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nezuscribe · 2 years ago

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𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊

summary: when a disease turns the world into an apocalyptic landscape, you join a group in order to survive. you find yourself drawn to a certain blue-eyed man for no explainable reason. though the two of you have your own pasts to deal with, the two of you grow closer and closer together. after all, it seems as though you’re the only lovers left alive

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

genre: post apocalypse au, strangers to friends to lovers, slight angst, fluff, smut, some hurt comfort, inspired by some of the events from the last of us

word count: 16k+

warnings: 18+ mdni, some heavy-ish themes, mentions of suicide, smut, heavy making out, fingering, vaginal penetration, cum eating, slight begging, gojo is a teeny bit of a dick but overall just doesn’t know how to handle emotions

note: i did take some inspo from the last of us, so if you see something you might recognize, it’s because i most likely based something off of it. nothing too major though, but the infected here are like the ones in the game/show. i don’t want any comments saying i stole the idea bc i stg i’ll just combust

also a thank you for @jadeisthirsting for beta-reading again, love her!

You were glad that chocolate bars survived the apocalypse.

Those, along with chips (you don’t look at expiration dates anymore), crackers, and protein bars seemed to stand the tests of time.

The abandoned convenience store was harshly run down. The glass was shattered, and you could hear the crunch of shards underneath your boots whenever you walked up and down the aisles. Vegetation took reign in most of the area, and vines grew alongside the walls and the counters. Weeds sprung through the cracks in the floor and long blades of grass peeked in from the outside.

A lot of the aisles were already ransacked from those who came before, but you had to admit that this place was in much better condition food-wise than all the others you had seen. You loaded your cart with whatever you could find; cereal, bars, chips, instant ramen, jerky, really anything that wasn’t perishable by your standards.

You also made sure to stock up on medical supplies while you were here. Antiseptic, rolls of bandages, needles for stitching, medical tape. You were able to find a bottle of disinfectant and some rubbing alcohol, so you spent a couple of minutes cheering over the small victory.

The rays of sun that peeked through and washed out certain parts of the store a quiet orange made it seem more serene than it actually was, and you took your time as you leaned on the cart handle, walking slowly as you tried to pretend like you were just shopping for amenities like you would years ago, without the fear of the outside world trying to hunt you down the moment you stepped out.

Under your breath you hummed a soft tune, letting your fingers run over the empty shelves as you looked around.

Many opened boxes littered the ground. None of them were to your benefit so you just stepped over them, tapping something on your arm to keep your mind busy. It was only noon, so you had a couple of hours to waste before it got dark.

Though you had the hunting rifle near you in case anything popped out in front of you, you liked to pretend that there was no danger when you rounded a corner. It saved a little naive part of your mind to imagine that everything was normal when you knew that it wasn’t.

“...yeah, no, no, I agree, I just…”

You stopped in your tracks, air hitching in your throat as you went rigid upon hearing the muffled voices.

“I heard the bunkers in Kyoto and Osaka fell…radio transmission,” It was a female voice, that much you could make out. But assessing the sound of feet shuffling on the floor and the other sounds, you knew there had two be at least two people, maybe even more.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you had heard somebody speak. You tried to remember, raking your mind for when it was, and it must have been months ago, maybe even a year, and that was just a small encounter. You doubted the guy even saw you. And this is far worse, they closed and you have nowhere to hide without making a sound. They could be raiders or scavengers. One of them could be infected without the other's knowledge. Millions of thoughts ran through your head as you tried to rationalize with yourself.

“What happened to the one in Nara?” This time it was a male voice, and much closer than before. They were probably only a few aisles away until they reached you. You could feel your heart beating uncontrollably fast, rattling against your ribcage as your mind faltered on what to you.

“They’re not letting people inside. They deter anybody unless you have a pre-bought cabin there.” The first woman replied, and you could hear some glass clanking as she kicked an empty beer bottle (from what you could deduce), across the floor.

“How do you know so much?” Another male asked. Three so far, you made a mental note as you tried shoving all your food and things in any pocket you could find, shoving the big bottle of rubbing alcohol down your shirt to nestle on your bra. You didn’t risk your life trying to find this place just to have some strangers take the things you so desperately need.

“They play messages on the radio at night. If you didn’t go to sleep so fuckin’ fast you might hear something useful.” The first girl said, but there was no bite to her voice. She even chuckled, and you swore one of the other guys laughed too.

“Why can’t we just stay where we are? We haven’t seen any infected here.” Four. This time it was another girl's voice. So far, two females and two males. You were severely outnumbered. You doubted you were that skilled, even in all your years, to surpass four people.

Deciding to leave a few bars behind, you gingerly moved past the cart, making sure not to make a sound as you tiptoed across the broken bottles and glass. You held your breath and tried to hold onto your jacket, not wanting anything to fall out.

You tried to phase out whatever they were saying so you could stay focused. You squinted your eyes as rays of the sun blinded you when they peeked through some cracks in the ceiling. You shuffled slowly and precisely, your heart quite literally beating in your throat as moved around the debris on the floor.

You could see the double doors, both open as you let out an inaudible sigh of relief when you saw them, a promise that you weren’t going to die right here when-

CRUNCH.

You stopped, eyes slowly falling down to the comically large piece of glass under your foot, now shattered into a million pieces as you stop breathing. You wait for abated second, thinking nobody heard until you heard some clattering coming from behind you.

“What the fuck was that?” One of the girls asked, her laughter long gone from her voice as her question rang through the store.

“I don’t know…wait here…”

You could run, it wasn’t that far to the door, but you were frozen in your place. It was like when…you couldn’t even think about it. Your mind blanked, your limbs not moving despite your brain willing them to do something, anything.

It felt like that day all over again, the weakness and fear that overtook your mind and body as you shook, your legs cramping, your hands shivering as your eyes darted around, your lips clamped between your teeth as blood roared in your ears.

You wondered if you’d been faster or more agile something may have gone differently. But really, no matter what you were wouldn’t have altered the fact that you saw a blur of clothes from your peripheral, craning to look to your right as your eyes meet bright blue ones.

Your brows furrowed when the two of you locked eyes, your chests moving up and down as you looked at the weapon in his hand, drawn out, pointing at your head as you blinked, mind going into overdrive as you let out a heavy sigh of air.

He looked angelic and you wanted to smack yourself for that being your first thought. His hair was artic white, tainted a bright yellow as the sun shined over him. He had a sturdy jaw and a tall frame. Long and delicate fingers clutching onto a weapon, getting ready to pull it out the moment he saw you.

Sure, you could blame it on the fact that you hadn’t seen a man for over three years, but you knew that even despite your blurry and confused judgment he was better looking than most of the guys you’ve seen most of your life.

There were a few seconds where neither of you said anything, not really knowing what to say as you shifted ever so slightly on your left foot, not knowing if you ran to the door he’d shoot you in the process.

“Satoru?” A girl came in from behind him, looking at him and then to where his gaze fell until she saw you, a small aurora of surprise taking over her features.

“Stay with Geto,” The man said, his voice harsh as his eyes narrowed on you, his face unreadable but cold nonetheless as his focus never left your every tiny motion. Taking in all of your features, your clothes, your skin, your eyes. Anything that could give away that you were infected.

Your eyes darted from him to the girl to his side, not knowing who to look at. The person with the gun pointed at you or the one who stared at you as if you were an artifact, a token she hadn’t seen before.

“I’m not a threat,” You say after a couple more seconds of unbearable silence, your voice hoarse from barely using it anymore. You rub at your throat, wincing a little as you put your arms up to show that you have nothing in your hands, “I swear I’ll just leave and nothing else.”

The girl stayed where she was, gnawing on her lip as she shoved the man's arms with hers.

“She seems fine-”

“Seems doesn’t mean she’s not infected.” He snapped, never taking his eyes away from you as he pulled his elbow away from her grasp. His voice had a bite to it, sending chills that traveled down your spine. He had no emotion on his face, clear of anything human.

“I-I’m not infected.” You retaliate, taking a tentative step forward, watching as his grip on his gun became tighter, and taking a step back as he pushed the girl behind him. You put your arms up again, worried you were playing with fate as you slowly and carefully put your bare arms under a ray of light, making sure he could see your actions. You tugged on your sleeves, pulled down the collar of your shirt, and showed him your calves, anything to prove that you weren’t bitten.

“See…?”

You waited, his stare jumping from your face to your arm, different gears in his head turning as he debated what to do.

“‘Toru, she’s not infected,” The girl said, trying to nudge his hand so he’d lower the weapon, “She’s right, she’d be in pain right now if she was.”

But he didn’t move, his jaw ticking as he shook his head, seemingly still not believing you.

“How do I know you all aren’t infected?” You snapped, angry, as you tried to hide the quiver in your voice. They could be and they’re doing well to hide it.

“We’re not.” He said, his voice steady, confident, and not carrying any trace of a lie.

“What’s taking so long?” Another voice joined the three of you, a man, the same in height as the one in front of you as he clasped a hand on his shoulder, his brow cocking in surprise when he saw you. His hair was a stark black, pulled into a bun behind his head. Some strands had escaped and fallen out. He seemed far more easygoing than the man next to him, though. His eyes were brighter and his smile was genuine. He looked over to the side as the girl shrugged, worry lacing her features as he drummed his fingers in her arm. He looked back at you, giving you a tiny smile, “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“Doesn’t matter if you’d just let me go.” You said, your voice mirroring the white-haired man, the new guy’s lips pulling into a little grin as he let out a deep laugh.

“Drop the gun ‘Toru, she’s fine.” The new guy said with a laugh, stepping forward as you took one back, your lungs squeezing together tightly as you went to grab the weapon strapped on your back.

He raised his hands as you had seconds ago, trying to show that he wasn’t intending any harm as he took another step forward. The playful look he had on his face melted away, forming to something softer as he took in the cuts that littered your cheek and knew, the way your eyes darted from his hands to his face to detect any danger.

“Hello,” He started with a careful smile, not wanting to scare you off, “I’m Geto, but my friends call me Suguru,” He pointed to the girl behind him, “Vera even calls me dumb bitch-”

“Only when I’m mad!” She argued, shooting you an apologetic and embarrassed smile when she realized you were there too, and he snorted, continuing.

“And the blue-eyed freak is Satoru. Anna’s back there, somewhere. Swear we don’t mean any harm. He’s just,” He glanced behind him at the man who was slowly lowering the gun, his face still clearly telling that he was weary of you, “Cautious.”

He held out his hand, far larger than yours, for a shake.

You tilted your head to the side, eyes squinting a little bit as you tried to make out just what he was trying to do.

But you dropped your hand from grasping onto the leather strap of your weapon, your fingers stretching, itching for some human contact as you debated for a little bit. Surely but slowly you brought your hand to his, softly clutching it to see a smile overtake his features.

“Y/n,” You reciprocate with a small smile of your own, your chapped lips not used to the feeling. His fingers were long as they overtook yours, calloused, but human. They gave yours a gentle squeeze, almost as if he could tell, and you have one back. Something that you never realized you had missed up until this very moment, “My name’s y/n.”

He said your name once under his breath to commit it to memory.

“You going anywhere specific?” He asked, his hands crossed across his chest as he waited patiently for you to answer.

You swallowed dryly, in desperate need of some water as you pointed somewhere north.

“Heard there’s a camp somewhere in Takayama…you?”

He chuckled, nodding as if he couldn’t believe your words, looking behind him as the girl you guessed was Vera let out a small laugh too. The blue-eyed man, Satoru you deduced, stayed stoic, not giving anything away.

“By any chance are you talking about that one camp that has running water ‘n shit?”

You nod, not trusting your voice anymore as you blink.

“Nice,” He cocked his head in the direction of his group, the second girl, Anna, now walking in to see what the fuss was about, “That’s where we’re going too. Or at least, trying to. Care to join?”

You quickly learned that this group was different from your old one.

They were serious, sure, but everybody was given the predicament. They were on guard at any sudden noise, guns drawn and ready, but they still acted like you guess they would have back in their old lives. They made jokes, laughed at each other's stupid mistakes, and spent the days and nights filling the silence with whatever they could.

It was jarring, really, seeing how your old group of six never laughed nor had a moment of naïve fun, but you were far more fond of this than that.

“Damn, so you’re the youngest one here then?” Geto asked one day as you five trudged through an abandoned city. You looked up, mouth parted in slight awe as you took in the strange sights; abandoned skyscrapers, some tilting over a bit. Many were severely destroyed by the bombings. There were large craters on the ground, concrete slabs, and building chunks that fell into them. Geto nudged your side, snapping you from your trance as he waited for you to answer.

“Oh, um, yeah, I guess,” Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment, “Only by a little bit though. I was about to graduate high school when it started and I guess that was like what, five-ish years ago?” You couldn’t distinctly remember, time had just become a construct after so many months.

Vera and Anna had begun talking about how old they were when it started, and you had gotten roped into the conversation.

“You’re the baby of the group now!” Anna exclaimed, pinching your cheeks with a giggle as you laughed softly, looking down at the cracked concrete beneath your feet as your backpack thumped on your back with every step you took, “It's good though,” She whispered in your ear, “You can use it to get out of chores.” You snickered at that, rolling your eyes but thankful for the tip.

You found out that Anna was only a couple of months older than you. Then came Geto, who was a year older than you two, Vera was around as old as him, and Gojo was two years older than you.

“Wait, so you’ve been traveling alone all these years?” Anna was the one to ask as she walked closer to you, her brows pinched together in confusion,

You could have sworn it was an unspoken rule not to talk about the past unless somebody brought it up directly.

“No, no,” You shook your head as your nose wrinkled at the thought, “I was part of a bigger group. But we,” You looked away, at nothing in particular as a sharp pang ran through your chest, “We split up a while ago. That’s when I went solo.”

She nodded in understanding, pulling her hair back as she tied it up, fanning her face at the heat. The sun was beating harshly on your face, sweat prickling at your hairline as you squinted through the bright light.

“Was it hard?” Anna asked, clearly not picking up on your reluctance to the subject.

You swallowed, feeling like a part of your chest was heavier than it was seconds before as you cleared your throat.

“I, well,” You shrugged, stammering a bit, “A little bit, but I learned how to-”

“How’d you get your food?” She cut you off. You could tell she wasn’t trying to do any harm, her eyes shining with childish curiosity but it didn’t do anything to hide the fact that it quite literally felt like your throat was closing up.

“I would hunt or find whatever I co-”

“So you like being part of a group?”

“Yeah-”

“Did it ever get lonely?”

“Anna,” Gojo cut her off, his voice not loud but commanding enough to get everybody's attention, speaking for the first time in what seemed a couple of hours, “Calm down.”

Her eyes darted from you to him, finally noting the overwhelmed expression that you were trying your best to hide as she muttered out a quiet sorry. She moved to talk to Vera, and you were thankful that it wasn’t awkward as you went back to looking at the buildings.

You gave him a small nod, grateful, but he only blinked, looking away as he went back to listening to whatever Geto was telling him. You huffed out a small embarrassed laugh, not putting much thought into it as you kicked a pebble across the ground, feeling the wind tickle your cheeks as you tried to hold back the sting of tears in your eyes.

Gojo didn’t say much, even after you joined their group, and Vera told you it was normal and not to take it to heart. So you didn’t try to talk much with him, not wanting to push and prod at any of his boundaries. But he was nice otherwise, in his own ways. He took the night watch, letting you guys sleep, and insisted that he was fine with it. He was attentive, always giving the rest of his food to Anna when she complained about how hungry she was. He was cautious, as Geto would put it, but you couldn’t blame him. You were cautious too.

Did it ever get lonely? Her question rang through your mind. It was stupid, you’ve only known her for a short amount of time. Hell, you’ve only known these people for a couple of weeks but it felt like she had dug a hot iron into your chest with the simple query. It was pathetic, really, but it was that thing where the more you tried to stop yourself from crying the worse it became, and that seemed to be true right now.

You fell behind a little bit, not anything much, but enough so that you were by yourself as you looked up. You found it easier to control your emotions as you blinked back the tears, not wanting to wipe them away in case anybody noticed. In front of you, you could hear Vera and Anna arguing about something minuscule, smiles still on their faces as they playfully banter back and forth.

The wind began to pick up a bit, your eyes watering even more as you blinked back the fat tears that were threatening to fall and roll down your cheek, biting your lip as if that could make it stop.

“Everything alright?”

Your head whipped to the side to where the voice came from, a little surprised to see Gojo walking next to you. His hair was tucked behind his ears, hands in his pockets as he waited for your response.

As you blinked in shock a small tear fell, and you quickly wiped it away with the back of your hand, no use in hiding it now as you nodded, lips quivering a bit as you sniffled. You could count the number of times he had spoken to you on a single hand, so you hid it by looking away. Your cheeks heated up under his heavy stare, not used to it, especially from him.

“Y-yeah, I’m good.” You said as you exhaled shakily, not having the guts to look at him as you just stared directly ahead of you at the three heads of the other members of the group. But you weren't good at masking the lie as you watched from the corner of your eyes as he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to you.

Looking at his outstretched hand you saw a tissue and your eyes darted to him in questioning.

“It’s not poisoned, y’know.” He told you, his voice slightly less monotone as you let out a watery laugh, tentatively taking it from him as you whispered out a hushed thanks.

You blew your nose as quietly as you could, feeling bad as you threw it to the side of the street you blinked again, hoping this time you could do a better job of controlling your pesky and fragile emotions with somebody next to you.

There was a silent beat as neither of you said anything, wringing your fingers together as you tried to look for an explanation for all this. It was stupid, childish, and downright embarrassing, but you still couldn’t find the words to justify anything.

“Anna can be like that. You learn to live with it.” Gojo finally said, interrupting your train of thought as he spoke. You could tell he was slowing down his pace to match yours, his long legs taking shorter steps and you almost laughed at the sight.

“It’s okay,” You said, rubbing at your eyes again as your nose wrinkled again, “I’m just not used to being…”

“Bombarded?” He said, finding the right word as you nodded with a small chuckle.

“Yeah… that. I know it’s stupid. I don’t even know why I’m…” You trailed off, wiping at your eyes with your palms as you took in a shaky breath, “It’s just been a while since I’ve talked this much, so I’m still trying to get used to it…sorry.” You let out a little hiccup, missing the way his lips almost pulled into a smile at the sound.

“Don’t apologize,” He said, shrugging as he kicked a piece of broken asphalt across the sidewalk, “It’s not your fault.”

You went to open your mouth to say something back but Geto waved his arms, motioning the two of you to the rest of them as he pointed to something on the ground.

“Oi, Gojo, come check this out. I don’t know if this is a cordyceps or a regular mushroom.”

And you glanced at the man next to you one more time but he was already jogging forward to see what the fuss was about. It didn’t matter much, it shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t stop the way your little heart fluttered pathetically at his words. You quickened your pace, shaking your head at the thought as you joined the group once again.

But as much as you tried you couldn’t get his final words out of your head. It’s not your fault. How you wish it were true. If only he knew, he’d probably eat his own words. Swallow them up so that they were never spoken into existence because it was your fault. But you couldn’t say that now.

You hated that time between day and night more than anything.

When the crickets chirped and the sky became darker than it should have, casting a shadow over the ground. The stars were freckles across the sky and the light breeze didn’t distract you from the fact that clickers could be a stone's throw away from you without you ever realizing it.

The abandoned apartment complex they decided to spend the night in was definitely in better condition than the ones surrounding it, but even with the extensive search you guys did up and down to make sure it was clear of any danger, you still felt a little nauseous as they set up base in the lobby.

Your sleeping bags were sprawled out on the marble floor lined with dirt. You had your backpack next to you, your gun within arm's reach. Next to the fire was an array of cans to pick from, but you weren’t hungry, not in the slightest. You could barely stomach anything after Anna’s bombardment of questions that left you a quiet mess, and being surrounded by people in the dark just made it worse.

“Hungry?” Vera held out a can of preserved peaches but you shot your head, biting back the sick that made its way up to your throat at the thought of eating. You could feel her eyes burning on the side of your face but she didn’t press any further, eating as the two of you listened to Geto talk about his plan for reaching the camp in Takayama.

He was the more animated one of the two males. He talked with his hands, his face contorting in different ways as he conversed with Anna. Gojo sat on the side, watching the flames dance across the rocks, his blue eyes lit a color you’ve never seen before as he listened in his own way to the conversation.

“I saw you earlier,” Vera whispered as she leaned in closer to you, throwing the empty can aside as she wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin, pointing to Geto so your attention could stay on him while you listened to her, mostly not to draw any attention from the others as she tucked her hair behind her ear, “Talking with Satoru.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, looking at Vera but she nudged you to look back at Geto, continuing.

“I know he’s not the easiest person to warm up to,” She said with a shrug, picking at her nails as he glanced at you with a soft smile, “He used to be, before all this. I can’t really blame him for being on guard-” You nodded in understanding and she softly chuckled at your response, “But he cares.”

About what? You wanted to ask but didn’t want to prod too much.

“So you knew him before?” This was an easier one to answer, and she nodded, cracking her thumb as she rested her head on her arm. The light from the little fire Geto made casted red and orange shadows on the highlights of her face, and she seemed younger here (she wasn’t even old). Her wrinkles were gone, eyes were less full of stress.

“Yeah, he lived near us. Us, being me and Geto.” She quickly said to save you the confusion. Huh, you thought to yourself, no wonder they were so close.

“So you all grew up together?”

“Yeah,” Her lips pulled into a soft smile, eyes creasing around the edges as she sat in thought, “From elementary school up until university. Geto and Gojo were even doing pre-med together.”

You almost wanted to laugh at the thought.

“I know, it’s weird. I can’t even begin to think of what they’d be like as doctors. But their parents wanted them to do it, so they just went along with whatever they said.”

“What were you doing?” You asked, not even trying to focus on Geto anymore, finding her stories far more interesting. After some time you quickly learned that Vera had much to say when she wanted to, she was just selective when she did.

