With my mini-series finishing up soon, I've decided to leave this blog as well as my AO3 account once it’s finished. This is not a decision I've made lightly, but circumstances have left this a place where I no longer feel safe.
As of now, I won't be deactivating this blog and will be leaving my fics up for anyone who'd still like to read them. I can't say this decision won't change later, but right now I feel that I've put too much work into this blog to simple delete it.
Below the cut is an explanation of why I'm making this decision, and what has been happening on this blog since the end of last year. It's not required to read or anything to understand the gist of this post; it's simply for my own peace of mind knowing that I spoke up about it. There will be topics that are possibly triggering such as harassment, threats, and racism so please mind the warnings and tags.
The mini-series is queued to finish next week, but there will be no more fic polls or wip wednesdays. I'll still be on here to make sure the queue does its job, and maybe post some stuff from my old drafts as a last bit of fun.
I'll have dms tentatively open for the next two-ish weeks for those who'd like to follow my new account, however I will not be answering anything from empty blogs. After that, asks and dms will be turned off, and I won't be coming back to this blog very often, if at all.
I cannot say thank you enough to the wonderful readers I've had and the amazing people I've met. I don't think I would've ever continued writing without your support and friendship. There's nothing I can do to show my appreciation for all of you.
Maybe we'll see each other again. If not, I hope your inspiration is always flowing, and 2024 treats you kindly.
Back in November, I started getting rude, mean-spirited anons. It wasn't anything I was too bothered with because it didn't happen often and, honestly, my inbox gets flooded for a week or so anytime I post about certain topics. I blocked, deleted, reported and moved on thinking whoever it was would get bored and leave.
However, what started as a few rude anons calling me a bitch or stupid turned into a lot of anons being vile and racist which only worsened over the next few months.
I spoke about it in this post (link) near the end of November. In that post, I mentioned that those were the nicer asks and that was not an exaggeration. I have gotten my fair share of shitty anons as seen here (link) when I had to take a break from my blog because of said anons, but I have never gotten the amount of vitriol that I saw in these asks.
When I turned anon off, I started getting even worse messages from empty blogs that would either be blocked or deactivate within a week. When I turned my askbox off, I started getting hateful DMs. When I turned DMs off, it jumped from Tumblr to my other social medias which I had to private, completely avoid, or outright delete.
I got messages attacking my writing, calling me slurs, threatening to find me and rape or kill me, sending me explicit porn and rape videos while insulting my sexuality, and going into gross detail about how much people I interacted with hated me or how I would never be as good as them. I tried to power through it, pretending everything was fine while I pulled away from this blog, from writing, from friends that I loved and talked to every day. Everything about this blog, the fandoms I enjoyed, the people I talked to, made me so anxious because of these constant messages.
I took several breaks while dealing with this in therapy, repeatedly trying to come back and get comfortable on this blog, but within a few days of coming back the messages would start up again, either here or on any of my social medias I tried to unprivate, and I couldn't deal with it.
Only in the last week or two has it started to slow down and stop on a few of my other socials, which is the only reason I even feel comfortable making this post. However, in regards to this blog and my feelings toward it, the damage is done.
I don't think I can ever truly convey how isolating this has been. So many of these messages were about how I've spoken about my struggles as a black woman in fandom, how much of a burden it puts on the people who interact with me, how inferior I am to them and that I am everything that's wrong with fandom.
I felt scared and anxious to talk to anyone about this, especially people mentioned in those messages, out of fear that this harassment would jump to them. There are friendships that I stepped away from that I will never get back because of that. There are friends that I've felt like I was betraying by never telling them about what was happening because I felt too ashamed about letting this get to me.
I constantly worried that making a post like this would feel like, "Oh, Mothie's whining and trauma-dumping into the void about fandom racism again", that those messages would be right and it would force people to feel like they had to support me. Or worse, that people would agree and it would only make things worse. I've wrestled with so much guilt trying to decide to make this post and figure out what to do to make me trust myself again.
Ultimately, I don't think I was wrong for talking about my issues in fandom, and I don't think anything I've said has warranted this kind of harassment. I don’t know the who’s or why’s behind of this, but I've come to terms with the fact that I'll never really know. Truthfully, I'm not sure it even matters at this point. In the end, I think moving on from this blog entirely would be the best thing for me right now.
But, man, does it fucking suck.
This was the blog where I felt comfortable enough to start writing again, to start posting my fics. It's the blog where I met so many friends, got the courage to join new communities, found new hobbies, new music, new things to enjoy in life. It feels silly to say about a blog, but this was a place where I felt like I was able to carve out a space for myself. I put so much work into making it my own, and now the only thing I feel about it is anxious.
Hate messages and threats and racism have always been a part of fandom, and the internet as a whole. I’ve known since I started participating in fandom spaces that it was going to and continue to happen. I've known that I had to have a tough skin, especially if I ever spoke up about problems I faced because no one was going to have my back if I didn't have my own. I thought I had learned how to deal with it, and how to make a safe space for myself. But this goes beyond that. I did not deserve this. No one deserves this.
In some ways, it feels like admitting defeat, like I'm weak or hypocritical for not being as strong as I pretended I was and leaving. In other ways, it feels freeing to start over, and I'm choosing to view look at this optimistically even if it bittersweet. I don't want to let this scare me away from writing or from speaking about things that are important to me. All I can do now is say I'm so incredibly sorry to those I've hurt by stepping away or keeping this secret, and make sure I'm able to at least leave this blog on as happy a note as I can have.
note: ao3 has all of my fics, including ones deleted from tumblr and not found below the cut, while squidgeworld and wattpad are only partially completed.
3k Celebration
Masterlist
Assassin's Creed
Shay Cormac
Closure (angst) - ExAssassin!Reader follows Shay as he goes after Hope and, in the aftermath, takes her anger and confusion out on him.
Baldur's Gate 3
Masterlist
Jujutsu Kaisen
Masterlist
Déjà Vécu
Modern Warfare
Masterlist
A Designer Dress From Heaven And Your Dirty Wedding Ring
gonna try to spend the next two days catching up on dms and then turn them off for good and leave. the miniseries and masterlist is queued for sunday night, but i’ll be honest, if it doesn’t post you can just find the fic on my ao3 and find all of my masterlists through a search since i’m not comfortable coming back to this blog.
if you find me anywhere else, i am going to ask again that you please respect my choices to not want to talk about certain things and “drama” esp if i’ve already asked people not to. you are not doing me any favors by insisting i speak up or do more than i already have, and i do not appreciate anyone “speaking up” for me or on my behalf to other people. if this has happened to you, i’m so sorry and encourage people to report and block.
aside from that, i deeply appreciate the well-wishes and everyone who’s been supportive of me through all of this. it was a nice run while it lasted 💜
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: fluff, angst, blood, anxiety, slight body horror, mild manga spoilers, anxiety inducing angst, heavily implied smut, lots of touching
(i.) (ii.) (iii.) || series masterlist
A morning with Satoru is your favorite way to start the day.
You distinctly remember falling asleep on your side of your almost too spacious bed, as you always do, but he shifts in the night, as he always does, seeking you out even in his dreams. It’s not unusual for him to cling, he’s always kept himself attached to your hip whenever you two have a moment together. You tease him about it until he pouts, turning away from you to hide the soft pink on his cheeks, but you don’t mind, truly. If he clings to you, it means he’s happy.
If he’s happy, it means he’s sa—
He’s not safe.
You have to keep him safe.
You were supposed to keep him safe.
Why didn’t you say s o m e t h i n g—
You startle awake, shooting upright with a gasp that pulls painfully at your lungs. Eyes darting around the room, you take in the familiar surroundings of your bedroom. Everything’s coated in the soft blue of the sun’s early light, a calming aura to contrast your erratic heartbeat.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale—
Your fingers slide across the sheets, muscles relaxing in expectation of Satoru’s warmth. When the touch of cold percale weave meets your skin, you freeze.
Where is—
Pain blooms across your temple. A dull ache that grows stronger and stronger with each throb. It creeps behind your eyes, your vision blurring with flashes of monsters and destruction and so much blood. The pain swells, the room swaying around you.
It’s as if you’re floating, the stones of dread sinking in your stomach the only thing keeping you grounded. It’s almost familiar, as if you’re stuck on the edge of a nightmare, mind telling you it isn’t real but unable to wake up.
“Guess who made breakfast!”
It melts away in an instant — the jittering, the confusion, the dread.
Satoru waltzes into your bedroom, half-dressed as he balances a serving dish in one hand. His long legs carry him across the room to your side of the bed where he lowers to one knee and presents you with the tray of food.
“Your Highness,” he says, head bowed in the most dramatic fashion.
You reach for the dish, but he moves it away, carefully setting it on your nightstand. His hands instantly move to your thighs, fingers softly caressing you over the thick blanket as he lays his head in your lap.
Breakfast. He was just making breakfast.
He’s here. He’s safe.
“No reward for your servant’s hard work?” he pouts, peering up at you through snow-white lashes.
Your laugh is more scoff than anything, lifting a hand to run it through his hair. He squeezes your legs, looking far too proud of himself as he gets comfortable in your lap. Nails softly raking his scalp, Satoru soaks up your affection, letting his eyes drift shut.
You take in your surroundings, allowing yourself to revel in the calm. You already know there’s no escaping his hold on you — not that you’d want to — so you wiggle just enough to stretch your legs and keep his head pillowed by your thighs. He whines something incoherent into your lap, arms snaking around your hips.
You work your hand through his hair, fingers catching on stray tangles and gently working through them. A smooth, tender gesture that you repeat until you’re both nearly asleep again.
Rare do you get time with him like this. You want him to enjoy himself as much as you do, to know he can take whatever he needs from you instead of giving everything of himself. You want him to be content, happy, safe in all the ways he so often can’t be. You want him to know you’ll always be here for him even if—
Even when—
When you won’t talk to him.
