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#drabbles.
saetoru · 6 months
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ 4:08 AM — GOJO SATORU.
contents. fluff, established relationships, sleepy n cuddly toru :(, just needed to write this to cope with the 236 manga leaks i guess. i just love him tons sobs i need him happy and loved and peaceful
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“hey,” you poke satoru’s chest, hearing a low groan rumble under your cheek, “toru?”
“hmm?” oh. he sounds a little tired—maybe you should let him sleep.
“you awake?” you ask anyway.
“am now,” he mumbles—well, he’s already awake, so you might as well indulge in it now. “need somethin’, sweetheart?”
“jus’ missed you is all,” you pout—that makes him grin despite the way he yawns, all wide and smooth even as he fights the sleep in his eyes. you feel just a bit guilty, reaching to cup his cheek and running a thumb over his eyelid carefully.
“yeah?” he chuckles quietly, “‘m right here. you still miss me?”
“yeah,” you whisper, “always miss you. even when you’re right here.”
satoru’s grinning into your cheek as he leans down and presses a wet kiss to the skin—he can’t possibly be mad that you’ve woken him so late. he can’t be mad when it’s you, and it’s him, and it’s each other.
sleep can wait, there’s always time for that later. but there’s never a moment where he wants to risk counting on later when it comes to you.
“what’d you miss about me?” he hums, nibbling on your earlobe as his head buries into your neck. you shift, letting his body tuck against yours as your arms wrap around him—he feels safe like this, somehow. infinity doesn’t make him feel nearly as secure as the way your arms do, tight and warm and made just for holding him.
“dunno,” you murmur, “everything.”
“love me that much?” he asks cheekily, “me sleeping right beside you isn’t enough?”
“no,” you huff, “you can’t pay attention to me in your sleep.”
“my needy baby,” he snickers, rubbing circles into the small of your back with his large palm. he’s warm against you—you can feel the rhythm of his heart as it beats against your body. he’s pressed so close to you, that not even air can slip through the cracks.
truthfully, you don’t know why you wake satoru. you don’t know why you can’t sleep—you just know that you need him. here. now. always. forever. more and more and more and even more.
“toru?” you ask quietly, making him hum as his eyes droop back shut slowly—he must really be tired.
you stare at him fondly, stroking his hair as he sighs happily at the feeling. and then you press a kiss to his forehead, to his cheek, to the corner of his eyes where they crinkle when he smiles, and to those lips of his that always find yours no matter how long it takes.
he always comes back to you. always. he never won’t—that much you trust.
“got somethin’ on your mind, baby?” he asks slowly, voice thick with sleep. you giggle, scratching at his scalp as he smiles lightly.
he dozing off—you watch him, hopelessly endeared.
“i love you,” you whisper, “need you to know that. love you so, so much. kay?”
he cracks an eye open—stares at you like you’re the reason his heart ever started beating, like you’re the only one that could ever command it to stop. every inch of his face is laced with love so gentle, you can see the way it makes his skin glow.
you love him. you’re sure he loves you. that’s all you need to know it’ll be fine. everything else is an afterthought—just as long as you have satoru.
“woke me just to confess your love for me?” he gasps, “you’re down bad. real, real bad. i must be a super handsome, totally awesome boyfriend. i do try,” he says cheekily.
you giggle, rolling your eyes as you pinch his cheek.
“be humble, you jerk,” you say exasperatedly.
it sounds more like you’re in love. too much fondness slipping into your voice that it might make your teeth hurt from how sweet. satoru’s always had a sweet tooth, though—he accepts your love graciously, like it’s never too much.
if fact, it might just not be enough. he needs more, more, more.
“can’t,” he says slowly, yawning again, “you waking me up just to love me is a bit ego boosting.”
“this was a mistake,” you scoff—its playful, it’s fond. it sounds like deeply falling headfirst.
“aw c’mon,” he pouts—and then he’s brushing his lips against your neck a he clings closer to you, curling into your body with his six-foot-something stature as you pull the blanket tighter around him, “love you too. what was it you said again? oh, right—so, so much.”
“good,” you hum, nodding in satisfaction. “you better.”
“i do,” he chuckles, “can i sleep now? or are we gonna start talking about all the things we love about each other? cause i can stay up to listen to that, of course.”
“go to sleep, you idiot,” you scoff.
he grins. you press one last kiss to his forehead as you count the soft breaths he takes while he falls back asleep.
you love him—it’s all you ever want to do.
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i cried while writing this and i cried thinking about the leaks and i cried while reading the leaks and i cried and cried and i’m tired of crying. gege when i catch you gege 🔫
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imagines-by-elysian · 5 months
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Naps- Gojo Satoru
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🗝Oneshot: Just a sweet moment shared between you two.
🗝Genre: Fluff
🗝Pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader
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It was a tiresome afternoon at the Jujutsu High. The duo had returned from yet another missioned assigned, The sun was streaming through the windows of the dormitory, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Gojo was stretched out on the couch, his trademark glasses covering his eyes. On the other side of the room, you half seated on the floor and half on the beanbag, engrossed on your phone.
Gojo let out a contented sigh and sat up. "You know," he said, his voice low, "I could really use a nap right now."
You glanced up from your phone and smiled at him. "Me too," you agreed, feeling the tiredness seeping into your bones. The mission was tiresome, maybe you could take a break
Without another word, Gojo stood up and walked over to you. He held out his hand, a silent invitation. You took it, allowing him to pull you up from the floor. Together, you made your way to his room. The sheets on his bed were soft and inviting, and you couldn’t help but yawn as you settled in.
Gojo kicked off his shoes and lay down next to you, pulling you into his arms. You snuggled close, feeling his warmth enveloping you. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before closing his eyes, his breathing steady and calming.
"Gotta remove those glasses now Satoru," You said, as you removed his glasses, keeping them at the side table as Gojo does nothing but give a grin to you.
Wrapped in Gojo's arms, you felt safe and cherished. The events of the day faded away, and all that remained was the comforting presence of the man you loved. As you drifted to doze off, you whispered, "I love you, you know."
Gojo's lips curved into a gentle smile. "I love you too," he murmured, his hands wrapped around you as you both snuggled each other.
And in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the two of you, entwined in each other's arms, finding solace and peace in a shared nap.
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xamilarin · 7 months
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bf gojo who’s good at anything he does so I make him learn how to do nails and he becomes my personal nail tech. 🤭🤭
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embersofhope-if · 7 months
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39/Ash
39: “ I wish we could stay like this forever. ”
bet you thought this was gonna be a fluffy thing when you asked for it huh
wordcount: 965
The only thing I can hear is two words echoing over and over again. No not words. A name. The most important name in my life.  
Asher Fairchild.  
It repeats on a continuous loop in my mind until their name almost loses meaning.  
Asher Fairchild.  
Ash Fairchild.  
Ash. 
My Ash.  
Not even twenty-four hours ago we were busy watching the stars and climbing rooftops. I can still smell the night air and the scent of leather that follows Ash everywhere they go. If I try hard enough, I can almost hear their laugh, almost feel the softness of their hair, almost see their blinding grin.  
Right now, that grin is nowhere to be seen. In its place is a tight lipped smile that I can tell is their attempt to stop themselves from crying.  
Why on Earth does it have to be them? Everyone knows the world is cruel, but this is downright evil. Of the thousands of names in that bowl there should be no way that the name Asher Fairchild should ever be called.  
I’m shoving my way through the crowd desperate to reach Ash. I have no idea what I’m going to do but I can’t just stand here and watch my light walk out of my life and straight to their death.  
