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lys-9-10 · 5 months

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Connection Ch. 8

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“Is he going to be okay?” a tearful voice asks from somewhere in Tobio’s distance consciousness.

He knows that voice. It’s bright. Radiant. It’s the sun...

“I’m not sure, Hinata-kun,” another voice answers shakily. “Pneumonia can get pretty bad.” That one's Miwa's voice . Tobio is angry with Miwa... Though he can't remember why.

There’s the sound of crying. Snuffling. And then shifting. Fabric rustling against fabric. Tobio thinks maybe someone just got drawn into a hug. Miwa probably did that. Miwa likes to hug. Tobio used to let Miwa hug him…

“I’m so ... so sorry,” sobs the voice that belongs to the sun. “It’s my fault ... That stupid game...” He hiccups loudly. There’s silence for a few beats, except for crying. Then, Miwa’s voice again.

“Hinata …Obviously I’m really upset my brother has pneumonia. But, to be honest ... I’m also just really glad he has a friend. I didn’t know that he did.”

Tobio has a friend?

That’s not right. Tobio doesn’t have any friends. The only person Tobio has is Kazuyo...

Kazuyo … He’s coming. He’s coming to watch… -------------------------------------

“Tobio?” Takeda-sensei’s face peeks out again from the wing entrance. “Has your grandfather arrived yet?”

Tobio bites his bottom lip. It’s already chewed raw. “No, sensei. But if we just wait a little longer...”

Takeda’s face is sad as he heaves a sigh. “Tobio, I’m very sorry. But we can’t wait any longer. It’s nearly time for the last performance. That will be you.”

Tobio feels his face scrunch up. His bottom lip quivers.

Takeda-sensei places a hand on his shoulder. “If you don’t want to dance, Tobio, I can talk to your partner. Maybe one of the other leads will go on with her.”

“N-no. I want to dance.”Of course Tobio wants to dance. Tobio always wants to dance ... Dancing makes him happy. It makes all of them happy. Tobio, Kazuyo, Miwa...

But Tobio doesn’t feel happy right now.

And as he goes out onto the stage, everything is wrong. His steps are wrong. His rhythm. His leads.

Tobio’s partner glares up at him as he fumbles a move for the third time, causing her to bump into him.

Tobio swallows the tears and keeps dancing. He keeps dancing through the hole in his chest.

And it’s terrible.

Everyone knows it’s terrible.

When the medals are given out at the end, Tobio doesn’t receive one. He looks down at his own chest. It’s empty. Empty on top, where the medal should be. Empty on the inside, where that hole is ... Empty. Like Kazuyo’s seat.

Kazuyo didn’t watch ... And why would he watch? Tobio was terrible. Nobody would want to watch Tobio when he was so terrible... ---------------

Lindy Bout. It’s this Saturday.

What day is it? Fuck, how long has he been here?

Heart racing, Tobio tries to push himself out of bed. He needs to get up. He needs to practise...

He falls back onto the pillows with a pained grunt. His head is splitting. He’s hot. Too hot. And thirsty. Gods, he’s so thirsty ... His eyelids flutter heavily and he feels his consciousness slipping away again.

No. No he can’t.

Lindy Bout ... He has to get up. He has to practise ... He has to ... watch ... make him watch... ------------

Tobio sits backstage, head buried in his knees.

Kazuyo never came. And it was Tobio’s fault. He wasn’t worth watching. He didn’t win.

Tobio feels a presence beside him—someone crouching down to his level. He jerks his head up, thinking it might be Kazuyo.

But it isn’t Kazuyo. It’s only Takeda-sensei.

“Tobio-chan,” Takeda-sensei says, holding a cellphone out to him. “Your sister’s on the phone. She wants to talk to you.” Takeda’s brow is furrowed. He looks concerned. Frightened, even.

“What is it?” Tobio presses, but Takeda just shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Your sister will tell you.”

Tobio stares at Takeda for a moment longer. Then, slowly, warily, he takes the phone and brings it to his ear.

Miwa’s sobs break through the line, hitting him like a shock of cold water.

“Miwa??” Tobio gasps. “Miwa, what is it?”

“Tobio.” Her voice is broken, racked with sobs. “It’s Kazuyo. He … I think he had a heart attack.”

