#but he would leave everyone else in the dark he’d want to disappear

[calamitoustide]

once again thinking about James and Reg going backpacking to run from their problems alone and then they meet each other on the fourth day and just keep walking with each other because they’re going the same pace so why not (James’ idea) and they end up talking through everything and heal together in a way they couldn’t do alone

[thelostconsultant]

Delicate. part 1

pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

note: Lando invites everyone to his New Year's Eve party, but Charles convinces you to join him on a hunt for food.

You knew this New Year’s Eve party was important to Lando, you knew he wanted everyone to be there, so you put on a shiny, dark pink sequin mini dress, applied some light makeup, then headed out to the club that he somehow managed to reserve for himself. How long he’d been planning this, you had no idea, but he surely went a little overboard this time. I just want to be alone with my friends, that’s not a crime, he defended himself when you pointed this out to him a few weeks ago. 

At the party, you felt a little out of place. This was the first time in years you weren’t entering the new year on the side of your boyfriend, the one you had broken up with half a year ago. It was a mutual decision, the spark wasn’t there anymore, so you didn’t miss him, you just missed the idea of clinging to someone the whole night. It was pathetic, you hated yourself for feeling this way, but there was nothing you could do about it. 

Your best friend knew Lando, but she didn’t get an invitation because everybody knew she spent every New Year’s Eve on a yacht in the Maldives. She tried to convince you to go with her this year, but you didn’t feel like leaving Monaco for a place so far away, especially not when she would be all over her boyfriend the whole time. They were cute together, you loved them, but third wheeling wasn’t so inviting. 

You chatted with a few people, even let someone convince you to dance a little, but then you found a couch in the back of the club that you chose as your permanent spot for the rest of the night when you sat down with a cocktail in your hand. It was nice to sit back and watch the people around you celebrate, having the time of their lives from the looks of it. Despite the weird feeling you had since you arrived, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight. At least they were happy. They were celebrating. 

You? You didn’t know what to look out for in the new year. Maybe you should get a job again. After you finished your studies, you worked for a consulting company for a year, but then you had enough of the excel files and the presentations, and decided to be nothing more than a carefree heiress in the future. Your grandmother, who came from a wealthy family with a long history, had always favored you over her children, including your mother. So, when she died, she left everything to you in her will. 

The peaceful people-watching activity was disrupted when you noticed someone plopping down next to you out of the corner of your eye. It annoyed you, really, but once you turned to look at who it was, your annoyance disappeared as if it hadn’t even been there. You didn’t really know Charles. Sure, he was on good terms with Lando, sometimes you attended the same parties, but the most you exchanged were probably a total of ten sentences in the span of years. But he had that calming aura around him, one that made you feel better, as if you were suddenly wrapped in a warm blanket. 

At first, you didn’t talk, there was no need for that. He just probably needed a place to sit down until he got a little rest before rejoining the party. Sipping your drink, you continued to watch the people, completely ignoring your neighbor. But then you began to have a strange feeling, as if someone was watching you, eyes burning a hole in you without knowing, and it didn’t take long to figure out it was him who was shamelessly ogling you. 

When you turned to him with a questioning look, he quickly shifted his gaze somewhere else, acting like he hadn’t just been caught in the act of staring at you. Shaking your head a little, you decided to ignore him for now. He was probably drunk and had no idea what was appropriate anymore. Although, he didn’t seem that out of it, in fact, he just looked tired with those dark circles under his eyes. 

And then you felt his thigh press against yours, shoulders touching after he moved closer to you. “I bet you don’t wanna be here either,” he said, leaning close so you could hear him over the music. Finally turning to acknowledge him, you give him a surprised look. “Lando was quite literally begging me to come tonight. I’m only here because I promised, even though I’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else,” he added. 

“If I could choose, I’d be sitting on my couch with a blanket around me, eating popcorn while holding a movie marathon,” you admitted with a smile. “But it’s impossible to say no to him.”

“Sad, but true.” His green eyes turned to the crowd in front of you, but you didn’t miss the way his fingers played with his bracelets. “I would give up my car for some popcorn. Or a pizza. Or some pasta. Anything, really, because I’m starving,” he told you as he looked back.

The last time you were around the other side of the club, there was a huge table with a lot of food, how could he not see that? But when you shared this little piece of information with him, he just laughed, and his bright smile reached his eyes too. You wondered what was so funny about this, but you soon got your answer.

“Yeah, that was true until about an hour ago. I was just about to finally eat something, but some guy grabbed the very last of the sliders I had my eyes on. The table is empty. There’s no food. We’re going to die.” He dramatically threw his hands in the air as he leaned back, glancing down at his watch. “It’s only eleven, I don’t know how long I’ll last. Do you think I will live until midnight?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his question. But you weren’t laughing at him, you were laughing with him. Now that he mentioned food, though, you realized that you were quite hungry too. “Did you really have to bring up food?” you asked him with a disapproving look. 

Charles’s lips curled into a grin. “Now you’re hungry too, aren’t you?” When you nodded, he bumped his shoulder against yours. “It’s your fault for talking about popcorn,” he pointed out. “Although… Do you think Lando would notice if we left? He seems so busy partying that I highly doubt he would notice we’re not here.”

As your eyes scanned the crowd to find the host, you let out a thoughtful hum. The last time you saw him, which conveniently happened in the restroom, he was already on his way to get real drunk, and he was having so much fun you highly doubted he would care about some of his guests escaping. So, without thinking more about this, you turned to the Monegasque next to you and told him the answer is probably no. 

“Great,” he said as he jumped up and extended his hand for you to grab it. When you just watched him with a questioning look, he leaned down to take your hand and pull you up. “Come on, I know a place where we can hopefully get food.” And with that, he took your hand and pulled you towards the exit, not really giving you the chance to object. 

The two of you walked down the street, hands stuffed into the pockets of your jackets to fight the chilly night air, and you talked about music, movies, even about how Christmas went. You barely noticed that he came to a halt in front of a little bistro in a narrow street, holding up a pointer finger to ask for a second while he opened the door and peeked inside. 

He spoke with someone in French, exchanging words you couldn’t quite make out, then he reached out for your hand with a smile on his face and pulled you inside. There was a small group of people sitting around a table, happily discussing something until they noticed you standing there. At first, there was silence. But then they erupted in cheers while someone stood up and pulled Charles into a hug.

A man in his late thirties ushered you to an empty chair by the table that he pulled out for you, then he poured both you and the Monegasque driver a glass of wine. You watched as your new companion got comfortable across from you, already deep in a conversation with an older man who explained something with wide motions of his hand. 

Whoever these people were, they clearly welcomed him like he was family. The older man he was talking to called him son at one point, and Charles didn't flinch, he just smiled lovingly as he listened to the story. He was way more at ease here than he had been back in the club. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, but those green eyes came to life in this new environment.

Someone placed freshly made sandwiches in front of you, and you didn't miss the small smile on his face when he glanced at you for a moment. A little explanation would have been nice, just so you would know whose company you were enjoying, but since he didn't bother to explain, you focused your attention on your food. And when you took a bite? God, it was heavenly. 

“Good, right?” When you glanced up, you noticed that a kind-looking, forty-something woman was now sitting on the chair next to you, her long brown hair flowing down her shoulders as her blue eyes watched you with a mischievous glint. “My father,” she began, motioning towards the man Charles was talking to, “opened this place because he wanted people to have actual conversations with each other while enjoying their food. Charles can have extremely long discussions with him about literally anything.”

Once you swallowed, you extended a hand to her to introduce yourself. After you got past that, you turned your finger around to show what you were about to say was related to everyone in this room. “So, is it a family event that he just crashed?” you wondered out loud. 

Marie let out a laugh as she shook her head. “Hardly. They're all friends through my father, though. We always gather here on New Year's Eve, but this is the first time Charles came. Although, based on the way he made his sandwich disappear so fast, I guess it was the food that brought him here,” she said with a wide smile. 

Guilt rushed through your body upon hearing this, because that's exactly what happened. But he seemed happy, maybe deep down he wanted to be here with his friends. They were so different from the ones you also hung out with, the F1 drivers and other celebrities. These were normal people, having normal conversations, acting genuinely and kindly. 

You got lost in a conversation, but soon it was interrupted when she glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:55 p.m. It was almost time. She excused herself and left to fill flutes with champagne, and before you knew it, you were all standing in a circle, counting down to midnight. Charles was standing next to you, smiling so much that his nose crinkled in the cutest way.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. 

And just when you wanted to join the group as they said happy new year, you felt a hand on the back of your neck, then a few milliseconds later, before your brain could comprehend what was happening, Charles's lips crashed into yours. It was slow and soft, he definitely took his time with you as if you weren’t surrounded by people. And just as abruptly as it began, it came to an end eventually. 

“It's in the law to kiss someone at midnight,” he said with a smile as he licked his lips.

For a while you were staring at him dumbfounded, but you managed to shake off this feeling and nodded after a short break. That’s true, it was a well-known tradition. Flashing a smile at him, you turned away to clink your glasses with the others, placing friendly kisses on their cheeks in the process, but Marie decided to pull you into a hug, treating you as if you had known each other for a long time. 

It felt nice. Unlike at the party, here you actually felt like you belonged. Sure, you and Lando were really good friends, and yes, you knew many of his friends, but none of them was a close friend of yours. Yet, despite not really knowing Charles, the fact he was so relaxed and happy among his friends made you happy too. It was a contagious feeling, and maybe it was related to the warm welcome here that lifted your mood. These people were so different from the ones you were used to in your everyday life. It was charming, really. 

You all sat down when someone pulled out a board game that seemed old and unfamiliar to you. But they were kind enough to explain the rules to you, and Charles even promised to help you throughout the game as he took a seat next to you. I only began to understand it around the third time we played it, so don’t be sad if you still don’t understand any of it by the end, he told you with a laugh. You returned his beaming smile, and in the next two hours or so you laughed a lot, argued a lot, and there was even some shouting when someone accused another of cheating. 

By the time they packed up the game, you were so tired you couldn't fight back your yawns. You glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was past three in the morning, and you knew it was time to go home now, because even though fun’s fun, there's a limit to everything. The thought of your soft bed was inviting, like a siren calling for you from the distance, and the idea of spending the whole day in it was the cherry on top.

“Going home?” Marie asked you with her hand resting on your shoulder, her tired smile giving away that she was probably also debating calling it a day. When you nodded, she let out a defeated sigh. “I wish I could go too, but I promised my father I'd stick around and help him clean up a bit after everyone left.”

Without thinking much, you pulled her into a hug. “I'm sure you could convince him to clean up tomo–well, later today,” you finished with a laugh. 

She leaned back to look at you. “And leave the dirty plates and glasses here? No, thank you. I'll just sleep a little longer, I guess,” she replied as she let you go.

Suddenly an arm landed around your shoulder, and based on the bracelets around the man's right wrist, it was a safe bet that the man was Charles. And sure enough, the driver's face came into view when he leaned into your field of vision. You watched him with a curious look in your eyes, but he didn't seem too interested in explaining what he wanted.

“I've already told this to your father, but thank you for hosting us, even though we arrived last minute without a warning,” he finished with a boyish smile before his green eyes turned to you. “But it's late, we'll head home now.” 

Marie kissed his cheek, then she reached out to squeeze your hand as a goodbye. “It was nice to have you both here. You know you can jump in anytime. And you,” she went on, turning to you, “would better not disappear on me. Let's have lunch together someday.”

“Of course. I'll give you a call tomorrow when we're both fully awake,” you promised with a smile.

The two of you said goodbye to everyone, then stepped out on the street, standing next to each other in silence. It felt like you had suddenly run out of topics to discuss, although after some thinking, you managed to find something you could bring up.

“You could've stayed a little longer,” you told him as your eyes found his face again. 

Charles laughed as he shook his head. “It's late, I could use some proper sleep too,” he admitted. As his eyes were focused on you, he bit on his lower lip and clearly thought about something. “Can I walk you home?” 

“That’s a nice offer, but I already called a taxi. Thanks for bringing me here, though. I had fun,” you said with a wide smile. It was true, you couldn't remember the last time you had been to such a nice New Year's Eve party. Your phone pinged to tell you the taxi was arriving, and when you noticed the car pulling up, you stood on your toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Sleep tight,” he told you quietly, but you could feel there was something else he wanted to say. 

In the end, he remained silent, and you got in the car that took you home. As you sat there with your eyes taking in how magnificent this city looked tonight, you couldn't help but think about how the party turned out. It was nice to get to know him a little better, seeing a side of him that maybe wasn't as visible from the outside as one would expect. If you had known how fun he could be, you probably would have become friendly with him sooner.

[highonmarvel]

Ribs

Bucky Barnes: Mob!Bucky finds you. 18+ only.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of domestic violence. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with explicit descriptions of physical and verbal abuse and rape. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I can not stress this enough. I am fucked up.

Non Con Warning!

What’s scarier than dating Bucky? Leaving him.

You thought with dating the most notorious mob boss in New York, the biggest danger would be his enemies, no: the biggest threat to your safety was him. When you had first met him, you hadn’t known who he was, having only moved to New York a few months prior. He was charming, and he had an air of danger about him you couldn’t help but be attracted to; you thought it would be fun, a New York bad boy, he was all mysterious. You didn’t have any friends at the time, so no one could have warned you about who he really was, and by the time you found out, you were in too deep.

Maybe him being suspiciously rich should have raised a red flag, because even the most pretentious of the wealthy don’t take a limo to a bar, but he had, that first night you met him. The loud chatter had ever so slightly dimmed when he entered the bar, but you only thought it was because he was wearing an expensive suit, and though you rolled your eyes at the flashy display, you couldn’t help but stare at him as he made his way through the room—crowds parted, everyone tried to appear that they hadn’t noticed him, but it was crystal they had. You can’t not notice a man like that.

He disappeared into a back room with two men trailing behind him, and after a few minutes emerged looking slightly disheveled, but satisfied. You tried your hardest to focus on… something else when he sat down beside you and ordered a whiskey, but that was practically impossible when everything about him was magnetic. You chanced a look at him only to find him already staring at you, blue eyes twinkling with a mischievousness you couldn’t quite place and a small smirk. He had taken you home that night.

You hadn’t fled because of his business, selfishly, you could live with the fact he hurt other people—for a while, you could live with the fact he hurt you too, because he just had you captivated. He was harsh, brutal, but could also be loving, he bent over backwards to your every desire—say the word and he’d do it.

Except when you asked him to stop.

You had to leave New York altogether, you knew; he ran the whole fucking city, there was no way you could hide from him in the kingdom he ruled. You had struggled to pick where to go next, if you had had the money, you honestly would have left the fucking continent, started a new life in Namibia or Australia or Japan or however far away from him as you could get, but for now you were restricted to the States. Was Los Angeles too big a city for him to find you, or was it too obvious? Maybe he had people there, you had no idea. Would a small town be too quiet to scream for help, or so obscure he wouldn’t even think to look there?

You settled on a random town in Colorado.

You had ditched your phone the second you could—you had had to hold onto it a bit longer in order to get around, and received many calls and angry texts, but you had tossed it into a street somewhere in Oklahoma and picked up a random brick phone just to have. You thought you were being dramatic at first, taking all these measures, but no, James Barnes is the most powerful man in New York state, more powerful than you could have imagined when you first discovered who he was. He runs everything. He always gets what he wants, and he wants you.

I’ll find you you fucking cunt.

His last text message to you before you had destroyed your phone. You didn’t doubt he could.

You cut your hair, dyed it a shade darker, and spent the first month looking over your shoulder, jumping at shadows, barely speaking to anyone, unsure of who you could trust and who you couldn’t, even from so far away you remained cautious. Picking a job was difficult; if you got an office job, could he find out through fucking white collar records or something? If you got a job in retail, would someone recognise you and alert him?

You got a job at a bookstore—fairly quiet, and the rows of shelves seemed like good enough hiding places were he to hunt you down. Hunt.

In front of the mirror, you pull up your t-shirt to examine your ribs: the bruises are starting to fade, and there’s only a dull pain when you run cold fingers over the light blue. The final reminders of the night you had feared for your life, the night you had decided you had to leave, were starting to fade.

Bucky had gotten violent many times before, but never had you feared for your life; you genuinely thought he was going to kill you.

He had come home fucking livid like you’d never seen before, and three months later you still have no clue as to why. At least when he had been drinking his blows were slightly less hard and you were sometimes (very rarely) able to outrun him and lock yourself in a bathroom for the night, but that night he was drunk purely on anger.

You were genuinely surprised he hadn’t broken your ribs; just hit after hit until you could barely breathe—you thought you’d suffocate. Turns out he had fractured your right foot, but even still you left New York limping badly, knowing if you stopped even to just get it checked out, you’d never make it out the city.

Here, in your new town, you got your foot checked out and fixed up by a friendly doctor, Dean, who you’d taken a liking to. Though it was a bit worse for wear considering you’d left it unchecked for a week, and even now you still couldn’t walk quite right, he assured you you’d make a full recovery.

Dean and you had been growing closer, and you thought he would eventually ask you out, until one day he stopped visiting you at work—usually he’d come in every Wednesday afternoon, but he hadn’t, and you couldn’t reach him online. You even went into his practice, but his assistant had said he’d just taken a camping trip. Your stomach twisted, but you left it, and took he had just gone away for a while.

Deep down, you knew.

The third Wednesday afternoon Dean hasn’t dropped it. You walk back to your place a little down; despite not knowing him well, you were really growing to like him.

You sigh, kicking off your shoes as you enter your apartment and into the pile by the door. You turn on the lights as you make your way through the small place, still limping slightly: corridor, light on; kitchen, light on; living room, light on.

You can’t even say your blood runs ice cold, more like it freezes in your veins.

Bucky is seated comfortably in your armchair, of course nursing a drink, face entirely stoic, and eyes fixated on yours, as if he had been staring at that exact spot for hours, knowing you would fall into his line of vision.