When you won’t say something.
This is your fault.
—all your fault.
He’s beautiful like this, you think. Content. Comfortable. Practically dead to the world.
A sharp sting as something catches on your nail.
Lifting your hand, you pull a thin line from his hair. Caught in a chip on your ring finger nail, the sunlight catches the string reflecting shimmering silver. It’s too silver to be a strand of his hair; you’re not sure it would even be possible for Satoru to go gray. It’s too thick to be a stray thread, and it wouldn’t match the color of any shirt hanging in your closet.
You pull the string, watching it unravel and unravel and unravel from his hair. It glides on your fingers, the synthetic reminding you of the stitches Shoko once gave you when a curse’s claws caught your arm.
How long...
The string catches suddenly, pulling taut. The other end is lost beneath Satoru’s pale locks. You pull again, brushing soft tresses aside in your search. Satoru grunts, corners of his mouth dipping into a quick frown before he returns to his slumber.
Another cautious tug. The string catches. Satoru winces in his sleep.
Is it caught on—
Red streaks down his forehead, smearing across his smooth, pale skin. The panic makes you jump, the string tightened around your nail yanking with your body. Your nail tears painfully, blood spilling from your finger. It glides down the string in thick droplets to meet the blood pooling at Satoru’s temple.
Frantic, you pull away from him, but the string pulls with you. It tears across his forehead, skin splitting open until it reveals the white of his skull.
Fear freezes you, scream caught in your throat.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real. This—
“I was surprised, you know.”
You look down, and Satoru stares back at you. Lying on his back—
when did he move?
he looks so tense.
he feels so cold.
—Satoru stares up at you, blue eyes wide and unblinking and unfamiliar.
He bleeds viscous, faded blood carrying the thick scent of formaldehyde.
He smiles, too quick and unsure like he’s not used to his own face.
He speaks, but it isn’t him.
“I thought you of all people would say something.”
The scream finally pries itself free from your throat, its echo shrill in your ears.
Satoru—
Not Satoru
That’s not Satoru
Why didn’t you say something
—stares at you with that vacant gaze. His mouth slowly opens, too many voices asking, “What’s wrong?”
His head tilts, blood pooling in your lap and soaking into his hair.
Your name drifts out of his mouth, soft and tender as it echoes past his lips. His eyes never leave your face, gazing vacantly at you as he says it again and again and again. The sound becomes foreign, echoing over everything else until it’s all you can hear.
His voice. Their voices.
Unable to look at him, you squeeze your eyes shut, hands pressing over your ears to drown out the noise.
It’s in your head, your heart, your soul.
A thousand echoes of his voice. The same question a thousand times.
What’s wrong?
What’s wrong?
What’s wrong?
What’s—
“You okay?”
Your eyes snap open, instantly flinching when you’re met with the overwhelming blue of Satoru’s concerned gaze. Long arms caging you in, he holds himself at eye level with you. There’s no hiding from him like this, no pushing it down without him noticing.
How do you ask him to stay? How do you tell him that you’re so horribly selfish? How do you ask him to damn the world for a chance at happiness with you?
How many times are you going to ask yourself this?
You know what happens. You won’t ask — you’ll never ask — because you know the answer. It’s the same every time.
Wait, every…time?
Isn’t this the first—
Satoru says your name, gentle and cautious, “Hey, what’s wrong?”
You can’t keep staying quiet.
Maybe it’ll change this time.
— this time?
“I just…”
Tell him. Tell him now.
“I had a bad dream.”
Satoru coos at you, moving onto the bed to wrap you in his arms. You let yourself fall into him, body and mind soothed by his familiar warmth. He hums, one hand running comforting circles over your back as the other pets your head.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Satoru asks, and you know you must’ve worried him. Rare is it that he’ll talk things through with you, the man of action that he is.
“I…”
…don’t want you to leave.
…wish we could stay in this room forever.
…want you to want to grow old with me.
“I can’t remember what it was about,” you whisper into his chest. Something painful sinks into your chest, your heart growing sore with every heavy beat.
He knows you’re lying—
You’ve missed your chance.
You know it in the way the hand that pets your head stutters against your hair—
You missed it again.
—and the way his breath hitches in his throat.
…again?
The headache returns, that dreadful ache making even the softest of light burn like a thousand suns. Your fingers curl in the soft fabric of Satoru’s shirt as you bury your head in his neck.
“Maybe we can go back to sleep?” you murmur, pressing your face into his skin as if the pressure of him will push your pain away. His hands still against you, the one rubbing your back carefully sliding to your hip, then up your side, your shoulder, your neck, coming to rest on your jaw.
He’s gentle as he lifts your face to meet his, smiling affectionately at you.
You try to ignore it, the flash of hurt in his eyes, the way that content smile briefly dips at the edges before Satoru forces it back up.
“How could I say no to you?” he purrs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
You already have, a voice whispers in the back of your mind. You always will.
You sigh in contentment as Satoru guides you to lay back in bed, curling around you as if to shield you from the world.
And, fool that you are, you'll—
—never forgive yourself.
—never forgive him.
—love him anyway.
You don’t feel well when the afternoon comes, but Satoru refuses to stay inside the entire day.
It takes a while to convince you — a challenge Satoru is always eager to face — but you get your fill of his teasing and tempting promises of how he’ll pay you back later, and eventually relent. He grabs you by the hand, excitedly leading you out of your home.
The sunlight does nothing for your headache, nearly crippling you the second you step outdoors, but Satoru is quick on his feet. He covers your eyes with his hands, guiding you step by step until you reach the car. Once you’re sat and safe, he wraps his blindfold around your eyes, tying it off with a kiss to your cheek.
It’s strange being surrounded by such complete darkness. The sun warms your skin, but all you can see is pitch black. Had you been with anyone other than Satoru, you’d surely be on edge at having one of your senses so thoroughly cut off. But Satoru, knowing you as well as you do him, sets a hand on your head and pulls you to lay against his shoulder. The darkness and his presence dull the ache enough for your mood to shift and leave you optimistic during the ride.
Some time away from the house would be good for the two of you. It’s been too long since you’ve gone on a date that didn’t involve ending up naked around the house.
“I hope the park isn’t too hot,” you sigh against Satoru’s arm.
“The park?” he laughs. “Who said anything about a park?”
You tilt your head in the direction of his voice, “What?”
“Did you want to go to the park?” Is that…hesitation in his voice? Nerves? Worry? Your headache isn’t so bad that he needs to worry, he knows that. “We can go there instead of—”
“No, it’s just…we always go to the park.”
“We do?” Satoru asks, shoulder shifting slightly under you.
“Don’t we?” You’ve been to a park with him before, you’re sure of it. You can remember the…trees? Or maybe the…wind?
“It’s right across from…”
When you think of it you can feel the warmth of the sun, the peace that moment brought to you, Satoru’s grin when you stole his food, but everything else is…fuzzy. Blurred around the edges. Real in the way your dreams are. Familiar colors and tastes and smells linger right on the edge of your mind, dancing just out of your reach whenever you try to focus.
“Across from?”
“Hm?” You sit up in your seat, rubbing your eyes through the blindfold.
“You said the park was across from something?” Blue flashes as Satoru glances at you, moving one hand from the wheel to rest on your thigh.
There’s a pounding in your skull, and when it fades, it takes the memories with it.
“Did I?”
You pull the cloth from your eyes, blinking as you adjust to the light. You don’t remember a park. Why is he talking about a park?
“You’re really out of it today, huh?” Satoru chuckles, taking a moment to fully look at you. You don’t know what those six eyes see, but he gives a small smile and a light squeeze to your thigh.
You pull the cloth from your eyes, blinking as you adjust to the light. You don’t remember a park. Why is he talking about a park?
“You’re really out of it today, huh?” Satoru chuckles, taking a moment to fully look at you. You don’t know what those six eyes see, but he gives a small smile and a light squeeze to your thigh.
You swat at his hand, a playful grin, “I guess all that time having to deal with you is finally catching up to me.”
“Ouch,” Satoru gasps, clutching dramatically at his heart. Laughter fills the car as you lean back against his shoulder. Satoru’s hand returns to your leg, the rest of the drive going in contented silence.
In your years together you’ve grown pretty good at predicting Saotru’s antics. You know when he talks about his favorite candy, it means a dinner date with some flamboyant and overly sweet dessert. When he stares at you with a mischievous, lovestruck smile for more than five minutes, it means you’re about to get a gift that’s equal parts heartfelt and expensive. When his leg bounces while he sits, it means he’s restless and you’re about to spend the day on an endless date or inside bent over several surfaces in your house.
Rarely, he’ll sit in silence, hands laced together with his unfocused gaze staring off into nothing. You know you’ll spend those days alone, occasionally checking to make sure he eats before you leave him to his memories.
Usually a long car ride like this would mean somewhere picturesque. A private getaway in the mountains or a quick flight to one of those beaches with pink sand.
You don’t expect to end up in front of the same aquarium you’d gone to for your third date.
It came to him randomly, when he was tired from another day of dealing with curses. It would be another day before he’d return to you, so he laid back in his lavish hotel bed and decompressed by scrolling through old photos of the two of you.
Most of the pictures were of you, taken when you weren’t paying attention. There were whole albums dedicated to pictures of you on the beach, cooking in your pajamas, sleeping in one of his shirts. His favorite, though, was the folder for all of your date photos. He scrolled through those photos for hours, smile growing wider the further back he went.
He passed a selfie from your fifth date, you kissing his cheek in a beautiful park, surrounded by falling cheery blossom petals and bathed in the golds and purples of sunset. Then one of your fourth date, sitting at the top of a ferris wheel, you smiling at the camera despite how tightly you clung to his arm.