There has to be something I can do. Could I volunteer? Or I could find some way to get them to redo the reaping. I can beg Father to stop and pick a different name. The Vesper name is powerful but is it really powerful enough to overrule a reaping? No, it's not, maybe I can knock over some of the cameras and cause a scene. I just need to do something. I don’t care how much trouble it’ll get me into. If it means Ash gets to live, I’ll gladly take any punishment.  
I’ve finally managed to shove my way to the edge of the crowd, and I can see Ash walking down to climb the stairs up to the stage. 
Just as they start to walk past me, I manage to reach out and grab their wrist, stopping them from moving any further. Any semblance of a plan that I had immediately disappears when I look into their eyes. I expected to see fear. Who wouldn’t be terrified in this moment, but all I can see in their eyes is the grim acceptance of their fate.  
How can they just accept this so easily? They are walking to their literal death and they’re just okay with it? That’s not the Ash I know. The Ash that I know would fight this as much as they could, or they’d at least make it a show that nobody could turn away from. Instead, all they’re doing is putting on a smile and going quietly.  
My confusion stops me from being able to say anything. So caught up in trying to figure out what is wrong with them, I don’t even notice the peacekeepers that have started to walk towards us. The moment I feel a hand on my shoulder I’m snapped back into reality.  
They’re trying to pull me away, but I refuse to let go of Ash’s wrist. My grip so tight it has to be hurting them, but I can’t let myself care about that not right now. If I let go, I might not ever get a goodbye. So, I decide to hold on for dear life.  
There’re four peacekeepers now, two behind me and two behind Ash, and each pair is getting ready to pull us apart. The fear that runs through my body is indescribable. Suddenly I’m able to understand why Hope freezes any time I try to take his favorite toy from him. I’m taking the most important thing in his life away and all he can do is sit there and watch.  
I feel a hand wrap around the one I have latched to Ash’s wrist but this time I don’t feel the leather of a peacekeepers glove. Instead, I feel Ash’s warm and slightly shaky hand begin to pull mine away from them.  
“You have to let go [Name]]. Please don’t make this a fight” they plead with me, their voice is so quiet that I can barely hear them.  
“I’m not going to just let this happen Ash.” 
“Yes, you are.” 
They finally manage to pry my hand off their wrist but instead of stepping away they take a step forward and cup my face. We don’t say a word. I honestly don’t think either of us know what to say; not with all of Panem watching us. Instead, Ash leans forward and presses a kiss on my forehead. I desperately wish we could stay like this forever. Just as the peacekeepers begin to pull us away Ash leans to whisper in my ear. 
“If you’re quick I bet you could sneak into the Justice Building. We can talk in there.” 
For a second, I see the regular Ash again but just as quickly they’re gone. With a flash of a smile, they turn back to the stage and keep walking. I’m suddenly all too aware of the number of eyes I have on me. I even manage to spot a camera still pointed in my direction.  
The peacekeepers try to pull me back, but I quickly shove off their hands and walk back into the crowd without them. I don’t care how many laws I’m breaking by leaving the reaping or how many more I’ll be breaking by sneaking into the Justice Building. If they’re going to take Ash from me, I’m going to at least get a proper goodbye. 
The last thing I see before I duck out of the crowd are my father's eyes.  
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eloquentreverie · 1 year
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Thinking about Author! Ransom and touch starved! female! reader.
Minors DNI! 18+
this is a little concept inspired by my recent moodboard and based on the wip i currently have in my google docs.
requests are open!
You don’t really like being apart from your boyfriend. You hate it. But Ransom likes to be alone when he’s working. He’s grumpy and snaps at you occasionally if you interrupt him or step into his office. But one night when he’s fighting a bad bout of writer’s block, you decide to come in when you hear him shouting.
His eyes flick upward when he sees you in the doorway, your brows both knitted together in concern. Wide, doe eyes staring at him from across the room. You slowly walk over to him. Usually he’d yell at you to get out already but he’s too entranced by you. The way your full length, silk nightgown is hugging your curves, the way your curly hair is cascading over your shoulders, paired with the fur coat you have draped over your arms. You're stunning.
And before he knows it, you’re striding across the room, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind the chair. “Baby, you’ve been at this all night. Come to bed, please.” You coo in his ear. Ransom let’s a sigh escape past his parted lips. “I can’t, babygirl. I have a deadline. You know that.” He’s stubborn, he always has been. And you know how important his writing is to him but you’re not giving up yet. You've been waiting for hours while he typed on his computer for hours. You even tried pleasuring yourself to the thought of him. But it's not the same. You need him. You want him!
“I know, baby. But I miss you— I need you. Just take a short break, please? For me?” You plead, hoping, praying he’ll give in and when he doesn’t answer, your hands trail down his chest, your nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling the woodsy scent from his cologne, lips brushing the side of his neck.
“Ransom, I need you.” You beg, one hand inching closer to his belt buckle. And before you can move another inch, he snatches your wrist. At first it takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as he spins around in his chair. Ransom smirks at your shocked expression. “You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” Still grabbing hold of your wrist, he pulls you down onto his lap, one arm snaking around your waist, holding you in place.
While the other glides down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You think you can just waltz in here and I’m gonna give you what you want? Hm?”
“Ransom, please—?” He interrupts you, cupping your mouth with his palm. His other arm still holding you against him, his growing bulge pressed against your ass. “You feel that? That’s all me, babygirl.” You clench your thighs together, a familiar honeyed heat pooling in your lower belly. Ransom grins when you don't answer. “Here’s what’s going to happen; you’re going to do what I say, and if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”
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jackpot-library · 23 days
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Imagine instead of Six staying behind on Reach, it was you.
Both you and Six were at the top of the class during your shared time on Beta company, and it's something you bonded over. Together, you both were plucked up by the the highest of ONI's authority to operate as their personal assassins; competition never reached the eyes of their superiors and any situation deemed a threat to humanity had the lone wolves unleashed upon the prey.
Then they both were assigned to Noble once the news of Thom's death reached the UNSC.
Six blended in well enough, but you weren't as adaptive as they are. You struggled; Six was all you knew, and this whole "team" situation had awoken every nerve of paranoia that was linked in your body. Not that it wasn't mutual from all of Noble besides Six (at least, that's what you believed), you could've swore Kat was glaring in your direction at one point.
Because of your relationship, Six found it rather easy to pick up the signs you believed to be subtle. They reached out, pulling you aside to share some time together and muse over your dilemmas. The Spartan III found it easy to lighten you up enough to lure a conversation out of you; they knew the feelings that simmered underneath that armor of yours. A few well-aimed words and dropping their voice to a succulent tone was enough to weasel out all of the stress that gnawed at your bones. A few minutes later, you'd find yourself nestled on the lap of the Lone Wolf, their chin resting comfortably on top of your head while you leaned into their chest, hands tangled together while you allow your woes to flow freely from your chapped lips.
Carter was aware of these nightly rendezvous between two of his team members. Under different circumstances, he'd lecture the both of them about the bond that tied them together and place a firm warning against their shoulder. However, he pondered over it. Perhaps this relationship could prove beneficial to Noble Seven, opening them up to interactions and play more along with Noble. Thus, he allowed the couple to brew. Though he chats with Six about helping you adjust a bit better, as they're a team and need to learn how to cooperate with one another, which Six agrees.
They help you open up, slowly but surely.
