#drabbles.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ 4:08 AM — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fluff, established relationships, sleepy n cuddly toru :(, just needed to write this to cope with the 236 manga leaks i guess. i just love him tons sobs i need him happy and loved and peaceful

“hey,” you poke satoru’s chest, hearing a low groan rumble under your cheek, “toru?”

“hmm?” oh. he sounds a little tired—maybe you should let him sleep.

“you awake?” you ask anyway.

“am now,” he mumbles—well, he’s already awake, so you might as well indulge in it now. “need somethin’, sweetheart?”

“jus’ missed you is all,” you pout—that makes him grin despite the way he yawns, all wide and smooth even as he fights the sleep in his eyes. you feel just a bit guilty, reaching to cup his cheek and running a thumb over his eyelid carefully.

“yeah?” he chuckles quietly, “‘m right here. you still miss me?”

“yeah,” you whisper, “always miss you. even when you’re right here.”

satoru’s grinning into your cheek as he leans down and presses a wet kiss to the skin—he can’t possibly be mad that you’ve woken him so late. he can’t be mad when it’s you, and it’s him, and it’s each other.

sleep can wait, there’s always time for that later. but there’s never a moment where he wants to risk counting on later when it comes to you.

“what’d you miss about me?” he hums, nibbling on your earlobe as his head buries into your neck. you shift, letting his body tuck against yours as your arms wrap around him—he feels safe like this, somehow. infinity doesn’t make him feel nearly as secure as the way your arms do, tight and warm and made just for holding him.

“dunno,” you murmur, “everything.”

“love me that much?” he asks cheekily, “me sleeping right beside you isn’t enough?”

“no,” you huff, “you can’t pay attention to me in your sleep.”

“my needy baby,” he snickers, rubbing circles into the small of your back with his large palm. he’s warm against you—you can feel the rhythm of his heart as it beats against your body. he’s pressed so close to you, that not even air can slip through the cracks.

truthfully, you don’t know why you wake satoru. you don’t know why you can’t sleep—you just know that you need him. here. now. always. forever. more and more and more and even more.

“toru?” you ask quietly, making him hum as his eyes droop back shut slowly—he must really be tired.

you stare at him fondly, stroking his hair as he sighs happily at the feeling. and then you press a kiss to his forehead, to his cheek, to the corner of his eyes where they crinkle when he smiles, and to those lips of his that always find yours no matter how long it takes.

he always comes back to you. always. he never won’t—that much you trust.

“got somethin’ on your mind, baby?” he asks slowly, voice thick with sleep. you giggle, scratching at his scalp as he smiles lightly.

he dozing off—you watch him, hopelessly endeared.

“i love you,” you whisper, “need you to know that. love you so, so much. kay?”

he cracks an eye open—stares at you like you’re the reason his heart ever started beating, like you’re the only one that could ever command it to stop. every inch of his face is laced with love so gentle, you can see the way it makes his skin glow.

you love him. you’re sure he loves you. that’s all you need to know it’ll be fine. everything else is an afterthought—just as long as you have satoru.

“woke me just to confess your love for me?” he gasps, “you’re down bad. real, real bad. i must be a super handsome, totally awesome boyfriend. i do try,” he says cheekily.

you giggle, rolling your eyes as you pinch his cheek.

“be humble, you jerk,” you say exasperatedly.

it sounds more like you’re in love. too much fondness slipping into your voice that it might make your teeth hurt from how sweet. satoru’s always had a sweet tooth, though—he accepts your love graciously, like it’s never too much.

if fact, it might just not be enough. he needs more, more, more.

“can’t,” he says slowly, yawning again, “you waking me up just to love me is a bit ego boosting.”

“this was a mistake,” you scoff—its playful, it’s fond. it sounds like deeply falling headfirst.

“aw c’mon,” he pouts—and then he’s brushing his lips against your neck a he clings closer to you, curling into your body with his six-foot-something stature as you pull the blanket tighter around him, “love you too. what was it you said again? oh, right—so, so much.”

“good,” you hum, nodding in satisfaction. “you better.”

“i do,” he chuckles, “can i sleep now? or are we gonna start talking about all the things we love about each other? cause i can stay up to listen to that, of course.”

“go to sleep, you idiot,” you scoff.

he grins. you press one last kiss to his forehead as you count the soft breaths he takes while he falls back asleep.

you love him—it’s all you ever want to do.

i cried while writing this and i cried thinking about the leaks and i cried while reading the leaks and i cried and cried and i’m tired of crying. gege when i catch you gege 🔫

#teepods.writings #drabbles. #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[imagines-by-elysian]

Naps- Gojo Satoru

🗝Oneshot: Just a sweet moment shared between you two.

🗝Genre: Fluff

🗝Pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

It was a tiresome afternoon at the Jujutsu High. The duo had returned from yet another missioned assigned, The sun was streaming through the windows of the dormitory, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Gojo was stretched out on the couch, his trademark glasses covering his eyes. On the other side of the room, you half seated on the floor and half on the beanbag, engrossed on your phone.

Gojo let out a contented sigh and sat up. "You know," he said, his voice low, "I could really use a nap right now."

You glanced up from your phone and smiled at him. "Me too," you agreed, feeling the tiredness seeping into your bones. The mission was tiresome, maybe you could take a break

Without another word, Gojo stood up and walked over to you. He held out his hand, a silent invitation. You took it, allowing him to pull you up from the floor. Together, you made your way to his room. The sheets on his bed were soft and inviting, and you couldn’t help but yawn as you settled in.

Gojo kicked off his shoes and lay down next to you, pulling you into his arms. You snuggled close, feeling his warmth enveloping you. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before closing his eyes, his breathing steady and calming.

"Gotta remove those glasses now Satoru," You said, as you removed his glasses, keeping them at the side table as Gojo does nothing but give a grin to you.

Wrapped in Gojo's arms, you felt safe and cherished. The events of the day faded away, and all that remained was the comforting presence of the man you loved. As you drifted to doze off, you whispered, "I love you, you know."

Gojo's lips curved into a gentle smile. "I love you too," he murmured, his hands wrapped around you as you both snuggled each other.

And in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the two of you, entwined in each other's arms, finding solace and peace in a shared nap.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #jjk satoru #gojou satoru #gojou #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x you #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #jjk gojou #gojou x y/n #drabbles. #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[xamilarin]

bf gojo who’s good at anything he does so I make him learn how to do nails and he becomes my personal nail tech. 🤭🤭

#drabbles. #gojo × reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jjk × reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[embersofhope-if]

39/Ash

39: “ I wish we could stay like this forever. ”

bet you thought this was gonna be a fluffy thing when you asked for it huh

wordcount: 965

The only thing I can hear is two words echoing over and over again. No not words. A name. The most important name in my life.  

Asher Fairchild.  

It repeats on a continuous loop in my mind until their name almost loses meaning.  

Asher Fairchild.  

Ash Fairchild.  

Ash. 

My Ash.  

Not even twenty-four hours ago we were busy watching the stars and climbing rooftops. I can still smell the night air and the scent of leather that follows Ash everywhere they go. If I try hard enough, I can almost hear their laugh, almost feel the softness of their hair, almost see their blinding grin.  

Right now, that grin is nowhere to be seen. In its place is a tight lipped smile that I can tell is their attempt to stop themselves from crying.  

Why on Earth does it have to be them? Everyone knows the world is cruel, but this is downright evil. Of the thousands of names in that bowl there should be no way that the name Asher Fairchild should ever be called.  

I’m shoving my way through the crowd desperate to reach Ash. I have no idea what I’m going to do but I can’t just stand here and watch my light walk out of my life and straight to their death.  

There has to be something I can do. Could I volunteer? Or I could find some way to get them to redo the reaping. I can beg Father to stop and pick a different name. The Vesper name is powerful but is it really powerful enough to overrule a reaping? No, it's not, maybe I can knock over some of the cameras and cause a scene. I just need to do something. I don’t care how much trouble it’ll get me into. If it means Ash gets to live, I’ll gladly take any punishment.  

I’ve finally managed to shove my way to the edge of the crowd, and I can see Ash walking down to climb the stairs up to the stage. 

Just as they start to walk past me, I manage to reach out and grab their wrist, stopping them from moving any further. Any semblance of a plan that I had immediately disappears when I look into their eyes. I expected to see fear. Who wouldn’t be terrified in this moment, but all I can see in their eyes is the grim acceptance of their fate.  

