#I will now think about this for an undisclosed amount of time

[byssa6]

Just had a realization about Snap and Penny

They’re literally just Tinker Bell and Wendy with less murder attempts

Snap and Tinker Bell are both small yet feisty non-humans and the closest companions to the protagonist

Penny and Wendy are kind-hearted human girls who serve as love interests to the protagonist

When the protagonist takes the human girl to a magical place, (ChalkZone or Neverland) the non-human immediately becomes jealous of the girl, but eventually warms up to her.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,” 

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it. 

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead. 

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?” 

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,” 

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,” 

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?” 

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,” 

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?” 

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” 

Yup, you have a headache now. 

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?” 

Why were you considering this? 

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?” 

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?” 

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“ 

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble. 

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor. 

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it. 

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life. 

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this. 

He said your name, “Well?” 

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did. 

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place. 

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself. 

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now. 

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was. 

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair. 

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh. 

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?” 

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,” 

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror. 

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?” 

“Gojo, this is—“ 

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,” 

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?” 

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,” 

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“ 

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire  — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way. 

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion. 

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed. 

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most. 

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event. 

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did. 

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn. 

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,” 

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?” 

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate. 

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them. 

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“ 

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled. 

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,” 

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,” 

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours. 

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,” 

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?” 

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,” 

“No one can see us,” 

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,” 

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling. 

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?” 

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks. 

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?” 

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn. 

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,” 

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“ 

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you. 

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare. 

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?” 

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had. 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst. 

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,” 

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?” 

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?” 

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.” 

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“ 

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,” 

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,” 

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?” 

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru. 

And you really didn’t hate Suguru —  it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him. 

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs. 

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend. 

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“ 

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?” 

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it. 

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“ 

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?” 

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,” 

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm. 

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.” 

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,” 

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.” 

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there. 

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious. 

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point. 

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended? 

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds 

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge. 

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later. 

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you— 

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?” 

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,” 

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?” 

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter. 

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?” 

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,” 

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it. 

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them. 

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t. 

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one? 

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again. 

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy. 

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept. 

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen. 

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?” 

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?” 

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,” 

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?” 

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly. 

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?” 

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?” 

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,” 

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts. 

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,” 

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”  

You glanced at the time, he’s late. 

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a  way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground. 

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked. 

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad. 

It was probably the latter. 

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel. 

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,” 

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?” 

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh. 

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch. 

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?” 

“A bad rom com,” 

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,” 

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,” 

He sighs, running fingers through his hair,  “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,” 

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,” 

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table. 

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,” 

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,” 

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,” 

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,” 

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,” 

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?” 

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem. 

It was unspoken. 

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t. 

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now. 

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever. 

Your neck hurts. 

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed. 

Or what you thought was your bed. 

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear. 

Gojo. 

Gojo??? 

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears? 

You really should have fucking known better. 

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer. 

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh. 

Fuck. Your. Life. 

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes. 

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first. 

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?” 

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—” 

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone. 

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur. 

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace. 

“What is it?” 

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?” 

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,” 

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan. 

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,” 

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,” 

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?” 

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long. 

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding. 

Fuck. You were so screwed. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything. 

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress. 

Another knock. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?” 

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?” 

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square. 

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,” 

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,” 

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair. 

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,” 

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?” 

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,” 

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,” 

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks. 

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,” 

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this. 

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan. 

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over. 

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it. 

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?” 

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips. 

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,” 

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in,  “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his. 

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—” 

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?” 

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?” 

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. 

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,” 

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh. 

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—” 

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips. 

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—” 

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?” 

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“ 

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act? 

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins. 

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru. 

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him. 

Like it always never was. 

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,” 

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours. 

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—” 

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—” 

“My apartment isn’t—” 

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away. 

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo,  “Gojo, what do you want me to say?” 

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“ 

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“ 

“But what you said—“ 

“I said what I had to—“ 

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room. 

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“ 

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?” 

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“ 

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,” 

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand. 

“Give you what?” 

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“ 

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop. 

No, it was. It was, right? 

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“ 

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“ 

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,” 

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,” 

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?” 

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“ 

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?” 

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you. 

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?” 

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,” 

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone. 

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer. 

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards. 

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,” 

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,” 

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,” 

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,” 

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”  

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress. 

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?” 

Slap. It’s definitely a slap. 

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest. 

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?” 

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance. 

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you. 

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,” 

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders. 

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away. 

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.” 

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name. 

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side. 

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate. 

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you. 

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —- 

And he realized it was you. 

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“ 

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?” 

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat. 

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you. 

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?” 

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit. 

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased. 

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,” 

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,” 

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief. 

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit. 

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,” 

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back. 

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined. 

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,” 

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips. 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin. 

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,” 

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.” 

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“ 

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life. 

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again. 

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off,  I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body. 

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle. 

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,” 

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes. 

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—” 

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—” 

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out. 

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face. 

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you. 

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours. 

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.” 

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist. 

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips. 

Fuck, it was real.  

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake. 

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more. 

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse. 

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?” 

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort. 

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body. 

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,” 

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,” 

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?” 

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips. 

“How about we make breakfast together?” 

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good. 

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?” 

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?” 

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,” 

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again  — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?” 

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,” 

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck. 

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,” 

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile. 

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,” 

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?” 

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze. 

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,” 

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.” 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present. 

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present. 

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you? 

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it. 

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview. 

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture. 

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation. 

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now? 

There’s only one person who’d text like that. 

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now? 

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business. 

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly. 

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink. 

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head. 

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you. 

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that. 

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman. 

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go. 

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,” 

“I was expecting to meet 

I suppose we’re on the same page,” 

He tilts his head, “Really?” 

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,” 

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,” 

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her. 

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her. 

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?” 

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“ 

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you. 

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways. 

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back. 

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen. 

You needed to talk to him in person. 

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet. 

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt. 

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,” 

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,” 

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line. 

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,” 

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” 

And he’s blinking, “Why?” 

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—” 

“But you didn’t—” 

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,” 

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?” 

“No I don’t—” 

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?” 

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,” 

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?” 

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?” 

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“ 

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,” 

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?” 

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“ 

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“ 

“But—“ 

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?” 

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,” 

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.” 

And this time he doesn’t stop you. 

It’s for the best. 

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas. 

It was for the best. 

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories. 

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them. 

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru. 

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did. 

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing. 

Fuck. You were home. 

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye. 

Gojo? 

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name. 

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops. 

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address. 

Satoru was…getting married? 

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here. 

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove. 

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved. 

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot. 

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors. 

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy. 

Even if it wasn’t with you. 

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now. 

So you wait. 

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom. 

That wasn’t Satoru. 

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding? 

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were. 

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head. 

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows. 

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands. 

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.” 

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?” 

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze,  “Satoru—” 

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips. 

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—” 

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it. 

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek. 

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,” 

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,” 

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake. 

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.” 

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

[chuubian]

Bulle fruit pancakes

Tags Arlecchino x fem reader, fluff, domestic life, anxiety, blood, death, soft Arlecchino, Arlecchino acts like an old man in this she’s my favorite gilf

Summary After a mission that nearly breaks you and Arlecchino apart, she decides she can’t let her job get in the way of your relationship. Living in the countryside after running away from the fatui can be scary. But Arlecchino finds a way to comfort and reassure you that you’re safe with her.

A/N: This is actually based off a conversation in stormbringer where verlaine tells rimbaud about his plan about running away and giving chuuya a normal life 😭😭 i wanted to cry during that and now i can’t stop thinking about it.

Images of Arlecchino, covered in blood and lifeless infront of you have haunted you since your relationship started. Her job is dangerous. Stepping out of line could lead to her being hunted down and killed. As her girlfriend, they wouldn’t hesitate to target you for revenge too. The fatui is not a philanthropic organization.

Her job requires her to constantly be away from home, sometimes you go weeks without hearing from her, wondering if she was killed— or, god forbid, captured and tortured. As a trained soldier, she would probably be able to handle it and escape, but it doesn't make it less frightening. There are still people stronger than her in this world— though it is very few.

On her last mission, Arlecchino is supposed to be sent to Inazuma for an undisclosed amount of time. Naturally, this revelation fills you with anxiety. How could they not know even a general timeframe? Was it this serious of an assignment. You begged her to please ask for a new assignment, but she brushes your worries aside. Telling you that you're overreacting and that if you can't handle it then there's nothing she can do to salvage the relationship, her cold red eyes staring into your soul, taking note of how you react.

You instantly go speechless, humbled by the threat. Sitting back down quietly, unwilling to lose her. Maybe it won't be so bad. She can still send letters. Arlecchino's gaze softens, leaning over you, kissing the top of your head gently. It was so sweet and intimate that you couldn't help but lean into her pleasant touch.

"I'll try to get back home as soon as possible. We can still write to each other."

Sighing softly, you look up at her. There was a flurry of emotions stirring up inside your chest. How were you supposed to be okay with this? You're brought back out of your thoughts by Arlecchino softly cupping your cheeks. Her nails, although sharp, feel soothing against your heated skin.

"It'll be fine. You worry too much."

Leaning away from her touch, you take a hold of her hands. You don't even want to look at her.

"How can you be sure? You don't even know how long you'll be gone."

Her eyes narrow, she pulls her hands our of your grip.

"I'm going whether you like it or not, it's my job. I expect you to reflect and come to your senses while I'm gone."

With that, she grabs her bags and leaves. Not even offering you so much as a goodbye. You sit in silence, feeling cold and abandoned. It's hard to even get up, your mind is filled with worries about what could possibly happen on this dangerous trip.

For the seven months Arlecchino is gone from home, she rarely writes. You can't really blame her, you don't respond to her letters either way. Nevertheless, you can't help feeling betrayed by her. She didn't stop to consider your feelings at all. It might be selfish, but you wish she cared more about you than her job.

When Arlecchino shows her disgraceful face around your shared house again, she's covered in blood. She doesn't wait for you to invite her in, taking the initiative to push past you, rushing into your bedroom and packing your clothes into a garbage bag. Stunned, you try to stop her.

"Arle! What are you doing?!"

She ignores you, seeming engrossed in her task. You try to pull her hands away, but instead of letting you, Arlecchino smacks your hand away. She looks back at you with a frenzied, irritated look on her face. It's clear you shouldn't mess with her, but you have barely talked to her in seven months, she can't force you to do anything. However, Arlecchino is nothing if not commanding and forceful. The look in her eyes chills you to the bone. Now you understand why she has such a high ranking in the fatui.

When she finishes packing your clothes, her cold hand wraps around your forearm- pulling you away from the bedroom, away from the house, and away from Snezhnaya. She doesn't speak until the harsh winter storms are far behind, in favor of the mild winters and humid summers of the Fontainian countryside.

"I'm leaving the fatui."

"What?"

She rolls her eyes, seemingly still aggravated.

"I'm leaving the fatui."

Your initial reaction is to doubt her new announcement. Even if she isn't lying- she betrayed you, she doesn't get to drag you away to Fontaine. But thinking it over for a few seconds, you realize something must've gone wrong. You take in her appearance, jacket turned brown. It makes you shiver, a sense of dread looming over you, the fright that comes with it sinks deep in your gut, making it hard to even move with the burden of your emotion weighing you down.

"Why? Did something happen?"

She moves to hold your hand instead, pulling you closer. The warmth radiating from her almost makes you forget about how stained her clothing and hand is.

“We’ll talk about it when we get to our destination, okay?”

You nod and follow her lead, unsure of what’s going on. Although the both of you aren’t speaking, it’s comfortable. The scenery of rainbow rose fields and exotic birds is a welcome change from the brutal blizzards that leave nothing but a white wasteland in Snezhnaya. As you both approach the cottage in the distance, you notice just how remote everything is. There's no people around at all, it doesn't seem like there's even any electricity. This is going to be a hellhole in the summer.

Arlecchino sets your bags down on the couch when you first enter, sighing softly. She starts taking off her soiled, blood covered jacket. Looking over her exposed arms, your mouth goes dry. It's been too long since you last saw her, and it was hard not to stare at her defined arms and strong back. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her skin was glistening. You reached out to grab hold of her arm, finding it hard to resist. The feeling of her soft skin and firm muscles is invigorating. It's just so right. You're interrupted in your thoughts by Arlecchino sitting down and pulling you onto her lap.

"What are you thinking about, my love?"

"You still haven't explained anything."

While talking to her you can't help but run yours hands over her arms and shoulders. The years of training in the fatui have sculpted her like a Greek god, you can hardly even pay attention to what she says. She tilts your chin up to look her in the eyes, sharp nails digging into your jaw.