He stopped on the picture of your third date. It was the only picture from one of your dates without him in it, but was his favorite by far. You stand in front of a glass wall, wearing the first of many dresses he would get for you, haloed by the aquarium’s fluorescent lights. You’re pointing at one of the colorful fish that have clustered around you, but your eyes aren’t on them. Instead, you’re looking over your shoulder, smiling at him with such genuine excitement it still takes his breath away years later.
It was one of your favorite dates, always talking about how you couldn’t wait to go back. Even though you never showed it, he could see your disappointment date after date when it never happened. It wasn’t your fault, he assured you.
The thought of aquariums have made him nauseous ever since…
You deserved better, he decided that night. You deserved to not be held back by his fears. You deserved to have everything you wanted. If seeing that smile again meant forcing himself through the first panic attack in years, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Now you’re here, looking just as dazzling as you had the first time as you walk with your fingers laced through his. You gasp, flitting from tank to tank to excitedly point out each fish to him while Satoru bites into his tongue and grins. The fish seem just as enamored with you as they did back then, and Satoru can’t blame them. Watching you move through the aquarium, he’s just as captivated by you.
“Oh, look!” you exclaim, pulling him across the freshwater hall to a large pond surrounded by greenery and filled with lotuses, lilies, hornwort, and more plants he can’t name. Your hand slips from his in your excitement, and Satoru is content to watch you circle the pond. Your eyes search the crystal water, waiting and waiting and waiting until—
A koi splashes between some watercress, scales shimmering in the aquarium lights.
Just like—
—the ones at…
at the….park?
Satoru hears you cry out first, already by your side when your legs buckle. You clutch at your head, eyes screwed shut to keep the light, the noise, the everything out.
“Easy, easy,” he soothes, guiding you toward one of the benches. He tries to swallow it, but you can hear the concern on the edges of his voice.
“I’m…I’m okay,” you mutter. You repeat it again and again, voice strained and quiet.
“I’m okay.”
If you keep telling yourself, you’ll start to believe it.
“I’m okay.”
If you believe it, then so will Satoru.
“I’m okay.”
You don’t want him to be scared. Not now, not with you, not on his last day—
Squealing laughter grates along your skull, eyes peeking open to watch two children sprint past you. The fluorescent lights bear down on you, blinding you as the children pass. Pins and needles prick across your brain, but you see them clear as day: a boy and a girl that look so much like you.
The pins become sharp, sinking deep into your brain. Your cry stops the children in their tracks, craning their necks too slow, too steady, too far as they turn to you. Heads tilting in unison, they stare at you with familiar eyes of striking blue.
They speak as one, sweet voices empty of all emotion, “What’s wrong?”
Your stomach lurches, forcing your eyes shut to keep yourself from vomiting.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale—
When you open your eyes again, the children are gone, replaced by their fath—
Your chest is hollow, the sudden emptiness of your heart choking the words in your throat.
You blink again, and the children are gone, replaced by Satoru on his knees before you. He runs his hands soothingly up your arms, and stares at you through that thick blindfold, far too worried than he deserves to be.
“Everything alri—”
“Can…” You breathe deep through your nose, and Satoru hangs on to your every weak word. “Can we go home?”
He blinks, as if surprised by your question. He catches himself in his hesitance, shaking it off as he reaches for your hands. “Yeah, of course.”
He helps you to your feet, keeping a steadying grip on your shoulders. He smiles at you, but it feels…wrong.
You shouldn’t have cut him off like that. He’s only trying to help you, and you know how Satoru gets when he’s scared.
But…you don’t feel like fighting with yourself about all the things you want to say to him. You don’t feel like lying to him.
Not again.
—again?
The pain grows, so overbearing that your legs collapse beneath you.
Satoru is quick to loop his arm around your waist, holding you upright. Spots of black pop across your vision, spilling darkness over everything you see.
You don’t know how you get through the aquarium or how you get back to the car. Your vision and brain are spotty, only catching flashes of white hair and blue eyes shining in the sunlight.
When you finally come back to yourself, the car is parked back at your home and you’re sitting sideways in the passenger seat with the door wide open. Satoru sits on his heels in front of you, blindfold pushed up and forgotten.
You reach for him, pulled by the gravity of his warmth and comfort. “‘Toru…”
When did your voice get so weak?
“You’re okay. You’re alright,” Satoru’s voice coos into your ears. You let your eyes fall shut, leaning into his chest.
When did he get so close?
“Sorry…” you breathe into his shirt. You nuzzle your face into the soft fabric, searching for the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat.
Why does this feel…
Why do you feel so…so…
Have you done this before?
The scent of iron, strong and rusted, floods your nose until it chokes you. The muscles in your throat constrict, eyes welling with tears until they spill over.
“I love you,” Satoru breathes into your hair, clinging to you as if you may disappear. “You know that, right?”
“Of course,” you say, just as you have so many times before.
“I love you too,” you recite, just as you will again and again—
And again—
And again—
And
a g a i n—
When your world grows dark, it’s with the echo of Shoko’s voice telling you to—
Wake up.
You’re pulled from a dreamless sleep so violently your body forces itself off the couch and crashes into the coffee table.
The sharp edge digs between your ribs, scraping down your side as you fall to the floor. The air is knocked from your lungs, leaving you gasping, each inhale more painful than the last.
What happened?
Where is—
A rush of dull footsteps, hands struggling to grasp you. The coffee table is shoved away, allowing you room to shift onto your hands and knees. The room turns with you, stomach roiling as your body over-corrects and falls into the plush couch.
What’s wrong w i t h y o u ?!
Who…?
You’re ruining it! You’re ruining e v e r y t h i n g!
Why does it sound like…
Fix it! Fix it n o w !
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” You claw at your ears, curling into yourself as you yell. The voice doesn’t stop screeching, shouting, shrieking for you to—
Get up
Look at him
FIX IT
You scream.
Scream and scream and scream until...
Dinner is a simple affair—
Until you can’t hear anything else.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”
Until your vocal chords feel as though they may snap.
Especially given that he’d said it on your first date—
Until all you can see is…
Satoru stares at your tear-stained face, worried and afraid. His hands hover over your shoulders, unsure of whether or not he should touch you. You’ve never seen him like this. Hesitant. Scared.
He’s always been so sure, so confident, so strong.
You’ve ruined this. You’ve ruined him.
“I…”
You want to apologize. You want to crawl into his lap and beg for his forgiveness.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
You want to sta r t o v e r .
Dinner is anything but simple.
Satoru insists on taking you to a fancy restaurant you can’t pronounce the name of.
“What better way to fix a headache than being spoiled by your favorite person?” he’d claimed, pulling you from your blanket cocoon on the sofa and leading you to your bedroom.
He dresses you up in one of his favorite dresses; it’s vibrant and expensive, much like him, matching the cerulean of his eyes. It takes twice as long to get ready, Satoru more hindrance than help at getting you dressed. He makes you model it — even though he’s seen it a thousand times before — hands wandering until they’ve found their way under your dress.
He does it again when he has you re-model the dress, claiming he didn’t get a good enough look the first time. And again before you’re out the door. Then again in the back of the car.
It’s a miracle you’re only five minutes late to dinner.
Everything with Satoru is fun, easy, and dinner is no exception. Your headache long forgotten, you give in and enjoy yourself. Satoru jokes and teases, and you respond in kind, enjoying the laughter that spills out of both of you.
The food is good, the alcohol better, and Satoru’s smiling face the best. It reminds you of the early days of your relationship, during your first few dates.
You finish the night tipsy and giggly, being led by the waist back to the car.
You tumble into the backseat, neckline pushed down and Satoru’s teeth sinking into your collarbone before the door is closed. You barely tear yourself away from him to slide the partition shut as the car starts.
“Today was nice,” he grins, lifting the bottom of his blindfold to peek at you as his tongue dips down to your cleavage. You hum in agreement, leaning back and pushing your chest out to give him more access.
You thread a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots to earn the most delicious moan from him. His hands slide up the soft skin of your legs, pushing your dress up to your hips. Your eyes fall shut as his fingers weave into the thin band of your panties, sliding the delicate lace down, down, down.
It wasn’t the nicest day you’ve had, but it’s been ages since you’ve had a day all to yourselves. You suppose it’s better that way; the rarity makes you savor days like these all the more, the idea of another day spent with only each other keeping you going—
Your eyes shoot open, gasping as you sit up to total darkness.
You’re…in bed?
Yes. That’s right. You had dinner. You came home. Satoru led you, still half-dressed, to bed. You fell asleep, naked and sated and listening to the steady beats of Satoru’s heart.
But why does it feel…unreal? You know it happened, the soreness in your body is proof enough, but it’s fragmented. Like a dream you’re can’t quite remember.
Maybe you should—
Your head aches.
What?
It’s best if you—
Your eyes grow heavy.
Who’s there?
You need to—
When was the last time you had a good night’s rest?
They sound so familiar.
It’ll all be better when you—
Shadows swim at the end of your bed, shifting into a monstrous form of two faces and four arms. It smiles, lips parting with the echo of ripping flesh and teeth bloody.
Now that I’m feeling somewhat okay, I can say this better.
A small update:
Due to the recent death of someone close to me, the miniseries end is postponed until the end of June/beginning of July. Along with the last chapter, I’ll pin a complete masterlist of all my fics before turning off dms and moving on.
Asks and inbox are off for good.
I am aware of what’s happening in my old fandom. I think I’ve made my feelings on racism and harassment clear. I wish nothing but the absolute best for Madi. Please stop asking and messaging me about it.
I hope everyone can spend time with their loved ones, and enjoy the rest of their week.
it's wednesday, so i've brought yet another god!au wip (it's all i've been writing whoops)
The jewels are stunning, so many different shades and fancy cuts that look far more expensive than what you planned for. Maybe you can afford one of them, two or three at most.
