#weight loss patch

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S��just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[fluffylino]

serpent hybrid hyunjin 🌱🐍🌱

hyunjin never acted like this. you had never seen him behave so much like a serpent. was he experiencing an unusual kind of heat? did snakes do that...well u just gotta find out

i love this concept so much ill scream-

reblogging > liking

-contains mature themes (two dicks and a split tongue ahhh)

snake hybrids weren't exactly judged well in society. stereotypical beliefs calling them mean slithery liars who manipulate people.

they were just misjudged. misunderstood hybrids who needed affection too. maybe the energy exhuded made them look tough and deadly but deep down they were sweeter than even bunny hybrids.

thats why your boyfriend, hyunjin is always by your side.

theres nothing quite different about snake hybrids. except for the patches of scales on different parts of their body.

however some had no scales, instead just forked tongues. hyunjin was no exception. patient and mind numbingly soft at all times. snuggling into you every now and then.

thats why when you step into the house,you aren't expecting the strong whiff of a certain peculiar smell. its musky and fills the whole apartment.

you don't even know what you're smelling until you're embraced by him. his body warm, reeking of musk. intoxicating your senses.

"hyun-" you let out hurriedly, dropping your bag on the ground in shock. his face buried in your neck. hands running all over your body.

practically pushing you against the door, slipping his left hand between your legs while his right hand grabbed your backside. gasping at the way you seem to float off the ground. he's picking you up quicker than you can even process.

"what's going on? baby?" you say, trying to wriggle out of his firm hold. he's stronger than before and he continues holding you off the ground.

hyunjin hisses.

he fucking hisses.

and your eyes widen. thats only the second time he's ever hissed at you. once during an argument and right now. did that mean he was angry?

"heat." is all he says, huffing as he slams the bedroom door open. throwing you on the bed. not caring at the funny way, you bounced on the soft mattress.

"what do you mean? I thought snakes..don't get heats..."

you questioned. watching as he paced around the room, trying to control himself.

taking off his hoodie. arms out on display. shining with a thin layer of sweat. his hair soaked.

"fuck i don't know...i was washing our clothes and i got the smell of your shirt..."

he mumbles, and your eyes go down to where theres a prominent bulge in his pants. a wet patch staining the material.

"and its like my senses went wild. all I was thinking of was you. fucking you over and over again..." hyunjin slurs, his forked tongue peeking out.

"jinnie...your tongue"

you whisper. intrigued at how his tongue slipped past his lips every few seconds. he had never done that before.

"i can't control it-" he covers his mouth, gazing at you with needy eyes.

were his eyes always so sharp, you wondered.

"its okay baby, breathe" you reassure, opening your arms for him to come to you. and he does. resting his head on your shoulder, his weight pressing you down into the bed.

leaning into kiss him innocently when all of a sudden, his hands are on either side of your face, pulling you in for a needy kiss.

brain shutting off at the feeling of his forked tongue licking into your mouth. forcing you to be submissive because you knew you wouldn't win this battle.

.

🌱

.

"j-jinnie" squirming under him.

his hands pinning your lower half down. head buried between your legs. your toes curling everytime he maneuvered his tongue to simultaneously flick at your sensitive clit and slip between your swollen lips.

"shhh"

u don't know if he's shushing you or hissing at you.

because the next thing you feel is his fork like tongue pushing all over your folds. fingers digging into your hips with strength that had your cunt throbbing.

whining at the loss as he lifts his head up. teasingly using the tips of his wet muscle to prod at your bundle of nerves. face contorting in pleasure at your taste. breath heavy on your warmth.

"breed." he blurts out, surprising himself. your mouth opening in shock when his nails dig into your waist.

his nails had grown longer, into claws and the once hardly noticeable scales on his forearms became visible. gradient shade of black and grey.

"hyun! h-hyunjin, baby b-bab-"

writhing higher into the mattress as he pushed your legs further apart.

nestling his split tongue over your swollen pussy. teasingly managing to place your clit in the Y of his wet muscle.

had his tongue grown longer because you could feel him so deep...

.

.

"h-hyun?" you whisper, gripping his arm to relax your body for him. scales textured and rough under your calloused palm.

"m'right here, baby" hyunjin cooes. placing a hand flat on your lower stomach. eyes fixed on where he was prepping you.

with both his dicks. rubbing the tip over your folds while the other pressed into your entrance. leaking more and more slick that mixed with your own arousal.

"almost in, my love" nudging the first one in with extreme care. your fingers grasping at him. his jaw hanging open as he pushed in, groaning when he slid halfway in.

spreading your thighs so he could start to push his second dick in. the sensation and stretch making you cry in a mix of pain and pleasure.

snake hybrids had two features that only a person who they were close to, would find out about. a forked long tongue means their dicks are the same as well.

hyunjin was not particularly big. actually he was slightly above average considering snake hybrids had longer lengths and lesser girths.

hyunjin had thicker girths and the length of both his dicks were just perfect. neither too big nor too small.

but right now, he felt bigger.

he felt longer. he felt hot.

thats why when he pushes both of them past your entrance, you let out a muffled scream. eyes rolling back at the fullness. quite literally stuffed like this, for the first time.

"f-fuck gonna take me all in"

lowering himself to look down at you. his arms on either side of your head. placing his larger hands on your face. lips brushing against your open mouth.

"thats my precious girl~" and your pussy spasms around him.

getting him soaked because the way the word 'precious' rolled off his tongue, could make you cum on the spot. rolling his s's and a few other alphabets in a serpent like way. something he'd usually never do.

a firm thrust that has your hands flying up to hold onto him. clawing at his back while he buried himself deeper into your cunt. stretching you out with every rough movement.

the scales on his back were larger and travelled down his spine. groaning as you scratched down his back, hard enough to leave red imprints.

"gonna take my cum like a good mate, yes~" hyunjin hisses, watching you so closely. letting his tongue run over your front teeth, all the way down to your bottom lip.

you nod at his statement. wrapping your legs around his waist. pulling him closer. not caring if his patterns of uneven scales scratched you here and there.

plush lips kissing you with such intensity. his nose pressing into your cheek. pushing you deeper into the pillow. trailing a hand down to where your chest touched his. grabbing a handful of flesh and squeezing hard enough to make you arch your back.

taking the opportunity to thrust in deeper. your bottom half nearly lifted off the bed with his strength.

pads of his fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nubs. hooking your leg higher so he could change the angle. filling you up with warmth. it makes your eyes struggle to stay open.

this was nowhere near over...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

hiss hiss need more snake hyunjin ideas FUVKKKKK

part two

[nanaslutt]

The JJK men’s fav cuddling postitions <3

incl: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuuji, Yuta

cont: fluff :3, suggestive on Toji’s

note: i think this is my first full fluff fic…lol

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Gojo:

I know Gojo absolutely loves every position he can get you both into where you are physically as close as possible. Gojo's infinity is on automatically most of the time, the only touch he receives being from his students occasionally or from you. So when the time comes around for Gojo to be cuddled up with you, he needs to make sure every part of his body is touching some part of you.

I can see him being a fan of face-to-face cuddling, your limbs intertwined with one another, either his or your face pressed into the other's chest, your soft breathing tickling the skin of the other. Maybe something like the 'attack of the sloth' sleeping position. You on your back, Gojo's arms and legs wrapped around yours, leaving you completely enabled, his weight crushing you when you sleep; but you never complain.. well.. sometimes you do, Gojo's body is like a furnace.

Sometimes though, Gojo wants you to spoon him from behind. Of course, he loves it the other way around but theres just something so comforting about your small frame wrapped around his back. He feels so safe in your arms like this. He gets the same feeling one would when they were a kid, afraid of what was lurking in the dark, but the moment they pulled the blanket over their head, they were safe. Gojo felt untouchable, even more so than when he had his infinity on.

Geto:

A classic man, a simple man, a man of taste. I can see Geto loving the pretzel position. Him lying on his back, his toned arm above his head while his other wraps around your frame resting against him. His leg closest to you is bent, enabling you to interlace your leg with his, the appendage thrown over his thigh. He relishes in the feeling of your arm wrapped around his midsection, feeling safe and secure when you tuck you curl your fingers into his t-shirt on the side of his body.

He loves this position because he loves how close to you he feels, he also likes to see the size difference between the two of you when you're scooted down, your head on his chest. Another plus is he can scratch your back gently this way. His hands always find their way under your shirt, gently tickling and scratching the skin of your back, shoulders, and waist. He adores hearing you hum softly into his chest in approval at the relaxing caress.

You love this position for a variety of reasons as well. With your head on his chest, directly placed over his heart, you have free, unlimited access to the soothing rhythm of his softly beating heart, never failing to lull you into a peaceful sleep. You yourself were also guilty of slipping your hand under his shirt to feel up his abs. Running your fingers over the strong indents, counting them carefully in your head over and over, was the same to you as counting sheep. His skin was always so soft and warm, how could you resist?

Nanami:

Nanami's go-to is having you lay fully atop him, your head on the center of his chest, your bodies resting against one another while he strokes your hair. softly running his hands along your head, raking his fingers on the back of your neck, massaging your head, the whole nine yards. Nanami doesn't stop until he hears you lightly snoring on top of him.

Another thing about Nanami--if you drool or snore in your sleep, Nanami thinks it's the cutest thing in the world. You're always so embarrassed when you wake up and see the wet patch on his shirt after you had a particularly deep sleep, but Nanami finds it endearing; it means you felt safe with him, your body fully relaxing and letting go in his presence.

Another favorite is good ol' spooning. Nanami loves to be the big spoon. With both of your jobs as Jujutsu sourcerers, comes harrowing losses and injuries one cannot prevent, no matter how hard they try. So when Nanami gets the opportunity to completely encase your body in his strong, protective arms, it eases his nerves. He is constantly worrying about you, but in this moment he knows, nothing will touch you, nothing will get past his loving embrace.

This position gives Nanami unlimited access to the back of your neck. His lips instantly connecting with the soft skin, pressing soft kisses to the skin there, peppering down your shoulders, his fingers moving your nightshirt out of the way to touch your skin directly--god he loved kissing you. Your skin was so sweet and warm, how was he not supposed to kiss it? It was right in front of him after all.

Choso:

I have said this about Choso countless times, but he is a titty man.. so of course he's going to lay his head on top of your chest. He loves to feel the softness of your breasts agaisnt his cheek--if you have bigger breasts, you better bet he will lay face down and squish your tits around his face, holding his breath while he presses the fat against him, relishing in the feeling of your soft tits on his face.

His hands are without a doubt, on your chest as well. His large, warm hands engulf your tits in his grip, unconsciously feeling you up in his slumber, making you smile and laugh to yourself. He also loves wrapping his arms fully around your body too. The curse nuzzles his head against your chest while he slides his hands under the small of your back, his hands tickling the sides of your waist and back softly with the little mobility he has like this.

He has never felt love like this before, so when he feels your hands wrap around his back like it's the most natural thing in the world, it has his face heating up, a deep crimson blush spreading across his face while you rub his back, your nails raking over his back, over or under the thin material of his shirt. No matter how often the two of you cuddle together like this, he never fails to mumble how much he loves you into your chest, occasionally raising his head to look at you with a pout, still embarrassed even after all the time you spend together.

When you lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead, your fingers caressing his cheek before he drops his head back down to your chest to welcome the embrace of your arms around his body, he swears he's the luckiest man in the world.

Sukuna:

Your wrists and ankles are bound in chains while you sleep at the feet of his throne completely naked. <3

Toji:

I can see Toji being a fan of the 'pretzel' as well, same as Suguru. He gets a little more handsy most times, the hand he has wrapped around your back will creep down to the waistline of your night shorts. His thick fingers slip underneath the waistband, sliding under the band of your underwear as well as he grips as handful of your ass, massaging the fat in his hand, squeezing and rubbing it with his fingers.

At first, he did it as a way to tease you, and it worked, you always lifted your head to give him a stern look while he continued to massage the skin. Over time though, It became a comfort thing for the both of you. Whenever you're tired but Toji isn't, he'll turn down the volume of the TV in your shared bedroom and let you get comfortable on his chest, your ear resting where his arm and torso meet. He slides his arm around your frame, smiling to himself when you nuzzle and cozy up to him, his hand sliding down your back, rubbing up and down a couple times while you get situated.

When you get yourself to your desired position, throwing your leg over his hip; which meets his hand as he grabs it and pulls you over his pelvis more, caressing the side of your thigh soothingly; he slides his fingers into your underwear and stares groping you, his warm hands bringing you instant comfort, and familiarity. He'll continue to absentmindedly feel you up while he watches his show, his eyes occasionally darting down to look at you with softness in his eyes before he leans forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, drifting off soon after, leaving the TV running all night, as usual.

Megumi:

I imagine Megumi being super touchy with his significant other in private once he gets comfortable with you, but I still see him being a little awkward and shy about cuddling with you. It's so intimate after all. The two of you probably started with you lying on his chest with your hand resting on his tummy, you would have to make the first move because Megumi would rather die than initiate something like that at first, no matter how badly his body was itching to feel your warmth against him.

His body would go completely rigid when you laid on him out of nowhere. Megumi would hold his breath, not daring to move even in inches in fear you would move off of him. The weight of your head and your hand that was softly rubbing his tummy felt so comforting, although it did make goosebumps rise all over his body in shock. You would have to tip your head down to avoid him seeing your smile from hearing his heartbeat race out of his chest, the organ taking a significant amount of time before he gets used to your embrace, the rhythm slowing.

After a while of being together and countless cuddling sessions, I can see Megumi being more confident in initiating cuddle sessions when the two of you are watching TV or getting ready to go to sleep. His favorite positions are all of you cuddling him. You spooning him, him lying on your chest while his legs intertwine with yours--any position where your hands are wrapped around him and constantly caressing him in some way he is a huge fan of.

He also loves listening to your heartbeat. He didnt understand how you were always so calm, the soft lulling rhythm never failing to take him away to dreamland. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack every time you even smiled at him, but that was one of the things he loved about you--someone had to initiate the intimacy in the relationship and it sure as hell wasn't going to be him. If you weren't so forward, it probably would've taken him a year to even hold your hand on his own, so he was grateful you were more forward and verbal with what you wanted, because internally, he wanted the same as you, it just took a little coaxing to get him there.

Yuuij:

Yuuji has no preference! He loves each and every position, he just loves to cuddle with you. If he could always be touching you in some way, he would, and he sure as hell tries. You want to lay on his chest while he rubs your back? done. You want to spoon his large frame and wrap your leg over his waist while his fingers tickle your calf? done. Yuuji is ready for each and every cuddle position you propose to him, and he is not afraid in the slightest to initiate the cuddle sessions either.

I think Yuuji would find great joy in lifting your shirt up and crawling inside as much as his body could fit. His head resting on the soft skin of your tummy while your shirt blocks out most of the light emanating from the TV. "It feels like I'm a baby again." He would say, holding your hips in his hands on the outside of your shirt, his fingers tickling unconsciously along your sides, making you giggle.

I think Yuuji would really like coming home exhausted from training to sit in your lap and lay his head on your shoulder, his back arching slightly from the height difference between the two of you. He would hum into the crook of your neck while you stroked his back, raking your nails along him. He would smile to himself and close his eyes when you lift his shirt, scratching his warm skin directly while he falls asleep on your lap for a midday nap.

He was quite heavy and you're unable to breathe very well while he sleeps, but luckily he never naps long, and you do admit his weight crushing you felt weirdly nice, along with the ticklish puffs of his breath against your neck--it makes you feel close to him.

Yuta:

Yuta is a big baby. He handles enough in the Jujutsu world, trying to keep up his tough, strong persona while fighting, all he really wants when he comes to you is to relax completely in your embrace. Another man who loves it when you cuddle him from behind. He loves feeling your leg wrap over his waist, he knows he's not small, but he loves to feel like it sometimes, it's comforting.

One of his favorite positions to cuddle with you during the day is his head on your tummy/pelvis, his hands stroking along the length of your waist while you tangle your hands in his hair, running your nails over his sensitive scalp, down the back of his neck, reaching as much of his back as you can. It lulls him right to sleep, and he loves it. I think Yuta would struggle with falling asleep/sleeping through the night from insomnia, but when you're touching him, your warm embrace engulfing his body, he almost forgets about all the sleepless nights he spent without you by his side.

I can also see him loving to cuddle while facing you. Your head in his chest while he wraps his arms around you, and you likewise. Your legs tangled together, your bodies pressed as close as possible. During the summertime, this position is not the most comfortable because of the heat and the somehow awful AC Jujutsu high has. So during the colder months, the two of you constantly find yourselves in this position. He keeps his hand pressed snugly to the back of your neck, making sure your forehead stays pressed to his neck at all times.

[chaosroid]

I am once again lamenting how neglected resist!Durge has been for months. The final climactic scene to their arc is met with some of the most milquetoast companion reactions I've ever seen.

We literally die.

Like Durge just stops being alive. Where's the angst? The emotion? None of this half-assing shit, give us the shock and denial. Hell, give us weeping! Make it unflattering, because loss can be ugly.

I wouldn't even be opposed to Withers not showing up immediately? Maybe they have to physically drag Durge's dead body back to camp. Show us Gale using the only revival scroll he has and his face falling when it doesn't work. Shadowheart being the healer, desperately expending all her energy to bring you back to life as a last hail mary. Minthara not caring that Bhaal is a god, vowing to make him pay. Lae'zel threatening you to wake up, and the devastation that follows when she realizes you won't. Wyll thinking of bargaining his very soul to Mizora just for the chance she could bring Durge back. Astarion and Karlach praying to whatever gods they can think of even though they don't believe in them anymore.

Show the grief, the exhaustion. Then Withers appears.

As it stands, the emotional weight of what happens to Durge gets resolved so quickly, there's never a moment for any of us to really react to it.

It's an issue all across the game tbh. Why do the companions have no reaction to Kressa's reveal that she tortured Durge? Why are there no consequences to your relationships when they find out you were behind the Absolute plan? Outside of Astarion, the other romanceable companions have very little unique interactions with Durge, which is a shame because there are plenty of them who share many parallels to Durge's experience of being used by a god/higher-power.

I feel like I'm playing the world's smallest violin when I complain about the lack of resist!Durge content because good god, Wyll and Minthara are fighting for their lives over here. But man, it really sucks knowing that patch 7 is allegedly Larian's last big content patch. Like if there was ever going to be an update where this sort of thing was added, it had to be this one. But it doesn't seem like Larian has any intention of closing the content disparity gap.

[k9wa]

⟁ TOUCH. ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — yearning for sensations long forgotten behind cool steel and blue blood.

⠀ OR

⠀ — you two can get along every once in a while.

⚠︎ mechanic!reader, rev comfort, boothill is a bit of a yearner, can you guys just fucking kiss already. gn reader wc 1.5k.

“you’re less obnoxious than usual,”

your voice snaps boothill out of his daze, eyes blinking quickly as he re-registers your hands in his torso messing with a few wires.

“you sick or something?”

the cyborg keeps his gaze down, watching the careful and precise movements of your hands, actions long practiced and refined. 

it's a little surprising when a flirt or some quick quip doesn't follow your comment— only a small huff of air through his nose as boothill leans further back onto his palms.

“nah. i'm fit as a fiddle.”

you spare a glance up, right eyebrow raising just a tad. you don’t believe him, and boothill’s too clocked out to notice your distrust.

though you don’t comment– not until the cavity in his stomach is closed up and all his pieces are back in place.

“that should be better,” you wipe the oil off your hands with an old rag hung from one of your belt loops. “how's that scratch healing up?”

boothill again is pulled from his thoughts by your voice, cybernetic hand subconsciously moving to the mostly scabbed and healed over cut on his jaw— the one you patched and gave him an earful for getting in the first place.

“‘s fine,” he runs his fingers over it as if he could feel the roughened skin. they linger over it just a little too long. “barely there anymore. we all done here?”

it's another comment that leaves you with a weird feeling in your gut— he always hung around, dragged out his repairs longer than they needed to take just to spend more time with you. to mess with you, ruffle your feathers while you pretend you don’t know exactly what he’s doing. it's almost disappointing when he expresses his eagerness to leave. not to mention the lack of his usual vibrato or high energy is a tad unsettling.

he tries to sit up from your work bench, but your palm against his chest pushes him carefully back down and keeps him seated. unbeknownst to you, boothill actively chokes down the simultaneous urges to swat your hand away and clutch onto it. did you know how insane your touch that he couldn’t even feel was driving him? did you know that he’d had his teeth grit since stepping one boot into your shop— the shop that he was only able to enter after giving himself a firm slap to his own forehead?

“what's with you?”

you folded your arms over your chest, eyes focussed calculatingly on the cowboy sitting in front of you. though the brim of his hat covers a good portion of his face, and his head doesn’t seem too keen on lifting. 

“what’s that s’posed t’mean?'' boothill doesn’t bother looking up, as expected.

“you look like a kicked dog.” 

boothill scoffs. “ain’t no sugar coatin’ it with you, is there?” 

“cmon,” you sigh, unfolding your arms to place them down on your table, caging either side of the cyborg’s hips. you give a slight lean forward as you put your weight down on them, and once more boothill’s caught between pushing you away or grabbing your shirt and pulling you closer. 

“talk to me, it’s weird seeing you all quiet.”

“ain’t you the one always tellin’ me to shut up?”

“boothill.”

he tilted his head back with a quiet groan, steel thumb rubbing at one of his temples. it's embarrassing, really, what he’s so hung up about. 

his thoughts drift to your hands on either side of him, that although calloused and stained with oil you’ll never be able to quite fully get out from under your fingernails, are still soft. human. not exactly delicate but not…clunky. or heavy.

he’s never really been one for vulnerability. where would he even begin? he’d hardened his interior to match the abrupt loss of his fleshy exterior. he didn’t feel he had a choice to do otherwise. now he’s left with the hyper awareness of just how bulky and inelegant he is— it’s not who he was before, not what he had. it never will be. 

“…just missin’ the way i used to be, i s’pose. i dunno.”

his eyes still dodge yours, pulling the brim of his hat down to block out your face from his peripherals. 

“just…forgettin’ things. how things feel against my fingers ‘n whatnot.” his words are half murmured, hesitant behind his lips.

if boothill had a stomach, it would have tightened and churned at your lack of a response. now he just feels silly, like you’re about to laugh in his face for the little bit of himself he’d just bared to you.

“not that i’m moppin’ about it or nothin’,” he quickly tries to save with a clear of his throat. “i mean, this ol’ hunk’a metal come in handy now and again, don’t it?” boothill straightens up a little bit, voice evening out. 

he’s still waiting for you to say something. literally anything— to give a half assed acknowledgement and let him go or call him an idiot. he eagerly awaits for you to just get either over with.

but rather than option a, or b, or even c to z, what he receives is your hand on his cheek, guiding his head to look back forward at you. 

