#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."

[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.

[joyride-time]

How Old is Bang DuPree? Timeline Speculation

Bangladesh DuPree is a character we’ve got a decent amount of background info about. She is the daughter of a deposed and now dead pirate queen who was out on a solo trip when her group’s attempt to keep Zeetha captive and sell her as a slave went lethally wrong. Afterwards she signed up with Klaus as the right monster for the right job, and has been having a good time despite the Empire not giving her any more information on who destroyed her fortress. Klaus assigned her to spend some time with Gil in Paris, they became friendly, and the last bit of pre-canon info we have is that she is the one who destroyed Moloch’s squad.

One thing we don’t know is how old she is. I think that’s fine: the timeline has a lot of moving parts and nailing things down without thinking them through carefully can have awkward results. But I like to guess.

Zeetha has been wandering for three years at the start of canon. Tarvek took Tinka from the Circus three years precanon. Book 2 states that Bang has been working for Klaus for three years. This makes Klaus sending Bang to Paris with Gil one of the very first things he ever ordered her to do.

Secret Blueprints is supplemental material that isn’t necessarily accurate, but it states that Bang led the pirates for two years, and it’s the only statement we have about this.

This isn’t quite enough information to tell Bang’s age, but we do have some other information: her family! She actually has a named brother, Deathwish DuPree and an unnamed but onscreen father. Deathwish is her older brother, but he’s not visibly aged. And her father left her mother ten years ago (2.5 years after canon starts): the way that Bang is upset about it, it feels like she was a kid when that happened. And her mother seemed to still be in control of her country at the time, since he refers to the pressure of monarchy to explain why he left.

I’ll set the minimum age as 22 at the start of canon, since there’s in-universe speculation about whether Gil and DuPree banged or not and that’s Gil’s age in the books.

This makes her personal timeline at the youngest look like:

14 years old = Bang’s father abandons her and her mother.

1? years old: Deathwish leaves his family behind, possibly because of amnesia.

1? years old: The people of Bang’s island city rebel, deposing them. Her and her mother begin gathering resources to retake the throne.

17 years old: Bang’s mother dies. Bang becomes leader of her pirate crew.

19 years old: Bang returns from a solitary trip to find her fortress completely destroyed.

19 years old: Bang meets Gil in Paris and hangs out with him for an undisclosed amount of time

22 years old: Bang kills most of Moloch’s squad under the Baron’s flag. She also sees the time windows and informs Klaus of this. Canon happens.

23-25 years old: Mechanicsburg is timestopped. Bang sticks close to Gil through his early years of Baroning,

25 years old: Bang is informed that Zeetha is the one who destroyed her fortress. She quits working for Gil temporarily and leads Agatha’s expedition to Rat Island. She seems to have rejoined the Empire after Rat Island.

I always felt like Bang was a little older than Gil, but looking at when her father left, I think her being the same age works. It does make her a young pirate queen, but Europa seems to look at competence more than age when it comes to these things.

If anyone has any relevant info from the radio show they’d like to share, I am very curious to hear it!

[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?"

[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.

[more-sonorous]

sun, moon, stars part 1— jatherid blurb

I adore this ship and I decided to write the hypothetical beginning of a fic loosely based on a post I saw by @blurglesmurfklaine about these three being roomies during the 2020 quarantine

Please lmk if you’d consider reading more! Also TW for mentions of the Covid pandemic!

…

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.” 

Katherine Pulitzer watched as her best friend, David Jacobs, anxiously traced his thumb over the grooves in the table beneath them. He always had a lot of nervous energy, but this was another level.

Those round, green eyes of his were flitting about behind the lenses of his thick-framed glasses, flicking between his laptop and her. She frowned and reached across the table to gently pat his hand. 

“Maybe you’re right, David.” She said, doing her best to reassure him with a calm smile. “You might enjoy some time back at home…”

“Trapped in my parents’ house for an undisclosed amount of time without Sarah? Yeah.” He let out a dry laugh and buried his face in his hands.

She glanced over the familiar pattern of freckles on the backs of his pale hands as her mind raced to try and come up with a solution. 