How can they just accept this so easily? They are walking to their literal death and they’re just okay with it? That’s not the Ash I know. The Ash that I know would fight this as much as they could, or they’d at least make it a show that nobody could turn away from. Instead, all they’re doing is putting on a smile and going quietly.  

My confusion stops me from being able to say anything. So caught up in trying to figure out what is wrong with them, I don’t even notice the peacekeepers that have started to walk towards us. The moment I feel a hand on my shoulder I’m snapped back into reality.  

They’re trying to pull me away, but I refuse to let go of Ash’s wrist. My grip so tight it has to be hurting them, but I can’t let myself care about that not right now. If I let go, I might not ever get a goodbye. So, I decide to hold on for dear life.  

There’re four peacekeepers now, two behind me and two behind Ash, and each pair is getting ready to pull us apart. The fear that runs through my body is indescribable. Suddenly I’m able to understand why Hope freezes any time I try to take his favorite toy from him. I’m taking the most important thing in his life away and all he can do is sit there and watch.  

I feel a hand wrap around the one I have latched to Ash’s wrist but this time I don’t feel the leather of a peacekeepers glove. Instead, I feel Ash’s warm and slightly shaky hand begin to pull mine away from them.  

“You have to let go [Name]]. Please don’t make this a fight” they plead with me, their voice is so quiet that I can barely hear them.  

“I’m not going to just let this happen Ash.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

They finally manage to pry my hand off their wrist but instead of stepping away they take a step forward and cup my face. We don’t say a word. I honestly don’t think either of us know what to say; not with all of Panem watching us. Instead, Ash leans forward and presses a kiss on my forehead. I desperately wish we could stay like this forever. Just as the peacekeepers begin to pull us away Ash leans to whisper in my ear. 

“If you’re quick I bet you could sneak into the Justice Building. We can talk in there.” 

For a second, I see the regular Ash again but just as quickly they’re gone. With a flash of a smile, they turn back to the stage and keep walking. I’m suddenly all too aware of the number of eyes I have on me. I even manage to spot a camera still pointed in my direction.  

The peacekeepers try to pull me back, but I quickly shove off their hands and walk back into the crowd without them. I don’t care how many laws I’m breaking by leaving the reaping or how many more I’ll be breaking by sneaking into the Justice Building. If they’re going to take Ash from me, I’m going to at least get a proper goodbye. 

The last thing I see before I duck out of the crowd are my father's eyes.  

#mc suddenly realizing that they're on national television is kinda funny ngl #*giggles* #im so sorry (no im not) #this is like two days after i said i was gonna post it but pretend its not #ash fairchild. #mc vesper. #drabbles.

[eloquentreverie]

Thinking about Author! Ransom and touch starved! female! reader.

Minors DNI! 18+

this is a little concept inspired by my recent moodboard and based on the wip i currently have in my google docs.

requests are open!

You don’t really like being apart from your boyfriend. You hate it. But Ransom likes to be alone when he’s working. He’s grumpy and snaps at you occasionally if you interrupt him or step into his office. But one night when he’s fighting a bad bout of writer’s block, you decide to come in when you hear him shouting.

His eyes flick upward when he sees you in the doorway, your brows both knitted together in concern. Wide, doe eyes staring at him from across the room. You slowly walk over to him. Usually he’d yell at you to get out already but he’s too entranced by you. The way your full length, silk nightgown is hugging your curves, the way your curly hair is cascading over your shoulders, paired with the fur coat you have draped over your arms. You're stunning.

And before he knows it, you’re striding across the room, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind the chair. “Baby, you’ve been at this all night. Come to bed, please.” You coo in his ear. Ransom let’s a sigh escape past his parted lips. “I can’t, babygirl. I have a deadline. You know that.” He’s stubborn, he always has been. And you know how important his writing is to him but you’re not giving up yet. You've been waiting for hours while he typed on his computer for hours. You even tried pleasuring yourself to the thought of him. But it's not the same. You need him. You want him!

“I know, baby. But I miss you— I need you. Just take a short break, please? For me?” You plead, hoping, praying he’ll give in and when he doesn’t answer, your hands trail down his chest, your nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling the woodsy scent from his cologne, lips brushing the side of his neck.

“Ransom, I need you.” You beg, one hand inching closer to his belt buckle. And before you can move another inch, he snatches your wrist. At first it takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as he spins around in his chair. Ransom smirks at your shocked expression. “You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” Still grabbing hold of your wrist, he pulls you down onto his lap, one arm snaking around your waist, holding you in place.

While the other glides down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You think you can just waltz in here and I’m gonna give you what you want? Hm?”

“Ransom, please—?” He interrupts you, cupping your mouth with his palm. His other arm still holding you against him, his growing bulge pressed against your ass. “You feel that? That’s all me, babygirl.” You clench your thighs together, a familiar honeyed heat pooling in your lower belly. Ransom grins when you don't answer. “Here’s what’s going to happen; you’re going to do what I say, and if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale x you #knives out #chris evans #ransom drysdale drabble. #my writing #drabbles. #concepts. #ransom drysdale brainrot #cevans fandom #chris evans characters #byeeee #i need to take a cold shower after writing this #ransom drysdale blurbs

[houseflyy]

Are you Listening?

619 words.

—

“Father?” Melody said, nudging him on the arm. “Father? Are you listening?”

She watched his chest rise with a great inhale, then the steady stream of air that was his breath depart from his mouth. A deep breath, she knew, was good for him; deep breaths helped Father feel more relaxed. But his eyes remained closed, and he didn’t reply. Maybe, with time, he would feel better, but Melody was impatient. Why wait for him to be happy later when he could be happy now?

She hopped up onto the rim of his glasses, where she said again, “Are you listening, Father?” Still, no response.

“Well...” A smile grew on her face. “Are you ready?” She didn’t wait for an answer this time. The next moment, she flew up over his head, then down to the outside of his ear, brushing her fluttering wings against it.

That was when he began laughing.

“Melody,” Father said with a groan, “stop that.” He gently waved a hand near the little fly, who had no trouble avoiding it, buzzing over and under his sluggish, outstretched fingers. And she started to laugh too, a light jingle that grew with intensity when she flew around Father and playfully batted at his other ear.

“Got you! Got you!” Melody called out to him amid her giggling, and again, she flew out of the way of giant fingers intending to nudge her away.

“All right,” Father sighed. He shrugged his shoulders, raised both his hands away, and leaned in his chair. “I give up. You can buzz in my ears all you want from now on. You can even live in them, too.”

“What!?”

Melody halted before him and nearly fell from the air as she did. “Live in your ears? That’s silly,” she chuckled. “I couldn’t do that!” But she eyed Father’s face closely, and he looked quite serious. “...Could I?”

“Maybe,” Father told her. He held out a finger beneath her, and she landed upon it. “Think about what that would be like.”

“Well—” Melody held a claw up to her face in thought— “I could go with you wherever you go. I could talk with you all the time and tell you secrets that no one else could hear! And I would never get cold.”

“Right.”

“Bu-uuu-ut,” she continued, “it would be a lot less roomy than my enclosure. Where would I play? Where would I put my food dish?”

“True,” said Father.

“I’m not sure,” Melody said. She rubbed at her eyes. “I guess I could try it?”

“Of course, you could. It’s always good to try things,” Father noted, “so you can come up with a confident answer. Remember?”

Melody nodded her head. “Yeah. Yeah! Then I’ll try it—for a confident answer!” She wasted no time, bouncing off his finger, buzzing up to the right side of him, and perching atop his ear. And she considered it more than she arguably ever had, climbing around, taking note of where was comfiest, and realizing that trying to nestle any further within his ear was much too tight.

She was so intent on observing the potential new living space that she overlooked Father gradually reaching up his hand. “Mmm—No. I can’t live here; I like my enclosure better,” she thought aloud. And she happily declared: “There’s my answer!”

A great big hand cupped itself around her.

“—Huh?”

“Got you,” Father smirked. He covered his ear and trapped her!

“Hey! Hey!” Melody jumped onto his palm and pushed and patted at it. But she was met only with his laughter, much louder and guttural than before. Melody stopped pouting and listened to him. Then, she started to laugh, too.

