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saintobio · 1 year ago

Text

sincerely yours. (9)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. profanity, usage of alcohol, mentions of cheating, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationship, explicit smut

series masterlist -> episode ten

Satoru had a major problem.

And it was his self-control. His lack of self-control was the reason he had engaged himself in an adulterous relationship back when he was married. His lack of self-control was the reason why you had become the recipient of his unreasonable anger in the early stages of your marriage. His lack of self-control was the reason why, out of all the women in the world, he was now sleeping with a friend of yours. For God’s sake, his lack of self-control was probably the reason why you were also pushed to your limits, choosing to cut your marital ties with him and leaving only the scraps of his role as a parent to Sachiro.

Back when he was attending his weekly therapy sessions, his therapist told him that part of what he needed to learn was to control his impulses, resist temptations, and actively exercise his willpower. They were easier to achieve then than now, since he was the loneliest man at the time with no friends, no wife, no son, and no bustling company to run. His decisions remained untainted, his temptations unchallenged, his emotions uninfluenced—a solitary journey at its finest. He was all by himself. How come? It was because he was sent by his mom to Osaka to temporarily seclude him from his harrowing memories in Tokyo, compelling him to sever ties with the outside world and immerse solely in personal convalescence. Reflecting now, it felt no different than being sent to a psychiatric hospital.

He could say it worked at the time. He learned how to keep his emotions at bay. He learned how to control his thoughts, throwing away the bad and keeping only the good. He was a new man by the time he returned to Tokyo, prepared as ever to take on his role as the Chairman of the Gojou Group, ready to once again try and live a normal life. But the moment news had spread about his ex-wife's marriage to his business rival, all the self-control he had painstakingly cultivated seemed to have evaporated in an instant.

Everything also went downhill after that.

He wasn’t going to list down all of the things that happened nor the impact it had on him since you yourself were a witness to them. But if he was going to look at the way your return has changed the trajectory of his life 3 years after you first left, he would still at a hundred percent put all the blame on his shoulders. None of this domino effect would end up like this if he had been a faithful and loving husband in the first place. The pressure from his father was not the only root of all this, the branches also extended to his corporate greed which ultimately ruined his chance at a fruitful marriage with you.

But at least, the chaos should have settled by now. You chose to move forward and he decided to respect your decision by finding his way to another. This should free you both from the emotional torture that had you imprisoned in each other's cage for the longest time. He would still be there for you as the father of your child, but otherwise, he was happy that you had Toji Zen’in by your side to fill in the marital gaps that he had failed to complete.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. The warm water fell on his body in rivulets, soaking him completely so early in the morning as he decided to take a long shower. For how long? He couldn’t tell. He could stay there for hours if need be. He had to let his mind wander on its own, with a hand pressed against the wall, and another stroking his white hair back. Despite accepting the fact that Toji now owned your love and affection… well, wasn’t that son of a gun too lucky? Did he even realize that the woman he would marry was once Satoru’s entire universe?

Ah, but who cares? Satoru scoffed inwardly, leaning his head back to let the water hit his face. He had Akemi, so why did it matter if you had Toji? He wasn’t bitter. He was just trying to reason with himself that you deserved to be with someone you really, truthfully loved. And he deserved that, too. Maybe not now, but at the perfect time, he could relive the life of a married man after learning from his mistakes the hard way. A much better one. A married man who would never in his life betray, hurt, or ruin his partner. A doting husband who would offer his whole life just to make her happy. He promised to himself that Akemi should have that kind of man from him.

Though, he could ask himself, how far was he from achieving that? He did practice his self-control last night when joined you in the pool—his face, inches away from you. Hand gripping your hip. Eye-to-eye. Skin-to-skin. Your warm breath fanning his cheek. Just another step forward and your lips would touch. But he didn’t let that happen. He mustered all of his power to pull back from the gravity that was drawing him closer to you. Still, he couldn’t deny that you looked absolutely gorgeous last night. As the moonlight illuminated your face, he could swear that the stars also sparkled on your eyes. They must be from the tears you were desperately holding back, but either way, you were still so goddamn beautiful. He almost couldn’t keep his eyes off you last night and had to distract himself from looking at your lips, your collarbone, your chest, your curves…

“Fuck.”

Talk about self-control.

Satoru had none of that right now. His body reacted involuntarily to the thought of you last night. The sensual thought of you. The what-ifs.

What if he had wrapped your legs around his waist and enveloped your lips into a passionate kiss?

He took a deep breath, still holding onto the wall as his other hand traveled to his growing member.

What if he had carried you all the way into the living room and laid you naked on the couch?

Closing his eyes, his hand started moving on its own, stroking his hardened cock and feeling every ridge as he pleasured himself.

What if you had let him devour you? Let him roll his tongue on your entrance and taste your sweet, sweet flesh?

Gojou let out a moan. A quiet yet desperate moan when he continued to jerk himself off faster and rougher. Damn it. He had to keep it low and he better not be heard committing such a sin in the bathroom. Although, he was confident that you were still sound asleep next to Sachiro in your bedroom, so he didn't think you would hear the noise he was making.

After all, it was shameless to know what was driving his feral thoughts right now. Thoughts of you letting him slide his tip along your entrance. Thoughts of him ramming his cock inside your tight cunt, being squeezed by your soft, velvet walls. Thoughts of your breasts bouncing wildly as he continued to hit your most sensitive spot. Fuck. Faster. He would have taken you on all fours, too. He would have let you ride his hardened shaft. He would have pressed you against the sofa and put your legs above his shoulders, letting you milk his cock with the tightness of your cunt. Satoru would release his warm seed into you in every position. He would shoot every drop of his cum straight to your womb, no doubt impregnating you for the second time around. He would absolutely love that. He would love seeing the residues of his wanton desire for you seeping out of your pussy. He would be at bliss watching your belly grow a few months after that, knowing that he had created yet another beautiful life inside of you.

“Y/N…”

Awakened by his senses, Satoru opened his eyes and saw the sticky white mess on his hand and on the wall. What the hell did he just do? More importantly, what the hell was he thinking of?

No one should know about that. Not you, not even Akemi. He didn’t cheat on her, no. He didn’t do anything with you. That shouldn’t be counted as cheating. He didn’t even touch you. And he wasn't even officially dating Akemi.

No, no…

Absolutely not.

Drowning into a pool of guilt, the first thing he did after that sinful shower session was to contact his supposed girlfriend not-girlfiend. And to make things even more awkward, you entered the kitchen in silence at the right time, carrying a sleepy Sachiro in your arms, unaware of the dilemma that was sending your ex-lover into a spiral.

“Morning,” he greeted almost inaudibly, clearing his throat and taking a sip of coffee afterwards. He had to think straight.

“Morning,” was your simple and oblivious reply as you went about your daily morning routine.

Gojou, on the other hand, was typing on his phone because Akemi wasn’t answering his FaceTime calls. He had completely forgotten to update her all day because he had been a little bit too occupied the moment he landed in America. She must be overthinking why he hadn’t reached out to her until now, and he felt extremely awful and responsible for that, but she couldn’t be fast asleep that early, right? It was 7:00 a.m. in New York, so that meant it was only 9:00 p.m. back home.

He nervously rang her number once more, mumbling a ‘please answer’ as he watched her caller ID appear on the screen.

“Dada,” called Sachiro, looking at him as his mother sat him on the high chair to prepare his breakfast.

Still holding his phone, Satoru walked to his son and placed a gentle kiss on his tiny forehead. “Morning, Sachi. Did you sleep well?”

The toddler nodded at him, drinking milk from the baby bottle that he was holding with both hands. His eyes were wide and blue—quite the same hues of blue that would remind you of a clear sky. Satoru couldn’t help but pinch his adorable son’s cheeks.

And while you were busy picking out food from the pantry, Akemi finally answered his call after the fourth attempt and showed her beautiful, soft features on the screen. His eyes immediately lit up at the sight of her. “Hey, how are you?”

He could tell she was still a bit distant and upset because of what happened two weeks ago, when she claimed to have heard him say your name during his sleep. He already made an excuse for it as he also didn’t know why he even did it in the first place, but Akemi was still understandably hurt. He couldn’t blame her.

“I’m fine, how are you?” she tiredly asked, seemingly heading towards her bed. “I just got home from work, that's why I wasn’t answering.”

He could see, in the corner of his eyes, that you were glancing at him but he didn’t return it. All of his focus was on Akemi, feeling bad that he hadn’t exactly been a good partner for her lately. Especially after the shit he just did in the shower this morning, but that was a secret that was meant to be buried. “Alright, did you have dinner already? It’s morning here so I’m having breakfast.”

She offered a small smile albeit the visible exhaustion on her eyes. “I did. How’s Sachiro doing?”

“You wanna see him?” He walked closer to his son, showing him on the screen as his big blue eyes stared at the woman on the other end of the line. “Sachi, say hi to Auntie ‘Kemi.”

“Hiii~” Sachiro happily greeted Akemi, while the latter cooed at the sight of his son. She spoke to him with a gentle and motherly tone, weaving warmth and love into her words. It made his heart full knowing that Akemi would wholeheartedly treat his child as her own, because if there was a slight possibility that she wouldn’t, she knew that Satoru would rather let her go. His child was still more important than any other woman. And so if his future partner couldn’t accept the fact that he had a child with his ex-wife, then they shouldn’t be in his life after all. The case was different with Akemi because she was already your friend and she had the chance to see Sachiro grow up before Gojou even knew his son existed at all. It was a bit complicated, but things turned out to be easier on the part of acceptance.

The only problem was you.

Because by the time the call ended, Satoru could tell that you weren’t in the best mood as you ate breakfast next to Sachiro in complete silence. Your eyebrows were curled into annoyance, and yet your eyes held sadness in them, an expression that had become difficult for him to fathom. Were you jealous of Akemi? He assumed you would say no, but your expressions showed otherwise.

“Y/N,” he called for your attention, hoping that you would look into his eyes for a little bit. Yet, not a chance did you do. “What’s our agenda for today?”

You seemed irritated, if anything. You refused to look at him as you gave a curt reply. “I communicated everything you needed to know via email. You should have checked it instead of letting Miwa do everything for you.”

Jeez. You were definitely angry. “Okay.” He cleared his throat once more. “I just asked in case there was a last minute change.”

“There isn’t. I would have said so if there is.”

“Right.”

Satoru didn’t know how to act in front of his ex-wife anymore. Now that he had seemed to ignite your pique, he chose not to say anything else further as you two finished your meals and cleaned up after yourselves. The only time he spoke again was when he offered to bathe Sachiro so that you could focus on yourself.

You agreed.

And he did his part.

It was simple give-and-take. A transactional relationship, if you must. Nothing else would blossom from that except your responsibilities as parents for Sachiro.

——

The New York trip was already as awkward as it was. And it only just started.

To be fair, it wouldn’t have been as uncomfortable if only Gojou had not decided to make it so. He was the one that made the atmosphere unpleasant by trying to savor every inch of closeness he could get to your skin, only to pull away as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t care about how it made you feel. He even had the audacity to lecture you on how to go about being good parents and setting a good example to Sachiro. Then suddenly, the next morning, he would act like such a loyal and caring partner to Akemi.

The thought of his loyalty made you scoff on the inside. He should be the absolute last one to be saying that. He should be the last one to profess how much of a loyal man he was trying to be to his new girl.

Besides, even before this trip was arranged, you had already made it clear on your mind that the sole purpose of going to New York was for Sachiro's sake. Any interaction outside the need to be there for your son would be unnecessary. He wasn’t someone you still needed in your own personal life nor did he need you in his. Your past relationship no longer mattered in this situation and all that was left was for it to be forgotten. But even with your resistance to be anything more than a parent to your son, Satoru still respected you. He still showed, even in little ways, that he cared about your comfort throughout the trip.

Five days had gone by, and everything you did in New York had been smooth sailing, all thanks to his grand number of connections across the USA. In a short amount of time, Sachiro’s surname had been legally changed, and everything else concerning his birth certificate had been corrected. The only issue left to address was your son’s nationality since Japan doesn’t permit dual citizenship and Sachiro would have to carry a Japanese citizenship and the Gojou name to be able to inherit his father’s assets and multinational conglomerate. You would leave that one up for Satoru to deal with, but everything else had been settled on your end.

Although this trip wasn’t exactly a vacation, Gojou insisted that you two still take Sachiro out to explore the city he grew up in. And you did so by going to Central Park, telling your ex-husband stories of how you used to bring Sachiro there in a stroller when he was still a little baby and that plenty of strangers, both locals or tourists, would coo at him the minute they took a peek at his adorable face. You also took him to the Empire State Building to get the best view of the entire New York City, and Satoru being Satoru couldn’t leave without taking a family photo with you and your son, capturing the beautiful urban cityscape behind you. You could see it in his eyes that even though he was happy to be there, he was also melancholic at the same time. Almost three years of his son’s life were spent in this famous city, without him, and it was as though the bitter memories of those three years for him were haunting him back. Sadness was reflecting off of his crystal blue eyes as he took a minute staring at the view of the city, reminding you that you were the reason why he had missed out on his baby’s first memories.

If guilt could literally eat you alive, you would have been devoured.

“Ready to go, Sachi?” Satoru asked your son, tucking his phone away after having (seemingly) sent Akemi a text message, probably updating her of where he was and what he was doing. In fact, he had been texting and calling her every now and then, as if he was doing his best to reassure her that he wasn’t doing any funny business with you. Has Akemi always been a possessive partner? Even with your years of friendship with her, she had never acted that way in her past relationship. So, was she only like that to Satoru specifically? You wondered if she would go nuts had she heard Satoru tell you how badly he wanted to make more babies with you on your first night here.

Sachiro nodded, clinging to your hand while reaching for his father’s. “Dada, hand pwease!”

Satoru did offer his hand, but mirrored the surprise on your face when your son tried to link your fingers together, urging you to hold each other's hands like a couple. You didn’t want to get too offended by it, but your ex-husband was the first one to pull away. “I, uh, made a reservation for us in Carbone,” he said, unable to exchange eye-contact, “Yuuta will meet us there.”

“Oh, he’s in New York?” you asked, pretending you didn’t notice how he acted allergic to your touch and redirected your attention to your son. “Did you hear that, Sachi? Uncle Yuuta will come and see you.”

Your little one was oblivious to the world, too distracted by the throng of people surrounding the place that he didn’t even notice how his parents were uneasy with each other. To say that you didn’t feel bad for your son was a lie, because it actually broke your heart. Even if you and Satoru were working on co-parenting and making sure Sachiro wouldn’t feel the gravity of a broken household, you knew that when he reached the right age, all of this would still have an effect on him. One day, he would still be asking questions about his parents. Questions about why you separated, why your marriage failed, and why you had to move to New York while his father stayed behind. It hurt. Deep inside, it hurt so much to know that your only son wasn’t given the chance to have a complete family and it felt like a failure on your part as his parent.

You were sure that was what Yuuta thought, too. As you met with him at a fancy restaurant in the city, you could see how his face lightened up seeing his nephew bonding with his parents as if it were a family vacation. He must have known what it was like to have a broken household. In fact, he had lived in a toxic one before, but he still grew up to be a mature and dignified young man who never let the horrors of his family’s actions affect his rational thinking. So if there was anyone in the world who would sympathize the most with Sachiro, it would be Yuuta.

“Sachi,” he spoke to your son fondly, wiping the sauce on the toddler’s chin. Yuuta chuckled as he watched the little boy's grimace after being given a small piece of broccoli. “You don’t like vegetables?”

You fixed the bib on your son’s neck. “He does, but he’s very picky with it,” you tell Yuuta, glancing at Satoru who was busy speaking on the phone with Nanami about what appeared to be matters concerning the company. “Wonder where he got it from.”

“Right.” Yuuta’s eyes turned into moon crescents as he smiled. “I remember nii-san being a little picky.”

“You hear that Sachi?” you teased your son, who looked at you with his cute puppy eyes. You knew that if you had the ability to peak through his toddler mind, it would actually be full of fried chicken. The thought made you laugh. “Don’t be like daddy, okay? Sachi needs to have his veggies so he’ll be strong when he grows up.”

“But…” Sachiro pointed to his father. “Dada is stwong.”

Satoru chimed in at the conversation after having finished the call, “That’s right, Dada’s strong. Mommy could barely even handle me.”

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?” You rolled your eyes, while Yuuta wanted to giggle, but chose to hold it back seeing the awkwardness of the situation.

Satoru shrugged and sat on his chair, eyeing the scrumptious dishes that were served to your table. He was acting like he hadn't been served more expensive meals before. “Have you tried the spicy rigatoni before? I heard it’s famous here.”

You casually answered. “Yes. Toji used to bring me here every time he visited.”

Look, you didn’t mean to overshare nor did you mean to make things even more awkward. You also didn’t mean to slap it in his face about how you were spending your years in New York with Toji. But Satoru, with his pride, took it resentfully.

“Oh, really?” His words were the opposite of his voice. He was mirthless and full of unenthusiasm before changing the topic, redirecting his attention to his step-brother instead. “How’s Harvard?”

Yuuta eased the tension by making small talk, sharing details about his university life, and making sure he didn’t contribute to the growing tension. “I’m really just trying to survive this semester so I can go back home as soon as I graduate.” After taking a sip of his Cabernet Blend, he continued, “Like I promised, I’ll help you with the company.”

You were happy, at least, to know that Satoru and Yuuta had fixed their relationship as step-brothers even after the whole incident with Nana, Eula, and their father. What used to be a relationship full of envy and competition finally became one that was full of mutual trust and support. Yuuta deserved that since he never once wished for his brother’s downfall, while Satoru also deserved to have a family member that had his back and helped him with the business without constantly fighting about inheritance. Because technically, Satoru was the sole heir of the Gojou family, and his dad only made it seem as though he would give it to Yuuta to make his own son comply with his orders. Satoru’s dad was controlling in that sense, and that was what led to all of this.

But the present was more important. Things have changed and mistakes have been learned. It was all up to you on how you were going to manage your new life moving forward.

