#never forget why youre fighting for something good

[luvashli]

ESCAPISM

SYNOPSIS -> After a painful breakup with Heeseung, you lose yourself in a wild night of partying. Niki becomes your distraction, leading to heated dances and passionate kisses. But as morning comes, you’re left wondering if it was just an escape or something more.

PAIRING -> nonidol!ni-ki x fem!reader (ex!heeseung)

GENRE -> oneshot, romance, drama, angst, suggestive, emotional, mature

STARTED -> 2/12/2025

STATUS -> complete

WC -> 2.7k

Note -> This oneshot is inspired by the song “Escapism” by Raye. While the story contains suggestive themes and intense emotional tension, it does not include explicit smut.

click here for the song “Escapism” by Raye

Masterlist

It happened last night.

You sat across from Heeseung in your favorite café, the one you always went to after his late-night practices. The air between you was thick—he was fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie, avoiding your gaze, while you stirred your coffee without drinking it.

You could feel it before he even said the words.

“Y/N… we need to talk.”

Your fingers tensed around your spoon. Those words never meant anything good.

“About what?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Heeseung finally looked at you then, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t see the warmth that used to be there. Instead, you saw hesitation. Guilt.

“This… us,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Heeseung, what are you saying?”

He sighed heavily, finally meeting your eyes. “I think we should end this.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

“Why?” you whispered.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across his face. “You know why, Y/N. This… this isn’t working anymore. I don’t have time. You don’t have time. We barely see each other, and when we do, we’re just fighting or pretending like everything’s fine. It’s not fine.”

Your stomach twisted. Yes, things had been tense lately. Late-night arguments over missed dates, his phone always buzzing with notifications he wouldn’t let you see, the way he seemed distant even when he was right in front of you.

But you loved him. And you thought he still loved you, too.

“You’re giving up on us?” you asked, your voice cracking.

His jaw tightened. “I just… I don’t think we’re good for each other anymore.”

You felt like you were drowning.

“So that’s it?”

Heeseung swallowed hard, looking down at the table. He wouldn’t even fight for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

And that was the part that hurt the most. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t cruel. He was just… done.

You walked out before he could see the tears spill down your face.

---

The city hums beneath you, neon lights flashing in sync with the pounding bass inside the club. The music is loud—loud enough to drown out your thoughts, loud enough to replace the echoes of his voice from last night.

"I think we should end this."

Cold. Empty. Like the months you spent loving him meant nothing.

So now you’re here. Dressed in sin, drowning in liquor, looking for something—someone—to make you forget.

The champagne fizzes in your glass as you swirl it absentmindedly, perched at the bar with your legs crossed, your heels dangling from your feet. You don’t trust the people you came with. They’re friends of friends, girls who smile too wide and whisper too much. But that doesn’t matter. Tonight, nothing matters.

Then, he walks in.

Ni-ki.

He moves like he owns the room—tall, lean, and effortlessly confident. His dark eyes scan the crowd, taking in everything, calculating. But then they land on you.

And they stay.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he approaches, his presence commanding in a way that makes your skin tingle. He leans against the bar beside you, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, expensive.

"Buy me a drink?" you ask, tilting your head.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," he replies smoothly.

He orders two wines without breaking eye contact, and the bartender slides them over. You take a sip, letting the bitter warmth spread through you, letting it replace the ache in your chest.

"Rough night?" he muses, watching you.

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. "More like a rough life."

He doesn’t push for details. He just clinks his glass against yours. "To forgetting, then."

And just like that, you fall into the night with him.

---

The alcohol makes everything blur—makes it easier to laugh, easier to let go. One drink turns into three, into five. You’re on the dance floor now, the bass vibrates through your chest, the rhythm pulsing like a second heartbeat. The club is packed—bodies moving, drinks spilling, neon lights flashing across the dance floor in a kaleidoscope of color. But none of it matters.

Because the moment Ni-ki pulls you into him, hands firm on your waist, the entire world narrows down to just the two of you.

Your body moves instinctively to the music, swaying with the beat, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Ni-ki’s grip tightens, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you, only heat and the electric tension that’s been building between you all night.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something wicked in them—something teasing, something daring. He’s testing you, seeing how far you’ll let this go.

So you decide to push back.

You turn in his arms, pressing your back against his chest, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles. His sharp inhale is almost lost beneath the pounding music, but you feel it. You feel everything—his hands spreading across your stomach, his breath against the shell of your ear, the way his fingers flex like he’s barely holding himself together.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he murmurs, voice low, laced with amusement.

You glance over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “Maybe.”

His response is immediate. One hand slides down, fingers splaying over your hip, guiding your movements with a firm, calculated grip. He’s in control now, and he wants you to know it.

You let your head fall back against his shoulder as you move together, the tension between you tightening with every sway, every roll of your hips against his. The heat of his body is overwhelming, the scent of his cologne intoxicating, and you know you’re playing a dangerous game.

But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

Ni-ki leans down, his lips brushing against your jaw, the touch featherlight, teasing. His fingers trail up your arm, over your bare shoulder, until they find the strap of your dress, tugging it just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You should be careful,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of warning and promise.

You turn in his arms again, chest pressed against his, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket. The air between you is thick, heavy, charged. Your heart pounds, and you know—you know—that if you lean in just a little more, his lips will be on yours.

“And if I don’t want to be careful?” you challenge, tilting your chin up, eyes locked onto his.

Ni-ki’s smirk deepens.

“Then we have a problem.”

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as the music thrums around you, drowning out everything except the way he feels against you. The way he looks at you—like he already knows exactly how this night is going to end.

And for once, you don’t care about the consequences.

So you let yourself get lost in him, in the music, in the escape.

Because tonight, that’s all that matters.

___

By the time you stumble out of the club, giggling as the cold night air bites at your skin, you’re too far gone to care about anything but him. His hand finds yours, steadying you as you both slip into the back of a waiting taxi.

The city lights blur past the window, but you’re not looking at them. You’re looking at him. The sharp cut of his jaw, the way his lips part slightly as he watches you.

The air inside the taxi is thick with tension, crackling like electricity between you and Ni-ki. The city blurs past outside the window, neon lights flashing across his sharp features, casting shadows across his cheekbones. His hand rests on your thigh, just barely, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your skin.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

Your breath hitches, your body already reacting to the unspoken pull between you. You don’t know what it is about him—maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s daring you to do something reckless, or maybe it’s the way he hasn’t asked you any questions, hasn’t pried into the wounds you’re trying to drown in champagne and cheap thrills.

“Are you always like this?” he asks suddenly, voice smooth, teasing.

You turn to him, tilting your head slightly. “Only when I don’t want to feel.”

His eyes flicker with something—understanding, maybe. A silent acknowledgment that he knows what it’s like to run from something, too.

You don’t ask what he’s running from. And he doesn’t ask about you.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, and something dark flickers in his eyes. You don’t miss the way his fingers tighten slightly against your thigh, the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips.

You should wait. You should think. But you don’t want to.

Instead, you shift closer, closing the space between you until your breaths mix, until you can feel the warmth of him against your skin.

“And right now?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

“Right now, I don’t want to feel anything at all,” you breathe.

That’s all it takes.

Ni-ki moves first. His hand slides up, fingers grazing the bare skin of your thigh, igniting something in you that’s been burning all night. He catches your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up just enough to bring his lips to yours.

The kiss is slow at first, deliberate—like he’s testing you, like he’s seeing how far you’ll let this go. But you don’t hold back. You press into him, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer, deeper.

And just like that, the tension snaps.

He groans softly against your lips as his hands slide to your waist, tugging you toward him, his grip firm, possessive. The taxi is moving too fast, or maybe not fast enough, because you can’t get close enough to him, can’t feel enough of him.

You bite his lower lip, just enough to make him inhale sharply, his fingers tightening around you in response. His hands are warm, rough in a way that makes you shiver, in a way that makes you forget everything except the way he’s touching you.

Your back presses against the cool leather of the taxi seat as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, sending heat spiraling through you. His fingers slip beneath the hem of your dress, tracing slow, agonizing patterns along the inside of your thigh, teasing.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath uneven.

You smirk, tilting your head back slightly, your own hands slipping beneath his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. “And you like it.”

His responding chuckle is dark, low. “Yeah. I do.”

The driver clears his throat loudly. You barely register it, too caught up in the feeling of Ni-ki’s mouth on your skin, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

“We’re almost there,” the driver mutters.

You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to pull away, your pulse racing. Ni-ki watches you, his lips swollen, his breathing uneven, his fingers still pressing into your thigh like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

“Hotel,” he says to the driver, voice rough. “Now.”

And as the taxi speeds up, you realize something.

You may not want to feel.

But with Ni-ki, you’re going to.

___

The elevator ride is suffocating.

Not because there’s no air, but because every inch of space between you and Ni-ki is filled with tension so thick, it’s almost unbearable. His fingers press into your waist, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. You can feel his breath against your temple, the scent of liquor and something undeniably him mixing in the confined space.

Neither of you speak. You don’t need to.

The ding of the elevator doors opening barely registers before you’re moving, stepping out onto the hotel floor with Ni-ki’s hand gripping yours, leading you down the dimly lit hallway. His pace is hurried, purposeful, like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he’s been waiting for this all night.

The second the hotel door swings shut behind you, the restraint shatters.

Ni-ki is on you in an instant, pressing you against the door with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. His lips crash against yours, hungry, demanding, his hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You moan into the kiss, fingers threading into his dark hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound sends a rush of heat straight through you, making your knees weak. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel anything but him.

Ni-ki’s hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, tracing over your curves like he’s memorizing every inch of you. His fingers hook into the straps of your dress, dragging them down your shoulders, his lips trailing after them, kissing a slow, burning path down your collarbone.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, voice rough with desire.

Your head tips back against the door as his mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. Your hands move instinctively, slipping under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He shrugs it off easily, then tugs his shirt over his head, revealing toned skin and sharp lines that make your mouth go dry.

You don’t get the chance to admire him for long before he’s lifting you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs as he carries you toward the bed. You gasp, arms wrapping around his shoulders, but he just smirks, pressing another hot kiss to your lips as he lays you down against the cool sheets.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, hovering above you, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

You don’t hesitate.

“I want this,” you whisper. “I want you.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

Ni-ki kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the way you melt beneath him. His hands explore your body with an intoxicating mix of tenderness and urgency, fingers skimming down your waist, gripping your thighs, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touches.

He takes his time, pulling your dress down inch by inch, watching the fabric slip away from your body with a hunger that makes your pulse race. His lips follow the path of his hands, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your hips, teasing you, torturing you.

“You’re driving me insane,” he mutters against your skin, his voice raw.

You smirk, arching into him, dragging your nails down his back. “Then do something about it.”

And he does.

The night dissolves into a blur of heat and tangled sheets, of whispered names and desperate touches, of lips and hands and bodies moving together in perfect rhythm. Every kiss, every touch, every breath is an escape—an escape from reality, from heartbreak, from the pain you refuse to acknowledge.

And for a few fleeting hours, nothing else matters.

Not Heeseung.

Not the past.

Not the consequences.

Only this. Only him.

---

Morning comes too soon.

The sun cuts through the curtains, painting the room in harsh light. Your head is pounding, your throat dry, your body aching in a way that isn’t just physical.

You blink, trying to remember. Flashes of last night come back in pieces—his hands, his lips, the way he whispered your name like it meant something.

Beside you, Ni-ki stirs. His arm drapes lazily over your waist, his face buried in the pillow. Peaceful. Unbothered. Like this is just another night for him.

And maybe that’s all it was.

You slip out of bed, pulling the sheet around you as you search for your dress. The air is heavy, suffocating, and the second you find your phone, you see the unread messages from him.

Heeseung.

I shouldn’t have ended things like that.

Can we talk?

You inhale sharply, your fingers hovering over the screen.

Last night, you thought you had buried the pain under alcohol, under Ni-ki’s touch. But now, in the quiet of the morning, the weight of everything settles back onto your chest.

Your chest tightens.

You should feel something. Anger. Sadness. Relief. But instead, there’s just... nothing.

Because this was never about getting over him.

It was about escaping.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re still running.

Would you like a part two?? Let me know :))

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@crimson-reaper576 @luvleyylina

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔 - 𝒁𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

This is a quick little Valentine's Day fic for Zoro! Short and sweet (pun intended,) but I loved writing it. I have a few other things I'll be trying to post leading up to Valentine's Day, but at the very least I've managed to get this out. I may end up editing it after the fact as I usually do.

CW: SFW, strong language, alcohol, tsundere-ish Zoro, female reader

~2k words

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“I hate chocolate.” 

“Good. These aren't for you, anyway.”

Zoro grumbles under his breath as he follows you out of the little confectionery shop, begrudgingly holding a bag of various chocolates. He's never been a fan of sweets, not at all, not even a little. So when you dragged him inside on the one day you have off the ship, he was a little annoyed, to say the least. 

“What, so you bought this many for yourself?” He asks. His steps keep in time with yours as he walks beside you, careful not to lose you in the crowd.

“Nope. For the crew.” You explain, peeking into the bag you carry. “I thought it'd be nice to get everyone something since it's almost Valentine's Day.”

Shit. Zoro knew he was forgetting something. 

“Right. Valentine's Day.” Zoro mumbles, glancing down at the bag again. 

