#especially after so many years of being burnt out

[sierrale8ne]

celibacy / paige bueckers x fem!reader PART OF THE $$$4U COLLECTION ‘ it’s been four months and two weeks and 36 hours and eight minutes since you been pleased ’

summary after finding out you ended your sexual arrangement with paige for work purposes, she takes it upon herself to show you how much she’s been missing you and how badly she’s been needing you. warnings paige is a hornball that can’t comprehend why you’d want to obtain from having sex, sexual content, packing, strap-on sex, strap-sucking, spitting, literal cum eating like… p is a freak. from lena i felt like bringing back some old pairings so this is p x that reporter i wrote about a minute ago ( in my main masterlist titled easy access ) this is nasty, i’m ovulating so there’s that.

Paige had been accustomed to the life that came with being a star athlete: wake up, practice, treatment, class, nap, lift, and if all of that was completed, the occasional media interview.

Today was one of those days.

Her practice jersey is damp against her body, the navy blue compression shirt underneath clinging to her arms as she answers question after question. Tournament seeding, last year, the draft next month. All of it is the same, just enough for her to know exactly what to say and when to say it.

She stands patiently, arms crossed over her chest as she waits for the next question. And then it comes.

“Paige, is there any advice you’ve given your teammates— specifically Sarah and Jana— about how to handle the tournament now that they’re in it?”

Paige freezes.

It’s your voice, she’s known it well enough to be able to point it out in a crowd full of all other reporters. A voice she’s heard so many times that it became burnt into her brain— every tone, every shift.

You dig your way through to the front, and when Paige sees you— like really sees you for the first time in months— it’s the first time all day that her demeanor shifted. She’s always loved your work attire and how you prided yourself in looking your best. But today you’ve dressed down and she still thinks you look perfect. Low rise washed denim, New Balance sneakers on your feet, and a white shirt with some writing on the left shoulder that she can’t quite make out.

“I’m sorry, can you ask that again? I zoned out for a minute.” Paige clears her throat. The other reporters laugh but you stay focused, it your first media availability with Paige. You knew better than to crack, especially now. So you repeat the question, poised as ever and honestly Paige is a little shocked. She thought if anything you’d be just as off your game as she was. But you weren’t.

She stutters, and it’s so small that you almost miss it, but she answers anyways. “Just to embrace the moment. Pressure is a privilege, and they came here to preform on the biggest stage—” Her eyes bore into your own, blue like large pools of cerulean. The same eyes that once made you give up everything, toss away your morals, and submit to her. “— and we all got total confidence in them. Hopefully that translates to them having total confidence in themselves.”

You nod, thinking about how generic her answer was and how your boss would probably have something to say back at the office. It seemed like she always did, but that’s what came with being an intern, you’ve learned.

Media availability ends, and you are very glad that Paige was the last to be interviewed because you can’t wait to get away from her fucking gaze. You cut the recording on your phone, shoving it in the back pocket of your jeans, followed by sticking your notepad and pen in your purse.

You follow suit with everyone else, turning towards the practice facility’s exit doors to head back to the office. Until your stopped, a hand to your lower back that send a rush to your core.

You’re reminded of the first time. The way you danced against her at Ted’s her hand on your back, bending you over as you twerked her jeans, the feeling of the zipper against your ass. How she took you home, made your legs shake and your toes curl, just to become even more vulnerable with you in bed hours later. You learned a lot about Paige that night.

You learned even more about yourself.

That no matter what, as long as she was around you’d never be able to resist her.

It’s exactly why you turn towards face her right now, you hands cautiously gripping your purse and the other raking through your hair.

“Look who finally came to see me.” Paige’s nails rake along your skin, dangerously drawing you closer and closer to her.

You feel your knees getting weak already. She smells surprisingly good considering she just got out of practice, she looks even better. But you can’t. “Stop.” You groan, reaching back to brush her hand off.

“I’m just checkin’ on you, you good? It’s been a while.” Paige says, her voice sultry and a bit cheeky. She’s priding herself on the fact that she still has you like this.

“Paige, we’re not doing this here. I’m at work.” It reminds you of what you said the last time you had her. MSG in New York, another day you were supposed to be focused on work that ended up with Paige’s hand in your pants.

She nods, pretending to understand but the look on her face lets you know she’s thinking about anything but. “Okay, then come over later.”

The blonde had a way of making you go speechless every time you saw her, but right now you were literally at a loss for words. You made it clear when you cut her off— Paige was a distraction— so for her to stand here, so hellbent on getting you alone, in a way she once had you, was ridiculous.

You scoff, looking around at the now filing out hallway. You drag her off, fingers digging into the bicep that’s so fucking big you nearly are taken aback by it. “I’m not having sex with you, P. It’s done, you know that.”

“You’re tellin’ me whoever else you’re sleeping with makes it feel as good as me? Y’know that’s bullshit, ma.” She goes on, and you take a step back for your own sanity. A response bats around in your brain, you shouldn’t tell her the truth, she would get too confident. Too cocky. You didn’t need that.

It came out anyway, like word vomit. “I’m fucking celibate, Paige, there isn’t anyone else.” You grit through your teeth.

Paige’s eyes nearly glow and her mouth curls up into his God awful smirk that you’d want to slap off if she wasn’t so damn sexy. “You? You’re playin’.”

“I’m not. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.” You mutter, walking across the hallway to the elevators plans sweating as you do what you know best. Work.

Your night ends with a much needed bath, soaking in the hot tub to soothe yourself of all the stress piled up throughout the day.

And the tension that only Paige Bueckers could give you.

She was good, you had to give her that. And what made it worse was that it was effortless. Paige didn’t have to say too much, or even touch you. All she needed was one moment, one instance where your demeanor shifts and your strength cracks and all of a sudden you’re her’s again.

You couldn’t shake your mind of her even if you tried.

And it made your core fucking throb.

When you finally do exit the bath— legs a bit sore from the attention you had given yourself between your legs— you cater to yourself. Legs smooth, and body smelling of sweet vanilla cashmere. You throw on some cute pajamas, matching silk with a top that fits you loosely. The plan is to get in bed, until you hear a knock at the door.

You trail to the door, manicured feet padding against the hardwood.

And then you open it.

And there she is.

At first, it’s like your mind is playing tricks on you. Because it’s been forever, and no one in their right mind would show up to their old fuck buddy’s apartment at this hour. Paige seems to be the exception.

She wears these dark grey Essentials sweatpants, slightly dirty and scuffed on the hems. They sag just enough for you to see a small edge of her Nike Pro’s when she lifts her arm over her head and her fingers run through her hair. Her hoodie matches, and that makes your knees buckle. The dark fabric makes her skin and hair look even brighter.

“Why are you here?” You sigh before she even gets a chance to speak. Being mean about it seems to be the only way you can think of to get her out. It’s for your own sanity anyway. You’ve never been able to rid her off for as long as you and Paige have known each other.

Obviously, you don’t know Paige.

Because she finds that so fucking attractive.

Paige bites her lip, trailing her eyes to your shoulder where the strap of your shirt has fallen. “I’m still on this celibacy thing. Like, are you sure? And why the hell would you want to do that?”

You have to laugh, because it’s hysterical that your vow to stay away from sex had UConn’s star player unable to think straight.

“Paige, I—”

“Seriously, we’re not having sex anymore because of what? Did I do something wrong? Am not doin’ it right, you gotta tell me.” Paige is babbling, and it makes you so embarrassed that you tug her inside the apartment before your neighbors can hear about it.

It’s unfathomable to you. “I didn’t think it was that hard for you to find someone else to sleep with, Paige.”

“It’s not! But you cut me off, and the first time I see you again you’re talkin’ bout some celibate. So, naturally I’m curious.” Paige attempts to explain, hands moving freely in the air as she talks and you stare at them the entire time. Her knuckles slightly red from the cold, veins adorning the back of her hand, and her long ass fingers. It was a taunt. As soon as you made it clear that you weren’t going, here she was. Testing you.

You take a step back, as if the distance would give you a clear head. “You’re a distraction.”

“What?”

“A distraction.” You speak up. “I can’t do my job with you texting me and telling me all the ways you want me in bed. I literally couldn’t focus.” You explain, and now that it’s said out loud you feel ridiculous.

Paige Bueckers was so good at fucking you, that it made it hard for you to do your job.

The blonde lets out a sigh of relief, dropping her arms down on your counter and leaning against it.

“You happy now?” You respond, sighing loudly.

“Ma—”

“No.” You cut her off quick. This is exactly how it went last time. And this time you had half a mind to know better.

“Let me get you there, baby. No distractions this time, I swear.” She murmurs, voice low and almost strained— hours of practice for the tournament to blame. “No way you don’t want it, ma, just please.”

Paige is walking towards you now, hands reaching for your hips and you let her. You actually don’t even think about moving. You can smell her cologne, warm and woodsy, sticking to the fabric of her clothes. Her hands trail off you to the hem of her hoodie, pulling it up and over her head.

Your eyes trail to the ground it falls on almost immediately, because Paige’s choice of a thin tank top and no bra leaves very little to your imagination.

“What do you want, ma?”

A whimper flies from your lips as her hand grips your chin, fixing you to look at her. Your hand grips her shirt for leverage, clinging to what’s left of your morals.

That’s when she knows she has you exactly where she wants you.

“Hmm? What do you want?” Paige repeats, dragging your hand down her abdomen until it rests at her sweatpants. And you feel it. Her sweats were baggy enough to conceal it, but as soon as you feel the length in your palm it’s clear that Paige was thinking about you the same way you were thinking about her in the bath. “You want it? ‘Cause y’know I’m always ready to give it to you.”

“I want it.” You whine, snaking a hand up to her neck, tugging her close to you.

Her breath fans your lips, a smile gracing her face that doesn’t even try to hide. “Yeah? Break this li’l streak you got goin on?” Her hand tugs your shirt strap lower down your arm, and the second it’s reached the furthest it could go you’re slotting your lips with hers.

She tastes like everything you’ve remembered her to be, minty but still sweet. Her lips are soft, vaseline smeared on them and transferring to your chin. You continue palming the strap through her sweats, and Paige groans like it’s an extension of herself.

“Want you.” You moan.

“I know. I got it, baby. I gotchu.”

Paige’s strap sits on your tongue as you greet it with tiny kitten licks. You should’ve known that Paige would’ve made your work for it after leaving her to dry for months. Which truly wasn’t your intention. Paige was attractive, women wanted her, and you expected her to get it elsewhere.

Obviously not.

Her back is flush to your couch, shirt hiked up to give you a view of her hardened nipples and perfect fucking abs. You grip the base, spit trailing down the length that you take into your mouth.

“Mhmm, put that fuckin’ mouth to work, baby. Lookin’ so sexy f’me.” She hums, pushing your still slightly damp hair out of your face.

You plant your hands to her thighs, taking the strap deeper just to prove that you can. A part of you thinks you enjoy showing out for Paige like this again, doing what she wanted when she wanted.

Her eyes flutter shut like she can feel your mouth, the warmth of your tongue running on the underside of her cock— and if she closes her eyes hard enough, she probably could. But the vibration is good enough.

“Four months. Four and a half fuckin’ months.” Paige says to herself between breaths.

You pull back to breathe, saliva connecting your lip to the tip. You’re completely mesmerized by her, you vulnerable she looks even when you’re the one on your knees with her cock in your mouth. You spit on it again, sucking it back into your mouth before taking the strap in again. You’re sure that Paige’s eyes roll into her head.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy.” She grunts, hips moving forward further towards you. “Gonna paint your face, I swear.”

Paige’s words send a throb to your cunt. You can almost picture it— her groans and slack jaw as she comes. You draw your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit that’s still covered by your pj’s. The stimulation makes you whine.

“That shit turns you on, ma? Just know you’re so fuckin’ wet.” Paige hums to herself. She decides to reach for your hair, tugging you up and off of her strap until you’re hovering over her.

Saliva dangles from your lip, and in her obvious lust, Paige sticks her tongue out. You’re left speechless. Paige was a freak, you knew that much, but she’s chasing after your fucking spit like she’s thirsty for it. Like she was dying in the desert and you were the only one to solve her thirst.

She almost slurps it up, the noise so vulgar that you moan in her face. Paige chases after your mouth, locking lips with you in a deep kiss. Your hips grind against the strap, paying no mind to the mess it’s going to create on your shorts.

“Need it inside me, P.” You plead.

“Celibate my fucking ass.” She groans against you, using her strength to push you to the other end of the couch. Her hands dig into your hips, clawing at your shorts so hard that you’re sure she’s going to rip them off of you.

You’ve never seen Paige like this, this needy, this horny. She dragged your mouth onto her cock with a fervor that was animalistic. Then now, her teeth nipping at your own lips so hard she might draw blood.

It’s hot.

It makes you upset that you held out on her for this long.

Paige’s hands slip to your shoulders, pushing the other strap down your arm and putting your tits on display for her. She breaks the kiss, lips trailing down your jaw, neck, and chest before finally reaching your nipple.

“Paige!” You moan, head thrown back in ecstasy as she pulls your shorts off next.

“No crotchless this time?” She jokes, making you think back to the last time she fucked you stupid. It gets her off, watching how desperate you are for her to make you come.

“I need you to fuck me,” You whine desperately, hand fisting a handful of Paige’s perfect blonde hair. “Please,” you beg. Your hips grind against the unbelievably long strap, almost as if they had a mind of their own.

“I like it when you beg.”

“I know.” You tug your black panties to the side. Paige smirks at how soaked you are, the way your slick drips through your folds. “Want your cock, P. Please.”

With your help in spreading your legs Paige is tapping the tip against you. The wetness of your pussy filling her ears like the sound of music. Your mouth falls agape at the sudden pressure. and she takes the opportunity to fill your mouth with her own spit. A fat glob falling on your tongue and you swallow it almost immediately.

“Tell me you want it again.”

You sob, body aching in need. “I want it, I want it, Paige.”

Without hesitation, the athlete thrusts forward, burying all eight inches balls deep inside you. It’s so foreign, months of being away from her to blame. A collective gasp escapes both of your mouths. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head while her mouth formed the perfect ‘O’. Paige eyes you like a piece of meat before connecting your lips again in a heated frenzy. Your back arched into Paige’s as she gripped your hips and began roughly pounding into your cunt.

“You hear her? Just screamin’ for this dick, baby.” Paige hums, her words sending a rush of more arousal out of you. A mixture of pleasure and ecstasy spread across your features as Paige established a fast and relentless pace. “You’re so fuckin’ easy.”

“Baby—”

She breaks the kiss. “Imma distraction, but you can’t get off without me. Can’t make this pussy cum the way I do.” The couch practically groans in protest, its durability tested as Paige’s grunts reverberated against your lips. The room filled with the intoxicating sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping together in a sensual symphony that echoed off the walls.

You watch Paige tuck her shirt in her mouth, giving her a perfect view of not only where she digs you out, but your tits that bounce in her face.

She’s fucking the shit out of you. And that alone is enough to draw her close to that climax.

“Y-you— Paige, baby. You’re fuckin’ deep, fuckkkk!” Your eyes were tightly shut, face contorted in pure bliss as you cling to the blonde with every fiber of your being. Your legs wrapped around Paige’s thighs, ensuring that she couldn’t escape your embrace. “F-fuck! P!” You cry out.

“Fuck you stupid, yeah? Put yo’ ass to sleep. Make it feel so fucking good, huh?” She roughly pushed the fabric of your shirt over your head. The fabric slipped away, leaving you fully exposed. “Cover me in it, cum on me, ma.”

You want her closer, deeper, anything. So you wrap your arms around her neck, tugging the blonde so close that your forehead touches hers. She keeps thrusting, seemingly noticing that you needed more.

“I know you’re close.” You murmur, trying your hardest to keep your eyes focused on her. “Paige, oh my Goddddd—”

“Y—shit.” Paige’s legs tremble, and you notice the slight falter in her rhythm. “Fuck, you first.” She lets out a groan, followed by a chase of your lips. It’s soft, way softer than how she fucks you.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming— I’m gonna cum, baby.” You babble over and over, your resolve fleeting your body as your orgasm creeps up on you. Paige lets out a high pitched gasp, her face flushed with overwhelming pleasure.

She tried to hold back, to maintain her composure, but failed miserably. A moan of pure bliss escaped her lips as she thrusts once more, practically balls deep into you as she comes. You let out a moan yourself as you feel the warmth taking over your body.

Paige doesn’t pull out, only pulling back enough to swipe her fingers over the ring of come that you’ve left behind. She brings her fingertips to her mouth, riding them out your taste.

“You left me out to fucking dry for four damn months?” Paige asks, her breathing labored from the exertion. She brings her hand down to your cunt, clit completely swollen. Almost desperate. “Left me without this shit for too long, ma.” She mumbles around her hand yet again.

She’s cleaning you up with her fingers, every bit of your release finding her tongue in almost desperate sweeps. You whine at the sensitivity, but let her.

Because it’s Paige, and you can’t fucking resist.

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @d3arapril @wbbgetsmewetter @tndaqlwifwy @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige @janaelalfysblunt @cherryswisherz @courtsidewithlani @vamptizm @bdbueckers @makethemhoesmad @unadulteratedcyclepaper @omg-imtumbling @avvwritesstufff @luvnoirs

[cobaltperun]

Hi, i saw your post about taking requests. Can you write a natasha x fem reader were the reader is taller than her and after a difficult mission nat is just very clingy and doesn't want to let her gf qo so reader just picks her up and wak around like that? Just some cute, adorable natasha feeling bad about what happened at the mission and the reader being there for her, maybe talking about it? But overall fluff

Thanks, feel free to add whatever things you want

I'm right here

Natasha Romanoff x female Reader (Request)

Summary: Following a dangerous mission all Natasha needs right now is to be close to you, and you're more than happy to tend to her needs.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Set between The Avengers and CA: TWS

Static buzzing of your ruined comms forced you to open your eyes as you pulled the damn earpiece out. The stench of burning plastic and burnt skin and blood and suffocating smoke made you groan as you tried to roll onto your back and sit up. Your head felt like it was going to explode and the warm blood slowly trickling from your forehead down the side of your face wasn’t a good sign. Oh, Natasha was going to be so damn pissed off when she sees you. Assuming she even gets to see you again in the first place. “I got this,” you mockingly repeated as you sat up and leaned against the wall and looked around you. The lab was in ruins, computers blown up, equipment destroyed, enemy soldiers dead, some shot, some killed by the explosion.

You glanced at the USB stick, at least you accomplished what you were after. The data Fury wanted was safely in your hands and all things considered you were sure you bought enough time for Natasha and Clint to get the hostages out. All that was left to do was to get out alive.

Footsteps caught your attention, too many to be Nat and Clint, and the three of you didn’t bring any backup. “I need a vacation,” you sighed. Was there any chance you could convince your workaholic of a girlfriend to take more than three days off?

Probably not.

You tucked the USB stick away and checked your gun, you still had plenty of ammo left.

~X~

Years spent working for S.H.I.E.L.D. changed her, she dared to think she was trying to do something good, to make up for at least a tiny bit of suffering she caused. She grew to care for people, for Clint, his family… for you, and with that care she came to dread the sound of static coming through the comms more than nearly any sound.