Only, if only things were a little bit different on his side.

——

You had raised your son all by yourself for the last 3 years, so the presence of his father wasn’t really something you were used to for the longest time. How Sachiro acted around other people was solely a reflection of your teachings, discipline, and guidance as his mother. He didn’t really have a paternal figure up until now, and even if Toji was there to support your journey to motherhood, he never fully meddled with your mother-son relationship nor did he act like a replacement to Sachiro’s biological father. He loved him like his own, but respected the fact that the spot was reserved for Satoru. He knew that. He understood that, because he himself experienced raising a child alone without the presence of a mother. And if you asked him, he, too, would not want Megumi to replace the very love that he was supposed to have for his biological mom. Sure, Megumi could love and respect you, but Toji would still want him to save an unnegotiable spot for his mother in his heart. After all, she had birthed him. And in that same way, you had birthed Sachiro and created him with Satoru during your marriage. If there was anyone Sachiro should look up to, it had to be his father.

And quite frankly, the father himself was doing an excellent job.

But then again, remembering how hands-on Satoru was to you during your pregnancy, you never doubted that he would be a good parent. He may not be a perfect husband, but he loved his child with all of his heart and soul, and he would risk it all just to keep him happy.

It was new to you how, throughout the trip, you didn’t have to take care of Sachiro alone. You and Satoru helped each other harmoniously, attending to your toddler’s needs and making sure he was being prioritized. You were glad. Truly. You were grateful to see that he wasn’t an absent father and that his words weren’t empty when he promised you that he would be a responsible dad to him.

Though, at the back of your mind, you couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he welcomed another child in this world? A child that didn’t come from you? Deep inside, it hurt you to imagine him neglecting Sachiro on the side the minute he welcomed a new baby with Akemi. The reality was, the father would always prioritize the child of the current wife, not the child of the ex-wife. He would still support him, sure. But would he still pay the same level of attention that he was giving Sachiro now? You would probably break in half if Sachiro was thrown to the agonizing realm of feeling like an outsider in his own family because no child deserved that. If Satoru had that experience first-hand, he should not subject his own son to that same feeling.

You would be selfish to say this, but you wanted to seize the opportunity while Sachiro was still his only son. Hiding him from his father was your fault—you had gone through that a million times and you weren’t shy at holding yourself accountable through that mistake. However, you were already doing your best to make amends and make up for the years Sachiro had missed around his father. He was Satoru’s first and only child, and therefore he should never fight for his father’s affection. You weren’t sure what Satoru’s long term plans with Akemi were, but if they were considering having their own children someday, you would never allow your son to be pushed back at the bottom of the family tree.

Sachiro was the true first-born son of Satoru. He should never have to fight for his position in his father's eyes.

And so on the night of your flight back to Japan, when Satoru asked if he could take Sachiro with him for the rest of the week, you had no problems in saying yes. Your only wish right now was for them to spend as much time together as possible.

“Where are you taking him?” you did ask in spite of your leniency to send your son away, waiting inside the car as the pilot and crew prepared the private jet. “Please send me the full address. I need to know where he’s gonna stay and—”

“You’ll get the details from Miwa,” he casually said, rubbing Sachiro’s back as the little boy slept on his chest. He didn’t bother meeting your eyes as he talked. “I’m just taking him to my vacation home in Osaka.”

Osaka…

That was where his mother isolated him from the rest of the world when he was having terrible episodes. Episodes that worsened after he had found out that you ‘terminated’ his child and abandoned him for good. Shoko once said that they felt like Gojou disappeared from their lives while he was there, because nobody else could reach out to him. They couldn’t visit him nor could they contact him for a year or so until he was mentally ready to come back to Tokyo.

You didn’t want to pry on matters that were sensitive to him, so you chose not to say anything concerning his decision to take Sachiro to Osaka. He must have wanted to reflect on his past experiences, allowing him to heal from them as it brought him to the incommutable life he had now—life knowing that Sachiro actually existed after everything that he was made to believe.

“Please take good care of him, okay?” It was only a reminder, nothing else.

Satoru kept a straight face, nodding before he planted a kiss on his son’s forehead. “I got it from here.”

After a minute of silence, you both got out of the car and you watched him carry the peaceful Sachiro in his arms. You left the sleeping toddler a tender kiss on the cheek before parting ways. “I love you, my baby.” Stroking his hair, you kissed his tiny nose. “Mommy will see you soon.”

Satoru knew that you were staying behind. You had informed him of your plans before you even came here to the airport with him, explaining that Toji would be in Miami and that you had made arrangements to meet with your fiancé there. Satoru didn’t say anything much about it either, simply nodding his head at your decision and telling you to ‘do whatever’ because he was no longer a husband you should report your plans to. There was no hint of jealousy in his stance, but you couldn't miss the flicker of bitterness that did appear on his eyes for a millisecond.

You didn’t even say goodbye to each other as you watched them board the plane. And he didn’t even bother looking back at you to tell you to take care of yourself. Not that you expected anything from him, but a quick goodbye would have been nice since you did spend the last couple of days together. Or perhaps, he was upset about the fact that you were staying behind to meet Toji?

Either way, you were on your own now.

It took some time for you to reach Toji in Miami. He had insisted on meeting you at the airport, but because he had to meet with a foreign investor, you headed straight to the hotel he was staying at. Funny enough, you couldn’t help but compare how different it was to stay in the same accommodation as your fiancé vs with your ex-husband and son. With Toji, nothing felt uncomfortable and sharing a room as a couple was as normal as it should be, but things did feel too formal and too forced. With Satoru, it felt awkward to share the same space with him, but since your son was there, it felt like home. It felt strangely close to home, like it was only right. That staying together as a family was what your heart wanted.

Ever since Satoru went back to Japan with Sachiro, you had been feeling a wave of separation anxiety. Your mind was always left wandering towards them; how they were doing, where they were, what they had for dinner. You wondered if Sachiro was giving his father a headache. Smiling at the thought, perhaps he was giving Satoru a hard time changing his diapers.

“Everything okay?” Toji, noticing your trance, put an arm around you as you two sat at the VIP lounge of the Miami Grand Prix. This was Toji’s scene. If Satoru was a fan of horseback riding and polo, Toji preferred big time F1 races. He even personally knew the racers, the type of cars they were driving, and everything a huge fan had to know. You weren’t all that familiar with these things, so it was a little hard to keep up with his lifestyle.

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” you stammered, realizing how distracted you had been all this time. “What were you saying?”

He drank from his glass of 30 year-old Macallan, downing the liquor like it was mere water. A cloud of disappointment settled over his features. “Not interesting to you, huh?”

“No, I…” You made an effort to place a hand on his nape, giving him an apologetic peck on the lips. “I’m really sorry for zoning out. I was just… I guess I was just a little tired from New York.”

Toji placed a hand on your knee, sighing. “It’s fine. I was just trying to introduce the guys to you,” he said, scooting closer as he pointed to the racers. “You know that guy? Lewis Hamilton. He’s quite popular with the ladies,” then he moved his finger towards the other drivers, “And we got here for Ferrari, Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc, also fan favorites.”

Your eyes suddenly caught sight of Gojou’s favorite car brand. “Um, how about McLaren? Who drives for them?”

Unsure if Toji caught on or not, he did take a minute before feeding into your curiosity. “Norris and Piastri.”

You wished you had any idea about F1 so that you could be as enthusiastic as Toji was at this event. He was at his happiest right now and you didn’t want to ruin it by being a boring, uncultured fiancé, because frankly, all these women around would have done a better job at entertaining him. Toji was very eye-candy and you couldn’t blame these models from glancing up at him, especially with how manly and suave he was, dressed like a picture perfect example of an old money businessman. The likes of him were the prey of these desperate influencers, willing to sell their bodies in exchange for a night with him. But truth be told, that was their way of living and you could never find it in yourself to insult them. You didn’t want to shame them for attempting to climb the social ladder because that was how they view money and success, or at least a faster ticket to it.

As long as they didn’t try to make moves on your fiancé while you were around, you wouldn’t be so bothered by a few stares here and there.

Neither was Toji. He must have experienced being stared at during these events plenty of times before, and he probably even sent women home crying because of rejection or worse, humiliation. Now that you think of it, how did Megumi feel when his father was being hit on while watching the Grand Prix? Most importantly, why was the teenage son absent at this current event?

“Love, why didn’t you bring Megumi with you?” you inquired out of a sudden curiosity, knowing that Megumi was always present next to his father during F1 events.

Toji took a sip of the hard liquor once more. “He didn’t wanna go. He was giving me the silent treatment before I left for the US.”

Confusion further blanketed your eyes. “Did something happen back home?”

He let out a deep breath, his face signaling that he was deep in dilemma. “The Zen’in elders want to set him up for an arranged marriage,” he revealed, much to your surprise, “They wanna make sure he’s not gonna end up like me, married to someone who wasn’t ‘qualified’ to be my wife.”

At first you were confused if he was referring to you, but you realized that he was describing his late wife. Megumi’s own mother, the only woman Toji had ever loved by a mile. He fought everyone for her, even turned his back on his own family for her, but claimed that he also ultimately led her to her demise because the elders of his family harassed her until the day she died. It was a tragic love, perhaps even more tragic than yours, so you somehow understood why Toji was conflicted about Megumi’s personal life.

But you? You were strongly against it. “I don’t support arranged marriages, you know that,” you told him with conviction, sympathizing for the poor boy, “It’s not gonna end well. You know what happened to me…”

“I know.” Toji’s eyes were filled with regret. “I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it unless Megumi himself tells me he has someone he loves.”

“Did you ask?”

“He’s tight-lipped about it.”

You sighed. “Well, he’s a teenager. They get pretty shy about these things.”

Forcing a marriage was never a good thing. You couldn’t understand why the concept even existed because it didn’t benefit anyone aside from the people around the married couple. That was why they called it a marriage of convenience. They were married for everyone’s sake but themselves; family name, status, business… You have had enough of it. If only you realized it from the very beginning, you never would have subjected yourself to a loveless marriage with Satoru. Even if your love did grow eventually, things still didn’t work out for the best, and now your life was a mess. A divorced couple co-parenting their only son? There was obviously no convenience gained in that false marriage.

Megumi would just be wasting years of his life tied to a person he didn’t love and so you were hoping that Toji would fight for his son’s right. Because if he truly understood you, he would not subject his son to the same suffering you went through.

“I wish my wife was here,” mumbled Toji, forlornly, “She’d know how to handle these things better than I do.”

Were you not there for him? You swallowed your pride, hiding the pain in your voice. “Right…” A smile was all that you could offer. “I’m sure she would.”

——

Something was different about Toji and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

It wasn’t his appearance, and neither was it the way he spoke to you. He was all the same except for one thing; the look in his eyes.

He had told you this before. He said that the eyes carry the most truthful and raw emotion that you can see on someone. The presence of love would be visible in someone’s eyes just as you would see stars on a clear, night sky. The lack, however, would mean that the eyes are blank and empty like the dark void in the expanse of the universe. You didn’t have to be poetic to be able to discern the way his eyes communicated his most solemn feelings in spite of trying to show otherwise.

He must have been tired. Being caught up in your back-and-forths with your ex-husband, having to put up with your pretentious co-parenting situation, and the never ending need to keep an open mind about your situation with the same man who had ruined you. When your heart was in pieces, wasn’t he the one who tried to fix it? Wasn’t he the one who remained by your side during your darkest times?

Whether that may be true, whether he truly ever loved you, you could recognize the stark difference of the Toji that genuinely cared for you to the Toji that was only actively trying to be there for you. What had changed him all of a sudden?

“Toji, you drank a little too much.” A weary sigh escaped your lips, pulling all your might to drag your fiancé to lie comfortably in your shared bed later that night. At least, on the way to the hotel room, you had his bodyguards to thank for. They were there to haul him while he was in his drunken stupor, letting you lead the way, and dumping him carefully to his bed because there was no way you would be able to carry such a muscular man all by yourself. Now that you were alone with him, you decided to care for him the same way you used to do when Gojou was coming home drunk at night. Starting with his shoes that you took off, his shirt that you unbuttoned, his pants that you unzipped. “Come on, love. I’ll get you changed.”

The verdant hues of his eyes weren’t present. They were hiding behind his lids, refusing to meet your gaze. But if anything, he did open his mouth to speak, “...You. You wanna know a secret?”

Drunken words are sober thoughts, you reminded yourself. Of the numerous times Satoru had gotten drunk during the early stages of your marriage, it was how you found out that deep inside him, he did care for you. That in spite of his ill-tempered exterior, he was a man deprived of parental love and support. What would be the case for Toji, then?

“Yeah?” You waited for his answer, slipping his shirt off and revealing his toned body.

The scar on his mouth moved when he displayed a mirthless smile. He was as drunk as an alcoholic would be. “I don’t… think… I can love you the same way I loved my first wife.”

Your heart paused. In fact, every heartbeat became heavy. You knew how he felt, but didn’t expect him to say that out loud. “I-Is that so…?”

“Absolutely,” he mumbled, chuckling inaudibly. He was at a point where he was too far gone to realize the magnitude of the words he was saying to you. “Even if you try your best, she was everything I wanted in life and the only woman I could ever offer my heart to. She’s irreplaceable, and I don’t feel guilty about it... because I know you’re still into Satoru, too.”

“That’s…” You held your breath, holding back the sudden tears that formed in your eyes. “That’s not true.”

Toji wasn’t done yet, however. He still went on with his drunken speech like he was finally pouring out raw, yet hurtful words out of the bottle. “Who knows? You would’ve had him touch you back in New York if you didn’t have me. You would’ve had him impregnate you, have his second child with you, and guess what? He still won’t be loyal to you.”

The pain in your heart increased tenfold. Everything went still and every minute felt like a stab to your soul. Should you say something? Should you get angry at him? No, no you couldn’t. Your chest was tightening and you knew it was smart not to let such negative emotions overpower you. His words were just a little difficult to grasp because Toji never in his life had been callous with his words to you. The tears that fell from your eyes were from the betrayal that you felt after hearing the cruel words he had uttered. And yet, you tried to hold on to that thin string of hope that Toji’s words didn’t come from a place of truth.

“That’s enough, Toji. Go to sleep.” You pulled away, swallowing the bitter taste of weakness in your voice.

He hummed, unaware of the pain he had put you through. “The more I look at you, the more I realize how much I actually don’t want to spend my whole life with you,” he admitted, with little to no regard for your current feelings, “I can’t fill this emptiness by being with another empty soul. And if there’s one thing I’m most grateful for, it’s that I let you run away that day before I fulfilled my vows with you—”

“Enough!” You shot up from bed and wiped the flood of tears on your eyes. “Enough! I’ve heard everything you wanted me to hear, okay?! Enough!” you raised your voice in despair, almost begging for him to stop tearing your heart asunder. “I get it! I fucking get it… so enough. Please, Toji.”

Drunken words are sober thoughts.

A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.

Alcohol is a truth serum.

The revelation of Toji’s true feelings that night was a reminder to you that he was just like any other man. That you should have never put him in such a high regard, thinking that he would be the prince charming that would save the poor damsel in distress. Why? What would he benefit from someone like you? You only deluded yourself into thinking that a man like him would take a single mother so seriously. You were only meant to be a placeholder for his dead wife after all.

A placeholder, certainly. Not even deserving to have the title of a wife.

——

There was a huge contrast between being with you and Sachiro in New York vs being with Akemi and Sachiro in Osaka. The difference? There was no awkward air between Akemi and him. They were free to do things as they will—no restrictions, no certain do’s and don’ts. They were happy to have each other’s company, minus the guilt nor the unease of being by each other’s side. If anything, Satoru bitterly assumed that you were having the time of your life in Miami with Toji. You were so keen to see the man back there before parting ways with your ex-husband and son like you were simply discarding them to the side.

If so be it, then fine. Satoru had all the right to have his son all to himself while you were gone. Besides, Akemi was just one call away and she was everything he could ever ask for. She cared for Sachiro as if she was his own mother and Satoru couldn’t be more grateful that he didn’t need to work on building a bond between her and his son.

In fact, Akemi very much knew how to win Sachiro’s heart. As they took his adorable son to Universal Studios that day, she was nothing short of a caring mother. She had acted as a guardian to his son throughout the rides, letting the toddler enjoy his time at all the wonderful attractions that the theme park had to offer. Not once did his son cry too, so that only meant that they were doing a great job at taking care of him.

Of course, it was a different story in the afternoon. After having spent all of his energy during the day, Sachiro had become tired and hungry by dinner time. But he wasn’t such a difficult kid to tend to, so Satoru was proud that his son still wasn’t throwing a tantrum even after a whole day of not having you around.

“We’re gonna get Sachi fried chicken,” he enticed the pouting toddler, kissing his forehead while Akemi carried him in her arms. “Is that what you want?”

Sachiro nodded and wrapped his little arms around his auntie’s neck. “Chicken, dada.”

Akemi smiled at the child’s gesture, tempting her to also place a kiss on his cheek. “You’re so cute and well-behaved, Sachi.”

“—Satoru?”

At the familiar voice, all three of them turned to the woman standing behind like a deer caught in the headlines. She was tall for a woman, slender, and had long, auburn hair, rosy cheeks, and ivory skin. Next to her was a tattooed man with salmon pink hair, a piercing on his ear, and a very defensive stance. Ah… How timely.

Sera and Sukuna.

Satoru wasn’t sure if he should openly greet them, after all, they weren’t acquaintances. And it was only recent that he got his memories back, triggered by Sera's presence at the expo. Other than that, he had no business with the two of them. Sukuna wasn’t a business partner of his, so him and Satoru had no formal connection towards each other. As for Sera, she might be his ex-girlfriend, but they didn’t exactly have the healthiest relationship to begin with, so…

“Of all the places,” she mumbled, almost gaping at the sight of him. Her eyes then trailed off to Akemi and Sachiro, with which her expressions shifted to guilt. Did she recognize his son? Did she remember the horrible attempt she did to harm his child during his ex-wife’s pregnancy? The memory was flooding Satoru’s brain like a tsunami. Yeah, in that case, Sera should definitely be filled with guilt. She tried to kill this harmless child.