God, how could he forget? Everyone's been babbling about chocolates, roses, festivities, and the cook has certainly been the worst offender, asking every woman aboard if they'd be his Valentine. Somewhere between his training, their fights at sea, and taking naps with you, he lost track of time. His eyes remain locked on the bag of chocolates, and just as he's trying to push the strange blend of feelings from his mind, he feels you tugging on his arm. In his train of thought, he'd started veering off the opposite way. 

“Whoa, there. Ship's this way, Mossy.” You say in your goddamn adorably teasing tone. It makes him clench his jaw. 

“Yeah, I know. And don’t call me that.” Zoro responds curtly, bristling with annoyance. 

It just makes you laugh. 

“Whatever you say.”

---

Zoro stares at you from across the deck, watching you hand chocolates to your crewmates. Luffy's confused at first, then overjoyed; Usopp’s awkward, then grateful; Franky's making his stupid poses; Nami's taking it off your tab; Robin's thanking you; Brook's asking to see your panties; Chopper's wiggling and grinning; Sanji's nose is bleeding; blah blah blah. All the same antics, the same lines, yet all Zoro is focused on is that look on your beautiful face as you give out your Valentine's chocolates. Your eyes light up with every ‘thank you,’ every hug, and all Zoro can do is think about how the hell he forgot about Valentine's Day. 

But it's too late now, isn't it? The ship has already left the port and he didn't buy any flowers or gifts. He sucks at making cards, expressing his feelings, baking cookies - basically, anything that could make a decent Valentine. Then there's the most troubling part of all. Is he even your Valentine? Does it even matter?

You've been dating each other for somewhere around two months now. That doesn't necessarily mean that you're Valentine's, though. Nothing was ever said, neither of you asked the other, and at this point, he's not even sure how to bring it up. It seems rather obvious to him that you'd be each other's Valentine's, but that's what makes it even more frustrating - what seems obvious to Zoro isn't always obvious to others. Sometimes he's exhausted being surrounded by so many idiots (though he refuses to admit that he’s one of them.)

But not you. You're the idiot he doesn't get tired of. But, god, why did it have to be chocolates? Valentine's Day has always seemed like some kind of worthless, annoying day where everyone just gives out candy and useless junk as an excuse to make out. Making out, Zoro can handle - sweets, not so much. But then there's you, who's all sugar and spice and everything nice. The antithesis of what he's supposed to like, but your attitude has proven irresistibly charming to the stoic swordsman. 

The way your smile beams across the ship could end wars, call ships away from danger, light up the moonless sky as it so often has when you've been on watch together. It's damn near impossible to deny how much he loves to see that look on your face, and even more irritating that currently he's not the one that put it there. So, chocolates. Zoro can't do that. But that smile? He'll maim, kill, and die for it. He reasons that maybe there's a simpler way. 

---

You're a little skeptical when your boyfriend asks you to come up to the crow’s nest in the middle of the night. Hell, neither of you is assigned watch and it's well past your usual hours for training. Usually, this late at night, Zoro's fast asleep in his hammock if he's not tucked into your bed with you. So, what gives?

“Just shut up and trust me.” He chides, his tone slightly irritated but mostly playful. Well, that's Zoro.

As you follow him out onto the deck, the cool night air hits the exposed skin from your pajamas. The stars are beautiful, glittering above in a way that's almost distracting, but you don't linger your gaze on them for too long. Instead, you stay closely behind Zoro, your arms crossed over your chest long enough to keep some semblance of warmth. The journey up the crow’s nest is longer than you'd like given the temperature and your sleepy mind, but you swear you can almost smell something weird wafting down from the open door hatch. 

It's not only until you peek inside that you recognize the scent of lavender, and through the candlelight, you recognize a large blanket, several pillows, a bottle of sake, and some kind of food on a few plates. As you're trying to register what you're looking at, Zoro pulls your hand gently to assist you up the rest of the way. 

“What is this?” You ask, and the way your lips curl into a smile makes Zoro's heart stutter. 

He lets go of your hand, walking across the planks of the crow’s nest to his makeshift picnic. It’s a romantic setup that took him all evening, and he can recall the several conversations he had with himself to try to figure out something to throw together. He’s a little satisfied with himself - smug, even - but he maintains his usual demeanor for now. Zoro doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, after all.

“Well, what does it look like?” Zoro responds in his classic, gruff tone. “Made you a picnic. Since it's Valentine's Day and all that.”

Your eyes glance around the candles, and while the setup is fairly simple, you can't deny the wonder you feel at the sight. Never once had you expected anything like this from Zoro. Quite truthfully, you thought he would have forgotten or written off the whole thing as stupid. Taking a few careful steps, your gaze finally glances back up at him. 

“Where did you…I mean, food and candles? I really didn't…”

Zoro hums, and his lips finally quirk up into a cocky smile for a moment. He couldn’t keep that smug feeling aside for long, especially when your eyes light up the way they do.

“Candles are from Robin, and I owe Nami for tricking the cook into getting us some snacks.” He responds before his eye flicks back up to yours. “You like it?”

“Like it? This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.” You grin, and you move to close the space between you two. It makes Zoro's heart stutter yet again. 

“Really? Is the bar that low?” Zoro replies with an amused huff. “Didn't think it was all that impressive. I pulled it together sorta last minute when I realized Valentine's Day meant so much to you.”

“It doesn’t.” You respond quickly, and you let out a laugh at Zoro’s shocked expression. So, you elaborate. “I mean, I like Valentine’s Day because it’s an excuse to express how much people mean to me. But the holiday itself doesn’t make or break anything. I wasn’t expecting you to actually care about it, which is why I never said anything.”

Zoro seems contemplative for a moment, his eye trailing carefully over to the makeshift picnic. He lets out a huff, one hand resting casually on his sword, the other against his thigh. 

“Of course I don’t care about Valentine’s Day.” He says, almost snapping. Guess you struck a nerve. “It’s a stupid holiday designed for people like that love cook to hit on women. I didn’t even know it was Valentine’s Day ‘till you bought all that candy.”

Despite his harsh tone, you can’t help but smile a bit wider at his response. He seems irritated, and likely just because he was in his own head about it. And god, that smile you give him…

“But I care about you, moron. That’s why I threw this together.”

Zoro sits down on one of the blankets, patting a pillow next to him for you to join. You don’t hesitate, and as you sit down you watch as Zoro grabs the bottle of sake and pulls the cork out with his teeth. He spits it aside, taking a long swig of it. If the candles weren’t so dim, you might have been able to notice the way the tips of his ears light up red. 

“I already told you that this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. You don’t have to feel weird about doing it just because I wasn’t expecting it.” You finally speak up, a hand moving to rest on his forearm. “Seriously, I appreciate this. It’s honestly really…sweet.”

Zoro takes his free hand holding the bottle of sake, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with a sigh. He’s definitely embarrassed, but that sweet tone of yours makes something in his chest feel lighter. 

“Yeah, well…I don’t normally do sweet. You know that.” Zoro says, setting the bottle of sake down between the both of you. And he knows that you know that - hell, you probably know him better than most people. “Just felt like now that we’re dating, I wanted to see you…have a good Valentine’s Day.”

“For someone who claims to hate sweet, you’re very good at it. Thank you, Zoro.” You reply, leaning against him just a little bit. The skin-to-skin contact makes Zoro heat up a bit, and when you lean in closer, you can’t contain the small giggle that leaves you. “But I feel like I should let you know that Valentine’s Day isn’t for another few days.”

Zoro’s expression drops once again, and that stupid annoying feeling of irritation fills him. His head snaps in your direction, and he visibly bristles. It makes you laugh.

“Dammit! Why the hell were you giving everyone chocolates so early then, woman?” 

“Because I didn’t want them to go bad! Plus, I’m horrible with surprises. I get too impatient.” You laugh again, and that laugh somehow both irritates and soothes Zoro. He’ll never understand the effect you have on him.

Grumbling, he grabs the bottle of sake again. Before he can bring it to his lips, though, your hand moves up to his chin, gently pulling it so that he looks right at you. With a grin, you lean forward and press your lips tenderly against his. That irritation in him is gone, and his eye slowly shuts as he feels you both melt into the kiss. Goddamn, Zoro hates sweets, but the taste of your lips against his is addicting. His chest aches when the kiss breaks, but your lips linger against one another.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” You murmur.

[arcane-ish]

I love Silco, but can we talk about how he's totally a snitch?

I find that very interesting since season 2 drew attention again to Vander's "we don't hand over our own" line.

versus

I'm personally still convinced that when Silco had his meeting with Marcus in episode 2 he told him that Vander's kid were to blame for the Topside job. Which leads directly to the raid on the Last Drop.

Evidence? Silco's meeting scene with Marcus ends like this.

We go directly into the raid and Marcus even references the conversation that he imo had with Silco.

IMO he wanted Vander to get raided and be put in a pickle. Maybe see how Vander would react.

Of course I think Silco thought there was some fight in Vander left and that Vander would find some way to keep his kids from being taken. But if Vander really was as much of a lapdog as Silco claims it would have led to 4 actually rebellious childern being taken to Stilwater just so Silco can have his little test or just so Silco can enjoy making Vander suffer. (again I like to think Silco at this point was already dreaming of things escalating in some way and Vander being forced to do something radical)

It happens again in Act 2. In Act 1 when Vander's daughter was the cause for a Topside bombing he said the line about not handing over one of their own. When Silco's daughter is at fault for a Topside crime, he has zero problems fingering fellow Zaunites, including planting fake evidence. Worked with enforcers to pin the blame on other Zaunites he does not like.

Remember that line from Ekko to Caitlyn about how the enforcers hunt them (presumably the Firelights) like animals?

It just sometimes feels like people forget that Silco talks about doing everything that absolutely includes throwing his own people to the wolves if it makes strategic sense for him. And I think that's why some people think that there's a hypocrisy there, since his big accusation against Vander was that Vander worked with enforcers. When Silco never was above working with enforcers. So his rule is not "never work with enforcers" but "work with enforcers just secretly don't mean it" or you can do acts that are bad for Zaunites and good for the enforcers as long as you look down on the enforcers while doing it"?

(sidenote: there was this one older writer interview where they discussed Sevika on the council versus Ekko. And Christian said a line about Sevika not liking Silco's methods and I remember turning the video off at this point with a big "do you even watch your own show" feeling? Or a "Is this another writers versus animators thing?" Like you have Sevika the person who clearly viscerally enjoys fighting and violence and you really expect me to believe that she had moral qualms about Silco's methods?

But now I wonder if there's a chance he meants something like that (ie shifting the blame for Jinx's crimes on other Zaunites). Sevika is not present for that meeting between Silco and Marcus about the Firelights, so we don't know her opinion on it I think.

For the record, I don't think it would be that weird characterizationwise if there were things Sevika did under Silco that she began to wonder about/didn't like as much in retrospect and that's why in season 2 we see her sort of experimenting with some elements of Vander's approach)

[satisfactionlevel]

more hpcc performance notes of west end year 8⚡️(12/2/25)

I SAW IT AGAIN. I swear every I see the show I notice something different. Here goes my absolute feral thoughts:

🚂act 1: 

Albus gave Ron a very weak thumbs up after Ron’s magic trick lol 

Harry ruffled Albus’s hair on the platform when he told him to remember to enjoy himself, and Albus’s hair is COMPLETELY sticking up on the side, and then as Albus was going on the train Harry tried to smooth it down.🆘

Polly’s mean girl bully energy is DIVINE. 

Lily looking for her potions book in Albus’s room??? It literally never clicked for me before, but the reason she’s searching there is probably because she’s been studying in Albus’s room during the summer holiday?? Maybe even with Albus helping her with homework?? it’s so cute I cantttt! and the way Albus smiles at her when she said her wings are fluttery😭WE NEED MORE LILY AND ALBUS MOMENTS 

Fourth year train scene, Scorpius literally was just smiling and gazing out of the window as he waited for Albus to join him in their compartment. (As a contrast to how he buried himself in a book while looking ill at ease with himself in the first year train journey.) MY CINNAMON BUN NEEDS TO BE PROTECTED AT ALL COST, I WILL COMMIT MURDER FOR HIM

and OH BOY Albus and Scorpius were standing SO CLOSE on the train when Albus was telling Scorpius about his plan to save Cedric. (There is a thing called personal space. Albus makes a point about it with literally everyone else, but he forgets it exists when he’s with Scorpius.)

and that curtesy Scorpius did to Albus as he’s told he’s an enormous geek?? peak neurospicy behaviour

Scorpius fails to climb up the train on his first try, Albus gets in front of him and whispers “watch this” as he climbed 

THE WAY SCORPIUS GRABBED ALBUS in the Amos scene, when Amos took out his wand. It’s full-on man handling.

Scorpius/Harry touching Albus/Ron’s face when they first transfigured, and the literally pushing Albus/Ron’s face as he said “go to your room”. I AM NOT OKAY

Albus/Ron adjusting his voice to sound deeper lol 

Scorpius/Harry sounded so hurt when he asked Albus/Ron why he didn’t tell him about his argument with Harry 

Albus/Ron exclaimed at something as they were searching the bookcase in the ministry. Scorpius/Harry immediately screamed back without even knowing what it was about😭They’re both actually feral

OH AND THE WAY Albus/Ron growled at Harry as he was leaving the ministry?? I mean I think it’s a bit ooc for Albus, but boy it was so funny!