But the door was locked, you want to cry, How did he get in? No windows are broken, nothing.

“Sweetheart,” he coos as he sets his drink on the side table, “I’ve missed you.”

“Why?” is all you can muster, barely a whisper, more like a nearly silent whistle in wind, one you can only hear if you were to really strain for it, and if you knew what to listen for. Why is he here? After three fucking months, you thought (hoped) he’d just lost interest—this can’t be the first time he’s had a girl run away from him considering how he treated you. Why is he so set on this? You can only imagine it’s stubbornness and pride, not wanting to lose a prize, no matter how ill he treated it. And why you?

Of course, though, you can’t articulate any of these thoughts, you can barely even think them, can’t process them, all turning to a light buzz in your in your mind, one that could be mistaken for pure static—just absence of thought. No thoughts, all thoughts, you can’t even care about.

“Of course I missed my favourite girl,” he offers, a lopsided smirk forming on his handsome features, “Sit,” he instructs, so gently you wonder if you’ve imagined it—a very direct order (and you know he doesn’t like to be disobeyed), yet delivered in the softest manner.

The bruises on the right of your ribcage sting as you stare back at him, unmoving. Bucky never repeats himself, and he doesn’t now, seeming to overlook your defiance (though really it’s shock) as he leans forward slightly and begins speaking to you.

“You’re a smart girl, I can tell from how you really tried to cover your traces when you left, huh? You’re a smart girl, so why would you do something so stupid?”

He stands, and you stumble back with a whimper at a harsh misstep on your injured foot.

“And now you’re out here all alone… you need someone to take care of you; look at you, honey,” he gestures to your foot, and if you could get your vocal chords to work, you would scream at him that he did this.

He stalks towards you, and where the sudden adrenaline comes from, you have no idea, but you dart for the front door. He’s on you in a second, slamming your head against the door and watching you slide down. He stands over you a foot on either side of your body and looks down on you, slightly amused.

He’s pure evil.

It occurs to you the front door is locked anyway, you’re caged under him in the narrow corridor, and so you try to crawl through his legs, but he turns and grabs you by your injured foot.

You shriek in pain and desperately try to claw forward, but he tugs you back and twists harshly so you have no choice but to turn over or risk him twisting your fucking foot off.

With more strength than you’ve ever mustered, you swing your left foot up and kick him hard in the crotch. He howls in pain as he drops your foot.

“You fucking bitch!”

You scramble to stand and dart for your bedroom, hoping to climb out the window. He limps after you, and you cry out as he grabs a fistful of hair and tugs you back. You manage to stumble into the bedroom. He grips the doorway and you slam the door after him, hearing a deafening crunch and a yell behind you. You push your back against the door, planting your feet firmly in the ground and trying with all your bodyweight to keep him out, but he easily blows it in, and you fall forward.

You start screaming at him and kicking, but he catches your legs, leaving you to only pathetically wiggle underneath him. He leans down and shouts, “Shut the fuck up!” bringing down a hand you feebly attempt to grasp to stop him, but he slaps you, “You’re a fucking cunt!”

You assume you’re crying, but you can’t feel anything on your cheeks but the sting of his hand.

He drops down to his knees and straddles you easily, despite your struggling against him. He punches you in the face, his rings leaving deep cuts against your cheek. Again, and again, and again, until his knuckles are bloody from the cuts he’s left. You attempt to cough but he brings a fist down and punches your throat. You can barely gasp before he grabs your neck and pulls you up close to his face.

His voice is dangerously low as he drawls, “You’re lucky I have the decency to fuck you on the bed.” He spits in your face and slams your head back down into the floor. He gets off you and, before you can even move, kicks you in the ribs; you can feel the bruises—the healing bruises, they were healing—bloom once again against your skin, against your bones. You roll over before he grabs your left arm, twisting harshly and pulling you across the small room.

You feel your shoulder pop out of place and scream louder than you ever have in your life, an intense white hot pain shooting across your shoulder as it’s dislocated. You can’t even beg him to stop through your sobs and unbearable pain, you can’t breathe, you want to throw up.

This time, you almost wish he does kill you. You wish for him to kill you.

He pulls you up onto the bed, your shoulder blade sliding further across your nerves and sparking pain as intense as the first few seconds all over again. He tosses his suit jacket to the side as you try to sit up. He presses down hard against your injured shoulder, and you choke on your own cry, suffocating more than screaming, at this point.

He punches up from your chin and your head lolls back, your teeth hitting each other harshly, before he uses the opportunity to grasp your throat with one hand, tearing your skirt off with the other.

It’s too painful to struggle other than weakly kicking your legs, which he effortlessly ignores, maybe he doesn’t even feel it.

Mind over matter, Mind over matter, Mind over matter—

You repeat to yourself when you hear him spit in his hand and softly groan as he runs his hand up and down his cock. You don’t even know when he unbuckled his belt.

You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing; Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over matt—

He head-buts your forehead, effectively pulling you out of your attempted mental respite. Bucky is scary; he looks down at you with wild eyes, and you hadn’t noticed blood dripping from his temple. You briefly wonder how much blood you’re covered in when he interrupts your thoughts; “Stay with me, bitch.”

“Please stop,” you finally find words rather than shrieks, your voice hoarse and words slurred, like you’ve never spoken before.

He just smiles—smiles—and then thrusts into you, stretching you open, not giving you any time to adjust to his massive length before pounding into you, beyond rough, beyond violent, he’s a fucking mad man, he’s feral. You attempt to grab onto his shoulders and pry him off but your own shoulder hinders you. You weakly punch at him with your right hand, but he doesn’t feel it, and at this point, you’re just exhausted. Throat hoarse, head aching, shoulder burning, foot in pain, and your ribs on fire.

He lets go of your throat and feels around on the bed for his jacket, pulling something out of the inner pockets.

Before you can even process it, he places his other hand over your mouth and presses something cold and metal to your knee. He fires the gun, the bullet flying from the front of your kneecap, shattering the cartilage, and resting in your flesh. He presses down harder on your mouth so your scream is completely guttural.

“Try leave me now,” he pants as she shoots out your other kneecap.

He presses the gun to the right side of your rib cage, digging into the bruises, “Next time you leave me will be in a fucking body bag.”

Ribs (II)

✪

[mononijikayu]

no more sad songs for my broken heart — gojo satoru.

Swallowing back the bitter taste rising in your throat, you steadied yourself and turned your gaze to Satoru, watching him sleep peacefully. The room was hushed, filled only with the soft rustling of fabric and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"You're the most important to me, Satoru." you whispered, your voice a fragile whisper in the quiet night. The words hung in the air, carrying the weight of a love that defied death itself. "And you always will be."

Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Warning/s: Romance, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, An Pining, Emotional Hurt, Depression, Ghost, Trauma, PTSD, Depiction of Funeral, Depiction of Trauma, Mentions of Alcohol, Depiction of Alcoholism, Depiction of Depression, Depiction of Ghost, Depiction of PTSD illusions, Gojo Satoru deserves a Hug™

masterlist

song: no more sad song for my broken heart by k.will

note: the fact that we waited years and years for a sequel to please dont mv and k.will decided to give us a heartbreak on PRIDE MONTH??? but i shouldnt be speaking because i saw that mv and thought holy shit, satoru definitely went through it and held my breath for a whole week until i could write it on my free time. anyway, ill be disappearing again cause exams !!! but i will be back soon ~ i love you all <3

HE NEVER EXPECTED THIS TO END THIS WAY. Gojo Satoru stood silently in front of the floral arrangement, the vibrant colors contrasting starkly with the somberness of the ihai before him. He lowered himself gracefully, bowing deeply in a gesture of respect and remembrance. Carefully, he lit three incense sticks, their thin spirals of smoke curling upwards, filling the air with a calming fragrance. 

The silence, the lonesomeness of the room — he’d never expected it before. If he was being honest, Satoru never liked the quiet. It was hard to be alone in the realm of thoughts that burden him. But there’s nothing he could do about it. No one was here other than the funerary staff. And even then, they were all scattered around this dingy property. 

As he stood up, his gaze fell momentarily on his watch, the cracked glass dial. He doesn’t think he’d ever have it fixed. He wanted to let it be, let it rest at that moment. It was better, a reminder for him about a time that had long been frozen in time. The hands were stuck at 19:42 pm, a constant reminder of a past event he couldn't change. His cerulean blues was intense against the broken clock from the darkness of those round rim frames. 

Everyone else had already come, he supposed. But it was perhaps most poignant that he was going to be the last person here. He was away on missions, as he always has. Yaga–sensei was going to go as early as he could, Shoko would get it done and over with. Nanami was here, judging from the fact that the bread rolls from that corner store all those years ago were here. He sighed, trying to think if Suguru had come here at all. If he had the audacity to bring condolences and grief in hand. But Satoru thinks that all the incense had erased the scent of all his cursed energy. And perhaps that was for the best. 

He looked at the black armband on his arm. Ever since he arrived yesterday, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave. Not even to sleep or to eat. The moment he arrived, he was told that he was the chief mourner. He never expected that to be someone’s final request, not ever. But he supposed that it was just how fate is, with someone like him. A conundrum of irony, one that could not ever be prevented. One that could never truly stop. 

Satoru left the room quietly, his footsteps echoing softly in the empty hallways. You watched him from your hiding spot, leaning against the wall, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn't want to face him, not now, not here. But as fate would have it, Gojo Satoru could not help but notice you as he grabbed his energy drink from the vending machine. You recognized the drink from all those years ago. It was the one you hated — because it was too overly sweet. But you drank it anyway, when Satoru got it for you. 

"Hey!" he called out, his voice filled with a blend of surprise and familiarity. He rushed to your side, his tall frame towering over you, but his presence was somehow comforting.

You tried to compose yourself, managing a weak smile. "Satoru..."

He grinned at you, his usual playful demeanor tinged with genuine warmth. "I haven't seen you in a while. How about we grab a bite to eat?"

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm not hungry."

His grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, indulge me. It's not every day I get to catch up with an old friend."

You hesitated, torn between the desire to flee and the comfort of his company. But something in his eyes, a blend of understanding and insistence, made you relent.

"Okay," you sighed, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "But just this once."

Gojo's grin softened into a genuine smile, and he gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Let's go then."

In no time, you and Satoru sat across from each other in the small cafeteria, the ambient chatter echoes between the two of you in the silence of the empty cafeteria. He was intently looking at you as he started making conversation and you listened, nodding along with what he was saying as you ate. He was like this too when you were younger in Jujutsu High and nearly ten years later, he somehow hasn’t changed. You could only smile at that. 

Satoru starts stuffing his face with the already cold tonkatsu. You could only sigh fondly at him, watching him put the rice bowl down and take the miso soup’s bowl in hand and drink the  cold broth. You picked up your chopsticks and, absentmindedly, stuck them upright into your rice meal. Satoru's cerulean eyes widened slightly, and he leaned forward, his tone playful yet chiding.

"Hey, you know you're not supposed to do that, right? It's bad luck. Reminds me of funeral rites."

You snorted, rolling your eyes at his scolding. "Oh, please, Satoru. Don’t tell me what to do." 

“It’s still bad luck, use them properly!”

You smirked, pulling the chopsticks out and resuming your meal properly. "Besides, it's not like the spirits are going to come after me just for this."

Satoru laughed, shaking his head. "You always were stubborn. Some things never change."

You smiled, a hint of nostalgia in your eyes. "You know, Sugu-chan and Nana-chan were always sticklers for the rules. But you? I can’t believe you’re lecturing me about rules.”

He pouts at you. “I can follow rules too! You’re so mean to me, y’know?”

“It’s very rare to see you follow rules, Sato-chan.”

“But you admit that I follow rules?” The glint in his bright eyes was shining at you like a star in the cloudless sky. So clearly. “You do, don’t you?”

You grinned at him mischievously. “Well, at least the ones that suited you."

“Oh don’t patronize me!”

“Well, you asked!”

The two of you continued eating, the conversation flowing easily. You talked about the current state of affairs, your work, and shared memories from your past. The atmosphere was light, filled with genuine warmth. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Not since you left Jujutsu behind and had gotten married abroad. But from what Satoru heard, you returned recently. 

And he wasn’t sure what happened in all that time. But it was good for him, to see you smiling at him again. It was as if time hadn’t moved at all between the two of you. It was as if it was still like yesterday. He could feel his heart tender as you put your matcha mochi on his plate. You smiled at him, even wider than before as you told him to take it and eat it for you. He looked at you, but you just kept nodding. You watched him eat the mochi and make a satisfied groan as he ate it. You laughed, seeing that he hasn’t changed much. 

Satoru leaned back in his chair, a contented look on his face. "You know, it's really good to see you. I missed this. Just talking and being ourselves."

You nodded, feeling a similar sense of contentment. "Yeah, me too. It's nice to just... be, without any of the usual chaos."

Satoru's eyes softened as he looked at you, a rare moment of vulnerability. "You've been through a lot, I imagine. It’s been….a while.”

You shrugged, trying to downplay the weight of his words. "We all have our battles, Satoru. Some just leave more scars than others."

He reached across the table, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "Well, if you ever need someone in your corner, you know where to find me."

You smiled, squeezing his hand back. "Thanks, Satoru. That means a lot."

The conversation tapered off, and a comfortable silence settled between you and Satoru. Both of you watched the birds outside the window, one bird leaving the other behind, fluttering away into the open sky. The scene was tranquil, a stark contrast to the turbulent lives you both led.

Breaking the silence, you reached for your phone. The chair squeaked softly as you shifted, pulling out an outdated flip phone from your pocket. You handed it to Satoru, causing his eyebrows to rise in curiosity.

"Can you put your number in?" you asked.

Satoru took the flip phone, chuckling softly. "You still have this old thing? Why not upgrade to something more modern?"

You shrugged, a faint smile on your lips. "The new ones overstimulate me. I prefer something simple."

Nodding in understanding, Satoru quickly input his number into your flip phone and handed it back to you. Then, he pulled out his sleek, modern smartphone, offering it to you.

"Alright, fair is fair. Put your number in mine too," he said with a grin.

You took his phone, marveling for a moment at the advanced technology before carefully entering your number. As you handed it back, your fingers brushed lightly against his, a brief but comforting connection.

"Thanks," Satoru said, pocketing his phone. "Now I have no excuse not to stay in touch."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Exactly. No excuses."

Another comfortable silence fell between you as you both returned to watching the birds outside, feeling a sense of calm and connection. Despite everything, moments like these reminded you that some bonds were unbreakable, no matter the distance or time that passed. Satoru took a sip of his drink once more and looked at your contentment. He hadn’t expected to have met you today, not at a funeral. He wished it was a better time. But he knew, it was better than not having met you again at all.

“Are you good on Thursday?” Satoru asks, breaking the comfortable silence and causing you to turn your gaze back to him.

“For what?” you reply, raising a curious eyebrow.

“To hang out...like the old days?” he says, a hopeful grin spreading across his face.

You ponder for a moment, the idea of reconnecting with him sounding appealing. "What did you have in mind?"

Satoru leans back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I was thinking we could visit that ramen place we used to love. You know, the one with the best miso ramen in town. And maybe after that, we could catch a movie or just walk around the old neighborhood."

A nostalgic smile creeps onto your face as you remember the countless times you’d both gone to that ramen place, laughing and talking for hours. "That sounds nice. I could use a break from everything."

"Great!" he exclaims, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "It's a date, then."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "It's not a date, Satoru."

"Sure, sure," he says, waving his hand dismissively but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Just two old friends hanging out."

"Exactly," you agree, a warmth spreading through you at the thought of spending time with him. 

“Exactly.” He repeated, with that grin on his face. 

You shake your head. “You always have to have the last word, huh?”

He laughs. “Of course!”

For a moment, Gojo Satoru didn’t feel sad anymore.

In this moment, hearing you laugh, he escapes it all.

He escapes the misery of the world in your warmth.

WHEN YOU LEFT, SATORU WAS SHATTERED. He still remembered the details of that moment, when you told him you were leaving. The unruly pile of clothes lying around the room, the ripped pieces of paper scattered across the floor, and the bedsheet that hadn’t been replaced in days—all of it seemed like a chaotic reflection of his inner turmoil. You stood by the door, suitcase in hand, your expression a mix of sadness and determination.

"I can't stay here anymore, Satoru." you had said, your voice trembling yet resolute. "I need to find my own path, away from all of this….I’m tired.”

Satoru's heart had shattered in that instant. The room had felt colder, emptier, as if the very air was being sucked out of it. The dorm already lost its life. Everything about it was just silent. Nanami’s moved out even before graduation, Shoko’s gone off and taken to medical school. It was only him that’s left. Him and you. He clung to you, for all this time. He would push you to join him on his food trips during missions, even if you weren’t here. 

You and him stayed up watching movies together when he had those rare days off. The emptiness Suguru left behind would never go away, but you filled some tenderness in his life. A tenderness that he had enjoyed.  A tenderness he could not live without. And now you planned to leave him too. Now that he couldn't comprehend a world where you weren't a part of his daily life. The thought of you walking out that door and never coming back was too painful to bear. And he hated how it hurt, it hated how it made him return to that time, when Suguru turned his back to him forever.

Thinking of it now that you both were older, Satoru realizes that all of it must have been hard on you too. You were a year below them, in a team with Haibara and Nanami. You were close to Suguru and Shoko too. And now you lost them too, you were all alone too, left with echoes that Satoru did not know. You were left with ghosts and grief and lonesomeness. 

And he didn’t see that, he didn’t want to. You were close to breaking and he didn’t see it. And choosing your peace, it hurt him. It hurt him beyond words could express. It was a horrible thought for certain. But Satoru thought at the time, that if two miserable people were together, maybe the happiness that could come would be enough to overcome that misery. But he was wrong. He was all too wrong. Misery will never keep people together.

"Please," he had pleaded, his voice breaking. "Don't go. We can figure this out together."

