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curtins · 23 days ago

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DITTO — Gojo Satoru a rewrite of this post.

prologue. → brave, lucky, courageous. these are the words that people bestow upon you when the dust has cleared, and the king of curses is no more. you disagree, for if you were lucky, gojo satoru would still be standing at your side. instead you've been left to stare at the ocean shoreline on your own, without your best friend (the love of your life) by your side.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. unfulfilled/unresolved love. angst, hurt, comfort, fluff. your usual shenanigans. sfw! implied, minor satosugu (mb because geto is my beautiful sad princess and i love him so he has to be a part of everything). pining, idiots in love. grief, and what you do after you've lost what you treasure the most etc u get it. reader is from an unnamed clan, has a younger brother. reader also wears skirts, dresses sometimes, character death + injury

word count. 11k! 😭 song inspiration. ditto — newjeans / 뉴진스 (2022) a/n. i wrote rough headcanons and posted them yesterday but i woke up thinking dang i should actually write something better about that lmao. update: i thought i'd finish this in a few hours, why did this take me like 2 days? update #2: dawg this is long as fuck...this kinda depressed me to write CROSSPOSTED ON AO3 <3 💙

mp3. do you think about me now, yeah. all the time...

✉️ — 1995. 💬 — gojo.

these meeting rooms were hushed, grand, and the kind of place that simply swallowed up any sound and echo; where the wood-panelled walls were lined with the tapestries and polished symbols of his clan.

and in the hush, gojo had sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, trying to listen to the conversation of the adults, with their low and steady voices that droned on. this was so boring. they were always speaking of things that he just couldn't understand, but his parents said these meetings were important, and so he was dragged along - much to his eternal chagrin. still, he shifted in place, glancing around at the detailed screens painting around the corners of the room, in varying shades of blue.

across the room, there was another kid. one who sat beside her father, fidgeting just as he was. and gojo could tell by the way that you kept glancing towards the door that you, too, longed to escape. your gaze caught his, and there was that flicker of mutual boredom that sparked between you two. you had scrunched up her nose, as if to say 'this is so boring, isn't it?'

gojo grinned, stifling a giggle. he had leaned back, just a little, surveying the adults who paid no heed to him, before letting himself inch across the rough texture of the mat towards the door.

"do you want to see the garden?" he mouthed silently, his words exaggerated and slow, so you would understand.

your eyes had lit up, and you nodded, just as your father (well, he assumed it was her father) leaned down to whisper something in your ear, his voice a low rumble that was far too quiet for gojo to catch. you were nodding obediently, but your eyes were now fixed with the glimmer of excitement, and he quickly held the door open for you as you scrambled out the door, following him quietly as they creaked down the long hallway.

and soon, they reached the back of the estate, where the garden stretched out like a hidden oasis, filled with the flowering bushes, the winding stone paths, and the pond that glistened in the morning light. suddenly, he stopped by the edge of the pond, brushing pale hair out of his stinging eyes, "i'm satoru, by the way."

you had sat down quickly, as though the long walk had winded her (gojo had barely needed to stop to catch is breath), and your robes dipped into the pond, letting the water seep up slowly, "i've heard of you. my parents say you're an only child."

gojo shrugged, trying to think of something important he could tell you, "it's not so bad. one day, i'm going to be the head of my clan," puffing up his chest a little.

you had nodded, "i would like to be too, but my younger brother would get it. because...you know."

gojo didn't quite know but he nodded like he understood, and he tried to think of something smarter to say, "well the job isn't that fun anyway. it's just sitting around reading papers, and telling people what to do."

you had pouted, frowning, "i want to tell people what to do all day. and i would get the nicest robes too as clan head."

and you had looked so unhappy at the prospect that you were being robbed of a stellar wardrobe that gojo made up his mind, right then and there, "tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?"

your face had lit up, holding your little pinky up to his, "promise?"

gojo linked his finger with hers, sealing this silly vow and laughing, "why not?"

✉️ — 1996. 💬 — you.

when you're seven years old, you’ve resigned yourself to trailing behind gojo, watching as your friend takes on the world with the same reckless, eager energy that he seems to pour into everything that he does.

his voice has picked up a confidence that you haven't felt yet, and there's a permanent, flashy grin on his face that says he doesn't care what anyone thinks about him, not his parents, nor his clan.

and today, gojo's decided that the old shrine on the edge of your family estate needs exploring. you're a little less certain, especially since your father had told you that this shrine was haunted, but you find yourself following the boy anyway, and there's that silent agreement in place: he leads, you follow. you're alright with that, that's just the way it's always been.

he's dressed, as usual, in a loose grey hoodie that's two sizes too big for him, and his jeans have a hole in the knee; some small rebellion against his clan's strict sense of tradition. even his hair is awfully emssy, tousled and getting a little too long, and you know he hates it when his mother tries to comb it down, and you easily suspect that gojo just ruffles it on purpose to get a reaction out of those around him. he probably does everything on purpose for a round of reactions, honestly.

you, on the other hand, have your nicest lilac skirt on, and there's a small bow in your hair that the maidservants had pinned themselves (your mother had been too deep in her cups all morning). but you had fluttered around, feeling quite pretty in your skirt; like you were a fairy that would sprout wings and live in the clouds.

gojo glances back at you, and rolls his eyes, "you know, you look like you're going to one of the clan meetings," he mutters, but there's a playful glint in his eye. he's pulled a twig from the ground, and he's waving it around like a sword, slicing through imaginary enemies as he marches forward like an idiot.

you just shrug, quietly watching him cut through the tall grass ahead, "i like looking nice," you mumble, a little embarrassed. you can feel the careful way the sweet, old servant (she turned seventy last week!) had arranged your hair, and the press of the bow keeping it every lock in place.

"well, if you ever decide to look like you're not on your way to sit for a court painting, let me know," gojo says, smirking (he thinks he's funny) as he waves his 'sword' around, battling on the false frontlines.

but despite yourself, you laugh, and quicken your pace to keep up with him, and so, gojo slows just a bit, enough that you're walking side by side now, and his arm brushes against yours.

"did you know that they say that this shrine is spooked?" he asks, his voice falling to a dramatic whisper.

"i live here, satoru. obviously, duh," and the shrine comes into view, and it's small, weathered with age, but to you, it looks grand and mysterious, even magical, "do you believe it's haunted?"

gojo shrugs, unfazed, "nah, probably just an old rock. but it would be cool if it was. maybe, we'll see a ghost."

now you've taken a hesitant step back, but gojo just grins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward, and his hand is warm and steady in yours.

"c'mon, don't be a chicken," he teases, laughing as he drags you closer, and you plant your feet firmly in the ground, watching as clouds begin to roll over the sky, ominous and gloomy.

oh, this place is definitely haunted. your father was right, it's so over for you now. a massive, ugly curse is going to pop out and eat you alive, and steal your pretty hair bow. you mutter a small prayer under your breath. gojo satoru, you will pay for this.

✉️ — 2000. 💬 — you.

you'd always heard whispers about yourself from the other kids, how you were too quiet, or you tried far too hard to be perfect — unwilling to roughhouse the way they did. perhaps they were right, and it was true that you preferred to sit alone. you think it was the feeling of order you enjoyed, of a world you could control, even if it was just through lines on a piece of paper.

but today, their voices were louder than usual. a small group had gathered near the cherry blossom tree where you'd settle yourself, and they circled around like hungry wolves sniffing out something they could tear apart.

one girl wrinkled her nose and called you prissy (well, okay) and another boy had snickered and muttered that you were so boring, and it was a wonder that you even had a friend like gojo.

ouch.

their words felt like small, precise cuts, sharper than expected. you had heard these things before. after all, everyone had reached the age where they were aware of their abilities, their techniques as jujutsu sorcerers.

you didn't mind your own technique, making sure to channel time and energy to learn so you could grow up and be as good as your father one day (a well established sorcerer in his own right, if a bit out of shape).

but you didn't have to be very smart to know that gojo's abilities stood out entirely in a different way, and you heard your parents whisper in hushed tones at how lucky his clan was to have a child like that. with the right training and moulding, he could be the most powerful man to walk the earth.

how silly. gojo was all laughs, and smiles, and stupid jokes and bright, clever eyes. you thought it was dumb how they all spoke about an eleven year old boy like he was a weapon, kept in its sheath until it was ready to be drawn.

but of course, all the kids wanted to be friends with him instead. and today, these barbs hurt more — and you kept your eyes down, clutching your books a bit tighter, willing for these supposed 'friends' of yours to go away.

but before you could say anything, you heard his stomps.

"hey!"

gojo's voice was unmistakable, sharp and sudden as he clamoured over, all brashness and bravado. he had gotten a bad haircut recently (entirely his own fault for thinking he could put scissors to his own hair, but you had laughed so hard as he swore curses) so white tufts stuck out all over his head, making him look like he got stuck in a wall socket, even crazier than usual.

but gojo didn't look at you, just planted himself between you and the group, bruised fists clenched (they trained him too hard), and shoulders set, "what's your problem?"

the other kids stammered, clearly surprised, but that didn't stop him, he who looked like a small, lanky and angry polar bear.

"you think you're so funny? talking like that? say it again, and i'll knock your teeth out."

"ah, satoru -" you ran your tongue behind your teeth, the last thing everyone needed was another fight of bruised pride, and yanked hair, rolling around in the dust.

but one of the boys had muttered something under his breath, taking a half-step back. the others followed, shuffling, rolling their eyes and looking anywhere but at you and gojo.

and your best friend didn't move until they had scattered completely, leaving behind only the faint echos of their derision as they fled. and then he turned to you, his scowl fading into something kinder (good, you didn't like seeing him so upset) as he dropped onto the bench, beside you, pulling his knee up onto the bench so he could rest his chin against it casually.

"they're just idiots," he said, rolling his eyes, and his voice was softer, playful again, "don't listen to them."

you gave him a small smile, nodding, as the knot in chest loosened a little, "i wasn't really listening to them," you murmured, even though you probably knew that was a bold-faced lie.

gojo released a loud laugh, much too loud and forced, as he nudged you with his elbow, and he must have known it too, but he was smiling, "good, that's the spirit."

You managed a small smile, nodding, the knot in your chest loosening a little.

the world was quiet again as you both sat in silence, the soft breeze ruffling the grass and the cherry blossoms overhead. and then, with a shyer glance, you managed to look over at your friend, watching as messy tufts of his snowy hair moved ever so slightly in the breeze.

"thanks, 'toru," you said, quietly, but he just shrugged it off, brushing it away as though it was nothing.

"hey, what am i here for?"

✉️ — 2003. 💬 — you.

gojo was sprawled across your wide bed, looking at you as if you were the most ridiculous person in the entire world. his own suitcase sat beside him, already paced with the very few things he needed, and now he watched you with that eager, restless gleam in his blue eyes, like he could barely sit still.

"you're so overthinking this," he said, bright voice full of impatience, "just throw some stuff in a bag, and we're good to go. it's just tokyo, not the end of the world."

you scowled at the boy, holding up two sweaters; one sensible in a shade of pale blue, and the other thick, deep red and woollen, "but what if it gets cold? or rains?"

gojo rolled his eyes, throwing his head back dramatically onto your pillow, hands behind his head as he sprawled around like a snooty prince with all the time in the world.

"it's summer, it's tokyo, and it's not like we're moving to america," he smiled, "besides, if you pack any slower, we'll miss our first year."

you tried to brush it off, and something about his easy confidence made you feel a sharp twinge of nerve. this was really happening, you were truly leaving the bounds of your family estates, stepping out into the world, to attend jujutsu tech, a school in tokyo that you had heard so much about. well, there was another school here, in kyoto, but god, it would just be nice to get out of these ancient walls.

and yet -

gojo simply looked like he couldn't wait to shake the dust of his home off his sneakers, you felt something pull at you, like a sudden-appearing string that tied you to your home city, and it wouldn't let you go.

your best friend had caught the look on your face, and softened — just a bit, as he twiddled with a brand new pair of sunglasses, and he sat up closer, watching you carefully, "you're really going to miss it here, aren't you?"

and you shrugged, fidgeting with the sleeves of the red sweater, "i don't know. maybe, i suppose. don't you feel that way at all, satoru?"

he shook his head, resolute, "not even a little," but he saw your uncertainty, "listen, you'll be fine. you'll love tokyo. and hey," he nudged you gently with his knee, "i'll be right there with you anyway."

you appreciated that his confidence felt like a promise, something that you could at least hold onto, even in the big capital, and with a big, exaggerated sigh you tossed both sweaters into the suitcase.

"finally!"

✉️ — 2003. 💬 — gojo.

the both of you had arrived, bright-eyed and tired, as he clambered off the tall bus that had parked on the outskirts of tokyo, where jujutsu high was located.

gojo stood beside you, hands stuffed in his denim pockets, plastering a disinterested expression on his face. but he couldn't help how his eyes flittered to the sid,e underneath the dark shades of his glasses, watching you fawn over another new student, another boy who had arrived from some small town, who-knows-where, from a non-sorcerer family.

geto suguru.

well it was no lie that gojo liked him a lot too. there was no denying that he seemed polite, clever, maybe a bit shy. and effortlessly cool.

gojo had grown up in the stifling, grand estates of the big clans, constantly fussed over, and robed in fine silks printed with his clan motifs. all of those stuffy rules would sit, push around and make space in one's head, like a constant mantra from the elders.

he didn't need to look at you too closely to see what was going on, and he could tell right away, just from how you reacted. your smile stretched wider, and your eyes lit up like you were meeting someone who you really wanted to talk to.

geto who hadn't even changed into his uniform yet, with his stray strands of dark hair falling out of the knot on the back of his head, looking politely aloof, but cheerful, in worn black jeans and converse, and some baggy band t-shirt that would get gojo scolded by his mother for even wearing that inside the estate.

gojo noticed everything, especially the way your fingers slipped up to tuck your hair behind your ear when geto grinned at you (all because you’d recognised the band on his t-shirt, so what?) he saw how your eyes brightened, like geto suguru had unlocked some hidden code only you could decipher.

it annoyed him to realise that geto's calm, quiet charm was exactly the kind of thing you’d be drawn to. that’s what you liked, wasn’t it? the understated, thoughtful types who let the world come to them. not the loudmouth who cracked jokes at every opportunity, hoping to pull a laugh from his best friend.

well, fuck, he had to be a part of this too now.

✉️ — 2005. 💬 — both.

gojo's new obsession had a sleek, silver body and an olympus logo stamped on it in black, a camera that he'd been itching to buy; refusing to settle for anything less than the latest model. suddenly, he was determined to capture tokyo through his own eyes, and you and your friends had quickly become his reluctant muses on an impromptu day trip to the ameya-yokocho market.

"stop! stay right there, don't move! fuck, no! a little to the left!"

he waved his hands around, motioning for everyone to gather just as he wanted. you all exchanged amused glances, with shoko huffing around dramatically, as gojo crouched down on his long legs, then stood back up, and then crouched down again, as one of jujutsu high's most powerful sorcerers struggled to bring a camera into focus.

eventually, geto had laughed — raven hair falling over his beautiful face, and had gotten up to help gojo, fiddling with the lens as the rest of you milled around.

and then, suddenly gojo turned the camera directly on you. he pointed his finger your way, wide grin half-hidden but unmistakably earnest, 'c'mon, turn that frown upside down!'

he needn't have said a word, just seeing your best friend there, with his hair tousled and carefree grin, with the camera strap hanging off his neck, was enough to make you laugh, the kind that felt as bright as it sounded.

and so, you found yourself standing in the middle of the bustling market street, surrounded by friends and fellow students, and the lively hum of the weekend crowds, as you looked directly into the lens, with your smile softening under his gaze, as though the rest of the world had blurred into the background.

afterwards, gojo had taken a good look at the photo, and he didn't say much, but the look on his face lingered, almost like he was seeing something that he wasn't sure he was allowed to hold onto. you had shyly asked him later, coming up beside his shoulder, whether he had printed a spare copy of the photo, but he shook his head with the lie rolling off his tongue.

love was a selfish endeavour, to its core. he wasn’t about to tell you that he wanted to keep that photo for himself. and later, when no-one was looking, he slipped the small print into his wallet, right between his train pass and some spare change.