…huh?

he feels frozen. your hand is so warm, it’s making his head feel fuzzy. it’s different than the occasional touch to his face from you, one to tilt his head up so you can see his neck or a lift of his eyelid to check on his eye.

it stays in place, long enough to make the area of his face you’re touching begin to warm as well. his eyes are locked with yours now, slightly wide and filled with uncertainty. he silently prays his cheeks aren’t blue.

“you can still feel here, right?” your question is so…innocent. it’s as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. your thumb slowly smoothing over his cheekbone is enough to make him feel utterly weak.

“…yeah. yeah, i can.”

he’s daring enough to put his hand overtop yours, keeping it in place. you smile slightly at that— not a teasing grin like usual, but a genuine one.

“you know,” your other hand brushes his bangs out of his eyes. boothill’s never been touched like this before, like he’s fragile.

“you don’t have to hide stuff from me.” right now, your voice is the most comforting thing he’s ever heard. he's blanking– you’re the only thing filling his senses. the smell of oil mixed with your body wash, the way you look at him as you speak, every part of it is so…grounding. it’s almost foreign, a sensation long forgotten behind layers of metal and code.

“i ain’t hiding things from ya, sugar plum.”

“quit it with that, okay?” 

your brows furrow lightly as you lean dangerously close. boothill can feel your slow, calm breaths fanning his upper lip. he resists the urge to gulp.

“i know you. probably more than you think.” you tilt the brim of his hat up gently, keeping it out of the way. it’s true, no one’s ever seen him in the ways that you have. comfortable, a little smitten, on and off malfunctioning.

“i don’t like seeing you upset,” boothill’s circuits stutter once your forehead rested against his. “so just talk to me next time.”

it’s not a request, but it’s not a demand either. perhaps “invitation” is a more fitting term.

“can we…” boothill clears his throat softly again, fingers lightly tightening around your hand. “do you reckon we can stay like this for a lil’ while then?” 

you nod.

“okay.”

you pull him a little closer, enough to place your cheek against his and give it a gentle nuzzle.

you’re warm. you’re soft. you smell good, feel good. he doesn’t want to let go.

one of boothill's arms snakes carefully around your waist, and slowly your chest is pulled flush against his while you’re stood between his legs. his face finds itself comfortably hidden in the crook of your neck, all while your thumb gently tracing the shell of his ear is enough to have him purring like a cat.

“you feel nice,” boothill says quietly, voice a bit rough. the rasp is endearing as always. “real nice, sugar.”

neither of you are sure how long you stay there, nor does boothill know when his hand began clutching your shirt as if he was afraid you would pull away. but the gentle whirl and hum of his internals are oddly soothing– like a built in white noise machine that puts your mind at ease.

boothill could have sat there forever, really. nudging his nose against the smooth skin of your neck and gripping tightly at what little physical feeling he had left.

you silently ponder kissing his temple, boothill silently ponders kissing your cheek. neither of you act.

“thank ya.” boothill's voice is nothing above a whisper. “been a while since…y’know.” 

you nod slowly, fingers idly twirling a piece of hair that hangs over his ear.

“you’re sweet when you wanna be.” you can’t help but tease him just a little.

“cmon now, i’m always sweet for you, ain’t i?” and he can’t help but throw a flirt back.

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[bellaxgiornata]

Five Minutes

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 4.4k [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Fluff, nervous!Reader, suggestive comments, & a slightly soft, flirty Jax

Summary: While out with your friends at a seedy bar in Charming, you manage to catch Jax's eye–and he's quite determined just to get you to talk to him.

a/n: I'm temporarily back in my Jax Teller phase at the moment as I force myself to rewatch Sons of Anarchy and actually finish the last season instead of trying to pretend the show doesn't end like it does. I'm just going to use fanfic to spare my feelings right now even though I don't usually write for Jax. It's been months since I've written anything and this was admittedly written entirely today, but enjoy! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Raising the bottle of beer to your lips, you took a pull from it as your eyes scanned the dimly lit bar around you. Stanley's was a hole in the wall type of dive bar–not the sort of place you generally found yourself drinking on a Friday night with your friends after work. It was a seedy place, and that was only made even more apparent by the impossible to ignore presence of the Sons of Anarchy.

There were five of them sitting at a table on the opposite side of the bar from where you and your friends were drinking, all of them wearing their black leather kuttes with their worn patches and matching hardened expressions. They were deep in discussion as they sat with a few questionable looking men and one gentleman in particular who looked far too nicely dressed to be sitting and drinking in a place like Stanley's. It was obvious that they were doing something illegal, conducting some sort of business boldly out in the open. 

Swallowing down your beer, you lowered the almost empty bottle back to the table and returned your attention to your three friends who were still in the middle of discussing Tabitha's breakup. Leaning forward and resting your forearms along the wooden surface, you felt it wobble beneath your shifting weight as you focused on the conversation once more. Though you had to strain to hear them over the rock music blaring through the place.

“It's his damn loss, Tab,” Sara said, her tone firm. “If Travis is going to sleep around on you, then you deserve better than his dumbass. He's not worth a single one of your tears.”

Monica was nodding from her place in the chair beside you, gesturing her glass of cranberry vodka at Tabitha. It was clear she'd already had a few too many of them since the four of you had arrived over an hour ago.

“That's right,” she began. “We aren't out tonight to drown your sorrows over that asshole, we're out to remind you that you're a beautiful badass and you don't need him. You can do better.”

An annoyed scoff left Tabitha in response before she rolled her eyes. “Because there's so many wonderful options of available men in Charming to choose from,” Tabitha replied bitterly.

Unable to fight the grin at her harsh but truthful comment, you let out a small laugh. “What? You don't like our options at tonight's wonderful drinking establishment? You've got so much to choose from.” 

Monica and Sara were quick to laugh, matching smiles spreading across their faces. Both of them openly scanned the bar around the four of you, their eyes taking in the varying men drinking around Stanley’s.

“Yeah Tab, you've got your pick of either emotionally immature or emotionally unavailable,” Sara teased.

“Or old enough to be your father, beer gut included,” Monica joked.

Swallowing down another sip of your beer, you smiled as all three of your friends laughed at the table, the mood finally lifting among the group of you tonight. Your eyes darted across the bar back to the table of Sons. The blonde one you knew as Jax Teller, their leader, was standing and shaking the overly dressed gentleman's hand now, clearly finished with whatever illegal dealings they'd been handling here.

“And let us not forget,” you added on, your eyes averting from their table and returning to your friends as you lowered your voice, “the option of criminal biker. A Charming specialty.”

Each of your friends laughed once more before sending wary glances across the bar towards the leather-clad men. The Sons' presence here clearly made the four of you uneasy–almost as if bullets would start flying at any moment. And with the way things had been happening around town lately, it didn't feel far out of the realm of possibility with them here.

“Let's be real, they don't know a thing about commitment, either,” Tabitha replied, sitting back in her chair. “Any one of them would still be far worse than Travis.”

“There's a silver lining, at least,” Monica said before taking another deep drink from her glass. She swallowed it down before continuing, pointing a firm finger in the direction of the bikers across the bar. “Anything in this town is better than a Son.”

“Doesn't matter anyway,” Sara chimed in, her eyes darting to the bikers’ table and then back. “We are not the kind of women who even register on their radars.”

Picking up your own beer from the table, you drank down the last of its contents as your friends began speaking in hushed tones, the topic quickly taking a turn to the rumors they'd overheard about the Sons’ clubhouse parties. Sliding out of your chair, you had already stopped listening. You'd never concerned yourself with the small town's motorcycle club before, preferring to stay far away from them and the trouble they caused, so you certainly weren't about to suddenly care about the gossip and rumors now.

“I'm going to grab another beer, I'll be back,” you told the others.

Monica sent you a smile, acknowledging what you'd said before her eyes returned to Sara who was now in the middle of animatedly telling a story that she'd overheard about the Sons. Not wasting another minute, you ducked your head and walked away from the table, making your way towards the bar. As you wove between the other tables with gruff looking men who were giving you looks that made your palms sweat, you kept your eyes averted from any of them, doing your best to ignore the curious glances and the occasional comment thrown your way.

Reaching the bar, you caught the bartender's attention and ordered another beer, dropping some cash onto the bar counter as you did. You watched as the bartender grabbed the bills before walking off to retrieve your drink, your fingers absently drumming along the sticky counter as you waited. 

A few feet further down from you, another figure sauntered up to the bar, casually leaning their forearms along it. Against your better judgment, your head shifted over your shoulder, your eyes drawn by the movement. You felt your heart accelerate, pounding a bit harder in your chest as you recognized Jax Teller standing there looking worn and irritated, a slight crease between his brows and a downward curve to his mouth. Immediately you glanced away, eyes focusing straight ahead of you as your body went tense. Unfortunately for you, the sudden movement seemed to have caught his attention. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw his head turn in your direction as if he'd noticed you looking at him, and then you could practically feel his eyes running over you. 

Swallowing hard, your fingers drummed a bit more anxiously on the counter as you internally pleaded for the bartender to hurry up and return with your beer. But just as he began his slow return towards you with your opened bottle in hand, the Son beside you let out a soft, amused huff before he took a few steps closer. He easily slid further down the bar, now standing with barely three feet of space left between the both of you. His proximity had your pulse quickening even more as you determinedly kept your gaze straight ahead. Maybe if you didn't look at him again he wouldn't speak to you. 

Though it didn’t take long for your theory to be proven incorrect.

“You look out of place here, darlin’,” Jax’s deep, smooth voice came from beside you as he leaned just a fraction closer.

Continuing to keep your gaze fixed ahead, you watched as the bartender wordlessly set your drink down in front of you before focusing on Jax next, a hint of trepidation on his face as he took the intimidating man's drink order. Not wanting to stick around, your hand darted out to grab your beer before you turned away from the bar. Pulling the bottle up to your lips, you immediately took a deep drink to offset the dryness that had settled in your mouth at Jax’s presence.

“You just gonna ignore me, sweetheart?” he asked, shifting along the bar to casually lean his back against it. “I'm just being friendly here.”

Pausing at his voice directed at you once again, you felt your body go rigid on the spot. Hesitantly, you threw a timid glance back over your shoulder at him and the sight had you stopping just two steps from the bar. He was resting against the counter with a mixture of amusement and mischief dancing in his blue eyes, a cocky smirk tugging his lips upwards at one corner. He looked completely comfortable and at ease now as he stared back at you, the faintest curious tilt to his head.

You’d seen the Sons often enough over the years since you’d lived in Charming. Their bikes were impossible to miss when they came roaring through the streets of the small town, and you’d often seen them around the clubhouse lot every time you drove past Teller-Morrow Automotive whenever you drove to and from work. The sight of these men wasn’t anything new to you, but you’d also never been standing quite so close to one of them before. Especially not Jax. The rumors you’d always heard about how handsome he was hadn’t remotely done him justice–he was somehow even more attractive than he’d looked from across the bar earlier. 

Jax Teller was…beautiful, if you were being honest with yourself. In a sort of rugged, dangerous way. The sort of way that had your heart hammering like a caged bird in your chest with his confident smirk, those engaging blue eyes which clearly held an endless amount of secrets, and that damn slicked back blonde hair that had your fingers itching to grab onto it and pull his face between your legs. 

As if he could read the thoughts racing through your mind, his smirk grew into a lazy smile, one hand reaching over and grabbing the drink the bartender set down beside him. His eyes never once left you as he watched you, the gaze not unlike that of a cat about to toy with a mouse. The look he was directing at you had you tightening your grip on your beer bottle, your palm dampening nervously against the glass.

“Come on, darlin’,” he tried again, slowly gesturing his head towards the barstool beside him. “Take a seat. I just wanna talk.”

“I–I don't think that's a good idea,” you stammered.

Taking another step to leave, you turned and made a desperate attempt to get out of his line of sight and back to your friends at the table, but you’d only managed that one step before his hand was lightly grasping onto your upper arm and gently turning you back towards him. Immediately you bristled at the touch, your body tensing as you jolted backwards and out of his reach. The smile on Jax’s face only grew wider, like he’d found your reaction to his touch entertaining. With his drink held in one hand, he raised both of his hands in mock surrender.

“Easy there, darlin’,” he drawled out, still grinning. “Just wanna talk. That’s all. Nothin’ else, I promise.”

Standing there with your heart thudding away inside of your ribcage, you tried to swallow back the lump forming in your throat. He was so damn comfortable and confident just leaning against the bar like that, it was only making you more nervous. What the hell did he want with you? You clearly looked nothing like any of the women you’d spotted hanging around the clubhouse whenever you’d driven past, he couldn’t possibly be thinking that he was going to take you home to his bed. Though the thought of that, of being alone with him like that , had your cheeks heating as your eyes darted down to the bottle of beer in your hands.

“I think you’d find I’m not remotely the kind of company you’re looking for,” you answered back, awkwardly attempting to avoid his gaze.

A low, rumbling chuckle fell out of him at your comment, the sound drawing your eyes back up to his. Somehow he just looked even more entertained.

“And what makes you say that?” he asked, that lazy grin still on his lips. “What kinda company do you think I’m looking for, sweetheart?”

The question drew the heat further down your neck, your whole body starting to feel like it was on fire now. You were absolutely not made for conversations with someone so straightforward and unflappable as Jax Teller. It seemed the more nervous you became, the more he enjoyed this unexpected interaction with you.

“Something more exciting than me,” you answered after a moment. “Look, I…have friends who’re probably wondering where I’ve disappeared to by now–”

“I’m just asking you to sit right here with me,” he said, cutting you off with a shrug. “Not trying to run off anywhere with you, darlin’.”

Closing your mouth at his interruption, you stood there for a long moment cautiously studying him. Why was he so damn insistent on you sitting with him and talking? What the hell did he want from you? Because it had to be something, right? There was no way he just wanted something as simple and innocent as a conversation. 

Turning just a fraction towards him, your brows drew together in confusion and contemplation, your question coming out just loud enough to be heard over the music in the bar. “Why? Why do you want to talk?”

Jax shrugged a single broad shoulder again in response. “Call it curiosity. You don’t look like you belong in a place like this,” he answered.

Your eyes narrowed a fraction at him in return. “Like I don’t belong in a bar?” 

A soft huff of laughter fell out of him before he shook his head, an almost boyish grin spreading across his lips as his eyes creased at the corners. “Nah, darlin’. That’s not what I meant,” he replied.

When you didn’t answer, his expression softened just a fraction as he straightened up against the counter behind him. His hand reached out towards you again and your eyes quickly darted down towards his ringed fingers, a look of fear passing over your face. Catching sight of your obvious discomfort, Jax’s hand hesitated in the space between you both before it slowly dropped back down to his side.

“Sorry, I forgot.” There was an edge of humor to his voice. “ You don’t want me to touch you. Gotta admit, I’m not used to that reaction from women.”

Clearing your throat, your eyes returned to his face. “Most women usually don’t like being touched by strange men at a bar,” you pointed out, trying to sound more bold than you felt. “That’s a normal reaction.”

The corner of his lips twitched again at your reply, as if he found your attempt at being firm with him more funny than anything. He nodded his head slowly before he spoke. “Yeah, suppose I’ve heard that.” His hand reached out to pull out the barstool beside him instead, dragging it over towards you before he gave it two gentle pats. “Come on. Just…quench my curiosity about why a timid thing like you is drinking in a place like this. I gotta know.”

Bottom lip rolling beneath your teeth, you chewed it in thought for a moment as your attention shifted down towards the awaiting barstool. Was that what he was after then? You just stood out to him and he wanted to know why you were here? That was all?

Cautiously, you turned further towards him, a wary expression still on your face despite the way the smile once more grew on his. An idea was forming in your mind, one you hoped would get him off of your back.

“If I talk with you for five minutes, will you leave me alone afterwards?” you asked, the question coming out of you slowly. 

Jax’s eyebrows rose marginally, almost like he couldn’t believe just how much you seemed to not want anything to do with him. One of his hands rose up from off the bar, his fingers running across his bearded mouth as if in thought while his eyes remained fixed on you in front of him. After a moment, he nodded once.

“Yeah, alright,” he answered, gesturing his head back towards the barstool once more. “You’ve got a deal, darlin’. Five minutes and then I’ll stop bothering you.” He paused, shooting you a handsome grin. “If that’s what you still want in five minutes.”

Eyes darting across the bar, your gaze landed over on your three friends still sitting at the table you’d left them at. They were all staring at you, watching you closely as if searching for some sign of distress considering who you were talking with. You gave them the faintest shake of your head to let them know you were fine before you took the few steps over to the barstool beside Jax, hesitantly lowering yourself onto it. He immediately shifted along the bar, resting his left elbow on the surface and leaning his weight onto it as he watched you take another pull off of your beer.

“Name’s Jax, but I’m guessin’ you already know who I am judging by the way you’ve been trying to scurry away from me this whole goddamn time,” he teased lightly. He jutted his chin at you, that hint of curiosity back in his eyes. “You got a name, darlin’?”

With your gaze focused on your beer bottle as you set it along the bar, your fingers fidgeted with the label along the bottle. The condensation on the brown glass already had a corner of it peeling off. Awkwardly you gave him your name, half of you wondering if that was even a good idea.

Jax chuckled in response, drawing his glass to his lips as he spoke. “Was expecting more of a fight from you on that, I’ll be honest,” he admitted, taking a drink before lowering the glass back to the bar counter. He took another step closer, leaning towards you when he spoke again. “So what exactly are you doing drinking at this shithole? Girl like you doesn’t look like she belongs in a place like this.”

Shaking your head, you glanced up at him beside you from beneath your lashes. If he wasn't some dangerous, playboy criminal you might have let yourself feel more flattered by his attention. Because you absolutely, definitely were not.

“No, I…generally don't come here,” you agreed with a small nod. “I uh…I'm out with my friends. One of them is going through a breakup. We didn't want to run into her ex while we were out tonight so…we came here tonight. Because no one ever goes to Stanley's.”

His blue eyes searched your face for a long moment as he let your response settle over him. Something about the intensity of his gaze mixed with the scent of cigarette smoke and leather emanating off of him at this distance had your stomach twisting nervously inside of you for different reasons than a few minutes ago. 

“Breakup, huh?” he mused after a moment. “Brought your friend out drinking to cheer her up. That's why you're here?”

“Yeah,” you answered quietly. 

He bit his lip, fighting back a smile on his face at your explanation. The sight had your eyes darting away just so you could control your breathing. He was quickly becoming intimidating for an entirely different reason now.

“Makes sense,” he replied. “Guess you’re right, doubt you’d run into anyone in this damn place. Though it…really isn’t the best place for a thing like you to be drinking with your friends.”

Grabbing your beer, you raised it to your lips for another deep drink. He was making you so damn nervous that you couldn't refrain from blurting your next words as you set the bottle back down. “I'm guessing you're not out here to help your friend get over a breakup.”

A wide smile broke out across Jax's face, the sight quickly followed by his deep, rumbling laugh. The sound was so unexpected and pleasant that it caught you off guard, a small smile slipping onto your face in return before you could stop it. 

“No darlin’,” he replied, still chuckling at the absurdity of the idea. “That’s definitely not what brought me out here tonight.” 

The smile lingered on his lips as he watched you, something impossible to read in his expression. There was a growing curiosity in his sharp, blue eyes the longer he stood beside you, though. The sight of it had you shifting on the barstool anxiously.

“I got a feeling you're not just the awkward and shy thing I first thought you were, sweetheart,” Jax mused, his voice dropping to something a bit lower. “Seems like there's more to you that you're hiding behind that deer-in-the-headlights look you keep throwing my way.” His lips quirked up into something mischievous as he continued. “Kinda makes me wonder…”

Brows immediately furrowing at the way he'd trailed off, you stiffened in your seat. “Wonder what?” you asked him cautiously.

Jax paused for a moment, that devious little smirk still on his lips. His left hand absently swirled his glass along the bar as he watched you closely, almost like he was studying you. Observing you. Trying to make sense of you.

“What I'd gotta do to get you to loosen up a bit,” he answered after a moment.

Something about the way he'd said that, all resonant and sultry, paired with his confident smirk that seemed to have a double meaning, had a shudder running through you. He was smooth– far too smooth. Despite the fact that you knew how dangerous he was, knew the type of man he was, you felt a warmth slowly flooding through you, one that wasn't related to nerves or alcohol. When he shifted beside you at the bar, his knee suddenly brushing along your thigh over your jeans, you practically jumped in your seat. 

“Relax, you're so on edge, darlin’,” Jax teased you, an amused huff passing between his lips. “I'm not gonna try anything. Consider me on my best behavior right now with you.” Jax paused, his gaze openly raking over you once more where you sat on the barstool, not even remotely being subtle. “Unless you ask me real nice, not to be.”

Almost instantly your eyes widened at his clear flirtation, your lips parting in surprise. That heat flooding you only seemed to be burning you up a bit hotter. Attention shifting back to the beer in front of you, your tongue darted out and dampened your lips in a nervous gesture. How in the hell was he affecting you like this? You should know better than to let a Son be chatting you up like this.

“You know,” Jax continued, taking another half-step closer to where you were sitting, “I’m not half as bad as you probably think I am.” He hesitated for a moment, making a slight face before adding on, “At least, in some respects. Just gimme a chance, sweetheart. Let me prove it to you.”

Eyes raising from the bottle of beer in front of you, your gaze landed on the clock on the wall behind the bar. It was well off by a half an hour from being remotely accurate, but five minutes had certainly passed since you'd sat down with him. As if he knew what you were thinking by where your eyes had shifted, Jax’s gaze followed yours to the clock. A moment later his attention returned to your face. Gradually your eyes landed back on him, watching as a lazy half-smile spread over his handsome mouth.

“Looks like my five minutes are up, darlin’,” he pointed out, leaning against the bar as he kept his eyes on you. “You're free to run back to your friends now.”

For some reason, you found yourself not immediately moving from your place on the barstool. He was right, you'd given him your five minutes to chat and quell his curiosity about why you were here. It was such a small thing for him to have wanted to ask you about, and yet somehow that had left you curious about him now.

“Or–” he said, breaking the mounting silence between you two as he raised his glass to his lips, pausing with it there as he continued, “–you can give me more than five minutes of your time tonight. Up to you, sweetheart. My evening is wide open at the moment.”

Sitting there, you watched as his lips wrapped around the edge of his glass, the dark liquid tipping back into his mouth as his eyes remained on you. Your hand gripped the neck of your beer bottle harder, your heart thrumming in your throat at the offer to stay and talk to him. You knew you shouldn't, you knew the smart thing to do was to get up with your beer and go back to your friends and forget this entire moment had ever even happened in the first place. Jax Teller was trouble. He wasn’t a good guy. He was a notorious playboy with a criminal record. But for some damn reason you couldn't move from your seat beside him. And that only had his smirk growing wider the moment he realized that you weren’t moving. 