He cleared his throat, now becoming protective over his son at the presence of his ex. “We gotta go—”

“I guess it’s true,” Sera spoke again, this time redirecting her attention to Akemi. “The rumors, I mean. It’s all just surprising to me considering how obsessive Satoru was to Y/N.” She paused, seemingly wanting to comment at her ex-boyfriend’s current relationship in a mocking way. She kept her eyes on Akemi only, while Satoru was left wondering why Sera was acting hostile towards her. What was her deal now? She wasn't in the position to be acting all entitled to Gojou anymore, but here she was, talking to Akemi like she had met her before. “Did you know? He sacrificed everything for her. No one else made him beg on his knees the same way Y/N did.”

He couldn’t even tell how Akemi felt while Sera was clearly taunting her with her words, but she still managed to smile and excuse herself, keeping Sachiro away from an environment that should only be between adults. It was ridiculous, surely. What was Sera thinking trying to subject his son around that kind of hostility? Balling his fists, Satoru turned to Sukuna and spoke to him man-to-man. “You’d better keep your woman entertained so she’ll stop meddling into other people’s business.”

Sukuna, however, found the situation equally humorous. “Don’t worry. We both are entertained.”

Making a spectacle of Satoru’s personal life? No wonder they ended up together. They were both pieces of shit.

Before Satoru turned on his heels to follow Akemi, Sera still had one last thing to say to him. This time, she was more calm and less malicious—her eyes following Akemi’s trail before looking back at him, “Satoru, if you have truly grown as a man, you won’t do this to Y/N.”

——

Sachiro was fast asleep when they returned to the Gojou clan's vacation home.

Meanwhile, since the night was young for the two adults in that house, Akemi and Satoru shared a passionate session in the living room downstairs, letting her ride him as he placed soft kisses on her collarbone. They tried to keep quiet, obviously, and all the lights were turned off, leaving only the moonlight illuminating their view. After a few more minutes into their lovemaking, they eventually met their climax and tried to catch each other’s breath, embracing her in his arms as she fell limp against him.

“Satoru, I missed you a lot while you were gone.”

“...Same.”

Silence engulfed them for some time until she let out an exasperated sigh. It was clear in her facial expressions alone that she was pondering about the whole scene with Sera earlier. “That girl earlier, Sera, she—”

“Don’t mind her.” Gojou closed his eyes and leaned his head against the backrest. He knew he had to clear things up straightforwardly, leaving no room for any misunderstandings. “She just loves riling people up. It’s ironic she’s coming at Y/N’s defense now like she didn’t torment her back then. She’s not worth paying attention to.”

“Okay.” Akemi pulled away, cupping his face and stroking his cheek. She also offered him an angelic smile while doing so. “But you don’t feel that way anymore, right? For Y/N?”

Satoru took a deep breath, but steadied the movements of his chest. He felt defensive all of a sudden. “No.”

Her smile grew more relaxed as she pressed a light peck on his lips. “Right.” And for a while, they both stayed silent. His thoughts ran straight to you, while hers was quite on a different route. “Earlier when I put Sachiro to bed, he called me his mama.”

His eyes widened. “Oh… he did?”

She answered with a nod. “I don’t know if he’s just half asleep calling for his real mommy, but… At that moment, it made me realize how much I want to have my own,” she hinted at him, wistfully staring at his blue eyes with her shining ones, “with you.”

——

You didn’t take the flight back to Tokyo.

What you took was an immediate flight straight to Osaka where you knew your son and your ex-husband would be. You weren’t sure if it was due to the height of your emotions, but you surely let your impulse win the best of you this time.

You just wanted to escape. It was for the first time in your life where you were dying to set yourself free from Toji’s presence, the very same person who you once likened to a buoy in an open sea. Now he was no longer that. He was far from that. He was an anchor pulling you down at the deepest part of the ocean. Needless to say, the pain was still fresh from your heart when you took the earliest flight back home after his drunken confession to you.

Despite the many missed calls and texts and emails he had sent you, none of them were returned. None of them were seen, or read, or had been replied to.

All you wanted to do was get to your son. Your son. Your only comfort from all the painful things that the world has thrown at you. If not for Sachiro, you would have long ended yourself. But because he was born in this world, because he relied on his mother for love and guidance, you had to be strong and you had to seek the comfort in your heart from him.

They could all turn their backs on you, but never will your son do.

And so, after a few back-and-forth emails with Miwa to confirm the address of Satoru’s residence in Osaka, you ignored the jetlag that was hitting your body and traveled straight to his place without a wink of decent sleep. Sachiro. Sachiro was all you ever thought of when you asked your driver to drop you off the park nearby the Gojou clan's residence as soon as you spotted your son's mop of white hair, him running across the small bridge and pointing towards a fish in the pond. Your son was happily calling all the fishes, gushing about them to Satoru who stood next to him.

You didn’t even care at how you looked during that moment. You just wanted to get to your son and embrace him in your arms. He had been away from you for way too long and you had already grown pale and sick from the separation anxiety that engulfed your heart and mind.

You had to have your son. You had to hold him.

“Sachi!” you called out, a smile present on your face as you made your desperate way towards the bridge. Your son looked at you the moment he had heard your voice, and was already skipping towards you with a bright smile on his face. “My baby!”

Satoru’s face, on the other hand, turned pallid. His eyes were full of surprise, unable to believe that you were actually right in front of him. It was like he had seen a ghost. No, worse than a ghost. Why? Did he not expect you to come when he had let Miwa send the address to you? Were you not welcome to visit your own son?

“Mamaaa!” Sachiro hugged you tightly, allowing you to attack his cute face with kisses all over.

“Mommy missed you so much, my baby.” You could almost cry. As young as he was, he had no idea how much comfort he was bringing into your heart. Just to be able to see him, hold him, kiss him was enough for you to feel complete again. It was at your brokenness did you realize how much Sachiro could fix you whole.

“Y/N, I thought you…” Satoru paused, confusion seemed to be settling on his features as you looked up at him. “You’re supposed to be back by Monday.”

For a moment, you were reminded of the reason you came home earlier than intended and it stung your heart to think about. “Change of plans.”

A small scoff left his lips. “Don’t tell me you left Toji back there.”

I did, you wanted to say. Satoru had no single idea how true his words were, but that was none of his business and you had no plans of confiding in him about what had happened. You may be angry with Toji now, but you still respected him enough not to do terrible things behind his back.

“I had to see my son,” you lied, although it wasn’t exactly one, and got up while holding your toddler’s hand. “Are you ready to go home with mommy, Sachi?”

Reluctance clouded your son’s face, and he became more resolute at shaking his head the moment a woman’s voice called for him from afar. A woman, a very, painfully familiar woman came into view a few meters away from you. Standing there was your best friend, Akemi Hirai, looking at you with wide, mortified eyes as soon as she saw your presence.

And in a snap, Sachiro ran to her. Your son ran straight to her, joyfully and excitedly as if she was his real mother.

How many more heartbreaks do you have to go through?

How many more tears do you have to hold back?

“I…” Your hands were shaking. Your entire body was on the verge of breaking down. All this time, your son had been in this vacation home living like a happy little family with your ex-husband and best friend.

Now, he even refused to go home with you.

Gojou scanned through the look on your eyes as though he was reading your emotions, but you showed none of it. Not a single emotion could be seen on your face. Not an ounce of pain shown, despite seeing how your son immediately forgot about you and headed straight to another woman. How excited he was to spend more time with his dad and his new girlfriend. How, much to your discomfort, he refused to go back to Tokyo with you. You saw the future family Sachiro was about to have without you in the picture, and damn did it hit you like a truck.

Why, why did everyone in your life choose others before you?

“I’m sorry. I’ll bring him to your house Monday morning,” said your ex-husband in a soft, delicate voice, almost as if he was being careful with you. “We’ll take care of him.”

You could simply nod, avoiding eye-contact with anyone in the vicinity except for Satoru. “Okay...” you struggled with words. Your entire body was shaking. The last thing you wanted was to sound like a selfish mother, but frankly, you were about to self-destruct. “Just keep him happy… that's all I ask.”

Behind your mask of indifference, Satoru knew what right words had to be said. You needed reassurance, and that was exactly what he gave you. “I won’t ever take him away from you, Y/N. I promise.”

You watched them walk away, leaving you alone with a look of sympathy that you didn’t need. Sympathy that you despised having received. This should serve as a wake up call to you that no one in this world would ever love you. That even your own child would, one day, abandon you.

As tears fell from your eyes, you felt a certain pang on your chest that hurt worse than every other pain combined. “You know you’re not so good with promises, Satoru.”

#series: sincerely yours #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo angst #jjk angst #gojo satoru angst #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x yn

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valiantothello · 3 months ago

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Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying, Chapter 2: Roots

Its moments like this that show me how Dick is truly so much better than me. If a random kid walked up to me and said that about my father who just decked me in the face and told me to not come back, I'd get violent 😭.

And the funny thing is, we as the reader know that Dick has been "paying back" what he "owes" Bruce, as Tim says it. Batman Year Three shows Dick going to talk to Bruce after talking with his therapist *post-New Titans #53 in the hopes of settling the issues between them.

"DON'T YOU DARE BLAME ME FOR JASON'S DEATH!"

*New titans #53

Never say Dick doesn't go to therapy, guys

This all happens relatively close to each other, timeline wise. I'm pretty sure it's Dick; finds out Jason is dead, goes to Bruce, gets punched, leaves, has a Titans meeting and fires Danny Chase because he cant stomach mentoring someone so young anymore, goes to his therapist then goes to talk to Bruce again. Bruce isn't left to his own devices for very long, is what I'm trying to say. For even more reference, Jason dies in Batman #429: A Death in the Family and Dick comes back for his second talk with Bruce in Batman #436: Batman Year Three.

"BRUCE? BRUCE, WE'VE GOT TO-" "IT'S ALFRED, SIR. MASTER BRUCE IS GONE." "HE HAD TO KNOW I WANTED TO SPEAK WITH HIM, SO HE RAN BEFORE WE HAD OUR CONFRONTATION. ALFRED, I'M DEFINITELY FEELING YOU'RE RIGHT. SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH HIM, AND HE'S AVOIDING THE VERY PEOPLE WHO COULD TRY TO HELP HIM." "OUR CONVERSATIONS HAVE BEEN MINIMAL AT BEST-- --AND ONLY WHEN I AM TENDING TO HIS WOUNDS... WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING BEFORE-- WHICH ARE MORE FREQUENT THAN I HAVE EVER SEEN BEFORE." "THE TITANS BEEPER. HOLD A SEC."

Batman #437: Batman Year Three

He goes to find Bruce but ends up finding out how much excessive force Bruce is using on his opponents. It's so bad that Dick has to call an ambulance for a guy Bruce left behind on his rampage.

"HE KEPT SHOUTIN AT US--WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT THE GANG KILLINGS."

"WANTED TO KNOW WHAT WAS GOING DOWN THE GRAPEVINE" "I HEARD A RUMOR--NOTHIN' MORE. I SWEAR IT 'BOUT RICKY ROSSELLI... I TOLD BATMAN WHAT I HEARD." "BUT HE DIDN'T BELIEVE 'IM. HE KEPT HITTIN' JACKY TILL JACKY COULDN'T TALK NO MORE." "I'M CALLING FOR AN AMBULANCE. WHEN I'M DONE, I WANT YOU TO TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU TOLD BATMAN." 'What's HAPPENED to you, Bruce? what's going on?'

Batman #437: Batman Year Three

He ends up finding Bruce, only to get shrugged off. They play a game of cat and mouse: Dick chasing after Bruce, trying to get him to open up to him and Bruce running away from facing both his feelings AND Dick.

"WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO OPEN UP, BRUCE? YOU CAME SO CLOSE. WHY DID YOU SHUT DOWN ALL OVER AGAIN?"

Batman #437: Batman Year Three

Essentially, Dick takes up the brunt of the emotional labour in this book but Bruce is not allowing Dick to help. He says this when confronted by Dick about it:

Batman #437: Batman Year Three

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

"I HAVE SOME THEORIES I WANT TO CHECK OUT." "THEN I'M COMING WITH YOU." "NO! I DON'T NEED ANY PARTNERS."

The crux of the problem that Tim just doesn't get is that it's not about Dick not being Robin. Dick has been attempting to connect with Bruce, despite what he's done to him. The problem is Bruce rejecting partnership of any kind. He is pushing Alfred away, he is pushing Dick away. He cannot stomach the idea of a team anymore.

My point circles back to the idea of Dick owing something to Bruce. Dick owes Bruce nothing that he hasn't paid for in the form of years of loyalty, love and forgiveness. He will help Bruce time and time again and now the idea of debt is being thrown in his face and its like?? I think Tim saying that highlights how out the loop he really is on the Dick-Bruce relationship, despite everything he finds out, he has only gleamed the surface.

This was supposed to be a funny shitpost and it became meta oh ok 👍

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #tim drake #a lonely place of dying #a death in the family #tim is soooo creepy in this book i forgot how creepy he was #i mean this kinda affectionately #jason todd #dead but alive in Bruce's guilt #long post #dick grayson meta #queued post

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grimysash · 1 month ago

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the reason why sasharcy is so great is because sasha and marcy could understand each other in a way anne could never understand. she can certainly try, but in the end, she'll never be able to find out what it's like to feel unloved and neglected in your own household. and she'll never know the fear of abandonment, the anxiety, the fear that if you don't do something about this right now, everything will crumble and all you love is gonna slip from your grip as you watch it decompose and decay before your own eyes. she'll never know what its like to have a negligent/otherwise abusive parent. yeah she had her squabbles with oum, that's a natural part of familial relationships between a child and a mother. in the end they were able to settle their differences and you can clearly tell that bee & oum love anne the way she is, and they attempt to do their best to be there for her.

but like... sasha and marcy? i know we didnt have any EXPLICIT information that would be 'definitive proof' that their parents are abusive, but, at the very least, they do not know their children all that well after all, clearly. i dont think a kid with caring, loving parents would have such terror at the idea of change that they were willing to zap themselves and their friends to god who knows what. i dont think a kid with thoughtful, benevolent parents would be so anxious of letting go of control that they were ready to push their friends around and commit unspeakable things once they're let off the leash and assume that whatever they do wont have consequence anyway bcz its not even their fucking universe, so why should she care what happens to a bunch of, albeit anthromorphic with a lot of humane qualities, frogs? the fact that a healthy, mentally stable teen would behave like this is alarming. yeah children got hormones but it gets to a point where you HAVE to get concerned and at the very least talk to them or bring them to a counselor or sum shit. otherwise you are extremely ignorant and u do not care for your own kid's psychological welfare. also, demeanor pernicious/destructive like this just doesnt come out of nowhere, oftentimes it's caused by trauma and deeply-rooted unhealed childhood wounds. sasha becoming a child's therapist, having issues with anger and control 3/4 of the time we've seen her onscreen, having her parents be canonically divorced with both her father/mother having families of their own already and have the main fucking character outright STATE that "maybe thats why shes always been so desperate to keep us under her thumb". and then theres the implication behind the words "sasha's always been very private about her home life." like jesus fucking christ, just tell me that they dont give a shit about their kid to my face instead of kicking me in the gut like this ??

its literally practically canon atp that sasha doesnt have the best parents. for marcy, ill give them the benefit of the doubt bcs it is stated that they profoundly love and cherish her (though that doesnt stop them from having issues regarding their parenting. they could be meaning well and had the best intentions in mind but life doesnt always go as planned and even parents are living for the first time too.), so maybe theres hope. and lets say marcy has an alright home life (no comment on sasha, this girl has mommy/daddy issues so deep not even the show was able to hide it). that still doesnt change the fact that her behavior was erratic at best and dangerous to her own self/those around her at worst. sasharcy is good because these mfs have abandonment issues so bad that they'll probably look like a healthy couple to outsiders since the obsession they have for each other is mutual and is reciprocated in full force. not to mention that marce is the type of gal that wants attention, she wants to be cared for, while on the other hand, sasha wants to take care of someone, she wants to protect others and act as their crutch and would be more than happy to satisfy all marcy's needs, both as a friend and in a romantic context. of course nobody's saying its healthy though, look where that kind of stagnant dynamic got all of them lmfao, but i fear if they were able to work through their trauma properly they would be a perfect match for each other. two sides of the same coin bro.

and, there's no way sasha and marcy haven't spoken about the guilt that they feel after what they both had done at least once. sasha got a large ass burn scar from marcy for christ's sake, i dont think mar-mar wouldnt bring it up to apologize and i doubt sasha wouldnt reassure her either and in the end bounce to the topic of how horrible of a friend she has been both to her and anne, and how now she's trying to be better for them. and that "everyone deserves a second chance."

sasharcy is great ESPECIALLY post-canon sasharcy. thats a whole different can of worms and if i start talking about it i wont be able to stop. this post is getting long enough already and if u read this far ur a hero

all this to say, im seething abt the fact that sasharcy is so unpopular. no way yall think they wouldnt be the typa couple to be so disgustingly sweet to each other you lowkey want to kill yourself each time you see them interact

I NEED MORE IM SO NORMAL ABOUT THEM

TL;DR me having a crisis & a crazy madman ramble about two traumatized thirteen (23) year olds

#amphibia #sasha waybright #marcy wu #sasharcy #rant post

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somuchforahobby · 3 months ago

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Coping mechanisms

Summary: after the death (sorry💀) of your boyfriend Steve Rogers, you attend therapy to navigate the loss (while your own thoughts haunt you). Italics are flashbacks. Tags: Bucky x reader / implied Steve Rogers x reader Warnings: This might qualify as steamy but it is not smut; no physical descriptions nor explicit content. Words: 1k Writer's note: this is the closest i've been to writing smut so PLEASE let me know what you think thanksss

“So how has it been the last couple of weeks?” The therapist asked you from across the room. Her gray hair was neatly brushed back, a warm smile on her lips.