✉️ — 2006. 💬 — you.

your best friend, your dear satoru, had always been resilient; the kind of guy who threw himself at life with reckless energy, shrugging off injuries like they were just a part of the ride. he'd laugh off a scraped knee or a bloodied lip, flashing that cocky grin and a shrug as if pain was something for other people.

life for you went on, with your own routines and small moments. you learnt long ago that you didn't quite possess the natural, raw sheer jujutsu power that gojo had (or geto for that matter) but you could certainly hold your own in a scuffle. regardless, you had chosen to turn to academics, flitting between classes and study sessions, arm in arm with sweet shoko.

there was joy in sneaking off campus with friends, or scrolling through lists of new albums to download onto your mp3 player (you had been partial to the south korean boyband, tvxq!).

and so, life seemed both incredibly mundane and slightly electric, with days marked by shy smiles and inside jokes, with walks home on the streets wet from the spring rain.

but it had been late summer when gojo had returned from that last mission, when the days were still long and hot and the afternoons were bathed in a thick, heavy amber. and he had come back...different.

he moved carefully, as though each step was suspicious and took more effort than he'd let on, and his usual bright glimmer was dimmed, his laughter quiet, and his smiles withheld like a rare currency. he'd sit through the long evenings with you, in silence more often than not, hands stuffed into his wide pockets as he stared at a place that you just couldn't reach.

when you'd catch him alone in the courtyard after class, he'd be training hard, working through his cursed techniques with a relentless focus, perfecting each hand gesture as if he could shake off whatever shadow lingered behind him. and sometimes, he'd stay for hours after school, practicing beneath the dying and dusty light of the last days of summer, as if he could not afford to stop, to rest.

“gojo?” you called, hesitating as he finished a strike to some poor unsuspecting pile of soda cans, leaving them obliterated in the heat. “what's going on with you?”

he paused mid-motion, glancing at you, his face carefully blank. and you hated that, you hated how the flicker of distress would pass from his face before being schooled into that carefully constructed mask of 'the strongest.'

i love you, idiot. i love you, i love you, tell me what's bothering you and i will help, you're my best friend.

but these words never saw the light of day, always curling up and choking up in your throat, and instead being twisted into feigned, casual interest. losing the cloak of deep devotion that you held for a friend of ten years.

"oh - hey! nothing," gojo replied, too quickly, with that half-cocked smile that painted over his pink lips, "nothing that deep."

lately, this repeated lie had been hanging in the air between you, clear as the last streaks of summer sunlight that would soon give way to fall.

you crossed your arms over your uniform, dark fabric crinkling, "you're not fooling anyone, you know. geto told me about the mission, he said that you —," you swallowed, with the words just as heavy as the steadfast beat of your heart that you kept under lock and key, "he said you shouldn't have come back. what does that even mean?"

gojo's face flickered again, just for a second, before he barked out that irritating, false chuckle, "guess it's a good thing you weren't sent on tengen's fuckin' mission then," before reaching out and snatching your strawberry milk carton from your hands with a grin.

after a few punctuated slurps and lip-smacking (just to watch your face redden in fury, gojo would admit) he spoke again, voice strained, "you'd probably be crying about it still."

"hey!" you protested, grabbing for the carton again, prying his slender fingers off your sweet treat, "i don't cry that easily."

"could've fooled me. you cried during that american movie about zoo animals."

"madagascar was a sad movie about displacement and the loss of home! i know animal rights activists hate to see your ass coming to the zoo."

gojo snickered, drawing out the words, "fuck that zebra," but now, he was looking off into the golden haze of a beautiful sunset, with that frayed grin, "seriously, though. it's fine, it's all in the past."

over time, gojo never spoke many a word about what happened to the star plasma vessel, but he just seemed to move forward, like he always had. his resolve somehow sharper, tighter, and his laughter more intense when it finally did return. there were moments when you'd catch him staring into the great expanse of nothing, haunted (but beautiful), though he'd just shrug and smile when you prodded him about.

✉️ — 2007. 💬 — gojo.

gojo thought he was astoundingly self-aware, in his own humble opinion. he never let anything get to him, that was the trick, you see. to take life as it came at you, to carry that fire and stubbornness and throw it back in the face of the trouble.

and so he wanted to be angry, to be furious. why had suguru done this? why?

he had known that geto, one of his dearest friends (one who always been so sure of himself) had fallen into disquiet lately, and even gojo had prodded him on whether he had lost weight through sleepless nights. but suguru would have just turned his head back to his book, lost in thought, with his dark hair loose around his face.

had he been blind? how had suguru's silence been covered by what gojo (privately) considered his own loud, defiant return? no, he knew of ghosts. he knew that some spirits and spectres could not be shaken, and sometimes when gojo himself closed his eyes, he could feel the sharp sting of an assassin's blade ramming through his throat, leaving him for dead.

but to murder over a hundred innocent people...

you had found him alone that evening, where he had sprawled over the stairs as the sunset blazed, painting them aglow in dusky hues. but gojo could barely notice any of this beauty, and so he just stared, lost in his thoughts that wouldn't settle.

(are you the strongest because you're satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest?)

he didn't hear you approach, until you placed a gentle hand on his shoulders, causing him to flinch, surprised out of his sorrowful reverie.

the warmth of your touch steadied him, and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and he wondered how you could always seem to know exactly when he needed you most.

but the thought twisted, sharp and bitter, for what if you would follow suguru the same way? had you not often looked at geto with light in your eyes? and you had never looked at him like that.

what if, someday, you left him the same way? what if you turned around and saw someone else worth following? he couldn't help his fists from clenching, tension rippling down his shoulders and painfully gripping his head.

"suguru..." his voice came out quieter than he meant, with a crack that he couldn't quite hide, and he heard you sharply inhale, "i can't believe he's gone. i don't know if...if i'll ever see him again. why would he -?"

you still didn't say anything, just tightening your hand on his shoulder. and satoru hated it. hated that he wanted to lean into the weight of your touch, hated that this is what being the strongest now entailed. that now he was plagued by fear, of losing you, of watching you slip through his fingers into another's orbit.

i'm only seventeen. what happened to my youth?

the thoughts are acidic, cynical and they leave him angry (with the world, with the higher ups, with himself, with his parents) and he can't help himself from blurting out the next question.

"did you like him?"

gojo tries to keep his tone light and casual, but he loathes how he sounds pleading, heavier. he feels the embarrassment of vulnerability shroud him as you meet his eyes, and he hates how your eyes are teary too.

you shouldn't cry. ever.

"like? as in like?"

"as in love," gojo mutters, "shoko said you did."

you sniff, and now your head is leaning on his shoulder and he can inhale the scent of your shampoo (apples? caramel?) and despite the crick in his neck, he lowers his shoulder further down so you are more comfortable.

"shoko talks too much sometimes," you laugh weakly, "but probably. i think i did."

gojo tries to tamper down the acrid lurch in his stomach, but you continue, "i think i did love him. but so did shoko. so did nanami, and haibara back when, -" you sigh, "and so did you. we all loved him. he was our friend."

his fingers had been hovering close to your hand for a while, almost as if he couldn't help himself, the pull. finally, he slid his smallest finger to let it curl around yours, drawing out a memory from over a decade ago.

"tell you what, when i become my clan head, i'll make sure you get the nicest robes, how's that?" "promise?" "why not?"

how silly that the hardest things in life had once been a bored child, and his new friend who fretted about her future wardrobe.

and when you clasped in hand entirely in its return, gojo's breath caught, his throat tightening. the words that he wanted to say, to spill from his throat, hovered in his mind but there was no infinite word strong enough to bring them out.

he wasn't an idiot, he wasn't daft and unobservant, he knew exactly what he wanted to say to you, to tell you from his lips to yours. but the way his heart laid itself bare in that moment unsettled him deeply, not the yearning itself, but how fierce it was. it disgusted him, the rawness of his desire, exposed right there in the open, where anyone could see it, including you. especially you.

with a realisation that was long coming, beneath the golden wash of the setting sun, he sighed deeply. if he ever lost you, if you ever looked at him with the same betrayal that he'd seen in suguru's eyes, he didn't know if he could survive it. it would cut deeper than his infinity could bear.

he tried speaking again, "if you ever -" but he doesn't get the chance to speak before you're leaning further into him, a quiet sniffle punctuating the silence.

"i won't."

✉️ — the next decade... 💬 — you.

"sweetheart, honey, my precious pumpkin pie."

you shot gojo a death glare, his attempt at flamboyant charm bouncing right off you, "i hate you. never speak to me again."

and your gaze dropped to what was left of your beautiful hermès scarf, once a beautiful concoction of cream-white silk, now reduced to tatters that fluttered pitifully in your hands, stained with some suspicious green goop.

you had cherished this pricey product, but gojo, in his infinite wisdom had decided to pick it up as a perfect blindfold right before a gnarly mission. and so, it got tangled with a nasty curse, and met its tragic, shredded end.

gojo raised his brows, feigning the innocence of a cherub, blinking his long lashes, "i'm sorry, i'll get you a new one, baby."

he drew out the pet name with exaggerated gusto that made you snarl, "enough with the pet names. you are a grown ass man."

and you gave him a first shove in the ribs that made the strongest sorcerer in the world stagger dramatically, only to catch himself with that easy grin still plastered on his face.

but before you could storm off and mourn whatever was left of your one-million yen possession, gojo darted in front of you, blocking your path with his ridiculously long arms. "come on, let me make it up to you, what if i had died on that mission?" he pleaded, looking at you with mock sincerity.

"i wouldn't have even come to the funeral," you sniffed, sticking your nose in the air, ignoring the fake choking sounds that came from the man as he clutched his chest.

months had turned into years, where you and gojo had grown up and graduated jujutsu tech together, carrying triumphs (you won valedictorian, out of a grand total of eight students), losses (gojo was a notoriously bad driver and almost crashed the car that the two of you were in) and countless moments in between.

the two of you had returned to your alma mater as teachers, and mentors, guiding younger sorcerers who were much like you'd once been; eager, impatient, and a little rough around the edges.

gojo took to teaching like he did most things, with his own reckless charm and devil-may-care attitude. he'd joke about skipping staff meetings, but he'd be there anyway, leaning back in his chair with his legs sprawled underneath him, mouthing snarky comments that only you could hear.

you'd like to think you'd grown more confident, no longer the uncertain teenager who used to glance at herself twice in the mirror. time had given you the chance to learn your strengths, and exorcising curses had left you all the more enduring.

gojo had noticed, though he'd never say it outright. he'd make some teasing comment about the way you would boss around a room, and you'd roll your eyes as you nudged him telling him that you had learnt from the biggest ego in tokyo. but sometimes, he'd watch you a little longer than he should, with that flicker in his gaze that he thought you hadn't noticed.

some things hadn't changed at all, and he still came back to you after every mission, every right. you'd hear him shuffling in from down the hall, his paper bags of desserts swinging as he tried to balance it along with his jacket, and whatever ridiculous trinket he'd picked up for you that week (you kept every single one).

and there the two of you would be, sitting cross-legged on your apartment floor, sharing sweets straight out of the boxes. he'd pass you a slice of cheesecake that he insisted that you simply must try, nudging your hand until your fingers enveloped his.

wouldn't it be a lie to claim that you didn't bask in the warmth of your best friend's gaze, even as he feigned interest in some story that he had overhead from the students on his way over from the school, with his low laughter filling the quiet around you.

sometimes, in the silence that would fall after the conversation ebbed, he’d reach over and trace circles absentmindedly on the back of your hand with his thumb, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. neither of you would move or speak. gojo would be looking anywhere but at you, yet his hand wouldn’t let go, tethering you to him in a way that made the apartment feel smaller — almost as if you’d already crossed some line neither of you dared to talk about.

what a pain to be haunted by someone who was already living and breathing right in front of you. sometimes, it left you nauseous, ill, and even screaming into your pillow after he left, and dialing shoko's number so she could give you an earful.

✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.

your car idled at the curb, the sounds of the city filtering in through the barely open window, with the faint chill of the october night brushing against your skin.

gojo looked up from his phone, tapping his fingers on the screen, and there was a sober look on his face that made your stomach twist. you watched as he ran his head through his white hair, and sighed, his eyes still on the screen.

"apparently i was summoned by name," he said quietly, "to shibuya. whatever curtain's been set up is only allowing sorcerers through."

you kept one hand on the wheel, "ijichi reached out to me too, but he wants me covering the perimeter on the other side, away from the metro. but who would summon you by name?"

"i know. do you think it's...?"

"the traitor everyone's guessing about? who else?"

gojo scoffed a little, "fuckin' surprise," he muttered, casting you a glance that spoke volumes of protectiveness, one that made you lurch ever so slightly. his eyes met yours, an unspoken worry passing between you. you bit the inside of your lip to keep yourself from blurting out the words that lived in the forefront of your mind.

and so, gojo reached for the door handle, and you saw him hesitate as his fingers drummed against the door, before pulling his blindfold up, "well, stay safe, yeah?"

you swallowed, trying to find some false platitude to offer back, "hey, i will if you will."

he gave a short laugh that must have not fully reached his eyes, but it softened the rest of his beautiful face in that way that you loved, "y'know, we could have been going trick-or-treating. dressed like idiots, stuffing our face with candy."

"tweedledee and tweedledum?"

gojo snorted, "next year then."

you hummed, "i'll keep that idea then, tweedledumb."

the bow of his lips quirked, and he looked away again before pushing himself out of the car, stepping out onto the suddenly cold, quiet sidewalk (too quiet, where was everyone?)

he paused, turning back to you through the window, as he lifted his hand up in a small wave, and you could tell he wanted to say something else — but the moment passed, and he closed his mouth, smiling instead in that way of his that said everything without a single word. and he pushed his hands back into his pocket, strolling away as you sat there, suddenly ever so lonely in your silent car, as chills went down your spine.

✉️ — october, 2018 💬 — you.

"gojo satoru has been sealed."

what the fuck?

the world has slowed down, every sound muffled as if you'd been submerged underwater. shibuya had left gojo sealed in the prison realm by...no. it couldn't be.

suguru geto was dead. dead, executed. had it not been almost a year? you had mourned, gojo had grieved. and yet, the impossible had clawed its way into reality, leaving you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something dark and unknowable.

soon the shock twisted into dread, an icy grip that clenched tight around your chest, left the blood draining from your face. god, your hair must just turn as white as his from the stress alone. your best friend, the one who had been beside you in sickness and health.

it was cruel, you thought, to not even be allowed the time to fall apart, now now. there was little space for it in the chaos that had erupted the next day, when waves of curses crashed through the city like nothing you had ever seen. what fresh hell was this, you wondered as you nursed a nasty set of wounds, trailing after (tormented, sweet, far too young) itadori yuji, and his supposed older brother, some blood manipulation user that had done his fair share of damage throughout the night.

the culling games.

the brutality of it shocked you, and several times during the upcoming days, you had to blink back hot tears as sorcerers were summoned, drafted, and thrown into what was quickly a gladiator spectacle, some devilry concocted from geto's, no, kenjaku's mind. and the stakes were not just your own survival, but the students you had mentored — the young souls who had grown under your watch, and needed you now more than ever.

it quickly cost you an eye. a clash with a fierce, blood-thirsty wayward sorcerer had left you bloody and bruised with a clean gash that ran through your right eye, and you had screamed, taken a life even. only the baritone, dulcet tone of the yuji's half-curse brother (choso? a member of the kamo clan? since when did half-curses even exist?) had pulled you away from launching the contents of your stomach over the pavement, as you stared at the crimson dripping off your hands. were you supposed to be grateful that you had survived this, when so many others had not? yuji's tears had kept you awake in the night, his sobs when he thought that no-one could hear him.

gojo's absence had become a wound, raw, with a side of constant ache that you could feel with every waking heartbeat. and so you tried to fight hard with his voice echoing in your ears, remembering the half-smile he'd flash when you'd land a difficult hit, or the grateful look in his eyes knowing that his students were safe.

days blurred together, and nights bled into ceaseless combat, of the terror of being on the run, and still gojo was with you. the thought of finding him, the thought of him being unsealed from the prison realm almost had you blurting false, desparate promises to the sky that you would tell him exactly what you felt for him, bare your heart out in its entirety for him to hold in his hands.

like it had always been.

✉️ — november, 2018 💬 — you.

it was surreal seeing him again, unsealed and standing there against the burnt umber of the sky, rough around the edges but undeniably gojo. nineteen days of living with the ache of his absence, of waking every morning with a hollow flower blooming in your chest, he was here — alive, breathing, real.

but god, it had been so beautiful to meet his blue gaze once more, and that fleeting smile cross his face before he rushed to pull you into his arms, closing the distance and pulling you into his arms with a new strength that almost lifted you off your feet. and if you closed your eye, you could pretend that nothing had happened, nothing at all. that it was just you pressed against the warm, beating heart in gojo's chest, unrestrained and fierce as thick arms pulled you close, filling your senses with smoke, and earth, and long-spilt blood.