But you had only shaken your head, tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry, Sato-chan…I know it's going to hurt you. But….I can’t stay here.  I need to do this for myself."

The memory of you closing the door behind you haunted him for days, weeks, even months. He couldn’t stop crying for days after Suguru left. He had tried to fill the void with anything he could—training, missions, even attempting to drown his sorrows in alcohol—but nothing worked. The pain of losing both of you was too much to bear. The apartment became a constant reminder of the life he once had, now reduced to a hollow shell.

Every time he looked at the bed, he remembered the late-night conversations, the laughter, and the warmth of your presence. The ripped pieces of paper were drafts of letters he had tried to write to you, words that never seemed adequate to express the depth of his feelings. The clothes strewn about were remnants of happier times, now just silent witnesses to his grief. Even now, years later, the memory was as vivid as ever, a wound that never truly healed.

As Satoru sat across from you, his mind drifted back to the years following your departure. At first, he didn't want to hear anything about you. The pain was too raw, too immediate. Every mention of your name felt like a knife twisting in his chest. It hurt to know that, just like everyone else, you moved on with your life without him.

He remembered the first time he heard you'd left the country. It was Shoko who told him, her voice gentle as she broke the news. You had found a new passion, something that took you far away from the world you both had known. It was supposed to be a casual conversation, but it left him reeling. The idea of you building a new life, so distant from the memories you had shared, was almost unbearable.

Then came the news that you had married. He remembered the hollow feeling in his chest when he heard. It was as if a part of him had died all over again. Shoko had shown him a picture of you and your spouse, smiling and happy. In a fit of rage and heartbreak, he ripped the picture apart, unable to bear the sight of you with someone else.

Each memory hurt him badly. Nights were the worst, filled with imagined scenarios where you were still with him, where he could reach out and feel your warmth next to him. He would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what could have been if you had stayed.

Despite his attempts to move on, the memories lingered. Every accomplishment, every smile, every moment of happiness he found was tinged with the bittersweet reminder of what he had lost. The thought of you, happy and loved by someone else, was a constant ache.

Yet, as he looked at you now, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. The pain was still there, but so was the undeniable bond you shared. It was as if no time had passed, and in this small café, surrounded by the remnants of your shared past, he found a small measure of peace. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to rebuild what had been lost.

You and Satoru began meeting up more often than ever. Each encounter breathed new life into the corners of his world that had long been shadowed by loneliness and regret. For the first time in a long while, besides the joy he found in teaching his students, Satoru felt a genuine happiness blooming within him, one that he had almost forgotten could exist.

Your meet-ups started simply, with visits to quaint cafés where you’d talk over coffee and pastries, reminiscing about old times and sharing stories about your current lives. At times, he brought you along with him when he would see Megumi and Tsumiki. They seemed fond enough of you, and it was a privilege for Satoru to see how tender you are with them. 

You became his daily routine, everything he said revolved around your daily vernacular. Your home cooked meals became his sustenance. He realized too that he smiled more. That he was always in a good mood when you texted him something about your day. He didn’t want this to stop and he knew that you also didn’t want to leave him. Satoru realized that you found solace in each other's presence. The more you met, the more the walls of time and distance crumbled away, leaving only the essence of your bond, untouched and untainted.

At times, Gojo Satoru would come over to your place, bringing groceries or a bottle of sake. These evenings were filled with laughter, shared meals, and a sense of comfort that was rare in his life. It was one of those days to be together again. As you both sat on the porch, the sky painted in hues of twilight, you revealed something you had been holding back. Satoru already knew you were married, but you didn’t know that. But he just listened, when you talked all about it. He just let you lift the weight of your chest. He just let you give yourself to him little by little.

“I’m divorced.” you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the horizon. “It happened a while ago.”

Satoru’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to you, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You shrugged, a bittersweet smile playing on your lips. “I didn’t know how. It’s not something I talk about easily. But I thought you should know.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “I’m sorry you went through that. But thank you for telling me.”

As the weeks turned into months, Satoru realized something profound. He loved you. It was a love that had never truly faded, only hidden beneath layers of time and circumstance. Each moment spent with you reaffirmed this truth. And each moment, he was even more terrified. Terrified of telling you the truth. Terrified of letting you see the pits of him that he doesn’t like. 

The monster that lingers in the strongest, he does not want you to see that. The danger that comes with the world that he dwells in, the world you’d long abandoned. You laughed together, drank together, and enjoyed each other's company in a way that felt both new and comfortingly familiar. The nights, like tonight, continued to be joyous evenings filled with stories and laughter. 

You looked at him, your eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lamp. “I’m glad we’re doing this,” you said softly.

“Me too, y’know?” he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’ve missed you. More than I can say.”

Your fingers brushed against his, “I always thought about you, all those years.”

His cerulean blue tenderly met your own orbs. “I always thought about you too."

“Do you mean it?” You responded in a whisper.

“Why would I lie to you, after all this time?”

After a delightful meal shared on your porch, you found yourselves enjoying dessert. You had bought some sweets to bring over. You didn’t like sweets all that much, but you always thought about enjoying them with Satoru. Because it made him happy. And when he was happy, you were too. You could feel the night air breezing in consistent cool kisses, and the distant sound of cicadas filled the silence between your laughter and conversation. You picked up a piece of the dessert, holding it out to Satoru with a playful grin. You supposed you had drunk much already.

“Here, try this. It’s delicious, Sato-chan.” you said, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He leaned forward, his eyes locked on yours as he took the bite. “Mmm, you’re right. It’s amazing.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he took a piece and held it out to you. “Your turn.”

You hesitated, feeling a sudden rush of warmth to your cheeks. “Satoru, I can feed myself, you know?” you laughed nervously.

“Come on, indulge me, sweets!” he teased, his tone light but his eyes serious.

You opened your mouth, letting him feed you. The intimacy of the gesture made your heart race, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your flustered expression. Satoru chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.

As the evening wore on, Satoru, a notorious lightweight when it came to drinking, began to feel the effects of the sake you’d shared. He leaned back, his eyelids drooping. “I think I’m going to pass out, sweets.” he mumbled, a sleepy smile on his face.

“Then go and sleep.”

“Hm….night.”

‘.....G’d night.”

You watched as his eyes closed, his breathing evening out. For a long moment, you stared at him, your heart aching with unspoken feelings. You had always been in love with him, but you knew deep down that you could never compete with Suguru. That bond, that history, was something you could never touch.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was not entirely asleep. He was keenly aware of his feelings for you, feelings that had grown stronger with each passing day. But rather than confront them, he chose to feign sleep, his mind whirling with thoughts he wasn’t ready to address. Not just yet. Not when it was too hard to face the truth.

You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Satoru's forehead. Your touch was tender, filled with a longing that transcended the boundaries between this world and the next.

"I... I... I lov..." you began, your voice faltering as if caught between the weight of your emotions and the limits of your spectral form. Frustration and exhaustion etched across your ethereal features, and you brought your hands to your face, overcome by the inability to express what lay heavy on your heart.

Swallowing back the bitter taste rising in your throat, you steadied yourself and turned your gaze to Satoru, watching him sleep peacefully. The room was hushed, filled only with the soft rustling of fabric and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"You're the most important to me, Satoru," you whispered, your voice a fragile whisper in the quiet night. The words hung in the air, carrying the weight of a love that defied death itself. "And you always will be."

He heard your words, each one piercing through his heart, but he remained still, his breathing steady. He wasn’t ready to face the complexities of your relationship, the unresolved emotions that lay between you.

As you sat there, watching over him, you wondered if there would ever be a time when you could be honest with each other. For now, you were content to cherish these moments, fleeting as they might be, and hope that someday, the barriers between you would fall away, leaving only the love that had always been there.

A few moments later, you realized Satoru groggily opened his eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep. He watched you with a mix of concern and amusement as you clumsily attempted to put your shoes on, fumbling with the laces and nearly losing your balance. The room was dim, and the aftereffects of the night’s drinks were evident in your unsteady movements.

“What are you doing?” Satoru asked, his voice laced with confusion and sleepiness.

“I need to go home,” you whispered to him, your voice soft but tinged with a hint of desperation. You hiccuped, the sound breaking the silence of the room. “My dog needs me.”

Satoru sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to make sense of your words. He reached out to steady you, his touch gentle yet firm. “You’re not going anywhere in this state, sweets.” he said, concern etched across his face. “Let’s get you some water and figure this out.”

But you shook your head, your thoughts already miles away. “No, I have to go. She’s waiting for me. Please, I need to get home.” The urgency in your voice was palpable, and despite his better judgment, Satoru knew there was no stopping you. 

“Alright….Let me take you home.”

“You don’t need to.” You tell him, shaking your head. “You…don’t you have a mission tomorrow?”

“It’s fine.” Satoru insisted to you. “Don’t worry.”

Walking through the train tunnel, the air was thick with the musty scent of concrete and dampness, punctuated by the distant echo of footsteps reverberating off the tunnel walls. The dim, flickering lights cast long, eerie shadows that danced around you and Satoru as you stumbled forward, your movements unsteady and guided more by instinct than clarity.

You were particularly drunk, your senses dulled and your thoughts muddled. Every step felt like a small victory as you navigated the uneven ground and avoided stumbling over the occasional debris littering the tunnel floor. Beside you, Satoru walked with a surprising steadiness, his normally calm demeanor now tinged with a quiet concern. His eyes darted around, scanning the surroundings with a vigilance that contrasted sharply with your intoxicated haze.

The tunnel seemed to stretch on endlessly, the occasional flickering light offering brief glimpses of the graffiti-covered walls and rusted tracks that lay beyond. The sound of your footsteps echoed loudly in the confined space, creating an unsettling symphony with the distant sounds of passing trains and the occasional drip of water from above.

“Be careful now.” he cautioned, glancing at you as you stumbled slightly. His tone was light, but the concern in his eyes was evident.

You turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Satoru,” you began, your voice wavering. “There’s something I’ve never been able to tell you.”

He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. “What is it?” he asked, his expression curious and a little concerned.

You looked at him, your eyes almost broken, the weight of unspoken emotions heavy on your shoulders. “Can I… can I hug you? Just once?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can you turn off Infinity around me? Just for a moment?”

Satoru’s eyes softened, and he took a step closer. “My Infinity is always down with you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a gentle sincerity.

Without another word, you stepped forward and embraced him, wrapping your arms around his waist. The warmth of his body against yours was both comforting and overwhelming. Satoru stood still, his arms at his sides, too shocked to respond immediately.

For a moment, you held him tightly, your face buried in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I’ve always loved you, Satoru.” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I wished….I wished I told you, before I left. Maybe……maybe it would have saved me a decade of pain. Of heartbreak.”

His body tensed slightly, and you could feel his breath hitch. Slowly, as if coming out of a trance, his arms began to lift. Tentatively, he placed them around you, his embrace becoming firmer as the reality of your confession sank in.

You stood there in the train tunnel, holding onto each other as if the world around you had ceased to exist. The distant echoes and the cold air were forgotten, replaced by the warmth of the moment and the raw, unfiltered emotions that had finally been laid bare.

Satoru pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you. His eyes were filled with a mix of shock, confusion, and something else—something deeper. “Why now?” he asked, his voice barely audible, as if he was afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment.

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Because I couldn’t hold it in any longer,” you replied, your voice trembling. “Because I need you to know, even if it changes nothing.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze searching your face. Then, slowly, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “For telling me.”

“I know we can’t be together.” You ramble to him, tears falling all over your face. “I wish we could have had more time. I wish….”

“We will have more time.” He tells you in a mumble. “We have all the time in the world.”

“We don’t.” You whispered to him, looking into his eyes with your own tear stained face. “We don’t.”

In that moment, he could see it in your eyes.

You were telling him the truth, the whole of it.

As the sound of the train echoed through the tunnel,

You burst into tears as those words echoed in his head.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” You whispered. “I’m going to hurt you.”

YOU CHOSE THE PICTURE YOURSELF.  You looked at him, a sad smile playing on your lips, a bittersweet expression that conveyed both regret and acceptance. Your gaze was gentle yet haunting, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the photograph he held in his trembling hands — a portrait of you, captured in a moment of serene beauty that seemed to transcend the confines of the photograph itself.

As he stared at your image, framed by the soft glow of candlelight, he felt a pang of disbelief and sorrow grip his heart. How could someone so vibrant, so full of life, now be reduced to this still, silent image before him? The photograph seemed to capture not just your physical likeness, but also the essence of your spirit — a spirit that had once danced with such vitality and now lingered only in memories.

He remembered that day in the tunnel, your words echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain. You had warned him, confessed your impending departure with a sorrow that mirrored his own. In that moment, he had felt a deep ache, a foreboding sense of loss that now seemed inevitable and crushing.

Now, holding your funeral photo, he felt as if he were suspended in that tunnel once more, caught between the reality of your absence and the vividness of your memory. You had prepared for this moment, for your departure from his life, long before fate had delivered its cruel blow. The photo captured a version of you that he knew was only a fraction of the person he had loved — a mere reflection of the complexities and contradictions that made you who you were.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the illusion of your ghostly presence that seemed to linger in the room. This spectral image, so painfully beautiful, could never truly encapsulate the vibrant soul he had cherished. Everything that defined you now rested in the small urn before him, the echoes of the fleeting nature of life itself. He had promised to protect you, to hold you close, but now all he could do was hold onto your memory, etched into his heart with a sorrow that would never fade.

Gojo Satoru sat in silence, the photo trembling in his hands. He couldn't bring himself to look away from your serene face, captured forever in that moment of calm. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows around the room, creating an atmosphere that felt both intimate and surreal.

"You told me……" Satoru finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "that you were going to hurt me. But I never thought it would end like this."

Your ghostly presence seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light, a wistful echo of the person he had loved so deeply. Your eyes, even in the photo, held a depth of sadness that mirrored his own

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice carrying a weight of regret that pierced through the silence. "I never wanted this for us."

He looked up at you, tears welling in his eyes. "I should have done everything." he said, his voice breaking with emotion. "I should have done something."

You shook your head gently, a gesture that seemed to encompass both forgiveness and understanding. "It wasn't your fault," you reassured him softly. "We couldn't change what was meant to be."

"But I miss you, my love." Satoru confessed, his voice choking with grief. "Every day feels like a struggle without you."

Your ghostly form seemed to draw closer, as if reaching out to comfort him. "I know, I know…." you murmured, your presence a fleeting warmth in the cold emptiness of the room. "I miss you too."

He reached out a trembling hand towards where your image lay, desperate for some tangible connection to the love that had defined his world. "Why did you have to leave me?" he asked, his voice filled with anguish. “Why now when we had everything?”

You looked at him with infinite sadness, your ethereal presence flickering faintly. "I didn't want to," you replied, your voice barely audible. "But my time was up. Some things... we can't control it."

He closed his cerulean eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. The ache in his chest felt unbearable, a gaping void that no amount of time could ever heal. "I wish I could have saved you, my love." he whispered, his words a desperate plea to the universe. “I wished I….”

In the silence that followed, your ghostly form seemed to fade gradually, leaving behind only the faint echo of your presence. "You gave me everything I ever wanted." you whispered softly, your voice drifting like a gentle breeze. "And I will always be with you, in every memory, in every heartbeat."

He closed his cerulean eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks like silent rivers of grief. The ache in his chest felt unbearable, a gaping void that no amount of time could ever hope to heal. "I don't want anything else, my love," he whispered brokenly, his words a desperate plea to the universe. "I just want you. I need you."

His voice faltered, choked by sorrow too deep for words. In the deafening silence that followed, your ghostly form seemed to fade gradually, leaving behind only the faint echo of your presence. The room feels emptier without you, devoid of the warmth and light that had once filled his life.

"I know." You choked as you tried not to falter. Not when he needed your smile more than your tears. "I know."

"I wished we had more time.....so I could have....." You shook your head at him.

"You gave me everything I ever wanted," your voice echoed softly, ethereal and distant like a whisper carried in the wind. "And I have no regrets. Neither should you, Satoru. Hm?"

He clutched the photograph to his chest, feeling the weight of your absence press against him like a physical force. The candle flickered, casting fleeting shadows on the walls as if dancing to the rhythm of his heartache. Memories flooded his mind — moments shared, laughter exchanged, dreams woven together — now a tapestry of what-ifs and regrets.

"I don't know how to go on without you, my love." he admitted quietly, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "Everything reminds me of you. What is life without who makes life have sense?"

"You are stronger than you know, you always were." your voice whispered gently, a soothing melody in the midst of his storm. He could feel you touch his cheek. He leans against the ghostly weight, wishing he could feel your warmth in his. "You'll always get by, Satoru. You always will. You're the best I know, after all."

"Because I'm the strongest?"

You smiled, softly shaking your head again. "Because you love too well."

He opened his pale blue eyes, searching for a glimpse of you in the shadows, in the flickering candlelight. Though your physical presence had slipped away, he could still feel your love wrapping around him like a fragile cocoon. It was a love that had weathered storms, endured trials, and now lingered as fragile hope in his shattered heart.

"I love you, my love." he whispered into the stillness, his words a solemn vow to carry your memory forward. "Always."

As he sat there, cradling the photograph that held your smile frozen in time, he knew that while he had lost you in body, your spirit would forever remain intertwined with his own. And in the quiet moments of solitude, he would find solace in the memories of a love that had transcended mortality itself. 

He knew that time would be the bridge between now and when he would see you again. Even in his deepest despair, the thought of reuniting with you brought a bittersweet comfort. Yet, he also knew that to join you prematurely would betray the promise he had made to you in those final moments — to live a life worthy of your love, to carry on and make a difference.

The scent of incense filled the room, a solemn reminder of the rituals and prayers offered for your departed soul. Satoru let out a long exhale, his lips pursed into a determined line. He would fulfill his promises, no matter how difficult or daunting the path ahead seemed.