Hearing you were in trouble would have been easier. At least then Natasha wouldn’t feel any uncertainty, she’d know where you were and that she needed to get to you. She’d know how much time she had.

Natasha Romanoff despised uncertainty.

She despised not knowing what happened.

She despised knowing the last thing she heard from your side was an explosion.

The worry etched on her face was easily noticeable, especially to Clint. “She’ll be fine,” he assured her, firing off another arrow and taking out a guard with a sniper rifle ready. As much as Natasha wanted to rush toward you, she still had hostages to lead to safety, and as much as she hated to admit it, the wound on her side was bothering her.  

“It should have been me,” and that was the initial plan. She was the best equipped to go in, retrieve the data and blow the whole place up before anyone even realized she was there. Natasha could have done it, she should have done it, and you should have been here with Clint, leading two hostages out. Instead, she got wounded and now you were the one in danger.

Clint took aim, noticing another guard a fraction of a second faster than she could. She really was worried, and it was affecting her more than she ever thought possible.

All Natasha could do was hope her worries and the bad feeling she had was just paranoia, and not her intuition telling her to drop everything and go back to get you. If she lost you here, she would never forgive herself.

~X~

You took several deep breaths as you looked around the room, it was over, you killed every single one of the criminals that came after you and you tossed aside and empty gun. It wasn’t even your own, you ran out of bullets about halfway into the fight, so you grabbed a gun one of the criminals had and just kept firing until there was no one else left to fire at.

The rush of adrenaline slowly passed, and your legs trembled, but you were alive. You held the side of your head, dizzy from the loss of blood and what was probably a concussion. Soon enough this mission would be over and you could rest. You just had to-

A gunshot echoed and a bullet missed your head by less than an inch, causing you to as quickly as possible take cover behind a table that was turned over. “Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. There was a gun close to you, you just had to take a bit of a risk and get it. And also get lucky and find a bullet in the gun.

All a part of the job, you figured.

A bullet went through the criminal’s head before you could even consider making a lunge for the gun and you saw Natasha rushing in, gun drawn and ready to fire. “Nat,” despite knowing you were still in a dangerous place you visibly relaxed.

“Couldn’t leave things to chance,” Clint’s voice echoed as through the room as he walked through the same hall Natasha did.

Natasha was tense, looking for any sign of an enemy, and in your current state all you could do was admire her. “Let’s get you out of here,” you knew her, she couldn’t truly relax until you were both out of here.

“Yes, Ma’am,” you smiled, hoping it would reassure her, even if only a tiny bit. “I’m right here, Nat, you got me,” and despite Natasha being on edge her eyes softened when she looked at you.

~X~

Natasha despised sitting in the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hospital hall, waiting for you to get patched up. She was relieved that you were fine and basically just needed some bandages, but she was restless, constantly replaying the moments from the mission in her mind, specifically the sight of a man aiming his gun toward you and moving to close the distance so he wouldn’t miss this time. She moved purely on an instinct, firing before she could even consciously make that decision and blowing a hole through the side of the man’s head. Years of trying to wipe red off her ledger and still she took a life with ease, not even considering it, not even for a moment regretting it.

Now though, now she just needed to see you, just to be completely sure you were fine. Nothing else mattered. The doors opened and she jumped to her feet, seeing you walking out on your own, a bit bandaged up but otherwise fine. The bright look in your eyes made the restlessness go away and Natasha met you halfway.

“Saved me again,” you smiled at her as she looked up into your eyes. How many times has she saved you by now? You both lost count. She didn’t lose count of how many times you saved her, eleven times thus far, though she was certain you never counted them. She did, though. And she found relief in knowing that you were willing to go out of your way to save her, even when she herself used to think she wasn’t worth saving.

Instead of saying anything Natasha just threw her arms around you, clinging desperately to you. She wanted to kiss you, right here, right now, but it was too risky. Too many eyes around you, even if the hall itself was empty. Walls had eyes and ears, and she’d rather keep people guessing if these hugs were between friends or lovers. A keen eye might spot the difference, might see the way she wouldn’t let go, the way she’d lower her guard and try to close as much of the distance between you as possible, or the way you’d bury your face in her hair, taking comfort in her presence, especially after missions that end up being too close for comfort.

“What did the doctor say?” she asked as her fingers traced the bandages around your head.

“A concussion and a few wounds, nothing a bit of rest won’t fix,” you answered, prompting her to nod. She checked your injuries as Clint flew toward the hospital, and your answer matched her assessment, but she still appreciated hearing what the professional said. You’d be perfectly fine, you just needed a bit of rest.

Considering you were about as human as her and Clint were, and not a super soldier, or a billionaire with a suit of armor, and especially not near indestructible beings, Natasha considered herself lucky that you survived this many close calls with little more than rest needed to recover.

“Thanks,” it still should have been her, she should have been in danger, but she wouldn’t tell you that.

“We’re the same, I don’t want to lose you either,” not that she needed to tell you, you knew what was on her mind, you understood how much Natasha wanted you out of danger, in part because you wanted her out of danger just as much. So, you compromised, going together on missions hoping you would keep one another as safe as possible.

~X~

What restraint Natasha had while you were out in public vanished the moment you were back in your shared room as she straddled your lap and hugged you on the sofa, and you couldn’t help but smile at how clingy she was. For a deadly assassin she sometimes acted more like a koala, clinging onto you and not letting go.

Like an assassin not letting their target out of their sight for a single moment, only cuddly and soft, and very warm.

And you loved every second of it. “Nat,” you chuckled before she decided your mouth had more important tasks to do than let out sounds and kissed you, preventing chuckling or any form of light teasing that might have come out of your mouth. You’d never complain about that. You ran your fingers through her hair, she hasn’t cut it in a while now and Natasha hummed softly into the kiss, relaxing and just driving you insane with her touch. All you could feel was Natasha, her slightly swollen lips because of course she chewed on her lower lip while you were being patched up, her hands, so used to handling guns, gently holding you, pulling you closer to her, the sound of her soft, barely audible moans between kisses, the scent of the soap she used, and something uniquely her own, the weight of her body on top of your own… And when you separated for a brief moment, and you opened your eyes all you could see was Natasha. Everything else faded into the background and you were lost in her eyes. She looked like she was searching for something, a reassurance, or just another proof that you were just fine. “I’m right here,” you kept repeating those words to her, through dangerous missions and battles, through nights filled with nightmares, most importantly through all the moments when she’d get stuck in her head, thinking she’s not worthy of the redemption she was so desperately chasing. Just a simple reminder that you were with her, no matter what.

Natasha opened her mouth, only to change her mind and just close it before saying anything. Instead she just hugged you tightly, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and letting out a sigh of relief.

“That tickles,” you chuckled, prompting Natasha to huff and then purposely blow air against your neck. “Nat,” you would never complain, you could never. You cherished every single moment like this, when she would just drop every mask and be herself with you. Oh, she could be assertive, and tease, and confidently mess with anyone, but these playful moments free from caution were rare.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, and you would have stayed like that a lot longer if you could stand being hungry. In your defense you came back home somewhat hungry, and that was hours ago. “Food. Now,” you would starve if this hunger prolonged any longer. Yet Natasha didn’t budge. “Nat?”

“I just got comfortable,” yeah, two hours ago. You rolled your eyes, even if you were smiling and got up with Natasha still clinging to you.

“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” you kissed her cheek and went to the kitchen, not even daring to consider letting Natasha go.

This time it was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes. “Bitch, I’m adorable,” she was right, of course.

You grabbed some toast and some cream cheese, since that was the first thing you managed to grab with Natasha between you and the fridge. “Pickles or no pickles?” you asked before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Make me one as well,” Natasha blindly reached back into the fridge to grab peanut butter, and you were still amazed that she could just do it. No hesitation, no second thoughts, just reached into the fridge and pulled what she wanted out.

“Sure,” you made the sandwiches and went back to the sofa, eager to finally eat something. Natasha wasn’t as excited about eating, and while you absolutely slaughtered your sandwich like a woman starving for weeks would, she occasionally took a bit and instead just kept close to you. Your eyes softened and you once again began rubbing circles into Natasha’s back.

It wasn’t the first time she got like this. When you started dating it didn’t really happen, she showed you how much she cared, sure, but it was never like this, never this desperate to feel your heart beating. And then New York happened, and you both had some very close calls, and she spent the night just like this, not moving away from you unless it was absolutely necessary.

She needed to know this was real, to feel it was real. With everything she went through, how much she suffered through, she needed time. She needed you to be with her, so the thoughts of losing you would quiet down.

And you’d give it to her every single time. This and anything else she needed.

“I’m right here,” you whispered into her ear, soft and gentle as she closed her eyes.

“You’re with me,” she replied, slowly falling asleep in your arms, at peace and comfortable.

A/N: Thank you for the request! I really had fun writing it, and I'm sorry it took so long for me to write it 😁💙

[elysianightsss]

Something something Johnny returns to the highlands whenever he’s on leave. It’s freezing and stinks like seaweed but it’s home and he loves it all the same. Plus there’s something laughable about seeing a beefy SAS sergeant wearing a duck feather stuffed coat.

He helps his parents out, fixing things around their old house, cooking in the kitchen at their pub and just being around for them. It’s the same routine every time he’s home, he likes it, likes the steadiness of everything being the same.

But this time when he comes home on leave, arriving at his parents pub to help out, he sees you there. A new person taken in under his parents wings. You’re just arriving to start your shift with a cheery “Evening all!” Johnny’s instantly drawn to you.

Like it’s not even funny. Whenever you enter the kitchen in your cute little black apron tied around your waist, he’s looking up from the fish he’s grilling to stare at the way your hips sway side to side as you walk. He burnt so many meals that night.

Johnny doesn’t recognize you until his mum asks if he remembers the girl who used to push him in the sandpit all the time at preschool. Then it clicks who you are. His childhood crush, all grown and so fucking gorgeous. You used to live there when you were young but when your parents drowned after a trip on a boat, you were taken away by your aunt.

He wonders why you’ve come back now but puts it in the back of his mind. He’s more focused on how prim and proper you are, sticking out like a sore thumb in the pub. Johnny’s learned you’re feisty and a little bitchy the hard way, but he fucking loves it. Makes him so damn horny. Your Scottish accent is still there but soften by years in the English countryside.

And of course he flirts with you, woos you, asks you on a date and you end up sleeping together. The little cottage you’re living in for the time being is luckily far enough away from town that no one can hear you screaming Johnny’s name. The headboard hitting against the wall with each punishing thrust. His thick, slightly curved cock pumping in and out, in and out, in and out after he spent a good hour with his head between your plush thighs. Best night of your fucking life.

When you wake though he’s gone, a note left on your pillow explaining he’d been called into work. An emergency. Worst day of your fucking life.

He’s back to saving the world, fighting to survive, living on base, joking with his task force. It all seems so mundane to him. He can’t ignore the itch in the back of his head, the knot in his back he can’t reach. He can’t rid you from his mind, not when he’s training, not when he’d just sniped someone’s brains all over the wall, and especially not when he’s in his bed, hand wrapped around his cock.

He cries out your name when he finishes in his hand, globs on stickiness coating his stomach and he prays you’re there waiting for him when he returns.

But when he does returns home, he doesn’t see you at the bar or the cottage and his mum is scowling at him like he’s kicked a puppy and his dad has this disappointment in his eyes that Johnny is transported back to his teenage years when all he saw in his dads eyes was disappointment.

He asks whats happened, what he’s done wrong but his parents shake their heads and stay silent. It wasn’t their story to tell. Johnny’s confused and hurt, thinks about just going back to base. Would brace the drive back over dealing with the icy stares from everyone in the pub.

Needing a drink to dilute his feelings, he heads to the local little market to grab a pack of beers when he sees you standing in front of the milk aisle, a sad look on your face as you decide if the three pounds you have left will be enough for both chocolate milk and strawberry milk. Even though they are two pounds each.

He starts towards you, but as soon as you turn back to your trolley he stops in his tracks. Your hand strokes over your swollen belly, a bigish bump there for five months pregnant. You know your baby is gonna be big headed just like his father.

Johnny feels as though he’s been shot. His world spins and he’s nearly sick. He knocked you up and left you. No wonder he’d been receiving so much hate everywhere he went. He hesitates, wondering if this is the best place for you to see him again, thinking up the different scenes that might take place. But he’s too late to make a plan when your eyes move to his.

He’s frozen in place watching the way your face contorts, all manner of emotions buzzing through you until they land on one that Johnny knows well. Anger. You rush forward and he gets this need to run niggling in his chest, but he stays rooted to the spot even when you slap him hard across the face.

He bites back a grin, you slap harder than Simon.

Oh yes, he’s gonna keep you for sure.

[erensfeed]

winter & christmas moments | hcs

featuring. rafayel, sylus, zayne, xavier & caleb + reader

content. fluff + random things they’d do during xmas/winter as your bf

note. happy holidays !! pls i wrote this to cope with how i feel about them not being under my tree this year and most importantly.. under ME.

i don’t wanna talk ab it.

rafayel.

buys a big cozy house in paris just to spend the holidays together privately with you.

when it would be time to open up your gifts, he would watch your reactions to his christmas presents all through.

i’m talking studying your micro-expressions.

gets you this rare gorgeous heart shaped locket

“i also got a tiiny photo of us in there too. see? that way, when you open and close it… we’re kissing.”

gently takes it from your hand to show you, as he opens and closes it many many times with this excited look across his face.

eyes and plans to burn each and every gift to you by everyone else though. especially the ones by thomas.

and does.

because he felt your reaction to thomas’ gift was way better than his

when you’d eventually find out (again)…

“hey what don’t take his side, it’s his fault for getting you flammable gifts in the first place”

you’d make him promise to gift him back money in return and he would be all grumpy pouty about it but still does so

ends up re-buying you all the gifts he burnt, so it feels like they're all from him and were all his idea first.

anyway, you’d spend christmas indoors this year because your company is all he needs and by the fireplace, you would share your warmth with him in more ways than one..

sylus.

flies you out to your favorite snowy country, where you’d come to find out that he secretly bought a house near its snowy mountains just for you.

decorates your huge christmas tree with you and carries you (and uses his evol to), to help you place an angel on top of it.

“cute.”

“ikr omg” you’d say

he was talking about you

you’d think you would’ve at least seen/guessed all the unwrapped gifts he got you under the tree 

no

here comes more ON christmas day AND the day after. and the week. and the month

up until new years. and valentines. and—

would gift you all you talked ab like once. specially gets you stunning (garnet) jewelries and more in your favorite gemstones

you’d somehow convince him to wear this big floofy matching christmas polar bear onesie with you btw

tells you he ‘doesn’t do cheesy’

matches with you anyway

tucked diamond earrings in the pocket of your onesie just to see your reaction when you find it.

surprises you with a private winter concert performed by a band

you’d try to pull him to dance with you in the snow and he would purposely stay rooted in his spot at first, just to see you struggle to pull him with all your might before he complies with a chuckle.

yes you'd both be wearing your onesies as he dances sweetly with you.

knows how much you LOVE the holidays so he makes it worth remembering

yeah you take that as you will too

zayne.

wakes up earlier than you to quietly add more decorations to the entire apartment by himself while you’re asleep, so that you wake up to fairy lights and your favorite seasonal flower

“omg zayne, you… you did all this? for me?”

“yes.”

LMAOO SORRY ITS SO FUNNY FOR NO REASON WHENEVER I REMEMBER THAT HE

ok

says yes as he comes up to you to kiss your forehead

“merry christmas:)”

keeps a detailed list of your favorite winter activities to do in his pocket

and lots of candy canes & peppermint candies too when you go out together

would take you to a private snow resort and he’d try to teach you how to snowboard

looks even hotter on a snowboard

hot when on a snowboard

hot

when on

a snowboard

makes you hot chocolate drinks with smiley faces marshmallows as you watch your favorite christmas movies.

xavier.

admires you as you bake cookies until you ask him to try making a batch after watching you. 

he successfully does… until he adds an excessive amount of much sugar

gives you the exact same look he does when he loses a plushie LMFAOOO

“… i think i added a little too much.”

is a pro at building gingerbread houses

eats all the gingerbread men

“idk what happened.. i tried to save them but a christmas ghost ate them all before i could”

adorable thoughtful gift giver

stared jeremiah DOWN when he handed you his own gift and flowers

felt the need to tell you he gave jeremiah the idea to gift you those.

THAT BOY IS LYINGG

gives you a very festive night that same day (week)

whispers soft promises of forever while the snowflakes fall

possessive freaky xavier yum

#needthat

caleb.

wears a santa hat as he’s wrapping gifts for everyone you both know

“caleb what are you doing to that poor wrapping paper” you’d ask

“hey what i thought it looked good :(”

“it doesn’t”

ok it does if you squint hard enough

(if you close your eyes)

gets you matching gorgeous ugly christmas sweaters for when you go out together in it.

“we’re not wearing that”

you wear it.

helps the elderly you come across cross the street and wishes them merry christmas / happy holidays

purposefully steps under every mistletoe to get a kiss from you

“coome on pipsqueak ;) bring it in”

takes you ice skating

loves when you cling onto him so you don’t fall.

kisses all over your face to make you laugh after a deep sad/meaningful convo ab life after talking about nothing and everything under the stars while sharing a big scarf together

[ruesol]

catalyst - chapter 2

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex-boyfriend. (sukuna x fem!reader)

fanfic masterlist

It had been two years since you had seen and felt Sukuna’s naked body. Two years too long. You never realized how much you missed out on his life when your hands began to roam around his shoulders. He had gotten bigger and firmer. His body was always much larger than yours, but this was on a different level. He was an athlete, after all. Shoulders that were once just broad were now bulging with muscles. His arms almost looked like water waves, subtly flexing with every movement. He was thicker than an average man. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if he could bench press you. He did once before, but now it probably would’ve been like lifting a feather.

His fingers and knuckles were rougher than the ones you were used to, probably because of all the sparring and weight training. Most of his body was now covered in harsh black tattoos. The ones beneath his eyes stood out the most because they matched Yuuji’s scars. You wanted to ask what they meant, but you kept quiet, still resenting him for never reaching out after the breakup. Unprofessional, but could you blame yourself, especially with how things have been going lately? 

Unlike you, Sukuna was surprisingly civil after learning that you would live with him. Simply nodded and gave you a brief run down of where everything was in the high-rise apartment. He didn’t even ask why you, of all people, were suddenly helping him. Uraume was surprised but didn’t press on the matter as much.

“You’ve lost weight.” You could feel the vibrations of his rich and husky voice through the washcloth that you were scrubbing across his chest. Your first task as a ‘highly involved’ manager was to give him a sponge bath after his discharge from the hospital. His shoulder was still healing from the dislocation, so he had to wear a cast. “Hope you weren’t studying too hard.”

His comments fall deaf to your ears as you wring the washcloth in the bathtub. You silently wrap him in a warm fluffy towel and mutter a simple ‘up’ so you could clean the foam surrounding the ledge he was sitting on. You could feel his red eyes burning holes into your skull as you wiped down the area. He stayed in the bathroom the entire time you cleaned up the space, almost like he was waiting for you to guide him back to his room despite being perfectly capable of walking.