—

#drabbles. #( surprise! a short piece with melody and her dad :) with the hope to show/develop their dynamic a bit )

[erinevrly]

everybody  needs  a  little  time  away,  i  heard  her  say,  from  each  other.  even  lovers  need  a  holiday,  far  away,  from  each  other…  

peter  cetera’s  voice  pours  from  the  speakers  and  fills  the  sweet-smelling  interior  of  the  red  jeep  wrangler  with  a  hint  of  nostalgia,  but  the  driver  doesn’t  seem  to  notice.  her  sightless  eyes  remain  fixated  on  the  winding  road  ahead,  looking  but  not  really  seeing.  a  fresh  wave  of  tears  blurring  her  vision,  and  still  her  foot  continues  to  steadily  apply  more  and  more  pressure  to  the  gas  pedal.  she  could  care  less  she’s  a  long  way  from  home,  on  decker  canyon  road;  the  road  famous  for  two  things  —  an  impressive  pile  of  rust-covered  chassis  of  cars  adorning  its  hills,  and  its  uncanny  ability  to  give  even  the  calmest  drivers  gray  hair  and  forehead  wrinkles.  she  should  pay  attention  to  her  surroundings  as  one  wrong  turn,  one  slip  of  a  wheel  and  it’ll  all  be  over,  but…  that  thought  no  longer  scares  her.  in  fact,  she  embraces  it.  she’s  been  driving  aimlessly  for  almost  two  hours  now,  trying  to  muster  enough  courage  and  looking  for  the  perfect  spot  to  put  an  end  to  all  this  pain.  she  doesn’t  remember  when  exactly  she  lost  all  will  to  live  but  it  must  have  been  a  gradual  process,  and  now  her  mind’s  made  up  —  she  needs  a  way  out…  

she  catches  a  glimpse  of  her  face  in  the  rearview  mirror  and  quickly  looks  away,  appalled  by  what’s  looking  back  at  her.  she  resembles  something  straight  out  of  a  nightmare.  her  lip  is  busted  and  swollen,  dry  blood  clinging  to  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  her  cheeks  are  puffy  and  red,  tears  mixed  with  mascara  racing  across  the  irritated  skin.  a  purple  bruise  is  beginning  to  bloom  beneath  her  left  eye.  she  makes  a  mental  note  to  herself  to  cancel  that  trip  to  new  york  tomorrow  morning,  no  fashion  week  or  photoshoot  for  her,  not  anytime  soon,  her  husband  sorted  that  out.  it  was  a  particularly  nasty  fight,  even  as  for  their  standards.  the  most  violent  one  yet,  she  thinks,  feeling  helpless.  it  all  started  when  the  singer  came  back  home  later  than  expected,  smelling  like  cheap  beer  and  another  woman’s  perfume,  and  she  decided  to  confront  him  right  there  and  then.  where’d  he  been?  with  whom?  she  threw  all  kinds  of  accusations  at  him  before  he  even  managed  to  take  off  his  jacket.  she  told  him  she  knew  he’d  been  tempering  with  her  birth  control  —  did  he  really  think  she  was  an  idiot  and  wouldn’t  see  a  difference?  then  she  told  him,  or  rather  half-screamed  half-cried,  that  she  was  tired  of  the  constant  lack  of  attention  from  him.  he  was  never  there  for  her,  not  unless  he  wanted  something  from  her,  all  while  expecting  her  to  be  available  at  any  given  time.  and  so  it  went  from  there,  neither  needing  more  than  a  spark  to  ignite  their  fury.  at  some  point,  she  ended  up  throwing  an  ashtray  at  him,  aimed  at  his  face  but  it  hit  him  in  the  shoulder.  glass  scattered  everywhere.  she  also  delivered  the  first  slap.  though,  when  he  finally  retaliated,  she  didn’t  really  stand  a  chance.

and  so  here  she  is,  all  alone,  with  nowhere  to  go  and  a  head  full  of  terrifying  ideas.  she  can’t  go  back  home  now,  doesn’t  want  to  go  back  home  now.  or  really  ever  again.  she’s  finally  had  enough.  she  can’t  keep  going  on  like  this.  she’s  decided  that  she  won’t  take  him  back  no  matter  what  he  does  or  says.  and  who  knows,  maybe  he  won’t  come  crawling  back  this  time  ‘round?  maybe  he’ll  keep  his  word  and  stay  away  from  her.  wouldn’t  that  be  something?  the  only  thing  that  she’ll  miss  is  his  dog,  but  other  than  that,  she  figures  she’ll  finally  feel  free,  find  happiness  again.  it  will  take  time,  but  she’ll  get  through  it.  unfortunately,  as  she’s  dwelling  over  the  fateful  events  of  tonight,  the  low-fuel  warning  light  illuminates  on  the  dashboard  and  captures  her  attention.  even  in  the  state  that  she’s  in,  she  figures  she  can’t  let  her  car  die  in  the  middle  of  nowhere  in  almost  complete  darkness.  she  might  have  a  death  wish,  but  she  wouldn’t  want  the  sentence  to  be  carried  out  by  some  hobos  with  switchblade  knives  and  rotting  teeth.  besides,  she’s  growing  more  and  more  tired,  and  who  is  she  kidding?  she  could  spend  the  next  ten  hours  in  this  car  and  still  she  wouldn’t  have  the  guts  to  drive  it  off  a  cliff.

she  has  to  find  a  place  to  stay,  but  her  options  are  limited  to  say  the  least.  she  thinks  about  going  to  the  only  place  where  she’ll  always  be  safe  and  loved  —  her  mother’s  house.  she  wants  nothing  more  than  for  her  mom  to  take  her  into  her  arms  and  hold  her,  tell  her  that  she  did  the  right  thing  by  finally  leaving  that  man.  however,  one  more  glance  at  her  reflection  has  her  coming  back  to  her  senses.  she  simply  can’t  let  her  own  mother  see  her  like  this.  it  would  break  venetia’s  heart.  she  could  go  to  meegan,  but  meegan’s  seen  too  much  already  and  it  wouldn’t  be  fair  to  put  her  through  this  all  over  again.  she  could  go  to  taryn’s,  but  she’s  too  embarrassed.  her  childhood  friend’s  never  been  particularly  supportive  of  her  relationship  with  the  singer,  and  erin  doubts  she  could  handle  a  single  didn’t  i  tell  you  so?  she  figures  she  could  go  to  mandy’s,  but  it’s  been  almost  two  months  since  the  last  time  they  spoke.  she  and  duff  finalized  their  divorce  at  the  beginning  of  april,  and  although  the  two  women  had  tried  to  stay  in  touch  at  first,  their  bond  deteriorated.  if  erin  showed  up  at  her  doorstep  now,  she’d  be  putting  both  of  them  in  an  uncomfortable  position.  she  could  always  go  to  a  motel,  but  even  though  she’s  toying  with  the  idea  of  ending  her  life,  she  doesn’t  want  to  go  down  quietly.  what  she  really  wants  is  attention.  and  to  make  the  redhead  pay  for  her  suffering.  and  who  else  knows  just  how  awful  her  husband  can  be?  who  would  take  her  side  in  a  heartbeat  in  any  situation?  who  wouldn’t  pity  her  or  look  away  from  her  bruised  face  in  disgust?  who  could  help  her  get  rid  of  this  pain?  there’s  only  one  person,  she  decides  and  heads  for  laurel  terrace  where  an  old  friend  of  hers  currently  resides. 

