#reverse comfort

[flowerbedbaby]

"I don't get nighterrors" Simon Riley

Simon is a military man, he's seen a lot of horrible things. He's going to have nighterrors at the least.

I'm just picturing that it's maybe 3am, you're laying in bed with Simon, and he starts having a panic attack in his sleep, naturally you get closer to him to try and help, but in this terrified state of confusion, he holds onto you, but really tight, like leaving bruises tight. He never ment to, you're his precious gem, why would he ever hurt you?? He'll wake up for a moment mid attack, not realizing what's happening, but you don't care, you love him too much, you need to make sure he's okay. After you calm him down, and talk things out, the both of you fall asleep, you don't even worry about the dark bruises forming from his grip. When morning comes, Simon is the first to wake up, so naturally he looks at you when he does, but this time he notices your shirt pulled up a little bit, and that's when it all comes crashing down. How could he do that?? Will you hate him? What's wrong with him? Why is he so evil? He starts bombarding his own mind with these questions. He wakes you up in fear and constantly apologizes for hurting you so bad, you constantly have to remind him throughout the day that you still love him and he did nothing wrong.

~a little something I was thinking about hehe

[solxamber]

Making Up After an Argument with: Overblot Gang + Rollo

part 2 with vice housewardens + kalim

on this day, i offer you some hurt/comfort

It’s been two days. Two long, awkward, and uncomfortable days of silent treatment between you and him. The argument had been petty—something so small that you can’t even remember what sparked it. But pride, stubbornness, and a little bit of frustration had taken over, and now, here you are, locked in a stalemate.

You’ve been tiptoeing around each other, avoiding eye contact, pretending not to care. But in reality, the silence feels like it’s stretching forever, and you hate it. You hate the feeling of distance between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

You miss him. Even with him just a walk away, it feels like miles.

The realization hits you hard as you sit there, staring at your phone, hoping for a sign—any sign—that he’s willing to break first. But of course, nothing comes. He’s just as stubborn as you are. Maybe even more.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping back in your seat. Ugh, fine. I’ll be the one to give in this time. It’s not the first time you’ve done it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. But deep down, you know you love him too much to let this go on. And you know he loves you too, even if neither of you will say it right now.

Riddle Rosehearts

You sigh dramatically, dragging your feet as you head towards Riddle’s dorm. The argument was dumb—you know that now. And if anyone could hold onto stubbornness like a grudge, it was Riddle Rosehearts. You, on the other hand, are way too tired of the silence, so it’s time for drastic measures.

As you approach his door, you pause, a silly idea forming in your mind. What’s the best way to apologize to someone like Riddle? With a flourish, of course. You rummage through your bag, pull out a red rose you happened to pick up earlier—totally coincidental, you promise yourself—and start plotting.

A few minutes later, you knock on his door, taking a deep breath. You hear footsteps, and then the door creaks open, revealing Riddle’s ever-serious face. His eyes flick up to you, then down to the rose in your hand, then back up again. He doesn’t say anything, though the faintest hint of curiosity flashes in his eyes.

Time to execute the plan.

You drop to one knee in an exaggerated, overly dramatic fashion, holding the rose high above your head like you’re a knight pledging allegiance to his queen. “My dearest Riddle, Queen of the Rose Garden, I come bearing an apology for my grievous offense. I’ve come to beg for your forgiveness,” you say, loud enough for the whole dorm to hear.

Riddle's eyes go wide, and for a moment, his face goes completely red—not from anger, but from pure, unfiltered embarrassment. He glances around, hoping no one else is witnessing this absolute spectacle you’re making.

"Please," you continue, voice wobbling as if you're on the verge of tears, "Grant me one more chance to bask in your presence! Your mercy, oh merciful ruler!" You bow dramatically, forehead almost touching the ground.

He sputters, clearly flustered beyond belief. "W-What are you doing? Get up! That's completely unnecessary—!"

"No!" You hold up the rose like a peace offering. "Not until you talk to me again! I will stay here on my knees if I must! Forever! Or until I get a cramp, whichever comes first!"

He’s torn between laughing at the ridiculousness of it and dying from second-hand embarrassment. “This is ridiculous! I—” He looks at the rose, then at you, eyes softening just a bit. “Fine, fine, just… stand up already.”

You spring to your feet, grinning triumphantly. “So, we’re good?”

Riddle sighs, rubbing his temples. "You're impossible."

“Does that mean yes?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him playfully.

“Yes. But stop being so dramatic. The whole dorm probably heard you…”

You don’t care. You throw your arms around him in a spontaneous hug, and for a second, Riddle freezes, stunned by the unexpected affection. Then, hesitantly, he returns the hug. He’s still embarrassed, but there’s a softness to his grip, a sign that he missed this closeness just as much as you did.

He pulls you into his room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, the embarrassment on his face fades, replaced with a quiet vulnerability. He avoids your eyes, walking over to his desk, his voice quieter now. “I… I was afraid,” he admits. “That maybe you were getting tired of me. I know I’m difficult sometimes, and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” you interrupt, stepping closer. “Where is this coming from?”

He sits down, staring at the floor. “You could be with someone more… easygoing. Less rigid. Someone who doesn’t argue over every little thing.”

You blink, surprised. “Riddle, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating you. I chose you, remember?”

He looks up at you, eyes filled with uncertainty, and you notice his hands trembling just slightly. “But what if I drive you away? What if one day you just… stop trying?”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. Before you can think, you step forward, kneeling in front of him. Without hesitation, you cup his face in your hands, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek. “That’s not going to happen. Ever.”

His eyes glisten slightly, the tension of the past few days unraveling as he leans into your touch. “But—”

“No buts,” you insist softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you. Stubbornness, rules, and all. And honestly, I think the petty arguments are kinda fun. It keeps things… interesting.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel a few tears slip down his cheeks. “You don’t know how hard it is for me,” he whispers. “To balance everything, to try and be perfect all the time… I don’t want to lose you because of my shortcomings.”

You smile gently, brushing away the tears with your thumb as you lean in and kiss his cheek softly. “You’re not going to lose me. You don’t have to be perfect, Riddle. I didn’t fall in love with perfection, I fell in love with you.”

He stares at you for a moment, tears still threatening to spill over, but his grip on your hand tightens as if he’s holding on to your words. “I… I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world,” you whisper, pulling him into a tight hug, cradling his head against your shoulder as he allows himself to cry softly into your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, gently whispering reassurances as he finally lets go of the weight he’s been carrying.

“I missed you,” he mumbles between sniffles, his voice fragile in a way you’ve rarely heard before.

“I missed you too,” you say, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s never do this silent treatment thing again, okay?”

He nods, still clinging to you, and you feel his lips press a soft kiss against your shoulder, a wordless promise.

Leona Kingscholar

It’s been two long days of silence. And if you know one thing about Leona Kingscholar, it’s that his stubbornness rivals your own. You’ve been circling around each other, neither one of you willing to be the first to admit defeat. But the silence is eating away at you, and, well… you miss him.

So, you hatch a plan. A very dramatic, ridiculous, and completely unnecessary plan.

Armed with a large bouquet of sunflowers—because roses are too obvious—you march into Savanaclaw with all the confidence of someone who is absolutely not going to be embarrassed by this. Nope. You pass by several confused students on your way to Leona’s room, each one giving you strange looks as you carry the huge bouquet.

You stop in front of his door, take a deep breath, and knock. No answer. You knock again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Sighing, you decide to just barge in—because what’s a grand gesture without a bit of dramatic flair? Pushing open the door, you find Leona lounging on his bed, arms behind his head, eyes closed.

Perfect.

You march up to him and stand by his bed, holding the bouquet in front of you like a shield. “Leona Kingscholar, hear me out!” you declare, in a tone that’s probably more suited for a court jester than someone in an actual relationship.

One of his ears twitches, and his eyes crack open, glancing at you. You stand tall and proud, despite how ridiculous you feel, presenting the sunflowers like they’re some rare treasure. “I come bearing these humble sunflowers as an offering to ask for your forgiveness, O Great King of Beasts.”

He snorts. Actually snorts. “What are you on about, herbivore?”

You drop to one knee dramatically, holding the flowers up to him as if you’re a knight swearing fealty to his king. “Please, Leona! Forgive my transgressions! I was wrong to argue with you, and I cannot bear another moment without your esteemed company!”

Leona raises an eyebrow, staring at you with what can only be described as amusement. “You’re really going all out, huh?”

“I am but a humble servant, groveling for your mercy!” you continue, refusing to break character. “Please, take these sunflowers as a token of my undying affection and devotion!”

By now, Leona is fully awake, sitting up and resting his chin in his hand, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “Sunflowers, huh? How thoughtful of you.”

“Of course!” You stand up dramatically, thrusting the bouquet toward him. “They represent my radiant affection for you!”

Leona finally lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But do you forgive me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

He rolls his eyes, but the grin on his face betrays his amusement. “Yeah, yeah, you’re forgiven. Just stop with the theatrics, would ya?”

You grin, knowing you’ve won him over. But there’s something still lingering in the air, some tension that hasn’t quite disappeared yet. Leona might be laughing, but you can tell he’s still a bit on edge, still a little distant.

Setting the sunflowers aside, you walk over to the bed and sit next to him. “Leona, I know it was a dumb fight, but… you know you’re the only one for me, right?”

He glances at you, his smile fading slightly as he considers your words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, scooting closer. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, and you can see the tension in his shoulders start to ease. Then, without a word, he shifts, pulling you down onto the bed with him, his body practically draping over yours like a big, heavy, warm blanket. His arms wrap around you, his tail curling possessively around your leg, anchoring you to him.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting out a low, contented sigh. “You better not,” he mumbles against your skin. “I don’t feel like dealing with anyone else’s nonsense.”

You smile softly, running your fingers through his hair, scratching gently behind his ears. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Leona presses closer, his body relaxing fully against yours as if he’s been waiting for this. His weight is comforting, and you can feel the way he melts into your embrace, his tail tightening just slightly around you as if to say, mine.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close as you can, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “You okay now?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “Just don’t pull that silent treatment crap again. Hate it.”

You chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Deal.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but the way he snuggles even closer to you tells you that all is forgiven. You hold him tight, and in that moment, with him lying on top of you like a big, lazy cat, everything feels right again.

Azul Ashengrotto

It’s been two long, dreadful days of silence between you and Azul. And for someone like him—someone who thrives on words, on negotiation, on control—it’s been absolutely agonizing. But his pride won’t let him be the first to crack. He’s stubborn like that.

And you? Well, you’re not much better.

But enough is enough. The tension between you both is suffocating, and while you’re both great at the silent treatment, it’s clear this little game of emotional chicken has to end. You’ve had enough of this cold war, and after mulling over how to make amends, you come up with the most absurd, ridiculous plan that just might work.

You stand outside the Mostro Lounge, a grin on your face, feeling more than a little proud of yourself. In your arms is the biggest, gaudiest, most unnecessary floral arrangement imaginable—an explosion of blues and purples that makes it look like you’ve picked half of the Coral Sea to present to Azul. There are seashells, ribbons, and even a tiny fake octopus plush dangling from the bouquet, like the cherry on top of your ridiculous masterpiece.

You march into the Lounge, catching the attention of several customers, who stop to stare as you make your way toward Azul’s office. Ignoring their looks, you throw the door open dramatically, the bouquet nearly tipping you over with its weight.

“Azul Ashengrotto!” you declare, bursting into his office. He’s sitting at his desk, and the second he sees you and the monstrosity of flowers in your arms, his eyes go wide. “I have come to beg for your forgiveness!”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the display. “W-What…?”

You march up to him, practically dropping the bouquet on his desk with a flourish. “These flowers represent my sincere regret for my terrible behavior during our argument. As you can see, they are over-the-top and completely unnecessary, much like my stubbornness.”

Azul stares at the bouquet, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Y-You…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to compose himself, but there’s a telltale twitch at the corner of his lips that suggests he’s seconds away from laughing. “This is absurd.”

“I know,” you reply with a dramatic sigh, throwing a hand to your forehead like a tragic figure. “I have been plagued with guilt these past two days, Azul. I couldn’t bear another moment without your lovely company.”

He finally cracks, letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Only for you, darling.” You lean over the desk, waggling your eyebrows, and he sighs, shaking his head. His laughter is light, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that pulls at your heartstrings. He may be smiling, but something’s still weighing on him.

With a small smile, Azul stands from his desk and walks around it until he’s standing right in front of you. He reaches for your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles before looking up at you with a much softer expression than before.

“I’ll admit… I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “But I—” He pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if debating whether or not to say the next words. “Did you… only come back because you thought you had to? Or do you still… want me?”

His voice cracks, just a little, but it’s enough to make your heart break. You blink in surprise, your breath catching at the rawness in his question.

“Azul…” you say softly, stepping closer, cupping his face gently in your hands. His eyes dart to yours, filled with a mix of uncertainty and hope, and it almost shatters you. “Of course I want you. Always.”

He swallows hard, and you can see the tears welling up in his eyes, ones he’s desperately trying to hide. But you won’t let him. You pull him close, wrapping your arms around him tightly, holding him as if you could shield him from the insecurities swirling in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his temple. “I love you. I’ve always loved you since I met you, and I always will. No matter what.”

Azul clings to you, his arms wrapping around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder as his breath hitches. The tears come slowly, quietly, and you feel them soak into your shirt as he holds you like you’re his lifeline.

You kiss the top of his head, brushing your lips against his hair, then down to his tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m here,” you whisper between each kiss, your voice soft and soothing. “I’m right here. You’re not alone, Azul. You never were.”

He squeezes you tighter, as if afraid to let go, and you can feel the tension slowly leaving his body. You keep kissing away his tears, gentle and patient, letting him take all the time he needs. Eventually, his breathing steadies, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but filled with so much affection it makes your heart swell.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs again, though there’s no bite to his words. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, his lips brushing yours in the lightest of touches.

“Ridiculous, but yours” you reply, grinning, and he huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yes… you are,” he whispers, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slow and tender, his lips soft but firm against yours, filled with all the love and relief he’s been holding back. You kiss him back with just as much affection, your arms wrapping around him as you both lose yourselves in the moment.

When he finally pulls away, you rest your forehead against his once more, both of you breathing a little heavier but feeling lighter than you have in days.

“No more arguments, okay?” you murmur, smiling softly.

“No promises,” he teases, but there’s a warmth in his voice now, a comfort that reassures you everything will be just fine.

And as you hold him close, with his head resting against your shoulder, you know it too. Everything will be just fine.

Jamil Viper

After two long days of silence, the weight of the unresolved argument with Jamil has become unbearable. You’re done waiting for him to make the first move, especially knowing how he can be—cautious, calculating, always one step ahead but never one to make the first emotional leap. You miss him, and more importantly, you want to make things right, even if it means doing something absolutely ridiculous.

Which is how you find yourself standing outside his dorm, holding a tray of… pancakes. Not just any pancakes, though. These are heart shaped, perfectly arranged to spell out “I’M SORRY” in big, syrup-drenched letters. You’re not sure what possessed you to make pancakes an apology tool, but hey, everyone loves pancakes, right?

With a deep breath, you knock on his door. After a moment, Jamil opens it, his expression neutral, but the second he spots the tray, his eyes narrow in confusion.

“What... is this?”

You grin sheepishly, lifting the tray up like a peace offering. “An apology. In pancake form.”

Jamil blinks at the sight, clearly trying to process this ridiculous gesture. “You… made pancakes to say sorry?”

“Yes. And they’re shaped like hearts. See? I even used syrup to write it out so there’s no confusion.” You point to the pancakes proudly. “You can’t stay mad at me after this, right?”

For a moment, Jamil just stares at the tray, his expression unreadable, before a slow, reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He lets out a quiet huff of laughter, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe, but I’m yours.”

He shakes his head, but there’s no denying the amusement in his eyes. “You could have just apologized with words, you know.”

“I could have,” you agree, “but where’s the fun in that?” You give him your best hopeful grin, offering him a plate. “Come on, at least eat one. They’re good! I even made them heart-shaped.”

Jamil sighs, taking the plate from you with a resigned smile. He grabs one of the heart-shaped pancakes and bites into it, giving you a side glance. “I suppose I can’t stay mad after this.”

You watch him closely, noticing the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. You know him well enough to see through his calm facade. Beneath it all, he’s still embarrassed—mostly about the argument, but also because he let his temper get the best of him. You can tell that’s what’s really bothering him, even now.

“You know,” you say softly, stepping closer, “it’s okay that we argued.”

Jamil looks at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t have to feel bad for losing your temper. You don’t always have to hold everything in around me. It’s okay to let it out, to be angry, to argue. We’re not always going to agree, and that’s fine.” You place your hand gently on his arm. “I’ll always come back and fix things, even if you feel like you can’t. That’s what we do, right?”

Jamil stares at you for a moment, his expression softening as your words sink in. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he rarely shows, and it breaks your heart just a little. Slowly, he sets the plate down and reaches for you, pulling you into his arms.

“You’re too forgiving,” he murmurs, resting his chin on top of your head.

“And you’re too hard on yourself,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “I meant it. You don’t have to be perfect with me, Jamil. You can be yourself, temper and all.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, his grip tightening slightly around you. “You’ll regret saying that one day.”

“I doubt it,” you tease, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “But if I do, I’ll make more food.”

That earns you a small, genuine laugh, and before you can say anything else, Jamil leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His lips linger for a moment, and when he pulls back, his expression is softer than you’ve seen in days.

“You’re serious about that promise?” he asks quietly, his hand cupping your cheek. “That no matter what, you’ll always come back?”

You nod, holding his gaze. “Always. Even if we argue, even if things get tough, I’ll be right here. I’ll come back and fix it, even if you can’t.”

