#forced self-injury

[canisalbus]

To me, Machete kind of has the energy of a secondary villain/coldhearted side character in someone else's story that a lot of fans latch onto, moreso than the protagonist. Question is, would he be the villain in anyone's story?

Why, thank you! I'm actually glad to hear he gives off that vibe. I don't think he set out to become a villain but a lot of people certainly view him as one.

[esteemed-excellency]

currently pondering Hiram's terrible horrible not good very bad self abstraction... this is just a first draft but I have to share my vision

[serickswrites]

Hi it's me again, I've been on the team/ team leader whump lately and I freaking love it! It's just ah so good!!! Ok there's a lyric that has been stuck in my head for days "One down one to go, just another bullet in the chamber" and I think you can deliver!

We are talking about team/ team leader whump and torture, forced to watch situation, of course you can add more.

The concept is: Whumper has already shot someone from the team and now the rest of them need to choose who will get shot next so they can be free and team leader steps in to stop this and save them even though they are weak from the torture. Of course it ends in blood. If that blood belongs to whumper or team leader it's up to you. Of course you can add more if you want to.

That's what I'm thinking but I know you can do much, much better than my description XD

Keep up the good work 🖤

I most certainly can write this for you, my friend! Team whump is just so good! Please enjoy!

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, forced to watch, blood, injuries, wounds, gunshot wound, gun, bleeding out, self sacrifice, unclear character status, fade to black, head injury

Team Leader was having a difficult time focusing on Whumper's words. They were having a difficult time focusing on their team's words. They were having a difficult time focusing on much of anything after the torture they endured. But they knew they needed to pay attention.

"You....that!" Teammate Two's words faded in and out.

"Let....go.....head!" Smallest Teammate was closer, but still their words were missing. Smallest Teammate's hand was on their back, rubbing gently.

What had they missed?

They could feel the chains around their wrists still locked into place. Could feel the blood drying on their cheek. The pain in their head was dull and pounding. The ground was cold, but firm beneath their cheek. How did they get on the ground?

Whumper had spent the better part of the morning--afternoon?--beating them. And it was better Whumper beat them than the rest of the team. Better they endure the torture, the pain, than the rest of the team. They had to keep their team safe.

Team Leader groaned as they tried to sit up.

"Looks...they....just fine," Whumper's words sounded like they were underwater, but Team Leader knew they caught more of Whumper's words.

"Team Leader," Smallest Teammate said gently, "lay back down."

"'m fffine," Team Leader slurred as the world tilted on its axis. They lurched forward, but righted themself quickly.

"See, they're fine." Whumper beamed as they stalked over to Team Leader. Before Team Leader could say anything, Whumper grabbed their chin and lifted their head. "Just fine. Little blood, but fine."

Team Leader pulled back, almost falling over as Whumper released their face. "What'd I missss?" They blinked, trying to clear the dizziness.

Smallest Teammate's face was tight as they glanced back to Teammate Two. Team Leader followed their gaze, their mouth going dry as they saw Teammate Two trying desperately to stop the bleeding in Teammate One's leg.

"What 'pened?"

"I did," Whumper said proudly, waving their gun in front of Team Leader's face. "Teammate One wasn't the lucky one in the last round of roulette. But they'll be fine. I didn't shoot to kill."

"Fuck you," Teammate One hissed through clenched teeth. They were pale, but still upright.

"And now I'm going to be even nicer to all of you! I'm going to give you a chance to vote. Vote on this, and I'll free all of you! I have another bullet in the chamber. One last bullet," Whumper tapped the gun to their chest, "for one of you. I won't shoot anyone else. Except this one person. But you, as a team, get to decide who's bullet it is."

"We're not going to vote on that, fuckhead!" Teammate Two growled.

"It's freedom for all of you! Well," Whumper smirked, "most of you. Just one little vote. One little vote and three of you will walk out of here."

Smallest Teammate's grip on Team Leader's shoulder tightened, "I won't be complicit in our torture."

The world around Team Leader swam in and out of focus again. They were having difficulty keeping everything straight. The room erupted in a cacophony of sound as the team and Whumper argued, hurling insults at each other. Team Leader couldn't shake the dizziness. They had to get it all to stop. But the shouting reached a crescendo and all they knew they had to stop Whumper.

"Me," Team Leader said, though they weren't sure how loudly.