"don't you look eye catching?"

you huffed and leaned away from him, slamming your fist on hard muscle in exasperation, but if you hadn't turned your gaze away, you would have seen gojo's eyes twitch as he took in your battle-worn appearance, the scar that ran underneath bandages where an eye would have once been. if you had paid more attention, you would have heard his intake of breath as he ran his tongue behind his teeth, with a vow, a promise.

"guess who's going to kick sukuna's ass so far back to the heian era," gojo murmured, and you let out a shaky laugh that echoes all the way down to the marrows of your bones.

"yeah, i thought you were just all talk."

"i'm still alive, aren't i?" he shot back, cocky and boyish once more, and your eyes traced over him, drinking in every small change, the sharper clench in his jaw, the tautness in his frame, the way his shoulders seemed broader, like he had been carved up in the prison realm anew. and it leaves you melancholic.

in another universe, the two of you were still young, hand in hand underneath the blue sky as the cool breeze ran through your hair. but battles had turned to war, and the night had no time for what ifs.

"hey, don't go worrying about me," gojo murmured, almost as though he had caught the shadow in your heart, and he plastered a grin on his face, stretching his toned arms in some show of nonchalance, but his gaze lingered on the ruins too long, on the mottled group of assembled sorcerers who seemed to brim with new-found confidence at his return.

and when he finally looked back at you with a new dullness in your eyes, a heaviness you hadn't seen in a long time. it left a dead weight in your chest, but you forced yourself to return his own bland smile, playing along with the front he was trying to maintain, "well, i guess i'll have to keep you out of trouble from now on."

✉️ — november-december, 2018 💬 — you.

the month began to stretch and pass in a blur on the endless horizon, complete with the aching and unbearable waiting where you knew something was going to happen, and yet you did not know when and where. shoko had forgone her own exhausation to see to the rest of the wounds, the ones that had festered under bandages and grimes, leaving faint trails over your skin but she had shaken her head sadly when it came to the socket on your face, even she could not restore an eye.

gojo had swapped his suits and jackets for loose martial pants, and a tight black top that had clung to the muscular frame that he'd honed over the years, laughing off your concerns like they were nothing more than passing clouds.

"don't fret," he'd say, "how bad could this be? you know i told yuji once that even if sukuna was at his full power, i'd still wipe the floor with him. you believe me right?"

you weren't sure if his question was cocky, or a plea, and the fatigue had caused you to snap, "and now, yuji flinches when he hears loud sounds, and he's just another kid who can't fuckin' stop wringing his hands in blood! look what you've done to him!"

gojo's eyes had twitched afterwards, the corner of his mouth pulling down, but he hadn't gotten angry. and you hated it. you hated it all.

but you had wanted to believe in him, in his optimism. you wanted to let his smooth words settle into your bones like the warm comfort they should have been. but how could you feel at ease when everyone was now playing a role? each sorcerer in this building was feigning whatever mask or persona that they had painted and drawn across their face, just as you had. just as gojo did.

but nothing was the same anymore.

and neither were you.

the loss of your eye, the streaks of scars on your skin haunted you. it felt cowardly to say, but this was not the life you should have lived. you simply just didn't see yourself as strong enough, and your eyes watered thinking about the days when you dallied under a clear sky, skirts swaying along the grass as you trailed after your best friend, catching fireflies, exploring shrines, falling to the earth in child-like innocence.

the hollow space on your face, the empty socket served as a reminder of what you had survived, of the world that had fallen into pieces. was there anyone here who would recognise themselves in the mirror anymore?

some nights, the world felt impossibly still, and you would sit at the window and press your hands to the cold of the glass as you watched a scarred city sprawl ahead of you.

you didn't turn at the sound of footsteps at first, and you sat there, with your fingers still dancing on the edge of the window. you closed your eyes as you felt him approach, close, but not enough — you wished he would sit by you, press his soft head to your own, close enough for you to hold him in your hands, curl into his skin.

"satoru, can you make another promise?"

gojo's steps had paused, just a breath but it was enough to know that you had his attention. but when he spoke, "please tell me we're not doing theatrics right now," his voice was laced with that same dismissive edge that he always used when he was trying to push the truth far away.

"can't you shut up, just once? promise me you won't let sukuna kill you, i can't even imagine -" and how irritating, and how melancholic (fuck, this was like a bad soap opera) that your throat was already tightening, your voice wavering with tears that you had been holding back for weeks.

for a moment, gojo didn't respond, and he just stood there and you needn't have turned around to know that there was no trace of laughter nor joy on his face. no easy smirk to deflect the gravity of your well-founded fears. and the silence left you cold.

for the first time, you were suddenly hoping that he might say something blasé, to tell you to stop worrying, to brush it off and just reassure you. but he didn't, he was quiet.

and so you turned to face him, and you felt almost villainous for verbalising your future grief like this, to one who must already have carried such an eternal, heavy burden.

no longer did the blue of his eyes shine like a spring sky, with feather-like clouds that danced in his iris. now, there was only a fractured storm. and god, you loathed that for the first time in what must have been years, his own face was reddening, his eyes suddenly teary, clouds gathering torrential rain.

you knew he hated being seen like this. over a decade of holding him close to your heart had made you privy to his ways, to the way that he'd furiously rub at his face when upset, as if he could will the distress away and hide his tears.

gojo had outstretched his little finger towards you now, hooking it with your own, and your heart stuttered as he brought your finger to his lips, so quick that a ghost may have brushed your skin, with the seal of a promise.

"i will try. god, i swear, i...i promise, i will try." and you knew that gojo satoru was scared, terrified even of what december 24th would bring.

"i -"

you wanted to say it all, wanted to tell him everything. but the words stuck in your throat, love and want and need and ferocious, capricious grief all sat lodged within your beating heart that was so tightly bound in iron chains.

it was a shameful thing. you should have sat there, and comforted him instead. should have told him that it was alright, and you did not know a more powerful and capable sorcerer than he, that he'd leave sukuna in ashes. should have laid your hand on his brow to soothe the lines away from his pale, streaked face.

but you had always been selfish, held onto your heart like a being of folklore, guarded and self-assuming. you wept heart-aching tears, feeling them pool in your sleeves, and run hot salt trails over your lips. maybe it was a testament to how much gojo satoru loved you too, that he could not bear to see you in such grief, and he hesitated.

then he turned to leave you by the window.

✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.

the turn of the year felt cold, far too chilly, even though the night was still young. the city lights twinkled in solitary clumps outside, but they were just as dim as the heavy weight in your chest. the walls seemed to close in as gojo prepared to leave, to face sukuna — the king of curses. and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers, something that you would never be able to grasp again, no matter how tightly you gripped.

everyone had wished him luck, calling your their bravest words of encouragement as he walked past them, their voices echoing through the hall, as they slapped him on the back.

they all cheered the same platitudes.

"go fuck sukuna up!"

"language!"

"sorry, choso."

"show him what you're made of!"

"prove that you're not just a pretty face, gojo!"

and so you had plastered the same smile on your face, hoping that it would reach your eyes as gojo winked at you, "hey, before you start telling me off, now it's your turn to promise me something."

you had cocked your head up at him, ignoring shoko's narrowed, tired eyes, "yeah?"

"mhm," satoru nodded, pulling his arms around you, "after this, after all this bullshit, we get to take a vacation."

a barked laugh escaped you, before it collapsed into a giggle, "you want paid leave? that's all it is?"

your best friend's large hands gripped you, flat against your back, "yeah, that's all there is. we're gonna go take a holiday, sit by the beach, watch the ocean. keep it simple."

"a picnic too, eh?"

gojo nodded, humming, "we'll plan everything. about time we got to take a break. i'll be back before you even know it."

you felt his voice hitch against your ear, and your heart twisted painfully in response, he wasn't saying it but you both knew the cold truth, there was a real chance that he may never come back. before your vision could blur, you pressed his lips to his cheek, letting them linger for a moment on smooth skin (and you felt his arms tighten around you) and hoped that whatever you hoped to say, whatever spine you lacked, could be expressed so swiftly.

"come back then, please. i'll be ready." you whispered between his skin and your lips, the tremble leaving no space for air in your lungs.

for a moment, he didn't answer, just held you, and you tried to focus on the feeling of his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. then, just as you were about to pull away, he spoke, the words falling from his mouth, so familiar and so effortless.

"of course i will. i always do."

there was a flicker of something raw there in his eyes, and you had seen it both before and after shibuya. his lips parted as if he were about to say something, but whatever it was, it never came. instead, he just nodded, a silent promise — unspoken, but felt deep in your bones.

without another word, he turned toward the door. and just before stepping out, he looked back one last time. that smile, that arrogant, confident smile that always made your heart race —i t was there, but it wasn’t the same. it was stretched thin, fragile. his blue eyes were tired, haunted, and for a moment, you saw the truth — the part of him he always kept hidden. the fear. the doubt.

"i'll be back," he repeated, but this time, it didn’t sound like a joke. it sounded like a prayer. a desperate, half-broken promise from the closest thing that the world had to a god.

you couldn’t speak. your heart was lodged in your throat, and the words that you needed to say just wouldn’t come. you wanted to tell him that you loved him, that you always had, that you were scared to lose him, that the world without him in it felt like a hollow echo of what it could be. but you couldn’t.

instead, you just nodded, your face a mask of emotions you couldn’t express.

and then, with one final look, a look that held everything neither of you had the courage to say — he stepped out into the cold, his footsteps fading into the distance.

✉️ — december 24, 2018 💬 — you.

gojo satoru was dead.

dead. killed.

for a moment, you stood frozen in the doorway of shoko's office, numbness seeping into your bones with a furious grief as you stared at the cold, unmoving form that was once satoru.

fuck, there was bile in your throat as a once lively boy now lay in four pieces, cleanly sliced by sukuna's unforgiving technique, and the sight was a nightmare made so real, something that you just couldn't reconcile with the man who had once been so vibrantly alive.

the warmth that had always clung to him had vanished, leaving his skin pale in the grasp of rigor mortis, and his lips were still flecked with dried blood that had painted a stark contrast against his stiff skin.

and his eyes, those striking blue eyes that used to glint with love and hope and dreams, were now dull, and still open. you had not the heart to close them, for once your hand pulled his eyelids down, you would never see them again, never look into his eyes until it was your time to pass from the circles of the world.

the last thing you’d seen of him had been that cocky grin, that wink that seemed so unbreakable, that laugh that lingered even as he left your embrace. he’d held you, promised you that he would come back, but now, as you stood there, that promise felt like a cruel lie, something that should’ve warned you but instead gave you nothing but hope.

you choked on a breath, your hand coming up to your mouth as you felt the weight of your unspoken words sink down like lead. i should have told him. you’d wanted to say it all, to let him know how much he meant to you, to tell him that he was your everything. but the words had died in your throat, held back by fear, by the delusion that there’d always be another chance, that he’d always come back.

you’d believed him. you’d believed, with every part of yourself, that he’d make it out alive.

but here he was, torn apart, the last shreds of life stolen from him by the king of curses. you had seen him being cut down, like a sheaf of wheat under a god's sickle, how sudden and gut wrenching it had been, and for the second time in a month, you had been on the edge of hurling onto the stone. but this time, the half-curse beside you, choso, hadn't stopped you from losing the contents of your stomach, as instead he had pressed his younger brother's cries to his broad chest, the grief swallowing the entire room.

gojo hadn’t been given the chance to fight back, hadn’t even been able to draw a breath before he’d been torn apart. and that final thought — that he’d been caught off guard, helpless, alone in his last moments — left you feeling shattered, grief clawing at you with merciless hands.

your knees felt weak as you moved toward him, your trembling fingers reaching out to touch his face, cold and unyielding beneath your hand. you traced the lines of his face, memorising every detail, as if somehow, through touch alone, you could keep a piece of him with you. a tear slipped down your cheek, landing on his lips, lips that had once murmured promises, had brushed against your skin in fleeting, unspoken moments. the tear brought moisture once more to the blood that splattered his face, but quickly, it disappeared, drying and taking away any life.

"i should’ve told you,” you whispered, your voice broken, raw, laced with the pain of regret, "i don't know if you ever knew how much i loved you."

you closed your eyes, the silence thickening around you, pressing down until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. your mind replayed every smile, every laugh, every word he’d ever spoken to you, each memory twisting the knife of grief deeper into your chest. the emptiness of the room swallowed you whole, and all that was left was the aching, unbearable reality that he was gone — that the man who had been your best friend, your confidant, your everything, was nothing more than a memory now.

you stayed there, your hand resting on his cold cheek, as if the warmth of your touch could somehow reach him, bring him back. but he was gone, and with him, he’d taken the words you’d never been able to say, the love you’d never been able to give.

and as the silence closed in around you, suffocating and absolute, you knew that part of you had died with him.

✉️ — not so long later. 💬 — you. it could only be you now, for you are the only one left.

the sun was beginning to set as you reached the shore, casting an amber glow over the ocean. the waves lapped quietly against the sand, as a gentle roll becoming a reminder that the world was still moving, even when the battles were done.

even though everything within you felt like it had come to a standstill. you clutched a folded piece of glossy card, and a box. two things that shoko said she found on him, things that she thought you should keep, she added quietly.

and so, you sat down on the sand, letting the evening wind sweep over you as you gazed out at the endless stretch of water. the ocean had always been something you had dreamed of seeing together, an endless horizon that was wild and untameable, just like gojo satoru had been. but he was gone, gone, and that promise would forever remain unkept.

you opened the folded glossy card, wincing as you tried not to press the faded creases further, brushing over the faded edges. it was dated to the fall of 2005, and you bit your lip as you saw your own image stare back at you. when the world had felt endless, and you had two wide eyes to see it with. there you were, that day in the market, laughing in the photo with your head thrown back sweetly, and you wetly laughed as you saw geto suguru's confused expression in the background, clearly exasperated with gojo's photography skills.

a choked sob escaped you as you traced your smile in the photo, so oblivious to what would come. you’d been so happy then, wrapped in a moment that had felt simple and whole. gojo had teased you relentlessly that day, snapping photos every chance he got, and you’d thought he was just being his usual, silly self. you’d never realised he’d kept this one one, never knew it meant enough for him to carry it all this time.

with a shaking hand, you opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. fuck.

it was beautiful, impossibly beautiful, as if he’d carefully chosen each detail with you in mind. the diamond glistened in the fading light, flecked with small blue stones that reminded you of his eyes, the eyes that used to light up every time he looked at you. this ring was supposed to be a promise, just as the ones you made when you locked little fingers — a promise he never got the chance to make, a life together that you’d both been too afraid to admit you wanted.

the first tear fell, splashing onto the sand below, followed by another, and then another, until you were trembling, the grief tearing out of you in waves, raw and unstoppable. you held the ring to your chest, clutching it as if somehow, by holding it close, you could feel him, hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his arms around you.

you could almost hear his voice on the wind, that playful edge mixed with tenderness as he called you by one of his ridiculous pet names. sweetheart, honey, my pumpkin pie, followed by your irritated huff telling him to drop those names.

but truly, here was nothing. just the sound of the waves, relentless and indifferent, echoing the hollow ache in your chest.

the what-ifs clawed at you, memories replaying over and over in your mind: moments when you’d almost reached for him, almost whispered the words, almost let your heart break free. but each time, you’d held back, too afraid to disrupt the delicate balance between you, too certain there’d be another day. but now, those moments were gone, scattered like dust in the wind, and the weight of those unsaid words felt unbearable.

you pressed the photograph to your lips, closing your eyes as if you could summon him back, if only for a moment. but when you opened your eyes, all that greeted you was the empty horizon, stretching out into nothingness.

"i love you,” you murmured, voice broken, barely more than a whisper. "i love you. i always loved you."

the words hung in the air, unheard, unanswered. it was too late, too late for confessions, too late for promises. the life you’d wanted with him, the life he’d carried in his pocket with a ring and a photograph, was gone, lost to the cruel twist of fate that had taken him from you.

you stayed there on the sand as the sky darkened, the weight of his absence pressing down on you like a storm. the wind whipped around you, cold and biting, and you shivered, clutching his ring, his memory, as if that alone could keep you grounded.

as night fell, the stars began to appear, dotting the sky with fragile points of light, distant and unreachable. and you sat there, letting the grief wash over you, lost in the silent, aching expanse of the ocean and the memories of a love that would remain forever unspoken, forever unfulfilled.

wasn't love the greatest curse of them all?