Different missions where Six is close by, but not enough to where you could flee to them on a moment's notice. Jorge was the first of Noble you were assigned to get to know. A Spartan II with a sentimental mind and heart, you wondered where he got it from. He was kind enough, you suppose. His hulking stature made it difficult for you to ease the tension in your bones, considering how he could potentially crush you within a blink.
Noble Four, Emile. Strangely you found it easier to open up to him than Jorge. Lax, fiery, but remain grounded. He was your favorite out of Noble, besides Six. Jun you didn't want to bother with. Too chatty and bordering on a non-stop conversationalist, though, you could admire his tenacity and pragmatism. Carter you held respect for with his rank as Leader of Noble, but other than that, you were content with him existing. Kat was the one you had the most issues with. Something about her rattled a sense of urgency, perhaps even a sense of hostility. You're not quite sure where these feelings stirred, only that they bubbled far too close to the cliff's edge for comfort.
After each time spent with the members, Six would seek you out. They were quite eager to hear of your progress, you noted. The way their seemed to be a slight pep in their step or the slight quickening of their pace gave them away. It was cute, and something you want to treasure. Behind the visor of your helmet, you a grin was quick to bloom as a giggle escaped you.
All of the foundations of Paradise began to crack once the Winter Contingency had been activated.
One by one, members fell. Jorge was the first, sacrificing himself to blow up a super carrier that served as a hub for Covenant ships. Six was with him, but Noble Five wanted this to be his own death. Thus, Six fell to Reach. During the time Six fell and traversed through the harrowing terrain, you worried. Pacing back and forth, fighting with vigor that was tainted with rage. Emile had to calm you down; he understood the anger that boiled your veins, but now wasn't the time to allow emotions to bleed into reality.
Once Six had returned, you were quick to make sure they were okay. Falling from that altitude was certain to leave it's mark. Six brushed you aside gently; they whispered something only you could hear, but Jun made a witty remark about it. Something about this not being the time for the two of you to be lovey dovey in the time of war such as this. You wanted to whack him over the head for such a comment. If only Six hadn't held you back.
The next was Kat. It was unexpected, sudden. A needle round through the head by a zealot, who made their escape on board a phantom. While you weren't a fan of Kat, part of you felt that she didn't deserve to die in such a way. Later, you determined that it was a mercy compared to what falls next.
The remaining members of Noble went to the besieged and captured Sword Base on the presumption to blow it to smithereens, only to discover that it was a cover for the true goal: retrieve Dr. Halsey and escort her off the planet. Easier said than done once it was revealed that she was working on a project relating to Forerunner technology. Members of the Covenant came crashing from above and you were forced to fend them off.
Halsey was ready after the waves of Covenant had ceased temporarily. She called Noble to her laboratory, where she presented them with a catalyst that held a fragment of an AI. Of who, you didn't want to know. Your eyebrows rose when Halsey moved to stand in front of Six, the catalyst being held steady with both of her hands as she hands it to Six. She has them repeat words, and after they did, the declaration had been made.
Jun went on a separate pelican to provide ample protection for Halsey while you and the rest of Noble boarded another to escort the cargo to the Pillar of Autumn. However, before you stepped onto the ramp, Six stopped you. You turned to them, confusion laced in your brow, "Six?"
"I wanted to give you something." They pulled a device from a compartment in their armor; it was a device, one you noted to contain pictures and present them in a holo-format. You quizzically stared up at them, mouth opening to present a question, but Six silenced you with a pat on the shoulder, "You'll know when to open it." That's all they were allowed to say, and soon, you departed.
Carter was the next to go. Banshees and Phantoms hot on your tail, Carter wounded with rounds through his chest. He had you along with Six and Emile jump ship to continue on ground; he was the main focus of the Covenant air forces, and diverted their attention while you three hauled through the canyons. Your path was halted by the appearance of a Scarab, but Noble One crashed the burning pelican into the massive vehicle, destroying it. Only three remained.
Near the Pillar of Autumn, you were forced to halt a raid by the Covenant. Their numbers seemed endless, their thirst for your blood apparent in how they fight and clawed their way through their own troops to get a swipe. You held them off for now, and you called Captain Keyes to come down to retrieve the package.
You were there with Six when you heard Emile get ambushed by zealots. He was to be the one to say behind and operate the gun, but a surprise attack left him with an energy sword impaled through the blunt of his armor, ending him. Time was growing dim. You turned to Keyes, making sure that the container was safe within his grasp before shoving Six onto the pelican with all the force you could muster. They were stunned by the action, whipping around to stare at you with disbelief. Keyes told the pilot to take off, the Covenant were coming.
"No—!" Six's voice rose to a yell, something you've never heard in all your time with them. "Spartan, we have to go!" Keyes retorted, placing a firm hand upon their pauldron while the marines shackled Six to the rising ship, preventing them from leaping off to question what in the God's name you were doing. You watched them leave, your expression stern. You could hear them call your name, you could see them reach out to you, desperate and dare you say afraid. The ramp of the pelican closed, and that was the last you'd ever see of them.
Your will unmatched and never wavering, you defended the Pillar of Autumn with the AA gun and fending off ground troops with zeal. One by one, they fell by your hand. And when the Pillar of Autumn was ready, they launched into the stars of the fleeting day, leaving you behind on a decaying rock.
You left the remains of the station. You knew better than to stay in one place in the midst of enemy territory; it was a death sentence spelled with blood. You took cover in nooks and crevices, evading the eyes of fearless soldiers that sought to wrangle your body till it was a mangled corpse. Only when you believed that your time was reaching its end did you reveal yourself to the masses, ready to accept your fate.
With a sigh, you pulled the device Six gave you out of your pocket. You pressed one of the buttons and a hologram fizzled up, an image of an individual filling the screen with high resolution. Your eyes widened, and shock continued to flourish when you heard their voice. It was soft and tender, brimming with emotion. They pointed out how much they love and care for you, comparing your light to that of a thousand stars. You brought back their heart that fell into those depthless caverns, you picked up the rubble of their collapsed world and pieced it all together again for them. They love you, they always will. Their gaze had avoided the main lens of the camera for a majority of the vid, but then they turned to look up. It felt like they stared into your soul, as if they were really there.
You noticed how beautiful their eyes were. The slight curve of a smile on their lips. It all felt so genuine.
Several tears cascaded down your cheeks, but through the rivers, you smiled. You turned off the device and crushed it within the palm of your hand; you did not want to run the risk of any scoundrels attempting to loot your corpse to witness the gift they left for you. Their voice and face will remain with you till your end.
And it finally met you. Your eyes glistened, armored pierced and shattered. You stared up into the sky; it was muddled by gas and clouds of smoke and debris, but you could make out the faintest hints of the twinkling stars. You smiled, blood pooling in your helmet. You hoped they were safe up amongst the heavens.
If only you knew they could never truly live without you.
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houseflyy · 2 months
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Are you Listening?
619 words.
“Father?” Melody said, nudging him on the arm. “Father? Are you listening?”
She watched his chest rise with a great inhale, then the steady stream of air that was his breath depart from his mouth. A deep breath, she knew, was good for him; deep breaths helped Father feel more relaxed. But his eyes remained closed, and he didn’t reply. Maybe, with time, he would feel better, but Melody was impatient. Why wait for him to be happy later when he could be happy now?
She hopped up onto the rim of his glasses, where she said again, “Are you listening, Father?” Still, no response.
“Well...” A smile grew on her face. “Are you ready?” She didn’t wait for an answer this time. The next moment, she flew up over his head, then down to the outside of his ear, brushing her fluttering wings against it.
That was when he began laughing.