"i meant exactly what i said, I'm leaving the Fatui."

Scowling, you shake her shoulders. Why does she always have to be so tight-lipped?

"Okayyy but why...? This is so sudden! And especially for a harbinger its hard to completely escape, what if they come looking for us? You came back covered in blood, I was worried all seven months! We barely even talked in that time, so what gives you the right to drag me away from home?!"

You felt like you're going crazy, How is this normal in any way? Arlecchino can never just talk to you like a normal person. She shushes you by putting a finger over your mouth. Pushing her hand away, you glare at her.

"Why cant you ever talk to me like a normal person? Am i not worthy of knowing your thoughts? Or what you're up to?! Seriously you're so fucking condescending and irritating, Arle!"

She smirks in response. Seriously!?

"You're angry at me but you still use a nickname?"

You can feel your face get warmer, embarrassed and angry with her. She knows you too well, she always has to rile you up in the way only she knows.

"If you don't explain I'm walking the whole way to Snezhnaya."

Her grip around your waist tightens. She wasnt going to let her prized possession leave her so easily.

"Fine fine, Ill explain."

You cross your arms, waiting for the explanation.

"Look... I didn't want my job to get between us. You're more important to me than the fatui is so It's not a big deal okay?"

"That's it? You couldn't have told me that before dragging me to Fontaine?"

Gently running her fingers over your sides, she presses a soft kiss to your cheek. The tensions leaves your body at the tender show of affection. All the anger and worry dissipates, leaving your mind feeling light. It's a welcome change from the grim thoughts running through your head for the past seven months. It's amazing how easily Arlecchino can manage to lower your defenses- she's your biggest weakness and she knows it.

"I'm sorry, but i had to get us away from there as soon as possible... They'll definitely look for us but its okay, I'm here. I'll protect us. I've taken all the precautions i can. You trust me right?"

You nod, leaning in and resting your head on Arlecchino's shoulder.

"But... you're not even the strongest harbinger, what if they find us?"

She soothingly rubs your back. It's comfortable moments like this that remind you of why you fell in love with her. She's usually so cold and brutal, but during intimate moments she turns sympathetic and unguarded.

"They won't, i made sure."

"You came back covered in blood, I was so worried."

Your eyes start watering. During that period of minimal contact, your heart was aching for your lover. Aching for someone you assumed didn't feel the same way. The lump in your throat grows bigger, making it hard to breathe or talk properly.

Arlecchino lets you cry into her neck all night. Holding you tightly and never letting go. She could never even conceive of a world where your relationship isn't her top priority. A sense of warmth washes over you, melting away the cold lonely feeling in your heart.

It's been months since you ran away with Arlecchino. Months since you've been away from civilization and big crowds- but surprisingly, you don't feel isolated.

The paranoia of being found by the fatui never goes away. Slowly creeping up on your mind, becoming more and more persistent until it pounces- causing severe panic attacks and barbaric nightmares. Images flash before your eyes. Portrayals of Arlecchino collapsed on the floor, slumped over, covered in her own blood, eyes flat and lifeless. Your cottage has been ransacked and destroyed by those barbarians. All your furniture and clothing were scattered across the ground, some of them charred until they were unrecognizable. You could feel the heat radiating off the fire burning your back.

You tried to scream for help, but for some reason your voice wasn't working, your throat was closing. Your mind felt fuzzy, it was hard to think or move- like your legs were made of lead. You didn't even get to say goodbye. She was taken too soon.

Suddenly you were shaken awake. Eyes fluttering open, your cheeks were wet with tears and you could feel your heart tightening in your chest. Arlecchino's worried face was hovering above you. Gasping for air, you search for comfort in your lovers arms. Relieved to see her again alive, wrapping your arms around her and squeezing tight, leaning into the warmth- the life- radiating off of her.

"What happened, my love?"

She tenderly caresses your hair, running her slender and sharp fingers through the strands. It sends tingles through your scalp and down you spine, quelling the dull ache through your body.

"Y-you died..."

Your voice was shaky and weak. It was clear to Arlecchino that the nightmare had affected you deep to your core. She gently kisses your forehead.

"I'm here, I'm not leaving any time soon."

She gently pulled you back bed, laying you down in her caring embrace. The soft golden light of the sunrise is shining through the window and into your eyes. It made Arlecchino's smooth skin glow. She looks so heavenly, even with her messy bedhead. How had you landed someone so gracious and bewitching? She cooed softly, her enchanting voice lulling you into a dreamlike daze. Even with the horrible nightmares that haunted you, mornings like this were your favorite part of being with Arlecchino. She never fails to make you feel secure again.

After a few minutes of laying in bed and holding each other tightly, Arlecchino decides to get up, attempting to pry your arms off her.

"Noooo don't leave me!"

Whining, you hug her closer, refusing to let go of the human heater that sleeps on the other side of the bed. Unfortunately, Arlecchino is much stronger than you so she manages to get your hands off her, instead deciding to pin your wrists to the bed, straddling your hips.

"We have to get up eventually, my love."

Pouting, you start complaining and trying to free your wrists.

"But does it have to be now?"

She chuckles lowly, leaning in so close that you can feel her breath fanning over your face.

"Yes, it does."

Your heart is beating so fast, her face is so close, you can feel the electricity in the air. The heat radiating from her skin was making your face burn. It was hard to look her in the eyes, if you made eye contact you would probably burst into flames. But despite you avoiding her gaze, you could feel her staring at your lips, looking down at you under her, with your hair splayed out, so disheveled but still so beautiful. The butterflies in your stomach seeming to want to escape, fluttering against the walls of your stomach, making your muscles quiver.

She squeezes your wrists tighter, leaning in even closer. You could cut the tension with a knife. It was like there was a magnet pulling your lips closer, like the universe is working to bring the both of you together. Slowly, she presses her lips to yours. She tastes like heaven. Your head goes fuzzy and your body feels like it's floating. It's too soon after that, that Arlecchino starts pulling away. Her lips are parted, panting softly. Her eyes are darkened, her pupils dilated.

Suddenly, she sits up- looking high and mighty, like an ice queen.

"We need to get up."

She drags herself out of bed, giving you a playful smack on the ass.

"Agh!! you're mean!"

Smacking her hand away, you attempt to drag her back to bed.

"Come back!"

"Nope."

She smirks taking a hold of your hands, kissing the knuckles. It made you forget your goal. Before you could get back on track she pulls you out of the comfortable cotton sheets, wrapping her arms around your waist.

"Arle!"

She ignores your cries and carries you over her shoulders. You squirm and kick, trying to get free.

"Put me down!"

She holds the back of your thighs tightly, laughing at your struggle. Once you both arrive in the kitchen she finally puts you down on the kitchen counter. She stands between your knees, with her hands on your thighs.

"I told you we had to get out of bed."

"Well maybe i didn't want to."

"But i want you to, the sun is already up"

You scowl, pushing her hands off you.

"It's only seven! we should be sleeping!"

She shrugs, not seeming to understand the problem.

"I like waking up early."

You run your fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.

"You're like an old man, seriously why do we need to be up so early?"

She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling your bodies closer.

"The sun is up, it's time to eat."

You sigh, giving up on trying to convince her to be normal. Getting up from the counter, you walk around the kitchen grabbing ingredients and tools to start cooking breakfast.

"You better stay out of the kitchen, your cooking is deadly."

Arlecchino doesn't even try to argue, she knows it wont do any good. Sitting down at the kitchen table, admiring the view, she rests her chin on her hand.

It seems like a dream, the birds chirping in the distance, the beautiful flowers in the garden, the sounds and smells of your cooking- it all feels surreal.

You cut up the bulle fruits, mix up the batter, making Arlecchino's favorite dish-Hearthfire's trail, adding spices (which are desperately needed). You cant let her live on without spices anymore, it is physically hurting you to see her eat bland food. How does she even do it? She's just torturing herself.

After a few minutes of cooking you finally finish, giving her a nice big serving of pancakes with bulle fruit jubilee, and her stupid beloved Hearthfire's trail. She looks at it confused.

"Did you do something to it? It looks different."

"No... i spent so long making it perfect for you and you're complaining?"

She decides against pressing you for more information, trying some. Quickly, her face turns red. She evidently isn't used to eating anything other than bland meat. Regardless, she doesn't spit it out, deciding to swallow it before complaining.

"Why did you do this to me??"

Her voice is hoarse, you cant help but burst out in laughter. You've never seen her so flustered.

" Hehehe... Arle! you can't go on eating unseasoned food forever! It's time to be an adult."

"Seasoning is useless! If your food needs spices to taste good then its just bad quality."

Shrugging you point to her food.

"I worked very hard on that, you have to finish it."

She grumbles softly, complaining but doing as you say anyways. She sips her tea between every bite, suffering due to your little scheme. After she's done, she digs into her pancakes, seeming much more delighted at the taste of cold ice cream and sweet fruit on her tongue. You giggle watching her, amused by how weak she is to something so simple.

"Arle... How did you manage to get the position as the fourth harbinger when you cant even eat cumin?"

"Our position isn't based off food preferences, it's based on strength."

She clearly isn't as amused as you, her eyes narrowed.

"Still..."

"I just have a taste for quality food."

"I would hardly consider what you eat to be 'quality'."

"Hey! I eat your cooking, so that means you think your own cooking is bad."

Oh she thinks she's so funny. Groaning, you sit up straight.

"My cooking is good!"

"You don't seem to think so."

Scowling, you ignore her. You eat your pancakes angrily.

"Do you like my cooking?"

"No."

Her face betrays her words, she's smirking- enjoying getting under your skin. You decide you need to get revenge.... by wiping putting the whipped cream and ice cream from your pancakes on her face.

"I hate you."

She only laughs in response, wiping the cream off with her pointy fingers and licking it off. Her long forked tongue dragging over the blackened skin. She doesn't even try to hide her intentions, staring you right in the eyes with that evil, sinful stare.

The rest of the morning is a blur. You can only remember the feeling of pure bliss and the warmth of being in her arms. All the worries about the fatui finding you are completely forgotten when you're with her. Arlecchino makes you into a happier, more secure person. There's no other place you'd rather be.

[that-one-anxious-mango]

Has Austin ever accidentally hurt readers feelings? How did they work through it?

hi anon!

thank you for the ask!

to answer your question, yes!

austin has unfortunately hurt reader's feelings, and reader has accidentally hurt his at times too. though usually their main way to work things through is to take some time apart to cool down and then come together after to talk out a resolution.

here is an example of a time austin accidentally hurt reader's feelings during the time they'd just moved into their first place together:

“ Hey.” You knocked on the door seal of Austin’s office where he was head deep into a book surrounding the WWII history of pilots. He was doing major background work for his role of Major Gale Clevens and you were excited to see him diving back into work after both Elvis wrapping, and the scare he gave you during his hospital stay.

You could see the papers littered everywhere and the empty coffee pot on a nearby table. “ I know you said to let you know when dinner was finished, and I’m done. I made that lasagna soup recipe I was telling you about from tik-tok. Why don’t you take a break and come have a bite, babe.” 

He didn’t bother looking up from the pages, “ In a minute honey.” He muttered. 

Frowning you couldn’t help but feel worried since he’d told you the same thing at lunch and then later when you’d offered him a snack. He hadn’t been out of this room all day and you knew his body  needed something more to run off of than hours old coffee.

You stepped inside closer, “ You know you said that earlier, baby. And I just think a little break to re-fuel would be good.” 

Again he didn’t look up, “ I said in a minute sweetheart, now please.” He attempted to dismiss you.

Still you weren’t satisfied, “ Aus I know but-

“ Dammit, Y/N!  I said in a minute! I am a grown ass man and I’ll eat something when I’m ready.  ” He snapped, looking up at you.

A lump quickly formed in your throat and you quickly exited the room, slamming the door behind you and ignoring his calls after you. You could feel tears threatening to spill out your eyes. In a split decision you decided to get some air, grabbing your bag and picking up a disoriented Magnus fast to go out the door.

For a while you’d just driven around, let the windows down to take in the breeze of the setting sky, and just allowed your mind to blank for awhile.

You then stopped and impulsively got a honey matcha for you and pup-cup for Mags at a little coffee place you'd come to like , went into Target and walked out with an undisclosable amount of body products, and then had a good cry in said Target parking lot.

You and Austin has only been living together officially for six weeks, but the last two had proven to be a bit rougher on your relationship. It was evident that the two of you were still getting use to learning how to share a space 24/7 and find balance in togetherness and your respective solitudes.