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo angst #satoru gojo #works #lol ive spent too long on this. will proofread later <3

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 months ago

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Hi!! Love your acc, it's really useful for fics <33 I was wondering if you knew any fics that elaborated on the morgue scene (the one where john beat up shrelock) bc i always felt it was very brushed over in the series and frankly i think it needed to be elaborated on more.

Hey Nonny!

Ahh, yeah, I think I've been asked this a few times and I've just not ever posted a proper list. So because I need a list for this week, here's all of my TLD-adjacent fics I found doing a tag-search AND from old replies to other asks! Hope you enjoy, and add your own if you have them, friends!

TLD FIX-ITS / AFTERMATH of TLD

BOOKMARKS

Bridges by sussexbound (M, 6,602 w., 1 Ch || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Love Confessions, Mending Relationships, Moving Back In, Pining Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Past Abuse, Shaving) – The silence between them is deafening, interrupted only by the hum of the traffic outside, and the soft click-clunk of the plastic cups Rosie is playing with on the floor beside them. It is the first time they have been alone together, since Sherlock’s birthday. It’s only been two days, but it feels huge, important, like there is a precarious bridge stretched out before them both that they need to at least attempt to traverse.

The In-Between by blueink3 (M, 10,679 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Parentlock, Fix-It Fic, Canon Compliant) – Beginning in a Chinese restaurant and ending at the bottom of a well, what about the moments we didn’t see?

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (E, 109,272 w., 60 Ch. || S4 Compliant to TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock’s Italian Adventure, Sherlock/OC and Johnlock, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, First Kiss/Time, Idiots in Love, 3 Part Story, Slow Burn, Inexperienced Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock, Introspection, Multiple Alternating First and Third Person POV, Separation and Reconciliation, Emotional Love Making, Love Confessions via Letters, Angst with Happy Ending) – After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being. Part 1 of the Drawn to Stars series

MARKED FOR LATER

toasting to grief by slylyaddictedtostories(T, 181 w., 1 Ch. || Poetry || Post T6T / TLD, Missing Scene) – John mussing over a drink about (missing) Sherlock and everything (he) they lost

Reconciliation by standbygo (T, 221 w, 1 Ch. || TLD Missing Scene, 221B Ficlet, Fix it Fic) – A missing scene from S4E2, "The Lying Detective". The hug was beautiful, but I wanted to add to it. My mother once said to me that you can forgive on your own, but you need to reconcile together.

My Heart Beats For You by jalexandria (M, 1,212 w., 1 Ch. || Hanahaki Disease AU || TLD Divergence, Angst, Non-Canonical Character Death, Sad Ending, Drugs, Pining Sherlock, Hurt John, Death Fic) – Things go very, very badly when John makes a horrible mistake.

Sherlock chooses himself by thewallflower07 (G, 2,035 w., 1 Ch. || Post TLD / No TFP, No Parentlock, Dialogue Heavy, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock and Feelings, John is Not Good, Angst) – Sherlock is a physical and emotional mess after John beats him bloody during the Culverton Smith case. He visits his therapist, who tells him to be selfish for the first time in his life. When John appears with his daughter and asks him to move back, Sherlock has to make a very difficult decision.

Reasons Wretched and Divine by Anyawen (G, 2,218 w., 1 Ch. || TLD Fix-It, John Has Issues, Admissions, Apologies, Explanations, Conversations, Emotions, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Drama & Angst, Declarations, Suicide, Assault, Marriage, Death, Drug Use, Guilt) – In the aftermath of Smith's arrest, John faces his anger and his regrets, exposing his vulnerabilities to Sherlock. They find ways to heal together.

Antiseptic by LipstickDaddy (G, 3,599 w., 1 Ch. || S4 / TLD Fix-It, Unseen Moments, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional / Psychological Abuse, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Protective Mycroft, Protective Greg, BAMF Mrs Hudson, Requited Unrequited Love) – What did John hear on that secret tape from Culverton’s hospital?

It Is What It Is by SpookyPorg (T, 3,874 w., 1 Ch. || TLD Fix It, Angst, Hug Scene, Love Confessions, Pining, Happy Ending, Making Out, Grief, First Kiss / Time) – After the very traumatizing events at the hospital, and John's heroic last-minute rescue, Sherlock is recovering at 221B. Doing his part to keep Sherlock under strict supervision, John pays a visit to his old flat for the first time in months. Reconciliation leads to confession.

The Tragedy Of Us by LipstickDaddy (G, 3,898 w., 2 Ch. || Post TLD, Angst, Romance, Tragedy, Hurt / Comfort, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Miscommunication, Requited Unrequited Love, Ambiguous / Open Ending) – John reflects on his relationship with Sherlock while the man is convalescing in hospital— twice.

wires Series by highfunctioningsociopath (M, 5,000+ w. across 2 works || Series WiP || Post T6T / TLD, Angst, Hurt / No Comfort, Loneliness, Mind Palace, Survivor Guilt, Mental Health Issues, Drug Addiction / Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Sherlock POV, Missing Scenes, Introspection, Psychological Trauma, Abusive Relationships, Grey Mary, Withdrawal, Depression, Self-Esteem Issues) – The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, after all. It just so happens to be lined with self-destruction.

I Want to Hear You Say It by LollipopCop (M, 8,000 w., 2 Ch. || TLD / S4 Fix It, Suicidal Thoughts, Heavy Angst, Love Confessions, Suffocation, Crying, First Kiss, Pining Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Instead of making Sherlock say he doesn't want to die, Culverton Smith forces Sherlock to repeatedly confess that he loves John before his death.

The Waning of Withdrawal by LoloLolly (E, 8,248 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TLD Fix-It, First Kiss, First Time, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Sexual Identity, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Sherlock's Scars, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Guilt) – Sherlock holds a weeping John in his arms and… does something that will forever change things between them. For better or worse. He fears the latter.

Slowly Suffocating by meet_me_in_samarra (M, 9,500 w., 7 Ch. || TLD Fix It, Suffocation, Hurt / Comfort, Whump) – Getting suffocated took some time. Enough time for Sherlock to ponder what went wrong. Hopefully also long enough for John to arrive and rescue him. Culverton Smith applied more pressure, impatient to turn Sherlock into a dead thing. A continuous story written for Whumptober 2023, following the 31 prompts for each day.

And Then There Were Two by NimWallace (T, 10,194 w., 20 Ch. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Angst, Grief / Mourning, Mystery, Cults) – It's quiet at Baker Street. Too quiet. It's been a year since Mary died, but only a few months since the events of the Final Problem, and Sherlock and John have fallen into a state of despairing and monotony. So when a case involving a vicious cult on the English Country side appears, they quickly jump to go undercover as Sean Harmony and John Wales. But how can Sherlock keep a delicate John from breaking? And how can John come to terms with his love for his detective? Most importantly, what really happened the night of the Final Problem?

The Death and Resurrection of a Beekeeper by shiplocks_of_love (M, 12,922 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || TLD / S4 Fix-It Fic, Sherlock’s Retirement, Sussex / Seaside, Brief Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Emotional Trauma, Angst with Hopeful Ending, Estranged Friends to Lovers, Partial Epistolary, No Eurus) – Sherlock escapes London for a quiet, solitary life in Sussex, exhausted after the whirlwind of drama following Mary’s death. One day, a letter arrives.

A Midnight Clear by khorazir (T, 13,120 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas-Carol Inspired || Post S3/Post-TLD / TFP Doesn't Exist, Christmas, Angst, Fluff, Pining, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Magical Realism) – It’s Christmas Eve, and Sherlock is working. Because that’s what he does. He doesn’t need Christmas, or holiday cheer, or even company. He’s fine on his own, thank you very much – until a series of strange encounters on his way back to Baker Street makes him reconsider.

The Ashes on the Ground by 221Beloved (M, 13,545+ w., 5/22 Ch. || WiP || Post-TLD, Miscommunication, Pining, Depression, Angst with Happy Ending, POV Sherlock) –What happens after? After the fire has burnt down and left nothing but ashes? Roughly two and a half years after what happened at Smith's hospital, things have settled. But have they really? Or is it all still hovering. And what if someone whirls up the ashes again? An old acquaintance. Can something new arise from cold ashes? Something stronger?

Entitled by Ranowa (T, 14,023 w., 2 Ch. || TLD Timeline, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Paternal Lestrade, John’s a Bit Not Good, Sherlock is a Mess) – Lestrade draws a line, because he knows Sherlock won't.

Hope is a Subtle Glutton by isitandwonder (E, 15,753 w., 1 Ch. || No Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC, Racism, Aftermath of Violence, Happy Ending) – This is a story about Sherlock Holmes finally finding love and the happiness he deserves - just not with John Watson.

Angry Men by FawnHickory (M, 16,975 w., 16 Ch. || WiP || Post TLD Morgue Incident, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Self Examination, Big Brother Mycroft, Past Abuse, Sad Sherlock) – Greg gave John some things to consider in Destroy Him. John faces some uncomfortable truths about himself. Part 2 of the A Good Man and An Angry Man

What It Can Be by amaruuk (T, 18,310 w., 1 Ch. || Post TLD, Healing Friendship, Mutual Pining, First Kisses, Cake) – "Which is why we're all taking it in turns to keep you off the sweeties." With the help of his friends, Sherlock is healing from drug overuse and physical injuries. He is also trying to salvage his friendship with John with the hope that, perhaps, they can make it something more.

Hot Water Bottle by khorazir (T, 18,436 w., 1 Ch. || Post TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Communication, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Autumn, Bed Sharing, Developing Relationship, First Kiss) – A case in one of the remotest corners of the Lake District, a storm, an inn, a broken boiler, a room with two beds but only one hot water bottle, and two men who have a lot to sort out between them – all of this makes for a night to remember.

Contrition by sussexbound (E, 18,556+ w., 5/? Ch. || WiP || Post-S4/TFP Didn’t Happen, Rosie Doesn’t Exist, T6T/TLD is Canon, Year After TLD, Light BDSM, Soft Dom Sherlock / Sub John, Punishment, Light Bondage, Light Masochism / No Sadism, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Tenderness, Aftercare, Forgiveness, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Frottage, Communication, Sexual Negotiation, Sexual Tension, Spanking, Head Injury, Anal Sex) – “You’ve been tense ever since we got back, itching for a fight, all your usual tells, but why…?” The truth strikes like lightning. “Oh… Oh! You’re not angry at me. Not this time. Well—maybe a little. But mostly, mostly you’re angry at yourself. Why? For falling behind? For not being there in time. For not taking Wilkes down fast enough?” Sherlock waves a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t really matter.” He lifts a finger to his swollen cheek and cut eyebrow. “You blame yourself for this. And you offered to fix it. But I wouldn’t let you, and… But that’s not what you really want, anyway, is it?” John looks stunned, a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming lorry, frozen, waiting for the lethal strike. “You don’t want me to let you help. At least not right away. No. What you want, what you really want is—punishment.”

The Nearer Your Destination by Silvergirl (E, 18,949 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TLD, Established Relationship, Wedding, Venice Honeymoon, Parentlock, Jealousy) – After a December wedding, Sherlock takes John to Venice for a February honeymoon. It's absolutely perfect, up until the moment he hears John growl, "What the hell is Zanardi doing here?" Part 4 of the Drawn to Stars series

Repentance by LollipopCop (E, 19,782 w., 2 Ch. || Post-TLD/Post S4 Fix It, Not TFP-Compliant, John-Centric, Angst, Self-Loathing, Hugging, First Kiss/Time, Rosie, Love Confessions, Crying, John’s Issues) – John cannot understand why Sherlock even wants to look at him after the horrible way he acted, and his guilt is destroying him. Why doesn’t Sherlock snap at him, scream at him, treat him the way he deserves?

The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Misfortune by Sherlockwatsonholmesblog (M, 20,455+ w., 4/7 Ch || Post TLD, Five Stages of Grief, Estranged Friends to Lovers, Implied / Referenced Suicide, Self Hatred, Slow Burn, Emotional Trauma, Recovery) – There seems to be something tragic in a friendship so coloured by romance, for they have loved each other immensely. However, Some Days, love isn’t enough. Sherlock and John persevering, as always.

Becoming Us (A reunion in three parts) by addicted2hugh (E, 23,207 w., 3 Ch. || S4 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, First Time, POV Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Light Parentlock, Bottom Sherlock, Self-Harm, Drug Addiction, Sherlock is a Mess) – After watching Mary's last message, Sherlock and John try to be the "Baker Street Boys" again. Rebuilding the destroyed flat is the easy part. Will they manage to rebuild their friendship as well? And what did Mary mean when she said: "And if I'm gone, I know what you could become."?

Danger Nights by khorazir (T, 23,591 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TLD, Friends to Lovers, Mentioned Parentlock, Pining, First Kiss/Time, Winter, Folklore, Wales, Spooky Elements, Bed Sharing, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Spooky Elements) – According to folklore, the nights between Christmas and Twelfth Night are the most dangerous of the year. During them, the Wild Hunt rides, and ghosts and demons come out to haunt unsuspecting and misbehaving folk. An investigation of a series of strange occurrences leads John and Sherlock to Hay-on-Wye on the Welsh Marches, to face ghosts weird and ancient as well as close and personal – and perhaps to start the new year on a more hopeful note than the previous one.

the silence of your words by dyingofangst (E, 27,326 w., 6 Ch. || Post TLD / TFP Isn’t Canon, Case Fic, Estranged Friends to Lovers, Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Night Conversations, Self-Esteem Issues) – Three years after John decided to distance himself from Sherlock, Rosie is kidnapped and John asks for Sherlock's help. But they're not what they used to be, and even if they learned how to heal on their own, there are still many things left unsaid between them, things they'll have to put aside to focus on finding Rosie, while both hoping it's not too late.

under the burden of solitude by subtext-is-my-division (E, 27,947 w., 5 Ch. || S3/S4 Fix It/Post TLD, Angst, Grief/Mourning, First Kiss, Mentions of Rape, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Fantasies, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Suicidal Thoughts Mentions, Five and Ones) – Five times they shared a bed platonically, and one time they didn't.

Entangled by missselene (E, 29,044 w., 13 Ch. || Original Male Character, One-Sided Johnlock, Online Dating, Lonely Sherlock, Dancing, First Kiss, Oblivious John, Dev. Rel., Jealous John) – Sherlock knows John will never return his feelings. So what if he decided to look for love elsewhere? Part 1 of the Sherlock & Sanjay series

Lessons in Astronomy Series by CaitlinFairchild (E, 31,164 w. across 3 stories || Angst, Post S3, Grief/Mourning, Mildly DubCon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Oral/Anal Sex, Unrequited Love, Pining, Sibling Incest (No Actual Holmescest), Masturbation, Accidental Voyeurism, Drug Addiction, Romance, Dev. Rel., Trust Issues, Happy Ending) – In a different time, a more naive time, Sherlock thought he was the star and John the satellite, circling him in worshipful orbit. He knows now that was never true. John was always the sun, bright and fierce, and Sherlock was the pale, cold moon, his only heat coming from the light he reflected. And then his sun went into supernova. Moriarty said he would burn him and he has, and John is the fire, his rage and grief incinerating Sherlock, burning the heart out of him in the end, turning him into nothing but cinder and ash. And now the supernova is collapsing, a black hole born where there was once warmth and heat and love, and Sherlock is being pulled down, down past the event horizon, into the endless frozen void where nothing can ever escape.

A Case for Domestic Propinquity by SilentAuror (E, 32,308 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TFP / Post S4 Fix It, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Domesticity) – As Sherlock and John renovate Baker Street with Rosie underfoot, Sherlock can't help but wondering how he could possibly convince John to just stay indefinitely... [TRANSLATIONS: 中文-普通话國語] | Русский]

Afghan Bullets, Beards, and Unlocked Bedroom Doors Series by addicted2hugh (E, 38,761+ w. across 2 works || WiP || Post-S4, Bearded John, Porn With Feelings, Friends to Lovers, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, References to Canon, Flashbacks, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Use, References to Suicide, Grief/Mourning, Top Sherlock, Reunion) – Set after series 4. The boys are living together again, and John's new style drives Sherlock crazy. He's trying to keep his besotted heart and over-excited libido a secret, but John has other plans. Lots. Of. SEX. And love.

A Thing With Peas by khorazir (M, 39,5537 w., 3 Ch. || Post-S3/Post-TLD/TFP Doesn't Exist, Fluff and Angst, Communication, Demisexual Sherlock, Asexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Idiots in Love, Friends to Lovers, Developing Relationship, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Parentlock, First Kiss) – Sherlock does the laundry. John cooks a thing with peas. They talk. Finally.