Jamil’s eyes flicker with emotion, and before you know it, he’s kissing you—soft and slow at first, but there’s a desperation behind it, a need for reassurance. You kiss him back with the same intensity, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer, trying to pour every bit of love and understanding into the kiss.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, but the tension that had been there for the past two days is gone. He rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he exhales slowly.

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” he whispers, and you can hear the relief in his voice. “Just don’t make me wait this long next time.”

You smile, reaching up to brush your lips against his again. “Deal. But only if you agree to eat more pancakes.”

He chuckles, pulling you back into his arms. “Fine. But only because they’re heart-shaped.”

And just like that, everything feels right again.

Vil Schoenheit

After two days of tense silence between you and Vil, you know you need to go all out if you’re going to get him to forgive you. Apologies are one thing, but Vil is someone who values effort, refinement, and, of course, aesthetic appeal. You can’t just go in with flowers—no, you need to apologize in a way that matches his standards.

So naturally, you end up outside his dorm with a full-on spa set-up. A luxury at-home facial kit, to be precise, complete with rare, imported skincare masks and the finest essential oils. You may or may not have spent more on this than you’ve ever spent on yourself before, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

When Vil opens the door, his eyes immediately narrow at the sight of you holding a basket filled with beautifully arranged skincare products. “What… is this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You smile, trying to play it cool. “An apology. In skincare form.” You thrust the basket toward him. “I thought maybe you’d like to, uh, pamper yourself and—look! I even got the organic lavender serum you were talking about last month!”

Vil stares at the basket, then at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re bribing me with skincare?”

“Technically, I’m apologizing with skincare,” you correct, flashing a sheepish grin. “I know I messed up, and I know you like to unwind with your beauty routine, so I thought this might help smooth things over. Literally and figuratively.”

For a long moment, he just stands there, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. You’re starting to think you might’ve miscalculated when, suddenly, a soft chuckle escapes him. “You are… absolutely ridiculous.”

You blink. “So… that’s a yes on the skincare?”

Vil shakes his head, but the faintest smile is playing on his lips. “You’re lucky you’re my sweet potato.”

Relief floods through you at his words. “I’ll take that as forgiveness, then.”

He sighs, taking the basket from you and setting it on the table. “Yes, I forgive you.” But even as he says it, there’s a hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of something deeper that makes you pause.

You step closer, gently reaching for his hand. “Are you still mad?”

Vil glances away for a moment, and you can see the tension in his posture. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more vulnerable than usual. “No, I’m not mad. But… I was afraid. So, so afraid that I’d pushed you away too. That I’d lost the one person who could tolerate me.”

Your heart clenches at his words. You can feel the weight of all the pressure he’s put on himself, the fear of losing someone important. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight embrace, wrapping your arms around him as if you could shield him from that fear. “Vil, listen to me. I’m not here because I tolerate you. I’m here because I love you.”

He stiffens in your arms for a moment, but slowly, he relaxes, his hands coming to rest on your back. “You say that now, but—”

You cut him off, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “No, I mean it. Loving someone isn’t about tolerating them. It’s about being with them because you can’t imagine being anywhere else.” You brush a strand of hair from his face, your thumb gently tracing his cheek. “I’m here because you’re everything to me, Vil. Even if you’re mean sometimes. Even if we argue. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes soften at your words, and for a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. Then, without a word, he leans in and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips, his hands gently cradling your face. The kiss is slow, almost tentative, as if he’s still afraid you’ll disappear.

When he finally pulls away, you can see the unshed tears in his eyes, though he quickly blinks them away. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You do,” you whisper back, kissing him again, softer this time, lingering against his lips. “And I’m staying. Forever, even if you’re a diva sometimes.”

Vil lets out a soft, breathy laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “Forever?” he repeats, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Forever,” you promise, pulling him closer until his arms wrap around you fully. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding him tight, and for the first time in two days, everything feels right again.

And as he hugs you back, his grip a little tighter than before, you know he believes you.

Idia Shroud

You stand outside of Idia’s room, holding a stack of video game cases in one hand and a ridiculously oversized plush of his favorite game character in the other. This might be the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, but it’s not like you could just waltz in and hand him a flower. Idia isn’t exactly the flowers-and-chocolates type. No, he needs something bigger. Geekier. Something so outrageous that it’ll leave him flustered beyond belief—something that only you would dare to pull off.

So here you are, wearing a custom-made cosplay of the main character from his favorite RPG. And if this doesn’t get him to forgive you, you don’t know what will.

You knock on his door, bracing yourself for what’s about to come next. At first, there’s no response, so you knock again, louder this time. After a few seconds, you hear shuffling inside and the telltale sound of something crashing to the floor—classic Idia. Finally, the door creaks open just enough for you to see a pair of glowing eyes peeking through the gap.

“What… are you wearing?” His voice is barely audible, and you can already tell he’s regretting opening the door.

With a dramatic flourish, you throw your arms wide and hold out the plush. “Oh, mighty Idia, Lord of the Underworld and Master of All Games, I come bearing offerings to beg for your forgiveness!” You strike a pose, holding the plush in front of you like it’s some kind of magical artifact.

Idia’s eyes go wide, and you swear his hair flares up a notch, turning into a bright pink. He blinks, clearly stunned, before his hand shoots out to yank you inside his room, slamming the door shut behind you.

“W-What are you doing?!” His voice cracks as he looks at you, then the plush, then the video games. His hair is now a brilliant shade of neon pink, a sign that he’s absolutely mortified. “Are you trying to kill me from embarrassment?!”

You can’t help but grin at how flustered he is. “Hey, I had to go big! You were ignoring me for two whole days!”

“I wasn’t ignoring you!” He fidgets, avoiding eye contact as his hair flickers pink. “I just… thought maybe you were tired of me or something…”

Your grin fades, replaced with surprise. “Tired of you? What are you talking about?”

Idia sinks into his gaming chair, nervously picking at the hem of his hoodie. “I just figured… you know, you’d realize you could do better. I mean, c’mon, I’m not exactly ‘catch of the year’ material. You’re always out there, living in the real world, and I’m… well, here. Playing games and… avoiding people.”

You take a deep breath, moving closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “Idia,” you say firmly, “if you seriously think I’d ever get tired of you, you’re out of your mind.”

He glances up at you, clearly unconvinced, so you kneel down, placing the plush in his lap before grabbing his hands. “You mean the world to me. I’d literally fight God in a 1v1 death match if it meant keeping you.”

His eyes go wide again, his hair flaring even brighter. “Y-You’d what?”

“I mean it,” you continue, squeezing his hands. “I love you, okay? Whether we’re sitting in here gaming or you’re talking to me about your latest game binge, or even when you’re convinced that you’re somehow not enough. You are enough, Idia. You’re more than enough.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you in the most awkward, yet endearing hug imaginable. His face is buried in your shoulder, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hair as it flares even pinker. “You’re… too good for me,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his voice small.

You chuckle softly, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. “Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability in them. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” You lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, watching as his hair flickers with warmth. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Idia blinks a few times before he wraps his arms around you again, pulling you closer this time. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “But I guess… I forgive you. Not that I was really mad in the first place.”

You laugh, nuzzling into his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I missed you.”

His grip tightens around you, and for a moment, you both stay like that—wrapped up in each other, the tension of the past few days melting away. Finally, he pulls back, his eyes flicking toward his gaming setup. “So, uh… you wanna play something?”

You grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two of you settle onto the floor, your back leaning against his chest as he hands you a controller. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, his hair still glowing a soft pink at the ends as the game starts up.

As you start playing, he presses a quick kiss to your temple. “Thanks. For, y’know… everything.”

You smile, leaning back into his warmth. “Anytime, Idia. Anytime.”

Malleus Draconia

The wind howls as you trudge across the campus, dragging a massive stone gargoyle behind you. It weighs approximately as much as a baby elephant, and if anyone else saw you right now, they’d think you’d completely lost it. But you know exactly what you’re doing. You know the storm swirling above Night Raven College is because of him, and if there’s one thing Malleus Draconia loves more than you (or so you like to tease), it’s a well-crafted gargoyle.

So here you are, yanking the poor stone creature across the wet grass like you’re on some kind of mission. Your arms ache, your back is screaming, and you’re about to regret this grand gesture entirely—until you finally see the towering spires of Diasomnia in the distance. Almost there.

You pause for a second to catch your breath, leaning on the gargoyle like it’s an old friend. “You’d better work,” you mutter to it, “because if I have to drag you all the way back, I swear—”

A gust of wind nearly knocks you over, reminding you why you’re out here in the first place. You shake off the rain, grit your teeth, and resume your march toward Diasomnia’s courtyard.

Once you arrive, you park the gargoyle right underneath Malleus’s window. Perfect placement. You could be a medieval decorator at this point.

You pick up a few rocks from the ground, size them up in your hand, and start tossing them at his window, each one making a soft thunk against the glass. After the third throw, the window creaks open, and Malleus leans out, looking down with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. His eyes land on the gargoyle first, then on you, soaked to the bone and holding a rock like you’re about to reenact some ancient ritual.

“Huh?” is all he says, blinking at the sight before him.

“Malleus!” you shout dramatically, “Come down! I brought you a peace offering!”

He stares at the gargoyle, then at you, before disappearing from the window in a blur. Within seconds, he’s outside, standing in front of you, his expression unreadable but his eyes glowing faintly with that magical storm swirling around them. The weather above you rumbles ominously, thunder echoing across the sky.

“Malleus, I—”

Before you can even finish, he pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You freeze for a second, surprised, then feel his body trembling slightly against yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and filled with regret. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. The storm… I didn’t know it would affect you too.”

You realize then that his hands are shaking, gripping onto you like you’re his lifeline. Your heart softens, and you return the hug, pressing your face into his neck. “No, I’m sorry,” you mumble into his skin. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve come sooner… with or without the gargoyle.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel the tension begin to fade from his body. Slowly, the storm above you starts to calm—the wind softens, the rain turns into a light drizzle, and the ominous clouds roll back as if they were never there to begin with.

You pull back just enough to look at him, his glowing eyes now gentle as they meet yours. “So, uh… do you like the gargoyle?” you ask, grinning a little.

Malleus chuckles softly, his eyes flicking to the stone statue behind you. “It’s… impressive. Though you didn’t have to go through such lengths.”

You shrug. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

He smiles, a genuine, relieved smile, and before you can say anything else, he tugs you back toward the castle. “Come inside,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “You’re soaked, and you brought a guest. We should both dry off.”

The two of you (and your new gargoyle friend) make your way to his room, and as soon as the door closes behind you, Malleus pulls you onto his bed, wrapping himself around you like a possessive dragon hoarding his most precious treasure. His arms curl around your waist, and his body presses snugly against yours as he buries his face in your neck.

You stroke his hair gently, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the last bit of chill from the storm. “You know I love you, right?” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I know,” he replies quietly, his grip on you tightening slightly. “I just… sometimes, I worry.”

You pull back enough to kiss him properly, your lips brushing against his softly, reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry,” you murmur between kisses. “You mean everything to me. And if I have to drag a hundred gargoyles across campus to prove it, I will.”

Malleus chuckles against your lips, a low, warm sound that rumbles through his chest. “Please don’t. One is more than enough.”

You laugh softly, nuzzling into his neck as you both settle into a comfortable silence, the storm outside completely gone now, leaving only peace and quiet—and a very satisfied, if slightly confused, gargoyle standing guard outside.

Rollo Flamme

The argument with Rollo had left a strange tension in the air, but knowing him, it was probably accompanied by a quiet storm of overthinking and guilt on his end. Rollo Flamme wasn’t one to voice his frustrations loudly, but his brooding could be as heavy as the weight of the world.

You figure it’s time to fix this, and, because you can’t just do anything the normal way, you decide on something special—something that’d be just the right mix of thoughtful and ridiculous to get his attention.

That’s why you find yourself in the Bell Tower, with a bundle of parchment paper in your arms. Not just any parchment, though—carefully selected handwritten notes of every philosophical thought, poetry piece, and historical fact you know Rollo’s obsessed with. You’ve even bound it like a book, with a dramatic title on the front: “An Ode to Perfection: Why Rollo is Always Right (Sometimes)”. It’s sarcastic enough to make him smile, but sincere enough to show you care.

Climbing the stairs of the bell tower is no small feat, but you’re determined. Once at the top, you glance out at the courtyard, where you know he’ll be, and with a deep breath, you shout, “ROLLO FLAMME, I HAVE CLIMBED THE HEIGHTS TO OFFER YOU THIS SYMBOL OF MY UNDYING RESPECT AND HUMILITY!”

Your voice echoes dramatically through the courtyard, and sure enough, you see Rollo down below, startled out of his brooding. He looks up, eyes widening at the sight of you, but it’s hard to tell if he’s more confused or horrified by the spectacle.

“I OFFER THIS—” you hold the makeshift book high, “—AS A PEACE TREATY BETWEEN US, THAT WE MAY NEVER AGAIN BE SEPARATED BY MERE MORTAL PETTINESS!”

Rollo stares for a long moment, before he suddenly breaks into a full-on sprint toward the tower. He’s halfway up the stairs before you know it, and when he reaches the top, his face is a mix of red embarrassment and panic.

“What are you doing?” he half-hisses, half-pleads, his cheeks flushed from both the running and the mortification of what you’ve just done in full view of the school. His voice lowers as he grabs your arm and tries to pull you away from the edge. “Are you insane? You could’ve fallen, and—”

“I wasn’t going to fall!” you grin, holding out the “book” triumphantly. “I came to apologize.”

He stares at the bundle of papers in your hand, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What… is this?”

“An apology. Written in beautiful calligraphy and filled with all the reasons why you’re wonderful, overthinking, but still somehow right most of the time.” You wiggle the book in front of his face. “It’s all for you.”

Rollo’s face, already red from exertion, turns an even deeper shade of crimson. His lips part, but no words come out for a second as he glares at the book, then at you. “You… climbed the bell tower. Yelled in front of everyone. And wrote a whole book to—”

“Get you to forgive me, yeah,” you finish for him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I figured you’d appreciate the effort, Mr. Perfectionist.”

He looks at the book again, his hands shaky as he takes it from you, carefully cradling it as if it’s some kind of sacred artifact. His voice drops to a whisper. “You… didn’t have to go this far. I was never angry at you.”

You blink, surprised by his words. “What do you mean?”

Rollo glances down, his fingers curling tighter around the book. “I thought… maybe you’d realize you didn’t need someone like me. That you’d see how much of a burden I am.”

Your heart clenches at his words. Without hesitation, you step closer, reaching out to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Rollo Flamme, if you think for a second that I’d leave you, you’re wrong. I’d get into a fistfight with God for you, and win.”

His eyes widen, and a nervous chuckle escapes his lips. “That’s… quite dramatic.”

“You inspire drama,” you reply with a grin, but then your tone softens, and you pull him into a tight hug. “You mean the world to me, Rollo. I don’t care about your overthinking, your brooding, or your perfectionism. I care about you.”

He tenses for a moment in your embrace, but then slowly, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around you in return. His hands still tremble slightly, but he buries his face in your shoulder, his grip tightening as if he’s afraid to let go. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his temple. “You deserve all of it. And more.”

For a moment, he just holds onto you, breathing deeply as if trying to calm his racing thoughts. Then, after a long silence, he pulls back slightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looks at you. “I… apologize as well. For doubting… for everything.”

You smile, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. “We’re both forgiven then.”

He nods, his face still flushed with embarrassment but now softened with relief. Without another word, he pulls you back into his room, where you spend the rest of the afternoon curled up together—Rollo resting his head against your shoulder, still clutching the book you made him, while you hold him close, reassuring him with soft kisses and whispered words of love.

The tower bells toll softly in the background, but for the two of you, there’s nothing but the warmth of each other’s presence.

Masterlist

[moon-ttokki-x]

not your doll - (bf!bang chan x reader)

pairing: bf!bang chan x reader

summary: chan comes home upset from the latin american leg of the dominate tour.

genre: reverse comfort, idol!au, angsty, mentions of exhaustion, lots of crying, skz deserve better. reader comforts channie, mentions of delusion, mentions of eating and drinking

a/n: yall who think what happened in brazil is funny, or think it was 'just a joke' or 'fans showing support' get tf off my blog. i don't wanna see or talk to anyone who thinks what happened was okay. leave skz alone, leave chris alone. that man is not your punching bag, he's not responsible for fixing all your fucking problems, keeping everyone happy, or in charge of anyone's but his own happiness. that shit you gotta do yourself. this is so fucking disappointing, i'm ashamed to call myself a stay at the moment. let chris live his damn life and let the kids do the same. fuck yall 'stays'. if you were a real stay you wouldn't be doing this shit.

i stand with skz.

skz masterlist | skz prompt list

"Love?" You call softly, peeking around the bedroom door frame. "Did you wanna come and eat something?"

All you get in response is a muffled 'no' and the sound of shuffling as Chan shifts slightly on the bed. The warm lamplight from the bedside tables spill across his back, highlighting the skin in a rosy, haloed glow.

You sigh and pad over to him softly, sitting on the bed. "I know you might not feel like it, but you need some good food after all that travelling."

Chan shakes his head again, further mussing his unbrushed hair. The curls are squashed and fluffy from him burrowing his head into the pillows, but he doesn't seem to care. Not once has he lifted his head to take a breath of air, and you sigh and push his head gently to the side to do it for him.

He turns his head away, facing the opposite direction; you can hear the shudder from his lungs as he gulps in the fresh coldness of the air; you'd set the thermostat colder, just as he likes it, but he hadn't seemed to take any notice.