By the time you’d pulled back into the garage of the loft, you’d walked into the door and found Austin sitting with his hands in his lap in the chair facing the doorway with a grave look on his face. “ Where’d you go? Without this.” He held up your phone.

In your haze you must have left it, “ Nowhere in particular. Just ran a few errands, is all. Needed some time to myself.” 

He nodded, “ Do you have a minute? “

You walked past him, “ For you to yell or snap at me. No, not really. I’m heading up to shower and then I’m going to bed.” 

He sighed, “ I’m not going to snap or yell at you, baby. I just need a minute to apologize.” He followed you toward the stairs.

Still you didn’t stop your ascent, “ Y/N..please don’t walk away. Just give me a minute.” He pleaded.

Stopping halfway up, you turn around and drop the bags on the stairs to stop and sit, “ Here you go. Here’s your minute.” 

Running a hand through his hair he started, “ First off, I wanna say that I apologize for snapping at you, honey. I didn’t mean it and I surely didn’t mean to make you cry.  It’s not an excuse but I think I’m still getting used to having someone around all the time that calls me out on my bad habits and wants to take care of me. Been awhile since I’ve lived with someone else and I'm used to obsessing over my work alone.” 

You nodded, “ I understand.” 

“ Good. Now, second, I’m gonna ask that if the next time we unfortunately have a moment, which we will have more tough moments together since we’re stuck with each other forever, I need you to take your phone. Not so you can pick up my twenty phone calls trying to apologize, but because the world is crazy and in case of an emergency, honey. You need your phone, okay.” You could hear a slight strain to his voice. 

You felt a tad bad knowing he probably got a bit nervous when you’d left it, he was a big stickler on you being safe. 

“ Okay.” You whispered, wiping tears from your eyes.

Austin then made his way to meet you on the steps and pull you up into his arms, “ I’m sorry, honey. Daddy’s sorry. You were just trying to take care of me and I snapped. I apologize. You’re so considerate always. And it doesn’t go unappreciated.” He kissed your forehead and comforted you as you let out little sniffles. 

" You hurt my feelings, babe." You whispered.

He sighed, " I know, mama. I'm sorry. Don't want anyone making my best girl cry. Even me."

“ I’ve been a mean Baboo.” He joked in an attempt to get you to laugh.

And you did, “ Yeah you have. “ You giggled. “ Don’t let it happen again, buddy. Or I’ll have to stick my ferocious guard dog on you.” You referenced Magnus who was passed out in the living room corner from his treat, knowing full well all he was capable of was licking someone to death.

“ Noted.” Austin laughed, holding you tighter. " Now, come on so I can warm up this delicious soup I keep hearing about. I'm excited."

[lost-in-fandoms]

saw that gif of the protein shake on max’s lips against and got thinking about daniel gently wiping it away with his thumb which got me thinking about your vamp daniel kissing max after feeding from him and he’s all fuzzy and pliant and sweetly wiping his own blood off his lips which got me thinking about—

went to look for this glorious gifset and spent an undisclosed amount of time looking at it. but yes anon i do see your vision. or well. sort of your vision? this went in a sliiiightly different direction.

cw: mentions of blood, explicit sexual content

Max's legs slides off Daniel's shoulder as he shivers through the aftershocks of his orgasm, and for a second Daniel doesn't know what to do with himself while looking at him.

His brain is still scrambled from his own orgasm, Max's blood singing inside him, still warm on his tongue and lips, making him feel even hazier, and Max...Max looks like a vision, a wet dream, an impossible prize he somehow got his hands on, lying underneath him, cheeks red and glazed over eyes, his heaving chest sending rivulets of cum sliding off his sides.

Without thinking, Daniel surges forward, cradling Max's sweaty neck in one hand and leaning down to kiss him. It's only when Max makes a surprised noise that he realises that his mouth must still taste like blood.

He hastily pulls back, but to his surprise Max's hands fly up to hold him in place, kissing him again, eagerly licking into his mouth with a moan. There's something so heady in the action that if Daniel's dick hadn't already checked out for the night, he's sure it would be hard again.

"Max," he groans, grinding his hips against Max where they're still connected, not having pulled out yet.

Max doesn't say anything, but he pulls back slightly to lick Daniel's top lip, as if to make sure he's cleaning him properly. Daniel moans again. His dick is now really trying to get hard again.

"Max, we need sleep," he tries to say, even if it feels absurd for him, the vampire, to be telling his boyfriend, the fragile, breakable, human, to slow down.

He feels Max smile against his lips, then finally pull away, both of them breathing heavily.

Somehow, Daniel recovers enough brain function to pull out and clean up Max, offering him a glass of juice to sip on as he runs him a bath.

"We will talk about that," Daniel warns once they're back in bed, Max all splayed out next to him, more than halfway to sleep already.

Max just hums, but he's smiling a little, looking perfectly uncaring of all the ways he drives Daniel insane.

[luimagines]

Did I already send this? I’m sorry if I did. If I did it was a while ago lol. I just remembered this idea for no apparent reason lol and imagined a whole scenario. So here’s what I had a while back.

So here’s the story my idea came from:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51324469

And it was one of the best things I’ve ever read of the Linked Universe lol. And I had an idea: so what if Link wore his Gerudo outfit with the boys and they didn’t know it was him, like in this story, but we add x reader, and they’re dating him and so when he appears they start kissing him and being lovey dovey and whatnot, and the boys just go “?!?!?!”😂 and either they get protective of Wild and yell at reader about “How could you cheat on Wild?! How dare you?!” And others just stare dumbfounded at reader.😂

P.S. I understand I’m drawing from someone else’s story, so if you can figure out their tumblr and ask permission or tell me it or something please lmk. Because I couldn’t find their tumblr and idk how to use archive of our own at all. I’m new, sorry!

So I just imagined something like this:

Wild led them to the wall where a hidden switch was but none of them knew that yet. You ran up to Wild and hugged him.

“Thanks sweetie, you’re so helpful!”

Then you start playing with his hair and kiss his cheek. The rest of the chain is a mixture of anger, horrified, betrayal, and everything in between.

Legend runs up to you and rips you off Wild.

“What is wrong with you?! How dare you?!?!”

You try not to laugh but you can’t help but smile.

“Leg-“

“No! You don’t hurt Wild and get away with it!”

Warriors is trying to pull Legend off of you as Sky comes up to you.

“Why…what did he ever do to you…”

He looks so broken. Behind all the chaos Wild stands silently seeing how it all plays out. He hears all his brothers defending him saying how amazing he is and doesn’t deserve you because you cheated on him. How even though he’s chaotic in battle he’s the most reliable person they’ve ever met. How he’s the best cook ever and without him they’d be starving. How much he brings to the family and without him it wouldn’t be complete…He starts shifting around and scratching the back of his head in awkwardness because of all the kind words his brothers have about him. How they’re protecting him. Eventually he puts you out of your misery and clears his throat.

“Guys…it’s ok. I’m right here. Though I’m very flattered.”

His cheeks are a little pink and he’s still in his Gerudo outfit. The chain looks at him and think he’s still some random girl.

“Huh? No we’re talking about our brother. I’m sure you didn’t know but this person has a boyfriend.”

Wild smiles softly and takes off the veil.

“I know they do.”

Now all the chain’s jaws drop. Wild chuckles and takes the rest of his outfit off.

“I’m very grateful that you guys would defend me, but it’s me. You don’t need to keep chewing them out anymore. Also, they knew it was me, so they weren’t cheating.”

omg XD

Poor Reader. I don't think I would have been to stay that silent while being chewed out.

To save my own skin I would have just yelled "THAT IS LINK!!"

I would probably also hold it over Wild's head for an undisclosed amount of time for standing there for who knows how long- leaving me to take the heat when I've done absolutely nothing wrong.

You better believe this becomes an inside joke between them.

"Yes, darling. I was cheating on you. I have bananas."

"Throw in some milk and we can have cheater milkshakes."

"Do you have the ice for that?"

Takes out ice rod. "Do you even have to ask?"

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires- Part 2

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 698

Masterlist

I can't wait for you to come back, and on Monday, you do.

Don't get me wrong, (Y/n), I've tried to look you up. I'm sure you understand why. You can’t blame a guy for being careful. These days, you have to find out everything you can about a person before getting involved with them.

But for someone who seems to enjoy attention so much in real life, you have almost no online presence. Your social media are all on private, and Googling your name left me with very little information. I found a high school picture of you, with some Dutch text that - when translated to English - amounts to basically nothing.

Anyway, you're back now. You meet my eyes for a second as you come in, but then you disappear between the isles. I try not to keep track of where you are too much, but it's impossible not to notice you.

You're wearing light blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt today. There's text on it, but I haven't been able to read it yet. You're also wearing a beanie. Bad hair day? You can't be cold, it's still the middle of summer.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you come to the counter.

Today's book is The Handmaid's Tale. You're in the mood for something shocking.

“Hello again,” I say.

You seem pleasantly surprised.

“You remember me? I thought for sure I would have gotten lost in a sea of faces. I mean, this is New York.”

“No, of course I remember. Dutch girl. Joyland,” I tell you, as if I don't remember your name at all. As if my search history isn't currently all you.

You smile, glance at my nametag. I noticed you didn't do that last time.

“(Y/n),” you remind me. “And you're… Joe.”

“Guilty. Joe Goldberg.”

You look up, meeting my eyes. Yours are brown. The text on your shirt says ‘No inspiration today, sorry.’

“So did you like it?” I ask, as I ring you up. “Joyland, I mean.”

“It was good,” you say. “I tore through it in a day.”

Yet you stayed away for nearly a week. You don't want to seem too eager.

“Well, you'll like this one,” I say. “Or hate it. It's very morbid.”

“I like morbid,” you assure me, as you hand me your card. “And creepy.”

“The Handmaid's Tale probably can't be qualified as creepy, sorry to disappoint.”

“Isn't it about women who are forced to breed? It sounds creepy to me.”

When you put it like that, I guess you're not wrong.

I wonder if you like scary movies. We could go to one, together. Afterward, you wouldn't want to sleep alone.

“Well,” I say. “You'll have to let me know if you found it creepy, then, I guess.”

You hesitate. Then, you say: “Not to sound weird, but maybe I could let you know over text?” You pause, waiting for me to answer. When I don't immediately (because I can't believe my luck), you rush to add: “This isn't a come-on. I would never, like, flirt with someone who has to be nice to me. You're working, y'know? It's just… I only just moved here, and I haven't made many friends–”

I hold up my hand, smiling.

“I didn't think it was a come-on. Texting sounds good. Do you have your phone?”

When you get it from your pocket, I tell you my number, and you put it in your contacts. You're careful about it, I notice. You don't want to get a single number wrong.

You look up at me, then pick up your book. You're breezing out again, but that's okay, because you're going to come back. Even better: you're going to text me.

Today is a good day.

Behind me, there's a whistle. I turn, and Ethan is grinning at me.

“Did a girl just ask for your number? Lucky.”

“Go stock the shelves, Ethan.”

“I already did.” Ethan shakes his head. “Why are all the pretty girls who come here always into you? Leave some tail for the rest of us, man.”

‘Tail.’ Disgusting. Ethan makes everything sound sordid. Even something as beautiful as you.

[royalsy-queen]

I actually can't believe it, we got an HD pic of him, he looks amazing and they've listened to the shaggy wavy bowlcut prayers, he's wearing blue yellow AND green, he has a pair of headphones and the second one? Confirmed season one upside down flashback, baby Byers is back and they're gonna do the same thing they did with baby Eleven in s4, Noah is acting the scene and the kid has motion tracking dots in his face. Like, it's confirmed, we're gonna see the events of s1 as Will lived them stuck in the Upside Down and I don't think I'll be able to watch without my heart breaking. Seeing tiny Noah all wet and sick and alone in s1 hurts everytime, I can't do that again.

Back to the main pic, I actually CAN'T believe how good he looks. Like, it's so good it almost looks fanmade? It looks like people ACTUALLY predicted him to look like. I'm in love with the longer wavier bowlcut I really am <3

Also, Birthdaygate confirmed. They're saying happy birthday EVERYWHERE, saying they could never forget. So now I'm fully convinced the Duffers just lied about forgetting the birthday because it's gonna be an important plot point of s5. I'm holding onto hope that Lettergate is also real, I need to see that. Also, now that we've seen both Mike and Will, Byler is THAT couple. They're both gorgeous, they're deff sharing clothes and I'm not fully procesing that THIS Will and THIS Mike are gonna kiss, we're actually gonna see the Byler kiss with THESE looks oh my gods. I'm just gonna go stare at both pictures for an undisclosed amount of time because I need to settle in the fact that it's no longer a leak or fanart, it's real. It's happening woooow

[generic-sonic-fan]

I’d love to hear your headcannons on what G.U.N. thinks of the sonic cast! Idk what it is exactly but the idea of G.U.N. coming up with a bunch of plans in regards to (mostly) a bunch of teens and kids is intriguing to me

This is such a fun and interesting prompt, thank you so much for sending it! I love worldbuilding in the Sonic universe lol. LONG post below cut

Sonic:

The ultimate worst case scenario.