“Melody,” Father said with a groan, “stop that.” He gently waved a hand near the little fly, who had no trouble avoiding it, buzzing over and under his sluggish, outstretched fingers. And she started to laugh too, a light jingle that grew with intensity when she flew around Father and playfully batted at his other ear.
“Got you! Got you!” Melody called out to him amid her giggling, and again, she flew out of the way of giant fingers intending to nudge her away.
“All right,” Father sighed. He shrugged his shoulders, raised both his hands away, and leaned in his chair. “I give up. You can buzz in my ears all you want from now on. You can even live in them, too.”
“What!?”
Melody halted before him and nearly fell from the air as she did. “Live in your ears? That’s silly,” she chuckled. “I couldn’t do that!” But she eyed Father’s face closely, and he looked quite serious. “...Could I?”
“Maybe,” Father told her. He held out a finger beneath her, and she landed upon it. “Think about what that would be like.”
“Well—” Melody held a claw up to her face in thought— “I could go with you wherever you go. I could talk with you all the time and tell you secrets that no one else could hear! And I would never get cold.”
“Right.”
“Bu-uuu-ut,” she continued, “it would be a lot less roomy than my enclosure. Where would I play? Where would I put my food dish?”
“True,” said Father.
“I’m not sure,” Melody said. She rubbed at her eyes. “I guess I could try it?”
“Of course, you could. It’s always good to try things,” Father noted, “so you can come up with a confident answer. Remember?”
Melody nodded her head. “Yeah. Yeah! Then I’ll try it—for a confident answer!” She wasted no time, bouncing off his finger, buzzing up to the right side of him, and perching atop his ear. And she considered it more than she arguably ever had, climbing around, taking note of where was comfiest, and realizing that trying to nestle any further within his ear was much too tight.
She was so intent on observing the potential new living space that she overlooked Father gradually reaching up his hand. “Mmm—No. I can’t live here; I like my enclosure better,” she thought aloud. And she happily declared: “There’s my answer!”
A great big hand cupped itself around her.
“—Huh?”
“Got you,” Father smirked. He covered his ear and trapped her!
“Hey! Hey!” Melody jumped onto his palm and pushed and patted at it. But she was met only with his laughter, much louder and guttural than before. Melody stopped pouting and listened to him. Then, she started to laugh, too.
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sweeteaas · 2 months
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satoru is 100% the type of boyfriend who’d steal his partners shimmery pink lip gloss and then proceed to make kissy faces at you when you realize what he’s done. . .
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kusattainu · 2 months
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" fudō ryō is dead. "
no matter how many times it'd been said over the course of this meeting, it still didn't feel real. they knew that they should listen to what the higher-ups were saying as they stood in the center of the room next to yaga-sensei, but suiren's mind felt as if it had vacated their body, leaving them feeling like a hollow log. fudō ryō was dead. years of the memories they could only wish had faded like the rest began to bubble and resurface, endless nights and days and weeks and months of training in order to stay awake- their skin crawled as phantom sensations, a vicious hallucination that threatened to draw a tremble from them, grew until yaga-sensei's hand on their shoulder drew them back to the present. hooded eyes widened slightly, flicking over towards his face, but he only stared ahead at the screen directly in front of him.
" it's already their fourth year- they could at least be allowed to finish- " " there is nothing further they can learn to make them a proper sorcerer. with fudō ryō's passing, we have learned the true nature of fudō suiren's situation as it is. " " fudō suiren cannot channel cursed energy- they have a heavenly restriction, and no amount of education will change that fact. they were cursed by fudō teishō- " " -and are at risk of being possessed by the inugami spirit that belonged to him. "
that feeling of their brain separating from their physical form was happening again- why were they talking about them as if they weren't there, as if they weren't part of this conversation about themself? why had their life only ever been about people making decisions for them- why couldn't they have a say in it? but . . . what was the point? what could they say? they were going to die anyways, whenever ikigai finally tore through their body in a flurry of teeth and claws- why should they care what others decided for them? [ wasn't that what a good dog would do? just listen to orders? ]
the rest of the meeting was a blur- at some point they thought they could recognize ryūzōji-san's voice, but whatever she said was lost on them. yaga-sensei was leading them from the room, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a heavy silence before he finally seemed to find his voice again.
" i have an old friend who runs a familymart in shinjuku- he can't see curses, so he's not a window, but he knows about jujutsu society. it might . . . be easier for you to find a place to live there, too. " they nodded silently- they didn't really know what else to say right now. " i can help you look for an apartment too- if you don't want to go back to your clan estate. " another silent nod. " . . . you can use the rest of the night to relax. i'll talk to the principal, and you can pack and say goodbyes in the morning. "
but how could they relax? how could they just . . . hang out until tomorrow? just say goodbye? everyone else in the school were accomplished sorcerers- and they were being forced to drop out because their time playing pretend had run out. [ they were never going to be a sorcerer, and this proved it. ] they supposed it was a good thing they didn't have much in their room in terms of belongings- it all packed easily enough in their bags, as they adjusted the strap on their shoulder and looked at the now-empty room. a desk, a single chair, and no bed- the extra chairs they had brought in over time for their kōhai to sit on once they actually allowed others into their room had been put back in one of the common areas- the shelves that were once covered with omiyage cases and containers now sat eerily empty- the last three and a half years of their life had been in this dorm, and now it looked as if they'd never been there at all. [ good. ]
suiren thought one last time about everyone- haibara-san, nanami-san, getō-san and shōko, and . . . gojō-san. ( it was fine- he was the strongest, with getō-san, right? he didn't need a dumb dog beside him anymore . . . not that he ever needed one in the first place. ) turning away from their old room, suiren began to walk; their phone read 1 a.m.- they'd walk down the mountain, to the station, and then just wait there until the trains started running before heading towards the address yaga-sensei gave them after the meeting. it's not like they needed a place to sleep, so maybe they could just start working and then find a nearby bath house as needed . . . yes, this was right. this was what they needed to do. their kōhai would be fine without them, they'd all go on to become skilled sorcerers in their own right- and suiren would die, alone. ( just as planned. )
--------------------------------------------------
he should have expected it. as he stood in the doorway of their empty dorm, he couldn't help the way his fists clenched in frustration- he should have known they'd try to leave on their own, but after discussing things with the principal, he'd been busy talking to kumasaburō, helping arrange things for the kid. he had wanted to give them the chance to explain things to the other students in their own terms, but now? now it was up to him.
standing in front of the other students, yaga scrubbed a hand over his head as his other leaned against the desk before him, still mulling over what to say- or even how much to say. " fudō has dropped out. " the words felt bitter on his tongue- he knew that wasn't the full truth of it, but of course the higher-ups had already decided to make it seem like it was their choice, and not some order from way up on the mountain. " they're no longer attending tōkyō jujutsu tech. "
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strawnav · 5 months
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"Hachi —"
"He didn't tell me. Not exactly. But he —" Jinbei's voice falters, and Nami fights to keep her shoulders squared and her expression smooth, when he says, "— he warned me, about the kinds of things I might do that he felt might...be upsetting to you. So that I could avoid those behaviors."
Some part of Nami's heart breaks, and she smiles, faint and almost sharp, at the idea of Hatchan trying to protect her in this small, simple way. It's kind, but it's something else, too. "And based on what he said, you've...guessed."
He doesn't pretend otherwise, and she appreciates it. "Yes. Not the finer details, but...some of it."
