home and facing it. You gasp. Spin around. With the extended darkness, you find him right away by the glow of eyes. Not Red Hood. Not a modulated voice you hear. Just grit. Cold, but assuredly human.

Batman is your new visitor.

There is no Jay Peters.

Batman, of course, didn’t tell you this directly. When he was satisfied you didn’t know anything about Red Hood—you think, at least—he left with nothing but cryptic hints. You spun his every word in your head throughout the night with nothing for you to do about it until the hum of electricity returned to your apartment in the early hours of the morning.

The obituary before you says Jason Todd was killed in a car accident. He’s small, but there’s no mistaking the boyish grin splitting his face open. You’d know those dimples anywhere.

Only one thing comes to mind as your logical next step: call Jason. Even so, the idea of it makes you uneasy. Not because he’s Red Hood—it makes so much sense in hindsight, and you feel humiliated for not seeing it earlier—but because Red Hood is still your ex. The very same ex you had casually mentioned still being in love with. To Red Hood. Who is your ex.

You’re scared and humiliated and exhausted. Sleep was meant to have found you hours ago, but the glow of your computer screen is a beacon that keeps urging you to uncover more.

How does Jason Todd, teenager killed in a car accident—allegedly, you suppose, because you know very well he isn’t dead—become Red Hood? To further complicate matters, how are you supposed to tell him Batman is onto him when Batman is clearly already watching you?

All you know is now things are starting to make more sense. Jason’s abrupt exit from your life. The way he danced around talking about his past. No longer can you tell what’s a lie and what’s the truth. But with absolute certainty, you remember thinking he was trouble from the start.

You wished it changed anything. You wished now you were free of your aching heart. But just because Jason is Red Hood doesn’t mean he held you any differently. The point you keep returning to is that tonight, Jason took care of you. Hood or not, Jason is still Jason. Any additional complications to that point are just an afterthought.

You don’t have all the answers. Maybe Jason really did leave because you’re fucked up. If he did, you’re not going to take that from him. Not as the truth takes root in your mind. All prior fear of him has dissipated, both as an ex and a vigilante. The need for an explanation rises above all else, and you very much intend to get one.

Exhaustion finally tugs you into sleep as the sun is beginning to rise. Even as you drift away, your mind settles on your plan: once you’re awake enough to stand, you’re marching into the tattoo shop to demand the truth.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider giving this a reblog 💛 as always, gigantic shoutout to @janybabyy for beta reading. i owe you my life

[yanderefreak1213]

Vee's World! (Yandere Shellvision)

Tws: Kidnapping, Forced affection, bondage, constant spying, Villain Vee, Murder, possible gore, Body horror,Abusive relationship, Manipulation tactics, yandere themes, Obsessive thoughts, Possessive thoughts. All around this is gonna be a heavily dark fanfic.

These acts shouldn't be supported in real life, I just wanted to try my hand at horror and my own version of One-sided Shellvision that involved Vee being the one inlove. Description of the story:

Oh no! Dandy's has gone missing! Quickly scrambling to find a replacement they chose Vee and made it into 'Vee's world'. Vee managed to keep their cartoons going, and kept them alive, Vee took control of the whole company though, even managing to out-rank the toon's creator..

The toons are however happy, and even the workers are happy...Ish. They only issue is- Vee has eyes everywhere, un-happy workers tend to..Disappear. The toons don't question it nor do they seem to mind Vee's constant viewing. However a certain catches the Gameshow's host's eye. The fossil toon, Shelly, However..Shelly starts to seem on edge with Vee...Can Shelly escape or is she forever stuck with the tv show host. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It was dark in the store, complete black out infact! An Elevator dings, as toons stepped out. Vee smiles as she steps out ahead of the group, causing the group behind her to wait before she gave the all clear "Alright, guys...The machines aren't hard to locate. Remember, we all still have shows tonight so lets get this done fast." Astro and Sprout didn't question much as they hurried off, you see blackouts happen often and while usually the staff fixes it. They were busy with preparing things tonight or they've gone home...So Vee figured it'd be good to get the main characters out for a bit to do it.