You don’t need the best of the best, you know that. An offering is an offering; it’s the faith behind it that matters most. You give what you can, but you never escape that lingering fear that it’s not enough. Your gods once had whole empires worshipping at their feet. How could one priestess raised on half-truths and barely legible scriptures compare to centuries of adoration from kings and emperors?
You can’t. You never will.
And you simply have to live with that.
a small list of some of my current wips is listed below the cut and i’ll be answering asks about any of them all day so feel free to ask for snippets, moodboards, playlists, anything that strikes your fancy.
hope everyone has a happy wednesday 💜
current wips:
haunted, like every other holy thing - jjk god!au
déjà vécu - gojo miniseries
blood in the water - nanami mermaid!au
forsythia in a golden gown - takuma ino (fluff)
while others are sleeping, the hellebores are blooming - choso kamo (fluff/mild angst)
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: fluff, anxiety inducing angst, implied smut, nudity, lots of touching, gojo being disgustingly in love
(i.) | (ii.) || series masterlist
A morning with Satoru is your favorite way to start the day.
You distinctly remember falling asleep on your side of your almost too spacious bed, as you always do, but he shifts in the night, as he always does, seeking you out even in his dreams. It’s not unusual for him to cling, he’s always kept himself attached to your hip whenever you two have a moment together. You tease him about it until he pouts, turning away from you to hide the soft pink on his cheeks, but you don’t mind, truly. If he clings to you, it means he’s happy.
If he’s happy, it means he’s safe.
Safe…
is he—
—safe?
You startle awake nearly suffocating, Satoru’s long limbs holding you in a vice against his chest. You already know there’s no escaping his hold on you — not that you’d want to — so you wiggle just enough to turn your head. He whines something incoherent into your hair, pulling you ever closer until you can feel his heartbeat thrum against your cheek. It’s enough to ease you back into a light sleep until you’re awoken again by the sun shining on your face, and two beautiful blue eyes gazing at you.
“Morning,” Satoru grins, a light kiss pressed to your forehead. Another kiss follows on your nose, your cheek, your lips over and over and over. You let yourself fall into easy laughter, pushing at his chest until he pulls away from you. Satoru yawns, stretching his limbs and relaxing back into the bed much like a lazy cat. You wait until his eyes slide shut, lingering on the edge of sleep before you make your move.
You walk your fingers over his chest, body following until you’re sitting in his lap. Satoru doesn’t open his eyes, not bothering to hide his smile as his hands settle over your hips. Hands on each side of his face, thumbs softly caressing his cheeks as you follow their path with light kisses.
“Morning,” you whisper, one, two, three quick kisses against his lips.
You sit up, and Satoru chases your lips, arm winding around your waist as he sits up. You lean away at the last second, but your love is nothing if not determined. His kisses fall along your neck, carving a slow, delicious path down to your chest as one hand creeps along to lower the collar of your shirt.
“We have to get up,” you laugh, lightly tugging on those soft, white locks. The sentence earns you a bite on the shoulder, followed by the swift soothing of a tongue. Satoru rests his cheek over your bitten skin, pouting up at you with sleepy contentment.
“Ten more minutes?” he hums, fingers dipping under the waist of your pajamas.
It’s not a bad idea. How often do you get the chance to spend the morning in bed? How often do you get the chance to spend the morning in bed with Satoru?
“Alright,” you sigh teasingly. “Ten more minutes.”
He’s dragged you back under the covers in seconds, tucking you against him. You laugh at his eagerness, a sound that he’s come to treasure in your time together. Each laugh he meets with a kiss, a loving thanks for gifting him with this beautiful sound. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, smothering you in affection until both your eyes are drooping.
You’re the first to wake, pulled from your dreams by the glare of the afternoon sun. You want to get up — you should get up — but Satoru murmurs in his sleep, a gentle breath that sounds awfully close to your name, and burrows himself against your back.
He deserves to indulge himself in you, soak in all of the affection you so willingly pour at his feet. You’ll never deny him that, never deny him you.
Another ten minutes, then.
You carefully turn to lie facing him, determined to spend what precious minutes you have left admiring every inch of him. You delicately trace your fingers across the planes of his face, giggling when his eyelashes flutter against your fingertips. He twitches as you trail over his cheekbone, unconsciously chasing after your touch as it leads over his lips, his jaw, his neck.
You take your time, lingering over his heart until his pulse syncs with yours. You replace your hand with your head, listening to the strong rhythm as your fingers slide beneath his shirt.
Satoru groans, pink-tinted lips pulling into a tiny frown as your nails catch on scar tissue. You still, holding your breath until his muscles relax and he snuggles himself into his pillow. Gentler this time, you run the pads of your fingers along the scar. It trails around his waist, almost never-ending in its uneven and jagged edges.
When did this—
—has he always...
How did you miss this?
Your body jolts, a sharp, painful inhale as you find yourself lying alone in bed, stretched out on your stomach with your arms curled around Satoru’s pillow. Something thuds behind you, followed by a low hiss. You sit up, limbs heavy and muscles aching with the signs of too much sleep.
“Sorry,” Satoru says around the finger in his mouth. He must’ve pinched it opening the closet door too fast again. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He’s standing by the closet, holding one of your fluffy towels around his waist. His hair’s damp, evidence of a recent shower. Where you’d normally find yourself admiring the skin on display, you feel something stir deep in your chest, sharp and foreboding. Your eyes catch a drop of water as it falls from his hair, following its trail from his shoulders, down his chest, and over—
He holds the towel low on his hips so you can see every inch of his perfect, scar-free, skin.
Must’ve been a bad dream. Best not to dwell.
“It’s fine,” you yawn, putting on your best smile, and moving away from the ray of morning — morning? — sun that threatens to shine directly into your eyes. “’s not a bad view to wake up to.”
Satoru laughs, loud and carefree despite the pink spreading over his cheeks.
Rare do you get time with him like this. You want him to enjoy himself as much as you do, to know he can take whatever he needs from you instead of giving everything of himself. You want him to be content, happy, safe in all the ways he so often can’t be. You want him to know you’ll always be here for him even if—
Even if—
—if?
Not if—
Even when—
Impossibly perceptive, he notices you tense before you have a chance to push it down. He wanders to the bed, the hand not holding his towel gently lifting your chin until you meet his stunning, concerned eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
How do you ask him to stay? How do you tell him that you’re so horribly selfish? How do you ask him to damn the world for a chance at happiness with you?
You know his answer, you’ve known his answer.
How do you tell him no matter how much, how hard, how completely you love him, it breaks your heart that it’ll never be enough to change his mind?
You—
—open your mouth, and say it.
—talk to him.
—say something!
You don’t.
You smile instead, reaching to glide your hands up his torso. He hums at the touch, fingers slowly loosening on the towel as he leans closer and closer.
“I’m just wondering how you plan on apologizing for showering without me,” you laugh, playfully digging your nails into his chest.
He knows you’re lying, you know it in the way his grip briefly tightens on your chin, sliding the towel up just an inch.
Lips grinning into something sly, you tilt your head down to press a soft kiss on his hand. You peer at him through your lashes, eyes wide and deceptively innocent.
“Unless you don’t want to make it up to me?”
You try to ignore it, the flash of hurt in his eyes, the way that content smile briefly dips at the edges before Satoru forces it back up.
“How could I say no to you?” he purrs, closing the distance to slot his lips over yours.
You already have, a voice whispers in the back of your mind. You always will.
You shriek with laughter as Satoru tosses the towel to the ground, pushing you down into the plush covers as he peppers kisses down your throat.
And, fool that you are, you'll love him anyway.
You refuse to stay inside for the entire day, putting on your best puppy dog eyes to convince Satoru to go out after lunch.
He doesn’t need much convincing, not with you, but he does enjoy the way you plead when you want something. When he’s had his fill of teasing and tempting promises of how you’ll pay him back, he grabs you by the hand and leads you out of your home.
He brings you to—
“Have we been here before?” you ask, looking out over the small but colorful park. It’s picture-perfect with the lush pink and green of the trees, the grass softly swaying with the breeze, and a breathtaking view of the horizon.
“Don’t think so,” Satoru hums, giving a lazy shrug of his shoulders.
He’d almost missed it, too tired from another day of dealing with curses, when he all but collapsed on one of the park benches for a momentary rest. He watched the sun go down in vibrant hues of oranges and golds and purples when he caught sight of a young couple taking a sweet selfie as the pink flowers fell from the trees above them.
He was surrounded by nothing but you: the doting couple, the sunset that stopped him in his tracks, the soft caress of the flowers flowing in the breeze. He tucked the place away in his mind, eager to return home, a mental reminder to bring you here one day.
Now you’re here, looking far more dazzling than any sunset as you walk with your fingers laced through his. He’s sure he would know if he’d been blessed with this sight before. He lets you lead, content to watch you against the scenery. He hopes the taiyaki stall on the other side of the park is open; he’ll buy you his favorite flavor, accidentally dropping his own so he has an excuse to taste it on your tongue.
“Are you sure?” you ask again, pulling him toward a small pond. You watch the fish swirl in the crystal clear water, surprised that Satoru would have managed to keep this place secret from you for so long. He had a tendency to steal you away the moment he found something for the two of you to enjoy together — like the aquarium you visited for your third date.
One of the koi speeds forward, scales shimmering in the sunlight.
Just like the ones at the aquarium.
Satoru tilts his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a sly grin.
“Guess I gotta start mixing things up,” he teases, letting go of your hand to slide his arm around your waist and pull you into his side. He nudges his nose against your cheek until you’re giggling and pushing at his chest. “I’ll have to plan something that’ll really take your breath away.”
You roll your eyes, pushing his face away from yours. He lets it happen only for a second before swiftly turning to playfully bite at your fingers. You snatch your hand away with a pout that he’s quick to kiss away.