She sits, body suddenly feeling heavy, and sinks into one of the room's plush seats. It's quiet, in the library. Just her and their newest crew member, who she does not fear. Who she does not fear. But her body remembers. Suddenly she can do little else. "What did he say?"
Jinbei would clearly rather not say, but he sits, too, and respects her too much to lie or evade. "He said it might make you uncomfortable to see me using a firearm." Her mind fills with images and sounds, the bang of a gunshot / the sight of her mothers skull exploding, viscera falling out like a spilled bowl / Nojiko's scream. "He told me to let you eat first, before myself, if there was ever a situation where we needed to eat in turns." It's been years since she's been forced to skip a meal, either because her captors decided she wasn't worthy of food or because spending even a cent on a meal was selfish, but she remembers the clutching, devouring hunger and the way her ribs felt against her skin nevertheless. "He though it would be best if I avoided waking you at night if there was any other option." His voice twists, and she doesn't have it in her to wonder what he's imagining. The first six months were the hardest, as far as sleep goes, never being allowed more than a few hours at a time because Arlong wanted to break her circadian rhythm, forcing her up at random to redo maps she knew were perfect. The years after, when she'd wake screaming and be beat for causing such a racket, and the way now she can't scream when she wakes up at all.
She swallows thickly, does not try to force the memories away, does try not to let them settle.
"Was that all?" Nami asks, her voice stronger than she feels.
"And he...suggested I shouldn't come near you generally while you're working on maps."
That has her stiffening. A too - large hand against her skull, slamming her face to her work table, smearing wet ink on her cheeks and blooming bruises beneath it. The memories always float closest to the surface when she draws maps, and that makes her so fucking angry she still wants to scream some days, because drawing maps is her passion. She loves little more. And he took it from her, transformed the simple, warm joy into a source of fear and anger. It's hers, now, but it isn't just her body that he left scarred. It's her dream. Every day, the scars fade, and she believes that someday, it'll be all hers again, but that she has a scar to heal at all is all wrong.
"Hah. That was kind of him." Her hand raises, pressing idly to her tattoo and the jagged scar beneath it. "I kind of hate how weak it makes me seem, though. That he thinks you need to walk on eggshells around me, just because Arlong hurt me."
"Not weak," Jinbei says. "I know that you're the farthest thing from weak."
Nami smiles, not looking at him, and tries to remember that he's right. "I want to tell you about it. Everything that happened." Hatchan was being kind, to tell him this. Nojiko was being kind, when she told Sanji and Usopp. She understands. But it's not their story to share. "I want you to know, and I want you to hear it from me."
He stiffens, and she can tell even without looking at him by the way his breath skips. Fishmen and humans breathe differently. She knows that, too. She imagines hearing a fishman's breath at her back while she draws a map, and is forced to consider that at least one piece of Hachi's advisements may be wise. Jinbei nods and says, "Of course."
"I'm not telling you to hurt you. This crew is like a family to me, and that means you, too. I want everything to be out on the table between us." She looks at him, still smiling, tired but not lying. "And I think we both need the reminder that we're strong enough to bear the truth."
Jinbei smiles, too, and nods again. Nami inhales.
"The reason Hachi probably thought it might upset me if I saw you with a gun — the first thing Arlong did to me was invade my village when I was ten. He took it over, and demanded tribute from everyone. My mother, she — she only had enough money for herself or for my sister and I, and she chose to save us. Arlong — he shot her in the head in front of us." She's surprised at how even her voice is, even while he heart breaks at the memory. She'd tried to help Bellemere after; tiny, trembling hands reaching as though she could put her brains back in her skull, and Nojiko had held her back. Jinbei looks, again, like he may cry, and Nami feels herself grow more tired.
He starts, "I'm so —"
"No," she says. "Don't. It's not your fault. I don't blame you. You've apologized already, and I accepted it. You're not your brother, and I know that. Seeing you with a gun wouldn't scare me, because I know you're not like him."
Jinbei nods, lips thin. Nami looks back to the half - finished map resting on her work table. It's nice, that she can take breaks whenever she wants now. She lets her eyes rest there.
"After he killed my mother, he found a map I'd drawn. I don't remember what I said, but I must have gotten mad at him for touching it or something, because he realized I drew it. Even back then, I was good at it, and Arlong took me away. A man in the vilage who cared about me — he's like a father to me — tried to stop him from taking me, and he was...he got hurt, real badly for it. He almost died."
She doesn't look back at Jinbei. She thinks of Genzo's voice, ragged, barely - there, soaked with blood, I'll save you, Nami. She thinks of screaming, begging him to abandon her. It took her so long after to learn that she was allowed to let others protect her, that she doesn't get everyone who loves her hurt.
"Once he took me away, Arlong beat me and made me watch him sink the Navy ships that came close. I didn't understand what he wanted, but...he was just trying to prove to me that I was alone. That help wasn't coming. He said I could join his crew as their cartographer. I —" Her voice breaks, just barely, as she remembers the little girl, so scared, so small, who'd had to be so, so brave. She wishes she could hold her. She wishes she could tell her that it would be okay someday. "I told him I'd only work for him if he'd let me buy the village back from him someday. And he agreed."
"He did?" Jinbei sounds sincerely surprised, and Nami laughs weakly, eyes drifting to her knees.
"He did. I'd just have to earn one hundred million berries for him, and I'd have the town's freedom. And my own."
"One hundred —"
"I was still a little girl, so I — I didn't really understand just how big that number was. But I didn't...there wasn't any choice. I d - didn't see any other choice. No one was coming to save us. Either I protected the village, or...or they'd all die, like my mom did." She inhales raggedly. "It was all I could do."
"I'm sorry," he says again, and her head snaps to him but before she can tell him to stop, he says, "I'm not taking responsibility. But I am sorry that happened. That shouldn't have...no child should ever be put in that position."
He's right. Nami smiles, and allows herself a few tears. All of the others said the same, when she'd told them. It's a good reminder, that her pain was as horrible and wrong as it had felt. As it still feels, on the worst days.
"Anyway, I ended up working for him. It was more like I was his prisoner than a member of the crew. He gave me a tattoo on my arm of his Jolly Roger, like — hah, well. I guess like a brand." Jinbei's face twists, a mixture of guilt and fury, and she thinks of Fisher Tiger's last words and understands, at least a little. "He was...awful to me. Almost the whole crew was. I went without food a lot. I got beat a lot. He didn't let me sleep enough or eat enough, and he almost killed me more times than I can count. I think he expected me to die. I think he wanted me to." It hadn't felt like an option to her. She was all that stood between Arlong and the village. "He let me stop wearing chains when I turned twelve. A birthday present." Jinbei's expression contorts further. She reaches out her free hand, hesitates, and then commits, resting it over his. His eyes widen as his head snaps towards the contact, then towards her face.
She smiles, trying to comfort them both. This aches, but she's told the story to the others enough that at least the wound isn't new. The hurt is like a stone, stuck in the center of her chest — whenever she tells someone, it feels like chipping away at it.
"He was...exacting about his maps. He locked me in a little room for a long time, didn't let me see any other humans for years. It was just work and maps and getting hurt whenever I tried to rest. I couldn't breathe. When he finally started letting me leave the island, I started stealing from — anywhere. Anything I could get my hands, to save the money to buy the island. Eventually, I started stealing from pirates."
Nojiko's horror, the first time she came home, blood dripping from her mouth and wounds across her arms and chest. Who cares that I'm hurt, I got ten thousand berries right here!
It's easier, to tell this part of the story.