Much in the same way an ICBM can be anywhere in the world within 30 minutes, Sonic can be anywhere at any time and cause MASSIVE amounts of destruction.

GUN wasn't nearly as worried about Sonic before they tried to frame him in SA2. They thought it'd be easy to pin the blame of Shadow's behaviors on Sonic and then pardon him later.

They were wrong.

Now GUN threat evaluators place Sonic just behind Eggman in world threat level. They struggle to understand what his morals might be and all their attempts to reach out to Sonic and ask him to clarify have been met with a "nah!" from the hedgehog himself.

There's one group in particular within the organization who are extremely paranoid about Sonic to the point of suggesting proactive measures against him.

. . . which everyone else in the organization either laughs at/ignores/prohibits.

There is no set-in-stone contingency for Sonic, as nobody can agree on one, but the plan that has the most consensus is to somehow utilize Team Dark.

Any attempts to discuss this with Team Dark have been turned down. Shadow refuses to speak of it, Rouge laughs it off, and Omega refuses to collaborate because he promised Shadow he wouldn't.

Tails:

Due to Tails' extensive social media presence, GUN feels like they have pretty good tabs on what's going on in Tails' head at any given moment, so they're a lot less paranoid about him.

A very exclusive group of people brainstorm what the contingencies might be on the off chance Tails does present a threat to the world.

(Because even in discussing Tails, they're much more worried about Sonic's reaction to them have contingencies for the fox)

A lot of their contingencies for Tails are the same as those for Eggman. GUN feels pretty prepared for any sort of Tails Overlord scenario, actually.

Minus Sonic, that is.

Current GUN protocol is to treat Tails very very nicely so that Sonic doesn't start getting concerned.

This is why Tails is allowed to be Omega's primary mechanic.

Knuckles:

GUN sent drones directly to Angel Island. Once.

Their old protocol was for him to remain "uncontacted". Yikes.

After Knuckles started getting more involved in struggles against Eggman, GUN started doing more research into him.

Because he mostly stays up on Angel Island and acts as a competent guardian of the Master Emerald, GUN isn't too worried about him? If anything, they're glad that someone with a significant power level is preventing Eggman from stealing the ME.

They've tried to initiate diplomatic contact with him but he's turned them down every time

He knows that GUN monitors the ME from afar- sometimes on clear days he sees a GUN drone floating a few miles off of Angel Island.

It's a bit of an uneasy truce honestly. GUN's biggest concern is that Knuckles could start using the ME for his own purposes, but so far it hasn't looked like that would ever be the case.

As for contingency plans- GUN has asked Rouge if she thinks she'd be able to steal the Master Emerald. (To which she's replied yes, of course.)

The plan is to get the ME off of Angel Island and into a specially designed GUN stronghold in an undisclosed location.

Once the guardian is separated from his emerald, GUN is pretty sure they'll be able to deal with him.

(They are VASTLY underestimating him due to a lack of data)

Amy:

No contingency plans. She's flying under GUN's radar.

They probably should have something in place for her honestly.

See Knuckles' note about vast underestimation due to a lack of data.

Shadow:

The contingency for Shadow is the most detailed contingency file GUN has.

. . . and Shadow himself has helped write some of it.

The file has a long and storied history reaching all the way back 50 years. It's always been something on GUN's mind.

The current contingency is based on the idea that the first thing he'll do once he goes rogue is try to collect the chaos emeralds.

A lot of the plan involves setting a trap with lots and lots of firepower.

There's also an addendum of the plan about utilizing the other members of Team Dark, either to combat against Shadow or as hostages. Shadow is unaware of the latter. In either strategy, Omega is considered vital.

GUN has a lot of scientific data on Shadow's weaknesses to certain kinds/amounts of chaos radiation and all that jazz, so they feel a lot more confident about their ability to bring him down compared to Sonic.

Something about the enemy you know being better than the enemy you don't.

Rouge:

GUN has determined that Rouge is very unlikely to be a world-ending threat.

But a GUN-ending threat? Absolutely.

Rouge going rogue is the worst case scenario for GUN's continued survival as an organization.

They know they can't keep her out of their files or any of their locations. If she wants to sell all of their secrets or steal all of their tech, they know they're very unlikely to stop her.

Current contingencies include using the other members of Team Dark to persuade her against destroying the organization if they're willing to cooperate, or taking them hostage to negotiate if they're not.

They also plan on a public smear campaign against her- basically revealing everything they know about her while she tries to reveal everything about them.

Rouge knows about all of these plans, of course.

There's definitely a tension between her and GUN because of this.

The current plan is to treat her well and convince her to stay on GUN's side at all costs (usually through bribery!)

Omega:

GUN's contingencies for Omega are really, really barebones.

It pretty much just boils down to "destroy him".

They aren't too worried about him, kinda like with Tails. GUN knows how to destroy Badniks. They've been destroying Badniks for lots of years at this point.

If anything, they consider Omega to be the least threatening member of Team Dark and the best lynchpin for if either other member of the team goes rogue.

(It should be noted that they still expect any scenario where Omega goes rogue to have the highest number of immediate civilian casualties.)

See my fic on this

Silver:

HOO BOY, is GUN worried about Silver.

Not because of his powerset- GUN is pretty sure they can just knock him on the head to neutralize him.

(Like Knuckles and Amy, they are vastly underestimating him)

But the time travel shenanigans scare the shit out of them.

GUN is the sort of organization to have protocols in place for working with future or past versions of themselves.

They also fund a shitload of research into detecting changes and potential threats in the timeline.

(They detected the Sonic Generations incident when it happened and it remains one of the most intensely studied events.)

(They've also detected a strange sort of time blip over Soleanna, but every time someone gets interested in studying it, their drive seems to wane until they're no longer concerned about it. Strange. . .)

TL;DR: They treat Silver like a fucking SCP. Current protocol is for all agents to limit contact with him in order to prevent damage to the timeline.

Honestly if GUN wasn't so scared of him, Silver wouldn't exactly be opposed to getting their help managing the timeline shenanigans.

Blaze:

Blaze has not initiated any sort of formal diplomacy with any government or organization in Sonic's dimension.

GUN tracks the unique energy signatures of the Sol Emeralds through their strange link/interaction with the Chaos emeralds.

They haven't quite figured out what's going on.

And frankly, they don't actually know that Blaze is from another dimension.

They see her very rarely. They know that something is strange about her energy readings but just assume that she's one of Sonic's lesser known friends who doesn't get out very often.

Team Chaotix:

I'm grouping them together because GUN doesn't have any contingencies for them. Vector, Espio, and Charmy are all under their radar.

They should be worried about Espio. They're already worried about Rouge's stealth capabilities. I'm pretty sure whoever's managing these contingencies within GUN would have a heart attack upon learning that somebody on this planet figured out how to actually turn invisible.

And that's it!

I'd actually like to end this post with a bit of a weird note- I don't think that GUN would be evil for developing contingencies like this.

I myself work in the field of safety. This field includes things such as occupational safety, and most pertinently for this post, emergency management. I've actually helped write protocols for companies about what workplaces should do in the event of an active shooter or other outside threat such as a natural disaster or a civil conflict.

(If I lived and worked in Sonic's universe, I would most certainly have to write safety protocols about what to do if Eggman attacks, for example!)

It's important to have protocols in place for the worst case scenario, no matter how unlikely or unthinkable that scenario is. And in Sonic's universe, this is especially important! This is a universe where society is regularly attacked by a mustache-twirling, robot-building terrorist! Of course GUN is going to keep tabs on other individuals who could post a similar threat and plan on how to stop them should they ever become a threat to the public.

I'm definitely not excusing GUN for any of the shady things they've done in canon, but it is an interesting point to think about that they're the best equipped to handle any sort of Dark Sonic/Sonic.exe/insert your favorite name for "this character but evil" here/mirror universe scenario.

[runabout-river]

It has happened now, a JJK artist on Twitter is in critical condition after being shelled by the Israeli Army in Gaza while sheltering inside a school. Reportedly, she lost an eye.

The screenshot is from a friend who barely manages to keep in contact with Noury with a family member's phone. This of course is Israel's tactic to cut communication from Gaza. The world isn't supposed to see the genocide and at least the amount of reports and eye witness accounts have dropped since because most people simply can't communicate their suffering to the world anymore.

This is the picture Noury drew before Israel decided to finally cleanse the Gaza Strip like it always wanted thanks to an exaggerated death count of a provoked military response, undisclosed shelling by the IOF of their own citizens and lies of 40 beheaded babies.

The caption of this piece of art reads "Please don't take my sunshine away," a response to chapter 236 and Gojo Satoru's apparent death.

Think back to that time. A favorite character of yours dies in a manga and you either draw or look at drawings of him to deal with that. Then a war starts that had been brewing for 75 years because Jewish Extremists and Supremacist with the backing from the war hungry US want you dead.

You know what I thought this entire time? That it's statistically unlikely that the one JJK artist from Gaza that I follow will be a victim in this war. There are 2.2 million people in Gaza but there's only one Noury, so what's the chance that something is going to happen to her?

What an absurd thought that turned out to be. I've been writing and raging on Tumblr about the genocide again and again and I know the severity of it, I know the numbers. I've seen the pictures and videos of dead children with their faces, not their heads, turned over like the pages of a book.

But most of that, the sheer enormity and the scale of it, was still abstract in my mind. Now, outside of the dry and clinical fact of it, the human element made me realize in my heart and mind that this is a genocide.

1 person among 2.2 million getting harmed isn't a statistical probability of 0.00001 percent. It's 100% because everyone is the target. Every Palestinian in Gaza is targeted with deprivation, hunger, thirst, illnesses and bombs. That is ethnic cleansing. That is the threat of genocide.

And the US, the UK and the EU, they're all complicit in this genocide and because I'm from Germany I'm also explicitly saying that Olaf Scholz, Marco Buschmann and Nancy Faeser are also complicit in this new holocaust.

Hopefully Noury will recover and hopefully she and her family and everyone else in Gaza will be able to go back to their homes. Homes btw, that per international law, Israel is supposed to replace or compensate for after destroying them.

Of course you don't need to compensate for anything if no one is there anymore, either because they're dead or they moved to another country involuntaryily.

[aballadforbarbatos]

mc falls hard and fast

specifically, out of the sky.

you were looking for a gift for mammon, originally. something sparkly and shiny- he seemed down in the dumps, last time you saw him

and since you’re back in the human world for an undisclosed amount of time, this is the best time to go searching for a surprise gift!!

thinking back on it now, this whole set up was a bit suspicious… maybe you should be a little less one track minded next time?

i mean, saying the item’s worth is well over ten thousand dollars and then selling it for only $200? what were you thinking?

and it only got worse! they apparently had it hidden in a secret place where you needed to take a helicopter, and they needed your driver’s license and passport? MC, what is WRONG with you?

well, they told you they were going to steal your identity, taken your documents, and pushed you out of the helicopter. they’ll probably be back later to collect your body.

so here you are. falling out of the sky.

you screamed when you first got shoved, sure, but you can’t keep doing that or else you’ll go splat on the ground and the entirety of devildom might break down and also some shady guys will steal your identity.

and you’ve done a lot to have this identity, so that definitely can’t happen

pacts! you can get a demon to come rescue you!

as soon as the idea pops into your head, you know exactly which demon you want, even before you see his pact mark on the back of your hand, the same hand that you always, always use to pull out your wallet.

but, uh… you’ve never actually used the pact from so far away. will it even work if you order him from here, now?

you reach into your pocket for your D.D.D.

with the needy demon boys you’ve collected, you can barely go anywhere without it

you tap his name…

and wait while the phone rings??

meanwhile, in devildom, the demons are having a student council meeting, completely unaware that you are currently hurtling towards the ground, and your death, at an incredibly fast pace.

mammon’s phone rings.

he tries to ignore it and play it cool, but it’s so obvious it’s him

“mammon. what have i told you about keeping your D.D.D. on silent.” mammon does not look at lucifer and instead decides to investigate the table until he remembers-

“no, wait! i did put it on silent, which means-”

which means that the caller has to be you, because he fiddled with his settings so that you were the only one that could reach him while his D.D.D. was off.

he digs his hand into his pocket and pulls it out, eagerly answering your call and putting it close to his ear

…and then immediately holding it at arm’s length as you shout into the receiver, trying to be louder than the wind

“MAMMON! MAMMON OH MY GOD, MAMMON!”