His foot slid out, casually hooking around the leg of the barstool beside you before he pulled it out. Settling down into the seat and getting comfortable, one of his hands gestured at your beer that sat half-drunk in your nervous grip. 

“Why don't you finish that and I'll get you another, darlin’?” he suggested, arching one of his brows at you.

Slowly, you raised the bottle to your lips, drinking back more of the alcohol. Jax’s eyes creased at the corners as he leaned closer towards you, resting his elbows on the bar counter. 

“So, why don’t you go on and tell me more about how you’re not the kinda company I’m looking for tonight, darlin’?” he teased, that infuriatingly handsome smirk slipping back onto his lips.

[thesecondhandwoman]

THE PRICE OF BETRAYAL

Caitlyn x f!reader

Synopsis: Caitlyn had chose Maddie over you weeks before the battle, but after everything, you still loved her. Now in recovery, she seemed to realize her mistake of not loving you too.

Request: @nyrasproblm

The air in Piltover was heavy with smoke, the stench of burnt rubble lingering as the sounds of battle echoed through the streets. Everything had changed, and everything was in chaos. Yet, amidst the destruction and bloodshed, your mind couldn’t escape one thought: Caitlyn.

It had been days since the final battle, the battle that had torn apart Piltover’s fragile peace and brought so much loss. And yet, in the midst of everything, Caitlyn’s absence felt like the heaviest blow of all. The woman who had once been your partner, your love, was now fractured, not just physically, but emotionally.

You hadn’t seen her since the moment the battle had ended, when everything had blurred into confusion. Caitlyn had been injured—gravely so. The doctors had said she was lucky to be alive after shard had nearly pierced vital organs in her abdomen. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was the blindness in her left eye. The doctors had done all they could, but there was no fixing it.

And worse still, Maddie, the woman who had crept into Caitlyn’s life, who had pushed you away in ways you still couldn’t fully comprehend, had betrayed them all. It was Maddie’s treachery that had nearly cost Caitlyn her life.

Now, you stood outside the makeshift infirmary, the weight of your emotions pressing on your chest. You had heard the whispers—the murmurs of what had happened in the battle. Caitlyn had been forced to kneel, Maddie holding a gun to her neck, ready to end it all. It was only by the miracle of Mel’s powers that the bullet hadn’t killed Caitlyn. Instead, it had been deflected, and Maddie was dead, a casualty of her own treachery.

You had felt a sickening mix of relief and sorrow when you had heard that Maddie was gone. Caitlyn had survived, but what had she survived for?

The woman who had once been your closest confidante had turned away from you, choosing Maddie over you, letting a wedge form between you both that could never be erased.

Yet, here you were. You hadn’t left Piltover. You hadn’t abandoned Caitlyn. Not because you thought it was the right thing to do, but because part of you still believed in her, still loved her.

It had started slowly, Caitlyn pulling away from you, her words sharp, her eyes cold. At first, you thought it was just the stress, the weight of her duties as a lawmaker and protector of Piltover. But when she started spending more and more time with Maddie, something shifted. Something in her changed.

You had tried to ignore it. Tried to chalk it up to nothing. But the truth was in her eyes every time she looked at you. The distance, the icy politeness, the way she no longer seemed to care about your presence. It hurt in ways you hadn’t expected. You had been there for her through everything, always ready to stand by her side. But when she needed you most, she had turned away.

You had confronted her one night, desperate to understand, to find answers. But all Caitlyn had done was shrug you off with a cold, emotionless stare. She had told you she didn’t have time for you anymore. The words cut deeper than any blade could.

It wasn’t just the fact that Caitlyn was with Maddie, it was the way she treated you as if you didn’t matter anymore. As if everything you’d shared, every moment, every laugh, every quiet word, had meant nothing to her.

The betrayal had shattered you.

Now, as you entered the dimly lit infirmary, the first thing you saw was Caitlyn, lying in a cot, her bandaged head turned away from the light. Her right eye was closed, and the left was bandaged, a patch covering the wound that had taken her sight. Her breath was shallow, and she didn’t seem to notice you as you stood in the doorway, your heart aching.

You took a hesitant step forward. “Caitlyn,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Caitlyn, it’s me.”

Her head turned slightly, the faintest trace of recognition flickering across her face. But her gaze was distant, cold, as if she was afraid to let anyone get too close.

“What do you want?” Her voice was low, strained, but still sharp.

You felt a pang in your chest at the bitterness in her words. This wasn’t the Caitlyn you had known—the one who would have laughed at your jokes, who would have held you close on stormy nights. This was someone else, someone broken and distant.

“I came to see if you were okay,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the wave of hurt that threatened to drown you. “I came to make sure you were alive. You nearly—”

“I’m fine,” Caitlyn interrupted, her voice weaker now. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I never stopped worrying, Caitlyn. Even when you pushed me away, even when you chose Maddie over me.”

There was silence in the room, and you could feel her stiffen, the air between you heavy with unspoken words.

“Y/N,” she said finally, her voice breaking ever so slightly, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Your eyes narrowed, the sting of old wounds still fresh. “I don’t want anything from you, Caitlyn. Not anymore. But I never wanted you to treat me like I was nothing. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain. You didn’t even care.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, a flood of emotion you had been holding back for so long.

“I loved you, Caitlyn. I would have been there for you. But you…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. The pain of it was too much.

Caitlyn turned her head away, her jaw clenched as she stared at the ceiling. “I made a mistake,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I was wrong. I let my fear control me. I pushed you away because I thought you wouldn’t understand, I thought I needed Maddie to feel something. To feel anything. But I was wrong.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and you could feel the weight of her regret in the room. Caitlyn, the strong, proud woman who had never apologized for anything, was finally admitting to her mistakes.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I was a fool. I never should have treated you like that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

You stood there, unsure of how to respond. You had spent so many sleepless nights wondering if Caitlyn would ever come to this moment, wondering if she would ever realize how much she had hurt you. And now, here she was—broken, humbled, but still reaching out to you.

“You nearly died, Caitlyn,” you said, your voice softening. “And I nearly lost you. I would’ve never forgiven myself if you—if you…”

Your throat closed, the weight of your own words choking you.

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” Caitlyn admitted, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know how to deal with everything. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I shouldn’t have let Maddie come between us. She was a mistake.”

You could see the raw pain in her eyes as she spoke, the depth of her regret. And as much as the hurt still stung, you realized that Caitlyn was trying, she was trying to make things right.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen now,” she continued, her voice growing steadier, “but I want to try. If you’ll let me, I want to fix this. I want you in my life again, Y/N.”

The words hung in the air between you both, fragile, uncertain, but full of hope.

You looked at her—at the woman who had broken your heart, the woman who had now come to you with nothing but her vulnerability—and something inside you softened. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There would be scars, both visible and hidden, that would take time to heal. But in that moment, as you looked at Caitlyn, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

With a small, tentative step forward, you reached for her hand. “We’ll figure it out, Caitlyn. Together.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a flicker of warmth in her gaze. It wasn’t the same as before—it couldn’t be. But it was a start.

And that was enough, to both you and her.

A/N: Oh my god, final fic of the day (literally been cranking these out since 12 am). I hope that this one was a good way to end the day off, and tomorrow should be just as crazy (multitasking fics again).

[esotericsorrow]

i've got this anxious feeling (but it goes away for a minute when i'm with you breathing) - ekko x reader

wc: 1k

warnings: mention of blood

ekko x medic!reader

ekko doesn't remember the exact moment when everything changed between you two. one minute, you were just kids running through the streets of zaun, stealing glances at each other and dreaming of something better. the next, you were both standing midst of a revolution, both bearing the weight of your choices and responsibilities.

it had always been that way, hadn't it? both of you carried the pain of zaun’s broken streets in different ways, and that pain had shaped who you were—who you were meant to be.

“y/n,” ekko whispered, his voice strained from the blood loss. “how did we get here?”

you didn’t answer right away. you finished wrapping his side with gauze and then gently cupped his chin, tilting his face up toward yours. there was no judgment in your eyes, only the kind of quiet understanding that ekko had never found anywhere else.

“we were always going to end up here,” you said softly. “those were the shitty cards we were dealt with.”

you were no longer the girl that played in the streets with him. no longer the girl to whisk away to some dingy rooftop to stargaze at the barely visible galaxy. you were the firelight medic now. your eyes were laser focused as you worked, hands steady and efficient. back when you were children, you had patched him up after every scrape, every reckless stunt. nothing had changed, you were still the one taking care of himself when he couldn't.

“still think you’re invincible?” you asked, glancing up at him as you cleaned the wound.

“i’m still breathing,” ekko shot back, but the words felt hollow, more tired than defiant.

you didn’t respond, just continuing to work on him. it was always this way. you’d never say what you really wanted to say, but ekko knew you too well. there were things between you—things left unsaid—but both of you had been too afraid to voice them. back then, it was the simple question of whether you’d be able to survive together. now, it was bigger than that. now, it was about whether if you guys could still see each other as more than the people you had been, more than the roles you both were now trapped in.

ekko met your eyes, his chest tight. “i don’t know if i can fix this. everything’s falling apart, y/n, i keep trying, but it’s never enough.”

you finished cleaning the wound, your hands pausing as you looked up at him. the same intensity you had always carried was still there, but now it was mixed with something else—something softer, something more fragile.

“you’re not supposed to fix everything,” you said quietly. “you’re just supposed to keep going. we all are.”

there was a pause, and for a fleeting moment, ekko saw the girl he had known all his life. the girl who had bandaged his scraped knees, who had silently supported him with his creations. the girl who had always believed in something better for them, for zaun.

“and what if i don’t know how?” he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice something he hadn’t allowed anyone to hear in years.

you set down your medical tools and stepped closer to him. you took his hand, your fingers warm against his cold skin. for a moment, he felt a wave of emotions crash over him—memories of their childhood, of simpler times, of a connection that had always been there but was buried beneath the chaos of their lives.

“you don’t have to know how, ekko,” you said softly, your voice just for him. “you just have to keep trying.”

you took a seat beside him on the tiny bed, bodies squished together, shoulders pressing. you hesitated for a moment before leaning your head against his.

“you’re not the boy savior or the leader of the firelights when you’re here with me. you’re just ekko, the boy who always offered me the last bite of his food, the tastiest part. the boy who indulged in my every stupid theory about aliens. the boy who always managed to pull reckless stunts after stunts and inevitably end up injured and come to me, hands expectantly raised to be patched up.”

you fiddled with the ends of your skirt. “you still do. all of that.”

he rubbed his neck sheepishly. “your aliens theories are very interesting.”

you smiled at him softly. he mirrored a similar one of his own.

ekko looked at you then, really looked at you. and in that moment, something shifted—something he hadn’t expected but had always hoped for. he wasn’t sure where this path would lead them, but he knew one thing for certain: you was still here, still standing by his side.

“i don’t know if i can keep doing this without you,” he said, his voice low, vulnerable.

you smiled, gently flicking his forehead before cupping his face to press a chaste kiss on his cheek. ‘you dont have to, silly. i’m not going anywhere. i’m not leaving you ever.”

for a long moment, you simply stayed there, the weight of everything you both had endured settling between, unspoken. you didn’t need to say more. not yet. there was time.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hihiiii can i request some shy ekko 🫶 the scenes of him double taking at powder changed the chemistry in my brain and i just need some shy & smitten ekko 😭

When Ekko found himself alone and deep in his thoughts within the solitude of his room, he’s reminiscing and wondering while tinkering with some spare parts lying about upon his workbench, needing something to occupy his empty hands as they began to go to work.

His thoughts were filled to the brim of you only you and while he hadn’t noticed it earlier, being as busy as he was with going out on missions and being responsible for a whole commune of people who followed his lead with wholehearted faith in him, he finds himself smiling at the moments you two shared away from everything else. You’d drag him away from his duties even if it was for five minutes but to Ekko those five minutes with you were more then needed, and he had you to thank for reminding him that he was only human, reminding him that he can rely on others rather then barring the brunt of the weight himself.

‘You’re making progress Ekko.’ You told him once as you were both watching over the commune high above. ‘It may not show itself right now, progress often doesn’t, it will in due time but what matters is that you’re changing Zaun one step at a time and I couldn’t be prouder of you.’ You finished as you took his hand in your own, intertwining your fingers with his as your thumb caressed his softly.

Ekko remembered being touched by your words, glad to know the had your faith and your pride in him, more then he’d ever admit in that moment as all he could see was you as everything else seemed to fade away. At the time he thought he was happy to have his closest friend help him make sense of the fog within his head, however the way Ekko remembered feeling was akin to that of seeing you for the first time.

You were the person he suffered scrapped knees with, bruises with and minor injuries with, only for you to merely laughed them off all the while patching him up. You dared to laugh and smile in the face of fear as you gripped his hand tight, only letting him know of your true fear and hopelessness in the off chance of great adversary. Ekko was the only person you trusted to have your back and he reciprocated those feelings, trusting you with his own life without hesitation. For that was how your relationship with him was built upon trust, respect and loyalty for as long as Ekko could remember, as it had always been you and him in his eyes.

And it will always be you and him until the end, a promise made way back when he shared his vision for Zaun’s future with you on a star lit night.

‘How about this, I’ll promise to help you to bring Zaun to a better place for you, for me, for everyone we help in the future and those who’ll carry the fight long after your dream comes true.’ You tell him as you presented him with your pinky and he playfully scoffs. ‘Pinky promises? Are you five?’ He asks and you nudge him in the side, pushing your pinky finger closer to him.

‘Are you going to continue to make fun of me or take me up on my promise?’ You replied and once again Ekko could only see you, even the stars seemed to frame you perfectly so that he was forced to keep his eyes on you, at a loss for words as he takes in how naturally you looked right then and there before he linked his pinkie with yours.

‘Deal.’ He said as he felt his body become warm upon seeing you beam brightly, your pinky tightening on his.

‘Ekko.’ Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts and his tinkering as he looked over at you, the emotions he felt when reminiscing about your shared past only seemed to be amplified upon seeing you; You weren’t wearing anything ingesting in particular, just your usual attire and his coat that you had stolen from him that very morning, much to Scar’s silent amusement.

Ekko would use the excuse that you’d always stole his clothes whenever Scar tried to gauge just what you were to him, and while that was true Ekko didn’t mind the sight he got whenever you stole off of him, it left a warmth within his chest that he wanted to experience for as long as he could before going back to being leader. A memory that he engraved in his head countless times and yet the sight of you in his coat never fails to make him take a double take at you, feeling that warmth spread throughout his chest as a soft smile graced his lips, he just couldn’t tear his beautiful eyes away from you even if he tried.

‘You okay there boy wonder? Seems like you’ve lost your tongue there.’ You add lightheartedly as you walked further into his room, stopping just when you were beside him, instinctively resting your hand upon his shoulder and squeezing it like you always did when you felt he needed a bit of comfort.

Ekko’s smile widens as he looked back at what he had been making the entire time his head was elsewhere, not wanting you to see what he could only assume was the look of a lovesick boy upon his face, only to see that he had made what looked like something a man deep in love would make with his eyes closed.

It was a forget me not flower.

You raised a brow. ‘You making flowers now Ekko?’ Your voice once again sliced through the silence as he looks at his creation, remembering what you had said those flowers in particular represented; remembrance, devotion, a vow to remember a love that will never be forgotten or lost to time. It was the perfect flower to represent his own feelings towards you but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to give it to you just yet, whether it’s be a rare feeling of shyness or the idea that one flower wasn’t enough to give to you when you deserved a bouquet of them, whichever it was or even both Ekko still wasn’t quite sure wha to lead with.

‘ I guess I am, maybe I should open up shop and start making more of these instead.’ He tries to joke back but the sudden sheepish feeling within his chest made it seem forced, his eyes kept flickering towards you then back to the flower, then back to you again to gauge your feelings through your eyes.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You said softly as you silently asked if you could reach for it, only to have him gesture with his head for you to take it from him.

‘Just like you then.’ Ekko murmured under his breath.

‘What was that?’ You looked to him and Ekko’s eyes went back down to his workbench, his cheeks aflame as he internally fights with himself to say something, after all being this uncharacteristic was only going to send you the wrong message since you were that good in reading him.

‘Nothing, you were imaging things again.’ He shrugged, hoping you’d reply with a sarcastic laugh or something, but you didn’t and before he knew what was going on you were kneeling next to him with concern shining in your eyes. ‘Ekko.’ You say lowly, making him swallow thickly as his eyes lingered on your lips, liking the way his name sounded coming through them. ‘What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.’ You continued as your eyes scoured his face for potential answers for your concern, moving your hand from his shoulder to hold his cheek instead, stroking it.

The feelings were killing Ekko at this point and you being as close as you were to him didn’t help one bit, especially not when he found himself resting his head against yours, closing his eyes as he breathed you in. Forehead touches weren’t something you were deprived of, no you and Ekko touched foreheads often as it was the biggest sign of affection a zaunite could give to one another, but this felt different then the others times in a way that made your heart sing. ‘Ekko?’ You asked again.

‘I’m fine.’ He says in a soft voice, ‘more than fine really.’ He adds as he opens his eyes to look into your own, giving you a sheepish but boyish smile.

You furrowed your brows as you lifted your pinky. ‘Promise?’ You replied and Ekko couldn’t help but chuckle and bring his pinky to interlock with yours, squeezing it reassuringly. ‘Promise, if I had something on my mind I will tell you first.’ He tells you, not liking the fact that he was keeping his truest feelings from you but he didn’t know what else he could do in that moment, he was tripping over his own words and everything as his mind was trying to convey a few simple words that his heart had been feeling for far longer then he had recognised.

He’d tell you how he felt for you soon as he watched you walk out of his room before burring his head into his hands, just not yet. He runs his hands down his face, only to stop in his tracks when he remembers that you still have the forget me not flower he made, never once giving it back to him almost as if you were under the pretended that it was made with you in mind; well it was but was he really that obvious? Could you read him that well? All these questions only made Ekko groan in annoyance, damming himself for suddenly becoming a shy, smitten kitten whenever you were near.

He’d get the words out…sooner or later.

[s4nguiine]

—mydeimos, oh mydeimos

mydei x reader - saying goodbye

» rating: sfw, angst, hurt no comfort

» notes: look.. i know this took a while, but i have an excuse!! you see, i had a whole drabble almost ready to post. but then the new patch came out and it changed the way i saw mydei entirely, and since it was wildly ooc, i had no other choice but to rewrite the whole thing. anyway i'll stop yapping now have fun

“so you’ve saved me for last?”

you don’t need to turn to know that your lover is standing behind you. his figure casts a long shadow from the doorway to your feet. you hear mydei’s footsteps grow closer, yet still your eyes remain focused on the eggplant that you’re dicing on the cutting board.

finally his hands clutch your shoulders, making you freeze.

bitter. you feel bitter. there’s the usual anger, but what’s truly fanning the flames is hurt and sadness. mydei’s palms are warm against your skin but all you can really think about is their fleetingness. you hang your head.

“why you?” you mumble.

mydei’s hand glides over your arm until it stops at your wrist, where he envelops your hand and forces you to let go of the knife. you hadn’t even realized that you were clenching it so hard. he turns your hand over and pushes his fingers through the gaps between yours, fingertips digging into your palm.

this pushes you over the edge. you grit your teeth but it does nothing to stop the tears from overflowing.

“so you know?” he asks. his voice his deep but soft. this is him, the real him that he usually hides under a layer of rough masculinity.

“phainon’s told me,” you reply, doing your best to still the tremble of your voice. “he loves you, you know.” your free hand comes up to wipe at your eyes.

“and you?” mydei lowers his head. your shoulder dips under the weight of his forehead. “do you love me?”

your lip trembles. your wiping is pointless now, the tears flow endlessly. a sob wracks your body.

“of course i do, you fool. you kremnoan oaf. what am i to do without you?”

despite your sobs you know that he is smiling. mydei’s body already towered over yours, but now that you are hunched over and crying you seem much, much smaller. the redhead’s lips hover over the skin of your neck, and he presses a soft kiss into it.

“that is enough for me.”

but what about me?

then, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly into his embrace, almost as if trying to etch the curves of your body into his very flesh and mind.

yet you can’t stay still for long. you whirl around in his hold and you spot a minuscule twitch in his face when he sees your pained expression, a falter in determination that, much to your dismay, quickly steels itself once more.

mydei closes his eyes.

“i have to do this. it has to be me,” he says. then he speaks your name, a soft sound spilling from the plump lips you’ve had the pleasure of tasting.

the warrior, the love of your life, reaches for the knife that was pried from your hands, and with a quick and calculated slash, he severs the braid in his hair. mydei then presses it tightly into the palm of your hand and wraps your fingers around it, squeezing.

“remember me.”

always.

“pray for my victory.”

with every breath i take.

no words manage to get out through the tightness in your throat, so you opt for nodding instead. mydei smiles and cups your cheeks, thumb tentatively brushing your lips before he captures them in a salty kiss.

when you part, there is melancholy in his eyes. many words seem to linger just past the threshold of his teeth, yet he settles for one: “goodbye.”

and he lets you go. an attempt at chasing after him is made; you try to hold his arm just a split second longer, but he is unrelenting and his bicep slips from your fingers. your knees buckle under you as mydei steps out the doorway and disappears from your sight without another glance back.

damn this war and these circumstances; damn the black tide and what it’s taken from you. you crumple to the ground and grieve the loss of your love, tears soaking up the braid that he’s left behind.

[somebodys-babyy]

In Their Paradise: A Smoke and Annie Story

Summary: Elijah and Annie have fallen into a comfortable pattern, and are pleasantly surprised by a visitor.

Contains: Mostly fluff, a little smut-cunnilingus, sex, very loving. Short mentions of grief. SOFT FIRST AND FOREMOST. Smoke x Annie.

 The silence pulled Elijah from his sleep like a warm hand, soft and steady. Through it all, the silence of the woods of Mississippi  was what he missed most. Those days in Germany when it felt like the whole world was shaking with the sounds of gunfire and bombs cracking through the air. Those nights in Chicago that felt like the music would never end, like the people would never stop moving, like he couldn’t close his eyes for one second or it all would spin out of his control. Whenever he mentioned it, missing the silence that it seemed like they would never get back to, Stack would wave it away with a joke. “Graveyards is silent, nigga. Life supposed to have some noise to it.” Elijah heard his brother say, and for what felt like the millionth time, he wished that he could explain. The weight of the silence of a Mississippi night, when everyone had gone to bed for the evening, and all that was cutting through the heavy, weighty silence was the chirp of night bugs and the rustle of trees. Where a man could think and breathe and be with no interruptions. 

It was in that silence that Elijah woke up, rolled out of bed and padded on bare feet in search of his Annie. She was in the kitchen, where he knew she would be, her back to him, her hands moving quickly and silently. He couldn’t see her front but he knew she had their baby strapped to her chest, knew that she was making him breakfast, knew that she felt him enter the room when he crossed the threshold toward her. “Morning cher.” Annie said to him, her voice low as she turned, folding into the velvety silence of the morning. Elijah’s eyes landed on hers, brown and deep and knowing, the corners crinkling from the soft smile on her mouth. Then they drifted down to the baby on her chest. Their Naomi, brown and whole and beautiful, her fist up and reaching toward him. His women, safe and sound, happy and whole. Forever. 