Ginny and Ron play fighting like kids lol they’re so silly 

the way Scorpius is so NOT ON BOARD with Albus’s whole stealing-the-time-turner plan, the way he’s anxious and scared as hell, but STILL FOLLOWED along with Albus? That’s true devotion and love. 

🚂act 2:

Albus staring at Scorpius when he was talking about how he longed to go to Hogwarts. Albus literally had stars in his eyes. HE’S SO IN LOVE. HE DOESN’T EVEN REALISE IT BUT WE ALL DO.

The intensity of their eye contact after Scorpius said “you’re my best friend”???? Hello?????

Tri wiz task 1, as Harry was being introduced, Jake as a slytherin student said to Jayden as another slygherin student “You’re not supposed to cheer, you’re supposed to boo him!”

“hOw mAnY owLs hAs hE sEnt yOu nOw??” Oh boy Scorpius was so jealous at Delphi. I’m cracking uppppp 

And also just how genuinely concerned Scorpius was when Delphi told him she was ill as a child. Scorpius has a heart of gold. He’s the most precious character in the entire HP universe, I accept no second opinion.

Library scene, the way Polly shushed Albus and Scorpius while holding up her book high in the air, she was sassy for real. THE AUDACITY of them to speak loud in a library?

*The audience gasping when Albus said “I wasn’t a loser until I met you.” * 

THE SCORPIUS LIBRARY MONOLOGUE hit like a freight train today. literally. so so good. I think I died about 6 times at this scene alone. (Harry Acklowe’s Scorpius is pure perfection.)

Draco literally was like “hehe” when Ginny said harry does most of the cooking. He’s so unserious!!

The way Myrtle pointed at Albus and death stared him down when Albus interrupted her crying?? Girl, literally same. 

And Scorpius’s nervous, awkward laugh when Myrtle was blocking him from entering the bathroom tunnel with HER LEG??😭

Oh the writing on the board in Hermione as DADA professor’s class is in mirror image. Never noticed it before!

🚂act 3:

“For Valerie Voldemort” - literally what is going on in Scorpius’s head for him to come up with that??? 

I’m probably completely deranged but someone needs to write a fic about a Scorpius and Craig ship in the Dark AU. (Dark AU Craig shares the same sincere, dorky and awkward energy with Scorpius.) (you can see the vision, right?!)

Snape pausing to process the fact that Harry named his child after him😭

“Have you been eating too many sweets again?” This line is so underrated! Emphasis on AGAIN. Just imagine all the sugar rushes Albus had to watch Scorpius go through before. 

The way Albus held on to Scorpius’s waist as he hugged him in the lake??? Hello???

When Scorpius was shrieking his head off at seeing everyone again in the lake, Professor McGonnagal actually pointed her wand at him. Honestly, I would too (lovingly)

The delivery of “Scorpius matters to me” was perfection. Ellis’s Albus is so, so good.

And the way Albus rolled his eyes at Scorpius in the dorm scene, when Scorpius was talking about how fearless and unanxious he’s become? So real. I would roll my eyes (lovingly) at Scorpius for that too bestie.

After Delphi said Albus’s weakness is love, Albus stared at the ground, then very slowly raised his gaze to meet Scorpius’s. OH GOD the sheer vulnerability in his eyes. 

After Scorpius got the first Crucio curse, Albus, without a wand and with his hands bound, was running towards Delphi head first. Was he trying to HEADBUTT Delphi💀

oh boy the little tremble in Albus’s voice in the maze when he said “She’s threatened to kill you” - I am unwell. 

Albus saying he’ll get an augurey tattoo too - well obviously he’s not gonna get one of that now, but imagine what tattoo he’ll be actually getting? WILL IT BE SOMETHING ABOUT SCORPIUS? 

Also Harry and Draco were both way too mean to Amos!!! I mean I understand it, but still. 

🚂act 4:

WHAT ABOUT THAT BREATHING EXERCISE THING?? It feels like Albus has done that for/with Scorpius hundreds of times before, because let’s be honest, Scorpius probably has an anxiety / sensory / information overload meltdown three times a week, and Albus would just co-regulate with him by doing breathing exercises every time. 

I need to read a fic about their 40 years hiding in a hole together. (does it exist already?? should I write it???)

Draco is so right with his enthusiasm for thatched roofs and farmer’s market, I love them too.

The way Albus buried his face in Ginny’s shoulder. Their bond is so beautiful to watch. 

“tHeRe’s pLeNty yOu’Re gOod aT, Albus!” Harry really tried😭

honestly act 4 is my least favourite?? is this controversial?? it just feels really rushed. they’re so many plot holes in this act too.

The way Rose giggled after the staircase scene in the end. SHE SHIPS SCORBUS FOR REAL.

Albus be retching at “I think it’s a bonding thing”, then ten minutes later he be saying “Scorpius is the most important person in my life”. Ah, the duality of mind. He’s so real for that.

What about a fic where Albus does become a professional pigeon racer?!?! WHAT THEN?!?!

This part is short because my concentration is just GONE at the end 

—

That’s it for the notes<3 I was low key hoping to see Scorbus covers as it was a mid week performance. But honestly? Harry and Ellis’s Scorbus is gonna be hard to surpass. It was my first time seeing Alex as Ron and Sabina as Hermione, they bring such a different energy to it!

Here’s the cast board:

[mya-valentine]

February 12th - Met Him Last Night by Demi Lovato - Sukuna x Reader

The air was thick with the heavy scent of alcohol and muted whispers. It was one of those nights that bled into itself, indistinguishable from the others you spent frequenting dimly lit bars. Not because you enjoyed the company or the drinks, but because the world outside felt too cold, too isolating. Here, under the amber glow of faulty lightbulbs and amongst strangers, it was easier to forget.

The bartender slid a glass of wine your way—red, your usual—without so much as a glance, retreating back to the other patrons. You nursed the drink, the taste bitter but tolerable, and let your eyes wander across the room.

That’s when you saw him.

He sat in the corner, his posture relaxed but somehow commanding. His presence was magnetic, like the air around him crackled with danger and allure. His tattoos crawled up his forearms and neck, dark markings that almost looked alive. His crimson eyes locked onto yours as if he’d been waiting for you to notice him. A smirk spread across his lips, sharp and predatory, making your stomach churn and flip in equal measure.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning under his gaze, but it was too late. He was already walking toward you.

“You’re sitting here all alone,” he said, his voice smooth and laced with amusement. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

You glanced up at him, his figure towering over you. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating even, but there was something about him that made it impossible to look away.

“I can handle myself,” you replied, your voice firmer than you felt.

His smirk deepened, and he slid onto the stool beside you without invitation. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.

He ordered a drink—sake, you noted—and kept the conversation flowing. He was funny, charismatic, and far too charming for his own good. There was something disarming about the way he spoke, the way he listened like every word you said was worth treasuring.

But there was also something deeply unsettling beneath it all, a darkness lurking in the edges of his smile.

Hours passed, though it felt like minutes. You lost track of how many drinks you’d had or how many times he’d made you laugh. He was intoxicating in a way the alcohol could never be.

It wasn’t until he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear, that you realized just how close you’d let him get.

“Come with me,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

You hesitated. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to say no, to leave, to run. But you didn’t. Something about him, about the way he looked at you like you were his to claim, made it impossible to refuse.

He led you out of the bar, his hand firm on the small of your back. The streets were empty, the silence eerie under the faint glow of streetlights. You didn’t ask where he was taking you. You didn’t want to know.

When you reached an old, abandoned temple on the outskirts of the city, your stomach twisted with unease. “Why are we here?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound steady.

He turned to you, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Because this is where I wanted to take you.”

You took a step back, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a grip that was far too strong. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he asked, his tone mocking.

“N-no,” you stammered, though the pounding of your heart betrayed you.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Liar,” he said, pulling you closer.

You struggled against his grip, but it was like trying to fight against steel. “Let me go,” you demanded, your voice rising in panic.

His smile faded, replaced by something colder, darker. “Oh, but you don’t want that,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “Not really.”

His other hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was deceptively gentle, a stark contrast to the vice-like grip on your wrist.

“You see, I’ve been watching you,” he continued, his voice almost hypnotic. “You’re so... naive. So easy to manipulate. It’s almost too perfect.”

Your blood ran cold at his words. “What do you want from me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Everything,” he whispered.

Panic surged through you, and you tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice a low growl that made your knees weak with fear.

“I’m not—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. “You don’t have to understand now. You will, though. In time.”

He released your wrist, but before you could bolt, the air around you shifted. Dark tendrils of cursed energy slithered out from him, wrapping around you like vines. They coiled around your arms, your legs, your throat, binding you in place.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled against the restraints, but it was no use. His cursed energy was too strong, too overwhelming.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “It’ll only make things worse.”

“Why are you doing this?” you choked out, your voice trembling with fear.

He tilted his head, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. “Because I can,” he said simply, as if that was reason enough.

You felt your knees buckle, and he caught you before you hit the ground, cradling you in his arms like a predator with its prey.

“You’ll thank me for this one day,” he said, his voice soft but laced with malice. “You’ll see. You’re mine now, and there’s no escaping that.”

As the darkness closed in around you, the last thing you saw was his wicked smile, the smile of a devil who had claimed his prize.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[spideyachilles]

how yall sound right now btw

[eyes-0f-etro]

thinkinggggg abouttttt naruuuuto and sasuuuuke

[coliessions]

gojo satoru has you all covered. they were not joking when they said that this man would serve and protect because not a single thing touches you, ever. and gojo satoru is proud of that, that's what he's good at: being your personal shield.

and yet, even if he were to extend his infinity to you at every hour of the day, the one thing gojo satoru could not protect you from is getting sick.

then and there, the strongest one forgets how to act. this was not something he could fight off, something he could exorcise. no. but he felt helpless watching you squirm and curl up into a ball, sneezing and coughing on your bed.

he'd do everything in his power to take care of you, of course. but it was fidgety, at best. he never got sick growing up; he wasn't aware of the procedures of this all. so... he googled.

what else was he meant to do? you refused to eat, you were coughing up something, you were shivering, your temperature extremely high, and more things he truly did not want to think that you were going through. still, it was those same things that found their way to the google search bar as gojo satoru looked desperately for anything that could make your shivering figure feel better.

comfort was the last thing he got from his trip to the internet, however. the text on his screen informed him of the demise you'd supposedly face at this rate. you were gonna get worse and he was gonna lose the light of his life... is how he understood the search result.

after spending the whole afternoon napping, you finally stir awake feeling a cool towel on your head and something dripping on your hand. you blink the sleep away for a few more moments, eyes finally focusing on the sniffling figure holding your hand.

"toru, what's going on?" you squeeze his hand back lightly. you hear an almost theatrical gasp matched with widened blue eyes and immediately become engulfed in big bulky arms.

"i thought i was gonna lose you." he sniffs, nuzzling his face in your neck. you're left puzzled but return the hug nonetheless. "what made you think that?" satoru pulls away and examines your face. "baby, it felt like you were dying on me," he exclaims, still cupping your face.

"toru, it was probably just the flu-" you are interrupted by a cough that erupts from your throat.

"see! this is what google said would happen!"

"google? satoru gojo, you consulted google? and that's why you were crying?"

"next time i'll just exorcise every germ in this world."

"if you say so, baby"

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sharing a bed with kny men

Pairings: Yoriichi x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 5,7k (lmao)

Warnings: injury in Yoriichi's part, smut in Sanemi's part so read if you're 18+, this is a long ass fic y'all, not proofread

This is actually my first time posting Sanemi smut and I'm super scared. Let me know what you think 🥹🤍

Also, do you want me to do other characters too?🫶

Yoriichi

I heard you @laurencrsnt 🫶

All your life, you never even thought about the possibility that maybe, you’ll encounter a demon someday. Why you, out of all people? Why especially you?

Even now with its cold eyes glaring down at you and your shoulder ripped open by its claws, you fail to find an answer for that. Is it your fate to die right here, when you only went out at night in order to buy medicine for your little sister who has fever? Is dying the cruelest death really your destiny when you wish for nothing more than growing old and watching your own children live their lives?

It’s unfair.

You shouldn’t lay here, crumpled onto the still wet street. You shouldn’t feel the sensation of your eyes watering, your hands trembling, your heart racing.

This shouldn’t be your last day walking on this earth. You didn’t even have the chance to find the man of your dreams yet…

It’s ridiculous and you know it, that spark of determination that rushes through your bones. All of the sudden you spring back onto your feet and start running. Out of the city, away from the lit streets straight into the dark woods.

Even if you have to die here, you won’t give up this easily. You won’t allow this demon to end your life without putting up a fight.

“Why do you girls always think you can run away, huh? It’s too easy to sweep you off your feet”, the demon behind you comments dryly.

With a swift motion of his hand, it digs open your tender flesh all over again, sends your violent scream echoing through the lonely forest. You fall to the ground like a bag of rice, your torn leg now refusing its service completely.

“Let me go!”, you shriek in horror.

No, you don’t want to die here, you just want to go back to bed and forget about this.

But the forest ground isn’t your bed and the demon in front of you who’s ready to slice through your throat isn’t only a nightmare.