"I'll change the Jujutsu society," he vowed quietly to himself, the words carrying a weight of determination. "I'll guide the next generation, help them grow strong and wise."

As a sad melody filled the air, a song that once brought joy and laughter to both of you, he closed his eyes and allowed the memories to wash over him. You had loved to dance to this song, your laughter echoing in his ears as you twirled around the room together. It was a memory etched in his heart, a fragment of a life he cherished and longed to live again.

"I'll do everything you believed I could," he whispered softly, his voice tinged with both sadness and resolve. "And then, I'll find you again."

In the solitude of that moment, amidst the flickering candlelight and the haunting melody, he made a silent promise to himself and to you. He would continue to carry your love in his heart, through every trial and triumph, knowing that one day, their souls would reunite in a dance again.

And so Gojo Satoru waits as he lay on that cold operating table.

Those sad sing along songs repeated in his head over and over.

But as he lay there, all that he could think to do was smile at pain.

He was going to meet you soon, he thinks to himself in such peace.

Then, there would be no more sad songs for his broken heart to hear.

some facts about the fic

in the first part, satoru is struggling through his grief for you to the point that he is suffering traumatic illusions that you were there, eating with him. in that whole scene, satoru was actually alone and he's repressing that for the vision of being together, eating.

when you were eating, the chopsticks  were stuck upright. this should not be the case especially rice. chopsticks are only stuck upright into rice in the bowl on the altar at a funeral or when paying respects to the deceased. this is called hotokebashi.

in the funerary flower arrangement, there's something called an ihai. an ihai is a placard that people used to designate the seat of a deity or past ancestor as well as to enclose it. the name of the deity or the past ancestor is usually inscribed onto the tablet.

an ihai is usually used in the funerary rights and then afterwards, put in a butsudan which is often an ornate platform or simply a wooden cabinet sometimes crafted with doors that enclose it. families often put their ihai into their butsudan at home.

since i thought that in this story, you don't have parents - i like to think that satoru put your ihai in the butsudan in his house, so that you could be there with him always.

your ashes in the story are with satoru. but i like to believe he already had a spot reserved for him as clan leader in the future - so he buried you beside his future spot so he just made sure both of you are together in the afterlife too.

the watch belonged to haibara and his parents gave you and nanami something of his to keep. you kept the watch he wore during the mission and kept using it all your life. it stopped working when you died.

the time in the story was 19:42. in japanese superstition,

in the first part, satoru is struggling through his grief for you to the point that he is suffering traumatic illusions that you were there, eating with him. in that whole scene, satoru was actually alone and he's repressing that for the vision of being together, eating.

when you were eating, the chopsticks  were stuck upright. this should not be the case especially rice. chopsticks are only stuck upright into rice in the bowl on the altar at a funeral or when paying respects to the deceased. this is called hotokebashi.

in the funerary flower arrangement, there's something called an ihai. an ihai is a placard that people used to designate the seat of a deity or past ancestor as well as to enclose it. the name of the deity or the past ancestor is usually inscribed onto the tablet.

an ihai is usually used in the funerary rights and then afterwards, put in a butsudan which is often an ornate platform or simply a wooden cabinet sometimes crafted with doors that enclose it. families often put their ihai into their butsudan at home.

since i thought that in this story, you don't have parents - i like to think that satoru put your ihai in the butsudan in his house, so that you could be there with him always.

your ashes in the story are with satoru. but i like to believe he already had a spot reserved for him as clan leader in the future - so he buried you beside his future spot so he just made sure both of you are together in the afterlife too.

the watch belonged to haibara and his parents gave you and nanami something of his to keep. you kept the watch he wore during the mission and kept using it all your life. it stopped working when you died.

the time in the story was 19:42. in japanese superstition, you have to switch it to have meaning. 42-19, together sounds like shini iku (死に行く – to go and die).

your story ex-spouse and you divorced because they found out that you were a jujutsu sorcerer - after you saved them from a cursed spirit that was about to kill them.

you found out that you were very ill a month after you met satoru again and were given a year or two to live, with medication. its a rare disease, so there was only maintenance medication.

originally, i thought to write that you die from a mission after returning to jujutsu to be with satoru. but i realized that it's just not gonna hit as hard. so i changed my mind and got to this ending.

i also thought that you dying in this story because of cursed spirits was going to rile satoru up against the higher ups. but i felt like the fact that you left him because you were traumatized too, and needed a room enough to breathe was enough for him to be angry. if you hadn't left, you and satoru would have had a life together and you wouldn't have been ripped away from him by fate so quickly.

[joelmillergirl]

Give In ~ Joel Millerxonenightstand!reader Drabble

Word count: 1,025

Warnings: unprotected piv, creampie, tit slaps, depiction of rougher sex, delulu Joel.

Author’s Note: Uhh, could not stop imagining like one night stand Joel Miller turns into him just obsessing over you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It took a while for Joel to give in. It was tempting, he couldn’t deny that, but every time, he refused. You were innocent, pure, slightly younger than him, everyone loved you. He was the opposite; dark, plagued with nightmares and violent reflexes, anticipating a scenario where he’d have to protect himself like he once had, and everyone seemed to avoid him.

Tommy had suggested the idea to him one night after a few drinks, the Sun finally disappearing behind the horizon after a long day of patrols. You were sitting alone at a table, a content expression on your face, minding your own business. Joel couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist the urge to just look at you, take you in. He’d seen you around, he’d never admit it, but he’d look for you in the crowds, your smile the brightest, your hair the softest, no, he’d never admit it.

“You taken a liking to her?” Tommy asked, breaking the silence. Joel turned his head towards his brother, his eyebrows furrowed. “She’s single.”

Joel winced and looked down at his drink, “Good for her.”

Tommy laughed beside him, downing his drink in one, “Come on, brother… Get out there! Get her a drink, anything other than starin’ at her will do…”

Joel sends his brother a glare, shaking his head, “Will you quit it? Not starin’… Not gettin’ her a drink.”

That was the first time he denied. Over the next few days, you had completely taken over his brain, clouding his thoughts, driving him insane. Every little thing reminded him of you, every little thought would develop into bigger thoughts, further into fantasies. It got to the point where he’d have to fuck his fist every time he wanted to go out, his cock aching and rock hard from the mere thought of you. He needed to get it out of his system, have a taste of you, but yet, he refused.

A week later, he found himself standing next to you during a town meeting. He hated it, almost hated you, how easy it was for him to get distracted with you near, hearing your small intakes of breath, imagining you were underneath him in his bed rather than in the town hall surrounded by others. At one point you had shifted on your feet, your arm brushing against Joel’s. The contact sent a rush of blood and adrenaline through his body right to his cock, causing him to almost instantly harden. He groaned quietly, his fist clenching, subtly moving away from you in an attempt to escape your alluring presence.

Joel looked up, scanning around the room nonchalantly, trying to think of anything else other than you. From the front of the room he caught Tommy’s eyes, the younger brother mischievously nodding his head over from Joel to you, winking. “Fucking prick.” Joel muttered, shaking his head at his brother.

“Pardon?” You asked hesitantly, having heard the remark. Joel looked at you silent for a moment, the two of you simply staring at each other.

Joel let out a deep breath, “Nothin’…” When you didn’t reply, he continued. “Just wanna get outta here.”

You smile, oblivious to the torment you were inflicting on the man next to you, “I feel that… Wanna ditch? Get a drink?”

He almost gave in, the words just about leaving his lips before he managed to ground himself. He looked at you, what looked like nervousness in your eye. You took your lip between your teeth, a gesture Joel did not miss. His jaw clenched, “No, I should stay… Wouldn’t be right to leave.”

He could see the disappointment in your expression, hated the way your teasing smile dropped slightly. You covered it well, sending him a more gentle, friendlier smile and a nod. That was the second time he refused.

When the third opportunity came around, he had nothing left in him to refuse. He was sitting at the bar alone, an empty glass in his hands when you stormed up to him, the effects of alcohol clearly taking its course through your body.

“I’ve seen you looking, Joel Miller.” You started, bumping into his side as you pulled the stool out next to him. “Been giving me those stares, can almost hear your thoughts... Am I crazy? Tell me I’m not imagining that, Joel.”

He looked at you, almost taken aback at your honesty. He cleared his throat, looking away from you, “No, you’re not imaginin’ it… Not crazy.” He cleared his throat again, his own voice slightly slurred from the drinks he had consumed before you’d approached him.

You huff, “So why haven’t you done anything about it? You’ve been driving me crazy, getting me all horny, all frustrated.”

Joel pulled his lips into a thin line, raising his eyebrow at you, “What do you want me to say, honey? Want me to apologise?”

“If an apology includes fucking me, yeah.” You say, shrugging your shoulders.

Joel sat up straighter, leaning closer to you, “What happened to the sweet girl I saw, hm? Not talkin’ very sweet.”

Not even twenty minutes after that conversation, you were in his bed, underneath him, fulfilling every fantasy he had ever had of you. No longer was the innocent, sweet talking girl he knew, this version of you was rougher, dirtier, begging for it harder.

He fucked into you hard, hips slapping into the back of your thighs as he held your legs up close to his shoulders with one hand, the other exploring your body, circling your clit before moving up to palm at your tits, his hand coming down and slapping the flesh gently, only sending another harder slap after you gave permission.

He stretched you out, reached places you never thought had existed, your pussy trapped him inside you, clenching tightly around his cock as he drove you closer to your orgasm. And when he watched you reach your climax, your legs fighting to shut close and your head flying back, triggering his own orgasm, his cum shooting deep inside you, he finally accepted that he would never be able to deny you ever again.

[rafesgoldrings]

Rafe loves to pick you right up and put you in his lap and make you get off on his thigh 🥵🥵🥵

He does😩 he loves seeing how desperate you get to come, the pretty sounds that slip through your lips as you fall apart all over him. Especially if he’s at a party or out with his friends, this man loves watching you get off on him around people. He’ll be at a party having a conversation, spreading his legs and tapping one of them to encourage you to climb onto him when he sees you waking over. You’ll do so thinking it’s safe since other people are around, but then he starts bouncing his leg. Each movement creating friction against your throbbing clit. He knows what he’s doing, can fucking feel your pulsing cunt on his thigh, and it only encourages him to go faster. You’ll look at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open almost in a pleading way, and he’ll just shoot you a smirk. It gets to be too much just sitting still so you start grinding into his thigh, thanking whatever forces there were that it was dark enough to not be obvious what you were doing. Your arousal drenched through your thong and onto Rafe’s leg, making it easy to grind against. The person would eventually leave and Rafe would whisper in your ear “such a dirty whore baby, what if they would had seen? you want everyone here to know what a slut you are for me?” you’d weakly shake your head no, a small whimper falling through your parted lips. His hand would snake around your throat, lightly squeezing it and pulling you into a rough kiss full of teeth and tongue. You’d start grinding faster against his thigh as you got close and closer, when someone else came over. And of course it was Topper, you liked him, but you could have killed him at that very second. You’d feel a soft squeeze around your hips and look up at Rafe who gave you a knowing look. He wanted you to come on his thigh with Topper right there. Normally you’d say hell no, but you needed it so bad. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth hung open as you came undone. Your back would be arched slightly, your tits pushing into the air and the low cut top you had on accentuating them perfectly, nails digging into Rafe’s forearm and soft pants and whines of his name on your lips, his thigh soaked from how much you came. Topper only stood there awkwardly as he realized what happened, adjusting his pants and scurrying away with a short ‘i’ll talk to you later man’. You’d finally open your eyes, slightly embarrassed but also relieved and find Rafe staring in a amusement. “Upstairs now. Going to fucking wreck that pretty cunt of yours” he’d tell you, slapping your ass when you stood up to fix your skirt. The two of you quickly disappeared from the party to handle business, his thigh still covered in cum and shorts soaked

[myesmi]

GENTLE MOMENTS WITH THEM. 𓂅 ˖ ࣪ ( headcanons )

cw. soft / gentle moments with michael and thomas ( sep ) <3, established relationships, gn! reader, etc.

note. i don’t know, i just really wanted to write headcanons, so this is what i came up with! i was going to do jealousy headcanons, or when the reader gets catcalled or something, but i needed something more simple since i’m dead tired rn.. <3 hope you enjoy! comments and reblogs appreciated!

requests are open. masterlist.

MICHAEL MYERS.

any time spent with michael is generally quiet, mostly due to how mute he is. the loudest he gets is a confirming grunt, or an annoyed huff.

however, on the extremely rare occasion, those quiet moments hold a different atmosphere. almost.. soft, or gentle, in some capacity.

it’s strange to call such a silent, intimidating, stalker of a man ‘gentle’, but in your heart you knew it was his intentions that spoke the words he wouldn’t.

you roused in the middle of the night, lazily sitting yourself up at the sudden appearance of your tall, violent lover. it wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for hours on end and show up in the middle of the night.

he stood in the frame of your bedroom door, mask on, however he stood in a fitting black t-shirt and simple dark pajama pants that you gifted him last christmas.

…he used to sleep in his coveralls, but you quickly forced him to wear some form of pajamas ( obviously after being well established in the relationship where you were able to twist his arm in such ways, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so receptive ).

you barely remember the sleepy smile that formed on your lips, giving michael a little wave before you found him standing at your side where you sat on the bed.

his chest stilled briefly, as if he was holding his breath, and his gaze was directed at you, observing. despite how you couldn’t see his eyes through the mask’s eye holes due to how dark it was in the room ( the only light being the moonlight that filtered through the window blinds ), you could feel his piercing gaze crawl over your sleep-addled features.

and suddenly, one large, rough hand patted the top of your head. his palms were littered with callouses, the meat of his palm below his fingers tenderly ached from how tightly he tended to grip his knife. and yet, his touch was somehow comforting. a sort of prize you thought, as michael wasn’t one known for tender caresses and loving touches.

his large hand drifted from the top of your head to your neck, his fingers brushing along your jugular in a feather-light trail.

and as soon as the soft moment had come, it was gone. michael pulled away, turning and leaving your bedroom. you knew that you’d fall back asleep before he would lay himself down next to you, and you knew he’d be up and gone before you woke in the morning.

but gentle moments like these reminded you of why you fell for the man that everyone else deemed a monster

THOMAS HEWITT.

unlike michael, gathering soft, quiet moments with thomas wasn’t too rare. he was, to you, a texan gentle giant.

however, the real challenge was getting him alone in the first place for more than half an hour.

you understood how important his family was to thomas, and how needed he was around the family ‘farm’. the man had many physically demanding and time consuming daily chores that he carried out in order for his family to live the reserved, happy little lives they did.

and that often resulted in your only shared time alone being when you wake in the mornings and when you sleep during the nights. in short, it wasn’t ideal.

however, being as thomas was completely wrapped around your little finger, it never took too much convincing to have him all to yourself for the evening on certain occasions.

you sat comfortably on the recently repaired front porch, enjoying the humid evening under the slow sunset, able to sit comfortably in the shade of the house as the night started to cool.

thomas wasn’t too far away, and you watched carefully ( and.. enjoyably ) as thomas worked on one of the last tasks of the day. he was slowly cleaning out the large old barn that sat on their property, full of rusted old farming equipment and spare heavy car parts that the hewitts simply did not need any more. and so, he took it upon himself to, over the course of the week, clean out all the junk.

and boy.. was it a show for you. your tommy was by far the strongest man you knew, both mentally and physically. and watching your big texan hunk lift heavy metal parts as if they weighed nothing?

and thomas knew you were watching him. a part of the man enjoyed showing off in front of you. he loved how hot your face grew, how you shifted in your seat, your beautiful eyes staring him down lovingly ( and hungrily ).

you smiled as your thomas finished up for the day and made his way to the porch, wiping his big hands on the front of his work apron to rid himself of the dirt and old car grease. you scooted yourself over, offering him room to sit down on the swing next to you, already having a glass of sweet tea to offer out to him, figuring that he was no doubt breathless from his work, no matter how effortless he made it look.

he took a heavy seat next to you, gratefully taking the tea from your hand, replacing it with his own large hand, interweaving his fingers with your own. thomas was always still shy when it came to you, however intertwining your hands together was like second nature now. it was his way of saying hello.

both of your hands, interlocked, landed comfortably on your thigh. thomas’ fingers were still somewhat grimy, yet it didn’t bother you. you comfortably leaned into his plush side, resting your head against his broad chest, right under his masked chin.

you looked up, admiring his dark locks of hair that framed his face and ever so slightly dipped in front of his dark, lovely eyes. you have a warm smile, before you both simply enjoyed the silence together, staring out at the beautiful texas sunset, knowing that you had no place you’d rather be.

© myesmi . . . do not steal, translate, or repost.

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Don’t scream, bitch.” Your breath caught in your throat, the night wind cold in your face, a single lit blinking streetlight on top of you lighting up the street, the rest covered in darkness. “The boss will be happy to see you again.”

Chapter 11 < > Chapter 13

Masterlist

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog @katrina0-0 @readingfictionnothingelse @lookingforsyd

If anyone else would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

This chapter took me a bit later to update than usual because a lot of changes (nothing bad) happened on my life, so I didn't have much time to be on my computer, but things are settling down now!

You couldn’t continue with the conversation, what else could you say? The boldness you’d felt disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, being replaced by shame that soon overcame your body, taking its rightful place in the part of your brain that fed of the worst possible outcomes your mind could think of at his lack of reply.

Because he didn’t even try to reply, to try and say something only to come out empty and leave it like that. No. He never even tried it, as the writing status never showed up (Not like you had spent half an hour looking at the screen in hopes of a response…).

He was certainly content with leaving it like that.

With a disappointed sigh, your gaze moved from the empty notification box on the phone to the droning voice in the background of the room, the weather cast of yet another raining week in Gotham. Why did they even bother? It rained every week in Gotham.

Letting your hand drop to the bed, you left the phone somewhere around the sheets, searching for the tv remote, surfing channels until you could find something mildly interesting.