You thought he was just messing with you like he did back when you were together, but no, he was just looking at all the changes in your body after not seeing you for so long. It’s not like you had social media so he could look up your appearance. 

Sukuna wanted to send a private investigator after you. Still, he knew it was unethical (also because he was afraid he’d find out if you were in a serious relationship. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if it was true).

You groaned as you stood back up, stretching to relieve the pain in your back. “Your back still hurts? I’ve told you so many times that your posture sucks while you’re studying.” His looming presence just had you more annoyed. 

“You should rest.” You subtly tried to suggest that you wanted to be left alone.

“And you should show a little respect. You work for me now.” 

“Uraume’s my boss. Not you.” You were really working up a sweat, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of the humidity in the bathroom or if you were raging on the inside. What made him think he could act all holier than thou after two years of no contact? Especially after being an asshole while breaking up. It’s like you could still see that side of him when you looked into his eyes. “I’ll have dinner ready after my shower.” And with that, you left the bathroom.

-

Preparing dinner was a dull affair. Uraume told you that you need not cook for Sukuna as he had a nutritionist who had created a meal plan for him and a chef who strictly adhered to it. All you had to do was store and heat the meals after the chef delivered them. Uraume also had the courtesy of having meals cooked for you, the same as Sukuna, but yours were more indulgent (more dipping sauces and fewer veggies). You were glad your job was simpler than you expected. In this economy, free accommodation and less money spent on groceries were a blessing.

You opened the disposable box of food for Sukuna, and it had all the things required for a balanced diet. It makes sense; his management probably doesn’t want him to lose or gain too much weight while recovering. It was the basics: half an avocado for healthy fats, grilled salmon for protein, lots of veggies for fiber, and an unimaginable amount of black beans with rice. Funny, did his nutritionist not know that he disliked them? Unlike him, you never had an issue with the legume, so you took some out of his box and put them in yours. So what if he had fewer beans for dinner? The man was injured, and as much as you resented him, you weren’t going to be a monster with him.

Sukuna entered the kitchen, sans t-shirt. You didn’t bother asking him why he was half-naked because you knew his reasoning would be something about you already knowing what his bare body looked like. 

Not with all the new muscles you didn’t. But you brushed that thought aside. 

“Is that my old shirt?”

You looked down and noticed that your oversized t-shirt was indeed his. It must’ve been in the back of your closet while the movers had brought in all your stuff. You had a lot of oversized clothes, but by some miracle, you happened to wear one that belonged to your ex. Your ears felt hot with humiliation. 

“I didn’t realize it. Must’ve forgotten to throw it away.” You said while setting up your plates. “It’s fine. Keep it. Haven’t thought about that shirt since… well- whatever. Just keep it.” He almost said it. He almost talked about it out loud. It felt weird hearing about it after so long. It shouldn’t be this strange. The breakup was a mutual decision that you both made and though it was something you had done out of pure frustration and anger, it was still something you both had done together. Pretending like it never happened was just never going to work. Not when you were meant to be with him 24/7.

However, you decided to push that conversation for another day. If it’s meant to happen, then it’ll happen; there’s no point in rushing it. You slid your plate next to your former lover’s seat on the dining table, and he said nothing when he noticed that he had fewer beans than you. Thank goodness. He didn’t need to know that you were still a little soft for him despite all the prickliness of the past.

You were about to lift your fork to eat when Sukuna loudly cleared his throat. “Aren’t you gonna feed me?” he flatly asked. 

“I’m not your-” you were about to tell him off, but then you remembered that his dominant hand was in a cast. 

“- sorry.” Embarrassed once again, you picked his fork up to feed him a piece of broccoli. “Sprinkle a little salt on that,” he said while chewing, giving you quite a gross view of the ground vegetable in his mouth. You held back your grimacing for the sake of your job and did as he asked. He grinned when you placed a salted broccoli in his mouth. “Now, give me a little salmon with that.” 

“Sukuna, can you please chew with your mouth closed,” you said while cutting out a bite-sized piece of his salmon. “You still love nagging me, huh? Also, cut a bigger piece. My mouth’s bigger than yours, hon.” 

You glared at him through your lashes and swore you could almost see him smile. Not the genuine kind, but the type that made you want to slap his face. His gorgeous, chiseled face. The one that once looked at you with everlasting love. You squeezed your eyes shut to escape your stupid daydreams. 

The past is past. You’re now in front of an egotistical dumbass. Not your lovable ex.

You cut up a bigger piece of salmon and tried your best to stop yourself from shoving it into his mouth. “That’s more like it,” he mumbled (after chewing since you had so respectfully asked). 

If only you knew that Sukuna was ambidextrous because he had broken his dominant hand while sparring too many times.

-

The last task for the day was icing his bruises for a few minutes before bed. Sukuna was sitting on his bed, head facing you while you were close enough to stand between his legs. He ignored his urge to pull you into his embrace for his sanity. After preparing the ice pack, you pressed it on his purple and yellowing bruises. Uraume had told you that he refused any kind of treatment back at the hospital, so they were getting worse. 

They weren’t wrong; you could see the pain on Sukuna’s face after he had neglected his wounds for so long. He had a particularly gnarly one beneath his left pec, and you bent down to reach it properly. Your head was below his chin, and he could smell your shampoo.

Strawberries. He noted that you still hadn’t changed your shampoo. You were always a stickler for consistency. He began to feel nostalgic as he remembered that there was a time when he used to smell like the same shampoo after staying at your place. His mind drifted to when you both showered together for the first time, how you lathered the shampoo in your hand and carefully massaged it on his scalp. No masseuse or physiotherapy had ever been that relaxing for him compared to the magic in your hands. He remembered how his pillow would smell like you for hours after you’d leave his place. Now, seeing you here was getting him worked up. Would his house begin to smell like your perfume now that you were here? He wanted to set fire to all your clothes and only let you wear his if it meant that all his clothes would smell like you. Two years have gone by, and he still feels like he wants to inject you in his veins.

All while Sukuna was in his nostalgic dreamland, you were trying your best not to focus on his pebbled nipples, courtesy of the ice pack.

—

taglist: @sukubusss @kyo-kyo1 @kensqueent @totallygyomeiswife

[fluff-n-cookies]

Dabi made a deal with himself the second time he held you in his arms.

-----

Pt2 to this post.

Warnings: angst to comfort, Dabi yells at his daughter, apologizes soon after, Canon typical violence and crime, spoilers, Dabi is a warning of his own. foul language, please inform me if you find more

reader has blue eyes like Dabi's (she's a toddler, 3-4 years old)

Dabi calls reader bunny, Dabi is addressed as "Daddy"

Note: part 3 some time near the end of this month (hopefully)

taglist: @blurryperrtymoonlight @harkenizalone @lostiolite @rllytriedrn @mellyxqz @cupkiki @xxnessinessiellexx @dehlieee

-----

He made a point to remember it as best he could, to practically live by it in that exact moment.

it was midnight when he made such an oath, it was under the careful eye of the bustling city lights that peeked from a window that he promised himself, with you in his arms for the second time, ever.

well, not exactly the second time, he had been carrying you around town all day, either that or having you sit nearby as he ran to steal diapers and formula and what not. He knew he probably shouldn't be leaving a newborn child alone for too long, especially in an abandoned building such as the one he was stationed in right now. but taking you with him was arguably more dangerous, hence why he would consistently bolt to the nearest store and return, out of breath and sweaty. but it's what one has to do.

so after a long, long, long day of running around with a hangover and a crying baby. it was here as he was leaning against a wall, one with cracks in its paint. that he held you. truly held you. tracing burnt fingers along fragile soft skin and occasionally heating the swaddle up with his fire to keep you warm.

he even lit a tiny, tiny little flame, one as small as you, in the palm of his hand to get a good look at you. it being the only thing illuminating the darkness of the room.

"god, you are ugly."

was his first thought, but he seemed quite fond of you nonetheless. but minds like Touya's tend to wander.

you squirmed a little in his grip, occasionally babbling in his lap. that didn't matter much though as Dabi stared into the darkness of night. little thoughts bounced around in his skull.

you'll be a terrible father

they got louder

just like endeavor

even louder

this place is horrible for a child, she probably'll die from infection

please shut up.

you're failing already

thoughts now buzzed in his mind like wasps, stuffy and pounding, mangled and messy. so many thoughts, yet so little time.

you should leave her with an orphanage. at least someone will care for her there.

she has dad's eyes.

she'll end up hating you.

maybe Natsu or Fuyumi will take her-

NO.

his hands shook as he traced his finger over your cheek and fiddled around with the tiny wisps of your hair.

NO ONE'S GOING TO TAKE HER.

his breath picked up, once okay-ish breaths became jagged. no steady inhale or exhale, only sharp puffs in and out. IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN--

I'll take care of her.

I'll be better than dad.

his breathing slowed. and you woke up. grumpy and sleepy. he smiled, he rocked you to sleep that night.

at least, that's the story of how his fate was sealed to be a father. a father with no money, no job, no house, no family. only an extensive criminal record and an infant daughter. and he thought he could make it work.

he ended up staying at a homeless shelter for a few days, living off on that, until he managed to steal make enough money until he was able to afford a motel were he stayed like that for a good year or so. moving from motel to motel until he made himself a reputation in the area. he learned how to be a father like that, taking care of you with only the help of mommy blogs and YouTube videos and all those nights where he'd start off by searching how to make baby formula better, but then 4 hours later he'd catch himself watching videos on how to help your child through their first period and crying about how his baby's going to grow up so soon. he ended up getting a condo not long after, only so you could finally have more stability in your life.

and he thought he could make it work.

he could not.

which is also how he came to regret this awful, awful, day. this horrendous, day. this day. this wretched day.

this day when he broke his promise

he wanted nothing more in that moment than to squeeze you tight to his chest and kiss your little face until you felt all better and forget this ever happened. to say sorry a million times over and dry your tears and hear your sweet laughter as he tells you crappy dad jokes just to see you smile. to forgive him, to know that he didn't mean to hurt you, it was an accident, it was just an accident, and he's sorry.

please. please just open the door. please. let him in.

open that goddamn door that he helped you paint a few months after you two moved in. that door that he painted white and let you finger paint all you wanted, you painted little flowers and bees and simply just smeared all the color you could find on it. it's your hand prints, side by side with some of his, it's that colorful mess that reminds him of you.

he grips the little plate of fruit in his hands harder. the slices of oranges and bananas formed into a smiley face quake in his hold. his breath, shaky as he hears the soft sound of your cries through the door, most certainly stuffing your face into your pillows to bawl your eyes out.

oh how did this happen? how did it come to this point? yes it was a hard week. a very hard week. having been scouted to join the league only recently and already preparing for their first attack on UA. he'd been at meetings all day to discuss their strategy and game plan, it seemed to carry on for years if not decades, yet, it had only been an hour. Shigaraki was just so annoying, yapping on about his hatred for heroes. please sir, shut the fuck up, no body cares, continue with your Canva slide show now how we are going to kidnap that one student from the sports festival.

that little brat Toga wasn't much better, creepy at that. Twice was just as annoying, constantly switching. spinner was bearable. but in no way is that what stain would have wanted to represent him. no. this is not right.

it didn't help much either that his skin was so fucking sensitive, having been brunt over and over again from quirk over usage, the burns growing darker and larger with every time he used his quirk. even his own clothes hurt him at that point, the horribly made jacket that he found in a dumpster worked away at his skin, tearing off each cell with it's thread. not to mention. Endeavor was climbing high, so high, he recently broke his own record of the number of civilians saved in a week and the public was going wild for it. practically every other news channel was covering it.

he clenched his jaw, bright turquoise eyes stared into the screen that flashed with endeavors flames, the bright orange being the only thing to illuminate the barren living room. one leg shook uncontrollably.

and you. you just wanted to help your dear old dad with dinner.

you didn't mean to drop that plate! it's true! all you wanted was to help your dad load up the dishwasher. after all, he's been complaining all day about how awful work has been, and when he wasn't complaining, he was silently grumbling at the news channels on the TV! he didn't even want to play Dolls with you today or ask you if you need help with your homework! it was weird, dad was never like this, no he was silly and sometimes rude, but he talked to you. why?

but with the loud crash of the plate and sound of a million little shards of glass scattering across the room came the yelling.

why was dad yelling at you? dad didn't yell.

he just keep shouting and yelling, calling you names. all his words were now jumbled, and loud, so loud, like those songs he listens to on the radio. the ones with the loud drums and music and words that you can understand. he called it "metal" music. what happened to your dad?! why was he being so mean? he called you a brat, he called you useless, he called you worthless. words that you didn't even understand but understood that he didn't say them with any love at all.

why, why why why why why why why why why why why why why----

everything was too much, you couldn't even focus on what he was saying. he was flailing his arms around making gestures and what not. little blue flames crawled from his hands and onto his shoulders. he- he was angry. very angry.

but wasn't the angry that he'd be when you get lost at the park only to show up 5 minutes later, not the angry when he'd find you accidentally spilled all the glitter into the carpet, it surely wasn't the angry he'd be when you accidentally hurt yourself while trying to do something stupid that he told you a million times over not to.

no! no! no! this was the angry that he'd be when that man would come on screen in the middle of a show.

you've broken plates before, plates, bowls, glasses, windows, beds, his ear drums, all at least once. and every time, he didn't get that angry. he'd just sigh like he was disappointed, before checking you for injuries and patching you up with eh unicorn stickers you picked out. he never yelled, only lectured. why as he yelling now!

nothing made sense anymore, the thoughts in your head jumbled and messy and blurry and weird and murky and sad and mean and everything thoughts should not be. why was he angry at you?

everything was suddenly so blurry as the tears welled up in your eyes, one single droplet made it's way down your cheek and crashed into the ground along with the shattered glass of the plate. it stung, the saltiness of those tears stung, everything hurt, please just. make it stop. make it stop.

I suppose it was the tears that finally brought Dabi out of that haze of anger.

this face dropped. what had he done? to his daughter. he swore he'd never...

everything was quiet all of a sudden, apart from the soft sniffles and the creaking of floor tiles as Dabi tried to move closer to you. an expressionless look on his face and eyes that held all the sorrow in the world as he silently watched you cry. Dabi, no, Touya, had yelled at his daughter, and then mad her cry.

why? why is it that of a sudden, everything was normal again, it was quiet like it was normal, and he was acting like everything was normal? it was normal, and it wasn't okay. oh wow can anything be okay after that t he was so mean it's not okay it will never be okay he isn't sorry he's mean. he's a bully! he hates you and he's mean and and and and and and and and... Dad said he loved you. did he lie?

it's getting hard to think, it's hard to speak now for no reason. what is happening! you should run, you should run and scream and cry and I don't know anymore!

so... so you ran, to your room, and you're there. little tiny cuts littered the soles of your feet, from the glass of the plate.

and he's out here. on the other side of your room. holding that damn plate of fruit, the ceramic heating up in his fiery hold.

this was so stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. he was just tired, but rather than being... y'know... a good father. he could hear Endeavor's voice in his own. he could feel the sting of blood seeping from the brunt flap of his tear ducts.

he brought up this hand, practically quivering, the staples practically coming undone from how hard he gripped his arms after you left. the dead cells flaking off beneath his finger nails.

knock knock

please open the door before he kills himself.

a tiny fragile little voice erupts

"no! go away! i- hic don't wanna talk to you..."

oh God it's over, it's over he can't. he really can't. he said he'd protect you, bunny, please just... he wanted to be a good dad.

"I... (Y/n). I'm so s-sorry."

why is it that the sniffles and soft whimpers stop now.

"baby, please, I'm sorry, daddy's sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. can- can we talk?"

silence, then the soft sound of pitter patter on the floorboards make their way closer, and closer. the little jingle of the door handle as you pull at it to get it open.

he's the one that's meant to be helping you open that damn door, you're too short to do it on your own! you, you need him, you need him to help you an you save you and you...

more importantly I guess...

the door creaks open, just a little, he's able to catch a glimpse of your locks of hair, messy, unlike this morning when he did it before you went off to school. have you been pulling at your own hair?

he makes his way through, he tiptoes between the trenches that is your bedroom. pinkish in all the most annoying ways. but, you are seemingly the most annoying of all! a brat, but you're his brat. and you're crying. right there. under your extra fluffy blankets.

the bed creaks softly as he sits down. he doesn't dare look you in the eyes. the plate of fruit securely in his hold.

"(Y/n)."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled,

I was angry, not at you, never you,

but you were there.

and I'm sorry."

silence.

"I cleaned up the plate, are you hurt?

well, there's bandages, if you do I'll get some disinfectant."

silence

"um, I cut you up some fruits too,

I know how much you like watermelon."

silence

"I'll leave you alone now."

a peep.

"dad?" the blankets shuffle.

"y-yeah, bunny?"

"sorry for dropping the plate. and breaking it." he can see your face now, reddish and teary, your eyes look bloodshot! Jesus, how hard where you crying-

"Oh, it's okay, it's only a plate..."

"do you..."

"do I what, bun?"

"do you not love me anymore?"

he will always love you, more than the moon and the sun and the stars and the sea and green grass of spring and the warmth of summer nights and the sting of alcohol down your throat more than the righteous angels love themselves.

"oh, oh bunny,

I will always, always, love you."

he leaned over scooping you up into his arms, placing your tiny little toddler body into his lap.

"don't forget that, don't you ever forget that, daddy loves you, I will always love you no matter what."

his thumb brushed away all those pesky wisps of hair that float in front of your face, sticking to wet cheeks.

and he smiled, a crooked, but loving smile, a smile.

and you smiled back. even through your pain you smiled. oh. oh Thank God! you forgave him. he'd probably carve out his heart in a fit of insanity if you didn't.

"I love you too, daddy."

-----

I lost my mind halfway through this fic. god it sounds so cringe ugghghghfdhgdgdkjgdjhg[ihga[ieshgtpwiuefhwugot4bvaw6eygsdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddjfsfhsfshjsj oh well, block me if you don't like it I guess

my stuff is right here: Bnha master list, rules for requesting, ask box

send me an ask, I fucking love hearing from you guys.

[h1biscusgal]

My journey. (Tw)

This is the longest post, please read everything if you need motivation, need some advice, and let me help you with something.

I want anyone who is doubting themselves, anyone who is trying not to give up, anyone else in the community of being blessed, to read the post whole.

I'm going to be talking about my life, and how the journey started, what I did and what I did not, bear in mind please, this was a little emotional for me to write, I feel a bit nostalgic about it all and I honestly can't believe so much went in such a time.

I found out about everything starting with a book I bought from the local fair that interested me a lot, and I swear if it weren't for the book, I would be here, I used to be the most logical bitch child ever, top grades, stressed like I'm in college already, pained mind and always pressured to be perfect, resulting in me being burnt out and already too mature for my age in mind, yet still childish in many senses, and constant fights with my parents, I felt like I was against the world.

The book was The Power of your Subconscious Mind - Dr. Joseph Murphy.

I was a kid who loved hobby reading, sort of an escape from the hell hole of the pressure I would have around me, and I adapted by this book, and it changed everything for me.