“I was planning on becoming a teacher. It pissed my parents off, but I liked it.” Her words were soft, almost as if thinking about it brought back better memories. And you bet it probably did, a future she once wanted now far away from her reach.

“And Anna? Did she grow up with you guys too?”

She shook her head, stifling a yawn as her eyelids drooped a little bit.

“No, we met Anna along the way. She and Emi were close though,” She said, rubbing at her tired face, dragging it down as she tried to fight the sleep threatening its way through her body.

Emi?

You watched as her eyes widened slightly, looking over at you to see if you caught the name and she sighed in obvious disappointment, mad at herself for the slip-up. Mumbling something along the lines of shit to herself as she blinked quickly.

“Don’t - don’t ask,” She shot you a look and you dared to go against it, her face once lined with empathy turned stone cold, threatening even as her voice loomed its way through your bones, “Don’t say anything about that. Okay?”

You nod, muttering out a soft ok, almost too scared to answer her loudly as she nodded, clearly not happy with it but knowing there wasn’t much else she could do.

So you didn’t press it, pretending like you heard nothing as you nodded along to whatever Geto was saying. Though nothing could hide the fiery spark of curiosity that came with the new name, one you had never heard here before.

You wondered why she tried to hide it.

That night you couldn’t sleep.

You’d toss and turn, turning your pillow around to see if it would make a difference, but nothing was able to lull you into a tranquil state of being.

The apartment would creak and groan sometimes, the stories above you stable enough not to collapse, but weak enough to freak you out from shutting your eyes as you stared at them. The crystal chandelier overhead was overrun by dust, and it would sway a little when the wind from outside picked up.

After a couple of minutes, you gave up, huffing in annoyance as you rubbed at your sleepy eyes, wishing they would just work with the rest of your body and sleep, but that was a pathetic attempt and didn’t work.

You got up, careful not to make a sound and disturb anybody sleeping around you, and looked around, looking for somewhere to sit that was safe and peaceful enough to help ease your mind.

Moving as if you were about to step on a bomb, you found the reception desk, the paint peeling, and the wood corroding. It gave you a good view of the main apartment entrance, so you felt more comfortable there having a view of almost anything.

Resting your back on it you let out a heavy sigh, your chest moving as your head fell back, thudding against it softly as you played with your fingers.

“Why’re you up?”

You almost yelped but controlled the urge as you jumped in your spot, eyes darting around till they found a faint mop of white hair to your left. He was prodding at the last embers of the fire with a metal pipe, moving them around as they made soft crinkling sounds with his every move. You wondered to yourself, both in shame and worry, how you had somehow failed to miss that.

“Were you watching me?” You whispered, wincing as you tried to lower the volume, scoffing at that being the first thing that came to mind.

“I am on watch duty.” He said, his voice tinged with a bit of sarcasm as his brow raised a little bit. You could barely make him out with your limited vision, but you could tell from where he was standing that he was only a couple of feet away from you.

“You didn’t answer my first question.” He reminded you after a beat of silence, his voice low as he tried not to wake anybody up.

You yawned, shrugging as you picked up a rock not to your thigh, moving it around in your hand as your fingers ran along its smooth and imperfect crevices, its cool touch calming you down a little bit.

“Can’t sleep.” You responded after a bit of thinking, but it really was the truth. Maybe a simplified version of it, but it caused him to let out a quiet scoff, obviously not satisfied with your lazy response.

“Insomnia or bad dreams?”

You laughed a bit, your lips quirking at the edges as you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“You would have made a spectacular doctor.”

He took in a sharp breath of air and you laughed, stifling your giggle with your hand. His reaction telling you he obviously didn’t want that knowledge to be spread around.

“Swear to god, that’s all she told me though.” You say, holding up your hands as if a pledge of your honesty though you doubted he could even see it. You heard him snort, obviously not buying it but not saying anything about it as he pushed at the coals around a little more.

A small rush of wind moved the dust and twigs next to you, the whooshing sound somewhat tranquil as it filled the silence. It wasn’t awkward like you thought it’d be, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was a place right in the middle, but it was better than your past three interactions with him.

You tried to squint, trying to make out his features. He was attractive, that much you could admit. Even if you met him before seeing a man became a rare occurrence you would have had the same thought. His frame was sturdy, lean, and tall. He filled out his clothes rather nicely, and his face was passive and a grimace away from forming a scowl, but you could tell he once used to laugh a lot more if the smile lines told you anything.

You wondered if the name Emi had anything to do with him losing his smile.

“Tell me something about yourself then.”

A shocked laugh threatened to bubble out of your throat at his sudden statement.

“W-Why?” You stuttered out with a laugh, confused as you shifted where you were sitting, tilting your head a little bit to the side, wishing he’d move so you could see clearly just who it was you were talking to.

“You know too much about me,” He said as if it was obvious, shrugging his shoulders as he set the metal pipe down gently to not make any noise, “I don’t know anything about you. Other than you can’t sleep and are learning to talk more.”

A part of you wondered if he was being genuine or trying to be snarky.

But you just snorted, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of this as you threw your hands, looking up as you thought for a second for something interesting yet boring enough to shut him up so you could have some quiet time.

“I can only eat semi-sweet or dark chocolate. Milk’s a little too sweet for me.”

You could hear a snort in response, probably the first you’d ever heard from him as he shuffled around a little bit, his shadow moving a little bit closer to where you were sitting. The ray of moonlight illuminated part of his face, his white lashes fluttering against his cheeks as you watched him rest his chin on the palm of his hand.

“Seems like we’re complete opposites there,” He admitted, his lips threatening to tug into a smile, but he controlled it as if he didn’t want you to see that part of his hidden emotions.

“Then I’ll give you any milk chocolate bars I find.”

He huffed, a part of his lip caught under his teeth as he considered the thought.

“Is that good enough for you?”

He shook his head quickly, comically as you sighed, some sleep finally settling in as you rub at your forehead. You could feel the headache coming from a mile away.

“Need something more personal,” He retaliated, moving a little bit so that he wasn’t putting all his weight on his arms, his toned chest moving as he resituated himself. You tried to not make it obvious that you were staring, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Well now you’ve gone too far,” You say with a little laugh, the most genuine one you’ve had in a while. You miss the way his face almost mirrors yours, the edges of his lips threatening to pull up into a grin as you smile. “I like yellow.” You finally answer, your smile faltering as you think back.

“Any particular reason or do you just like the color of piss?”

“I had this perfume bottle, I got it for my birthday when I was twelve. The actual perfume smelled disgusting but the bottle itself was this glass-stained yellow, a soft yellow that I haven’t seen anywhere else.” You explained, bringing one leg up to your chest, and wrapping your arms around it to steady yourself.

“What about you?” He shook his head, waving his pointed finger around, clearly not answering a question yet.

“No, still on you. Where were you when this all started?” Gojo asked, and the jump from the previous question to this one took you off guard. If you were counting correctly he had two more facts above you than you did for him, but you indulged him, having nothing better to do with your time.

“At home. I was watching TV with my dad when they broadcasted that signal,” You paused, the memories flooding back as you tried to blink them away. The car, your neighbors who were already infected, “You?”

For a second you thought he wasn’t going to answer but he shifted, running a hand through his hair as he whistled quietly, thinking.

“I was in a lecture hall.”

“For your doctor lectures?”

He chuckled, for the first time since you’ve known him, shaking his head as he eventually nodded, knowing that you were probably never going to give up the information. You watched as he rested his chin on his palm, the new angle giving you a better view of him and you felt your cheeks heating up under his gaze.

“Yeah,” He couldn’t fight the smile anymore, his face turning softer as he smirked, “For my doctor lectures.”

“Go sleep,” He said after a heavy beat of silence, his voice softer as he watched you wipe at your eyes, a big yawn escaping your mouth as you blinked tiredly, “It’s almost morning.”

You shake your head, wondering why a part of you was disappointed that he was right. As you stood up, wiping the dust from your pants as you shuffled your way around some bricks, finding your way back to your sleeping bag (with more difficulty than you’d like to admit), and threw it over your body. You could feel his eyes burning on your back, but you shut your eyes and pretended that you were asleep.

A couple of weeks after that night and you wondered if you had somehow passed a test.

While he still didn’t speak much to you, he wasn’t cautious nor weary when he did.

Gojo still didn’t laugh or smile much, but his little grin was less guarded when you spoke to him. Maybe it was to save you the pity of your awful jokes, but a part of you felt happier knowing he warmed up to you a bit.

“You just haven’t heard these puns yet,” You argued one day, pulling out the book you found when you scavenged through an abandoned store about a week ago. It had water damage and some of the words you could barely read, “Okay, okay, what about this one? 3.14% of sailors are Pi-rates. Huh?” You looked up at him, wiggling your eyebrows only to see him with a disgruntled look, staring down at you as he shook his head in disappointment.

“None of these should have been published.” He argued, and although he sounded disgruntled, there was an edge of him holding back a laugh.

“Oh, I like this one!” You exclaimed with a giggle, Vera looking back at the two of you as she smiled to herself, nudging at Geto so he could see too, “What do you use to cut a Roman Emperor's hair?” He didn’t say anything for a second so you lightly kicked his shin, waiting for an answer.

“I don't know, scissors?” You grinned, shocked at how close he was.

“Almost, the answer is Ceasers,” You revealed with a giggle, showing Gojo the book as he sighed, rubbing at his forehead in faux annoyance. You put the book in your back pocket, careful when you fold it, wanting to save the rest for later, “Don’t worry, I’m saving the best for last.” You patted the pocket as he laughed, excusing himself as Geto called for him to check something out on the map. Your foot almost slipped when you walked on some grass, wet from the rain last night, and his hands soft out to grip your elbows, steadying you as you thanked him. Your skin felt like it was on fire from where his lingering touch was, and you looked away, hoping he couldn’t pick up on the embarrassment.

“Y/n, can you come here for a ‘sec?” Anna called your name, ushering you over as you looked around to see her walking a little bit behind you. And you made your way over to her, readjusting your backpack as your shoulder sunk a bit from how heavy it was.

She offered you a small smile, though you could tell she was thinking a lot of things through. You noticed that when that line appeared down the middle of her brow, it meant that she was deep in thought. That, or she was mad. But with the way her fingers danced on her arms in discomfort and her eyes darted around the rest of the group, you wanted to bet that she was going through it.

“What’s up?” You finally asked, just hoping there weren't any more questions about how difficult it was traveling alone.

“I’ve seen that you and Gojo have gotten closer, w-which is great! Don’t get me wrong!” She sputtered, shooting you a quick grin that didn’t quite meet her eyes, “But I feel like I should let you know…”

When she didn’t finish you raised a brow, wondering what could possibly be so bad.

“Do,” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she shook her body, deciding to just get it over with, “Do you remember that one night? In that apartment lobby?”

You almost laughed. How could you forget?

“Yeah…vaguely,” That was a fat lie. It was all you could think about in these following weeks. Your conversation with both Vera and Gojo plagued different parts of your mind for different reasons.

“Listen, I couldn’t help but overhear ‘Ver, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…” She trailed off, gnawing on her lip as her eye twitched, “I heard her say Emi and I know she brushed it off but I feel like you deserve to know about it. You’ve been with us long enough so that I can trust you with this.”

Was it really that easy? You didn’t say anything, hoping the slight excitement and anticipation on your face wouldn’t scare her away as you gave her the time she needed until she continued. She took in a deep breath and started.

“I’d known Emi for a long time now - gosh, probably over a decade at this point. She was nice, but she had her own flaws, but she was my only friend so I ignored them. When this,” She motioned her arms around you, “Whole thing happened, she was the only one I had. We were planning on going to a quarantine zone in Tokyo but it fell almost immediately, so we just went wherever we could.

“We met up with those guys a couple of months later. Maybe two, two and a half years ago?” She thought back, shaking her head because it wasn’t important to fixate on, “And they took us in. They were all really nice, including ‘Toru.

“After a while, he and Emi got closer, and for that while, it was just a fling that would pass the time. But they cared for each, it was pretty obvious. Or from what she told me, it sounded like they did. But,” She bit her cheek, playing nervously with her fingers as she looked up at you, “it was hard. They fought. A lot,” She gave a humorless laugh as she looked back on it, “Day in and day out. They fought over the smallest of things. I swear, I don’t know how-” She stopped, apologizing as she got back on track, “Anyways, what I’m trying to get at is that one of these fights got bad. I can’t even remember what it was about. Food? Maybe clothes? Doesn’t matter. It got big and they said some shit neither of them meant, but Emi left. She said she was leaving, but nobody believed her. She always said shit like that. But she did, she left and we didn’t see her for a couple of days.

“‘Toru was really worried, never seen him so scared before. He went out looking for her and came back a week later. He told us she was bitten, late in the stages of infection. He said he had to…” She trailed off, voice catching in her throat and you quickly looked for a tissue, as she gratefully accepted it.

“I see the way you try to make him laugh, I know, but Emi took that part of him. He wasn’t the same after she left, and I don’t think he ever will be. So just - don’t get your hopes up when you’re around him, okay?”

“I, um, okay…?” But you didn’t even know what you were agreeing to. You just knew that Anna nodded, thankful that you heard, and the two of you made your way back to your group. Maybe it was the way your face had lost all the laughter it had just a couple minutes ago, or that Anna somehow managed to see what you were trying to do, but Gojo glanced at you, his brows furrowing together in slight worry.

You don’t know why the information affected you so much. It could have been just from how shocking it was to hear it, or the fact that Anna could tell that you were trying to get him to smile more. It made sense, the more you thought about why he was the way he was, but you still felt a part of you crumbling at the thought. Even if you never met Emi, you couldn’t definitely feel her presence after she was gone.

What? He mouthed, altering his steps so that he could weave around Geto to get closer to you. But you shook your head, reassuring him to stay where he was as you gave him a curt nod and a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

It’d be over soon, you told yourself. After you get to the camp in Takayama, it’d be big enough to go your separate ways. You’ll forget the last five years, forget everything you’ve gone through, and start something new.

If not, you’d rather just get bitten and get this hell over with.

“What’d she tell you?”

Gojo cornered you when they were all asleep, the tall trees surrounding you casting shadows over his face. You didn’t light a fire this time, Geto saying it’d be safer if you just used flashlights instead. You knew the infected had bad eyesight, relying on sound more than anything, but that didn’t mean raiders couldn’t see.

There was no point in lying, he’d sniff it out immediately if you did, so you shrugged, glancing to the side as you blindly moved around leaves, trying to be quiet to get away from the group in case any of them were awake.

“Nothing important,” You muttered, glad it was dark for once so that he couldn’t see your reaction and vice versa.

“Bullshit,” His voice was low, your eyes slightly widening in surprise at his reaction, “Wouldn’t have been nothing if you looked like that afterwards.”

Though you could barely see anything, you could feel his presence. He took up a lot of space, and you could practically feel how his hands were only a little distance away from yours. His fingers were inches away from your wrist, and you knew that because when you moved you could feel the light indent, a slight burn as if he’d set your skin aflame.

“Nothing important to you.” You specify, crossing your arms across your chest as you heard him scoff, his jaw ticking as he prodded at his cheek with his tongue. If only your past self could see you now, arguing with a man who you thought only ever had two emotions he used on and off.

He waited, hands on his hips as he tapped his foot impatiently on the ground, hanging his head down for a second until he looked back up.

“Green.”

You pause, brows creasing as you huff out a laugh.

“What?”

“Green,” He repeated, “That’s my favorite color.” When it dawns on you what he’s doing you have to contain the giggle that slipped past your lips, covering your mouth when your hands as you continue to laugh.

“Why’re you laughing?” He asks, his voice genuinely confused as you laugh more, holding onto a tree trunk to steady yourself, “W-what?” But you hear the soft inflection of a laugh in his voice now, almost as if he is trying to control it as you wave your hands, trying to make it stop but you just hit his hands in the process.

“So you refuse to tell me and you hit me in the process?” Any seriousness has dropped from him completely and you laugh through your hands, trying to apologize but your cheeks hurt. It wasn’t that funny, really you don’t know why you’re reacting this way, but it’s that feeling when you start laughing, and it grows out of control for no reason.

“I-I’m sorry!” You wheeze out, trying to find his hands to apologize but he brings them to your mouth. It was dark so you couldn’t see, but his eyes darted around, suddenly realizing how loud you were being.

“Sssh, be quiet.” He hissed out, and you giggled again, licking the palm of his hand as he gave a muted yelp, bringing it close to his chest as he wiped it on his pants. He looked back up at the outline of your shadow, glaring.

“You’re a fucking child, y’know that?” He groaned, but his words didn’t quite match what his face was because his eyes softened at the sound of your laugh, carefree as you failed at trying to control it.

“Admit it, I’m funnny,” You drawled out, laughing as you hunched over a little bit, waving your finger around somewhere near his face, “You’re laughinggg because I’m funnny.” You stated, tugging on his fingers playfully, and he snorted, gently swatting your hand away as he sighed.

“You’re insufferable is what you are.” Is what Gojo finally landed on.

“Tell me something more personal and I might tell you.” You poked his chest, repeating his own words back to him as you leaned back on the tree. You had no intentions of revealing what Anna told you, but you wanted to see how far he’d go to know.

“You’re impossible,” He muttered, running a hand through his hair, debating whether or not it was even worth it to tell you something when he knew damn well you weren’t going to give any information up.

“I’m scared.” He heaved in a sigh and you cut him off with a chortle.

“Everybody’s scared-”

“Of ending up alone.” He finished, brow raising as your laugh quickly died down, some fort of satisfactory grin that didn’t mirror the gloom in his eyes made its way onto his face as he asked, “What? Cat got your tongue?”

“No,” You quickly say, rubbing at your jaw as you take a set back, easing on the trunk as you duck your head down in embarrassment, crunching some dead leaves under your boot, shame riding up your bones as you lamely shrug, “Just wasn’t expecting that.” You mutter, looking up at him from the corner of your eye.

He chuckles, taking a step closer, his breath hitting your cheek.

“What? Expecting me to say spiders? The dark?” You can feel his slender fingers a hairs distance away from your arms, careful not to touch you, but still close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“No,” You shudder, both from the cold and from him, “Thought you were ‘gonna say med school or something.”

He lets out a big groan, hands gingerly gripping your elbows as his head falls on your shoulder, fighting his smile as you laugh again, muffling it with his coat as you gently pat his back.

“Where do fruits go for vacation?” Your hand stalled on his back, feeling his slumped form take in a deep, steadying breath.

“Where?”

“Pear-is.” You heard him mumble something on your shoulder, giggling as he shook his head in mock dismay. But this was different than all the last times, you could tell. His back shook a little, and he refused to look up.

You didn't comment on the tears that began to stain your shirt, or his quivering chest every time he breathed. So you wrapped your arms around his back, squeezing a little bit, feeling his arms snake around your waist as he tugged you just a little bit closer.

Even though it didn’t feel like a lot of time had passed, it had almost been six months since you began traveling with them. The journey would have been far faster if any of the cars worked, but Takayama was only a few weeks away. According to Geto.

Gojo walked up next to you, shoving something in the pocket of your coat. You look at him from the side of your eye, digging it out to see a chocolate bar as he looks away, a little smirk on his face as you lightly elbow his side.

“Can literally hear your stomach begging for something,” He teased, his face stoic but his voice lighthearted as you laugh, grateful even if you didn’t show it as you opened it up, noting that it was dark, telling him thanks with a mouthful of chocolate.

“Want some?” You offered, holding the bar out as he declined, shrugging, “Suit yourself.” You muttered, mouth full of the sweet as you finished the rest of it. He felt his eyes lingering on your lips stained with the chocolate as Gojo dryly swallowed, averting his gaze as he looked somewhere else, his cheeks colored light pink.

“I think we’re the chosen ones,” Geto stated, walking around freely as he pointed to all of you including himself. Your group made it out of the forest a couple of days ago, so he’s been living his life, trying to enjoy the run-down towns as much as he could before you went into the forests again until you reached Takayama.

“God, you’re so fucking stupid Suguru,” Vera said, shoving past him as she rolled her eyes, taking a bite out of her protein bar as she shared a knowing look with you, the two of you laughing as Geto tried to explain himself.

“No, no, hear me out. Aside from me, you and ‘Toru, y/n, and Anna come from different places. But we all somehow found each other, and as a group, are going to the chosen place.” He concluded, wiggling his eyebrows as everybody else just groaned as he went on another one of his tangents.

“No, really, think about it,” He tried to catch up to her pace, walking backward so that he could also look at all of you when he spoke, “We’ve all been picked through natural selection. These past five, six, years and we survived them. We-”

He stopped, and all of you stopped in your tracks when you heard the dreaded sound.

Clicking. Groaning.

“Oh fuck,” Geto stopped, everybody, drawing out their weapons as you tried to figure out where it was coming from. Your heart was rattling inside your ribcage, your hands fumbling as you tried to find your gun. It had been so long since you’d encountered an infected that you were naively beginning to think that they had just disappeared.

“It’s okay,” Gojo muttered, glancing over to you as he held his hand on yours, trying to calm your shaking down a bit, “You’re ‘gonna be okay.” He was so sure of it that you almost believed his words.

But long gone was the carefree attitude as the clicking got louder both in volume and in amount.

“Shit,” Gojo looked over to Vera, “How many d’you think there is?” The clicking got louder, your fingers trembling over the trigger as you looked at the abandoned city hall, finally locating where it was coming from. He told you that she was the best shooter they had, and she was far more confident in taking clickers and runners down than anybody else was.

“Too many,” She called back, eyes darting from everywhere, looking for somewhere to escape from, “Fuck, we ‘gotta split.” You guys were in an alleyway, stuck between taking the road and going through a hole in one of the walls. But from where you could tell, taking the road was only going to direct you toward the infected. The wall still gave them an opening to wherever you guys planned to run from, so in some way, you were cornered.