Limerence by SherlockWatson_Holmes (NR, 41,763 w., 17 Ch. || S4 / TLD Fix It, Character Death, Drug Use, Slow Burn, Angst with Happy Ending) – Limerence (noun); The state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person: typically characterised by a strong desire to maintain a relationship with the object of love and have one’s feelings reciprocated. S4 fix-it, starting on the tarmac.

Nocturne by SilentAuror (E, 47,927 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4 / S4 Fix It, Trauma, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, POV John, Sherlock Whump) – When Sherlock is injured at a crime, an avalanche of suppressed trauma opens up. John ends up moving into his bedroom to ward off the nightmares, hoping against hope that this arrangement can last indefinitely. This is a story of nights spent together, trauma recovery, and John finally learning some truths long hidden.

The Night Is Darkest by missselene (E, 48,461 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TLD, Extremely Dub Con, S4 Rage Monster John, Insecure Sherlock, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Exploration, Healing, Self Care, Self Acceptance, Sexual Exploration, Casual Sex, Gentle Sex, Sherlock/OMC, Threesome with 2 OMCs, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Communication, Internalized Homophobia, Relationship Negotiation) – Sherlock Holmes would do anything for John Watson... and that includes letting John do whatever he wants to him. What would it take for Sherlock to stand up for himself and finally start taking care of his own needs?

Borrowed Ghosts by DiscordantWords (M, 57,216 w., 10 Ch. || TLD Divergence / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Minor Lestrolly, Pining Sherlock, John’s a Mess, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Ghost Mary, Guilt, Forgiveness, Drinking, No Hug Scene) – In the aftermath of the Culverton Smith case, John spent one painfully stilted afternoon hanging out with Sherlock. He counted the minutes, finished his tea, and left for home without ever clearing the air between them.And once he'd left, he found it very hard to go back.

Lost In A Good Book by khorazir (M, 68,552 w., 6 Ch. || Magical Realism / Discworld Elements || Post TLD, Miscommunication, L-Space, Developing Relationship, Parentlock, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Bookshop) – After chasing a criminal into a poky second-hand bookshop, John and Sherlock find themselves not only stuck in the building, but in L-space itself. With things still raw and unsettled between them after the events surrounding the Culverton Smith case, this adds another dimension to their predicament, which not only constitutes of finding a way out of the shop (while avoiding getting murdered by the criminal), but also to finally address the issues between them.

This Would Make You Happy? by Ranowa (M, 71,217 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TLD Fix It, Past Viclock, Past Sherlock/OMC, Therapy, Protective John, Drug Use, Pining, Autistic Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending) – John, more than anything else, wants Sherlock to be happy. Sherlock, more than anything else, wants to make John happy. These two goals are not as in sync as one would think.

"Merry Christmas" I wrapped it up and sent it with a note saying "I love you" by starrysummernights (E, 135,132+ w., 30/31 Ch. || WIP || Post S4, Slow Burn, Mary is Not Nice, Christmas, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Parentlock, Past Torture / Rape) – John has moved back into 221B with his daughter Rosie after Mary was killed, but things are not exactly comfortable between him and Sherlock. After everything that has happened, they are trying to become friends again...and maybe something more. What better time than the Christmas season?! Takes place after TLD.

Limitless Ocean by angel-loving-star (M, 150,730+ w., 21/36 Ch. || WIP || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, John's PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Sherlock Whump, Alcohol Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Fluff, Parentlock, Coming Out, Nightmares, Panic / Anxiety Attacks, Dissociation, Alternating POV, Suicidal Ideation, Self-Harm Ideation, Internalized Homophobia, Closeted John, Angst, Insomnia, Domestics, Cuddling / Snuggling, Gay Sherlock) – Sherlock is recovering from the Culverton Smith case. But there are some things that time or body can't heal. When John and Rosie unexpectedly move back in 221B the day after Sherlock's birthday, nothing is as it used to be. Both he and John are treading on thin ice. It is only a matter of time until the first cracks appear. Until they begin to sink into the freezing waters of the ocean beneath, and are forced to face their demons, each other, and what has been lurking in the dark for far, far too long. Until it is only them, the promise of sky above the surface, and the limitless ocean flooding into their hearts.

The Chemist by TheGracefulBlueCat (M, 158,385 w., 46/? Ch. || WiP || TLD Fix-It, Drug Use and Withdrawal, Hurt/Comfort, Doctor John, Protective Mycroft, Sick Sherlock, Medical Procedures, Grief/Mourning, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Nightmares, Mental Health Issues, Victorian Sherlock, Asperger’s Sherlock, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Papa Lestrade, Drunkenness, Autistic Sherlock, Synesthesia, Insecure Sherlock, Angst, Sick Fic, Case Fic, Asylums) – Sherlock returns to Baker Street and faces detox. But he feels too exhausted and bad to go through it fully conscious, so he - once more - uses his mind palace to distract him with an old case. But due to his drug issues and the tension between him and John things don’t work as smoothly as everyone hoped they would, confronting Sherlock and all his friends with more of their demons than they would have liked to.

Radioactive Trees In A Red Forest by Maribor_Petrichor (E, 280,251 w., 73 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S4, Suicidal Ideations, Alcohol / Rx Drug Abuse, Coming Out / Bisexual John, Seizures, Past/Referenced/Implied Child Abuse, Hallucinations, Rehab, Celibacy, Sobriety / Relapse, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Psychological Trauma, Nice /Not Anti-Mary, John’s POV, Parentlock, First Time, Angst, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending) – John Watson is what happens when a man can no longer see a reason to go on. John Watson is what happens when a man starts to let go. "It is what it is." John Watson is what happens when what "it is" becomes too much to bear. This is a story of the life, death, and resurrection of John Hamish Watson.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #long post #tld fics #aftermath of tld fics #my fic recs

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do-you-ever-consider-death · 2 months ago

Text

i've loved people and

i've lost people and

i've lived and

i've learned and

life hasn't always been kind

relationships begin and

they're beautiful but then they end and

more often than not they're messy and

what am i supposed to do?

how were humans meant to love so deeply

when no matter how hard we try

a relationship is doomed?

what am i even saying?

this isn't like me and

i'm sorry if it's stressing you out but

i've been thinking a lot about the inevitability of death recently

but if i'm being honest

(which i am because you're only paper - i can't hurt you)

death is the least tragic way for a relationship to end

(you're a dead tree but now you're here with me - do you understand?)

how can you meet someone and

love them so much and

laugh at their jokes and

get drunk together and

cry about how unfair life is and

take aesthetic photos together and

plan a future together and

go out to dinner and

swap stupid stories and

create inside jokes and

speak in vine references and

create a life together and

grow together and

make memories and

love love love only

for them to decide one day on a horrible truth: “you aren't enough for me anymore”

people change

i understand that but

is it always so sudden?

i learned from my books that

it's a gradual decline

a slow erosion

sad but beautiful

a mutual split with so much love left behind

not... this

it isn't supposed to be this

why couldn't it be like the books?

like it was with my childhood friends?

maybe it's that

I didn't love them as much as you?

or maybe we were never meant to be?

our paths crossed but our souls weren't meant to meet

i wish we'd never met but

that's not really true

now is it?

i just wish it went differently, i guess...

why a thunderstorm

instead of a gentle rain?

was it the same for you

as it was for me?

the people who love me don't like you anymore

i say i understand and

i believe a part of me does but

i don't understand it

i don't understand how

i'm supposed to sit

in a shattered reality and

pretend i saw this coming

my world is shattered and

yet i love you and

how is that fair?

my world is in pieces yet i love

they all say i'm better off and

i think they're right and

time is a great healer but

i wish i could stop defending you

maybe it's true i hurt you but you never told me that and

you hurt me too and

i really wish i could hate you for that and

just move on

but here i sit

books torn apart

glass shatterd

completely displaced

still i defend you, or

at least i defend what we had as

the red alert blares -

all the things i couldn't see before but

i pick up the pieces you left me with

i put on my glasses and i look back and

i still love you despite all this

after all, broken rose colored lenses are still rose colored

and i still love you.

——————

So I wrote this today while I was at work because my brain has been super active and I dropped a hard line while I was writing in my head - after that, this piece was born.

I found out a few days ago that my uncle is going into hospice and I’ve just been …really sad? This is obviously not about that and it isn’t about anyone specific either.

I’ve just been thinking a lot the nature of human relationships and longing. About how funny we really are. About all the people I have loved that I still do but I don’t talk to them anymore, I don’t even remember where they are.

And I’ll admit,it felt really good to write.

I wrote this by hand on some loose leaf I have at my desk.

There is something so beautiful about us, about how temporary we are, about the process of art.

I just love humans. I love our nature and our desire to love despite it all. And I am so grateful I have allowed myself to love despite the possibility of pain or betrayal. Because the people that still love me are so special to me and I love them with all of my heart and I am eternally grateful I exist at the same time as they do.

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aelaer · 2 years ago

Note

Alright, let’s take that follow up ask 😂

18. What are some tropes that others love, but you just tend to avoid?

Or something along those lines. Things you like/dislike. What marks the difference between a “good” and a “great” fic for you?

Whelp I lost my draft as I started this. I figured that's as good a sign as any to save this as a draft and review it a few times to make sure I'm critical of the *genre and trope* and not the individual writing it. And yes I think they're two *very* distinct things. And I'd like to piss off as few people (who aren't blocked) as possible while still remaining true to myself. We'll see how successful it is.

Cut cuz it got long and if folks click it thinking they might get mad, and then get mad, well, you can't say I didn't warn you. I don't like quite a few popular tropes in a lot of stories you see Stephen in. And I'll not hide my own opinions on my own blog. 😜 What's the terminology? Don't like, don't read? Yeah, if (general) you don't like strong opinions that might go against yours, don't read on. You've been warned!

Let's start with some of the most popular AO3 tropes, taken from the 2016 Fanfic Survey from Fansplaining. Here's the top 20 tropes across the survey and if I dislike it, I have bolded it and have a comment beside it. Otherwise I'm indifferent to it or I like the trope.

Friends to Lovers

Canon-divergent Alternate Universes

Slow Burn

Rescue Missions/Saving Each Other

Bed Sharing (aka One Hotel Room Left) Honestly I find this trope really stupid in most circumstances. It just makes me roll my eyes. This isn't to say that fics with this trope are badly written, I just... think the situation's really contrived. There's better ways to explore pining.

Teamwork

Fluff

Hurt/Comfort

Huddling for Warmth I only dislike it if it's adding unnecessary sexual tension. Like if you're in a perilous situation you don't need to talk about how omg touching him makes you feel things. It's like - dude you're gonna lose fingers otherwise. Characters, you need to shut the fuck up, this is not the right time. You guys can be romantic later. Hell this even counts for established relationships; characters getting aroused when they're in actual perilous situations is one of my biggest pet peeves in romance. It's dumb. (Note- this doesn't count if they're joking about it, joking is a great coping mechanism. I mean legit horniness as they're half-dead or something. What the fuck. Exception if the author explicitly lists being in legit perilous situations as a fetish in which case, good for author for that creativity.)

Mutual Pining

Established Relationship

Fix-it Fic

Isolated or Trapped (e.g. in a cave, a Canadian shack, etc.)

Missing scenes or fill-in fic

Everyone Knows They're In Love

Unresolved Sexual Tension

Fake Relationship (incl. Married for a Case and Marriage of Convenience)

Pining

Worldbuilding

Only 2 out of the top 20, not bad! Most are "take it or leave it" but some I like so yay.

Okay now for the next part.

On my Doctor Strange AO3 filtered page that I have up in perpetuity on my phone, I have the following filters applied to exclude (which takes off about 20% of all fics in the category from sight). Ordered from least likely to offend to most likely to offend others:

Non-English fics

Peter Parker/Stephen Strange

Stephen Strange/Reader

Not Civil War Team Captain America Friendly & Not Steve Rogers Friendly

An honorable spicy mention that isn't easily filtered so I don't filter it but I get into it below. It involves Peter.

Not English fics: With as picky a reader as I am, auto Google Translate simply doesn't work well for me. Trust me, I've tried and I was very sad when translate proved to be less than great. I wish I could speak/read all languages.

Peter/Stephen: I had to block this one because it was just coming up too much after NWH, but America/Stephen falls here as well (it's just significantly rarer and I can easily skip those fics). No hard feelings to those who write/ship it because they're, you know, fictional, but I'm definitely not a fan of the trope. Underage with two minors already skeeves me out, underage with a middle aged man and a minor is a big no-go unless the adult is framed as a villain in the narrative (and with luck gets justice served to him). But in the shipping sense this isn't usually the case in the story, and while some authors do a great job in showing it's not right/good, this isn't my flavor of Stephen at all. Even villain Stephen.

In the case the minors are aged up to be legal, I still dislike it. I find it incredibly creepy IRL when a person goes for someone who is young enough to be their child, and I can't separate that feeling in the fiction I read for the most part. The exception to this rule is when the person is like over 35 - by that age you know if you want to be with a 55 year old, and you have all that life experience. But there's so much growing done in the 20s and a lot of life experience that nothing but time can provide.

Finally, I find men in their 40s who are looking for someone (especially a girl) 24 or younger incredibly immature and, frankly put, the absolute opposite of dignified and sexy. There are exceptions of course, but my good guy!Stephen doesn't fall into that category. He's interested in brains, personality, and life experience, with looks being like, the 4th factor, haha, so no need for such a large age gap. Again, just skeeves me out.

Stephen Strange/Reader: I wouldn't have blocked it if it wasn't so prevalent, but it's literally Stephen's second-most popular ship. All respect to anyone who enjoys reader-insert fics, but I just... don't. The handful of times I've tried it I couldn't see myself as the supposed character because they were so different from who I am as a person. "Choose your own adventure" books that I read in my youth worked for me because I had choices in steering the story; that's not the case in reader fics so I'm left seeing "myself" doing things that I'd never do in a million years. That contradiction just makes me unable to appreciate them myself.

Big reason I don't have that problem with OCs is because they're not me, and so I don't have that weird contradictory feeling while reading the fic. They're another person so I can appreciate them as another character, especially if Stephen manages to stay in character within the story. But as romance isn't a genre I actively look for, I don't tend to look out for OC fics either as they're usually super romance-heavy as opposed to the romance being a side plot (which is how I get through canon char romances - if it's a side plot in the very long story I'll get through it for juicy plot).

Not Civil War Team Captain America Friendly & Not Steve Rogers Friendly: Blocking these two covers the majority of the stories that are not other-character friendly, and it blocks almost all Civil War Team Iron Man fics, so these two tags cover basically the entire gauntlet of that type of MCU fic. Ever since AO3 canonicalized those tags my blood pressure has lowered significantly and it's made browsing AO3 so much less stressful.

I'll say it up front: I don't think a fic can be good writing if it's written to be Not Team Cap Friendly. That's not to say that the writer themselves is incapable of writing quality works because that's usually not the case. But for works with that specific trope, I do not think that work can be good. A significant factor of what I consider good fanfic writing/bad fanfic writing is characterization, and the characterization is usually butchered in this genre of fic.

If an author chooses only to write this trope POV, all the more power to them. However, I think they are limiting their capabilities in choosing to ignore the grey storytelling the MCU brought to the story and are definitely limiting their visions by choosing to view these grey characters and their grey choices as black and white/good and bad with all the nuances erased. And because those choices are made, I don't think that the fic that comes out with those limitations can be considered good writing. And here are the reasons why, largely centering around characterization:

The only way these fics work is by making Steve completely OOC. I've seen writers erase all his leadership capabilities established in the first 3 films he was in, his ability to think fast on his feet, any sign of intelligence that is firmly established in the first three films he was in, and make him callous in a way that he hasn't ever shown in canon. I've seen writers make Steve unaware of email, I've seen them say that he never led men in WW2 (and isn't an actual captain), and most ridiculously, I've seen them say he was trying to kill Tony in Siberia and left him for dead there and completely ignore all his training in that if he wanted to kill Tony, he very well could have. (And ignore that T'Challa was there as well ffs - that's another rant.) But yes - this is all OOC to Steve's character. If someone wants to know why saying Steve trying to kill Tony in Siberia is OOC and thus not Steve friendly, send me a separate ask as I have a write up on Discord that I can bring here if folks want clarification on that front.