Shelly was still at the elevator with Pebbles who nudging her, Vee gave a disapproving frown "Shelly? Why aren't you moving?" Shelly jumped at Vee's sudden voice "Oh- nothing, Vee...Just uh...Not a big fan of the dark I guess...Heh.." Shelly looked around nervously.

Vee sighed a bit, she felt annoyed and was tempted to just leave the fossil toon at the elevator but for some strange reason she couldn't bring herself to do that, despite having pebbles with her, Vee still felt...Concerned? She looked at Shelly "Okay, here's what we'll do then...I produce enough light. Why don't you just stick with me? There's only four so we'll get them done and the lights back on quick. Deal?"

Shelly seemed suprised at the offer, before nodding "Sounds perfect, Vee! Thank you so much!" The tv show host just scoffed before leading the way with Pebble and Shelly following...Ever sense Dandy disappeared the mains are altered who takes Pebbles...However Pebbles tends to prefer Shelly it seems, it was weirdly comforting to Vee to know Shelly has a good guard dog now. The poor toon is too soft hearted to defend herself...

Vee felt a bit irritated when Shelly stayed mostly quiet...Usually the girl was talkative..If she was going to burden Vee with following her she could atleast keep her entertained, so Vee took upon herself to make some "So,Shelly....I've been sitting in on your segments lately." Shelly's attention instantly focused on Vee "O..oh Uh..Have you? How'd I not notice that?.."

Vee shrugged "I don't sit through the whole thing..Anyways..I've noticed you seemed nervous." Vee's focus went to locating the machines for a moment before her gaze focused back on the Fossil toon "You always give nervous glances to some of the staff." It wasn't a secret some of the staff were awful to Shelly, Vee just noticed recently after Astro told her.

She knows it's never been physical but she's not going to let one of the main characters be bullied by something so...Small as a human. Shelly shifted a bit "Oh. it's nothing Vee..Just a little er..Nervous with a crowd I guess." She forced a smile "I uh..Was actually wondering though, uh...I know my segment isn't...As popular as the others but is there uh..Anyway maybe we could invest a bit more money to revise my show room?.." Shelly looked like she was about to be scolded for asking with how she cringed back a bit.

Vee just gave her a look before looking ahead "You should've said somthing sooner, yeah sure. We can discuss that more after the shows tonight if you wanna tell m what you had planned." the other brightened a bit looking suprised "Wait- Really, oh I'd love that Vee!"

Vee shrugged "You don't need to thank me, Shelly regardless of how your segment is doing if you feel like there are things that need improvement on it you should always tell me." Vee hummed "I am glad you brought it up though because I would like to re-work your place a bit...It's so dull.." Shelly nodded a bit "I liked it at first but uh..Now its just..Lacking and it doesn't really feel like a kid's place..Heh.."

Vee nodded in agreement "Right, so after the gameshow tonight I expect to see you in my room so we can discuss remodeling." Vee felt a bit of pride when Shelly lit up. And it continued on like that.

They finished the machines and managed to meet up with Astro and then found sprout who was doing the last one. Shelly let out a sudden gasp scaring Sprout "Sorry Sprout! I just uh...Realized I forgot to finish the script for my segment tonight.." Vee felt her eye twitch in annoyance "Really?..." Shelly looked at her "I didn't mean to..Me and Tisha just got caught up in cleaning I guess..Heh." that struck a nerve with Vee, ofcorse it was Tisha who kept her busy...

Vee's tail lashed slightly, Tisha was an issue for her...Not only was she the only toon constantly rebelling against her, but she was constantly taking Shelly's attention and keeping her distracted... Tisha was a problem...

Before Vee could say anything Astro spoke "I can help you finish them, Shells.." he gave her a soft smile....Vee doesn't see it often...Why is he directing it at Shelly?...She doesn't like that...She...Wait, why does she care?

Vee scoffed "No, once we're done here you need to be on time for your sleep, you duties tonight with toon's dreams...I'll help Shelly finish her script, I already finished my stuff so I have time to kill.." Astro nodded meekly before shooting Shelly and apologetic look.