I was only 13 at that time of the book, after that I started trying it out for things and I saw results, made me happy, and I went to something I found in the corner of YouTube, called subliminals, and another part of it where it was called manifestation.

Now with subs, I found reality shifting, then came the void, then came lucid dreams and all that combined together in a hot mess.

Shifting was something so beautiful to me, The idea of a world where I could live my life was something that trapped me so much, I already imagine things a lot and use it as an escape mechanism, sounded perfect, right? And naturally, my first DR was my hero academia, just because I wanted to relive being a proper teenage.

And for subliminals? I can tell you one thing, I was extremely insecure of the person who used to be in the mirror, because all I did was to throw away my life, I studied, slept, and woke up, no friends, no one to trust, I just lost myself, and all that when I was 13-14, (tw) I hated hated hated myself and my appearance so bad, I could only pity myself for the state I used to be in.

I feel almost sad for my younger self, as I'm 18 now watching my young teen self stress through her life, cry at her appearance, even sometimes (tw) wishing to be just die in her sleep, all that because I was heavily burnt out, seeing girls my age looking prettier through puberty, talking with others and I'm stuck on a wish that felt like it won't happen, and yet, a part of me was too ashamed to feel this way, because I knew there are people worse than me, and I sympathized for them.

I think it started good, at 14 years old, I fully started subliminals and it worked for a while, especially my first results that hyped me up so much as changing the grades I mentioned on the other post, so I thought life was changing right?

It did for a year, at 15 things were going well on the outside, I started obsessing over my look, I started using subliminals even more too much for my appearance, I changed drastically, and tried to fit in, but get, none of those changes in my self were drastically from manifesting or anything, sure of course I had some small results, it was almost like I was not naturally like that, I felt fake in short, like a second skin to my real self, every night trying to shift or enter the void and whatnot, all that and finally, and I even opened a Tumblr account which safe to say, got pretty popular back in the day and honestly that was quite a mistake for me at that time.

Why? It ruined me.

I thought I could open the blog to help people with their journey as well as help myself with mine, y'know? Things got out of hand when I got a bunch of people who messaged me and ranted to me about their problems, and bless my younger heart, I used to be so touched by it and help them with it, I was like an unpaid therapist, and I never cared about my health, I just wanted to make people who had worse life than mine, get their results before even I did.

I should've told them I can't manifest for them, but that was where the shit and trust issues came from, sadly I got into the trap of (tw) "suicidal" people who claimed they'll off themselves and blame it on me if I don't enter the void for them, saying how they hate their life and everything else and how they want to change everything.

Please.

For the love of god.

I've been there like you and in worse, I stood up, I found the courage to stand up everytime I fell down, everytime, and that happened so much, almost 6 years worth of failure and never once I wanted someone to do it for me, why? Because it's your life my love, please don't think I'm rude or whatnot, I seriously I'm telling you, it's all in your hands.

And yes, of course there are people with far worse conditions and living state than mine, and I'm never blaming anyone to ask for help, but seriously.

To threaten a literal child on a simply happy pink blog telling her to enter the void for them or else? Especially one where she was a little too eager to help? Please, do it on your own as much as we all did on our own, I used to think "why don't bloggers like to manifest for others?".

I understood it after that, the emotional baggage? That was traumatizing for me.

Either way, I also had one of my followers spam follow me on my private Instagram (which I don't know how) and started (tw) a slight talk of let's say, almost grooming.

Thank God it wasn't pictures, I don't know if it is considered that, but is it alright to be told (tw) that they'd like to f#ck me or what not? I'm uncomfortable to go into more details but that was the breaking point for me, seeing almost 40 or something accounts spam messaging my requests no matter how much I block them, kept making more accounts.

I. Was. Horrified.

That's when I snapped, that was my last resort, I hated everything, I hated it all, I blocked all the current accounts, deleted my Instagram account, shut my blog off and started neglecting myself heavily and got back again into a depressing state, where I thought that's it, I'm cursed, wasn't I?

I burnt out so bad.

I genuinely believe it was the worst year of my life, even when I turned 16, everything got wrecked, the life I built and tried to maintain it fell apart, one of my friends backstabbed me so hard, I just gave up on manifesting and the void, which was something I wanted so much every night, wishing or begging anyone listening to help me, scrolling hours in Tumblr trying to find something helpful.

When I turned 17, this was my healing stage.

I may have slight tears in my eye, or I may sound dramatic, but oh god I am so glad to be here where I am now, I love myself, I seriously feel so bad and emotional for my younger self, if only, oh if only I could go back to hug her and tell her to live her teenage life, but I couldn't, I took life too seriously at that time and told myself I was cursed, only in the summer of 2024 I got back to my manifesting mindset, without Tumblr.

At 17, I started fixing myself, I gently loved myself, I started throwing the pedestal of the void away, I treated everything in front of me as a miracle, I loved myself, helped myself, took myself back on my feet and I gave myself time.

Time is something a lot of people here are annoyed by, it does not exist, so why are you bothered to give yourself some of this "nonexistent" time to heal yourself? I know some might say it's hard to love yourself, guys please.

Just love that small part of you that is still standing, that was shown the void and shifting and anything else for a reason, at 17 I started seeing results from everywhere again, I gained popularity, I built myself, I helped myself, trusted the law of assumptions, and my mindset had grown.

Now, I'm healed.

I no longer do this just to "get out of this" or "to escape everything", I do it for myself and because I know I deserve it, I don't place it up, I place it within reach like an apple waiting to be picked.

Everyone reading this, if you have come so far, do not give up, but of course.

It's your choice, no one can beg you to come back to your life, it's your choice my love.

I hope everyone in any situation my deepest and my most tender love to them, wether you're shifting, premashifting, rebuilding yourself with the void, changing everything.

Please thank yourself for staying strong and reaching here for so long, some say they've been doing this for 2 years, some say one.

I went on strong for 6, and I am glad I did, and I realized it all falls in your hands, I could've done it all by the first year, heck, even the first month, so my loves, my last piece of advice:

Love yourself, thank yourself, and ease yourself, let the apple fall, and not your hand that was straining for the apple.

Xoxo. Coco

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

born to die - m. murdock

a/n: IM NOT DEAD i am very busy with finals but this has been rattling around the old noggin for a while now. i took a lot of inspiration from @ellephlox 's fic strawberry rhubarb which i 100% reccomend bc its better than most fics including this one! hope you enjoy! as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 warnings: oh boy. torture (cutting, burning) some sexually suggestive talk (nothing happens but it's not consensual) readers dad abused her, nightmares, lots of major character death (but not permeant) ANGST!!! but with a happy ending! kidnapping, medical stuff, cursing, and if i missed anything, let me know! word count: 4.8k summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. pairing: matt murdock x wife!reader now playing: born to die - lana del rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die"

You would think after patching him up too many times to count, five years without him, and countless sleepless nights worrying if he was alive, you would think you’d be used to Matt Murdock and his world of surprises.

And then you get kidnapped, so maybe you’re not so immune to surprises.

It’s really such a shame too, because you’re storming out of the apartment, too angry to take notice of your surroundings.

Silly, foolish, ditzy you.

Because it isn’t like Matt hasn’t told you time and time again that you need to be careful, especially when you go out alone at night. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even think about the potential dangers of Hell’s Kitchen at three a.m. when Daredevil has been tucked away for the night and Matt Murdock comes back out to play.

He’s been taking more and more patrols because with Fisk being out of prison he can’t help but be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How silly he was to think that maybe he could have it all—A successful law firm, good friends and a loving wife.

Silly, foolish, ditzy Matt.

But after a week of nonstop patrols, you’re both fed up and tired, and above all, you’re yearning for each other. Neither of you allow yourselves to be totally happy all the time. It would just make everything too easy.

So, after yelling at each other over, what? Patrols? Cases? Burnt dinners? You’re freezing on the streets, and you get about five blocks before you stop and rub your eyes.

This is dumb, you rationalize. Of course, you’re both stressed out and tired, but you’ve gotten through rougher times before, and you both made an oath. To each other, in front of his God, to love each other no matter what.

You realize you left your wedding ring on the table, the ghost of the metal around your finger haunting you. You were dumb for leaving and Matt was dumb for telling you to go. You’re made for each other.

You turn around to go back to your shared apartment, and then, someone grabs you from behind. Your first instinct is to yell for your husband, but you don’t get the chance to before you’re knocked out, by what you can only guess to be a gun or maybe a large fist.

• • •

You wake up in this dingy room, the lighting not suitable for much of anything except to make you afraid. The set up is almost comical and in a fucked up away, stereotypical for a kidnapping. You’re tied up to a chair, and the lights shine only bright enough so you can see shadows and rats scurrying along.

The air is this weird musk of salt and earth, and you realize you’re near the docks, and that’s about all you know about your current location.

Your head is still pounding from whatever it was you were hit with, but you can see another chair a few feet from you and a wooden table with various weapons laying on it. You don’t feel good about this one. Also on the table is an old school record player. You have no idea what the intention is with it.

You try to keep your cool, knowing that wherever you wander, your husband will not be very far off. That whatever is happening, he will be coming to find you no matter how upset he is for whatever it was you were fighting about earlier.

And then, out of the shadows, there he is. 

But he’s too big to be Matt, and he has a man standing next to him.

Frank, maybe?

And then you realize who this man is.

He’s Wilson Fisk, the kingpin who has done nothing but torture and kill people, shoving it in Matt’s face for years. Matt only met you after Fisk was put back in prison, and you know at some point in the five-year blip without Matt, he had escaped prison.

So, this is the first time you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Fisk. When he meets your eye, you do nothing but stare.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock. It’s a shame we must meet under these circumstances.” He tells you, taking a seat in front of you. His henchman stands behind the chair.

“It’s regretful to say the least.” You tell him, not intending to make any more of an enemy out of him than Matt already has, not right now.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding. I remember my own, it was a rather special day.”

You know that was the day Matt took him down. The night that he, Karen and Foggy took him down.

“I’ve heard stories. It seemed like a lovely day.”

“You’re a much more gracious guest than your counterpart.”

“Well, I’m sure people say similar things about you and yours.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right about that, Mrs. Murdock. I wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry these are the circumstances in which we are finally introduced. But it seems Mr. Murdock has been interested in finding out more about my endeavors. And you see, we simply cannot have that. I made a promise not to hurt Miss Page or Mr. Nelson but it seems you were not included in that deal.” Of course not, it had been a long time before you showed up. “So, you’re how we’re going to send Mr. Murdock a message.”

Huh.

So, this is how you die.

Well, you might as well go out with a bang.

“You see, Mrs. Murdock, When I was a boy—”

“I’m going to stop you, Mr. Fisk, because your sob story is rather dull. I know who you are. You were beaten by your father, just like I was. The difference is that I don’t use that as an excuse to murder my way to the top of the food chain. And you can torture me, assault me, whatever you feel you need to do. But if you think for a second that I’ll forget who’s coming to stop you, you are sorely mistaken. And if you think he’ll ever stop trying to find me, you do not know my husband very well.”

Fisk stares at you for a while, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“You’re right. You do know who I am. Because we’re rather similar.” He stands up and nods to the man nearby. “If Murdock can hear her far from here, make sure he hears her screaming.”

Then Wilson Fisk walks away, and you are left with the sickening gaze of a man who has no good intentions.

 The man goes to the record player and starts to play a song you recognize quickly as “Fly Me To The Moon” by Frank Sinatra. As he does this, he speaks,

“Hello, Mrs. Murdock. I’m John.” You stay quiet, and he just enjoys the song.

He picks up a knife from the table and goes to you, this grin on his face that makes you sick.

But you remember a trick from not only your childhood, but also from Frank who told you the key to remaining strong under torture—Distraction.

You stare straight ahead, trying not to mind as the man runs the knife over your skin. You think about Matt. You imagine him in his wedding suit, the smile he had on as you approached him down that aisle. You think about when he asked you to marry him, and—

A sharp pain slashes down your arm, cutting open the shirt you’re wearing. You yell in pain, before moving in to try and take deep breaths.

You can do this. Matt will be here soon.

You continue to breathe through the anxiety and the pain, trying not to think too hard about when John hums along to Sinatra’s voice, guiding his knife around your skin. Another cut finds itself on your shoulder.

This goes on for a while, with the classic song looping over and over again. John never seems to tire of it, no matter how badly you will for it to end. As the song ends in one particularly good loop, John hits your face hard, and your nose starts bleeding.

You try to think of Matt’s voice. You don’t listen to John’s torments, knowing it will only egg him on further. You just want him to burn at that point.

By the end of… Countless Frank Sinatra serenades, you have cuts littered around your body, dry blood on your face from your nose and tears running down your face. When he’s eventually done, two men cut you out from the chair and drag you along to a smaller, darker room. You are left in there with a small meal, and you just huddle against a corner, nearest a barred window out of your reach.

And then, you begin to speak for the first time since you saw Fisk.

“Matt,” You whisper, “I’m by the docks.” You tell him, not sure if he can even hear you. “Please, I’m sorry for everything, please just come find me..” You mumble, too tired and aching to try and do more.

• • •

The next day, or what you presume to be the next day since you have no way to tell how much time has passed, you’re woken up by a loud banging on the door of your.. cell..?

The same two men enter and drag you back to the room, where John waits for you.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Murdock?” He asks.

You glare.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“What happened to the polite young woman Mr. Fisk and I met yesterday?”

You’re filled with unprecedented anger.

“I said, Fuck you!”

He wastes no time, grabbing a lighter off the table and starting the record player again. Once more, Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room, and you’re pretty sure once you’re done with John, and then Fisk, you’ll bring Sinatra back from the dead just to kill him again.

You’ve never really been a violent person, but you suspect that it lives in the worst parts of you, just as it did with your own father. You’re much better at keeping it all at bay. Besides, it does you no good to be violent while you have Matt. He’s plenty angry for the both of you.

Oh, Matt..

This is how time passes for you. While John tortures you, burning you or carving into your skin, you think about how great it will be to choke the life out of the singer… And you think about Matt. When you’re in your dark little room, you talk to him. Even if he can’t hear you, you must hope that he’s looking for you.

• • •

Days pass. How long have you been here?

One night, you have the following dream:

It starts out as a memory. A memory of you and Matt. You’re lying in bed with him, and the sunlight is hitting his face just right. You love this memory, it’s one you recall often. He just has this angelic look to him.

Yeah, most people who encounter him, especially at night, meet the devil. But occasionally, you get glimpses of the angel you know he is. He’s sleeping, and you think in this state, he is the most relaxed you’ll ever see him.

Then, before your eyes, the dream shifts and you’re in this black void, on the ground.

Foggy, Karen, Frank, and Matt stand around you. You run to Matt but hit a clear shield keeping him from you. You bang on the glass, well, maybe it’s glass, you don’t know. You try to scream, but your voice never reaches your ears. You begin to look around, looking for a way out.

An eerie version of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ plays as you glance over to Foggy and watch in horror as his body begins to turn to ash, just like Matt and Karen did when they were blipped. You scream, banging against the shield, but your screams are silent.

You glance back and see the same thing happening to Frank. No, no, no! It was never supposed to happen this way! Frank and Foggy, they lived! They got their time! They don’t die like this!

And then Karen starts too. You start sobbing, not wanting her to go. You had missed her so much, and you only just got her back. But soon enough, she’s gone too, and you’re left in front of your husband.

His hand comes up to rest on the forcefield and he frowns softly.

He says your name gently, and then adds, “You know it couldn’t last forever, right?”

And then just as quickly as before, he is gone again. You remain there in that void, sobbing and screaming though no noise reaches you. This can’t be it! You just got him back, you needed him! You couldn’t take being alone for another five years… Or more…

The dream transforms and you’re in this grand ballroom. People are dancing elegantly and you’re in this.. obnoxious ball gown. But across the room, you can see Matt. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with a red masquerade mask covering his face. The mask has little red devil horns on it.

Now, the orchestra plays their rendition of Sinatra’s romantic classic. And you step towards Matt, attempting to make your way towards him, only to be met with a masked man, beginning to twirl you around.

You jump from man to man, until eventually, you’re dancing with a man in an all-white suit, a man you quickly recognize as Fisk. No matter how hard you try to escape his grasp, he holds on tighter. The two of you stop dancing now, amid the crowd of moving bodies.

Fisk grabs your chin and tilts it in Matt’s direction, just in time for you to see him bowing to another woman, kissing the back of her hand. Your eyes widen and you think, this can’t be real.

“When I kill you,” Fisk says, “He’ll move on. You’re easily replaceable, Mrs. Murdock.”

And then, in an instant, the woman with Matt pulls out a dagger and plunges it deeply into his abdomen. It’s then that the other dancers, besides you, Fisk, Matt, and this mystery woman, disappear. Matt turns to you and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He tries to crawl to you, blood seeping onto his hands and the beautiful ballroom floor. He yells your name, and the woman stabs him again from behind, and you watch as your husband dies. You hear him screaming, hear him yelling your name. But Wilson Fisk keeps you in place. You can do nothing but watch as Matt Murdock meets his end again, unable to save him. You start to scream, thrashing against Fisk, ready to claw your way to Matt.

You wake up screaming, the nightmare haunting you. A guard bangs on your door, yelling at you to keep it down.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself. Maybe Matt heard your screams.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You force yourself not to listen to the voice in your head that says that.

• • •

One day, Fisk visits again, only this time, He’s covered in blood. That damn song is still playing.

You just stare. They have long since stopped tying you up, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to try and fight back.  He has this sick grin on his face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock.” You say nothing. “Have you been enjoying your stay with us?”

You glare.

“I hope Matt kills you when he gets here, because it will be a lot less painful for you if he does it instead of me.”

Mr. Fisk just laughs at this and tosses something at your feet. You get down off the chair to see what it is.

Your face goes pale with realization. You pick it up and slip it on your thumb, with it being too big for your other fingers. Matt’s wedding ring. You know it’s his, it has your name engraved in braille on the inside. How did he get this?

As if reading your mind, Fisk speaks again. “I took it off his body after I killed him.”

Your head shoots up to him. What did he say?

“No.” You deny. “Fuck off, I don’t—I don’t believe you.”

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Murdock. I killed him with my bare hands because he was stupid enough to come after you. Your friends will mourn you and Matt Murdock for a while, and the city will come to the realization that Daredevil did nothing but harm. I win, Mrs. Murdock.”

You feel tears start to fill your eyes, and you realize, no. He hasn’t won because you’re still alive.

Maybe not for long, but you are.

You gather the rest of your energy and leap up, lunging at the large man covered in the man you love’s blood. And there’s a part of you that gets it. Okay, universe, you win. Most people don’t get a second chance like the two of you did. And now he’s dead, and soon you will be too. You can at least try to kill Fisk.

But you barely get a scratch in, yelling and screaming obscenities at him, as John grabs your arms from behind pulling you away. Fisk laughs and shakes his head again.

“It’s been lovely knowing you, Mrs. Murdock. I’m sorry you’ll have to die, you had so much potential. John, when you’re done doing whatever you’d like to her, kill her.” You hear him say it, but you’re blinded by rage, by grief.