It doesn’t stop with one — it never does with him — and he makes it a mission to cover both of cheeks in kisses before he moves to your lips for one, two, three small pecks.
Greedy for his touch — as you always are — you keep pouting until he settles both hands on your hips, turning you until you’re face to face and kissing you properly.
You lean your head against him when he pulls away, turning slightly to watch the fish circle each other in the pond. It’s too early for sunset, but the pond glows in the bright afternoon sun. Across the water other couples take sweet pictures among the trees and flowers, groups of friends are spread out on colorful picnic blankets, children chase after each other lost in their make-believe games.
Two of them sprint past you shrieking with laughter so infectious it has you grinning against Satoru’s cheek. He hums back a small chuckle, turning slightly to leave a kiss on the crown of your head. You squeeze his arm in turn, thumb gently running across the fabric of his shirt.
The sun shines down on you, bright and blinding. You blink away its light as the two children run by. For a moment, you see them clear as day: a boy and a girl with your smile and Satoru’s mischief in their eyes, chasing each other with wide smiles that look all too familiar.
You blink again, and, just like that, they’re gone, taking something from deep inside you with them. You swallow down the knot in your throat, pushing yourself to sit up straight.
“Everything alright?” Satoru asks, head turning slightly. You may not be able to see his eyes behind that thick blindfold, but you know he’s watching you in that always attentive way he does.
Your mouth opens, the words of course catching in your throat with an almost silent choke.
I’m only daydreaming—
—about you never coming back to me.
I’m wishing—
—you choose me just this once.
I long for—
—realizing the world demands too much of you.
Even with eyes that can recognize the very tether of the universe, you still can’t see that I need you more than anyone else.
“Maybe I’m just excited how you're going to mix things up,” you laugh, a reassuring squeeze to his arm as you rest your head against his shoulder.
“Who wouldn’t be?” he scoffs, arms tightening around your waist as he rests his chin atop your head.
“I love you,” he says quietly, only for the two of you to hear. “You know that, right?”
“Of course,” you answer instantly, immediately pulling away from him to turn so you can face him. You cup his jaw with your free hand, fingertips lifting the bottom of his blindfold until you can look into the hypnotic blue of his eyes. “I love you, too.”
Satoru pulls away with a smile, pulling his blindfold back down over his eyes, and subtly over the reddening slopes of his cheekbones.“Good,” he hums, leaning in until his lips graze the shell of your ear. “Now tell me exactly how you want me to take your breath away.”
Dinner is anything but simple.
Satoru insists on cooking, which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t also insist on having you as his sous chef. You agree, thinking you’ll be able to keep him from sneaking bites before you get a chance to eat. When Satoru leads you to the kitchen and instructs you to sit on the counter, you realize he doesn’t know — or more likely doesn’t care — what a sous chef is.
“Of course I do,” he scoffs, waving a spatula at you in disappointment. “It’s someone who sits there and looks sous cute to the chef.”
He’s lucky you love him.
Satoru grabs you a glass of water, poured over ice in one of your fancy wine glasses, handing it to you with a kiss on the cheek and his phone. You make yourself comfortable, picking through his music to make the perfect “cooking dinner with the love of your life” playlist.
You watch him move around the kitchen, humming along to whatever song you pick, and pausing between each step to slide between your legs and press a kiss to your lips. He lets you be his taste-tester, holding a spoon to your mouth with his eyes firmly glued to your lips.
“It’s good—”
Satoru swallows your praise, keeping you there with a hand on the back of your head as his tongue delves into your mouth. He kisses you until you’re left a gasping, moaning mess.
“If I didn’t know any better,” you gasp when he finally pulls back, “I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”
Satoru hums, trailing his lips down your neck. He bites over your pulse, immediately soothing it with his hot tongue, desperate for the taste of you. He peers at you for a second, heated gaze piercing straight through you before he ducks his head against the fresh bruise on your neck.
“That depends,” he breathes over your collar. “Is it working?”
“Probably too well,” you laugh softly, turning into a full laugh when he grabs you by the thighs and pulls you to the edge of the counter.
You swat at him, urging him to make sure he doesn’t burn your dinner or your kitchen. Ever the gentleman, and not at all so he can keep you at his side, Satoru leads you to sit on the counter next to the stove while he finishes cooking. Your playlist ends, but he continues humming, stirring with one hand while the other rests on your thigh. You’d thought he was being sly when he first mentioned wanting someone who wouldn’t mind being perched on a counter — especially given that he’d said it on your first—
No, not first.
Second? Fourth?
Third.
— especially given that he’d said it on your third date — but now you find yourself thankful for his playful way of flirting.
His hand slowly travels, creeping further and further toward your inner thigh. Propping your other leg up to give him easier access, you let out a soft sigh when he begins to tenderly knead at your muscles.
“Today was nice,” he smiles, glancing over at your content face. You hum in agreement, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
It was the nicest day you’ve had in a while. It’s been ages since you’ve had a day all to yourselves. You suppose it’s better that way; the rarity makes you savor days like these all the more, the idea of another day spent with only each other keeping you going—
You almost lose your balance, grabbing onto his arm to keep yourself from falling onto the stove.
What will you have to look forward to after this? Why doesn’t he want more days like this?
Why is this not enough for him? Why aren’t you?
Why would he leave when he knows—
Satoru steadies you, abandoning the food so he can help you sit upright, nothing but concerned adoration in his eyes.
You don’t want to ruin this, shatter this carefully built peace you so rarely get to have.
But you have to talk about it, that voice in your head urges. You know you do. You can’t keep pushing it down. You know what happens when you don’t—
Satoru presses a lingering kiss on your lips as if he’s trying to kiss all your worries away. He does it again and again and again, slowly trailing over your cheek and down your jaw.
You know what he’s choosing. Ask him. Ask him why. Ask him now—
He braces himself on the counter, hands on either side of your hips. He slowly fits himself between your legs, resting his weight on you as his mouth travels to your neck. Tongue tracing along your pulse, he lifts a hand to grab your leg and wrap it around him.
You can’t keep doing this—
He pulls himself away from your neck, already looking completely debauched and kiss-drunk when he meets your eyes. He squeezes your leg, a pleased hum when he lets go and you keep it there, nudging him closer with your ankle.
Say something!
You gasp, breath caught by a bruising kiss. It’s pleading, reverent, a silent prayer that you’re able to feel how much he wants, needs, loves you with this one kiss. A promise that if you can’t, he’ll spend the rest of his days worshipping every part of you until you have no doubts that you are everything to him.
What did you need to talk about?
Something about your next day together, probably.
Whatever it is, it can wait.
Later, when you’re lying on his chest listening to the even beats of his heart and steadiness of his breath, you stare at the wall unable to sleep. Your mind makes shapes out of shadows — two-faced monsters shifting in the darkest corners — as you wait for your eyes to grow used to the darkness.
When was the last time you got a good night’s rest? Why can’t you sleep? How do you calm this thing caught in your throat, burning as it shrieks and claws its way out of your skin?
What’s wrong with you?
You don’t remember. You can’t remember.
Head aching, your eyes grow heavy under the calming rhythm of Satoru’s heartbeat.
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: fluff, anxiety inducing angst, implied smut, nudity, lots of touching, gojo being disgustingly in love
A/N: link to the next chapter is in the final line!!
(i.) | (ii.) || series masterlist
A morning with Satoru is your favorite way to start the day.
You distinctly remember falling asleep on your side of your almost too spacious bed, as you always do, but he shifts in the night, as he always does, seeking you out even in his dreams. It’s not unusual for him to cling, he’s always kept himself attached to your hip whenever you two have a moment together. You tease him about it until he pouts, turning away from you to hide the soft pink on his cheeks, but you don’t mind, truly. If he clings to you, it means he’s happy.
If he’s happy, it means he’s safe.
Safe…
is he—
—safe?
You startle awake nearly suffocating, Satoru’s long limbs holding you in a vice against his chest. You already know there’s no escaping his hold on you — not that you’d want to — so you wiggle just enough to turn your head. He whines something incoherent into your hair, pulling you ever closer until you can feel his heartbeat thrum against your cheek. It’s enough to ease you back into a light sleep until you’re awoken again by the sun shining on your face, and two beautiful blue eyes gazing at you.
“Morning,” Satoru grins, a light kiss pressed to your forehead. Another kiss follows on your nose, your cheek, your lips over and over and over. You let yourself fall into easy laughter, pushing at his chest until he pulls away from you. Satoru yawns, stretching his limbs and relaxing back into the bed much like a lazy cat. You wait until his eyes slide shut, lingering on the edge of sleep before you make your move.
You walk your fingers over his chest, body following until you’re sitting in his lap. Satoru doesn’t open his eyes, not bothering to hide his smile as his hands settle over your hips. Hands on each side of his face, thumbs softly caressing his cheeks as you follow their path with light kisses.
“Morning,” you whisper, one, two, three quick kisses against his lips.
You sit up, and Satoru chases your lips, arm winding around your waist as he sits up. You lean away at the last second, but your love is nothing if not determined. His kisses fall along your neck, carving a slow, delicious path down to your chest as one hand creeps along to lower the collar of your shirt.
“We have to get up,” you laugh, lightly tugging on those soft, white locks. The sentence earns you a bite on the shoulder, followed by the swift soothing of a tongue. Satoru rests his cheek over your bitten skin, pouting up at you with sleepy contentment.
“Ten more minutes?” he hums, fingers dipping under the waist of your pajamas.
It’s not a bad idea. How often do you get the chance to spend the morning in bed? How often do you get the chance to spend the morning in bed with Satoru?
“Alright,” you sigh teasingly. “Ten more minutes.”
He’s dragged you back under the covers in seconds, tucking you against him. You laugh at his eagerness, a sound that he’s come to treasure in your time together. Each laugh he meets with a kiss, a loving thanks for gifting him with this beautiful sound. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, smothering you in affection until both your eyes are drooping.