Your heart sinks to the floor, body suddenly feeling numb and lifeless. You will die here.

“I’ll keep you in good memory. Well, at least for tonight”, the demon jeers at you.

You close your eyes, desperately try to imagine your little sister. She’ll find herself a loving husband and her very own family without any doubt. Even without you around, her life will turn out alright. Even without you around, life goes on. You don’t have to feel sad or guilty, you just have to let go…

“Get away from that woman.”

A low male voice, so charismatic that you think you might dream. He sure must be handsome. Men with voices like that always have a matching face.

A slicing blade, a dull thud. But no claws that dig into your flesh one last time, no bow of relief that you’ve been awaiting for quite some time by now. Your eyelids start shivering. When is this finally over?

“Are you alright? Please allow me to help you up.”

The second something touches your skin, your eyes snap open in an instant. But they aren’t greeted by those venomous red orbs from earlier. No, these ones are soft but strong and have that calming fuchsia color. This isn’t a demon.

This is a man.

“Don’t be afraid. The demon is gone”, he continues speaking with his low voice.

You have no control over your own body and shivering limbs. It’s impossible for you to say a single word. Are you really out of danger? Is it really over?

When he pulls you off the ground, a violent scream escapes your lips. No, you don’t want to die, you don’t want your life to end tonight. Not like this, not without saying goodbye.

“Please calm down, everything is alright now”, the stranger tries to reassure you, but his words don’t even reach your ringing ears.

You gasp for air like a fish on land, forehead now covered in ice cold sweat. This can’t be your end.

If Yoriichi doesn’t act now, you might faint due to your stress. But what is he supposed to do? You don’t seem to listen to his words and touching you might only make it worse. Maybe you need, assurance?

“I won’t hurt you, see? My hands have no intention of doing you any harm.”

Gently, he glides his fingertips up and down your uninjured harm. Despite the look of horror on your face and your gaping wounds, you do have a lovely face and truly remarkable eyes.

“I came here to help you”, he continues until his fingertips finally brush over your tear-soaked face.

What is this feeling of warmth deep inside his chest? You aren’t the first woman he saved from the claws of a demon.

“I would like to accompany you on your way back home-“

“No”, you suddenly blurt out.

Even though lying in bed on your own was all you were able to think about just a few moments ago, the thought feels like a threat now. What if another demon follows you back home? What if your little sister gets attacked because of your foolishness? No, you simply can’t go back now. But on the other hand…Just the thought of sleeping alone here in the woods runs shivers down your spine.

“I…I’ll find a place to stay. Otherwise…they might harm my sister…”, you mutter.

“Allow me to escort you to my estate, then.”

You yank your head to the side in sheer disbelief, eyes searching for a spark of humor in his calming orbs. Is he really serious about that? After all, you’re a stranger. He doesn’t even know your name. Now that you think of it…who is this?

“How can I know for sure that you aren’t a demon yourself?”

“Take my hand”, he instructs you gently.

Is this really a good idea? You take a deep breath in, try to calm down your pounding heart. What do you have to lose?

When your shaky fingers wrap themselves around his much larger hand, you get ingulfed by warmth. His palms feel rough but also comforting against your bruised skin.

“Demons are cold since they are dead”, he explains briefly.

“But I am not. I am a demon slayer. It is my only destiny to safe innocent souls from their death.”

Oh. Your gaze drifts towards a katana that hangs dangles from his belt. No, demon don’t find with those weapons. So, are those words really true?

“You…You want to help me?”

“I’d love to help you if you allow me to.”

What has gotten into him? Did he really offer you to hold his hand, let alone to sleep at his house so you don’t have to fear the night on your own? Never in his life, Yoriichi allowed himself to develop feelings apart from empathy for those around him.

But those eyes. Those eyes of yours really captivate him, devour him fully. How is he supposed to leave you out here, soaked in your own blood with bruises all over your body?

“You…really would?”

Is this really okay? When you were a child, your mother told you over and over that you aren’t allowed to talk to strangers, let alone man.

But…does that also include the handsome, charismatic and armored ones?

“I keep my word. Also, your wounds need care as well. Please, allow me to help you.”

What do you have to lose.

“If that’s the case, I’d love to take your offer”, you reply shyly.

“I’m glad to hear that. I will show you the way-“

A loud groan escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it. His charismatic eyes almost made you forget about the gaping wound the monster from before inflicted on you.

Almost.

“You shouldn’t move your leg with a wound like that. I will carry you to my estate.”

“You will…carry me?”, you mutter with widened eyes.

But just when you try to take a step forward, his words become painfully clear. No, there really is no way you’ll be able to walk anywhere with that leg. But allowing him to carry you?

“I might be a little heavy.”

“Let me assure you, you aren’t heavy at all.”

“Fine…”, you grumble.

“But only a few meters.”

Gently, he stranger wraps his arms around your shoulder and knees before he starts walking.

He smells good. Like a field of flowers on a sunny day. And the way his heart beats against your cheek reminds you that you’re still alive, that you survived somehow.

This man saved you.

“I didn’t even thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. This is the least I can do for you after I almost came too late.”

He stares blankly at the blood that still drips from your leg. Just a few seconds later and that demon would have killed you with him simply watching. Why? Why is he not able to save them all, why is he still not good enough to stop this madness?

“Don’t tense up, don’t think anything less of yourself because I was injured. I was a fool for leaving the house this late at night on my own.”

Despite the fact that cold sweat still runs down your forehead and even though your fingertips still shake in shock, you cup his cheek and force his troubled eyes to look at you.

“I am beyond thankful for my rescue. The worst thing about dying today would have been leaving my little sister behind. But you saved me. And not only that, you even offered me a safe place to stay for the night. I really don’t know if…If I’d be able to sleep on my own tonight…”

The stranger doesn’t say a word, his eyes roaming around your face without a real aim.

“Oh, I didn’t even ask. What’s your name?”

“My name is not important-“

“I’m (y/n)”, you introduce yourself friendly.

“My…my name is Yoriichi”, the man carrying you mumbles.

Yoriichi. An unusual name that you’ve never heard before.

“That name suits you well.”

“We’ll arrive soon. I hope you don’t expect a big mansion since I am living in a rather small cottage-“

“I’m living in a tiny barrack in the city. A house in the woods sounds like a dream”, you mutter.

The second you open your eyes again, you find yourself in a wooden cabin with a plain futon lying on the floor and an improvised kitchen in the back of the house. Nothing special, very fitting for the man who gently lowers you onto the futon.

“I will take care of your wounds now”, he announces before taking off his haori and katana.

Without his threatful weapon dangling from his belt, he looks like a normal man.

If it wasn’t for those captivating eyes. He has to be the most breathtaking man you’ve ever seen.

“Fortunately, the cut on your leg isn’t deep. I’ll disinfect the wound and bandage it”, he explains briefly before his skilled hands spring into action.

“You really are good at everything”, you comment.

He’s so gentle that even the alcohol that disinfects your wound doesn’t seem to burn. Why have you never stumbled across him? You were so sure that you know each and every man around that it almost drove you insane. But him? He’s different from all the others. He’s truly special.

“You will have to take your kimono off. I need access to the wound on your shoulder.”

Oh.

“Y-yeah, sure…”

Hesitantly, you pull the blood-soaked fabric down your shoulder so that only your chest is still covered. Yoriichi’s eyes seem to gleam in the moonlight like liquid metal.

“You look lovely”, he flusters into the night.

He doesn’t know what has gotten into him. Is it the alcohol rising up his nose, the smell of blood that radiates from your bruised body that makes him say those strange things?

No. It has to be because of those eyes of yours. Those eyes that captivated him from the moment he first saw them.

"Thank you," you stammer, your cheeks flushing as you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You too," you add quickly, immediately regretting your awkward response.

Both you and Yoriichi swallow hard, the atmosphere in the room suddenly changing.

“I am finished. You should rest for tonight. After all, this was a draining fight for you”, he mutters while getting up.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, heart still hammering so roughly against your ribcage that you’re almost sure he’s able to hear it. What was this tension?

“But…this is your futon-“

“You are my guest. Of course, I will sleep on the floor on the other side of the room.”

Oh. A wave of disappointment rushes over you before you’re able to stop it. What were you expecting, secretly hoping? That this man will share a bed with you?

Honestly, yes.

“You…you really don’t have to…”

Oh, how much Yoriichi wished he wouldn’t have to.

“I insist on taking the floor.”

“I actually want you to sleep by my side. Please.”

The begging tone in your voice stops him mid-track.

“This night was…horrible. A little company would definitely help, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all”, he replies a little too hasty.

“I just don’t want to invade your personal space. After all, I’m a stranger.”

“A really kind stranger”, you add shyly.

Are you acting out of line? You shouldn’t push him to sleep next to you when his offer to let you sleep here is already generous enough, right?

“Forget my question, I was acting out of line-“

“No, not at all. I would love sleeping besides you.”

He crosses the room in an instant and kneels down next to you.

“But let me know whenever I become too much.”

What a ridiculous thought. Why would he ever become too much? Him, your savior, that remarkable man.

You scoot over until your back is pressed against the cool wall, eyes still fixated on his gleaming eyes. Will you really be able to sleep tonight when this is the first time ever a man lies beside you?

And what a handsome one on top.

“You should try to sleep now. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here”, he reassures you.

That is the least he can do after failing to protect you in the first place.

“Again, thank you for all of this. I definitely own you a favor”, you mumble.

Suddenly your lids start to get heavy, your mind slows down bit by bit. Maybe this rough night really took its toll on you. Is It the safety he radiates, his calming smell? In the matter of seconds, only your low and even breath is heard.

Finally, Yoriichi is able to allow himself a closer look at you. You look so peaceful and innocent with a face so remarkably beautiful that he can’t stop staring. You have to be the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. A man like him really doesn’t deserve lying next to a woman like you. Maybe he should give you space, leave you now that you fell asleep-

With a quiet groan, you draw closer to him in your sleep until your head rests on top of his chest and with your arms wrapped around his upper body.

He doesn’t dare to move an inch, eyes widen in utter surprise. Is this…cuddling? His mind races back and forth, eyes resting on your calm features. What is he supposed to do now?

Hesitantly, he allows his hand to rest on your back. What an unknown sensation, all those feelings that rise up his chest right where your hand rests.

For the first time since forever, he is the one who feels safe.   

He is the one who feels loved.

He is the one who feels warm.

And you? You cuddle yourself against him until the sun rises all over again.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

This one's for you @muichirolover14 🤍

“This is bullshit”, the man walking next to you mumbles under his breath.

“Keep focused. It was Kagaya-sama’s personal wish that the two of us go on this mission together”, you mumble with a fake smile decorating your bright red lips.

And that’s the only reason why you agreed in the first place. Why else would you pretend to be Sanemi Shinazugawa’s personal concubine if it wasn’t for Kagaya-sama and this undercover mission?

The plan is pretty simple. Countless people, including other demon slayers, lost their lives in this little innocent village that becomes a red-light district at night. Nobody knows why or who is responsible for this.

One of the upper moons, maybe.

It just made sense to dress you up as a concubine. After all, you are the light hashira, a mighty swordswoman and probably the most talented out of Mitsuri and Shinobu when it comes to acting.

And then there’s him. You glance at Sanemi’s annoyed face from the side. Why on earth did Kagaya-sama choose him? What about Rengoku, Giyu, Obanai, Tengen, Gyomei? Aren’t they a way better fit?

You sign to yourself.

Truth is, they aren’t. While Rengoku, Obanai, Tengen and Gyomei would stand out immediately, Giyu would never be able to sell you as his concubine. No, no one except the wind hashira is able to make this look natural.

No one but him looks this good in a dark green kimono.

What?

“Stop staring at me like that, brat”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I was just hoping you might disappear if I stare long enough, idiot”, you bite back in frustration.

Why does he always have to be so mean, though? You really tried to get along with him countless times, put on the most precious smile whenever you talked to him and made sure to always bring him ohagi whenever you had the chance to. But Sanemi Shinazugawa never stopped hating you. And eventually, a part of you started to dislike him as well. That one part though…

You allow your eyes a minor glimpse at his barely exposed chest. That tiny part deep within your head is somehow still drawn to him. And you hate it.

“Aren’t concubines supposed to shut up?”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll leave immediately.”

“Both of us know you wouldn’t do that.”

You let out your shaky breath, your hand crushing his while you wear the same friendly smile as before.

“Don’t mess with me, Shinazugawa”, you speak out with low voice.

His face tenses up ever so slightly, hand fighting for freedom out of your merciless grasp.

“You’ll regret talking to me like that when we’re alone, brat.”

-at the estate-

“I’d like to show you to my newest possession. Please introduce yourself”, Sanemi speaks out.

Like Amane-sama showed you, you bow in front of the man that looks you up and down with his filthy eyes.

“My name is Kiyomi”, you introduce yourself oh so sweetly.

“That name really suits you. What a beauty you are. I’m sure I’d find a lot of paying customers for you here”, the disgusting man purrs and stretches out his hand in order to touch your face.

“Don’t touch the goods”, Sanemi barks at him immediately before slapping his dirty hand away.

Who does this guy think he is, trying to touch you so casually? No. That jerk isn’t allowed to caress your face. The plain thought of men like him getting to put their hands on you…

Sanemi’s guts turn.