The shouting and arguing died down. Whumper cocked their head as they stared at Team Leader? "You, what, Team Leader?"

Smallest Teammate opened their mouth to say something, but Team Leader didn't let them speak. "The bullet is for me. Shoot me."

"No!"

"Don't even think about it!"

"We can't let you!"

Team Leader appreciated their team's shouts and refusal. They couldn't let anyone be tortured. So they volunteered. And had passed out. Whumper had taken advantage of that. They couldn't stand to let another member of their team be hurt. Be shot. Especially when the rest of the team could walk free. It was an easy decision to make.

Whumper smiled. "Are you sure, Team Leader? You aren't looking so hot as it is."

"We don't agree to this vote!" Teammate Two said quickly.

"You don't get a vote," Team Leader said softly as they pulled out of Smallest Teammate's grip. They weren't sure when Whumper would fire and they didn't want to risk Smallest Teammate. Whumper had said they hadn't tried to kill Teammate One, but Team Leader wasn't sure how true that was.

"Team Leader! Please--"

The bullet took Team Leader just to the right of center of their chest. The fire ripped through them, throwing them to the ground. They couldn't breathe around the pain as they stared up at the ceiling. Team Leader's hot blood pooled on the hollow in their throat and beneath them. They could hear the team shouting. Could hear Whumper's laugh. Could hear their own choking as blood filled their mouth.

Though the fire of the bullet ripped through them, and their blood was wet and hot, Team Leader was impossibly cold. They blinked up at the ceiling as darkness edged their vision.

Their team was safe. Whumper wouldn't shoot any of them. Team Leader gasped for air even as the tension began to drain from their body. Their team was safe. Team Leader fought against the darkness. Fought against the waiting abyss.

"Please......keep.....open," Smallest Teammate's voice sounded miles away. Team Leader knew Smallest Teammate had to be close by. Felt Smallest Teammate's warm hand on their cheek. Felt their body be moved by someone--Smallest Teammate?--until they were sprawled across someone's lap. Felt many hands on their body. Heard many voices.

And though Team Leader realized Smallest Teammate was crying, was begging them to keep their eyes open, Team Leader couldn't. They were so tired. Their body hurt. They couldn't breathe. And the darkness was right there. The quiet, gentle dark.

"Please," Smallest Teammate's voice pierced through the darkness once more.

But it was too far for Team Leader. Too far and too late. Their team was safe. They would find a way out. Whumper wasn't going to shoot any more of them. Relief flooded Team Leader once more. Team Leader let themselves slip gently into the awaiting dark. The team was safe.

[latenightsundayblues]

TW: Eye injury, facial scars

Here it is, a messy little demonstration of what I think Stu's face would look like after the events of the first movie if they had survived (well, more like a bunch of ideas hastily stapled together and digitalized). I took some creative liberties, like Stu only having injuries on the left side of his face due to trying to shield it from the TV and the pattern of the scars bc it looks cooler. I really can't decide if he should only have the scar cutting over his lips or just a whole chunk of his cheek missing and exposing his teeth lol (please open the image Tumblr's about to make this one extra crunchy with fries on the side)

And.... Here's Billy. He gets a participation trophy.

[good-beanswrites]

If it's okay with you, could you write a drabble about the hypothetical aftermath of Amane getting attacked by Kotoko?

Welp thank you pal for making me absolutely insane with this request 👍 I ran through a few hypotheticals and realized I had to shift some things around since there were so many absolutely tragic outcomes. I worked something out but damn if it didn’t make me emotional to think about how uniquely rough Amane has it. Even making sure she's in a good place at the end, this got pretty serious, so warnings for child abuse and cult references. 

(So in canon, Kotoko goes in order and attacks Fuuta, but Kazui steps in. Then she attacks Mahiru while he’s distracted with his injuries. She’s about to attack Amane, but Mikoto gets in the way (my hc that he did it on purpose survives!). By the time they reach a draw, Kazui is back, and the two of them can prevent Kotoko from any further action against Amane. Sticking to this apparent system of three attacks and one rescue, I’m just shuffling around the injuries for this story. Fuuta’s attack went unnoticed, and he’s in the same state as canon Mahiru. Mikoto steps in before Kotoko can fight Mahiru, so Mappi’s the one who get out physically unscathed. While Mikoto checks on Mahiru, recovers himself, or discovers Fuuta, Kotoko is able to attack Amane next. Kazui comes to help, but not before she leaves Amane looking like canon Fuuta.)