You sigh again, running a gentle hand down the soft, albeit slightly dry skin of his back. His duffel bag and suitcase is still in the corner of the room, the zip on his bag half undone as if he'd had the intention of unpacking, but he hasn't.

You'd left him to sort himself out and shower before coming to eat, but it seemed he'd just stripped himself of his outfit and tossed himself on the bed.

Couldn't say you blamed him.

Chan speaks then, low and muffled from the pillow. "I need to go to the company."

"It hasn't even been twenty minutes since you've been home, love," you chide him gently. "Just rest., hmm? All of that can come tomorrow. It doesn't look like you can even move right now..."

Chan groans and burrows his head further into the pillows; you take a soft fistful of his hair and tug it lightly, guiding his head to the side. Your heart lurches.

Chan is crying.

His makeup is smudged; you immediately rest your hands on his shoulders. They're tense as rocks. A black streak of eyeshadow has smeared itself across the white pillowcase, as well as some of his concealer; he doesn't seem to care, and neither do you.

"Channie, my love," you say as gently as you can. You can't hide the worry on your face. "What's wrong?"

That's a useless question. You know exactly what's wrong.

He sits up suddenly, as if to get up, but he collapses on his knees, digging them into the soft sheets. He throws his hands out.

"It's not fair," he cries desperately. "I do everything I can to make things work, and then it all just gets thrown to the side... I can't even open my mouth anymore without my words being twisted..."

You sit there, eyes wide and bewildered, watching this outburst. It's so oddly unlike him to do this, but you know exactly what he's talking about.

"I- The kids, too, they have to deal with all of this, I couldn't wait for us to leave because of what happened at the hotel... They were taking videos of us, videos of one of the kids just standing outside on the balcony, minding his own business, and I couldn't sleep all night because of them chanting, I just-" He hiccups, a tear spilling from each eye like a shattered crystal.

"I just want it all to go right, but it doesn't, and no matter what I do it's not enough," he keels over then, and you pull him into your lap. He lets his lower half kneel over the bed, his face buried in your thighs.

Your vision starts to blur, and a tear drops into his hair, but neither of you take notice. "Channie..."

"I chose this life, Y/n, I chose all of this, I thought I could handle it but I'm not so sure anymore. I want to be happy, and perform without worrying about all of this, I want everyone to just leave me alone..." He's crying freely now, hands gripping your hips as his back shakes, and it's all you can do not to start crying yourself.

That sadness is quickly taken over by a wave of disapproval and anger, anger at the people who dare treat your lover like this, treat his group like performing monkeys at a circus, to be poked and prodded at.

How dare they.

It's not fair. He's right. And you know you can't fix it, make it all better, kiss it healed like you have so many times before. And it's that feeling of helplessness, that overwhelming powerlessness, that makes you lean down and whisper fiercely in Chan's ear.

"Listen to me," you whisper. "It doesn't matter who did it, it doesn't matter if they thought it was right. I can't sit here and tell you I can fix it, because I can't, and neither can you, because it's not your problem, it will never be your problem. You are not their toy. Channie, my love, all you need to do is keep going. That's it, without looking back.

"Forget about those people who pretend to be Stays, who are nothing more than obsessed delusional idiots. I know it's hard. They are so completely and utterly lost in their own worlds, and you can't tie yourself into knots to fix them, because it's impossible.

"I know it hurts, love, and I know it's frustrating, especially for the kids too. None of you deserve to be treated like that, like you have to be filmed and screamed at and all of those other things-"

"But if I don't let them, then they all start hating me," his eyes are teary, utterly exhausted with emotion.

"Chris, you are not a doll," you say firmly, cupping his face. "You are not responsible for everyone's happiness. You are responsible for your own joy. So are the kids. I know you feel like you have to take the weight of the world on your shoulders, but it doesn't mean that you have to take everyone's bullshit alongside it too...

"You are a musician, an artist, not a miracle worker or some sort of magician that can take everyone's troubles away or perform to everyone's unrealistic standards. And as for those idiots who stalked you outside your hotel, JYP is taking measures to deal with it. And he says it's fine if you want to take a break for a while."

"I don't want to," he says quietly, inhaling your scent as you lean down to kiss the crown of his head. "I just wanted to be home with you, and I am."

"Love..."

"Please," he says, quieter. His tears have slowed. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore. It makes me angry, and being angry is exhausting. I'm already exhausted."

You sigh and crack a tiny smile, tapping his cheek lightly. Already you can see his resilience taking effect. Nothing keeps him down for long, your Chan.

"I'll let it go if you promise to come and eat something," you say. "Otherwise, I'm gonna call the kids to spend the night here and they'll eat all of the food I made for you-"

"Okay, okay," he groans, heaving himself upright. "I'm coming. Please don't call them, I've lost enough sleep trying to keep them all in line."

You laugh and kiss him. His lips are slightly chapped, and you tsk softly into the kiss as he stands up, taking you with him.

"Y/n," he murmurs, burning hands slipping to your waist.

"Thought you were too tired," you giggle.

He doesn't respond, instead tugging you closer. You reluctantly pull back and poke his side, making him gasp.

He pulls back too, fighting a sheepish look as you stare pointedly at the bathroom door. "Go shower, then come eat. Now."

He rolls his eyes and steals another kiss to your cheek as he heads towards the bathroom. "Fine."

Chuckling, you make your way to the door, heading to the kitchen. Your feet slow at the door threshold, and you turn to look back at Chan as he busies himself with pulling out a fresh set of clothes from his drawers. Even exhausted and upset, he's still beautiful. Your heart sinks a little as you watch the tear tracks on his face glisten under the lamplight, but you don't bring it up. Instead-

"Channie," you say softly.

He looks up, a black hoodie in one hand.

Your voice is gentle, almost hesitant. "It'll be okay, you know that, right?"

He nods quietly, solemn as you've ever seen him. "I know."

You feel your lips curving into a soft but sad smile. "I love you."

He blinks. "I love you more."

"That's not possible," you say teasingly as you turn and head towards the kitchen.

His laugh echoes through the house.

a/n: none bc i'm fucking pissed.

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[lila-went-missing]

Thinking of touch starved!Vi who has been in prison for eight years. Almost all physical contact she received being violent- “talks” with the guards, the fights she got in, etc. But then she’s out thanks to Caitlyn and back in the undercity. She’s still fighting- for her sister, for Caitlyn, and then for money in the pits.

But somewhere in all of that she meets you, the medic who always takes care of her. Every time she’s knocked out or bleeding you’re there by her side patching her up. And it’s the first time that someone has been truly gentle with her since she was thrown in Stillwater.

Sometimes she catches herself flinching away from you when you’re cleaning her up, always offering a small “Sorry”. But you never mind it, telling her not to apologize.

This goes on for a while until one night she’s more out of it than ever. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe she was hit too hard in the head too many times. There’s no telling. But either way she’s grabbing your wrist and begging you to just stay for a while. The infirmary isn’t too busy tonight so you sit with her, letting her rest her head in her lap.

Black stains your clothes but you don’t mind it. After a while of rubbing her back, you think she’s asleep. She hasn’t moved or said anything for a while. Her breathing is more even than it has been in a while.

It startles you when she starts talking, she’s mumbling. It’s hard to hear but you catch a few words: powder, Caitlyn, Jinx, your own name dropped a couple times.

You don’t really know what she’s saying she probably doesn’t either, but you make a decision right there.

You will stay with her, and you’ll help her. She’ll have a place to stay, a hot meal, and an outlet for her frustration besides a bar and a pit fight. She’ll have you, through it all.

===

This is way longer than I thought it would be and it’s not even that long 😭. Also I wrote this on my phone so please be nice, my autocorrect is fucked and I did not proofread this.

[sorcerersseestars]

love sweet, taste bitter

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

To you, Gojo Satoru is your silly, loving boyfriend. But Gojo Satoru is also the strongest sorcerer in the world, and that comes with its risks—for both you and him. When his Infinity fails to activate, your mission takes a turn for the worse.

Aka one of you gets hurt, and the other has to bear it.

Warnings: injuries and violence, a gun is used, blood loss, hidden inventory arc spoilers, fight btwn Gojo and reader, reader implied to be shorter/smaller than Gojo, slightly suggestive (not rlly), lowkey a lot of kissing tho??, bad communication skills, emotional whiplash bc gojo doesn't know what to do w his feelings

Word count: 9.2k

*Gojo and reader are in their early 20s

"Cursed technique reversal: red,” Gojo calls out casually, lazily flicking his right index finger at his target.

The curse—hardly an intelligent one, far from being special-grade—stares at the brilliant light with bulging eyes. It's a deer in the headlights, transfixed by Gojo’s power and paralyzed with fear. You can only imagine how that would feel.

You tear your eyes away from the sight of the curse disintegrating into nothing. It's not as gruesome as most curse exorcisms, considering the potency of Gojo’s attacks, but the curse’s expression fading into nothingness still makes your skin crawl. You almost pity the horrible creature.

In comparison to the macabre scene you just witnessed, Gojo's enthusiastic noise of approval nearly gives you whiplash.

"Another job well done by yours truly!" Gojo grins, giving you two thumbs up. "Now let's hurry before that new boba place closes. You said you really wanted to try it, right?"

It takes you a moment to respond, your mind still processing how insanely fast your boyfriend was able to eradicate a threat that would have taken you both a good strategy and a fair bit of time to exorcise. It took practically no effort for Gojo to eliminate, and you know that he fears no curse. For you, fear grips you each time you face off with a curse, no matter how big or small. It doesn't feel fair.

Your fingers curl into a fist as you struggle with your emotions, frustrated with yourself. When you look to him, beyond his shades and into his powerful eyes, something akin to envy pulls at your gut. It makes you feel sick—you're viewing him in the way everybody else sees him. But when he walks toward you, smiling so wide that he looks goofy, your thoughts of his abilities melt away and are replaced by an affection so strong that your chest hurts.

His eyes are so beautiful, their perpetual sparkle even visible from under the dark film of his shades. His cheeks are tinged pink from your constant gaze on him, and it still amazes you that you have the ability to make him fluster at all. His lips are stretched into a toothy grin, his eyes crinkling along in genuine happiness. Your stunning boyfriend that you still can't believe ever gained an interest in plain old you.

That's right. To you, he's not the Honored One, he's not Gojo Satoru. He's just your boyfriend, just your Satoru. Just your boyfriend who is obsessed with anything sweet.

You roll your eyes lightly, a small chuckle bubbling up in your throat, “You mean, the place you've been begging to go to all week?"

He walks to your side, sighing loudly as he approaches. His deft fingers subtly adjust his sunglasses, pulling them down in an attempt to garner your sympathy. The expression on his face is priceless—the strongest sorcerer in the world is pouting because you insinuated you might not want milk tea.

"Don't be so mean, sweets!” He whines. "You said you wanted to try it out, too.”

“Hm, did I now?” You say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I don’t recall.”

He steps closer, towering over your smaller form. When you dwell on that thought, you suppose you should be scared. You see him brutally destroy curses, leaving no trace of their existence behind. He could do that to you, if you wanted to.

Even knowing that, you aren’t scared.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel his strength through the solid grip he has on you—his arms lovingly cage you in.

Even though he’s done this many times before, your breath still catches in your throat, and your heart races at the proximity.

“C'mon, l know you've been craving brown sugar boba all week... And they even have that tiramisu flavor you go crazy for…”

He nuzzles in close to your neck, warm breath fanning down your nape. When he's this close, you can't resist anything—and he knows it, too.

You sigh as if he's ruffled your feathers, but you can't help but let the chuckle you’ve been holding in escape past your upturned lips.

“Do they have cheese foam?" You hum.

You yelp as his fingers dig into your side—and then your entire body is wracked with heaving, boisterous laughter.

"What a silly question. Of course they do! Only the amateurs lack the essential toppings,” He shakes his head playfully. “Any more funny business out of you, and you'll get punished again."

You twist around in his grasp to face him. Your hand reaches up to ease his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, putting his vibrant blue eyes and pale lashes on display.

“You're so pretty it's unfair,” You pout. "Leave some for the rest of us."

"And yet everyone's always trying to steal you away from me," He counters.

"Says the head-turner," You say with a smile full of your adoration for him. “Haven't you noticed that the rest of the population—myself included—never has all eyes on them when entering a room?"

He shrugs, “How would I know? You think my eyes are on anyone else once I see you?"

The insinuation has heat and electricity coursing through your entire body. He wears a smirk as if he can feel the flames licking your skin. You lower your gaze, suddenly shy.

A warm hand cups your check, gently nudging your face close to his. Your eyes instinctively flit up to his, drinking him in.

His eyes are bright behind his shades. You laugh softly when his shades fully slide down to the edge of his nose as he lowers his head to yours.

“Makin’ fun of me, babycakes?” He pretends to pout, but his tone is playful and warm.

“Maybe,” You tease. “I mean, you are freakishly tall and have glow in the dark eyes. And you call me all sorts of weird names.”

“You–!” He gasps. “You are such a rascal, y’know that? A fiend, even!”

“Mmm,” You hum, humoring him. “Well, would such a fiend as myself do…this?”

You lean in, savoring the warmth of his hands on you. His skin, smooth from its lack of wear due to his Infinity, skates across your skin effortlessly. Your lips are about to touch his, only inches away from bliss, when you both are caught off guard.

There’s a loud bang. So loud, in fact, that your ears ring as soon as the sound waves hit your eardrums. You stagger back from Gojo, crouching down and immediately covering your ears with your hands. You look up at your boyfriend, expecting to exchange confused glances, and are not prepared in the slightest for the scene in front of you.

His eyes are blown wide, shades now missing. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead and all color has drained from his face. His expression quickly crumples, lips parting and yet no sound escapes him.

A shudder runs through you—something is very wrong.

Then his shaky hands begin to move, and he quickly clutches his side. Right under his ribs, a stream of blood begins to run down his body, escaping between his fingers. You watch in horror as it pours down at an alarming rate, and you begin to put the pieces together.

Satoru has been shot.

His name leaves your mouth in a panicked howl and then you can't speak anymore, as if all the air has escaped from your lungs. Your mind is ripped back to when Toji Fushiguro sliced Gojo to shreds in front of you. His blood splattering everywhere while you watched on in horror, immobilized and completely useless, not able to do anything but watch the terrors unfold. Not again, not again, it can’t happen again, is what replays through your mind.

You have no more time to linger on that chilling memory. More pops sound through the air, deafening you and spiking fear in the blood that rushes through your veins. It can't happen again. You can't see him like that again.

You immediately throw yourself at your boyfriend, desperately trying to shield him with your body, even though it’s nearly impossible with how tall he is. You shove him down, attempting to cut down his frame to meet yours so that you can cover him, and notice something odd. You can still feel his warmth—your skin brushes against his, when it shouldn’t. Not right now, it shouldn’t.

You move to the side with quick steps and try to pull him along with you, but are unable to. Your heart sinks. He’s completely dead weight. You’re strong in your own regard, but there’s no way you can pick him up and take off with him.

"Satoru, please! C'mon, we have to go, we need to. Please," You plead with him, gripping him so tightly that your hands ache. When he doesn't respond, you start to shake him, trying to get any reaction out of him, but to no avail.

He’s in shock. It’s obvious with his lack of reaction, with how he lets himself be man handled under your body. He prides himself in his ability to protect those around him—he wouldn’t just let you put yourself in the line of fire if he was in his right mind. You know fully well that Gojo could eliminate the shooter in mere moments if he assumed his normal calm and nonchalance—but, unfortunately, his mind is in a freeze state. The bare skin under your fingertips is evidence of this, which only exacerbates your rising panic.

“Your Infinity!” You shout, your voice raw from panic. “Satoru, your Infinity! You need to turn it on! Now!”

Still grasping Satoru tightly, you endure the next round that is emptied into the space next to you—a bullet whistles by your ear, too close for comfort. Gojo’s breathing is ragged, his eyes staring into nothing and appearing so far away at the same time.

You duck down to his eye level and grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Satoru, please! Snap out of it! Please!”

For a few seconds, his gaze locks with yours. His eyes, usually such a vivid blue, are darkened by how large his pupils are. You plead with him, unable to keep your terrified tears at bay.

Then you’re slightly bumped back, now pressing against what feels like a wall, and your body becomes weak with relief. He finally activated his Infinity.

But you're not out of danger yet. Your brain scrambles as you try to figure out how to get out of this while your boyfriend is evidently in shock.

You dare a glance back, eyes scouring the landscape, and immediately curse. As you suspected, you are most definitely being sniped. The enemy has the advantage of higher ground and generous foliage for coverage, while you and Satoru are exposed out in the open clearing below. If you had more time and brain power, you could triangulate their location, but that's just not possible right now.

Even if you were able to surmise their location, you don't even think you can fight back right now, not with how exposed your position is and with how vulnerable Gojo is in this state. And if you can't fight, then you have to flee.

Projectile weapons are ineffective against a moving target—this simple knowledge is what sways your decision. Even though it didn’t work before, you grab Satoru, still trying to keep him low, and begin to run. You breathe a little easier when he moves along with you.

More shots whizz past you, but you keep going, pumping your legs as fast as you can while making sure to be the rear guard. It’s obvious that they’re targeting Gojo—if they hit you, it would merely be collateral damage. The bullseye is on Gojo’s back, not yours.

You don’t stop running until you hit the tree line, and even then you hurriedly usher Gojo behind a stocky trunk many meters back. Before you can catch your breath, you're ripping off your jacket with haste. Quickly realizing that the material is not ideal for the job you intend it for, you quickly tear your shirt from your body. It’s sweaty from all your activity, but it’ll have to do.