A couple of books fell when your back hit the book shelf. The pain of the wood against your skin is forgotten while the heat of his lips traveled down your neck, leaving love bites all over.

“It has been—“ you inhaled, “better.” You could feel the thin layer of sweat on the back of your knees against the leather sofa, working as a reminder not to use shorts for your next visit.

“Have you been doing the breathing exercises?”

Your chest goes up and down, inhaling deeply in a lame attempt to control your movements. A strong set of fingers keep your hips rooted to the mattress while his tongue takes the filthiest sounds out of you.

“Yes”

“And how about your sleep? Has it gotten any better?”

‘I know you have it in you’ his deep, hoarse voice in your ear shook you with a new wave of pleasure while his hair, long and disheveled, tickled your neck.

‘Please, give me one more’ he coaxed you between moans of his own, finally taking you off the cliff for the third time in the night.

His strong arms circled your waist, pulling you over his chest. He left soft and lingering kisses all over your flushed and oversensitive skin. ‘Good night, babe, rest.’

You barely heard him over your sleepness.

“I’ve had some better nights lately”

“Tell me about your social life, have you tried to go out?”

‘Wanna come over?’ You blocked your phone as soon as you sent the text in an attempt to mute the crippling anxiety it brought you.

Your screen lights up seconds later with a notification.

Message from Bucky ‘On my way’

“Not really” your gaze was fixed on your feet, “though I have been seeing some of my old friends”

‘I brought you sushi and a bottle of wine’ Bucky left the shopping bag on the counter of your apartment, his smile strained. ‘Thought you may want dinner after I’m done with ya’ he sent you a cheeky wink that had you discarding your shirt on the spot.

“Do you mean Steve’s friends?”

‘I’ve seen that before’ Bucky tugged at your oversized shirt.

‘It was his’ you muttered, standing next to him on your bed.

He nodded, shame and sadness flashed his blue eyes.

‘We are gonna have to take it out of the way’ he pulled it over your head before taking you back to the mattress.

“Yepp”

“Did you see them on the street? Or where did you see them?”

Your eyes opened lazily to find a super soldier tangled next to you. His relaxed features brought a warm smile to your face.

“No, he visits to check on me”

Bucky crossed the threshold of your apartment door with a bag of groceries, ‘just the basics’ he said as he took them out and put them in the fridge. ‘Another basic’ he pulled out a box of condoms and threw it your way.

You catched it with a grin.

“Just to make sure you are ok? That is a good friend.”

‘Come on, baby’ he was shaking, holding his release for you, ‘I need you to come now’ he cooed as his fingers worked on you.

Once your eyes rolled back and released the breath you’d been holding, he allowed himself to do so.

“Yeah, he always puts me first.” you admitted robotically.

“And how does his company make you feel?”

Your fist closed on the sheets, desperately trying to ease the building tension of your core. But you were merciless at his disposal.

‘You like that?’ He kissed your temple, his broad chest over you.

Unable to form any words, you merely nodded.

‘Let me take care of you, gorgeous.’ He muttered as he pressed deeper into you, causing hot pleasure tears to dwell in your eyes.

“Good” the foot that hung on your opposite knee was bumping awkwardly. An anxious and unconscious habit.

“That is an improvement. He is dealing with something similar, maybe not the same, but you are grieving the same person. Spending time with him probably will help you soothe it, though it won’t heal it. Have you spoken about it with him?”

‘That was the best orgasm of my life’ you muttered with eyes half closed.

Bucky smirked, ‘don’t talk ill about my friend’ he pressed his lips to your jaw.

‘I am not bad mouthing Steve, I am praising you’ you moved to kiss him, pushing him on his back to straddle his hips. ‘Your turn’

“A little bit”

“Did it make you feel better?”

Vibranium fingers sank on your hips, a rough moan came out of his lips while your face nuzzled in his neck in absolute bliss.

‘You’re perfect’ he kissed the top of your head.

‘I might fight you from now on to go on top, Barnes’

You saw a loving smile before he leaned in to kiss you.

“You could say so”

“The next step would be to go out. I think you are ready.”

You grimaced. The woman in front of you leaned her head sideways, trying to bargain.

“You have to, eventually. Why don’t you text your friend, and ask him to hang today in another place than your apartment?”

You huffed, taking your phone out of your pocket.

‘Hey, what are you doing tonight?’ You read the text out loud.

The Doctor nodded.

The answer came almost immediately.

‘Hopefully you. 9 pm at your place?’

“He’s free” you said, not reading his answer out loud.

“Then invite him to do something outside your apartment.”

‘See you at your apartment’ you sent the text without sharing it with your therapist.

“Done.”

“Great” Your therapist smiled, “now try not to fill the void of your late boyfriend with his friend. Think of this new friendship as a coping mechanism for both of you, ok?”

You smiled back, “alright doc”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you

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redstringraven · 4 months ago

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⋆｡ﾟPROFILE: Cassia Dubois a tmnt'03 original character

BASIC INFO:

Name: Cassia Alyssa Dubois Nickname: Cassie, “sweet girl” (Esme and Oliver only) Age: 17ish (post-season 4) ; 19ish (present) Gender: trans gal (she/her) Orientation: aromantic asexual (sex neutral) Species: human (3rd Earth) Height: 5’7 (170cm) Eye Color: chestnut brown Hair Color: brunette (dyed bubblegum-pink) Birthday: December 5th, 1987 (sagittarius) Enneagram: 7w8 Voice Claim: Penny Parker (Snapcube on Youtube)

Likes: 70s aesthetic, weird little trinkets, “cursed” memes, nicknames, street art, snickerdoodles

Dislikes: Purple Dragons, triceratons, watching sports (boring!), citrus smells, big dogs (doesn’t like being jumped on or barked at), losing the game

(( biography, personality, & relationships w/ cast under the cut! ))

BIO:

Cassia was born to Oliver and Esme Dubois on December 5th, 1987, after several attempts to carry a child to full term. She had a ‘normal’ and quiet childhood. Oliver’s occupation as a train conductor required him to travel and travel often, so she was primarily raised by her mother after the two decided it would be best for their child to have roots in one place. Despite the demands of his occupation, Oliver took whatever stray time his trips allowed him to find creative little ways to communicate with his wife and child, be it written letters, photos or puzzles or doodles, phone calls during hotel stays--whatever he could do to ensure that, no matter where he was, he was still present in Cassia’s life. Whenever he is in town, best believe the family’s schedules are cleared to maximize their time together.

As Cassia grew, she began to feel detached from the gender she was assigned at birth. While her parents always welcomed her to express herself in the ways that came to her naturally and made her happy, she began to notice the world around her didn’t. She began being bullied or ostracized by peers for being “too girly”, chastised by adults at school for behaving in ways that were “too feminine” and "concerning", finding more and more that when she’d daydream she’d picture herself as a girl among her few friends--all culminating in a breakdown when she was in her early teens. One evening, as Cassia sat in the kitchen doing homework while Esme prepared dinner, she began sobbing. She asked Esme why she had to be born a boy. She didn’t want to be one; she wanted to be a girl--like the few friends she had--be able to do what they could. Esme tried to assure her that who she was, and how she wanted to express herself, was her beautiful choice; that no one got to tell her who she's expected to be. And while Cassia seemed receptive to this, it didn't appear to be enough to stop the tears or pain. Concerned, saddened, and unsure what to do, Esme asked Cassia if she would like to be referred to as her “sweet girl” from then on. The sentiment seemed to work, and, slowly, Cassia calmed down. But as the rest of the night went on, Esme felt this wasn't as simple as a reaction to a bad day.

That evening, after Cassia had gone to bed, Esme and Oliver stayed on the phone long into the night discussing what happened before dinner and the pain their child had expressed. Esme began seeking out a therapist and making regular trips to the library for books to read between clients, and Oliver assisted how he could between stops. A friendly exchange with a passenger drew his attention to New York City’s LGBTQ+ Center and community as well. Slowly, but surely, they began Cassia’s transition process.

Oliver’s mother and brother were more than supportive, but Esme’s side of the family rejected Cassia’s transition. So, Esme rejected them. Cassia continues to have a wonderful relationship with her paternal grandmother and uncle, who love her very much. Cassia chose her new name, and she asked her parents to choose a middle-name for her. They chose ‘Alyssa’, after her paternal grandmother.

For the next few years, life was pretty normal and uneventful. Until it wasn’t.

One night, an alien race that called themselves the Triceraton Republic invaded Earth. Throughout the invasion, Cassia and Esme remained hidden in their apartment, but Oliver had been in the midst of a trip. They lost touch with him and fell into a state of fear and worry, having no way of knowing if he was safe or even alive. It wasn’t until after the triceratons fully abandoned Earth that they were able to contact him. While the family came out the other side unharmed, their sense of security had been severely shaken. Esme, already prone to anxiety and worry, struggled to navigate the weeks Oliver would be traveling. She and Cassia would both have long spells of insomnia throughout his trips that they tried to quell with “camp outs” in the living room, watching movies and sleeping in the comfort of a shared blanket fort around the couch. After a while, they almost allowed themselves to settle back into a semblance of normal...but a new danger began lurking in New York’s shadows.

Esme would hear talk from her clients about missing family members, co-workers or neighbors; children who’d gone missing after school, reports of suspected runaways and sightings of police walking neighborhood blocks. Rumors of strange shapes in alleyways--sickly looking animals. Cassia was asked to either go straight home or to the small salon where Esme worked after school. She was not to stay out past dusk, even with friends. For several weeks, that tension of fear and confusion clouded the household. But, much in the same way as the strange occurrences had begun… they stopped. And New York City grew ‘quiet’ once more.

Nearly a year passed, and Cassia tried once again to settle back into the mundane. News of long trips for her dad still riled a strong sense of anxiety, and she’d catch herself being a little less than bold when it came to city exploration.

It was one evening, while she was out later than expected, covering Purple Dragon tags with images of Kirby, Yoshi, and the Pink Panther, that she got surrounded by a small group of the sleazeballs. She managed to ‘fight off’ two on her own, spraying them in the face with her paint, and she nearly skated away before one managed to grab her hair. But he didn’t have her for long. A figure dropped down from a nearby roof and knocked him out. When she turned to look at the newcomer, Cassia found herself face to beak with a green… alien? creature of some sort. He pleaded for her not to spray him in the face with paint, too, and after a few seconds of tension, Cassia felt an odd sense of familiarity wash over her. He was scared of her—in some small way. She promised not to tell anyone about him (a bit of a white lie, as the moment she got home--and the reality of what had nearly transpired hit her--she burst into tears and told Esme everything, right down to the strange, turtle-like creature that’d had her back), and they went their separate ways.

It'd be another few weeks until Cassia crossed paths with the creature again, this time in the skate-park with his three brothers. She introduced herself (for real this time), and got to learn that her rescuer from that night went by ‘Mikey’. Turns out? He’s pretty groovy. And so are his brothers. Also, they shred?? That's SICK.

Cassia rarely joins the turtles’ on their more adventurous and drastic shenanigans, but she’s become a close and down to Earth friend. Esme has since met Mikey, and opened their home to him and his family should they ever need the escape or comfort.

PERSONALITY:

Bubbly, energetic, and out-going, Cassia has no problem expressing herself and relishes being an open book. If she’s not at school or at home, you’re likely to find her coasting around one of the city’s skate-parks, livening up a space with some creative street art, or at her favorite diner in a booth by a big bright window. Much of her street art involves pop-culture characters, with heavy influences of 60s and 70s bright colors and rounded shapes. If a space permits her to wear her skates, you can almost always expect to see her wearing her favorite pair of mint green roller skates with pink wheels and LED lights (her "watermelon wheels", if you will). Along with her trusty skates, she always carries a silly little backpack or satchel-purse with a few cans of spray-paint, chalk, and a pair of sneakers.

On top of being social, Cassia can be very physically affectionate. She’ll hold your hand or hug your arm while walking places with you (unless you express discomfort with this, of course), and she tends to grab arms, shoulders, or hands when excited and expressing joy. Sometimes she’ll gleefully drum her palms against your back or shoulders (or in the turtles' case, their shells). She’s aware that she can be overwhelming for more withdrawn or introverted personalities, and she does try to adjust her energy and volume levels when in the presence of those sorts of folks. Cassia won’t change who she is for you, but she will more than often adapt, so those around her still feel welcomed and comfortable.

She’s that girl who won’t even know you but will hype you up in the bathroom; if someone’s making you uncomfortable, she’ll make a scene for you--get them in a full nelson--who knows. Point is: befriend this silly girl, and you’ll have a friend for life. If she likes you, you'll have a nickname by the end of the week and regular donut drops on your front porch after you’ve had a rough day.

Relationships:

ESME & OLIVER DUBOIS:

Cassia and her parents are extremely close. Esme and Oliver were accepting of Cassia's transition immediately, and both are very involved in her life as well as the LGBTQ+ community in the city. Despite Oliver's work as a train conductor requiring him to travel often, he and Cassia have maintained a strong relationship through regular calls, letters, and other inventive forms of communication and gift exchange. Cassia's social calendar will go on pause when he's in town, so she has ample time to spend with him. When they're together, it's easy to see where Cassia gets her sense of humor, curiosity, and out-going nature. Esme works as a hairdresser, and, on her busier days, Cassia will take it upon herself to tidy the apartment or cook dinner to help out. Esme can be high-anxiety, resulting in both Cassia and Oliver being protective of her, but will snap into “mama bear” mode if she feels her daughter is being slighted or antagonized--anxiety be damned. Similarly, she makes an effort to keep her salon space decorated with small pride trinkets to signal safety for her clients. Every child deserves to feel loved, and she'll go out of her way to ensure this happens. This is one of the many reasons Cassia was confident her mother (and father) could be another potential safe haven for the boys; she knew after the initial shock wore off, both would be more than accepting and loving. And they were!

DONATELLO:

While Cassia and Don get along, they spend the least amount of time around each other. Don falls into the category of people who can get overwhelmed by Cassia's company, so she's careful to give him the space he needs. She'll pop in to check on him, ask what he's working on, gush over it for a minute or two, and then promptly heck off. The longer spans of time with him tend to occur when Mikey ropes Don in for shenanigans or when Don lets her help with a paint job on one of his latest projects. Where Cassia's fallen into a "little sister" role with the other brothers, she carries more of an "older sister" air around Don and will speak up for him if she senses him becoming uncomfortable or irritated--times when he might opt for a polite tone when something more direct is warranted. Not that Don ISN'T capable of making how he feels known, but... he did ask for no pickles. Very disappointed you didn't hear him the first time.

Nicknames for Don include: Grapes, Donnerd, and Mothman.

LEONARDO:

Cassia enjoys Leo's company but sometimes finds herself a little underwhelmed by him. Where Mikey and Raph are more willing dare-devils and mischief-makers, Leo’s often hesitant to participate or will draw attention to potential consequences for whatever activity they're about to do. While sometimes frustrating, she appreciates him for it at the end of the day. His concern--and willingness to be “the wet blanket”--reminds her of her mom. She understands Leo's firm hold on the reins is more out of love than it is trying to ruin anyone's fun. This connection has also lead to her seeking advice or guidance from him. She very much enjoys engaging in quiet quality time with Leo, be it doodling in her sketchbook while he reads or practicing a dance routine (with her headphones on!) while he meditates nearby. However… to say that she thrives when Leo's silly and playful side comes out would be the understatement of the century. There’s little she loves more than coaxing out his competitive edge. He can deny it all he wants, but it's there. She absolutely delights in the glint he gets in his eyes when he's about to show off.

Nicknames for Leo include: Blue's Clues, Pink Panther, and Aslan.

MICHELANGELO:

Mikey was the first of the turtles Cassia directly encountered, and he was the one she formed the most immediate connection to. They clicked near-instantly due to shared interests in art, skating, and general tomfoolery. They’re a couple of high-energy gremlins, both naturally curious, highly expressive, adventurous, and attention-loving. Cassia’s become something of an anchor for Mikey, being a source that helps keep him grounded from all the craziness in his life. She’s been a point of guidance as he’s found himself on the aroace spectrum--another common ground the two share. She’s also not afraid to ‘force’ him to slow down sometimes and process emotions he’s been avoiding. Many nights filled with facial masks, nail polish, and mugs of hot chocolate have been had. Esme's already been taking mental notes of the snacks and drinks Mikey responds positively to and doing her best to make sure a few extras are stored away in the pantry and fridge. Just in case he's hungry and needs to drop in. Cassia assures her that the boys DO have a home and resources, but... oh, you never know.

Nicknames for Mikey include: Tangerine, Jell-O, and Champ.

RAPHAEL:

Since Cassia's friendship with Mikey often involves ruffling Raph's feathers, much of her friendship with Raph is banter-centric, teasing, and empty threats from both parties. Cassia’s slightly more aware of and, I guess the word would be 'attentive', to Raph’s temper boundaries than Mikey. This is partially due to being less familiar of Raph’s finer lines in the sand than Mikey, but it's also a sincere effort NOT to actually piss him off. It's not that Raph’s heightened states scare her or make her uneasy, moreso that this is a temperament she hasn’t quite figured out how to navigate yet. She prefers not to set it off if she can help it. Raph and Cassia have a silent affection sort of thing going on, where Cassia will climb up onto Raph's shell, and he stops walking long enough for her to get up there and then goes about whatever he was doing. Their version of Cassia’s habitual hand or arm holding, but perhaps in a way Raph’s more receptive of. Sometimes, if she’s having a particularly high-anxiety night, she’ll text Raph and request a picture of Klunk or Spoon. A few minutes later, without fail, she’ll have a handful of cute cat pics to scroll through.

Nicknames for Raph include: Forks, Beyblade, and Kool-Aid.