"They hurt me, too, but...honestly, it was still better than being at Arlong Park. Nothing that any of them did to me could match what Arlong did." She inhales slow, exhales slower. Jinbei moves his hand beneath hers slowly, so as to not startle her, and flips it so her hand rests in his wide palm. She doesn't flinch, when he curls his hand gently around hers. "That was...my whole life. For eight years."
The number seems to wound him, and his eyes lower. Nami breathes, but does not stop. She must not believe herself fragile. She must not believe him fragile, either. "I had saved a lot over the years. Arlong figured out how close I was, and he had one of the Navy fuckers he was paying off steal my stash, so that I was back to square one. They shot my sister — she lived, thank god." She'd been so scared, mind conjuring images of Belle - mere's blood in the grass, another person dead because of Nami. "I — the villagers were so angry at Arlong, and so angry on my behalf, that they...they decided they'd rather die fighting Arlong and his men than live another day like this. I tried to convince them I could just...earn the money again, but..."
Inhale. Exhale. This part is hard. It had been so strange, to go from universally despised to so, so loved, and all in a matter of hours. To know that she was going to lose the people who loved her again. "The village loved me, even if I didn't know it. They wouldn't let Arlong get away with hurting me like that, and I think they...they thought that if they died, at least I'd finally be able to escape. I wouldn't have anybody left to save except myself." Her smile turns bitter. "Idiots. At that point, I'd have just died, too."
Her hand against her scar finally falls, and Jinbei's eyes fall to the exposed flesh. The scar is audacious and ugly, but it's mostly covered by the pinwheel. He seems to only now realize how extreme the wound is. "I was so angry at him, and so scared for my family, and so sick of — of having his mark on my body, this reminder that it wasn't really my body, just his tool, and I just — I snapped. I basically tried to carve his brand off of me." Jinbei winces, eyes shining, teeth gritting. There is no fear in her that the anger he expresses is aimed at her. "It's a miracle I can still use my arm at all, honestly. Luffy found me like that, and he didn't even know the story, he just...hated seeing me suffering like that. He and the others marched off to Arlong Park. And against all odds...they won. Luffy, he — he destroyed the room Arlong kept me in, destroyed all the maps I'd drawn in captivity. Destroyed everything connected to — what Arlong did to me. After that, after all that pain, I was...finally free."
Jinbei is silent for a long, long time. Nami doesn't rush him. She needs the quiet to swallow her tears, to let the memories wash through her and leave without drowning her. Fishmen hands feel different than human hands, but she's glad that holding Jinbei's hand doesn't chafe. It feels comforting. It feels kind.
Finally, the fishman says, "how long ago were you freed?"
Nami breathes out. "Almost three years ago."
"Three years of freedom after eight years of captivity and abuse from my brother. I don't fault you for being uncomfortable around me."
"Hey, stop that," Nami commands. "Listen. I'm not uncomfortable around you. We're holding hands now, and all that makes me feel is safe." Jinbei's eyes widen, head raising to look at her face. Her lips are set in a stern line, shoulders strong. "I'm not saying that there won't be bad days where I might jump when you greet me or something or feel anxious drawing my maps around you or the memories might make things hard. But it's not about you or about you letting Arlong go. I get that way about Sanji or Brook or the others sometimes, too." He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he squeezes her hand like he wants to be. "It's not about you. It's just the memories. We've both suffered a lot because of each other's people. But I don't blame you, and I know you don't blame me. There's no part of me, not a single one, that believes you'd ever hurt me the way Arlong did." Jinbei's eyes widen and shine and hurt. Softer, she adds, "There's no part of me that believes you'd ever hurt me at all."
The older man's voice trembles, breaking like the tears flowing from his eyes, when he says, "You are — far kinder than I deserve, and unimaginably brave." She smiles again, helpless this time, as she feels her own eyes begin to well again.
"Now you know my whole story. Thank you for letting me tell you."
"I'm a part of the crew," he says, still crying, but his voice is steadying. She thinks of the singular time she'd caught Arlong crying. He'd beat her for daring to see his fear and pain, and she knows that Jinbei is much stronger than him in many ways, that he is not afraid to allow himself to feel and cry and grieve. She is, too. "You said it yourself. This crew is like family, and there shouldn't be secrets." He breathes out a stuttering laugh, his tears slowing. "It's a bit strange to adjust to how close you are all."
"Give it a month or two," Nami shoots back, teasing a little now. "Luffy will have you so overwhelmed by how stupid we all are that you'll have no choice but to adjust."
"I hope to learn from all of you," he says, free hand wiping at his eyes. She releases his palm, and the other presses to his chest, and to the symbol that had frightened her in the early days "I hope that someday I may possess a fraction of your strength, Nami."
That draws a laugh from her, startled and shy. "The others on the crew are much strong than me."
"I don't believe that," he says, and he means it. He does. Her heart feels — light and heavy both. Floating on saltwater. She is strong, she knows. "To be strong enough not only to endure that hardship, but to have coped and moved on to the extent that you have...to be honest, I envy you. Arlong hurt you far more than he did me, and yet...the strength you display with regards to him is not something I can ever hope to match."
Her brow furrows. "He was your brother. He is your brother. That doesn't excuse him, and I'll always hate him for what he did to me. But it's a hell of lot easier to move on from a villain you hurt you than from the brother that you love."
Jinbei smiles joylessly. "Strange that the same man can be both, isn't it?"
She doesn't have a reply to that. All she can say, after a long moment of silence, is, "you're strong, too." To take responsibility for what is only barely his fault, to cry to a human even though humans have hurt him, to hold the love and the hate for Arlong together in his heart and not fall apart with it.
Jinbei smiles, not looking convinced, but doesn't argue.
"Do you want to — stay with me?" Nami asks suddenly. "While I finish this map?"
His eyes widen. "Are you sure you'd be comfortable with that?"
His concern isn't unwarranted. This conversation has memories bubbling to the surface, pressing against her head — Belle - mere, pain, years of abuse. The time Arlong drowned her and then crushed her hands. A fishman's breathing near her while she draws maps. It might be hard, but — "I'm strong," she says, because she needs to. "And I think I need..." She exhales, trying to think of how to word it. "I used to be afraid of pirates, you know? Much more than I was afraid of fishmen. When I started traveling with Luffy, I was terrified of him. But every day when none of them hurt me, the fear got...smaller. The memories of my crew being good to me drowned out the memories of the crew that hurt me. And I think...I think I need memories of maps and fishmen that are safe, too. To drown out the memories that aren't." She laughs quietly. "I guess I'm being selfish."
Jinbei smiles, almost paternal, eyes still red from his tears. "I think that makes perfect sense. I'd be happy to keep you company."
Nami grins. She's sure it might ache. But she's sure, too, that he won't hurt her. Even now, years later, what a relief — to know her crew won't ever hurt her.
"Thank you."
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saetoru · 5 months
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underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((
- 🦋 anon
✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.
contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending
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money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.
it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.
he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.
and then the presents start to come.
it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.
it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?
not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.
you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.
and then you get your answer.
“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.
you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.
“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.
there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.
“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”
“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.
“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”
“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”
“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”
“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”
he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.
“not necessarily, but you can—”
“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”
“wrio—”
“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”
“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”
“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”
you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.
he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.
“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”
we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.
you and him.
“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”
you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.
“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”
“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”
you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.
“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”
“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”
“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.
“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”
“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.
“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.
wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.
“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”
“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.
“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.
“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.
“no.”
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i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)
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imagines-by-elysian · 5 months
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I LOVE YOU SO - Gojo Saturo
🗝Oneshot: You were a fool to trust him.