You brush away Gojo’s hands, firmly pressing the cloth to his wound. You practically collapse onto your boyfriend as you apply firm pressure, your forehead dipping down to rest on his shoulder. You're wracking your brain for what to do next when Gojo gently pushes you back, places his hands on yours, and shakes his head.

You can't help but think the worst. What does that mean? Is it like that time? Am I too late again?

“I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but y-you're bleeding so much that I have to. Fuck, I’m really sorry for making you run, I’m sure that made it worse, but we just had to get away from whoever was shooting, oh god, how badly did they get you, fuck, this is my fault–”

You don’t realize you’re rambling until he cuts you off. You don't realize you're crying until he brushes the tears away.

“Hey. Stop, sweets. I’m fine, it already stopped bleeding.”

“What? But that can’t be, you were literally shot–”

He raises his shirt, revealing a pink layer of new skin.

He offers you a weak smile, but something is off about it. “Reverse cursed technique, remember? Nobody’s gonna take me down that easily.”

You release a big breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The weight on your shoulders finally eases as you look over his new layer of skin.

“Oh fuck, I’m so glad you’re okay,” You sniffle, leaning in quickly for a hug. “I–mmph!”

You stumble back a step, blinking in surprise. This has never happened before—you hit his invisible barrier.

His eyes widen. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to–“

“No, no, it’s okay!” You wave your hands, trying to dispel his apology. You feel flustered and stiff, awkwardness seeping into your mannerisms. “It’s good that it’s on now.”

It’s then that the disturbing thought hits you. Maybe he should always have his Infinity on. Maybe you’re endangering him.

Gojo holds out his arms for you, now inviting you in. You pause, your thoughts echoing through your head. You take a beat too long—you know he senses your momentary hesitation, and how slowly and gingerly you come into his arms doesn't feel right.

“You okay? Did you get hit?” He asks, squeezing you tightly in his arms. “Fuck, please tell me you didn’t.”

With your head pressed to his chest, you can hear how rapidly his heart beats. He’s scared. He’s scared for you, even though he was the one who got hurt.

His hands run over you, checking for any injuries. You pull yourself out of his embrace gently to still his hands.

You shake your head, “No, I’m fine. But you…you got hurt, Satoru. They shot you.”

And it’s absolutely your fault. If you hadn’t been touching him, this never would have happened. He let his guard down because of you.

“I’m alright now, sweets,” He reassures you, but his tone is again tinged with a strange emotion you can’t put your finger on. “Promise.”

“But–!” You exclaim, about to spill out all of your guilty feelings. The words don’t come, though, stopped by another fear. Will he also realize it’s your fault and get rid of you? Will he realize he doesn’t need you?

“Here,” He says, unballing your shirt and placing it in your hands. “This is proof that I’m fine. Your shirt’s..."

He inspects it funnily, scrunching up his eyebrows and staring at it intently, making a show of it to make you laugh. "...pretty clean and ready to be worn again. Well, unless you don’t want to…can’t say I wouldn’t mind you not putting it back on…there is a little speck of blood on it, after all...”

He smiles at you, a true grin that manages to lift up your weary heart. You burst out laughing, and swat his arm before you hurriedly take it from his hands.

“Satoru! We almost just died and you—” You still can’t contain your laughter, but it stops abruptly once you feel a large wet patch on your shirt. When you pull your hand back, your fingers are stained red with a surprising amount of blood.

“I swear it closed up before you…” He frowns, trailing off. His face turns serious for a moment, but then you touch his cheek with your clean hand and give him a quick peck.

You shrug, “It’s okay. No biggie.”

Face still close to yours, he chases your lips as you pull away from the peck. He kisses you deeply, catching you by surprise and forcing you to hold onto him for support.

"Satoru! I'm gonna get you all bloody with this hand..." You softly protest.

"Don't care," He murmurs quickly, leaning in again and kissing like you don't need to breathe. "It's mine anyway. Just like you."

"Mmph—Satoru—but you need to get looked at properly," You manage to say. "We have to go."

He reluctantly lets you slip out of his arms, sighing as he straightens to his full height.

He groans loudly, frowning at you, "Party pooper!"

"Yeah, yeah, get yourself ready," You fold your arms, acting like you didn't just immensely enjoy that.

He raises an eyebrow at you and smirks as his eyes scan your body.

"What?" You ask petulantly.

He sounds more excited than you’d like, “So…no more shirt?”

You sigh, exasperated, and quickly smooth the shirt back over your body. He laughs and wraps himself around your smaller form, squishing you back against his chest. You relax against him, digging your nose into him, taking in his comforting scent. You both are silent for a few moments, soaking up each other's presence.

“That was scary,” You whisper.

Gojo sighs, “It was pathetic, that’s what it was.”

You snap your head up to look at him. “Hey. What are you saying?”

He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just…let’s just head back.”

“Satoru…” You start with a warning tone.

“Don’t wanna talk about it right now,” He says flatly. “Besides, we should go back and see Shoko just in case. I want you to get looked over, too."

You want to question him further, but hold your tongue. You know better than to press him when he’s like this.

“Huh? Why’s that?” You simply ask instead, genuinely confused.

He frowns as he looks at your head, scrutinizing it as if something was wrong. Before you can question him, he forms a fist and–

Knock, knock.

“You think it’s in there?” He asks seriously. “Sounds pretty hollow.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief at the absolute disrespect. There’s no way he just knocked on your skull to check if your brain is still in your head.

“GOJO SATORU! Are you- are you implying I don’t have a BRAIN?!” You screech, taking hold of his sorcerer jacket to jostle him around. “Do you have a death wish?!”

He laughs, then uses the same fist to roughly rub your scalp. He even gave you a fucking noogie!!

“That’s it! Take me to Shoko.” You pout, crossing your arms and turning around so your back faces Gojo.

“Aww, sweets, you want a second opinion?” He coos, moving forward to wrap his arms around you from behind. “I’m sure she’ll be able to confirm it…”

“Ugh!”

"...with how willingly you throw yourself into danger."

You stop smiling. "What?"

He's not smiling either, and its absence looks strange on his face. His gaze is almost cold. "Don't do that again."

There are no words that come to your mind, but you wish you could protest and justify your actions and convince him that it was necessary. Instead, you stand there dumbly, transfixed by his cold aura.

Then he smiles sweetly again, as if that hadn't just happened. "Let's go, shall we?"

Shoko sighs loudly at your arrival. "What was it this time?"

"Actually, we're not sure," You admit, looking to Gojo to see if he has any possible answers. When he says nothing, you continue, "We didn't see what—or rather who–it was. 'Must have been a cursed user."

"Even Mr. Six Eyes didn't see them?" Shoko asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's hard to believe. And here I was always thinking he should leave some eyes for the rest of us."

She looks to Gojo teasingly, but he doesn't take the bait. Shoko looks to you with a questioning gaze that says something like—what's up with him?

"It's complicated..." You supply vaguely.

"Well, whoever it was must be bad news," She says. "How did they get Gojo if you couldn't see them?"

"They had guns," You explain. "It was a sniper...or a few snipers, I'm not sure if it was just one or if there was another one too. Their aim wasn't the best, but they got Satoru one time...they shot a few rounds at us, but I guess they got lucky with that shot."

You can't look at him. If you look at him, you'll see his skin pale and washed out from the blood dripping down his abdomen. You'll see his body lacerated and unrecognizable from Toji's ruthless assault. You are always useless, hopelessly useless.

You look at your feet instead and ignore the sour taste of bile in your mouth.

Gojo's cocky snicker brings you back to attention, "They were pretty terrible. They only got one hit, but they should have known better. As if that loser shit would work against me."

Shoko's eyes are on you again, and you know why. Gojo doesn't normally get injured. And by someone with nothing more than a gun? How could he even get hit with Infinity?

Even if you were speaking, you're not sure you would have the strength to tell her. It's my fault he didn't have his Infinity on, is the answer that resonates painfully in your chest. The guilt threatens to consume you whole, but you push it down.

"Everything is 'loser shit' to you with RCT," Shoko decides on. "But I have to say I'm just a little surprised you got hit."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm all good now," Gojo says dismissively.

"Let me see at least," Shoko rolls her eyes. "Aren't you here to see me for my medical expertise or what?"

"What, we can't see our dear friend otherwise?" You tease with a pout. "You wound me, Shoko."

"That wouldn't be ethical of me,” Shoko plays along, then turns back to doctor mode once she starts getting her supplies ready. "Did you get hurt too?"

“No, just Satoru,” You say with a shake of your head. “You don’t have to check me over.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “I’ll come back to you.”

“Huh? But Shoko…” You trail off, seeing she has already begun inspecting Gojo.

“I’m all good,” Gojo rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t have quite the usual touch of playfulness it usually does. “C’mon, Shoko, don’t waste your time on this. We both know I can’t really get hurt.”

He winks at you, and you smile in return. That almost makes you feel better—he’s being more like himself.

“Uh-huh, but they certainly won’t let me rest until I do a proper check-up,” Shoko says. “You’ve got a persistent one, did ya know?”

He only chuckles at that, giving her some peace to look him over and prod him here or there.

“Well, you’re all good, as expected. It doesn’t seem like there’s any soreness, which is a good sign.”

“My RCT isn’t just for show!” Gojo says proudly. “Works just as good as yours, Shoko.”

She rolls her eyes, “Uh huh. Now, let’s get on to your ‘sweets’.”

You stick your tongue out at her, blushing, “Shoko, I have a name!”

“Not in these parts,” She teases easily, waggling her eyebrows at you. “Alright, just sit up straight for me now. Just gonna prod you a bit, okay?”

You nod, unworried as you let her hands inspect you. You relax and are about to crack a joke about getting a free massage from bestie Shoko, but you find yourself writhing in pain instead. You definitely didn’t expect yourself to wince—and yet you find yourself doing so, hissing out in pain as a stinging suddenly surfaces on your back.

Gojo sits up in alarm at your reaction and quickly jumps up from his cot, making his way over to you and Shoko. “What’s wrong?”

He’s practically hovering over you before Shoko shoos him away with a wave of her hand, motioning for him to let her do her job. He keeps away, but his gaze is trained on the spot her hand is touching.

She lifts your shirt fully, carefully inspecting the wound. It’s bleeding steadily, yet neither of you even noticed it before this moment.

“You got hit?” Gojo practically mewls. He’s never sounded this small and weak before. “But you were—I thought you were fine..."

Now it makes sense why your hand was tinged red when you pulled your hand back from the shirt earlier. It wasn't from Satoru's wound at all—it's your blood.

When you turn to Satoru, you look into a mirror. You know that's how you must have looked earlier when you looked at his bullet wound in horror.

“You probably didn’t feel it because of the adrenaline," You hear Shoko telling you. "It appears to be a graze, but it got you pretty good. There’s no bullet or shrapnel, which might be why you didn’t feel it in the moment.”

You feel embarrassed for some reason. “I seriously didn’t feel anything…it’s fine, then, right?”

Satoru is pale again. Emotions swirl in his agitated eyes—you can’t quite decipher them, since they cycle so fast, but he looks…haunted.

But he shouldn't, not when everything boils down to being your fault.

You immediately turn your attention to Satoru, becoming apprehensive about the look in his eyes. You smile at him softly, eyes crinkling along with your lips, trying to signal that you’re really okay, that there’s nothing to worry about.

But you don’t see the pool of blood steadily growing behind you, Satoru does.

“I’m okay, Satoru,” You smile, but it falters when Shoko presses gauze against your wound.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Shoko sighs. “Lay on your stomach and try not to move too much. I'm going to wrap you, okay? I need to grab some things, but I’ll be right back.”

"Okay..." You accept softly, still surprised by this turn of events.

You obey Shoko's orders and begin to lower yourself onto the hospital bed. You grit your teeth when the skin on your back stretches, irritating your newly discovered wound. You blink once and suddenly he's by your side, holding you steady and angling you so your back doesn't have movement while he gently lays you down.

"Thanks," You say. "I'm fine though, Satoru, really..."

“You don’t see yourself,” He speaks lowly, quietly. “Worry about yourself some.”

You’re left reeling at his words—more so by how he says them. His voice is so weak, uncharacteristically soft and completely candid.

“I’m fine,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t even feel it. It can’t be so bad then, can it?”

You don’t miss the way Gojo’s jaw sets. He didn’t like that response. You see something you don't understand in his eyes, a flash of a strong emotion you didn’t anticipate. You avert your gaze, but it’s burned into the back of your eyes.

The click of Shoko’s heels alerts you of her return. Gojo watches his old friend carefully, taking in her furrowed brow and the way her eyes jump between your wound and her supplies, analyzing. She seems confused, as if she underestimated the severity of your wound. His hands curls into fists, watching your blood drip over the edge of the bed and dropping messily onto the ground below.

Shoko pulls her gloves on swiftly, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and preparing it for application.

“Sit tight, my friend,” Shoko tells you with a deep exhale. “I gotta get started on this. First I’m going to sterilize it, then you’re going to need stitches. I’m sorry to say we won’t have the luxury of time to sedate you for that.”

You gulp. Your pain tolerance is okay, but you really hate the feeling of anticipating pain. Knowing something will hurt is infinitely more scary to you than getting injured in battle, when your adrenaline is high and it just happens without warning.

You reach your hand out hesitantly, feeling silly for needing comfort just for a few stitches, and are surprised by the immediate grasp on your hand. It’s tight but not uncomfortable; it’s warm and it grounds you.

You grit your teeth and try to limit your whimpers of pain as she treats your wound. You can’t stop yourself from squirming when the needles pulls at your skin again and again, even when she places a heavy hand on your back to hold you in place. All throughout, Gojo’s hand squeezes yours, carrying you through this uncomfortable ordeal.

When it’s finally over, you feel exhausted.

“You did great,” Shoko praises you. “Your wound should be all good for now.”

You let out a small chuckle of relief, almost giddy to be done with the dreaded stitches. You sit up and slide off the bed, wanting to get back on your feet to feel some normalcy, to convince yourself you’re fine.

You truly felt nothing before, but it must be catching up to you now. Your knees threaten to buckle under you as dizziness overtakes you—you wobble on your two feet.

Both Shoko and Gojo rush to you, each taking a side to support you.

“You lost a considerable amount of blood,” Shoko warns in her doctorly tone. “Slow down and take it easy from now on.”

You laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head, “I’m good! Just stood up a bit too fast.”

Shoko releases your arm, but Gojo doesn’t let go. He holds you steady, even pulling you toward him, supporting the majority of your weight.

“I can stand, y’know…” You laugh softly, finding his overprotective actions a bit amusing. But all the humor drains from the situation when you meet his gaze.

You see it in his eyes again, a dark flicker that almost makes you nervous. Before you can muster the courage to question him about it, Shoko interrupts your silent musings.

“Listen closely. I know you like to be up and about, as you just demonstrated, but I want you to limit your movement as to not disturb your stitches. A little walking should be fine, but do not exert yourself. No exercising or training for the next few days. Come see me in three days so I can clear you—if it’s looking good—for activity.”

You resist a sigh, settling on a playful roll of your eyes. “Yes, mom.”

She smirks, “Good. Now get out of here, you two, before I get your couples cooties.”

“Har, har, har,” You pretend to laugh, before sticking your tongue out at her. “Very funny, Shoko.”

It strikes you that Gojo has been unusually quiet, not joining in on your mutual jokes. When you spare a glance, you observe that his facial expression is neutral, if a bit strained. No smile, no cocky smirk. That’s uncommon.

You look at Shoko, exchanging more unspoken words with a few blinks. That confirms it—he’s acting strange.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but he know he won’t tell you here.

“Ready to go?” You ask instead.

“Ready as ever,” He tries a half smile. It’s not very convincing.

You nod and lean into him, angling your head to smile up at him. Your smile is innocent and sweet. His chest squeezes at the sight, full of a jumble of emotions. He doesn’t reveal any of them; he absently plays with a strand of your hair instead.

As you look up at him, closely examining his soulful eyes for any traces of the emotion from earlier, to see if it still lingered. But the intense emotion is gone, replaced by an even and controlled gaze, leaving you to only wonder at the clear flash of anger you saw earlier in his bright eyes.

When you come back home, Gojo is unusually quiet. He mumbles something about taking a shower when you get back, leaving your side as soon as he gets the chance. You really wouldn't mind, but he seems rather... avoidant, especially with his ensuing actions.

You plop yourself down on your couch, trying to get comfy while keeping your back straight, a nearly impossible feat. Feeling restless, you tap your foot while you watch condensation from a glass on the coffee table in front of you drip down the sides. With each drop that falls, your heart beats a little faster.

You prepared a cool glass of water and a bowl of Satoru’s favorite sweets for when he's done, anticipating a binge of a show you both recently discovered. But, instead of an evening full of your usual snuggles on the couch, him getting handsy while you ‘protest’ about missing the show, you are woken up to a different reality.

When you hear the click of the bathroom door, you straighten in your seat, excited to be close to him again. But before you can even call him over to the couch, Gojo heads straight to your bedroom. You wait a few minutes, assuming he's just changing, but you grow uneasy as the time ticks by.

Maybe he just wants space. Well, how long should you give him? Should you ask him if he wants space? But what if he's waiting for you? Does he just want to be in bed instead?

You wait and wait, tapping your foot anxiously on the floor and checking your phone every few minutes. When the supposed appropriate amount of time has passed, you hesitantly approach the bedroom.

You find yourself knocking on the door before you enter, even though you've never done that to your shared door before.

"Hey, Satoru?" You call out tentatively.

You stand in the doorway, scared to cross an invisible boundary. A sheepish smile is on your face, even though you try to get your lips to stretch normally.

He's on his phone, just scrolling. Oh, maybe he just got distracted by TikTok or something.

"Hm?" He barely responds, not even looking up.