“What?!” Tobio leaps to his feet. “Where is he?? Sensei”—his hand whips out and clutches Takeda’s arm. “Sensei, I need you to drive me to the hospital!”

“No, Tobio,” Miwa’s voice cuts in, miserably. “He’s gone.”

Tobio’s eyes fly open, a gasp ripping from his throat.

Damn ... damn! He can’t sit up. It’s like he’s dead weight on this bed. Fucking damn it ... Lindy Bout is this Saturday. Fuck. Fuck, he has to move!

Tobio frantically casts his gaze around the room.

Miwa is in the corner. She’s slumped on Tobio’s desk, her eyes closed, her head lolling at what looks like an uncomfortable angle. Tobio tries to call out to her. To tell her to help him up. All that comes out is a groan.

Tobio closes his eyes, silently cursing.

Miwa … Miwa has to help him get up. Help him get to Lindy Bout…

Tobio’s chest tightens. Remembrance settles in on him. And with it, cold, ugly bitterness.

Miwa won’t help him.

Even if he could call out to her, she wouldn’t help him. Miwa doesn’t care about Lindy Bout. She doesn’t care about dancing. The shock of Tobio’s nightmare has sliced through the haze in his brain. He’s remarkably lucid now. And he remembers it all.

Miwa quit. After Kazuyo died, she never danced again.

Tobio forces his eyes open and glares at Miwa’s sleeping form. Miwa never cared ... She didn’t care that Lindy Hop was what Kazuyo loved. She didn’t care that he taught them both from the time they were toddlers. Passed on what he loved to them, like a precious gift. An heirloom to be protected.

She just turned around and threw the heirloom in the trash. She didn’t care about Kazuyo ... She cried on the phone that day and she cried at the funeral. But after that, it was all smiles. Loathsome, plastic smiles as she asked Tobio how his day was. As she told him what was for dinner. As she suggested making fucking hottokeki like nothing had changed. Like they could just carry on normally. Like they hadn’t lost the only person that ever cared about them… ----------------

The sun is in his room again. Tobio can see his flaming orange hair through heavy, half-lidded eyes.

He murmurs something to Miwa, asking about Tobio’s condition.

The sun is here for him … Tobio should feel grateful. He should welcome the sun’s closeness. His warmth.

But Tobio just feels so, incredibly dark.

The darkness is clawing at him from inside his ribcage. It’s ugly. Thick.

And it’s a million miles away from the sun.

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#kagehina #tobio kageyama #miwa kageyama #kageyama kazuyo #comfort/angst #hurt/comfort #angst #kghn #shobio #haikyuu!!#hq

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emiliasilverova · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan Characters: James Bond, Alec Trevelyan Additional Tags: One Shot, Smut, Porn with Feelings, Comfort/Angst, Cabin Fic, Character Study, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Movie: Goldeneye (1995), 1980s, First Time, Slow Build, Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cold Weather, Sharing Body Heat, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Emotionally Repressed, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Bisexuality, Protective James Bond, James Bond Is A Menace, Mutual Pining, Alec Is So Lost, But Lest He Forget, Brosnan!Bond Is The Most Tender, Help This Fic Is Killing Me, Community: MI6 Cafe | mi6_cafe Word Count: 2563 Summary:

It wasn't one bed, per se—just two single beds disposed right next to each other. Still absolutely intolerable, as far as Alec was concerned. How was he supposed to keep his feelings at bay in those conditions?

3 WIP Wednesdays later, here it is. My 69th Tumblr post (nice). It’s been a long way to here, and there still is some until the actual end. But oh well—if you giggle at the banter and get caught up in the building tension, mission accomplished for me. Thanks to the three people in the shadows (@sillyfanturtle, PennyFifer and @prismatic-bell), as well as to @samanthahirr for the beta. I love you guys ♥️

#james bond #007 #goldeneye #brosnan bond #alec trevelyan #james bond/alec trevelyan #pre-arkhangelsk #sharing a bed #well sort of #fanfic #comfort/angst #eventual smut #error 404 alec not found #they're all bi

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simplycritter · 1 year

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I never I never post some of my fanfiction works on here, so I think now’s the time to spread some of my works around.

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Takes place during season 3B. Grime comforts Hopediah after having trouble sleeping and thinking about some bad thoughts he had in his mind. Grime and Hop Pop fluff ensues.