🗝Genre: Mild!Angst + used lyrics of the song 'I love you so'
🗝Pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader
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You stood in the dimly lit room, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and broken promises. Gojo was standing before you, his eyes pleading, yet his actions told a different story.
"You're saying I'm the one," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant sounds of the bustling city outside.
“Y/N, its not like that I-"
"But it's your actions that speak louder, giving me love when you are down and need another. I've gotta get away and let you go,"
"Y/N please" Gojo cried, as he moved a little close to you, trying to be in the comfort zone of yours like he was before.
"I've gotta get over. But I lo-" Your voice cracked, and words remained unspoken
Gojo's expression wavered, a mix of regret and longing crossing his features. He reached out, his fingers tracing the outline of your face, as if trying to memorize every curve and contour. "I never meant to hurt you," he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity.
But you couldn't let his words weaken your resolve. The pain of his betrayal was still fresh, the wounds he had inflicted on your soul too deep to ignore. "I'm gonna pack my things and leave you behind," you continued, your voice gaining strength as you wiped your running tears. "This feeling's old and I know that I've made up my mind."
You thought you had lost your mind. But no, its his fault.
As you started gathering your belongings, Gojo watched helplessly, his eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and remorse. He wanted to hold you, to convince you to stay, but he knew he had shattered your trust completely.
"I hope you feel what I felt when you shattered my soul," you said, your voice catching on the words. "Because you were cruel and I'm a fool."
Gojo reaches out to hold your hand, only for you to look at him with teary eyes and a swift movement to free your hand,
"So, please let me go."
With a final glance, you walked away, leaving Gojo behind in the shadows of the room. The door closed softly behind you, sealing the chapter of your life that had been defined by love and heartache.
As you stepped out into the cold night, tears blurred your vision, its over isnt it?
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dvarapala · 9 months
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sometimes she looks at him, all hopeful smiles and pretty blue eyes and she thinks that it's going to hurt a lot more than she thought it would, when she's finally forced to let him go. she is a doorway girl. she is the start and the end, the key to every lock, and she cannot keep something this good when she stains everything and breaks everyone. but she takes her heart with trembling hands and lays it at his feet anyway. he might pick it up, battered and bruised as it is, and cradle it against his own chest. or he steps on it, watching it break into a thousand pieces. whichever choice he makes, she will not begrudge him. (it's important to let people make their own choices. it's his call as much as it is her own. she will not turn into her own biggest nightmare, she staunchly refuses.) even if those choices will cause his blue eyes to darken ad infinitum. she cannot keep him and she cannot be kept. she is a doorway girl. she is the start and the end and one day soon, he's going to find out that she's a black hole: in her, there is no room for light.
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embersofhope-if · 10 months
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Okay i wrote this a while ago bc somebody requested it but now i can't find the ask💔
anyways heres a drabble of the fight Mc and Aurel got into when they were sixteen
tw for fighting, dissociation, strangulation, and theres a needle used at the end but its not explicitly stated
wordcount: 1.9k
The rain pours down onto me as I stand waiting. What I'm waiting for, I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that I need to stand here and wait until whatever is supposed to happen happens. I see the blurred figures of both children and teachers leaving the school to go start their afternoon shifts in the factories. Even if I can’t clearly see their faces, I can feel their glares, anger, and hatred hot on my skin. It’s the only thing I can feel at the moment. It’s honestly about the only thing I’ve been able to feel since the games ended. I can’t bring myself to think too deeply about what happened, or I might start drowning in every emotion imaginable, again.
I can’t let that happen. They’ll put me on so many pills I won’t be able to tell which way is up.
So, I continue to stand, waiting in the rain, having only the heat of glares keeping me warm. A bolt of lightning hits the building across the street, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The jolt of fear suddenly clears my mind of the fog that it’s been trapped in, and I realize why I’m here.
Ash
Every day without fail, Ash and I would meet up here after school. Whether we would just talk for a couple of minutes before their shift at the factory or I was walking them home, we always met up here.
All at once, everything that I haven’t been able to feel hits me so hard I almost fall over. Every feeling forms into a single thought.
I’ve got to get out of here now.
I run, fleeing from the courtyard and everything that’s happened there. That courtyard is nothing but a painful reminder that Ash is gone, and there is nothing I can do to bring them back. With the fog lifted from my brain, I can now fully feel the pain of what's happened. My heart aches as if the games happened just yesterday, and it has left my feet unsteady as I continue to run. I have no idea where I'm running to, probably somewhere equally as painful, but as long as I’m moving away from here, I don’t really care.
I shove past several people, barely hearing their angry shouts of protest, and force my way through a set of doors. I have no idea where I am or where to go. I recognize the room, but my mind refuses to focus enough to remember the name. All I can think about is how much my chest aches and how cold my hands are. My skin feels so cold it's like I’ve never felt the Sun.
I force myself to sit down before I collapse onto the floor, trying not to make any more of a scene than I already have. Exhaustion begins to replace whatever panic is left in my body.
I need to stand up. Make my way home before someone tells Father that I’ve had some type of breakdown. Explain to him that this is nothing like that.
But it is exactly like that, isn’t it? I’m not entirely sure what counts as a breakdown, but sprinting through school grounds shoving anyone out of my way in a blind panic probably counts at least as the start of one. The worry of what Father is going to do when he finds out isn’t enough to motivate my body to move again. I’m so exhausted that all I can bring myself to do is sit here and breathe.
I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve been here, but it’s long enough for me to finally realize where I’m at, the community cafeteria. I’m just thankful I didn’t barge my way into some teacher’s classroom, which means the chances of someone noticing me are significantly lower. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to stand, but I have noticed other people moving about and taking seats. These must be late-day shift workers. That means it's almost seven o’clock, and I’m supposed to be at dinner in thirty minutes. This realization finally manages to get my limbs moving again.
I’ve got to get across the city in the middle of a shift change in less than thirty minutes and then pretend that I’ve spent the last three hours in my room instead of out here trying not to lose my mind. This is going to be near impossible
I quickly stand, trying to come up with something to say to my family whenever I get back home.
Maybe I can say I went on a walk or Hope went missing and I went looking for him. Who am I kidding? Mother wouldn’t believe that for a second, and if she did, Calliope wouldn’t, and she’d have no problem with immediately calling me out on the lie.
No matter what I come up with, every excuse is worse than the last. Ultimately, I decided to just get back as fast as I could and wing it from there.
Once again, I begin shoving my way through groups of people not really caring for the looks they throw my way. I’m stopped whenever a hand grabs my collar and pulls, hard. The motion forces me to turn around, and I come face to face with Aurel Weaver. The anger in their eyes does nothing but confuse me.
I hardly know Aurel. I can’t even remember the last time I spoke to them. What could I have possibly done to make them so angry?
For a minute, we both just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak. I take the moment to properly look at them. After the games ended, shifts at the factories began to ramp up, and Aurel ended up dropping out of school to keep up with the work they were assigned. I haven’t really seen them since then, but I can tell the work is taking a toll on them, changing them. They look about as exhausted as I feel. Their skin pale, and the bags under their eyes are worse than I've ever seen them before. But the biggest change I can see is in their eyes; beautiful hazel eyes drowning in nothing but fury and hatred, and it's all directed at me. A sharp pang runs through my chest. I may not have been best friends with Aurel, but I still considered them at the very least a friendly acquaintance. I force myself to ignore the hurt and very suddenly realize that I’ve been staring for too long and I can't afford to waste what little time I have to get home. “Sorry Aurel, I didn’t mean to run into you,” I say quickly, going to turn to leave.