Mahiru could practically feel her heart shatter into a million pieces when Amane finally cried in front of her. She hadn’t shed a single tear yesterday – it was the shock, Shidou said. Mahiru was skeptical. After all, she had been shocked, too, and cried plenty.

Amane woke as she came in with breakfast. She took a moment to survey herself, bandages peeking out from beneath her pajamas and an eyepatch securely over her right eye. As calmly as one might say “good morning,” she started to cry. Mahiru might have missed it, if Amane hadn’t wiped at her good eye with her sleeve.

“Oh, sweetheart…!” Mahiru rushed over to her. “It’s okay, I’m here.” She wanted nothing more than to wrap the girl in a secure embrace, but she remembered the mass of bandages that were around her chest. Shidou had mentioned broken ribs and bruises. It took everything in her not to cry along with Amane, at the thought.

“I can get you another ice pack, if you need. Or more medicine.” Her mind spun with ways to help with pain. Many of the first aid supplies had been used to keep Fuuta from the brink of death, but surely there were extras to spare for Amane. 

The girl just shook her head. 

She muttered, “I can’t… I…I’m going to be punished, I’m going to be punished…”

“No! You’re safe now.” Mahiru placed her hands gently on Amane’s arms. “Kotoko’s not coming back. We’re all watching over you. You’re safe. She’s not going to hurt you anymore.” 

“That’s not…” Amane pulled away. Her voice stayed level, despite hiccups interrupting her. A hand reached up to her eyepatch. “It’s this. It’s all of this. It’s sinful. I took it off last night, but he must have…” She started unwrapping it. “They’re going to punish me...” 

With a careful motion, Mahiru held it in place and took Amane’s hands into her own. She’d been picking up on the signs ever since they arrived here together, and a final wave of understanding washed over her. 

“I can’t let you do that.”

Amane’s expression twisted, though words came out far more frantic than fiery. “Let me go.” 

Mahiru didn’t. “I’m sorry. Amane, you need this treatment.”

“That is not your decision to make. That is not any human’s decision to make.”

Mahiru pressed her lips together. “I know. But I can’t watch as you… I can’t sit by again while someone…” She was careful not to apply any pressure, but she could no longer fight the urge to gather Amane up in her arms. “You don’t need to be afraid of those people, anymore.”

“I’m not afraid.” Amane hiccuped. “They love me, and I love them. I need to be good for them.”

“I love you, and I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“You just pity me because I’m young.”

“Why does your age matter? You are a lovely young woman – you are my friend – and I can’t bear to see you in pain.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. Mahiru doubted she would take that as an answer; Amane had refused to call any of the others her friend. At least she didn’t argue. In fact, it seemed she was leaning into the embrace a bit more. She sighed a shaky breath into Mahiru’s uniform.

“Listen, Amane. Can you do me a favor? I’m trying to be a good girl, too. To make up for something awful, I need to make sure you’re alright. Can you help me? Can we be good together?”

A long pause followed. Amane’s voice spoke up, ever so gently.

“I suppose I can consider it.” She added quickly, “for the sake of your redemption. Of course.”

“Of course.”

[fishklok]

We're covering self-defense in my criminal law class and I will soon have a legal analysis of Magnus v. Nathan coming up

[dootplusone]

(OG post has Reblogs turned off. You can find it here!)

(OG post has Reblogs turned off. You can find it here!)

(If the OP would prefer this post not link back to the OG post or is otherwise is not okay w/ this post in reference to theirs, please let me know in some form so I can delete/edit it as needed.)

Thinking. Abt this but with Bones. Like. Post-Tholian Web? Post-Mirror Mirror?

For AOS, could be after Into Darkness and/or Beyond.

A Bones who's just. So anxious. So stressed. So overwhelmed that it starts taking a toll on his health. Maybe he doesn't even realise - or maybe he does and tries his best to push through it until it knocks him on his ass. Kind of in the vein of "You don't actually know how tired you are until you stop. And then you just physically cannot start again." It becomes his new baseline, a problem that just brews and storms in the distance.

And he just carries on. And keeps going and going and going until one day he realises that 'Oh fuck, I'm not okay' and has about 5 seconds of warning before he straight up collapses, doesn't matter if it's on the bridge, in the madbay, on a planet - he's going down. (Maybe a repeat of Tholian Web where he just straight up faints into Spock's arms? Full whammy, why not)

Maybe it's a high-tension situation getting resolved that does it. The pure relief of it reminds him of how tired he is. How tired he's been for a while. His body sees that momentary rest and goes "More of that, please. And I'm not asking."