“uhh…”

he genuinely has no idea what to say. what’s going on in the background? why’s it so loud? and it’s nice hearing you say his name, don’t get it wrong, but you sound panicky and he’s not sure why you’re saying it so often.

“mammon, it’s time for you to take responsibility for your words, okay?!”

“aha, words? MC, what words are you talking about? i haven’t done anything super bad or anything!”

“mammon…” your voice gets quieter and shaky so he gingerly puts his ear against the receiver. “mammon, i don’t want to die, okay?”

his eyes widen. if lucifer’s saying anything to him now, it doesn’t matter. mammon has totally drowned it out, listening to what you have to say.

“what do you want me to do?”

“mammon, come here.”

poof! he appears next to you

except you’re falling through air

so he’s only next to you for a split second

and he’s in his student uniform too so he’s falling as well

just a human and their demon, falling to their certain doom

“mc, what the fuck?!”

that’s what you think he says. you’re not sure. the wind has carried his words away

you look up, away from the ground, and at the scenery beyond. at the very least, if mammon doesn’t get it together soon, this is a pretty place to die.

mammon gets it together.

your life didn't flash before your eyes- did that mean that your brain knew that mammon would catch you?

well, of course it would think so. it’s not like he’s ever let you down before.

he could’ve saved you a little NICER, though?

seriously, slamming into your body from the side? what if he broke a rib?!

plus he accidentally crashed into a haystack, so now you’re sitting there pulling straw out of your hair, adrenaline still pulsing through your veins

okokok hold on, you’re gonna hurl

mammon’s head pops up just as you finish, “okay, gross.”

you laugh. and laugh. it feels so good to be alive! a shame about your stolen documents, but you can do something about that later

“um, why did you call me? lucifer probably would’ve been faster…”

you look at mammon with a warm smile

“mammon, aren’t you my first? didn’t you say that if you couldn’t rescue me, then i should just die? why would i want to be saved by anyone other than you?”

your D.D.D. buzzes

it’s a text

no wait, it’s two

three?

eight??

they’re also all asking you if you know what happened to mammon and if you could get him to come back to the student council

you glance at your saviour, covered in hay, now sporting a light blush

“lol” is all you send back

the devildom lives another day

[returnsandreturns]

idk how to go about sending you a screencap etc but i donated! Could i get some childhood friends mattfoggy or cooking gone wrong? Thank you for taking your time to do this!

IT BECAME A MATT ADOPTED BY THE NELSONS FIC AND I GOT SOME FEELINGS.

(also, if you would like a matt/foggy thing of your very own, donate any amount to the palestine children's relief fund and i'll write you an undisclosed amount of words)

--

Foggy’s the first person to visit Matt at the hospital after his accident—Matt’s dad didn’t want to let anybody in yet until things were more stable but Foggy talked his way into it. He’s really good at that.

“Hey, Matty,” he says, squeezing Matt’s shoulder. “. . .bad week, huh?”

Matt’s silent for a moment before he bursts out laughing, catching his breath before he grins up at Foggy and says, “Kind of, buddy.”

“I’m going to try to avoid all the concerned questions and stuff because you’re probably already tired of that,” Foggy says. “Although I bet that you’re liking getting attention from all the pretty nurses.”

“Are they pretty?” Matt asks, raising his eyebrows. “I can’t see them.”

“In that case, they’re all super hot,” Foggy says, then makes a soft interested noise. “Hey, do your other senses actually get all heightened when you’re blinded? Like can you smell colors now?”

Matt falters for a second then laughs and says, “Uhm, no, nothing like that.”

“Damn,” Foggy says, ruffling Matt’s hair, fingers lingering there for a few moments. “You really can’t win.”

~~~

The night that Matt’s dad dies, Foggy’s mom picks him up and brings him back to their apartment.

Foggy apparently knows everything because he just pulls Matt into a hug and holds on, which is what makes Matt really cry, the insane tension in every inch of his body releasing as he sobs into Foggy’s hoodie. Foggy doesn’t even shush him or tell him everything’s going to be alright. He just pets Matt’s hair and stays and it’s exactly what he needs.

He sleeps in Foggy’s bed that night because neither of them wants to let go of each other.

A few days later, they fit another twin bed into Foggy’s room. His parents jump through hoops to become foster parents just so they can take him in and he won’t be in the system. And Matt, confused and scared and grateful, stays.

“Permanent sleepover,” Foggy says, flopping down on Matt’s bed, when they’ve mixed up the room to fit in all of Matt’s things. “You’re gonna get tired of me real quick, buddy.”

“I doubt it,” Matt says, sitting next to him. “How long have we known each other?”

“We reached for the same juicebox in kindergarten,” Foggy says, dreamily, “and it’s been true love ever since.”

Matt turns his head when he laughs, hoping that Foggy won’t see him blush.

“If I haven’t gotten tired of you by now, I think it’ll be fine,” he says.

“I mean, you’re sort of my brother now,” Foggy says, sitting up, “so our dynamic might dramatically change.”

“. . .do you think so?” Matt asks, feeling weird about it.

“Nah,” Foggy says. “Our friendship is rock solid.”

~~

“If you don’t put your dirty socks in the laundry hamper, I’m going to smother you to death with them,” Matt says, darkly, throwing one of the worst offenders at Foggy’s head.

“I can’t help that you’ve got a sensitive nose,” Foggy says.

“It doesn’t take a sensitive nose, Franklin!” Foggy’s mom says, passing by the door.

“Yeah, Franklin,” Matt echoes, smirking.

“You’ve been here a month,” Foggy says. “I can’t believe you’re already the favorite child.”

“I’m not,” Matt says, rolling his eyes.

“MA, WHO’S YOUR FAVORITE KID?” Foggy yells.

“MATT!” Foggy’s mom yells back.

“Told ya,” Foggy says, sounding happy.

~~~

The Nelsons throw Matt a thirteenth birthday party that he has to sneak away from midway through, not surprised when Foggy peeks his head into the bathroom to see him sitting in the bathtub.

“Hey, bud,” Foggy says, softly. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, wiping his eyes with his sleeves and trying to smile.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Foggy says, locking the bathroom door and climbing into the tub with him, pressed against his side.

“. . .I miss my dad,” Matt admits.

“Oh,” Foggy says, wrapping an arm around him. “First birthday without him.”

Matt nods.

Foggy hugs him close for a second before he presses a firm kiss to his temple and climbs out of the tub, saying, “Stay right there. I’m bringing back cake.”

Matt presses fingers to the place where Foggy kissed him and tries not to think too hard about it. Lately, he's been desperately trying not to make it weird that he's feeling new things when Foggy casually touches him.

~~~

They're fourteen when they're left home alone for a night and proceed to get drunk for the first time off three bottles of beer shared between them.

"Tell me about the kiss," Foggy insists.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Matt says, a little more smug than he means to be for someone that kissed a girl for five seconds during a game of spin the bottle. "It was just a kiss."

"Act it out," Foggy says, thrusting a throw pillow at him. "On this pillow."

"No," Matt says, giggling.

"You're useless to me, Murdock," Foggy says.

"C'mere," Matt says, leaning in, because his head is swimmy and they're all alone and Foggy will probably think that it's funny. He finds Foggy's face with both of his hands and kisses him softly on the mouth.

"Oh," Foggy says, softly.

". . .yeah," Matt says, sitting back slowly. "It was just. . ."

"A kiss," Foggy says.

"A kiss," Matt echoes, nodding.

~~~

The summer after their freshman year, they're bickering over something and it leads to stupid playfighting, a broken lamp and Matt flat on his bed with Foggy on top of him.

"Sorry," Foggy says, not moving.

Matt listens to his heartbeat for five seconds, trying to make a decision, but Foggy kisses him first this time. It's different than the first time. They're older and they've both kissed other people and it makes Matt moan, a noise that startles both of them.

They're quiet for a long moment.

". . .my, uhm. . .my parents want to officially adopt you," Foggy says, strained.

"Oh," Matt says.

[mixupmycota]

also vis a vis lucanis and his romance, spoilers for the whole thing

one of my initial comments on it was that i wasn't sure if it had started to fire or not, it felt like friendship+

this was not a complaint

i again think that people had standards set by bg3 that it isn't fair to hold veilguard too and it wouldn't be fair if it had come out next year either

but aside from that

while we don't have an exact timeline for how fast events in the game happen, it's pretty fast

it's more than a month i think but less than a year for sure.

my own horrors make me deeply sympathetic to lucanis and his reticence around open displays of affection and his hesitance to actually initiate a relationship

especially since it turns out he's never actually been in one before and the only time he ever tried to show interest in someone else before it bombed

it's entirely possible lucanis has never had sex to begin with, and he's fresh out of a year in captivity, he's having to get used to sharing his brain with a demon, Rook is the first person he considers a genuine actual friend aside from his cousin and like

yeah

there

he hoards food under his bed in the cellar, and he stays there because, textually, it has choke points and a single entrance and no windows

the lighthouse reminds him of the ossuary as it is, and he has trouble telling day from night and tries to keep track of every hour.

he also forces himself into a state of extreme sleep deprivation and is reliant on caffeine to help with this and settle his nerves

and he blames himself for the way several plot events can go and thinks that he should have been better / faster / stronger (now i need to listen to daft punk but that aside)

he has no idea how to manage his own ptsd aside from pretending that everything is fine, and is harrowed and haunted by the idea that he fails everyone around him. while he shrugs off many of the cutting things that companions have to say over the course of the game until they learn to trust him, some of the things they say clearly dig deep into his mind and he takes them on to the point they influence his own idea of himself

lucanis is a character terrified of failing people, of the amount of responsibility he carries, and is convinced that he is failing people at every turn

he holds himself to incredibly high standards

so yeah he's slow to open up

i am genuinely disappointed by how many people have responded to everything going on with this man with "he should make out with / fuck my rook faster" when like

leave him alone he needs time

it feels like people are expecting him to be very sexual based on his outward presentation and charm and im just holding my head like the character's facade is meant to be dismantled by the viewer please

and when he does

when he comes to you the night he gets you back after an undisclosed but apparently extensive amount of time in a torment nexus, he has had time to think about how long it took him to open up

he makes the choice to be brave and to risk being vulnerable

and he does it in rook's room

in front of the fish tank

which mimics the view he would have had in the ossuary, but reflects that in this moment rook had successfully helped him free himself from its memory to be there and exist and live with them

he trusts rook enough to almost fall asleep in their lap, he curls inward facing them and it made me cry

my rook being a mage and a necromancer at that also made this especially potent

lucanis trusts kalin with himself, and spite trusts him too, and that's such a precious thing actually

[clonebrainrot]

I touched on this on a post earlier about what the fates of Emerie/Howzer and Echo are and I want to expand on it as it’s another problem I have with rebels. Not so much TBB as rebels is the one to establish this.

I really do not like the fact that Rex retires for an undisclosed amount of time. It makes Rex as it stands now seem extremely selfish. Oh I got the clones a better life? Guess my job is done the rest of the galaxy be damned. Hell even if Echo had died I still would have thought this just to a slightly lesser degree.

Rex didn’t have Omega to watch over and Rex wasn’t continually beaten the shit out of. I do not think the batch had another fight left in them. Rex definitely did because he literally went back to the rebellion and continued to fight until he was like 76.

It seems almost out of character that Rex would retire. I don’t know if this is a popular or unpopular opinion, but I am voicing it regardless.

I want to preface I do think the bad batch is selfish as well as it should be everyone’s job to fight facism Even if it costs you your life, but they have a bit more of an excuse in that I don’t think Crosshair and Wrecker could even fight anymore. And raising a child away from war can trump fighting fascism

[louisisalarrie]

Hi! I am bbg anon from yesterday (the fairly new one). I had read on one of the other blogs that ppl in the fandom are assuming that harry's next stunt might be with a man. It may be possible because he had been through a lot of queerbaiting allegations and HS4's response (any more might dampen his reputation) might have to do with how they want to navigate it further. I never thought that H and L would come out separately. But I had read that a lot of veteran larries thought they were seedings of a CO of H in 2015. Ending bbg is an indication of Louis being gay and Larry being real (indirectly within the fandom and outside as well if anyone has their suspicion). I think what they can do when bbg ends is to show that Harry and Louis aren't together anymore (that's the least they can do) because there's no way in hell bbg ending won't create a Larry buzz. And Harry has already been accused of queerbaiting. I think if Harry is to stunt with a man, it's a good time to end babygate. Because Harry is dating someone else now. In the present moment. And Louis had a kid for almost nine years. He must be het. And then Louis must dip for another year and come back with LT3. Maybe stunt with another woman while Harry is out with a man? I think showcasing that they have broken up is a good barter for ending babygate. It will also help Harry in his queerbaiting allegations? What do you think?Harries might be supportive if it's not Louis he's in a relationship with. Solo louies will also be sympathetic towards Louis and accept the fact that he had been cheated on with the fact that he's a father and that Louis isn't with Harry at least. Us, Larries, on the other hand will know as we always do 🤪

Hey anon! Lovely to hear from you.