“She be walking soon, and who knows what I’ll do with both of ya’ll getting into everything.” Annie spoke softly, her eyes on the baby. “You’ll do what you always done, you’ll look out for both of us.” Elijah replied, stepping closer. Then Annie’s eyes were on him, the familiar feeling passing through them both like a current. Elijah knew that they were both thinking of Stack, thinking of his brother, and missing him terribly. Time didn’t exactly move the same for them in their patch of paradise, and it didn’t exactly move the same for Elias anymore either, so the hurt was still there but it was different. Not as awful and overwhelming as that first and only true sunrise without him. It was more subdued, more manageable but still present, and Elijah knew without speaking that Annie had felt it too. They didn’t try to run from it, didn’t try to cover it up by mentioning their blessings, when they thought of the loss, and they often did, Elijan and Annie let the hurt move through them. They knew better than most that that was the only way to truly get from underneath it. 

“You say that now, until she gets a hold of your knife again. You were up all night last time, sticking everything out of her reach.Annie joked, turning back to the kitchen counter and the breakfast she was making. As Elijah came to stand beside her he saw what she was making, her homemade biscuits and ham steaks left over from dinner the other night, thick ones that could brown perfectly in the pan the way that only Annie could do. He had dreamed of Annie’s cooking when they were apart, and no matter how many times she served him a meal it felt like something that he should cherish, and he did. “Go on and sit down.” Annie said, tilting her head toward the kitchen table. It always felt like she could read his mind, Elijah thought as he reached for the plate that Annie made for him. “Go on and sit” Annie urged, trying to pull the plate away. She liked to lay his plate on the table for him. She said that knowing he was always there to eat her cooking moved something in her, soothed some way back ache, and usually he indulged her, sat patiently while she set his plate and cup down, her eyes gleaming while he complimented everything in front of him; but sometimes he liked to push her buttons just to get some of that old, fiery Annie. 

         “You too stubborn for your own good.”  Annie pouted as she sat on the other side of the small table, nursing Naomi. “And you too sweet to me.” Elijah smiled, leaning over the short distance between them. Annie, anticipating his affection,  tilted her head up, her eyes on him and a smile playing at her lips. She wasn’t expecting the passion of when their lips met. Elijah felt her gasp, and took the opportunity of her slightly parted lips to slip his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like coffee too sweet for his liking, like cinnamon candy; the secret Annie that only he got to see who had a mean sweet tooth since they were young. Back when she would eat raw sugar out of a square of paper to soothe her craving.Annie pulled her mouth away, slightly gasping, and Elijah, chasing that connection between them, wanting to hear her those slight sounds she made get louder and louder until her voice broke into a wail, put his lips onto  her collarbone, pressing kisses up and down. From her shoulder and toward the hollow of her throat where her heartbeat thudded. “Let me put the baby down.” Annie said firmly, pushing back in her chair, breaking their contact. Her brow was firm set, her lips pressed together, her eyes a blaze on him. Elijah struggled not to smile, he loved his woman fiery. 

Annie stood wordlessly, walking toward the bedroom to lay Naomi down, and Elijah followed right behind. When Annie removed Naomi from her chest and placed the baby into the nest of pillows that she made for her, Elijah laid his hands onto her waist, his palms resting on the soft curve of her to pull her toward him. “Elijah.” Annie breathed, tilting her head back, giving him access to the tender column of her throat which he took advantage of, pressing kisses to her neck that made her soften in his hands, her shoulders sinking and giving him more room to explore with his lips. Elijah knew just what Annie liked for him to do to her. At one point, he had committed it to memory. When he was away from her, Elijah spent his nights practically feeling the weight of her in his hands, the rise and fall of her chest against his. He replayed their wedding night over and over in his head, how in the moment he felt like he needed to commit her in her dress, in their bed, to memory- and how he had no idea how right he was. But not anymore. There was nothing pulling them apart, nothing higher to commit to than themselves.

Elijah led Annie to their bed, soft and sunlight, and laid her pliant body down. Annie’s eyes were soft on him as she watched his movement.There was only a moment of stillness before Elijah was on Annie, taking her barefoot in his hand and kissing at her firm,solid calf. As he expected, Annie broke out in soft giggles, trying to pull away which only opened her legs to him further, giving him space to kiss up her leg to the back of her knee, nibbling slightly at the warm skin there. Annie opened her legs wider to accommodate Elijah, allowing him to sink further between her legs and allowing him access to her thighs. Inhaling, Elijah took her in, placing a firm kiss on the softness of her right thigh before switching to the left. Annie was so soft in places only he could see; her eyes when she was smiling just at him. Her thighs, her tummy, her chest,her laugh- his Annie only for him. Forever. “Elijah” Annie commanded, a firmness in her Louisiana lilt that made him chuckle slightly, the puff of air from his laugh making Annie jolt. “I got you, pretty baby.” Elijah assured her, still kissing up her thighs, taking his time. He felt her sink her hips into the bed as he neared the apex of her thighs, and wrapped his arms around her thighs to anchor her to him where she belonged.Annie shifted in his arms, testing the tightness of Elijah’s hold, but it was firm, and he wasn’t letting her get out of his grasp.

Elijah never tired of tasting Annie. When he parted her lips with the point of his tongue,her hips bucked up in the span of his arms, making him tighten his hold on her thighs and press deeper into her, his lips parted as they travelled up and enclosed around her pearl. When he pulled slightly, Annie gasped, her voice quivering. His Annie, always under control, always pulled back, open beneath him and coming apart- Elijah never got tired of taking her there. Of tipping her over the brink of pleasure and reducing her to her softest. When he lifted his head from between Annie’s lush thighs, Elijah took her in, her chest rising and falling, her arms stretched across the bed decadently, like she was trying to ground herself. He didn’t speak- other times he may have teased her to watch that daze in her eyes dissolve as that fire that he loved returned. But he loved her like this too, well loved and taken care of in his arms and underneath him and with him where she belonged. Instead of words Elijah placed kisses up Annie’s body, placing his lips across her thighs, and over her hips, and up to her waist, each kiss rippling into a quiver that radiated through his woman’s body. Then he was at her chest, soft and warm and heaving with the effort of his love. Elijah kissed between the valley of her breasts, reverent. There was no scar there from his act of love when she laid beneath him, their world ending. If they wanted to, they could pretend that it had never happened at all. But neither of them wanted to. Elijah lathed kisses there, his lips and his tongue travelling back and forth over the smooth, cool skin over Annie’s heart, over and over as he felt her begin to squirm beneath him. 

Elijah didn’t know how long he lingered there, lost in the softness of Annie, before she pulled her arms around him, cocooning him around her, and bought her right hand to the back of his head, guiding his head to the dark sweetness of her nipple, where she wanted him. And he obliged her, he never could deny her. He knew just how to pull her into him, how to give her the heat and the pressure of him that made her breathe loud and hot and made her arms and legs pull around him like she never wanted to be away from him. “Si-S’il vous plait.” His love stuttered, her words smoothe and halted at the same time. “Please what, baby?” Elijah teased around the peak of her nipple. He loved to take her here, to this pleading place before he gave her what she needed how only he could. “S’il vous plait, mon amour. Mwen bezwen.Mwen bezwen.Mwen bezwen.” Annie chanted beneath him. “What you need, baby? What you need from me?” he asked her, already rising up between her legs, his body aligning with hers. “Toi. Mwen bezwen.” Annie pleaded, her voice low, her eyes locked on his. And because he never could tell her no, and because she looked so pretty beneath him, lips parted, eyes wide, and because he needed her just as badly, Elijah gave Annie what they both needed, sliding home into her body where he belonged.

Annie was warm and soft around him, pulling him into the love of her  so intensely that Elijah dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder, hissing as she moaned aloud, the sounds of them mingling in the silence around them. Elijah rocked into her slowly and precisely, travelling the path of her body as he had so many times before, with the same reverence of coming home to her, body and soul. Elija didn’t have to look at his Annie’s face to know that her eyes were soft, that her lips were parted, that her pulse was thumping in the hollow of her throat like it did before she came apart around him, but he did anyway, taking her in indulgently. “”This what you needed, love?” he asked her, knowing that the question would send her over the edge again, hard. “Ahh” Annie gasped, like she was surprised they were here again, at this place where he took her, where she belonged, his beautiful girl.

Elijah valiantly kept his pace as Annie came apart around him, her arms around him, pulling him deeper into her as she mumbled Creole and English and I love you and you’re perfect, baby, don’t stop, please, mon amour, I’ll die. Right there, baby,like that.” It was too much, his Annie at her softest and most perfect for him. Just for him. Nobody else saw her like this, pleading and satisfied and his. Nobody else could take her here, pin her to pleasure and let her ride it out around him until she was satisfied. It was too much, and it drove Elijah right behind her as he sunk deep, deep, into Annie’s depths, their hips pressed together, his arms braced around her head, her arms around him in a shaking embrace, his breaths matching her moaning words. Perfectly in tune. Elijah finished with a low groan just as Annie’s arms and legs relaxed, making her jerk around him again, twitching with overwhelm and overstimulation beneath him. “Bondie, ti cheri. My Lord, my love, cheri.” Annie muttered as he moved to pull from the space between her legs. “Don’t go.” Annie said simply, her lips pouting as she weakly lifted her arm to pull him back to her. And Elijah knew that he needed to get Annie water, and to run some water for a bath for her, but they did not have to rush. They had all the time in the world to luxuriate amongst each other. It was a luxury that had eluded them for so long, and it was one of their biggest blessings. So of course he laid back down, laying in her arms, their breaths slowing, their bodies cooling, and their mutual pleasure tapering out to a warm and comfortable blanket over them. 

Annie fell asleep in his arms, her face pressed up against his chest, her thigh thrown over his, glowing and radiant  in her softness. She was so well loved and at peace that she didn’t hear their baby crying from her bed in the other room. And Elijah had no desire to disrupt his beautiful girl from her peace, and got up to see about Naomi. Elijah knew that her cry was one of curiosity. When he entered the room, her cries soften to coos, and when Elijah walked up to her, her wide eyes followed him, her dark lashes spiky with tears. She looked like Annie, her high cheekbones and her knowing dark eyes. She looked like him, his nose. She looked like Stack, that set to her mouth like she was always just about to laugh. “Papa’s here, baby.” he said softly, and she cooed in response. Elijah walked over to her, and Naomi reached up, her hands seeking him. And when he gave her his hand, her fingers gripped his tightly, holding him as she babbled and cooed. “Yeah?” Elijah questioned, smiling down at her. “And then what?” he urged her. His girls loved to be the center of his attention, and he loved to give them all of the attention they wanted. “She need changing?” Annie questioned from behind him in the doorway, suddenly awake and with him. “Naw, she just want to talk to her daddy.” Elijah said, picking his daughter up in her arms, prompting a gummy smile that lit up her face and his. “She do love her daddy.” Annie agreed.

****

Time passed in its own way for them, natural and mysterious.There were seasons- the leaves changed, cold came and went, birds migrated and returned, but they didn’t know where and from where. Naomi cut small teeth, and grew stronger pulling herself up on furniture wobbly and determined. Annie’s belly swelled with another baby which they both hoped was a boy. They lived a content life in their corner of the universe. Annie continued her work, serving the people that she loved, coming to them when they called for guidance and help. Elijah watched over their people. He watched Clarksville grow and change, he watched his brother with the same curiosity that he always did as he moved in the world that he was no longer a part of. Mostly he loved his women, lived with them through the long days, telling stories and singing songs and teaching Naomi about their home and their people. Talked with Annie just to hear her voice.

It was like that for some time, and neither he nor Annie wanted to change it. But of course life, in all of its forms, moved in accordance to its own rules. They were sitting on the front porch. Annie was sewing something, her hands moving quickly and efficiently, and Elijah was whittling, a hobby that he found himself doing even though it reminded him of his father. Naomi was playing some sort of game where she climbed up the four short steps from the ground to their porch and sliding back down on her knees. Both parents had their eyes on her, the sun was setting lazily, the evening bugs were perking up and calling to each other from the trees and the tall grass and Elijah was just about to ask Annie what they were having for dinner when Annie stood up, wordlessly, her eyes on the distant horizon. Elijah stood, coming up beside her, and saw someone approaching, moving through the swaying grass. They waited patiently, accepting what was coming in the way that they had adopted in their time together in the afterlife. When the figure approached, it was a welcome surprise. It was Sammie, little Sammie, looking the same as the morning that Elijah had picked him up from in front his daddy’s church all those years ago, and simultaneously a grown man who had lived the full and storied life that both Elijah and Annie had watched. In one hand he had a guitar, his daddy’s guitar, gleaming in the evening light, and in the other he held his hat, pressed over his heart. 

“Smoke” Sammie breathed, his brown eyes wide and focused on him with reverence. Elijah hadn’t heard that name of his in so long. It felt like it didn’t belong to him, but did in a deep and natural way. “Sammie” Elijah said with a smile, picking up Naomi in his arms as he walked down the short steps from the porch to greet his younger cousin. “The baby” Sammie said, his eyes bouncing from Elijah’s face to his child’s, “Annie.” Sammie continued, meeting her eyes. “How you doing, Sammie?” Annie said softly, her smile in her voice. Elijah and Annie knew that he had to be overwhelmed. Annie, who came first had the benefit of her knowledge and her faith, and Elijah had the benefit of his faith in Annie, and they were never alone because their daughter was waiting for them to love her like they always wanted. “I’m fine, I think. I-” Sammie started, his voice low and smoothe like they both remembered, but aged with the many years that had passed. “I know.” Annie said, her voice soothing. “I know.” 

Sammie stayed for a while, asking more questions of them than they asked him. Reminiscing. Annie cooked, making Sammie any dish that he asked for in abundance, serving him heaping plates of catfish and chicken and biscuits and hush puppies. Happy to give him as much of a time and place that she could. Sammie, newly in the body that Elijah and Annie remembered like it was yesterday, ran around the house with Naomi, and strummed his guitar all well into the evening, playing any song that either of them requested. It was one afternoon, after a lunch of smothered pork chops that Sammie had asked for first thing that morning, that he looked at Elijah and Annie with eyes so tender that they knew that he was moving on. “I thank ya’ll, I really do.” Sammie started, his gaze going from Elijah to Annie. “We know, Sammie.” Annie spoke first, her voice soothing. “And we know you a blues man, and they don’t stay in a place too long.” Elijah finished. They didn’t need him to explain. The peace that they found in each other, in their small house on their piece of land, with their baby child,  Elijah and Annie wished for every single person in their life. “I want to try and find her.” Sammie said simply. And they knew who he was talking about- his Pearline. There was so much that they knew, and so much that was still a mystery, and that was life, even the life that they lived. Annie and Elijah had talked at length about it. They had hope that somewhere, everybody who left the Juke that night made their way to a home like theirs, and that one day their families came to meet them. That the music that sometimes travelled over to them on very quiet nights was coming from Slim playing an encore to a loving crowd. They had hope that one day they would wake to a knock at the door and Elijah would see his own face, see that wide, wiley smile again. That he would hold his brother again, and they would catch up in person. But there were still mysteries that they couldn’t control, and that was the nature of life and the blessing that they were given.

Sammie looked at Annie, silently asking for direction. Annie placed her hand on the table in front of him, her hands strong and capable. “I don’t have that answer for you, baby.” Annie said, her voice low and just for him. “There’s so many miracles, so many blessings, and I got mine. You have to let love guide you to yours, and believe that it’s out there.” Sammie nodded, saying no more. With what they had seen, with what he had lived through, there was an understanding of surrendering to the mystery of it all. He was gone by that evening, full of Annie’s cooking, and with some to go in a sack to tide him over wherever he was about to journey. He had sang all day, almost nonstop, and as he departed he hugged Elijah last, long and lingering, their embrace weighty with so much that they didn’t have to say. “Love you, cousin.” Elijah said. “And you know I love you.” Sammie replied. “Here, if you want them.” Sammie said, handing Elijah a bundle of rolled cigarettes. He hadn’t held one since his brother had last handed one to him. And at one point the gesture may have caused pain, have made him think of last moments and of regrets, of things that he missed and may never have back. But Elijah had seen enough life unfold in all of the messy, beautiful, complicated ways that it did, to take his cousin’s offering as a connection to a time that he had loved and lost in place of something different and lovely in its own way. 

“I thank you.” he said with a nod, knowing that Sammie knew what he meant. And then his cousin was gone, walking away with the same purpose that he had walked up to their house with, his guitar strapped to his back where it belonged. Elijah watched him walk away until Sammie was a small dot in the horizon, then he was gone, off into the mystery. When he turned back to his house, Annie was feeding Naomi, mashed carrots he assumed by the way the baby reached eagerly for the spoon, and they locked eyes across the distance. “Matches are by the stove.” Annie said, smiling at him as the sun set. “Make sure to smoke ‘em slow, who knows if you gone get any more.” “You never know” Elijah shrugged, walking the short distance to stand beside his women “You never do know.”

[kysstar]

BROKEN WINGS | CHOI JONGHO (requested 💕)

pairing : : choi jongho x fem!reader

synopsis : : cursed to become a swan each night, you’re wounded by hunters and found by jongho, a forest healer. he takes you in, unaware of your secret—until morning reveals your true form.

genre : : strangers to lovers

warnings : : blood, wounds, slight nudity (not in a sexual way)

word count : : 3.9k

author's note : : yeah not one of my best works :( sorry anon :'(

—The moon hung low, veiled in thin clouds, casting a pale light over the forest. Jongho’s boots crunched softly through the underbrush, his satchel swinging at his side, half-filled with herbs, mosses, and the rare mushrooms that only surfaced on damp spring nights.

The woods were familiar, but never predictable. A change in birdcall, a bent branch, a fresh paw print in the mud—he noticed it all. His fingers brushed past a patch of goldenroot when the silence hit him.

Then he saw it. A pale shape collapsed near the edge of the stream, half-hidden by reeds.

A swan.

Its white feathers glistened, but they were streaked with something dark—blood. One wing lay at an unnatural angle, and its long neck curled in on itself like it had folded beneath the weight of pain.

“Damn it,” Jongho muttered, already dropping to his knees beside it.

Up close, the damage was clearer. An arrow had grazed the wing, tearing through the muscle but missing the bone. Still, the bird had collapsed from blood loss, pain, or fear—or all three.

He unbuckled his satchel, fingers moving on instinct. “I don’t know who you pissed off,” he murmured as he worked, “but you’re lucky I came this way.”

The swan didn’t stir. He cleaned the wound with water from his flask, then applied a paste of ground birch bark and comfrey. It was the same salve he used on wolves, sometimes even villagers. Carefully, he wrapped the wing with a strip of linen, looping it just snug enough to keep the joint from moving.

“You’re not going to die tonight,” he said under his breath, lifting the bird gently.

Jongho shifted the swan’s weight in his arms and stood, heart beating faster than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t one to believe in omens or signs. But something about this didn’t feel like coincidence.

The cottage was warm by the time he laid the swan down on a folded wool blanket near the hearth. Jongho set a bowl of water beside it, then poked the fire to life again. Flames crackled and flickered across the bird’s feathers, giving them a strange silver sheen.

He sat beside it for a moment, staring into the embers. His breath had steadied, but the questions in his head hadn’t. What was a swan doing alone, this deep in the forest?

Jongho rubbed his hands over his face and stood. “We’ll see in the morning,” he said, mostly to himself.

—Jongho woke with a start.

It wasn’t the quiet creak of the trees or the howling wind that pulled him from sleep—it was the unmistakable crash of something hitting the wooden floor in the other room. For a heartbeat, he lay still, muscles tight, instincts alert. Then he grabbed the knife he kept near the nightstand and rushed barefoot into the main room of the cottage.

The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting a faint orange glow across the floorboards. At first, he saw nothing. Then his breath caught.

Where he had left the swan was now you.

You were crouched near the hearth, wide-eyed, your hands gripping the edge of the nearby table where a ceramic bowl now lay shattered on the floor. Your clothes were torn and stained—blood, mud, and something else. Your long hair clung to your face in damp waves. Your bare feet trembled against the rug, and your lips were parted, like you were trying to breathe through panic and smoke.

His gaze darted to the blanket on the floor. Empty. The swan was gone.

He blinked once, then again, but the sight didn’t change. You were still there.

The swan is you.

Before he could say a word, you backed away, stumbling over the broken bowl. You caught yourself on the mantle, but your legs gave out anyway and you dropped to the floor with a sharp sound of pain. One hand flew to your shoulder. Blood seeped through the bandage.

Jongho moved on instinct, the knife forgotten. “Wait—don’t move. You’re hurt. That wound—”

“Where am I?” Your voice was raw, edged with panic. “How did I—? I don’t—” You looked down at yourself, at the room, at him—like he might be the reason for all of this. “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t— I found you,” he said quickly, hands raised, keeping his distance. “You were injured. Badly. By the river. You were… I found you unconscious. I brought you here to help.”

“God,” you muttered, barely audible. “Not again.”

You pushed off the table, stumbling toward the door, but the moment your foot hit the ground, pain lit up your shoulder and your legs gave out. Jongho caught you before you hit the floor.

“Let go,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to shove him away. But your strength didn’t follow.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re bleeding again.”

“I don’t know you,” you snapped, voice cracking. “I don’t know what this is—what you are.”

“And I don’t know what you are either,” he replied, quieter now. “But I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a healer. That’s it. I treat wounds. I don’t make them.”

He lifted you carefully—more carefully than you expected—and guided you back to the blanket near the fire. Your whole body ached. You wanted to argue, to bolt, to disappear again—but your body wasn’t keeping up with your fear.

“You were barely alive when I found you,” he said. “Arrow through your shoulder. Passed out cold. I carried you here. Patched you up. That’s all.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at the door, jaw tight, pulse still racing.

“I don’t know what you are,” he added. “But I don’t care right now. I don’t leave injured things to die.”

That seemed to get through a little. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I just want to make sure you don’t bleed out in my house.”

You sat stiffly, every muscle taut like you were still waiting for the real danger to show itself. But it didn’t. Jongho crouched beside you, pulling his satchel closer, and set out what he needed: a fresh strip of linen, a small jar of salve, a flask of clean water.

“This will sting,” he said, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

He peeled back the soaked bandage and hissed under his breath. The wound had reopened—blood had soaked through the outer layer. You clenched your jaw as he cleaned around the tear, the cloth dragging against raw skin. You didn’t look at him. Not until you felt his fingers, steady and careful, applying the cool paste. His touch was warm, firm, but never rough. He worked like someone who’d done this a hundred times—and cared enough to do it right every time.