John laughs behind you and forces you back into the chair, tying you back up once more. He looks at you, enraged and grief stricken, and just shakes his head.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

He leaves for a few minutes, and you realize this is the first time you’ve been left alone in this room. You tug at the knots and realize that while John is a gifted torturer, he’s not much of a knot tier.

So you manage to wiggle out of the rope, approaching the table in front of you. You don’t have much time. Okay, maybe you won’t be able to kill Fisk, but John will do. You take a golf club off the table in front of you and turn to the record player.

You begin to smash the thing in, angrily cursing at it as Frank Sinatra’s voice fades off into nothing. When the song ends, the lights turn off. And then, red flood lights turn on in their place.

A back up generator. Lovely. You think that your smashing of the record player couldn’t possibly make the whole building’s power go off, but you don’t really care at that moment.

You’re tired. You won’t make it far, but you need to try. You grasp the club and open the door, being greeted with a man you don’t recognize. You smack him in the face with the club hard enough for him to fall to the ground.

The red lighting adds an eerie tone to the hallways as you creep around, concussing various henchmen that Fisk has working for him. You don’t mean to kill these ones, only John.

But you’re running out of stamina, peeking around corners. And that’s when you see him. John is just standing there like he knows you’re there.

“Come out to play, Mrs. Murdock?” He calls, approaching the corner where you are waiting on the other side.

You focus on his footsteps, taking a swing around the corner when you know he’s close enough. You hear a sharp crack! As he falls, and you can’t see the blood in this lighting. Good. You begin to hit his head in, sobs mixing with yelling. You hate him. You want him to die before you’re killed.

But you don’t get the pleasure, because a pair of arms are pulling you off him, and you begin yelling.

“No!” You yelp. “No, Fuck you! Let go of me! Stop!” You think it’s another one of his goons, and you just want to be able to finish the job before you die. The figure forces you to drop the club. “Please, stop, don’t hurt me—”

But he’s saying your name and turning you around to see him. You know that voice.

“Sweetheart, hey, it’s just me—” He pants, his hands going to your cheeks. “It’s me, It’s just me. I’ve got you.”

And you can’t believe your eyes.

“Matt..?” You whimper, not able to believe it. “No, you’re dead, this has to be—”

And then, Matt does something he wouldn’t do for anyone who wasn’t his wife. He pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. Oh.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He says softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

That’s when you start to sob, falling against him, no energy left to carry yourself. His arms wrap around you, and you say it again.

“He told me you were dead..”

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got my ring but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” He tells you.

You’re so tired. You’re slumping against him as you try to walk, the warmth radiating off his body just drawing you to sleep.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Matt’s voice, begging you to stay awake.

• • •

You see flashes. Your parents, your dad. Nightmares of Fisk killing Karen, Foggy, Frank, and worst of all, Matt. You see John’s sickening grin on the body of spiders, and you’re chased by his cruel laughter.

But the dreams are filmier compared to what’s happening around you. You know Claire shows up at some point, and you’re thankful to her. Karen sits next to you sometimes, petting your hair, or sometimes it’s Foggy, talking your ear off.

You have fever dreams of Frank in full military gear, tormenting you.

“Not so tough now, huh, girl?” He teases. “You really thought you’d kill the big bad wolf? Solve all your boyfriend’s problems?”  

You say to him, “Husband, He’s my husband.”

• • •

Even in your dreams, where you were slashed and burned aches, and you long for the pain to end.

You wake up only once throughout these dreams, and it’s when Karen is playing music to try and calm you from your insistent nightmares.

Only one song snaps you out of it, and you hear it clear as day.

‘Fly me to the moon,” Sinatra sings, “Let me play among the stars,’

He only gets through a few more lines before you’re sitting up on the couch, screaming.

“No! Stop, please!” You cry, and in an instant, Matt’s arms are around you. “Matt, please, don’t let him hurt me, please! Please don’t die, don’t let him keep hurting me!” You beg, in a hazed, frenzied state.

“I’ve got you, No one’s going to hurt you..”

Karen turns off the music somewhere deep in the apartment.

“No..” You begin to grow tired in his arms again. “Matty, please.. You can’t die, please..” You whimper out, continuing to mumble out pleads as you fall back into your weird dream state.

• • •

You really wake up two days later. Matt’s hand is clasped over yours, and he’s just.. Sitting on the floor next to the couch, praying into your clasped hands.

Praying for what, you don’t know.

Your body aches. But something in you tells you you’re safe.

“Matt…?” You whisper gently, and his head shoots up.

“Hey..” He says softly, one hand leaving yours, coming up to brush your hair out of your face. “There she is..”

“You’re alive..”

He seems a little concerned you still had some doubts about this.

“I am. Fisk lied to you.. He never even touched me.” You nod.

“Did I kill him? The man you found me..”

“No. He’s just in a coma, I checked. He’ll be brought to justice.”

“I only wanted him dead when I thought you were too..” Because really, you would have nothing if Matt wasn’t there. Nothing to live for. When he was blipped away, you had the hardest time readjusting to life. Now you know if he died again, you’d probably go off the rails.

No love story is saved more than once. You used up all your luck. Now it will be doomed if he’s ever killed again.

“I know.” He said gently.

“How long have I been out? How long was I in there?”

“A week, and then you were out for four days here. They got you good, baby..” He says gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

You frown softly.

“You did find me though. That’s all that really matters anymore.” You know you’ll be nursing scars for a long time. Physical or not.

“Still..” He said gently, and he brings your hand up to kiss it gently. “And I’m sorry I told you to leave that night. I was just upset, but this past week and half.. I feel like I’ve been going crazy without you. No matter how mad at you I am, I never want to spend another night without holding you. Knowing that you could have been…” His voice breaks, and he just sighs, taking a moment to lean his head on your hand. “I love you, so much.” He kisses your palm again.

How are you so tired again? All you’ve done is talk to him, but it feels like you just ran a marathon.

“I love you. It’s why I married you. Because you and I, we were always meant to be with each other. No matter what.”

He smiles weakly and reaches over to the coffee table to grab something. He slips it on your finger and for the first time in over a week, your wedding ring is back where it belongs. You see Matt is wearing his. Your Matt. Your husband. The only one you were ever meant to be with.

“Did Claire patch me up? I remember her being here..” He nods softly.

“Yeah, we.. we really owe her one. She was a huge help..”

“Karen and Foggy were here… And Frank?”

“No, no, Frank’s still in Illinois, I think?” You nod softly. “You were mumbling to him, though. I heard you… you were telling him you had a husband.”

You would laugh if it didn’t hurt.

“He called you my boyfriend. I had to correct him.” You grin.

“That’s my girl.” He hums. Matt gently lifts you so you can sit up and drink some water. Then, he climbs onto the couch and brings you close. His arms wrap around your freshly wounded skin and you have a rare moment of gratefulness for his blindness.

You sit in silence for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You think about it all. The torture, the cuts, burns, the small room. Fisk’s laughter, John’s grin. But something sticks out to you.

“Fisk said I was just like him.”

“What?”

“We.. We grew up similar, Matt, I mean.. What if he’s right? What if the only thing separating him and I is one bad move?”

Your husband frowns and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you are the.. the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re the complete antithesis of Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you grew up like him, but you’re living proof that you don’t have to go down the path he did just because of his background. You and I both know that there will never be a world where you end up like him. Especially not with me.”

You find comfort with his words. Not only did you make every choice not to be like Fisk, but you must’ve also made all the right decisions if in the end, you ended up with Matt. Oh, it won’t be easy, you know that for sure. You’ll never be able to listen to Frank Sinatra, and your upcoming nights are filled with nightmares and hauntings.

But one day you’ll be okay. One day You’ll be able to sit in the silence without thinking about it. One day you’ll get the image of dead Matt out of your head. You’ve spent many nights wondering about who will go first, you or him.

And then you realize the best-case scenario is that the two of you die at the same time, never living another moment without each other.

How would there ever be a world where you and your husband weren’t with each other, even just for a moment?

[maxwellatoms]

Hello Mr. Atoms, I'm an animation student in college and fan of your work. I got this assignment in which I need to ask questions to a professional in the area. Could you pretty please answer them? It'd mean a lot to me.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

Okey dokey.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

Not really, in that there seems to be no career left.

The animation industry swelled its numbers greatly before 2020. Almost immediately after that, corporate greed synergized with a pandemic to reduce animated programs and the number of people working on them to almost zero. It takes almost a year from beginning to end to make a single episode of an animated show (by the modern standard). There was nothing being made in 2020 and four years later, we''re not in a much better spot. It's going to be a long drought for (especially) Kid's TV Animation.

Recently, many of my former co-workers have hit the financial wall and can't continue, moving away after (sometimes) 20 years in the industry. I begin to wonder if I'm very far behind.

A "bounce back" a year from now would need to start today. There are still some animated shows being made now, but those are almost universally "library" properties. That means it's an existing I.P. (Intellectual Properties like Garfield/Mario/Batman/Star Wars) so as an artist you're immediately in that box. Depending on the property and the studio, it can be an unpleasantly tight box. I grew used to holding and maintaining the vision for a show, but it's less fun when it's not my vision. It's even less fun when you can't inspire someone to follow your vision because they've been so ruthlessly abused.

I'm pretty sick of how big media corporations treat their employees. If I inherit one more burnt out crew due to mismanagement, I'm gonna lose it.

Over a decade ago I fought hard to get board artists story credit for the episodes they were actually writing, and felt like I'd won a big victory for everyone. The second my back was turned, it all reverted.

Mostly... what is the point now? My career is/was developing ideas, crafting those ideas into a workable show, then managing teams of thirty to seventy people to produce a couple of dozen episodes per year. Studios actively do not want new ideas right now, and are actively searching for ways to eliminate what artists from the process. I'm not sure what my job would be under this new system, but it feels like they decided to hang onto the anxiety-inducing deadlines while removing anything remotely pleasurable from the experience.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

It's the only way to get anything done, currently.

The current state of the industry is not sustainable. I (along with a lot of other animators I know) are trying to decide what's next, and pretty much everyone agrees that "you just have to make something".

It is (in that very specific way) a great time to be a young animator. The system was never going to treat you well anyway. If you can get something like a Hazbin Hotel happening without studio help, you can currently write your own ticket. I'm super proud of Vivsie, because that's a LOT of stuff to handle. I never had to handle my own marketing or drum up money to make Billy & Mandy happen.

There are opportunities there, but it's definitely "Hard Mode". The best idea is probably to team up with a few other people you like and like to work with.

Hopes? I hope that the young animators take over and make something new on top of the bones of the old industry, rather than just allowing that industry to patch its rotting hide with their collected works.

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

I suspect true AI might just peace-out like ScarJo in "Her", but we're not there yet. What we have now isn't Artificial Intelligence at all (though I do believe it may be the underpinnings of the Artificial Suconscious of what may one day become an actual Artificial Intelligence.)

The LLMs and "Generative AI" are (so far) a big dumb waste. They consume tons of energy and aren't great for doing anything creative. If you've sat down with Chat GPT for a creative writing session, you've probably run into the "out of the box" limitations which prevent it from talking about sex or violence-- which happen to be a major component of most stories.

Still, the technology has come incredibly far in an incredibly short amount of time. I imagine we're going to hit the point where we're being hazed by artificially generated political ads way before Generative AI can produce a consistent and usable character turnaround, so that'll be the test. Whatever the legal fallout is from this stuff over the next few years will set the tone.

Still, studios have a vested interest in pleasing their shareholders. Generative AI potentially has the capability of not only replacing swaths of money-eating artists, but handing that control directly to the billionaire studio heads. Mark my words: We're headed straight for billionaire-generated content.

I don't think the public at large will want to watch Elon Musk's fever dreams, so there's that. So law and general distaste might stave it off for a while, but I think there's just too much impetus for studios to continue to try to please their investors. "AI Art" is here to stay.

Eventually that will lead to millions and millions of bots generating millions and millions of songs and paintings and movies all day every day. Most of it will be utter trash. Right now (so I'm told) viewers are already burnt out, and will generally only click on what they already know. On Netflix, where there are twenty things you've never heard of and one you have, you're more likely to pick the thing that gives you comfort and gives you a guarantee you're not wasting your time. With exponentially more A.I. trash, how would you even begin to filter it out?

You'd need absolute control of an already existing distribution system. We currently have a few of those, and all of the media companies are desperately trying to merge with them to insure their own survival.

To me, the post-Gen-AI landscape looks a lot like old-school Cable, but with endless I.P. and fewer masters.

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

The real question is, maybe, "What am I even doing?" These days I try to do a lot of gardening. I'm trying to learn new art skills, because suddenly twenty five years of experience managing, drawing, and writing isn't worth much. I recently worked on Jellystone until Zaslav lost 2.5 billion in the wash and had to find justification for his new yacht. The show before that? Also culled midway through to save money. The days of multi-year gigs seem to be over, and if I'm going to scrape by doing freelance, maybe I can do that somewhere else.

I'll always make art. I can't seem to help it. Ideas aren't my problem-- it's executing those ideas without the help of a structured pre-existing system. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to pull that off. My strengths are great, but were always supported by friends I worked with.

Can I start an indie cartoon with all of these cool friends? Sure, maybe. Most of those people have gone on to have other careers of their own and got used to being paid. Now nobody is getting paid and no one can pay anyone else. My immediate circle are all now middle-aged people with families and no jobs. Convincing them to give up a large chunk of their day for an idea that's not guaranteed to pay off is going to take some real effort.

I technically have fifteen years until I can claim my "retirement", assuming that still exists by then. That's a pretty big hole to fill with... I don't know what.

The difficult "What comes next" discussions at home are really just starting.

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

There are a lot of cool animation people out there. I already mentioned I was proud of Vivsie. I was also reminded recently just how great C.H. Greenblatt and Mr. Warburton are. I know they're my friends. They're both just really upstanding, creative people who take good care of their crews.

The treatment of animation industry professionals by the studio system has been one of the most demoralizing and heartbreaking parts of this demoralizing and heartbreaking time.

---

So there ya go. If you want to look for someone whose attitude is a little more upbeat, I won't blame you a bit.

Wherever you are, I wish you the best of luck. For me, just climb up there and crush it. I would very much like to add you to #5 someday.

[cripplecharacters]

Do you know any good sources for burn scar care?

I’m writing a character who was burned in a spaceship crash. The story is set several years after the fact, and I want to incorporate that detail into the story. What would a burn scar care routine look like?

Hey!

I generally recommend medical websites for this kind of stuff. There are tons of information readily available online, especially about things as common as a burn injury. Phoenix Society for Burn Survivors or MSKTC can be helpful for you.

While caring for a burn scar will be different for everyone (there's many types, degrees, plus just individual differences between burn survivors themselves) some of the things that you can include;

Burnt skin doesn't produce its own oils, so it gets dry. It needs to be moisturized, oil-based products (think coconut or grape seed oil) are often used. The heavier the lotion, the fewer times a day it needs to be applied.

Massaging a scar, especially when it's relatively new. It can be a massage, but stretching or just putting pressure on it is part of that too. It helps the skin from becoming extremely sensitive. Initially you do it delicately, but after the scars are matured it's fine (or recommended even) to put some force into it. This loosens them up.

Itching is a huge issue. Both massaging and moisturizing help with that, but if it's still causing problems then there are medications that could provide some relief.

Protecting the skin from the sun. All year, including cloudy weather. Sunblock, big hats, sunglasses if needed, all that. This applies to people with darker skin as well because the skin loses its pigment after a burn (it can sometimes come back but it's definitely not a guarantee).

Avoiding the heat. A lot of burn survivors will have problems with temperature regulation because burns damage the sweat glands, so they overheat faster. There's nothing burn-specific here, same protocol as for avoiding a heatstroke - drink water and keep out of the sun.

Wearing softer and looser clothing. Rough and tight clothes can cause blisters, and that is a Problem. Inappropriate materials could also induce more itching.

Taking pain meds. Chronic pain is common, so your character might need medication.

I definitely wouldn't say that this is an exhaustive list, but I think it's a good start. If you need more details, I think the resources linked above should work.

I'm glad to see people interested in burn scars being a disability that requires a lot of care rather than seeing it as a solely visual thing. Makes it much more authentic.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[thenightling]

Dead boy Detectives review

I've watched all eight episodes of Dead Boy Detectives and it was a decent show. It's not something I may obsess over like The Sandman, or The Witcher, but it was decent.

Dead Boy Detectives is the story of Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland. Edwin was killed during a Satanic ritual in 1916. Charles died from hypothermia and internal bleeding after some bullies drove him into an ice-cold lake while throwing rocks at him.

(Note: That was not how Charles actually died in the source material. In the comics, Lucifer had quit and shut down Hell (the basis for the TV show Lucifer) so many evil souls returned to Earth, including the boys that sacrificed poor Edwin. They badly burnt Charles' back on a hot stove and Charles died from his injuries.)

The two ghosts decided to dedicate their afterlife solving mysteries to help other ghosts find peace. They are aided by psychic, Crystal Palace, who is haunted by her abusive ex-boyfriend who happens to be a demon.

Both Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland originated in Neil Gaiman's The Sandman: Season of Mists, The Sandman: Volume 4. Issue 25 of The Sandman comics, and within Act 2 of The Sandman audio drama.

The Dead Boy Detectives made their TV first appearance in Doom Patrol for HBO Max (now Max). During a shakeup at Max the show was moved over to Netflix as to better connect it with The Sandman since that is where they originated.

The show features different actors from the ones that played Charles and Edwin on Doom Patrol.

The Dead Boy Detectives is a decent show but ...it feels a bit like a CW teen drama. I had been told that some of the show's writers were originally writers for the CW... and it shows.

There are some deliberately surreal elements of the show that I think are a callback to their appearance in Doom Patrol.

I love the variety of supernatural entities in the show, including the appearance of two of Morpheus's siblings. Death and Despair. The things I don't like about the show can be considered CW tropes or cliches. The angsty romances and unrequited love. The ham-fisted abusive ex metaphor between Crystal and David The Demon.

And of course the most tedious of CW tropes, the end of the episode pining and angst while a sad pop song plays in the background.

If you look past the CW-ness of it, the show is enjoyable.

The only other things I can complain about is the "connecting thread" subplot of The Afterlife: Lost and Found feels like unnecessary filler. And I wish they would openly establish that Edwin, being an innocent, would NOT return to Hell if collected by Death now. I don't think that should be left hanging over his head. Especially since we're supposed to see Death as a kind entity. Also I think Charles says "Aces" a little too much. It's very distracting and makes me feel like the writers didn't know much late 80s English slang. It would be like if he was an American and they had him say "Radical" all the time. I get that it's kind of his catchphrase but it also got a bit annoying.

The parts I don't like are CW tropes and what I'd consider to be late 90s Vertigo edginess.

The thing I liked were plentiful though. The protagonists were and are likable. The ending is satisfying enough so that if there is only one season this was still good. I liked that it appears that one can ascend out of Hell after some self-reflection as is indicated by the boy Edwin confronted in Hell. The blue light was established to mean ascension, a good afterlife.

I also LOVE the opening credits theme music and animated sequence. It reminds me of the intro to Showtime's Creature Feature movies. (See the trailer for 2001's She Creature, not the 50s version. Watch the trailer at thirteen seconds in, on Youtube, and you'll see what I mean).