Eventually the lights came back on letting everyone go back to the elevator, Shelly and Vee went back to Vee's room to finish her script, though the whole time Vee just felt...Annoyed about Tisha...Who is that tissue box to sit here and act like she can talk to main character AND distract them from their duties?

....She didn't get why she was so mad...Really she didn't. Eventually the two finish the script and even started talking about the redesigns in Shelly's veiwing room.

When they were leaving Vee's room Vee made eye contact with Astro...He seemed concerned....But jumped when he saw Vee looking at him as he quickly hurried off. Shelly's giggling caught Vee's attention as she looked over to see the Fossil toon knelt down playing with Pebbles....Vee couldn't help the small smile at the cute sight. Before quickly wiping it off her face when Shelly looked at her "Well, I guess..I'll see you uh..Later? Did you still want me to come by after the show?" Vee just nodded "Obviously, I still have some questions for your showroom." Shelly just nodded excitedly before hurrying off. It make Vee question why no one in Shelly's area asked for renovations...Vee never denied suggestions unless they were overly stupid...She sighed before walking to her own filming area. Her thoughts still linger on the fossil toon....Why was Vee so focused on her...? And why was Astro acting weird around her?..

[edutainer2022]

Another story to tide me over through a blackout. Scott has a DNR and it nearly reaches a breaking point for everyone, but mostly for John. It's a Scott and John story, but Gordon has an important feature too.

Thank you, as ever, to @janetm74 for all the amazing support!

WHERE THERE'S A WILL

The doctors were considerate, compassionate even, given the family status and the scale of impending global and personal tragedy, but insistent - a decision needed to be made. Scott needed to be taken off the vent and if respiratory functions didn't resume, well... The hospital management were as discreet as possible, but the telltale glee was hard to hide when the doctors regarded "organ donor" on the esteemed patient's chart. A Christmas come early - Scott Tracy was young and extremely fit, and, of course, eager to save as many lives as possible as his last ever feat. It was the family's call.

Virgil seemed to barely hear the honeyed drone about a noble purpose of a life lived in service. His focus was on Scott exclusively - biggest brother's pale face and a limp hand, clutched in his both.

"Come back to us, Scotty! C'mon, don't leave me! Don't go!"

Grandma reclused herself from judgement, suddenly looking paper thin and frail, and every bit her advanced age, full of loss. She concentrated on keeping Alan from the worst of it.

Gordon raged and raved at the doctors. Scott would NEVER give up. Neither would they! Then Gordon raged and raved at a still, lifeless Scott, till completely exhausting himself and curling on the edge of the hospital bed.

Kayo and Brains were silent ghosts at the perifery of the unthinkable discussions. So were Penelope and Parker. It wasn't their place to decide, but it would be their loss to grieve a lifetime.

John knew. He felt like the tethers keeping him planted on solid earth were snapping and he was floating into the cold, dark infinity of space - lightheaded and nauseous. Detached and numb to everything. Because he knew. Attached to Scott's will was a DNR clause. Biggest brother didn't want to go on like that. To be a burden of failed hope. Always all too eager to race beyond the horizon. To follow Dad and meet Mom...

John knew, so he spoke up - for his brother couldn't. And just like that he felt the tether snap.

Virgil growled "NO!" and just clutched Scott's hand tighter. Grandma cried, for the first time in many years. Kayo steered Alan away and looked back at John like she was going to hunt him down and lurk in shadows later. Gordon raged and raved, for a good reason this time. He spat out names John didn't even contest and vowed to disown John if he went ahead with pulling the plug. Then he stormed out.

Brains looked at him like he'd killed MAX.

John felt about ready to disown himself. But he stood his ground - that was Scott's call, not theirs.

Deep down John understood. His own darkest fear had always been the loss of self. But it did little to feel better about loosing the beloved brother. The one thing worse was feeling like he was killing the beloved brother. Maybe more than one, if Virgil's reaction was anything to go by. Definitely more than one, for John knew he wasn't coming back from that.