steven.  she’s  never  felt  any  sort  of  romantic  attraction  towards  the  drummer,  even  though  neither  can  deny  the  strange  tension  that  blooms  between  them  when  their  eyes  meet  or  hands  brush  against  one  another  by  accident.  they’re  good  friends,  that’s  all  there  is  to  it,  erin  insists  and  her  heart  agrees  —  she’s  only  ever  truly  loved  one  man  and  never  felt  attracted  to  any  of  his  brothers.  how  weird  would  that  be?  but  she’d  have  to  be  blind  and  stupid  to  think  steven  feels  the  same  way  about  her.  he  must  have  had  a  crush  on  her  at  some  point  (and  maybe  still  does),  or  maybe  he  only  found  her  interesting  because  of  the  strange  rivalry  between  him  and  axl  that’d  been  going  on  for  months  back  when  they  first  started  hanging  out.  either  way  and  whatever  the  reason,  he’s  always  in  her  corner.  he  greets  her  with  a  smile,  cracks  jokes  and  makes  her  laugh  even  when  she  doesn’t  feel  like  laughing…  and  unlike  the  other  guys,  who  would  much  rather  swallow  a  pile  of  shattered  glass  than  openly  take  a  side  in  the  war  of  the  roses,  he  never  hesitates  to  choose  her  and  call  axl  out  on  his  behavior.  she  thinks  their  bond  goes  back  to  that  time  when  the  singer  slept  with  adriana.  erin  had  no  one  to  confide  in  and  steven  was  the  one  that  she  came  to,  the  one  who  surely  understood  her  pain  to  a  certain  degree  and  could  sympathize  with  her,  let  her  cry  on  his  shoulder.  she’s  heard  rumors  that  he’s  no  longer  the  same  person  now,  that  his  addiction’s  spiraled  out  of  control,  but  she,  naively,  refuses  to  believe  that.  they  all  do  drugs  and  drink.  they’re  only  ganging  up  on  him  because  he  keeps  getting  under  axl’s  skin,  and  everyone  always  does  as  axl  pleases…  somehow,  at  this  particular  moment,  that  fact  only  makes  steven’s  house  a  more  attractive  destination  in  erin’s  eyes.  she  won’t  have  to  lie  to  him  about  what’s  happened  to  her  and  he’ll  surely  have  something  for  her  pain.  something  stronger  than  valium.  and  so  she  makes  up  her  mind.

it’s  an  hour  long  drive,  but  she  makes  it  in  almost  half  that  time.  driving  recklessly  just  because  at  this  point  she’s  got  nothing  to  lose,  wondering  if  she’ll  eventually  run  out  of  gas  or  crash  into  some  truck.  her  thoughts  keep  coming  back  to  the  fight,  replaying  all  the  horrible  things  that  she  said  to  axl,  all  the  horrible  things  he  said  to  her,  causing  more  tears  to  well  up  in  her  tired  eyes.  her  mind’s  clearly  trying  to  guilt  her,  make  it  seem  like  maybe  she’s  deserved  all  this.  she  reminds  herself  that  she  has  to  be  strong,  that  she  can’t  go  back  now.  every  time  her  heart  pangs  and  she  begins  to  feel  bad,  she  lifts  her  gaze  and  finds  her  reflection  in  the  rearview  mirror.  a  good  enough  reminder  as  to  why  she  can  never  go  back  home.  it’s  no  longer  her  home.  she  can’t  live  with  that  man,  but  she  also  can’t  live  without  him…  the  irony,  she  thinks,  shifting  the  car  into  park  and  shutting  off  the  engine  in  the  driveway  of  her  friend’s  house.  

it  takes  steven  a  long  moment  to  come  to  the  door  and  another  to  actually  unlock  it.  she  can  hear  him  fumbling  with  the  chain,  struggling  to  get  it  off  the  hook.  but  when  he  finally  succeeds  and  invites  her  in,  erin  finds  herself  frozen  in  place  and  nearly  gasps.  he  looks  worse  than  ever.  his  clothes  have  sweat-stains  on  them  and  smell  absolutely  foul,  a  combination  of  booze  and  smoke  and  piss.  his  hair  hasn’t  been  brushed  in  days,  and  when  he  opens  his  mouth  to  mumble  a  surprised  hello,  erin,  she  realizes  that  neither  have  his  teeth.  they’re  yellowish,  with  remnants  of  whatever  it  was  that  he’d  had  for  dinner  stuck  in  between.  one  look  into  his  eyes  and  she  knows  he’s  both  drunk  and  high,  knows  all  the  rumors  are  in  fact  true,  and  for  a  second  feels  sick  to  her  stomach,  contemplates  abandoning  her  plan  altogether  and  coming  up  with  some  silly  excuse  for  her  unexpected  visit.  but  where  would  she  go  then?  she  tells  herself  that  she’s  feeling  so  uneasy  solely  because  she  hasn’t  eaten  much  today,  hasn’t  slept  either.  her  stomach  feels  like  it’s  been  scraped  from  the  inside,  but  she  ignores  it  and  forces  herself  to  step  inside,  closes  the  door  behind  herself.  the  man  in  front  of  her  is  no  longer  the  person  that  she  used  to  know  and  love  in  the  platonic  way,  he’s  just  a  shell  now,  but  she  ignores  that,  too.  the  hollow  look  in  his  eyes,  the  odor.  he  needs  help  and  all  his  friends  have  turned  their  backs  on  him,  that’s  why  he’s  changed  so  much,  she  tells  herself,  feeling  sorry  for  him.

he  leads  her  to  a  darkened,  sunken  living  room,  where  heavy,  black  curtains  have  been  closed  for  the  night,  blocking  any  light  from  the  street.  the  place  is  a  mess,  much  like  its  owner,  but  erin  pushes  a  few  empty  cans  and  used  syringe  off  the  couch  and  sits  down  all  the  same,  pretending  she  doesn’t  see  how  what  used  to  be  a  nice,  cozy  home  is  now  a  mix  between  a  drug  den  and  garbage  dump.  he  offers  her  a  drink  and  she  takes  it,  out  of  politeness  but  also  because  she  really  needs  to  forget  about  what  happened  between  her  and  axl.  she  feels  like  she’s  wasted  her  life  —  who  is  she  without  him?  no  one.  besides,  she  tells  herself,  she  can’t  be  such  a  priss.  she’s  never  been  much  of  a  drinker  and  so  it  takes  all  of  her  willpower  not  to  just  spit  that  first  sip  of  her  beer  out.  she  holds  on,  forces  herself  to  swallow  and  then  opens  up  almost  immediately,  feeling  the  need  to  get  it  all  off  her  chest.  

she  sniffles  and  wipes  at  her  cheeks  while  retelling  the  story  of  how  she  got  to  where  she  is,  leaving  out  a  few  details  that  could  make  her  look  bad.  she  can’t  tell  if  steven’s  really  listening  to  her  or  just  nodding  his  head  and  dozing  off,  his  eyes  are  barely  open,  but  she  keeps  talking  to  him  all  the  same.  when  he  finally  regains  control  over  his  mind  and  body,  at  least  to  a  certain  degree,  he  tells  her  that  she  deserves  better,  that  he  knows  the  singer  just  as  well  as  she  does  and  he’s  simply  not  going  to  change  his  ways,  trades  a  secret  for  a  secret  even  and  fills  her  head  with  the  kind  of  stories  that  axl  kept  hidden  from  her  —  whether  they’re  true  or  not  is  a  whole  different  thing,  of  course,  but  she  absorbs  them  either  way.  they  leave  her  feeling  even  more  horrible,  even  more  unloved,  worthless,  and  that’s  when  the  drummer  offers  to  help  her  out.  she  doesn’t  even  have  to  ask,  he  comes  up  with  the  idea  to  give  her  something  for  the  pain,  claims  to  have  the  perfect  remedy,  one  he’s  been  waiting  to  share  it  with  her.

they  go  upstairs.  she  follows  him  to  his  bedroom  like  a  lost  puppy,  not  really  thinking  much  of  it  because  they’re  good  friends  and  he’s  just  trying  to  help  her  in  a  way  that  no  one  else  would  or  could.  everybody  else  is  too  scared  of  axl  to  even  consider  sharing  their  drugs  with  her,  or  maybe  too  sane  to  even  think  about  introducing  a  friend  to  heroin.  most  people  would  take  one  look  at  her  and  know  that  she’s  having  a  mental  breakdown  and  needs  a  therapist,  not  an  addiction.  but  steven’s  past  the  point  of  caring,  all  he  can  think  of  is  another  high  and  the  fact  that  he’s  waited  for  this  woman  to  come  to  him  for  years.  here  she  is,  finally  seeing  that  he’s  a  better  man  than  the  one  who  broke  her  heart,  that  he’d  never  lay  a  hand  on  her.  he  helps  her  out  because  she’s  trembling,  her  hands  shaking  as  she  tells  him  she’s  too  scared  of  needles  to  do  it  herself.  an  anxious  laugh  rolling  off  her  tongue,  pale  blue  eyes  scanning  the  place  for  an  escape  route.  she  contemplates  backing  out,  but  he  talks  her  out  of  it,  assures  her  this  is  exactly  what  she  needs.  this  will  make  all  her  problems  disappear.  and  so  she  extends  her  skinny  arm,  hoping  he  really  will  end  her  suffering.  