“You’re lucky,” he muttered. “Another inch lower and it would’ve torn through the joint.”

You glanced at him then, studying the line of his brow, the way his hair fell across his forehead, damp from sleep. He didn’t meet your gaze, just focused on your wound like it mattered more than what you were, or what he saw when he walked in.

He wrapped the linen slowly, tying it off just above your shoulder with the precision of someone who’d learned healing the hard way—through real people, real pain.

“You need to stay,” he said, straightening up. “At least until that closes properly.”

You blinked. “I can’t—”

“Just for a few weeks,” he said before you could finish. “That’s all. I’m not going to keep you. I just… I need to keep an eye on it.”

You started to argue, but your mouth stayed half open. You didn’t have the energy. Not after what just happened. Not after the last twenty-four hours that had folded in on themselves like some fevered dream.

He stood and offered you a hand. You hesitated but then took it.

“Come on,” he said. “You should eat something. I’ll make tea.”

The kitchen was small, tucked into the far end of the cottage, lit by the fire’s glow and the faint grey-blue of dawn beginning to slip through the windows. He helped you into the chair nearest the table, then moved around the space with easy familiarity—filling a kettle, slicing bread, breaking a few dried herbs into a pot.

He set a bowl of something warm and simple in front of you—a stew, still steaming—and pushed a cup of tea across the table. You hadn’t realized how hollow you felt until the scent hit you. You took the spoon, hands still trembling faintly.

After a moment, Jongho sat across from you. Arms crossed, one foot tapping against the floor.

“I need to ask you something,” he said finally. “That swan… that was you. Right?”

You didn’t look at him. You stared down at the tea instead, as if the leaves might rearrange into a better answer.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to,” he said quickly. “I just—”

“I’m cursed,” you said flatly, cutting him off. “I turn into a swan every night.”

You braced for disbelief. Pity. The usual reactions. But he just nodded once, slow and thoughtful.

“Alright,” he said, like you’d told him the weather. “That’s what I figured.”

You looked up at him sharply. “You don’t think I’m insane?”

“I found a swan bleeding out in the woods,” he said. “Woke up to a bleeding woman in the same place, with the same wound, the same bandage. I’m a healer, not an idiot.”

You exhaled, something tight in your chest cracking a little at the edges.

He didn’t press. Didn’t ask who cursed you, or why, or how long it had been happening. He just sat with it. With you.

“Eat,” he said finally. “You’ll feel worse before you feel better if you don’t.”

You finished eating, slower than usual, the food settling like warmth in your chest, steadying the frayed nerves still clinging to your bones. Jongho watched quietly, elbows resting on the table, tea cooling in his hands. He didn’t rush you. Just waited.

When you finally stood, a little shaky, you caught his eyes flick briefly to your shoulder—checking, measuring—but he didn’t say anything. He moved toward the door instead, grabbing a coat hung near the frame.

You hesitated, unsure if you were supposed to stay behind or follow. You didn’t like sitting still. Especially not in a place you didn’t know, so you followed him out the door.

The morning air was crisp, damp with dew, and the garden just beyond the cottage was still wrapped in early fog. Jongho crouched by one of the garden beds, already tugging at stalks and checking leaves with that same quiet focus he had when he treated your wound. You lingered awkwardly by the steps, watching.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet yet," he said, not even glancing up.

You stepped off the last stone and into the grass anyway. “Then give me something to do.”

That made him pause. He looked up at you—really looked this time. His expression wasn’t annoyed. If anything, there was a flicker of something almost like amusement in his eyes, like you’d just said something unexpected and kind of endearing.

“Alright,” he said, nodding toward the other bed. “Come here, stubborn.”

You made your way over carefully, still favoring your leg. He noticed, of course he did, but said nothing. You knelt down beside him, lowering yourself slowly into the damp earth.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a clump of green. “Comfrey. Good for bruises, swelling. Grab it by the base, pull slow.”

Jongho shifted closer, gently brushing your fingers aside. His hand closed around yours, warm and steady. He didn’t rush. He just guided your hand lower, fingers curling softly around your own, showing you where to grip.

“Right here,” he said, voice lower now, almost careful. “Too high and you’ll snap the stem.”

Your eyes flicked up to his face—just for a second. He was closer than before. He didn’t seem to notice how your breath caught. Or maybe he did, and he was just pretending not to.

“Good,” he said, a smile barely tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re a natural.”

You tried to focus on the plants. Tried to act like your heart hadn’t suddenly found a faster rhythm. The garden was quiet except for the sound of earth shifting and the occasional brush of your shoulders as you both moved. And then, when you tried to get up—too quickly this time—your legs buckled without warning.

You pitched forward, catching yourself with a startled gasp, but not fast enough.

Jongho caught you, one arm slipped behind your back, the other around your waist, holding you firmly. You ended up in his arms again—closer than ever. Your palms pressed against his chest, your face inches from his. You could feel the thud of his heartbeat. Or maybe that was yours. You weren’t sure.

His breath was soft against your cheek, his gaze locked on yours. There was no teasing this time, no quick comment. Just that thick, charged silence that felt heavier than anything you could say.

“I told you to take it easy,” he murmured, but it came out quieter than he probably meant. Almost fond.

You swallowed. “I was being careful.”

“Mm. Clearly.”

But he didn’t let go. Not right away. And when he finally did, it was slow, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary. As he helped you sit back down, his fingers brushed the curve of your arm, your side—light, but enough to leave your skin humming.

“I’ll bring you something for your head,” he said, already standing again. “And next time you feel like collapsing, give me a little warning.”

You watched him head back to the cottage, lips tugging up just slightly despite yourself.

—Jongho made you promise to stay inside.

“Don’t wander. Not even to the garden,” he’d said that morning, slipping on his coat and checking the latch on the door twice. “You’re not healed yet. And if you change before I’m back…”

You’d nodded, quiet, not arguing this time. He had to go into the village—supplies, medicine, things he couldn’t forage for. He’d promised to be quick.

But now the sun had dipped below the trees, casting long shadows across the forest path as he made his way home, breath visible in the cooling air. He moved faster than usual. Not running—but close. His satchel bounced against his hip, heavier than when he’d left.

The cottage came into view, windows dark, smoke curling faintly from the chimney. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

“Hey,” he called out, voice low but expectant. “I’m back.”

No answer.

His heart tightened a little. He dropped the satchel by the door, scanning the room quickly—the hearth, the kitchen, the empty chair where you'd sat that morning. Nothing.

Then he saw the shape curled near the fire.

You. Well, not you.

Swan you.

You were tucked close to the hearthstones, your body curved protectively around yourself, head resting gently against the folded edge of a blanket. Your wings were tucked in tight, though one stuck out just slightly—wrapped in clean linen, the bandage still holding. The firelight gave your feathers a soft amber glow.

You were asleep, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He crouched beside you, careful not to make a sound, not even sure why he was being so quiet. Maybe it was the way you looked—peaceful for once.

His fingers brushed your head gently, just between your eyes. Feathers softer than he expected. You didn’t flinch. In fact, you leaned into his hand a little, still asleep. That tiny gesture, so simple, so trusting—stirred something in his chest.

He reached behind him for the wool blanket draped over the armchair, then carefully laid it over your body, tucking the edges near your side to keep the warmth in.

—You woke slowly, warmth wrapped around your body in a way that felt unfamiliar. It wasn’t the hearth rug. It wasn’t the hard floor by the fire. This was softer. Still. Sheets brushed against your skin, and your eyes blinked open to pale morning light filtering through a half-drawn curtain.

The bed wasn’t yours. The room wasn’t either. But it was warm, quiet, and smelled faintly of pinewood and smoke. Your shoulder ached with a dull throb, but the bandage was holding.

You pushed back the blanket and stood carefully, bare feet against the wood floor, making your way toward the kitchen where the sound of movement—soft clattering, the scrape of iron—filtered through the walls.

When you stepped in, Jongho was by the stove, sleeves rolled, hair damp and freshly combed. He was plating something, back turned slightly, humming under his breath.

He glanced over his shoulder the second you stepped in.

“Morning,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You looked uncomfortable, curled up like that, so I moved you to my bed.”

You froze, blinking. “Oh—um…” Your voice came out smaller than intended. “Thanks.”

He turned back to the stove, clearly trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t worth lingering on. But you knew he’d picked you up, carried you and tucked you in.

“How’s the shoulder?” he asked, gently.

You nodded. “Still sore, but… better.”

“Do you mind if I check it?”

You hesitated, then nodded again. “Yeah. Sure.”

Jongho set the ladle down and dried his hands on a cloth. He stepped toward you slowly, quietly, as if afraid of startling you.

You reached up and pulled the collar of your shirt down over one shoulder, baring the wound.

He leaned in, inspecting it closely, his breath warm on your skin. “It’s healing,” he murmured. “But the ointment’s faded. I’ll need to rewrap it.”

You gave another small nod. Then he hesitated as if he wanted to say something.

“What is it?” you asked, watching him shift.

He cleared his throat. “You’ll… probably need to take your shirt off. I can’t reach around the bandage properly like this.”

You froze for half a second, then nodded once. “Okay.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled the shirt over your head, careful not to jolt your shoulder. You sat on the edge of the table, left only in your bra, arms loosely crossed, eyes cast downward. You could feel it—your skin flushing hot. Embarrassment prickled along your neck.

Jongho didn’t look at anything he wasn’t supposed to. His eyes stayed locked on your shoulder, his hands focused and steady. He dabbed a fresh layer of ointment over the healing wound, the coolness of it making you shiver slightly.

He rewrapped the bandage slowly, tying it off with a firm, neat knot. But he didn’t move away right away. Neither did you.

You looked up at the same time he did.

Your eyes met. His hand still rested gently on your arm. Your faces were too close—one small movement and your nose would brush his. You felt the pull of the moment like a cord drawn tight between you.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

Then the kettle on the stove let out a sharp hiss, steam whistling through the spout. Both of you jumped slightly, the moment shattering clean in half.

Jongho stepped back quickly, running a hand through his hair and muttering something under his breath as he turned to kill the heat.

—It had been days since that morning in the kitchen.

Every morning, you woke in Jongho’s bed, tucked under heavy blankets that still carried the faint warmth of his body. He always rose before you, already halfway through tea or chopping something in the kitchen by the time you stumbled in, sleepy-eyed and sore-shouldered.

And in the evenings, before the sun dipped too low, he’d always make sure you were somewhere warm and safe before the change took you again.

You and Jongho had fallen into rhythm. He showed you how to make tea the way he liked it, how to identify herbs by smell alone. You told him things you hadn’t said aloud in years—memories from before the curse, small fragments of who you used to be.

You’d grown used to the silence between you. It wasn’t empty. It was full of glances, of quiet moments where his hand would brush yours when you passed him something, of him tucking your hair behind your ear while pretending it was nothing. You laughed more. You smiled without realizing. You felt human again.

These had been the best days of your life in a long time. Maybe ever.

Which made what you were about to do feel worse.

The wound had healed. You weren’t limping anymore. The bandages had come off two days ago, replaced by a scar that barely stung. And with that last tie gone, you knew you couldn’t stay—not without asking him to carry something that wasn’t his to hold.

You’d already said thank you. For the food, the care, the silence. You hadn’t said anything about how you’d started waking up hoping to see him first. You hadn’t said that leaving made your chest feel hollow. You couldn’t.

So, that morning, you dressed quietly, tucked your things into a small cloth bag Jongho had given you, and stepped outside. The sun was climbing, the air warm with spring.

He was tending the herbs by the edge of the path. You almost turned back when you saw him—but you didn’t.

“I should go,” you said, voice steady, too steady.

He looked up slowly. His hands stilled, “You’re sure?”

You nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. “You’ve done more than enough. I don’t want to overstay. I don’t want to be a burden.”

He stood, brushing dirt from his palms, watching you. “You’re not,” he said, but it didn’t come out loud enough.

You stepped forward. “Thank you. For everything.”

He nodded again, this time slower. Still no step forward. Still no words that you wanted to hear.

You wanted him to stop you.

You wanted a reason to stay.

And then—he reached out, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Don’t go,” he said. There was a crack in his voice this time, "Please."

You blinked. “Jongho—”

“I know you think you’re being kind. Leaving before you take up too much space. But I—” He looked down, then back at you, eyes clearer now, steadier. “I don’t care about that. I care about you. I want you here. Even if you change every night. Even if you leave feathers on the rug. Even if you never tell me everything.”

You couldn’t speak. Could only stand there, your heart tripping over itself.

“I didn’t plan this,” he said softly. “Didn’t expect it. But it’s real. You’re real. And I don’t want this to be the end.”

Your eyes stung before you could stop them. “I thought you wouldn’t want to be stuck with—”

“I’m not stuck,” he said. “I’m asking you to stay.”

You searched his face, trying to be sure. He didn’t give you time to second-guess it. He leaned in—not rushed, not unsure—and kissed you.

It was warm and slow, like he’d been holding it back for days. His hand rested lightly at your hip, the other brushing your jaw, steady and sure. You melted into it before you even knew you were moving. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the quiet space between you.

You barely managed a whisper. “I was hoping you’d stop me.”

He smiled, eyes still closed. “I couldn’t let you go.”

© kysstar

[unholyhelbig]

So many fics of reader taking care of Kate, but I think Kate would be the most insane sarcastic caregiver. Saw a prompt that said "Ah yes, how heroic of you to get shot in the side and puke all over my shoes. Next time could you just pull me out of the way like a normal person instead of jumping in front of the bullet?"

Title: Bleeding Out

Ship: Female!Reader x Kate Bishop

Warnings: hurt/comfort, light angst, Gunshot wound, blood loss, bodily injury, vomiting, pet names (Used by R & Kate), general medical talk, Cannon-typical Violence, horrible grammar I don't proofread

Everything taglist: @thinking1bee

[A/n:ugh, I absolutely adore hurt/comfort Kate Bishop. She's so fucking soft!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Eleanor Bishop was in Boca Raton for the month when you got shot, she was staying in the most expensive room in a large pink monstrosity that overlooked the shoreline. It was built in 1926 and was nothing but plaster encrusted in salt and bird excrement. A Ritz-Carlton Cloister Inn that spanned 100 rooms and barely had air conditioning, but that was okay, because the view was spectacular, and the drinks were cheap.

You knew all of this because Kate Bishop could not stop talking when she was nervous. It was like a faucet with a slow drip, or a wound that could not be cauterized. Her low rasp was soothing, however, and while you fought off the innate need to let unconsciousness claim you, her explanation about exactly where her mother was would be enough.

“Anyway, her place is closer. We can visit Lucky when you’re all patched up, promise.”

Forcing a breath from your lungs would be too painful, you so turned your head and pressed your nose against the cut of her jaw instead. She smelled of sweat and the soft sweetness of her perfume. The metal of your own blood dampened it all. Your grip on her was loosening.

“Hey, hey, hey you can’t sleep on me okay.”

“You didn’t say that last night.”

Each word came out punctured, as if air was trapsing out of your lungs. Your forehead dropped to her cheek now. Sleep did sound magnificent. Soothing, even. She really should be taking you to a hospital and not to the penthouse where her mother conveniently wasn’t.

“Okay, baby. You’ve got to hang on for a second.” She’d propped you up on the wall next to the elevator, and your world was tilting. You’d tried to pick a spot to focus on right past Kate’s shoulder, something to hold onto, but that was slipping too. She only needed to hit the button between the elevators.

Her expert hand was clenching onto your tactical jacket and holding on for dear life, both of your feet sliding on the linoleum before she shoved you into the elevator. “Jesus Christ, you weigh a ton.”

“Shut up, Katie.”

“You’re dead-weighting me.”

“I’m bleeding out.” She made a strong noise in the back of her throat as you flopped forward onto her. She had a point. The movement was a little too much like a dead fish. “You’re going to feel like shit if I die in your arms.”

“I already feel like shit you took a bullet for me.”

You thought you whimpered. Some pathetic noise that came from the recesses of your stomach, or maybe your chest. It echoed in the elevator as if a phantom was screaming from the top floor. Something in you had become untethered. Perhaps it was a lung or a spleen. You couldn’t really feel much. After that last pop it was just cold. You must be leaning your full weight on Kate. Her scent was all-consuming now, your nose directly where she’s spritzed her perfume.

She’d scooped your up with trembling arms, weak from her own exertion tonight. You would have felt horrible if you could feel anything past exhaustion. Kate had discarded her bow and arrows by the door as if they were nothing in favor of you.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’re just going to stop the bleeding and patch you up.”

Kate had deposited you onto a leather couch and the material was cool against your heat-addled skin. You arched your back and groaned again. The pain was back, and it was sharp, and Kate pulled your tactical jacket apart with a force unmatched to get to the wound on your side. It was heavy and wet with blood.

She slapped your face a few times, not hard, but stinging enough to make your eyes snap open. “No sleeping!”

When did she get a first aid kit? It was clenched in the hand that wasn’t whacking you. You batted her away with another groan, another stiff inhale.

A wash of nausea came over you, blocking out the fatigue for just a moment. You curled onto your side, saliva filling your mouth with the heady taste of metal before you emptied your stomach onto Eleanors Persian rug, the intricate design suddenly soaking up bile and blood. It splashed against Kate’s combat boots.

She crinkled her nose as you glared angrily up at her, as if she were the one to vomit instead. “Ah yes, how heroic of you to get shot in the side and puke all over my shoes. Next time could you just pull me out of the way like a normal person instead of jumping in front of the bullet?”

But there was a paleness to her that gave away her worry as she worked you into a sitting position, as much as she could. There was a pillow behind your back and the blood-soaked clothes were being stripped away from you with tactical scissors from the first aid kit- no doubt Yelena’s idea.

“Actually, I’m glad you got that all out of your system. Feel better, don’t you?”

“A little,” you let your head flop back onto the sofa. “Katie, internal bleeding.”

“Not worried about it.”

“Okay, sick.”

She sounded a little worried about it, but didn’t give you time to contemplate. The coolness of her fingers combined with the sting of antiseptic made you jolt. The palm of her hand pushed your opposite hip down to hold you still. Your teeth found your arm to bite into the skin there, muffling the noise. Even though you were in the penthouse, sound could travel, you were sure.

“Relax sweet girl,” Kate’s voice was tender, this time thick with worry as she addressed your wounds. “This is deeper than I thought.”

“Oh, fuck, internal bleeding.”

“No, no, internal bleeding. Just more gauze, I’d give you liquid courage, but I don’t want to thin your blood. You already ruined the fucking carpet.”

You steadied yourself, gripping her shoulder “Aw, you’re an asshole. I’ll replace the carpet.”

“You can’t afford to replace the carpet, baby. We share a savings account.”

If you had the strength, you would shove her without malice, or come up with something just as sharp to say. But you did share a savings account and there was less than fifty dollars in there. Heroing wasn’t exactly the best money maker, but the two of you survived without the sword of Eleanor Bishops wealth hanging over your heads.

Kate pressed her lips against your temple, disconcerted by how clammy it was. She pushed the hair sticking to your forehead out of the way. You felt the coolness of her fingers ghost gently over the redness surrounding the wound. “Baby, it went straight through. That’s a good thing, won’t have to dig a bullet out.”

“Katie, say that again and I’ll vomit on the other shoe.”

Kate huffed at you but started gently placed some gauze over the wound to staunch the bleeding. You winced, hissing through your clenched teeth. A flash of white hot pain blinded you for a moment, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Shh, shh, shh. I know Babygirl.” She placed her hand at the center of your chest as if anticipating you to thrash around with the rush of antiseptic that was pressed upon your side. Your mouth filled with the metal of blood and pain and you ground your nose into the cushion closest to your to stifle the noise that escaped you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing so good, sweetie.” There was a hitch to her voice that gave away her worry as she sat back on her heels and scanned the paleness of your face. Her other hand trailed down your side and squeezed your hip. You shuddered, swallowing hard.

“I’m just going to pack this, get you some pain meds.”

Kate was always diligent about telling you exactly what she was doing when she patched you up like this. It brought you immense comfort. Despite feeling the pressure of her hands and the heat of her breath so close to you, knowing her process was calming or you both.

It didn’t stop the surge of agony her last step inflicted. Color burst behind your eyelids, bile threating to rise back up and incapacitate you entirely. She applied a bandage, the adhesive bringing you a certain degree of composure. Your chest was heaving, fingers fumbling to find purchase in Kate’s own.

She always knew what you wanted. What you needed. Her hand found your own, warmth enveloping something that was trembling so subtly out of pain. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, one that was raw compared to her earlier deflecting.

“you did so well for me,” She gently urged you to sit up as much as you could, placing something much stronger than Tylenol on your tongue before helping you sip water. The coolness washed down your throat, settled in your stomach. You pulled her closer out of desperation, enjoyed the ashy scent of her.

Kate kissed behind your ear, spreading her body heat to your own. She shifted until she was in the position to hold you, leaned against the arm of the couch, pulling you into her. It was a spot that you’d claimed as your own long ago, fitting perfectly against her side like you were made for one another.

The medication worked quickly and quite well. The drowsiness was floating over you like the push and pull of the ocean. Neither you or Kate questioned Yelena about where she got her supplies for first aide kits, and the one time you were brave enough to, she barked out a laugh of endearment and patted your cheek before going back to her breakfast.

Your arm draped across Kate’s midsection, nuzzling into the small of her neck, enjoying the familiarity of it. The steady beat of her heart and the smooth inhale, exhale, that she provided swallowed all of your remaining senses. She was tracing small patterns on your back. Kate’s habit when you were injured was always the same: keep you as close as possible to make sure you were still functioning.

“Don’t…” She paused, audibly swallowed. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Was just trying to help,” You slurred against her.

“I know that, love. I do, but you scared the hell out of me tonight.”

You lifted your head from her chest, hazy eyes scanning her face. There were wet trains down her cheeks, a slight shake to her bottom lip. She possessively squeezed your uninjured side as if she were desperate to ground herself. Perhaps she was. You raised a shaky hand, used your thumb to wipe away the track of moisture.

“I never mean to worry you, Kate. I just acted on instinct. The second I saw that man pull the gun with that look in his eyes, I knew. I knew that he could take everything important away from me in less than a second. And I… I wouldn’t’ be able to survive if he did.”

“You lost so much blood tonight,” she nosed your palm, turning her head enough to place a soft kiss to your wrist where your pulse thudded listlessly. “I didn’t think I’d get you anywhere back in once piece. I thought, fuck, I thought you were going to die in my arms and the only warmth I’d ever feel from you again was the blood that you were spilling all over the place.”

You whimpered, dropping your forehead against her own. “I’m sorry, Katie. I never meant to scare you like that.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” She nudged her nose into your own, “We’re both okay.”

With the last of your lucid strength, you pressed your lips softly against her own, slipping into the bliss of the comforting feel of her. Kate reciprocated right away, as easy as breathing. Her fingers trailed down your jaw, making your stomach flutter. Your eyes were getting heavy, the pain in your side dissipating to a slow thrum, barely noticeable.