You’re the first to wake, pulled from your dreams by the glare of the afternoon sun. You want to get up — you should get up — but Satoru murmurs in his sleep, a gentle breath that sounds awfully close to your name, and burrows himself against your back.
He deserves to indulge himself in you, soak in all of the affection you so willingly pour at his feet. You’ll never deny him that, never deny him you.
Another ten minutes, then.
You carefully turn to lie facing him, determined to spend what precious minutes you have left admiring every inch of him. You delicately trace your fingers across the planes of his face, giggling when his eyelashes flutter against your fingertips. He twitches as you trail over his cheekbone, unconsciously chasing after your touch as it leads over his lips, his jaw, his neck.
You take your time, lingering over his heart until his pulse syncs with yours. You replace your hand with your head, listening to the strong rhythm as your fingers slide beneath his shirt.
Satoru groans, pink-tinted lips pulling into a tiny frown as your nails catch on scar tissue. You still, holding your breath until his muscles relax and he snuggles himself into his pillow. Gentler this time, you run the pads of your fingers along the scar. It trails around his waist, almost never-ending in its uneven and jagged edges.
When did this—
—has he always...
How did you miss this?
Your body jolts, a sharp, painful inhale as you find yourself lying alone in bed, stretched out on your stomach with your arms curled around Satoru’s pillow. Something thuds behind you, followed by a low hiss. You sit up, limbs heavy and muscles aching with the signs of too much sleep.
“Sorry,” Satoru says around the finger in his mouth. He must’ve pinched it opening the closet door too fast again. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He’s standing by the closet, holding one of your fluffy towels around his waist. His hair’s damp, evidence of a recent shower. Where you’d normally find yourself admiring the skin on display, you feel something stir deep in your chest, sharp and foreboding. Your eyes catch a drop of water as it falls from his hair, following its trail from his shoulders, down his chest, and over—
He holds the towel low on his hips so you can see every inch of his perfect, scar-free, skin.
Must’ve been a bad dream. Best not to dwell.
“It’s fine,” you yawn, putting on your best smile, and moving away from the ray of morning — morning? — sun that threatens to shine directly into your eyes. “’s not a bad view to wake up to.”
Satoru laughs, loud and carefree despite the pink spreading over his cheeks.
Rare do you get time with him like this. You want him to enjoy himself as much as you do, to know he can take whatever he needs from you instead of giving everything of himself. You want him to be content, happy, safe in all the ways he so often can’t be. You want him to know you’ll always be here for him even if—
Even if—
—if?
Not if—
Even when—
Impossibly perceptive, he notices you tense before you have a chance to push it down. He wanders to the bed, the hand not holding his towel gently lifting your chin until you meet his stunning, concerned eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
How do you ask him to stay? How do you tell him that you’re so horribly selfish? How do you ask him to damn the world for a chance at happiness with you?
You know his answer, you’ve known his answer.
How do you tell him no matter how much, how hard, how completely you love him, it breaks your heart that it’ll never be enough to change his mind?
You—
—open your mouth, and say it.
—talk to him.
—say something!
You don’t.
You smile instead, reaching to glide your hands up his torso. He hums at the touch, fingers slowly loosening on the towel as he leans closer and closer.
“I’m just wondering how you plan on apologizing for showering without me,” you laugh, playfully digging your nails into his chest.
He knows you’re lying, you know it in the way his grip briefly tightens on your chin, sliding the towel up just an inch.
Lips grinning into something sly, you tilt your head down to press a soft kiss on his hand. You peer at him through your lashes, eyes wide and deceptively innocent.
“Unless you don’t want to make it up to me?”
You try to ignore it, the flash of hurt in his eyes, the way that content smile briefly dips at the edges before Satoru forces it back up.
“How could I say no to you?” he purrs, closing the distance to slot his lips over yours.
You already have, a voice whispers in the back of your mind. You always will.
You shriek with laughter as Satoru tosses the towel to the ground, pushing you down into the plush covers as he peppers kisses down your throat.
And, fool that you are, you'll love him anyway.
You refuse to stay inside for the entire day, putting on your best puppy dog eyes to convince Satoru to go out after lunch.
He doesn’t need much convincing, not with you, but he does enjoy the way you plead when you want something. When he’s had his fill of teasing and tempting promises of how you’ll pay him back, he grabs you by the hand and leads you out of your home.
He brings you to—
“Have we been here before?” you ask, looking out over the small but colorful park. It’s picture-perfect with the lush pink and green of the trees, the grass softly swaying with the breeze, and a breathtaking view of the horizon.
“Don’t think so,” Satoru hums, giving a lazy shrug of his shoulders.
He’d almost missed it, too tired from another day of dealing with curses, when he all but collapsed on one of the park benches for a momentary rest. He watched the sun go down in vibrant hues of oranges and golds and purples when he caught sight of a young couple taking a sweet selfie as the pink flowers fell from the trees above them.
He was surrounded by nothing but you: the doting couple, the sunset that stopped him in his tracks, the soft caress of the flowers flowing in the breeze. He tucked the place away in his mind, eager to return home, a mental reminder to bring you here one day.
Now you’re here, looking far more dazzling than any sunset as you walk with your fingers laced through his. He’s sure he would know if he’d been blessed with this sight before. He lets you lead, content to watch you against the scenery. He hopes the taiyaki stall on the other side of the park is open; he’ll buy you his favorite flavor, accidentally dropping his own so he has an excuse to taste it on your tongue.
“Are you sure?” you ask again, pulling him toward a small pond. You watch the fish swirl in the crystal clear water, surprised that Satoru would have managed to keep this place secret from you for so long. He had a tendency to steal you away the moment he found something for the two of you to enjoy together — like the aquarium you visited for your third date.
One of the koi speeds forward, scales shimmering in the sunlight.
Just like the ones at the aquarium.
Satoru tilts his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a sly grin.
“Guess I gotta start mixing things up,” he teases, letting go of your hand to slide his arm around your waist and pull you into his side. He nudges his nose against your cheek until you’re giggling and pushing at his chest. “I’ll have to plan something that’ll really take your breath away.”
You roll your eyes, pushing his face away from yours. He lets it happen only for a second before swiftly turning to playfully bite at your fingers. You snatch your hand away with a pout that he’s quick to kiss away.
It doesn’t stop with one — it never does with him — and he makes it a mission to cover both of cheeks in kisses before he moves to your lips for one, two, three small pecks.
Greedy for his touch — as you always are — you keep pouting until he settles both hands on your hips, turning you until you’re face to face and kissing you properly.
You lean your head against him when he pulls away, turning slightly to watch the fish circle each other in the pond. It’s too early for sunset, but the pond glows in the bright afternoon sun. Across the water other couples take sweet pictures among the trees and flowers, groups of friends are spread out on colorful picnic blankets, children chase after each other lost in their make-believe games.
Two of them sprint past you shrieking with laughter so infectious it has you grinning against Satoru’s cheek. He hums back a small chuckle, turning slightly to leave a kiss on the crown of your head. You squeeze his arm in turn, thumb gently running across the fabric of his shirt.
The sun shines down on you, bright and blinding. You blink away its light as the two children run by. For a moment, you see them clear as day: a boy and a girl with your smile and Satoru’s mischief in their eyes, chasing each other with wide smiles that look all too familiar.
You blink again, and, just like that, they’re gone, taking something from deep inside you with them. You swallow down the knot in your throat, pushing yourself to sit up straight.
“Everything alright?” Satoru asks, head turning slightly. You may not be able to see his eyes behind that thick blindfold, but you know he’s watching you in that always attentive way he does.
Your mouth opens, the words of course catching in your throat with an almost silent choke.
I’m only daydreaming—
—about you never coming back to me.
I’m wishing—
—you choose me just this once.
I long for—
—realizing the world demands too much of you.
Even with eyes that can recognize the very tether of the universe, you still can’t see that I need you more than anyone else.
“Maybe I’m just excited to see how you're going to mix things up,” you laugh, a reassuring squeeze to his arm as you rest your head against his shoulder.
“Who wouldn’t be?” he scoffs, arms tightening around your waist as he rests his chin atop your head.
“I love you,” he says quietly, only for the two of you to hear. “You know that, right?”
“Of course,” you answer instantly, immediately pulling away from him to turn so you can face him. You cup his jaw with your free hand, fingertips lifting the bottom of his blindfold until you can look into the hypnotic blue of his eyes. “I love you, too.”
Satoru pulls away with a smile, pulling his blindfold back down over his eyes, and subtly over the reddening slopes of his cheekbones.“Good,” he hums, leaning in until his lips graze the shell of your ear. “Now tell me exactly how you want me to take your breath away.”
Dinner is anything but simple.
Satoru insists on cooking, which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t also insist on having you as his sous chef. You agree, thinking you’ll be able to keep him from sneaking bites before you get a chance to eat. When Satoru leads you to the kitchen and instructs you to sit on the counter, you realize he doesn’t know — or more likely doesn’t care — what a sous chef is.
“Of course I do,” he scoffs, waving a spatula at you in disappointment. “It’s someone who sits there and looks sous cute to the chef.”
He’s lucky you love him.
Satoru grabs you a glass of water, poured over ice in one of your fancy wine glasses, handing it to you with a kiss on the cheek and his phone. You make yourself comfortable, picking through his music to make the perfect “cooking dinner with the love of your life” playlist.
You watch him move around the kitchen, humming along to whatever song you pick, and pausing between each step to slide between your legs and press a kiss to your lips. He lets you be his taste-tester, holding a spoon to your mouth with his eyes firmly glued to your lips.
“It’s good—”
Satoru swallows your praise, keeping you there with a hand on the back of your head as his tongue delves into your mouth. He kisses you until you’re left a gasping, moaning mess.