“Is something bothering you?” You ask, worried. “Is it your side?”

“Why would it be my side?” Gojo asks flatly.

Your brow creases in confusion, but you try to keep a light tone. “Oh. Uh, what’s wrong, then?”

"Nothing, why would anything be wrong?" He gives you a tight-lipped smile. His tone is so strange—bordering on sarcastic—and you don’t know what to make of it. As he stands up and passes you, slipping out of the room hastily like you are what’s bothering him. The thought turns your stomach.

You pause for a beat, frozen in the doorway as you process what just happened. Then you turn around, eyes following his form as he enters the living room and unceremoniously sprawls across the couch. He crunches on some candy you brought in the bowl.

Okay. Maybe you should be more direct.

You walk over to him, cautious but trying not to appear nervous, “Satoru, can we talk?”

“We are talking,” He smiles oddly.

“You know what I mean…” You say with a note of annoyance coming through in your tone, then it turns softer. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

“Yes.”

You blink rapidly, surprised by his blunt answer. You take a seat next to him.

��Okay…could you tell me what I did?”

“…”

He’s not faking a smile anymore, which is a start. His lips are set in a firm, flat line, instead. His jaw is clenched and his neck muscles are emphasized due to how taut they are; you have rarely seen him tense like this. Your chest aches—what did you do?

“Please, Satoru, what’s wrong?” You ask again, each word filled with care and concern. And somehow, it seems to kill him.

“What’s wrong?” He echoes back loudly. “What’s wrong is that you stood in front of me while there was incoming fire! You can’t just do that.”

That’s not what you expected.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

“I just– fuck, why would you think to do that?” He stresses, pulling at his hair. “You took too much risk—you can’t use RCT!”

“Yeah, me and like ninety-nine percent of all sorcerers. Like it matters. You think I thought of that?” You huff.

“‘Like it matters?’ Are you hearing yourself right now?” He scoffs. “It matters a lot, and you know it does. It’s reckless.”

“When it comes to you, it doesn’t.” You say hotly, unwavering.

“It does matter. You got hurt when you shouldn’t have. When you didn’t need to!”

You’re surprised by his outburst. “I–I was only thinking about protecting you, okay? I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking about that! Caring about getting hurt? That was the last thing on my mind.”

“Yeah, it’s obvious you weren’t thinking,” He sneers. “There’s no need to risk your life like that. Absolutely no need.”

Your jaw drops in shock, and you try not to feel hurt. “You can’t be serious right now, Gojo. You were in no state to protect yourself. I was…doing my best, I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“I still got shot,” He argues back immediately, painfully reminding you.

A small, pained gasp escapes you. You spin around as fast as you can—tears are freely falling without your permission.

You want to tell him that’s not fair, but you don’t trust your vocal cords right now. Not with how tight your throat is from trying to hold back sobs that would surely wrack your body if you let them.

The guilt that has been trailing you all day now collects at the pit of your stomach, practically eating you alive. You feel physically sick. He’s right. He did get shot. He was vulnerable, his Infinity lowered because of you. If…if the bullet had gone through his head, what could you have done then?

You stand up as steadily as you can. You don’t spare him a single glance; you can’t, not with your face crumpling as you try your hardest not to cry. You exit the living room swiftly, holding it all in, all of your emotional pain but also your physical pain. Your wound is throbbing and it even feels hard to stay standing right now.

You finally round the corner into the hallway. Now out of view, you let yourself stagger down the hallway, succumbing to your dizziness. It’s your fault, your fault, only your fault. You can’t handle this right now.

You walk aimlessly down the hall, just wanting to get away from him right now. You wind up in the bathroom and lock the door behind you. You stand in front of the mirror, looking for something redeeming within yourself, but all you can see are your pathetic tears and guilt swimming in your eyes.

You grip the edge of the counter, so tightly that it begins to hurt and your fingers tremble at the effort. You feel unsteady, like the brain Gojo teased you don’t have is lacking oxygen. Maybe you really lack one if you think you could possibly be the right match for the strongest.

You sink to the ground, finally releasing heaving sobs that have been trying to claw themselves out of you. They’re muffled by your hands, which you press firmly against your mouth in an effort to contain your noises, but some of the sound leaks between your fingers. You stuff some of your shirt into your mouth to bite down on, trying to hold it all in, trying to hold yourself together.

Your breath hitches at a throb of pain from deep within your back. It hurts so much, even with the pain reliever Shoko gave you to take. It hurts more than when she was threading the needle between your folds of skin; it’s deeper than that, sharp and intense and robbing you of a normal breathing pattern.

Despite your efforts to keep quiet, pained whimpers start to leave you. And worse—panic floods you, taking advantage of your poor state of mind. All you can focus on is the stabbing pain that refuses to dull.

You rip off the gauze with shaking hands, terrified to see its state. But confusion fills you when there's only dried smears on it—that must be from earlier. If your wound is still closed, then why does it hurt so much?

You shift on the floor, limbs giving out. You contort in pain, which only makes things worse, pulling the stitches to their limits. They stay intact, but the tension brings waves of pain to your back. A yelp is ripped from your throat at a particularly painful pulse.

The thunder of incoming footsteps gives you both fear and a sense of relief. On one hand, you didn’t want him to hear; on another hand, right now all you crave is your boyfriend’s comfort.

“Hey, what was that?” He asks from behind the door, sounding on edge.

“Satoru…” You mewl out in pain.

He calls out your name, voice now urgent. You cringe at the resistance of the lock against his attempt at opening the door.

“M’sorry, I locked it,” You sniffle. “Stupid of me.”

But he still appears in front of you, a locked door holding nothing to his defiance of space and time. He takes one glance at your crumpled form on the floor and curses. All of the tension from earlier melts away, replaced by genuine worry and need.

“What happened? You okay? Did you fall?” He asks as he hurriedly crouches next to you. His hands reach out to you, gently pulling you into his lap. You wince as your back bends, aggravating your wound.

You shake your head. “No, it’s just—agh, fuck—just my back, it suddenly hurts so bad.”

He grimaces. “Can…can I take a look?”

You give your consent and he quickly peels your shirt up. His fingers shake as he does so, even though he doesn’t mind the sight of injuries or blood. Or, at least, when it’s not yours.

He slowly pulls your shirt up just enough to reveal your wound, fearing the worst. You shiver when the fabric chafes against your graze, and he murmurs an apology upon seeing your discomfort. One of his hands rubs soothing circles on your waist.

When he inspects your injury, he’s met with red, puffy skin—the area around your stitches is clearly inflamed, but not unsually so. He breathes a low sigh of relief.

“It looks a bit swollen,” He determines before pulling your shirt back down, careful not to let it touch your wound this time. “But not too bad.”

“It feels bad,” You whine.

"I know," He says gently. “I’ll call Shoko in a second to make sure it's alright. Do you want to head to the bed first?"

“Yes, please,” You request softly.

He hooks an arm under your knees, the other cradling your back. “Alright, sweets. Up we go."

He handles your weight like it’s nothing, and easily unlocks the door you stupidly locked on the way out.

Unshed tears prick your eyes. You couldn’t carry him earlier, even after he had been shot and couldn’t move. You are incapable, unable to handle what he can on a daily basis. Can your relationship really be mutual if he always has to act as the strongest? You could barely protect him earlier.

"It hurts that badly?" He references your teary eyes without mockery, only softness.

If only your tears were from that pain.

"It could be worse, I guess," is what you settle on, neither a lie nor the full truth.

"Could I make it better, maybe?" He asks with a suspicious smile. Before you can answer, he swings you around a few times like he normally would when he carries you, which draws a genuine laugh out of you.

"You're gonna make me dizzy!" You complain, but your smile is so pure and wide, something Gojo doesn't miss.

"You're so beautiful, sweets," He says, affectionately rubbing his nose against yours. You feel warm from the closeness.

You look away shyly, "Yeah, right."

"You don't believe me?" He asks huskily, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Ugh! Put me down and call Shoko already! It stills hurts," You pout.

"If you say so," He says, but his little smirk is still planted on his face. He lays you down carefully, gently releasing you onto the pile of blankets.

He then turns around and dials the doctor in question, "Yo, Shoko."

You close your eyes, trying to ward off the radiating pain with deep breaths. Gojo's phone call turns to background noise, the words indecipherable.

You tune back into the world at the end of his conversation.

"Okay, thank you so much Ieiri."

You faintly hear Shoko's disgust on the other end of the line, "What's going on with you?? Please never thank me like that again, yuck!"

You can't hold back the giggle that bubbles up at Shoko's reaction. Gojo blows a raspberry into the speaker and promptly hangs up on her.

"What's the verdict?" You ask.

"Well, sweets," Gojo sing-songs. "Did you forget to do something?"

You look up in thought, your brows furrowing, "I don't think so..."

"Really?" He says, then produces a familiar orange pill container. You're forced to stare at it as he shakes it in front of your face. "What about this, hm?"

"What? I already took one," You say, a little indignantly. "When we first got home. It was so horrible tasting and was a giant horse pill, too...Ugh, get that bottle away from me, might as well throw it out. I don't want to take anymore later."

He cracks the bottle open, pouring one into his palm. You narrow your eyes at him. Before you can ask what he intends to do with it, that same pill is shoved into your mouth followed by an amount of water so large that you almost begin to choke.

You cough on the water, and he pats your back accordingly, as if he expected this.

"What-?! Are you trying to waterboard me? I said I already took one, and-" You cough again. "God, where did you even get that water from anyway?"

"Mm. But you didn't notice the pill this time, right?" He looks satisfied with himself.

You deadpan. "No, but-"

"Besides, you were spacing out before we left the infirmary. Shoko specifically said to take two pills when you came home, or else the pain might get bad."

Your face feels hot, "Oh, did she now? Hah hah...I must have misheard her..."

He sighs, and it's only now you notice how tired he looks. There's a lull in your conversation, and you use this time to truly observe him. Dark circles are prominent under his eyes—how come you never noticed that?—and his eyes hold a look of defeat.

He breaks the silence, speaking softly, "You worry me, y'know? When I came in and you were convulsing on the floor...I don't want to see you like that again."

You stay silent, not willing to risk jeopardizing this rare moment of complete and utter vulnerability from Gojo.

"And when Shoko lifted your shirt and there was so much blood pouring out of your back..." He closes his eyes, screwing them shut. "I didn't know what would happen. That really scared me. Even when Shoko said you'd be fine, I didn't believe her until it stopped. And even then, you looked so weak...you still do, and it kills me."

He looks down at the ground, between his hands that are interlocked so tightly that it looks like it would hurt.

"It fucking kills me inside that you got hurt protecting me, and you didn't even notice. If that bullet had come any closer, you-"

He stops abruptly, voice breaking. You reach forward, taking his large hands in yours.

"But it didn't. Look at me, Satoru. I'm fine, I really am. I promise."

He shakes his head vehemently, and you're shocked to see liquid trickle down his face. You almost startle when he embraces you so tightly that you can barely breathe, as if you could disappear at any moment. His head rests on your shoulder, effectively hiding his expression from view.

He whispers by your ear, "What's the use in being the strongest when I freeze up like that? I put you in so much fucking danger."

"Satoru, look at me," You ask again, but his head stays tucked in the crevice between your shoulder and collarbone. "Please."

He slowly raises his head, revealing the expression he tried to conceal. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are tinged pink; it makes your heart hurt.

"You're not the strongest to me," You say. "You're not even Gojo Satoru. To me, you're Satoru. Just Satoru. You're human and have emotions and memories and trauma, just like everyone else."

You steel yourself for your next words, the ones that have been haunting your thoughts since he got shot.

"I know that what happened reminded you of that...that time with Toji. I-it felt the same for me, and this time...this time I couldn't stand to watch idly. I would rather die than watch that happen to you again. Especially since, this time, it was definitely my fault."

"Your fault?" He laughs dryly.

"Yes!" You instantly cry out, causing his eyes to widen.

"Haven't you realized by now?" You practically sob. "None of this would have happened if I hadn't been touching you. Because your Infinity lowered for me—fuck, it makes me sick saying this out loud—they were able to really hurt you. I'm the one endangering you, and i-if this keeps up then..."

He says nothing. Now that you admitted it, there's no taking it back. And there's no way that he can or should accept this. There's no way he should accept you, you who are so useless and weak and stubborn. And yet...

"That's all?" He says seriously. You're struck with a flash of frustration and anger at his dismissal, but the hard look in his eyes tells you he is just as frustrated and will not budge on this point.

"We'll be more careful. It's a lesson learned for sure, but I'm not giving you up anytime soon. That's what you wanted me to say, isn't it? That I was going to let you go."

You look down shamefully, "W-well..."

He barks out a sharp laugh, "That's not happening. Do you know why?"

You avoid his gaze, and your voice comes out small. "You pity me?"

"I love you." His voice is firm and so sure; it leaves no room for doubt.

Your eyes snap back to his. There’s no bandages or glasses in the way to obscure the emotion shimmering in them—an endless sea of affection and intensity and something else that you couldn’t capture in words even if you tried. Love.

He loves you.

“I love you, so you can’t be reckless. You just can’t, okay? I’ve been going crazy knowing you got hurt, but I couldn’t handle it if…” He takes a sharp breath. “It’s selfish of me, but I don’t fucking care. Nothing can happen to you. I’ll take all of your hits and all of your missions if it means you’ll be safe. You’re the one person I can’t handle losing.”

“Then you’ll understand I feel the same way,” You say with a determined look on your face. “It’s not like I planned to do what I did. It was all instinct. I didn’t care what would happen to me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” He admits, voice raw and so unlike his usual self-assured tone. “You don’t value yourself enough. You matter so much, sweets, more than I could ever say in words. I’d do anything for you, to keep you safe.”

You counter, “And I would die for you, Satoru, because I love you. And I wouldn’t ever regret it.”

Your determined admission renders him silent.

Then he chuckles, “You’re stubborn, aren’t you, sweets? Of course you sound all cute and mad the first time you tell me you love me.”

Your eye twitches, but you exhale into a smile. “Maybe. But so are you!”

“How about this?” He proposes. “How about we both stay alive, live happily ever after, and drink boba and eat kikufuku for the rest of our days?”

“I think I know where this is going,” You say, suspicion clear in your voice. But you can’t stop the way your heart jumps at his words, the insinuation of spending the rest of your days with Satoru making you weak inside.

“Well, sweets, I have an idea,” He says softly, but his words are filled with excitement.

“Hmm?” You muse, playing along. “What is it?”

“I think we need a sweet treat to make us feel better. Don’t you think so? Maybe we could…check out that boba place I talked about earlier?”

“The one ‘I’ said I wanted to go to?” You ask, using air quotes and shaking your head in amusement.

“That’s the one!” He grins, throwing himself around your form. He squeezes you tightly, nuzzling into your neck. “I love you so much that I’ll treat you, seeing as you want to go so badly. Not that I really wanted to go or anything…”

“You’re such a bad liar!” You laugh, pinching his cheek. “But, Satoru…I meant what I said.”

You look at him seriously, not willing to let this slide. You don’t expect him to match your intense energy, but he does.

“So did I. You don’t have to worry about that anymore, because I’ll never let that happen again. I’ll always be here for you, sweets. I’ll always protect you. You can try, but I’ll never make that mistake again. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me, so I won’t let it. I love you too much to let it happen.”

Your heart feels like it could burst. You sniffle, not able to hold the tears back.

“Aw, is my baby crying?” He teases, gently thumbing the tears away from your cheeks. “You okay?”

“Mhm, just happy,” You nod and let out a watery laugh. “Hey, Satoru.”

“Yeah?” He hums.

“Do you love me enough to give me the last kikufuku later?”

You expect him to joke along with you, but he’s perfectly serious in his words back. Only you seem to have that effect on him.

“Even that,” He chuckles along with you, unbridled warmth and affection swimming in his baby blues as he gazes at you, eyes never leaving your form. “Even that, sweets.”

gojo masterlist <3

A/N: I don’t feel like this is the highest quality writing, but I felt really compelled to write this for some reason, so…oh well! <3 I hope it still turned out okay.

Also Satoru definitely should have apologized but I feel like he’s stubborn and hates apologizing so I left that out <3

I think this is the first time I've managed to not use (Y/N) HAHA, sometimes I see comments on other posts about how much it disturbs their immersive experience, so I'm going to try to limit my usage of it from now on...personally, I've seen and used it for so long that it's just part of my x reader vocabulary, but I understand why people don't like it lol.

Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you had a great day today !! <333

[clare-875]

Not You (Levi x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader Summary: Levi has a nightmare that he loses you and he doesn't handle it well Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Descriptions of blood and death, Reverse comfort [AOT Masterlist] _____

It was one scream. Piercing and sharp as it rang through the air, but Levi knew instantly who it was. His heart rate picks up, pure panic reaching the depths of his mind, prompting the movement of his body as he runs. His eyes dart around him but all he sees is darkness. Where were you? Another scream echoes through space threatening hysteria. His body moves, it had come from his right. He runs faster, sweat drenching his form. His limbs are heavy, as though he trudged through mud. His mind was pacing, pushing away the thoughts of the worst. He curses the way he seems to have forgotten something as simple as movement as it feels like eons until he catches a glimpse of a struggling shadow. His breath gets caught in his throat, his feet now stuck to the ground by some invisible chain that he can't wretch free of. His heart races so fast he can now scarcely breathe and he doesn't know how to escape the oncoming terror.