“What?” He called out, taking a step back, his brows furrowed in confusion, “No way, we can’t-”

“Listen to me. Here, take my map,” She threw it over to him and he caught it, mouthing confusion but she shook her head, “Suguru and I can hold them off for right now, but you take Anna and y/n. If we can’t find-”

“We’re not going to fucking leave!” He shouted back, raising his voice to be heard over the number of infected, his cheeks tinged pink as you nodded, not trusting your words as you felt your stomach churn.

“If we can’t find you, meet us in Takayama! Don’t look back, just keep running north!” She motioned down the street, “I can radio with Anna, don’t worry!” She was trying to shove him but he wouldn’t move.

“Vera, I’m not leaving you guys-” But he was cut off by an animalistic roar, everybody’s attention shooting back to the noise, his words dying down in his throat as you saw a glimpse of the infected.

You would never get over the way they looked. You thought you’d be used to it by now, but it never fails to make your hands clammy and you're overall nauseous. They had large fungi popping out of their cranium, their clothes all battered and bloody. They ran so fast that you wondered if they were created just to outrun the human race, but now wasn’t the time for it. All you could hear was their and Vera’s screams.

“Satoru,” She took his arm, holding it in a tight grasp as her eyes darted from him to them, seething from between her teeth, “Take them. Don’t - don’t regret it like you did last time. You couldn’t… but…you can save them. Go. Please.”

He glared at her, eyes hiding a different meaning than what his face showed, nostrils flaring but he stopped. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, muttering out a barely audible I’m sorry, looking at Geto as he gave him a small nod, holding his position down as he waited to buy you guys some time.

He grabbed your wrist, urging Anna to follow him as Vera and Geto began to block you guys.

“W-wait, no, no, let go of me!” You tried to wrangle out of his iron grip but he was insistently dragging you away as you kicked, your eyes welling up, fear overtaking your body as they ran, coming closer and closer to the five of you as Gojo tried to lead you through the hole in the wall.

“Go with him, please, we’ll be okay,” Vera urged as Geto began firing, memories, similar moments cursing through your mind as you got the worst sense of deja vu. You almost felt like collapsing had it not been for Gojo’s steady hand, leading you away.

You cried out for them one last time but he already pulled you through, Anna not too far behind as you held onto him for support, your mouth open as you looked back at him, slowly beginning to realize what happened.

A couple of hours later and you couldn't feel your legs, wordlessly putting Gojo in charge of finding a house to stay at to stay the night.

It was in some run-down town, but many of the homes are still standing. It was probably some of the best pieces of architecture you’ve seen so far, meaning that most of the paint was still on and the furniture wasn’t entirely moth-eaten.

The one Gojo picked was at the end of a cul de sac, seemingly standing unharmed. Vines grew uncontrollably from the sides, and the house was caked with dirt, but you’d take it. He scooped it out, making sure there weren’t any infected hiding in any of the dark rooms, but he gave you two the okay signal and you camped out there for the night.

It was stocked with water and canned food, some chairs knocked down and carpets scrunched up as if the previous owners were trying to leave in a hurry. All the rooms seemed fine, and you just picked a random one as you threw your bag in, not caring as you made your way downstairs to where the rest of them were.

You found them in the living room, the shutters closed, hints of the afternoon sun peeking through. Gojo glanced over at you, his eyes running over your body, quickly scanning to make sure you weren’t hurt.

You made your way to a chair, rubbing your hands over your face as if that could wake you up from this living nightmare.

“They’re okay. They’re gonna be okay.” Anna said, more to convince herself than the rest of you, nodding as she said it again, but with no confidence. It wasn’t night yet, but Vera still hadn’t radioed in, anticipation deep in your throats as your wall stared at the portable radio Anna placed on the coffee table.

Gojo sat there, his legs spread out, an elbow on each knee as he rubbed at his mouth, eyes distant, lost, as he stared at nothing.

You could only imagine how he feels. No matter the sorrow you felt, he felt it tenfold. You’d only known them for a couple of months, a year at most, but he’d known them their entire lives. His shoulders sunk as if the guilt he was feeling was already pushing down on him.

Even though you didn’t know much about Emi, the hurt he carried from her was visible and inevitable. You didn’t know just how much something like this would change him if he’d ever forgive himself if something were to happen to them.

You cleared your throat, not able to bear it anymore as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Despite whatever happens, I just wanted to say thanks for getting us out. I don’t think I could have walked, let alone fought, so…thanks.” You address Gojo, watching as Anna nodded in agreement, shooting him a smile that quickly died down when she saw his face.

He dropped his hands, his eyes shining with a different sort of gleam as you took a step back, your brows and eyes squinting at the odd look.

“Vera and Geto might be dead. They might be dead because I was too fucking scared to stay and do anything to help. We don’t know where the fuck we are… and you’re thanking me?”

You stuttered, confused as you shared a glance with Anna as she slowly moved from her seat.

“I-I, well, I’m not trying to undermine what they did,” Your head tilted, your voice gentle, knowing that he was surely dealing with every possible ounce of guilt and anger under the moon right now, wishing you just stayed quiet. But you’d already opened your mouth so you had to continue, “I’m just saying thanks because you helped us. That’s all-”

“Help,” He repeated, giving an emotionless laugh as he stood up, shaking his head as his hair followed his every movement, “I ran away. I didn’t help.”

“‘Toru, she’s right, just - just calm down, come on,” Anna interjected, her eyes darting from him to you, offering you an apologetic smile on his behalf.

“She has no idea what she’s talking about. Fuck,” His voice broke, looking away as he tried to wipe his tears, “It’s like….” He didn’t finish but you knew he was going to say It’s like Emi, judging from the way Anna tried to comfort him.

“You’re,” You said slowly, not wanting to anger him any more than he already was, “You’re right. Most of the time I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I understand, and I know it’s not easy and-”

“You know? You know? Fuck y/n, what do you know? What could possibly make you understand?” You’ve never seen him like this, never had the honor of having his words cut you, sawing at your skin until they made you bleed.

You scoffed, not knowing if he was being serious, but he stared at you waiting for an answer.

“Let me see,” You give a meaningless laugh, wiping at your eyes, trying your best to not cry in front of him, not wanting to show him that his words didn’t affect you the way that they truly did, “I thought I was allowed to understand after my dad killed himself. Or maybe it was when my friend tried to kill me because I ate her fucking can of tuna,” You paused, choking on a sob, “O-or when my group left me in the middle of fucking nowhere, saying I was dead weight,” You sniffled, your voice wavering as you shook your head, pointing a finger at Gojo’s chest as you stared at his blank face.

“Just because you’ve been through shit doesn't mean that I haven’t. So - so don’t tell me that I don’t understand, because I do. It’s just, I don’t go treating people I know like shit just because of it.” A tear trickled down your cheek, hanging on your chin before it splattered on the ground.

Your chest heaved, hands trembling as you heard Anna mutter a muffled oh my god. You didn’t want pity, you didn’t want any of their sympathies. But after so many years of carrying it around silently just for him to say that you don’t understand opened up the floodgates.

You went to say something else, opening your mouth before you shut it again, lips wobbling as you shook your head, ducking it as you made your way for the stairs. You tried to zone out Anna’s calls for you to come back as you found the room you assigned yourself and shut the door with a loud slam, rattling the house.

Anna came by, asking if you were hungry, but you just brushed her off, saying that you’d come down to eat later.

It was true, you couldn’t stomach anything right now, but you didn’t want to see anybody after that.

You paced around the room, doing anything to occupy your mind and get rid of the thoughts coursing through your head. You packed your bag, which wasn’t even yours, you wanted to guess that in the rush of leaving you accidentally packed Geto’s because yours sure as hell didn’t have a pack of cigarettes and condoms in it, (you’d put all your money on the fact that him and Vera were hooking up), unpacked, and re-packed it. You folded some clothes lying around, washed your face with the water from the bottles you found, and tried to freshen up. Your eyes were still a little puffy and red, but you knew it would go away quickly.

You looked through the closet and did anything you could think of. You didn’t really have the heart to take anything, knowing that somebody cared for these things at one point, but you snooped around, having nothing better to do.

From what you could deduce, a teenager probably lived in the room. Band posters were plastered on the walls, the bed had some stuffed animals still left on it. You could remember the initial broadcast saying to take only what was necessary, so it made sense why the closet was mainly empty but the other aspect of the room seemed untouched.

You looked at some of the books they had, pulling them out of the shelves as you read the titles. Some you knew, some you didn’t. The window adjacent to the bookshelf showed you an outside view of the neighborhood, the moon shining bright as you relied on that and your flashlight to move around.

As you went to put a book back you heard a knock at your door, startling you as you dropped the book on the ground. You grumbled in annoyance, glancing at it and then back to your book.

“I’m still not hungry,” You called out, bending down to grab it as you sighed, “But thanks,” You put it back where it was, wiping at your face as you navigate around the bed, going to open the door to let her in, “Hey, have you heard anything from…” You trailed off, not expecting to see a taller figure in Anna’s place.

You met his eyes, the same ones that managed to knock the air out of your lungs. His gaze softened upon the sight of your face, but you wouldn’t let that dictate your feelings. No, you refused. So instead, you quickly gathered yourself, squinting your eyes as you went to shut the door, not quick enough as he was able to wedge his foot in between, whimpering a bit as you still tried to slam it shut with it in the way.

“Ow, fuck, wait,” His hand gripped the side of the door, and you rolled your eyes, sniffing once as you let him open it himself, knowing that he’d just find another way inside if you blocked this one, “Listen,” He invited himself in, a hint of pleading in his voice as he looked at you, “Anna got Vera’s message. They're,” He sighed, his shoulders sagging a bit, “They’re fine. Little shakin’ up, but they’re gonna be okay. Said to meet up with them at the camp.”

Your eyes and mouth slightly opened, your anger with him disappearing for a second as you smiled softly to yourself.

“That’s great,” You breathed out, not knowing how to handle this, almost all the stress leaving your bones as you gave yourself a moment to relax, “Great news.” You gave him a curt smile, glancing at the door, wondering if that was all he came here for.

His eyes traveled from your face, stalling on your puffy lids as he slightly grimaced. He looked around the room, noting all the décor, posters, and memorabilia. You could tell he was struggling to find something to say, opening his mouth only to close it just as quickly.

“Thanks for letting me know,” You start, your hands hovering over his chest as you try to push him out, “But I wanna be by myself right now, so…” You nodded to the door, waiting for him to get the hint and go.

“Are you leaving?” He asked suddenly, his brows furrowed, creasing down the middle as glanced at your face at your packed bag behind you. You saw his lips trembling, hands moving up to gently cup your elbows, almost as if he needed to, or else he’d crumble over.

“What?” You look back confused as to what he was talking about, shaking your head, “I was jus-”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, so so sorry sweetheart, I swear, I d-didn’t know you went t-through all that shit,” His voice cracked, his legs moving faster than his body as you backed up against the bed, alarmed at his sudden change in mood, “Even if I did, I-I should never have said that to you. I’m so fucking sorry, please, I didn’t mean anything I said. I was talkin’ out of my ass and being the biggest fuckin’ dick ever.” Gojo’s voice trembled as if he was on the verge of tears as you almost tripped, glad the bed was behind you as you fell onto it, the springs squeaking at the sudden movement.

You watched as a giant of a man sank to his knees, grabbing your hands and holding them to his chest as his eyes watered, his lip wobbling as he almost pleaded for you to look at him and to hear what he was trying to say.

“Look, I’m really, really sorry,” He crouched down, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, “Please don't leave. I’ll shut up for the rest of the way there and you’ll never-”

“I’m not leaving,” You say with a small laugh, confusion laced in your voice, “I was bored so I packed. ‘S not even my bag, think I got Geto’s or Vera’s on accident.” You shrugged as you watched his face change. Morphing as he shut his mouth, his hands still trembling as realization washed over him, slowly only leaving embarrassment.

“Really?” He asked, still not letting go of your hands you nodded slowly, heart beating rapidly in your rib cage as you waited for him to say something else.

“Oh...” He the relief on his face is replaced with something different, “Okay,” He took in a deep breath, slowly letting go of your hands as he looked at the floor, some of his hair falling in his face as he finally looked back up, giving you a small apologetic smile, “Sorry, I didn’t…” He couldn’t finish, moving quickly to stand up, mumbling something to himself as he went for the door, stopping seconds before he opened it.

“‘Toru?”

His fingers danced over the doorknob, not turning back despite his every nerve telling him to look back at you. But deep down, he knew that if he did, it would all come crumbling down. That the wall he built so highly for himself would crack, and he’d have to face the realization that he cared for you. Cared so deeply for you that seeing your face, your eyes puffy from crying because of his words would be worse than if a scolding knife was to pierce his heart. Because no matter how hard he tried to convince his feeble mind that you didn’t matter to him, you did, and he could no longer hide behind a mask and pretend that you didn’t.

“Now that I think about it I think you would have made a shit doctor.” You say, crossing your arms across your chest as you watch him turn around, his lips red, looking like he’d been repeatedly chewing on it.

His hand fell from the doorknob, taking three quick steps to get back to where you were, his hands quickly going up to hold your face, eyes scanning yours as if waiting for you to say anything. But you couldn’t, not with the way he was staring at you. He always did a spectacular job of whisking your words away from a single glance.

“You drive me crazy,” He muttered, his nose almost touching yours as your hands traveled slowly up his back, feeling your heart beating in your throat, “Whenever I see your face,” His thumb runs over the corner of your mouth, eyes falling on your lips, “I don’t what to do. And then you open your mouth and I don’t know if I want to laugh, cry o-or kiss you. And,” He sighed, a hand going behind your head so that you could look up at him, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Without your gorgeous face, your pretty eyes, your laugh, your kind, kind heart. I’ll spend a fucking lifetime making up for all the shit I’ve done if it means you’d forgive me.” He was a breath away from your lips, if either one of you were to make a single movement it’d be over.

“Relax,” You say with a little laugh, your lashes fluttering on your cheek as you take a step back closer to the bed, “I’m not gonna make you grovel or anything. But if you’re offering something as forgiveness…” You trail off, not knowing how to word words as you push his head closer to yours. Your fingers play with his hair, tangling them back and forth to make little curls, your head moving on its own as you try not to give a stupid giddy smile.

He leans in, finally closing that pesky gap between the two of you as you let out a little gasp until you melt against his chest, slowly working your lips against his.

It’s hot, you don’t know how else to describe it. Weeks, months even, of pent-up tension are adding up here at this moment.

He’s so gentle when he cradles your face, afraid you’d crumble away if he held you with any more pressure. But his kiss is anything but, aggressive and fast, not wanting to slow down as he tried to commit the feel of you to memory.

He nips at your lips, now plumper and shiny with spit, pulling away slightly as he cradles his face to yours. His hands tug you into his body, cradling your jaw as he smiles, his eyes lidded as he looks down at you.

Your hands are on his chest, slightly tugging at it as his smile grows, his cheeks all blushed out as you giggle, somewhat intoxicated by the feel of him. You’d imagine what he’d be like, sure, but the way he kissed or looked at you was nothing your imagination could have ever conjured up.

“Swear to god, if I ever say stupid shit you slap me, okay? Knock some sense into me,” He muttered, holding your cheeks, looking at you as if you had strung up the moon and the stars, and you probably did if you told him so.

“‘M not gonna hit you, maybe just tell you some stupid puns till you realize what you’ve done.” You tease, watching as his head disappeared, your laugh turning into a muted moan as he licks a stripe across the expanse of your throat, gently biting down on your pulse point as he soothed it with a sloppy kiss.

“‘Toru,” You can get out, collapsing on the bed as he gingerly pushes you onto it, feeling lightheaded as you watch him kiss down your arms, your hands, any area of naked skin he could find. It was exhilarating the way his lips felt on your skin.

“You ‘wanna take that shirt off f’me?” He muttered, hands traveling up your stomach, nimble fingers dancing under the cup of your bra, “Or d’you want me to stop?” He’s slow and patient as you quickly shake your head, already getting to work at shedding off anything stopping him as he chuckles slowly, the sound just causing you to grow even wetter. You expertly unhook your bra from your chest, watching as it falls down into your lap, suddenly aware that your top half is fully bare to him.

But he doesn’t say anything, his body almost malfunctioning at the sight of your bare tits. You almost go to cover them, conscious of his heavy stare, but he gently grabs your wrists, pushing them aside as he moves closer to you, his breath hitting your collarbone as he stifled a groan.

“Fuck,” He says, not even fully paying attention as he quite literally goggles at your breast, his fingers tugging at your nipples, thumbing at them until they’re slightly swollen, letting his hands run over them as he feels his cock straining in his pants, “S-shit, you’re so fuckin’ perfect.” He whispers, glancing up at you only to see your head thrown back, finger grasping his as you try to make him work faster, pushing them down to the buttons of your jeans as he chuckles, patting your waist once as if to tell you he understands.

He gets to work, quickly getting them off of you, your underwear with it, eyes darkening as he notes your slick between your two puffy lips, gripping onto your thigh with every possible amount of self-restraint he has.

“If you don’t hurry up I’ll just tell you a bad pun n-now to get it over with. Fuck just - just touch me already!” You threaten, glaring at him as he snorts, fingers traveling up to cup your cunt as you suddenly gasp, your teasing tone dropping at the euphoric sensation.

“Where?” His thumb slowly rubs at your clit, using some of your slick as he goes at his own pace, enjoying how you paw at his biceps, gripping onto them with every ounce of strength you could muster, “Here?” He asks, using two fingers to pry your pussy lips apart, nearly coming in his pants as he did so.

“This what you want, sweetheart?” He asks, his pointer finger traveling up your slit, gathering all of your wetness as he groans, slowly pushing it in, testing your limits as you let out a wanton moan at the feeling.

“Yes, yes!” You cry out, your hands gripping the sheets. He doesn’t need to be told twice to know that you’d probably wring him out to dry if he doesn’t pick up his pace.

But he wants to be slow, not wanting to hurt you as he pushes it in, inch by inch, until he curls it, your eyes rolling back, holding onto his wrist for dear life as you wait to adjust to it.

“F-feels so good, hmm!” You squeal, your lips barely opening as he pushes the second one in, your words cut off by another moan, whining for him to go faster. You’ve been deprived for so long that you can’t even feel embarrassed at the needy way you yearn for him and his skilled fingers and touch.

You’ve only ever been with one guy before, and he knew nothing about the female antonymy so you don’t really have much to compare him to, but Gojo knew what he was doing. He listened to your every sound, noting which places made your toes curl and eyes cross, becoming more and more familiar with your body. His white hair fell into his face as he paid attention to you, glancing up at your face every now and then to smile, wanting to make sure that you were okay.

“Yeah? You’re squeezin’ me so much, fuck,” He starts pumping them in and out, the motion enough to make you go crazy, whining out pathetically as he picks up the pace a little bit, his thumb going to find you, “This pussy’s fuckin’ perfect, fuck, and she’s mine, y’hear?” He asks, only pumping into you faster, his thumb on your clit mirroring his ministrations as you cover your mouth with your hand, not wanting to be so loud that your cries could travel through the walls.

“F-fuck, just yours! Promise!” You say, agreeing to anything he said, babbling nonsense as you feel your stomach clench, your back arching as he takes in the beautiful sight of you sprawled out like this, wanting to take a mental image to commit it to heart.

“Hmm, ‘Toru, I’m gonna, fuck, gonna…!” You can’t even finish your sentence, mewling at the way his relentless motions never stopped.

It’s only a couple of seconds before you cry out, his other hand clamping to your mouth to muffle your moans, seeing white as you fall back onto the mattress, your chest heaving with every breath you take as your orgasm runs through your body. It was the most intense thing you’ve ever felt, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you creamed around them, your legs shaking as you moaned out his name.

He stops, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he watches you struggle to catch your breath.

“So fuckin’ stunning,” He says under his breath, bringing his fingers shining with your essence up to his lips as he sucks them clean, his eyes fluttering shut at your tangy taste, “Taste amazing too, sweetheart.” He takes his fingers out of his mouth, crawling up to your body, tapping on your lips so that they’d open. He pressed his fingers on your tongue, watching as you sucked on them, your eyes never leaving his. He moans, taking them out before he almost embarrasses himself by coming on the spot.

But he stops when he feels his pants tighten around his crouch, wincing because he clearly didn’t think this through enough. His dicks feels like a heavyweight in his pants, and he can feel the strain.

“What?” You sit up, worry lacing your features as you balance on your elbows, “What’s wrong?” You're now freaking out inside, thinking that he’s starting to regret this, or that he was drunk off the euphoria and now the realization is settling in.

“I don’t have a condom, and the only ones were in-”

“Geto’s bag?” You say with a chortle, pointing your chin at where the said bag was sitting, “Yeah, I know.”

Gojo chuckles, patting your cheek as he presses a kiss to your lips, almost not wanting to break away as he tastes everything on them. The chapstick you put on that morning, the chocolate he gave you. Fuck, he can even taste your cum on them, and you have to give his chest a little nudge so that he doesn’t forget what he was going to do.

He’s agile as he goes through the pockets, almost doing good at shedding off his clothes, grinning in triumph when he finally locates the pack. It gives you some time to really take in his features, gnawing on the inside of your cheek as your eyes rake over his torso, his defined chest that shines with sweat. You try your hardest not to linger longer on his dick, your mouth going dry at the sheer length of it. Despite him prepping you just a few minutes ago you still wondered how you’d be able to take him.

“If you stare any harder you’re gonna make me blush.” He says, smirking as you discover you’ve been caught in the act. But the way he laughs boyishly at you quickly looking away makes up for it.

“If you weren’t so pretty I wouldn’t be staring.” You counter, tracking him as he makes his way back to the bed, ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth as you swallow, moving so that your head rests on the board behind you as he grinned.