And he's so rendered by it that he doesn't grumble about being coddled like he normally would when he wakes up. He knows not to fuck with the medbay staff - they're just as firm as he is on recovery, and that's not by accident - and he knows that Spock and Kirk will be hovering, because they see any problem as something they, too, should shoulder the burden of.

...And because they're some of the most protective people in the damned universe. And that goes for pretty much all the people on board the Enterprise.

In some scenarios, it's just a case of letting his body and mind rest properly. In others, there's a lot more recovery involved than anyone initially expects. Luckily for him, he has a found family who are determined to be there with him at every step. It just takes a couple reminders, every once in a while.

[soysaucevictim]

I think being the kind of horror fan I am, it helps me keep some perspective on my own relatively infrequent run-ins with ITs.

Some of it's trauma flashbulbs, some of it's health anxiety scenarios, some of it I can't really put in those boxes.

Being in therapy helps keep them mostly manageable. But they sometimes get the best of me. And all I wanna do is Distract Distract Distract. :P

[thetoaddaddy]

"I’m here, fighting for you every single day, and it feels like you’re not even trying! Do you know how much that hurts? It’s like you’ve given up on yourself!"

The prideful childish part of Jiraiya was pouting. He was frowning and staring at the floor as he got scolded. He wanted to retort and defend himself. It’s not the best course to take. He knows it’s a stupid thing to be mad about. He’s lucky to have someone who cares enough about him to yell at him.

“It’s nothing serious… You’re acting like I’m constantly throwing myself into life or death situations.” Jiraiya mutters. “This is what it’s like dating a shinobi. We get hurt a lot.”

So he’s in the hospital again. He’s throwing himself into more dangerous situations as of late. Enough for it to be an obvious pattern of slight self destruction. But it’s not like he’s dead or without limbs. It’s a few broken ribs and some bruises from the impact… Maybe a few broken toes and a fractured wrist. But he can write with his other hand if need be.

Regardless Aina is clearly overreacting. He’s fine. Sometimes a man needs a bit of a rush. He wouldn’t get have the information, important turn of the tides information, without taking the risks he takes.

[runawaycarouselhorse]

Don't feel too bad for him, it's all consequences of his own actions.

[susiequaz12]

Whumptober 15

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

Day 15! A continuation of Marlowe and Solomon on their adventures. Takes place right after Day 13. CW: Nonbinary whumpee, immortal whumpee, vampire caretaker? The roles get weird between them. Sickness, noncon touching, blood, self-inflicted injury.

- - -

Solomon had slept throughout the entire night. Definitely odd behavior from a vampire, but Lo was grateful to get the rest alongside them. Lo’s wounds had closed up fully, now just in the painful process of regrowth. They sat against the edge of the tent as the sun peeked over the horizon. Lo checked the vampire’s forehead, brushing back the sweat-soaked hair that covered his features. 

His skin had turned from that pale shade of pink back to it’s normal, ghostly-white. But a fever still raged inside of him. Lo’s heart panged in their chest as the vampire mumbled, moaning and thrashing about in a fretful sleep. 

When Solomon finally awoke Lo was waiting for him. 

“How are you feeling-” they whispered. 

Solomon paused for a second, taking in their situation. He was lying on a blanket on the dirt ground, the cloak placed over them tossed to the side, wearing nothing but their black trousers. 

“Where’s my shirt-” he grumbled. 

Lo silently handed it to him as Sol pulled his undershirt over his chest. 

“Are you feeling okay?” They pressed. 

“I’m fine.” He mumbled. He staggered about the tent, trying to make place of all his belongings that he had scattered about in his sickened stupor. He had thrown all of his clothes off last night in a desperate attempt to cool down, the tent was clearly in a state of disarray.

“You don’t look fine, Sol. You’ve cooled off but you still have a bit of a fever, you should-”

“I said I’m fine!” He turned to Lo, his fangs snarling over the curve of his lip. Sol swayed slightly on his feet as he collected the rest of his clothing, pulling his socks over his feet. “We need to keep moving.”