If you have to make other characters OOC to make your best boy shine better, I don't trust you to write best boy well. And usually he isn't. Tony is a terribly flawed character which is why he's so so so interesting, but Not Team Cap friendly fics are determined to erase all of Tony's flaws and everything that makes him interesting. For instance, I've seen Tony suddenly become an expert negotiator and politician, ignoring both IM2 and his lack of finesse with Ross in CW (this isn't him delegating the work to lawyers/PR people - this is in fics where he's the figurehead behind this because he's suddenly an expert political negotiator). Then in some fics Tony's suddenly a socialist, ignoring the fact that he's made his fortune and still makes money from his corporation and there's nothing in canon that suggests that he ain't still benefiting from the capitalist institution. He's *generous*, absolutely, and I headcanon he put in hundreds of millions into rebuilding Sokovia - but he's not suddenly a socialist. He's a rich white man with rich white man privileges and while he's doing his best to make good in the world, he has benefits that the rest of the world just doesn't. And Tony's still arrogant and it can still be hard to work with him and erasing all those flaws makes him just... not Tony. He's just this bland vanilla OOC caricature.

In a lot of "not team cap friendly" fics I see a tag along the lines of "actions have consequences". If that's the case, why the hell wasn't Tony prosecuted for making Ultron? Wanda didn't force him to make anything - she amplified his fears, absolutely, but he made the robot. In secret. And that robot killed a city. Tony in CW is rightfully really regretful about it - but if actions actually had consequences and Tony tried to get Team Cap like, jailed or forcefully retired (like he or his friends do in some fics), Nat should strike back and tell everyone that he was behind Ultron. IT'S LIKE EVERY CHARACTER MAKES MISTAKES OR SOMETHING AND THAT NONE OF THEM ARE PERFECT. WHAT A THOUGHT. And that's why that tag is not very well thought out. The tag ignores the stark (hah) fact that all Avengers have made mistakes, some of them major - and Tony's absolutely not exempt from that. And his mistake-making didn't stop after he became Iron Man.

All of Tony's friends ignore that Tony recruited a 15 year old to Germany and guess what? Pepper and Rhodey aren't Tony boot-lickers. They'd give him the appropriate "What the fuck were you thinking" language because yeah, that was fucked up! Ignoring that happened is another big item in these type of fics.

Stephen's personality is typically bland and he often has no life beyond Tony's in these type of fics. He definitely has no opinions on the Avengers that *differ* from Tony because him having his own opinions, or taking the time to form his own opinions from his own interactions, would be showing more nuance and depth than these fics want to get into.

Stephen's often petty and violent, especially towards Steve - and again completely ignores all of Tony's mistakes because Tony doesn't make horrific mistakes, oh no! I'd argue the petty violence is OOC, but fucking DS2 and fucking Waldron Jossed that. So if you want that petty violence, it's technically seen on screen, but that's a *Waldron* idea so... yeah. I don't know any big Stephen fan who is particularly fond of Waldron and what he brought to Stephen's character. But this whole essay is about OOC characterization so I can't argue that this is OOC anymore. Fucking Waldron.

Like Stephen, Rhodey and Pepper also lose their personalities and ability to argue with Tony because Tony is always right. Rhodey forgets that Tony is a billionaire and can easily go use a lab in Stark Industries buildings across the country, or go to one of his many homes that all billionaires have because they're *billionaires*, if he *has* to avoid Steve for some reason. Rhodey also forgets that Tony could handle this with the best therapist money can by if he can't physically handle being in a room with someone he dislikes. If Steve actually tried to kill him in a fic, please go back to the first bullet point on this list. An IC Steve wouldn't so there wouldn't be that fear of more physical retaliation because Steve wouldn't be trying to stop Tony from killing Bucky, so again, unless Tony tries to kill Bucky once more, the situation won't escalate to violence. But yes, in these fics, Rhodey would prefer that the civil rights breaking Accords that allow indefinite imprisonment with no promise of trial stand. He'd rather the rest of the Avengers remain fugitives with no home because he forgets his friend is a billionaire with virtually unlimited resources to go wherever he wants and to get the help he needs. The growth we see in his stance that came with IW after he saw the Accords' rollout just poofs away.

Pepper tends to be turned into a secretary again just there to help with Tony's emotional needs instead of a powerful CEO whose really fucking busy running a company.

So with an OOC Steve, it usually leads to an OOC Tony, OOC Rhodey, OOC Pepper, and OOC Stephen. And that is why I consider these fics bad.

There may be exceptions to this, but when I was still attempting the tag in 2019, I never found a fic under the tag that was an exception. I stopped trying the last 3 or so years. And unless you're an author who's written in that tag and you want me to read your story and want to try to change my mind (because you're a masochist? why would you want to do this to yourself?), don't send me those fics. 99% I'm going to find them bad.

I'm not gonna subject those authors to the above opinion because they enjoy the black/white world and they have a huge readership who loves that crack. And good for them! That doesn't change my opinion that I think it's lousy writing because characterization is 70% of my opinion of a fic. If you have all this OOC characterization in a non-crack/parody fic, I just won't have a high opinion. And I'll say it in my own space under a cut, but I'm not going to search you out anymore - I haven't since 2019 (early 2020 was the cut off). Writers have the right to write what's popular - and I can dislike that popular content. But it's a lucrative readership and if that black and white world brings you joy, then all the more power to you.

Important: Not character-friendly fics are different from Dark!character fics. Dark character fics acknowledge that in canon, the characters are written as protagonists and heroes, and the author is purposefully changing this. In not character friendly fics, the author is usually inventing something stupid or terrible (and often enough ooc) for the character to have done/not done to strengthen the position of their chosen protagonist, or is ignoring canon traits of the character to, again, strengthen the position of their chosen protagonist. This is especially seen with Steve.

Honorable mention: I dislike the majority of fics (no idea of percentage but very likely over 50%) labeled Supreme Family, *strictly* due to how Peter is treated. Let me explain.

Peter is an incredibly independent teenager living in NYC with his own friends and his own brains and solo superheroing the majority of the time. These fics have a tendency to erase all of this, making him overly reliant on Tony, making him act as if he's aged between 8 to 12 rather than 15 to 18, and erasing his connection to May, Ned, and MJ. His whole life is made secondary to be part of the Tony Stark fanclub and it's *weird*. Peter is so much more than his connection to Tony and fans of this trope sometimes forget this.

I'll give a real world example. There's a large age gap between my sister and myself, so I got to see her in her teenage years while I was an adult. She's smart, fiercely independent, and had good friends and extra curricular activities throughout high school just like Peter did. We had family dinner together on occasion but she wanted to be doing her own thing as much as possible. She'd text my parents for the "Hey I'm alive" check ins but otherwise? She was AWOL as much as she could get away with.

Peter may be less so, especially if May insists on dinner together at least a couple times a week with his form of extracurricular activities, but I cannot emphasize enough how Peter having his own life is so important to his character and him being around Tony most of his free time outside of school and Spider-Man is *weird*. Even if he likes him!

This is just one teenager in my example, but a staple of teenagers is finding their independence as they grow into adulthood. Clinging to other adult figures does not tend to be the trend with those who have a big independence streak.

Peter in canon is all about establishing his independence - and you could see this especially throughout all of Homecoming. His independence is integral to his character. And if Tony was his adopted dad in the fic, I'd say him always hanging out with him is doubly weird because, again, independence. It's a major part of most teenagers and it's very well established in Peter's personality.

So yeah. Fic writers please stop writing him like a 10 year old unless he's actually 10 in the fic. Let him live his own life in the Supreme Family trope. Let him go out with friends and do after school clubs and not go to Tony's lab after school every day of the week because it's just not him and his movies established that very well. Let him get annoyed at the tracking and let him yell at his parental figures because conflict is normal. Let him be a teenager.

(And as someone who loves Found Family, I can't emphasize enough how much that theme falls short if the characters within the family forget their independence and lives outside of the family. It's just no fun.)

So yeah. Have all these spicy hot takes!

#meta #so many spicy takes #if you get easily offended by strong opinions don't click the read more #the rest of the tagging is for my own internal sorting rather than tumblr algorithm #so apologies if some mcu fans who don't know me come across this #this post may not be for you because i do have some minority opinions in the space #ask #answered #mckiwi #fanfic #tropes #tony stark #anti fics #steve rogers #stephen strange #peter parker #strong opinions

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rinnepegger · 3 years ago

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hiya! i saw the matchup event and wanted to request a twst matchup.

fave music genre: i like all but i've recently been obsessed with Billie Eilish's "Happier than Ever" album and I really like a lot of the songs from League of Legends / Arcane (Playground, Get Jinxed)

significant childhood memory: i remember, when i once lived in a two story house, how i would stare down the edge of the wall on the second floor down to the first floor and contemplate jumping for funsies (this is how i developed my fear of heights 😍). i also peed a lot in my room cause i could not figure out how doorknobs worked for the life of me and i always cried and it ended up getting so bad that the carpet in my room had to be removed. and i just thought of the time i cut off all my hair (terribly) because i wanted to look like dora 😭 and then i lost a chancla and cried for days about it. my villain origin story was when i raced my grandpa to the car in chanclas (the same pair where i lost one) and fell onto the road and it scraped my entire face because i face planted

cat or dog: i'd like to say both with a slight preference to cats

attractive qualities in a s/o: mutual respect, and that's about it

i've never attended an all girls christian school, and i sleep with one teddy bear (his name is brownie!)

LMFAOOOO i saw your ask and wanted to get to it asap all of your childhood memories mmake me giggle LMAOMAOA but thanks for participating!! yyayya!!!! hope u like your matchup because i dont care if u dont like it/lh/nm/j (please dont take what i said seriously im so sorry if i hurt your feelings AAAA)

(This ones for you shawty!) I match you with...

Jack howl!!!!@!#;

You're in luck, since this furry is able to keep up with your impulsive and chaotic ass. Double combo since he's somewhat able to convince you to tone things down a notch, though he can't lie that watching you do stupid shit is rather amusing.

Occasionally you might need help with burning out the last of unwanted and unecessary energy in you, and that's where his athleticism manages to benefit you both!

He enjoys taking you on hikes and slow jogs outside, perhaps stopping by at a cafe once you're done, for ice cream or drinks if you're up for it?

Either you need to drag someone along into your shenanigans and to get in trouble with together, or you need someone to fill in the constantly growing void of loneliness and sadness within you!

Lucky for you, Jack is able to handle both your problems!!!!

He's not the biggest on PDA and affection, but holding hands and the occasional hug in public is enough to make him flare up red and leave him craving for more.

He's able to respect your boundaries and expectations for the relationship, while fulfilling all your needs and wants.

Though it may not be obvious, any keen eye can pick up on the soft gleam flashing in his eye whenever you're around and how he seems to be less uptight and more relaxed physically when you're around. The fondness in his voice speaks more than he ever will say aloud, as well as the patience in him which just never seems to run out!

He's just way too in love with you to ever get pissed at you tbhhhh.

Behind closed doors, he may seem more sentimental and open with his emotions for you. That's when he's also more prone to being teased by you, not that he minds too much. Seeing him— a usually uptight and stoic person— so comfortable with you is something you never want to miss. Ever.

He'll take a bullet for you and even get in trouble on your behalf, despite it potentially being detrimental to his model student image.

If anyone dare to spread any nasty rumours about you or frame you for something you didn't do, he's going to put himself on the line and defend you with his life, though it might result in him getting a little physical. Yet, he can't bring himself to neglect your pleas to show the student some mercy. Regardless, the truth will prevail..!

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland #yas matchups

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multi-lefaiye · 2 years ago

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hello i wanna hear abt the juno and markus amv

hi hello yes!!!!! juno and markus my fucking beloveds!

so, this amv would be set to she's a lady by forever the sickest kids! a song i liked a lot as a kid b/c it's got just the right kinds of sounds to make brain go brrr <3 and also it's a pretty good blorbo song.

she's a lady is essentially a song about like. being in love with someone who's a Huge Fucking Asshole and being a Huge Fucking Asshole back to them. in general it's about a relationship that's very nasty and mutually toxic, but neither person can bring themself to end it. (so yeah this song also Could vibe with arthur and noah, but the song explicitly refers to a woman so i don't think i will. we'll see tho!)

anyway, this song isn't quite accurate for juno and markus, but it still vibes with them a little bit. for context, juno is one of my void-walker ocs, an immortal being who's been alive since the mid-1800s and is Fucking Sick Of Everything. markus, meanwhile, is a normal human they met and befriended in the 1980s, a suicidal man looking for a new purpose in his life after the death of his wife. essentially i took the "sad white middle-aged man who lost his wife" trope, made him Latino, and gave him a bitchy immortal bestie/maybe lover who helps him find joy in his life again.

i'm honestly not sure what juno and markus's relationship would be--if it's romantic, sexual, both, neither, etc.--but i know they were very important to each other. a while ago, i started writing like... a little thing exploring moments from juno's 150+ years of living, and markus appears a lot in that. it's also a thing i've been writing to explore the lore of void-walkers in general, because juno is the first void-walker markus ever met.

ANYWAY i'm not sure either what happened to markus, but i know he and juno aren't in each other's lives by the time of a modern ghost story (which takes place in Ambiguous 21st Century time).

okay so this got long lmao whoops i just wanted to talk about markus a bit-

the actual amv, if i made it, would probably be from markus's perspective on his relationship with juno. juno isn't a woman, but otherwise this applies! juno's a huge bitch to markus and he's a huge bitch right back to them. their relationship is tumultuous at the best of times, but they actually do a lot of good for each other! markus helps juno remember what it was like to be human and is one of the first and only people they've shown vulnerability towards in over a century, and juno helps markus not only come to terms with his loss but learn to move on and find joy in the life he has.

the amv would less be like "oh this relationship is toxic and they're bad for each other" and more like "they're both kinda mean and shitty but they help each other be better."

i don't have much in the way of specific visuals in mind, but i do want to share like. the bit of script i have:

"i'm in love with the girl i hate" - start with a shot of markus standing and leaning against a wall, scowling, with his arms crossed

"she enjoys pointing out" - cut to juno standing across from him, a similar expression on their face and in a similar pose, but their mouth is open

"every bad thing about me" - with each word in this line, a speech bubble appears next to juno with the word in it, as though juno is talking to markus and listing off his flaws to him.

and then also uhh the last thing is like. towards the end of the song, before the final chorus, it slows down and takes on kind of a sad, nostalgic quality, and that part of the amv would focus on the good parts of juno and markus's relationship, with them actually helping each other.

i don't have a script in mind for this part, but i do imagine the visuals would include a shot of juno and markus sitting next to each other at the side of a motel pool, dipping their feet in the pool, and leaninig against each other. they both look peaceful--not quite happy, but not angry. just... content in each other's presence.

i also like the idea of the final "she's a lady, and ladies shouldn't be messed with" starting with a shot of juno smiling and laughing, looking genuinely happy and relaxed ("she's a lady"), and ending with a shot of markus watching them with a soft, genuine smile on his face.

#talk to the bunnykitty #bat time all the time #a modern ghost story #ask game #oc ask game #juno london #markus torres #i don't think i have much of a markus tag yet whoops-#anyway i love these two so so much. they mean so much to me #romance cw

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loth-wolffe · 3 years ago

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(not me making this awful cover but i wanted this to have one lmao. i do not own the picture i used, so credits to whomever made this lovely pic)

So first of all, I just wanted to say thank you so much for the 100 followers LIKE?????? where did thAT come from I just- you guys are sO AMAZING !!! I am beyond grateful for all of your support and your kindness and I'm so happy interact with you pretty people.

I really don't have any rules, nor characters I don't wanna write of that I can think of as in right now. (please if state if u want it to be nsfw bc my first instinct is write sfw stuff)

ANd, as a thank you, I made this super duper fantastic song lyric prompt list that you can choose from (you can absolutely send in a lyric that isn't in the list if you want) and just send me a sw character and we'll see how that goes!

SO HERE IT IS:

Song lyric prompt list

• already requested, but you can ask for them again!