“Aren’t you here to sell her and yourself for the night? If that’s the case, she won’t be your good anymore for the next few hours but mine.”

He smiles at you through rotten teeth, his breath almost forcing you to choke. You are only here to detect the demon who is responsible for the countless deaths in this area. You don’t have to touch any of these men. None of them will touch you.

What about Sanemi, though? An uneasy feeling rises up your chest when your eye catches a group of women who stare him up and down with lust in their eyes. Will he allow himself a taste before continuing with this mission? Will he find a woman he is attracted to? All of them look flawless, too good to even consider the service of a paid men. But if that man looks like Sanemi…

“You will find your room to the right. This is where the female customers choose their good. After paying, you belong to them”, the man explains briefly while showing both of you around.

“Why would these women pay for the services of a man? This is a noble region that is well-inhabited by countless men”, you blurt out.

“It’s not about them being men. It’s about looks. Only the fine-looking men even get the chance to work here for the night”, he explains briefly.

Fine-looking man, huh? Well, there is no doubt in the fact that Sanemi suits that description way too good. With his firm muscles highlighted by scars from countless battles, he looks like a walking god. Let alone his perfect face, his eyes that now look soft and seducing without being irritated constantly. His white hair that frames his features perfectly.

“As for the women, we look for a broad variety of bodies, looks and personalities. You are very easy on the eye and mysterious. I’m sure countless customers will fall for that.”

“And what…what services do they expect?”

The man in front of you bursts out in hysteric laughter, you can feel Sanemi’s eyes piercing through your skull.

“What they expect? Intercourse and everything that revolves around it, of course! Do you think they pay you for some cuddles and nice words?”

You swallow hard. There is no need to do that, right? You’ll somehow shrug them off and investigate this place at night. Maybe you’ll find the demon right away and-

“Now, you are a fine-looking man. Who is this?”, a woman suddenly purrs out of the shadows.

“A new worker for the night”, the disgusting man explains with a dirty smile.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll definitely make a reservation.”

“It would be an honor, my lady”, suddenly replies in the same cheeky tone

Your guts turn in an instant, eyes narrowing slightly as you watch how a smile forms itself on Sanemi’s usual resting lips.

“What a gentleman he is. I cannot wait to meet you.”

“The honor is on my side, my lady.”

And then he steps in front of her. Elegantly, he grabs the hand she already holds out and kisses her knuckles. Your heartrate quickens, the warm flush that starts creeping up your face barely covered by your makeup.

Fucking asshole. So he’s acting like a jerk towards you all this time while treating other women like this? You hate the knot that forms itself in your throat, the disgusting feeling of disappointment that rushes over you.

Does he really hate you this much?

“Well, I think I should introduce myself to the customers as well. Have a pleasant night, Sir”, your monotone voice speaks out on its own.

With one last bow towards him, you follow the man into the women’s corridor without even gifting him a single look. Sanemi can’t help but furrow his eyebrows at your sudden reaction. Did you really want to get rid of him so badly? Maybe you’ll actually meet up with some of those guys and…

“Are you interested-“

“I will meet up with you later this evening, my lady. Please excuse me.”

Without another look or word, he storms into his assigned room and closes the door behind him.

Sanemi’s mind starts going insane. What if you actually like one of those guys? Or what if one of them hurts you, tries to force you into something you don’t want? He heard the worst stuff about places like this.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have let you go in the first place. Why you? This mission is way too dangerous for someone like you, for someone this gorgeous-

“I’m losing my fucking mind”, he mutters through gritted teeth.

“I can’t do this”, you breathe out in sheer panic while lying in bed.

No, just the thought of Sanemi having the fun of his life with that girl from earlier feels like ripping your beating heart out of your chest. Will he really share a bed with them?

If it’s for the mission, he definitely would. Nothing is greater than his urge to kill demons, especially when it comes to an upper ranked one. That little sacrifice wouldn’t stop him.

And it breaks your dumb heart.

A hard knock on the door rips you out of your running thoughts. Is this your first customer? All color drains from your face, eyes widen in horror with every bow against the wooden door.

“Just a moment”, your shaky voice shouts.

You…Do you have to look presentable? You have to think about the things you can tell him. Maybe you don’t even have to sleep with him, maybe this will distract you from the things Sanemi is probably doing right now.

You open the door.

And stare straight into the furious eyes of Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Before you’re even able to react, he pushes himself into your room and closes the door behind him before yanking you against the wall.

“What did you do?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

Your heart starts hammering roughly against your ribcage. Him? Here?

“What the hell are you doing he-“

“Answer my question right now!”, he barks into your face.

“I didn’t do anything!”, you shriek.

“What the hell has gotten into you!?”

“Has somebody touched you?”

His rough hands start running up and down your neck, yank the sleeves of your kimono upwards in a haste.

“What?”, you breathe out.

What the hell is going on? Just when you managed to pull your arm away from him, he grabs your wrist again with his face only inches away from yours.

“Did somebody touch you?”, he screams into your face.

“No!”, you cry back.

“But why would you even care? It looked like you had plenty of fun!”

He shakes his head while looking at you in utter surprise and confusion.

“What non-sense are you talking now-“

“Did you sleep with that woman from earlier when I was gone?”

God, you hate the way your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, you hate the way your eyes fill with hot tears. He came here to confront you with all those accusations while he was out there having the time of his life, while all you were able to think about is him?

“No, I didn’t sleep with anyone!”

“Stop lying to me!”

“You’re the only one I want!”, he suddenly blurts out breathlessly.

“What?”, you utter in hushed panic.

This has to be a cruel joke, an unforgiving way to stop you from doing anything. Sanemi Shinazugawa, wanting you?

“Since I first saw you with your fucking perfect face and so melodic voice, I can’t think about anything else! You, sleeping with some random guy while I’m just a few doors away. I can’t take it!”

He grabs your head with both hands, eyes staring at you so intensely that you feel like collapsing any minute. If that’s really true, if that’s really how he feels…

“But…I want you too”, you squirm.

“I always wanted you, Sanemi.”

His lips crash against yours with so much power that you almost fall over. Suddenly his hands are all over your body, tongue unforgiving as he discovers your mouth with a passion you’ve never felt before. You allow your very own hands to finally discover the deep valleys of his muscular back, to let your hasty fingertips wander over his tight chest.

It becomes unbearable. Everything starts to become unbearable. That minor gap between your bodies, the clothes that still deny you full access to his naked skin, the feeling of not having enough.

“I need more”, you whimper against his lips, not even knowing what exactly you’re asking about.

Sanemi lifts you up with ease, not even breaking the kiss when he pushes you onto the bed with his massive body lingering on top of you.

You feel like suffocating in the most exquisite way.

“I’ll give you whatever you want”, he breathes against your lips that now find your neck.

A whimper escapes your mouth before you can stop his, body rearing up underneath him.

“S-Sanemi!”

“Fuck”, he hisses before his dark eyes meet you again in distress.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I…what?”

You can’t produce a single logical sound, head still spinning from the unknown sensation that starts building up inside your stomach. Is this what desire feels like?

“Tell me you want this too. Tell me you want me.”

“I wanted you all this time”, you reply without thinking twice.

With a swift motion, you find yourself engulfed by his arms with his lips caressing yours all over again. Like in trance, you begin opening his kimono, expose his bare skin to your merciless eyes.

“You look so shamelessly good”, you whimper.

Oh, how often you pondered about how his chest feels like, if his scars are soft or as rough as his walls.

“Can I…?”

His hands grab the ends of your kimono, eyes staring down at you flustered. Is that blush creeping up his cheeks?

“It’s just…You know…I’ve never done this before…”, you stammer.

“Do I look like I did, idiot?”, he mutters while gently taking off your kimono until you lay underneath him.

Completely naked.

“I mean, yes…”

“No, I didn’t”, he barks.

“I guess I waited for someone special…”

“I did as well”, you reply in an instant.

Is this real or are you dreaming? Sanemi Shinazugawa laying on top of you fully nude. Sanemi Shinazugawa stating that he likes you. Sanemi Shinazugawa’s hand that start moving downwards…

Until he reaches between your legs and simply takes your breath away.

“Are you okay?”, he mutters, eyes filled with worry.

You nod absently, eyes rolling back into your skull. God, this feels like heaven. When a groan escapes his lips, you completely lose yourself. Out of instinct, you grab his neck and yank him even closer towards you, your hot breath clashing against his face.

“Sanemi!”

His name sounds like a prayer coming from your mouth, forces his fingers to move even faster. Is this good? Is he doing everything alright? Your whimpers grow louder and louder, nails digging into his now oversensitive skin with so much pressure that it threatens to burst. You look so gorgeous with your eyes pressed shut, your delicate mouth forming an “o”.

And then you burst right underneath him, scream his name over and over again with your legs shaking. He can’t wait no longer, can’t contain himself another second.

“I need you”, he mutters.

“Please, let me have you.”

“Yes”, you breathe out, mind still spinning when the firework that just exploded in your lower body slowly starts wearing off.

Until you feel him all over again. But this time, not his fingers. Your glossy eyes widen in utter surprise when he carefully stretches you out and disappears inside of you, hands holding onto him for dear life.

“Are you okay?”, he whimpers.

“Please…give me…more…”

He almost loses his mind, the new sensation almost eating him up alive. Countless nights, he dreamed about what it might be like to have you, what it would feel like. But the reality is so much better than any dream.

Sanemi picks up his pace and grabs your waist passionately in order to keep you in place. Over and over, again and again your sticky skin collides with his until he threatens to burst.

“You’re mine”, he presses out through gritted teeth while pounding into you.

“I’m all yours, Sanemi!”, you cry out, nails now leaving marks on his skin.

“I need…ah! I need you! Please!”

He knows exactly what you’re asking for. One last time, he picks up the pace while holding onto you for dear life.

Until finally, you scream his name. Finally, he’s able to let it all go.

“(y/n)!”

He collapses on top of you, his weight leaving you dizzy and unable to move. None of you dares to make a move, the only thing that’s filling the room being your shaky and sharp breaths.

“I love you, (y/n)”, Sanemi finally mutters, his hand caressing your cheek oh so gently.

“I love you too-“

“Mission report, mission report! Kagaya-sama requires a mission re- AH!”

“Get out of here right now!”, Sanemi barks at the crow that casually entered the room.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?”

“Get out!”, Sanemi screams on top of his lungs before yanking up and hunting the crow butt-naked through the room

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

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@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

[wyniepooh]

Loving him was never enough

you don’t have what logan needs, but he still takes all that he can.

Cage fighter!logan x reader. Mentions of violence. Porn with a little bit of plot. mdni; 18+

thinking about being logan’s plaything in his cage fighting days.

It’s not uncommon for the fighters to have a girl around their arms as they enter the ring, and though Logan usually resists against the fan girls who clamour around him in a frenzy, he figures a sweet thing like you could only do him some good.

Not only does it piss the other fighters off, (they hate to see the king of the cage also have a pretty girl like you beside him) turns out, you’re not half bad for company either.

You’re an anxious little thing, brows furrowed and eyes teary before every match. Logan doesn’t bother telling you that he’ll be fine, that he’s going to win guaranteed, that his punch is as hard as metal. Literally.

He hates to admit it, but he finds it endearing, the way you’re so worried for him. through his nonchalant front, he still wipes away your tears with his large hands before every match and reassures you, cooing, “I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

When logan gets in the ring, the fight goes exactly as he expects it to go. The other guy is destroyed before logan even shows his true strength. In a spiteful and humiliating position, the fallen guy comments something like, “I’ll fuck your pretty girlfriend dumb.”

Logan hears, of course, and though the guy is already bleeding and sprawled over the mat on the ground in a pathetic display, and though logan definitely didn’t consider you his girlfriend, he throws the announcer to the side and pounces. Through gritted teeth and a bleeding forehead, he catches your eye, shaking his head lightly before knocking the other guy out.

You wait for him in the small public washroom afterwords, arms crossed and pouting. As Logan approaches the door and sees your stiff pacing around the room, he knows you’re mad. And he knows it won’t stay that way.

“‘was so worried, logan,” you practically run towards him, “why’d you have to go after him like that? he could’ve really hurt you.”

He scoffs and flashes you the fresh wad of cash. “Hurt me? Please.”

He stays still for as long as he can bear while you dab at the wound on his head with your sleeve, silently hoping you wouldn’t notice the red cut slowly healing by itself. When you try to touch his face, to run a finger down his cheek and his stubble, he grabs your wrist harshly to stop you.

You’re confused, confused as to why he allows you to trail along to his every fight and wipes your tears with such a gentle hand, but refuses to let you in. He doesn’t give you much time to think, though, because as soon as you part your lips to speak, he’s picking you up from under your arms and sitting you down on the cold sink counter.

there’s an aggressive desperation behind his kiss, probably produced by the adrenaline of the recent fight and triggered by the soft whine he heard from you when his teeth knocked against yours. His hand reaches down between your legs and drags your panties to the side, and before long, you’re biting his shoulder and mumbling, “‘gonna cum, logan, please, let me cum.”

He does, drawing out your short orgasm with a few more pumps of his fingers and a graze over your clit. When he’s done, you’re practically already numb, head limp on his shoulder as you hear the metal clinking of his belt.