“Not in this condition.” Lo muttered. “You shouldn’t go back out in the sun. There’s less tree cover now the closer we get to the river. We should wait until nightfall and then we can continue travel.”

Solomon approached Lo with long, heavy steps, towering over the human where they sat in the corner of the tent. 

“Since when did you order me around?” He snarled. 

Lo stood up, wobbling on their one good leg. They were still barely reaching the top of the vampire’s shoulders, but were better able to look him in the eye. 

“Since I saved your ass from dying of heat stroke. I don’t want you getting more sick than you already are. Then you still are.” Lo spat. 

Sweat dripped down the vampire’s forehead, evident of his continuous fever as he snarled, stepping closer to the small human, gripping a hand across the back of their neck. He let out a snarl, glaring into Lo’s eyes as a drop of spit dribbled from his fangs. He was taken aback briefly as he looked into the human’s eyes. Their weak, fragile form- still healing from all of their past injuries. 

He could snap their neck in an instant- he’d done it before. 

But as he stared at Lo, thinking of a come back, of something to say- he realized one thing. 

Marlowe wasn’t scared of him anymore. 

In fact, there was even a small smile forming on the human’s lips. A bit of a smirk playing over their face as their eyes scanned up and then back down the length of the vampire's body. 

“I know what’s going on-” Lo purred, pulling themselves slightly away from the vampire. “-you’re hangry.” 

Solomon took a step back- “I’m- no! I’m not- I don’t get ‘hangry.’” 

Marlowe chuckled. “Oh yes you do. You don’t think I’ve known you long enough to know when you get hangry? It’s obvious.” 

The vampire shook his head, closing his eyes as the world spun around him. He opened them back up to see Marlowe tilting their head to their side, the veins in their neck bulging out of their skin- taunting- teasing the vampire to just take a bite-

“No, I- I said I’m fine.” Solomon released their grip on the human, pushing them away as they stumbled backwards, back down to the dirt floor of the tent. “I don’t need it, and you’re- you’re still healing.” His eyes dropped down to the human's frail body. "Look at you- you've lost an arm and a leg, literally." Solomon spat. "You're in no condition to be fed from."

Marlowe glanced down at their injuries, one of their hands hadn't fully grown back yet, their ankle just freshly injured from where Sol had rescued them from that trap.

"I guess that means neither of us are fit to travel then." Lo retorted.

Solomon let out a growl beneath their breath as he retreated to the corner of the tent, beginning to pull their boots onto their feet, still determined to continue their journey. 

Even though his head pounded and the light gleaming through the canvas gave him a pounding headache. Even though he felt faint- and his muscles shook at the thought of carrying the human another several miles-

And then Lo was on top of him. 

It caught him off guard as the human pinned him down in the corner of the tent, straddling his waist, pinning both of his arms between their legs. 

Lo had their only hand propped up against the vampire’s shoulder to steady themselves, and in between their teeth was Solomon’s knife- the same one he had used to cut off Lo’s ankle- 

“What are you doing-” Solomon growled- eyes scanning over the knife, over the scrawny human on top of him- back up to the mischievous glint in their eyes. 

They grabbed the knife in their hand, leaning back for balance as they slashed the blade across the crook of their elbow, tearing into the veins and muscles, the blood pouring out almost instantly. Lo tossed the knife backwards behind them as they grabbed the vampire by the back of his hair, thrusting his head forward until it was cradled in their arm, lips pressed against the open wound. 

Solomon kept their mouth shut with a groan, a movement of defiance even as the scent of the fresh blood wafted into their nose. It smelled so good- he was so hungry-

A whisper of breath tickled against the vampire’s ear as the human commanded a single word. 

“Drink.” 

And the need overtook him. 

Solomon let his lips part, opening his mouth wider to lock around the fresh wound, and his fangs sunk into the human’s flesh, his tongue lapping up every taste and every drop that he could. 

Marlowe kept Sol’s face pressed tight up against their arm, making sure he couldn’t pull away as he took in starving gulps of their blood. 

The human felt their fingers carding through the vampire’s hair as he drank- they felt the way his chest pressed against theirs- heaving with the breaths and gulps he took in- the way their legs straddled his waist, keeping him pinned down on the ground as Lo force fed him their own blood.

A flutter grew in the pit of Lo’s stomach as the vampire’s breath grew hot on their arm. They soon began to feel faint, their grip weakening on the back of his neck, their head lolling backwards as their muscles went limp. 