I take a step away until I, once again, feel a hand grab me. Only this time, the hand is wrapped around both my collar and the chain hanging around my neck. They’re saying something to me, but all I can focus on is the chain in their hand and the fact that if they pull it’ll snap. I take a breath slightly, turning my head, forcing myself to listen to what they’re saying.
“It’s rude to not answer my questions, you know?” Aurel growls, and I can feel them getting ready to yank me back. Instead of responding, I try to move out of their grip. At the same time, they decide to pull, and I feel the chain snap.
The pendant slides down my shirt, and I watch it fall to the ground. The last precious gift that I will ever get from Ash now lays on the ground broken like it was nothing. I barely feel Aurel's presence anymore. All I can stare at is the pieces.
They grab my shoulder, tired of me apparently ignoring them, and force me to look at them. Suddenly, the nothingness I felt while looking at the broken pendant is replaced with an all-consuming rage at the sight of them standing, acting like I owe them any type of response. I glance around and notice a glass cup sitting on the table next to us.
Without a second of delay, I grab it and smash it against the side of their head. Before they manage to recover any semblance of balance, I lunge at them and knock them to the ground. One. Two. Three. I get three punches in before they get me off them. They pin me down with one hand around my throat and use the other to try and hold my hands down. I can feel their right hand around my throat, squeezing hard while I kick and scratch at them. As my vision starts to fill with black spots, I freeze and begin to realize that Aurel might just be trying to kill me.
I’m going to die on the dirty floor of the community cafeteria, and it’s nobody’s fault but mine. Broken and nothing on the ground, just like the necklace lying next to me.
I feel Aurel's grip on me loosens, and I know this is my chance to get them off me. I kick them in the side and manage to get out from under them. I throw a punch to the side of their head that knocks them into a leg of the table, hard. Disoriented and off balance, Aurel doesn’t even notice that I’m in front of them until I pin them down and begin to hit them over and over. I lose track of how many times I hit them; all I know is that they’re not fighting back anymore. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Every emotion I’ve been trying not to feel comes out in every swing. I know I’m crying, but I can’t bring myself to care. I should be ashamed for doing this for letting my anger take control, but I’m not.
There’s a crowd around us now. I can’t hear them, but I can see them; with the show me and Aurel have been putting on, it was bound to catch some attention. If there’s a crowd, then that means there must be peacekeepers on the way. I don’t care. They can drag me away and lock me up forever, and I won’t care. I feel hands trying to pull me off Aurel, but I don’t let them.
They hurt me. Why shouldn’t I hurt them? I want to hurt them. I want to hurt all of them. Everyone in the districts and Capitol. I want to hurt them all.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice white uniforms surrounding me, and they begin grabbing me. They’re a lot better at getting me off Aurel than whoever was trying before. As I’m being pulled away, I notice the pendant still lying on the ground, a forget-me-not shattered into pieces.
Ash would hate me right now.
That thought takes any fight I had left, and I sag in the peacekeeper's arms. The last thing I see is my Father walking towards me as I feel a sharp prick on the back of my neck and fade into darkness.
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floripire · 8 months
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it was supposed to be a quick pit stop. floribeth had been to sarah's spot a few times before. the food's good. the wifi's great. she likes @unbearablyindifferent and she likes the atmosphere too. well, most of the time. because most of the time, people adhere by the rules of the place: no supernatural shenanigans, no hunter stuff. everyone gets in, orders their stuff and either gets out again or chooses a booth to frequent. everyone treats each other with the respect they deserve. everyone, it seemed, but lucas dempsey. a lanky white guy with floppy brown hair, bright eyes and too sharp a smile on his face. other hunters whispered about him. said that the kid couldn't hold a rifle if his life depended on it. still, lucas kept smiling. despite the fact that people kept bringing up his parents roy and sally - both lost to the hunting lifestyle - in hushed whispers. as if he knew something that other people did not. as if it would only be a matter of time before all would be revealed in a dramatic flourish. "well, aren't you a pretty little thing," he'd drawled as floribeth passed his booth on her way back from the bathroom. "you lost this." he held up her phone and floribeth froze up. how did he...? she didn't remember feeling it slip out of her pocket. "thank you," she stammered. "can i have it back now?" "sure," lucas nodded, "after we talk. sit down, fangs. what do you know about the zetes institute?"
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jackpot-library · 1 month
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my brain is stupid and sporadic. i really want to write about a crossover event where the prime evils are vying for an archangel's affections against the like of the main chaos gods from wh40k.
baal throws hands with Khorne (mephisto occasionally tags in bc no one hates more than literal hatred, arms up small man). tzeentch is trying to out-wit the likes of Belial and Mephisto. slaanesh is tempting the archangel with pleasure while andariel and duriel are absolutely livid to where they declare open war on them. diablo and azmodan are in an arms race against nurgle because that damn God needs a bath.
khorne gives the archangel excitement. weirdly the most chaste of the chaos gods. literally somehow hates everyone but the archangel, they don't really think about it. possessive, arrogant, yet chivalrous only to the Archangel. grand displays of violence against the likes of Baal and his kin, blood spilled in their name. jewelry of bones, weapons crafted with horns and sinew. the Archangel would know no luxury for Khorne is the embodiment of battle and war. beauty is wearing the skins of your enemies and reveling in adrenaline. it is the highest source of the grand divine.
sadism reigns as a dominant thought in the likes of nurgle. the most dangerous to be near. his care delves into the likes of self-experimentation and allowing despair to reap its crop. the archangel is infected, all to better themselves and thrive in the breath of death. humble is a word foreign to the likes of nurgle; he speaks common tongue and his speech lacks elegance and poise. his intentions held gold, but his actions are rusted silver.
tzeentch grows and shifts. the tides never waver, life is at the water's mercy. their light is warm yet plagued with afflictions. the Archangel would be embraced by the likes of libraries, each brimmed with tomes and books from times long extinct. they wish to see this interest grow and learn, to rise beyond what path they led and become astry to a beckoning forest. it calls for them, whispers dancing in the gentle breeze so tantalizing they'd feel its essence upon their tongue. come now, be whisked away. feel the grace of change for they'll emerge as the spouse of a great god. why wallow in the care of other sins when they soil their hands with the likes of filth?
slaanesh's words drip with a succulent pleasure. an addiction soon grows. fly with them amongst the artistry of the many, feel their hands upon your body, leading you towards a paradise glazed upon only in myth. their name would become a lie, replaced by the likes of sweet endearments that rot the minds of the many. stay for a while, ignore the cries of the far off demons. pain and anguish, why would you want the likes of them tending to your every need when pleasure and creativity lies at your feet? the Archangel must resist the temptations less their fate be sealed by the likes of the dark prince.
all of this? imagine the anger that rips apart the inards of the Prime Evils. to be sized up like they were scraps of meat on a hook ignites their fire. they feed each off of one another's sins; they might not be one in body nor spirit, but their unity finally shines under the marks of history. once enemies of another they find common ground in annihilating the competition, they'll not be made fools by the likes of foreign gods. this sign of cooperation shown by the Evils intimidates the High Heavens. they worry for what lies behind tomorrow's veil. where one falls, a greater threat rises. which of the lesser Evils do they prepare for? in the end, the answer is obvious. against better judgement the Council assists their sworn enemies, if only for they are familiar with their kind than the gods of another realm.
oh, how i pity them. the chaos marines, daemons, and daemon princes/traitor primarchs say hello.
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