(A bit suggestive at the end, so beware and read it at your own risk.)

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folk-ever-lore · 2 years

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I Know Places

The life of the Guardian of the Miraculous was at great risk, as the League Of Assassins had put a target on their back. They wouldnʼt be safe anywhere they went. But Marinette and Jason had still been mad enough to hope that they could come up with a plan that would get the League Of Assassins to leave both of them alone and alive.

They had to be crazy.

“I know places we can hide,” Jason informed his girlfriend, not giving her a chance to argue.

She was going to argue anyway. “A place I will be hiding. You wonʼt be there with me.”

“But-” he tried to argue back, before getting completely cut off. There was no way in hell he was letting Marinette go through this alone. What sort of a boyfriend would he be if he did?

“I can protect myself,” she told him, pointing out her strengths. “If the worst comes to worst I can always use the cat miraculous to destroy them before they can hurt me.”

“Alright,” Jason agreed, knowing full well that once Marinette had set her mind to something there was nothing she couldnʼt do, “but hereʼs the plan.”

***

Moving day soon arrived and Marinette was set to have as little as possible of her stuff moved into one of Jasonʼs lesser known safe houses. She brought only what she considered absolutely essential, including her coffee machine and all her sewing equipment. She may as well get some commissions done while sheʼs locked up for her own good.

Jason was planning on bringing her some more stuff from home each time he visited.

But for the first three days she would be completely on her own there. Of course, she would have WiFi and TV and all the essentials but that didnʼt mean that she wasnʼt as cut off from the world as she could be.

She placed her box of supplies down and went to close the blinds at the nearest window. She couldnʼt have anyone looking in and seeing her. Could she?

BANG!

A bullet shot the window open, getting glass everywhere. She may have screamed a little, but no one was around to see and it had been a bit of a shock.

BANG!

***

People muttered those same useless words over and over.

“Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.” “Iʼm sorry for your loss.”

It was so repetitive. No one ever dared to make any effort to change the words up a bit. To make any real effort to say that they wished Marinette was still alive. To make any real effort to acknowledge Jasonʼs feelings.

That may have been the thing that hurt the most after the pain of losing his girlfriend. Heʼd been planning on proposing to her on her birthday, but now it didnʼt look like heʼd ever get the chance.

He wanted to say something, he wanted to acknowledge her death, he wanted to say something to remember her; but each time heʼd tried to come up with the right words to say heʼd always ended up coming up with something he wasnʼt meant to say.

Once the ceremony was done, he stayed behind so he could get a more private chance of saying something to her.

He refused to say goodbye. “I will see you again soon, my love,” he promised, standing over her grave.

Upon overhearing his words, the remainder of his family soon joins him in his mourning.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks, breaking the silence, despite the fact that he should already know the answer.

“No,” Jason admitted softly, refusing to move his head up from the ground to look at any of his family. “But I will be when I can kill the bastards that did this. Then Iʼll get to be with my love again.”

***

Jason had made it his mission to find those responsible for Marinette’s deaths and end them. In the space of a week, heʼd managed to find and kill the three operatives that had been in Gotham during the time of Marinette’s death.

He hadnʼt harmed them so much that they werenʼt recognisable, but they certainly werenʼt a pleasant sight to look at.

Along with the bodies, heʼd dragged himself down to the main League Of Assassins headquarters. Dumping the bodies in the training arena, he soon left to go and find Talia and Raʼs.

“I donʼt care what you do most of the time,” he yelled as he stormed into their private family quarters, “but you will stay the fuck away from me and anyone I love. As well as anything miraculous related.”

“We shall do no such thing,” Talia retorted, infuriated at his nerve to demand such things from them.

He sneered at them, “Then I will have fun painfully ending the rest of your people as I did those in Gotham last week. Send one of your servants to go check them if you want.”

When a servant, one from the League Of Assassins who was used to seeing blood and gore all the time, came back looking slightly pale, Raʼs and Talia seemed a bit keener to agree. After all they had taught him some of his skills and the rest had been taught to him by Batman. They were right to be worried about what he would do.

“Alright,” Raʼs gave in after a moment of consideration. “We will leave you, your loved ones and anything miraculous related alone. In exchange you shall leave our assets alone.”

Jason nodded. “Thank you.”

***

Before Jason could go back to Wayne Manor and tell his family that he had taken care of the league, there was somewhere else he had to stop by first.