1. I don't need anything fancy, I just need me and you slow dancing. - Slow dancing by Aly and AJ.

2. I've been trying hard not to talk to you/act a fool. - Sunflower vol. 6 by Harry Styles

3. Say it's been long six months, and you were too afraid to tell her what you want. - How you get the girl by Taylor Swift

4. And if you have a minute, why don't we go? Talk about it, somewhere only we know. - Somewhere only we know by Keane

5. To the strand, a picnic planned, for you and me. - From Eden by Hozier

6. Why she had to go? I don't know, she wouldn't say. - Yesterday by The Beatles

7. I think I'm falling, I'm falling for you. - Fallingforyou by the 1975

8. Take on me, take me on, I'll be gone, in a day or two. - Take on me by a-ha

9. Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do. - Like real people do by Hozier

10. You wanna say no, no, it ain't gonna work, but then you fumble your words, oh you're running out of reasons. - Running out of reasons by The Wanted

11. You love me, but you don't know it yet. - Happy accidents by Saint Motel

12. I don't really care what they would say, I'm asking you to stay. - Level of concern by twenty one pilots

13. You know I talk too much, honey come put your lips on mine and shut me up. - Talk too much by COIN.

14. I know that you're scared because hearts get broken. - Golden by Harry Styles

15. I try and try to erase you, but you won't disappear - Everywhere by Niall Horan

16. I heard you ask about me through a friend, my adrenaline kicked in, because I've been asking 'bout you too - Nervous by Shawn Mendes

17. Every time I'm leavin' you, you don't make it easy. - Sunflower by Post Malone and Swae Lee.

18. I wish that I could believe, that there's a day you'll come back to me, but still have to say, I'd do it all again. - Just want you to know by Backstreet Boys

19. Well, tell me do you hate me or do you wanna date me? - Van Horn by Saint Motel

20. Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain. - Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift

21. I know I would rather be together alone, in a big top circle and a world we can call our own. - All our own by Radio Company

22. Every time I find the words to end it, something in your eyes won't let it. - Shandi by KISS

23. Just dance in my living room, love with an attitude, drunk to an 80's groove - Only human by Jonas Brothers

24. I spend all my time, waiting all night for you. - No going back by Yuno

25. I need to know, if this is mutual, before I go. - Mutual by Shawn Mendes

26. I will sing to your every day, if it will take away your pain - Miss missing you by Fall out Boy

27. If I could fly, I'd be coming right back home to you. - If I could fly by One Direction

28. When you rise in the morning sun, I feel your touch in the pouring rain, and the moment that you wander far from me, I wanna feel you in my arms again. - How deep is your love by Bee Gees

29. If I wake, I'll move closer without waking you, sleeper, sleeper, what's been tiring you. - Rise by Helena Deland

30. All we do is think about the feelings that we hide, all we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign. - Drive by Halsey

31. I never sat by the shore, under the sun with my feet in the sand, but you brought me here. - Malibu by Miley Cyrus

32. With a sunset and a moonrise not so far behind, to give us enough light, to lay down underneath the stars. - Constellations by Jack Johnson

33. Dancing through our house with the ghost of you. - Ghost of you by 5sos

34. And we all sit around the fire, we feel a little warmer now. - Woods by Hollow Coves

35. Won't you kiss me once, baby? Just a kiss goodnight, maybe. - Put your head on my shoulder by Paul Anka

36. If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?- Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd

37. Baby just came back around, said she needs time to explore, said I can’t love her no more - Baby came home by The Neighborhood

38. When I kissed you I meant it. / I wanna be more than a friend. - Do it again by Pia Mia

39. I thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved me. - Ivy by Frank Ocean

40. If you're awake then I am too. If you're lost then I'll find you. If you're hurt then I'll fix you. - It's U by Cavetown

41. They don't know about the things we do, they don't know about the I love you's. - They don't know about us by One Direction

42. Can I kiss you or not? / Are you still mad at me? I'm hoping not. - Like to be you by Shawn Mendes and Julia Michaels

43. Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again, it's been a long, long time. - It's been a long, long time by Harry James

44. Kiss me hard before you go. - Summertime sadness by Lana del Rey

45. You said you'd meet me out there tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. - Tomorrow never came by Lana del Rey ft. Sean Ono Lennon

46. How can I miss you so much when you're right here? - Miss you so much by Miley Cyrus

47. The way she tells me I'm hers and she's mine. - Cherry wine by Hozier

48. No need to say goodbye, you'll come back, when it's over. - The Call by Regina Spektor.

49. Common sense tells me kiss the girl goodbye / I think I love you - Common sense by Joshua Bassett

50. If I could tell her how she's everything to me, but we are a million worlds apart and I don't know how I would even start - If I could tell her by Ben Platt ft Laura Dreyfruss

51. I'm giving you a night call to tell you how I feel - Nightcall by Kavinsky

52. We went for a drive, at 2:30 in the morning. I kissed you, it was pouring. - Remember that night? by Sara Kays

53. Don't wanna hand you all my trouble, don't wanna give you all my demons, you'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away, but tonight I'll need you to stay - The run and go by twenty one pilots

#crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #echo x reader #the bad batch x reader #arc trooper jesse x reader #arc trooper fives x reader #clone trooper x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #maul x reader #captain rex x reader #commander wolffe x reader #commander cody x reader #kix x reader #pls don't let me flop #i'd love to make some drabbles for you lovely people

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anobscurename · 4 years ago

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ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XIX — masterlist

concept: you finally have had enough. the slowest of slow burns. part twenty of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,4k

warnings: you might cry; i know i did. angst.

author's note: i needed my comedic relief comfort characters for this one in the beginning tbh cause... well... you'll see. this one is for @miss-jackson500 because i haven't dedicated one to her yet and she's? amazing?!

You had wondered – for the days that followed – that if maybe the rescheduled meet-up hadn't been cut short by Anthony, if things would be different.

You came to the conclusion that all that really would've been different was that you'd know a little less.

"You're finally going to do it, huh?" Anthony grinned from across the pool table. You had, according to the original plan, all come together at the old bar where you'd first met the two. "You're going to tell him how you feel?"

"Is it a bad idea?" You asked, missing your shot. Your mind was heavily distracted, and it was showing through. You were usually wiping the floor with the duo, but now you were losing four balls to one.

"No, no, it's a fantastic idea," Anthony bent down to line up his next shot. "Tell her it's a fantastic idea, Seb. Better yet, tell me who the Black Widow should be with."

Sebastian, who had been sat to the side, waiting for his turn, rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer. "I admit nothing until I see a ring."

"Speaking of rings!" Anthony jumped up excitedly – either from the prospect of marriage or the thrill of pocketing his ball, leaving team Falcon and Winter Soldier with just the black on the table – "I'm thinking a round cut two carat, set in rose gold? Colour scheme would he lavender, of course, because as best man–"

"You can get fucked if you think you're going to be best man."

"Of course I'm best man! Look at me, I'm the bestest man around, I'm fine as–"

"You can both get fucked if you think there's going to be a wedding," you laughed.

Anthony hissed a curse under his breath as he missed the winning pocket, reluctantly handing the cue off to Sebastian, who hopped off the stool to land gracefully on his feet.

You chalked your cue, determined to not lose yet another game to these dipshits. "I haven't even told him yet, what if he doesn't feel the same way?"

Anthony and Sebastian both looked at you, incredulous. "I mean this with only love, and it comes from a place deep within my heart... Are you blind?"

Sebastian was even balking. "Even I could tell, and I have the social skills of a pineapple."

"Okay, fine! You both are clearly biased, you saw us kiss."

"No, we watched a softcore porno is what we did, y'all devouring each other like that in public–"

He cut himself short, having to laughingly dodge himself out of the reach of your playful slap.

"I'm asking Scott for the final opinion," you proclaimed.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, eager to play and win the game, bouncing the end of the cue on the wooden bar floor. The rubber stop muted the noise.

You opened up the text thread you had been maintaining with the younger Evans. Should I tell Chris?

You didn't need to elaborate, Scott would know what you meant. There was a pause on his end, and you had just been about to put your phone away before his response bubbled up.

Sorry, was just changing your name in my phone to sister-in-law ;)

That was all the answer you needed.

You finished the game – you lost, mind overrun with giddiness and the odds having been stacked against you long before – and you were hugging Anthony goodbye.

When you'd asked where he was headed, he'd just given you a sly wink and a "wouldn't you like to know."

That left just you and Sebastian, and you decided to walk him back to his hotel before heading home.

"How long you going to be in L.A. for?" You'd asked, just to make conversation.

"A week or so, maybe? And then I'm jetting back to New York. I haven't been home in so long, I think the dust has taken over my lease."

You chuckled, and continued on in a pleasant silence.

You gave him a departing hug in the lobby, and hailed a cab back to Chris'.

You were so high on the exhilaration of finally telling him and ending this will they/won't they charade once and for all. So excited, you'd nearly missed the unfamiliar Bentley in the driveway on your way in.

But it didn't go unnoticed.

You came in, greeted happily by a yapping Dodger, and the smell that hit you was one of Valentino perfume – overpowering the usual scent of Chris lingering in the house.

"Hey, Dodge," you whispered, giving him a vigorous petting session. "Where's Chris? Where's your dad?"

Dodger gave your hand a wet lick, slobbering over your keys, and you laughed lightly.

The door to the pool was open, and you could hear splashing and giggling – pitched more feminine than you'd ever heard Chris go.

Curiosity killed the cat. And satisfaction was never going to resurrect the plummet of your excitement. No, that was replaced by shock and anger. Even if you knew you had no right to feel that way.

"Chris?" You'd called out as you padded across the lounge. "Chris, whose car is in the driveway? I have something I–"

Blindsided, your slobber slick keys fell from your hand to jangle uselessly onto the ground. It was that that finally grabbed his attention.

He had been otherwise excruciatingly preoccupied with the topless girl in his lap, legs locked around his waist in a languid grind, his hands smoothing over her curves as they all but explored each other's tonsils in a moaning kiss.

Red flashed across your vision as well as your cheeks, and you ducked your head. Embarrassed and feeling stupid, you quickly grabbed your keys. "I'm sorry, I'll go..."

You quickly turned and dashed to your room, ignoring the tears in your eyes, and the call of your name.

"{Your name}, wait!" Chris cried, water sloshing as he clambered out of the pool. "{Your name}!"

You slammed the door shut behind you, making it clear you wanted isolation. Pulling out a duffel bag, you began throwing clothes into it, careless of what you might need, just needing to leave.

Sebastian had asked you once how much more you were going to put yourself through before you'd had enough.

And this was it. This was the breaking point. This was enough.

The strength in which Chris frantically ripped open your door had it banging against the adjacent wall, but you couldn't even look at him. Your eyes were blurry as you continued violently packing your clothes.

You didn't even know where you were going to go. You just knew you had to. Go.

"{Your name}, stop," he said, soft in direct comparison to the panic he felt in his chest. You were leaving him. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" You spat out. And then, just to change the subject, because not even you could bare to dwell on it too much: "You're getting water on your floor."

"{Your name}–"

"Don't talk to me, Chris. Rest your tongue a bit, it sure was busy earlier."

"As was yours, too, I'm sure," he bit back.

Your movements stuttered at the reciprocated rage. To your knowledge, he had no right to feel as you did in that moment. None.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

There was provocation in his eyes, and his searing gaze only fuelled your fire.

"Have fun with Sebastian?"

Your scoff was followed by a bewildered laugh. "I went out tonight with Sebastian and Anthony, Chris. We're friends. Welcome to the world of platonic relationships, professor, we've been waiting for your arrival."

And like the cut strings on a puppet, tension left his body – anger being replaced by confusion.

"I... I thought..."

"You thought wrong, Evans," you seethed, pushing past him to the bathroom to grab your toiletries. You made an effort to bump him, your shirt sticking to your skin with the water droplets still dotting his toned body. "And to think I really thought..."

"Thought what?" His voice cracked out.

"Thought that you might actually care about me!" You finally snapped. You were yelling. You didn't want to yell, but you were, voice echoing in the acoustics of the bathroom.

"I do," he whispered. His conviction was quickly draining from him, being replaced with an inevitable sadness and feeling of loss. You hadn't even left yet, but he knew that nothing he was going to say would make you stay. He knew he'd gone too far. It didn't stop him from trying. "I loved you, {your name}. I still do."

You had hoped that if he ever was to say those words, it would be under different circumstances. In fact, you'd found yourself imagining whole sunset beach scenarios, late into the night.

"I thought you were better than that, Chris. Manipulation? That's low."

"It's true. I've loved you–"

You didn't want to hear it. You weren't going to give him the opportunity of persuading you into staying. You knew you should've left long ago. "I can't say the feeling is mutual."

It was a lie. It was a lie, because if you really had felt nothing, then you wouldn't be acting like this. But you needed the upper hand, because Chris had basically knocked you over with the force of his admittance. You couldn't let yourself be dragged back in. Not this time. You had too much self respect for that. Not when he still had lipstick smudged on his lips, disappearing into the scruff that shadowed his jaw.

You had to avoid looking at his pained expression at your words. No matter how much you were hurting now at his profession of love, you knew he might possibly be hurting a little more at your rejection.

"And if you really did..." You trailed off, struggling to say the words love me. "Well, you have a really funny way of showing it."

"Pretending not to love you is the hardest role I've taken on, and I did it for you."

Red was dancing back into your vision, your shock growing alongside the fury.

"How is that for me?"

"Because that's what you wanted!" He was finding his voice again, raising it in his desperation. "Believe me, I wanted to fight for you. I would, would wage wars for you," he stuttered out. "But you never wanted that from me. You wanted to pull away, from this, from us. And I let you because I would do anything you asked of me."

"So you stayed away because you wanted to keep me?" You worded it slowly, just to make him understand how ridiculous it sounded.

"...Yes."

"Are you stupid? Actually mentally deficient?" You zipped your bag, brushing past him again, this time making sure to have as little contact as possible. He all but occupied the whole doorway.

"If I had told you then you would have left!" He was following you now, following you to the front door. "I told you I wanted you in my life, even if it meant the pain of never having you."

You had hoped to slam the door in his face to make your point known, but where Chris had slacked in fighting for you before, he was making up for now. He caught the door before it could close, trailing after you into the driveway.

"There's something wrong with me. I ruin things. So I let you have your space because you are the greatest thing that has happened to me in a long time, and I'd be fucked if I ruined you too!"

"It's a bit too late for that," you said, finally looking him in those ocean eyes. They were bloodshot with barely restrained tears. But your resolve was iron. "Congratulations, Evans. You've ruined me."

You heard Dodger pawing at the door, whining low and long for you. If you thought leaving Chris was hard, this was what made you break.

But you turned away from them, from that house, tears falling freely. A sob escaped your lips, barely stifled.

"Put on a shirt, Evans," you managed to get out. You wanted the last word, even if it brought very little satisfaction. "You have company."

———————

Your first call was to Anthony. He hadn't picked up, and you remembered his other plans.

The second also went unanswered – the friend who had become a self proclaimed L.A. local upon graduating high school, and who had let you crash at their house when you'd first arrived. She was probably at work, and so you left her a quick voicemail asking her to call you back.

The third did, on only the second ring. You had almost lost hope in anyone else being awake at that point, so you hadn't composed yourself before he picked up.

The first thing he heard was your sob, which you quickly cut off with a greeting.

"What's wrong?"

"Can I crash with you tonight? I need somewhere to go."

"What happened? Did–?"

"I don't want to talk about it," you said quickly. He shut up almost immediately. "I just... Please?"

There was a pensive silence on the other end, and you felt the need to fill it.

"I tried Anthony, but he wasn't picking up."

"Yeah," came the small chuckle crackling on the other end. "He's got a hot date tonight. Must be going well."

"I wouldn't do this if I had anywhere else to go, but I don't, and it'll only be for one night–"

"Of course you can stay," he assured, sushing you softly. "Can't believe I made you ask twice."

————————

Sebastian met you in the lobby, taking you up to his room almost immediately to avoid strange looks and any unwanted public attention.

He explained to you in the elevator that although he had tried to get you your own room, the hotel was fully booked. He sounded quite apologetic for that.

You didn't say much, because if you spoke, you were scared you were going to start crying all over again. And you'd just managed to stop, averting your eyes from your teadstained appearance in the mirrors.

Sebastian's room was a big one, on the pricier end of all the hotel had to offer. A large king sized bed stood to one side, bedsheets twisted as if he'd clambered into it right when he'd gotten back.

There was a lounge suite to the side, looking like a set-up you'd see on the glossy pages of Architectural Digest, and although the curtains were drawn, you could see the city lights sprawling out before you through the crack.

He was still in his outfit from the bar, shirt and jeans slightly rumpled.

The television was on, playing the original Nosferatu quietly in the background.

"I'll take the couch," Sebastian offered, dropping off the bags he'd taken from you.

You declined him with a shake of your head.

"{Your name}," he said, tender, placing both his hands on your shoulders to make you look at him. "You've been through a lot tonight. Take the bed, I've got the couch."

You didn't have the strength to fight his insistence. You didn't have the strength for much any more.

When you'd gotten out the shower, dressed in your pyjamas, Sebastian finally asked you again what had happened.

You just shrugged tiredly, climbing between the cool cotton sheets.