“Me?” He cocks a brow, taking a couple of seconds to put the condom on his dick, his mushroom tip leaking with pre as she sucks in a breath at the feeling, hoping he wouldn’t nut too fast and embarrass himself when he was finally in you, “I’m gonna need you to take a hard, long look in the mirror then sweetheart.”

You giggle, your eyes wrinkling around the edges as your cheeks glow. He moves above you, his own face plastered with a goofy smile at the sound of your laughter. He’d bottle it up if he could, save it for the days when he really needed to hear it.

“No! I really mean it, you’re like, so fuckin’ hot, liked unbelievably hot.” You smile as he pecks your lips, grinning against his as he shakes his head in adorable defiance.

“And I really mean it too,” He counters, his nose pressed against yours as you can’t help but bring him in for another kiss, your tongues meeting each other as he laps up your taste, kissing you so harshly that it knocked the wind right out of your lungs.

When he pulls away a line of spit is connecting your lips to each other. Yours are swollen, almost bruised, but you welcome the slight sting, knowing what it was all for. After all, his are swollen and pink, so you slowly became drunk at the sight of it.

His eyes travel to your tits and down to your stomach, gripping your waist as he kisses your collarbone, his hand gingerly rubbing up and down your skin, causing goosebumps to lie in their wake.

He lined himself up with your entrance, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt his tip prod at your walls, and he groaned at the feeling, only imagining what it’d be like when he finally pushes through.

“J-just fuck me already,” You whisper, your words circling through the two of you, “Please.” You add, and he shakes his head, knowing you’d never have to ask him when your honeyed words drove him to a near point of insanity.

“Don’t have to beg sweetheart,” He says, pushing himself fully in, the two of you moaning out loud at the feeling.

You clamp down tightly on his dick, and despite him going in as slowly as you could he could feel you clenching around him. Your walls stretched to accommodate his size, and the slight pinch mixed with the godly feeling of having him fill you up almost caused you to pass out.

“Shit,” He can barely get it to pass his lips, finally bottoming out in your as your legs circle around his back, pulling him closer to your sweaty body as he places a hand near your head for leverage, “You’re so fuckin’ tight, squeezing me like that.”

“Mmm, s’cause you’re so b-big,” You whine out, your nails raking down his back, leaving angry red lines. He stills, clenching his teeth as he tries to calm down, slowly pulling out before he slammed back into you.

“Fuck!” You moan, holding onto his waist as he pistons into you, his dick shining with a mix of your own cum and wetness, glimmering in the limited light the moon offered.

His hips slanted against yours, balls hitting your ass as he moved fast, like something in him just snapped, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. His dick could reach that part in you that just made you see stars, hitting it repeatedly until you swore your back could take it.

“Oh, god, you feel so fuckin’ good, fuckkk,” He drawls out, his head falling into the crook of your neck, panting as his hands curled in the sheets, “You’re gonna be the fuckin death of me sweetheart,” He moaned against you, pressing sloppy kisses wherever he could. He trailed down your collarbone, all the way until he suckled on your breasts, pulling away so that he could give each equal attention. They glimmered with his spit, your areolas swollen from his constant motions.

“Umph, ‘Toru, s’too much, o-oh!” You cried, the new angle he was at reaching even further and you questioned just how empty it was before him. He dragged through your walls, his thumb down at your clit, rubbing little circles as your eyes shut, too heavy with lust and you couldn’t even look down anymore, gripping onto his arms to stay afloat.

“Just like that, perfect,” He talked you through it, one hand on your tit, the other busy with your clit, looking down to see his dick disappearing inside of you, going feral when he watched you becoming undone because of him, “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for m-me, y’know that right?” And you dumbly nodded, not able to speak, unintelligible words tumbling out of your mouth instead.

You didn’t expect your release to build up so quickly just after you had your last one, but Gojo was too good, an expert in knowing what places would scratch you in just the right way. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten, your legs wrapping around him as you pulled him in even closer, tilting your head up so you could bring him in for another wet kiss.

“M’gonna, fuck ‘Toru, m’gonna…” But you couldn’t finish, moaning against his lips as you came on his dick, his thumb not slowing down on your little nub as your legs shake from the feeling, eyes crossing as he smiles at the way you clamp down on him.

“There you go, fuck, you’re so tight, fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna,” He tries to slow down but he can't, “Shit, shit, shit,” He stops, shooting his load into the condom as his hips stop, his chest heaving manically as he almost collapses onto your chest, your tits pressing against him as he takes a second to catch his breath.

The two of you can’t say anything, your hands wrapped tightly around his neck as you try to loosen up your body, your hair damp, the room stinking of sex and sweat as you try to come back to your senses.

It doesn’t even feel real, but you watch through hooded eyes as he rises, pulling out of you as his dick hangs limp. He tugs the condom off, hissing at the feeling as he ties it, chucking it at a trash can he found near the desk as he looks back at you, giving you that same debonair smile that still managed to make your heart race despite everything.

You throw a hand over your face, trying to hide it as he chuckles, giving your hips a firm squeeze as he kisses the side of your ear.

“I’ll be back, gonna get you some water ‘n clothes.” He says, tugging on his pants as he throws on his shirt laying across the floor, not bothering with any boxers as he winks at you, chuckling at the way you groan in embarrassment, tugging the covers over your naked body as if he hadn’t just seen you in your birthday suit.

“And bring me some chocolate!” You call out, peeking your head out as he nods, shutting the door behind him as you look around, still trying to fathom what just happened.

He reappears minutes later, one of his tees in hand, and a bottle with a bar in the other. He makes do with cleaning you up with a towel he found, wetting it with some water as he gently rubs it over your sensitive skin, apologizing when you wince, kissing the spots that are still tender.

You're almost tapped out, too tired to see the lovesick look in his eyes when he pulls the shirt over your chest, laying you back down on the pillows as he rubs at your forehead, thanking his lucky stars for being able to see you look like this; so carefree and happy.

There’s a lazy smile on your lips as you tug on his hand, not doing much work as you pull him closer to you. Although the bed wasn’t made to accommodate more than one person, he’d be damned if he let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

“Did you watch Star Wars?” You ask sleepily, holding his hands as you play with his fingers, hearing him snort at the fact that you were still keeping this up. But you still wanted to make him pay, even if he just gave you two of the most earth-shattering orgasms you’ve ever received.

“Used to, why?” He turns you over so you could face him, bringing up one of his fingers so that he could carefully trace out your features.

“‘Cause Yoda only one f’me.” You barely get out, giving a little giggle as he pretends to hate it, still kissing your cheek as you slink against his chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart lulling you to sleep.

He follows you shortly after, his soft snores filling the room as you two sleep soundly. But in the dark, before he lets the sleep take a hold of him, he promises himself that he’d never let you go. He’d take you to Takayama, or wherever the fuck was necessary to keep you safe. He wouldn’t let you cry again, wouldn’t want to see the tears that stained your cheeks because he swore he’d never been in such pain seeing you like that. You were his other half, and no amount of cheesy puns, terrible jokes, or loving questions was going to change that fact. Because he knew that once he held the world in his arms he wouldn’t trade any fucking thing to let it go.

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china-supplier-introduction · 24 days ago

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alliance-packing-and-shippinginc · 1 year ago

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wikifido · 1 year ago

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Chapter 9 (Duvanith)

“Why the Hells would you say yes, Mwaxa,” Duvanith asks, seated atop the heavy wooden Governesses desk inside the dressing room, much like she once did when Karoleena had been fitted for dresses in their childhoods.

“Decorum, Negotiation, I don’t know, Duvanith. As far as ground I gave up, it didn’t seem like that much.” Mwaxanare said from her rigid fixed position, around her, a humanoid form made of brass and steel extended measuring tapes along her limbs and inspected its assessed distances with an array of telescopic optical devices.

It was a Bobbinwright; she had dealt with earlier versions in the past; she and Karoleena would always laugh at their inhuman mannerisms and unsteadiness on the castle floor. Now, watching it was slightly different after her time in Choilit and her return to the Castle. She had seen what powerful magic wielders could create, like the Magus behind the wasting curse, the strange Arbiter at the balloonliner dock, and the wickedness of Crone Magic. She had to ask herself, without the capacity to understand, was this automatic seamstress just that, or were their fragments of blood or soul fueling its calculations?

Warmachines didn’t operate without pilots, right? Then how could a Bobbinwright?

“Mwaxanare, look at this.” Duvanith motions at the machine, sparing much of her internal commentary about its nature.

She watches Mwaxanare look up and down at the articulating arms of the device. Duvanith continues,

“When I told you about Matchmakers in the jungle, they aren’t just people-”

“It’s a system. It usually is.” Mwaxanare correctly adds. Duvanith scrunches her face and watches the bobbinwright move to Mwaxanare’s other side.

“It is, though I think institution might be a better word.”

“What are you trying to say, Duvanith?”

“By saying Yes, you’ve signed up to be treated like every Imperial Noble kid.”

Duvanith watched Mwaxanare’s face as the Bobbinwright retreated from her, playing the all too familiar ‘You may relax’ sound from its record box, which Duvanith had heard hundreds of times. Mwaxanare’s face didn’t shift much; there wasn’t a hint of any concern or frustration that she may have fallen for the King’s ruse to make her look weak or somehow infantilize her.

Mwaxanare then addressed the issue,

“Maybe I have. I maybe didn’t know the Imperial Nobility was so keen on the notion of Industry that they’d extend it to their children’s marriages. Still, it’s also impossible to sew division from the outside.”

Duvanith partially understood what she was saying and could tell there was already a plan piecing itself together behind Mwaxanare’s beautiful brown eyes.

“It sounds like you have a plan.” Duvanith hops off the desk and down to her feet, grabs Mwaxanare’s folded gold dress, and steps towards Mwaxanare. She gave Duvanith’s notion of a plan nothing more than a smirk while brushing herself off where the bobbinwright had done its work. Duvanith instinctually leaned to the left and the right, checking each side of the dressing gown for stains as she had always done for Karoleena; poorly maintained wrights sometimes would deposit voidstone dust or oil on garments.

“You’re good,” Duvanith announces, extending the gold dress.

“Good?”

“They sometimes leak,” Duvanith says, motioning her head toward the bobbinwright, making loud calculation noises in the corner of the room.

“Oh. Right.” Mwaxanare says, scooping the dress from Duvanith’s arms and placing it immediately back down on the desk, reaching down and pulling the dressing gown over her head. Duvanith turned her head, occupying her sight line with the visuals of the number-crunching bobbinwright.

Of course, she didn’t need the dressing gown; Mwaxanare’s dresses didn’t have structure the way Imperial Gowns did. They never had. She had ceded herself to repetition, an instinct, just like she did every time she took a measured shot from her bow; the repetition and instinct derived from just wanting a slight brush of the hand or arm as the dress gets handed off.

“Mwaxanare?” She breaks her gaze from the bobbinwright and turns her head to look at her, knowing those few moments would have been all that was required for her to put her dress back on, given it lacked all of the Imperial underpinnings she had just been measured for.

“Yes, Duvanith?”

“You know there’s rules at Court, right? If you’re planning on causing some sort of scene, you should probably know them.” Duvanith could feel the tips of her ears burning with a combination of embarrassment over handing Mwaxanare her dress, and that her suggestion about ‘breaking the rules’ in this context certainly would have sounded like an innuendo to her in this context in the past; she had indeed wanted to hear such a thing in one of the dressing rooms in the past.

“I’d assume not wearing the correct garments is one of them, given all of this.” She said, motioning around to the dressing room. Duvanith could feel a bit of the flush leave her face.

Ding.

The bobbinwright in the corner sounds that its calculations are complete and begins regurgitating its findings onto a piece of parchment, then came the inevitable knock on the door and the prim voice of a Castle Governess slicing through what ever was left of both the moment and Duvaniths embarrassment.

“Finished?”

“Yeah,” Duvanith shouts at the door. It cracks open, and the Governess assigned to measure them slips into the room and moves towards the bobbinwright.

“Did everything go well Lady Mwaxanare?”

“You’ll have to tell me,” Mwaxanare responds.

The Governess raises a pair of chained spectacles up to her face and closely inspects the printout before proclaiming.

“Error-free. Thank you so much for being so still for your first time with a wright Lady Mwaxanare.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“I’ll bring these measurements to the dressmakers at once, and we’ll have you dressed in no time.” She moves towards the door.

“Woah. Aren’t you going to reset it? I need to be measured.”

The Governess slides the glasses off her face and back around her neck.

“No, dear, I’ve been informed that you’ll be seated with those under Imperial Writ; you’re welcome to wear whatever uniform you please.” Duvanith shakes her head in disbelief and disapproval.

“I’m a Lady of the Court; I’ve always sat with the Ladies of the Court. Who’s going to be Mwaxanare’s Attendant?” Duvanith rebuttals.

“You are no longer a Lady of the Court, and she’s a guest of the King; he hasn’t extended an invitation for an attendant. Consider yourself fortunate you get to attend at all. Now, I must get this to the dressmakers.” The Governess scurries out of the room, Mwaxanare’s measurements in hand.

Duvanith ran her tongue over her teeth in frustration, watching the Governess depart, but eventually felt Mwaxanare’s hand squeeze her arm and say quietly.

“Tuwa, it’s okay, I’m going to be fine.”

She took a deep breath and let the frustration fade away.

#dieselpunk #fiction #short story #ttrpg community #original character #worldbuilding #dungeons and dragons #fiction writing #fantasy #ttrpg stuff

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cabexindia · 1 year ago

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How to Use Electrical Conduit Fittings?

Introduction

Electrical conduit fittings play a crucial role in ensuring the safety and functionality of electrical installations. Whether you are a seasoned electrician or a DIY enthusiast, understanding how to use electrical conduit fittings is essential. In this comprehensive guide, we will walk you through the basics of electrical conduit fittings, their types, installation process, and best practices. So let's dive in and explore the world of electrical conduit fittings!

I. What are Electrical Conduit Fittings?

Electrical conduit fittings are essential components used in electrical systems to protect and route electrical wiring. They serve as a protective housing for wires, cables, and other electrical components, safeguarding them from damage, moisture, and external factors that may pose a risk. Additionally, electrical conduit fittings provide a neat and organized appearance to electrical installations, making maintenance and repairs easier.

II. Types of Electrical Conduit Fittings

1. Conduit Pipes:

Conduit pipes are the primary component of electrical conduit systems. They are available in various materials such as metal (rigid steel or aluminum) and non-metal (PVC or fiberglass). Conduit pipes come in different diameters to accommodate different wire sizes and are available in standard lengths or can be cut to custom lengths as needed.

2. Connectors:

Connectors are used to join two conduit pipes together, creating a secure and reliable connection. Common types of connectors include threaded connectors, compression connectors, and set-screw connectors. Each type has its unique features and advantages, so choosing the right connector depends on the specific application and conduit type.

3. Couplings:

Couplings are similar to connectors but are primarily used to extend conduit pipes. They provide a seamless connection between two conduit sections, allowing for a continuous conduit run. Like connectors, couplings come in various types, such as threaded couplings, compression couplings, and clamp-style couplings.

4. Elbows:

Elbows are used to change the direction of a conduit system, particularly around corners or obstacles. They are available in different angles, commonly 90 degrees and 45 degrees, to facilitate smooth and efficient wire routing. Elbows can be rigid or flexible, depending on the conduit material.

5. Conduit Bodies:

Conduit bodies, also known as junction boxes, are used to provide access points for wire pulling, maintenance, and future expansion. They come with removable covers, allowing easy access to the wires inside. Conduit bodies are available in various shapes, such as T-shaped, L-shaped, and straight, to suit different installation requirements.

III. Installation Process

Proper installation of electrical conduit fittings is crucial to ensure safety and compliance with electrical codes. Here's a step-by-step guide on how to install electrical conduit fittings:

1. Plan the Conduit Route:

Determine the path of the conduit, considering factors such as building structure, wire lengths, and proximity to electrical devices. Measure and mark the conduit's route to ensure accuracy during installation.

2. Cut and Thread Conduit Pipes:

Measure the required length of conduit pipes and use a pipe cutter to cut them accordingly. If using threaded conduit pipes, thread the ends using a pipe threading machine or a handheld pipe threader.

3. Attach Connectors and Couplings:

Attach the appropriate connectors and couplings to the conduit pipes, ensuring a secure fit. Follow the manufacturer's instructions for tightening the fittings correctly.

4. Install Elbows and Conduit Bodies:

If the conduit route requires bends or changes in direction, install elbows and conduit bodies as needed. Ensure that the elbows are oriented correctly to align with the desired conduit path.

5. Pull Wires:

Using fish tape or a wire pulling tool, carefully guide the electrical wires through the conduit system. Ensure the wires are not twisted or strained during the pulling process.

6. Secure and Fasten Conduit:

Secure the conduit pipes to the building structure using conduit straps or clamps. Ensure proper spacing and support to prevent sagging or excessive strain on the fittings.

7. Install Conduit Bodies and Junction Boxes:

Place conduit bodies and junction boxes at designated access points, making sure they are easily accessible for maintenance or future wire additions. Secure them tightly and install appropriate covers.

IV. Best Practices for Using Electrical Conduit Fittings

1. Choose the Right Fittings:

Select fittings that are compatible with your conduit type, size, and installation requirements. Using mismatched or incorrect fittings can compromise the integrity of the conduit system.

2. Follow Electrical Codes:

Adhere to local electrical codes and regulations when installing electrical conduit fittings. Compliance with these codes ensures the safety of the installation and avoids potential hazards.

3. Maintain Proper Bend Radius:

Avoid sharp bends or excessive pulling tension on wires within the conduit. Maintain the recommended bend radius for the specific wire type to prevent damage and maintain optimal performance.

4. Use Conduit Accessories and Fittings:

Along with electrical conduit fittings, utilize conduit accessories and fittings such as bushings, locknuts, grounding bushings, and connectors to enhance the functionality and protection of the conduit system.

5.Regular Inspections and Maintenance:

Periodically inspect the conduit fittings for signs of wear, damage, or loose connections. Perform routine maintenance to ensure the longevity and efficiency of the electrical conduit system.

Conclusion

Understanding how to use electrical conduit fittings is crucial for anyone involved in electrical installations. By following proper installation techniques and best practices, you can ensure the safety, organization, and functionality of your electrical conduit system. Remember to choose the right fittings, follow electrical codes, and perform regular maintenance to keep your electrical installations in top condition. With the knowledge gained from this comprehensive guide, you are now equipped to confidently utilize electrical conduit fittings in your electrical projects.

#Electrical Conduit Fittings #Types of Electrical Conduit Fittings

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edgepro-555 · 2 years ago

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Maximizing Efficiency and Protection: The Benefits of Using Angle Boards for Shipping and Storage

Angle Board , also known as edge protectors, are a simple but effective solution for protecting your goods during transportation and storage. These lightweight, durable boards are made from a variety of materials, including plastic, cardboard, and metal, and can be custom-sized to fit your specific needs.

The primary purpose of Angle Board is to provide a barrier between your products and the outside world, preventing damage from shifting, vibration, and impact. They are ideal for use with pallets, boxes, and other shipping containers, and can be easily attached with strapping, tape, or glue.

One of the main benefits of Angle Board is their ability to prevent damage to your products during transportation. When goods are being shipped, they are often subjected to jostling and impact that can cause them to shift or become damaged. Angle boards provide an extra layer of protection that can help to prevent these types of incidents.

Another benefit of Angle Board is that they can help to keep your shipments organized. By creating a physical barrier between your products, angle boards reduce the risk of damage and loss. This makes it easier for your goods to arrive at their destination in the same condition they were in when they left your facility.

Angle Board can also make it easier to stack and store your products, maximizing space and improving efficiency. When goods are properly secured with angle boards, they can be stacked higher and more safely than if they were left unprotected. This allows you to make better use of your storage space, and reduces the need for additional storage facilities.

There are many different types of Angle Board available, each with their own unique benefits and uses. Plastic angle boards are lightweight and easy to handle, making them ideal for use with small shipments. They are also resistant to moisture and can be used in damp or humid environments without degrading.

Cardboard Angle Board are another popular option, particularly for use with lightweight products. They are easy to cut to size, making them a versatile choice for a wide range of applications. However, cardboard angle boards are not as durable as their plastic or metal counterparts, and may not be suitable for use with heavier shipments.

Metal angle boards are the most durable option, and are often used for high-value or heavy shipments. They provide a strong, rigid barrier that can withstand even the most challenging shipping conditions. However, metal angle boards are also heavier and more expensive than plastic or cardboard options, making them less practical for some applications.

When choosing Angle Board , it is important to consider your specific needs and the types of products you will be shipping. You should also take into account any special requirements or regulations that may apply to your industry.

In addition to their protective benefits, angle boards can also be used for branding and marketing purposes. Many companies choose to print their logo or branding information on their Angle Board , creating a professional, polished look for their shipments. This can help to build brand recognition and promote a positive image for your company.

Another use for Angle Board is in the construction industry, where they are used to protect corners and edges of materials such as drywall, lumber, and glass. By preventing damage to these fragile materials, angle boards can help to reduce waste and improve efficiency on construction sites.

Overall, Angle Board are a simple and cost-effective solution for protecting your goods during transportation and storage. Whether you are shipping small or large items, fragile or heavy materials, there is an angle board that can meet your needs. By investing in quality Angle Board, you can ensure that your products arrive at their destination in the same condition they were in when they left your facility, and that your shipments are organized, efficient, and professional.

Url: https://www.edgepro.co.in/angle-board-manufacturer.php

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#Angle Board

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whumpshaped · 2 years ago

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Pet and Owner

Sweet as Sugar Masterlist

trigger warnings: restrained, gagged, pet whump, lady whumper, collared, dehumanisation, humiliation, captivity

When Myles opened his eyes, he found that he couldn’t see a thing. He tried to blink away the drowsiness, hoping it’d clear his vision, but the pitch black refused to dissipate, filling up the space like the thickest ink.