You dropped your head against her sternum, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt to assure her that you were just fine. Better than fine, actually. You’d never felt safer than you did in her arms.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

do you have any resources on writing about pregnancy? thanks!

Writing Notes: Pregnancy

No two pregnancies are the same.

Some women have few or mild symptoms during pregnancy.

Many women work their full term and travel while they are pregnant.

Others may have to cut back on their hours or stop working.

Some women require bed rest for a few days or possibly weeks to continue with a healthy pregnancy.

A pregnancy is divided into 3 stages.

These are called trimesters.

Each trimester has its own major milestones.

The first trimester is the most fragile period.

It's when all major organs and systems are formed.

Most birth defects and miscarriages happen during the first trimester.

In the second and third trimester, the fetus is fully formed and grows and matures rapidly.

The trimesters are divided as follows:

First trimester is 0 to 12 weeks.

Second trimester is 13 to 28 weeks.

Third trimester is 29 to 40 weeks.

Some experts use the 42-weeks method divided by 3 trimesters:

The first trimester is 0 to 12 weeks.

The second trimester is 13 to 27 weeks.

The third trimester is 28 to 42 weeks.

Early Signs & Symptoms of Pregnancy

The earliest sign of pregnancy is a missed period for women who have a regular monthly menstrual cycle.

Sometimes, implantation bleeding can occur. This is a bleed very similar to a light period or spotting. Though this is completely normal, you should check with your health-care provider if you experience any bleeding during your pregnancy.

You may also begin experiencing a handful of the symptoms below early on in your pregnancy such as fatigue, nausea or more frequent urination.

Common Pregnancy Symptoms

Morning sickness (nausea or vomiting)

Breast tenderness

Extreme changes in mood

Backaches, leg pain, and other aches and pains

Fatigue

Weight gain or loss

Headaches

Problems sleeping

Problems with urination

Skin and hair changes

Vaginal bleeding in early pregnancy

Vaginal discharge

Constipation

Heartburn

Nosebleeds and bleeding gums

Swelling, varicose veins, and hemorrhoids

Breathing problems

Lower back and pelvic pain

Foot and ankle swelling

Food cravings or food aversions (some foods taste awful)

Read details of these symptoms here.

Second Trimester. While no two pregnancies are the same, some symptoms you may experience during your second trimester include:

Carpal tunnel syndrome — numbness, tingling or weakness in your hand

A line on your skin running from your belly button to your pubic hairline

Patches of darker skin on your face

Lower back and pelvic pain

Darkening areola

Stretch marks along your breasts, abdomen, buttocks and thighs

Third Trimester. While no two pregnancies are the same, some symptoms you may experience during your third trimester include:

Acid reflux (heartburn)

Haemorrhoids

Shortness of breath

Breast tenderness

Protruding belly button

Difficulty sleeping

Swelling in your fingers, face and ankles

Braxton Hicks (false contractions). During your third trimester, you will also experience contractions, which can be a sign of real or false labour. “False labour” pains are called Braxton Hicks and are your body’s way of preparing you for actual labour. They may feel similar to menstrual cramps or a tightening in the abdomen.

There is no medical treatment for Braxton Hicks, but there are some things you can due to ease discomfort, including:

Drinking water

Changing your position (if you are lying down, try going for a walk, and vice versa)

Relaxing by taking a nap, reading a book or listening to calming music

If these do not lessen the pain and if you notice your contractions becoming more frequent or intense, contact your health-care provider.

Multiple Pregnancy

A multiple pregnancy is a pregnancy with 2 or more babies. Some names for these are:

Twins for 2 babies

Triplets for 3 babies

Quadruplets for 4 babies

Quintuplets for 5 babies

Sextuplets for 6 babies

Septuplets for 7 babies

Multiples make up only about 3 in 100 births, but the multiple birth rate is rising. According to the National Center for Health Statistics, the twin birth rate has risen 70% since 1980. It is now 32.6 per 1,000 live births. The birth rate for triplets and other higher-order multiples rose dramatically. But it has slowed since 1998.

Symptoms of Multiple Pregnancy. Women who are pregnant with multiples may have more severe morning sickness or breast tenderness than women who are pregnant with a single fetus. They also may gain weight more quickly. Most multiple pregnancies are discovered during an ultrasound exam.

Common Complication. The most common complication of multiple pregnancy is preterm birth. More than one half of all twins are born preterm. Triplets and more are almost always born preterm.

Preterm: Less than 37 weeks of pregnancy.

Each woman may have slightly different symptoms. But the most common symptoms of multiple pregnancy are:

Uterus is larger than expected for the dates in pregnancy

More morning sickness

Greater appetite

Too much weight gain, especially in early pregnancy

Babies' movements felt in different parts of the stomach at the same time

Going into Labour

Most women give birth between 38 and 41 weeks of pregnancy, but there is no way to know the exact moment you will go into labour.

When labour begins, the cervix dilates and the muscles of the uterus begin to contract at regular intervals and will get closer together over time.

Contractions will feel similar to menstrual cramps, but more intense.

As your uterus contracts, you may feel pain in your back or pelvis and your abdomen will become hard.

When your uterus relaxes, your abdomen will become soft again.

In addition to contractions, some other signs that labour is beginning include:

Lightening (the sensation that the fetus has dropped lower)

Loss of the mucus plug (you will notice an increase in clear or pink discharge)

Water breaking (rupture of membranes)

It is important to note that you might not notice some of these changes before labour begins. If you think you are in labour, contact your health-care provider.

Possible Pregnancy Complications

Common complications include:

Diabetes during pregnancy (gestational diabetes)

High blood pressure during pregnancy (preeclampsia)

Premature or preterm changes in the cervix

Problems with the placenta. It may cover the cervix, pull away from the womb, or not work as well as it should

Vaginal bleeding

Early labor

Your baby is not growing well

Your baby has medical problems

It can be scary to think about possible problems. But it is important to be aware so you can tell your provider if you notice unusual symptoms.

Foods to Avoid During Pregnancy

Unpasteurized milk and foods made with unpasteurized milk (soft cheeses, including feta, queso blanco and fresco, Camembert, brie or blue-veined cheeses—unless labeled “made with pasteurized milk")

Hot dogs and luncheon meats (unless they are heated until steaming hot before serving)

Raw and undercooked seafood, eggs and meat. Do not eat sushi made with raw fish (cooked sushi is safe).

Refrigerated pâté and meat spreads

Refrigerated smoked seafood

Guidelines for Safe Food Handling

Follow these general food safety guidelines when handling and cooking food:

Wash. Rinse all raw produce thoroughly under running tap water before eating, cutting or cooking.

Clean. Wash your hands, knives, countertops and cutting boards after handling and preparing uncooked foods.

Cook. Cook beef, pork or poultry to a safe internal temperature verified by a food thermometer.

Chill. Promptly refrigerate all perishable food.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 Pregnancy Slideshow ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more information I wasn't able to include here in the links above. Hope this helps with your writing!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE BLUE OF THE SKY MUST HAVE BEEN MY IMAGINATION ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru can’t take your grief away. but on days when you feel as if it’s swallowing you whole, pulling you underwater, he’ll be there to reach a hand out.

word count; 10.9k 

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (gn prns are used, but gojo calls you sweet girl and princess), depictions of grief/allusions to death (reader mourns their dead best friend), hurt/comfort (heavy on both), fluffy towards the end, satoru is a good partner <3, stsg subtext if you squint, switching povs, reader is implied to be a non-sorcerer!!

a/n; i’ve always loved the idea of gojo being with a reader who also lost their best friend/other half, so this is just me playing around with that concept :3 losing a soulmate and finding a new one through the loss of that thread must feel really meaningful, right? + i’m also dedicating this piece to @neptuneblue my precious bday girl <33 i added an extra dose of devotion, flower symbolism and greek mytho refs just for you!! (pretty dividers by @/saradika-graphics <33)

a pang of sorrow.

as your consciousness begins to unfurl, cruelly torn apart from the realm of dreams, the sensation hits you like a hammer to a nail. your eyes flutter open, and your muddled mind adjusts to the soft light dyeing your bedroom a mellow gold — patches of sunlight splattering on the bed and warming up your skin, illuminating your features. gentle and soothing.

almost as if trying to coax you back to sleep; trying to protect you from something you don’t quite understand. just close your eyes, your body whispers, your mind shushes. don’t think about anything at all. 

but you don’t listen. 

part of you knows it’s a mistake. trying to identify the source of your sadness usually only makes your heart feel more tangled up — but you get the sense that this particular sorrow is one you should never, ever let go of. so you rest against the mattress, focus on the rise and fall of your chest, and simply feel it out. 

it’s a strange sensation. blooming like a flower, in the back of your brain, expanding at an alarming rate — seeping into your bloodstream, soaking the sheets beneath you with something dark and gritty, something that sends shivers down your spine. an acute sensation that something is wrong. 

that something has been wrong. for a very long time.

(and then it hits you.)

— ah.

an intake of breath. the open air has been warmed up by caring sunrays, bouncing off the glass of the windows. it tastes like dust and daydreams.

it’s today, isn’t it?

the flower in the back of your brain keeps unfurling, leaving you with a certain ache you can’t get rid of. a stain you can never, ever rinse away — and the sun’s comforting embrace does nothing to quell its weight.

what a shame, you think, gazing out at the blue of the sky. the weather is so lovely today…

something tickles your cheek. it snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts; and this time, you don’t need to feel it out to know what it is. you’re already well aware. your brain knows, your body, every string of your heartbeat.

a strand of white hair. ghosting over your cheek, causing you to stir. 

two big arms are looped around your midriff, heavy and slumbering, practically immovable. you’ve tried to peel them off more times than you can count, but they just won’t budge — if anything, that only makes him cling to you tighter. subconsciously or otherwise. 

(you suspect it’s the latter, on most days.)

as always, you’re pressed up against him, close as can be. completely enveloped by his scent and body warmth, strawberries and stardust, cocooned in the safety his touch brings you — like a big, weighted blanket. or maybe more like a clingy dog.

and, despite everything… it manages to cheer you up a little. doing what the delicate caress of sunlight couldn’t. just feeling him close is enough for the corners of your lips to curl up, a warmth trying to take root in your hollowed out chest; feeling his heart beat against your own, in steady motions.

satoru. your very own personal sun.

he’s admittedly cute like this, soft little breaths slipping from his parted lips, quiet snores that he’d deny if you ever brought them up — his jaw resting contentedly on the top of your head. it’s sweet. he’s sweet. but the feeling of his hair tickling your skin is a little insufferable.

insufferable, but still somehow so endearing. 

(you’ll probably always find him endearing, no matter what he does. maybe you should feel embarrassed.)

when you crane your neck, glancing up at the man in question — your breath hitches. halts, in the back of your throat. afraid to come too close. 

satoru is always pretty, but there’s something so serene about the way he looks in the morning. before he has a chance to wake up, cover up, make himself seem bigger than he is. right now, he looks so unguarded; so sleepy and pretty and comfortable. specks of sunlight scatter across that pretty face of his, like little freckles, caressing his skin with a heavenly glow. 

it really is such a shame. the sun is shining brightly, waving hello to the newly-awakened city, and your own personal sun is right by your side. snuggled up with you, and looking prettier than ever. 

but neither of those blessings are enough to change the inevitability of what day it is, today. you feel a little bad; but you know what you have to do. 

just to see the limitations, you squirm away — or try to. you don’t even move an inch. satoru’s got you trapped, caged in by his strong arms, like he’s making sure to protect you even in his dreams. a big, overprotective bear.

wanting not to rouse him from his peaceful slumber, you can’t bring yourself to make much of an effort, either. your hands travel down to the expanse of his arms, wrapped around your midriff, gentle and light as you try to tug them off. but he won’t relent so easily — the moment you succeed even slightly, those insistent arms fall back in position. only trapping you further. 

after your fifth attempt bears no fruit, satoru lets out a low groan; shifting closer, and hugging you just a little tighter. muttering under his breath.

so you resort to a different tactic.

when you finally get a proper look at him, craning your neck as far as you can, your eyes soften. his expression makes your heart melt; sleepy and snug, and just a tad annoyed. because of your numerous escape attempts, no doubt. 

he’s so beautiful it hurts. just a little, just to look at him, just to map out every contour of his angelic face. 

so you feel a little guilty. you really don’t want to wake him up, when he so rarely gets to sleep in like this — and he’s been working so hard, lately. doing his usual sorcerer thing, that he never lets you know too much about. the guilt seeps into your bones, growing deeper with every second spent etching his soft expression into your memory, knowing just how tired he must be.

it’s not like you really have a choice, though.

leaning closer, so close you can hear his heartbeat if you strain your ears enough, you put your lips against his skin. he smells like strawberries, from the shampoo he always steals from you, and he’s pleasantly warm. like a confectionary.

a moment passes. you drag it out as long as you can, indulging in the sweet fragrance.

then you begin trailing kisses up his jaw, ghosting over his skin. soft little butterflies, fluttering from his jaw to his cheekbone.. once you get close enough to see the way his eyelashes flutter, and he stirs ever so slightly, you lean in to whisper in his ear.

”satoru,” you murmur. ”just need to go to the bathroom. can you let go for a little bit, please?” 

you try your best to speak as quietly as you can, not wanting to disturb him too much — but you can tell he hears you, even in the state he’s in. all tuckered out, his muddled mind still registering the sound of your voice, how you move your lips to form sounds. a lullaby to his sleep-ridden brain.

bringing a hand up to his forehead, you brush his bangs away with palpable tenderness, leaving a kiss against his forehead. satoru stirs, again; letting out a sleepy noise somewhere between a groan, a sigh, and a whine. squeezing his eyes shut.

”honey,” you coo, hoping the term of endearment will get his attention. ”let go, please? i’ll be quick.”

satoru’s eyes blink open, slowly, like the shutter of a camera. you wish you could take a picture of him, right now — in all his angelic glory, painted over with warm colours and tangled up in freshly washed bedsheets. 

he takes a moment to adjust, unaccustomed to the bright morning light of your bedroom, face scrunching up — then his gaze falls on you.

and his heartbeat picks up.

you’re looking up at him so sweetly, fingers reaching out to cup his cheek, smooth skin against his own. the cerulean of his eyes flutter shut once more, as he nuzzles into your palm; moving one of his arms from your waist, just so he can place his palm over yours, where it rests against his skin. absentminded.

a smile crawls up to your lips. 

”… mm,” is all he manages, an incoherent little mumble. you make another attempt at getting away, only one of his arms caging you in now, but it still doesn’t work. the moment he feels you even try, he tugs you even closer. arm keeping you nice and safe in his embrace. 

satoru makes sure that his palm is still resting over yours when he leans forward, snuggles further into your side. nuzzling into your neck, pressing his lips against your collarbone, muffling a low whine.

”stay,” he murmurs, sleepy and upset, and you almost give in. he’s still too tired to really register what’s happening, only that you’re trying to leave him. 

it makes your chest ache.

a soft sigh leaves your lips. ah, this really is too cruel. how are you supposed to ever leave his embrace when he’s acting like this?

”satoru…” your free hand finds its way to his hair, carding through the pure white strands, and he practically purrs. ”just gotta go to the bathroom. i’ll be back, okay? i’ll hurry.”

another incoherent mumble. he doesn’t move, doesn’t even attempt to. still kissing your collarbone, content to have you run your fingers through his soft locks.

and you feel awful, you do — but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

as you feel him slowly, gradually fall back asleep under your caring touches… you opt to make your move. this time, you’re a little rougher — tugging his arm off and squirming away before he can think to stop you. it’s hard not to feel guilty, especially with the whine satoru lets out, arms blindly reaching out towards you — to no avail. you’re sure the loss of body warmth hits him just as hard as it does you.

an urgent voice inside your chest begs you to soothe him, to console him. seeing the little pout on his pretty lips, the furrow of his brow. 

so you lean over, carefully, cupping his cheek to leave a soft kiss against his forehead. a silent apology. ”i’ll be back soon, toru. go back to sleep, okay?” you hope he feels your love, in the action, in the words. even if he’s not really conscious enough to properly respond. 

just in case he doesn’t, you state your feelings more transparently. thumb caressing his cheekbone, as a whisper flows from out your lips: ”i love you.”

maybe it’s just your imagination, or a coincidence, but you swear he settles down a little after that. succumbing to the needs of his sleepy brain, still a little groggy and frustrated; but soothed enough to rest easy. so far, so good. caught up with thoughts of satoru, and how tiny he looks all alone in the big bed, your brain momentarily forgets about the sorrow. 

but the moment you step out of the bedroom, it’s there to greet you again. creeping up on you — a subtle, gentle kind of shock. almost kind. but hollow and cold, like the temperature of the room dropped, your almost-smile fading like a piece of paper blown away by the wind.

and suddenly, you remember what day it is. you remember what you’re supposed to be doing.

as you brew your morning cup of coffee, trying to distract yourself with the purring of the espresso machine in front of you, you find your thoughts drifting back to satoru. hoping he’ll manage to stay asleep, despite your interference — it’s his first day off in a while. he needs to rest. 

… and you don’t really know if you could deal with him, if he were to wake up and locate you right now. you can imagine what he’d say, what his expression would be like; and you can imagine the exact moment he’d realize that something is wrong, how easily he’d be able to squeeze the answers out of you. you’re weak to satoru. you’d tell him immediately, just to get him to stop frowning that subtle way he always does when he’s worried but doesn’t want you to know. 

which is exactly why this is your only option. sneaking away while he’s asleep, blissfully unaware, even if the guilt eats at your heart. you suppose it’s a welcome distraction. 

(today was going to feel awful, one way or another.)

everything feels a little like a struggle; putting your coat on, stepping into your shoes, making sure you have everything you need. and then, lastly, the note. satoru leaves them for you fairly often, on days he has to go to work early and doesn’t want to wake you, before late night missions and sudden workloads. when the reverse is true, you do the same. just something simple, a little act of love. 

i’ll be back around midnight. don’t wait up for me, okay? 

have a good day. :) 

don’t eat my portion of the kikufuku! i know you’re thinking about it.

i love you. <3

… usually, leaving a little note behind for him to find would make your heart feel light. but today, it’s not nearly as fun. you try your best to sound lighthearted; wholly aware of how ominous the contents still end up sounding.

good morning, satoru ♡  i’m sorry for waking you up before :( and for leaving without saying anything. i have an important errand to run, so i’ll be gone for a while. i’ll make sure i’m back before the sun sets, so just be patient, okay? i know you’re probably really mad, but don’t be too angry with me when i get back, please? i’ll buy you something sweet omw back!! ^^ that’s all, i think. i know how this sounds, but don’t worry. i’ll be back before you know it.  have a good day, alright? enjoy your day off!!  i love you ♡ :)

in all honesty, it’s a little mean. telling satoru not to worry about you is like telling the sun not to shine. he’s confident when he’s with you, thoroughly assured of his ability to protect you… but when you’re out of his sight, you think he gets a little anxious. even if he’s awfully good at hiding it.

still, there’s nothing else to do. you swallow the guilt, stick the note to the fridge, and step over the threshold. out into the real world, the cold world, the empty world. as the sun envelops you, and a spring breeze enters your lungs — that acute awareness strangling you only seems to grow deeper.

everything finally dawns on you, all at once. and it’s impossible to shake away that suffocating feeling —

the feeling that something is wrong.

(that something has been wrong. for a very, very long time.)

the cemetery is empty, this year.

you suspect the glaring sun has something to do with it. blinding you, casting a bright glow over the tombs of the dead, entirely out of place. no one wants to do their mourning in this kind of weather. it just feels wrong. 

that hasn’t stopped you, though. you wonder if it’s due to a love so strong it disregards the weather, or a blatant disregard towards the feelings of the dead. 

maybe both. probably both.

the solitude creeps up on you like a hungry ghost, but it’s a blessing in flimsy disguise; right now, you’re all alone. and today, that’s all you truly need. a feeling almost like stepping into another realm, one with no connection to things like reality or time. it’s just you, and the graves, and the ghosts. there’s no one here to see you cry, no one who can pretend like they understand. no one to witness the price you’ve paid for loving so fervently. 

slowly, you make your way across the cemetery. sparing a glance towards the city skyline, before fixing your eyes on one particular tomb. 

when you crouch down, the paper bag in your hand hits the ground with a soft crunch. all flowers are still in perfect condition; asters and forget-me-nots, haberleas and hyacinths. you cradle them tightly, pressed against your chest, feeding off your weakening heartbeat — your eyes moving, flitting over the grave, the name engraved into the stone. putting the bouquet down.

(you really hope she’ll like them.)

it’s surreal. to look at an object and still see a person, to touch the petals of a flower and remember the softness of human skin. you never quite got used to it. all you ever seem to do is lean into the strangeness of it all, the kick you get out of sullying something untainted. trying to remember something that should be left in the past. you can’t leave her alone.

”hi,” you whisper, so low you barely hear it. ”i’m back.”

with a sigh, you settle down on the ground; sitting cross-legged, getting comfortable. this’ll take a while.

the cherry trees are beautiful, this year. they always are; always in full bloom, almost mocking in their beauty. with their silky petals, fallen all across the ground, dyeing everything in shades of white and pink. as your eyes trail across the flowery landscape, basking in the sickening solitude of it all, that sense of otherworldliness deepens. you try not to look at the blinding sun, try not to think of the man it reminds you of. 

it’s just you, here. just you, the graves, and the cherry trees. just you, and her, and your sorrow.

for a moment, you delude yourself into thinking that it’s true — you’re in a different world, now. one that settles on the wrong axis and paints itself with the wrong colours. one that stopped spinning long ago.

(the tender stirring of your heartstrings never fades away. it sounds a little like a hymn.)

all you can think of is her. all you can feel is the grief. that hole in your heart, extending, extending, extending. it hasn’t stopped since she left. a black hole of a feeling. it’s been years since it opened, years of trying to patch it up, clawing your way to a state of normalcy. living with a piece of you carved out. 

losing your other half feels a little bit like dying in reverse. having to keep going with half your shadow stripped away, out of the tunnel, into the light. even if you’d much rather fall to the bottom, with your silhouette still intact.

(throughout the years, you’ve come to a single conclusion; orpheus had it so much worse than eurydice.)

despite everything, a smile curls its way onto your lips. something soft and fleeting, that blossoms within your irises, in between your ribs. she doesn’t answer you, as always, so you keep talking — anything to still feel connected to her. anything to fill the silence of the cemetery, the numbed out grief inside your chest. 

”let’s see. where should i start…” is muttered into the open air, followed by a moment of silence, as you think of what to say. ”i’m still with satoru, if you were wondering. everything is still… good. more than good. he’s a really, really good guy.”

a moment passes.