MASTER SPLINTER:

Cassia and Splinter don't interact too much. Not that they deliberately avoid each other, of course, but Cassia does tend to bring a new wave of energy and noise to an already somewhat chaotic ‘household’. Splinter prefers to keep to his own activities or quietly excuse himself when he senses things are about to get rowdier than usual. Cassia’s been quick to catch on that Splinter falls into a similar camp as Don, Leo and her mother; she'll tone herself down around him (partially because she's realized his hearing is much more sensitive than most) and try to be a little less eager to instigate petty competition or mischief between the brothers. Despite that their personalities and forms of expression sometimes conflict, they get along well enough, and Cassia holds a lot of respect for him. Splinter hasn’t gotten to meet her parents yet, but she thinks the three of them will get along great.

Cassia always addresses Splinter as “Master Splinter” (or replies with "yes, sir" and "no, sir"), but when referring to him in conversation with others, she’ll sometimes say “the coolest slice of pepperjack this side of Brooklyn”.

BREANNE O'NEIL:

Bree and Cassia have shared some classes throughout high school and knew each other on a casual-acquaintance sort of level. They became closer friends after Cassia encountered the turtles in the skate-park. Both are artistic spirits--Cassia's favorite medium being street art and Bree's being painting or sketching--and they enjoy having art parties with Mikey. Like with Don, Cassia tends to step into more of a “big sister” role with Bree and won't hesitate to throw hands with anyone who gives her a hard time.

Nicknames for Bree include: Sundrop and "Breanne, Green Eggs and Ham". (bree's tag!)

MIN-JI SEONG:

While Min-ji and Cassia had seen each other around school, they had never properly interacted until Cassia's second encounter with the turtles. Due to Min-ji’s recent experiences with the Purple Dragons and the Foot, she was guarded and a little suspicious of Cassia's ease in accepting that there were mutant turtles in the city. As Min-ji became more comfortable around Cassia, they grew closer as friends. Enough so, that they had a nice little heart-to-heart after school one afternoon. Min-ji expressed concern for Cassia’s safety when it came to her antagonizing the Purple Dragons by painting over their tags, and Cassia in turn offered to help Min-ji process leftover pain and anger she harbored toward someone she thought she could trust. Min-ji often struggles with her confidence and self-esteem, but Cassia’s already made it a main mission to be her biggest hype-woman, as Raph’s already Min-ji’s biggest hype-man (Leo’s just gonna have to deal with that… unless he thinks he can prove otherwise).

Nicknames for Min-ji include: Ji-ji, Jeepers, Swan Song, and City Siren. (min-ji's tag!)

NYXRAM:

While Cassia and Nyxram haven’t met, it probably goes without saying that any encounters would be… tense. Especially on Cassia’s end of things. Even though Cassia and her family were fortunate enough to not have direct contact with triceratons during the invasion, the event was still traumatic and caused her family immense distress. Should Cassia find herself in Nyxram’s presence, she’d likely be overwhelmed by fear and anger but would clam up and try to make herself as invisible as possible.

(nyxram's tag!)

GWYNETH:

Cassia’s interactions with Gwyn have been quite minimal and civil. The two are friendly toward each other, but there is an underlying sense of unease and distrust. Whether it’s because Gwyn’s not from Earth or that Cassia can feel Gwyn doesn’t trust her, Cassia instinctively grows more alert in the liáfsian’s presence. The two only seem to be fully at ease around each other if Mikey or Raph are also sharing the space with them. Cassia does, if she were being honest with herself, harbor a small amount of resentment toward Gwyn for disappearing and hurting both Mikey and Bree’s feelings in doing so. ...there’s... also a small part of her that does wish Gwyn would move on to another planet, as her presence on Earth might draw the attention of other aliens. She hasn’t heard a lot about this Darach guy, but she’s heard enough to know she doesn’t want another invader blasting down her door or making her wonder if she'll ever see her father again.

(gwyneth's tag!)

AISLINN:

If Cassia’s interactions with Gwyn have been minimal, her interactions with Ash have been next to none. Cassia’s aware of Ash’s sentience and presence in the weapon Gwyn carries around, but she’s significantly less aware of any details surrounding Ash. At most, she knows Ash is aware of her surroundings, has enough of a personality to be a bit of a smartass sometimes, and that Gwyn gets bristly when someone focuses on Ash for too long. So, she lets Ash instigate any of their interactions. Which Ash usually doesn’t do.

(aislinn's tag!)

YUNSOL SEONG:

While Cassia has only briefly met Min-ji’s cousin, Yunsol, she and her mother have already extended a supportive hand to her. Yunsol had been facing severe bullying, blackmail, and emotional abuse from people she thought were her friends. They'd learned she was a lesbian, still timid about this revelation, and closeted from her family. Min-ji sought out Cassia and Esme for help resolving the situation, so Yunsol could be free of it without being forced to come out to her parents before she was ready. Though Cassia and Yunsol have yet to interact outside of this heavier context, they unknowingly HAVE crossed paths online. Yunsol is one of Cassia’s favorite sapphic fanfic writers. She has no idea how many nights Cassia’s been up well longer than she should have, lying on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air, and hugging a pillow against her face while she reads the sapphic adventures of Elle Woods. And Cassia has no idea how much each and every one of those keyboard smashing comments have warmed Yunsol's heart.

(yunsol's tag!)

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*gentle disclaimer that bree, min-ji, and yunsol belong to @/plantdonut!

#tmnt oc #tmnt 2003 oc #tmnt 2003 #original character #;hannah draws #;tmnt oc: cassia dubois #[ i'll add more tags later because oh my god i need to lie down ]#[ I DID IT I FINALLY FINISHED ONE e__e ]#[ if i botched spelling or sentences anywhere i'm gonna just... just deal with that later jfklds ]#[ screams at top of lung ]

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kindnessoverperfection · 2 years ago

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I want to break down a common point of conflict when addressing NPD stigma.

A lot of hangups people have tend to be along the lines of "but I DO see a lot of people with actual NPD who are acting in toxic or abusive ways".

This will be kind of long, so bear with me.

Point #1: People are way more likely to be diagnosed if they exhibit "stereotypical" symptoms.

There's this image of NPD as a disorder that is only present in those with patterns of destructive behavior towards others. Many therapists have this conception. (Shockingly, the mental health field is not perfect & without stigma.)

Gonna copy-paste this here from my other blog (so forgive me if you've seen it before), because it's a good example.

Three people are criticized at work. Their boss yells at them for their performance in front of everyone. Person A gets mad and defensive. They yell back, using cutting remarks as a way to try and ease the distress they feel. Person B acts really mature and responsible the whole time, nodding along and agreeing and promising to do better, just desperate to maintain and improve their status. Desperate to be liked. Later they go home and handle their distress through self-destructive means, and spend the next few months overworking themself to the point of illness. Person C doesn't seem to respond much at all. They go quiet and seem distant. They don't lash out or lash in, but for the next month or so, their productivity drops. They simply aren't able to focus on work or self-care, no matter how hard they try. The stress is overwhelming. All three of these people have the same root issues, but only the first would be labeled a narcissist. Outwards behaviors and presentations don't reflect the pain, distress, and difficulties with life that are underlying them.

So, three main things happen.

There ends up being a higher rate of people with destructive behaviors who are diagnosed with NPD

The people who don't particularly exhibit behaviors and are considered ""too nice to have it"" are overlooked entirely (and never get any sort of help for their underlying issues, yayyy)

People are more likely to be more honest about "ugly" symptoms / symptoms that are frowned down upon than they are in other mental health communities.

(Also some people decide to act super edgy about it, which is annoying but here we are. Some of them are trolls.)

(And while I'm at it, some people are misdiagnosed with NPD because a psych sees someone who committed a violent crime and is like "uhh slap them with the Evil Asshole™ disorders!! no further thought given.")

Point #2: People who have messed up are not inhuman monsters who deserve no help or support

While I do think it's important for people to understand that patterns of toxic behaviors aren't the ONLY way NPD can present, I'm not going to let the conversation stop at "some of us are nice though!!"

Human beings aren't RPG characters who can be sorted into "monster" or "ally". Every single person has done something hurtful, has messed up, exhibits some sort of behavior that puts strain on their relationships sometimes.

So I'll bullet point some aspects of this that need to be talked about.

People without NPD also commonly exhibit toxic behaviors, but people ignore that nowadays. Either they armchair diagnose anyone who's slightly rude, or they only focus on it in pwNPD and ignore it in themselves or others. NTs can be jerks too, and they're probably less likely to acknowledge it than pwNPD who are constantly watching and checking themselves and analyzing their behaviors and attempting to do better.

Assuming that NPD makes someone abusive doesn't help anyone. Can it impact behaviors, and make it more difficult for people to be self-aware? Of course. But an important step in healing from any mental health condition (especially personality disorders, ime) is realizing that you're not inherently ""bad"", and that you can take responsibility for your actions and learn to deal with things in constructive ways. Just going "NPD makes people bad, full stop"- other than being a mean shitty thing to say- absolves people of guilt and asserts that there's no reason for them to try and improve.

Yes, it's okay for people to hate their abusers. Their abuser. Not an entire community of people who happen to (maybe) share a trait with them.

Building on the above point, people tend to go in defense mode when they hear things like "pwNPD who have acted in toxic ways can learn to improve their behavior", "people shouldn't be saying awful things about folks with this condition", etc. because they automatically try to apply this to their abuser. Interpersonal situations are very different from society-wide mental health access. No, don't stay with your abuser expecting them to change, and don't hold onto the hope that they will. No, don't censor yourself or your hatred or anger towards them. Just don't make blanket statements about a disorder that they may or may not have- blame their abusive actions, not their mental health.

"I hate you for your abusive actions and the harm that you caused me." =/= "I hate a group of people because of an inherent unchangeable part of them that's tied directly to severe childhood trauma they suffered. Because of it, they're evil and unlovable and are incapable of change. They're inhuman and will never experience real connection with others." ..........See the difference??

Even if there were a disorder with a 100% rate of toxic douchey behaviors, I'd want the conversation around it to be changed. I'd want different words to be used to divide up the spaces and conversations and resources, so that survivors of abusive or toxic behavior can get help, but that the disorder still has space to be treated. Otherwise, there are zero resources for healing. Nothing is being done to help these people or solve the issue. They're just told they may as well not try. They're blocked from healthcare entirely, despite how the entire point of being diagnosed with a condition is supposed to be to treat it.

There's a wide range of people who have NPD- it presents in many different ways, a person who has it may or may not exhibit harmful behaviors- but no one deserves to be denied treatment or told they're unlovable because of a condition they have that was formed from trauma.

Speak out against abusive behavior. Don't destroy healthcare for a medical condition.

#actuallynpd #npd stigma #narcissistic personality disorder

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shortnspidey · 3 hours ago

Text

PERILOUS SKIES

Bob Floyd X Fem!Seresin!reader || WC: 6.9K

SUMMARY: Dating Bob Floyd had been nothing short of perfect. The sweet, ever-attentive WSO felt like he’d walked straight out of a rom-com. That’s why, when your scheduled date night arrives and he doesn’t show, your mind immediately begins to spiral. It’s so unlike him, so out of character, that you can’t stop replaying every possible reason in your head. As the hours stretch on, worry takes hold, deep down, you can feel something’s wrong.

WARNINGS: Established relationship, cursing, talks of minor injuries, minor talks of violence, overall fluff, steamy kiss, slight angst, typical Hangman behavior, incorrect military details (sorry)!

A/N: Ugh! I need a man like Bob! 😫 I have been sucked back into my 2022 Top Gun era and Lewis Pullman has me in such a chokehold which is why this was written. Hope y’all enjoy! Divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob floyd masterlist

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d fall for a military man. Not because you didn’t respect them, you did. You’d seen what that kind of life demanded: the discipline, the bravery, the sacrifices. But you'd also seen the ego, the recklessness, and the emotional walls that seemed to come with the uniform. You knew their type, inside and out. Especially because you were raised right alongside one.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin wasn’t just your older brother. He was a force of nature, sharp smile, sharper jawline, and enough swagger to make heads turn before he even stepped foot in a room. He’d always been that way. The golden boy. The daredevil. The protector. And as his little sister, you were someone he guarded with his life. Especially, when it came to men.

Every birthday party, every school dance, every casual dinner date you attempted growing up had been intercepted by Jake. Sometimes he scared them off with a pointed glare. Sometimes it was a not-so-subtle, “I’m watching you.” And sometimes it was just his mere presence, standing a little too close, arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for an excuse to break someone’s nose.

At first, it had almost been sweet, he was simply looking out for you. But as the years passed, it became suffocating. You weren’t fragile. You didn’t need saving. And yet, he treated you like some porcelain doll that might crack if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way. God forbid it was someone in the Navy. It was safe to say that you had grown so tired of flight suits.

That’s why you built a life as far away from that world as you could. Your work meant everything to you. You were a licensed therapist, specializing in trauma and stress-related disorders, an emotionally demanding job, but one that gave you purpose. You spent your days helping others unpack the things they carried, offering a safe space for people to speak their truth, even when it broke your heart.

You had your own small private practice just off base, tucked into a converted bungalow with soft lighting and calming artwork on the walls. It smelled faintly of lavender and worn paperbacks, and your bookshelf overflowed with psychology texts, handwritten notes, and dog-eared poetry collections. Your life was rooted in listening. In feeling. In forming connections.

And if, some nights, the weight of everyone else’s pain lingered in your chest, well, you’d made peace with that. You had your quiet apartment, your plants, your routines. You knew how to breathe through the noise. You were proud of what you’d built. Which made what happened next was all the more unexpected. You weren’t planning to go out that night.

It had been a long, exhausting week, three new clients, a crisis session, and a war veteran who hadn’t said a single word until your fifth session together. You were mentally and physically drained, emotionally raw. You had planned to stay in, maybe order Thai food and watch something mindless just to silence your thoughts. But your phone lit up with a message from Penny.

Swing by the Hard Deck tonight. First drink’s on me! 🍹

You almost said no.

But, surprisingly, something pushed you to say yes. So without thinking too much, you slipped into an orange sundress, threw on your favorite sandals, and drove the familiar road to the beach. As always, the Hard Deck buzzed with music, laughter, and the sound of boots hitting the wooden floors. The scent of sea salt and beer filled the air, and the jukebox was already playing something classic, probably something from Maverick’s rotation.

You knew half the faces there. A few pilots you’d grown up around. Some you had met through Jake. Speaking of Jake, of course he was already there, was holding court by the pool table, cue stick in hand, that ever-confident grin on his face. Same old scene. Same old bar. Penny spotted your first, waving you over as she started making your go-to drink. You smiled, walking over and giving her a hug behind the bar.

“Here, looks like you need it.” You smiled, accepting the fruity cocktail from her hands. As she attended to the other bar patrons, you sat in a nearby stool, fully intending to linger just long enough to be polite before heading back out so that you could crawl into bed by 10PM. Only, the universe seemed to have different plans, because that's when you saw him. He was tucked away in the corner of the bar, half-shadowed by the low glow of the neon beer signs above.

He sat with a bottle of beer in hand, long fingers loosely curled around the neck of it, his posture slightly hunched like he was doing his best not to take up too much space. His glasses were a little fogged from the humidity, slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. He reached up now and then to adjust them, eyes flicking around the bar like he was trying to blend into the furniture.

Not hiding, exactly, just keeping to himself. He wasn’t laughing with the others, wasn’t showing off at the dartboard, and he definitely wasn’t trying to flirt with anyone. In a room full of men with too much confidence and not enough subtlety, he was different. You couldn’t look away. There was something almost disarming about how awkward he looked. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands or where to rest his gaze.

But even in all that quiet discomfort, there was something gentle about him. You were too far in your head when he looked up, and caught you staring. Your breath hitched, just slightly. But instead of looking away like most people would, he offered a sheepish, crooked smile. And you smiled back, because how could you not? He dropped his gaze immediately, taking a sip of his beer like maybe he was embarrassed by the brief moment of eye contact.

It only made him even more endearing.

You turned back toward Penny behind the bar, trying to play it cool, but your voice betrayed your interest. “Hey Penny, who’s the guy in the corner?” Penny followed your gaze, then gave you a knowing little smile. “That’s Bob.” You hummed, faking interest, taking a sip of your drink. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd. WSO. Flies backseat for Phoenix.” She added casually, wiping down a glass. “One of the good ones. Real quiet, but sweet as hell. Kind of Jake’s opposite.”

That earned a short laugh out of you. “So, he's not a pilot?” You smiled behind the rim of your glass. “He is, technically. But he’s the kind that listens more than he talks.” Penny raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you interested?” Instead of responding, you glance over your shoulder again. Bob was staring down at the condensation on his bottle, idly tracing circles with his fingertip like he’d rather be anywhere else, and yet, somehow, he didn’t look miserable.

Just… out of place.

“Maybe.” You murmured, trying to sound nonchalant, but the truth betrayed you in the form of heat creeping up the back of your neck. You lifted your drink to cover the slight twitch of a smile you couldn’t suppress. Penny leaned in with a smirk, wiping down the bar like she wasn’t studying your every move. “Then don’t wait too long,” She coaxed under her breath, voice teasing. “Use that Seresin charm. Guys like that don’t usually make the first move.”

You glanced back at him. He was still in the corner, tracing the rim of his bottle with his thumb, eyes low, posture slightly slouched like he was trying to shrink himself into the background. But something about him, it tugged at you. Maybe it was the way his eyes had flicked toward you moments ago, a little wide, like he couldn’t believe someone like you had noticed him. Like he wasn’t used to being seen.

Or maybe, just maybe, you were tired of playing it safe. Tired of living under your brother’s ever-watchful gaze. Tired of waiting for permission you never needed in the first place. Your fingers tightened around the glass as you made your decision. You slid off your stool, smoothing down your dress like it could steady your nerves, and crossed the bar, each step quickening your heartbeat. “Mind if I sit?” You asked, voice smooth, chin tilted ever so slightly in confidence, fake or not.

He looked up at you, caught off guard. His expression flickered,first surprise, then something gentler. He cleared his throat, straightening a little. “Uh—yeah. I mean, no. I don’t mind.” You smiled and took the seat beside him, the wood cool against your skin as you eased into it. “Thanks, I’m Y/N.” You extended your hand across the small gap between you. The contact was instant, his larger palm warm, slightly rough from flight gloves, his grip unsure but respectful nonetheless.