When he tried to move, he felt an odd weight on his hands, and heard the rattling of heavy chains. When he tried to call out, he realised there was something blocking his mouth. Duct tape?

Panic set in, and he began to thrash around. Muffled cries for help were drowned out by the concrete prison, and he eventually decided to try and conserve his energy by staying relatively still – apart from the horrible shivering he just couldn’t seem to stop.

Saccharine had drugged him. That was the only logical explanation, yet it seemed so wildly unrealistic. Why would she do that? She’d just said she would help with the loans, she invited him over, they were friends.

Unless… Unless by helping with the loans, she meant something entirely different. Myles felt his heartbeat skyrocket as the terrifying thought wormed its way into his brain. Saccharine was making him into a pet, then selling him for the price of all his loans, maybe even more. That would both get rid of the debt and make her some profit, and… and they’d never see each other again.

They weren’t really friends, were they?

Myles curled up on the floor, awkwardly trying to manoeuvre around the uncomfortable and rigid chains. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, and he saw no point in trying to keep them at bay. He knew that the people he usually talked to as potential business partners weren’t fond of him, of course, just as he wasn’t really fond of them. God, his family wasn’t even fond of him. He’d considered Saccharine his only real friend, the only one who tolerated him despite having clearly stated that she would never take him as a partner. For how long has she been pretending? Had there ever been a time when she wasn’t?

The basement door creaked open, and Myles made no effort to lift his head off the ground. Someone flipped a switch, and the lights finally came on – soft purple, instead of the blinding white he’d been expecting. Saccharine did complain a whole lot about headaches, now that he thought about it. White lights would’ve just made it all worse.

Now that he could see, it was obvious that his cell was one of a few. There were at least three others from what he could see. Were they empty?

“Have you woken up yet?” Saccharine came into view in front of the glass door of his own little room, interrupting his thoughts. His wide eyes must’ve been enough of a response for her, because she swiped her card and made the door open without any further inquiries. She was carrying a little box with her, the contents of which Myles desperately wanted to avoid. He’d seen enough little training boxes in his life to know there was never anything fun inside.

The box had been set on the desk in the corner, and Saccharine sat down on the chair next to it. Her soft smile was the exact same as before, when they were still just two friends sitting across from each other at a cosy little table. Maybe even friendlier. It made Myles shiver.

“You must have so many questions,” she mused, crossing her legs and getting comfortable. A show of dominance in a situation where he had no chance to lessen the pain of the position his body had been forced into. “I will answer… some of them, I suppose. Starting with the easy and obvious ones, like, what happened? Where am I? What’s going to happen?”

Myles shook his head slightly. He didn’t care about any of that. He knew the answers to those questions. He only wanted to know why. She ignored him.

“I made you drink a spiked cocktail, which made you pass out and then be transported down here. Here is of course under my house, in my little pet training centre.” She took off the lid of the box, and took out a collar, making his heart drop. “As for what’s going to happen… I’m going to train you. You asked how I train my pets so fully and perfectly in the space of just a few months. I’ll grant you some insight after all.”

He whimpered behind the tape, pathetic and miserable. It only served to make her giggle.

“Don’t be scared, now. I treat my pets very well. It’s an intense training period, but it pays off.” She stood up and walked over to where he was still lying on the dirty floor, motioning for him to get up. “If you comply, it might not even hurt that much.”

Myles stayed down. He didn’t want to comply. He didn’t want to be collared. He wanted to get out and run for his life. The treacherous tears of hopelessness were threatening to make an appearance again, humiliate him even further in front of his former friend.

“Collaring is the first and easiest step,” she said gently. “I don’t even have anything to punish you with at this stage. It’s not a time to be stubborn and proud, it’s just… the first interaction between pet and owner. I don’t want it to be tainted by pain.”

The easiest step… with no pain… maybe it was that, or Saccharine’s sweet voice, but Myles found himself longing to please her. Just for a little while. He wouldn’t be able to during training, he knew that. And he had never been able to, out in the real world. Maybe this was his only chance of ever pleasing her.

He pushed himself up, slowly and anxiously.

“Good boy,” she praised softly, leaning down to get the collar around his neck. It was light, but constricting. Uncomfortable. He was never getting it off again. “There you go. Nothing to be afraid of.” She pet his head, running her slender fingers through his hair, scratching behind his ear like one might do with a dog. He felt his face heat up – still, it was so much better than pain. “I’m giving you the name Biscuit. I think it’s pretty cute.” She flicked the tag on his collar, and Myles thought it might have his new name on it. Maybe some contact info as well. A proper little pet.

He wanted to beg so badly, but the duct tape prevented it. Please, reconsider. You’ll never see my face again, just let me go. I didn’t realise you hated me, and I’m sorry. Saccharine wouldn’t get to hear those words.

She straightened her back and walked back to the box, taking out a bunch of cables and a remote. She sank the remote into her pocket and began detangling everything. Myles whimpered. He recognised those things as electrodes, and he recognised the remote as one of the top brands in the business. He’d seen one up close before; he’d seen one in action. That thing went up to voltages that could easily kill a person.

“Familiar?” She chuckled, making the poor man tremble even more. “Remember, sweet Biscuit. Being good means being safe. Not fully. You’re never fully safe with these things on. But it brings temporary safety, and I suggest you take advantage of that.”

taglist: @whumpsday @lonesome--hunter @hidden-dreamland @throwawaywhumper @kim-poce

#sweet as sugar #saccharine #myles/biscuit #lady whumper #pet whump

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itadores · 3 years ago

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tongue-tied.

➼ synopsis: ever wonder how nanami came to possess that atrocious-looking tie?

➼ note: i have so many feelings for him

➼ pairing: nanami kento x gender neutral reader

➼ word count: 1.2k

➼ genre/warnings: fluff, not proof-read

“What’s this?”

With a slightly raised brow, Nanami accepts the slender package from your outstretched hand. It’s shoddily wrapped, a mix of harsh creases and translucent tape around the edges with curled ribbons topping it off. There’s not much weight to it, either. A gift, evidently, but why? From Nanami’s knowledge, there’s no special occasion that would prompt you to gift him a present. His birthday has long since passed. Curiosity prickles at the corners of his mind as he holds the package in his upturned palm.

He looks back up again at you. He notes the way your fingers fiddle with your long-sleeve, picking at the edge of it with your nails: a nervous habit that you’ve maintained since high school. You look off into the distance before straightening out your spine and meeting his gaze.

“Just something I picked up on my last mission that I thought you’d like.” You shrug, doing your best to feign nonchalance. Though, your attempt falls flat. After knowing one another for over a decade, Nanami has picked up your nervous tells. He chooses to disregard your anxious energy and turns his attention back to the gift he’s holding.

“That was unnecessary of you,” Nanami says, prompting a light wince out of you that he catches from the corner of his eyes. He continues on. “Thank you, though. You didn’t need to.”

You relax an imperceptible amount at the sound of his gratitude, your stance not quite as rigid as it was just a few moments prior. You gently wave him off. “It was no big deal, Nanamin.”

The disdainful nickname that Gojo originally coined easily rolls off of your tongue. It was something you picked up from the sorcerer back when the three of you were students and Gojo would do whatever he could to rile up Nanami for his amusement. Nanami loathes how the nickname has stuck around all these years, but it doesn’t sound quite so abhorrent coming from your lips in comparison to Gojo’s. It sounds...sweeter.

“Would you like me to open it?” He places a hand on top of the box, fingers gently toying with the thin, shiny ribbons around the box, loosening their curls. You bring a hand up to rub at the back of your neck.

“Uh..sure. Only if you want to, though,” you cautiously say. Your nerves make a reappearance at the prospect of Nanami opening the gift in front of you.

He could wait to open the package in private, but Nanami can’t deny his growing curiosity at what resides within the wrapped box. “I’ll open it then.”

He fiddles with the ribbon for a brief moment before gently tugging at the end of it, loosening the bow it’s been tied into. With an audible tear, Nanami rips away the wrapping paper to reveal a plain, white box. He discards of the paper and ribbons into the nearby waste receptacle and slowly lifts the top of the box off.

Nestled among bundles of pale tissue paper is a necktie. It’s unique, that’s for sure. The color of the accessory is somewhere between yellow and green decorated with black spots of varying shapes and sizes. He’s not entirely sure what to make of it.

You begin hastily apologizing when silence lingers for too long and Nanami’s facial expression remains unchanging. “Sorry, if you don’t like it, you don’t need to keep it. I’m sure I can find the gift receipt for it some—”

“Thank you.” Nanami cuts you off in the midst of your needless, apologetic rambling. There is no reason for you to apologize, especially when you went out of your way to buy him a gift. The least he could do is appreciate the gesture. “I will wear it from now on,” he promises.

Balancing the unwrapped box in his open palm, Nanami uses his free hand to slip his fingers under the loop of the plain tie he’s currently wearing to loosen it around his neck. He slips it off, placing it on top of the bed of tissue paper before carefully lifting the tie you’ve gifted him out of the box.

“Do you need help putting it on?” Nanami lifts his head to meet your eyes, but your gaze is averted away. You’re fiddling with your sleeves much more intensely now. Nanami’s pulse quickens, but his outward appearance betrays nothing.

He clears his throat. It would be rather difficult attempting to put on a tie with only one free hand. “That would be appreciated.”

With his assent, you take a few steps closer into his space. The pads of your fingertips brush against Nanami’s roughened palm as you take the tie from his hand. The delicate scent of your shampoo fills his senses, and Nanami can feel the warmth emanating from you when you lean in even closer to place the tie around his neck. Your fingers briefly linger around the tops of his shoulders before you remove them and set to work on tying the tie correctly.

It’s strangely intimate. More intimate than would be considered appropriate for two friends, two coworkers, to engage in. However, Nanami cannot say he doesn’t enjoy it. He’s always been rather fond of you, harboring a soft spot for you all the way back when the two of you were nothing more than classmates. As a student, he endured relentless teasing from Gojo and knowing looks from Haibara. Given Gojo’s big mouth, it’s a miracle that you never became aware of his affections for you.

He chances a glance at your face. Your eyes are dutifully trained on your hands around the material of the tie, expression screwed up in concentration with your tongue jutting out the slightest bit. It’s so very endearing Nanami must say. He tampers down the sudden urge that overcomes him to tilt your chin up and caress your cheek.

He gently clears his throat and straightens out his spine, posture a little more rigid now. The noise gains your attention and you tilt your head to look at Nanami. The corners of your eyes slightly crease as you give him a soft smile.

“I’m almost done,” you promise. Nanami nods, thankful to have your eyes off of him when your attention is drawn back to the tie. After a quick, few movements of your hands, you utter a cheerful “All done!”

Meeting Nanami’s gaze again, your eyes widen, suddenly realizing just how little space separates the two of you. You hurry to take a few steps back, wringing your hands together. Nanami doesn’t know whether to be grateful for the space or mourn the loss of the closeness.

“Thank you for the gift and for tying it for me,” Nanami says again. His lips curl into a small smile at the way you beam upon hearing his words.

“Of course! I’m glad you liked it.” A panicked look abruptly overcomes your visage. “Oh shoot, I forgot I had to meet up with Ieiri! I got to go, but I’ll see you again soon, Nanamin.”

You leave in a whirlwind, frantically waving goodbye over your shoulder as you rush off in the direction of the college morgue. He watches you hurry off in faint amusement and fondness.

Nanami peers down at the tie he’s wearing: you did an impressive job of tying it correctly. He gently tugs at the loop of it around his neck. It’s hideous, but Nanami thinks it will grow on him.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jjk scenarios #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #new.mail #from.jujutsu kaisen #love.nanami kento

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gaylordpackers123 · 2 months ago

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50 Glitter Micron Thermal Lamination Film

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chaoticrumii · 3 years ago

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MISSING YOU

( panel from hypnosis mic : dirty dawg manga )

summary : while at samatoki’s place, you find something you’re probably not supposed to find, and bring up bad memories for samatoki.

genre : fluff

perspective : second person pov

pairing : samatoki aohitsugi x gn!reader ( they / them pronouns )

word count : 1.1k

warnings : spoilers for samatoki aohitsugi’s backstory

“awesome! let’s all change this shitty world together!” - samatoki aohitsugi ( dirty dawg manga quote )

Cleaning out Samatoki’s room wasn’t what you had envisioned when he said you could pay him back. He was outside on the couch, answering a call from Jyuto as he crudely swore at the poor policeman for who knows what reason.

You were visiting the Yokohama Division for the week, and being friends with Samatoki meant you were allowed to sleep over at his place. At first, he was against it. It was indecent, he said, to have a female sleep over at a male’s house, with the two all alone. You seriously contemplated whether this meant he was trying to make a move on you or not. Regardless, you had nowhere else to stay that seemed safe, as once people found out you were friends with the Samatoki Aohitsugi, trouble would be bound to find you. Jyuto and Rio visited sometimes anyway, and he reluctantly agreed.

Many of his clothes were strewn across the floor, luckily not consisting of anything you weren’t supposed to see. There were a few boxes of unopened cigarettes and some garbage. You picked up the cigarettes and sneakily dumped them in the trash. It wasn’t good for him to nbe smoking, and although you’d always been against it, it’s not like he’d cared enough about your concern for his health. He’d probably start complaining about it later.

On his desk were the essentials, a stack of paper, a pen and a photo frame including him and some girl. Looking closer, the girl had short white hair, her bangs messily cut. Her pink eyes seemed to glow out of even the picture frame, and her smile was soft but sweet. She had her arm wrapped around Samatoki’s shoulders, with her other hand in a peace sign. Samatoki on the other hand was standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans and an irk of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You were wondering who took their picture for them. Even more so, wondered who she was to him.

As you swept the clothes off the floor and into the hamper, a binder was revealed from under the heap. You picked it up, and turned it over. Washi tape was stuck onto the back, spelling out the name Nemu. It didn’t feel right to snoop around, but your curiosity had gotten the best of you. Opening up the binder showed endless photographs and polaroids of the white haired girl in Samatoki’s picture. If Samatoki could even be like this, he was obviously very enamoured with this girl.

“Samatoki?” You called out to him, assuming he was still on the couch.

“That’s Samatoki-san to you, asshole!” He yelled, stomping into the room like the angry man he was.

That all stopped when he saw what you were holding. His fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes were filled up with hurt. There wasn’t anything you could do as he punched the wall next to him, biting his lip. He quickly swallowed the obvious pain on his face and snatched the binder from your grasp.

“Don’t look through things that don’t belong to you.” He growled, gripping the binder tightly and leaving the room.

“Wait, Samatoki.”

“I already told you, you should call me Samatoki-san. Fucker.”

With that, he left you alone in his tidied room. What was there to feel? Hurt? Upset? It was your fault for pissing him off anyway, and your questions still haven’t been answered. Who was that girl? Why was she so important to him? It muddled with your headspace for a while.

Walking out into the living room, Samatoki was hunched over the binder on the couch, slowly flipping through the pages. Was this his ex-girlfriend of some sort? But his eyes were bloodshot, and he breathed heavily. He looked like a mess.

“Samatoki, are you alright?” You questioned carefully, leaning over a bit to look at him.

“Does it look like I’m fucking alright? Just go back to Nemu’s room.” He harshly spat.

You slowly pieced together the parts of the puzzle in your head. She must’ve been his sister. Assuming something had happened to her, you placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at you again, scowling as he stared at you with a certain fiery gaze that sent shivers down your spine.

“Is Nemu your sister?” You asked, the words lingering in the air as he sat still.

“What if she is? Does it even matter to you?” He growled, slamming the binder closed.

You opened your mouth, but words struggled to come out. What were you supposed to say to that? It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t just leave Samatoki be like this. It was your fault this was happening in the first place. How were you even supposed to begin calming him down?

“If you want to talk about it, just talk to me. I’ll just head back to my room.” You said gently, silently slipping away from the fuming mess that Samatoki was, and let him cool down in peace.

It was a few empty hours, no shouting, no complaints. To say it was confusing was an understatement. How could you explain the sinking feeling you felt after telling him that?

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. You shot up from your position, sprawled across the bed contemplating life, as the person who had let you into their apartment stomped in. He invited himself, it seems like, as he sat on the bed without warning and just stared at the wall.

“Samatoki—”

“She left because of Ichiro Yamada.” He hissed sharply.

“She told me herself that he had said something to her, and she left me right then and there. I have no idea where she is now.” He muttered, biting his lip between his teeth.

You didn’t really know if it was out of impulse, but you instinctively wrapped your arms around him tightly, squeezing ever so slightly. He was as rigid as a tree at first, but he slowly softened up, and hugged you back.

It was a silent moment, one of trust and care. Once you had pulled back, his eyes seemed as if they had been set ablaze. He leaned in, cheeks burning as he kissed you lightly on the forehead, and turned away as he mumbled a small word of thanks. After suffering from enough embarrassment, he left your room, stomping out as always and slamming the door behind him.

You smiled gently, the place where he’d kissed you still tingling as the heat rushed throughout your body. He was adorable, and you were sure that after this discovery you both would be able to further deepen your relationship.

written = 13.08.2021

proofread = 15.08.2021

#hypnosis mic samatoki #samatoki #samatoki aohitsugi #hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic fanfiction #hypnosis mic one shot #one shots #fanfiction #fanfic #hypmic #hypnosis mic content #samatoki x y/n #samatoki x reader #samatoki x you #hypmic samatoki #hypmic fanfic #hypmic oneshot #ru's fanfictions #ru's imagines

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definitelynotshouting · 4 years ago