“You want this?” He asks, holding your head up by your chin as he tilts his head and raises his brows. “You want me?”

You nod feverishly, half-lidded eyes flickering as you breathe, “yes, logan. need you.” Your head falls back against the mirror, and he looks down with a grin at the sight in front of him.

he hooks his arms around your knees to bring you closer before you take him to the hilt in one go, burying a mewl into his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist. The first thrust burns, always does, but only he can make you forget the pain in an instant. Soon, your hands are tangled in his hair, his beard is rubbing against your neck, and you’re begging, “please, lo, need it so bad. “ Logan fucks exactly like how he fights, thrusting into you so sharply your ass is sliding back on the metal counter with each movement of his hips.

He’s done this enough times to know what makes you whine and dig your fingernails into his back, but he still demands, every time, “that feel good, baby? you like that?” Of course, you don’t have to answer for him to know that it does, that it does feel good, so incredibly good, and that he’s hitting all the right spots in the body only he knows so well.

You aren’t the only one filling the room with lewd noises. Logan is panting too, the echoes of his each and every grunt reflecting off of every corner in the room and into your ear. It only makes your cheeks flush hotter, only encourages your hips to move more eagerly to match his pace.

It’s always when he’s just about there that Logan pulls back and looks down at where the two of you are connected, slowing down his strokes to slowly watch his bulging cock sink deep into your slopping cunt.

It’s the only opportunity with logan that you get to really look at him, to see the raw expression of euphoria on his face, teeth bared and mouth open. Some strands of previously gelled hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes rolling back with each press of his pelvis. Your eyes trace the sweat on his shoulder, the hair on his chest peaking from behind his white wife-beater, and the vein on his stomach that connects to the one on his dick.

You gaze flickers back at his face, and you extend a hand to guide his head towards you. He tries to turn away, as usual, and you hate that you know he’s holding back; limiting the noises he’s making, the pace he’s taking.

“Just use me, Logan. I know you want to,” you plead against his lips, inhaling a gasp as you press your lips onto his. You expect him to pull away, to push your head to the side and focus on finishing the other task at hand, but this time, he only pulls you closer, one hand around your waist and the other on the back of your head. He doesn’t give you much time to be shocked before he resumes his previous pace, drilling into you with the same vigor, albeit a bit more sloppy than before.

Logan pulls back to catch his breath, and at the same time, you clench tightly around him. A low groan escapes him, a noise so animalistic and fervent that you reach your high right then and there, shrieking as your legs begin to shake.

He’s close too, you can feel it in his breathing, so you let him fuck you beyond your orgasm, even if it’s getting to be too much and you’re losing your thoughts by the second.

“nobody— ah— fucks my girlfriend,” he suddenly growls, lifting you up from under your arms and shoving you against the tiled wall. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to look into his hazel gaze as he spits, “n-nobody fucks you like I do.”

He plummets into you deep, leaning his lips in and making you swallow one last groan of his before you feel his warm release fill your insides.

When he’s done, Logan is supporting all your weight, your limp arms splayed around his sweaty back. You whimper at the emptiness as he pulls out, feeling his cum languidly drip down your inner thighs.

You’re too exhausted to realize what he just said, to react to what he just referred to you as, and as the fog of pleasure slowly unclouds Logan’s head, he’s glad he fucked you stupid enough to forget.

-

a/n: anyone else feel like they’re incapable of writing good smut? Hey Google how many other synonyms could there possibly be of the word ‘thrust’?

[s4kura-tr3]

the jjk men reaction to their wife without their wedding ring ?

Gojo satoru — Gojo Satoru strolled into the living room, humming a cheerful tune as he casually twirled his sunglasses between his fingers. It was a rare moment of downtime for both of you, and he had been looking forward to lounging around with his beloved wife. His sharp eyes, however, immediately zeroed in on you, sprawled out on the couch with your phone in one hand and your other hand resting lazily on the armrest.

At first, he didn’t notice it. But as his gaze lingered—because, honestly, you looked stunning even in sweatpants—it hit him. Something was… missing.

His blue eyes narrowed slightly, and the grin on his face turned into a playful smirk. He crossed the room and plopped down dramatically next to you, making the couch shift slightly.

“Darling,” he began in a tone dripping with mock severity, leaning closer to you as if he had discovered the secret to the universe.

You glanced up briefly, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for your left hand, gently lifting it as if it were a delicate artifact. He examined it closely, turning it this way and that. That’s when he saw it. Or rather, didn’t see it.

“Oh. My. God.” he gasped, clutching your hand with both of his. “Where is it? Where’s the ring? Our ring?” His voice escalated into a melodramatic pitch, and he looked at you as though you’d just committed the ultimate betrayal.

You blinked at him, utterly unbothered. “I took it off while I was washing the dishes earlier. I forgot to put it back on. Relax, Gojo.”

But Gojo wasn’t about to let it go. He sprang to his feet, one hand pressed to his chest as if your words had physically wounded him. “Forgot? You forgot the symbol of our eternal, unbreakable love?” He pointed dramatically at your bare ring finger. “Do you know what this says to the world? That I, Gojo Satoru, am unclaimed! Unwanted! A free agent!”

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Satoru, nobody in the world thinks you’re unclaimed. You’re too loud for that.”

But he wasn’t listening. He began pacing back and forth in front of you, gesturing wildly. “Do you realize how many people out there are just waiting for a moment like this? They’ll think I’m single! Do you want people throwing themselves at me?” He spun around, his eyes wide with mock horror. “What if Nanami hears about this? Or worse, Gojo’s fan club?!”

That finally got a laugh out of you. “You have a fan club?”

“Of course I do,” he said, puffing his chest out. “I’m Gojo Satoru. But that’s not the point!” He dropped back onto the couch beside you, leaning in close so that his face was mere inches from yours. His eyes, bright and intense as always, locked onto yours. “The point is, you, my dearest, most beautiful wife, have forgotten our sacred bond. And I, as your loving husband, must now remind you why you married me.”

Before you could protest, he scooped you up in his arms as if you weighed nothing. You let out a startled yelp, laughing despite yourself. “Satoru, what are you doing?”

“I’m making sure you never forget again,” he said with a grin that could melt anyone’s heart.

He spun you around once, his laughter mingling with yours. You tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held you firm, his warm hands steady and strong.

“Put me down, you lunatic!”

“Not until you swear to never, ever leave your wedding ring behind again,” he said, his voice playful but with a hint of mock sternness.

“Okay, fine!” you managed between laughs. “I swear! I won’t forget again!”

Satisfied, he set you back down on the couch, but not before brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face and planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Good,” he said, his tone shifting to that softer, more genuine one he reserved just for you. He sat back, crossing his arms as if he’d just won an important battle. “By the way,” he added, smirking, “your wedding ring is on the counter by the sink. You’re welcome.”

You groaned, throwing a pillow at him. “You knew this whole time and still made a scene?”

“Of course I did,” he said, catching the pillow effortlessly and flashing you a smug grin. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t take every opportunity to shower my wife with attention?”

You rolled your eyes again, but the warmth spreading in your chest betrayed how much you adored him—dramatics and all.

Geto Suguru — It was late in the afternoon, the golden light from the setting sun spilling through the windows of your quiet home. You were seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea while flipping through a book. The peaceful silence was interrupted by the soft sound of Suguru’s footsteps as he entered the room, his long, dark hair tied loosely behind him, and his expression calm as always.

“Hmm,” he hummed as his sharp eyes immediately noticed you. His lips curved into a faint smile. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you replied with a playful grin, not looking up from your book

He walked over to you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. Everything about Suguru exuded calm, but there was something sharp about his gaze as he straightened, his attention drawn to your left hand resting on the table.

“Where’s your ring?” he asked, his tone casual but with a slight edge of curiosity.

You blinked, glancing at your hand. “Oh,” you said, realizing the absence of the small band. “I took it off earlier while I was washing the dishes. I must’ve forgotten to put it back on.”

Suguru’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a faint flicker of something in his dark eyes—amusement, perhaps. He moved to the chair across from you and sat down, resting his chin on his hand as he regarded you.

“Forgotten, hm?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth.

You tilted your head, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. “It’s not a big deal, Suguru,” you said, brushing it off.

His smile widened ever so slightly, though there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “Not a big deal? My wife walking around without a ring, making it look like she’s unmarried? How scandalous.”

You snorted, closing your book and setting it aside. “Oh, please. Nobody is going to think I’m unmarried, Suguru.”

“Hmm,” he hummed again, his gaze locking with yours. “Perhaps not. But it’s the principle, isn’t it?” He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your bare ring finger in slow, deliberate strokes. “This little band means something, doesn’t it? A reminder of the vows we made.”

You rolled your eyes, though his touch was warm and soothing. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone still even, though the faint smile on his lips betrayed his amusement. “But I quite like seeing you wear it. It suits you.”

“Well, it’s sitting on the counter,” you admitted. “I just forgot to put it back on.”

Suguru sighed softly, standing up from his chair and walking to the kitchen counter. He picked up your ring, holding it delicately between his fingers before turning back to you. His movements were always deliberate, almost graceful, as he returned to your side and crouched down next to you.

“Hold out your hand,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You quirked an eyebrow at him but complied, holding out your hand. Suguru took it carefully, his fingers warm against yours.

“You know,” he began as he slipped the ring back onto your finger, “this little thing is more than just a piece of metal. It’s a claim, a promise, and a reminder of the fact that you belong to me, just as I belong to you.”

His words were soft but carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. When the ring was back in its rightful place, Suguru raised your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles

“There,” he murmured. “That’s better.”

You shook your head, your cheeks warm. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk, standing back up to his full height. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed how much his little gestures meant to you. Suguru wasn’t always loud in his affections, but moments like this reminded you of just how deeply he cared for you—and how much he loved to remind you of it.

Nanami kento — The quiet hum of the apartment greeted Nanami as he stepped inside, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly now that he was home. He loosened his tie as he glanced around, his sharp eyes immediately landing on you sitting at the dining table, your laptop open and a mug of tea beside you.

“Welcome home,” you said, looking up with a smile.

“Good evening,” he replied, his voice calm and steady as always. He moved toward you, setting his briefcase down with practiced precision before leaning in to kiss your temple. “Busy day?”

“Not really,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “I spent most of it cleaning and catching up on emails.”

Nanami nodded, his gaze briefly scanning the room before settling on you. As you reached for your mug, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Where’s your ring?” he asked suddenly, his tone even but with a hint of curiosity.

You froze for a moment, glancing at your hand. Your wedding ring was missing from its usual place, and you let out a small laugh as you realized. “Oh, I took it off earlier when I was cleaning. I guess I forgot to put it back on.”

Nanami’s expression remained calm, but you noticed the slight tightening of his jaw. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, resting his hands on the table.

“I see,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your hand again.

You tilted your head, sensing his hesitation. “It’s not a big deal, Kento,” you said lightly. “I’ll go grab it in a second.”

He sighed softly, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s not that I doubt you,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a subtle weight. “It’s just… that ring isn’t just an accessory to me.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

Nanami reached across the table, gently taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over the bare spot where your ring should have been. “It’s a symbol,” he said after a moment. “Of us. Of everything we’ve chosen to share. When I see it on your finger, it’s a quiet reassurance that, no matter how chaotic things get, we have something solid.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a pang of guilt mixed with affection. Nanami wasn’t one to dramatize things, but his quiet honesty carried more weight than anything else ever could

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” you said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not worried,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. “I know where we stand. But… seeing it missing felt strange. Like something wasn’t quite right.”

Your lips curved into a warm smile. “You’re such a sentimentalist, you know that?”

He exhaled through his nose, his expression softening as he gave you a faint smile. “I’d argue I’m just practical. But if it makes me a sentimentalist to care about something that reminds me of you, then so be it.”

You chuckled, standing up and leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I’ll go grab it now. I don’t want you to feel off balance.”

As you walked to the kitchen to retrieve your ring from the small dish by the sink, you couldn’t help but feel touched by how deeply he cared about even the smallest details.

When you returned, the ring back on your finger, Nanami’s eyes immediately dropped to your hand. He gave a small, approving nod and reached for your hand again.

“Much better,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the ring.

You sat down beside him this time, leaning into his solid presence. “You know, Kento, you’re a lot more romantic than you like to admit.”

He huffed softly, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, resting his hand over yours.

Toji fushiguro— The heavy thud of boots echoed through the entryway as Toji walked into the house, his presence impossible to miss. You looked up from the couch where you were scrolling on your phone, catching the sharp glint of his green eyes as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair.

“Hey, you’re back early,” you said with a smile, sitting up as he crossed the room toward you.

He gave a small grunt of acknowledgment, his version of a greeting, before plopping down beside you. “Work wrapped up faster than I thought,” he said, leaning back and stretching an arm over the back of the couch.

As he settled in, his eyes flicked toward you, and they instinctively scanned over you with the same sharpness he applied to everything. They lingered on your hand for a beat longer than usual.

“Where’s your ring?” he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity.

You blinked, looking down at your bare finger. “Oh,” you said lightly, “I took it off earlier while I was washing dishes. I guess I forgot to put it back on.”

Toji raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sly smirk. “Forgot, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, already sensing where this was going. “Don’t start,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s not like I lost it or anything. It’s on the counter by the sink.”