Solomon finished his feeding, pulling away from the human and instantly feeling the strength return back to his body. The effects of the sickness were quickly wearing off with the revitalizing energy of the human’s blood. 

Marlowe had gone limp, sagging fully onto the vampire’s chest as he pulled away from their arm. 

Solomon cradled the back of their head, laying them gently on the blanket on the ground. He hadn’t drained them, but he had taken a lot of blood- Marlowe would need a few hours to recuperate. 

He licked the last of the drops off of his bloodstained lips, his eyes scanning across the human’s body- the curve of their hips- the nape of their neck- the hair that had fallen gently over their face. 

Solomon reached out a nervous hand and brushed the hair back from their forehead. He leaned over, placing his lips against their temple before whispering softly against their ear. 

“Thank you, Marlowe.” 

- - -

 Tag List: @imagination1reality0 @thecyrulik @whumpsday @termsnconditions-apply @spectral-whumpy-writer @raddyscoops @whumptober-archive

[dirt-str1der]

Awed by my unparalleled genius back when i was in the bnha fandom (i do still want to fuck that old man this will never change)

[kneebie]

There has never been a more divorced man in the history of the world.

elon musk admitted under threat of perjury that this is his burner account

[acid-ixx]

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.

[scarletpiano]

I go on a rant in the tags about injuries, so if thats not your thing, don't read ect. ect.

[chuluoyi]

✎ to my beloved

- gojo satoru x reader

bad days don't mean the end of the world, and your husband is making sure you know that

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, fluff, fluff—just gojo pampering you

note: my job has been so hard for me this week :') so yeah it's very self indulgent as i need a lil hurt/comfort and i think you should too~

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

This week... has been a total dumpster fire.

You were utterly exhausted, covered in grime and blood, a persisting headache made you almost black out, all while sitting in the hospital waiting room as survivor's guilt slowly consumed you.

Grueling paperwork, a new project, facing the higher-ups, being substituted to Kyoto for days, and then a sudden attack of a curse user on the loose.

In times of need, you were supposed to protect others— you are a jujutsu sorcerer.

And yet, what happened? Megumi suddenly bathed in his own blood. You barely managed to save him in time, and now you were waiting for the news that he would be okay.

Why couldn't it be you instead? You wanted to break down each time you replayed the scene that took Megumi out. It was so eerily similar to how Haibara was—

"Are you okay!?"

You whipped your head, surprised to find your husband pounding down the hall. Satoru looked unlike himself—he was disheveled, and when he saw you, he immediately dashed towards where you were.

"Satoru..." you voice came out in a croak, feeling the lump in your throat closing in. When he dropped to his knee, put both hands on the sides of your face, and then your body, feeling you over to check if you had any injuries—

You finally burst into tears.

"Sweets, hey..." Satoru immediately pulled you close, trying to soothe you. You were shaking in his arms and he tightened his arms around you. "What happened to you?"

"I-I was... w-with him..." you sobbed, burying your face in his shoulder. "S-Satoru... I-I'm sorry...! M-Megumi—"

Your husband immediately shushed you. "Shh... it's alright, yeah? He'll be okay—"

You were still inconsolable even as he held you in his embrace. He hadn't seen you like this... not ever since tragedies during your high school years ago. And he struggled to reconcile this sight of you with how you were back then.

"I-I s-should've stood in his way— t-that way, he won't be hit—" you hiccupped as you poured your heart out and clutched at his shirt. "I-It would be f-fine if it... was me—"

But all thoughts flew when he heard your words, and suddenly he felt so angry—

"What do you mean?" his voice was so low and sharp that it startled you. "How will it be fine if it was you?"

You stiffened, and Satoru gripped your shoulder, pulling away to look you right in the eyes.

"If something bad happened to you... how is it fine?" he emphasized with gritted teeth. "Where do you get that kind of bullshit from?"

Your lips were wobbling as you sniffled. "At least... i-it isn't him—"

"If you got hurt, how do you think it'll make me feel?" Satoru posed the burning question on you next, his cerulean eyes glinting with silent fury, and you almost recoiled.

"T-that's...!"

"I'll wreak havoc if anything ever happens to you." His tone was harsh and forceful. "So if you think you can just—"

"I'm tired!" you screamed then, and he was stunned, wide-eyed as he took in your outburst. "I-I'm just... I've had enough of this— this shit! I want to quit!"