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tma discord made a joke about martin bringing jon's stuff to his flat post s3 for safekeeping, so ofc i had to make it sad. enjoy the marto angst!!

~~~

He doesn’t mean to open up Jon’s yearbook, in the same way he doesn’t mean to pick up all of Jon’s things from his flat, or tell Jon's landlord that he’s the next of kin, smile stretched too tight over trembling his lips. He doesn’t mean to garner the old woman’s sympathy, either, but he receives it anyway in the form of a half-hearted pat to the shoulder as her brows crumple together-- like it's her first time trying on the expression.

“Terribly sorry for your loss,” she murmurs, eyes downcast. Proper respect for the dead, and all. Martin doesn’t bother correcting her-- it’s true, isn’t it? Dead is dead, and maybe Jon wasn’t his, but--

But he could’ve been. Martin had been so sure, just before the Unknowing. They could’ve been something.

Not that it matters anymore.

Martin reaches deep for his inner well of strength and patience, and cobbles together another fixed smile. “Thanks.”

“Right proper tenant, he was,” she continues, brows furrowing further. “Didn’t see him for a while, mind you, but I--”

She stops with such abruptness that Martin’s ears ring. At some indeterminate point his facial muscles had started moving of their own accord, freezing in a series of strained, rigid lines.

Whatever Jon’s landlord sees in them, it unnerves her. “I. Um. That is-- ah… you, you take all the time you need.” She fumbles another pat to his shoulder, before fleeing out the way she came. Jon's front door shuts with finality; the click reverberates through his head long after the sound dissipates.

Alone at last, Martin’s polite grimace slips.

It’s so cold here. Jon has curtains over the blinds-- thick, dark things, meant to block out everything from sunlight to prying eyes. Martin chokes on a hysterical laugh; there’s on the nose, and then there’s on the nose, and it’s so pathetically not-funny that he has to cover his face with his hands, biting down on the hiccups that keep tearing out of him.

There’s more, of course. Jon was-- was, god-- a living person, and it’s astonishing just how much people accumulate over the years. The procession of cheap tchotchkes lining the mantle surprises him, the mountain of books less so. Tapes, mugs, and discarded take-out receipts litter every surface of the sitting room; endearing, if circumstances were different. And when Martin moves further into the flat, he discovers a stack of cardboard boxes in the corner of Jon’s bedroom, still filled with whatever contents Jon had been too busy to unload.

The utter normalcy of it punches a gaping hole in the center of Martin’s chest. Deep, vicious grief pours out of it, claws at the tatters of his heart with oily, ink-stained fingers. Martin’s next breath takes the form of a rattling inhale-- just a week ago, Jon had walked these floors. Had pulled things out of those dusty boxes. Had, had, had. Things he’ll never do again. That’s the important part.

“Right," Martin tries, but his voice strangles, falls harsh and reedy in the dusty flat. Wrong. He cringes; silence is what reigns here, thick and impenetrable as stone.

The thought floats up unbidden: This isn’t a place. This is a tomb.

It knocks his knees out from under him. “No, nono--” Martin claps a hand over his mouth too late, stifling the sob that trips from his throat. The vice around his chest squeezes; he can’t breathe around the pressure, lungs fluttering for air. This-- and, god, Tim too-- it’s too much. The wall between himself and the emotions he's been holding back shatters, pooling onto the floor in a storm of frenzied weeping.

When he comes back to himself, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against one of the boxes. “Alright,” Martin croaks at it. Anything for a distraction-- at least these won't need packing up. “Let’s, uh. Let’s see what-- l-let’s see what we’ve got, yeah?”

The box’s flaps are arranged in a square, overlapping so they can hold themselves shut without tape. Martin digs a finger under one of them, prying it loose-- the others unfold without encouragement, blooming outward like a flower.

Strictly speaking, it doesn’t hold anything special. Just Oxford paraphernalia: Jon's folded dress robe, a leather-bound folder containing his degree, the black square cap with its equally black tassel. And a book. Slim, resting on top of everything else, the imprint of Jon’s fingers lingering against its glossy cover.

Martin thumbs its corner without thinking, his other fingers curling to hover over each print. They’re too big, blocking out the whorls of Jon’s fingers; Martin sniffs, wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve as fresh tears dribble down his cheeks.

He doesn’t mean to open the book. But somewhere in the haze of tears, his thumb slips beneath the cover, lifts it, and he finds himself staring at the inside cover of a yearbook.

“Oh.” Breathed out on the softest exhale, gently ruffling the pages. Martin sucks in another quick breath, but this one doesn’t hurt so much. His own curiosity overshadows the grief for a few precious moments; Martin sinks into it, flipping each page with that curious detachment that comes after a long crying jag.

None of the names and faces are familiar-- and why would they be? Martin never went to uni, much less Oxford. Each stranger’s features slide away when his eyes move on to the next. These are people he'll never meet; people whose lives are, with any luck, untouched by the horrors that have dominated his own.

Martin skips over the entire S section. Best not to risk it.

After the parade of portraits are other pictures, professional candids of student organizations at work, social clubs meeting up after class, interviews with some of the students. Standard fare, really. Everything drifts past without actually sticking, the accompanying text blurring as he skims over it.

He flips to a new page at random, and freezes.

That’s Jon. Younger, yes, face unlined, without a grey hair in sight-- but undeniably Jon. The picture is as crisp as the rest of them, catching the bronze highlights in Jon’s skin, the delicate bones of his wrist as he gesticulates on a stage. Theater Club, Martin reads. Bold, underlined. He reads it again, some itching, crawling thing at the back of his mind suddenly desperate to drink in this new information. Theater Club.

He’s so young. Locked in time, frozen on the page. For once he resembles his age; his posture is looser here, eyes trained on someone off camera. The hint of a smile poises on his lips, softening the jagged cut of his cheekbones with a dash of warmth.

Martin stares. He shouldn’t be looking at this-- it’s private, something Jon must’ve come back to many times, judging by the fingerprints. But in his mind’s eye, he can’t help but compare this picture to the last time he saw Jon: ashen, unmoving, and lifeless under tons of whirring machinery.

They don’t match up. One is vivacious, thrumming with energy. And the other is--

Is--

A drop splashes against the page, wrinkling Jon's image. It’s joined by another, then a third-- hot tears carving the skin of his cheeks, dripping from his chin onto the paper.

Did Jon ever know how numbered those happier days were? Could a part of him sense, back then, how long he had until his life cut short? The tragedy of this image, its bittersweetness, sends a bone-deep ache rippling inside of him. He’d give anything to go back in time and warn this Jon away from the Institute. Christ, he’d do anything right now just to have him back.

When the sob comes, it comes from deep in the core of him. Shreds something vital on its way out; Martin chokes on a great, heaving cry, breath punching from his lungs.

He doesn’t bother putting the book back. Just hugs it tight to his chest, clutching it with the same desperation that a drowning man would a life preserver. “I’m sorry,” he sobs, folding to press his forehead against the cover. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The Jon inside the yearbook, with his fond smile and glittering eyes, never responds.

#jonmartin #martin blackwood #tma #the magnus archives #angst #grief #canonical character (sorta) death #heehoo i cleaned this up a lot from the doc i gave the discord server #lmk if there are formatting issues im doing this on mobile rn #my fics #txt

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psychovigilantewrites · 5 years ago

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Don’t Call Me That (pt. 1)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Genre: Aftermath of torture, healing, and sex in later chapter hehe

Word count: 9000

Summary: The new Robin and Batman stumble upon a cell in Arkham Asylum that was occupied by a very much injured, and very much still alive Jason Todd. Bringing him back, Bruce realises that Jason is unstable and keeps him locked in a room in the mean time. Reader helps Jason get used to being around another human being once more, and finds herself falling deeply with the damaged Jason.

A/N: This was meant to be a one-shot, but I realised that it's a bit too long, so I'm splitting it into two chapters. Here's whatever I wrote so far. Psst, the sex will come later! I think this has got to be the most favourite one-shot I’ve written so far!! I’m addicted to this story, and I hope you guys will like it too! Let me know!

Masterlist

Kofi

Ao3

The light was getting dimmer and dimmer the further you strayed from the main building. The walls cracked, wallpaper peeling back to reveal brick and concrete. The air was getting thin, and the smell.

Rat piss, sewage, and that suffocating damp humid smell that reminded you of dirty laundry- except it filled the whole Old Wing of Arkham Asylum.

“Do youreally think the security breach was sourced from here, Batman?” you voiced out your doubts.

He was walking next to you, his steps hardly making a sound. “We need to make sure. Half of the East Wing’s cells were suddenly opened automatically. There is a main powerframe in the Old Wing that someone could have damaged.”

“Someone, as in..?”

“Not sure. Joker has been in his cell for the past 19 months since he broke out two years ago.”

You ignored the way his voice cracked at the end.

Two years ago, before you were involved with Bruce Wayne and his fight for justice, Joker had broken free, got hold of Jason Todd, your predecessor whom you had never met, kidnapped him, tortured him, and then killed him. After sending a video tape of his Todd’s death to Bruce, he went and created a drug that made people go crazy and kill each other. Bruce caught him then, broke half the bones in his body, and then threw him back in the asylum.

“Why did they stop using this wing?” you asked, your voice echoing back to you.

The two of you were walking down a corridor, with cells on either side. Each cell had a metal door with a rectangular slot at the top of the door to peek inside and another longer slot in the middle for passing inmates food. Some of the doors were opened ajar, nothing inside but old beds and overflowing toilet bowls, some were locked shut.

Your heart was racing. It was like you were in a horror movie. You stepped over the empty gas canisters and toilet paper that was strewn all over the floor of the corridor, walking around a rusty old wheelchair and made sure to follow Batman closely.

“Abandoned when a riot broke out five years ago,” he answered, “Something about hauntings.”

“Hauntings?” you widen your eyes.

“These are superstitious folk,” he explained, “The riot took a dozen lives. Violently. Some nurses got tortured. Rumour has it that this wing is haunted.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” you declared, though you felt chills run down your spine anyway.

“Indeed. Some of the security guards say they’ve heard screams coming from here. None dared to approach.”

“Screams? Please, I’m sure it’s just the-”

A crash came from one of the cells. You jumped so violently in shock that you tripped over a catheter on the ground. You and Batman looked at each other for one second, and then he raised his finger to his lips, making sure you kept quiet.

Nodding, you followed behind him as he investigated the cell the sound came from. He slid open the viewing window of the door, and despite the darkness you saw his expression twist to one you’ve never seen before.

Horror.

He took out a small explosive from his belt and attached it to the door. A small boom, and the door swung open. Batman rushed inside, and you were hit with the worst smell you’ve ever experienced. It made you gag, your eyes tearing up.

It smelled of blood and human feces and urine, and something that was decomposing, like the big trash bins lined up behind one of those dank alleys, overflowing with a week’s worth of disposal.

The cell was bigger than the others, and it didn’t have a bed. Only a toilet and a wooden chair that was toppled. Batman was next to the chair, kneeling on the ground over something, unmoving, as if frozen in spot, his back turned to you.

“B?” you whispered, “What is this place?”

There were scratches on the walls, some in blood. Little bones were tossed in a corner, lying in what looked- and smelled- like dry vomit.

You walked over to him, slowly approaching with caution. As you got nearer, your vision became clearer.

He was kneeling over an unconscious man wearing your Robin uniform.

Now, it was your turn to be horrified.

The uniform was tattered, cape dirty and stained with bodily fluids. The man?

Scars and dried blood littered his face and arms, his dark hair matted and sticky. He was obviously large, his frame almost as big as Bruce’s, yet you could see that he was malnourished, his cheeks slightly hollowed, his skin hanging loosely over the remains of his muscles.

And he was still breathing.

***

Alfred, Bruce, and you stared in silence at the man on the bed, now clean and hooked to an IV. None of you had said a word since you got back. Alfred was rigid the whole time he cleaned and examined him, with Bruce shadowing him closeby. You could do nothing but stand back, waiting for an explanation.

Now you were in the infirmary, the steady beat of vital signs machinery annoyed you.

“How is he alive?” Alfred broke the tension with a small whisper.

“There were small animal bones in his cell,” Bruce said with a strained voice. You knew he was doing his all to keep it together.

“Goodness,” Alfred responded, “But- the video-”

“Must have been a fake,” Bruce said, his voice now cracking, “I should have known. I should have- I- oh, God.”

Without warning, Bruce crumpled to his feet. You have never seen him like this. He was always strong, stoic, and he never let his emotions show.

The sight of him burying his face in his hands in anguish- it scared you.

“It’s not your fault, Master Bruce,” Alfred put a hand on his shoulder, “You couldn’t have-”

A grunt came from Jason Todd as he stirred awake. All three of you snapped your heads to him. You saw the way he opened his eyes, blinking at his surroundings as he tried to register where he was. Bruce rushed to his side.

That was his mistake.

Jason Todd started screaming.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” he roared, sitting up and crawling out of bed, ripping the IV from his hand.

“Jason-”

“NO!” he yelled, “YOU’RE NOT REAL. STAY AWAY!”

His voice was deep and hoarse, like someone who had been screaming his whole life.

“Jason, it’s me,” Bruce tried to slowly approach him. He was on his feet now, though he stumbled getting there. His expression was wild, his mouth downturned into a scowl, his eyes darting from Bruce, to Alfred, to you, to the bed, to the whole room, like a wild animal cornered.

“This is real?” he growled a question.

“Yes, son,” Bruce assured, “This is real. We found you. Please, lie back down. You’re hurt.”

“You’re… real?” his voice broke halfway.

“Yes, I’m real,” Bruce’s voice was the same.

Then, Jason let out a laugh. A loud, haunting, hysterical laugh that was absent of humor.

“Good.”

He jumped at Bruce and tackled him to the ground, his fingers around Bruce’s neck. You reacted quickly, rushing over and kneeing him in the face so that he let go of your Bruce and stumbled backwards. He recovered quickly and set his eyes on you.

He proceeded to attack you, but before anything, Bruce had him restrained, wrestling him to the ground.

“Jason! Calm down!”

“NO!” he shouted, “NO! NO! IT’S YOUR FAULT. IT’S YOUR FUCKING FAULT. DIE! DIE!”

He trashed about with surprising power, trying to get Bruce off him. Bruce got his arm around Jason’s neck, and you saw him clawing at his arm, attempting to break free. The younger man’s movements got slower, weaker, as Bruce cut his oxygen supply and eventually knocked him out.

Bruce carried his son to the bed.

“Alfred, please sedate him,” he instructed. “We’ll move him to the cell downstairs. He’s too unstable to be here.”

“Are you okay?” you reached out to your adoptive father.

“Yes,” he nodded, “He’s surprisingly strong.”

“He’s a survivor, Bruce,” you smiled at an attempt to comfort him, “I can’t imagine what he’s been through, but he’ll get through this.”

“I hope so.”

***

The cell Bruce had in the Batcave was less like a cell, and more like a room. It was a large square box with four walls and a roof on one side of the Cave, with high end security. It had double doors, each requiring a registered thumbprint to enter. Bruce had built it in case he needed to hold someone hostage there. The outer layer was made out of lead, and you wondered what had gone through Bruce’s mind when he added that feature. The cell even had a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and a sink.

This time, though, he made sure the room with white interiors looked more comfortable for Jason. He put in a double single bed with fluffy sheets and pillows, a whole bookshelf full of classic literature, a cupboard, a desk and chair complete with a table lamp.

Jason was still sedated when all of you moved him to the cell. He had been sedated for a while so he wouldn’t wake up and rip off his IV. You helped lift him up, and found that he was heavy, heavier than you had expected him to be.

Then, Bruce went to the Batcomputer and switched on the security camera inside the cell and watched as he slowly regained consciousness and went all ballistic again. He toppled over the shelf, the chair, the desk. Threw the books around, ripped out the pages, punched the walls, and was screaming.

“Let me go!” “Fuck you!” “I’m going to fucking kill you!” were some amongst the many extremities he shouted at the camera.

And you watched as Bruce stared into the screen showing his broken, damaged son.

***

“He’s quiet,” you pointed out when you walked over to Bruce at the computers. It had been a week of watching Jason scream and thrash about in the room- which was a complete mess.

“Yes, he has been that way for a few hours now,” Bruce frowned.

You saw from the screen. Jason was just sitting down in one corner of the room, staring into space.

“Well, at least he didn’t throw the food down the toilet bowl this time,” you shrugged and sat down next to him. Alfred would bring a tray of warm soft foods and set it on the tray of the rectangular food delivery hole of the second, internal door.

Out of spite, Jason would take the food and throw it down the toilet before returning it empty. This time, you saw that it just sat there on the tray, untouched.

“I was thinking,” Bruce mentioned, “Of bringing in Dr. Leslie or Dinah. He is familiar with both of them. They could help with putting him on medication and giving him psychotherapy.”

“Yeah, for some reason,” you began, “I don’t think he’ll take that so well.”

“I… don’t know what to do.”

You stayed silent for a few moments. The past week, you saw Bruce in a light you had never seen before. Emotional, vulnerable, helpless. You appreciated that he trusted you enough to reveal that side of himself in front of you.

“Let him calm down a bit,” you suggested, “And maybe… Maybe I can help.”

“How?” he frowned.

“If you bring in Leslie or Dinah, he’ll know in an instant what you’re up to,” you explained. “And maybe it’s too soon for therapy. I think right now he just needs to get used to being around another human being.”

“Hmm,” Bruce considered, “Okay. We’ll go with your idea. How will you do it?”

Your heart swelled with joy. You loved it when he acknowledged you.

You waited a couple of days before trying it out. The whole while, Jason was just sitting down in his corner, silent and unmoving.

Nervously, you approached the first door on the external side of the box, pressing your thumb to the digital square on the wall and hearing it beep in approval. You opened the door and closed it behind you before approaching the second door.

You took a deep breath, felt for the taser on your belt, and then pressed your thumb on the second door.

The first thing you saw when you opened the door was Jason scrambling to his feet in surprise, his eyes vigilant. You lift both your hands up in surrender.

“Not here to hurt you,” you said slowly, “Just here to chill.”

He narrowed his eyes at you in suspicion.

To prove it to him, you sat down on the floor by the door, and took out your book. Heart beating in your chest, you tried to calmly open the book and stared intensely at the words, not reading anything.

In your peripheral vision, he just stood there, stiff and still like a statue, staring at you, analysing you. You had expected him to attack, but ten minutes passed, and he was still there.

Then-

“What do you want?” he croaked, voice harsh and gritty.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, eyes not leaving your book, “Just chilling.”

A momentary pause.

“Leave.”

“No,” you simply said, turning a page.

“Why are you here? Did he send you?” he demanded.

“No. I just want to read in silence, if you don’t mind,” you rolled your eyes.

You wished you could see his expression.

Another five minutes passed, and he didn’t say anything else, or do anything else, but stare at you in caution.

After an hour, you got up and left, leaving a very confused Jason Todd in his cell.

***

You continued that routine for the next three days without exchanging a word with Jason. He would just stand there and glare at you for an hour while you pretended to read. On the fourth day, however, there were more than just a few words exchanged.

“You again,” he growled at you as you entered.

“Hello,” you smiled warmly.

“What do you want from me?” he barked.

“Nothing,” you repeated, “I just want to-”

“Chill?” he cut you off, “I don’t fucking believe you. I don’t trust you. What is he planning? Is he trying to mock me?”

“Mock you?” you responded, taken aback, “Why would he do that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Jason grit, “He’s done worse. He just wants to see me suffer.”

“What?” you frowned, “No. He just wants to help you.”

“Well, he’s too late for that,” he spat.

“Look-”

“Get the fuck out. Don’t come back.”

“He thought you died,” you tried to explain, “Jok- He got sent a video. Of you getting shot. Dying. He didn’t know.”

“I don’t care,” he fumed.

“He loves you, Jason,” you said softly.

Then, a light flickered in his eye. “What did you call me?”

“Uh, Jas-”

You choked on your words when Jason suddenly had his hands around your neck, squeezing the air from your lungs. You didn’t have time to react, scratching away at his arm helplessly.

“Don’t call me that,” he growled.

You were going to reach for your taser, but then he let you go and went back to his corner. You sucked in a deep breath, eyes watering.

You ran out-

-and closed the door behind you to lean against it, trying to get your breath back.

“Are you okay?” Bruce worried, approaching you fast, “I’m sorry. I should have waited out here instead of at the computers.”

“I’m fine,” you panted, “He didn’t hurt me. Just scared me a bit, that’s all.”

“This was a bad idea,” he frowned, “We should stop-”

“No!” you hurriedly denied, “No. It was my fault. I didn’t know. I said his name. He didn’t like it and reacted to it, that’s all. I won’t say his name next time.”

“No, it’s too dangerous.”

“Bruce, please,” you insisted, “I want to help him. Please, let me continue.”

You looked at your father’s blue eyes, full of concern. “Okay.”

***

Despite the scare he gave you, you were ready to enter again the next day. There was something about Jason Todd that made you feel like you owed it to him to help. Maybe it was plain pity, or maybe it was the way that his eyes had a flicker of hope when he realised he wasn’t imagining things.

The digital screen beeped in approval as it registered your thumbprint, and you pushed open the door. Jason was already standing, muscles taut, ready to spring at the first sense of danger.

You didn’t say a word, but just smiled at him and sat down where you usually did, pushing over the fallen books and torn paper on the floor to create a little space for yourself.

Trying your best not to look nervous, you opened your book and stared at the words again.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he grit.

“Yeah, well. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want to get rid of me, my dude.”

“I’m not your dude,” he said in disgust.

You looked over to him and smirked. “Whatever you say.”

And you continued to pretend to read.

After several minutes, you heard a heavy sigh coming from Jason. Out of the corners of your eye, you saw him give up and slump back onto the ground, his knees up to his chest. He leaned his head back against the wardrobe and closed his eyes.

And for the first time in his presence, you found that you were actually reading.

***

You continued for a month. Entering and sitting down for a couple of hours to read before going back out. Sometimes with few exchanges of “Good morning” or “Miss me?”, mostly going unresponded. Sometimes he would sit down and glare at you, or stand up and glare at you, or sit down and rest his head and close his eyes. Always from a distance.

The first time you started picking up the books and rearranging them back onto the bookshelf, he looked like he was about to burst a vein in his temple.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled.

“I’m cleaning up,” you replied nonchalantly.

“Don’t.”

“What are you gonna do, choke me again?” you rolled your eyes.

You could almost hear him seething in his corner, vibrating in anger.

The next day you came back, the books were back on the floor, strewn everywhere.

But every time before you left, you would still rearrange them back.

Sometimes you would bring in food with you, simply leaving the tray on the desk. He did eat a little, but never when you were around, and never more than a few bites. He ate only to survive. In fact, the more you went to see him, the more you started to notice the little things.

His bed was unmade, the sheets pulled back and covers thrown about. But you knew he had never once slept in it. He never changed his clothes either. It had started to bother you, because he never showered, and his body odour was getting quite distinct.

His eyes were sunken and dark, his hair was greasy and messy, his facial hair overgrown. You wondered if Bruce left a razor in there for him. It was probably a bad idea.

One day while you were sitting down and reading, Jason was in his corner, curled up and eyes closed, Alfred entered the first door and slid in a tray of food from the compartment of the second door. You got up to take it, feeling Jason’s eyes on you as you walked. But instead of setting the tray on the desk like you usually did, you put it on the ground next to you as you sat and read again.

That day, the menu was pumpkin soup with toast. Alfred had always kept the food light and easy to digest. You picked up a piece of toast from the plate, dipped it in the soup, and ate it while reading.