***

The one thing Scott was apparently unable to do ever was ignore the brothers' pleas. He breathed. The dam broke then. The hospital bedside was a mayhem of happy hugs and happier tears, and cheers. The nurses had to shush the rowdy, extatic bunch down.

The Tinies flung themselves at Scott's still motionless, quiet form. Virgil never left his side, just adjusted the grip of the hand.

John bolted. He barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. And then broke down completely, his knees buckling and sobs raking his whole frame. Grandma hunted him down later with a reassuring ruffle of copper hair and a lopsided squeeze of the bony shoulder. But John could barely look her in the eyes. He wasn't sure how he could ever live with himself again.

Scott still had a long way to go, however, from an unassisted breath to consciousness. Anxious tension hung in the air and John was feeling every inch of the taut rope.

***

Scott had been in and out of it for several days. Each movement of eyelids or a slightest shift of the fingers - an effort. There was never fewer than one family member by his side, within reach. Sometimes several at once, somebody curled up over his covers, somebody holding on to his hand or carding carefully through his hair. But never once did his waking window focused on a much missed lanky ginger figure.

Until that one moment, around lunchtime, when the private hospital suite was otherwise deserted. Murky blue eyes, still groggy and unfocused, landed on the tall frame folded almost in two, kneeling by the bedside.

John had his whole face pressed into the brother's knuckles, clutching them fervently. Dried out tear tracks seemed to have been staining his face for some time. Rugged stubble shadowed the usually clean cheeks.

Scott's fingers shifted lightly, tenderly, to brush his brother's face.

"Hey!"

Scott's voice was raspy, barely a whisper. John started, dropped Scott's hand like he was burned, and nearly jumped away to the window.

"You're awake! I'll go get Virgil!"

John was mumbling and stumbling over simple words, which he never did, normally.

Scott's brow frowned, clearly upset.

"Don't go, 'ohnny. Long time no see."

John's fingers fidgeted, he did his best to avoid the blue, tracking him relentlessly, if with strain.

Fingers, thinned after a long coma, beckoned the spaceman feebly.

"Grandma told me. Thank you!"

John keened and shrunk away.

"Don't!!! You can't! You should hate me!"

He stopped screaming only having noticed Scott winced.

"I pulled the plug! I nearly murdered you! How can you forgive me?!"

John's own voice cracked and tears were streaming liberally.

Scott turned his hand palm up, prompting his brother to connect again. His voice was small, but earnest.

"You fought for my choice, Johnny. Nobody ever did."

The sound John made at the back of his throat was pure pain. For everything Scott was meaning. A flash of ginger across the room and John was sprawled across big brother's chest, bawling his heart out. Scott lifted his arm against fatigue to hold his brother closer.

John gulped down a choking sob and lifted his face to be level with Scott's gaze.

"That was a one time thing, brother. Don't make me do it again! I can't!"

"Johnny, please..."

"No!"

John's eyes were glassy, almost manic.

"No! Listen to me, Scotty! If it were me, or Virgil, or Allie, would you give up?"

"Never!"

Scott's answer came as naturally as a breath.

"Right! You'd hope for a miracle till the end. And then you'd make it happen. So will we!"

John's voice grew steadier by the second.

"Brains, and I, and Eos - we'll push the edge. We'll think of something nobody has ever imagined before! You deserve nothing less than a miracle!"

Blue eyes were glistening with a sheen of moisture too, by then. John rested his cheek over big brother's heart, exhausted.

The door opened and Gordon slipped in, taking in the scene before him. The ginger's back tensed and Scott shifted a pointed gaze up at the Fish. Gordon perched on the other side of the bed and reached to rub a circle over John's shoulder blades, before reaching to clasp Scott's hand.

"It's okay. We're good! We ARE!"

John visibly relaxed and Scott closed his eyes, spent by the turmoil.

Gordon flopped himself over John's prone form, wrapping both brothers in a true squid hug.

Scott was out like a light, breathing calm and even, by the time all others trickled back into the ward quietly, adding layers to the Tracy pile.