He slipped into his safe house, making sure to avoid the glass on the floor.

“Hello,” he called out, “Marinette? Iʼm back.”

She grinned once she saw him. “I missed you so much. Itʼs been dreadfully boring being in her all by myself.”

“Iʼve got some good news then,” he said with a smile as he pulled her into a fierce hug that both of them needed far too much. “It’s safe for you to come out. The League shouldnʼt be bothering us again anytime soon.”

“Oh thank god. Iʼve missed human interaction much more than I thought I would.”

“Anyone in particular?” Jason asked cheekily.

“You, of course. But you already knew that.”

He shrugged, “Hearing it a few more times wouldnʼt hurt.”

Marinette laughed gently, “Youʼre such a dork. Come on, letʼs go tell your family the good news.”

He simply groaned in response, “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” she retorted, pulling him out the door. “We absolutely do.”

“Youʼre lucky I love you.”

“Indeed I am.”

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greykolla-art · 2 months

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My blog has become infested with angst goblins, and they must be fed with some hypothetical scenarios!🙏💚

#grey art #fan art #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel #Hazbin hotel comic #JESUS WEPT THIS FUCKING THING WAS A BEAST #BUT I LOVE IT!#hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #Alastor #charlie morningstar #angst #hurt/comfort #whump art #I know what you people are I’m one of you!#I heard your cries for more angst and I aim to please!#also good excuse to use clip studio more #I only bust that out for something special #now let’s do something else! like eat!

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candaru · 6 months

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no no. you don't get it. the reason I injure my blorbos until they can't walk is because that's the only way they'll ever let someone else carry them. the reason I curse them to be sick and feverish is so that they'll finally open up about their emotions while delirious. the reason I force them to overexert themselves to the point of exhaustion is so that when they pass out they can finally rest.

I'm doing this for their own good.

#angst #whump #writeblr #hurt/comfort #does anybody hear me. hello #it's about forcibly stripping a character of the pride that keeps them from letting themselves be human

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 2 months

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have you ever read a fanfic so good that you wanted to write a fanfic about that fanfic, but was too shy / too intimidated to ask for the author’s permission and too afraid that your writing wouldn’t be half as good as theirs and that it would be an insult to their work that was basically a literal masterpiece, so you just sat there fantasizing about their work and how beautiful it was and how you wished you could just eat it and how you wished canon could write your blorbos half as good as this writer did and how you just wanted to cry because you just loved that fic so much????

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maccreadysbaby · 10 months

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Some of my favorite words and phrases to describe a character in pain

coiling (up in a ball, in on themselves, against something, etc)

panting (there’s a slew of adjectives you can put after this, my favorites are shakily, weakly, etc)

keeling over (synonyms are words like collapsing, which is equally as good but overused in media)

trembling/shivering (additional adjectives could be violently, uncontrollably, etc)

sobbing (weeping is a synonym but i’ve never liked that word. also love using sob by itself, as a noun, like “he let out a quiet sob”)

whimpering (love hitting the wips with this word when a character is weak, especially when the pain is subsiding. also love using it for nightmares/attacks and things like that)

clinging (to someone or something, maybe even to themselves or their own clothes)

writhing/thrashing (maybe someone’s holding them down, or maybe they’re in bed alone)

crying (not actual tears. cry as in a shrill, sudden shout)

dazed (usually after the pain has subsided, or when adrenaline is still flowing)

wincing (probably overused but i love this word. synonym could be grimacing)

doubling-over (kinda close to keeling over but they don’t actually hit the ground, just kinda fold in on themselves)

heaving (i like to use it for describing the way someone’s breathing, ex. “heaving breaths” but can also be used for the nasty stuff like dry heaving or vomiting)

gasping/sucking/drawing in a breath (or any other words and phrases that mean a sharp intake of breath, that shite is gold)

murmuring/muttering/whispering (or other quiet forms of speaking after enduring intense pain)

hiccuping/spluttering/sniffling (words that generally imply crying without saying crying. the word crying is used so much it kinda loses its appeal, that’s why i like to mix other words like these in)

stuttering (or other general terms that show an impaired ability to speak — when someone’s in intense pain, it gets hard to talk)

staggering/stumbling (there is a difference between pain that makes you not want to stand, and pain that makes it impossible to stand. explore that!)

recoiling/shrinking away (from either the threat or someone trying to help)

pleading/begging (again, to the threat, someone trying to help, or just begging the pain to stop)

Feel free to add your favorites or most used in the comments/reblogs!