“—llionaire Bruce Wayne, it sure is a wonder how he’s managed to keep his company afloat.” The host said, the show was one of those evenings gossip programs that only helped to spread rumors about famous people. “Must be from all the air in his head.” Fake, canned laughs accompanied the lame joke. “Seriously, who in their right mind hands seventy percent of responsibilities of their multi-billionaire company to their seventeen-year-old son? It’s only a matter of time before he drives it to bankruptcy.”

Your lip curled at hearing the presenter talk trash about Tim, if only they knew he was as smart —if not maybe even smarter— than Batman, they wouldn’t be talking shit. Tim could physically and mentally outsmart everyone watching the program right now. Hell, even the leader of the League of Assassins was so impressed by his smarts he wanted to work with him.

Huh, did Tim still had his spleen? You should make a note of asking him later.

A muffled ding from your phone had your heart beating fast, looking under the covers to find the device and check if he’d finally replied. You did have a message, but the sender, as well as the content, made you frown.

              | Come down to the cave.

It read. A second text popping up a few seconds later.

              | Please.

It was unusual of him to say his ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, so you assumed it must be something important to him to say it. You stood up, not wanting to leave the kid waiting, switching your sandals for sneakers, as the cave tended to be quite cold, especially late in the evenings.

When you got down there, you couldn’t see anyone, specially since patrol wasn’t going to start until a couple of hours later, when the family would come down here to warm up before going out. Was he simply pranking you? You scoffed at being forced to get up from your comfy bed for nothing, turning around to go back to your room.

“Hiya!” A voice said from behind, hitting you on your arm with a cheap, plastic sword.

“Damian!” you groaned, rubbing your arm with the tip of your fingers. It didn’t really hurt; it was mostly the anger at being hit. “What the hell?”

“I gave away my location with a cry of war, you should have been able to block it.”

“Yeah, well, ‘s not like I was expecting to get jumped at here.”

“And that was your mistake.” He said, walking towards the training area, leaving the toy on the floor. “I shall rectify that for our next outing to the city in our civilian identities, shall we get confronted with an unfortunate situation once again.”

He took off his shoes, his socked feet bouncing slightly on the training mats, waiting for you to do the same. Your head tilt lightly to the left, the meaning behind his words dawned on you.

“You want to teach me self-defense?” The tip of his ears’ turning pink was enough answer for you, walking up to hug him. “Aww, Damian! I knew you cared!”

“Let go of me, dolt. I am only doing this to avoid another hostage situation that impedes the imprisonment of criminals.” You let him go, the kid dusting his clothes of any visible dust, with you feeling guilty at being reminded that Two-Face escaped because of you. “Now, remove your shoes so that we can begin.”

“But I’m not wearing gym clothes.” Your loose, red t-shirt, and black, cargo pants were probably the worst thing to train with.

“It is preferable to be wearing something you are most likely to wear if another incident were to happen, that way it doesn’t impede you from fighting back.” You hummed, using the tip of your foot to remove your shoes, not bothering to untie them.

The blue mat underneath you was firm. If you were to fall with even the least of force, it will most likely hurt for a second, but nothing that’ll do any kind of damage.

“Alright, what now?”

“You have been held at gunpoint already, but trying to disarm an armed man is the least thing you should do unless you are highly trained in martial arts like us.”

You frowned, kicking your right foot on the mat.

“So, what am I gonna learn, then?”

“Tt. I thought you were smarter. I just told you. Martial arts.”

You stood rooted in your spot. Damian Al-Ghul Wayne, grandson of the Demon’s Head, son of Batman, was going to teach you to fight?

“You want to teach me crime fighting?”

“No. Todd would endlessly hunt me if I did that— I am simply teaching you self-defense, whatever you decide to do with that knowledge is up to you.”

“What’s got Jason to do with— Umph!” Damian didn’t give you the opportunity to finish, instead, his foot swiftly knocking you on your back, the air leaving your lungs. You were right, the fall did hurt even on the padded mat. “Why?” You groaned, accepting his had to help you back up.

“You need to improve your surroundings awareness, but we can work on that during the day. Now, copy my movements.”

You did regular warming up exercises first, until he began to swiftly swing his arms as if to punch someone, going all the way out and then snapping them back in, going slow and then gradually upping the pace. While doing so, Damian thoroughly explained the exercise —the hook punch— would help you build muscle and getting your shoulders strong.

Once Damian was satisfied with your punches, he moved on to teaching you an uppercut, a right kick, side kick and a front back kick, first doing them in the air, moving to the training dummies, to a kick pad he was holding to teach you precision.

You were spent. Your shoulders hurt with the tiniest of movements, you were sure your knuckles were slightly bleeding from under the bandages, your legs were pulsating, tiny needles pricking you everywhere.

You felt like you wanted to nap for a thousand years, while Damian was barely sweating, taking a sip of his water, another bottle left on the floor next to your head, a straw pointed at you.

Lolling your head, you took the straw into your mouth, moaning once the refreshing water touched the desert it was your lips, an oasis for your broken body.

Damian sat down next to you, legs outstretched and his arms supporting him behind him. “He likes you too.”

“Who?” You asked, unsure if the two of you had been talking about someone and your brain didn’t register it.

“Todd. I had never seen him so upset when a civilian was in danger.”

Then why hadn’t he responded to your last message? It’s not like he didn’t know where you were all day, every day, to come and talk. And as much as you would like to believe love at first sight was real, it simply wasn’t. You two hadn’t spent that much time together for him to develop any kind of feelings, you wanted to believe there’s a possibility he might consider you attractive, but that was it.

“It’s simply because he knows me. I’m sure he would’ve been the same had it been you, or Cass, or Steph.”

“It has been us already, in our line of work it is not uncommon to be held at gunpoint; he worries, of course, but not like he did with you.”

Do not listen to Damian your mind screamed. But why not? your heart begged.

“It’s… different, Dami. He knows you’re capable of taking care of yourselves, I’m just a normal person, not a vigilante. I don’t know what to do in that situation.”

“Tt. What will it be? He would’ve been the same if it was us, or he does not worry as he is aware of our capabilities? Cloud your judgment with poor reasoning as much as you want. That is not the truth.”

Why were you so hellbent on not considering the possibility that maybe, just maybe he did like you? Every time the idea crossed your mind, your pulse quickened, and you felt empty. You always thought it was nervousness, excitement, maybe even hope.

But it was quite obvious if you thought about it for more than one second; it was fear.

Fear of having your feelings reciprocated, fear of having something real and having it taking away in an instant. You don’t belong here, you’ll leave and you can’t take that love home with you; they’re going to forget you, move on like they do from every single weird plight they’re drag to every month or so, while you’ll be left hollowed out with the longing of a life you’ll never be able to have.

“Ready for tomorrow?” You changed topics, heavily lifting your body until you were sitting, legs crossed, it pained you to do the simplest of movements, slowly closing and opening your hand to try and get rid of the pain. Damian had grabbed the plastic sword again, swinging it around as if it were a real one, his strikes to the dummy getting harsher at the mention of school.

“It is just a waste of my time, time I could be spending patrolling. Father does not allow me to go out during the week. Do you know how many cases I could be helping with?”

His last strike to the dummy broke the sword, the clattering of the plastic muffled by the training mat.

“Come on, school’s not that bad. I’m sure there’s some interesting clubs you can join, why don’t you check them out tomorrow?”

“Whatever…”

He picked up the broken part of the sword, checking to see if he could probably glue it back together. He walked past you, to where you’d seen some crates positioned to the far end wall. You’d finished your water already, but with doing more exercise this night than your whole life, you wanted to drink a whole river, however, that meant getting up and walking all the way to—

“Don’t scream, bitch.” Your breath caught in your throat, the night wind cold in your face, a single lit blinking streetlight on top of you lighting up the street, the rest covered in darkness. “The boss will be happy to see you again.”

No, no, no, no. That voice, that cold, metallic barrel on the back of your head couldn’t be real, they’re gone, behind bars and with several broken bones, courtesy of Red Hood.

Where was Jason?

Jason, Jason.

JASON.

You were back on the dingy basement, blood curling screams shattering the heavy atmosphere, steps were getting closer and closer from everywhere, echoing around the dilapidating walls.

“You thought you could escape?” A voice said, warping into a raspy, warbled voice reverberating all around you, eerie and screeching. “You can’t escape from the Scarecrow.”

The disembodied voice took form, a burlap mask with black, empty eyes that never stopped looking at you, even when he had his back to you, neck twisting like an owl’s.

“This will hurt, Jane.” He grabbed your arms, screaming in your face, the hold fickle until the palms were barely touching you, your name being called over and over again, but the voice wasn’t gnarled anymore, it was distant, raspy but childish-like.

“Jane!” It called again. Your vision was blurry, unfocused, bright blue lights enveloping you, the screams fading until they turned into a constant hum you’d learned to tune out. Through your tears, blurry green eyes met yours, but those were not the ones you wanted to see, these ones were harsh, cognizant, and hopeful, hiding his panic behind a green ocean. “Jane, you are safe. You are in the Batcave. I am Damian Wayne, not the Scarecrow.”

“Damian?” He nodded. “I—What happened? I wanted more water and then… Then I was there.”

“I am not sure. You had a panic attack, but I do not know what caused it.”

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to remember what the cause could’ve been. “I felt something, on the back of my head.” With a shaking hand, you prodded behind your head, feeling nothing but your hair and sweaty neck. “That’s when I heard the voices.”

Damian’s eyes widened, biting his bottom lip, looking at something behind you, following his gaze to see the taped-up sword discarded on the floor.

“I did not know.” His voice wavered the slightest bit. “I simply wished to annoy you, but when I put the sword to your head… You froze up, trembling and begging. I did not mean to cause such a reaction.”

You took a deep breath, calming your racing heart. Damian wasn’t here when you tried to escape, and knowing how great this family was at communicating, it was safe to assume no one had informed him of the kidnapping.

It was hard to be mad at him for something it wasn’t his fault (although you wanted to, for bringing you back to that moment), hell, you didn’t even know something like this could’ve happen, and with him looking so lost, out of the loop and believing it was his fault, you could barely hold the sentiment of anger. He looked so miserable, almost as much as you did. “I did not know that could happen.” Damian whispered, more to convince himself that this was an accident than anything else, and sat down away from you, afraid he would do something else to cause another panic attack.

With your heavy arms, you opened them, inviting him to hug you. The kid was wary, getting up a couple of centimeters. “Would you please hug me?” You knew you had to make him believe he was only doing it because you were distressed —which you were, a lot—, knowing he wouldn’t do it out of his own volition for not wanting to be seen as weak. Only when you said please did he stood up, sitting next to you, his arms encircling you in a way it showed he wasn’t used to hugging people and thus didn’t know how.

You hugged him tightly, resting your head on his hair, his head burrowing on your shoulder. You needed this as much as he did.

“Where… Did you go?” His voice was soft and doubtful in a way you’d never heard him speak. “You said that you were ‘there’.”

Taking a deep breath, you began explaining to him how unsafe you felt at the begging of all this, thinking you’d been kidnapped, and how you escaped only to actually be kidnapped.

“I am not surprised Drake did not bother to explain the situation. His incompetence is not surprising.” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming out of you. Midway during the explanation, you both laid down on the floor, some bats flying on the roof from time to time. “Are you… Will you inform Grayson of what happened?”

“Hm?” You were looking at a bat perched on the ceiling, cleaning its wings.

“I will understand if you do, and I will take any punishment you deem fit for my blunder.”

“What?” You turned to look at him. “Damian, I—Yeah, I will tell him, but not to accuse you or anything, just to let him know that things like that can provoke bad flashbacks for me, but you won’t be reproved for an accident.”

He nodded, turning his gaze back to the bats. What did he had to endure to believe that he had to be punished for a mistake? For something he had no control over and had no way of knowing it would happen? From what you’d gathered, he’d been here for at least a year, maybe a bit more. It wasn’t easy to understand the way you’d been brought up wasn’t the right one, to forget everything you’d been taught to in the span of a year, but his reaction made you think that not much had changed since he moved in to the manor.

You would have to pay more attention to the way he was treated around with everyone.

The silence that came upon was disturbed the sound of a motorcycle’s engine, only one person who could belong to. You both stood up, with Damian running to the parking pad.

“Akhi.” Damian greeted him. Jason got off the bike, taking off his helmet, his soft curls were all over the place, the tips wet with sweat. Did they have a heater in here or why were you feeling warmer?

“Hey, Demon Spawn.” Despite being a harsh nickname —and one would think it was because Jason didn’t like him—, it was the opposite, a warm smirk on his face, messing up Damian’s hair. “Oh, hey, Jane, what are you two doing down here?”

“Dami’s teaching me to defend myself.”

“Mmh.” Damian agreed. “I taught her five moves; she is a quick learner. I could have taught her more, but her brittle body had to take a break. Of course, I can still go on.”

It couldn’t be a compliment from Damian if it wasn’t also veiled as an insult.

“Really? You plannin’ on joining us on patrol now?”

Despite de carefree attitude, he was slightly tense.

“Not in a million years.” You chuckled, and the deep sigh leaving his lungs did not go unnoticed. “Just in case I get taken hostage again. The universe travelling agency didn’t mention anything about high crime rates.”

“That’s Gotham for you. Hey, is Dickhead here? Got some intel about the trafficking case.”

“He’s off planet with the League.” You replied nonchalantly, when had that become a normalcy in your life? “I’ll go find Tim; Dick left him in charge.”

“I will go.” Damian quickly piped up. “He should have been here already preparing for patrol.”

Without waiting for a response, he ran towards the stairs, and up to Bruce’s office.

The little shit left you and Jason alone on purpose.

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Twenty Four: A Fuckton Of People SS: 7 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.08K Content Warnings: talks of murder, talks of drug use Previous Next Masterlist

The atmosphere in the living room is charged with an almost palpable tension as everyone looks at the murder board, their expressions a mix of determination and dread. 

The whiteboard glimmers under the glow of the overhead light, illuminating the central focus, a haunting photograph of Yeji. Her image is pinned firmly to the board, and beneath it, the word DEAD is scrawled in heavy, jagged strokes of black marker, an ominous declaration of her fate. Surrounding Yeji’s picture is a chaotic collage of newspaper clippings, suspect photographs, and hastily written notes sprawling across the board like a frantic tapestry of clues and suspicions. 

Jeongin steps back, arms crossed over his chest as he assesses the board, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “Alright,” he begins, the frustration clear in his tone, “we’ve confirmed it wasn’t Mingi. The bastard was in custody by then.” He glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. “But Ryujin, she’s an obvious suspect. Girlfriend, easy access. But what about motive? I mean, Yeji helped her cover up Yuna’s death.”

Minho, leaning forward on the couch beside Hayun, interjects, “Maybe Ryujin thought Yeji was about to stab her in the back? If she thought Yeji was getting nervous, she’d want to shut her up.”

Jisung nods, his expression grim as he picks up a photo of Ryujin and slaps it onto the board with a quick, decisive motion. “Fair point. Even if Yeji wasn’t likely to rat, Ryujin’s paranoia could have made her act. And who else should we consider? That creepy priest guy?”

Felix raises an eyebrow, scepticism in his voice. “What would the priest’s motive be? But yeah, sure, put him up there. We’re leaving no stones unturned.”

With a mischievous grin, Jisung grabs a printed photo of the priest, adding him to the ever-growing board. The faint sound of tape ripping as he sticks it in place punctuates the tension.

Hayun, leaning against the armrest, speaks up, her tone more analytical. “What about Yuna’s dad? If he found out Yeji was the one who dumped his daughter’s body in a septic tank, that’d give him a damn good reason to want her dead. He’s a cop; he’d understand exactly how to make someone disappear.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the room, and Jisung taps his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, if Mr. Shin believed Mingi was responsible for Yuna’s death, he’d assume Mingi would enlist someone like Yeji for the cover-up.” He scribbles “Mr. Shin” on a neon Post-it and slaps it up on the board.

Hyunjin, who’s been standing back, arms crossed as he observes, finally steps forward, his voice steady but grave. “And what about Lia? She was still on the run back then, and she’s known for holding a grudge.”

Jisung adds a new photo of Lia to the increasingly chaotic tapestry of suspects. The board is a swirling mess of faces, names, and motives, each with its own dark twist.

“Then there are Yeji’s clients,” Changbin pipes up from the couch. His voice is low, but it cuts through the noise as he leans back, arms stretched out. “She had quite a few people buying from her. Anyone in her circle could have wanted her gone.”

Jeongin makes a note, scrawling A FUCK TON OF PEOPLE and slapping it beside Yeji’s photo. A shared glance between everyone confirms the grim truth: Yeji wasn’t exactly winning any popularity contests.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, throwing out another theory. “Or it could have been someone connected to one of her clients—someone with a grudge. Think about it: they might have blamed Yeji for what happened to someone they cared about.”

Jisung lets out a half-laugh, rolling his eyes as he scribbles another A FUCK TON OF PEOPLE on a fresh Post-it and pins it up beside the others. The sheer number of suspects is overwhelming, each connected by a web of lies, betrayals, and deep-seated grudges.

Seungmin, who’s been sitting off to the side, shakes his head, his voice laced with dry humour. “So, basically… a fuck ton of people wanted Yeji dead?”

Minho sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Pretty much,” he mutters, sounding both exasperated and resigned.

Hayun, watching the board with a critical eye, leans forward, her expression sharpening. “But we’re missing one angle.” She picks up a Post-it, writing ACCIDENT in bold letters before pinning it next to Yeji’s photo. “We all know Yeji got paranoid as hell when she was high. Every time I’d get high at her place, it was like walking on eggshells. What if she went to check on Yuna’s body in the tank while she was high… and accidentally fell in?”

There’s a moment of silence as everyone considers this new possibility. Jisung shrugs, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Worth putting up there. If it turns out to be that simple… honestly, I’d be relieved.”