[zafirosreverie]

Not enough (Bruno x Reader)

For @tolkien-fantasy hope you like it

__________________

You sighed and tried to block the pain from your mind as you let Casita help you to the nearest chair. You were sick of this, of not being able to do things by yourself and having to depend not only on your family, but on the house itself. It's not that you weren't grateful, but each day you felt more like a burden than a person.

"Thank you Casita" you whispered

You didn't even pay attention to the little tile that waved in greeting, you were too busy gently rubbing your hands and trying to hold back the angry tears that stung in your eyes.

You really missed the time when you could do more things, when you could run, jump, cook, play with your nieces and nephew, when simply moving from one chair to another was not an almost impossible herculean task for you. A time that seemed so far away now.

It started just three years after your wedding. You and Bruno were at your best, just enjoying each other's company, being goofy and happy, you had even made plans to make your family bigger (even if he turned red as soon as you mentioned it), it was all so perfect. Until the first blackout.

It had happened out of nowhere, one moment you were buying books with Pepa and the next everything had suddenly gone dark. By the time you woke up, you were already at home, in your bed, with the whole family looking at you with concern while Julieta tried to bring down your fever. Your sister-in-law didn't know what caused it, and despite what she might say, the soft smiles she gave you and how much she cared for you, you knew that a part of her had never stopped feeling guilty, because no matter how much magical food she gave you, you never healed.

Things had only gotten worse for you since that day, blackouts occurring more and more frequently, your joints and muscles getting weaker, condemning you to a life of constant pain. At first, you didn't want to say anything, you didn't want to worry Bruno or give Julieta more work, but when Pepa had to carry you back in her arms because your legs couldn't bear your weight anymore, you had to admit that something was wrong with you.

Your husband hardly ever left your side since then, saying that he didn't help the town much anyway. Alma accepted it, too worried that something could happen to the person she saw as another child, Julieta scolded you for not going to her every time something hurt and Pepa had made it her mission not to lose sight of you in the strange times when her brother was not with you.

"You can't leave me alone with those two, Y/N" she had told you "I'd go crazy"

"You already are" you teased softly

She smiled at you, but you could see in her eyes the same fear that invaded them all. They never told you anything, but you knew that Bruno had tried to look into your future to find out how he could help you or what would happen to you, when would you get better? But he never shared that vision, and deep inside you knew the answer: you never would.

It was hard at first, but you were strong for him, because you knew that the only person more terrified than you was your husband. He was afraid of losing you, of not being able to do anything for you, and even though you felt the same fear of leaving him, you decided that you couldn't let that paralyze you, that regardless of whether you had much or little time left, you were going to enjoy it with your family. 

Your nieces and nephew were quick to get used to your situation. Isabela tried to act as if she could take care of you by herself, she would spend afternoons with you after school and she would fill your hair with beautiful flowers to cheer you up when you felt bad. Often she and Camilo competed over who could make you smile the most.

Luisa was extremely careful with you. She had just gotten her gift just two years before and she was terrified of hurting you with her strength, so she was content to just talk to you from the door. Mirabel, your precious butterfly, was the one who kept you the most company.

The girl was a miracle, you had told Julieta, who lit up the whole room with her mere presence. It didn't matter if Pepa or Bruno were keeping you company, Mirabel was always, always by your side, telling you how her day had gone, what things she had found, showing you her drawings and simply making you feel warmer every time she smiled at you.

However, everyone knew that it was Dolores who took care of you the most. The girl was silent, but her gift had turned out to be the most useful in helping you. She was always aware of you, your heart rate, your breathing, everything. If you started to get agitated, the girl immediately warned any adult who was nearby, she was like your little personal sentinel, always watching over you even if she wasn't around.

So you weren't surprised when Bruno rushed into the kitchen, almost tripping over his own feet. You smiled lovingly at him when he dropped in front of you with concern etched on his face. You were pleasantly surprised how after so many years, he was still incredibly handsome in your eyes and how he could look at you with such love and adoration, as if he hadn't spent the last few years practically having to shadow you.

"What happened?" he asked worried

"Nothing" you smiled "I just got a little dizzy, but I'm fine, Casita helped me"

He smiled back gently, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, his touch as light as a feather. That was another thing he knew you hated: that nowadays your conversations were just to say who had helped you. There were no longer funny stories, innocent gossip or funny anecdotes, your life was slowly ending between the same walls.