"LEVI!!" Your voice is shrill pushing through the restraints of your panic and pain. It seeps through the sobs that rake through your body, it drips with fear and dread, just like the blood that pours from you. Crimson adorns your figure; it's all Levi can see. It falls from your hands that try to pry away from the Titan you are in the hold of, it falls from your temple seeping into the white of your eyes, it breaks from your skin under the weight of its hold. Your gaze is frantic, panic-driven; it's horror. "[y-y/n]?" Levi's voice is lost in the phobia that fills him. His breath shakes and stutters as he tries to move, but again he fails. Why why why why. It's all that fills him, the same words on his mind. Why were you here? Why were you dying; he had sworn to keep you safe. Why can't he move? "L-LEVI, PLEASE-!!" Your voice is helpless under the weight of your oncoming demise as it pleads him to move. He tries. He has never tried so hard to get his slack limbs to move as much as he did now. He tries to push against the agony and restraint and yet nothing.

"[Y-Y/N]!!"

His voice is a roar across space as your eyes look at him in pure devastation. "W-why, why won't you save me?" Levi's heart drops to the floor at your utter devastation and the sobs that lace your words. The heavy feeling of your voiced disappointment churns in his chest. No. "I-" Levi tries to speak once more but now it feels as though the restraints on his form have gagged him of speech. No. God please no. "You said you'd save me, you promised-" Your voice is interrupted by another agonising scream that has Levi losing his mind. He struggles to connect his mind to his body and yet no matter how much he cries in silence there is no movement. Levi feels hot tears of pure panic reach the rims of his eyes, threatening to break free as he bears witness to the series of events he has seen too often in his life. But not you, please not you. "L-Levi," His eyes are forced upon a sight he wished he died before he'd see. The Titan evidently has had enough of its malice as it squeezes hard against your form, causing your body to collapse under the hold. In the silence the final wheeze of your voice, "Save me."

Levi's gasps are erratic as his eyes shoot open meeting darkness. His confused state is dangerously out of control as he grasps at the bed sheets beneath him for stability, squeezing them so tight he almost tears it. His mind reels trying to catch up to reality, but the events of what has happened in his mind are still eerily sure in his head. He tries to control his hysteric state, pushing his hands into his face breathing shortly before trying to slow them down. Was it real? Please no. No no no no... Levi's hand has never darted so quickly to the figure that should be beside him; beside him asleep. Only, his hand meets a coolness that has his heart jolting harshly in his chest. His eyes dart to his side, gaze wide, mind frantic. When he sees that no one is there, that you aren't there, that's when he loses it, he is lost in hysteria.

Levi flies out from his bed unstable, eyes darting in the darkness of the room. His voice is lost within him out of fear at the lack of response he might find. He turns on the lamps in the room to see the empty space around him, he moves quick across your shared bedroom ripping open doors and racing across space. "[y-y/n]" His voice is breathless, barely heard as he unsteadily rushes across the rooms. He checks the office, he checks the bathroom, he checks every crevice no matter how stupid it might be. He needs to. He needs you to be alive; to be here. "[y/n]!" His voice is louder now but is met with silence. The only response that reaches him now is the dwindling remembrance of your voice; your words. "You promised me." Levi shakes his head, hand raking through his locks harshly. "Please." Levi goes for the door handle, intent on ripping apart headquarters to find you, to prove he hadn't failed you. "Save me." Tears threaten him as he goes to open the door only for it to open abruptly.

It revealed you.

You look up in surprise, having got yourself something quick to drink in the middle of the night from the kitchen. It had been a long internal debate; you knowing the effects of PTSD upon both of you. It brought horrendous nightmares, ones that had you questioning your reality; your sanity. But Levi had finally seemed to be asleep long and well enough for you to slip briefly from the bed beside him so you could quench your thirst. Evidently, you were wrong. Levi looks at you in shock, rigid form and tears lingering in his eyes. He looks tense, more than you have ever seen; as though one wrong move might cause devastation. You find yourself rigid as your eyes turn behind him to where the room you had left is now pulled apart as though there was a struggle. Your gaze meets your lover once more as your mind connects the dots.

You move forward hesitantly. "Levi?" He turns to you then, finally breaking free of the turmoil he had faced in such a short period of time. You move forward seeing the shock, the dread, the relief pouring from him. You reach out gently and he instantly responds to your touch as you hold him against you and he puts his arms tight around your form. His hands shake subtly but his embrace is taut and you let him be. He lets himself breathe. He lets himself catch up to reality. He begs to whatever being is up there, that they don't take you away from him. You stay there for long moments, him just matching your breathing, inhaling your sweet scent and losing himself in the soft caress of your touch. Him, gripping onto his sanity.

"Levi?" You say softly once you have stayed in his tight embrace for several long moments. You feel his limbs slowly start to slack as he releases you of his form, but barely lets you an inch out of his grasp. "Are you okay?" Levi can barely look up to you as you meet his shadowed gaze. "I'm sorry, I just went to get something to drink. I didn't think- What happened?" Levi's hand is within your own as you squeeze it gently, hoping to provide some comfort to his blatant pain. Levi's voice shakes but drips of grief and exhaustion as he speaks to you. "Just don't- don't die... not you." You look up at his defeated form, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, so utterly embodied by the emotions you know he tries so hard to hide. You pull him to the couch in the room as you sit beside each other. "I won't."

The both of you know that there was no truth to your words. Anyone could die when beyond the walls; it seemed death would come even when you were within them. But Levi allowed the contentment of your words to seep within him. He allowed your hands to gently caress his raven locks and allowed the warmth of your body to bring him back to his reality. He pushed away the lingering words you spoke to him in the depths of his dreams: the disappointment, the echoing screams. He never told you all of what happened in his nightmare but you could guess well enough. You found all the answers you would need in the way he muttered under his breath until the morning sun shone past the far-off horizon.

"Not you..."

[comfortcalls]

Bad Day - Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

characters: Benedict fem! reader (reader is not described physically but 'mrs.' 'woman' 'wife' are used) content: kissing, cuddles, general fluff, reverse comfort, mentions of grief. wc. 3.1k (not beta read)

 The morning went well. You and Benedict were invited for breakfast along with everyone else in the family. So you both  got in the carriage, leaving your home and came to the family house. Everyone was happy to be together. You chatted with your new brothers and sisters, enjoying the company and lovely food with Benedict by your side. 

His hand never left yours, tracing little patterns with his thumb while he listened to his family chatter on about nothing in particular. He was quieter today. A small smile placed on his lips that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He just seemed a bit distant. You noticed but it wasn’t too out of the ordinary for him. Sometimes he was tired, maybe that was it. 

A little later, you were in conversation with Kate, discussing your married lives and sharing a few laughs over how your husbands were similar in ways only brothers would be. Anthony strode over with a smile and with casual effort, wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. “Gossiping, are we?” he smiled lightly. “Hopefully about good things?” 

“Always good things, my love.” Kate smiled, welcoming his embrace. You smiled watching them display affection so effortlessly. It was nice seeing the two soften each other the longer they were married. Their love was always warm and inspiring, like two pieces that fit perfectly together. It made you wonder if others saw you and Benedict like that. 

“We were just discussing you and your brother.” Kate said, soft and warm, her eyes looking over him with nothing but love. “And just how different yet similar you both can be.” 

Anthony’s lips pressed together, the similarities and differences between him and Benedict going through his mind. “Well, we are brothers but there are bound to be differences. I could name a few off the top of my head.” He says with a hint of teasing humor in his voice.

“I’m sure you could.” You smiled with a small chuckle, “Speaking of which, Where is Benedict?” you asked, glancing around finally acknowledging that your husband was absent from your side. He didn’t seem to be in the room either. Realizing he wasn’t around, your hand felt very empty. A small sense of worry began to seep into your chest. 

“He disappeared from my side a while ago.” You say, moving your empty hand to your chest. You looked at Anthony. “I thought he might be with you.” The two were usually together if he was not with you. 

Anthony shook his head, “No. I haven’t seen him.” He said, a little too uncaring. When your expression became slightly concerned, Kate glanced at him giving him a look to be a bit more sympathetic. “But, he might be lingering around in one of the rooms, maybe his old bedroom.” He offers quickly, trying to be helpful if only to please his wife. 

“Right.” You let out a small anxious breath. You felt something was off, you saw it in Benedict’s face and now you felt worried for not saying anything earlier. “I’ll check for him. Thank you.” You smile at them, nodding your head politely. Kate gives you a reassuring smile before you part ways. 

You walked from the bustle of gathering, walking down the quieter halls. The conversation died down the further you walked. Slowly, you made your way up the stairs and down the hallways of his family home. You’d glance into open rooms, trying to remember your way around this place. 

Where was his room again? Was it this one? You opened a door and peeked in, closing it when there was no sign of him.  You sighed, thinking maybe he was downstairs and just slipped away for a second. Maybe you didn’t need to worry. It was wishful thinking but you knew better. Something was wrong. 

Finally, you pressed your hand to a door that felt all too familiar, knocking briefly but opening the door before waiting for an answer. “Ben...?” you called out, stepping into the room. It was cold, unused for some time. He hadn’t needed to since the two of you married and lived in a new home together. But, it was still his room in a way. There was a lingering presence in the air of his life before. 

As you walked into the room, you finally noticed him just laying on the bed. He was laying on his side, his back towards you. His coat tossed lazily onto the chair like he had done a million times before. You sighed, your shoulders slumping at the sight. “Ben.” You say softly, your voice laced with concern. 

Benedict’s breath stilled upon hearing your voice. Somehow he knew you’d find him, you always did. It was a comfort, just one that he didn’t know how to fully accept yet. He shifted slightly with a deep exhale, “I just needed a moment.” He murmured quietly. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to decide how to approach this. You didn’t want him to retreat further into himself. But you also wanted to find out what was wrong. 

“...Benedict,” You started, taking slow steps over to the bed. “What’s wrong?” you asked softly, your hand reaching out. Hesitant at first, you gently placed your hand on his arm. You could feel the tension in his body. 

He was quiet for a second. Maybe thinking how to reply, how he could turn this into some kind of joke but he was too tired. And he loved you too much to dismiss your concern. He wasn’t all too great at communication but he wanted to make an effort for you. 

“There’s nothing wrong.” he answered,  low and tired. 

You frowned, your eyes softening with worry. He felt the mattress dip as you moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “But you’re clearly upset.” You said soft, moving your hand to his hair. You brushed your fingers through his hair, an action you knew he loved. “Could you please tell me what’s wrong?” 

His eyes fluttered closed at your gentle touch, welcoming the comfort. You were trying to help and he appreciated that. With a soft sigh, he began to speak. “...I told you, There is nothing wrong.” He paused, realizing he wasn’t communicating what he truly meant. “...There is nothing for me to be upset about and yet, I am. I shouldn’t be...But I am.” 

For a moment, you worried that maybe he wasn’t happy with you, with your marriage. But that was only insecurity speaking, Benedict adored you. You trusted him enough to not doubt his love for you. Not after the insanity you both went through just to get engaged in the first place. 

“Why?” You probed gently.

“...I don’t know why, I’m just tired.” He continued. The more you watched him, laying there with his body closed off and turned away, the more it became clear what this really was. 

“You don’t need a reason, my love.” You said quietly, still caressing his hair in a slow gentle rhythm. “One can simply have a bad day.” You whispered, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his temple. 

The tension in his body seemed to slip away as you spoke. And with just a kiss, he became more open. It was a testament to the effect you had on him. A deep exhale escaped him as his body relaxed a bit more from your comfort.

Benedict shifted slightly, rolling onto his back to look at you now. His soft blue eyes were almost sad, his hair slightly messed up from your petting and a little frown fixed on his lips. “It feels more than just a bad day,” he admitted. “It feels... heavier, almost.” 

You shifted to accommodate his new position, sitting closer and resting on hand on his chest while the other continued the soft caresses in his hair. “Has something happened...?” You asked with worry.

“No, Nothing’s happened.” Benedict sighed, growing contemplative as he moved his arm to slip around your waist. With a small tug, he guided you closer to him. “It’s... more complicated than that.” He looked you over, his gaze was warm even in its sadness. 

“Are you going to tell me or must I pry it out of you?” You smiled weakly, hoping to add some humor to the situation but your concern didn’t dissipate. He could see it in your eyes how worried you were for him even if your tone was more playful. 

Benedict’s eyes crinkled with a little adoring smile. You always knew how to make things lighthearted in the best of ways. He moved his hand to cup your cheek. “You know I love you, right? ” he said softly. 

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to indulge in his warmth. “I know.” a soft hummed chuckle left your lips. You turn your face just enough to kiss the palm of his hand. “I love you too.” 

“But you’re avoiding my question.” You smiled softly as you opened your eyes.. “So, out with it; What’s bothering you?” 

“You’re going to keep pestering me until I tell you, aren’t you?” He exhaled with a soft chuckle. 

And of course, you nodded. “I am your wife, It’s my duty to know.” You smiled, watching the way he softened at your little declaration. 

“Alright, Alright.” he conceded. Once more, Benedict shifted. Now he lay on his side but this time, allowing you space with him. He wanted you closer. You climbed onto the bed, mirroring his position and laying on your side so you could face him. 

With the two of you close now, curled up in his old bed, he felt a bit lighter. A bit less sad. You were a presence he always craved. There was a sense of comfort, being back in his old room with his now wife. It was like two worlds colliding, two comforts in one place. He found he quite liked it. 

“Comfortable?” he asked. His hand came to rest on your side as he tried to minimize the amount of space between you. 

You made a hum in acknowledgement. “Now, will you finally tell me what is the matter?” 

Benedict exhaled, his gaze averted as he tried to find the words to describe his feelings. He was never the type to bare his feelings, always preferring to avoid the problems with temporary distractions. With drink, parties and pleasurable company, but that was before he met you. He gave all that up when he married you. 

“Lately, I’ve just been thinking...” Benedict started, slow and unsure. “About us, about our life together, and our future...” his eyes flickered to meet yours, searching for understanding.. “And I've been thinking about my past.” 

You didn’t speak, allowing him the space to vent. Your gaze was soft and your hand found a place on his arm, trailing up to his face. You gently brushed the loose hair from his forehead. 

“I don’t talk about it often. I don’t like to talk about-” Benedict paused, his breath trembling for a moment.  “I don’t like to talk about him... often.” He murmured. “My father, I mean.” 

His gaze turned downward, the grief in his eyes was evident. He traced the little patterns sewed onto your dress, finding himself opening up more by the intimate atmosphere created by your proximity. He gave himself a moment to breathe through the feelings that threatened to surface.

“I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately.” He confessed, his voice growing more hoarse as he voiced his pain.  “I find myself wondering what he’d think; about us, about you... about who I've become.” 

Benedict glanced at you. His heart felt heavier seeing the complete love and sympathy in your eyes. It was an odd feeling, being seen. He didn’t usually like it but with you, It was different. You were different. “I like to think he’d be happy that I married you.” he says low and sincere. 

A soft smile graced your lips, touched by his words but you allowed him to continue without interruption. You caressed his cheek gently, coaxing him to spill his burdened feelings. 

He smiled softly but the pain of loss slowly etched its way back into his expression. “...but the more those thoughts cross my mind, the more I miss him.” He said quietly. You could see his eyes gloss over but no tears would fall. No, your Benedict would never allow those tears to fall. 

“I miss him so much.” He whispered. 

Benedict felt the deep grief that he buried so deep for years just peeking through the surface, if only for a brief time. “I wish he met you...” he closed his eyes. “And...I am torn over the knowledge that it can never be. That I will never be able to show my father the woman I've fallen in love with.” 

His voice was hushed and pained. For a moment, a ball of grief and hurt formed in his throat but he let out a deep sigh, releasing it. He opened his eyes to look into yours. All he saw was the love and care you had for him; a feeling mirrored in his own heart. “...He would have loved you,” he said quietly. 

You gave him a small sad smile. “Oh... I know I would have loved him.” you said softly. 

“And I think... he’d be very proud of you.” You pressed a small kiss to his forehead, “and he’d be very happy.” then his nose, “i know i am.” and finally you kissed his lips. 

Benedict’s arm wrapped around you more, pulling you as close as he could until your chest met his. He kissed back, pouring all the grief and love he felt into it despite its briefness. 

When the kiss broke, you rested your forehead against his. Your eyes were focused on his. “...I’m sorry about your father.” you say softly, caressing your thumb over his cheek. “I know it can’t be easy to carry these feelings... but I want you to know that you don’t have to carry them alone.” 

Benedict made a small smile, appreciating the comfort you offered. “I know.” he said, “I know i have you.” he rubbed your back gently. 

“And...” you continue, “Next time you feel the need to hide, maybe... I could hide with you?” you smiled lightly. 

Benedict chuckled softly, his chest feeling a bit lighter. “I hardly count this as hiding. I'm in my own room.” he smiled. 

“Your old room.” you correct. “Your room...  our room is at home.” you said lovingly. 

He couldn’t deny the little flutter he felt in his chest at those words. Even after being married to you for some time now, he still felt a sense of giddiness knowing your lives were forever intertwined. This was his room for more than half of his life but now home was with you. 

“Right.” Benedict murmured, soft and warm. “At our home,” he said, the words coming out warm and easy. Your home together was his present and all he had done lately is linger in the past. But now, staring at you and feeling your warmth under his palm, he was reminded of what he had now. 

“But you must admit, my old room is quite comfortable.” He chuckled, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “We never had a real moment in this bed, did we?”  He hummed, running his hand over your back. 

You laughed lightly, “No, I don’t think it’d be very appropriate.” You smiled. 

He smiled, cheering up a bit more with your playful banter. You always managed to match his energy and he loved that. “How scandalous of you, Mrs. Bridgerton. Sneaking into a man’s bed...? What will people say?” he murmured in a teasing tone, a little smirk forming. “But I do love having you here.”

You chuckled and pressed a short and sweet kiss to his lips. “Oh hush you.” You whispered against his lips. “Besides, I could think of a lot more romantic places to be than your old bedroom...Our house, for one.”