Felix, his brows knit together in thought, leans in. “Wait, when did they find Yuna’s body? Just over a week ago, right?”

Seungmin nods. “That’s what the news reports said.”

Hyunjin clears his throat, looking more serious than usual. “Right. And according to the pathology report, Yeji died less than twenty-four hours before they found her body in the tank with Yuna.” He digs into his bag, pulling out printed photos of the report. “Since I’m her next of kin, I had to identify her. Managed to snap a few photos of the report when they left me alone with it.”

He hands the photos to Hayun, who scans them carefully. “It says here she had molly in her system.” She pins the report to the board, then rips down her ACCIDENT note, her face hardening.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, curious. “Wait, if she was high, wouldn’t that support the accident theory? Why take that down?”

Hayun shakes her head, her expression tense. “Because the report also says her lungs were clear. If she’d fallen in alive, there would be tank water in her lungs. She was dead before she was put in there.”

Minho nods grimly. “Dead people don’t crawl into septic tanks on their own.”

Seungmin lets out a low whistle, rubbing his temples. “Alright. So someone definitely put her in there after killing her. The question is, who hated Yeji enough to do that?”

They all stare at the board, at the messy, chaotic array of photos, notes, and lines connecting suspects, each tangled in a web of secrets. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of what they’re up against, until one by one, they murmur the grim truth in unison.

“A fuck ton of people.”

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

[folkloresthings]

Pride and prejudice - seb with cruel summer 🫣 bridge suits him SO MUCH it should be illegal

can i just say ty to all of the anons sending seb requests you’re the backbone of our society. can’t wait to write them all!

CRUEL SUMMER. ❨ sebastian vettel x reader ❩

✩⡱ warnings: allusion to sex but no actual smut. age gap if you squint.

maybe it was the heat, you thought to yourself, making you feel like this. stuck on a yacht in the french riviera, you tried to distract yourself with your friends. but he was there, and he was so handsome and older and wiser. but sebastian vettel was trouble.

still, every evening after dinner, you found yourself disappearing below deck to him, letting him kiss you until you ran out of breath. he was a good kisser, too good, and knew just which buttons to press to make you give in.

“seb, we can’t,” you whisper, shaking. “everyone’s just upstairs, they’ll hear.”

you played this game every night, receiving some kind of smart quip from sebastian as he sank to his knees in front of you. and every time, he’d look up and grin devilishly as he disappeared between your thighs.

as soon as you arrived back on deck, it was like nothing had happened. you made your excuses and went back to your friends, and sebastian would only steal glances and brushing touches in passing.

one night, you’d all headed on land to a club that lewis recommend. sebastian hadn’t stopped staring at you in a dress that left little to the imagination (not that he needed much of an imagination). at the club, he may as well have been a stranger. you watched from the bar as he danced with a beautiful girl, being too drunk to notice how her hands were wandering over him.

in the taxi, you’d cried into isa’s arms, not giving her or charlotte a reason why. they knew, of course they knew. they’d be fools not to notice how you looked at sebastian. when the boys’ taxi pulled in behind you, you dried your eyes and looked away when carlos asked if you were okay.

“i’m fine,” you assured, avoiding sebastian’s stare and letting charlotte hold your hand as you hurried back to the boat.

he found you on the deck later that night, when everyone else was fast asleep. your legs were pulled up to your chest, chin resting on your knees, looking out to the dark waves on the horizon. he said nothing, sitting quietly beside you.

“i’m sorry,” sebastian admits after a moment of listening to your soft sniffles. you don’t dare look over to him, knowing how you’ll give in when you do. “please, talk to me.”

“i love you,” you’re saying it before you have the sense to stop yourself. you look at him then, because it’s out there, there’s no stopping it. “is that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

sebastian shakes his head, the ghost of a sad smile pulling at his lips. “no,” he whispers, reaching out to touch your cheek.

you sigh, leaning into his warm hand. he doesn’t return the words, and you know what it means. he loves you, he does, but he’s afraid. so are you, but you’re trying.

“i… i don’t want to keep secrets,” you tell him, voice quiet and taken away by the cool night air. “even if it means i get to keep you.”

sebastian winces, feeling you slip away from him. he doesn’t want to lose you, but the prospect of giving this relationship, everything that he has, up for the world to ogle at — he can’t face it. to have you is to lose you, he can’t seem to win.

summer was cruel like that. it gave you heaven only to take it away when the leaves turned. or maybe, it was just love that was cruel. and you, it’s sweet victim.

[izuizzy]

thinking about Vanitas again because I'm a sucker who likes crazy ocs; how come they all thought that he was dead?? like was that something in the records or did Vanitas just disappear and presumed dead?? its eating at my mind izzy!!!! I MUST KNOWWWW

OKAY I HAVE SLEPT AND I AM HERE ONCE AGAIN ASKING YOU TO LISTEN TO THE VANITAS PARASITES WHISPERING IN MY EAR AAA I’m so glad you asked this fos. you have no idea you’re asking all the things I’ve already been thinking about heheheheh so long post incoming. it’s story time!

to anyone also reading this, story was written by me. so yeah just the usual do not claim as your own. and enjoy! also tw for inhumane research projects, death mention. I will tag this post.

so, basically Vanitas and all other test subjects for Ultimate Lifespawn were supposed to die when the facility was found. as team dark and GUN found it they arrested and captured all the researchers, but not until one dangerous researcher activated a fail safe to destroy the subjects. miraculously it failed on Talia and Vox, but all other subjects were killed. it is still unknown why they survived. was it just a stroke of luck? did their programs buckle after the destruction of the facility? no one knows yet.

so how did Vanitas survive? to start, I wanna give a little background on him. he wasn’t always a crazy psycho JAKAHSHS

he was actually quite happy even in their unfortunate circumstances. he definitely inherited more of Sonic’s energetic and playful sides. out of all the subjects in the facility, he was the first to survive the abhorrent experiments and tests after Vox. so they stuck together in those trying times being the only two who could last longer than a few days or a few weeks. Vanitas grew attached to his older brother and Vox enjoyed having company for once even if he didn’t understand his own feelings at the time.

however… things didn’t stay that way.

(gonna cliffhanger cut this bc it’s getting super long so read under the cut for more)

around the time Talia came into existence, Vanitas noticed a change in Vox. something more sentimental as he bonded with Talia. something Vanitas had never seen from Vox. Vanitas saw her as weaker than them (her Chao energy levels are not the same as the two of them) and he once suggested that he and his brother Vox escape the facility and the cruelty of the researchers, they were definitely strong enough to level the facility and take out anyone who stood in their way. Vox didn’t want to leave Talia behind though, and what if more hedgehogs like them came into existence that could survive, who would be there for them?

Vanitas didn’t like what he was hearing. one argument led to another and Vanitas had had enough of his sentimental brother, and the weakling that turned him into this. he became more violent and aggressive towards everyone and everything. he took joy in tormenting the subjects and fighting with the researchers, and seeing all of them as dolls more so than other living things. the researchers soon learned he was too dangerous to the project as a whole and so they separated him from the rest of the subjects and performed experiments on him alone.

Talia and Vox never saw him again after that, and so they had assumed he was going die (as they were young and watching him leave didn’t mean just experiments but death).

Vanitas was later subjected to terrible experiments alone, so painful and excruciating that his mind began to fray at the seams. after the experiments he did not return to Vox, Talia or anyone else. he was left in isolation in a room. all alone. there were times where he regretted the things he’d said that had separated him from Vox. it wasn’t long though before his mind would start to block things out. he became the emptiness that his name stood for. he started shutting out his pain and his emotions, and he lived in isolation, cold and numb. he’d already used that coping skill before so he could use it again.

Vanitas never saw another soul again besides the researchers. they planned to place him in a cryostasis different from the other subjects and extract his chaos energy to be used for the others because he was too erratic to control. they’d keep him around for later but basically they wrote him off as deceased for the records so no one would question them about him.

so Talia and Vox had assumed he was dead as they never saw him again (a spell of out of sight out of mind just a bit). they had to move forward. Vox had to come to grips that the brother he knew he changed and was no more and Talia had to learn to cope with the fear Vanitas had imparted on her even after he was gone.

a tldr of their interactions is that after a long while neither Vox nor Talia had anything kind to say about Vanitas and wouldn’t miss him after the shift in personality he had. he became manipulative, aggressive and cruel and neither of them remembered him fondly (unfortunately). Vox and Vanitas both missed the old versions of each other that were long gone.

later down the lines when team dark found them there were only four subjects found. even though in truth five had survived. Vanitas was only a name among a list of names when they recovered the files all while being labeled as “dangerous” and “deceased.”

for reasons I have yet to write, it turns out all this time Vanitas was alive and never died in the research facility… because he wasn’t there to begin with when team dark and GUN raided the facility.

he had disappeared much earlier, his cell empty, and the fail safe chip inside him left on the ground.

fun fact: I also put this in a sonadow comic I did once before. mentioning the fail safe that was meant to kill all subjects created by the project

[blessyatoz]

longfic (+48k words and on posting) tags: pro-hero izuku midoriya, manager au, falling in love, humor read all on AO3 excerpt from chapter four: how to follow a Pro-Hero on patrol

The room was shrouded in darkness.

It was cold—the windows in Izuku's room were wide open, and no blanket covered him. He always left them that way: in case something happened, in case someone called for help, in case anyone needed him, he would hear it.

Hikage-san's Danger Sense would alert him to any significant danger approaching, yes, he knew that. But it was a habit, a routine he had developed. One that gave him a certain sense of security, somehow. So he kept doing it, always leaving them open, always feeling the cold.

It was more than the middle of the night, once again. He never got home before this hour in recent years. His alarm was set to go off in four hours and forty minutes.

He should be sleeping.

But here he was, eyes glued to the ceiling, replaying a memory from earlier today.

Yo, Uzuki-kun! I’m Marin, nice to meet ya!

A memory of Marin’s words to a little boy, at sunset, in the middle of a children’s playground. A sandbox.

He remembered how he had arrived there. It hadn’t taken long to resolve the emergency he’d been called to—he made sure everyone was safe, talked to the police, and returned to the park sidewalk where he’d left his assistant. He just hadn’t expected her not to be there anymore exactly where he’d left her.

But a quick glance at the horizon was enough to spot her, the tips of her pink hair giving her away from a distance—she was in a sandbox, apparently talking to some kids. He smiled. Kitagawa-san was naturally social (and a bit crazy fun, for sure, he thought with a chuckle) so she was probably playing with them.

Izuku then began to walk in her direction, but he stopped. He stopped behind some bushes when a group of boys came running out, looking terrified—they even bumped into him on the way.

None of them apologized or acknowledged his presence; they seemed too scared to notice, driven by a need to escape evident in each of their faces. All he heard as they talked among themselves was:

"That shitty quirkless Uzuki, he’s gonna get it when he’s alone!"

"Yeah! We’ll get him good!"

That got Izuku out of guard.

And before he could say anything (something that might change their minds, something that might make them less scared), the kids had already disappeared from his sight.

Then Izuku looked ahead, through the tall bushes. And he heard:

"Yo, Uzuki-kun! I’m Marin, nice to meet ya!" He saw Marin smile brightly, gently patting a boy’s hair. The little guy was crying. "So, what happened here, huh? Were those your friends?"

“Th-they are.” Midoriya heard the boy stammer and lower his gaze, sniffling again. The scene seemed strangely familiar to him. "T-they were making fun of me."

"Why’s that, huh? You seem like such a cool kid to me!"

The boy swallowed hard, looking away. As if he felt ashamed. As if he felt guilty.

He took a while to respond.

"B-b-because..." He seemed afraid to say. "I-I’m q-q-quirkless… Just because I wanted to be the hero in our play… S-Sorry, One-san. Sorry! I-I-I don’t wanna bother y-you!”

Strangely familiar to him.

“Nah, don’t worry, little guy! You don’t have to apologize to me! You not bothering me, okay?! You looked like you were asking for help! I’ve come anyway.”

Izuku felt a gentle breeze brush against his face—Kitagawa-san's words somehow touching him.

Like he was asking for help, huh? 

“S-sorry! Sorry, one-san!”

"Don’t say sorry, little guy. These guys are a bunch of jerks." Kitagawa-san, don’t swear in front of kids! Izuku thought automatically. But that wasn’t where his mind was really focused. It was on something else. On her all other words. On how she seemed to care. On how all of this was bringing back memories.

“Huh?”

“A bunch of jerks, that’s what I said. Those friends of yours are j.e.r.k.s,” Kitagawa-san continued, with an expression Izuku recognized as nothing less than comedic indignation. “How can they know you won’t be an incredible hero, huh? Impossible! You’ve got a whole future ahead of you, Uzuki-kun! What nonsense…!”

‘B-but they’re not wrong, Marin-onesan. I-I-I… I-I don’t have—”

“Don't have a quirk?” The boy nodded, a tear running down his nose. He looked like he was about to cry again. But Kitagawa-san was quicker, smiling that big smile of hers, the kind that Izuku couldn’t even count how many crinkles it created around her eyes. “And since when does that mean you can’t be a hero?”

The words seemed to jump out of Kitagawa’s mouth, like her body, her mouth moved before she even had the chance to think straight. As if she didn’t need it. As if she was sure of it.

All Might's first words to him pop into Izuku’s mind. Why?

I cannot simply say, ‘You can become a hero even without power.’

Was what he first said to him. Before all.

“B-but—”

“But nothing! Listen to your one-san! Isn’t this your dream?”

Izuku saw the boy nod, the tearful expression starting to fade from his little face. Kitagawa-san then carefully picked up the fabric from the ground and gently tied it around the boy’s neck. 

It was a cape. A green one.

“Then no one can say anything about it, gotcha?! No one can tell you what you can or can’t do! ONLY YOU! Don’t let those idiots’ opinions mess with your goal, okay, Uzuki-kun?!” Kitagawa-san was like a wall of confidence, unshakeable, with an unbreakable belief. The boy’s eyes sparkled with admiration, practically twinkling with stars. More than admiration—Izuku knew it: it was hope. “You’re not only can, you are going to be one hell of an amazing hero! I know that!” And Izuku knew, Izuku knew exactly what felt like to hear something that. The words he always wanted to hear. He had dreamed of it for too long as a child not to know. To have someone say that to you. To have someone encourage you like that, even when no one else believed in you. Just like All Might had done for him once, when made him his sucessor. “And then you’re gonna rub it in those idiots’ faces just how wrong they were!”

Izuku watched Marin make those ridiculous punching sound effects in the air, making the boy laugh.

“Yeah!” He cheered, throwing punches in the air.

“You’re gonna be the greatest hero in the world!”

“Yes!”

“And you’re gonna kick a ton of villain asses!”

“YEAH!” And then Izuku heard Marin’s laugh, loud, expansive, and contagious, the kind you could hear even from miles away.

“I believe in you!” Izuku heard Kitagawa-san say, and the All Might’s voice saying ‘You can become a hero.’ was the thing that came to his mind. “And I’m counting on you, okay? I’m, like, super clumsy and always getting into trouble. So in a few years, you better be ready to be my hero, okay, Uzuki-kun?”

Izuku listened.

What was that trying to leak from his eyes?

“I'll be, Marin one-san!” The sad expression had long since left the boy’s face. All that remained now was a smile—and a look of courage and determination.

Izuku watched them laugh quietly for a few moments, as if soaking in the comforting feeling of the silly, stupid promise they’d made. But Izuku knew that it wasn’t a silly promise. Not either stupid.

To that boy, it wasn’t.

Kitagawa-san had done something there. Something big, real. Like a real hero. Something that many heroes would never believe in or have the guts to do. That almost no one ever said it to him back in the past, just All Might. And that was more than—

He realized: what was that trying to leak from his eyes? Those were small tears. Tears. 

Why did he was about to cry? He didn’t know… He didn’t know how they had gotten there—they just… were.

At that moment, he heard Marin’s voice say in a strange and funny tone:

“Do you want ice cream?” He saw her offer a completely melted ice cream to the boy. 

One of the scoops fell comically to the ground.

“No.” The boy was emphatic—as Marin looked at him with a face that ranged between offense and indignation. Izuku found himself laughing softly, a bit silly, a bit shaky.

He was still an emotional mess, wasn’t he? Crap.

The boy waved towards something further away, and Izuku noticed it was his parents. The boy then began to walk away from Kitagawa-san, a smile of pure determination and confidence lighting up his entire face. He never took his eyes off her when he said:

“Thank you, Marin-onesan! You can be sure I’ll be an amazing hero and I’ll save you! Please wait for me! I’ll show you! I’ll show everyone!”

That was the memory of today. And Izuku remembered, Izuku remembered the whole scene perfectly. As if it had happened to him. Just like he remembered when All Might believed in him.

And Kitagawa-san says that he, Izuku, is the incredible one.

Kitagawa-san had been an even more incredible hero that day. Even though she didn’t know.

Suddenly, he noticed: he wasn’t as cold anymore.

The window remained open, always open—the curtains swayed and swayed slowly, the night breeze filling his room at home.

That night, Izuku didn’t have much time left to sleep.

That night, his alarm would go off in less than three hours now.

He was tired, exhausted.

But still, he drifted into sleep with a smile, a quiet warmth settling deep within him.

AUTHOR NOTES:

HELLO TUMBLR that's a tiny little except from my fic Izuku Midoriya/Original Female Character. We already have six chapters posted. Feel free to check out the all chapters and tags on AO3! Hope you enjoyyyy! Comments and kudos are appreciated, I just love to know what u guys are thinking about the shipp dynamic <3

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 59

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Aaron reunites with Eric. Rick and Glenn reunite with the others. They decide to take a new route to Alexandria. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; there's not really any chapter-specific warnings? idk domestic bliss is kind of a warning it itself

Chapter 59 - Go The Distance

It was about a half hour before soft whistling carried through the alleyway, a system they had come up with while wandering the woods. Two notes. Daryl whistled back, pounding on the industrial supply room door from the outside, a signal that it was safe for them to come out. Iris opened the door from their side, allowing Maggie and Carl to burst through to hug Rick and Glenn. They ran in on foot, disheveled and a little bloody.