Katherine and David grew up side-by-side in a small town in upstate New York. They went to the same synagogue and attended the same schools, and had been virtually inseparable since first grade. They’d even gone to the same college and purposefully lived in the same dormitories each year, because they couldn’t be roommates due to their genders. Post-college they were just as close. Kath knew David like the back of her own hand, and knew his family very well by extension. The Jacobs’s were incredibly nice. Esther and Mayer were loving parents that cared deeply for their children, Sarah, David, and Les, which often led to David feeling burdened when he visited. 

Unlike his younger brother and elder sister, David was an introvert with narcolepsy. That led to his parents smothering him when he stayed with them, something that he didn’t necessarily appreciate in large dosages. Now that an imminent quarantine in New York City had been announced, Katherine could tell he wasn’t excited to drive one-and-a-half hours upstate and out of the city just to sequester himself away with two fretting parents and a teenage younger brother. 

“Where’s Sarah staying? I still don’t think I get why you two can’t hole up in your apartment together.” She took a brief sip of her latte and closed the keyboard of her iPad, fully immersing herself in the conversation.

David shrugged as he glanced out the window adjacent to him. The streets looked deceptively normal, despite the warning the city’d just received. “She’s going to stay with her fianceé and her family. They have a vacation house in Massachusetts.”

“Right…” Katherine winced sympathetically as she tried to read him for his opinion. He had a telltale furrow in his brow that showed how disappointed he was. “I forgot Sarah’s been gold digging.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I wish I could live alone.” He lamented, glancing up at her with a sad little smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “Narcolepsy and autism aren’t a good combination.” 

Katherine rolled her eyes fondly, reaching across their little cafe table to fix his glasses. “You make it work, though.”

“Barely.” He shrugged, and as he glanced down at the string he was spinning between his fingers, probably picked off of his sweatshirt. She saw just how bothered David was about all of this. There was a rigid hunch to his shoulders and his normally smiling face had been twisted into an unhappy resting frown. “Like— I love my parents and I like visiting home, but I moved out for a reason, you know? They make me feel like I’m incapable of functioning without constant supervision, which just isn’t true.” 

“Of course.” She nodded, sympathy tugging at her heartstrings.

David was brilliant. He was one of the smartest people she knew. They’d been neck-to-neck for valedictorian in school and he’d ended up stealing the spot with his straight A’s, 4.0 GPA and 34 on the ACT. Hell, he was working through a master’s degree in Juridical Science, and still managed to tack on both a history minor and a literature minor during undergrad. She’d gladly tell anyone she knew that he was a genius. Kath didn’t know exactly why David couldn’t live alone, but she knew that narcolepsy made it dangerous. He couldn’t drive because of his condition and she knew that sometimes he needed help waking up and sleeping. She also knew that because of his autism, he tended to lose himself in reading or school projects, because she’d had to remind him herself to eat or take breaks multiple times throughout their friendship. 

He didn’t deserve to feel babied. The thought of David holed up in his house and miserable while she spent her quarantine happy with her boyfriend made her feel uncomfortable. 

Yes, Kath moved in with her boyfriend of three months, Jack Kelly, and despite what her parents said, she regretted nothing so far. Jack had a nice studio apartment in Upper Manhattan and she’d rather die than spend quarantine in the Pulitzer mansion with her asshole father and suburbanite mother. Not to mention at least one of her six other siblings would be home, and Katherine didn’t get along well with most of them.

She was sort of the black sheep in her family. A bisexual, unmarried journalist in her late twenties, moving in with her Hispanic boyfriend after only knowing him for a few months? Her family was constantly having conniption fits over her life, and she was too happy to care. 

Jack brought so much joy to her life. She didn’t care that her parents hated the fact he was a full-time artist. She ignored the snide remarks her father made about his ethnicity and illegal immigrants. Her mother liked to gossip about his ‘street style’ because he had one of his ears pierced and he liked to wear ripped jeans. They warned her about a potential ‘seedy past’ just because he had scars on his arms and face— just two little ones splitting his eyebrow and left jaw. They were wrong about Jack, though. He was sweet and funny and passionate and talented, and Katherine liked that in men.