"Amor..." you whispered

"Yes?"

"...please"

Your husband's expression changed to one of intense pain. It wasn't the first time you had this conversation, that you begged him to tell you what he had seen in that vision. You weren't stupid, you knew there was no cure, otherwise Julieta's food would have already worked, you didn't want to know how it would happen, if it would be painful or if you would go off quietly between dreams. All you wanted to know was how much time you had.

"Y/N -" he started

"I need to know, Bruno" you interrupted him "I don't even know if I'll make it to next Christmas"

It was a depressing thought, because it was September, and if it weren't for the intense pain you felt all the time and that had gotten worse in recent weeks, you wouldn't be making such a suggestion knowing that Dolores was listening to you. But you felt that now was not the time to be careful.

"Mi vida-"

"Please" you begged "...just tell me, how much time do I have?"

Bruno looked at you with an intense mix of fear, pain, and regret, but with a flash of love, love so deep you could almost feel it in your very bones. He sighed and took your hands gently. His grip was shaky and you knew, even before the words left his mouth, that his response was causing him great pain.

"Not enough"

[awkward-fink]

In times of sickness - Captain John Price

„John, could you lend me a hand over here? I could really use some – John?” You slowly bully your way into the house again, your arms fully laden with grocery bags. Normally your husband would have already materialized at the door at the first sounds of you coming back from the market, would have taken your bags and helped you put them away, but today he wasn’t even at the door, you couldn’t even him walking the old wooden stairs.

Furrowing your brows, you set down the first haul of bags on the kitchen table, which was halfway cleared from breakfast items and the bad feeling in your gut only intensified. Your husband had begged off your Saturday market run, against his very nature, citing tiredness and wanting to go sleep for another hour. But this had been three hours ago.

“John?” You cautiously call up the stairs, but there is no reaction. With hurried steps you go up the stairs and towards your shared bedroom, opening the door and slipping into the darkness right behind. Seems as if your husband didn’t even open the blackout-curtains. It was stifling inside the bedroom, a sweet scent lingering in the air.

And there your husband was, in bed and buried underneath his own and your blanket, forehead sweat slicked and breathing even louder than his normal relaxed snoring. Now you were worried.

“John? Love?” You whisper softly, taking a few steps closer, but your husband doesn’t even move, doesn’t even twitch as your voice reaches his ears. With nearly silent steps and only the light shining through the barely open door, you creep closer to your husband’s bedside, reaching out to put the back of your hand against his forehead. Instantly the heat hits you hard, sweat clinging to your skin as you draw your hand back again. A fever, a high one. Damn.

“Oh Honey…” You murmur under your breath, leaning down to press the gentlest of kisses onto his temple, watching his brows furrow and then relax some. Your husband isn’t sick often, but when he is, its thankfully over in a few days. But those days that he is sick, you prefer to stay in right beside him.

“Don’t worry Love, I am going to take good care of you.”

---------------------------------

Captain John Price doesn’t get sick, never. He has too much to do to become sick, chores and work and house improvements for example.

So no, that man really doesn’t have the time nor the free time capacity to be sick.

But when he does, he is down for good. Thankfully only for a few days, but those days are hard. On him and you.

He won’t move much, doesn’t want to eat much. He doesn’t want to be a burden on you and just wants to sleep and sweat that sickness right out.

He doesn’t like you getting to close in that time, you could get ill and he really doesn’t want you to fall ill as well, he would feel so bad about it

Would much rather you be ill, and he can care about you every second of a day with soft cuddles and self-made soup than he be ill and you doing the same for him

Double standards all the way

Thankfully doesn’t have the man-flu and won’t be dying anytime soon.

Will be back to normal at the latest 4 days after falling into bed like a log, will take a self-indulgent shower (best is with you under the water as well) of at least 15 minutes to feel like a new man again

That man. I swear. This man will hide sickness and illness if he can get away with it.