it  stings  only  for  a  second,  but  then  an  impossible  warmth  begins  to  spread  throughout  her  entire  body.  she  licks  her  swollen  lips,  tasting  her  own  blood  but  no  longer  wincing.  she  closes  her  eyes,  fireworks  exploding  behind  her  eyelids,  ringing  in  her  ears.  but  something’s  wrong  and  deep  down  she  can  sense  it.  something’s  wrong  with  her  body,  with  steven,  too,  with  this  whole  situation.  it  hits  her  like  a  freight  train  —  she  doesn’t  want  to  be  here,  she  wants  to  go  home  to  axl.  her  chest  feels  heavy,  so  heavy  that  she  can  barely  hold  herself  up,  let  alone  take  a  deep  breath.  her  back  collides  with  the  soft  mattress  below  and  it’s  like  a  carousel,  the  world  around  is  spinning  so  fast.  for  a  split  second,  she’s  feeling  nauseous  and  even  tries  to  signal  that  to  her  friend,  but…  is  she  making  sounds  or  just  moving  her  lips?  she  knows  steven’s  saying  something  back  to  her,  but  it  seems  that  his  voice  is  coming  from  miles  away.  are  they  underwater?  would  explain  why  it’s  so  hard  to  breathe.  are  her  ribs  made  of  lead?  she  can  feel  steven’s  breath  on  her  cheek,  his  hand  touching  her  stomach,  but  her  skin’s  burning  up  at  that  point,  and  she  couldn’t  protest  or  panic  even  if  she  wanted  to.  the  darkness  and  that  impossible  warmth  begin  to  engulf  her  whole.  gosh,  there  really  must  be  something  heavy  sitting  on  her  chest  because  she  can’t  breathe,  her  lungs  refuse  to  expand.  she  parts  her  bruised  lips  but  they’ve  already  begun  to  turn  purple.  the  last  thing  she  remembers  is  the  sound  of  knocking  coming  from  downstairs  —  what  she  doesn’t  know  is  the  man  waiting  outside,  andy,  will  save  her  life  tonight.  she’s  losing  consciousness  but  she  swears  she  can  see  her  husband’s  face.  her  mind,  deprived  of  oxygen,  must  be  playing  tricks  on  her  but  she  sees  him  and  runs  to  him,  wraps  her  arms  around  his  neck  and…  the  heavy,  comforting  warmth  of  his  embrace  feels  far  too  good  to  not  fade  into  as  everything  around  her  turns  into  dark  nothingness.

#canon verse. #drabbles. #viewer discretion is advised :') that time er was having a real hard time and steven od'd her :') #the source material on this is conflicting and sketchy to say the least so i wanted to stay vague :') #i also honestly dont think the r word happened but the whole thing is again super sketchy to me

[saetoru]

underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((

- 🦋 anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.

contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending

money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.

it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.

he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.

and then the presents start to come.

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)

#teepods.writings #drabbles. #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley x you #wriothesley angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #wrio x reader #wrio x you #wrio fluff #wrio angst

[imagines-by-elysian]

I LOVE YOU SO - Gojo Saturo

🗝Oneshot: You were a fool to trust him.

🗝Genre: Mild!Angst + used lyrics of the song 'I love you so'

🗝Pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

You stood in the dimly lit room, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and broken promises. Gojo was standing before you, his eyes pleading, yet his actions told a different story.

"You're saying I'm the one," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant sounds of the bustling city outside.

“Y/N, its not like that I-"

"But it's your actions that speak louder, giving me love when you are down and need another. I've gotta get away and let you go,"

"Y/N please" Gojo cried, as he moved a little close to you, trying to be in the comfort zone of yours like he was before.

"I've gotta get over. But I lo-" Your voice cracked, and words remained unspoken

Gojo's expression wavered, a mix of regret and longing crossing his features. He reached out, his fingers tracing the outline of your face, as if trying to memorize every curve and contour. "I never meant to hurt you," he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity.

But you couldn't let his words weaken your resolve. The pain of his betrayal was still fresh, the wounds he had inflicted on your soul too deep to ignore. "I'm gonna pack my things and leave you behind," you continued, your voice gaining strength as you wiped your running tears. "This feeling's old and I know that I've made up my mind."

You thought you had lost your mind. But no, its his fault.

As you started gathering your belongings, Gojo watched helplessly, his eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and remorse. He wanted to hold you, to convince you to stay, but he knew he had shattered your trust completely.

"I hope you feel what I felt when you shattered my soul," you said, your voice catching on the words. "Because you were cruel and I'm a fool."

Gojo reaches out to hold your hand, only for you to look at him with teary eyes and a swift movement to free your hand,

"So, please let me go."

With a final glance, you walked away, leaving Gojo behind in the shadows of the room. The door closed softly behind you, sealing the chapter of your life that had been defined by love and heartache.

As you stepped out into the cold night, tears blurred your vision, its over isnt it?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #jjk satoru #gojou satoru #gojou #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x you #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #jjk gojou #gojou x y/n #drabbles. #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[embersofhope-if]

Okay i wrote this a while ago bc somebody requested it but now i can't find the ask💔

anyways heres a drabble of the fight Mc and Aurel got into when they were sixteen

tw for fighting, dissociation, strangulation, and theres a needle used at the end but its not explicitly stated

wordcount: 1.9k

The rain pours down onto me as I stand waiting. What I'm waiting for, I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that I need to stand here and wait until whatever is supposed to happen happens. I see the blurred figures of both children and teachers leaving the school to go start their afternoon shifts in the factories. Even if I can’t clearly see their faces, I can feel their glares, anger, and hatred hot on my skin. It’s the only thing I can feel at the moment. It’s honestly about the only thing I’ve been able to feel since the games ended. I can’t bring myself to think too deeply about what happened, or I might start drowning in every emotion imaginable, again.

I can’t let that happen. They’ll put me on so many pills I won’t be able to tell which way is up.

So, I continue to stand, waiting in the rain, having only the heat of glares keeping me warm. A bolt of lightning hits the building across the street, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The jolt of fear suddenly clears my mind of the fog that it’s been trapped in, and I realize why I’m here.

Ash

Every day without fail, Ash and I would meet up here after school. Whether we would just talk for a couple of minutes before their shift at the factory or I was walking them home, we always met up here.

All at once, everything that I haven’t been able to feel hits me so hard I almost fall over. Every feeling forms into a single thought.

I’ve got to get out of here now.

I run, fleeing from the courtyard and everything that’s happened there. That courtyard is nothing but a painful reminder that Ash is gone, and there is nothing I can do to bring them back. With the fog lifted from my brain, I can now fully feel the pain of what's happened. My heart aches as if the games happened just yesterday, and it has left my feet unsteady as I continue to run. I have no idea where I'm running to, probably somewhere equally as painful, but as long as I’m moving away from here, I don’t really care.

I shove past several people, barely hearing their angry shouts of protest, and force my way through a set of doors. I have no idea where I am or where to go. I recognize the room, but my mind refuses to focus enough to remember the name. All I can think about is how much my chest aches and how cold my hands are. My skin feels so cold it's like I’ve never felt the Sun.

I force myself to sit down before I collapse onto the floor, trying not to make any more of a scene than I already have. Exhaustion begins to replace whatever panic is left in my body.

I need to stand up. Make my way home before someone tells Father that I’ve had some type of breakdown. Explain to him that this is nothing like that.

But it is exactly like that, isn’t it? I’m not entirely sure what counts as a breakdown, but sprinting through school grounds shoving anyone out of my way in a blind panic probably counts at least as the start of one. The worry of what Father is going to do when he finds out isn’t enough to motivate my body to move again. I’m so exhausted that all I can bring myself to do is sit here and breathe.

I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve been here, but it’s long enough for me to finally realize where I’m at, the community cafeteria. I’m just thankful I didn’t barge my way into some teacher’s classroom, which means the chances of someone noticing me are significantly lower. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to stand, but I have noticed other people moving about and taking seats. These must be late-day shift workers. That means it's almost seven o’clock, and I’m supposed to be at dinner in thirty minutes. This realization finally manages to get my limbs moving again.