So she’d moved in three weeks ago, and things were going swimmingly. Part of her wanted David to be that happy, and part of her didn’t even know if she could handle being away from him indefinitely.

“There’s got to be something we can do.” She stated firmly, watching him miserably pick at his untouched croissant. “Someone you can stay with…”

“I’m not burdening anyone but my family with my health issues.” He responded just as stubbornly. 

“Don’t even. You’re not a burden. What about—“ The idea struck her like some sort of cartoonish eureka moment. She felt her own grin and wondered why she hadn’t had the thought to do this before. “What about me and Jack? Jack’s brother Tony’s moving in with his boyfriend for quarantine so his room’ll be open…”

David’s cheeks began to splotch pink beneath his freckles. “I— I haven’t even met Jack.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. He’ll like you. He has to like you. You’re my best friend, and you’re part of the Katherine Pulitzer Package.”

A sheepish grin took over his face and he dropped eye contact again, that pinkish color tinging the tip of his nose and his endearingly wide ears. “Kath…”

“It’s true. And the thought of you spending all of this quarantine an hour and a half away from me during a pandemic is making me nervous.” She crossed her arms, starting to like the idea more with every word she said. “Listen, David, I’ll run it by Jack and you could probably move in right after! You’re already packed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Then you can take the spare room and we’ll split rent three ways. It’ll be better for all of us. David, this is going to be so fun! Think of all the shows we’ll be able to binge!” She was practically near the point of squealing as she took his hands in her own. Visions of younger Kath and Davey filled her mind, composed of all of the times they’d sworn to live together or start up businesses or run libraries side by side. This was going to be fun. She’d get to spend time with her two favorite people.

Unconvinced, David’s frown deepened. “Kathy, I… I don’t know. Does he— does Jack know I’m autistic? And my narcolepsy, I don’t… I don’t wanna make him uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” Katherine scoffed, offended by the thought. “If he’s uncomfortable then that’s a huge red flag. You and I can just pack our stuff and move into your place. But Jack won’t be weird, I promise. He’s incredibly sweet. And David— you don’t make people uncomfortable.”

“I sleep all of the time and I have incredibly strange habits—“

“Everybody has weird habits.” She insisted, dead-set on the idea. “And sleeping all the time is better than leaving out dirty dishes or never closing the toilet seat, or something. Plus, you’re incredibly tidy which’ll fit right in with Jack and I. He cooks, I do laundry, and you can help us clean up.”

“I don’t want you to have to do my laundry…”

“Specifics~” In a sing-song voice, she tried to subdue his overthinking. 

He tilted his head with a slight smile, obviously confused by her. They were at the point where he didn’t have to voice his troubles reading her emotions. She found the expression adorable, anyways. “You really are determined to see this through, aren’t you?” 

“Yep.” She grinned wildly, “You know how I get when I’m determined.”

“I know.” David conceded, and Kath noticed that he already looked just a bit brighter as he carefully brushed one of his chocolate-brown curls off of his brow. “I guess I… I’ll tell my parents if your boyfriend says yes. Will you— you’re not gonna— I won’t be interrupting anything, will I?” 

Kath was confused for just a split second, until she noticed the pinkish color of his cheeks. She couldn’t suppress her own soft giggle. “Oh, no, David. You won’t be.”

“Okay… if you say so.” He shook his head at her as his attention returned to his laptop. She could see the reflection of a Quizlet in his lenses.

Now she was practically itching to leap out of her chair in the tiny café. The news outlet she worked for had already transferred them to online work, since they only went into the offices three days a week. She was going to go home to Jack and have an easy, quick conversation, and then David wouldn’t have to be miserable. Plus, she’d finally get to live with her best friend.

“You almost done studying, hon?” Kath asked, carefully bumping their ankles together. She polished off her drink, vibrating with the happy energy of a plan coming together. 

He glanced up through long, dark lashes, wearing a little smile at the nickname. “Almost. You rushing me, Kathy?”