“Dad!” Carl cried in relief. 

“Your sister okay?” Rick whispered.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re fine.” Carl assured. Rick looked up at Iris and she nodded. He visibly relaxed, nodding to her in thanks. Rick extended his hand to Daryl, giving him a small handshake. 

“Eric? Eric?” Aaron called in a panic.

“In here.” Eric called from the supply room. Maggie had fashioned him a splint for his ankle and ordered some rest, leaving him alone when everyone had flooded out. 

“Eric!” Aaron called in response, practically diving headfirst into the room. Iris supposed she would feel a similar panic if she was separated from her spouse. Well, if she had one. Rick narrowed his eyes after Aaron and followed him to eavesdrop. 

Daryl directed everyone inside anyway, to dampen the sound in case they attracted any more walkers. They kept out of the office, so Aaron and Eric could reunite in semi-privacy (Rick) and they could speak semi-freely (Rick). After a few minutes Aaron came out of the office, clearing his throat.

“Excuse me, everyone? Everyone?” He coughed, then projected louder as they turned to look at him. “Thank you. You saved Eric. I owe you. All of you. And I will make sure that debt is paid in full when we get to our community. When we get to Alexandria. Now, I’m not sure about you, but I’d rather not do any more driving tonight. Maybe we can hit the road tomorrow morning.”

“That sounds fine.” Rick agreed from the dark hallway behind him. Aaron nodded, turning to acknowledge him. “But if we’re staying here for the night, you’re sleeping over there.” He pointed a grimy finger to a random corner of the room and Iris rolled her eyes. 

“You really think we gotta do that?” Maggie asked, her tone conveying the same annoyance Iris felt.

“It’s the safe play. We don’t know you.” Rick explained.

“The only way you’re gonna stop me from being with him right now is by shooting me.” Aaron said, his voice low. It was the most confident he’d sounded since they met, and Iris was almost proud. She smirked. 

“Rick, he told us where the camp is.” Glenn whispered in Rick’s ear. Yet, the room was small and they were all silent, so Iris wasn’t sure what that was accomplishing. “And he really was only travelling with one other person. They’re both unarmed, one of them’s got a broken ankle. I want us to be safe too, but I can’t give up everything else. I know what I said, but… it does matter.” Rick paused, considering before agreeing.

“Alright.” He nodded. Aaron brushed past them back into the office.

-

The next morning, with the help of Iris hot-wiring another car, all of them were able to get back on the road. Route Sixteen this time. Iris was happy to drive the RV with Abraham silently sitting at her side, staring out at the road while they listened to Eugene explain to Tara and Carl how to play his ridiculous fourteen-wild-card poker game. 

“Abraham, look.” Rosita murmured, coming up behind him and putting her hands on his shoulders. He put his palm over one of them, smiling softly at the sight of the Washington Monument. They could see the whole city ahead, before the view disappeared behind a crop of trees as the road curved. Iris glanced down at the dash, trying not to let the Low Voltage light flashing at her affect the relief and joy that everyone seemed to be ruminating in. 

Eventually, however, it did. The RV died out and Rick pulled the other car around behind them when he noticed they stopped. Glenn was more than helpful when he dove headfirst under the hood of the RV. Iris felt a pang of nostalgia, almost expecting to see Dale leaning over his shoulder, directing Glenn’s movements as he tinkered with the engine. 

“Can’t win.” Abraham grunted, slamming a hand on the outside of the RV. “Might as well paint it red, put a ladder on it.” Iris raised an eyebrow. That man just loved living in the past. 

“All we need is another battery.” Glenn assured, straightening.

“Where the hell are we going to find another battery?” Abraham scoffed.

“Right over here.” Glenn replied, walking around to the side door and flipping up on of the covers on the stairs. Underneath was another battery, plugged in and primed to go. Iris’ lips twitched as she silently muttered a thank-you to Dale. Abraham climbed into the RV to start it up once Glenn had everything fixed up. 

“You okay?” Daryl asked quietly, coming up behind Iris as she stood on top of the RV, watching their backs. She glanced at him, looking down as he gestured at her hands. They were trembling. 

“Huh.” Iris muttered, clenching her fists as a shiver ran through her. She looked up at him again, watching her with concern in his eyes. “Too good to be true, right?”

“Maybe not.” He countered. He reached down, lacing his fingers through hers to stop the tremors. Underneath their feet, the RV roared to life, small cheers and clapping echoing from the group below. “C’mon.” 

They got moving again, and after another hour or so, Abraham stopped the RV behind the car as they reached a large set of gates. The corrugated steel walls looked strong, reinforced. Efficient. A feat of engineering, especially during times like these. Rick waited, observing the gates and listening. They cut the engines, everyone climbing out of the vehicles to stand patiently at the gates. 

It was serene. Children’s laughter carried over the walls, and Iris was shocked that she had forgotten what that sounded like. No headaches, no feelings of impending doom. No fear. 

Someone on the other side of the gate wheeled the chain link open, leaving just the iron bars of the main gate. Then that opened too. Aaron and Eric were the first through, and Eric made his way to the infirmary. 

A crash startled all of them, Daryl immediately turning and firing a crossbow bolt into the opossum that had accidentally knocked over a trash bin. He leaned over and picked it up as the gate fully opened, revealing another man staring with furrowed brows.

“We brought dinner.” Daryl called nonchalantly. 

“It’s okay.” Aaron assured the nervous-looking man. “Come on in, guys.” The gate clanged as it locked shut behind them, and Iris was hit with a sense of finality. She took slow, deep breaths as she looked around, seeing houses in the distance, neatly planted trees and mowed lawns. Goddamned landscaping. 

“Before we take this any further, I need you all to turn over your weapons.” The guard at the gate stated. “Stay, you hand ‘em over.”

“We don’t know if we want to stay.” Rick said, still guarded. 

“It’s fine, Nicholas.” Aaron assured again.

“If we were gonna use them, we would have started already.” Rick explained. Iris found herself clenching her jaw and she let go of the tension, wishing she had a piece of gum, not for the first time. 

“Let them talk to Deanna first.”

“Who’s Deanna?” Abraham demanded.

“She knows everything you’d wanna know about this place.” Aaron explained. “Rick, why don’t you start?” Rick blinked, turning to look back over the group. As he surveyed them, he spotted a lone walker approaching the gates from outside.

“Sasha.” He said quietly. With her being closest to the gate, she turned to look, and with one swift movement, the silent bullet blew apart the walker’s skull. Nicholas blanched, the chain link closing across the gate behind them. “It’s a good thing we’re here.” Rick grunted. 

Aaron led them all through the street to a house near the corner. It was neat, nicely decorated, curtains open to let the light in. Low brick walls to line a neatly paved brick patio. They waited outside as Aaron took Rick in to speak to the elusive Deanna. When he returned, she brought out another person, a large plastic cart, introduced herself, and asked for their weapons.

“They’re still your guns.” She assured. “You can check them out whenever you go beyond the wall, but inside here, we store them for safety.” The cart was overflowing by quite a bit by the time Iris got to it, and her small armoury was the icing on the cake. Though she didn’t give it all up. She never would. Most of her knives were under her jacket anyways.

“Should have brought another bin.” Olivia, the woman who manages the armoury joked. Iris took note of the very false smile Carol had plastered on her face. She also noticed the fake fumbling Carol did when she surrendered her large rifle. 

Deanna explained that she would be interviewing each of them to get a sense of who they were, what they could contribute to the community. As she went through a few of them, Aaron led Rick and Carl to the houses their group would be assigned to start with. 

Iris sat down in Deanna’s living room, eyeing her large collection of books and the camcorder pointed at her. The furniture was lovely, and it was almost as if this place went entirely untouched. And then Deanna explained that it had.

“I’m Deanna Monroe.” She introduced, smiling softly.

“Iris Bowen.” Iris replied.

“Do you mind if I film our conversation?” Deanna asked. Iris chuckled inwardly, reminded of interrogations and interviews she’d done from police precincts and cells as a wayward youth. “What?”

“I’m not used to people asking.” Iris replied, offering a small grin. Deanna smirked, nodding in understanding. 

“How long have you been out there?” She asked.

“Since the beginning.” Iris replied.

“How did you all find each other? Rick told me you didn’t know one another before… everything.” Iris nodded, clearing her throat.

“It was Atlanta. Rick left a bag of guns in the road, and I, alongside many others, tried to steal them. We came to an agreement when other survivors took Glenn for ransom, and I guess… I just never left.” She smiled awkwardly, remembering their meeting. Glenn seemed so young. She did too, she supposed. Deanna smiled warmly.

“I was a congressperson in Ohio, fifteenth district.” She explained. “What did you do before?”

“Does it matter?” Iris asked, a little defensive.

“Oh, yes. My husband was a professor of architecture. Who we were mattered a great deal to this community.” She explained. Iris nodded in understanding.

“I was a member of a biker gang and a mechanic.” She admitted. Deanna nodded without much reaction.

“And your attachment to knives?” Deanna asked, nodding to the break in Iris’ jacket where her harness was visible. Iris moved her jacket closed and Deanna chuckled. “It’s alright. I figured some of you would be rather attached to your weapons. Your knives, Michonne’s sword, Daryl’s crossbow.” Iris hummed. “In your gang, did you—“

“The knives came after.” Iris replied shortly. Deanna closed her mouth, nodding again. 

“Look, Iris, who you were before is important, yes, but who you are now is more important. We want to know how you can contribute so our community can prosper. Now, whatever you learned as a gang member is not useful to me. But we have had need for a mechanic for quite some time. If you’re willing and able, we want you and the rest of your family to have a home here, whatever that means for you.” Deanna explained. Iris nodded slowly. 

The woman spoke like a politician or a therapist. But it was clear from her demeanour and her explanation that the people here had no idea what life was like on the outside. Except maybe Aaron and Eric. And that kind of ignorance is very dangerous. 

Deanna asked her to send Daryl in next. Iris was then led to the pair of quaint little houses they were assigned, and more importantly, the bathroom equipped with a hot shower. And new clothing. Iris tried her best to be quick so as not to use up all the hot water, but each of them confessed there was nothing like it. 

A woman who worked in the “pantry” even offered haircuts to each of them. A little self-care, a little pampering… it did little to wash away the grime from outside. The pain and suffering, the starving, the wandering. It wouldn’t be erased, but some numbing once in a while was… nice.

-

“You’re welcome to sit, Daryl, I won’t bite.” Deanna stated as Daryl fiddled with some of the random decor on her coffee table.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Daryl replied, looking her up and down as he paced in her living room.

“Daryl, do you want to be here?” She asked honestly. He turned back to her and dropped his shoulders in a half-assed shrug.

“The boy and the baby, they deserve a roof… I guess.” He replied, deflecting the question. It was a secret to no one that domestic life didn’t exactly fit with Daryl, even before everything. A part of him wondered what it would be like, the same part of him that wanted… other things. A larger part of him felt anxious at the very idea of allowing himself any luxuries. 

-

Iris walked out of the house Rick and the others had been using, freshly showered and wearing clean clothes. Rick and Daryl walked up from between the two houses, meeting Carol by the front porch where Iris stood. 

Daryl nodded to Iris and she smiled softly at him. He found his face heating as his eyes trailed over her skin, clean and soft for the first time in weeks. Rick cleared his throat as he looked around, Carol hiding her small smile behind a light cough. 

“They’re right next to each other, but…“ Carol began.

“They took our weapons and now they’re splitting us up.” Rick murmured, shaking his head. “We’ll all be staying in the same house tonight.”

“I’ll send someone to grab some of the extra linens from the other house. Blankets and whatever to sleep on the floor.” Iris agreed.

Once everyone had been interviewed and had a chance to shower and clean up, they gathered in the living room of the first house, doling out blankets and pillows to stick together. Abraham and Sasha were insistent on keeping watch by the windows. The woman from the pantry, who introduced herself as Jessie, even came by with a small playpen that Judith could safely sleep in. Michonne spent twenty entire minutes brushing her teeth. Iris had to admit, she did the same. 

Everyone jolted as a knock sounded on the door. Daryl immediately positioned himself over Judith’s crib. Iris, Glenn and Maggie already had their hidden weapons half out, and Rick slowly went to answer the door. He opened it, finding Deanna standing on the porch in the dark.

“Rick, I—“ She stopped, looking over his clean-shaven face. “Wow. I didn’t know what was under there.” She joked. He grunted. “Listen, I don’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were all settling. Oh, my. Staying together. Smart.”

“No one said we couldn’t.” Rick replied. Iris almost snorted. A bit of a childish riposte on his part.

“You said you’re a family. That’s what you said.” Deanna said with a wide smile. “Absolutely amazing to me how people with completely different backgrounds and nothing in common can become that.”

“Everybody said you gave them jobs.” Rick stated. It was true, in each of their interviews, Deanna had assigned them a position where she and Aaron agreed they could help out in the community. Iris was told she would be taken to check out the garage when she was ready. Apparently they even had a few cars lined up for her to fix. 

“Mm-hmm. Yeah.” Deanna nodded. “Part of this place. Looks like the communists won after all.” She laughed. Rick surrendered a small smile at the joke.

“Well, you didn’t give me one.” He stated by way of question.

“I have.” She replied. “I just haven’t told you yet. Same with Michonne. I’m closing in on something for Sasha, and I’m just trying to figure Mr. Dixon out, but I will.” She smiled at each member of the group before nodding at Rick and looking at him again. “You look good.” She waved and stepped outside, Rick closing the door behind her.

That night, Iris didn’t sleep. She felt a sense of responsibility, to watch over her family as they huddled in the living room. Rick didn’t sleep much either, but he didn’t notice her. He got up in the middle of the night, breathing rather quickly, and Iris followed him into the kitchen. He opened one of the drawers beside the refrigerator, pulling out a large kitchen knife.

“Subtle.” Iris murmured softly. He turned, almost whipping the knife at her. She put her hands up, offering a lopsided grin. “Can’t sleep either.” She confessed.

“I’m worried.” He admitted, looking up at her, and for the first time since they arrived, she noticed the hope glimmering in his eyes.

“I know.” She replied sympathetically. “We all want this to be right, Rick. For everyone. Deanna… she seems alright.” 

“She said she was almost a professional poker player.” Rick stated, rubbing a hand over his face. Iris chuckled softly, nodding.

“Sounds right. I’ll have to play her sometime.” She replied. Rick smiled again, nodding. “Rick… if and that’s a big ‘if’, everything goes south, we’ll all stand with you. Always.” His smile faltered and he inhaled a large shuddering breath.

“Thank you.” He whispered. Iris nodded, spying the water lining his eyes. She reached forward and he stepped into her arms, releasing a long sigh as they hugged each other tight.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[ohlawdthebirds]

The Heaviest Burdens

FREE PALESTINE FOREVER!!!

Good heavens, here is my (incredibly late) entry for @glitterypirateduck Ghost challenge. I used prompts 34, 47, 74, 80, 86, and 95. Hope y'all enjoy.

Platonic!141 x Reader; Ghost x Reader later on in the story (can also be read as platonic).

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, you find yourself at your wits end. Good thing your teammates are there to take care of you. And it's especially good that Ghost is there too.

CW: oh, this gets ANGSTY. Mentions of death, blood, mental breakdowns, and suicidal ideations.

The song that dragged me through this fic:

Returning to base after a mission was always rough. The trip back was typically silent, even if things went right. You and your teammates dreaded coming back to the mountain of paperwork that would undoubtedly crowd your desk for the better part of a week. Everyone had their routines when they got back: Price would nurse a cigar and lock himself in his office. Soap would pull out a journal and sketch until his pencil ran dull. Gaz would lose himself in a book or whatever hobby craft he’d decided to pick up that month. Ghost had a penchant for disappearing somewhere on base, only to turn up a few days later. You suspected he hid out in Soap’s room, but never bothered to check. Your ritual was a simple one: gearing down and meticulously cleaning your gear. Everything from your tac vest to your boots was scrubbed of dirt and debris, before being packed away for your next mission. It was something you looked forward to doing, a way to literally cleanse yourself from all that had happened.

-

The mission had been…horrible wasn’t a strong enough word. A hostage deal gone wrong; more blood spilled than saved. It was a literal mess, one that left more wounds than anticipated. The evac back to base was silent, no one daring to even look at each other. Price released you all to your respective rooms once the heli landed.

You trudged along, not stopping until you reached your room and locked the door behind you. The blood on your uniform had dried completely by that point, leaving dark red splotches across your arms, chest, and legs. It cracked and flaked off the more you moved. For a moment you stood in your room, too afraid to shift even the slightest bit.

The blood on your uniform was not your own. It was a hostage’s, a man that had been ripped from his normal life and thrust into danger. During the mission he’d told you about his family, the restaurant he wanted to open when all was said and done. You’d promised him you would visit his restaurant whenever it opened. The mission went south soon after that, with the militia group you were supposed to go after opening fire. Nearly none of the hostages made it. The only survivors were badly wounded and would carry deep-rooted scars with them for the rest of their lives. During ex-fil you saw the body of the man who told you his hopes and dreams. Your stomach curdled at the sight of him face down in a pool of his own blood. It was all you could do to keep from puking as your team filed into the chopper.

-

You gathered all of the cleaning supplies you used after every mission: hydrogen peroxide for the blood stains, laundry detergent for the dirt, a towel to lay everything down on, and washcloths and a toothbrush to scrub everything out. Once they were gathered in your arms, you set off for the communal bathrooms. Being that it was the middle of the night and dawn wasn’t for a good few hours, the bathroom was empty. You laid everything out on the countertop next to the sink and began stripping off your gear.

Well.

You tried to, at least.