Yep, I think you’re on the right track here. And again, I can’t shut my damn mouth/stop my damn brain ever so this is now an official welcome to the show!

In short, bbg was the perfect stunt so Harry could come out and Louis 100% couldn’t be tied to him, because he was a dad. It separated their relationship from the public and when you think about the time this was all happening and their team, this was the best way to solidify the end of larry, while allowing Harry to be free. How could Louis be gay if he has a kid and is fucking every little blonde thing at a club? He can’t possibly be gay, and could never possibly be with Harry, so that was the plan. It was pretty foolproof, to the public and antis at least, until it all fell apart.

Now, we’re looking at a switch in stunts. Harry comes out, and yes, if he has to stunt with a man, so be it. It’s no different than stunting with a woman, but it is an acknowledgment of his sexuality and that’s an important step forward. As I’ve said before, this is a shitty long process and it’s not gonna be easy, but if we survived bbg, we can survive anything.

So, Harry comes out with a boyfriend in the ramp up of HS4. Explains some of the love songs, right? Removes queerbaiting allegations, which you’re right, is now tarnishing his brand, and solidifies an undisclosed sexuality that’s certainly not straight. If he is seen as bisexual/not straight but still likes the gals, he still has huge market appeal and it’s not gonna lose the amount of followers he’d lose if he came out as gay. What is his sexuality? I couldn’t tell ya. But he’s not straight, that’s for sure.

Anyway, maybe this will be the best way to visualise it and theorise:

1. Louis finishes tour, has a couple of festivals, and stays far away from Harry before taking a break/writing. Opposite sides of the world.

2. Harry comes out with a boyfriend in some pap pics in the lead up to HS4, just holding hands or something. No snogging or anything, just small caresses that pick up the public’s interest. It can be a very lowkey coming out to begin with, and still while he’s flapping about kinda quietly like right now and not 100% in the public eye yet. Think of it as… a soft launch to test it with the fans.

3. After some more little soft launches of his new relationship (Insta story perhaps), Harry and boy start ramping up the PR by making more appearances and hanging out with some other super high profile celebs (this boy will not be high profile, and perhaps an influencer or something instead. They won’t be getting another proper fandom involved. That would be bad news bears).

4. Harry makes some “thank you for accepting me” style tweet, and posts an image that’s just plain colour or something, that will allude to HS4.

5. Harry drops HS4, and is active on social media more so than usual. Connecting with fans, listening parties, etc.

6. After the initial HS4 hype drops a bit, seeding starts that Louis and baby mama are having fights over F, and the timing is VERY important here between larry btw. But a possible good reason would be that now louis is done with tour, he wants to spend more time with F, B is like “nooooo u left him for so long you can’t have more custody than what you have rn” and then that ends up in court and paternity test etc. bc she’s being super shady. Also keeps his name relevant while being off tour.

7. Harry carries on with fan interaction and projects, some more pap walks with boy and perhaps something more intimate.

8. It’s further seeded by “insiders” and then confirmed by Louis’ team that he’s not the dad/he’s having personal issues right now/pls respect his privacy bc he going through some SHIT

9. H and boy are going well, he’s booked in a tour, and Louis disappears completely from public eye/social media.

10. Louis reappears months later, on the other side of the world to Harry bc he’s on tour, and says that he’s not the dad, he’s gonna still love F like he’s his own kid, and that he’s gonna just focus on writing and spend some time with his family.

Boom. 10 steps to happiness. Now, granted that the above all goes well, it seems like the perfect plan. It ends bbg, allows Harry to come out, makes the public sympathise with Louis and gives him the “good guy” award while also upholding his hettiness, and keeps larry rumours super far away.

After that happens (which could probaaaaaably take about… 6 months? If it’s done correctly? Lol) the next step is larry reconciliation, which would probably take another 4-6 months to get them fully comfy, and then it’s a decision on whether they get to come out before, during, or after a 1d reunion. Which is a whole other bucket of fish.

Alas, 10 steps, which if done right, minimise harm to both Harry and Louis immensely. This is a foolproof plan that yes, willl lose them some followers, but can be handled correctly by the right team.

So, fingers crossed that the game will begin soon!

[sickficideas]

bella notte || akutagawa sickfic + atsushi and dazai

ao3! 6.5k - please refer to the tags and notes in the link for content + warnings!

Dazai knows it's not a good sign when Atsushi calls him an hour before midnight.

Truthfully, he's not doing anything particularly fulfilling or important. He had actually just finished an undisclosed amount of time staring at the ceiling without any intention of sleeping, like he does most nights, occasionally interrupted by his cell phone - so, really, it's good timing. Someone is giving him something to do.

He reaches for his cell phone, already knowing from the kitten ringtone he chose for Atsushi that it's him. He's not too worried. Atsushi doesn't have very good sleep habits himself, and he's called late for pointless questions and such before, so that's what he's expecting.

However, the shaky tone of voice he answers with immediately puts Dazai on edge.

"Are - are you still awake?" Atsushi stammers nervously almost as soon as Dazai picks up, without any room for him to say anything.

"I answered your call, didn't I?" Dazai asks as he sits up.

Atsushi pauses for a second. "Well - I know, but I don't want to disturb you if you're trying to sleep, I -"

"I wasn't," Dazai assures him. He really wasn't. He never sleeps before midnight, willingly or unwillingly, and even if he was, Atsushi sounds incredibly distressed. He wouldn’t favor sleep right now anyway. "What's going on?"

"Can you come to the agency?" Atsushi murmurs quietly, too quickly.

"The agency?" Dazai repeats.

"I couldn't take him to a hospital. I don't know what to do," Atsushi mumbles frantically. Dazai is slowly putting the pieces together. Whoever this is, is someone who should never be at the Agency to begin with.

"Take who?" he confirms, just to keep Atsushi honest.

"A -" Atsushi stops, like he's not sure he should be having this conversation, but Dazai has already connected the dots. And Atsushi probably knows that, too, because he's whispering now. Like he thinks he's in trouble. "Akutagawa."

"Atsushi," Dazai huffs. Now it's real, and not just a theory, so he actually has to deal with it. "You brought Akutagawa to the agency?"

"I know, I - I just, he's really sick, Dazai, and I couldn't…I couldn't -"

"I'll be there soon. I'm leaving now," Dazai tells him, rubbing both hands over his face as he sets his phone back down. "Do what you can until I get there."

Atsushi mumbles something resembling a confirmation before he hangs up reluctantly.

Maybe he should have just continued his very important activity.

…

"I'm here. Where are you two? The infirmary?" Dazai says as soon as Atsushi picks up the phone. He lets himself in with the keycard and starts to head that direction anyway. Normally, he wouldn't let something like this bother him, but he has a lot of unanswered questions right now. He doesn't have time to play around.

"Um - yeah, infirmary," Atsushi mumbles, but Dazai can already hear his voice in person as he approaches the infirmary door, which has been left slightly ajar.

Atsushi looks beyond relieved to see Dazai. His eyes shine and he looks like he's about to completely unravel all of his thoughts and feelings about all of this, but Dazai prioritizes the situation, and Atsushi seems to realize that.

Akutagawa is lying on his side on the cot furthest from the door, miraculously, without his signature coat. That's interesting, Dazai used to have to pry it off him in these situations.

Akutagawa doesn't look good at all, but this isn't the first time Dazai has seen him like this. In fact, it's probably not even the tenth, or twentieth.

He's frozen, for a second, feeling like he's sixteen again - hovering over a collapsed fourteen-year-old version of Akutagawa with a temperature so high the dingy thermometer he managed to get ahold of without Mori’s knowledge wouldn't read it correctly. He's holding his breath. Remembering the feeling of hoping to not get caught, because whatever Mori would do to Akutagawa upon finding out would be his responsibility to carry.

He shakes his head to try and dissolve the memories he’d long forgotten.

"What happened?" Dazai starts, his hands on his hips. He can tell a few things right off the bat. He's got a bad fever, that's for sure - he's incredibly pale and Dazai can see how the sweat has started to form along his hairline too, parts of his bangs plastered to his forehead and other parts sticking up. Atsushi is frozen in place, looking completely unsure of what to do, where his hands should be, where to look. He’s worried. Interesting.

He pays close attention to the way Akutagawa breathes, because his lungs are always his biggest concern. The number of times he had contracted pneumonia while under Dazai's care was truly astounding, and he'd hate for that to be the case again, but he doesn't hear that rattle in his chest he’s gotten so used to.

"Akutagawa," he starts, tilting his head to the side.

"He's - I…I found him like this, I don't know how long he's been this way for," Atsushi stammers in Akutagawa's place as Dazai leans down to get closer to him. He's out of it, that's for sure, but he's not unconscious or beyond reach.

"Akutagawa," he says again with a sigh, kneeling down just a bit. He watches the latter's eyes focus as soon as the sound hits his ears.

"Dazai," he breathes out in return, not sounding particularly delighted to see him, but not against it, either. He's desperately trying to hold his focus, and Dazai decides he would rather not waste his limited energy trying to find out how he got here, and instead try to fix what's right in front of him.

Akutagawa subconsciously seems to tell him that's the right choice, too - his eyes suddenly screw shut and he groans, obviously in some sort of major discomfort. Atsushi scurries around to the other side of the cot, like he's concerned that he's in the way of whatever Dazai is trying to do.

"What hurts? Your chest or your stomach?" Dazai asks him. He's familiar enough with the way his face twists up to know that it's one of the two.

"Both," he breathes out. Atsushi looks surprised at the fact that he's willingly given up that answer. Dazai thinks Akutagawa knows very well that he won't get far at all trying to withhold information from Dazai.

"Have you thrown up today?" Dazai asks him. Akutagawa has the most sensitive stomach out of anyone he's met, so he really should just start forgoing that question in favor of the next. Akutagawa nods, though. Barely. "How many times?"

He just barely makes a four with his hand before he's hit with another wave of pain, it seems like, and he curls in on himself.

"Okay. Then we'll need to get some fluids in you. You’re definitely dehydrated," he says with a puff as he stands up straight.

Dammit. He hates doing this. He hates needles, he hates them on himself and he hates using them on other people, but he doesn't have any other choice. At least now, Mori isn't breathing down his neck and watching him like a hawk, but it'll always feel that way.

"I can do it, Dazai," Atsushi tells him. Dazai snaps his head up a little too quickly, wondering for a second if he said all of that out loud by accident. "Yosano showed me how when Kyoka was sick."

Dazai almost wants to brush him off, but the idea of someone else doing this sounds too wonderful to pass up. He trusts Atsushi. He's not the type to offer to do something like this if he's not confident he can do it correctly.

Akutagawa curls in on himself a little tighter, forcing his eyes shut tight too once Atsushi walks off to get what he needs. Atsushi talks to himself as he gathers the supplies, reminding himself the steps Yosano gave him and the order or what he needs. Dazai just keeps an eye on Akutagawa, who is still aside from the occasional cough and shiver.

“Does this look right?” Atsushi asks, showing Dazai everything he's collected on the tray. Dazai scans everything and nods, that looks right to him.

Atsushi sets the tray down on the nightstand and takes Yosano's stool, looking afraid to bark any orders at Akutagawa.

"Lay on your back, Akutagawa," Dazai tells him sternly, because he knows he won't listen if Atsushi asks him to. Akutagawa does as he's told without any deliberation aside from a pained groan. Dazai knows it's uncomfortable to lay that way with the way he's feeling, but he needs him to right now.

Atsushi takes Akuatgawa’s arm hesitantly. Akutagawa seems to pick up on that with how tense he holds his arm, fighting back on purpose, but Atsushi squeezes his arm in retaliation with a glare that's only mean to Atsushi himself, and adorable to everyone else.

Maybe not to Akutagawa, but it does enough to get him to give up.

"Don't…don't destroy my veins," Akutagawa murmurs as his arm goes limp and he turns his head away from Atsushi.

"You better shut the hell up, 'cause I could just toss you back out in the alley if I wanted to," Atsushi huffs, a far cry from how nervous he seemed to be doing this just a second ago. He seems to have remembered that Akutagawa is just as much of a coward as he is.