“Going home. What a lovely idea.” Benedict cooed with a smile. His heart was full. He was loved and he loved you. He chased your lips to return the kiss. His hand splayed over your back to press you as close as he could against him. 

You cupped his face, pecking little kisses to his lips because you knew it always made him happy to be smothered in affections. You chuckled softly, pulling back to look at his face. 

“Still having a bad day?” You asked softly. 

Benedict softened and made a small nod. “You are magic, my love. You make me happy, truly happy. But... unfortunately, I don’t exactly have the energy to keep up with my siblings and their restlessness.” He admitted, feeling content and comfortable enough to tell you he had enough social interactions today. 

You smiled and brushed your hand through his hair, “That’s alright. I think I just want to lay in bed with you, anyway.” You murmured. “How about we just... call it a day and go home?” 

His smile grew, his eyes crinkling in that way they did when he was particularly happy. “I couldn’t have thought of a better idea myself.” He chuckled warmly, kissing you once more. 

Finally, you shifted to sit up. “Come, Let’s go home before someone insists on family games.” You smiled, holding out your hand. 

He intertwined his fingers with yours as he sat up. “Oh, yes. I don’t think I could handle Anthony’s competitiveness today.” he joked. 

You climbed out of the bed and he followed your lead. He stood tall, looking at you with love. You managed to pull him from his sadness and you were caring to his limits. He felt seen and heard. 

You tugged him along, grabbing his coat for him. “We’ll have to come up with a good excuse for leaving early.” You smiled at him with a light little laugh. 

Benedict tossed his coat over his shoulder, glancing back at his old bed once more. And it didn’t really feel like his bed anymore. The room didn’t truly feel like his room anymore. It was something of the past. He glanced at you and felt a warm flutter in his heart. He squeezed your hand lightly. 

“I’m sure we can come up with something.” He smiled. “I’m very good at making excuses.” 

You laughed, leading him to the door. He didn’t look back this time, he didn’t have to. This was his life now. His purpose was with you. His gaze focused on his hand holding yours and he felt happy. 

He was having a bad day, just a bit too tired, a bit too drained to deal with everyone but you made him feel a bit better. 

And his day wasn’t so bad anymore.

thanks for reading! sorry it's short, i'm still new to writing fics.

[icycoldninja]

Dante x Reader who is always comforted by Dante when they’re sad or distressed somehow but they also insist on comforting him because they see through his happy mask.

Aw yeah

Dante x Reader comfort headcannons

-Dante knows what it's like to be in the depths of despair and borderline suicidal. He understands the pain of self-loathing and remembers a time when he felt resentful towards the world.

-These memories are why he does everything in his power to make sure you never fall into the same darkness he did.

-Whenever you're even the least bit sad, he'll hurry to your side, ask you what's wrong and see if there's anything he can do to help, and then promptly gets to work fixing the issue.

-If the issue happens to be a person bothering you, you'll find that the person in question no longer wishes to have anything to do with you and visibly trembles when you approach them.

-He holds you when you're feeling emotional, rubs your back when you're stressed, and most importantly, gives you virtually endless cuddles whenever you're feeling anxious or generally distressed about anything.

-He knows how to make you laugh like no one else can, because he is naturally that goofy.

-Tickle ambushes are often initiated whenever you have a pout or a frown on your face.

-However, despite how much energy and humor Dante brings to the table, he, too, has his off days. There are times when he's feeling lower than usual, and when those times come, he tries to hide it by being funnier and goofier than usual.

-You can see through his attempts to appear cheerful and worry-free, and he knows it. When you start asking questions, he does his best to lie directly to your face, not realizing it just makes him seem to be doing worse than he really is.

-You try to lighten his mood, but you're not as good at comforting others as he is, and sometimes your jokes, especially self-deprecating ones, fall flat.

-You know that the more eccentric he's acting, the more upset he is on the inside, which is why you usually pounce on him with lots of hugs once he starts behaving in this way.

-He doesn't want you to do this—he appreciates that you care for him, but he knows you have problems of your own and doesn't want to weigh you down with his emotional baggage.

-Nevertheless, you are determined to make him as happy and comforted as he's made you, and brush off his attempts to push you away with a persistence only you could dare to have around him.

-Pizza parties with just the two of you are always guaranteed to cheer him up, and splitting a bottle of wine or a can of beer afterwards isn't a bad idea.

-Sometimes you'll find Dante in a particularly vulnerable mood where he actually shares how he's feeling, and while it's sweet that he trusts you enough to tell you these things, it also means something is bothering him a lot and he really needs your help.

-There are times when whatever was bothering the two of you causes you to snap at each other and sometimes yourselves, but at the end of the day, you're always there for one another, ready to cuddle or maybe just listen to whatever you need to get off your chests.

[mitsua]

WE'RE BOTH SLEEPING ON THE COUCH

synopsis: Izuku's been having a tough day at work, what would you do to help him? (0.49k)

it's been a tough day at Izuku's work as the #1 hero of Japan, just as each day was. with a slight difference that it almost costs your relationship.

iIt was as if every bad thought he might have had for the past years just became truth in one day.

so to say he was far beyond exhausted was an understatement. he kindly let you know he'd be coming home later than usual (said usual normally being 12a.m.), so you could sleep without worrying.

how could you not worry about him if his voice over phone sounded so rough, raspy and tired with everything he might be living in those offices right now?

this made you remember every time Midoriya got his way out of reunions or late nights to be with you for at least some hours when you called him and expressed your fatigue.

you would not leave him at his own now. not ever.

so you quickly glanced at the clock as you said your goodbyes and ended the call. 9:48 p.m.

yeah you could do something about it.

you arrived at his agency half an hour later, with a bigger than usual bag and a blanket perfectly folded under your free arm which helped you open the gigantic glass doors which welcomed any citizen that might be in trouble along the best heroes of the country.

this entrance always gave you chills as you recalled when Izuku spent days and days deciding how to decorate his agency in a way it felt comfortable with everyone, yet it got some of his unique traits like some walls were green-coloured.

you had to take the elevator once the secretary recognized you as his boss' partner.

finally, opening the last door was a relief for you, but a surprise for your freckled-fiancé. his face changing from confusion to happiness to confusion again since he told you not to worry about him.

"wha-why?" he asked, his finger pointing at the things you were carrying, his other hand still with yesterday's and today's patrol reports he had to review.

"let me tell you a little story about a boy who used to listen to a certain person whining about their day when they were younger, i really admire that boy 'cause he did everything he could no matter what the time or weather was, he'd go with them and accompany them by himself". you said smiling all the way to the wood table his grand officine had, starting to pull out some plastic cutlery and tuppers with fresh food, then, extending the blanket at the couch infront of it all.

Izuku had left all his work by now to stare at your gentle gestures, the care that you held while putting perfectly everything in place for a little time off for yourselves. he had never felt fuller than now, finding comfort in your acts, he let himself drown in this love of yours.

here's my BNHA m.list if you'd like to read more! remember you can ask to be tagged at any of the fandoms i write for ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

[hyuniemyunie]

A Soft Touch in the Storm

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): established relationship, hurt/comfort, calming him down, reverse comfort. your role/position is not specified, everything is up to you!

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

The base was quiet now. The kind of quiet that came after a storm—uneasy, heavy, still vibrating with the lingering echoes of Ghost’s rage.

He had just torn into a group of rookies, his voice a guttural snarl, words sharp enough to cut through steel. His temper wasn’t something people saw often, but when it surfaced, it was a force of nature—wild, untamed, terrifying.

And now, standing in the dim light of your shared quarters, Simon was still wound tight. His shoulders, broad and tense, heaved with each breath. His fists clenched at his sides, veins prominent, a barely controlled wildfire burning beneath his skin.

He hadn’t said a word since storming in. His balaclava was still on, but his eyes—those sharp, predatory eyes—stayed locked on the ground. He was stuck in his head, looping whatever thoughts had sent him into a rage in the first place. You stepped forward, quiet but sure. You didn’t ask him what happened. You already knew that if he wanted to tell you, he would.

Instead, you reached up and scratched under his chin, fingers gentle against the stubble-covered skin beneath the mask.

His breath hitched.

Not out of fear. Not out of surprise. But because it was you.

Simon Riley, feared and revered, a walking nightmare to his enemies, melted at your touch. His body swayed forward, just slightly, the tension in his shoulders barely loosening. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t react beyond that slight lean. So you pushed further, lifting his balaclava just enough to see his mouth, his jaw—set tight, clenched like he was trying to hold himself together.

Without hesitation, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw.

“Simon,” you murmured, his name like silk against his skin.

A shudder ran through him. A small one, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t you. But you felt it. You felt how his breathing stuttered, how his fists uncurled just a little.

You scratched under his chin again, tilting his face slightly, and this time, he let you. He let you ease the mask up higher until it was bunched at the bridge of his nose, revealing more of him—the part no one else got to see.

You kissed him again. And again. Soft, warm, grounding.

His hands—those large, powerful hands—finally moved, hesitantly resting on your waist. He didn’t pull you closer, not yet, but you could feel the way his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, like he needed to hold onto something.

“You’re okay,” you whispered against his lips. “You’re here.”

Simon exhaled sharply. It was almost a sigh, almost a release, but not quite. Not yet.

You kissed him again, slower this time. A deliberate, lingering press of your lips against his, pouring everything into the touch—love, reassurance, warmth.

His grip on you tightened, pulling you in flush against him. His body was still rigid, but his mouth, his kiss—God, it was desperate. Starved. Like he needed to feel you, to remind himself that he wasn’t just a soldier, wasn’t just a weapon.

He was yours.

You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “Simon.”

His forehead pressed against yours. His breathing was still heavy, still rough, but it was different now. Slower. More controlled.

“…I lost it,” he finally muttered, voice hoarse. “Didn’t mean to, but—”

“I know,” you interrupted softly. “It’s okay.”

His fingers dug into your waist, as if grounding himself in your touch. You smiled faintly and ran your fingers along his jaw, scratching under his chin again like you would with a restless animal.

His eyes fluttered shut. A shaky exhale left him.

You did it again. And again. Until his breathing evened out. Until his shoulders relaxed just a little more. Until his grip on you wasn’t desperate, but steady.

Until Simon Riley wasn’t just Ghost anymore.

Just yours.

----

Simon hadn’t moved in a while.

His forehead was still resting against yours, his breath fanning over your lips, warm and steady now. You could feel the weight of him—his exhaustion, his lingering frustration, the sheer force of will it took for him to loosen his grip on whatever rage had been bubbling under his skin.

And still, he hadn’t let go of you.

His fingers remained curled into the fabric of your shirt, like a man afraid to wake from a dream. You didn’t mind. If he needed to hold on, then you’d let him. You wanted him to.

Your hand was still under his chin, gently scratching, coaxing him into that quiet, vulnerable space where he wasn’t Ghost, wasn’t a soldier, wasn’t a weapon. Just Simon. Just yours.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” you murmured, breaking the silence.

His eyes flickered open—dark, tired, but clearer than before.

Simon didn’t like talking about things that pissed him off. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because his anger was like a caged animal, something he kept locked away so it wouldn’t sink its teeth into something he cared about.

But you were different. You had a way of slipping past his defenses without him even realizing it.

“…Rookies,” he muttered, his voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Bunch of green idiots with no sense of self-preservation.”

You hummed in understanding. “So, what? They weren’t listening?”

A scoff. He pulled back slightly, just enough for you to see the sharp press of his lips, the way his jaw tensed again.

“One of them got cocky. Nearly got himself and his whole team in the crossfire during an op. Didn’t even realize how close he was to dying.” His voice dropped, low and harsh. “They don’t get second chances in this line of work. I made sure they understood that.”

You could imagine exactly how it had played out. Simon rarely lost his temper, but when he did, it was explosive. Controlled, but brutal. A verbal lashing that could strip paint from the walls, meant to drill a lesson into thick skulls before someone got themselves killed.

And it worked.

But it also left him like this—burned out, angry at the stupidity of it all, and wound too tight to breathe.

You sighed softly, lifting your other hand to run your fingers through his hair. You scratched at his scalp, gentle, patient, and his eyelids fluttered just a bit.

“They’re alive, yeah?”

He grunted in response.

“And they know they messed up?”

Another grunt. A reluctant nod.

“Then it’s done, Simon,” you murmured, thumb brushing over the hinge of his jaw. “They learned their lesson. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

His breath hitched—just slightly.

He wanted to argue, you could tell. Wanted to insist that it was his job to make sure they didn’t die, that he couldn’t just let things go, not when people’s lives were on the line.

But instead of arguing, he just looked at you.

Something in his expression softened, like he was seeing something he hadn’t let himself focus on before. His thumb brushed absently over your hip, slow, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“…You always do that,” he murmured after a moment.

“Do what?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Pull me back.”

A slow, lopsided smile tugged at your lips. “You say that like it’s hard.”

He huffed a short laugh, but there was something in his eyes—something raw, something that made your chest ache.

You leaned in and pressed another soft kiss to the edge of his jaw, trailing down to his throat. His grip on you tightened again, his breathing going uneven for just a second.

“I’ll always pull you back,” you whispered against his skin.

Simon didn’t respond—not with words, at least.

Instead, he tilted his head down, closing the space between you. His lips met yours in something slow, lingering, a silent promise tucked between the kisses.

You felt it—the way his body finally, finally relaxed. The way his fingers curled around the back of your neck, holding you close, anchoring himself in you.

The storm had passed.

And he was home.

Simon was solid beneath your touch. Warm, steady, his body still humming with tension, but it wasn’t the sharp-edged kind anymore. It was different now—quieter, softer, the kind that came from letting go but not quite knowing how to settle.

You could feel it in the way he held you, like he wasn’t sure if he should let go or pull you in tighter. His grip on your waist was firm, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt as if grounding himself, but his breathing had slowed. The storm had passed, but the echoes of it still clung to him, like distant thunder rolling on the horizon.

And you couldn’t have that.

Not when he was finally here, finally present with you. Not when the worst of his anger had ebbed away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

So you did the only thing that made sense.

You kissed him.

Not just once. Not just on the lips. But everywhere.

It started with a slow, deliberate press of your lips to the corner of his mouth—barely a whisper of a touch, warm and fleeting. Then, another kiss to his cheek, right over the rough stubble that always scratched at your skin when he let his mask slip, both figuratively and literally.

Then another.

And another.

Each one gentle, lingering, meant to erase whatever weight still sat heavy on his shoulders.

Simon let out a breath—one of those deep, quiet exhales that made you think he wasn’t even aware he was holding it in. His grip on your waist loosened slightly, and his head tilted just a fraction, like he was subconsciously leaning into you.

Good. He needed this.

You kept going. You kissed along the sharp line of his jaw, the rough skin of his cheek, the edge of his nose. You traced the bridge of it with the tip of your nose before pressing a soft kiss right between his brows, where a deep crease had been sitting just moments ago.

“Mm.” His voice was a quiet rumble, his head dipping forward like he was trying to hide his face—but you wouldn’t let him.

Your hands reached up, cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the sharp angles of his face. You kissed his temple, slow and warm, and then down to his cheek again, your lips trailing over every scar, every rough patch of skin, every inch of him that had seen too much, suffered too much.

Simon sucked in a breath when you pressed a kiss right beneath his eye, where dark circles lingered from too many sleepless nights. His grip on you tightened again, his fingers digging into your sides as if trying to keep himself from sinking too far into you.

But that was the thing about you—you wanted him to sink into you. Wanted him to let go, to take the warmth you offered without hesitation.

So you didn’t stop.

You kissed his other cheek, then down to the edge of his jaw again. You let your lips brush over the curve of his throat, right where his pulse beat steady and strong. His breath hitched when you lingered there, when your mouth pressed against the sensitive skin with something a little firmer, a little more deliberate.

And then you whispered, "Simon."

His whole body shuddered.

It was small, barely noticeable, but you felt it. Felt the way his muscles tensed for a moment before melting, the last of his walls crumbling under your touch.

He made a low, quiet noise—something close to a sigh, something almost vulnerable—before his forehead dropped against your shoulder.

Your hands slid into his hair, fingers threading through the short strands, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. You felt him exhale against your skin, his grip on you no longer desperate but firm, like he was holding onto you just because he could.

You smiled, pressing another kiss to the side of his head.

"You with me?" you murmured.

A slow, heavy nod.

You kissed his temple again, lingering this time. “Good.”

For a while, you just stood there, holding him, letting him be.

Simon Riley, the man who carried too much, who rarely let himself be vulnerable, was letting go in your arms.

And you would hold him as long as he needed.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Requestion: New girl Cady flirts with reader which makes Regina jealous as fuck. When reader tries making it up to her, bringing flowers to her house and stuff, she discovers that Regina is actually a little insecure and feeling threatened by Cady.

Thelping

|| Regina George x fem!reader

|| Warnings; Cady trying to flirt with reader, awkward moments, jealous Regina, brief threat of killing but it's more talk than bite, insecure Regina, fluffy ending

|| Summary; when Cady talks to reader in the halls, Regina isn't too happy.

Requests open!