That's two Gothic themed shows from Netflix in the last two years with great opening credits sequences. The first being Wednesday. That one won Danny Elfman an Emmy.

It's funny, Wednesday and Dead Boy Detectives (which is a spin-off of The Sandman) have great opening credit intro sequences but The Sandman does not. Apparently Neil Gaiman was told people don't watch the opening credits anymore so The Sandman doesn't have them.

I feel we were cheated out of what could have been a great opening sequence for The Sandman.

Episodes 7 and 8 of Dead Boy Detectives were probably the best of the series. I liked it well enough that if Dead Boy Detectives gets renewed I'll happily watch season 2.

[literaila]

premature death

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you settle into jujutsu high, and then you settle out

warnings: fluff, angst (canon events), satoru is an idiot as per usual, suguru is there.

a/n: open wide, daddy made your favorite

last part | next part

*

second year.

you've never loved dining in, you think, as a menu is pulled from your hands and you try to relax into your seat, looking around. 

you're sitting in the corner, near a wall.

it's been an hour since you finished your mission--with nanami and haibara--and an hour since haibara insisted on all of you meeting the second years for dinner. 

honestly, even if you'd had the energy to argue with him, his face would've broken you eventually. so, you followed your two best friends blindly, stumbling into this restaurant that smells a bit like burnt sugar. 

your body aches from running around, and your head pounds from all of the mental strain it takes to protect both nanami and haibara at once (especially when they're both hellbent on being as reckless as possible at any available moment). you barely give suguru and shoko a 'hello,' as you near the table, and you ignore satoru completely. 

(and the way your body immediately perks up at the sight of him). 

the only reason you've even made it in the restaurant is because haibara let you lean on him the whole way here. someone better be coming to pick you up after this. 

and when they push you into this seat--away from literally everything else--you don't even mind it. it's nice, a sort of protection from the outside world. 

but, of course, none from the one right there. 

satoru is sitting much too close to you. he's wild and animated, boasting about some curse that was no big deal for him, of course, with no consideration for personal space. 

you can feel it when he breathes, when he laughs. his hand is basically on your thigh, and he's almost grabbed your drink on accident three separate times. 

no one else has even commented on this, so you don't say anything. 

it's definitely not because he's pleasantly warm--sickly warm, you think--or because you feel a bit relaxed with him right next to you instead of anyone else. at ease. and it's not because just sitting near satoru creates an automatic reaction within your body, a buzzing, and keeps you from falling asleep on the table. it has nothing to do with any of that. 

you just don't want to make a scene. 

you're staring down at the table, fiddling with a napkin and wondering how many other people have sat here, spilled their drinks, and shared these thoughts, when a hand pokes at your side, and you jump. 

"hey," satoru says, leaning to meet your eyes. his mouth is ridiculously pink, and you can see the tips of his lashes from over his glasses. "you okay there?" 

you push his face away with a hand, grimacing at him. you ignore the twinge in your shoulder, and the hundred other sore muscles in your body. "just fine, thanks." 

satoru leans back, observing you for a moment. everyone else is lost in conversation, so there's no one to save you from his attention. 

"that looks heavy," he says, eventually, with a ton of fake sympathy. and condescension. he's smiling at you, because when isn't he?

"what?" you say, frowning. you look around for a problem, but there isn't one. 

then you meet his eyes again, and you know what he's going to say. 

"your hand," he answers, easily, predictably. "let me hold it for you." 

you slap him away before he can even try. 

"were you genetically engineered in a lab to be annoying?" you ask him, scowling.

"just beautiful." 

you roll your eyes, moving to sip on your tea. when you set it back down, satoru is still staring at you. 

"what?" 

"oh, nothing." 

you frown, hoping that there isn't anything on your face. or that he hasn't realized that you don't want to be here. and then, before he can read any real expression, you smile sweetly at him. "you're popping my bubble, satoru." 

"what bubble?" 

"my personal space bubble," you answer, sharply, pushing at his chest. "move over. you know there's a whole other end of the booth right there?" 

satoru looks to his other side, to the empty spot where he should be sitting, and then back to you with a wince. "you want me to sit next to nanami?" 

you stare at him blankly. "i want you to allow me free will over my limbs." 

"but he scares me." 

"want me to tell him that?" 

satoru sighs, but moves over a single inch. because he's nice. 

"seriously?" 

satoru stares at you, pointing towards the centimeter of both you can see between your bodies like it's a solution to your problem. when you say nothing, he pouts. "what? i like sitting next to you." 

"you can sit there and not attempt to suffocate me," you tell him, shaking your head. you look away and go back to playing with the napkin you stole. "i promise it's possible." 

"where's the fun in that?" 

you sigh, and satoru leans his head on your shoulder. you don't even comment on the fact that he's even closer now, or that he smells like a gallon of sweat. 

no, in all actuality, you don't really want him to move. you want him to stay right there and be your block from the world. 

not that you'd ever admit that out loud. 

"i really hate you," you tell him, quietly, once you've realized that you haven't said anything. 

satoru smiles up at you, teeth peeking out from bright pink lips. then he groans theatrically. "you know i can't resist flattery, sweetheart." 

you roll your eyes again. "how have you survived this long?" you wonder aloud. and then you pause. "no, wait. i already know." 

"what?"

"special grade sorcerer," you whisper, in mock awe. you shiver when satoru runs a hand up your thigh, just to mess with you.

"i'll let you try to kill me next time we spar," he says, shaking his head at you. his hair is soft and ticklish against your neck. 

you still don't move him.

"i refuse to spar with you." 

he frowns. "you spar with suguru." 

"'cause he doesn't cheat." 

"i don't cheat." 

"no cursed techniques during hand-to-hand combat," you recite. 

he continues to pout, like the child he is. "how is that fair?" 

you sigh at him, shaking your head. you don't have the energy to remind him of simple rules.

"c'mon," satoru says, leaning up and nudging you. "just once. it'll be fun." 

he taps your nose with a finger. 

you grab it. "we've sparred before, and we will not be doing it again." 

satoru just smiles at you. 

and the two of you sit there like that, staring at each other, your hand wrapped around satoru's stupid finger, waiting for the other to break. 

his eyes are ridiculous, you think, for the hundredth time ever. the only real reason he's still alive is because of how pretty he is. if his bone structure was even slightly different, you think, he'd be dead. 

satoru stares back, maybe thinking the same things you are. 

but eventually, you're broken out of the daze. 

"satoru," shoko says, again, and you both snap to look at her. she's got a brow raised. "did you hear anything i just said?" 

you and satoru exchange a glance and ignore the looks of everyone else at the table. your body settles once again, no longer ignited solely by satoru's concentration you you. 

finally, satoru moves away from you, leaning on his elbow to focus in on whatever conversation his friends are having. 

you don't even realize that your hand is still wrapped around him, or when, eventually, satoru intertwines his fingers with yours. 

you go back to eating your dinner, and you're very comfortable with the amount of space you have to yourself now. 

really. 

*

"hey," you say, pulling your jacket tighter around your body. 

it's too cold to be outside, but it's too loud to be in bed. too quiet. "can't sleep?" you ask suguru. 

you crept out of your room just ten minutes ago. you were only going to get something to drink--something to soothe your irritating heart--when you realized that it would never work. 

so you ventured outside, instead, not really caring about rules or being caught. 

and just when you were walking across the courtyard, you stumbled upon him (for a brief moment, you'd thought it was yaga, and almost ran back inside.)

but suguru just sitting there, on the steps, looking out into the forest like it'll come up with some answers for him. his hair is tied up, and he's got a better jacket on than you do. 

you look at it a bit enviously. 

suguru blows out a breath, the smell of cigarette smoke filling the air. you watch the puff as it disappears into the air. "no, you?" 

"can i sit?" you ask, looking at the space beside him. suguru nods, watching as you sit down beside him, shivering. "nightmares," you tell him, answering the question.

he smiles at you, shaking his head ambiguously.

you gesture towards his hand. "i didn't know you smoked." 

suguru almost laughs. "i don't, really. shoko's a bad influence." 

he holds it towards you, but you shake your head. 

"no, thanks. i've got enough bad habits to last a lifetime." 

he laughs, stamping out the rest of the unsmoked bud on the ground. 

you look towards the trees, almost expecting something to jump out from behind them--even though you know that no curse can touch you, or anyone here.

you don't get a lot of alone time with suguru. you're comfortable enough around him--and haibara sings enough praises for you to know what he's like. still, you're not sure what to say to him, or what he might know about you. 

probably too much, you think. 

eventually, you look back to suguru, smirking. "so, did you leave satoru sleeping by himself in your bed?" 

"he snores," suguru answers, easily, and his shoulder brushes against yours. 

you giggle, flexing your hands, trying to regain some feeling in your fingers. 

a small part of you is glad that he's out here, right now. that there's someone else to be around, to remind you that it's all okay. and, if worst comes to worst, suguru is a lot stronger than you are. 

you look up to the sky, tracing the remains of clouds with your eyes. there are no shapes to be made out--there never are, this late at night. and it's different here, at school. 

at home, you can hear all of the bugs at night, and you can smell the breeze as it passes through. but here, it's almost irrationally silent. it doesn't smell like anything here. like cursed energy is strong enough to fade out the smell of the pine or the pollen. 

you're silent, looking around. 

"do you want my jacket?" suguru asks, suddenly, after you've shivered against him for the seventh time. 

you look towards him, trying to ignore how cold you feel, and you sniff. "no, it's okay." 

suguru's got a sly smile when he says, "probably shouldn't, anyway." 

"what do you mean?" 

he laughs to himself, then shakes his head. 

you feel like you're missing something as you wait for him to answer. to clue you in on the joke. 

"do you get them a lot?" he asks, instead of answering your confused glance. "nightmares?" 

you swallow, nodding. "yeah. do you?" 

"all the time." 

"any advice? haibara says you've got overwhelming amounts of wisdom." 

he snorts. "haibara..." he whispers, almost appreciatively.

you tilt your head at him, waiting. 

"i'm only a year older, you know?" 

you nod, consider it for a moment. then you think about satoru--inevitably--and what he said last time you mentioned the mere one year of age between the two of you. "well, a year is a long time for a sorcerer, isn't it?" 

suguru makes a face. "i guess that's true." 

you lean your chin on a palm, waving a hand. "so...?" 

he grins at you. "finding someone to wake up next to helps," he says, only slightly teasing.  

you understand what he's getting at, so you roll your eyes. "not all of us have a clingy best friend." 

"satoru would cuddle with you if you asked." 

"good thing i'm never asking." 

"yeah, you shouldn't," suguru answers, feeling much older than he is, "he kicks." 

"i bet." 

suguru laughs again and clears his throat, looking around. you know there's nothing there, but you wait anyway. "i just try to remember that it's not real..." he says, eventually, "even if it seems like it." 

you sigh, looking back to the forest separating your two worlds. "that's gonna be difficult, because i only dream about curses. and those are all real." 

not to mention the other very real things you have nightmares about. the memories, the yelling, the quivering ideas that hide themselves in the corners of your head, begging to be let go, to be let out. 

suguru must see this on your face; you're assuming it's fairly obvious. 

he nudges you, but doesn't say anything for a moment, just looking back when you look at him. and then. "i have dreams about it, too." 

you furrow your brows at him. "about what?" 

"home. my parents." 

you swallow, pausing. you blink rapidly, trying to regain your ground. "i don't..." 

his face relaxes, at once. "satoru talks too much," he says, trying to joke. "especially about you." 

you ignore that. "i don't--i barely think about my... parents. i'm too busy." 

"i think your situation is probably worse than mine," suguru answers, obviously ignoring your lies. "my parents didn't tell me to leave. but... it was obvious that i couldn't stay." 

it doesn't seem worth it to try and deny it, and if he's going to offer up information willingly, then who are you not to listen? 

"how old were you?" 

"eight," he says, easily. "you?" 

"ten." 

he nods, scratching at his neck. "i didn't tell anyone about it, for a long time. i thought... i knew that they wouldn't--" 

"get it?" 

"yeah." 

you huff, relaxing at once. you slouch down, staring at the ground. suguru is wearing dirt-covered shoes, and you've got slippers on. "wish i'd thought of that. if i hadn't told anyone i'd probably still be there." 

"you'd be hiding, though," suguru says, watching you, "trying to pretend like you fit in there, even if you didnt. couldn't." 

"it would've been easier to pretend than having to live through it," you say, softly, absolutely sure about this. you've had a lot of time to think about it. then you smile, "i would've made a good human." 

suguru laughs, tapping his foot against the ground. "what would you have done? if you weren't a sorcerer, i mean." 

"uh..." you frown. you've never given the real world much thought--not beyond foolish dreams and stupid glances--"i think i'd be a taxi driver or something." 

he snorts. "satoru says that you're a terrible driver." 

"big talk from someone who can't drive," you say, scoffing. "and he was distracting me the entire time." you shake your head, annoyed at just the memory. "what would you be?"

he pauses. "...a teacher?" 

"this is what haibara means by wisdom," you say, laughing. "maybe i wouldn't be a good human. i can't imagine doing anything else." 

"maybe not." 

you swallow. there are not very many stars in the sky, but you can still see all of the constellations and the stories written within the sky. part of you wonders if you'll be up there someday, another myth to speak about. 

no, probably not. satoru will be written in history, and you'll still be here, always thrown out or forgotten

"do you think... do you think that my parents would be sorry? if they could talk to me now? if they saw what i can do?" 

suguru hums, he doesn't even seem surprised by the question, to his credit. "i don't know... they--non-sorcerers--can't really understand, can they? they don't know that we exist solely to protect them, so they can't appreciate it. it makes it hard to be... angry, at them, doesn't it?" 

you blow out a breath, looking away from the stars. "yeah." 

"when yaga scouted me," suguru says, "my parents thought he was crazy. i understood what he said immediately, but they couldn't believe that anything like this could exist. and then, when i told them about the curses i was seeing, and absorbing..." 

you look at him. his face is tense and easy, all at once. he doesn't mind telling you this, you realize. maybe haibara was right. 

his eyes are contemplative as he looks around the courtyard, thinking about things you're sure you've thought about too.

"they thought i was crazy too, after that," he continues, finally. "my dad avoided me, and my mom never tried to argue with me about leaving. neither of them minded that i was going to this bizarre school and might not ever come home. even though they thought that yaga was a maniac." 

you look at the ground, trying to push the memories out. you bite the inside of your cheek and wonder if there was ever a way to save that smaller version of yourself. if she'd grown up here, would she be the same?

"i think," suguru says, voice a bit harder, "that even if i was crazy, and all of the things i saw and experienced were fake, that if my parents truly cared about me, then they would've tried to help. they wouldn't have... ignored me, or treated me like i was the curse." 

your neck snaps to him, and his eyes meet yours. suguru lets a thoughtful smile slip from his lips as he says, "it's not your fault that they didn't understand. that they couldn't. but it's their fault that they never tried to." 

maybe it's because you haven't dared to speak with anyone about it--beyond snarky remarks to satoru when he says something ignorant--or maybe it's because suguru is the only person who gets it. who truly understands in a way that only children can. 

or maybe it's just that you've been waiting for someone to say that to you since you were ten. since you were rejected solely for being yourself, being different. 

six years of wondering if it was ever fair.

you swallow, nodding. 

"sorry," he whispers after you're lost for words, struggling to put the pieces of you back. "but you can talk to me, if you want. i've been told i'm very wise." 

you snort, shaking your head. he's like satoru in that way--shaking you out of whatever matters. "i really need to stop telling satoru things. he can't ever keep his mouth shut." 

suguru laughs, looking at the sky. "no, don't." 

"hmm?" 

"don't stop telling him things. i'll have to hear all about it." 

you laugh. 

"'why would she be mad at me?'" suguru mocks, in a very good impression of satoru's honey-flow voice. "'i didn't even do anything.'" 

"'i didn't know it was a secret,'" you say back, suddenly lighter. 

suguru nudges you, hand wrapped around your forearm. just there. his fingertips are cold, but you don't mind.

"does satoru really tell you about the things we talk about?" you ask, after a while. 

your entire body feels numb now, and you might freeze out here, but somehow it's worth it. just to not be alone for once.

suguru looks over at you, his brown eyes slight and knowing. "he doesn't need to," he says. 

you have to look away, just so he doesn't catch that shock--the brief moment of recognition, pleasure--as it passes. but you smile in the dark eventually, letting it go unsaid. 

and that's just how things are. 

you spend your late nights chatting with suguru in the dark, both of you hopelessly lost and completely insane. 

you let satoru irritate you whenever he wants, and sometimes you even bask in it. letting all of the horrors wash away with every quip that you send his way. 

and you ignore that light--and heavy--feeling in your chest around him, pretending that it doesn't exist, or maybe it just doesn't matter. 

you spend time with people who understand you, for once. you let the fear flow away in concerning thoughts and subconscious glances inward. you let the fears of attaching yourself to them fade away. 

you know that any of you could be gone, could live with the regret of never living, at any moment, so you choose not to care about any of it. you go on missions and you act like your life is a feeble thing to play around with. 

and it's honestly not all that bad. 

until riko amanai, that is. 

*

third year.

"suguru," your voice almost catches when he opens the door. 

how many days has it been since you've seen him? how many weeks? 

you've spent the last several weeks trying to let the two of them settle. into life, into existing, whatever. 

you ask shoko how they're both doing--satoru and suguru--and she just shrugs. 

"they don't like to talk about it," she tells you, and you try to just accept it. you try to let it go and worry about yourself, about your own messed up life. 

but everything feels different. 

satoru hasn't been answering your calls, which, okay, fine. you could deal with that. but he also hasn't been calling you, or showing up at your door just to talk, or stealing your breakfast, or clinging to you like he does. 

he hasn't been doing any of it. and you could pretend you haven't noticed--that it doesn't matter to you if he cares or not. if he wants to be around you or not. 

but it matters. 

you decided to let him in at the beginning of the year, and you hadn't thought it was a mistake until now. until this exact moment, when you realized that you'd gotten too close to satoru. that you were friends, or... 

you look at suguru now and you try not to gape. 

his face is dreadfully grey, his eyes almost completely sunken in. he looks like an elderly man who hasn't slept in five years, just on the verge of death. 

and you know from shoko that he's been gone a lot, like satoru, that he's been busy, but... still. this doesn't happen to overworked sorcerers. the recovery rate for all of you is extremely quick. 

you really try not to gape. you try not to stare at him for too long, but you can't peel your eyes away. 

"y/n," he whispers, no pleasantries needed. even his voice sounds rough. "is something wrong?" 

you should probably be asking him that. 

"no, i..." you stare for a moment, swallowing. maybe it's just his hair. you've never seen it down before, you realize, trying to refrain from taking a step back. still, there's that feeling in your chest--reminiscent of being a child, of dealing with satoru. you exhale. "are--are you sick?" 

"what?" 

"you look..." 

suguru's eyes widen, and he nods, eventually, looking caught. "yeah, i guess i came down with something... i'm just..."  

he looks behind him, and you get the sudden feeling that he doesn't want you there. doesn't want you to disturb whatever this is. 

it makes you wonder if he and satoru have talked at all, since it happened almost a month ago. maybe two months. 

you all know that sorcerers die all of the time. that people die just from living, curses or not. 

so why is this death any different? why does this one matter? you want so desperately to ask. 