"Do it," Akutagawa grumbles. He's so sick and weak, and still has the gall to bicker back at him. Dazai huffs through his nose. It's a too-familiar sight. It always feels strange when Akutagawa reminds him of himself. The two bicker with each other like a ragged street dog and a house cat fighting over food.

"I won't," Atsushi grumbles back. "I'm not some heartless bastard."

That seems to quiet Akutagawa, for some reason. Maybe he agrees and refuses to admit it. Dazai isn't sure.

He watches Atsushi work, impressed to see he does this relatively well for only having been taught one time. Dazai looks away as soon as the needle becomes involved, and decides instead to make sure that he locked the door to the infirmary.

When he wanders back, Atsushi seems to have finished placing the IV and is now busy preparing the fluids on the IV pole, and Dazai's eyes drop back down to Akutagawa.

Dazai realized a little too late that Akutagawa likely only dropped his squabble with Atsushi because he's trying to will away intense nausea, but it seems like he's lost the battle. He tries to push himself up onto his elbows, and Dazai is certain that he's about to vomit, and Atsushi hasn't caught on. He takes the bin that was tucked away under the cot on the other side of Atsushi and holds it up under Akutagawa’s chin, figuring they can at least avoid him throwing up on the floor, just in time for him to choke up a few mouthfuls of stomach acid and bile. Of course he doesn’t have much at all to bring up.

Atsushi's frozen, eyes wide, clearly uncertain of what to do. Dazai isn't sure either. Akutagawa used to not let a soul touch him when he was throwing up. Something about his vulnerability complex, and he doubts much of that has changed, but Atsushi doesn't know that. He lays a hand on his shoulder.

Dazai freezes for a second, fully expecting Akutagawa to whip around and curse him out at best, and maybe decapitate him at worst, but all he does is flinch. Maybe he's distracted by the next unproductive gag his body forces, Dazai isn't sure. Dazai's now distracted himself, painfully aware of how much he's shaking, how painful the retching sounds.

"Stop holding your breath like that, it doesn’t help," Dazai tells him, and Akutagawa immediately takes in a shaky breath, like he had forgotten. He's not sure where that habit of his comes from, but it's resulted in him passing out before, so he has to make sure to get him to stop before that can happen. "When was the last time you had something to eat?"

Akutagawa doesn't answer, even though he very clearly heard the question. He just breathes shaky and heavy over the bin and spits up whatever is left in his mouth. Dazai will guess at least yesterday. Akutagawa has another habit of refusing to eat when he's nauseous, and Dazai knows for certain that's a habit he picked up from living in the slums.

He starts to slowly lay back into the cot with a shaky sigh, his head turned away from Atsushi, and Atsushi quietly takes his hand back, visibly a little concerned by what just happened.

"You know it hurts more when there's nothing in your stomach," Dazai says with a disapproving sigh. He's told Akutagawa this on multiple occasions. He knows the reason. Vomiting was simply another waste of food in the circumstances he had to live through before, in the slums. If he had any of the group's food and threw up, it would mean precious resources were wasted.

"I know," Akutagawa breathes out. Dazai imagines he'd roll his eyes too, if he had the energy.

“You should say something if you think you might throw up next time,” Atsushi chides with a nervous sigh. He connects the fluids line to Akutagawa’s IV.

“Stop telling me what to do. I’m not a child,” Akutagawa grumbles.

“Maybe if you quit acting like one, I wouldn’t have to treat you like one,” Atsushi grumbles and huffs through his nose back at him like an exasperated mother. He’s horribly stubborn, it really goes against Atsushi’s vibe, but he still puts up with it for some reason. Dazai almost smiles.

“Enough,” Akutagawa murmurs, sounding noticeably more tired than before. Arguing for no reason takes a lot of his energy, evidently. He shifts his arm from the discomfort of the IV. “I’m older than you, Weretiger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like that’s ever mattered to you before,” Atsushi grumbles to himself. Akutagawa is certainly not one to consider seniority for any reason.

Atsushi finishes situating everything as Akutagawa shuts his eyes. Dazai doubts he’s truly trying to sleep, but he’s sure he’s been awake for much longer than necessary. Resting his eyes at the very least isn’t a bad idea.

Atsushi is doing a pretty good job looking after him, considering how much he’s been bickering.

Dazai stays where he’s at but sits back down on the cot beside Akutagawa’s, carefully watching his form.

“What should I do to bring his fever down?” Atsushi asks after turning around once, like he’s not sure what else to do, hands awkwardly floating in front of him.

“Cold rags or something. I’m pretty sure there’s some under the sink,” Dazai answers, and Atsushi nods, heading that direction right away. When Dazai’s gaze drifts back down to Akutagawa, he thinks he might have actually fallen asleep. He’ll see how long that lasts for, he’s not a heavy sleeper at all, but it might help Atsushi for the moment.

Atsushi comes back with a damp, cold washcloth, nervously reaching down for his forehead.

"Lay it over his stomach instead. It'll cool him down faster," Dazai insists. Back in the Port Mafia, he was in this situation so many times that he started testing to see what worked better. Akutagawa is so prone to random fevers. "Usually helps his nausea a little too."

Atsushi looks unsure. Dazai moves to the stool beside the cot and lays a hand over Akutagawa’s wrist to show Atsushi he doesn't need to worry about Akutagawa attacking him, even while unconscious.

"Are you sure? Don’t these usually go on foreheads?" Atsushi asks.

"He moves his head too much. A cooling patch would be better for that," Dazai says with a shrug, "but he'll complain. He doesn't like the adhesive."

"Well, he needs it, so he can shove it," Atsushi huffs. He really sounds like an annoyed mother. It's amusing, Dazai can't help but smile.

He keeps a hand over Akutagawa’s wrist, the other carefully lifting his shirt. Akutagawa flinches, likely not expecting that, but he relaxes after Atsushi slides the washcloth to lay over his tummy. He’s used to that. Dazai hopes it gives him some relief.

"Should we give him medicine?" Atsushi asks, sitting back down on the stool, unsure what to do from here.

"He won't be able to keep it down,” Dazai reminds him. When he’s sick like this, even if he cooperates, he usually can’t even keep sips of water down. They always come back up.

Atsushi frowns.

"Doesn't she keep injectable stuff here?" Atsushi suggests after a few seconds. It’s a good idea, in theory. “We could put it in his IV line.”

"She logs it. She'd notice it was missing," Dazai says. He knows enough to be able to figure out what to give him, but he doesn’t have any clue what kind of medications and treatments Akuatagawa is currently on.

Atsushi nods dejectedly, trying to think of another option, it seems. If there was one, Dazai would have already thought of it.

"Normally you wouldn't care," Atsushi points out, almost like it’s a test. A measure of keeping him honest, maybe.

“About what?” Dazai asks with a tilt of his head. Innocently. Atsushi doesn’t take the bait.

“Yosano catching you,” Atsushi says, his gaze narrowed, arms crossing over his chest.

Dazai’s surprised that he caught onto that, because he really hadn’t considered that himself, but soon enough, he realizes why. "Yeah…yeah, I know."

Dazai wouldn’t care if it was Kunikida. It wouldn’t matter if it was Atsushi, or even Ranpo, really. Not even Fukuzawa. But it’s Yosano.

He’s not sure why the idea of being caught by her sends a shiver up his spine. She wouldn’t do anything to him, no realistically. Is it because she’s a doctor? Dazai’s never liked doctors. He hates hospitals and needles and anything related, but Yosano has never hurt him. He’s imagining her. She’s at her desk, filing away some papers, but she turns around and it’s Mori’s face.

He remembers to breathe. Atsushi tilts his head. Dazai smiles at him.

He doesn’t really have anything to say back to Atsushi. That’s a first.

Atsushi drops it, though. He heads over to the supply closet after a few moments of silence to get a blanket for Akutagawa - a kind gesture - and lays it over him carefully, not wanting to wake him, if he’s truly still asleep.

Dazai’s still stuck in his own head, though, staring off into the corner, staring Mori right in the face.

…

Thankfully, Akutagawa is one of the easiest people to read when it comes to sleeping. His breathing is quiet and relaxed when he’s asleep, but it’s erratic and irregular when he’s awake, especially when he’s trying to pretend he’s sleeping.

And really, it sounds much worse than it should. Worse than before.

"I know you're awake," Dazai says.

He’s sitting on the stool, now. He and Atsushi switched spots at some point, and somehow, Atsushi ended up curling up on top of the sheets of the second cot and falling asleep. Dazai’s not cruel enough to wake him. He’s not going to sleep himself, either way.

"Why won't you leave," Akutagawa mumbles, his eyes opening, staring up at the ceiling. His voice has become hoarse, his eyes are still glassy, too. He hasn’t improved much. Dazai took his temperature about an hour prior, and it’s still sitting at one hundred and two.

"I'm not leaving you in my place of employment unattended,” Dazai scoffs. He’s teasing him, but Akutagawa never recognizes the difference.

"Do you think -" he coughs as he attempts to sit up, "do you really think I -"

He breaks into a coughing fit, because of course he does. He covers his mouth with his forearm, nearly choking on his breaths from how difficult it is for him to breathe.

Dazai just waits, because there's nothing else he can do. Chuuya's called him cruel for it before, but he'd rather not waste Akutagawa's time by patting his back or offering him water when neither will help him.

He’s faced with the image of a fourteen-year-old curled up in front of him and coughing so hard he can’t breathe, and suddenly, he remembers Atsushi’s hand on Akutagawa’s shoulder, just a few hours ago.

Was Dazai really in the right for that?

"Have you seen a doctor recently?" Dazai asks once Akutagawa’s coughing has died down, but it’s exhausted him so much that he lays back down with a frustrated huff. He doesn’t look good. His eyes tell more than Akutagawa would like them to, he’s sure. "About your lungs?"

"I don't want to discuss this in front of the Weretiger," Akutagawa grumbles, his eyes shifting to the latter’s sleeping form on the other cot.

"He's asleep. Don't avoid my question," Dazai tells him. Atsushi isn’t the type to fake being asleep to listen in on a conversation. He’s a bad liar. Akutagawa turns his head away from Dazai. "It's not good, is it?"

"No," Akutagawa admits. He won't look at Dazai.

"A year?" Dazai asks after a brief moment of silence. He can hear himself breathe.

"Less," Akutagawa says quietly.

Dazai wishes he could explain the way his heart feels. He doesn't fully understand it.

He's known for a long time that something was wrong. He initially assumed it was asthma. He personally dealt with that for a long time too, but when Akutagawa started fainting from getting so out of breath, and coughing up blood after coughing fits, Dazai slowly started to realize Akutagawa must be very sick.

Mori would know a way to fix it. Mori would know someone or something that could give Akutagawa more time, but alerting Mori of his condition could be dangerous. Not could be, it would be. There is no avoiding that fact.

Dazai would never want to put him through the horrors he went through, the things Mori did to him under the guise of trying to get the sight in his right eye back. He doesn't want to imagine the things he'd do to Akutagawa considering it's his lungs, not just an eye. He feels sick, suddenly sucked into a memory of Mori with a pair of hemostats and -

He shivers. He's so unbelievably torn.

"Does anyone know?" Dazai asks. He hates the shake in his tone. He does his best to hide it, but thankfully Akutagawa isn't one to pick up on subtleties like that.

"I haven't told anyone," Ryuunosuke manages with a shaky sigh, "I'm sure some have guessed."

Gin must know. While they've been separated for most of their time in the Port Mafia, Akutagawa was showing signs of his lung disease even before then. But even so, it says a lot to Dazai that Akutagawa refuses to tell someone as important to him as his sister. Gin knows things about him that even Dazai doesn’t know.

"You should tell someone," he says quietly, his gaze dropping down to the hands he’s stuffed into his pockets. "People who care about you. Your friends, at least."

"I don't have any friends," Akutagawa scoffs, as if it's ridiculous to assume such a thing. That’s the only brief moment he actually looks at him, like he’s trying to decide whether or not Dazai is joking.

"Really?" Dazai says, a brow raised. "Because Atsushi wouldn't call me in the middle of the night and beg me to help him take care of his enemy."

Akutagawa's eyes widen at the implication he's making there, clearly thinking

"He would do that. Because he's foolish. And his actions are entirely incomprehensible," Akutagawa murmurs, his voice getting quieter with each word he speaks. He coughs a few times, but no fits follow right after, thankfully. "I don't understand him, Dazai."

He sounds far away, in that moment, like the sentiment whisked him away into thought. His eyes even unfocus.

Dazai almost says something, but Akutagawa is whisked into a coughing fit before Dazai can finish any thoughts he might be having. It’s not as bad as the first one, at least.