#fanfiction writer #writing angst #creative writing #writers #writing #hurt/comfort #writing tips

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imfinereallyy · 8 months

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you can pry happy endings from my cold-dead hands. It can be the most heart stopping, gut wrenching fic that has every existed and I will read every drop of it if I get my happy ending. I have had enough painful endings in real life, give me happy in my fantasy world. It can be at the last second, it can be a single sentence, even a single word. Give me all the angst and hurt in the world for 500,000 words, but please give me the comfort I need in the ending. please and thank you.

#do I love angst? yes. but also need to be happy in my delulu world for five seconds #sometimes you need domestic fluff to soothe the burn #fan fiction #ao3 #hurt/comfort #steddie #stranger things #lumax #byler #ronance #steve harrington #Eddie Munson #archive of our own #wattpad #robin buckley #steve x eddie #happy endings

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yawnderu · 2 months

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Simon lets out a deep chuckle as he sees your daughter pick flowers from the light, clean grass, her tiny hands barely even managing to gather enough strength to get the stems out of the ground.

“C'mon, that's enough.” His voice is patient, calloused hands picking his daughter up as he brings her up to his chest, a small smile when he sees her holding onto the flowers for dear life, giggles leaving her lips as he starts bouncing her while they walk.

It became a routine, in a way, for Simon to bring his daughter whenever he visits his family. She's too young to understand, so pure, so untainted from the dangers of the world, always kept safe by Simon and you, yet he can't fight off the urge to make his family see her.

He walks for a few minutes, enjoying the chilly air while his daughter cuddles up to him, one of her tiny hands gripping his jacket, while the other one is still holding onto the flowers. He stops in front of a set of four graves, the familiar pit of dread setting deep within him starts to come out, shaky hands managing to gently put the little girl down on the cold ceramic.

Mrs. Riley.

If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.

Simon was hiding his hurt quite well, managing to sit down next to his little girl, one hand on her back as she started crawling around, finally setting the flowers down.

“Mum?” His voice is quiet, almost cracking, as if he was the scared little boy his mother defended with her life. His daughter looks up at him with curious brown eyes, sitting down and entertaining herself with her own onesie.

“I remember telling you I'd never settle down because I could never get as lucky as Tommy and Beth...” He dragged out, gaze going down to the ring on his finger, the physical representation of your union.

“You've met my wife before, and now I want you to see my kid too.” He's barely managing to speak, words coming out rough and choked up as his hand caresses his daughter's thin hair, making him pause just to examine her features. She's a tiny carbon copy of him, a lovely nose and a set of brown eyes that will never see the horrors he lived.

“She's a proper daddy's girl, but you would've loved each other.” He's sure of it. His mum was always so lovely, so nurturing. A true angel on earth with way too much forgiveness and patience for her own good.

He picks his daughter up, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. Simon thought he cried all his tears when he was a little boy, yet his nose is starting to sting, vision getting blurry for a few seconds until a choked sob manages to escape his lips. He's quick to wipe any tears away, simply trying to focus on the peace and quiet the cemetery offers, his hand running up and down his daughter's back, patting it softly just to hear that little giggle that seems to always repair his broken soul.

“All of you would've loved her, shy little thing she is.” He sniffles again before a quiet laugh leaves his lips, smiling despite the way his eyes are still filled with tears threatening to spill at any moment.

“I'm quittin' the SAS soon, don't want her to grow up without a father. The wife's happy about it, too.” Simon lets out a small sigh, looking down at the graves of his family, all buried next to each other. He shakes his head softly, his free hand quickly wiping off his tears before he goes back to holding his daughter, rocking her with care.

“I'll come back with her next time, jus' wanted to talk to you today. Let you meet this lovely girl.” Big brown eyes meet his gaze, instantly cheering him up despite everything. He pinches his cheek softly only for the little girl to smack his hand away with a giggle, only making his smile grow wider at how hot-heated she is. Just like her mother.

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seaside-writings · 1 year

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Prompt #915

"I can't do this anymore,"

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chuluoyi · 7 months

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fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes.

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

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