"sorry, i can--i'll come back--" you say quickly, turning. then you turn around again, feeling guilty. "do you need anything? medicine? um... food?" 

finally, a small smile makes its way to suguru's face. it's small, almost unnoticeable. but something inside you relaxes. 

it shouldn't be this surprising that he even remembers how. 

"did you need something?" he asks, softly, talking to you like he always does. 

like you're sitting outside again, talking about life, ethics, being a sorcerer, and having a part of yourself hate it. 

but this is so much different.

your stomach drops again. this is a ridiculous, stupid thing to even be asking. you shouldn't be here, worrying about this. you should be in your dorm, studying. you should be training with nanami, or trying to get haibara to come with you on a mission... 

you shouldn't even be here. 

you feel like a deer in headlights, caught in this the same way you caught suguru in whatever. 

but he already knows, you rationalize. he already knows. 

everyone knows, you think. everyone but you and satoru, according to shoko's comments. 

so what do you care if suguru knows this? 

"i, um, i just haven't..." you swallow, wanting to punch yourself in the face. are you really this pathetic? "have you seen satoru?" you ask, blurring the words together. "i know you've both been... busy, but i--i've been trying to get ahold of him, and shoko says that he won't answer her messages, and it's been a couple of weeks since i've seen him around school, so i just figured--" what? that suguru would have some brilliant answer for you? that he could reassure you that satoru wasn't trying to ignore you? "--that you might know where he is... or if he's okay? he's your best friend so--" 

"i haven't seen him, either. we've been doing seperate missions," suguru says, interrupting whatever terrible thing you were about to say next, luckily. "he hasn't been answering your calls?" 

your responding "no," sounds so small you want to bury yourself beneath the earth. 

you really don't care about him, okay? you really don't. 

you just want to be notified if he's dead or something. you just want to know if you did something to make him avoid you, or if he needs someone there, or if...

suguru frowns, contemplating something. "i think he's supposed to be home in a couple of days," he says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. it looks wet, and greasy, like he hasn't washed it in weeks. "but i'll text him." 

"...you don't have to."

he smiles, knowingly. he gives you that same look that everyone does. that look that tells you that they know more about what's going on between you and satoru than you do. "it's no problem. you know how... spacey satoru can get." 

"yeah. i know." 

"you don't need to worry about him," suguru says, laughing a little bit. his eyes are so cold, bland. 

"i know," you say, again, a bit more defensively. you take a step back. you're not sure why you expected suguru to have any answers for you. 

(maybe it's because they're best friends and they're supposed to be there for each other. or maybe it's because they just went through the same terrible experience, and should probably depend on each other right now).

maybe he told him not to answer, you think, instantly. maybe suguru is working for him. 

not that you care. if satoru doesn't want to talk to you--doesn't want suguru to talk to you--then you can't do anything about it. 

you just have to live through this like you've lived through everything else. 

he's just a classmate. 

but the question slips through your lips, breaking down all denial. "is he... do you think he's okay?" 

you want to clarify. you want to ask if they're both okay, if they've talked about any of it. if suguru needs you to get someone, like shoko, or if he wants to go sit on the steps and shout at the sky. 

if he'll come with you to look for satoru because you're really worried about him. 

if everything is okay. 

but you know that suguru wouldn't answer that, especially not like this. 

"are you okay, y/n?" suguru asks, and it's almost rhetorical. you can tell that he's trying to hit you where you're sore. 

you feel frozen there for a moment, and then you turn away. 

and that just about sums it up. 

*

you're staring down at a white sheet, and all you can think is, this can't be happening. 

not really, that is. 

it's been a long time since you felt this deeply about anything. anger, sure. are you mad that your classmates are distancing themselves from you? are you mad that everyone seems to be advancing and you're stuck there, stagnant, while everyone else deals with everything? 

of course. 

but this... 

you've had this nightmare a hundred times, but it's never gone like this. it's never been so untouchable, unforgettable, unbearable... 

your entire body feels freezing; like you're the one who's dead. 

have you already undergone rigor mortis? are you frozen there, muscles turned to stone? 

this can't be happening, you think, again. so briefly it's not really a thought. 

you're staring down at him. you're looking at him--at haibara--but this can't be how he really is, how he really was. haibara doesn't look like this, you think. you've never seen his hair this limp, never seen his face this pale. you've never seen him without a smile.

but nobody is smiling now.

you barely hear anything they're saying--the other people undergoing this, the other people who could probably tell you if this is real or not. 

"...to exterminate a second-grade cursed spirit..." rings briefly out in your mind. you wonder if you imagined it. 

your eyes glance down to the blood on the table. shouldn't shoko be here? shouldn't someone be doing something?

should you be doing something?

"nanami," someone says. "you should just rest for now." there's a hand on your shoulder, a whisper of another person in the room. "y/n, let's sit down." 

are your legs shaking? is this a physical reaction to the news? you're always calm, always collected. the only person that-- 

"satoru has taken..." the same voice continues. 

you pause, trying to listen, but their voices echo. if this were a dream, would you be able to listen? this is a dream, you think, just something to wake up from. 

there's no one here to pull you out from this flood of emotions, of thoughts. satoru would usually, you think. he would be here and he would crack and joke and you wouldn't care about it anymore.

but satoru... 

what should you do? 

"can't we just let him handle everything alone at this point?" nanami asks, and you just hear it. 

suguru ushers you over to the wall, where all of the stools are, one missing. he sits you down and you let him, because there's nothing else you can do. 

your limbs are numb, and it's ridiculous to feel this way. 

you barely even notice when you reach a hand out, grabbing nanami's, or when he grabs back, squeezing harder than you thought possible. 

you should tell him that it hurts--that he's stronger than he looks--crack a joke or say something comforting, but you can't. you don't mind if he cracks all of the bones in your hand, as long as he stays right there. 

"it's going to be okay," suguru says, maybe to you, maybe to nanami. 

but he's lying. and you know it, even if you don't know anything else.

and when you try to knock on satoru's door later, feeling absolutely nothing, he doesn't answer. 

not that you were expecting him to, anyway.

*

satoru doesn't think any of it is supposed to feel like this. 

he's been hurt a hundred times. bruised when he let suguru get a hit in during practice, sliced up when he lets shoko try something on his body just to heal him right after, cut through the literal throat, and left to bleed out. 

but it's never felt like this before. 

he's ashamed, almost. lost. 

what could he have done differently, he wonders? where did it all go wrong? 

he thinks about amanai, thinks about suguru telling him not to be so arrogant, and then rejecting him just like that. 

are you the strongest because you're satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest? 

satoru almost wants to laugh. 

well, he wants to say to suguru, how strong am i now? how strong am i like this? 

but suguru isn't there. he's not coming back, satoru thinks, blandly, and his fists clench automatically. if anyone had asked him a week ago, he would've said that everything was fine. 

everything was wrong, of course, but it was all fine. 

shoko was staying at the school, helping with the damaged sorcerers, satoru was advancing more rapidly than he'd thought was possible, and suguru was... 

what was he doing, again? 

satoru blinks, and before he can answer that question for himself--answer any one of the goddamn questions floating around in his head--you're there. 

you're there, and satoru suddenly can't remember the last time he saw you. 

he certainly can't remember the last time he saw your eyes that sad, that wrong on the rest of your otherwise untouched face. 

his defenses go down immediately, as they always do when you're around. it's probably a stupid decision, but satoru doesn't really care to rationalize it. 

he's missed you, he thinks, suddenly. he's missed you more than he should. 

you don't say anything when you sit down next to him, on the steps of the school, watching as his hands fall from their outstretched position. 

"do you think that i'm strong?" satoru asks you, his voice rough, so tired. 

and then he looks over to you and he watches as all of the thoughts pass on your face--the thoughts about suguru, knowing what he means, the worry and concern that he hasn't missed on your face since he first met you. 

but you sigh, eventually, and you move a little bit closer to him. 

"are you strong, satoru?" 

he hasn't spoken to you in weeks, he remembers, suddenly. he doesn't even know why you're here now. 

not when he's been avoiding you in favor of improving himself. not when he's been ignoring all of his responsibilities so he could try to get back to that place where there wasn't anything to care about. 

"not strong enough," he answers, distantly. he's not even really sure if he means it.

your head falls to his shoulder in an instant, and you're there again. 

satoru remembers every smile and every wince on your face. every time he made you laugh and then said something else just so he could try and do it again. 

god, he's such a fool. 

"that's okay," you whisper, eventually. "that's why you have me," you tell him. 

"do i?" he wonders, aloud. 

"hmm?" 

"do i have you?" 

you lift your head, and you're smiling, just a little. satoru can see the bitterness in your expression. he can tell that you're angry and that you're tired of it. 

he can taste that hint of happiness that pours from you, that contradicting feeling of just being together again, even in a moment like this. 

"of course," you say to him, softly. it's soft, unbelievable. "whenever you want." 

satoru nods. 

and you sit there with him for hours, and for once, you're the one pulling him out of everything. 

just briefly satoru wonders what he would do if you left, too. 

*

"what?" you repeat, watching nanami throw something into a suitcase. 

you've been standing there for five minutes, processing this like you've processed everything recently. 

meaning that you haven't. and that you're not going to as long as you'd like, thank you. 

"what's the point of this?" kento answers, like you tried to tell him that there was a purpose to any of this. like you're just arguing. 

but you can't be, because this isn't a discussion. you didn't happen upon his room and pick an argument with him. 

you walked through the hall and you noticed the suitcase outside the door. the boxes he was stacking up to take somewhere else. 

would he even have told you? would he have said anything if you hadn't stumbled upon it yourself? 

"kento," you say, again, like a grounding tool. "i don't understand." 

he sighs, folding a suit. "i'm not going to sit around and live this life. i don't care about jujutsu. i don't care about any of it." 

"but, you..." 

"there's no point, is there?" he asks, quietly, and he's not asking. "and even if there was, i don't care. i don't want to die doing this, y/n." 

"you won't die," you answer, uselessly, trying to grab onto his arm, to get him to look at you. you want him to walk you through this, this thought process, the past three months here. "where are you going to go?" 

"i don't know. i'll find an entry-level position somewhere." 

"where are you going to live?" 

"there's an available apartment in the city." 

"but..." 

"look," finally nanami turns around, meeting your eyes. he's never been emotional, but he looks even more stoic now. maybe he really doesn't care. "i don't want to be a sorcerer. i don't want to exterminate curses every day. i want to... live a normal life." 

"what?" you repeat, feeling that terror rise in your chest. 

so many people are leaving, you think. so many people are running away from this, and eventually, you're going to have to follow. or you'll rot here alone, hiding in the closet like you did as a kid. 

"nanami, you can't just decide that you don't--" 

"i already did." 

"what about..." you swallow, and nanami shakes his head at you. his eyes are glazed over and you know he's not going to listen. you can feel it. "what about haibara?" you ask, finally, stepping over the boundaries you've laid down about him. "he wouldn't have wanted you to live some boring life in the city and run away from all of this--" 

nanami's eyes are stern, his jaw clenches. "haibara died. isn't that proof enough that this doesn't matter?"

"it does matter," you say, even though you're not sure yourself. "it does." 

"geto left, too. if the only two choices are staying and dying or leaving and living a boring life, then i choose the latter." 

"suguru killed--" you pause, not wanting to talk about it out loud. you haven't seen satoru since the day you found out, and you don't want to risk having to think about him. "nanami, you're useful here. you're strong. you can do whatever--" 

"gojo handles most of our cases now, anyway, doesn't he?" 

you freeze, looking away. "well, he can't handle every curse, even if..." 

"there's no point, y/n." 

"what about--" 

what about me? 

he gives you one more look, another glance your way, another reminder that your only remaining classmate doesn't want to be that anymore. that there's nothing you can do to stop him from leaving. 

it's your parents all over again.

are you the crazy one here? are you crazy for wanting to stay, even with all of the horror?

"i'm sorry," he says, after a moment, looking sincerely at you. but nanami has never been able to read your mind. he has never tried to spare your feelings--you thought you liked that about him. "we'll still talk. i'll call you." 

"yeah, sure." 

because you have to give up at some point. if nanami doesn't want to stay, you don't want to force him. 

"this is what's best." 

you nod blindly. and you wonder, for the first time since you got to jujutsu high, if you're strong enough for this. 

*

 year zero. 

"this is basically every kid's dream," satoru says, rolling his eyes. megumi is the most difficult kid he's ever encountered, and he refuses to be pleased. "i got you candy and i'm letting you stay up late. why aren't you normal?" 

megumi looks up at him, a vigorous hatred in his eyes. "why aren't you?" he repeats, attempting to kick at satoru's foot. 

honestly, it's a little pathetic. 

satoru tries not to snort, about to tell megumi about the millions of children lacking in candy at this current moment, or about how he's actively trying to find them a place to sleep even after megumi tried to punch him in the stomach earlier and--

he looks over to tsumiki, the little angel who is in no way biologically related to megumi, and watches as she waves. 

his brows furrow, and then he looks up, away from the child attempting to murder him with his eyes, and he sees you. 

you're standing there, a figure illuminated by the light in your entryway, a wary look on your face. 

you're looking at both of the children, eyes flicking between the two of them, probably noticing how small they are, or how wet their clothes are from the rain. 

not that satoru cares, actually. 

as soon as satoru sees you--as soon as he can feel you again, the familiar curves and concaves of your cursed energy, of your entire being--his heart shifts, clicking back into place. 

you look a bit upset, angry at his intrusion as you've always pretended to be. 

he hasn't seen you in months, and it's suddenly very apparent. you look almost exactly the same. maybe you got your hair cut, or maybe you've just woken up, but satoru doesn't care. 

he doesn't care about any of it. 

his lips curve into an involuntary smile, and he wants to throw himself on top of you and tell you a million little things. he wants to whisper all of his secrets in your ear and hold you until you force him to let you go.

but you clear your throat, interrupting him before he can begin, and your eyes finally look towards him, both firey and excited. 

his favorite.

"satoru," you say, the sound of his name in your mouth sending goosebumps up and down his skin. "where did you get these kids?" 

*

next part | series masterlist

[helenofsparta2]

Headcannon: Percy is immensely popular among nature spirits and "minor" gods

Oceanids & Nereids

It starts small.

The Nereids and Oceanids are naturally curious about him when they find out about his existence, that’s already canon:

She (a nereid) nodded. “It has been many years since a child of the Sea God has been born. We have watched you with great interest.”

Suddenly, I remembered faces in the waves of Montauk Beach when I was a little boy, reflections of smiling women. (The Lightning Thief, chapter 17)

Later, at the latest by the time Titan’s curse happens, nereids and oceanids see him save ocean creatures from fishing gear, or whales stranded on beaches, or him helping mermaids with hanging nails. (Titan’s curse, chapter 7)  We see him be considerate and respectful to nereids through his interaction in the fourth book at the ranch.

She looked like she was ready for a fight. Her fists were balled, but I thought I heard a little quaver in her voice. Suddenly, I realized that, despite her angry attitude, she was afraid of me. She probably thought I was going to fight her for control of the river , and she was worried, she would lose.

The thought made me sad. I felt like a bully, a son of Poseidon throwing his weight around.

I sat down on a tree stump. “Okay, you win.”

The naiad looked surprised. (The Battle of the Labyrinth, chapter 9)

It’s pretty good established in the books, that smaller gods and spirits don’t get treated with respect most of the time, especially not from heroes of old like Herakles and the Olympian gods. The reaction of the naiad adds to this sentiment, so we can pretty easily conclude that the way Percy treats them, is relatively rare.

In-between the books, Rick often sprinkles in some interactions between Percy and naiads, which further underlines their positive opinion of him:

I looked over the edge of the boat and found a couple of naiads staring at me. They looked like regular teenage girls, the kind you’d see in any mall, except for the fact that they were underwater.

Hey, I said. They made a bubbling sound that may have been giggling. I wasn’t sure. I had a hard time understanding naiads.

We’re heading upstream, I told them. Do you think you could-

Before I could even finish, the naiads each chose a canoe and began pushing us up the river. (Titan’s curse, Chapter 14)

Satyrs & Dryads:

The satyrs know that he, Clarisse, Annabeth, Tyson and Grover were the ones, who returned the golden fleece to camp half-blood and so, have stopped satyrs from getting killed by Polyphemus. During the battle of the labyrinth, Percy is the one who extinguished the fire and stopped the trees and dryads from getting burnt to death. Not to mention that he is best friends with the guy, who discovered Pan and has the title of Lord of the Wild.

“Minor” Gods:

The non-Olympian gods, like Hecate, Nemesis, Eros, Hebe and Morpheus were probably curious about him, even wary, but nothing more at first, until Percy managed to stop the civil war between Zeus and Poseidon at the age of twelve.  

We know that canonically, this already earned him the respect of many different beings:

As I walked back through the city of the gods, conversations stopped. The muses paused their concert. People, and satyrs and naiads all turned towards me, their faces filled with respect and gratitude, and as I passed, they knelt, as if I were some kind of hero.” (The Lightning Thief, chapter 21)

By the time the war with Kronos further escalates and they join his side, this obviously changes again. From this moment on, Percy is their enemy, and probably nothing more for most of them.

But then, they lose, and probably expect the worst of consequences.

Gods who have crossed Zeus have suffered severe punishments before. Prometheus was bound to a rock, with an eagle eating his liver every day because he stole fire from the gods, gifted it to humanity and tricked Zeus, the titans were banished to Tartarus after the Titanomachy. After some of the gods rebelled and tried to overthrow Zeus, Hera got hung in the sky with golden chains, where she cried out all night in pain, while Apollo and Poseidon were forced to work as labourers for King Laomedon of Troy.

They probably expected to get thrown into Tartarus with the rest of the Titans, get stripped of their immortality, or worse. Instead, however, their children finally receive cabins at camp half-blood and they themselves receive full amnesty.

All because Percy Jackson, this 16-year-old teenager, decides to change the entire thousand year old status quo on Olympus.  

He could have wished for anything after their victory over Kronos and the titan army. The choice was not between the oath he made the gods swear and him becoming a god. He could have wished to be left alone, or to never have to do a quest again, or live a happy, and peaceful life away from the pain and wars until the end of his days, or literally anything else, but he didn’t. He made the active choice to make Olympus fairer, and to create equality among the demigods, without even thinking about it for too long.

No one can convince me that this, and his already mentioned other actions, didn’t earn him the respect of huge parts of the mythological world.

Not even Rick himself (no matter how much he may try in his new books)

[chainelunaire]

Hi, can you write a virgin Dabi headcanon? Or like his reaction to getting his first blowjob by the reader?

(this is kinda heavy and not smutty at all)

dabi's so repulsed by the idea of sex, it's funny (it's very much not).

growing up in a home where he had not witnessed gentle heartwarming love between his parents, then being traumatized by near death experience, which then resulted in a constant body horror in every sense of the word, and Then for years trying to survive on streets while simultaniously keep training hard - yeah, i think he kind of haven't had enough time or energy for anything other than his Great Goal.