Started; March 2nd

Finished; March 2nd

~~~

Finally, Calculus was over for the day. As the bell rang, you gathered up your things and headed for the door. Not hearing the hurried footsteps behind you. You had just made it into the hall way when you heard someone trying to get your attention.

"Wait, wait, wait! Y/N!" Cady caught up to you, grinning and walking beside you. Struggling to get her school bag over her shoulders, because of how much of a rush she had been in to get to you.

"Need help?" You asked.

"I think I got i-" the words weren't even out of the new girl's mouth before her bag had fallen, spilling everything inside," dang it.. okay, I need help."

Cady hadn't been at the school very long, but from what you could gather she was an awkward mess. Something the two of you seemed to have in common.

You bent down with her, helping her gather her papers and binders.

"So um- I heard Aaron's friend is hosting a party.. are you going?" Cady asked, hoping to make small talk with you. She really liked you, more than she cared to admit.

"Yeah, Regina told me about it yesterday," Cady looked like she was almost deflating at the mention of Regina. She had heard that the two of you were dating from Janis, but Cady had hoped it wasn't true.

"Oh, Regina told you? Are you two close?" She replied, her eyes looking to yours. Seeing how they seemed to almost sparkle with an unspoken passion about the blonde.

"She's my girlfriend, why?"

"Um- no reason, just curious," She awkwardly laughed, picking up the last of her papers and getting her bag sorted.

"I'll see you later, Y/N, thelping-" She paused. Thelping? C'mon Cady..

You also happened to pause when you heard her, raising an eyebrow as a smirk tugged at your lips," thelping?" You repeated.

"I was trying to say thank you for helping- but it came out thelping...." Her cheeks were bright pink.

"Okay, yolcome," you nudged her shoulder in a playful gesture. Saying yolcome instead of you're welcome.

Cady couldn't help but smile as she watched you walk away and over to Regina, who had come around the corner not too long ago. Yeah, that interaction definitely did not help her growing feelings for you.

"Absolutely not," Regina stated. Arms folded across her chest while she glared at you. She didn't like the way that Cady was looking at you.

"What?" You weren't sure why Regina was so upset with you all of a sudden. You hadn't done anything wrong, had you?

"She was flirting with you, God are you blind?" That made you stop and think for a moment. It hadn't felt like Cady was flirting with you... you were only helping her gather her stuff and had a light conversation.

"Regina, I'd hardly call that flirting."

"So, blind then. Got it," she scoffed and started walking away from you, you tried to catch up with her.

"Regina, c'mon- that wasn't-"

But the blonde completely ignored you. Figures.

It was later now, sometime into the evening when you arrived at your girlfriend's house. Determined to make things right with her. You made your way to the door and knocked, holding her favourite flowers and chocolates in your hands. Normally, you would have just walked right into the house. However, Regina was mad at you. So, you didn't want to make things worse by just showing up.

It was Regina's mom who opened the door, smiling when she saw you with the stuff in your hands," well aren't you adorable. She's just up in her room, dear."

"Um- thanks, Ms George," you replied, clearly feeling awkward by the compliment. After all, all you did was bring flowers and chocolate. It wasn't much to praise over.

You made your way through the familiar home, up the large stairs and to the bedroom you'd been in 100 times. Gently, you knocked the back of your hand against the door.

"Regina?"

There was silence, before the door opened. Revealing Regina, who looked as though she had been crying moments before.

"G..." you murmured, setting the stuff you had brought to the floor in her room and immediately wrapping your arms around her. You could feel as her body tensed against you, before her arms made their way around your waist. Her head in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like a long while, then Regina let go. Her eyes going to the stuff you brought, followed by a scoff," you're such a simp."

You couldn't help but laugh, bumping your hip to hers in a playful manner," duh. Who wouldn't be? Have you seen you?"

She rolled her eyes and pulled you into her bedroom, you happily followed and kicked the door closed.

"And you're stupid."

"Stupidly in love with you? Yes, I agree," the two of you fell to her bed, you hovering over Regina and looking into her eyes. Wiping her tear stained cheek with your thumb," I only have eyes for you. You know that, right?"

Regina was quiet for a moment, before she spoke up again," I guess I was just... scared to lose you. But if you tell anyone I will kill you."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," you laughed, snuggling up with her," you're not going to lose me. Especially to Cady. I'm yours. Okay?"

She nodded, pulling you into a deep kiss that you more than happily returned.

[hollowtakami]

HEYOOO

so I read your keigo fics and I really loved them! What do you think about Keigo waking up from a nightmare and he can't find you, so he starts to panic, and when you come back from the toilet (or wherever you were), he immediately latches onto you panicking and crying

Man he is so sweet

hi anon! ^_^ tysm for your ask, it rlly made me smile hehe. here’s a small drabble as thanks:)

(apologies if its rusty, the only thing i have written as of late is uni essays-)

keigo gasped for air as though he’d been reborn, feathers pricked out like needles.

he clutched at his shirt like a vice, daring to tear through his skin and stress grip his dying heart. he panted, delirious amidst his fear.

the suns of his eyes bounced across every corner of the room, his free hand scratching away the duvet in search of you. nothing, not even his feathers could sense you, clouded by fright.

what the avian didn’t know was that you hadn’t left him like his father, you’d only gotten to get a glass of water after the drought in your throat had woken you up, not nearly as violently as the way your boyfriend’s body treated him.

what you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was unfurling faster than the might of his wings ever could.

pattering through the hallway of your apartment with a glass and a plenished throat, you gently broke your way into your shared bedroom with a tired hand.

your eyes retreated behind their lids at the light you swore you hadn’t put on, lest you disturb keigo in his sleep.

no, an instinctual feather did so.

you stop, feet planting into the carpet as your brain tries to process the scene in front of you, whirring through its fatigue.

there was keigo, plumage fluffed up in fear, eyes wild and pinned on you, your bedsheets in tatters.

“kei?” words clawed up your throat as you slowly made your way to the bedside table and placed the glass. keigo grabbed your wrist the moment you’d set it down, you managed to get a better look at him.

sunny bedhead and a dark sky lining his eyes, his chest heaved along with the heavy burdens that laced his blood, what was his own that didn’t stain his hands.

no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, keigo would never be clean. it had trickled into his brain, and he couldn’t even escape it in his sleep.

“stay,“ he silently barked, his words scratchy.

keigo’s stress grip on your wrist wouldn’t let up, the avian latched onto you for dear life.

your face fell, eyebrows furrowed as you saw his glassy eyes, glossed over with fear.

“bad dream, baby?” you whispered, slowly raising your wrist to run a hand through keigo’s hair, massaging his scalp with gentle nails.

keigo only choked on a sob, his vulnerabilities racing down his cheeks to their end. if only this would end, he begged to a god he wasn’t sure existed.

you brought your wrist down, eyes trained on the dots of his.

“‘m not going anywhere, baby boy,” you soothed, gentle reassurance hanging in the air until keigo was ready to pluck it down and hold it close to him.

he tried to not, more words contesting in his throat.

keigo looked down at himself, feathers shaking more than his tired body.

“bad..” he gestured to himself.

“you aren’t him, birdie,” your words were soft, sun against his skin. his heart swelled amidst the silent rage of his head.

soon, you felt keigo’s grip starting to soften too.

you grabbed the glass of water with a free hand, using the other to usher strands of gold out of his eyes, tucking them behind his ear as you helped him sip some water.

kissing his forehead, you cooed, “that’s my boy,”

keigo chirped, too frightened to speak. he would only chirp or coo when this regressed into his fear, not that you minded. you knew that his bird qualities were something he was forced to bury, much like other innocents.

but, there wasn’t any blood on keigo’s hands.

the only thing in his hands was the silk of your skin, fingers intertwined as you spoke to him with the song of your voice, an angel he would tell himself he didn’t deserve.

your wings were pure, his stained red. he was born like this, conceived by a monster of a man. so, that must mean that he was born the same.

it took an angel like you to help him realise he had never fallen, it was someone else who had clipped his wings.

[solxamber]

If the holiday event is still open!!! Savanaclaw, 7, and hurt/comfort, please!

Enough || Leona Kingscholar

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Leona’s room was its usual state of organized chaos: clothes draped over furniture, books stacked haphazardly, and the scent of the sun lingering in the air. You didn’t mind—it felt like home by now. Balancing a bag of takeaway in one hand and a few borrowed novels in the other, you nudged open the door.

“Hey, I brought—”

“Herbivore, you ever knock?” Leona’s voice was gruff, but his ears perked up as soon as he spotted the bag.

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “If I knocked, you’d just grunt at me to come in anyway.”

He let out a low chuckle, propping himself up against the headboard. “Fair enough. What’d you bring?”

“Your favorites,” you said, handing him the food before settling beside him on the bed. He made a sound of approval, already pulling the containers open.

For a while, the two of you ate in companionable silence, the quiet only broken by the rustle of packaging and the occasional murmur about the book you’d brought. This had become your routine—takeaway, a cozy spot in Leona’s room, and shared stories.

It was simple, but it was yours.

Yet tonight, something was off. Leona wasn’t lounging in his usual carefree way. His tail twitched more than usual, and his eyes held a distant look, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, nudging his knee with yours.

He stiffened slightly but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared down at the container in his hands, his expression unreadable.

“You deserve better than this,” he muttered finally, almost too low for you to hear.

“Better than… takeout?” You frowned, trying to make sense of his words.

“Better than sitting in this damn room all the time. Better than a guy who can’t even take you out somewhere nice without people whispering about the lazy second prince,” he bit out, his tone sharper than intended. “I should—I don’t know—do more for you.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You knew how deeply Leona cared, even if he rarely said it outright. His guilt now, his frustration with himself—it wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but it still hurt to hear.

“Leona…” You reached out, placing your hand over his. His grip tightened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “I don’t care about fancy dinners or big gestures. You know that, right?”

He didn’t respond, his ears twitching as he avoided your gaze.

“Hey, look at me.” You gently cupped his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You show me you care in a hundred little ways. Like how you always make sure I’m comfortable when I’m here, or how you let me hog the blankets even though you complain about it. I know you care. I don’t need anything more than what you already give me.”

His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re too good for me, herbivore.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Then, his voice dropped, low and sincere: “I'll try harder. For you, anything.”

It was rare for Leona to be so open, so vulnerable. The weight of his promise hung between you, heavy with meaning.

“And for you,” you said softly, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his, “I’ll always be here.”

He exhaled deeply, pulling you into his arms. The rest of the night was spent like so many others, wrapped up in each other, sharing quiet moments and whispered reassurances.

It was simple, but it was enough.

Masterlist

[florabellalove]

LET ME SPEAK MY TRUTH 🦢🫶🏼

sometimes I just want to read a reverse comfort fic about some big burly character absolutely breaking down, call it a saviour kink or whatever but there seems to be an absence in this world

[lila-went-missing]

Best Friends older sister Sevika headcanons

I've been obsessed with this idea for a second now. No one asked for this but I'm writing it anyway. This may have more than one part, we'll see. This is also, once again, not proofread.

Enjoy my lovelies! X

Notes: Modern AU, reader is a senior in high school and is 18, Sevika is a freshman at the nearest university and lives at home

Bsf's Sister!Sevika Who is honestly terrifying.

Her real arm is the size of your head and her metal one is a whole different story.

She's 6'1 and towers over almost everyone.

There's an energy about her- something in the way she carries herself and the look on her face- that has everyone cowering when she walks by.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika Who never once scared you.

It confused everyone around you two, especially her.

She was used to the effect that she had on everyone, liked it even. But you never saw her like that.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who lost her arm when she was twelve in the same car accident that killed her mom.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika whose dad was an engineer that originally worked on engines for machines but after his daughter was hurt started working on prosthetics.

He spent months building her first arm. He spent even longer than that working with scientists to build one that would respond to brain waves.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who gave up on finding someone to love her the moment she lost her arm. Kids are mean and most of them had never seen someone missing an arm before.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who started building muscle to look scary.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who figured that if she looked scary enough then people wouldn't make fun of her any more.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who met Silco and Vander one day in the gym and clicked with them.

They didn't care that she was missing an arm, they actually thought it was really badass.

For the first time in a while she had friends who actually cared and they became like her brothers.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who started smoking weed to help the pain from nerve damage.

She started selling it her junior year of high school and quickly began supplying most of the teenagers in town.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who tasted your baked goods for the first time and had what was either the best or worst idea of her life.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who split profit with you if you made your brownies, cookies, and cinnamon rolls a little special.

You said yes of course because she always sat with you in the kitchen and you liked spending time with her.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who always invites you to the parties she goes to but keeps her eye on you the whole time.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who has the biggest soft spot for you but won't admit it.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who catches herself falling for you and immediately starts beating herself up.

How could someone so sweet and angelic like you ever fall for her?

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who get's really quiet like she used to, trying to force herself to stop loving you.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who is walking past her sisters room one night when you're staying over.

Against her better judgement, she stands there at the door listening.

"I'm just saying, Sev gave up on finding someone a long time ago. Everyone is scared of her, that's the way she likes it. But you're not. I saw you two in the kitchen last week, before that party. I haven't seen her look genuinely happy in a long time. But you bring that part of her back."

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who is on the other side of the hall and in her room with the door slammed shut in five seconds flat.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who realizes she is helplessly in love with you.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who can't sleep that night so she goes down into the kitchen to get some water just to find you doing homework at the island.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who watches from the doorway for a second before making herself known.

The second you see her she's met with the sweetest voice she's ever had the pleasure of hearing.

"Hi, Vika. What are you doing up?"

"I uh- couldn't sleep. Is that biology work?"

You nod with a small smile, pushing the textbook away. "I have a test Monday, wanted to get some last minute studying in."

She hums, nodding. "You'll do great, you always do."

Your smile widens and she thinks she has a heart attack. "Thanks Sev." Oh now she is definitely having a heart attack now.

Her body moves on its own, drawn to you like a magnet. She's walking towards you before she can stop herself. The logical part of her is screaming at her to stop- to turn around and go back up to her room and pretend this conversation never happened. But the emotional part of her, the part she hasn't let herself feel in so long, is far too addicting to shut out. She has you caged against the counter in seconds, not really sure of what she's doing.

She thinks she should stop but you're looking at her, wide-eyed, with the most loving expression she thinks she's ever seen and she just can't. Her real hand is cradling your jaw while her metal one braces against the counter. You look at her for a second longer before your voice comes out in an angelic whisper.

"It's okay."

And suddenly her lips are on yours. You don't waste a second kissing her back. Your own hands pull her in, one on her cheek and the other on the metal of her shoulder. She thinks she could sob at the way you hold her so gently. The way you don't care what she looks like, or the way she portrays herself. You see it, and you love all of it.

Books and movies always talk about kissing someone and sparks flying. They say that it's this big thing that's electric and fueled by passion. They're all wrong. Kissing Sevika feels like coming home. It's warm, and sweet, and so unbelievably loving that it suffocates you in the best way.

When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours, eyes still closed. She's afraid that if she opens them then she'll be back in her room and none of this will have happened. Your voice is what snaps her out of it.

"Sev-"

And then she's apologizing more than she has in her life.

"Fuck, I'm sorry- I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry-" Your lips cut her off. Any other time she'd be pissed, but she can't be. Not with you. Not when you're kissing her like she's the only person you've ever loved.

"Don't you dare apologize."

Her hands are on your waist, your hips, your thighs, anywhere she can reach. She can't keep them off of you. But yours wrap around her neck with just as much fervor, pulling her flush against you with more passion than you've ever had for someone.

===

Sooo needless to say a pt.2 is most likely coming. And it will most likely be very smutty because why not.

[m0reighn4]

SPOILERS FOR BLUE LOCK SEASON 2

Aight just imagine: After the u20 Japan match, Rin is brooding in the locker room. His towel is draped over his hung head, creating a barrier between him and the outside world.

'Why not me? Was I not good enough? Did you not train hard enough? What does Isagi have that I don't?'

His thoughts spiral in his head, leading him to feel a strange blend of resentment and disappointment. Both in himself, for failing to score the final goal, and his brother, for choosing nor nor acknowledge him.

However, the door to the locker room opens and a pair of footsteps follow. They stop and a pair of cleats are found in his narrow line of sight. Rin chooses to ignore this faceless person. That is until this person's hand finds itself at his face, tilting it up by the chin.

The dark haired boy lets out a low groan of disapproval as his eyes raise to meet the individual's. He meets the caring gaze of his lover and his eyes soften by a thin margin.

You crouch down before him with that serene smile you always throw his way. And being the tsundere he is, Rin scrunches his face to feign irritation. "What do you want? I'm busy," he spits out.

Having already been used to his grumpy attitude, you can only huff out a chuckle. You cup his jaw in your hand. In one, quick, precise movement, you press a loving kiss to his cheek.

Rin's eyes widen as the first touch of your lips barely registers in his brain. His eyebrows furrow and you can almost see the loading circle on his forehead. But you don't let him recover. The next peck is placed on the bridge of his nose. Next is his other cheek and finally, a lingering kiss on his lips.

By now, Rin's face is flared, cheeks a deep shade of red. Widened, teal eyes stare you down as he attempts to wrap his head around the sudden affection. "What—"

He's interrupted by you, wrapping your arms around him and drawing him closer. As if on instinct, his arms loop around your waist with the same goal in mind.

"You were amazing out there, Rin. I'm so proud of you."

Your praise comes out as a soft whisper. And Rin can't help the way his eyes light up. His hold on you tightens as he buries his face into your shoulder.

He chooses to bury his resentment for his brother. He chooses to set his blazing hatred for the striker, Isagi Yoichi, who got the acknowledgement he'd always been working hard to obtain. He chooses to swallow down his disappointment in himself for not being even the slightest bit better.

Listen, I love— and I mean LOVE— Sae Itoshi, but what he did to my baby was just mean. Like, I know that it was for Rin at the end of the day. To push him further. But like bro 😭. You saw that look in his eyes. He was looking at you, all boba eyed, eyes sparkling. How did he sleep at night?😭😭

Instead, he chooses to close his eyes and rest in the warmth of your embrace. He chooses to find solace in your comforting scent and gentle tone of voice. He chooses to listen to you. As you and your approval are yet another goal he is always to achieve.