I’ve got to get across the city in the middle of a shift change in less than thirty minutes and then pretend that I’ve spent the last three hours in my room instead of out here trying not to lose my mind. This is going to be near impossible

I quickly stand, trying to come up with something to say to my family whenever I get back home.

Maybe I can say I went on a walk or Hope went missing and I went looking for him. Who am I kidding? Mother wouldn’t believe that for a second, and if she did, Calliope wouldn’t, and she’d have no problem with immediately calling me out on the lie.

No matter what I come up with, every excuse is worse than the last. Ultimately, I decided to just get back as fast as I could and wing it from there.

Once again, I begin shoving my way through groups of people not really caring for the looks they throw my way. I’m stopped whenever a hand grabs my collar and pulls, hard. The motion forces me to turn around, and I come face to face with Aurel Weaver. The anger in their eyes does nothing but confuse me.

I hardly know Aurel. I can’t even remember the last time I spoke to them. What could I have possibly done to make them so angry?

For a minute, we both just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak. I take the moment to properly look at them. After the games ended, shifts at the factories began to ramp up, and Aurel ended up dropping out of school to keep up with the work they were assigned. I haven’t really seen them since then, but I can tell the work is taking a toll on them, changing them. They look about as exhausted as I feel. Their skin pale, and the bags under their eyes are worse than I've ever seen them before. But the biggest change I can see is in their eyes; beautiful hazel eyes drowning in nothing but fury and hatred, and it's all directed at me. A sharp pang runs through my chest. I may not have been best friends with Aurel, but I still considered them at the very least a friendly acquaintance. I force myself to ignore the hurt and very suddenly realize that I’ve been staring for too long and I can't afford to waste what little time I have to get home. “Sorry Aurel, I didn’t mean to run into you,” I say quickly, going to turn to leave.

I take a step away until I, once again, feel a hand grab me. Only this time, the hand is wrapped around both my collar and the chain hanging around my neck. They’re saying something to me, but all I can focus on is the chain in their hand and the fact that if they pull it’ll snap. I take a breath slightly, turning my head, forcing myself to listen to what they’re saying.

“It’s rude to not answer my questions, you know?” Aurel growls, and I can feel them getting ready to yank me back. Instead of responding, I try to move out of their grip. At the same time, they decide to pull, and I feel the chain snap.

The pendant slides down my shirt, and I watch it fall to the ground. The last precious gift that I will ever get from Ash now lays on the ground broken like it was nothing. I barely feel Aurel's presence anymore. All I can stare at is the pieces.

They grab my shoulder, tired of me apparently ignoring them, and force me to look at them. Suddenly, the nothingness I felt while looking at the broken pendant is replaced with an all-consuming rage at the sight of them standing, acting like I owe them any type of response. I glance around and notice a glass cup sitting on the table next to us.

Without a second of delay, I grab it and smash it against the side of their head. Before they manage to recover any semblance of balance, I lunge at them and knock them to the ground. One. Two. Three. I get three punches in before they get me off them. They pin me down with one hand around my throat and use the other to try and hold my hands down. I can feel their right hand around my throat, squeezing hard while I kick and scratch at them. As my vision starts to fill with black spots, I freeze and begin to realize that Aurel might just be trying to kill me.

I’m going to die on the dirty floor of the community cafeteria, and it’s nobody’s fault but mine. Broken and nothing on the ground, just like the necklace lying next to me.

I feel Aurel's grip on me loosens, and I know this is my chance to get them off me. I kick them in the side and manage to get out from under them. I throw a punch to the side of their head that knocks them into a leg of the table, hard. Disoriented and off balance, Aurel doesn’t even notice that I’m in front of them until I pin them down and begin to hit them over and over. I lose track of how many times I hit them; all I know is that they’re not fighting back anymore. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Every emotion I’ve been trying not to feel comes out in every swing. I know I’m crying, but I can’t bring myself to care. I should be ashamed for doing this for letting my anger take control, but I’m not.

There’s a crowd around us now. I can’t hear them, but I can see them; with the show me and Aurel have been putting on, it was bound to catch some attention. If there’s a crowd, then that means there must be peacekeepers on the way. I don’t care. They can drag me away and lock me up forever, and I won’t care. I feel hands trying to pull me off Aurel, but I don’t let them.

They hurt me. Why shouldn’t I hurt them? I want to hurt them. I want to hurt all of them. Everyone in the districts and Capitol. I want to hurt them all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice white uniforms surrounding me, and they begin grabbing me. They’re a lot better at getting me off Aurel than whoever was trying before. As I’m being pulled away, I notice the pendant still lying on the ground, a forget-me-not shattered into pieces.

Ash would hate me right now.

That thought takes any fight I had left, and I sag in the peacekeeper's arms. The last thing I see is my Father walking towards me as I feel a sharp prick on the back of my neck and fade into darkness.

#emma writes🪶 #aurel weaver. #mc vesper. #tw.fighting #tw.dissociation #tw.needles #i literally didnt edit this so ignore the errors im begging #drabbles.

[strawnav]

"Hachi —"

"He didn't tell me. Not exactly. But he —" Jinbei's voice falters, and Nami fights to keep her shoulders squared and her expression smooth, when he says, "— he warned me, about the kinds of things I might do that he felt might...be upsetting to you. So that I could avoid those behaviors."

Some part of Nami's heart breaks, and she smiles, faint and almost sharp, at the idea of Hatchan trying to protect her in this small, simple way. It's kind, but it's something else, too. "And based on what he said, you've...guessed."

He doesn't pretend otherwise, and she appreciates it. "Yes. Not the finer details, but...some of it."

She sits, body suddenly feeling heavy, and sinks into one of the room's plush seats. It's quiet, in the library. Just her and their newest crew member, who she does not fear. Who she does not fear. But her body remembers. Suddenly she can do little else. "What did he say?"

Jinbei would clearly rather not say, but he sits, too, and respects her too much to lie or evade. "He said it might make you uncomfortable to see me using a firearm." Her mind fills with images and sounds, the bang of a gunshot / the sight of her mothers skull exploding, viscera falling out like a spilled bowl / Nojiko's scream. "He told me to let you eat first, before myself, if there was ever a situation where we needed to eat in turns." It's been years since she's been forced to skip a meal, either because her captors decided she wasn't worthy of food or because spending even a cent on a meal was selfish, but she remembers the clutching, devouring hunger and the way her ribs felt against her skin nevertheless. "He though it would be best if I avoided waking you at night if there was any other option." His voice twists, and she doesn't have it in her to wonder what he's imagining. The first six months were the hardest, as far as sleep goes, never being allowed more than a few hours at a time because Arlong wanted to break her circadian rhythm, forcing her up at random to redo maps she knew were perfect. The years after, when she'd wake screaming and be beat for causing such a racket, and the way now she can't scream when she wakes up at all.

She swallows thickly, does not try to force the memories away, does try not to let them settle.

"Was that all?" Nami asks, her voice stronger than she feels.

"And he...suggested I shouldn't come near you generally while you're working on maps."

That has her stiffening. A too - large hand against her skull, slamming her face to her work table, smearing wet ink on her cheeks and blooming bruises beneath it. The memories always float closest to the surface when she draws maps, and that makes her so fucking angry she still wants to scream some days, because drawing maps is her passion. She loves little more. And he took it from her, transformed the simple, warm joy into a source of fear and anger. It's hers, now, but it isn't just her body that he left scarred. It's her dream. Every day, the scars fade, and she believes that someday, it'll be all hers again, but that she has a scar to heal at all is all wrong.

"Hah. That was kind of him." Her hand raises, pressing idly to her tattoo and the jagged scar beneath it. "I kind of hate how weak it makes me seem, though. That he thinks you need to walk on eggshells around me, just because Arlong hurt me."

"Not weak," Jinbei says. "I know that you're the farthest thing from weak."

Nami smiles, not looking at him, and tries to remember that he's right. "I want to tell you about it. Everything that happened." Hatchan was being kind, to tell him this. Nojiko was being kind, when she told Sanji and Usopp. She understands. But it's not their story to share. "I want you to know, and I want you to hear it from me."

He stiffens, and she can tell even without looking at him by the way his breath skips. Fishmen and humans breathe differently. She knows that, too. She imagines hearing a fishman's breath at her back while she draws a map, and is forced to consider that at least one piece of Hachi's advisements may be wise. Jinbei nods and says, "Of course."