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at you with that unreadable expression of his. “Funny. I didn’t think you’d be the type to forget something like that.”

You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s just a ring, Toji. Don’t make it a big deal.”

“Just a ring?” he repeated, his tone laced with amusement. He leaned back again, draping an arm across your shoulders. “That’s not what you said when I gave it to you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the memory. Toji wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, so when he had proposed—ring and all—it had been one of the rare moments where he let his guard down. The ring symbolized more than just a commitment; it was his way of showing you that you were the one person he trusted enough to hold onto.

“Okay, fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not ‘just a ring.’ Happy now?”

Toji chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Damn right I’m happy. You’re lucky I’m not one of those guys who gets all pissy about this stuff.”

“You literally just called me out for it,” you shot back, giving him a playful glare.

“Yeah, but I didn’t yell about it,” he said, smirking as he reached for your hand. He turned it over, his calloused fingers brushing against your bare finger. “Guess I just like seeing it on you, that’s all.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. Toji wasn’t one for flowery words or grand romantic gestures, but when he said things like this, it was impossible not to feel the depth of his emotions.

You softened, resting your other hand over his. “I didn’t mean to make you feel weird about it,” you said. “I’ll go grab it right now.”

As you stood up to retrieve your ring, Toji leaned back and watched you with a lazy grin. “Don’t keep me waiting, princess. Gotta make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, but there was no real annoyance behind it. When you returned with the ring on your finger, Toji reached for your hand again, his thumb brushing over the metal as his grin widened.

“Now that’s more like it,” he said, tugging you back onto the couch beside him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile.

“And you love it,” he replied easily, pulling you closer until you were leaning against his chest.

Sukuna ryomen — The air was heavy with the scent of incense and sakura blossoms, the grand halls of Sukuna’s domain illuminated by the flickering light of oil lamps. You sat on a low, ornate platform, your fingers absently tracing patterns on a delicate porcelain cup as you waited for Sukuna to return.

The sound of his footsteps was unmistakable, his commanding presence preceding him. When he stepped into the room, his twin sets of eyes found you immediately, piercing and intense. Dressed in his ceremonial robes, Sukuna looked every bit the fearsome king he was rumored to be, his aura suffocating yet magnetic.

“Wife,” he greeted in a low, resonant voice that sent a shiver down your spine. “What mischief have you been up to today?”

You smiled, setting down your cup as he approached. “Nothing that would trouble the great Ryomen Sukuna,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him.

He chuckled darkly, the sound laced with amusement and menace. “Good. I’ve had enough annoyances for one day.”

As he lowered himself to sit beside you, his gaze swept over you, sharp and all-seeing. His attention lingered on your left hand, resting idly in your lap. His expression darkened instantly, a storm brewing in his crimson eyes.

“Where is it?” he demanded, his tone suddenly sharp.

You blinked, confused. “Where is what?”

“Your ring,” he said coldly, his jaw tightening as his eyes bore into yours. “The one I placed on your finger. The one that marks you as mine.”

Realization dawned, and you glanced down at your bare hand. “Oh,” you said lightly. “I removed it while preparing the tea earlier. I didn’t want it to get dirty.”

Sukuna’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew more severe. “And you thought it wise to leave yourself unmarked?”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “It’s just a ring, Sukuna. It’s not as though I’ve forgotten what it means.”

“Just a ring?” he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He leaned closer, his four eyes narrowing as his hand shot out to grab your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You insult me with such carelessness.”

You held his gaze, refusing to flinch under the weight of his presence. “It was not meant as an insult,” you said firmly. “I was thinking practically. Surely you don’t think a piece of metal is the only proof of my loyalty to you.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a wicked grin, though his eyes still burned with displeasure. “No, but it is a visible declaration. One that tells the world you belong to me. You will not cast it aside so lightly again.”

You sighed, reaching up to rest your hand over his. “It was not my intention to ‘cast it aside,’ as you put it. But if it matters so much to you, I will retrieve it immediately.”

“Do that,” he said, releasing your chin with a flick of his wrist. “And do not make me repeat myself on this matter.”

You rose gracefully, moving toward the chamber where you had set the ring aside. Sukuna’s gaze followed you, his eyes dark and watchful, though you could sense the simmering satisfaction beneath his displeasure.

When you returned, the ring once again adorning your finger, Sukuna reached out and caught your wrist, pulling you closer. He inspected the ring as though ensuring it hadn’t been damaged in your absence.

“Better,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the metal. He glanced up at you, his expression softening slightly—though his grin retained its edge. “Do not forget, wife. You are mine. Always.”

You smirked, leaning down so your face was close to his. “And you are mine, Ryomen Sukuna. Do not forget that either.”

He laughed, a deep, reverberating sound that filled the room. “Bold as ever,” he said, his voice dripping with approval. “Perhaps that’s why I tolerate you.”

[calypso-rt]

5 LIL' THINGS

Rafe does as your bf...

-> Rafe x F!Reader

intro

There were a lot of things people said about Rafe Cameron.

Most of them weren’t nice.

Words like reckless, selfish, and volatile were tossed around with such regularity you’d think they were stitched into his DNA.

And maybe some of that was true. He could be a pain in the ass, even on a good day. But then there were the other things.

The things no one talked about.

Like how he’d tilt his head just slightly when he was pretending not to care but actually cared more than he’d ever admit. Or how he’d mutter something sarcastic to cover up the fact that his eyes softened whenever he looked at you. The kind of things that didn’t make headlines but stayed tucked away in stolen moments and quiet gestures.

Because Rafe Cameron wasn’t a perfect boyfriend. But if you paid attention, he was so much better than perfect.

He was Rafe.

And sometimes, that meant big, messy declarations of love. But most of the time? It was the little things. The ones that slipped through the cracks but left their mark anyway. The kind of things you couldn’t forget, even if you tried.

1 | Midnight Runs for Ice Cream

It started as an offhand comment. You were sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, mumbling something about how a bowl of chocolate ice cream would fix everything wrong with the world. You didn’t expect Rafe to hear it, let alone act on it.

But twenty minutes later, he was pulling up in his truck, headlights slicing through the darkness outside your window.

“Get in,” he called, leaning out of the driver’s side with his trademark smirk. His hair was messy like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his hoodie hung loosely on his frame, but there was something about the way he looked at you: like he’d move mountains just because you said you were craving dessert.

You didn’t need convincing.

In the car, it took all of five minutes for an argument to break out over toppings.

“Hot fudge is the only acceptable option,” you insisted, crossing your arms dramatically.

Rafe scoffed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Please. Caramel’s where it’s at. You just don’t have taste.”

“Oh, I have taste,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “You’re the one with the palate of a toddler.”

He glanced over, his smirk widening. “Toddler, huh? That’s bold coming from someone who’s about to order sprinkles.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. “And don’t even bother denying it. I already know exactly what you’re getting.”

The audacity.

“You don’t know me, Cameron.”

“Sure I do.” His voice was low, teasing. “Chocolate ice cream, hot fudge, and a mountain of sprinkles.”

And, annoyingly, he was right.

By the time you got back to your place, the ice cream was already melting, but neither of you cared. You leaned against the counter, savoring each bite like it was heaven in a cup. Meanwhile, Rafe stayed perched a few feet away, one hip propped against the edge, arms crossed casually.

He wasn’t eating anything. He never did. But his eyes lingered on you, soft and warm in a way that felt unguarded, like the weight of the world didn’t matter for a little while.

“Why are you staring?” you asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not,” he muttered, looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin.

But he was.

And even though he’d deny it later, you knew that Rafe loved these moments.

Just you, the quiet, and the faint hum of the world outside.

2 | Personal Handyman

It was a lazy afternoon when you casually mentioned the faucet in the kitchen was leaking again. You didn’t think much of it. It was a small problem, something you’d fix when you got around to it. It wasn’t worth stressing over.

But apparently, Rafe thought otherwise.

You were in the living room when you heard the sound of his truck pulling up outside. A moment later, there was a knock at the door, followed by the familiar voice of Rafe Cameron calling your name, low and a little rough.

When you opened the door, he was standing there, toolbox in hand, looking like he’d just walked off a worksite.

“Uh… what are you doing here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fixing your sink,” he said matter-of-factly, brushing past you and making his way to the kitchen without waiting for permission.

“Rafe, I didn’t-”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. “You mentioned it. I’ll take care of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he just acted, like it was no big deal. But you knew better.

Rafe wasn’t exactly Handy Manny. But for some reason, when it came to you, he’d drop whatever he was doing and show up, ready to tackle whatever needed fixing.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as he knelt down by the sink, inspecting the faucet like he actually knew what he was doing. It was kind of endearing, watching him concentrate.

He grumbled to himself, clearly getting frustrated as he fumbled with the wrench. “This thing’s not going in right…”

You couldn’t resist. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

He shot you a glare over his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

It took him a bit longer than expected, a few more muttered curses under his breath, but eventually, the leak stopped. He leaned back, wiping his hands on a rag, a proud look on his face.

“Done,” he said, standing up and brushing the dust off his jeans.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I didn’t think you were the handyman type.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, smirking, wiping his hands one last time. “But I’ll do it for you.”

It wasn’t the words that made your heart skip a beat, it was the sincerity behind them. Because Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy who did things for anyone else. But for you?

Anything.

3 | The Protector

The bonfire crackled, flames dancing in the cool evening air, throwing long shadows across the beach as the sound of waves crashed softly in the background.

Everyone was spread out in small groups, drinks in hand, laughing, talking, and basking in the glow of the fire. It was one of those nights where everyone felt a little too wild, a little too free, but you felt calm. Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Except... Rafe had been watching you.

Not in the creepy, overbearing way, but in the subtle, Rafe kind of way. He was always nearby, his eyes scanning the crowd, just making sure no one got too close. He made sure you had a drink in your hand, not too much, just enough so you didn’t have to worry about someone else trying to buy you one.

He had a sixth sense for noticing when someone came too close to your space, his jaw tightening just slightly as he made his way over to draw you into a conversation, his hand resting at the small of your back like a silent warning to anyone who might have been eyeing you.

“Got everything you need?” he’d ask, his voice low and steady, as he plopped down next to you.

You grinned, giving him an exaggerated wink. “Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for being my personal bodyguard tonight.”

His lips quirked up at the corner, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I’m always looking out for you." The words felt like more than just an empty promise. They were a truth, simple but intense in the way only Rafe could be.

As the night stretched on, the bonfire began to fade. The crackling wood sounded more like a whisper now, the heat slipping away into the cool night air. You were just about to get up to grab more firewood when you felt a familiar weight settle over your shoulders.

Rafe’s hoodie. You didn’t even have to ask.

You didn’t even notice he’d stood up, not until he returned, draping the fabric over you in one smooth motion. “Don’t want you getting cold,” he muttered, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a second too long, like he was debating whether he should say more. But then he was back to his spot, his eyes scanning the beach again, always on alert, always looking out for you.

"Thanks," you murmured, pulling the hoodie tighter around your frame, the faint scent of his cologne making you smile.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice low, but it was the kind of ‘anytime’ that meant forever.

And that’s exactly how it felt. Forever.

4 | Has Your Back

It was supposed to be a simple night out.

A few drinks, some laughs, the usual. Dinner at a local spot with Rafe and his friends, the kind of casual evening that would slip by unnoticed in the grand scheme of things. But then, Ruthie opened her mouth.

"Honestly," she started, swirling her drink around nonchalantly, "I don't get it. How'd someone like Rafe end up with you?"

The words stung, and you could feel your cheeks flush. Ruthie had that uncanny ability to hit below the belt without even trying. You shot her a sharp look, about to respond, but before you could, Rafe’s demeanor shifted.

One moment he was laughing, holding court with the guys, the next he was leaning in with an icy calmness that made the air around him tighten. His hand shot out, resting protectively on the back of your chair, his body angling just enough to block Ruthie’s view of you.

"Watch it, Ruth," he said, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. "You might wanna take that back before you piss me off."

You could feel his gaze, intense and unwavering, but there was something else behind it. A playful edge that suggested he wasn’t taking Ruthie’s words too seriously, just looking out for you. You swallowed the heat that had risen in your chest, deciding to hold your ground and respond on your own terms.

"I'm not some charity case, Ruth," you shot back, keeping your tone even but firm. "If you’ve got a problem, maybe we can talk about it later."

Rafe’s lips twitched into a barely there smile as he let you handle it. He wasn’t going to fight your battles for you, but the way he hovered, close enough to let everyone know he was ready if things escalated, was enough to settle the tension.

"And just so you know," Rafe added, looking directly at Ruthie with a mockingly sweet tone, "you can keep your thoughts to yourself. I like her just the way she is."

There was a beat of silence, and Ruthie’s eyes narrowed, but she backed off, giving you a pointed look before taking another sip of her drink.

The night resumed, but you could feel Rafe's hand on your back as he leaned into you, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze.

Later, as you and Rafe walked out of the restaurant, he nudged you with a softer grin. "You handled Ruthie pretty well," he said, his voice a little quieter than usual. "Impressive."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sincerity. "You think so?"

Rafe nodded, his gaze softening. "Yeah. She can be a lot, but you didn't back down. I respect that."

You smiled, feeling a warmth you weren’t expecting. "Thanks, Rafe."