“B-Bob,” He mumbled out. “Well, Robert. But, um… everyone calls me Bob.” You smiled, loving how blush dusted his cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Bob,” You let his name linger, giving it weight as your gaze swept over his face, softer up close, his features earnest and boyish beneath his glasses which hid his captivating cerulean blue eyes. “So… you always hang out in dark corners, or is tonight a special occasion?” The edges of his mouth twitched with a quiet, amused smile.

“Just trying to stay out of the way.” You raised a brow, slightly leaning into him so your shoulders were touching. “Of who?” You teased, head tilting. “The loud ones? Or the terrifying older brothers?” That made his eyes widen slightly behind his lenses, and you didn’t miss the way he stiffened, the realization hitting like a gust of wind. He blinked once. Then again. “Y-You’re… Hangman’s sister?” You sipped your drink, nodding slowly. “Guilty as charged, Lieutenant.” You winked as Bob stared for a moment.

You could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, fast, nervous, cautious. “You gonna run, Bob?” You asked, eyebrow lifting, lips curved just enough to keep it playful. You wouldn’t have blamed him. You were used to that look. You’d seen it before on a dozen other faces. Guys who decided no girl was worth catching hell from Jake Seresin. But Bob surprised you. He didn’t bolt. Didn’t stammer out a goodbye or glance over his shoulder like he was looking for an exit.

Instead, he just smiled, really smiled, and for the first time, something inside you fluttered. His whole face shifted when he did, gentle and sincere, like the smile had been waiting for the right moment to be let out. His shoulders dropped, and the tension in his spine eased as his nerves melted into quiet warmth. The corners of his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, and the golden bar light caught the faint dimple in his cheek, softening his whole demeanor.

Something about it, about him, felt honest. “Not unless you tell me to.” His voice was low, laced with a touch of humor, but no hint of fear whatsoever. And that was it. And you knew then… you were in trouble. Of course, right on cue, nothing good in your life ever slipped past Jake unnoticed. And the moment your brother spotted you talking to someone, especially someone in uniform, he made a beeline across the bar like a guided missile.

“Seriously?” He muttered under his breath, then louder. “She’s off-limits.” He slung an arm around your shoulder, the heavy weight of it both familiar and infuriating, while his eyes narrowed at Bob like he’d caught him trying to hack into the Pentagon. His voice was low and sharp. “I mean it, Floyd.” To Bob’s credit, he didn’t bristle or shrink away. He didn’t puff his chest or try to argue. He just gave a small, respectful nod, calm, measured. “Understood.” You expected him to walk away after that.

Hell, Jake even expected him to.

That was usually the part where most men retreated, tail between their legs, deciding no woman was worth facing down a protective older brother with a reputation like Hangman’s. But Bob surprised you. Later that night, long after the initial rush of aviators had moved on to games of pool and darts, and Jake had wandered off to trash-talk some poor soul at the dartboard, you found yourself by the jukebox, flipping through the cracked plastic covers of old CDs. Then, a quiet voice spoke up from behind you.

“I know your brother’s... protective,” Protective was one way to put it, you thought to yourself. You glanced up from flipping through the CD’s as Bob shifted his weight from one foot to another, hands in the pockets of his khakis, standing just far enough away to give you space, but close enough that you could feel the sincerity in his tone. “But I’d still like to buy you a drink and maybe talk some more. I-If that’s alright with you of course.” You looked up, surprised and maybe a little impressed.

It was more than alright.

You gave him a nod, and the two of you sat at the end of the bar, away from prying eyes and Jake’s over-the-top dramatics. Conversation flowed easier than you expected. Bob wasn’t flashy or performative, he was thoughtful. Funny in a dry, unexpected way. A little awkward, but charmingly so. That night turned into another. Then a real date. Then two. Then weeks of texts that made you smile at your phone like a teenager. Things didn’t move fast, they didn’t need to. With Bob, it was steady.

He remembered your favorite drink after the first time you ordered it. He walked you to your car every time, even if it meant doubling back on his own route. He asked about your day and actually listened, not just to respond, but to understand. He never interrupted. Never made you feel small. He laughed at your jokes, even the bad ones. He offered his hoodie on breezy beach nights without saying a word. And even had this quiet habit of checking on you.

Whether it was a text at the exact right time. A glance across a room that grounded you. And maybe most surprising of all, he made you feel safe. It didn’t matter that he flew backseat for one of the Navy’s best pilots. That he was part of a squad who took down a nearly impossible mission. That half the base jokingly called him “baby-on- board.” None of that defined him.

What mattered was that when you were with him, for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like someone’s little sister. You didn’t feel like someone to be guarded or shielded or spoken for. You just felt seen. Of course, that didn’t mean you were ready to throw it in Jake’s face. For a while, you and Bob kept things quiet. It wasn’t that you were ashamed, far from it. But you both agreed: Jake didn’t need to know just yet. You liked the way things were. Soft. Sacred. Yours.

Besides, the moment your brother found out you were seeing someone, especially someone on his squadron, he’d lose his mind. So you kept your dates discreet. Stolen kisses in parked cars. Quick coffee dates before his briefings. Whispered conversations during beach bonfires where no one was paying attention. And on one particularly slow afternoon, he stopped by your office. Your practice had just closed for the day. The soft hum of the white noise machine still filled the room, and the late sun poured through the windows.

Bob was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, pretending to read the spines of your books, psychology texts, self-help, a few novels tucked in like secrets. “I still can’t believe you keep a weighted blanket in your office.” He teased lightly, eyes glued to your legs as you reached for your laptop. “Trauma work, remember? Nervous systems love pressure. Plus, it’s cozy.” Bob stepped closer, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re cozy.” You mirrored his smile, letting out a lovesick giggle before you could stop it.

“Are you trying to flirt with me using therapeutic language?” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief stepping closer. “Is it working?” You laughed, and before you could answer, his lips were on yours. It was supposed to be just one kiss. A quick goodbye before he headed back to base, enough to hold you off until you could get your hands on him later that night. But then your back hit the wall, and his hands cupped your jaw like he was memorizing every curve of your face.

You instinctively melted into him, fingers curling into his fitted white t-shirt that had no business making his biceps look that good. His lips pressed to yours, slow at first, soft and searching, but it deepened quickly. His hands found your waist, sliding over the thin fabric of your blouse, fingers splaying wide as if to anchor himself in the feel of you. Bob groaned quietly into your mouth, the sound low, needy, almost reverent. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, tentative but eager, and you welcomed him in with a soft, breathy moan.

Your hands fumbled for his collar, pulling him closer, grounding yourself in the way he tasted. One of his hands slid up your side, fingers brushing under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips grazing the bare skin of your ribs. You shivered at the contact, arching into him instinctively. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking just below your ear as his mouth moved with yours, deeper, hungrier.

Your nails scraped lightly through his hair, mussing it from its neat comb, and that earned you another quiet groan that vibrated against your lips. The air between you felt heavy, time blurred. Nothing existed beyond the feel of his body against yours, the way he kissed you like he was starved for it, like he’d been holding back for weeks. Maybe he had. Your hips shifted, a little too eager, and you felt the subtle hitch of his breath as his hand gripped tighter at your waist, holding you there.

Which is how you didn’t hear the office door creak open until: “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You both froze. Your lips were still tangled. Bob’s hand was still under your shirt. And Jake Seresin was standing in the doorway of your office, expression stuck somewhere between outrage and horror. You sprang apart, your heartbeat plummeted. And Bob, poor Bob, froze in place like someone had pulled the eject handle. Jake stood in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched, face unreadable.

A vein twitched in his temple. “Jake—” You started, breathless, smoothing down your blouse. “It’s not, well, it is what it looks like, but—" Busted. “Of all the people,” Jake let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh, dragging a hand down his face, then pinching the bridge of his nose like it physically pained him to witness what was happening. “Baby-on-board? Seriously, Y/N?!”

You instinctively stepped in front of Bob, shielding him with your body like your brother might actually tackle him through your office window. “Jake. Don’t.” Bob, didn’t move. His back was straight, blue eyes wide behind fogged-up glasses, lips parted as if mid-apology. His cheeks were flushed, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled from where your hands had just been. “I, uh… hi, Hangman." He offered awkwardly, pushing his glasses up with a shaky hand.

Jake stared at him, hard. Like he was cycling through a mental list of disciplinary actions and weighing the pros and cons of each one. “I told you once,” He growled slowly, voice like ice cracking. “My little sister is off-limits.” You stepped in again, squaring your shoulders, chin lifting. “And I told you I’m not twelve.” There was a beat of silence. Then Jake turned to you, jaw tight, mouth slightly open like he wanted to argue, but the fire behind his eyes dimmed.

You saw it, the shift. That split-second of hesitation. The realization. You weren’t his kid sister anymore, sneaking candy into movie theaters or crying over scraped knees. You weren’t some fragile thing he had to wrap in bubble wrap and keep hidden from the world. You were a grown woman. And you’d made your choice. “I’m your big brother,” He muttered voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “I’m supposed to look out for you.”

Your expression softened, shoulders dropping. “You always have. Better than anyone, but you don’t have to protect me from Bob. He'd never hurt me.” You glanced over your shoulder, eyes meeting Bob’s. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose and looked between the two of you. At Bob, still standing there like a soldier awaiting his court-martial. And at you, arms folded, gaze unwavering. After a pregnant pause, a long, reluctant sigh left his chest. “Are you really into him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.” Jake stared at him for another long second, then finally, finally, cracked the smallest smirk. “Jesus Christ. If this is happening, I don’t want to hear about it and I definitely don’t want to see it.” He turned toward the door, muttering under his breath. “Shit, I need bleach for my poor eyes.” Then, he paused and glanced back “If you break her heart, Floyd, I don’t care how good of a WSO you are, I will make you wish you had ejected mid-flight.” Bob swallowed visibly and nodded.

“Understood.” You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lifted. It wasn’t exactly a blessing. But from Jake Seresin? It sure as hell was close enough. You smiled at the memory, lips curling as your thoughts drifted back. Since then, Jake had slowly eased up, still overbearing at times, but less of an asshole, finally starting to accept the reality that you and Bob were together. It wasn’t instant, but it was progress.

Maybe it was the way Bob never rose to Jake’s bait, or maybe it was how he treated you, with a kind of quiet reverence that left little room for protest. Because Bob was nothing but attentive. The kind of man who remembered how you took your coffee, who sent midday check-in texts just to ask how your sessions had gone, who looked at you like you were his entire goddamn universe. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, seen, cherished.

Which is why, when your usual Thursday night rolled around, the one night you always carved out for each other, and Bob didn’t show… something inside you spiraled. You’d cleaned the apartment, lit one of your favorite candles, even queued up Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith knowing it was one of his favorites. His favorite hoodie was draped over the back of the couch, the one he always “forgot” to take home because he liked the way it smelled after you wore it.

The popcorn was in the bowl. The wine was chilling in the fridge. Take-out menus were on the coffee table. Everything was ready. Except him. You glanced at the clock. Once. Then again. Then again, your eyes flicking to the screen, then to the door, like maybe he’d appear if you wished hard enough. Each time, you brushed it off with a quiet, He’s probably still at the hangar. You knew the drill. Sometimes they got grounded late, schedules shifted.

But the minutes stretched into an hour. Then two. Still no text. No call. Just eerie silence. And Bob? When it came to date night, Bob was never late. When your phone finally rang, the shrill tone sliced through the stillness, making you jump. You scrambled for it, heartbeat thudding against your ribs as your thumb slid to answer without even checking the caller ID on the screen. “Hey, handsome,” You breathed out. “Are you on your way home yet?” Only, it wasn’t Bob’s voice that answered.

“Aww, Y/N,” Came the familiar, cocky drawl you had grown familiar with. “I knew you were lying to me all those times you called me ugly.” Your jaw clenched. Your eyes rolled before your brain could catch up. “Jake,” You snapped, already pacing. “What the hell, where’s Bob? Why are you calling me?” Your brother’s voice cut through the line, irritatingly casual. “Sorry for the late notice, but your beau isn’t making it to date night.” The floor practically dropped out from under you.

“What?! Why? Jake, what happened?” You barely heard yourself over the rush in your ears. Your pulse kicked up, adrenaline beginning to surge. He ignored the edge in your voice, brushing off your panic like it was nothing more than static. “Just come to base. I’ll be waiting at the gate to escort you inside.” Then the line went dead. You stared at your phone for a second, willing it to light up again, to clarify, to make sense. It didn’t.

Just the reflection of your stunned face in the dark screen. “God, I hate when he does that.” You muttered, voice low and sharp as you shoved the phone into your back pocket. Without wasting another breath, you yanked Bob’s hoodie over your head, feet shoving into the nearest pair of sneakers, fingers scrambling for your keys. Your heart thudded in your throat as you raced down the stairs, and out the door.

The base wasn’t far, thankfully. About a twenty-minute drive. You didn’t floor it, but your foot stayed heavy on the gas, knuckles white around the steering wheel. Your thoughts circled and twisted with every mile: Was he hurt? Why didn’t Bob call you himself? Was Jake just being dramatic, or worse, trying to protect you from something serious? By the time you reached the gate, your nerves were all over the place.

True to his word, Jake was waiting just past the security checkpoint, casual as ever, like this was a run-of-the-mill errand. You flashed your ID to the guard, who barely glanced at it before waving you through. You didn’t even bother straightening the car when you parked. The engine had barely cut before you threw the door open and leapt out. “Jake,” You barked, striding toward him with a glare. “You have one minute to explain yourself before I kick the shit out of you. Where’s Bob?”

Your brother slung an arm around your shoulder like this was all completely normal. The audacity of it made your teeth grit. “Relax, baby-on-board is fine.” He muttered, steering you forward. “Don’t call him that. How many times do I have to tell you before it sticks?” You snapped, elbowing him lightly. Jake lifted both hands in mock surrender, grinning like this was all part of a joke only he found funny. “Alright, alright fine. Just… follow me.” And without another word, he led you deeper into the base.

Your steps faltered, just slightly, as dread started to pool low in your stomach. Because something wasn’t right. You could feel it. Your suspicions were confirmed the moment Jake led you down the familiar corridor toward the medical bay. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the air, too clean, way too quiet. Your heart pounded harder with every step. Then you saw them, Maverick and Bradley, standing a few feet away near the nurses’ station, mid-conversation.

Or they had been. The second their eyes landed on you and Jake, their voices cut off like a switch had been flipped. “Mav,” You rasped, your voice laced with urgency as your eyes locked on his. They both turned fully now, posture straightening. Bradley offered a tense smile as he stepped forward to greet you, arms opening automatically. You didn’t hesitate, letting yourself fall into the hug, if only for the brief comfort of familiar arms and the steady heartbeat beneath his civilian clothes.

“Where’s Bob?” You asked again, for what felt like the hundredth time. The question burned now, raw and desperate, clawing up your throat. Maverick moved closer, his expression calm but lined with concern. “He’s alright,” He began, voice steady, measured, but the silence that followed said otherwise. The look, the flicker of shared worry between him, Bradley, and Jake did nothing to settle the growing storm in your chest. You could feel it building, pressure against your ribs.

Maverick exhaled slowly, like he didn’t want to alarm you but knew sugarcoating it wouldn’t help.“During today’s training, Phoenix and Bob suffered a bird strike. The impact triggered an engine fire, which spread fast and caused a total systems failure, both engines, and hydraulic controls.” Your breath hitched. “They had no choice but to eject,” He added, quieter now. “The medics brought them in immediately. They’re stable, conscious, and mostly okay. The doctors are keeping them overnight for observation.”

The words tumbled in slowly, too slow to process all at once. Bird strike. Engine fire. Ejection. The air felt thinner. The hallway longer. Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up. “C-Can I see him?” You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. Maverick nodded, but you were already moving. Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you bolted down the hallway, weaving past a nurse and ignoring the muted “Miss, wait—” that came from someone behind the desk.

When you spotted the door at the end of the corridor with Seresin scrawled hastily on the visitor clipboard and Floyd, R./Trace, N. listed beneath it, your chest constricted. You pushed the door open. You spotted Natasha first. She was reclined in the hospital cot closest to the door, propped up slightly by a pair of thin, starch-white pillows. Her skin looked pale under the sterile fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the deep purpling bruise blooming along her cheekbone.

A butterfly bandage held a small cut together above her eyebrow, and her arm, though not in a cast, was wrapped in gauze from wrist to elbow. Still, she was awake. Alert. Breathing. “Nat,” You exhaled, already moving toward her. Her head turned at the sound of your voice. The split-second surprise in her expression melted into something warmer, despite the lingering pain behind her eyes. She pushed herself up with a small wince, the thin hospital blanket slipping off her shoulders.

“Y/N, hey,” She murmured, voice raspy but steady. Your arms were already wrapping around her before you could stop yourself. Your movements slowed as soon as you felt her body tense slightly, stiff from the impact, from the adrenaline still likely fading. She let out a breathy laugh against your shoulder, one arm curling weakly around you. “I’m glad you're here.” She murmured, voice muffled against your sweatshirt. You leaned back slightly to look at her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead, careful not to graze the fresh scrape on her temple.

It was safe to say that ever since you and Bob had started dating, you and Natasha had become inseparable. It started with casual conversations at the Hard Deck that turned into late-night wine nights, venting sessions, and a friendship built on fierce loyalty and shared eye-rolls at the men in your lives. Part of it, no doubt, came from the fact that she and Bob were more than just teammates, they were a crew. They trusted each other with their lives, and somewhere along the way, that trust naturally extended to you.

“I’m just glad you’re both okay.” You whispered. Natasha gave you a faint, lopsided smile, tired but genuine. “Yeah, well, Bob took the worst of it. I was lucky.” Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even seen him yet. The cot next to hers was shielded slightly by a privacy curtain pulled partway across, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe fast enough. Your eyes darted toward the edge of the curtain. “He’s awake. A little banged up. But, he’s been asking for you since we were brought in here.”