(from here i believe it can go two ways, one him being so closed off physically, and the other is for another post, if ever interested)

his mind is set on revenge, his entire soul is dedicated to a great cause, and while this all is true, it is also true that he clearly understands how scary (read, ugly in the eyes of others) he looks. he lives in this new body designed for him specifically not so long, yet he already knows every little disgusting detail about it, and every day he's finding a new one. deep deep inside he is terrified to the core. not only is he experiencing a major body dismorphia issues, but this also comes with a fact that this body was quite literally sewed together, replacing the burnt parts with flesh he doesn't want to ever question where came from. this body fails him every day. he lost his nails not once, but many times. he expericenced almost every infection known to mankind due to constantly open wounds. he frequently steals clothes, because they end up getting stained, in some parts slimy, and he's a clean freak, he kind of needs to be to survive. once he left a small piece of his ear on a pillow in one of lov's hideouts and was freaking out after. because the police could figure out his identity (not quite, he later realised, since they were not really his ears), and because he was really fond of the lost earring. compress later gifted him a new one. you get the picture.

he himself made the decision to cut off anything that will bring him any pleasure in life (sex included). it's a plethora of reasons why he doesn't want any of it, the main being is that of course, he doesn't believe anyone would genuinely want him in that way, and the second one, very vulnerable and naive, is that he realises that that will make everything harder for him. he's living this life on a hell mode already, he doesn't really need any more disappointment. so he build his later life so that it would be easy for him to let go in the end. and believing that someone found him attractive enough to have sex with him without any ulterior motives would make it harder (not that it'd ever happen, of course!). he's smart enough to understand that.

so he, of course, has much more important business going, and so you know - he's not interested. no one would be interested in that. no one in their right mind would want that, because there's nothing to want.

and you would think it'll take forever for him to fall for you, but it's easier than it seems. him still being that depending on what others think of him, still wanting the so long delayed approval and attention, it really won't take much of you for him to like you. he's so sensitive to kindness, especially when it's not towards him personally (that would make him alarmed, if anything) but rather casual small things, it really does something to his hardened heart. make no mistake, him liking you does not equal trusting you, that's a different story for another time. for now, he tries to hide it and he does it really well. so well in fact that for a long time you're quite sure that he wants you dead. he kind of does. but he still likes you.

fast forward to the subject of sex: he tries his best to avoid it at any cost. by that time, being in a relationship and trusting you enough to simply entertain the thought of it, he still thinks it's better if he dies on the spot rather than try. all of his insecurities come alive and well the exact time he thought he got rid of them.

the thing is, he doesn't necessarily want sex in itself, but he surely wants love. he wants to be loved so much and to him you seeing his body and running away in horror is a very real fear. he knows he won't be able to survive this, his mind would be completely broken. he's self-aware enough to understand that even knowing he's not the most sane person in the room. he will be able to live without sex, he was living like that and he was fine, but he won't be able to move on if he'll see the disgust on your face. if you'll find out what he truly is, it will crush him.

he will make it incredibly hard for you. he doesn't want to be a walking emotional rolling coaster, but he can't help it. he's terrified. one day he thinks that it's not a big deal let's go and later in the evening he'd disappear for a week. one moment he kind of wants to catch up and at least learn something on the matter and second later after opening the first link on google he's embarrased, disgusted and wants to set himeslf aflame. in general, he kind of wants to cry the whole time. he's angry at his dad, his mom, psychos that sewed him together, you, who's still by his side being annoyingly patient, but most importantly, he's mad at himself. he's already doing great mental gymnastics in favor of his own life, which he hadn't consider his for more than a decade. turns out, it could be very painful to realise how much you were robbed of, even after claiming for years that you didn't even want it.

needless to say, it'll take more than one shot for you, but eventually he will come around, probably on a random tuesday. tries to be nonchalant about it, but he is so chalant actually. after so much talking about everything he was capable of muster, after so much reassuring and constant showing of love and respect, he could one day wake up and suddenly realise that that fear while not fully gone, but he's at least capable of trying through it. you always knew he would be a sweetheart, him, however? not so sure.

in the end, you are right.

by that time, he's a lot more calm and collected. tells you to be serious and stop giggling, his ears red as a flame when you start laughing full chest - sometimes you are nervous too, he realised later in your relationship, even though he still doesn't understand why, anyone would want you. learnt to accept the fact that complete darkness won't save him in the end, but still asks for a very dim light. he doesn't really care about himself, but he tried to learn more so it would be good for you at least. compensates the lack of experience with observing every reaction he can get out of you (and he has a mental list from all the time before too). he's slow - because he's shy and inexperienced and afraid, - annoyingly so, but he's surprisingly precise and selfless. he would never be rough, especially the first time. needs gentle encouragement, which is perfect - not only he gets to hear your voice more, but his thinly veiled praise kink is enjoying the attention too. cracks some joke about begging the god not to lose his second earring in the middle of it, and you actually laugh so hard he needs to stop because now he's laughing too. the whole time not once has he found in your eyes something he was so afraid of finding. you look at him with nothing but love and adoration, hold his face in your hands, your palms warm and soft and tender, and his chest is tight with pain and with the lightness of it all. at some point he thinks that he really was right, it was easier to just die than to experience it all. he wants to cry, again. he can't really explain why, so he lays in your arms silently, letting you hold him, caress his hair and skin until you fall asleep. it will take all of his willpower not to run away in the middle of the night, he stays because he doesn't want to hurt you like that.

interestingly enough, in the morning without doing anything at all he feels significantly better. he can't help but smile when he enters the kitchen, seeing you preparing the breakfast and brewing hot black coffee. none of you mention the night before, yet you both are smiling at each other when you start to eat.

in this scenario, he'll need quite some time and hard work to only warm up about the idea of a blowjob. he'll forever be disgusted of the body he's currently living in, the best he can hope is to grow neutral about it, which is very real possibility with time. yet, he probably realises he's not ready to take this step now. he's not even sure if he ever will.

[ruesol]

catalyst - epilogue

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex. (sukuna x reader)

fanfic masterlist

You sigh as soon as you drop the last box down. “Ugh, starting a business is no joke. We still have to clean up the gym before the setting up the equipment,” you groaned as you sat on the curb in front of Sukuna’s new gym.

After announcing his retirement, Sukuna wasn’t really sure about what he wanted to do. All that was familiar to him was competitive fighting. That was until Yuuji had the genius idea of suggesting that his older brother become a coach and start helping young fighters so they don’t go down the wrong route.

So Sukuna sold his high rise apartment and gathered funds to buy a building for his gym. Two grueling months later, he was able to score a nice place with a reasonable price. His connections from his championship days came in handy.

And so here you were, sitting in front of Sukuna’s most prized investment (after Yuuji’s college tuition, of course.)

He hadn’t hired any help to save initial costs so he could buy better equipment. You and Yuuji groaned when you heard Sukuna needed free manual labor but your love for him trumped the pain. At least your boyfriend knew the best chiropractors in the country.

So far, Sukuna was progressing well, especially considering that he had already built up a steady waitlist of clientele. It was only a matter of time till he’d start making the kind of money Coach Yaga was.

You, on the other hand, were still stuck in the transitional phase of your life. You’d finally submitted your med school applications for the second time, and it had been about three weeks of waiting.

It was agonizing, it’s like you’d screamed into the vastness of the universe for help, and stayed stationary just to hear a decibel back.

But, if it all goes to shit, you can always work at Sukuna’s gym. It’s not like you’d be complaining about it anyway—it would just be one more place where Sukuna fucks your brains out.

Yuuji plops down next to you, popsicle in hand. It still baffles you that he chose to wear shorts even when his legs were sporting angry red sunburns from your beach trip earlier that week.

You stare at the cherry flavored treat in envy. “Hey, I want one.” You try to grab it from him but he pulls it away quickly.

“Go ask your man for one. He bought it for me,” Yuuji teases. You roll your eyes and slap his calf, which makes him screech and glare at you.

“I’m gonna be your sister-in-law in a year so you better treat me right.”

Oh right, and Sukuna had also proposed to you the night after his final match.

Sukuna walks out while dusting his hands, he had probably organized all the boxes you and Yuuji had left scattered because of the exhaustion. Compared to Sukuna’s stamina, all you and Yuuji had was sheer will to push yourselves while doing manual labor.

“Hey, pretty,” Sukuna says as he kisses your scalp. “Your phone buzzed so brought it for you.”

“Aw, thanks, hon,” you grin up at him, and he takes a seat next you. You sigh as you unlock your phone to check what your notification is about.

Yuuji fake gags, and this time, Sukuna reaches behind you to slap the back of his head. “Just eat your popsicle, dumbass.”

You’re about to make a sarcastic comment about Yuuji being jealous and lonely until you notice what’s written in your email. “Holy shit,” you mumble.

Yuuji rolls his eyebrows and leans over to you to read what has shocked you and his his eyeballs nearly pop out.

“Holy shit!” he parrots. Sukuna groans. For the past few months, you and Yuuji have turned into twins, sometimes teaming up against the former pro-boxer. It annoys Sukuna to the bone, but he makes his peace with it by demanding an apology kiss from you.

“You guys are such clowns,” he complains as he leans over to you as well, reading what’s on your phone.

The brothers look up at each other at the same time, eyes wide, and look at you, who’s trying not to tear up.

“My girl’s going to med school!” Sukuna exclaims as he picks you up and twirls you around.

[cozymoko]

Ohh!!! Can i have fruitykawa with a reader who's kind of insecure about their relationship with him? Like,yes she's aware that they are married and all,but Fruity is such a wealthy (and handsome) man that surely there are alot of women around him. It makes her feel upset and tries to distance herself from him.

🌕 anon

ALWAYS, MY BELOVED

It's been a while since I updated. Shoutout to my homie, 🟡 anon for this request. Kinda got burnt out at the end, but I tried my best. Enjoy~!

Pairing: Hachiro Furukawa x Female! Reader (1.9k words)

Format: Headcanons, mini scenarios

WARNING(S): yandere themes, jealousy, insecurity, mentions of cutting (plastic surgery).

Synopsis: Hachiro Furukawa, my oc, with a wife who's insecure due to him being so handsome! (≧∇≦)/

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

NAVIGATION 🍮

Being WEDDED to the BEST is not for the weak-spirited. You had to appear stronger — better than the average woman so that they wouldn't dare question the legitimacy of your place. With your status, a ring costing nothing less than a fortune would never be enough. 

Your marriage had become public only a few years ago. Due to Hachiro's wishes. Yet that didn't seem to stop many promiscuous women from testing their luck. You bit back the unladylike words bubbling in your throat as they approached him. Fluttering their long lashes and flashing their pearly white teeth.

Models, lawyers, entrepreneurs: the party was bustling with so many. For a moment, you felt like nothing more than a pretty little accessory.

“Mr. Furukawa, how nice of you to make an appearance!” The host's eyes shift to you, thick and clouded with disdain. “It's a joy you brought the misses with you this evening.” The snarkiness of his tone was palpable. It seems the host wasn't exactly a fan of you, but then again, who was? After all, no one bothered to hide their curious gazes when Furukawa was not within earshot. But all you could do was hold your husband's arm just a little tighter.

The women especially.

"Is that Furukawa? Isn't he just dashing!"

"Wah~! He's even taller than I imagined!"

"Do you think he'll drink with me?"

Tightly sewn dresses, embracing the ladies that adorned them. Various warm shades painted lightly across their lips. Bouncy twists and swirls curled into their hair. Bedroom eyes peering over the many men scattered across the room; married or not. It's safe to say you weren't exactly pleased that your husband was one of the few.

You often hid yourself behind layers of lovely fabrics and excellent posture, in hopes of maintaining your modesty. In your eyes, it only seemed right that you matched the appearance and aura of that of your Husband. Though it seems each and every day was a torturous test of your self-restraint.

Nonetheless, you were never one to lose your composure. A straight face was essential in any type of business setting. Sure, you weren't as deadpan as Furukawa, but you could definitely play the "cold wife" role perfectly.

RECENTLY, you've had QUITE THE OBSESSION with FASHION. You have encountered plenty of upcoming entrepreneurs, many of who you've managed to befriend. One of your closest ones is a fashion designer.

She would soon be introducing her new line of work after months of a troublesome hiatus. So, after pulling a little bit if strings, you were able to help her out. By strings, you mean asking Hachiro for some assistance. With his support of the project, people were bound to come and see the clothes. Granted, he was skeptical of your request, it didn't take him long to break and give you what you want.

That evening, the two of you attended an induction ceremony for the company's new clothing line. Hachiro had no reason to attend, but the grin on your face was much too difficult to resist. Just knowing that he made you happy warms his heart immensely. You were the cutest.

But, all good things, of course, come to an end.

“Oh, my! Look who decided to grace us with his presence.” A woman with rosy lips approached the two of you, swaying her hips a bit too much for your liking. “Hachiro, dear, it's been so long since I've seen you!”

Even other women didn't dare to acknowledge you, especially in the company of Hachiro himself. He didn't take kindly to people dismissing your presence. But this girl, definitely had some guts.

“Inoue,” he hums languidly, watching her in masked disdain. “I'd rather you not address me so informally in such a public setting.”

That's right, KAMIKO INOUE, one of the top models that had recently taken Japan by storm. You were expecting her appearance after Hachiro's announced sponsorship, but her rudeness surprised you a bit. Especially her addressing your husband as though they were closer than friends.

You scoff, looking away from the two. Seeing how you'd much rather watch them set up than listen to Inoue's mindless flirting. Hachiro placed his hand on the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. But you couldn't dare look into his tender gaze, knowing of the possessiveness bursting within your chest.

She giggled, “How silly of you, Hachiro!” She reached her manicured hand out to grab his free arm just for him to grab her by the wrist.

“Please refrain from touching me so familiarly, Inoue. I'm a married man, and I'd be simply overjoyed if you would respect that.” He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his steely eyes, before pulling you flush against his chest.

A bright red bloomed across your skin at his affection. Hachiro never showed too much PDA. "You have a photo shoot to attend to, no?" He asks coldly. "Me and my wife will be sure to cheer you on from the sidelines.

That soiled your mood for the evening. Snatching the genuine smile from your lips and replacing it with one faker than the plastic on that whore's skin. For once in your life you were truly feeling vulnerable.

YOU had CONTEMPLATED GOING UNDER the KNIFE more times than YOU CARE to ADMIT. Not for your own pleasure, but the sake of your sanity. You didn't know what you'd do if you saw another beautiful woman talk to your husband.

Even in your youth, he was the center of attention. He had captured the hearts of many girls from various levels of wealth. You would know as you were one of them. But you were in no way richer or as elegant as the others who approached him. So why did he choose you? You asked yourself.

That night you had taken the guest room. It felt cold and quiet. Absent of the usual scratching of pens and occasional shuffling of papers you had grown accustomed to. The pleasant rumble of his chest as he attempts to entertain you whilst working. But you couldn't bring yourself to lay by his side with such heinous thoughts roaming your mind. You were able to fall into a long, dreamless slumber. But not without the company of a few heavy tears and a single question.

Were you selfish?

From that day, you didn't bother answering his calls, whether it be morning or dawn. You didn't bother visiting him during those long hours he slaved away at the company, though many times you truly wanted to. You didn't bother to allow your personal driver to pick you up, and if he tried, you merely snuck out of the house.

Any and everything reminded you of him, and that alone rendered you to tears. While he was away, you didn't allow yourself to be another burden pestering him on his business trip. You couldn't allow it.

AND IT WAS ALL DRIVING HIM CRAZY.

THE FLIGHT HOME was DREADFULLY SILENT. Aside from the tapping of someone's sleek dress shoes. Hachiro had not so much as uttered a word since boarding the plane, nor did he intend on it. For if he did, nothing kind would leave his mouth. Perhaps a, "hurry up," or two — or three. But all of it was for the sake of his sanity.

Hachiro needed his wife, desperately.

You slip through the large double doors, entering your bedroom with wary steps. It was quiet, as expected, and without your presence, it felt almost dead. A week had passed since you last drowned in the warm duvet. A week had passed since you relished in his scent nestled deep within its silk. And oh how you missed the smell of him. Finally, at peace, your shoulders dropped. You took a seat on the edge of your bed. Under your confident front, you were only one person. One person with one mind; though you usually had two. Hachiro and your own. But your pride didn't allow you to confine in the man you loved. What were you scared of? Being shamed, or perhaps laughed at — scolded? Though none of it seemed likely, you could not shake the feeling of embarrassment that held you on a tight leash. CREAK! You jumped, startled by the sudden weight pressed against your back. "Thank God you're safe," your heart swelled at the sound of his voice. The voice of not a stranger, but a lover — a partner. Hachiro grabs you by the chin and lifts your face up. You quickly recoil away in shame, praying he didn't get a peek at your messy face. The need to prove yourself had increased tenfold, you couldn't allow yourself to falter in his presence. “look at me, [Name]," he whispered softy. Hachiro lifts your head once more, swiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks. "You're crying? Tell me what's troubling you. I can help you, [Name]."

And just like that, you broke. Loud, anguished sobs tore through your throat. Your stomach fluttered at the familiar smell of citrus and mint. You couldn't get enough of it. His arms were warm and comforting, and you couldn't deny the safety you felt by his side. His embrace was stronger than anything you've ever known, as if holding him wasn't enough, you held him as though he were your lifeline. It wasn't your intention to tell him, but you just couldn't help it. Each and every thought was placed on the table. The insecurities that you felt bestowed before him. The people you despised and envied slipped past your lips without thinking. All while Hachiro cooed sweet nothings in your ear, promising you his loyalty until his last breath. “God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered, running his thumb through the swollen flesh of your eyes. His usually cold eyes burned with something you couldn't possibly describe. “I can hardly control myself sometimes.” You stared at him dumbfounded — in utter disbelief. His glasses must've been dirty, you thought. Your hair was a literal wreck. And the past couple of weeks had not been too kind to your skin. Small breakouts peppering your cheeks from stress; bags that could carry at least a ton of sorrow nestled beneath your eyes. Surely his vision was just a little blurry. But upon further inspection, you couldn't spot not a spec of dirt on his lenses. Upon your lack of response, he hums, leaning in a bit closer. “I'm serious, dear.” You huff, burying your face into his neck as your skin takes on a feverish shade of red. Damn him for being so attractive. You felt like a high schooler all over again. Smiling softly, you held him closer. “You're the best, Hachi.”

Hachiro sat awake by your side, gently stroking your back with easy motions. His lips had found themselves on your warm skin. And his heart beating vastly at the things you had confessed to him. The possessiveness you had experienced for him. The jealousy and anguish that had consumed you on his behalf.

Of course, he never wanted to see you upset, but seeing how you value him makes him a bit selfish. Just seeing you made him snap a little on the inside. His rational mind fought for control over his need to have you, to prove his love to you. But he decided against it. He would be sure to show you how deeply his love runs on a later occasion. But for now, he settled for cradling you in his arms. Promising to take all those bitter emotions away from you.

“Good morning, Japan!” Shouted the host. “It's come to our attention that Ms. heartthrob Kamiko Inoue has quit the modeling industry after a life-threatening accident!”

“...HUH!?”

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