”i hope you’re doing okay. wherever you are. if you’re anywhere at all,” soft air leaves your lungs, a little slip of a breath, but it’s shallow, like your chest doesn’t really care if you miss an inhale or not. like just giving and never getting could keep you alive. ”i miss you. a lot. i wish i could see you…” 

a hum buzzes in your throat. you try not to think of her hair, the scent of her perfume. the flower in the back of your brain has grown bigger, you notice. unfurling at an agonizing pace, blossoming the way a wound heals. throat burning, heart aching, you swallow.

(the hole inside your heart feels jagged, like cracked glass seeping into your pancreas. a deep, internal ache.)

when you speak, your voice comes out small. nothing more than a whisper, a flurry of air. there’s an honesty to the words that makes it hard to breathe.

”… everything is so boring without you around.”

a shuddering breath leaves your wobbling lips, and you know it’s coming. you make a halfhearted attempt to keep your voice from breaking, but it doesn’t work. your eyes are already glassy, wetness spilling out, tears getting stuck in your lashes, dripping down your cheeks — you manage a meek chuckle, but it comes out sounding more like a broken whimper.

try as you might, her figure never leaves your mind. it’s all you can think of, ingrained into your retinas; a single silhouette, walking ahead of you. a sweet girl, maybe a little mean, but still so gentle. your very own moon, soothing in her confidence. every step she took was like a landmark for you to follow. 

if you strain yourself a little, she appears before you — a polaroid dug out from the depths of your memories. 

in almost microscopic detail, you can see her smile, the way the light reflected off her teeth. you can feel her hand, the way her fingers curled so perfectly around yours. you can see her, hear her, the colour of her eyes, the sound of her laughter. a moonlit girl, who left you all alone — walking ahead of you, always ahead, leaving you behind to catch up. bringing whispered secrets with her, soft bouts of laughter.

your one and only best friend.

(it’s not fair.)

something in you urges you to keep talking. it’s all you have it in you to do. and maybe it’s weird, maybe you’re crazy — to talk to someone who can’t hear you. less than a ghost.

but it’s nice. it’s comforting. it reminds you of the voicemails you would leave each other, on weekends you were both too busy to speak on the phone. her voice always came out a little fractured, from her shitty nuclear bomb of an iphone, but you strained your ears to hear every word she said. you always, always did.

(it was nice.)

so you continue. you tell her everything, and then some more. talking and talking, about you, about her, about satoru. by the time you’re done, the sun is getting ready to descend, painting the sky a bleeding orange. your voice has gone hoarse, eyes red and puffy from all the crying, but your chest feels a little lighter — the hole inside it a little more narrow, not as broken and split and jagged.

”so, well,” you clear your throat, finishing your one-sided conversation; smiling weakly. ”i guess what i’m trying to say is… i loved you this year, too.”

the smile on your face is tearstained, feeble, as you get back up on shaky legs, brushing petals and dust off the fabric of your pants. stretching your arms out.

”i’ll be back,” you promise, the same oath every single year. ”wait for me.”

one last look at her grave is all you allow yourself; soaking in the peace and quiet, the creamsicle sky framing it. parting with this sight always feels so strange. crossing the boundary, going back to a world where she’s dead and gone. discarding her so callously.

but you can’t keep satoru waiting, anymore. you promised him you’d get back before sunset.

when you begin your descent down the hill, you can’t help but look back — just one look, just in case she’s standing there. she never is, but you still spare a glance over your shoulder, every single time. you like to think of it as an act of love. 

it doesn’t feel as all-consuming, anymore, that exhausting numbness. the sorrow is still there, the grief is still there; but it’s a little less unendurable. and you feel that you can return to reality for another year, until you need to come back and cry some more.

for now, you can manage. 

(but you still have one big obstacle to deal with.)

it doesn’t take long to get back. 

as your fingers curl around the doorknob, you mentally prepare yourself. taking a shaky inhale. satoru definitely won’t be happy — you can already picture the frown he’ll have on his face, his crossed arms. the neverending flurry of huffs and scoffs. 

you’ll just have to bear with it. exhaustion crawls beneath your skin, and everything feels a little too heavy for you to bear without breaking. normally, you’d head straight to bed, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to coax the day into ending early. but you can’t pull something like that, today. not when satoru will be there to see it. you can only hope he’ll be understanding — even without knowing anything. 

(such an unfair thing to ask of a person.)

the door creaks open, and you step inside.

a particular scent engulfs you, as soon as you cross the threshold to your apartment. a blend between sunlight, and the fabric softener he likes, and freshly squeezed fruit juice. and, of course, that certain aroma you can only ever describe as home. 

it smells like satoru, too. then again, maybe that’s just the scent of home in disguise.

finally, the weight around your shoulders starts to crumble. it’s a little easier to breathe, like this, a weighted blanket of comfort around you. something sweet and soothing and smelling lightly of rosemary. peace — or as close to it as you can get, today.

a sigh pushes past your lips; heavy with fatigue. dripping with relief.

(you’re home.)

”well, well, well.”

— a moment passes.

the sudden noise makes you freeze up, eyes wide and alert, still in the process of kicking off your shoes. internally wincing, bracing yourself. here it comes. 

slowly, hesitantly, you raise your gaze from the floor — locking eyes with a certain man. 

satoru looks displeased, to say the very least. arms crossed, with a cute little frown playing on his lips. just as you imagined. you can’t see his eyes from behind his shades — but if you could, you’re sure they’d carry a sense of betrayal. 

”… hi, sato —”

”i can’t believe you.”

an amused breath slips from your lips. amused, but sheepish, awfully nervous. like you just came home to an angry wife, after promising to be back early from work. and satoru only huffs, staring you down like you just killed his dog.

”betrayed. deserted. by my own partner,” he scoffs, shaking his head in obvious disapproval. ”what, are you done with your errand now?”

”satoru,” you try, voice falling into a melodic lilt. smiling up at him, inching closer. to your surprise, he takes a step back.

(you must have really upset him.)

a sad smile. you exhale, wringing your hands together. ”… i’m sorry i left you.”

”you should be,” he pouts, voice wounded to a degree that must be at least a little bit exaggerated. ”and you said you were just going to the bathroom.”

you let out a small, guilty chuckle. he remembers that? ”i’m really sorry. i left you the note, though…”

”right. the note,” satoru scoffs, like the word itself is personally offensive. ”d’you know how awful i felt, seeing that first thing in the morning? no sign of you anywhere, and some silly note is supposed to make up for it?” 

oh, he’s being so unfair. looking so disgruntled, tapping the pads of his fingers on his elbow. you wish you could take him seriously, but he’s way too endearing. and he won’t let you get a word in.

”i was so worried. i thought someone had kidnapped you.” satoru doesn’t let up, even when an amused chuckle leaves your lips. ”you turned your phone off and everything! what were you even doing?”

”i know, i know. i’m sorry, really. i am!” you hang up your coat, brushing off a leftover cherry petal. ”it was a personal thing, like i said. but i dealt with everything now, so it’s fine.”

”that’s not an answer,” he mutters. ”you’re really not gonna tell me?”

a pang of guilt hits your heart. 

”… sorry,” you murmur, low and feeble. avoiding his gaze. ”some other time, okay?”

satoru only lets out another spiteful scoff, arms still crossed. you wonder if he’s holding himself back from hugging you, or if he really is so angry with you that he doesn’t want you near him.

”look, toru —” you try, again, molding your voice into something soft and sweet. ”i’m really sorry. i won’t do it again, okay? and i’ll make it up to you.” 

you hold up a paper bag, waving it slightly to get his attention. you can tell that it works. ”look. i got you your favorite pastries.”

satoru’s frown remains, despite the sweet treats. he must be angrier than you thought. ”really? you think some cookies will be enough to make things right?” 

so stubborn. you suppose it’s warranted, though. you know how satoru is — if you’re not by his side for an extended amount of time, he starts to mope. after a while, he starts feeling lonely. 

and then, finally, he starts to get anxious.

he’s told you, before, how much these days mean to him; days when the two of you can stay in and relax, and watch silly tv shows, and cook dinner, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. days when he can just be your toru, and no one else. your personal splotch of sunshine.

of course he’d be upset. 

(you really are cruel, keeping him in the dark like this.)

seeing him so grumpy makes you oddly happy, though. just his presence makes that suffocating feeling in your chest feel a little more bearable, easing the burden on your restless heart. he makes you feel vulnerable.

with a thud, the paper bag drops to the floor. you open up your arms, like a blooming flower, a sheepish little smile on your lips. ”i missed you?”

the words are tinted with honey, sweet and warm, but also kind of sad. you tilt your head to the right, slightly, a silent invitation into your arms. 

and for a second, something unreadable sparks in satoru’s eyes, hidden behind the black of his shades. you still notice it, though — almost as if his whole face pauses for a second. in clever contemplation. 

you wonder if he noticed it, then. your puffy eyes, the sagging of your shoulders; the fatigue seeping off you, sticking to your skin.

you wonder if that’s why he relents, finally, stepping closer to bring you in for a hug.

the moment your head meets his chest, you’re enveloped by his scent. strawberries and fresh laundry, and a hint of expensive cologne. home.

a sigh leaves your lips, deep and content. you clutch onto the fabric of his shirt, melting into the embrace — and satoru can’t really bring himself to be too angry, anymore.

”… well, i guess i could forgive you,” he muses, arms securely wrapped around your waist. you’re sure he’s trying to sound stern, but it’s not very convincing when he’s snuggling into you like this. ”but you’re gonna have to make it up to me. alright?”

”right, right,” you exhale, smiling. just thankful to be close to him, to feel that he’s there. ”thank you, oh benevolent satoru.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you feel it; the low tremor running through his chest, rumbling, as he rests his jaw on your head. ”careful with the snark. if you want to be forgiven you gotta be nice to me, sweetheart.”

you let out a breath, somewhere in between an exasperated sigh and a fond giggle. he’s relieved to hear the sound. satoru prides himself on being observant — being able to read someone with a single glance, notice if something’s off almost instantly. and he’s especially proud of his observant nature when it comes to you. 

as clear as the blue of the sky, or the brightness of the sun, satoru can tell that something’s wrong. he noticed it the moment he read that note, the moment you stepped back into the house, the moment he saw your meek little face staring up at him — desperate for comfort. as if one wrong touch could have you falling apart, shattering, like a flimsy sheet of glass.

whatever you were doing, today… it couldn’t have been pleasant. 

he’s curious, of course, and still more than a little irked at your escape — but that can wait until later. satoru can be patient, when he wants to be. at the very least, he can be patient when it comes to you. 

(for now, he’ll focus on cheering you up.)

nuzzling further into his chest, you take a deep breath, basking in the familiar sensation creeping up on you. satoru makes a halfhearted attempt to stifle his coo. 

”aw, look at you,” he grins, swaying you softly side to side. ”so clingy. you really did miss me, huh?”

a huff leaves your lips. ”shut up,” you mumble, feeling a heat rush to your cheeks. 

”be nice, baby.”

…

and you relent. the least you could do is indulge him, even if you know he’ll abuse the opportunity fully. you part your lips, and speak.

”… of course i missed you.”

”there we go,” a smug grin blooms on his lips. he rubs your back, absentmindedly. gosh, he’s infuriating. 

(you love him so much you want to sneak into his chest and gobble up his heart.)

after a moment, he pulls away from you. just a little, just to get a good look at your face. drinking you in, with his blue-soaked gaze, as your eyelashes flutter. he reaches out, the pads of his fingers meeting your soft skin — cupping your cheek with his palm, big and warm, cradling you the way a believer would cup a mouthful of holy water. 

then he leans in to kiss you. giving you no time to prepare, drawing you in, drawn to your touch, inexplicably. helplessly. 

it’s a chaste kiss, light and heart-fluttering. his lips are soft, tasting lightly of cherry chapstick. when you exhale against them, you feel him smile, almost smirking. a blissful little breath that he drinks in, hands squeezing softly at your hips, bringing you just a little closer. rubbing his nose against yours. 

his tongue flits out to lick at your bottom lip, a teasing flick, and then he’s pulling back — still close enough to make you flustered. 

”missed you too,” he purrs, voice deep and raspy, rumbling through his chest. ”thought i was gonna go insane without you.”

with a flushed face, and something akin to a pout playing at your lips, you avoid his gaze. you’re sure that if you looked now, you’d see those pools of blue peeking out beneath the black glass. 

satoru leans in to kiss you, again. giving you no warning, as always; unable to resist the temptation. 

(you really are too cute for your own good.)

it’s a little intoxicating, the way he breathes you in. sweet and warm, like he’s trying to say i love you without using any words, with just his lips and lungs and tongue. he’s a little too good at it — someone so inexperienced has no business being so naturally good at kissing. it’s a little irritating.

but that’s satoru, for you. always surpassing your expectations; like there’s no limit to his love.

satoru finally decides to spare you, satisfied with the tiny squeak that bubbles up in your throat when he nibbles at the flesh of your lip. he’ll demand more kisses later — preferably when you’re seated in his lap, and he can properly turn you into a boneless puddle.

”alright,” he chirps, a melodic lilt to his voice, stepping back with a palm still on your hip. his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric. ”let’s see those pastries.”

”oh. right…” you’re quick to lean down, snatching the paper bag from where it lays on the floor. passing it to satoru, so he can look into it.

seemingly satisfied with the contents, he lets out a contemplative hum. ”okay, this is a start,” he nods, decisive. ”c’mon. let’s eat ’em by the couch.”

…

you narrow your eyes, suddenly suspicious. ”… hang on. have you had lunch yet?”

satoru gapes, as if in disbelief, barking out a soft, offended little scoff. ”really? you’re doubting me?”

”that’s not a yes.”

a pout forms on his lips. ”of course i have. who do you think i am?”

”oh yeah?” you give him a smile, a tiny raise of your brow. something in you knows that he’s lying. ”what’d you eat?”

”what is this, an interrogation?” he huffs. ”i’m a grown man. i can eat what i want!”

”not when i’m around,” you deadpan. then sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. ”satoru, you can’t eat a bunch of sweets for lunch. it’s not good for you.”

”so you can abandon me for hours, but i can’t have a little treat every once in a while? is that how it is?”

a roll of your eyes. you shift on your feet, letting out a low groan, and satoru has to reel in his growing smile. ”alright, drama queen. i get your point.” a moment passes, and you hum. ”… want me to make you something? or should i just order take out?”

satoru pouts, again, like a big huffy dog. ”babe, don’t you trust me? i’ve already had lunch. i got yakitori from the place downtown!”

”oh? you mean the yakitori place that’s closed on sundays?”

”huh. that’s weird,” he muses, smiling faintly. ”must’ve been some other place, then.” 

you give him an unamused look. he returns it with a vague upturn of his lips, completely unbothered.

a sigh.

”… i’ll order take out.”

”whatever you say, princess.”

you stifle a smile, and go digging for your phone, feeling your own stomach rumble a bit. in the midst of the banter, you almost forget what day it is. 

and satoru feels satisfied. you look a little more alive, now. a little more anchored to reality. as you call the takeout place of your choosing, he can even spot some earnest light in your eyes. he’s not exactly worried — but you did seem oddly stiff, just now, a little blurry. faded at the corners, like a dusty old polaroid.

and if there’s one thing satoru gojo can’t do, it’s leave you alone when he knows you need him.

satoru’s punishment for leaving him alone so long is swift and severe.

you’re seated in his lap, caged in by his long arms, and this time you know there’s no escaping them. even if you could, you wouldn’t dare to try. being caged in like this, warm and comfy in satoru’s embrace, isn’t really much of a punishment at all — even the kisses he has you press against his lips and jaw aren’t unwelcome, albeit a little embarrassing. he’s a merciful tyrant. 

but you can’t help but feel like you’re deceiving him. 

you still feel so lost, somehow, a murky sensation you can’t seem to shake off. and you know it’s because of your brain, because of the correlations it’s stitching and crocheting between today and her and you. 

it simply won’t let you be happy, today. 

you can’t help but feel a little greedy. ungrateful. even though you have your precious sun with you, even though you should feel warm, her absence hangs heavy on you. her continued absence, in your world, your life. a chill that rots your bones from the inside out. you know you’ll never get over it. you don’t ever want to get over it. it’s tough, though. 

you should be happy, snuggled into your boyfriend’s arms, but her sorrow clings to you. you should be mourning, but his arms feel so secure like this. no reaction feels right, no emotion warranted.

(you really are greedy, aren’t you?)

satoru chuckles, a sound both delighted and amused — snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. as always.

you’re watching a movie he likes, some cheesy old romcom. you really, really don’t understand his taste. but his commentary is always entertaining. judging by his cute little noise, someone just said something funny — funny to his standards, anyhow.

it’s too tempting to resist. you crane your neck, glancing up at him, wanting to see his face. from this angle, you can spot the blue of his eyes — beautiful and bright, flickering with splotches of pure white. they flit down to meet your own, gleaming with amusement.

”do i have something on my face, baby?” satoru chuckles, leaning forward to get a better look at you, all tucked against his chest. he grins, smooth, handsome; tailor-made to make you flustered. ”you’re staring at me real hard, there.”

(what a tease. 

unfortunately for him, you saw this one coming.)

”nah,” you show off a grin of your own, bubbly and teasing. ”you’re just pretty.”

he blinks. a few seconds passes by.

then a smile breaks out across his face. his eyes crinkle softly at the edges, like little petals, snowy bangs gliding against his skin when he tilts his head.

”oh?” he leans closer, hands still keeping you in place, making sure your gaze stays locked onto his. ”so forward. am i really that irresistible?”

there’s something soft in your eyes, something tender in the way your fingers go to touch his skin. a ghost of a caress, paired with your flimsy smile. you look at him like he hung all the stars in the sky, breathing out an exhale. ”… i wouldn’t go that far.”

”aw, don’t be embarrassed,” he lets out a coo. ”come on — tell me i’m pretty again.”

”you liked that, huh?”

satoru flicks your forehead, no real strength behind it, so soft you barely feel it. there’s a certain reprimanding tilt to his voice, teasing as it is. ”be nice.”

he’s lucky you’re feeling too vulnerable to put up a fight. you turn around, to face him properly, squirming in his hold; reaching out to cup his handsome face.

”pretty boy,” you murmur, running your thumb along the expanse of his cheekbone. satoru grins, and your heart thumps loudly in your chest. you can spot earnest giddiness on his features — such a sucker for praise.

blindly, he searches for your other hand, bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, you notice, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin. like every peck is a whispered psalm, a silent worship. but it’s light, it always has been — the weight of his boundless adoration. it’s not the heavy kind of love that gods give, not the one you hear about in stories, that always ends in death. satoru’s love isn’t crushing, and it isn’t suffocating. it’s delicate and careful, soft. it reminds you of how sunshine licks at your skin in the morning.

nothing more or less than one human being’s wholehearted love for another; giggles buzzing against your skin, crinkled eyes and mouthfuls of honey. blissful summer days.

(it reminds you of her, but it’s also something entirely different. something you can only ever make sense of when you think of the sun. when every single corner of your home has been doused in sunshine.)

a moment passes. so, so intimate, unbroken by the grief inside your chest. balm to your fractured heart, smoothing across your jagged edges. satoru leans into your palm, into your touch, relishing in the affection you give him. like a bee to a flower, blooming, wilting.

a nagging need tugs at your heartstrings.

(you want to see him. up close.)

although a little unsure, you reach your hands out, slowly, delicately, like approaching a frightened fawn — eager to remove his shades. he makes no move to stop you, so you assume that it’s okay. his eyes flutter open, when you do, white lashes parting like a bird taking flight; crinkled at the corners, overflowing with warmth. like sunshine streaming in through the curtains of your childhood kitchen. 

your heartbeat stutters at the sight.

all you can do is stare. transfixed, losing yourself in their calming hue, drinking them in. you sigh; a soft, quiet little sound. ”you’re so pretty.”

…

satoru lets out a breath, tinged with laughter. his eyes are teasing, but warm even still. ”… am i, now?”

”mhm. the prettiest.”

he chokes back another chuckle. hoping you won’t notice the slight flush to his ears, the heat on the back of his neck. he’s grown skilled at keeping a poker face, even when you try to fluster him — but it’s harder when you’re not trying, when it comes to you so easily. when your words are honest.

just when he’s about to turn the tables on you, you duck your head under his jaw. nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling his cologne, craving his warmth, knowing how much it grounds you. 

that, and his eyes are just a little too beautiful to stare into for too long. they always see right through you, deep into your soul, into every little nook and cranny of your mind. that undivided attention makes you feel a little meek, like you’re bare and raw before him. like there’s nothing you can hide.

(something in your hollowed-out chest begins to crumble.)

falling silent, you absently fiddle with the hem of satoru’s shirt, resting your forehead against his shoulder. he doesn’t say anything. the room would be silent were it not for that cheesy romcom, still buzzing in the background — you think the main couple just got divorced, again. or did get they married? you can’t really keep track of the plot. you can’t keep track of much at all, right now.

satoru makes you too happy.

so happy you forget what day it is, forget you’re supposed to be mourning. sometimes, you forget she’s even gone at all. as if she’s resting on some summer field, outside of your vision, alive and well. 

but she isn’t. you can’t forget that.

guilt. how long has it been part of your life? you don’t know the answer. you’re not sure you want to know. most of the time, it’s all you can feel. guilt, because you’re sitting here, happy, with the love of your life — the most wonderful person you know. guilt, because you haven’t told him what’s going on, because you don’t trust him enough — even though you’d like to think you just don’t want to burden him. you don’t trust anyone enough to let them glimpse into your decaying chest. you’re afraid of the rot. you’re afraid it’ll mold his hand at the slightest touch.

guilt, guilt, guilt — because you’re lucky enough to meet such wonderful people, over and over again, and never quite manage to deserve them.

(having lost its moon, where does a star find solace?)

a hand begins to stroke your head. the weight is a comfort, reassuring, a jolt of warmth trickling down your spine. for a moment, it’s all you can feel.

(— in the warmth of the sun.)

”sleepy?” he murmurs, low and soft. a little teasing, mostly inquisitive, a calm lull of his tongue.

are you? you didn’t really notice, until now. things are starting to feel a little hazy, aren’t they? you feel comfortable, too comfortable, your body aching for a moment of rest, a chance to shut off. sleep, sleep, sleep. don’t think about anything anymore.

satoru notices your sleepy little breaths, the way you gradually soften under his touch, melt into his arms. so he continues to run his hand over your head, petting you gently — knowing it’ll coax you into resting. he’d like you to stay up and binge shows with him all night, but you seem awfully tired. just this once, he’ll let you sleep — the plot was starting to get boring, anyhow. the sequel’s way better.

”you can rest, baby,” he coos, with a gentle intonation. his voice buzzes in your ear. ”i’ve got you.”