That was all it took. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze and whispered. “I’ll be right back.” Then, without hesitation, you stepped around the curtain, ready to face whatever was waiting on the other side. As soon as you rounded the curtain, your eyes found him. Bob was sitting upright, well, trying to. He winced slightly bracing himself on one elbow as he straightened in the cot, ignoring the tight pull of gauze around his ribs and the IV in his arm. Sensing the presence of someone in the room, he stopped fidgeting, blue eyes meeting yours.

You moved without thinking. The world blurred as you rushed across the room, the cool floor beneath your sneakers giving way to the warmth of his outstretched arms. He barely had time to brace himself before you collided with him, sinking into his chest, arms wrapping around his torso with desperate urgency. He winced, but his hands immediately came up, one cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, the other wrapping tightly around your waist.

His grip was firm, steady, anchored, as if the contact itself might undo the fear that had rooted in both of you. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin beneath the sterile tang of antiseptic. His heart was pounding hard beneath your cheek, fast and erratic, matching your own. “Shit, Bobby,” You whispered, voice trembling. “I thought—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. “I know,” He murmured into your hair, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m sorry I scared you, sweetheart.” Then, more softly, almost sheepishly, he mumbled into your shoulder. “I’m also sorry I missed date night.” You nearly scoffed, half a laugh, half a sob, as you pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers still tangled in the collar of his shirt. “Date night? Bob, I could care less about date night right now. I’m just glad you’re alive.” Bob’s selflessness never ceased to amaze you, how even through the haze of pain and adrenaline, his first thought had been about you, about letting you down.

As if your heart hadn’t broken in half the moment you realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. You clung to him tighter, your arms curling around his back, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt like letting go wasn’t an option. Bodies wound tightly around one another, like you were trying to climb inside his chest and stay there. Like the only way to be sure he was real was to feel every inch of him pressed to you. He exhaled shakily, lips brushing your temple.

“All I kept thinking was that I had to get back to you.”That made your throat tighten even more. Your hand moved instinctively to his face, cupping his cheek, thumb grazing over a scratch along his jawline. His glasses were still slightly askew, and he hadn’t even bothered to fix them, too focused on you. “I’m right here,” He reassured, almost as if sensing your inner turmoil. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” In that moment, he held tightly in his arms, everything faded away.

There was only the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm and the soft warmth of his breath against your skin. You didn’t want to pull away, but when you finally did, it was only to take in his face. You brushed a thumb gently beneath his eye, tracing the faint bruise that had bloomed along his cheekbone. He looked a little beat up, but to you? He was perfect. Alive. And most importantly, breathing. His eyes met yours, impossibly blue beneath the smudged lenses of his crooked glasses.

They searched your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were here either. Like he was afraid if he blinked, you’d vanish. You leaned in again, this time slower, gentler, your hand cradling the side of his face. His breath caught just before your lips met, as if even now he was asking for permission without words. The kiss that followed was soft. No heat. No urgency. Just a lingering press of your mouths. You could feel the tremble in his shoulders as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you there like he needed it as much as you did.

His lips parted slightly against yours, letting out the faintest sigh, and you melted into it, into him, feeling the world finally slow down. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “I love you.” You whispered, the words weightless, certain. He smiled, eyes closed, breath warm against your cheek. “I love you more.” Just as you were about to lean in for another kiss, the door creaked open behind you. “Fucks sake, not this again.” Came the dry, unmistakable voice of your older brother.

You groaned softly, forehead dropping to Bob’s shoulder as he stifled a wince and a laugh at the same time. You were so close to murdering Jake and becoming an only child. “Do you have some kind of built-in radar for whenever we kiss?” You muttered into Bob’s shirt as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. “Apparently,” Jake scoffed, stepping fully into the room, arms crossed, brow raised in brotherly disapproval.

“I give it ten seconds and you look like you’re ready to climb the guy like a tree.” Bob straightened awkwardly, almost like a cadet caught doing something wildly against protocol. His cheeks flushed deep red, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and his hands instinctively loosened their hold on you. Before he could scoot even an inch away, your fingers curled gently but firmly around his bicep, grounding him right where he was as you shot Jake a glare. “What do you want now?”

Jake gestured vaguely at the two of you. “Don’t mind me. I’m just checking in on the critically injured WSO who, last I heard, had survived an emergency ejection, a bird strike, and now looks like he’s about two seconds away from a very different kind of cardiac episode, caused, I assume, by my little sister sticking her tongue down his throat.” Bob gave a tiny, nervous cough, his gaze flicking toward the heart monitor as if it might start blaring just to spite him. He wisely chose not to answer.

You smirked, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to Bob’s temple, just to be petty. You felt the way his breath hitched beneath you, the way his fingers curled gently at your waist despite himself. Jake rolled his eyes so hard you were genuinely concerned they might get stuck that way. “I figured you’d be staying the night, so, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But don’t get any ideas. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early, and I better not walk in on a repeat performance, especially not with Phoenix two feet away.”

From the other side of the curtain, Natasha’s dry voice floated through like a dagger dipped in disinterest: “Fuck off.” You bit your lip to stifle the laugh that almost broke through. “There’s the door, Bagman.” You shot back, raising your middle finger without even looking at him. With one last grumble and an eye roll that nearly cracked his skull, Jake pulled back the curtain dramatically and disappeared down the hall, muttering something about needing a drink.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Bob let out a soft breath, his entire body seeming to relax now that Jake had exited the room. He didn’t even need to ask. With a quiet grunt, he shifted on the narrow hospital cot, careful but determined, wincing slightly as he adjusted his IV line and tugged back the scratchy blanket with his good hand. It wasn’t much, but he made space for you like it was second nature, like your place had always been beside him, no matter the circumstances.

Without a word, you discarded your shoes and climbed in next to him, moving slowly, mindful of the bruises you couldn’t see and the ones you knew would surface by morning. The cot creaked under the added weight, but neither of you cared. Your head nestled into the curve of his shoulder, your hand drifting under the soft fabric of his t-shirt, fingers resting on the soft skin of his abdomen, like you just needed to feel he was real.

His arm slid around your waist, drawing you in with a familiarity that made your heart flutter. The other hand found its way into your hair, combing through the strands slowly, rhythmically, like he was soothing both of you at once. His thumb brushed absently along your spine in lazy arcs, and he let out a content when your legs tangled with his beneath the thin blanket.

The room had gone quiet, the soft beeping of monitors fading into the background like a lullaby. Wrapped in his arms, you tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Still worth it?” You whispered, the question edged with lingering fear. Bob didn’t miss a beat. His smile was the same one he’d worn eight months ago, the first time he saw you across the bar. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Every single second.”

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

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clemymimi · 7 months ago

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Tw warning! Post outdated. Whilst it is not entirely incorrect, it lacks the nuance I have since acclaimed. Read at own caution❗️

This post attempts to dissect both michikatsus perspective on his looks, how his self-image is impacted by yoriichi as well as michikatsus feelings towards yoriichi during his childhood. It also serves to describe the roots of michikatsus inferiority complex and hatred for Yoriichi.

tw: manga spoilers!

Michikatsus perspective on his looks + how that played into the Infinity Castle arc

Objectively, michikatsu knows that he is very pretty but he certainly does not feel that way, because:

It was mentioned in the manga how much michikatsu hates yoriichis face, how much his voice and his smile makes him want to vomit and gives him headaches. That is not because he can't stand yoriichi. Michikatsu hates how yoriichi looks because yoriichi is his IDENTICAL twin and because yoriichi is how MICHIKATSU looks like. Yoriichi is a constant MIRROR IMAGE, his constant judgement. Yoriichi is a man with no flaws in michikatsus eyes, and he is everything michikatsu ever wanted to be (strong enough to be free) it is a constant reminder of his own failure, of his own inadequacy. Yoriichis face makes him want to vomit because michikatsu struggles with his self-image so severely that he projects his deep self-hate and feelings of inferiority towards yoriichi.

But.. that day... during the final battle.. when kokushibo sees his face in sanemis katana.. he notices that he doesn't look like yoriichi anymore.. that he has strayed so far from his judgement from the person he wanted to be, that he loses his entire will to fight. It is the day he finally accepts that yoriichi is a huge part of him, of his identity and that he has lost himself along the way.

Michikatsus hatred for yoriichi explained

Also about the way michikatsu "hates" yoriichi. I've stated before that michikatsus hatred stems from love, a love so strong that he simply does not quite know how to handle that it flows across all of his emotions.. this is still true. That michikatsu projects his own self-hatred and judgement onto yoriichi showcases that he doesn't hate yoriichi himself, that yoriichi is simply unfortunately caught in the cross-fire of michikatsus constant pain and trauma. Michikatsu hates what yoriichi stands for, never yoriichi as a person. He hates yoriichis smile because it's the way michikatsu smiles, he hates his face because that's his face. And yet even though he hates these things about yoriichi,seeing yoriichi sad kills him on the inside. Michikatsu loves him so deeply and intensely and he thinks himself so unworthy and useless that he thinks yoriichi could not care less about him, and that in return makes michikatsu NOT want to love yoriichi, but he can't and he hates himself even more for it and he projects that hate towards yoriichi.

I'm not a therapist but michikatsu should really talk about his feelings instead of just writing poetry about them. Maybe if he knew that yoriichi loved him he could slowly start to heal and to allow his own heart to shine..

Child Michikatsus relationship towards yoriichi explained

And about child michikatsus hatred for yoriichi... michikatsu was jealous because he himself worked SO hard on his swordsmanship and yoriichi just comes in and is instantly better and the worst thing is that yoriichi couldn't care less that he is talented. Child michikatsus heart literally broke that day because it just wasn't fair, and to him it felt like yoriichi had just rejected his entire craft, his entire life's work. Michikatsu has trained ALL OF HIS LIFE and yoriichi has the gall to tell him he doesn't care about swordsmanship, and would rather play kites. To michikatsu it felt like yoriichi knew exactly how much swordsmanship meant to him and he just did NOT care, that yoriichi didn't care about HIS wishes at all, that in yoriichis eyes, michikatsu could NEVER be good enough. This is most likely where michikatsus feelings of inadequacy are rooted. He was a traumatised but sweet and considerate child before that, and he still tried to be kind afterwards, but he felt so so very bitter and unloved by his twin brother at that point..

When yoriichi came to visit him at 3am in the night to tell him that their mother had passed and that yoriichi would leave for the temple, michikatsu was too shocked to react. When yoriichi then smiled and clutched the trashy flute in his hand and told him he would take it with him and thinks of this flute as if it was michikatsu, michikatsu is canonically disgusted.

This disgust stems from two sources

1) the flute was made unprofessionally and michikatsu is too perfectionistic for his own good. It looks like trash and he hates it for that.

2) yoriichi had completely disregarded michikatsus feelings (not that yoriichi had any clue what they were since michikatsu NEVER voices them out loud ffs) and has basically told him in so many words that he couldn't care less about him and now yoriichi has the gall to smile and pretend that the flute meant something to him.

he is mocking me. Why are you mocking me, yoriichi? Your smile is disgusting.

Later on, when michikatsu reads in their mothers diary that she has been suffering from pain in their left side and he puts two and two together and figures out that yoriichi had been supporting their mother all this time, he is filled with hatred because:

`yoriichi not only disregarded his entire life's work (his swordsmanship) he also mocked michikatsus capabilities to take care of his clan. Yoriichi had taken on the duty that should have been michikatsus and he had never bothered to inform michikatsu about it at all.. which in michikatsu language translates to: "you're not competent enough to become the heir, the family head. You're useless and I had to step up because you FAILED."

in that moment michikatsu wishes his brother to die. This moment is one of the roots of michikatsus inferiority complex, the root of his hatred for yoriichi because he is so hurt by the "indications" of yoriichis actions and they have completely ripped him open raw that he will carry yoriichis perceived apathy and mocking forever in his heart.`

Michikatsu is known to define his self worth, his identity in accords to his brother, and michikatsus own self-worth has always been fragile. So because yoriichi (allegedly 💀💀💀) thinks him worthless and useless, michikatsu thinks himself worthless and useless.

Michikatsus father as the root for Michikatsus trauma

About his fragile self-worth: that's all on their father. Their father is the primary reason why michikatsus thoughts spiralled so easily and why his self-esteem was so fragile to begin with. Michikatsu is VERY sensitive, he interpretes things that aren't present because he is very much stuck in his own mind. He only does that with yoriichi though, because yoriichi is the only person that he truly loves (in canon)

Michikatsu diagnosed

There are a lot of things afoot with michikatsu. Although he has a strong mind and self-discipline he is not immune to trauma and he had quite the turbulent childhood (their parents constantly fighting (which canonically upset both him and yoriichi)) the harsh training he had to endure, how easily he was discarded by his father as soon as yoriichi demonstrated his strength, their mother dying abruptly without warning (from michikatsus perspective), yoriichi leaving.. michikatsu having to grow up very early on an having two children at the age of seventeen already including the trauma that comes with serving as a samurai during the warring states period.. Michikatsu is bound to have collected quite the heavy baggage. And no. A person completely mentally healthy would not jump at the chance of joining muzan, the whole gig of Demon Slayer is that the demons are humans that suffered and decided to make others suffer for their suffering in return, ergo.. trauma for every single demon. Yes. Even douma.

Hope you enjoyed!

#michikatsu tsugikuni #kny michikatsu #kokushibo #michikatsurp #demon slayer michikatsu #full moon core #kny #kokushiborp #kny rp #kny rp blog #hissombermoon

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vividiana · 4 months ago

Text

chapter 2

pairing: Astarion x f!Durge · word count: 4.6k

rating: M for now, will change to E (18+)

tags: modern AU, witness protection, strangers to friends to lovers (see AO3 for a more exhaustive list)

summary: It’s been over a year since Eve had to uproot her life and assume a new identity—anything to distance herself from the past she wishes she could forget. When an erratic, if oddly charming, newcomer stumbles into her place of work, she recognizes something familiar within him and the two can’t seem to stay away from each other. But Eve is not the only one running from her past.

An alternative, modern take on the Dark Urge x Astarion romance, filled with friendship, secrets, healing, and ABBA.

a/n: this chapter is a bit heavier as we start to get into Eve's backstory. but fortunately, she has World's Best Roommate to come home to, so it's not too terrible 💛

chapter-specific cw: mentions of past relationship abuse, mentions of murder, nightmares, flashbacks, blood, guns, anxiety attacks, being called pet names by slimy men

previous chapter · read on AO3 · dividers

“I’m afraid this is all we have time for today,” says Therapist Number Nine, or Halsin, as he insisted she call him. “Thank you for your honesty, Eve. I’m truly glad you decided to take this first step in coming here. Does the same time next week work for you?”

Eve is currently channeling all of her energy into maintaining a neutral expression, so the most she can manage is a nod.

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks,” she mutters before grabbing her bag and walking out of the office.

The perky receptionist attempts to talk to her, but Eve is already reaching out for the door. She needs to get out, needs to breathe, needs to–

The afternoon air is too warm to offer her any relief. It envelops her in a constricting embrace, making it even harder to breathe.

She rushes back to her car and as soon as she closes the door, her body jerks with a loud sob. She rests her forehead on the steering wheel as the tears keep falling.

This is why she keeps changing therapists, why she never makes it past the first couple sessions. Because after all the formalities and testing the waters, they start digging, and when they dig, she starts to remember, and she doesn’t want to remember. She just wants it to stop hurting. To make it through the day without despising herself. Why is that so much to ask?

But this one, this Halsin, with his kind, insightful eyes that made Eve feel like he was peering into the very core of her rotten soul, he didn’t seem to have a need for your standard interview. No, he had to get straight to the point, to call it as it is, or rather, as he saw it.

Abuse.

It echoes painfully against her skull, the concept rattling around her mind looking for fertile ground to take root, but she won’t let it. She doesn’t want it to stick, doesn’t want to face it head on.

The tears don’t stop and it scares her, the sheer force with which the pain seizes her body. It’s not that she doesn’t usually cry—it’s just never about this. Never about him.

There is no relief to be found in those tears, only an increasingly hollow feeling, the gaping hole in her chest widening with every trembling sob.

She can’t stay here, because the longer she stays, the more details come back to her, the more vivid his voice grows in her mind—after she went through such great lengths to never have to hear it again. But she can’t find it in herself to force her muscles to move.

It’s not until someone pulls into a parking spot to her left that Eve is snapped back to the present, the sudden movement reminding her that the world around her carries on. She sits up and retrieves some tissues from the glove compartment to try to manage the sniffling mess her face has become.

She’s still too shaken to drive, so she decides to walk to a CVS down the street to get some water and a Twix bar. When she’s waiting to check out, she spots some discounted face masks and grabs one for her and one for Lae’zel. Surely the “Exfoliating Strawberry” will fix her.

When Eve finally makes it back to Clinton, she is, of course, late. And while she looks like a chewed-up possum, with her puffy cheeks and wrinkled jumpsuit wrangled out from the jaws of her dryer, Agent Ravengard looks like a model, all lean muscle and perfect smile. This time, his locks are pulled up into a bun, eyes obscured by a pair of round rimless sunglasses. He waits for her on a bench outside the coffee shop, his iced mocha and her chai latte in hand.

Gentleman that he is, Wyll tactfully ignores her frazzled state as he rises and hands her the beverage, then nods towards the park on the other side of the street.

“How was your weekend?” he asks as they start walking.

“It was fine,” she says, her voice still a bit hoarse. She clears her throat and continues: “Lae’zel dragged me out on a hike yesterday. And Saturday was not particularly exciting, since I had to work. My manager was giving me a hard time. This lady yelled at me because we were out of Smirnoff Ice. You know, the usual.”

“Have you thought about looking for a different job? Every time I ask about it, you sound exasperated.”

“Oh, every single day. But there is only so much you can do with a high school diploma, no employment history, and no references.”

“You know you can always put me down as a reference, right? We do that sometimes. Just give me a heads up, so I can prep. But I’m also quite good at making things up on the spot—I was in an improv group in college, have I ever told you that?”