"I'm not telling you to hurt you. This crew is like a family to me, and that means you, too. I want everything to be out on the table between us." She looks at him, still smiling, tired but not lying. "And I think we both need the reminder that we're strong enough to bear the truth."

Jinbei smiles, too, and nods again. Nami inhales.

"The reason Hachi probably thought it might upset me if I saw you with a gun — the first thing Arlong did to me was invade my village when I was ten. He took it over, and demanded tribute from everyone. My mother, she — she only had enough money for herself or for my sister and I, and she chose to save us. Arlong — he shot her in the head in front of us." She's surprised at how even her voice is, even while he heart breaks at the memory. She'd tried to help Bellemere after; tiny, trembling hands reaching as though she could put her brains back in her skull, and Nojiko had held her back. Jinbei looks, again, like he may cry, and Nami feels herself grow more tired.

He starts, "I'm so —"

"No," she says. "Don't. It's not your fault. I don't blame you. You've apologized already, and I accepted it. You're not your brother, and I know that. Seeing you with a gun wouldn't scare me, because I know you're not like him."

Jinbei nods, lips thin. Nami looks back to the half - finished map resting on her work table. It's nice, that she can take breaks whenever she wants now. She lets her eyes rest there.

"After he killed my mother, he found a map I'd drawn. I don't remember what I said, but I must have gotten mad at him for touching it or something, because he realized I drew it. Even back then, I was good at it, and Arlong took me away. A man in the vilage who cared about me — he's like a father to me — tried to stop him from taking me, and he was...he got hurt, real badly for it. He almost died."

She doesn't look back at Jinbei. She thinks of Genzo's voice, ragged, barely - there, soaked with blood, I'll save you, Nami. She thinks of screaming, begging him to abandon her. It took her so long after to learn that she was allowed to let others protect her, that she doesn't get everyone who loves her hurt.

"Once he took me away, Arlong beat me and made me watch him sink the Navy ships that came close. I didn't understand what he wanted, but...he was just trying to prove to me that I was alone. That help wasn't coming. He said I could join his crew as their cartographer. I —" Her voice breaks, just barely, as she remembers the little girl, so scared, so small, who'd had to be so, so brave. She wishes she could hold her. She wishes she could tell her that it would be okay someday. "I told him I'd only work for him if he'd let me buy the village back from him someday. And he agreed."

"He did?" Jinbei sounds sincerely surprised, and Nami laughs weakly, eyes drifting to her knees.

"He did. I'd just have to earn one hundred million berries for him, and I'd have the town's freedom. And my own."

"One hundred —"

"I was still a little girl, so I — I didn't really understand just how big that number was. But I didn't...there wasn't any choice. I d - didn't see any other choice. No one was coming to save us. Either I protected the village, or...or they'd all die, like my mom did." She inhales raggedly. "It was all I could do."

"I'm sorry," he says again, and her head snaps to him but before she can tell him to stop, he says, "I'm not taking responsibility. But I am sorry that happened. That shouldn't have...no child should ever be put in that position."

He's right. Nami smiles, and allows herself a few tears. All of the others said the same, when she'd told them. It's a good reminder, that her pain was as horrible and wrong as it had felt. As it still feels, on the worst days.

"Anyway, I ended up working for him. It was more like I was his prisoner than a member of the crew. He gave me a tattoo on my arm of his Jolly Roger, like — hah, well. I guess like a brand." Jinbei's face twists, a mixture of guilt and fury, and she thinks of Fisher Tiger's last words and understands, at least a little. "He was...awful to me. Almost the whole crew was. I went without food a lot. I got beat a lot. He didn't let me sleep enough or eat enough, and he almost killed me more times than I can count. I think he expected me to die. I think he wanted me to." It hadn't felt like an option to her. She was all that stood between Arlong and the village. "He let me stop wearing chains when I turned twelve. A birthday present." Jinbei's expression contorts further. She reaches out her free hand, hesitates, and then commits, resting it over his. His eyes widen as his head snaps towards the contact, then towards her face.

She smiles, trying to comfort them both. This aches, but she's told the story to the others enough that at least the wound isn't new. The hurt is like a stone, stuck in the center of her chest — whenever she tells someone, it feels like chipping away at it.

"He was...exacting about his maps. He locked me in a little room for a long time, didn't let me see any other humans for years. It was just work and maps and getting hurt whenever I tried to rest. I couldn't breathe. When he finally started letting me leave the island, I started stealing from — anywhere. Anything I could get my hands, to save the money to buy the island. Eventually, I started stealing from pirates."

Nojiko's horror, the first time she came home, blood dripping from her mouth and wounds across her arms and chest. Who cares that I'm hurt, I got ten thousand berries right here!

It's easier, to tell this part of the story.

"They hurt me, too, but...honestly, it was still better than being at Arlong Park. Nothing that any of them did to me could match what Arlong did." She inhales slow, exhales slower. Jinbei moves his hand beneath hers slowly, so as to not startle her, and flips it so her hand rests in his wide palm. She doesn't flinch, when he curls his hand gently around hers. "That was...my whole life. For eight years."

The number seems to wound him, and his eyes lower. Nami breathes, but does not stop. She must not believe herself fragile. She must not believe him fragile, either. "I had saved a lot over the years. Arlong figured out how close I was, and he had one of the Navy fuckers he was paying off steal my stash, so that I was back to square one. They shot my sister — she lived, thank god." She'd been so scared, mind conjuring images of Belle - mere's blood in the grass, another person dead because of Nami. "I — the villagers were so angry at Arlong, and so angry on my behalf, that they...they decided they'd rather die fighting Arlong and his men than live another day like this. I tried to convince them I could just...earn the money again, but..."

Inhale. Exhale. This part is hard. It had been so strange, to go from universally despised to so, so loved, and all in a matter of hours. To know that she was going to lose the people who loved her again. "The village loved me, even if I didn't know it. They wouldn't let Arlong get away with hurting me like that, and I think they...they thought that if they died, at least I'd finally be able to escape. I wouldn't have anybody left to save except myself." Her smile turns bitter. "Idiots. At that point, I'd have just died, too."

Her hand against her scar finally falls, and Jinbei's eyes fall to the exposed flesh. The scar is audacious and ugly, but it's mostly covered by the pinwheel. He seems to only now realize how extreme the wound is. "I was so angry at him, and so scared for my family, and so sick of — of having his mark on my body, this reminder that it wasn't really my body, just his tool, and I just — I snapped. I basically tried to carve his brand off of me." Jinbei winces, eyes shining, teeth gritting. There is no fear in her that the anger he expresses is aimed at her. "It's a miracle I can still use my arm at all, honestly. Luffy found me like that, and he didn't even know the story, he just...hated seeing me suffering like that. He and the others marched off to Arlong Park. And against all odds...they won. Luffy, he — he destroyed the room Arlong kept me in, destroyed all the maps I'd drawn in captivity. Destroyed everything connected to — what Arlong did to me. After that, after all that pain, I was...finally free."

Jinbei is silent for a long, long time. Nami doesn't rush him. She needs the quiet to swallow her tears, to let the memories wash through her and leave without drowning her. Fishmen hands feel different than human hands, but she's glad that holding Jinbei's hand doesn't chafe. It feels comforting. It feels kind.

Finally, the fishman says, "how long ago were you freed?"

Nami breathes out. "Almost three years ago."

"Three years of freedom after eight years of captivity and abuse from my brother. I don't fault you for being uncomfortable around me."

"Hey, stop that," Nami commands. "Listen. I'm not uncomfortable around you. We're holding hands now, and all that makes me feel is safe." Jinbei's eyes widen, head raising to look at her face. Her lips are set in a stern line, shoulders strong. "I'm not saying that there won't be bad days where I might jump when you greet me or something or feel anxious drawing my maps around you or the memories might make things hard. But it's not about you or about you letting Arlong go. I get that way about Sanji or Brook or the others sometimes, too." He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he squeezes her hand like he wants to be. "It's not about you. It's just the memories. We've both suffered a lot because of each other's people. But I don't blame you, and I know you don't blame me. There's no part of me, not a single one, that believes you'd ever hurt me the way Arlong did." Jinbei's eyes widen and shine and hurt. Softer, she adds, "There's no part of me that believes you'd ever hurt me at all."