“If I didn’t know any better,” you gasp when he finally pulls back, “I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”
Satoru hums, trailing his lips down your neck. He bites over your pulse, immediately soothing it with his hot tongue, desperate for the taste of you. He peers at you for a second, heated gaze piercing straight through you before he ducks his head against the fresh bruise on your neck.
“That depends,” he breathes over your collar. “Is it working?”
“Probably too well,” you laugh softly, turning into a full laugh when he grabs you by the thighs and pulls you to the edge of the counter.
You swat at him, urging him to make sure he doesn’t burn your dinner or your kitchen. Ever the gentleman, and not at all so he can keep you at his side, Satoru leads you to sit on the counter next to the stove while he finishes cooking. Your playlist ends, but he continues humming, stirring with one hand while the other rests on your thigh. You’d thought he was being sly when he first mentioned wanting someone who wouldn’t mind being perched on a counter — especially given that he’d said it on your first—
No, not first.
Second? Fourth?
Third.
— especially given that he’d said it on your third date — but now you find yourself thankful for his playful way of flirting.
His hand slowly travels, creeping further and further toward your inner thigh. Propping your other leg up to give him easier access, you let out a soft sigh when he begins to tenderly knead at your muscles.
“Today was nice,” he smiles, glancing over at your content face. You hum in agreement, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
It was the nicest day you’ve had in a while. It’s been ages since you’ve had a day all to yourselves. You suppose it’s better that way; the rarity makes you savor days like these all the more, the idea of another day spent with only each other keeping you going—
You almost lose your balance, grabbing onto his arm to keep yourself from falling onto the stove.
What will you have to look forward to after this? Why doesn’t he want more days like this?
Why is this not enough for him? Why aren’t you?
Why would he leave when he knows—
Satoru steadies you, abandoning the food so he can help you sit upright, nothing but concerned adoration in his eyes.
You don’t want to ruin this, shatter this carefully built peace you so rarely get to have.
But you have to talk about it, that voice in your head urges. You know you do. You can’t keep pushing it down. You know what happens when you don’t—
Satoru presses a lingering kiss on your lips as if he’s trying to kiss all your worries away. He does it again and again and again, slowly trailing over your cheek and down your jaw.
You know what he’s choosing. Ask him. Ask him why. Ask him now—
He braces himself on the counter, hands on either side of your hips. He slowly fits himself between your legs, resting his weight on you as his mouth travels to your neck. Tongue tracing along your pulse, he lifts a hand to grab your leg and wrap it around him.
You can’t keep doing this—
He pulls himself away from your neck, already looking completely debauched and kiss-drunk when he meets your eyes. He squeezes your leg, a pleased hum when he lets go and you keep it there, nudging him closer with your ankle.
Say something!
You gasp, breath caught by a bruising kiss. It’s pleading, reverent, a silent prayer that you’re able to feel how much he wants, needs, loves you with this one kiss. A promise that if you can’t, he’ll spend the rest of his days worshipping every part of you until you have no doubts that you are everything to him.
What did you need to talk about?
Something about your next day together, probably.
Whatever it is, it can wait.
Later, when you’re lying on his chest listening to the even beats of his heart and steadiness of his breath, you stare at the wall unable to sleep. Your mind makes shapes out of shadows — two-faced monsters shifting in the darkest corners — as you wait for your eyes to grow used to the darkness.
When was the last time you got a good night’s rest? Why can’t you sleep? How do you calm this thing caught in your throat, burning as it shrieks and claws its way out of your skin?
What’s wrong with you?
You don’t remember. You can’t remember.
Head aching, your eyes grow heavy under the calming rhythm of Satoru’s heartbeat.
Pairing: Choso Kamo x GN!Reader
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: fluff, implied smut, some talk about veins
A/N: ngl the theme for this was supposed to be flower crowns but i got carried away so enjoy the intimate fluff and just like pretend choso has a flower crown on or st 💜
cafuné {n} - the gesture of tenderly caressing somebody else's hair.
Of all the things Choso enjoys in the world, there are few he truly loves.
He can count them all on one hand — three fingers if he really thinks about it.
His brothers come first, counted on his index finger. His blood. His family. His number one priority.
Then there’s you, technically family, but deserving of a space made specially for you. He counts you on his ring finger, symbolized by the thin, black line tattooed around it.
Yuji catches him staring at it often, teasing Choso about how lovesick he is when you’re not near. Choso doesn’t care; he knows he’s incomplete without you. How can he not be without half of his soul?
Third, and finally, your hands.
It started the first time you patched him up. Your hands were gentle on his skin, trying not to aggravate his wounds. The heat from your palms sunk deep into his veins, warming him all the way to his heart. You looked so beautiful concentrating on him, and Choso felt the selfish hope that you’d only help him this way. You finished too quickly for his taste, leaving him with a kind smile. The warmth vanished with you, leaving him cold and craving.
He thinks about that moment often, even now when there’s rarely a time your hands aren’t on him.
He's grown greedy for your touch, spoiled by how much you indulge him. Truthfully, you could never deny him, fueled by your own secret, selfish desire to make up for his more than a century without human contact.
Most times you keep a hand pressed to his arm, a gentle reminder that you're there. It's calming. Grounding. The sun at the center of his universe, without which he may drift away into an endless space.
When you have those rare moments to yourselves unburdened by the constant thought of curses, you slide your palm into his and weave your fingers together. You pull him along, leading him to all of your favorite places.
If your schedules conflict, and he returns home late into the night, he finds you curled up on the sofa under your favorite blanket — a large, overly fluffy thing that matches the dark purple of his eyes. Not awake but not yet asleep, you blink up at him with a slightly delirious smile and throw the blanket open.
He joins you on the couch, smiling when your hands slither under his shirt and your body curls around his. He falls asleep to your hands softly stroking down his back, easing away all of his tension and worry.
Sometimes Choso sleeps wrong, wandering into the kitchen as he grimaces through a yawn that strains his neck. Attentive to him, as you always are, you notice immediately and sit him down. He's always ready to argue, protests dying on his tongue the second your fingers graze his neck. Hands kneading down his neck to his shoulders, he melts into your touch.
When you pause to ask if it still hurts, he lies. You coo and kiss his cheek, hands returning to steadily press the muscle in his neck, content to never tell him you know he's lying.
There are other times, too. Times he can only think about when he's alone. When your touch wanders, scorching silk as you map out every inch of his body. When your nails dig into his hips until you almost break skin. When you caress his cheek so softly, so lovingly as you whine and beg and plead.
His favorite, though, only comes on nights when nightmares and insomnia crawl into your bed. You've both given up on trying to go back to sleep, cuddled against each other in the quiet night. Every so often you’ll shift and adjust, finding new ways to lay without letting go of one another.
No matter how many times it happens, it always ends the same. Choso's arms wrap tight around your waist, his grip almost bruising with his face buried in your chest while you throw a leg over his hip and gently scratch at the base of his skull. Your hands slowly work their way up tracing nonsensical shapes in his scalp. Eventually, you thread your fingers and glide them through his hair, lightly pulling once you reach the ends.
His hair is like satin on your fingers despite the few tangles you gently work through. You do this again and again until you've almost soothed yourself back to sleep. Even teetering on the edge of sleep, you keep going, not ready to give up the feel of him.
Choso thinks this must be what heaven is like.
You pull at the ends of his hair, and Choso groans, bringing you as close to his body as he can get you. He feels the laughter in your chest, one hand leaving his hair to pet his head.
He catches your hand, bringing it down to his lips in one swift motion. He kisses each fingertip, then each knuckle, then your palm before his mouth travels back up to your ring finger. He gazes at the black line wrapped around your finger, unable to help himself when he places a kiss over it.
"Supposedly," you whisper, his touch sending a warm shiver across your body, "there's a vein that travels from your ring finger all the way to your heart."
"That so?" Choso hums, with another tender kiss to your tattoo. He feels the shiver in your body, smirking when your leg rises just a a bit higher on his hip.
Your hand tugs at his hair again, more purposeful this time, guiding him to tilt his back until you can see his face. He has no time to admire the way you glow under the moonlight as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips.
He chases your lips as soon as you pull away, refusing to part from you until he's had his fill. He pulls away, both of you gasping through your laughter. It's not enough for him — he can never have enough of you — and he gives you a few seconds to catch your breath before he kisses you again.
Your hands thread into his hair, pulling at the roots until he groans and sinks his teeth into your lip. One of his hands travels to your thigh, gripping at your flesh as he rolls onto his back, keeping you balanced atop him.
A vein that travels from your ring finger all the way to your heart.
Choso knows it's a myth, already intimately familiar with the intricate map of veins in the human body.
But for you?
For you, he'd carve out every organ, bend every bone, shift every muscle so he can re-thread every vein until your mark is tied around a direct line to his heart — until he's turned fable to fact.
It's what you deserve, he thinks, parting from your kiss-swollen lips to stare deep into your eyes like he's searching for his place in your soul. You gaze back at him, only breaking away to press little kisses to his face, his nose, his cheeks.
You brush a piece of hair from his face with a dazed smile, twirling it through your fingers before you tuck it behind his ear. You card your hand through his hair, raking your nails along his scalp. Choso leans into your touch, eyes sliding shut when you do it again.
You keep going until you think he's finally fallen asleep, giving him one last kiss before you settle on his chest and chase your own dreams.
He waits until your breath evens out, tracing a gentle finger across your cheek and down to the pulse in your neck.
Of all the things Choso enjoys in the world, there are few he truly loves, and he finds himself forever thankful to know that you love him back.
Pairing: Choso Kamo x GN!Reader
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: fluff, implied smut, some talk about veins
A/N: ngl the theme for this was supposed to be flower crowns but i got carried away so enjoy the intimate fluff and just like pretend choso has a flower crown on or st 💜
cafuné {n} - the gesture of tenderly caressing somebody else's hair.