“Are you eating my fucking food?” Jason fumed from the distance.

“Someone should,” you bit back, dipping the toast back in the soup and continued to eat.

“Stop it.”

You looked over at him with challenging eyes. “Why should I?”

“It’s my food,” he insisted.

Jason hardly ever talked to you. In fact, that was the most words you’ve heard him say in a couple of weeks. He was possessive over his food, apparently, which didn’t make sense because he hardly ever ate.

“But it’s not like you eat it,” you argued, curious as to where this would take you, “I’m making sure it doesn’t go to waste.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, and then shifted slightly closer, leaning in towards you. “Give it to me.”

You pretended to consider it for awhile. “No.”

He growled.

“Come and take it if you want it so badly,” you challenged.

Immediately, you regretted it. Because he got up, and walked slowly towards you, looming over you like a predator watching its prey. Your heart started to beat faster in your chest, your palms started beading with sweat.

He then crouched down and snatched the piece of toast from your hands, taking the tray away and walked back towards his spot on the floor. Setting the tray down, he immediately started to ravish the soup and toast, his eyes never leaving yours the whole time.

It was the most he’d eaten ever since he arrived.

“You shouldn’t eat too fast,” you warned, “Your stomach’s not used to that amount of food yet.”

“Watch me.”

He cleaned the bowl in three minutes as you stared in shock.

***

“Who are you?” Jason asked out of the blue.

It was your sixth week there. Six weeks of sitting down in silence and hardly ever talking. Occasionally cleaning up after him, just to see the room messy again. Occasionally trying to spark up conversation, only to be greeted by silence. But that time, it was him who started it first.

You told him your name, still pleasantly surprised at his engagement.

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re called,” he spat, “It doesn’t explain to me who you are.”

Frowning, you closed the book. You wondered if it was a good idea to tell him that you were Bruce’s newly adopted daughter. Would he feel betrayed? Jealous? But if you didn’t and he found out, wouldn’t that be worse? Plus, you didn’t want to lie to him.

After all, you were trying to help.

“Bruce adopted me a year ago,” you explained, “I’m officially his adopted daughter. I’ve only recently been Robin. When we found you, it was just my second month.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, his jaw clenched. “Typical. Lose one toy, find another one to play with.”

“I’m not a toy,” you defended heatedly, “He… saved me. I owe him.”

He didn’t ask, but you knew he wanted to, so you continued anyway. “He found me at a bid. A human trafficking bid. After my parents died, I ran away from the orphanage. I got kidnapped. After finding out I was a virgin, they organised an event to see who would bid the highest to own me.”

It seemed like Jason’s expression didn’t change, his mouth still in a scowl. But you saw the way his eyes softened. It was a good idea to explain, after all. He must have drawn conclusions that Bruce had replaced him with you shortly after his death.

“Batman crashed the party right before I was about to get sold off for… Five thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars,” you scoffed, “I guess that was how much I was worth. Could you even buy a car with that? I’m not sure. Maybe a used one.”

“Anyway, I was quite shaken up. He took pity on me, I guess. Maybe it was my puppy dog eyes that made me look so pathetic that he decided to take me in. Mom always said I had a pathetic look,” you shrugged, “That’s who I am I guess. Now I’m in my last year of highschool. I turn seventeen in two months! I'm only a year or so younger than you. You don’t have to get me anything, of course. It’s cool. I never really cared much for birthdays anyway.”

You tried to lighten the mood, but all you saw was Jason’s unchanging expression. You guessed that was as much as he was willing to say that day, so you got up and started cleaning again despite knowing he was going to just mess it up.

***

He did mess it up again, but what shocked you that day was not the mess, but the fact that he was actually on the bed. The bed was still unmade, and he was sitting unnaturally upright, but still. It was progress.

You sat down on the floor and read your book. After five minutes, he asked, “What’s the book about?”

Trying your hardest not to look surprised in case he took it the wrong way, you answered, “A brief history of mankind. From evolution, to the agricultural revolution, to the current day.”

He just blinked at you in response, and you wondered when was the day that he had stopped glaring at you.

You tried to break the ice. “Bruce put all the books he thought you might like on the shelf. I’ve noticed that they’re mostly classic literary novels. You like those, huh?”

Not a word.

“I never really could get into those. I tried, but it’s not my thing, you know? Or maybe I started with the wrong book.”

He closed his eyes instead of answering you.

Sighing, you decided not to push it, and went back to your book.

About fifteen minutes passed. And then-

“You like science and shit?” he spoke up, his eyes boring into yours.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, taken aback by the sudden question.

“Start with Jules Verne. Twenty thousand leagues,” he told you, then closed his eyes again.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

Silence.

***

“Why do you sit there?” Jason asked you two days later.

“Huh?”

“Why do you sit on the floor when there's a desk?” he repeated in annoyance, like an underpaid customer service worker at the mall.

“Well, I didn't want to intrude on your space,” you told him.

“You being here already intrudes my space,” he rolled his eyes.

Jason was more relaxed now. He was actually leaning against a propped pillow on the bed, one knee brought to his chest, the other leg crossed over it.

And he was reading a fucking book.

“...so you can sit anywhere you like. Doesn't make a difference,” he continued.

“Then can I sit on the bed next to you?” you teased lightly.

You had expected him to glare at you in contempt, to tell you to fuck off or get out, or even not respond to you at all. So you were very much surprised when he said what he did.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Despite trying your best to act neutral, your jaw dropped. You quickly recovered, and cleared your throat nervously, standing up and slowly walking towards him. Jason shuffled a bit, going upwards against the wall at the head of the bed.

You slowly sat down at the foot of it, still maintaining some distance from him for his sake. Bringing your bare feet up, you crossed them and leaned against the wall the bed was pushed against.

Getting comfortable, you opened your book and started reading. For two hours, you and Jason Todd sat on the bed next to each other, reading with no other sounds except the occasional rustling of a page being turned.

You closed your book once you were done, but before you could get up, he asked in a small voice. “How long was I… There?”

The way his voice was shaky, the way it came out in a harsh whisper, and the fact that it had taken him seven weeks to ask- it tugged at your heart.

“Two years,” you said objectively, making sure no emotions leaked into your voice.

“And he thought I was dead the whole time?” he grumbled.

“Yes.”

“That's why he never came?” he choked out.

Fuck, you tried not to let your tears fall.

“Yes,” you whispered back.

“World's greatest detective, my ass,” he snorted.

“He's killing himself over this,” you told him softly, “I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Like what?” he demanded, looking at you with anger, with red eyes pooling with tears.

“Vulnerable. Clueless. Breaking down and crying next to you while you slept,” you elaborated. “You may not forgive him for now, and that's understandable. But Bruce? He’ll never forgive himself. Not in a million years.”

“Please leave.”

You didn't argue. You didn't hang around to clean up. You left immediately, because of the way he said his please, like someone who was tired, so tired. It was the way he told you to leave, it wasn't out of anger or spite. It was out of desperation. Because he was looking away when he told you, refusing to let you see the tear that fell on his face that you saw anyway.

***

“What are you looking at?” he grunted. “Close your mouth. You look like an idiot.”

You snapped your mouth close, not even aware that it was ajar.

The room was exceptionally clean- cleaner than when you cleaned it yourself. Jason had properly made the bed, fitted the sheets and folded the covers. The torn pages of paper were gone, and on his shelf were all his books, neatly arranged.

In alphabetical order.

Yet, Jason was still smelly, and he still hadn’t changed his clothes despite the wardrobe full of fresh t-shirts and pants.

“You clean up better than I do,” you grumbled, sitting at the foot of his bed carefully.

“That’s because you’re useless,” he snapped.

You tried not to smile despite his insult. The bickering was fun, and it showed that he was more familiar with you now.

Trying to push it a little further, you narrowed your eyes at him and started sniffing the air loudly.

“You smell,” you told him.

“If you don’t like it, leave,” he bit back.

“There’s hot water in the shower you know,” you reminded him, “You could go shower. I’ll wait right outside.”

“What for?” he eyed you suspiciously.

“For moral support!” you grinned, holding two thumbs up.

And whaddaya know?

He snorted a laugh, and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on,” you whined, “You really stink. You’d give Killer Croc a run for his money with that stench.”

“If you don’t like it,” he leaned closer towards you, “Leave.”

“Ugh,” you grunted. And then, you had an idea. Probably a bad idea. He would probably murder you.

You stood up and announced, “I’ll be right back.”

After ten minutes of running around the mansion looking for items, you finally came back with a bucket, a sponge, and a fluffy towel.

“What the hell are you up to?” Jason demanded, sitting upright.

“If you won’t go to the shower, then I’ll bring the shower to you,” you grinned triumphantly and went to fill the bucket with warm water from the shower. You set down the filled bucket on the floor and motioned to Jason.

“Well, get on the floor.”

“What?”

“I’m going to give you a bath, and if you stay on the bed, it’s going to get all wet,” you explained, “So get on the floor and take off your shirt.”

He stared at you with bewilderment in his eyes, and then suddenly let out a bark of laughter. “Why on Earth would I listen to you?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to splash all this water on you, and you’re going to have to sleep in a wet bed,” you threatened.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he bickered.

“Fine, I’ll bargain with you,” you said, “If you listen to me, I’ll tell him to turn that off.”

You pointed to the single security camera at the top corner of the room, always switched on, watching and recording.

He clenched his jaw, contemplating your tempting offer.

“Fine,” he conceded, and slid to the floor, taking off his shirt.

You smirked.

“If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could have just asked,” he smirked back.

You really didn’t expect him to mess with you like that, and in result, you felt your cheeks heat up.

“N-no,” you denied, “I- you just stink.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Rolling your eyes, you kneeled in front of him, bringing the bucket of water closer. You took the sponge and soaked it, but before you pressed it on his skin, you just realised the situation you put yourself in.

That close to Jason, with him looking up at you and waiting, you gulped. Because his body wasn’t as bad as you thought two years of starvation would have caused. Sure, he was definitely skinnier than he should ever be, and his muscles were barely there, but his overall frame, the structure of his body was still large.

You finally pressed the sponge against his rising and falling chest, not meeting his eyes. The warm water spilled from the sponge and trickled down his chest, onto his stomach. You moved your hand in a wiping motion, cleaning the sweat off the surface of his skin.

Scars littered his body, healed cuts of various sizes. Some were burns, some were bullet wounds, and some were the crescent shapes of bites.

You moved the sponge to his arms, wiping down the contour of the remaining biceps he had left, going under to wash his pits, then going down to his forearms, which you noticed had long rough scars running down from his wrists to the crook of his elbows.

Your chest tightened.

Despite the hell he went through, you still thought he was beautiful.

You felt your breathing start to quicken.

Moving to his stomach next, you noticed that the water had seeped into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, making it turn dark, making it stick to his skin, stick to the long cylindrical shape of his-

“Your pupils are dilated,” he pointed out.

Your eyes snapped back to his.

“Wh-what- I wasn’t- they’re not!” you sputtered angrily.

He looked at you with an odd expression. Well, any expression that wasn’t a hateful glare was odd, you supposed. But his eyelids were droopy, the corners of his mouth relaxed and not tight.

It looked like he was actually enjoying it.

“You don’t find me disgusting?” he whispered.

You frowned at him in question, bringing the sponge up to wash his neck. “Well, you smell a bit gross. But by the time I’m done with you, that’ll be gone.”

“No. I meant by me. My body. My face. You don’t think I’m disgusting?” he said in a voice so small, you could barely make out the words.

His body made you think things, but none of them were disgusting. In fact, if he looked like that now, you wondered how his body must have looked like before, when he was healthy. You glanced at his face.

He had scars there too. One at the corner of his upper lip that made him seem like he was permanently smirking, one across the bridge of his nose, another long one that cut from his temple down to his brow, barely missing his eye. And you didn’t even count the smaller ones, silver little lines that were scattered all over his skin.

His cold blue eyes had scars in them as well. Not physically, not literally. But when you stared deep into them, you could almost see how truly scarred he was, and that scar had nothing on the ones you could actually see.

“There is no way that I could ever find you disgusting,” you told him earnestly.

He stared at you for a while, and then looked away to the side. You soaked the sponge and wiped his face, pressing it to his cheek. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he allowed you to travel up to his hair, wetting it, going behind his ears, and back to his nape.

With a plunk, you dumped the sponge in the water and then opened the cap of the soap you had brought.

In an instant, Jason recoiled from you, “No. No soap.”

“Just a little bit?” you pressed.

“No soap,” he insisted, pushing your hand away, “It smells too strong. Makes me sick.”

And suddenly, it clicked.

The reason why he left his room in a mess, the reason why he didn’t sleep on the bed, the reason why he never showered or changed.

Because it was all too much.

The sudden change from a disgusting, smelly, rat-infested torture room to a clean, proper, neat environment with a warm bed. It was too much for him, and he wasn’t used to it yet.

He wasn’t used to being clean.

And the smell of a perfumed body wash would most definitely be too much for him.

“Okay,” you nodded, setting the soap down. “Then I’ll wash you up one more time, is that okay?”

He nodded, still not looking at you.

You were back at his face again for the second time, and then you cupped his cheek, using your thumb to feel the roughness of his overgrown facial hair.

“Do you want me to help shave you?” you asked.

“No way in hell would I ever let you come near my fucking face with a razor,” he scoffed.

“Fair enough,” you mumbled back a reply.

Once you were done, you took the towel and wiped him dry, trying your best to avoid looking at his crotch because you knew his pants were absolutely soaked through. You got up and went to the wardrobe to take a fresh pair of pants- a black sweatpants this time- and a white t-shirt. You set them on the bed, and took the bucket to the bathroom to throw away the contents.

Once you were done, Jason was already changed into his new pants, and had just finished putting on his t-shirt. He looked much better, fresher, and-

“You smell way better now,” you chuckled.

“I did what you asked,” he said, “You better make that happen.”

He gestured to the camera with his thumb.

“I will. Promise,” you smiled, picking up his stinky shirt and wet pants before heading out.

***

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bruce grumbled.

“He’s not an experiment, or a criminal, Bruce,” you argued, “There’s no reason for you to keep surveillance on him that way. He deserves his privacy.”

“It’s about safety. His and yours,” he explained, “I wouldn’t know what’s going on in there while you’re inside if the camera is deactivated. I wouldn’t know if he’s- if he’s hurting himself.”

“I trust him, Bruce,” you insisted, “And he trusts me too! Look at what happened! He let me give him a freaking sponge bath!”

Bruce frowned in contemplation.

“He’s finishing his meals, he’s reading, he’s actually having conversations with me,” you listed, “He’s improving. Fast. Next thing you know, he and I could be best friends.”

“Fine,” he sighed, “But next time you go in, you’re bringing a panic button with you.”

The panic button you kept whenever you went for patrol was so that you could trigger a silent alarm to Bruce if you were in trouble.

“Okay, that’s fair!” you nodded your head excitedly, watching him as he pressed a button on the keyboard, switching off the camera in Jason’s room. The last thing you saw on the screen was Jason lying down on the bed, sleeping soundly.

***

“Okay, so,” you announced, standing up while you opened the plastic bag, “I got you a few things.”

Jason was on the bed, but proceeded to get up on his feet and tower over you. For some reason, he had started sitting or standing closer to you.

“I got you unscented shampoo and body wash,” you looked into the bag, naming the items you got, “Unscented shaving cream, and an electric shaver! You can’t hurt yourself with this, so Bruce agreed to-”

You looked up and gasped slightly at the closeness of his face to yours. You didn’t realise that he had stepped over so close to you that you could almost feel his warm breath on your face. Almost.

He took the plastic bag from your hands, his skin brushing against yours, and for a brief moment, it gave you goosebumps. He turned around with the plastic bag now in his hands, leaving you in shock.

That is, until he started taking off his shirt.

“W-woah!” you called out, “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my clothes,” he simply said, now not wearing a shirt.

“Why?”

“Because I want to shower,” he looked over his shoulder to give you a smirk. “Why? Wanna join?”

“Wh-wh-j-join?” you stuttered, “Uh, no thanks. I’ll just. Leave you to it, then.”

You turned to leave. Then-

“Wait.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning back around to look at him, trying your best to maintain eye contact.

“Is that… diner in Gotham Village still around?” he asked quietly.

“The corner one on Vincent Street? Sure, it is,” you tilted your head in curiosity, “Would you… like anything from there?”

“The burger,” he said gruffly.

Your mouth widen into a smile. It was the first time he ever asked for anything, more so food. “Fries?”

“Sure.”

“Milkshake?”

“Yeah.”

“Chocolate?”

“Strawberry!” he looked at you as if you were crazy, and then disappeared into the toilet.

“I’ll be back in an hour!” you announced, skipping out in joy.

Vibrating with excitement, you opened the door to Jason’s room, not expecting to see a totally different man in his bed.

No, it was still Jason, but fuck.

Fuck.

He cleaned up well.

Finally showering after eight weeks, Jason Todd had transformed into an almost different person. His uncut hair that poked his eyes was no longer greasy. In fact, it had a slight bounce to it now.

He changed his shirt into a light blue V-neck, and most significantly of all, he shaved

Now you could see the way his angular jawline was cut into a shape as if some Greek artist sculpted it, the way his pink lips stood out against his milky skin - lack of tan from being kept indoors for so long, the way his cheekbones highlighted his facial structure.

And as if you didn’t think of it before, you thought about it again.

Jason Todd was a freaking hottie.

“Uhh, uhmm, uhhh,” you said, stunned and fully aware of the way your face was probably flushing.

He let out a chuckle, and walked towards you, reaching out to take the bags of food from your hand. All the while you were stunned in silence, unsure of how to react to the changed man.

“Anyone home?” he snapped his fingers in front of you.

“Uh, yes, sorry,” you shook your head, “I, uh, didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“Expect what?” he set the bags on his desk, reaching in to take a fry. “Me to look so good?”

You were sure your ears were burning. “N-no! Not at all. Not that you don’t look good, but- uh- I mean- fuck!”

“I don’t understand you,” he took out the food and arranged them on the table. “My scars are more obvious like this.”

“I think your scars are sexy,” you blurted out.

He blinked.

“Uh, I mean!” you tried to backtrack, “Ugh, fuck it, let’s just eat!”

You took your own burger and went to sit on the bed.

“No food on the bed!” he barked.

“Okay, dad,” you rolled your eyes, settling with sitting on the floor.

To your surprise, Jason took all the food and put it on the floor in front of you, and then sat down opposite you.

Discreetly, you watched as he took the first bite.

He closed his eyes, chewing slowly, savouring the taste in his mouth. It was as though he was passionately making out with his burger, caressing the bun with love.

Smiling to yourself, you ate yours in silence, letting him appreciate the intimate moment he had with his food that he must have thought about while being forced to live on rats.

***

“What’s that?” Bruce asked curiously.

Ever since he switched off the camera in Jason’s room, he had been more agitated- or as agitated as he could get. He kept on asking you what you did, having you report back to him, demanding every little detail on his son’s wellbeing.

“My laptop,” you answered, “I was thinking we could do something different today. Maybe watch a movie. He’s missed out on so many.”

“A laptop,” Bruce hummed, “Do you think he would like one? To occupy his time? Or a television? Or a phone? Or- a tablet? Or-”

“Woah there, cowboy,” you chuckled. Bruce seemed desperate to provide Jason with anything he wanted. Maybe as a way to push the guilt away, maybe as a way to reconcile.

Or maybe he was just being a father who wanted to spoil his son.

Whatever the reason was, you thought it was extremely sweet.

“He’s only now just getting used to being in a clean environment,” you explained, “All of that may overstimulate him, and I don’t want him to revert back to how he was.”

“I see.”

“But I’ll ask, okay?” you said, heading to the room. “We’ll see how he handles a movie.”

You opened the door to see Jason sitting on his bed with his legs spread in front of him, reading a book.

“Hello,” you greeted.

“What’s that,” he narrowed his eyes at you.

“My laptop!” you told him excitedly, “I thought maybe we could watch a movie today.”

“Movie?” he frowned, crossing his legs to make space for you on the bed.

“Yeah,” you sat down in front of him, “I’ve got a whole terabyte of illegally downloaded movies and shows. We can choose one together and watch, if you’d like?”

He contemplated for a while, eyebrows drawn together while you opened your laptop. “Fine.”

“Yay!” you cheered, “Okay, so what do you like to watch? Action? Drama? Thriller? Comedy? Or… Romance?”

“Put on your favourite movie,” he stated.

“What? Nah, you can choose something you’d like to watch,” you declined, “I’m cool with anything.”

“I want to watch your favourite movie,” he deadpanned.

You purse your lips. “Okay, sure. Scoot over.”

He propped two pillows up against the headboard of his bed and moved to the side so you can squeeze in between him and the wall. At first, you were not used to being in close proximity with him, and you wanted to give him personal space.

But after a while, Jason himself had sat next to you closely, stood in front of you or behind you closely- so close that the skin of your arms would brush against each other, or in this case, the heat of his thigh against yours as you balanced the laptop on each of your thighs.

The next surprising thing that happened, though, was when he put his arm behind your shoulder so casually, that anyone would have guessed it was a thing he did on the regular.

You were taken aback by his advances, but appreciated that he felt comfortable with you. It was such an accomplishment considering everything that happened, so you leaned into him snuggly.

You clicked play.

And then, he came in close to you, brushing his lips against your ear and said in the lowest whisper that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand.

“If this movie sucks, I’ll kill you.”

It wasn’t a threat, you knew it wasn’t.

But the heat on your neck from his breath when he whispered to you, the low tone of his voice-

You couldn’t help but clench your thighs together in arousal.

***

“I wonder if he’ll be okay,” you thought out loud.

“I’m so jealous that you’re the only one who gets to see him. When can I go?” Dick whined.

“Two weeks is a long time,” you ignored Dick, “Bruce, is the phone offer still available?”

“Of course,” Bruce said, cutting his steak as silently as he walked. “I already have one. It’s on my desk.”

“That’s great!” you scooped up mashed potatoes.

“Seriously, though,” Dick pressed, “It’s been like what, five months? I want to see him.”

You looked across the dining table to meet your older brother in the eye. It was rare that Dick came over and had dinner with everyone, but his visits had been increasing ever since Jason got back.

“We can’t risk overstimulation, Dick. The only reason why he probably accepted me so easily is because I wasn’t part of his old life. He hasn’t even mentioned anything about… you know. And he hasn’t brought you or anyone else up.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, “It’s just- he’s my brother.”

Those last three words spoke volumes. A simple fact that carried so many emotions. Sadness, relief, longing, regret.

Dick was really special. You got the younger sibling treatment from Dick as well, and you only knew him for a little over a year. Even then you had formed such a bond with Dick Grayson you knew you wouldn’t have with anyone else in the world.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine his relationship with Jason, and how painful it must be to find out his little brother is alive but not allowed to see him.

“He just needs more time and space,” you said, “But he’s getting better, Dick. Much better. Even making jokes and teasing me. You’ll know once he’s ready. And I don’t think it’ll take too much longer.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, haven’t you?” Dick narrowed his eyes at you. “Like, every single day.”

“Well, yeah, he’s probably bored,” you shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.”