“No. I want this future lawyer to pass his test tomorrow.” Despite her practiced tone, she could tell he was seeing right through her. She acquiesced. “But I’m also excited to get home and talk to Jack. I’ll call you right after he says yes.”

“You can’t be sure.” He murmured, and she watched a flashcard flip. 

Katherine was going to quell his nerves, because she was actually 100% positive. “We’ll see about that.” 

David only chuckled softly and returned to his studying. Katherine had long abandoned her half-finished article in favor of conversation with him, so now she just watched his elegant fingers fly across the keys at breakneck speeds. This was going to be good.

…

Katherine was rarely ever wrong, and she hadn’t been wrong about Jack. When she inquired about David, he gave her an easygoing smile and agreed to the living arrangement without much further questioning. Maybe it had been her obvious excitement, or the spiel she’d given in David’s favor before asking the question, but he seemed perfectly alright with a total stranger moving into his spare room. 

She was tossing a throw blanket over the couch when Jack exited the bedroom wearing a tank top and an unbuttoned flannel, the sleeves rolled up to display muscular forearms. He looked so goddamn pretty that it took her brain a moment to reset before she could continue her couch dressing. It wasn’t wise to get Katherine started on his excellent choice in jeans, either. She could go on for days about the way he cuffed his acid-washed pants.

Jack sent her one of his bright smiles as he crossed the room to wrap his arms around her, dropping his chin onto her shoulder since they were nearly the same height. “Is your friend gonna be here soon?”

“Yes.” She placed a soft kiss on his cheek and twisted within his arms, slinging her own around his shoulders. “David’s incredibly kind and smart, but he can be sort of awkward at first. It’s not because he doesn’t like you. And remember, he’s got narcolepsy so—“

“I remember.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, his touch slow and sure. It still stole her breath, even after three months. “I even looked up some of that narcolepsy stuff, just to make sure I was ready.”

Kath’s heart squeezed at this man’s sweetness, and she felt herself smiling dopily as she cupped his cheek in one hand. “You’re incredible. Have I told you that?”

“Maybe. But I don’t mind hearin’ it again.” Jack grinned the type of smile that made Kath want to kiss him senseless. “But uh— does he do any of that sleep attack stuff? Where their muscles stop working.”

“What, cataplexy?”

He nodded, looking like a mixture between uneasy and determined. 

“David doesn’t have it as bad as some people but sometimes you might see his eyelids start to droop against his will. He gets upset about it. Normally he doesn’t have severe attacks but… he was really stressed senior year of high school and he did go limp a couple of times. I’m not saying that’ll happen, because it’s been a while, but if it does and I’m not here for some reason, just sit with him and let him ride it out. Make sure he’s breathing.” 

He gave a firm nod, a lot less nervous than she expected. Then Kath remembered his youngest brother Charlie, who had a birth defect in one leg that required him to use crutches or a wheelchair on high pain days. Jack was used to taking care of the people he loved. The thought of him doing research for David, whom he didn’t even know, made her feel ridiculously giddy. 

“Gotcha.” Jack pressed a kiss to her forehead and trailed a line of similar, sweeter little kisses down to her lips.

When his hands slipped down to press against her lower back, she knew exactly what he was getting at and laughed as she carefully pushed a hand against his firm chest. “Down, boy. He’ll be here within the hour.” 

Jack’s only protest was a childlike whine, which caused her to push him away by the forehead. Both laughed as Jack made his way into the kitchen to start on dinner. She busied herself with tidying the living room, slight nerves building within her as she hoped and prayed that David and Jack would get along. 

Eventually the intercom buzzed and Kath practically sprinted across the room to call David up. She was rife with anticipation, exactly how she felt before submitting a big article. Jack could obviously tell and chuckled softly as he kissed her forehead on the way to the living room.

Moments later came a knock on the door, and Kath excitedly opened it to reveal David in all of his nervous glory.

He wore an overstuffed backpack and a duffle bag was slung over the crook of one elbow. He was clutching two cardboard boxes to his chest, both reading ‘books’ in his neat scrawl. 