[loki-hargreeves]

I made a "Moon Knight season 2 vibes maybe?" playlist and I kinda wanna explain my thought process and what I think should/could be included in 2 and why the songs give off those vibes

I can see clearly now by Johnny Nash - I can see S2 opening with Marc and Steven waking up and life seeming good for once. They're happy, working together, there's banter. Maybe they've found a job or are job hunting but it should start with them thinking they're gonna have a totally normal day and life

"I can see clearly now, the rain is gone I can see all obstacles in my way Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright) Sun-shiny day"

2. Aline by Christophe - This screams romance to me. They should show early on that they're still with Layla but working through all the issues that were brought up in S2 (figuring out the divorce paper situation). Despite the hardships, this song shows how much they love her (don't we all?)

Just listen to this for two seconds and imagine Marc and Steven just looking at Layla like lovesick fools

3. The Bushman's Song by Stan Coster - New villain!! <3 I like how this sounds like a fun country song but it should play while showing that Bushman is back and has an old grudge to settle with Marc, in a brutal scene where he does something cold-blooded like it's nothing. Maybe a slowed-down scene of him walking through a bloody crime scene, smoking and looking at a recent picture/recording of Marc

4. Tonight You Belong to Me by Patience & Prudence - This would be perfect for a timelapse type of scene showing Jake Lockley doing Khonshu's bidding

"My honey, I know (I know) With the dawn that you will be gone But tonight you belong to me"

5. The Three of Us by Streetlight Manifesto

Marc and Steven aren't stupid, nor is Layla. They all know something is going on and I'm sure they want to find out who has been in control during their blackouts. S2 should include scenes where Steven and Marc talk about the blackouts and try to catch Jake somehow.

Once they finally do (which I can imagine happening in an action-packed scene, maybe in the middle of a fight) this song would be so good for it. I can picture it so clearly, this fight scene with the camera panning around them as they switch who's fronting and Marc and Steven being pissed because Jake is using mk powers, arguing while having to fight off their enemies

"There we were, the three of us The thief, the king and I Finally, we were forced to see We were equals in the night"

6. One by Three Dog Night - Speaking of Jake Lockley, I think S2 should show how lonely Jake really is, another side of him than just a fighter. How does he feel when Steven and Marc get to be with Layla and live normal lives, without knowing Khonshu is still on their asses? Jake must feel a horrible burden to protect them while also being all alone, probably thinking about how no one even broke him out of the sarcophagus in 1x05

7. Blood On My Name by The Brothers Bright - S2 should dive deeper into Marc's past, especially with Bushman. Show us more of what happened between them and why Bushman now is coming after Marc.

Can you imagine how terrifying it is for Marc and Steven when they think they're powerless and fucking Bushman is after them??

"It won't be long, 'til I'm dead and gone Watch the fires rise, burn through my skin Down to the bone, scorchin' my soul Nowhere to run"

8. Come Together by Laren O'Connell (specifically her version) - This is more fitting for a scene where Jake, Marc and Steven finally work together with mutual understanding. They are united against Khonshu, against Bushman and everyone else who gets in their way. This scene would be so beautiful 🥺 them taking their power back

"He roller-coaster, he got early warnin' He got muddy water, he one mojo filter He says, "One and one and one is three" Got to be good-looking, 'cause he's so hard to see

Come together right now Over me"

Basically the "we are moon knight" moment from the comics

9. Adoro by Armando Manzanero - Jake and Layla scene!!! He would be so whipped after she calls his ass out

"Adoro la forma en que sonríes Y el modo en que a veces me riñes - Eres mi luna y eres mi sol, eres mi noche de amor"

10. Parasite by Set It Off - This song is angry and to me, it gives off the vibes of an epic Moon Knight fight scene. Obviously, Khonshu is a Parasite to them but I also think they should show their rage and anger in season 2 and maybe give us a cool suiting-up scene

"If I'm such a wreck, then why so obsessive? Devil playing God Performative mess, just craving attention Taking what you want From me so you're not obsolete Sinking your teeth, I'll bleed But all you'll be is just a parasite!"

The playlist has even more songs but this post would be way too long if I included them all. But here's a few to feed the s2 waiting room delulu <3