Your gloves came off just fine. The buckles and straps on both sides of your tac vest, however, didn’t budge. Yanking at the Velcro did nothing. In fact, it seemed to tighten your vest even more. You sucked in a deep breath before giving up on the vest and moving on to something else. But even as you attempted to unbuckle your belt to take off your cargo pants, the leather stuck itself into the loops and tugging on it made it worse. You were sure you were going crazy; maybe it was the emotional toll of this particular mission that had you feeling scrambled and like everything was too tight, too close, too restricting. The final straw came in the form of your shoelaces being knotted too tightly and thus making it impossible for you to even slip off your boots.

A strangled noise erupted from your throat, something between a scream and a sob. It was too much. It was all too much. The mission, the way you couldn’t even wash away the blood of a good man, the way you knew this would happen again with whatever Laswell assigned your team next. It was entirely too much.

You collapsed to the floor. Sobs freely escaped you now with no fear of anyone finding you in the bathroom. At least, that’s what you figured until the door was shoved open. Price stepped in, eyes immediately finding your form crumpled to the ground. He was quick to kneel at your side, trying to assess whether or not you were about to collapse from an injury. Just as soon as you were about to lie and tell him you were fine, in rushed the rest of your teammates. There was no use lying then. They gathered around you, each of them asking some variation of what was wrong or if you were hurt. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took in a shaky breath.

“I’m fine,” you answered, “I just…I can’t get my uniform off.”

“That all, then? Why the crying?” Price asked.

Holding back more tears, you replied “The blood, it’s…it’s that guy, the- the one who wanted to open a restaurant once we got him to safety but…he’s dead, Price, he’s dead and his blood is on me, and I think it’s gonna be on me forever.”

You were full-on bawling by that point, fat teardrops rolling down your face and spilling onto the tile under your head.

“He’s dead and his family will never get to see him again. And us…we got away. We get away every time. We get hit with a few bullets, sure, but we always make it. Our one job was to keep those hostages alive, and we couldn’t manage that. And now there are families mourning loved ones they’ll never see again, and I can’t get this STUPID VEST OFF!”

Your teammates were silent, watching as you sobbed and feebly tried to wriggle out of your tac vest. Ghost was the first to intervein, laying his hands gently atop yours. You allowed him to move your hands back down to your sides before he fiddled with the buckles and Velcro straps of your vest. To your surprise, it all came loose in his grasp. The vest was slipped from over your head and put to the side. Soap and Price followed Ghost’s lead, Soap working on your belt and Price making quick work of your bootlaces. Everything was removed and handed over to Gaz, who’d taken notice of the set up on the counter and was working to get every stain off your uniform.

You laid there, on the cold tile, aided by your teammates. At one point, Ghost and Soap had gathered paper towels from the dispenser next to the sink and ran them under water until they were damp. They both squatted next to you and wiped the dried blood from your skin. It was something close to a baptism, a rebirth. The grime was scrubbed from your skin and soul. Ghost grabbed a new bunch of paper towels, ran them under cool water, and gently scrubbed the dirt and tears from your face.

You sniffled, inwardly cringing at just how pathetic you felt. This was your job, right? This wasn’t anything new to you, so there was no reason for it to affect you this much. And yet, as you thought of the man who told you his hopes and dreams, your eyes couldn’t help but well up once more. Ghost took notice of the way your eyes glossed over. He pressed the towels against your eyelids, drawing up the tears before they could spill.

“Let’s get you back to your room, yeah? Gaz, y’almost done with the gear?”

“Yep, just got the last stain out.”

Ghost grunted in approval. You sniffed once more before shifting on the tiles and standing up. Everyone followed suit, Gaz and Soap gathering your gear and cleaning supplies while Price and Ghost flanked either side of you. The trek out the bathroom and back to your barrack was a quiet one. No one dared breathe a word, not even to crack a joke at you being in nothing but a sweaty shirt, underwear, and socks.

Ghost pushed open your door and stepped back to let you enter. You did, albeit quite stiffly, and came to an awkward stop in the middle of the room. What were you even supposed to do now? It felt wrong to let yourself rest after failing to save the lives you were entrusted with. Your teammates made the decision for you, Gaz and Ghost storing your gear and cleaning supplies away, Soap clicking on your string lights, bathing the room in a warm glow. Price steered you towards your desk chair instead of your bed, a decision you were grateful for. Ghost soon slipped from the room. You didn’t bother commenting on it.

When little else could be done, your teammates readied themselves to leave the room. As they left, they made a point to touch you in some way: Price, a pat on the shoulder; Soap, a light punch against your bicep; Gaz, a quick squeeze to your hand. You were left alone, listening to the hum of the building around you, the water pipes creaking in the walls and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights in the hallway. To say you felt numb was the understatement of the century. You could still hear the echoes of screaming and gunfire, could still smell the blood and smoke. The room around you faded into nothingness. You were content to be stuck in a void of your own creation until a knock on the open door startled you.

You looked up, only to be met with the sight of three very weird things:

Ghost’s face. His bare face, devoid of both his mask and the black grease paint normally smeared over his eyes. Scars were etched throughout his skin, a particularly long one running from the top of his right lip to the bottom of his chin.

Ghost holding two steaming mugs of tea, a book tucked underneath his arm.

Ghost wearing gray sweatpants and…

“Is that my shirt?” You croaked out.

Ghost’s torso was draped in the fabric of a comically large shirt that you’d gotten from a concert a few years back. It was a band you’d been dying to see and when you went to buy merch, the only thing the vendors had left was a t-shirt nearly the size of a blanket. You rarely wore it, always having to fold and tie it up to make it even remotely wearable. Ghost fared no better. Even with his impressive stature the shirt pooled around his neck, falling to the middle of his thighs.

“Nabbed it from your closet earlier. Looked comfortable.”

A strained chuckle left you. Ghost nudged the door closed and walked closer. Once he came nearer, he placed one of the mugs on the desk behind you, before heading towards your closet once more. He dug around for a moment before unearthing a plain cotton shirt and sweatpants that matched his own. Ghost tossed them over to you and leaned further into the closet.

“Y’can change. M’not lookin’.”

You complied, peeling your shirt from your torso and pulling on the shirt and sweatpants.

“You can look now,” You said.

Ghost leaned back out and shut the closet door. He moved back and sat on the edge of your bed. He cracked open his book, sipped at his tea, and for a moment you were sure you were losing your mind. How did you go from being covered in gore to the domestic scene in front of you?

“W-what are you doing?”

Ghost quirked a brow at you. “Readin’ about America’s war crimes. Lotta CIA-backed coups in here. More than I thought, really.”

“No, I mean what are you doing here in my room? You don’t…” You trailed off.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You finished.

The soft thump of his book shutting didn’t startle you. What did was the way Ghost leaned in, eyes locked on yours. It was the most amount of direct eye contact you had ever received from him and good heavens was it unnerving.

“D’you remember a few months back, when I twisted my ankle during ex-fil? And instead of waiting for me to hobble on, you threw me over your shoulder and booked it to the helo?”

“So what, is this your way of breaking even? D’you feel like you owe me or something?”

Ghost shook his head. “Nah, none of the sort. But you came through for me. You…you normally do. Figured it was time to do the same.”

You picked up the mug from the desk, letting its warmth seep into your fingers. Ghost had made a cuppa similar to his, black tea with a generous helping of milk and sugar. You sipped at it, oddly comforted by the taste.

“This is good,” you mumbled, more to the cup than the man in front of you. Ghost nodded, picked up his book, and resumed reading. It wasn’t until you were met with the dregs and the bottom of your mug that you spoke again.

“Ghost? D’you ever think you’re in the wrong line of work?”

Ghost halted. You caught the way his grip tightened on his book ever so slightly. He didn’t respond. On a normal day, you would’ve just let it go, let the question hang unanswered in the air. But your day had been far from normal.

“I just…I know no one really wants to join the armed forces, but they do so for one reason or another. I joined because I had nothing else going on. I didn’t know if university would work out and figured I may be of some use here. And you wanna know something, Ghost?”

Your fingers clenched around your mug.

“I didn’t think I would live this long. Figured I’d be taken out, whether it be by my own hand or someone else’s. It’s all so unfair…those hostages had lives, they had dreams, and they had hope. Me? I don’t have that. Haven’t for a while. So why do I get to come home in one piece while they don’t?”

Tears welled up in your eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that night. A few escaped, sliding down your chin and neck. You didn’t bother wiping them away.

“Why do I get to live when I don’t deserve to? We…we kill for a living, Ghost! We take orders from higher-ups who get to decide who’s the bad guy and who’s not, and we have to listen because that’s what we’re paid to do. But these are real people with real lives, and we failed them!”

You were sobbing once more, tears now running freely. The mug slipped from your hands and dropped to the floor. You paid it no mind, hunching over and curling into yourself as best you could on the desk chair. Ghost placed his book aside, moving to your side in one large step. He crouched to the floor, something his knees vehemently disagreed with. In a move that shocked you, Ghost gently clasped your arms and brought you up from the chair. He steered you in the direction of your bed, waiting until you sank down on the mattress. You laid back into your pillows. Ghost joined you, waiting until your sobbing calmed into unsteady hiccups. He brought up the edge of his (technically your) shirt and blotted away your tears.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Wish I did,” Ghost lamented. “This is all I’ve known for quite some time now, and I don’t know if I know how to do anything else. If it’s any help to you, at least you know you’re still got a heart.”

You looked over at him through bleary eyes.

“What’s that mean?” “Means you’ve still got your humanity. I’d be more worried if this didn’t bother you.”

“And what about you? Does it all bother you?” Ghost was quiet for a moment before answering.

“It does.”

 You shifted onto your side, nestling your face into your pillow.

“If you weren’t here…if you weren’t with the SAS, what would you be doing? And don’t say you’re not sure. Just…give me something, anything.”

A hum rumbled somewhere deep in Ghost’s chest.

“Think I’d be a dog-sitter. Just hang out with dogs all day.”

You let out a shaky giggle. “Yeah, that sounds like you. You’re always hanging around Riley.”

“What about you? I know you said uni wouldn’t have worked out, but what else would you wanna do?”

You thought about it for a long moment. “I think…I think being an astronaut would be cool. Getting to float around in space, getting to discover new planets, aliens and stuff. I’d like that.”

“Aliens huh?”

“Yeah. Aliens,” you say.

Ghost shifted on his back. He lifted a huge arm up and over, letting it dangle just above your head. It took you a moment to realize he was inviting you to lean into him. You accepted, scooching in and letting your face rest against his side. Ghost dropped his arm and let it rest against your back, his hand drifting up and down your spine.

You think back over the day, the pain and death surrounding you. Never did you think it would result in this softness, this care enveloping you. You felt exhaustion inching throughout your mind and body, quickly beckoning you into sleep. You nestled into Ghost’s side further.

“Ghost?”

He hummed, nearing sleep himself.

“Thank you.”

Ghost didn’t reply. He simply held you tighter.

[good-beanswrites]

"Prisoner @justzosiahere ! Milgramblrgram has judged you guilty for your crimes! It is time to meet your judgement. As the wardens' fang, I take that responsibility upon myself! 👊" (Haruka angst style experiment, muahaha! I kept things a bit vague so anyone can pick up where it starts, but this is placed in your post-Milgram au when Haruka is more of an adult.)

TW for his implied abuse and suicidal thoughts

It was supposed to be better. Wasn’t it supposed to be better now? It was. It really was. Haruka’s hands clawed at his shoulders, desperately hugging himself. No one else was supposed to die.

His phone rang.

He ignored it and continued his pacing of the back hospital hall. Thankfully, no one was around to see him slipping into old habits. He’d already chewed through each of his nails, but enough substance remained to dig bright red marks in his arms. What he really wanted was to direct all his scratching toward the surrounding room. 

The walls were too white. 

The lights were too powerful, the air too still. 

Everything felt chilled. 

Everything smelled funny. 

Clean, but wrong.

He wanted to leave.

He wanted them to both leave, together. 

Why did he never get what he wanted? 

Did the world hate him that much?

His phone rang.

He didn’t know why the world would hate him. His whole life, he’d worked so hard to be good, to be what everyone said he should be. He thought he’d been doing everything right – he was finally starting to be normal. He acted braver. Happier. Well-behaved. He was finally loved. 

Everything was supposed to be better as an adult. That’s what Kazui had told him, a long time ago. It was dark, and the voices in his head became too much to bear, and he interrupted Haruka, and stopping him from doing something he didn’t like talking about. He promised that being grown would change things, and Haruka clung to that hope with everything he had. 

But Kazui was wrong. He should never have listened to him. Or maybe, he lied, like he always lied. Like how all adults lie to children. Like how he was going to have to lie. 

Oh god, he was going to have to, didn’t he? There was no way he could tell anyone about this. He had a hard enough time coming up with the right words on a good day – he didn’t know how he’d ever manage to say that… that…

His phone rang.  

And what if they thought it was his fault? They’d be right, wouldn’t they? People were still getting hurt around him. Everyone that loved him ended up in pain. Maybe… he really was cursed.  Maybe his mother was right. She’d always been right about him. 

It didn’t matter how big he grew (he’d always felt too big for his body,) how brave he sounded (he was always scared inside,) how much he learned (he would never be as smart as everyone else), or how many good people he met (they were only going to disappear.) None of it mattered. He was cursed.

His phone rang. 

With a cry, he flung it at the ground. The sound mercifully cut out as the screen shattered. Little pieces flew across the pure white tile. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He couldn’t. They’d only get hurt, too. 

His shoes crunched over the glass as he made his way to the door. He remembered when he was really young, stepping over broken things in his house. He never liked to wear his slippers, and more than once he’d cut his feet on debris lying around. He remembered the flat glass of picture frames, the pretty shape fragments of perfume bottles, and the shining mess of water and aquarium glass. He remembered his mother there, yelling at him. He didn’t hear what she was saying over his own crying, holding onto his bloody soles. 

For the longest time, he thought it was unfair to be blaming him when he was so hurt. But who was he to question her, now?

He opened the back exit, exhaling in relief when the artificial light gave way to nightfall. He didn’t know where he was going to go. It didn’t really matter. With any luck, he’d end up back here. 

When the door closed behind him, the hall was left in silence. The bustle of the surrounding hospital went on, with nothing but a small mess left behind on the floor as clue that anyone had been there.

[writingwife-83]

Hello! How do you imagine the first time Rey would wear Ben's sweater? 🦋

Yay for filling another long overdue prompt! 😅 Since I know you love my fic Somewhere Out There, I decided to write this little one shot as a bit of a prologue to that fic. It seemed to fit well. And I was obsessively listening to the song “I can’t hear it now” by Freya Ridings when I wrote this, so that’s where I got the inspiration for the title from. Go listen to the song, it’s got great angsty reylo vibes! 😭 (posted to AO3 but once again tumblr won’t let me link)

Silence So Soft

Rey woke with a gasp, so deep and violent that she nearly felt like she was choking, like surfacing from those dark waters on Ahch-To.

Sitting up, panting and resting her forehead on her knees, she blinked the blur of tears from her eyes. Just like she’d done the night before.

Just like she’d done every night for two full weeks.

She was exhausted, tired of feeling like she was grasping at life, trying to keep a tight grip, when it really felt easier to let go and slip into nothingness. She wished she didn’t feel this way, when the whole galaxy was rejoicing all around her. Everyone else had gotten what they wanted. She’d been left with only a gaping hole within her very soul.

The nightmares wouldn’t stop since she’d lost Ben. Sometimes he slipped away silently, like he had in reality. And sometimes he spoke, begging for her help as he faded and disappeared. Sometimes he reached for her and she couldn’t reach him, couldn’t even grasp his hand in those final moments. But no matter how she was forced to watch him go, she always woke in tears, feeling gutted and miserable.

Rey shivered a little, the perspiration beginning to evaporate from her skin and leaving her chilled. She stood slowly from the cot in her tent, knees still feeling a little weak. Everything on the base was quiet and still, and no doubt all were sleeping, so Rey quietly padded over to her little case of possessions and opened it in search of a cloak. But that wasn’t the first thing she saw.

She’s put this particular item away, almost afraid to see it and touch it at first. But she’d kept it… because she had to. She couldn’t let it go.

Rey gingerly lifted Ben’s black sweater from where it lay, holding it up and watching as a bit of moonlight shone through the gaping hole in the right side. She laid the heavy knit fabric on her lap, running it through her fingers, softer than she ever would have guessed. But then, of course it was. This was what laid against his skin, underneath everything harsh that he presented to the galaxy.

Unable to resist, she lifted it to her nose, breathing in deep and instantly feeling herself carried back to the moment where she’d woken in his arms. That sweet, blissful moment when she feared nothing and the future before her seemed bright and promising. It all came crashing in around her faster than she ever could have predicted.

Rey clutched the fabric tighter, feeling her eyes fill again at the bittersweet memories. And then, as quickly as the thought occurred to her, she was lifting the sweater up and over her head, letting it fall down around her, snuffing out the cold and sadness.

She released an audible sigh as the soft weight settled on her body. Somehow it also lifted what had been weighing heavily on her. All that loneliness faded, just a little. She could almost feel him again, feel that little crackle of energy when they’d connect through the Force. What she wouldn’t give to feel that prickle on the back of her neck at that very moment. And then she could almost feel his fingertips against that same spot, the way he’d supported her, even after he’d brought her back to life.

Crawling back into her cot, Rey laid down and snuggled into her pillow and blankets, feeling more at ease than she had in two weeks. She closed her eyes, somehow not minding the silence as much as she had before. There was a sort of peace in it, a clarity. She didn’t feel so alone anymore. Ben wasn’t really gone.

Rey’s eyes flew open again, wide and bright, darting back and forth as her thoughts flew in a hundred directions at once.

Of course…

Ben wasn’t really gone.

Rey hugged the sweater tighter against her body, her chin wobbling a little, but not in grief anymore. No, now it was replaced with determination. She knew what she had to do.

It was time to find Ben Solo.