"I just had enough."

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans/you #dina writes #chris evans angst #ocean eyes

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takonei · 4 years ago

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Hi!! Not a debate, but I do have a question. What's your thoughts on V3 Chapter 5? For me personally, it's my all time favorite trial in the entire series, but I'm curious to see what you think of it, since I've seen pretty mixed opinions on the trial so far.

Ohhhh you mean the chapter that made me realize me that I wasn’t a complete stoic bitch and still had remnants of emotions after all this time? I’ll gladly tell you about it!

This chapter. Was. Fantastic. My favorite of the series. 10/10.

Where do I even begin? Just seeing the title of this chapter gave me some chills. It reflects exactly both of the main characters of the chapter. Kokichi and Kaito fight to the point where they sacrifice their entire beings to end the game. Kokichi made himself look like the mastermind, refused to accept any kind of help, and even sacrificed others for his goal. Kaito completely repressed all of his worries, all his doubts and his terminal illness to make sure the others could have a positive figure to count on. But... For what? The outside world is in ruins. They have nothing to fight for. There is no one to go back to. Nowhere to call home. They have ‘accepted’ to participate in the gofer project, but is there really a point? ‘Voyage’ makes it feel like this is a chapter peaceful in some way but so much happens in the shadows where Shuichi can’t see (being: Kaito actively dying and Kokichi preparing his mastermind plan). “Voyage without passion or purpose” is by far the best name given to a chapter in Danganronpa.

For the chapter, of course, there is this constant tension in the group because of the fourth trial. It’s understandable and they really start to feel the despair- and you could say they’re losing their initial goal and realizing how many have died thus far.

For them to fall into despair after the reveal of the outside world? Fully understandable considering the fact that their only source of positivity (Kaito) in the group is gone. Captured by the “mastermind”. Now they have lost all their purpose. And this is a fall into despair that the real mastermind hadn’t anticipated and did not want. Which is extremely ironic and a big “fuck you” to Monokuma.

Then the entire trial. Like,,,, you don’t even know what on earth is going on. Who is alive? Who is dead? Who can we even trust at this point? The entire ‘who is alive’ gimmick was so elaborated- you would really think Kokichi was in there.

I will admit that Maki’s attitude in the trial wasn’t the best. But I’m guessing that’s for plot convenience, and to have a good trial.

The slow realization that this is not Kokichi in the trial is both a comforting and a heartbreaking revelation.

Kokichi died without anyone understanding his full intentions, by the most horrible murder method in the entire series. Kaito being alive feels like such a relief for the others, but immediately tainted by the fact that he is going to die anyway in the hands of Monokuma.

But then, the others want to fight for him, they gain back the determination they had after Kaede’s trial. They don’t want him to die but with Kaito’s health deteriorating by the second, it’s no use. The source of positivity they were all grateful for is going to die anyway.

Kaito is still fighting, he finds the words to reassure them, to help them move forward and not cry over his death. That man is dying. That man who is barely capable of standing is still out here reassuring his friends to tell them that everything is going to be alright, without a single hint of dishonesty in what he says. And that with about a liter of blood dripping down his mouth. That man is a hero.

The entire final dialogue broke me. I think the line that had me the most is this one.

With the smile, and yet the expression still saying “I am clearly not okay” I just-

And can we talk about the execution for a sec??

I was. Screaming. I was a bit nervous at first because of the whole going underground thing but once he got to space, then smiled I just... Smiled with him. He accomplished his dream of going to space. He died happily.

He died satisfied. He died knowing his friends were still going to fight, and he died in space. Not even from his execution.

You can see during the execution that he is clearly tired, in the literal sense. He has been fighting his illness for at least two weeks and now is the time to just... let go. The fight is over. His execution sent him in space, he can die happy.

That’s the second big “fuck you” to Monokuma in this chapter. I was crying after the execution ffs. The first time I had cried in years in front of a work of fiction. But that wasn’t because I was sad, that was because I was happy for him.

The chapter highlighted perfectly the dynamic Kaito/Kokichi. A dynamic we took as simple enemies but this trial made us realize that there was so much more to it. There was a clash of ideals that were not that far from each other. There was the desperateness of those two- to work together with the one you understand the less to end the game. There was a mutual, unspoken respect between them, that they wouldn’t admit out loud but was still here.

They’re both ends of the same spectrum. They had no reason to work together during chapters 1-4, but chapter 5 had the perfect context for this. It’s not something you expected after the 4th trial, but it’s something that made perfect sense.

Overall, love this chapter, broke me inside, 10/10.

#me talking #game discussion #character discussion

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the-mykie-show · 6 years ago

Text

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This (Neganxreader)

Plagued by nightmares, Negan finds comfort in your arms, developing a special bond with you, all the while not knowing that you need the same comfort. Until the truth comes out.

*Warnings* Negan's potty mouth, nightmares, graphic descriptions of sex

*rating* explicit

Requested by @neganscherryblue I hope you like it!

Your fingers stroke Negan's hair as he buries his face in your chest.

It was strange to see such a powerful man so vulnerable and relaxed, using your breasts as a pillow, arms wrapped tightly around you while you leaned against his pillows under him. He was quiet for once, like he wanted to listen to the beating of your heart under his ear.

This had become something of a nightly routine, an intimate little ritual the two of you shared.

You and Negan never had sex, despite that you spent most nights in the Savior’s bed, all you did was just held him and talked, offering reassurance and comfort when he woke up from one of his nightmares.

He got them often, more often than anyone you'd ever known, he'd told you that was the reason none of his wives ever slept in his bed with him, he always sent them to their own rooms after he'd had his way with them. He didn't want anyone to know. Anyone but you, that is.

Your first night in the Sanctuary you'd woken up to the sound of his screaming and went to investigate, assuming that you would find a fellow Savior bit or turned, but instead you'd found Negan, drenched in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around his long legs, and tears in his eyes. And from there on Negan seemed to share a deep and intimate bond with you that he didn't have with anyone else. Not even the women he called his wives.

You spent almost every night in Negan's bed with him until he fell asleep and then you'd retire to your own room down the hall.

You let him drift off, running your fingers through his hair, gently scratching your nails against his scalp, while your other hand drew circles on his back, you felt his breathing change and his muscles go limp once he was deep asleep, you give it another half hour to make sure he was actually deep enough asleep for you to leave and then head for your room.

Stipping out of your jeans and shirt you put on a pair of shorts and a soft lacy night shirt before crawling into bed, you pull the covers up to your neck and and stare at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. The irony of you spending every night helping Negan fall asleep while you could never do the same for yourself wasn't lost on you. You knew how to handle Negan's nightmares so well because you had your own demons that visited you in the night.

Everyone you knew from before the outbreak was gone, either dead or just gone, and the space they had left in your heart was like a black hole, swallowing up everything and leaving nothing but deep lonely sadness.

That dark little voice in the back of your head reminding you all the time that you weren't good enough, you weren't pretty enough, you were unlovable.

It made you afraid to fall asleep.

Eventually you couldn't fight it any longer and fell into a restless sleep.

You wake up to a hand shaking your shoulder and a familiar deep voice whispering reassurances, your throat hurts, you must have been screaming, and you're covered in sweat.

Negan is on his knees on the edge your bed, leaning over you.

“you alright there, sweetheart?”

You nod, and he passes you the bottle of water off your nightstand.

“You never told me that you get them too.” Negan's fingers brush across your cheek, sweeping your sweaty hair off your face. “do you want to talk about it?”

Your eyes well up with tears again, and the next thing you know Negan's arms are around you, holding you tightly against his chest, your legs tangled together, one of his hands strokes your hair while the other slips beneath your nightshirt to rub soothing circles on your skin.

“I'm all alone.” you whisper after a while.

“What? No you're not.”

“I've lost everyone I've ever loved, Negan, they're all gone, I don't have anyone left.” you choke back a sob that tries to bubble up.

“That's not true, you have me.” he says against your temple “I know I'm an asshole, and I don't say this shit nearly as much as I should, but I care about you. Hell you might be the only person left who I do care about. You're the first person I've loved since Lucille.” you jerk upright and look at him, shocked.

Did he just say that he loves you?

“Do you mean that you… Love me…?” you ask.

He looks surprised for a moment, almost like he can't believe that he actually just said that. But he nods slowly “yeah, yeah I guess that is what I mean.” he swallows hard “I uh, I wasn't going to tell you. It just kind of slipped out.”

“Why wouldn't you tell me?”

“Because I didn't want to ruin what we have, I didn't want to scare you off. Our nights together are the only damn thing that I look forward to in this miserable shithole of a world, I didn't want to lose that.”

“I don't understand… if you've loved me all this time, why didn't you ask me to be a wife? Why didn't you try to sleep with me?”

“Because you're special. What we have goes deeper than sex. And my wives… don't get me wrong, I care about those girls, I respect them, make sure they have everything they need, but I don't love them. Fuck if having multiple hot women willing to spread their legs for you at any given time isn't every man's ultimate fantasy, but that's all it is. Meaningless sex, a mutually beneficial arrangement. Those girls to get to live in luxury while the world burns around them, and I get to get my dick wet whenever I feel like it, I don't love them, they don't love me. You and I are different.”

You don't give him the chance to say anything more, you press your lips to his, and he eagerly accepts the kiss.

Your lips part with a breathless sigh of pleasure, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. The kiss lasts until you both run out of air and forced to part and catch your breath.

“I love you too.” your own voice saying those words to someone again sounds strange.

He kisses you this time, pulling you close so every line of your body is pressed against his. His hands start to explore your body in ways that they never have before, and what he wants is crystal clear.

“Are you okay with this? We absolutely don't have to do this right now, there's no pressure.” he assured you.

“I know, but I want to.” your consent was all he needed, and with that he was kissing you again, his hands going to the bottom of your nightshirt and pulling it over your head, he breaks the kiss to take in your naked upper body for moment before he guides your breasts down to his mouth, eagerly taking your nipple between his lips. It's been so long since you've been touched like this the sudden shock of pleasure his tongue against the sensitive skin sends directly into your clit makes you let out a surprised moan. He licks and sucks your sensitive bud until you can feel yourself soaking through your shorts, and become painfully aware of the fact that you aren't wearing panties, he pulls off your left nipple with a gentle drag of his teeth against you, and switches to the right, repeating the process.

Is it possible to come from having your nipples sucked? Because you feel like you're about to. You feel his hardening cock swell against your ass and slide down to grind your core against him through his sweatpants, desperate for the friction. He pulls off your other nipple with a loud moan.

His hands grip your hips, stilling your grinding so he can take in your body again, this time with swollen and glistening buds exposed to him.

His hands slide down to tug your shorts off, and you raise up to help him.

He sees that you aren't wearing any panties “No panties huh? You always go commando?” he asks as you stand and kick the shorts to the floor to join your nightshirt.

“Only when I sleep.” you say a little embarrassed, until you feel his thumb slip into your folds, stroking you from clit to ass.

“Already nice and wet. I could probably fuck you right now and it'd be fine, but I want to taste you first.” he pulls you up right, and adjusts you so that you're on your knees, with his head between your legs while he lays down under you, your core completely exposed to him. It makes you feel a little vulnerable and exposed, and you realize what he wants with surprise.

“You want me to sit on your face?” you ask.

“Fuck yes I do! If you're not comfortable with it then you don't have to, but I think you'd like it.” you figure why the hell not, and start to lower yourself.

“I'm okay with it… just I've never done it before, tell me I suffocate you, okay?”

He laughed “literally drowning in pussy seems like a good way to go out, but fine.” he takes your hips in his hands, guiding your heat to meet his mouth. Even though you know it's coming you let out a surprised little gasp when his tongue parts your folds, lapping your clit with slow, practiced strokes, teasing the swollen little bundle of nerves from its hood, before going lower and sliding his tongue as deep into your pulsing, needy entrance as it will go.

It doesn't take you long to take control, moving your hips and grinding against his mouth, getting his tounge right where you need it most. Alternating between sliding your clit up and down against it, and fucking yourself with his tongue. Negan seems to be beyond enjoying himself, grabbing your hips and moaning, eagerly lapping up all your arousal.

“Negan, I think I'm going to come!” you groan.

“Go ahead, baby, keep fucking that sweet little pussy on my tongue and come so I can lick you clean.” and you do come, for the first in your life from just being eaten out, and he happily licks up every drop, to the point you're almost over stimulated by the time he's satisfied he's lapped up everything.

You move down his body, tugging down his sweatpants to free his erection.

When it springs free you're a little surprised and intimidated by his length and girth. You'd encountered Negan's morning wood before on accident before after you're nights together, so you knew he was well endowed, but his was probably the still the biggest cock you've ever encountered. You're sure you're not going to able to fit it all in your mouth, but you try anyways.

Cupping his balls in one hand, you use the other to guide his tip between your lips, being sure to lick the bead of precome off before you hallow your checks and suck. You take a deep breath through your nose, and you swallow him as deep as you can, using your free hand on what you can't fit into your mouth. It's his turn to let out a surprised noise now.

“Damn baby, you take it good. Can I fuck your throat?” he asks breathlessly.

You nod and before you know it his hips are rising to meet the bobbing of your head, his hand in your hair. Until he pulls your head back, on your way up you suck him extra hard, his cock slipping from your mouth with a pop.

“Alright, I'm gonna come if you do that anymore, and I want to save that for later. How do you want it?”

“How do I want it?” all your partners before Negan always took control and you just went along with it, you weren't use to being one making all the decisions.

“Yeah, you want me to take you from behind? You want to ride me? You want me on top?” the idea of riding him makes your core absolutely drip with need.

“I want to ride you.”

“Good girl, now slide down on me nice and slow, I want you to feel every single inch stretching your tight little cunt, and I want you to watch while you fuck yourself on my cock, got it?” you nod, and take his cock in your hand again, pressing the head slowly into your entrance, despite his girth you're so wet he slides in easily. You do as he said and look down, watching him stretch you as you slide down until he's all the way inside you. You're amazed he fit, you take a moment to let your body get to use to his girth filling you, because fuck you felt so full. You raise up slowly, until just his tip is stretching your entrance and then slide back down, watching so intently as your body hungrily swallows his cock and it comes out a little bit wetter with your juices every time until it soaks him and start to drip onto his balls that you can't even moan. You gladly take him so deep each time that his pubes tickle your clit in the most wonderful way.

You pick up the pace, your walls desperate for the friction, until you find the perfect rhythm and an angle that presses the head of his cock perfectly into sweet spot. You feel your walls clench each time he hits it,

“You're taking my cock so good baby, you're so wet and tight. Now just reach down and rub your clit, just with one finger, that'll make you come nice and hard.” you do as he says, teasing your own swollen needy bundle with your middle finger while holding your lips open with your index and ring fingers so you can both enjoy the view.

You feel the coil of your impending orgasm start to form.

“Negan, I'm about to come.”

“Me too, go ahead baby, come on me. Now I'm going to need you to fuck yourself all the way through your orgasm, and keep teasing that clit, even when it feels like you can't take it anymore. Okay?”

You nod. “Good girl, I know how sensitive and stimulated you must be right now, it must damn near hurt, but just keep it up. That's it, just let your cunt squeeze me nice and tight.” and with that the coil snaps.

You cry out in pleasure, but do as he says and keep fucking yourself on him and rubbing your clit vigorously until your orgasm fades, but you keep bouncing up and down and rubbing your over stimulated bud until you feel his body these and feel the ropes of his come filling you up. You keep it up until you feel him start to soften inside you, and he grabs your wrist, stilling your rubbing.

He brings your hand to his lips, as you're still enjoying the spasms of your orgasm and the over stimulated tingle in your clit, and he sucks your combined juices off your finger.

He watches your face as he does it “do you want a taste too?” to your surprise you nod, and he reaches between your legs, slipping his index finger inside your aching cunt and brings it to your lips, soaked in your arousal and his come, which you eagerly suck clean. “You're a dirty little girl, and I fucking love it!” he praises you.

Before long you find yourself licking his cock clean while he licks your pussy clean at the same time. Once you're both done licking and sucking your juices off one another, you flop down beside him.

“That was…” he trials off, lost for words.

“The best sex I've ever had.” you finished. “I wish we would have done it months ago. Damn I didn't know what I was missing.”

“Shit, baby I'll fuck you like that every night if it means you'll be my girl.”

“I already was yours, Negan, but I'll definitely take you up on that offer.”

Eventually you drift off to sleep in his arms, and for the first time in a long time neither of you have any nightmares.

*Tagging* @neganscherryblue @negans-network @neganssavior-fanfiction @ariasnyder

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