“No, you haven’t,” she laughs. “But that seems very on-brand.”

They sit on one of the few remaining benches in the shade and Wyll asks her about her support network: whether she’s made any new friends or found a way to get involved with the local community. It feels like he is actively avoiding the subject of therapy.

But then there is a lull in the conversation and finally, trying to make himself sound as casual as possible, he asks:

“Oh, and how was your appointment today?”

There it is. The real question, the one he was warming her up for.

“I don’t like this guy.” Eve avoids his gaze as she speaks, watching a bird perched on a bench a few feet away, ruffling its feathers.

“Mhm. And why is that?”

“He’s too nice,” she sighs as she turns to face him, painfully aware of how silly she sounds. “He treats me like I’ve never done anything wrong in my life.”

“Eve, you know I like you, but this feels like you’re just making up excuses at this point.”

“I’m not,” she insists.

“He’s too nice? That’s the issue?”

“Yes. And there is another thing, he just– He’s barely met me and he thinks that he can tell me the truth about my life, when he doesn’t even understand the full picture.”

“So maybe with time, he will begin to understand the full picture? If you let him.”

Eve takes a large sip of her beverage to stall.

He doesn’t get it. And after all, why would he? We are nothing alike.

“Eve, you know I can’t force you to do this,” Wyll continues when she doesn’t respond. “It’s your life. I’m here to connect you with resources, but it’s up to you whether you use them or not. But you said it yourself, not so long ago: that you wanted to feel better, that you’re tired of living like this. I understand that whatever he said made you uncomfortable, and you can bring it up to him during your next session. But if you truly want things to change, you will have to deal with that discomfort. For a while, perhaps. I know you know this, too. And I understand that it’s hard to accept. But please just give it an honest try, will you? Not for me. For yourself.”

She’d rather do it for him, honestly. And so, to not make his job any harder than it already is, she says, however reluctantly:

“Okay. I’ll give it a try.”

“Splendid.” After a moment, he adds: “I know it’s not easy, Eve, but I think you’ll find it to be a good choice in the long run.”

She nods, thoroughly unconvinced.

In a great display of mercy, Wyll changes the subject and asks about Lae’zel. Eve jumps on the opportunity to divert from her problems and update him on the highs and lows of the youth soccer league.

When he walks her back to her car, she asks:

“Has there been any progress with the investigation?”

“No, nothing new. I’m sorry, Eve.”

“But you’ll tell me if there is, yes? I’m still avoiding the news.”

“Of course.”

After they say their goodbyes, Eve heads to the elementary school, but this time she chooses to wait in her car. The drive home is quiet, Lae’zel glued to her phone, probably on the prowl for her next hook-up.

As soon as they make their way back to the apartment, Eve heads to her room and engages in the titillating activity of lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling, her gaze following the branching out cracks in the paint.

She knows she needs to find a distraction soon to avoid a repeat of her outburst in the car, but that would necessitate moving, which currently seems like an insurmountable task.

There is a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.”

She turns her head to watch as Lae’zel walks in, an unusual hint of concern in her hazel eyes. She grabs the chair from Eve’s desk and sits facing the back, her elbows propped on the plastic as she speaks.

“Talk to me, boluda, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

But in the silence that follows, Eve eventually finds the right words and recounts the unfortunate appointment, skimming over the details of what exactly she told Halsin. She’s still facing the ceiling as she talks, which makes it a bit easier.

Lae’zel listens thoughtfully, refraining from any comments. When Eve finishes, she waits for a moment before asking:

“Do you need a distraction, company, space, or…?”

“I don’t know, I kinda want to rot in bed for a bit. But company might be nice.”

Lae’zel nods, her gaze gliding around the room. When it lands on the corkboard above the desk, she leans towards it, brows furrowed.

“What’s this about?” she asks, pointing to the pinned note.

“Oh, that. It’s kind of a long story,” Eve says, waving her hand dismissively.

But Lae’zel just cocks her eyebrow and Eve sighs, sitting up as she explains:

“Okay, so there was this guy…”

“Uh-huh,” Lae mutters in a this will be good tone.

“...who came into the Blushing Mermaid on Friday. A new customer. Um– and he was a bit… frazzled, let’s say. Anyways, I go up to take his order and I don’t know what it is about him, but I get this feeling that he looks familiar, like we’ve met before. So I ask him about it, and then he just snaps at me, starts talking nonsense–”

“Sounds like a douchebag.”

“Well, yeah, But then I called him out on it, and he instantly apologized, which literally never happens. And he seemed genuinely sorry, like– It just felt like he was going through some stuff and wasn’t himself. Which I can understand.”

“And then what?”

“Well, we talked for a bit. You know, just your usual customer small-talk. And then he left and I saw that he wrote that note on the receipt and gave me a tip that was higher than his total. He came in on Saturday again and we chatted for a bit and that’s kind of it. Left a standard tip this time.”

“And you kept the note because…?”

Eve opens her mouth and closes it shortly, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Uh– I don’t know. It comes with a funny anecdote, I guess?”

“Mhm,” Lae’zel says. She has a talent for conveying entire sentences with hums and weighted stares. This particular one seems to communicate: you’re full of shit. After a moment of silence, she asks: “Was he hot?”

Eve can feel the blush that spreads across her cheeks under this sudden interrogation.

“I– He–” she stutters. And then, carefully choosing her words, she responds: “He had a certain charm about him, yes.”

“A certain charm. Mhm. And he came back on Saturday.”

“Yeah…” Eve says, already fretting where this is going.

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t–”

“Is the food that good?” Lae interrupts her.

“No, not really–”

“So maybe it’s the ambiance… is it cozy and inviting?”

“No but–”

“Eve, I went to the Mermaid one time to support you, and I will never step foot in that shithole again. Unless you ask me to murder your manager, which I would happily do.”

Eve takes a mental note of the generous offer before asking:

“Okay, so what’s your point?”

“What is so great about that place that he would come back the next day?” Lae asks, like she’s trying to get Eve to understand a math equation.

“I don’t know, but we have a lot of regulars! So people clearly like coming back.”

“Yes, but they’re mostly truckers, or older people who don’t want to eat alone, or men who want to watch a game with their bros. So which category does this mysterious stranger fall into, out of those three?”

“None. But he’s new in town and said he wanted to check out the local scene.”

“Right. So wouldn’t it make sense for him to go to a different restaurant next time to see what else is around here?”

“…maybe.”

“Unless, of course, there was something compelling him to come back. Like, maybe a cute, funny, feisty waitress, who wasn’t afraid to talk back, who has a beautiful smile and a great ass to match?”

“I, uh– Well thank you, but–”

“If you don’t want to make a pass at Wyll, then maybe you should bang Note Guy.”

“Can we go back to the part where you were showering me with compliments?”

“Gladly. You’re also very smart.”

“Aww, thanks.”

“Which doesn’t stop you from being a dumbass about certain things, this being one of them.”

“Okay, well, thank you Lae, this was a very helpful distraction, but I think this conversation is over now.”

“If you say so,” Lae says, standing up. She heads for the door, turning back to add: “When he comes back tomorrow, which he will, you should get his number.”

“Go away,” Eve says exasperated as she tosses a pillow at Lae’zel. She dodges without as much as batting an eye.

Left to her own devices, Eve fetches her laptop and as she scrolls through the selection of horror movies on Netflix, she tries not to think too hard about Note Guy’s smile.

The night is restless.

A gunshot.

Blood.

There is so much blood.

He’s still holding the gun with one hand when the other grabs her chin, forcing her to look at the body.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he commands, voice dripping with venom. “You made me do this. This is your fucking fault.”

The gun clatters to the floor and Eve startles when his hands come up to cradle her face.

Tears.

But not hers– His.

She might have been impressed by how quickly he managed to make them fall, were she not hypnotized by the growing pool of crimson on the plastic tarp.

“You know I love you, babygirl. You know that, right? I have to keep you safe. This is how I keep you safe.”

Her throat is too tight to utter a sound, but she manages a curt nod. He leans in to shower her with quick, frantic kisses, lips wandering around her face and neck, whispering praises and declarations of love against her skin.

But all Eve can do is stare at the unfortunate eyewitness. She was so beautiful, full of color and life. But now, her long purple hair sticks to her scalp in clumps, darkened with blood, her golden eyes wide open, frozen in terror.

Wrong place. Wrong time.

That’s all it took.

The body turns its head to look straight at her.

Eve jerks awake, drenched in cold sweat. It takes her a moment to realize where she is, that she’s safe.

It’s not even 7 a.m. but she doesn’t want to go back to sleep, doesn’t want to risk seeing him again. She just needs to find a way to stay occupied until noon and then her shift will start, giving her something else to stress about.

But no matter what she does, she can’t shake how visceral the dream felt. She keeps hearing his voice, fragmented memories resurfacing through the haze.

“You look terrible,” Wulbren greets her when she finally makes it into the diner.

“Thanks for noticing!” she responds, a little louder than intended, as she walks past him.

The next couple hours pass in a blur.

It’s not her best day. One might even say that it’s one of the worst days in her illustrious career at the Blushing Mermaid. She confuses people’s orders multiple times. She nearly snaps at a customer for asking her why the prices are so high, as if that was somehow her decision.

Contrary to Lae’zel’s predictions, Note Guy doesn’t show up at his usual time, which Eve feels strangely grateful for. She doesn’t want him to see her like this, when her brain is so scattered, when just being here physically hurts. And it’s more than wanting to make a good impression on a customer—no, it’s something uniquely about him, about how he might perceive her. Though why would she care about his opinion in the first place?

Half-way through the day, she is carrying a tray full of glasses when all of a sudden, she loses her balance. The tray tops over, glass shattering into a thousand pieces as it hits the floor.

Someone claps and cheers, like she’s a fucking court jester who went for ye olde broken glass gimmick in a desperate attempt to liven up the crowd.

Thank you. That’s so helpful and exactly what I needed right now.

She rushes to a couple seated at the nearest table, assessing for damage.

“Are you okay? I’m very sorry.”

“We’re okay sweetie,” the older woman reassures her. “Are you?”

The simplicity of the question hits her like a brick wall.

No.

“I’m okay, thank you. I’ll be right back to clean up.”

But as she heads for the kitchen, Lakrissa emerges with a broom and mop in hand.

“I’ve got it,” she whispers as they pass. “Go drink some water or something.”

Of course, it’s not long before Wulbren shows up looking for her, because apparently having a breakdown and needing a couple minutes to compose herself outside of her scheduled lunch break is highly unprofessional.

A couple hours later, as she enters the bar room, she spots the familiar white curls and curses under her breath. This time, Note Guy is wearing a lilac linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She briefly notes how much the color suits him before the dread of talking to him in her current state takes over.

“Welcome back,” she says when she comes up to his table.

He smiles with that stupidly charming smile of his and makes some comment about how busy the place is for a Tuesday night. His attempt at striking up a conversation goes completely over her head and instead of acknowledging it in any way, she just asks:

“What can I get you?”

Smooth. Keep up the attitude and he will stop coming back.

He must notice that something is off because he eases on the cheeriness and doesn’t force her into small talk, which Eve is eternally grateful for. Small mercies.

By some miracle, she makes it to the last few minutes of her shift.

She checks in on a booth full of men who have grown increasingly drunk and obnoxious throughout the evening. As she’s picking up the empty beer glasses off their table, she feels a hand rest on her waist as another man scoots behind her to join the group.

“Scuse me,” he mutters.

Because of course how could you possibly pass someone without touching them? It makes her skin crawl, her jaw tense as she picks up the pace.

“Aw, always with the frown,” the man says as he sits down, his speech slurring slightly. “What’s the problem, sweetie? You can tell me, I’m a good listener.”

“Anything else I can get you?” she asks, looking at the other people at the table.

“Get us another round,” the man says.

“Nah, Rick, you’ve had enough,” another one chimes in.

An argument breaks out, and Eve grasps at the opportunity to excuse herself:

“I’ll give you a moment to decide. I’m heading out soon, but I’ll have my colleague check up on you.”

When she turns away, she catches Note Guy’s gaze for a second, before he averts his eyes hurriedly.

She walks up to his table and asks:

“Anything I can get you before I’m off?”

“Just the check, please.” And then he looks like he might say something more, but instead he opts for a short: “Thank you.”

Eve goes through the motions of finishing up her shift, her mind miles away. When she eventually clocks out, she throws on her denim jacket and leaves through the back floor. Relief washes over her as she steps into the crisp night air, grateful that this disastrous day is finally over.

But the relief is short-lived as a familiar voice reaches her from the steps leading up to the front door of the diner.

“Oh, it’s you!” says Rick or Nick or whoever else, a limp cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Eve tenses immediately, her palms closing around a small can in her jacket pocket. She doesn’t particularly want to finish this day off by treating some drunk to a helping of pepper spray, though if he gives her the faintest reason, she won’t hesitate.

But the man seems harmless enough, though no less insufferable, as he stumbles down the steps and onto the parking lot, positioning himself rather inconveniently on the path to her car.

“Didn’t mean to bother you back there, Miss,” he slurs as Eve walks briskly, eyes fixed on her destination.

“It’s just– You looked so sad today and I know that look. My wife left me and it’s still hard sometimes. She took the dog, you know, my Millie–”

He continues his sorry tale as Eve keeps walking, refusing to acknowledge his existence.

“You know, sometimes when I get groceries I accidentally buy those chewy treats she liked so much. It’s a habit. Honest to God, I just forget–”

The diner door opens and shuts, but she doesn’t let it distract her as she passes the man in a wide berth.

But then she hears slow footsteps behind her, and her muscles tense anew, fingers gripping the spray as she flicks the safety mechanism to the side. And because apparently the situation is not aggravating enough, the familiar voice slithers into her mind, dripping with affection that makes her skin crawl:

“You gotta learn how to fight, baby, in case I’m not there to protect you. I need to know you can take care of yourself before I send you on a job all alone.”

“Twenty years of marriage and all of a sudden she wants a divorce, no warning, she says I stopped trying–”

Eve is almost by the car when another, chipper voice cuts through Dick’s drunken rant.

“There you are, darling! I told you to wait for me.”

Eve’s head snaps back in disbelief as she sees Note Guy jog towards them, his mouth curled up into a fond smile.

He stops beside her, and Eve catches a glimpse of his arm snaking up to her shoulders, but no touch follows. It’s as if he’s hovering his palm over her back in some exaggerated pantomime of affection.

“Is there a problem?” he asks sweetly, but his expression is tense as he looks up and down the man before them.

The customer ceases his sloppy soliloquy as his eyes flit back and forth between the two of them. Eve can almost hear the booze-soaked cogs turn in his mind as he tries to piece together the puzzle before him.

“Nah, no problem. Miss and I were just talking.” He gestures to Eve as he takes a drag of his cigarette.

“Mhm,” Note Guy hums, and then makes a show of checking his watch. “I think it’s time to go home, don’t you?” But he makes no effort to move, instead looking at the customer pointedly.

“Right, I ‘spose,” the man says, palming at his jacket pockets. “Shit, the boys took my keys.” He sighs, as if he wanted to say: don’t you hate it when that happens? “It’s not that far, guess I’ll just– I’ll be off then. Night, Miss,” he says before heading down the street.

Eve’s finger is still on the pepper spray when she turns to the man at her side. He takes a large step back, looking a touch embarrassed.

“Darling?” she asks incredulously.

“I briefly considered ‘babe,’ but that seemed even more awkward,” he says, fidgeting with his sleeves.

“Well, either way, this was unnecessary,” Eve says coldly.

“Oh. Right. Well, I just– I saw him bother you in the restaurant and then– I didn’t want to just walk past without saying something when he was clearly making you uncomfortable. But I won’t take up more of your time,” he says, taking another step back. “Good night.”

A tinge of guilt grips at her chest as she watches him turn around and briskly walk away. Her mouth opens before she can question it.

“Wait!”

He stops and turns halfway to glance back at her.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, before resuming his walk.

She stands there for a moment, eyes fixed on his silhouette, hoping that the next time she sees him, she will feel more like herself—and not like she wants to curl up into a ball and hide from the world.

Once she’s back at her apartment building, she starts putting in the code to the door when it swings open, and a woman steps out, smiling to herself.

As the woman holds the door open, Eve recognizes her from the Hinge photo Lae’zel showed her last week—Jen, 25. Even prettier in person.

“Thanks,” Eve says, grabbing the handle, and watches Jen walk away, swaying slightly on her chunky platform boots. Her black night slip of a dress does absolutely nothing to shield her from the evening chill, but she doesn’t seem to care.

Eve can’t help but smile, head shaking in disbelief as she makes her way upstairs.

When she gets to the apartment, she finds Lae in the kitchen in nothing but a tank top and underwear. She’s chopping some vegetables, the countertop full of neatly arranged tupperware containers.

“So that’s what you do after sex? Meal prep?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lae’zel says, not looking away from the task at hand.

“I think you do,” Eve says, leaning against the fridge with her arms crossed. And then in a pointed tone, she adds: “I passed Jen on my way out.”

But Lae’zel seems thoroughly unfazed.

“And?”

“It seems like you’re breaking your own rules. Need I remind you? Lae’zel’s Sex Codex, Rule Number One: ‘No second dates. Always leave them wanting more.”

“I left her wanting more, trust me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.”

“How was work?” Lae’zel asks, making it abundantly clear that she will not be discussing her entanglement with Jen any further.

“Just about everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong.”

“What about Note Guy?”

“Oh. Like I said: everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. Including Note Guy.”

This prompts Lae’zel to finally turn away from her chopping board.

“I need to know everything,” she demands, knife in hand.

“I desperately need a shower, but meet me in ten for face masks and story time?”

“It’s a date.”

a/n: thank you for reading! 🧡 a quick note on the language: "boluda" generally means "idiot," but in Argentinian Spanish it can also be used as a term of endearment between friends, which is how Lae uses it here

taglist: @roguishcat @arzen9 ✨ (lmk if you'd like to be added!)

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#astarion x durge #astarion x the dark urge #durgestarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfiction #bg3 modern au #my fic

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