The older man's voice trembles, breaking like the tears flowing from his eyes, when he says, "You are — far kinder than I deserve, and unimaginably brave." She smiles again, helpless this time, as she feels her own eyes begin to well again.

"Now you know my whole story. Thank you for letting me tell you."

"I'm a part of the crew," he says, still crying, but his voice is steadying. She thinks of the singular time she'd caught Arlong crying. He'd beat her for daring to see his fear and pain, and she knows that Jinbei is much stronger than him in many ways, that he is not afraid to allow himself to feel and cry and grieve. She is, too. "You said it yourself. This crew is like family, and there shouldn't be secrets." He breathes out a stuttering laugh, his tears slowing. "It's a bit strange to adjust to how close you are all."

"Give it a month or two," Nami shoots back, teasing a little now. "Luffy will have you so overwhelmed by how stupid we all are that you'll have no choice but to adjust."

"I hope to learn from all of you," he says, free hand wiping at his eyes. She releases his palm, and the other presses to his chest, and to the symbol that had frightened her in the early days "I hope that someday I may possess a fraction of your strength, Nami."

That draws a laugh from her, startled and shy. "The others on the crew are much strong than me."

"I don't believe that," he says, and he means it. He does. Her heart feels — light and heavy both. Floating on saltwater. She is strong, she knows. "To be strong enough not only to endure that hardship, but to have coped and moved on to the extent that you have...to be honest, I envy you. Arlong hurt you far more than he did me, and yet...the strength you display with regards to him is not something I can ever hope to match."

Her brow furrows. "He was your brother. He is your brother. That doesn't excuse him, and I'll always hate him for what he did to me. But it's a hell of lot easier to move on from a villain you hurt you than from the brother that you love."

Jinbei smiles joylessly. "Strange that the same man can be both, isn't it?"

She doesn't have a reply to that. All she can say, after a long moment of silence, is, "you're strong, too." To take responsibility for what is only barely his fault, to cry to a human even though humans have hurt him, to hold the love and the hate for Arlong together in his heart and not fall apart with it.

Jinbei smiles, not looking convinced, but doesn't argue.

"Do you want to — stay with me?" Nami asks suddenly. "While I finish this map?"

His eyes widen. "Are you sure you'd be comfortable with that?"

His concern isn't unwarranted. This conversation has memories bubbling to the surface, pressing against her head — Belle - mere, pain, years of abuse. The time Arlong drowned her and then crushed her hands. A fishman's breathing near her while she draws maps. It might be hard, but — "I'm strong," she says, because she needs to. "And I think I need..." She exhales, trying to think of how to word it. "I used to be afraid of pirates, you know? Much more than I was afraid of fishmen. When I started traveling with Luffy, I was terrified of him. But every day when none of them hurt me, the fear got...smaller. The memories of my crew being good to me drowned out the memories of the crew that hurt me. And I think...I think I need memories of maps and fishmen that are safe, too. To drown out the memories that aren't." She laughs quietly. "I guess I'm being selfish."

Jinbei smiles, almost paternal, eyes still red from his tears. "I think that makes perfect sense. I'd be happy to keep you company."

Nami grins. She's sure it might ache. But she's sure, too, that he won't hurt her. Even now, years later, what a relief — to know her crew won't ever hurt her.

"Thank you."

#drabbles. #just thinking abt nami telling jinbei abt everything yknow......and i think nami deserves 2 be the one to tell this story #its always been somebody else doing it for her #abuse / #violence / #gore / #i dont rly know how to tag it but theres also a very brief moment that implies that jinbei might #(incorrectly) be guessing that nami experienced csa #its brief and only a quick vague suggestion but i wanted 2 mention it even so! #anyway god i love them. i love them. #theyre so good. i love them. i love the idea of jinbei getting almost a little paternal abt her #like both of them fully loving each other despite the trauma; namis trauma w his brother #and jinbeis trauma w humans #they are both so strong and my mipys #I LOVE U JINBEI IM UR BIGGEST FAN !!!! #personal blogs i am literally BEGGING U not to touch this. literally begging

[dvarapala]

sometimes she looks at him, all hopeful smiles and pretty blue eyes and she thinks that it's going to hurt a lot more than she thought it would, when she's finally forced to let him go. she is a doorway girl. she is the start and the end, the key to every lock, and she cannot keep something this good when she stains everything and breaks everyone. but she takes her heart with trembling hands and lays it at his feet anyway. he might pick it up, battered and bruised as it is, and cradle it against his own chest. or he steps on it, watching it break into a thousand pieces. whichever choice he makes, she will not begrudge him. (it's important to let people make their own choices. it's his call as much as it is her own. she will not turn into her own biggest nightmare, she staunchly refuses.) even if those choices will cause his blue eyes to darken ad infinitum. she cannot keep him and she cannot be kept. she is a doorway girl. she is the start and the end and one day soon, he's going to find out that she's a black hole: in her, there is no room for light.

#drabbles. #escapesvelocity #queue.

[floripire]

it was supposed to be a quick pit stop. floribeth had been to sarah's spot a few times before. the food's good. the wifi's great. she likes @unbearablyindifferent and she likes the atmosphere too. well, most of the time. because most of the time, people adhere by the rules of the place: no supernatural shenanigans, no hunter stuff. everyone gets in, orders their stuff and either gets out again or chooses a booth to frequent. everyone treats each other with the respect they deserve. everyone, it seemed, but lucas dempsey. a lanky white guy with floppy brown hair, bright eyes and too sharp a smile on his face. other hunters whispered about him. said that the kid couldn't hold a rifle if his life depended on it. still, lucas kept smiling. despite the fact that people kept bringing up his parents roy and sally - both lost to the hunting lifestyle - in hushed whispers. as if he knew something that other people did not. as if it would only be a matter of time before all would be revealed in a dramatic flourish. "well, aren't you a pretty little thing," he'd drawled as floribeth passed his booth on her way back from the bathroom. "you lost this." he held up her phone and floribeth froze up. how did he...? she didn't remember feeling it slip out of her pocket. "thank you," she stammered. "can i have it back now?" "sure," lucas nodded, "after we talk. sit down, fangs. what do you know about the zetes institute?"

#unbearablyindifferent #drabbles. #//idk what this is bc i haven't been here in a while but in true me fashion i found a minor (book) character to claim as my own now lmfao #//so here have a drabble xP #queue.

[6cular]

there's a star plastered on the blackness of the sky for every man ; gojo satoru wants all of them , so he has none . bragging about his infinite power , being untouchable , being the strongest , even owning the stars couldn't save his lover with midnight hair and tired eyes . suguru's been carrying all the terrible emotions of humanity , ironic how he keeps them in him when he's trying to get rid of them . . . he looks peaceful in death .

without an arm , without half of his chest , his heart still behind broken ribs . gojo's eyes are bare , he took the blindfold off after he asked shoko to let him do it . for the sake of the old days , and he promised , he'll be quick .

the rag drips with clean , cool water , that'll soon turn red . he brings geto's hand between his warmer ones , and carefully wipes away the dried blood . rubs his knuckles with his thumb , watching the rag turn pink , then red . he dips it in water again and moves to his face . he wasn't eating much anymore , ' ugh they taste terrible , satoru ' he once told him , and gojo only suggested they go get burgers after this .

black locks brush away from his bloodied cheek , gojo takes his time wiping the red stains on his face . when it's clear , he pauses , only to lean in and peck his brow . pale brows twitch in an odd gesture of helplessness , he'll call it that . please don't burn him , shoko , don't get rid of him , please . he wipes his pale neck , too soft under his touch . suguru would never stay still when gojo asked him to , not because he couldn't because apparently he enjoyed the irritation painting gojo's features .

there's a knock on the door , he brushes his thumb on suguru's cheek akin to the playful pinches he'd steal from him when they were younger ; playing games , suguru losing and sulking and gojo , pinching his cheek with a sweet hiss . ' don't give me that look , ugly . ' shoko , for once , doesn't search for a reason to smile at him — and he knows that look . she's pitying him .

his blindfolds are already back in place , and his lips are smiling . ' thanks ' , he mumbles to the woman . pats her shoulder before walking out with his hands in his pockets ; still bloodied .

#man idk .... have a drabble i'm sad #i'm always sad . #drabbles. #` gojo satoru ❜ ... 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 #death tw #grief tw