Of all the things Choso enjoys in the world, there are few he truly loves.
He can count them all on one hand — three fingers if he really thinks about it.
His brothers come first, counted on his index finger. His blood. His family. His number one priority.
Then there’s you, technically family, but deserving of a space made specially for you. He counts you on his ring finger, symbolized by the thin, black line tattooed around it.
Yuji catches him staring at it often, teasing Choso about how lovesick he is when you’re not near. Choso doesn’t care; he knows he’s incomplete without you. How can he not be without half of his soul?
Third, and finally, your hands.
It started the first time you patched him up. Your hands were gentle on his skin, trying not to aggravate his wounds. The heat from your palms sunk deep into his veins, warming him all the way to his heart. You looked so beautiful concentrating on him, and Choso felt the selfish hope that you’d only help him this way. You finished too quickly for his taste, leaving him with a kind smile. The warmth vanished with you, leaving him cold and craving.
He thinks about that moment often, even now when there’s rarely a time your hands aren’t on him.
He's grown greedy for your touch, spoiled by how much you indulge him. Truthfully, you could never deny him, fueled by your own secret, selfish desire to make up for his more than a century without human contact.
Most times you keep a hand pressed to his arm, a gentle reminder that you're there. It's calming. Grounding. The sun at the center of his universe, without which he may drift away into an endless space.
When you have those rare moments to yourselves unburdened by the constant thought of curses, you slide your palm into his and weave your fingers together. You pull him along, leading him to all of your favorite places.
If your schedules conflict, and he returns home late into the night, he finds you curled up on the sofa under your favorite blanket — a large, overly fluffy thing that matches the dark purple of his eyes. Not awake but not yet asleep, you blink up at him with a slightly delirious smile and throw the blanket open.
He joins you on the couch, smiling when your hands slither under his shirt and your body curls around his. He falls asleep to your hands softly stroking down his back, easing away all of his tension and worry.
Sometimes Choso sleeps wrong, wandering into the kitchen as he grimaces through a yawn that strains his neck. Attentive to him, as you always are, you notice immediately and sit him down. He's always ready to argue, protests dying on his tongue the second your fingers graze his neck. Hands kneading down his neck to his shoulders, he melts into your touch.
When you pause to ask if it still hurts, he lies. You coo and kiss his cheek, hands returning to steadily press the muscle in his neck, content to never tell him you know he's lying.
There are other times, too. Times he can only think about when he's alone. When your touch wanders, scorching silk as you map out every inch of his body. When your nails dig into his hips until you almost break skin. When you caress his cheek so softly, so lovingly as you whine and beg and plead.
His favorite, though, only comes on nights when nightmares and insomnia crawl into your bed. You've both given up on trying to go back to sleep, cuddled against each other in the quiet night. Every so often you’ll shift and adjust, finding new ways to lay without letting go of one another.
No matter how many times it happens, it always ends the same. Choso's arms wrap tight around your waist, his grip almost bruising with his face buried in your chest while you throw a leg over his hip and gently scratch at the base of his skull. Your hands slowly work their way up tracing nonsensical shapes in his scalp. Eventually, you thread your fingers and glide them through his hair, lightly pulling once you reach the ends.
His hair is like satin on your fingers despite the few tangles you gently work through. You do this again and again until you've almost soothed yourself back to sleep. Even teetering on the edge of sleep, you keep going, not ready to give up the feel of him.
Choso thinks this must be what heaven is like.
You pull at the ends of his hair, and Choso groans, bringing you as close to his body as he can get you. He feels the laughter in your chest, one hand leaving his hair to pet his head.
He catches your hand, bringing it down to his lips in one swift motion. He kisses each fingertip, then each knuckle, then your palm before his mouth travels back up to your ring finger. He gazes at the black line wrapped around your finger, unable to help himself when he places a kiss over it.
"Supposedly," you whisper, his touch sending a warm shiver across your body, "there's a vein that travels from your ring finger all the way to your heart."
"That so?" Choso hums, with another tender kiss to your tattoo. He feels the shiver in your body, smirking when your leg rises just a a bit higher on his hip.
Your hand tugs at his hair again, more purposeful this time, guiding him to tilt his back until you can see his face. He has no time to admire the way you glow under the moonlight as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips.
He chases your lips as soon as you pull away, refusing to part from you until he's had his fill. He pulls away, both of you gasping through your laughter. It's not enough for him — he can never have enough of you — and he gives you a few seconds to catch your breath before he kisses you again.
Your hands thread into his hair, pulling at the roots until he groans and sinks his teeth into your lip. One of his hands travels to your thigh, gripping at your flesh as he rolls onto his back, keeping you balanced atop him.
A vein that travels from your ring finger all the way to your heart.
Choso knows it's a myth, already intimately familiar with the intricate map of veins in the human body.
But for you?
For you, he'd carve out every organ, bend every bone, shift every muscle so he can re-thread every vein until your mark is tied around a direct line to his heart — until he's turned fable to fact.
It's what you deserve, he thinks, parting from your kiss-swollen lips to stare deep into your eyes like he's searching for his place in your soul. You gaze back at him, only breaking away to press little kisses to his face, his nose, his cheeks.
You brush a piece of hair from his face with a dazed smile, twirling it through your fingers before you tuck it behind his ear. You card your hand through his hair, raking your nails along his scalp. Choso leans into your touch, eyes sliding shut when you do it again.
You keep going until you think he's finally fallen asleep, giving him one last kiss before you settle on his chest and chase your own dreams.
He waits until your breath evens out, tracing a gentle finger across your cheek and down to the pulse in your neck.
Of all the things Choso enjoys in the world, there are few he truly loves, and he finds himself forever thankful to know that you love him back.
Pairing: Wyll Ravengard x GN!Reader
Word Count: ~700
Warnings: fluff, mild angst, minor blood and gore
You’ve never said the words to each other.
You probably never will.
But you both know.
It’s in the way Wyll laughs, loud and carefree, when you tell him a joke.
He’s a beacon in the darkness that surrounds your little camp, the fire’s glow burning a beautiful amber on his rich, brown skin. His smile is wide, brighter than the fire between you, his happiness so infectious, you can’t help but smile too. Very few can pull this kind of laughter from him, but you meet his eyes and know. It’s only you that can give him such joy — such ease, such comfort — to make him forget the burdens of his past that constantly loom over him. It’s only you. It’ll only ever be you.
It’s in the way you help him clean his horns after a battle.
He’s adapted to their weight, learned to balance his curved crown in battle, and how to sleep without straining his neck. The sensitivity, though… He’s never been fond of the gore staining his armor and skin after a battle, but the feel of blood dripping from his horns fills him with a new type of sick. He never complains, but the slight twitches of his head tell you everything you need to know.
You wait until you’re alone, absconding with Wyll into your shared tent. Head carefully resting in your lap, you pick through the viscera tangled in his horns and meticulously wipe them until they shine. It’s become a ritual for you, tending to the other half of your heart as he dozes against your thighs. It almost slips from your tongue then, held back at the last moment, but he feels the tenderness of your touch and he knows.
It’s in the way he holds out his hand, a silent ask to join his midnight dance.
It’s probably an inappropriate time to dance, but is there ever an appropriate time when you’re fighting the clock and a parasite in your brain? Neither of you can sleep, staring into the dying fire as you listen to your companions snore from their tents. A log pops, faint sparks shooting toward your feet, and Wyll stands.
He presents his hand, softened gaze watching and waiting for your answer. You take it without hesitation, letting him pull you in a waltz you’ve done so many times before. It’s clumsy, the only sounds your feet in the dirt and muffled laughter, but it’s perfect. A quiet moment to forget the world that is forever crashing down around you meant only to be shared between the two of you.
It’s in the way you wake before him, lying still to let him sleep just a bit longer.
Days, weeks, months of endless travel takes its toll on all of you. Never one to complain, Wyll doesn’t speak on how tired he is, how every morning is just a bit harder to get through than the last. You don’t need him to tell you; you feel the ache in your bones, the weight pulling at your limbs. With the role of leader so graciously thrusted upon you, you know you’re meant to up and ready at every daybreak, but he looks so peaceful sleeping beside you.
You keep still, content to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart and ignore the telltale sounds of your companions beginning to rise. You let him sleep until the sun’s risen, gently shaking him when Karlach begins to call for breakfast. He huffs every time, but can’t deny how much better he feels. After a few minutes of playful arguing and someone coming to check on you, he thanks you with a kiss. He makes you promise not to do it again, and you seal it with a kiss and your fingers crossed behind your back.
It’s in the way you carry each other through this adventure, keeping one another grounded amidst the chaos and blood and reality-shattering revelations.
It’s in the way you defend him against his patron, unwavering even when she taunts and threatens you and swearing on every god, known and unknown, to help him escape her grasp.
It’s in the way you vow to stay by his side long after you draw your last breath — your souls are bound in this life and every life after — and he draws his blade to pledge himself to you.
please donate what you can to medglobal, who are working to provide emergency relief in sudan; $12 USD provides an emergency kit, $20 provides medical PPE, & $50 will provide 50 liters of diesel fuel for hospital generators
Do you know anything i can donate to for palestine that's not the gofundmes because the idea of having to choose who needs my money more is just. scary to me they all need it 3: maybe there's a thing that splits/distributes money evenly???? idk but help would be appreciated
Gazafunds actually deals with this anxiety and makes a decision for you if you want. Their home page has a spotlighted fundraiser and the code consider things like how close the gfm is to finishing, when the most recent donation is, etc. So it's randomized to help as many people as possible.
There's also @helpgazachildren which if you donate, you can help multiple people at once since it's a whole mutual aid fund, or at least close to it. Hussam distributes money to people who need it when he's asked.
sarah j maas hate account @halfmoth-halfman - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