“A little birdie told me that you gave him a sponge bath a few months ago,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

You looked at Bruce accusingly, in which he responded with a simple, “Alfred.”

“He wasn’t showering at the time, and he stank like hell,” you explained.

“Sure, use that as an excuse,” he grinned, “Have you seen him shirtless since then?”

“Why?” you asked a little too defensively, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Nothing,” Dick laughed, “I wanted to ask about his progress. Health wise.”

“Oh,” you calmed down, “Well, Alfred has him on a high protein diet now. He’s definitely filled up since then.”

“Filled up,” Dick winked.

“Grow up, Dick!” you snapped.

After dinner, you went to Bruce’s desk to pick up the smartphone and brought it downstairs to Jason’s room.

“Two visits in a day. A late one, too. What’s the occasion?” Jason mused when you came in.

“I have something for you,” you sat at the foot of his bed.

“Is it my birthday?” he teased.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, “We got you a smartphone. It has internet access and my number. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. In fact, it’s switched off. I’m gonna leave it here on the shelf. And if you don’t want it, just ignore it.”

“Why all of a sudden?” he eyed you suspiciously from where he was sitting at the top of the bed.

“Well,” you started, “I’m going to be away for a couple of weeks. On a trip with my friends. Sort of a post-graduation celebration. And I thought that since I won’t be here to keep you company, you might like to… you know…”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Talk? Text? Call?” you winced at your own awkwardness. Why were you even nervous? “I mean. You’d be bored so at least you have internet. If you want, of course.”

“Are you implying that I’d miss you while you’re gone?” his lips turned into a smirk, “Or are you the one who will miss me?”

“Neither!” you huffed, “I just thought that you might want some other form of entertainment besides books.”

“I was locked away in a cell for two years without food, water, books, or the internet,” he scoffed.

“And look how great you turned out,” you bit back sarcastically, before realising what you had said. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“Jesus, calm the fuck down,” he complained, “It’s fine. You don’t have to be careful with me, I’m not a fucking baby.”

You knew that, but at the same time, you still couldn’t call him by his own name.

“Okay,” you nodded, “Well. I’m leaving in the morning. I’ll be back on the tenth.”

You glanced at the digital clock on Jason’s desk. It was one of the most important things in his room. It allowed him to keep track of the time and day- imperative to keeping one’s sanity in check.

“Tenth, twentieth, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” you reminded him, “You do know that we’ve unlocked the door a couple of weeks ago, right? You’re free to go anywhere you want.”

Everyone had deemed him more or less stable. He wasn’t going to hurt himself or anyone else unless provoked or triggered, so Bruce decided to leave his doors unlocked, but Jason has yet to step outside.

“Doesn’t make a difference,” he mumbled, lying back down to face the ceiling.

Deep down, you knew what he meant.

It didn’t make a difference if you left the door unlocked, or threw him out of the room. Because at the end of the day, Jason was still being imprisoned by himself.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd reader #jason todd reader insert #jason todd #red hood #robin #dc #dc comics #batman #batfamily #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Text

The Fight

CW: Ableism against a child, references to attempted noncon/assault of a survivor, religious references to the Bible, conditioning, trauma recovery, trauma response

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Creepy Pet Lib Guy. Links in piece.

She hears his footsteps, the soft motion of him through the living room and into the den, where a single lamp is on in the corner on the side table next to the old couch Paul never could bear to throw out. Ronnie doesn’t look over at him, instead picking at a bit of duct tape affixed over a ripped spot while sipping her beer straight from the bottle.

There’s a show on the television - they have a new one finally, but Ronnie’s never thrown out a damn thing that wasn’t broken just because it got replaced and she’s not about to start now, so she moved it in here - but she’s not watching it. Not even sure what the show is, only that the laugh track is tinny and never seems timed to the moments of actual humor.

The house is mostly silent, this late at night. There’s no sound but the occasional gurgle from the ice machine in the fridge, the soft hum of electronics that she never notices except when the power goes out, and then only because of its sudden absence.

No sound but the television’s off-key laughter and the footsteps of her son, creeping up behind her.

“Mommy?” His voice is so high and soft, fuzzy with sleepiness, and she turns with a tired smile to see him dragging his favorite blanket behind him along the floor. It’s a quilt she bought at a church’s Christmas market when he was two, and it had buttons sewn in with the patches, giving the cats the quilt is decorated with three-dimensional button eyes.

His face is rounded and so like his father’s, even so, his face and eyes and his hair are all Paul’s, through and through. He’s an echo, a clone of his father, in a lot of ways… up to and including navigating a world that has already labeled him as difficult, and he’s only six years old.

“Hey, baby. What are you doing up?” She’s twenty-three with a six year old son, and doesn’t that seem strange, some days? So many of her friends from high school are still out until dawn, posting photos of their drunken shenanigans on Facebook, and here Ronnie sits… twenty-three, with a husband who works nights, and a six-year-old son whose teacher calls him hopeless, right to his fucking face.

“I, I, I had a bad dream,” He says, and his eyes are so, so big in his small round face. Paul’s eyes are like that, big and green and soulful. She’d fallen into them, her junior year, and she’d never wanted to climb back out. No matter that her friends thought he was weird, no matter that yeah, okay, he is weird - he’s her kind of weird, and she and Paul understood each other right from the start.

“Oh, no.” She pats the couch cushion beside her and he clambers almost eagerly up to tuck himself in beside her. Her throat nearly closes as he carefully spreads his blanket out to cover them both, the simple gesture of care and love. How do you look this boy in the eyes and tell him he can’t do something? “What was your bad dream about, do you want to tell me?”

“Monsters,” He says, as if that single word relays all the information she could possibly need. Maybe it does, really - at least the monsters her son dreams about are easier to vanquish than the ones Ronnie has to help him learn how to face on his own as he grows.

“Good thing I monster-proofed this house before we moved in,” Ronnie teases. She moves her arm around his shoulders and he smiles, faintly, eyes closing as he leans his head against her collarbone, his ear right where he’s always wanted it, ever since birth - over her heart. Listening to her heartbeat. Sure enough, his fingers find their way to her stomach and start to tap in time with it, and Ronnie sips her beer again.

“Monsters aren’t, aren’t, aren’t real, actually,” He says, speaking quietly and without opening her eyes, and Ronnie thinks if her six-year-old well, actuallys her one more time… she read all the parenting books and has a whole shelf of parenting memoirs she’s picked up and not a single one mentioned that little kids are fucking know-it-alls. Not one.

“Well, if they’re not real, then why are you buggin’ Mommy at midnight because of dreaming about them, huh?” She keeps her voice light and affectionate, just this side of teasing. Tristan doesn’t react well to any kind of perceived anger or rejection, moping for a day or more around while his brain tries to process that she didn’t stop loving him just because he did something that bothered her. Tris as a toddler broke her heart more than once with terrified insistence that you, you, you don’t even like me anymore after time-outs or discipline.

He’s just being manipulative, her mother had said once, but Ronnie knew better.

He’s three years old, Mom. He’s not trying to manipulate me, he’s scared.

He’s just doing what works, Veronica, you can’t always give in to it.

Mom. He is a little boy. Do you realize how you sound?

Now his teacher is repeating the same tired circular logic that cycles round and round her son without ever seeing him. Ronnie is staring down the barrel of another round of meetings, talking to administrators to try and get around the teacher’s rigidity and hostility, arguing for Tris to get moved into a new class, and all the while he’ll fall further and further behind in his in-class work - while at home he rockets through the homeschooling workbooks she buys, a six-year-old already doing second-grade reading and writing work, first-grade math, obsessed with a kid show about science that they have to watch every single day or he has seriously informed her he might die.

The knowledge is there, and his love of learning hasn’t been throttled by school yet, and Ronnie can’t do anything but try to work within a system that tells her that her son needs to be changed or cured in order to not be kept locked away from everyone else.

Monsters are pretty fucking real, in Ronnie’s experience.

One day her son will have to learn that all the monsters are human beings.

God, she’s so tired of fighting, and so very aware that she’s not going to stop until the whole damn world remakes itself to give space for Tristan, until the world deserves how unreservedly her son loves it.

She takes another drink, then sets the beer bottle carefully down on the coaster - she ordered them last year, and they all have little stylized drawings of the three of them on it, faceless sketches of a man, a woman, a child - man and child red-headed, woman with brown hair.

When she’d gotten the positive pregnancy test, right before Thanksgiving her junior year, she’d thrown up and cried for a week and been sullen and silent at the holiday table, trying to figure out what to do next.

But Paul had never hesitated. When she told him, his response had been to go home to his dad and ask to start working part-time with the Garden, running packages he never looked into, playing lookout outside of bars while the Garden met inside. His first pay - cash handed to him in an envelope - he’d spent some of it on a onesie, a baby blanket, and a stuffed puppy with fur so soft Ronnie could barely stand the fluff.

Then he’d spent some more on ginger chews and ‘Preggo Pops’, lollipops that were supposed to help with Ronnie’s morning sickness, and three books on pregnancy for her and one book on becoming a dad for him.

Paul did what Paul always did - took one look at a cliff he had to cross and simply leapt headfirst and hoped for the best. That impulsiveness that she loved and that had gotten him in so much trouble in life, the enthusiasm that carried her long with it.

There are monsters in the world, Ronnie thinks, running fingers through her son’s fine, soft hair. But there are people who help you fight the monsters, too. Even if the monster is just the stares from other students at school as her stomach grew, the way her friends’ parents stopped letting her come to their houses, the thin-lipped disapproval of the principal handing her a high school diploma as she half-waddled across the stage, refusing to be shamed, engagement ring on her finger. Even if the monster is a world that tries to shove her son into boxes that he can’t fit into, or a teacher who sends him home in tears convinced he’s too stupid to learn anything.

Her jaw sets.

Veronica Higgs has been headstrong since birth, and she’s never made a decision she didn't follow through on. Never turned away from a fight. She’s not about to start now, not when it’s her son.

Ronnie has never turned away from the sweet baby that had looked at her with such dark-eyed seriousness when he was born, the infant who cried for reasons Ronnie couldn't’ fathom, the toddler who screamed that the lights at Target hurt his skin, the little boy who lined up dinosaurs and cars and toy horses in perfect color gradients, the boy who rocks in her arms and hums when he’s happy, the boy she hopes will one day be able to live on his own without her, because…

Because if only Paul and Ronnie are going to fight for him, then they’re going to have to be a fight so fierce that everyone else can’t possibly hold out against them.

The doctors said he might not talk - and he talks a mile-a-minute, about any-fucking-thing that comes into his mind. They said he wouldn’t make friends easily, but he goes on sleepovers with his gymnastics buddies, just went to a party at Chuck E. Cheese with a little preparation so he wasn’t scared of the games and lights and noise when he got there. They said he would struggle in school, and-

Well, he does. But only because of the adults who refuse to understand that Tris learns just fine… if you let him listen in his own way.

“Hey, Tris?” She smiles down at him and he turns those big green eyes up to her. There’s a chapped spot on his lower lip that looks like he might have messed with it until it opened into a sore, and she reminds herself to get some vaseline on it. “You want to stay here with me for a bit? We’ll watch one of your shows, and then back to bed. How’s that sound?”

He smiles at her, and nods a little, still tapping along to her heartbeat. “Oh, oh, okay, Mom. Can, can, can… can-can… can we watch Dino King?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ronnie hates that show, but really - he loves it, and it’s one night, and she could use the way his open, brilliant happiness helps her forget that he’s going to have to work harder and harder to hold onto it as he grows.

She picks up the remote, brings up the menu, switches to a streaming network, and listens to the grating, familiar theme song start to play as her son’s eyes move contentedly to the screen.

He watches the show, but he never takes his head away from her heartbeat.

---

Natalie Yoder has had easier nights than this one, that’s for fucking sure. She leans over the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of her, trying to figure out where they went wrong. This is one of their biggest grants, it’s a bit of funding that she has always relied on, and… denied approval for the upcoming fiscal year.

Thousands of dollars she needs to feed and clothe and house her rescues, gone up in smoke, denied with a bloodless email and no ability to fight back, not for this one. Not this year. It could be a simple error, something she overlooked, sure. Or maybe the association that gives out the grants is suspicious of her story about transitioning homeless people into permanent housing, which really is exactly what she’s doing, isn’t it?

Just… not the kind of homeless people the grant givers are imagining.

She’ll have to call Vince to beg for him to help her fill in the gap, and that will mean time for him to speak with his finance guy and get another couple of shell companies to funnel the money through so it doesn’t go back to him. He’ll give it to her, to be sure - Vince could give her the money to run this place flat out for the rest of his life and still be one of the wealthiest men in America, thanks to his low-key lifestyle and strong work ethic meaning he spends more time filming or producing than he does doing anything else.

Nat knows why Vince doesn’t want to be home, to sit up alone with a bottle or a glass in his hand. She knows his work ethic is simply escaping the demons that will never stop haunting his footsteps, what he traded away for his success, what he lost, what the money and fame can protect him from but can’t remove the stamp of it already written over his soul.

He’s famous, and rich, and Owen Grant can’t touch him now… but the tradeoff of Vince’s survival was that some innocent kid was abducted and turned, through drugs and torture and horrifying assault, into Kauri.

Kauri, who hasn’t answered the phone or sent a text in a week.

Not since that fucking group meeting where Chris was assaulted and Kauri stood up for him. Not since Kauri’s intuition that Kyle had some less-than-savory interest in Chris had proven correct, because… it wasn’t intuition at all.

It was experience.

Nat groans, rubbing her hands over her face, closing her eyes and reminding herself, teeth ground together, to try and stay calm. It’s not unusual for Kauri to disappear for a while, a week or more. It’s not a sign that something is wrong. He was hurt by Nat pushing him, he needs time to think.

He’ll pop right back up again, smiling like nothing happened, like he isn’t giving Nat gray hairs (well, new ones, anyway) trying to tell herself he’ll be okay.

All she can do is trust that he’ll come back when he’s ready.

... and castigate herself for letting that fucking predator get close to Chris without picking up on what he was planning, and for not realizing Kauri wasn’t just being overprotective of a younger rescue, but - in his own way - waving giant red flags that Nat, and Jake, and everyone else just didn’t see.

That, and then losing the grant, have made for one hell of a fucking week.

Nat takes deep breaths. Her hands smell like dish soap and a hint of the roasted garlic she’d put in the soup for supper lingering. The kitchen still smells like the garlic, roasted parsnips and rosemary. Chris had never had parsnips before-

Not that anyone knows if he really hasn’t or not.

“Oh, Nat, you are a mess tonight,” She mutters to herself. “Just full-on moping, huh? That’s how we’re gonna play it?”

Then she hears the soft scrape of a foot on the tile and looks up, blinking, to see Chris in the doorway, leaning against the wood of the frame, the big purple fuzzy blanket she’d gotten him a few weeks back wrapped around his narrow shoulders, the hints of faded muscle that still linger there. Usually he’s draped in Jake’s clothes but tonight he’s only wearing his basketball shorts, no shirt at all.

The rare glimpse of so much of Chris’s skin - she hasn’t seen so much of him since the night he arrived in the pouring rain - tells Nat more than anything else that Chris isn’t okay, either.

“Hey, Chris. What’s up, sweetheart?” Nat glances over at the oven, squinting at the clock, and then groans. “Jesus, it’s nearly 2 am. I lost track of time, I guess.”

Chris doesn’t move from the doorway, not at first. He’s gone quiet again, since the assault, regressing back into periods of stillness and silence that they were so sure he’d gotten past. Jake says he’s testing again, trying to push Jake and Antoni into repeating the patterns that were tortured into his mind as normal, reacting with relief at their rejections - and then testing again, within hours, reminding himself that they’ll never say yes.

Nat looks at him, the shadows under his green eyes, and tries, “Did you have a nightmare?”

He slowly nods, and she watches his hands twist a little into the soft fabric of his blanket, rhythmically twisting to the side and back, nearly invisible with how well he can hide what he does to soothe himself, a skill taught in all the worst ways, learned in a desperate attempt to keep himself sane.

“Hm. I can see that. Was it about the meeting, the other night?”

His eyes dance away from hers, move to the ceiling, and he’s staring upwards at the rough texture up there as he nods, chewing on his lower lip with his top teeth, worrying at a spot that she knows he’ll eventually work to bleeding, sooner or later. He pauses and says, softly, “Kauri… didn’t come find me. That was, was my... my dream. And... it. It hurt.”

His voice, slow drips of speech, hits Nat like a knife to the heart. She nods, slowly, and pushes herself up, chair scraping back across the tile. Chris flinches minutely at the sound, curling a little into himself. “I understand, sweetheart,” She says, softly. “I’m so sorry we didn’t know sooner.”

She thinks, looking at him, of Daniel in the lion’s den, an old Bible story that’s never left her. Daniel trusted God and walked out unscathed, but she’s always thought maybe he wasn’t quite as unscathed as the Bible wants you to think he was.

It’s one thing to have faith that you’ll survive being thrown in with monsters - it’s another to be so inhuman that you don’t wake with nightmares, for months or years after, that you were never saved at all. She is certain, deep down inside of her, that Daniel dreamed of a lion’s teeth and a promise broken, a prayer unheard.

The stories talk about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in a furnace walking out of the flames untouched, but of course the flames had still touched them. Scars aren’t always written openly on your skin.

Of course they dreamed of flames scorching their skin, curling their hair, smoke stealing breath from their lungs. They, like Daniel, must have woken gasping, certain that their faith had been misplaced, that their trust that someone stood between them and the monsters who would destroy them had been betrayed.

They must have breathed, panting, in the middle of the night, and sworn they could still see the smoke in the air, feel the heat against their skin.

They must have needed to come fully awake to remember - and believe - that they had been rescued. They must have needed the reminder.

Chris has no scars from walking with monsters - all his scars are inside his head. Chris’s scars come in his fear that she will not want him, that no one really wants him, when he can’t fight back or say no or defend himself, when he needs someone else to be his defense, to go to war. They come in his insistent, constant testing of Jake, pushing to see if it’s all been a lie, if they only want to use him the way he has been taught he is made to be used.

“Kauri was smarter than any of the rest of us,” Nat says, feeling suddenly exhausted. “We should have listened. I shouldn’t have had to step in. You deserved better.”

Chris deserves a fucking angel to lead him untouched out of the flames.

All he has is Jake - and Nat.

She fills a saucepan with cold milk while he watches her, his eyes on her back a tangible, palpable weight, and pops a lid on, turning the dial until the flames flicker up from the burner to start heating it to a simmer.

“I’m going to have hot chocolate the old fashioned way,” She announces, pulling down a bag with some discs of melting chocolate in it. They cost too much and mostly nobody notices the difference, but tonight… tonight, she thinks the extra effort is worth it. “You want whipped cream on yours, when it’s done?”

“Yes, please,” He whispers, and she looks over at him with a small smile. His hair is mussed still from sleep, a hint of red on his cheek where he must have had it pressed into a pillow. His freckles stand out in the thin light of the kitchen’s overhead light fixture.

Next door, at Miss Ruth’s, a light turns on, and Nat glances through her own window to see it. Jaden, probably - that kid sleeps about as little as Chris does.

“Well, good, because I’m having some, too.” She pauses, leaning her back against the kitchen counter. There’s a long silence that draws out between them. The milk heats, bubbling just the tiniest bit around the edges in the saucepan, and Nat carefully drops in the chocolate discs to melt whisking until the liquid is a rich brown, thickened, ready for her to pour carefully into two mugs and top with the spray-bottle whipped cream she keeps in the fridge.

Nat sets the mugs down on the kitchen table, pulling Chris a chair up right next to hers. He relaxes a little at the tacit, silent request for closeness, drops into his chair with a slight smile playing over his face. He picks up the mug with both hands and takes a sip, getting whipped cream at the end of his nose, wiping it off with a scrunched-up expression that lifts some of the fatigue that dogs Nat’s muscles in the early-morning hours.

“I know the dreams are scary,” Nat says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his back. He looks over at her, with those giant green eyes in his narrow face, searching for something in her. Maybe just for certainty that the promises she’s made to him will be kept. “But Kauri did come to help you. And you’re safe here, with us. We’ll always come for you, Chris, no matter what.”

He leans over, with slow inevitability, until the top of his head brushes against her neck, his head just at her collarbone. She lets her arm slide around his shoulders, her hand moving to run fingers slowly through his fine, soft coppery hair. “I, I, I forgot how to say no,” He whispers, and presses his head against her.

“I know, honey. But that’s okay, we get back up and try again, right?” Nat sips her own hot chocolate slowly, and Chris holds his cupped warm in his palms, but even as he keeps taking sips, he doesn’t pull away from her. Eventually, he puts the mug back down on the table and shifts a little, so his ear is just over her heart.

“We, we, we try again,” He whispers. “But, but, but I don’t want to, to, to, I don’t-... want to be, um, to be scared again, to… have someone-”

“I know.” Nat swallows, her throat closing, briefly, but she fights it back and keeps her voice - and her hand through his hair - steady as she speaks. “There are going to be bad people out there, Chris, who want to hurt you. But you’re not alone.”

She thinks again of Daniel, waking from nightmares of gnashing teeth, maybe kicking off blankets and pacing a room, his skin written invisibly with the aftermath of a terror that never punctured skin. She thinks of three men in a fire, dreaming again and again that the fourth never arrived to lead them out of the flames.

She thinks of promises made, and kept. Prayers spoken in desperation, and answered, although so often far too late.

She thinks of the prayers for mercy, in the cold white rooms, that are never heard at all.

She’s tired, but she loves them - all of them, who have passed through her doors and gone on to other places - and she can’t imagine being anything but their army, their defense, the wall they can hide behind to rebuild themselves until they fight on their own.

Not on their own, though, never really on their own.

She may never know what happened to him, to bring him here to her doorstep - but she knows that he doesn’t have to face the monsters, the flames, the danger alone. Not anymore.

“You’re safe here,” She says, gently, and turns her head to rest her chin on top of his head. “You’re safe here, and loved, and there’s nothing we won’t do to make sure you’re safe. Whatever comes at you, sweetheart, we’ve got you. And we’ll fight it for you, every time, until you can fight for yourself.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks, in a whisper, “Do, do, do you you-you promise?”

“Promise, Chris. Cross my heart and hope-”

“Don’t-... don’t say the, the end of it.” His voice weakens. “Please.”

“Sorry, sweetie.” She tightens the arm around his shoulders a little, and feels him snuggle closer in response, a low sigh of relief at the reassurance in the embrace. “Swear on everything. I’ve got you, and Jake has got you, and we’re not gonna disappear. I don’t-... I don’t know if we can always save the day for you, Chris, but I can promise you that we will always try.”

He hums, eyes closing. One of his hands slides over her stomach, and begins - slight, soft, barely-there - to tap.

It takes Nat a few seconds to realize that he is tapping along to the beat of her heart.

---

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