(he’s got you.)

the words make you feel so horribly, awfully safe. you can already feel yourself drifting away. his hand smooths down your hair, and a yawn slips from your lips, and you’re just so, so tired. how nice it would be, for the day to end. to be able to forget, for another year.

yeah. how nice. 

you wonder why you don’t take the opportunity.

maybe it has something to do with satoru. with the way he seems to bring you back to reality so effortlessly, soothes you without even really trying. maybe it’s the way he bares himself in front of you, blue eyes on full display, allowing you to see every single part of him. 

maybe, it makes you want to do the same.

”… satoru?”

your voice sounds meek. tiny, unguarded. the man in question only hums, feeling you slump against his shoulder. ”hm?”

”today…” you trail off, unsure how to proceed. you can only think of a certain girl, a certain moon. the melancholy is almost overbearing; it pushes you over the edge. ”i went to a cemetery.”

satoru doesn’t respond. he gives you space to continue, never once halting the motion of his big hand on your head, smoothing down your hair. you gulp, trying to force your dry throat to make sounds.

”… my best friend is buried there. she died today. a couple years back… so i —” a coldness crawls under your skin, words hollow as they leave your lips.

”… you know.”

”yeah. i figured.”

a blink. your eyelashes flutter, in surprise — you can’t see satoru’s face, with the way you’re pressed up against him, but you still look up.

what tipped him off, you wonder? 

you believe him. satoru has a way of seeing through you, one way or another, always more observant than you give him credit for. he’s tactful, in how he brings it up, and that slumbering maturity he tries to hide comes into view. there’s no judgement in his tone, no pity — only understanding.

”… oh,” is all you can mutter. dumbfounded.

”i’m sorry. about her.”

”don’t be,” you murmur, managing a soft shake of your head. ”i’m — i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. i just wanted to go there alone, and… deal with it? i guess.”

after a brief pause, you keep going. feeling so, so small. but satoru holds you so tenderly. a whisper slips past your lips, dripping with longing.

”… you’d have liked her.”

”what was she like?” comes his reply, instantaneous.

…

huh.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. your mind spins in circles, but nothing happens. 

(what was she like?)

”… i really loved her.”

satoru lets out a breath. vaguely amused, but he isn’t smiling. his words have a kindness to them; an understanding, more than anything. ”that’s all, huh?”

a slight intake of breath.

— then you bring yourself to think of her.

you think of her face, how her lips curled up into a smile when you tripped over air, the splotches of sunlight reflecting off her white teeth. you think of her laughter, how it always echoed in your head, how she took your hand in hers when you were too scared to walk ahead alone — taking the first step so you wouldn’t have to. a whole human being, multifaceted, enough traits and quirks to fill the whole night sky.

your moon. your eurydice. the only one who understood you.

you loved her a lot.

”… when i was with her, even sitting around and doing nothing made me happy.” nostalgia seeps into the whisper, like warm honey clogging up your throat, choking you. ”just her being there made every day feel like a good one.”

satoru doesn’t say anything. but he holds you, and he doesn’t let go. even when your voice begins to waver.

”i guess that’s… how i’d describe her.” a small breath. then a smile, even smaller. rueful, but it’s there, and it means everything. ”i’d do anything to have that yesterday back.”

satoru stays silent. 

you’ve spoken about her, before. he knows some things. not a lot. he knows she’s important to you; the person who shaped you into who you are, your very best friend. he tries to picture her, inside his mind.

you let out a tiny sigh, your lungs feeling empty of air. ”… i’m sure you two would have gotten along.”

”yeah,” he hums, palm smoothing down your back. stifling the thought that threatens to sneak into his mind — you wouldn’t have gotten along with him, but i would’ve wanted you to. ”i’m sure we would have.”

it’s a little too sweet to be true. but it makes you happy, just to imagine that kind of reality — the two of them, together. satoru would tease her, and she’d ignore him, hiding a smile behind her palm. she’d warm up to him eventually. they’d bicker over who knew you best, and demand your own verdict — 

you’d smile, not saying a thing.

your voice has gotten a little shaky. it’s scary, opening yourself up for him to see; it feels a little like being sewn open. but you force yourself to keep going. satoru rubs your back through it all, soothingly.

(he’s so, so proud of you.)

”i was thinking…” you trail off, gaze fixed on satoru’s shirt, fingers gripping the smooth fabric. ”maybe, some time in the future — i mean, if you want to — you could… come with me? maybe?” 

silence.

”you don’t have to say yes. but if you do want to —”

”i do.” 

satoru’s voice is absolute. there isn’t any room for doubt; he makes sure of that. ”i’d like to meet her.”

… oh.

it was that easy, huh? 

(you wonder what you could have possibly done to deserve him.)

”… okay,” you mumble, meekly, breath fanning over his skin. ”next year, then.”

satoru glances down at you. curled up against him, nearly sleeping, looking a lot less burdened than before — though there’s still a desperation in the way you lean into his touch, a silent terror, like you could drift away if he doesn’t keep you close. satoru wants to fix it. he wants to run his hands across your skin, stitch the scars life has left you with, even if his touch could never be as gentle as he’d like it to be. he wants to be tender.

but there’s no fixing grief. it lingers, always, no matter how much you try to scrub it away. even if you run a washcloth over your skin until it starts to bleed, the scent still remains. 

and there’s a sickening sense of comfort in the knowledge that it always will.

(there’s no getting rid of him, satoru knows. and deep down, he’s glad that it’s true.)

more than anything else — satoru is content. content in the knowledge that you trust him, that you can bring yourself to open up to him about something so personal. that you chose to tell him, even though he gave you a way out. something about it makes him feel almost overwhelmed with affection. the kind he can’t bear not to show you, the kind that makes him seek you out almost subconsciously; seeking out your touch, your laughter. the smile on your face.

and maybe, just maybe — it makes him want to be a little more open with you, too.

”yeah,” he murmurs, craning his neck to leave a kiss on the crown of your head. ”you can sleep, baby. we’ll talk more about it tomorrow, okay?”

”… i’m sorry for leaving you this morning,” you whisper, suddenly. a little meek. ”i felt really bad.”

satoru chuckles. raspy, an amused little breath. ”you’re forgiven, honey,” he coos. ”just don’t do it again, hm? might break my heart.”

with a yawn, you loop your arms around his neck, nuzzling further into his warmth. fighting the urge to close your eyes. drowsiness washes over you all at once, as if it was waiting for you to get the last of your worries off your chest. ”… i love you.”

”i love you too,” comes his reply, a smile tugging at his lips. ”my sweet girl.”

it’s hard to resist the temptation. almost impossible, with how warm satoru feels, your eyes helplessly fluttering close. you were supposed to stay up with him — you haven’t even finished eating. and you didn’t finish his awful romcom. 

but he runs his hands over your head, and down your back, and it’s simply too hard to withstand the temptation. so you close your eyes, just for a second —

and that’s all it takes.

satoru keeps petting you, softly, until he’s sure you’re asleep, soft little breaths falling from your parted lips, drool slipping down your chin. he’ll forgive you for staining his shirt, just this once. with you in his lap, sound asleep, he feels himself soften — hands running down your back, rubbing circles into your skin. cradling you closer and closer, ensuring that you’re comfortable. taking a few sneaky pictures, that he’ll tease you about tomorrow — 

(though in reality, he just wants to be able to look at them whenever he wants.)

even while eating, romcom flickering on and on, all he can think about is you. how you look so pretty sleeping against him, how you trust him enough to let him see you at your lowest. how you trust him to take care of you, run his fingers across the scars etched into your soul. even if it does no good, even if his touch is clumsy at best — that act of trust alone sets his heart aflutter.

he wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve this happiness.

”well, here we are.”

satoru holds a bouquet of flowers in his arms, putting it down on the grave, crouching down next to you.

a sigh leaves your lips. 

”… this still feels a little surreal,” you admit, sparing a glance at the man to your left. ”sure you’re not a little freaked out?”

”nah. don’t mind me, just do your thing.”

”that’s… easier said than done,” you murmur, arranging the flowers for the grave. asters and forget-me-nots, haberleas and hydrangeas.

a hum buzzes in his throat. ”well, what do you usually do when you’re here?”

”i… talk to her, i guess…?” you gnaw at your bottom lip, turning your face away. you feel a little awkward, admitting it out loud, but if satoru finds it weird he’s frighteningly good at hiding it.

all he does is take a step back, as if giving space for your words to fit in. respectful, accommodating. so smooth you barely notice it. ”then talk.”

”… i can’t do that with you here.”

”eh? why not?”

”because — i just can’t, okay?” you let out a huff, averting your gaze, shying away from him. ”whatever. i’m just gonna do it in my head. she’ll have to manage.”

satoru turns his head, looking down at the city skyline below you as you clasp your hands together. when he looks back, he sees you mouthing something, no sound coming out — and decides to leave you be.

the grave is well kept. he wonders how many visits you’ve managed to sneak past him, in the years that he’s known you. he wonders if it’s supposed to feel this foreign, being here, staring down at something he knows must mean the world to you. the grave of your very best friend. someone who holds a piece of your heart, a side of you he never got to see. 

he’ll have to make a good first impression.

satoru clasps his hands together, too. and he speaks, silently, with no words; lips pursed in a tight line. 

(hi, there. it’s nice to meet you.)

it’s not like he has no experience of talking to the dead, himself. he’s more than acquainted with one-sided conversations, lonely visions of boys with black hair, men with sad smiles. framed by the setting sun.

so it doesn’t feel too odd. 

satoru talks. about this, about that. he tries to keep it professional. this is important to you, so by nature, it’s important to him. the conversation comes to a close, and he looks at the grave with an unreadable expression — hands still clasped in silent prayer.

(i promise to take care of them.)

a sniffle. 

satoru glances over at you, just as you turn away — trying to hide from him. but he knows. he’ll always, always know when you need him most. 

two strong arms curl around your waist, stabilizing you, anchoring you to earth. ”i’ve got you,” he whispers, and you fall into his embrace. allowing him to pick up the pieces, to put you back together. ”i’ve got you.”

”i —” your voice breaks apart, crumbles into stardust, a shuddering breath that escapes from the back of your throat. there’s nothing to see through your tears. ”i miss her so much.”

satoru cradles you close to his chest, tucking you under his chin. ”i know,” he soothes. your little sobs leave his heart with a bitter feeling, and he wishes he could make them disappear; but he knows you need this. 

when he holds you, something brushes against the fabric of your clothing. the soft thrumming of his heartbeat. something alive, deep within his chest, something for you to ground yourself with. and you know it was intentional, on his part — the decision to press your hearts together, a promise he doesn’t have to find the words for, because you know.

(stay alive for me. i’ll stay alive for you.

when you can’t breathe properly, i’ll be here to do it for you.)

your tears stain his brand-new coat, but he doesn’t care. all he cares about is you, the fact that you’re crying, how to properly comfort you. it’s new to him, all of it, everything about you is just so new and he’s so afraid of messing it all up again —

but he holds you close. murmuring, right by your ear, endless sweet nothings. he waits for you to get it all out of your system, and he doesn’t let you go.

when you finally collect yourself, thoroughly tired out, eyes red and puffy — satoru smiles. it’s brighter than the sun, positively life-envoking. it gives you something to hold on to. he parts his lips.

”thank you for bringing me here.”

a shake of your head. soft, as he thumbs away your tears, one by one. ”thank you for coming with me,” you smile, small as it is, holding onto his hands. feeling the warmth of his skin, the smoothness of his palm.

after saying your farewells, and promising to come back next year, the two of you begin your trek down the mountain trail. hand in hand. it’s mostly silent, but not at all in a bad way. satoru knows when to be serious, and when not to be. today, he knows you’re especially fragile — he wouldn’t dare overstep.

(especially when he knows your pain so well.)

”hey,” you break the silence. ”thank you, really. for… well, everything.”

satoru brushes you off, with a light squeeze of your hand. ”don’t mention it. i’m your boyfriend, aren’t i?”

”it’s not about that,” you chuckle, an embarrassed smile on your lips. ”just… thank you for existing, i guess. i love you a lot.” 

…

satoru hums.

if he were any other person, maybe he’d respond with something just as sincere — something to let you know exactly how much you mean to him, how you make his world brighter just by being in it. how you mend scars he didn’t even know he had, as effortlessly as brushing a strand of hair away from your face. how you remind him of a certain boy, but also something entirely different; a love so light it makes him feel human.

but he’s satoru gojo — and so he has to do things in a more roundabout way.

”hey,” he starts, with a soft click of his tongue. ”next christmas. are you free?”

you blink up at him, with a tilt of your head. ”… of course. we always do something on christmas, right?”

”no, i don’t mean that.”

another tilt of your head. satoru hums, low and contemplative, humming quietly.

”eh,” he flicks his hand, waving you off. ”you’ll see.”

”… okay?”

silently, you study his expression, hoping to find some sort of hint that’ll give away the meaning of his words. you can’t find anything except a carefree smile, his eyes still obscured by his shades — hidden from you and the rest of the ghosts.

you suppose it doesn’t really matter. satoru seems happy; and, really, that’s all you could ask for. 

so you only tug him closer, greedy for his warmth, basking in the feeling of it enveloping you. protecting you from the chilly air. 

satoru closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

(a boy with black hair smiles behind his eyelids.)

[stvrchaser]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

( pairing ) : clarisse la rue x fem!reader

( words ) : 2000

( note ) : noticed that clarisse has her nails painted in the show and… well this came out of that. reader is heavily aphrodite coded but i don’t think it’s explicitly mentioned anywhere what cabin she’s actually from? only that she’s not from apollo’s and she’s on clarisse’s side for capture the flag

also don’t we just love that every fic i’ve ever published is literally 80% pining? honestly can’t tell you the last time one of my fics didn’t have a scene that goes on for like three paragraphs about how much admiration reader has for their love interest

oh and happy new year!!

Summer days can last for a lifetime and a fulfilling one at that. There’s so much to be done when the world wakes, engulfed in light and warmth, nurturing possibility. There’s so much to look forward to. But today, that anticipation has chosen to work against you.

The sun is setting now, approaching dinnertime, and Clarisse is nowhere to be found. For all of her spontaneity and occasional recklessness, it’s unlike her to abandon routines. That is, routines she shares with you. And walking to dinner together happens to be one of your longest-running practices.

You tried to ask around, careful not to sound too concerned so as not to spark rumors. See, Clarisse La Rue has never been publicly caught in a state that warrants concern. Clarisse La Rue is untouched by the fears that plague the rest of them. But you know better.

It isn’t until you come across a few Ares kids, very obviously overworked and looking nearly faint with exhaustion, that you come to your senses. It isn’t infrequent that Cabin 5 becomes victim to one of Clarisse’s drills, training until fatigue overpowers their fear of her authority. As predicted, you find her in a clear patch of the forest overlooking the strawberry fields. Some days she likes to train here, away from watchful eyes.

The setting sun casts her in golden light, bronze armor glistening alongside golden skin. Clarisse liked to train in full gear — a fruitful habit to get herself accustomed to the added weight of leather and metal. It allows her to move with ease, swinging her spear with grace despite the strength of her whole body being evident in every step. With her head held high, spear raised, and the incredible speed at which she moves, she doesn’t look even the slightest bit mortal, but rather a god amongst men. A warrior and hunter. She is the perfect picture of divinity if you’ve ever seen it.

You let your feet drag against the dirt, a fallen branch snapping beneath your weight. It informs Clarisse of your presence from a safe distance, although the remnants of her focused state aren’t any less intimidating. Her eyes burn bright like the electricity that charges the tip of her spear.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clarisse realizes her error with a glance at the horizon where the sun is setting and you smile warmly, dismissing any indication of displeasure. You watch her demeanor change, the rigidity in her posture fading with an apologetic tip of her head. 

“I’ve been training. Those idiots would know that if they’d stuck around to join me.” Something tells you that that isn’t entirely true. Anyone could assume that she’d been training, but the matter of where was an entirely different question. As far as you know, this particular spot is something only the two of you are familiar with — a small refuge away from everyone else.  

“Well, we don’t all have your… passion for these things.”

“You think I’m ridiculous,” she says with a sigh. 

“Babe, you’re training for capture the flag. Not war.” Clarisse only shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in arguing. She thinks this is something the two of you might never see eye-to-eye on. While you like your fair bit of competition, Clarisse takes every victory with great significance. As she does with every loss.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you say, approaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ears. Your touch lingers at her cheeks, flushed from physical exertion and maybe something more by the way her gaze settles on your lips. Every intake of breath is louder now that you stand toe to toe and the adrenaline has started to wear off. She’s too worked up to have done this all for a game of capture the flag. “I hope you’re not doing all this to get back at Percy.” Her eyes still linger on your mouth and you think she might’ve not heard you until her brows furrow in confusion.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis?”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a disapproving shake of your head. “He’s just a kid.” You reach for the leather chord at the edge of her breastplate, undoing the knot with ease.

“He’s full of it.” She refuses to look at you now, her head turned upward as if she’d developed a sudden interest in trees. You can’t tell if she’s trying to maintain her composure to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret or if your gaze and proximity was distracting her from the discussion. Maybe a bit of both.

“He’s a baby. You could body-slam him into next Friday. It’s hardly a fair fight.” You untie the last knot keeping her breastplate in place, tugging upward to slip it over her head. Clarisse doesn’t even seem to realize that you’d freed her of her armor until the weight vanished from her body.

She looks at you then with an expression you can’t quite read. Something warm, like gratitude, but reluctant. When she speaks, it’s unexpectedly solemn.

“Do you really believe he killed The Minotaur? Him? Gods, everyone here trains themselves to death for that kind of stuff and he gets all the glory? He doesn’t even know how to shoot.” Now that you’ve been made aware of the gravity of the situation, it’s suddenly harder to find your words. This isn’t the petty rivalry you’d assumed it was, and you had to handle it as such.

“Well, I’m sure a few things have been exaggerated here and there, but that’s not his fault. People love to talk about him, but nobody’s really talking to him. I don’t think he’s had a say in anything that’s been said about him. You know how rumors spread around here.”

“But he’s—”

“Look,” you start, taking her hands into yours. “I’m not asking you to make him friendship bracelets. Just… try not to drown him in the lake, okay?”

You know the exact moment an idea hits her by the mischievous glimmer in her eye. It takes a lot of strength not to bury your face in your hands, afraid that you’ve now planted an idea that would get the poor boy killed. Or worse.

“Clarisse, please.” She surrenders, albeit reluctantly. 

“Fine,” she says. Still, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Good. Now say it.”

“What?”

“Say you won’t drown him in the lake.” Clarisse laughs, but it dies down when she realizes you don’t plan to join her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“I swear not to drown Percy Jackson in the lake,” she agrees through gritted teeth. You don’t say anything about the way her hands tighten around yours as if it physically pained her to say the words.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tell her, ignoring that it did, in fact, seem hard. “Now, what are we gonna do with those nails?” Clarisse stares blankly at your joined hands. Chipped black nail polish alongside your perfectly pristine, perfectly preserved set of nails.

“Why do we need to do anything about my nails?”

“Honey, I painted these like two days ago. What do you even do to get them chipped like this? I mean, are you fighting with the back of your hand? I don’t understand.”

“I have to train, you know?” she says, like it’s meant to explain anything. You know better than to ask her to elaborate.

“Shame. You have very pretty nail beds. You should spend less time fighting puppy dog-eyed middle schoolers so you can actually keep them pretty.”

“You think I have pretty nail beds?” You shrug.

“Among other things.”

“Well, tell me about these other things.”

“Hm, and people think I’m vain.”

“Come on. What other things?”

You take a moment to look at her — to really look at her. To dissect every inch of her face and the features that create the picture of beauty you know and love. There are far too many pretty things to point out, but you find yourself drawn to one in particular.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished.”

“Of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

“And you have the most gorgeous smile.” Clarisse beams with pride. “Yeah, that one. And it doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re just about ready to tear someone’s throat out with your teeth. I just like to see you happy. I like hearing you laugh even better.”

And laugh she does. Low but sweet, like honey. She looks like the teenage girl she is, deeply infatuated and with a capacity for love she has only ever shared with you. 

You indulge in the temporary amusement it brings you to think of how horrified Clarisse might be if anyone else were around to hear her giggle. Clarisse La Rue, Daughter of Ares, infamous for waging war on whichever unfortunate soul so much as breathes in her direction — producing a laugh so gentle and beautiful it could give Orpheus and his songs a run for his money. And you might be the happiest girl alive to have been the cause of it.

“You’re sure you’re not Apollo’s kid?”

“Are you calling me a talented poet?”

“I’m calling you a sap,” Clarisse insists with a sour expression, but her voice is saturated with mirth, eyes too bright, and you know she isn’t entirely opposed to your antics. 

“I think the term you’re looking for is romantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I’m right, but thank you for the confirmation.”

“I know the nail polish fumes are getting to your head,” she mocks. You feign defeat, retreating with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe.” Two steps to your left and you’re concealed by a tree, its trunk twice as wide as either of you. You peak your head, locking eyes with Clarisse. “Or all that training is slowing you down. Honestly! If you’re gonna try to insult me, at least try to come up with something original.”

“Oh, you think I’m slow?” Clarisse asks, every word a thinly veiled threat — a challenge, and one you’re willing to accept.

“Unless you want to prove me wrong.” Clarisse lunges at you without warning, almost too fast, but you’re able to gather your senses. The tree had bought you just enough time to keep her whole body from slamming into yours, the force of it undoubtedly capable of launching you both to the ground. 

You dash through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you, your only advantage being that Clarisse must have tired herself out from training. But you know she’s hot on your trail.

From here, you can see the bonfire, flames burning high. You turn, prepared to declare that your victory is just seconds away. You’re tackled to the floor before a word can leave your mouth. 

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

“Distracted by what?” Clarisse laughs hysterically although taking a much more graceful tumble to the floor than you had. She’s covered in fallen leaves and her jeans are brown at the knees where the denim fades.

“The pretty girl chasing me.” Clarisse is beside herself with joy, clutching at her stomach and close to tears, and it takes her a minute to calm herself. When the two of you have settled, she speaks again. Or tries to, that is.

“Oh, you are so—“ You place a kiss on her lips, short and sweet, but enough to leave her speechless. Clarisse turns a violent shade of red and you think she might need another minute to calm herself. You take that time to revel in your victory.

You stand, offering your hand to help her up. 

“Come on, let’s get dinner and you can rest for the game tomorrow. If you’re gonna lead us to victory, you’re gonna need your strength, captain.” She smiles, intertwining her hand with yours.

“You’re gonna be there? Right beside me?”

“La Rue, you’re crazy if you think there’s even a chance I’d ever leave your side.”

•°. *࿐

reader: pls don’t drown percy in the lake

clarisse: ok fine

clarisse: *tries to drown percy*

reader: what did i say about drowning people??

clarisse: …

clarisse: you never said the toilets were off-limits 

also i'm like brand new to the pjo fandom but i’ve been kindly informed of clarisse x silena (and their tragic ending but i turn a blind eye to that so i can preserve my sanity) but when i get there you WILL need to physically restrain me from writing fics about them