“So you’re just determined to die without anyone around to even say goodbye, huh? Not even your sister.”

Akutagawa is quiet for a moment, and Dazai recognizes the irony in his words before Akutagawa calls him out on it. Not even the mention of his dear sister riles him up, and that tells Dazai he’s firm in his decision. “I don’t recall your plans being any different.”

Dazai just smiles.

"Close your eyes and get some rest. We need to get you out of here before everyone starts arriving in the morning," he reminds him, hands shoved into his pockets. He thinks he sounds a bit like Kunikida right now. "Take better care of yourself to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"You would laugh if anyone ever said that to you," Akutagawa scoffs.

Dazai almost smiles at the accusation. “I don’t like how self-aware you are, these days.”

“Hm.”

…

Only an hour later, when Dazai checks his temperature again, does he realize he needs to get Akutagawa home. They’re getting dangerously close to the time when others would start to arrive at the Agency.

Akutagawa hasn’t gotten any better, but the fever he has is steady at a hundred and two. Even so, he’s completely devoid of energy, with little to no reaction as Dazai takes his temperature and changes out the washcloth Atsushi placed.

Dazai lays a hand over Akutagawa’s forehead at one point, pushing his hair from his face, and even though his temperature hasn’t climbed, his skin feels worse - unbelievably hot. Akutagawa’s eyes even roll up to look at Dazai, but he doesn’t say or do anything. He can’t. He looks miserable.

“Dazai,” Atsushi says sleepily from behind him, shifting to sit up from where he is on the cot. He still sounds half asleep, but driven by a need for his question to be answered. “How is he…?”

“We need to get him home. I think he’ll do better if he’s somewhere he can let his guard down,” Dazai says quietly, hoping to be out of earshot of Akutagawa’s fever-riddled brain. Akutagawa’s still so tense, he can see it in his shoulders, the way his hands haven't flattened. He’d never relax in a place like this.

Atsushi is quiet for a moment, likely trying to wake himself up. He rubs his eyes and swings his legs over the side of the cot. “I still have…I still have the number of that woman he works with.”

“Higuchi,” Dazai recalls. Higuchi wasn’t in the organization during Dazai’s time. He doesn’t know much about her. Gin would be a better option, simply in getting Akutagawa to cooperate, Dazai’s seen him shut down around her too. Gin’s not an option regardless, he has no contact with her.

Atsushi scrambles for his phone and manages to find an old saved photo of Higuchi’s business card, given to him that first week he met her and Akutagawa. Dazai only gets a glance at the number before he dials it into his phone, and he steps off the stool and wanders to the other side of the room just in time for Higuchi to answer.

She’s silent for a second, like she’s suspicious of who’s calling her. He’s surprised to have an answer, although, it isn’t unusual at all for a Port Mafia member to be up at this ungodly hour.

"You're -" she starts to hiss, but Dazai doesn’t let her finish. He doesn’t have the time.

"Akutagawa is at the Armed Detective Agency and needs to be brought somewhere he can rest. Can you take care of that?" Dazai asks sternly, a chill traveling up his spine, thinking he sounds a little too much like he did four years ago.

“What? That’s…that’s where he is?” Higuchi stammers, her tone suddenly much softer. “Is he hurt? You-”

“Hurry or I’ll find somewhere else to put him,” Dazai huffs, and hangs up before the woman can get in a response.

He doesn’t have any doubts that Higuchi will be here as soon as possible. As far as he’s aware, she’s incredibly loyal to Akutagawa, beyond that of what most subordinates are.

Atsushi has moved to the stool beside Akutagawa’s cot, carefully leaned over him with a tense, uncertain expression coming over his face. He turns his head to give Dazai that same uncertain look.

“He looks worse,” Atsushi murmurs quietly. “You think he’ll be okay?”

Dazai just nods. Akutagawa has gotten sick and recovered hundreds of times at this point, and there’s no way he would let it finally bring him down here of all places, despite the help of his so-called enemy. He certainly understands Atsushi’s concern. He isn’t used to seeing him like this.

Thankfully, it’s not long at all until Higuchi arrives, calling Dazai’s cell phone back to alert them that she’s here.

Akutagawa isn’t able to move, much less walk downstairs with them to make it to her car. Dazai looks around for some kind of temporary wheelchair they can use for him, he’s almost certain he’s seen one in Yosano’s office, but before he can, Atsushi offers to help.

“I think he’s too out of it to try anything,” Atsushi says, looking over Akutagawa. “I’ll carry him. That’d be the fastest.”

Dazai nods, surprised Atsushi is suddenly offering to do something like that, despite all of his hesitancy to touch him earlier, but Dazai agrees. Akutagawa hasn’t even spoken a word since their conversation while Atsushi was asleep. Even though his fever hasn’t climbed, hopefully because of the fluids and the washcloths, he certainly feels much worse. And for Akutagawa, it takes quite a bit to truly silence him.

So, Atsushi slides his arm under Akutagawa’s neck and knees, looking a little surprised by how light he is, and brings him to the door. Dazai picks up Akutagawa’s coat, knowing they won’t hear the end of it if he doesn’t get that back.

Higuchi’s car is parked right outside the agency. She stands outside of her car with a sour expression, ready to tear into whoever speaks to her first, but it slides off like water to show a deep concern - horror, almost, like she thinks Atsushi is carrying a corpse. She doesn’t waste any time in opening the passenger car door and laying back the seat for Atsushi to lay Akutagawa onto. Her body language has changed completely, now aware her superior is in fact alive, but confused and scared all the same.

“Be careful that his fever doesn’t get any higher. It’s at a hundred and two,” Dazai tells her as soon as she looks to him, silently begging for some sort of explanation. He hands her Akutagawa’s coat. “He’s not injured, but very sick. Don’t let him get worse.”

“I - I won’t,” she says, nodding fervently. He thinks she’s deciding whether or not to say thank you, watching Atsushi click in Akuatgawa’s seat buckle with zero retaliation from the latter. He backs away before Higuchi carefully closes the car door, and Atsushi doesn’t look any less concerned than he did before. “You…found him, Weretiger?”

Atsushi nods.

“We haven’t been able to reach him for several days,” she says quietly, and Dazai realizes he must have been hiding on purpose. Atsushi is lucky to have found him. “I don’t understand why you would go out of your way to help him, but…thank you…”

Atsushi looks like he wants to say something, even though he’s unsure of his response, but Dazai turns and starts to walk back to the Agency door. Atsushi pauses for a second before he turns on his heel to follow Dazai, not able to gather the courage to say whatever it is he wanted her to hear.

Dazai hears her car’s engine start up before they close the building door behind them, and he trails back up the stairs, with about half an hour to spare until their Agency members’ arrivals.

"Dazai," Atsushi starts as they ascend the stairs, him trailing closely behind Dazai. "You're used to taking care of him."

“You could say that,” Dazai answers vaguely. He’s trying to decide if the two of them should go back to the dorms for ten minutes of sleep, but he knows he won’t catch any himself anyway. Might as well stay at the Agency.

"Was he sick a lot?" Atsushi asks as they make it to their floor.

"He was. Bad immune system, awful at taking care of himself," Dazai says, opening the Agency front door to let them into their office. He turns on the light, squinting as his eyes re-adjust. "Nothing's changed, seems like."

“He told me something,” Atsushi murmurs after a brief pause, like it’s not something he’s sure he can say. “About his health.”

Dazai’s shoulders drop an inch or two.

He’s told Atsushi. No one but Atsushi.

Dazai almost wants to laugh. What are the odds, that he would choose to tell Atsushi, of all people? Akutagawa says he doesn’t understand Atsushi, but Dazai is having a difficult time comprehending Akutagawa’s actions, at the moment.

“I don’t know if he thought he was gonna die, or…or why he’d want hide from all of them,” Atsushi says quietly, gaze averted when Dazai turns around to look at him. Dazai understands it. Akutagawa hates how delicately he’s treated on account of his health. He can’t stand others worrying about him. He can certainly imagine Akutagawa hiding away once he truly thinks he’s at the end of his life, like a stray dog looking for a hole to die in.

“You didn’t find him,” Dazai realizes, taking note of the change in body language, the subtle hints he’s given through his words, “he came to you.”

The street dog going to the house cat for help.

Atsushi has nothing to say to that, it seems.

Atsushi situates himself at his desk, straightening it out from the day before, quietly and to himself, still not quite focused and obviously tired, but Dazai’s glad he got a little bit of sleep, at least. He can feel his own eyelids start to feel heavy, but he needs to make sure the infirmary is clear of anything that might arouse their resident doctor’s suspicion.

So, he gets to work. Cleaning up any sign of Akutagawa’s presence. The cot, the IV pole, the IV catheter supplies. Atsushi peeks in and asks what he can do to help, but Dazai assures it won’t take him long at all, and Atsushi’s head disappears.

He’s rolling the IV pole back to his original place when he sees another form appear in the doorway, but it’s not Atsushi. Dazai holds his breath.

Yosano stands in the doorway with a huff.

"Do I even want to know?" she starts.

"Hm…probably not," he answers with a nervous half-smile, meeting her gaze just as he closes the closet supply door. She’s arrives just a second too early. Their doctor is a detective as well, he remembers, and likely would have figured it out no matter what.

He wishes Atsushi would have kept Akutagawa at his apartment, but it’s too late now. He would have had to sneak out supplies from here either way.

"Are you and Atsushi safe?" she asks, heels clicking against the cold floor as she enters the room. She’s closed the door behind herself, and Dazai leans against the supply closet door, feigning nonchalance.

Dazai nods.

"I don't like you betraying my trust,” Yosano says. He's not used to this tone in her voice. It's dark and it reminds him of someone he doesn't want to think about. He doesn’t see Agency Yosano right now. It’s ex-mafia Yosano, ex-military Yosano. Ever since she’s learned Dazai’s history, she’s been on edge with him, but she was never entirely comfortable with him before then.

"Won't do it again,” he says. He's trying to sound as casual as he can, but he's sure she can see right through him. He feels Mori staring at him. Not necessarily through Yosano’s eyes, but somewhere, here in this space. He needs to sleep.

Yosano raises a brow. "How do I know that?"

"I don't think you're heartless enough to want to send even your enemies to Mori for medical treatment, Yosano," Dazai tells her, more than aware she’s already figured out exactly who was in her infirmary.

"Surely it wasn't serious enough for Mori to need to intervene if you took him here," Yosano says. “You knew what you were doing. He taught you just as he taught me.”

He feels sick, hearing that.

"His doctor is in Kyoto and refuses to come treat him here. And tonight he needed help sooner than he could make it there," Dazai says. His chest tightens.

“You’re lying,” Yosano says. “Atsushi is here. He called you and asked you to help.”

Yes, she’s still a detective.

“I don’t know how long he has left to live. He has a terminal lung disease he won’t give me any information on,” Dazai huffs. “I don't want his last few months to be at the mercy of Mori's unlicensed experimentation when I can easily help him myself with what we have here. Maybe you'll agree."

Yosano’s expression changes completely. Like he’s told her something that he couldn’t possibly know about, unless -

“Dazai, did he…were you - ”

“Are we done?” he asks, already kicking himself for the shake in his tone. He just smiles. Smile and pretend nothing about this makes him want to bolt through the door and jump out of the window.

She pauses for a second. Dazai is begging and praying she doesn’t finish that question, because he doesn’t want to answer, but he thinks his reaction has probably been answer enough.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” Yosano says, her gaze dropping the floor, looking conflicted, angry with herself. “You can go.”

And, he does.

He manages to keep himself together long enough to avoid some sort of breakdown, manages to push away any thoughts or awful memories when he walks into their locker room, face to face with Kunikida, who looks concerned, but more confused.

"Dazai," Kunikida starts.

He really doesn't have the energy for an act right now. Even thinking about it hurts the muscles in his cheeks.

"Can I go home?" he asks quietly. He's exhausted. He wants to at least try to sleep, even though he’s certain he’ll get very little of that.

"I was about to ask you to," Kunikida says, closing his locker. "What happened?"

"Long story," Dazai answers. Kunikida gets the memo, and doesn't seem to want to continue questioning. Dazai’s beyond thankful for it. He doesn’t want to recount any of that. He’s far more content with coming in the next day and pretending he and Yosano are best friends with absolutely no shared history, that they don’t know a thing about what the other went through.

“I’ll bring you lunch later,” Kunikida says, thumbing through a notebook he had pulled from his locker.

It’s really a terrible time for a tear to slip from his eye. He didn’t have any idea he was close to crying. He must be ridiculously sleep-deprived.

“Dazai,” Kunikida says again, this time, with a tight grip on his wrist. “I’ll take you home. Okay?”

Dazai can only nod.