You were openly weeping, and this time, Satoru felt his heart lurch. You looked so heartbroken and utterly inconsolable that his first instinct to protect you took over.

"Then quit." He rose and took a seat next to you, before cradling you closer and pressed your head against his chest. "Even if you quit, I'm still here. I can protect you well enough. I don't like you being a sorcerer anyway."

You were his beloved wife and he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be happy and smiling.

He let out a disgruntled grunt. "Did you know how I was when I heard from Ichiji that you were at the hospital? I thought I might go mad thinking something had happened to you."

You sobbed harder at his words.

"It's perfectly okay if you're tired," he affirmed, patting your back gently. "If you're fine with giving up everything, then I'm on board too. Whatever makes you happy, sweets. Just... don't think of anything that might hurt yourself. Don't think of anything that might make you leave me."

You didn't know you needed to hear it. Right at that moment, your heart swelled with warmth. All your feelings were validated, and even if you chose to let go of everything, Satoru would accept you as you are.

You felt safe, so incredibly and irrevocably secure.

"Whatever happened this time..." he breathed out, feeling the dampness in his chest, his fingers gently combing through your hair. "It's not your fault. No one will blame you. I don't blame you, and Megumi won't too."

Your sniffles quieted down a bit at his words, and your throat still felt tight, clogged with tears.

"H-he... looked s-so much like Haibara... w-when—"

"Shush, he does not. Megumi will be okay. You will too, hmm?"

And just like that, you let go of everything and surrendered your entire being into his arms.

Clinging to him, you finally believed, in whatever shape or form it might take, you would be okay.

A week later, Megumi was discharged after being cleared by the hospital. His wounds were thankfully shallow, and you cried in relief when he woke up.

And after escorting him back, later that night, you laid on top your husband...

Your weight on him felt like a comforting reassurance as he gently patted your back. Satoru couldn't help but smile when he saw how peaceful you looked, like a baby about to fall asleep.

He couldn't resist and planted a firm kiss on the crown of your head.

"Mmm?" you looked up at him, eyes fluttering open, and he cracked a grin.

"What?"

"What?"

"Can't I kiss my own wife? When she's adorable as heck too."

"You..." your lips curved into a bashful, yet exasperated smile, poking his chest in the process.

"Heh."

You drew circles on his broad and sturdy chest, noting how his arms extended and feeling how your toenails only reached a little past his knees. "Your arms and legs are ridiculously long. You are like an oversized plushie."

Satoru snickered. "Well, isn't that good? You don't have to buy them anymore. I can be your personal talking plushie."

"Ew." You hit his chest playfully, and he pushed your bum forward until you were face-to-face with him. He smooched you on the lips, and you giggled afterward.

His eyes shone as he stared at you, breaking to a smile himself. "Finally smiling. Pretty."

"Satoru..." your eyes found his, and you marveled at how sparkling they were. Seeing him so close, even after being married to him for more than a year, made your heart skip a beat. "I..."

"Hmm?"

"I want to keep being jujutsu sorcerer..." You had thought about it ever since, and you still arrived at the same conclusion. "It's true if I give up on it, you'll still keep me safe and all, but..."

Your husband waited for you to continue, still smiling, blinking expectantly.

"...this is something I have to do. I know there will be more hard days ahead, but believe it or not, I... found purpose in doing this," you said, shifting your gaze away from him. "It makes me feel... I can be useful. Even if I'm not special like you, I can still contribute in my own small way..."

How you pressed up against him, the way you looked hesitant and yet convinced at the same time... Satoru thought you were the most precious thing there was.

"Then keep going. I'll still be here too." He hugged you tight then, surprising you. "Just let me know when you feel like you need a long leave, and I'll definitely give you the solution."

"Eh? How?"

"Easy... I can just put a baby in you~ They won't deny you maternity leave or put you in missions~"

"...Satoru, you're—" You shot him a look so unamused, before resigning with a sigh. "Never mind... alright, sure, whatever you say."

"Ooh! So does this mean you want to try now?!"

"—? No, not now yet—!"

"When? We have to try one of these days before some meddlesome aunties ask us when we will have kids!"

Being sillies like this made you so glad that you had him in your life, and that you married him. And if he felt the same way as you... then you really thanked the stars for it.

You huffed, yet wrapping your arms around him in return. "Satoru, you're a clown."

"Your personal clown, you mean. Right~"