He pulled you a little closer, his arm around your shoulders. "Anytime. I’ve got your back." And in that moment, it was clear.

His admiration for you was genuine, and he'd always be there, quietly protective in his own way.

5 | More Than Words

After a long, draining day, you stumbled through the front door, exhaustion weighing heavily on you. The world felt too loud, too overwhelming, and you just wanted to escape for a while.

To your surprise, Rafe was already on the couch, his laptop resting in his lap as he looked up at you, eyes softening the second he saw how tired you were.

Without a word, he set the laptop aside, his usual cocky demeanor gone. He just knew.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

He didn’t need to.

Moving toward you, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto the couch, guiding you gently between his legs, holding you like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. His hand softly brushed through your hair, the quiet comfort of his touch calming the chaos of your mind. He didn’t need to say anything; his presence was enough.

"Hey," his voice was quiet, soft against your ear. "I know today was tough."

You nodded, leaning your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just held you, grounding you with his steady presence. His fingers found yours, the simple act of holding your hand more meaningful than any words could be.

In the silence, you realized something: with all the messiness inside him, all the brokenness he carried, Rafe knew how to find peace in moments like this.

And in this small, quiet space, you found it too.

Wrapped in his arms, the weight of the world seemed a little less heavy.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

[helluvapoison]

Possessive

how the overlords would put a claim on you

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Carmilla Carmine ⁎⁺˳✧༚

As much as she loves spending her mornings in bed with you, wishfully thinking she could stay there all day, she can only give you 3 more minutes at best. Being an Overlord and a CEO keeps her rather busy. You’re grown, you can handle yourself (you have to in this world) she’s not keeping tabs on your whereabouts. Carmilla isn’t itching for a fight like these new “up and comers”. Giving you something to protect you when she’s not around simultaneously puts a target on your back. A simple ring with her name inscribed would suffice, satisfying any possessive vices she may or may not have

˚✧₊⁎ Zestial ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Abhorrent is jealousy, driving the younger generations to filth like, ugh, hickeys. Although, on a certain level he does understand. Being in Hell for as long as he has and alone the same amount, he knows all too well the primal need to claim what other’s might steal. One must leave their mark as a warning sign for others. Zestial’s exceptionally charming when he wants something, notably not asking when he presents you with the crisply wrapped gifts. There’s no less than twenty. Boxes upon boxes of accessories and clothes that suit you but hold his color palette, spider and web details to boot. He’s utterly thrilled when you wear them, showering you in compliments and declaring himself the luckiest soul in Hell

˚✧₊⁎ Rosie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Goodness, have you seen how sinners nowadays go about the whole ordeal? What happened to romance!? Call her old fashioned, but Rosie likes a smidge of glamour in her techniques! She’ll walk shoulder to shoulder with you, holding her parasail over the both of you. She’ll accidentally press her painted lips on your cheek and forget, quickly getting swept up into conversation with someone or the other. It’s fine, no one would question her! Not if they wanted to live anyways. Butterflies swarm her stomach when she notices you haven’t wiped her imprint away, a proud smile spreading across her face. It becomes purposeful as the days go on

˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

While happy to broadcast newsworthy exploits, sharing his private affairs with the world is out of the question. Of course the appeal of it all isn’t lost on him, he merely doesn’t see the point. Why broaden your horizons of potential dangers by claiming you publicly? To calm that unruly, covetous alien in the pit of his chest? He’s not that selfish! Besides, nothing less than something permanent could truly satisfy him anyhow

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

If he doesn’t have eyes on you, he’s working. Those measley hours apart won’t stop him from reminding all of Hell you still belong to him. He doesn’t trust anyone down here. He’ll convince you it’s for your safety that he tightens the collar around your neck. With a hum of approval, Val’s long and slender fingers twist the tag with his name on it. Heart shaped, of course, he loves you after all!

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Only the insecure need to put a claim on their person. That’s not Vox, no way! You’re never really out of his sights anyways, what with today’s power of technology and all! The need to brand you goes a different route. He wants everyone to know you’re spoken for, pulling you on camera every chance he gets. He wants them to stare in awe and envy but cast their eyes down when you walk by in public. A slight on you would be a slight on him personally and no one messes with The Vees

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Truthfully, there isn’t much she wouldn’t do. You’re all over her Sinstagram and that says it all. Every runway show, every red carpet walk, every paparazzi shot you’re always beside her. Vel dresses you left and right to match her OOTD somehow. She snaps a pic every single day (sometimes more) to show her followers their favorite couple is thriving and stylish as always! The description never fails to scream how your all hers

[dollishmehrayan]

# “THE WOMAN WAS TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK…” ── .✦ ( batboys w an unhinged!reader and blunt!reader )

a/n: this is from my little brain of mine , and I like to honor it for @kyriakis anywhoo I’m back and omg 1k?! Alsoo guys dw! I’m gonna do the event tomorrow && I’m gonna pick out some prompts I have organized, so i didn't forget okay but i just got a lot of DMs asking when I’m gonna do it for you guyss so yeah it’s gonna be tomorrow since I’m gonna re-edit + add some ideas of your guys votes!! Tags: (batboys x unhinged!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He’s always caught off guard but loves it. Your bluntness is a breath of fresh air for Dick, who’s so used to diplomatic conversations. You say whatever’s on your mind with zero filter, and he’s like, “Oh, wow. Okay. I respect it.”

Hates it when you don’t hold back with him. He’s used to being the charming, funny guy who makes everyone laugh, but you hit him with a “That was dumb, don’t do that again” and his brain short circuits for a second. “You can’t just say that!” “Why not?”

Finds it hilarious when you wreck other people’s egos. You have zero time for anyone’s nonsense, and when someone messes up, you let them know. Dick’s in the background, trying not to laugh. “Do you not think before you speak?!…” He’s always acts so shocked but hey, he’s kinda enjoying it unless it’s aimed at him. (He can’t fight verbally for the life of him without saying some cringe shit)

Doesn’t even try to change you. Dick knows what he’s getting into, and he loves you for it. He’s never going to ask you to ‘tone it down.’ He actually finds your unapologetic attitude pretty hot.

He’s 50% worried you’ll get into trouble, 50% impressed. But in the end, he’ll always back you up, saying, “She’s just honest. Get used to it.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Finally, someone who speaks his language. Jason lives for the fact that you don’t care what people think. He loves how blunt you are, especially when you cut through the BS with the precision of a sharp knife.

Gets protective when people try to push your boundaries. If someone dares disrespect you, Jason’s the first one to step in. “You’ve got a problem with her? You’ve got a problem with me.”, “Jason that was so fucking cringey..”

Appreciates that you don't sugarcoat things for him. You’ll tell him exactly how it is, whether it’s about his attitude or a bad decision he made, and he respects it, it’s like the tt sound where “that’s when it hit me, it was the best idea I ever had..” but like this: “Not gonna lie, that was a terrible plan, Jay,” and he’ll just nod. “Fair.”

You guys have the most chaotic, weirdest conversations. It’s a mix of witty banter, ridiculous one-liners, and deadpan sarcasm. Other people can’t even keep up with the energy.

The idea of dating a ‘good girl’ never appealed to him anyway. He thrives off your unhinged energy. You’re unpredictable, and it keeps him on his toes, which he loves. “Yeah, you’re definitely not boring.” (Although the thing is he does love innocent people, like if you’re like gen clueless he wants preserve your innocence.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s brain can’t keep up with you. Your blunt, no-nonsense attitude constantly makes him blink in confusion. One minute you’re casually roasting someone, and the next, you’re giving a straight-up critique of his latest plan. He’s learning that he can’t outthink you.

He admires your unapologetic honesty. Tim has a lot of internalized doubts, so watching you casually reject anyone’s judgment is a nice contrast. You don’t apologize for your thoughts, and it’s something he secretly admires.

Constantly second-guesses himself around you. Your sharp tongue makes him want to be as confident as you. He gets nervous about saying anything that might sound soft, so when he stumbles, you’re like, “What was that? I swear you just whispered something.” And he’ll blush hard, muttering an apology.

You both have a sarcastic sense of humor that others don’t quite get. You say something outrageous, and Tim will respond with the driest remark possible. People in the room often wonder if you two are joking or just genuinely a bit rude.

Not scared to call him out. When Tim’s too nice, you’ll be like, “You need to stop letting people walk all over you. Grow some teeth.” Tim won’t admit it, but that does motivate him to be a little bolder.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian is a bit taken aback at first. He’s used to people being respectful or like seeing him as kinda a role model, so when you come out with a “That’s dumb, don’t even talk to me right now,” he’s not sure how to handle it. He will stand there, blinking, while processing your bluntness. (He’s too stunned to speak 😞)

Genuinely respects your forthrightness, though. “I’ll admit, I have never met someone so… honest.” He starts respecting you even more, thinking you’re someone he can’t manipulate or charm easily.

Loves that you’re as stubborn as he is. If you’re determined about something, there’s no changing your mind. You’ll fight for your opinions even if it gets you into a heated debate. And Damian’s right there with you, arguing like it’s the most fun thing in the world.

Tries to match your bluntness. “You talk too much,” he says one day, and you immediately reply, “And yet, here you are, listening to every word I say.” Damian actually pauses for a second, impressed. “Right..”

Loves how you’ll shut down his critics with zero hesitation. Someone says something disrespectful to him, and you’ll be the first to shoot back, “He doesn’t need your advice, trust me.” He’ll give you a proud little smirk. “I like the way you handle things.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

At first, Bruce is a bit disconcerted by your bluntness. Bruce’s the kind of guy who expects people to be formal and classy, and you just come in with “This entire meeting is a waste of my time. I don’t care about any of this.” He blinks, then quietly admires your bravery.

Totally respects your unfiltered honesty. Bruce has had enough of the world’s games, so when you don’t bother to pretend or hold anything back, it’s like a breath of fresh air for him.

Secretly loves when you don’t play nice." He knows you're not afraid of saying what you think, and when you call him out on his brooding or overly protective behavior, he listens. “You’re right. I’m sorry for not trusting you more.” (He totally doesn’t have a tracker on your hair clip..🥰)

You both have moments of pure savage honesty that no one else gets. There’s no need for filters, and you’ll both exchange one-liners so dry that it leaves everyone else in the room confused.

Finds it endearing when you make his plans more interesting. “This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this again?” You snap at him in a room full of his board members, and he just gives you a look that says, “I’m never apologizing for you.”

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

listen to the inspo song!!!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Anxious Attachment Style

Common Anxious Thoughts, Emotions, and Reactions

THOUGHTS

Mind reading: "That’s it, I know s/he’s leaving me."

All-or-nothing thinking: "I’ve ruined everything, there’s nothing I can do to mend the situation."

"I’ll never find anyone else."

"I knew this was too good to last."

"I have to talk to or see him/her right now."

"S/he can’t treat me this way! I’ll show him/her!"

"S/he is so amazing, why would s/he want to be with me anyway?"

"I knew something would go wrong; nothing ever works out right for me."

"S/he’d better come crawling back to beg my forgiveness, otherwise s/he can forget about me forever."

"Maybe if I look drop-dead gorgeous or act seductive, things will work out."

Remembering all the good things your partner ever did and said after calming down from a fight.

Recalling only the bad things your partner has ever done when you’re fighting.

EMOTIONS

Sad ⚜ Angry ⚜ Fearful ⚜ Resentful ⚜ Frustrated

Hopeless ⚜ Despairing ⚜ Jealous ⚜ Hostile ⚜ Vengeful

Guilty ⚜ Self-loathing ⚜ Restless ⚜ Uneasy ⚜ Humiliated

Hate-filled ⚜ Uncertain ⚜ Agitated ⚜ Rejected ⚜ Depressed

Unloved ⚜ Lonely ⚜ Misunderstood ⚜ Unappreciated

ACTIONS

Act out. ⚜ Attempt to reestablish contact at any cost.

Pick a fight. ⚜ Threaten to leave.

Wait for them to make the first reconciliation move.

Act hostile—roll eyes, look disdainful.

Try to make him/her feel jealous.

Act busy or unapproachable. ⚜ Act manipulatively.

Withdraw—stop talking to their partner or turn away from him/her physically.

Attachment classifications come from watching babies’ behavior.

Below is a short description of how anxious attachment style is defined in children. Some of their responses can also be detected in adults who share the same attachment style.

This baby becomes extremely distressed when mommy leaves the room.

When her mother returns, she reacts ambivalently—she is happy to see her but angry at the same time.

She takes longer to calm down, and even when she does, it is only temporary.

A few seconds later, she’ll angrily push mommy away, wriggle down, and burst into tears again.

Where Do Attachments Styles Come From?

Initially it was assumed that adult attachment styles were primarily a product of your upbringing.

Thus, it was hypothesized that your current attachment style is determined by the way in which you were cared for as a baby:

If your parents were sensitive, available, and responsive, you should have a secure attachment style; if they were inconsistently responsive, you should develop an anxious attachment style; and if they were distant, rigid, and unresponsive, you should develop an avoidant attachment style.

Today, however, we know that attachment styles in adulthood are influenced by a variety of factors, one of which is the way our parents cared for us, but other factors also come into play, including our genes and life experiences.

Source ⚜ More: On Attachment ⚜ Writing Notes & References Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Avoidant ⚜ Secure ⚜ Disorganized