“David!” Kath exclaimed, immediately taking the boxes from him. “Did Saz drive you?”

“She’s bringing up the rest of my stuff.” David confirmed, and Kath almost offered to go down and help until she remembered the multiple powerlifting championships his older brother Sarah won in highschool. She figured Sarah would be alright.  

“Come on in, then.” Katherine smiled at him from over the heavy boxes, full of David’s extensive collection of books. His prized possessions.

They wandered into the space, David’s eyes glancing over the kitchen and their little entrance area, complete with a welcome mat and a rack for their coats and bags. Kath had never lived with a significant other, and she was finding the domesticity of it all very lovely. But she wasn’t worried about his reaction to the place itself. 

The big moment came when David stepped into the living room, Kath trailing behind. Jack quickly stood and she watched as both boys took each other in.

Inwardly, she was proud of David for making an excellent first impression. He wore a nice pair of khakis and an olive green sweater that made his eyes look almost vibrant in their green hue. His curls were tamed and he didn’t look too much like a deer in headlights, though she could already see him struggling to maintain eye contact with a smiling Jack, who gravitated towards him and offered a hand. “I’m Jack. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I hope that’s a good thing. I’m David… it’s nice to meet you.” He took Jack’s hand, which only reminded Kath how tall he was.

Jack was a bit on the shorter side at 5”9, but David towered above just about everyone at a clean 6”2. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet ya’ too, Davey.” 

“Oh, it’s— um—“

They shook hands and David didn’t even wipe his palm off on his thigh as he normally did, staring at Jack with wide, green eyes. It had to be the nickname that had spooked him, Kath knew, and felt her anxiety peak. Last time someone had attempted to give him a nickname he’d nearly shut down, but instead his eyes just roamed over Jack’s easy expression.

He cleared his throat. “Right. So… uh… my room?”

“Right this way, sir.” Jack, goofball that he was, pretended to tip an invisible cap. A little smile split across David’s face as he followed Jack further into their space, to the spare bedroom Tony had recently vacated. The tension seemed to disappear immediately as Jack took David’s duffel from him and led the way.

That went surprisingly well. Kath wasn’t sure she’d ever seen David take to someone so easily. Except for herself, of course. But they were six years old and she’d asked him to play pirates with her since he was crying, so she wasn’t sure if that counted. Usually it took him about a month to get past prolonged, stony silences and awkward refusal of eye contact, but here he was smiling and relaxing his tense posture already. 

Snapping out of her stupor, Kath joined the boys in the bedroom, and set David’s boxes on his desk. She finally pulled him into a hug. He responded gratefully, pressing his cheek into her auburn hair. She felt the tension seep out of him like it always did when they hugged. “Thank you so much for this, Kathy.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. I think we’re too codependent to survive a quarantine apart.” 

David laughed softly and stepped back, tucking his hands into his pockets as he examined the room. He was drawn towards the window, which is sort of what Kath expected from him. His childhood bedroom had a bay window and a reading nook. They’d spend countless hours curled up there. “This place is really lovely.” 

“Thanks.” Jack leaned against the closet, eyes lingering on David. Kath could understand— sometimes it was difficult to look away. He was incredibly pretty. “My Ma’s friend used to own it and she pulled some strings to get it for me and my brother Racer.”

When she was younger, there’d been multiple years in which she was convinced she’d marry David one day. He was handsome and smart and really witty and sarcastic once you got to know him— but that dream had sort of fallen through when David never showed any interest in dating. His life revolved around his grades, his intense hyperfixation keeping him from any sort of romance. He’d never dated, to Katherine’s knowledge, and as they got closer to thirty, she wondered if he might be asexual or something.

He was a compelling person. She was glad to call him her best friend. “Have you called your parents yet, David?”

“Yeah. I think they’re disappointed, but, uh…” He grinned sheepishly. “I’m not.”

“Good.” Kath smiled and started to carefully unpack the boxes. 

They heard the intercom buzz again, and Jack politely excused himself to go help Sarah in. David slid up to stand side by side with Kath as they carefully removed his books from the boxes. He broke the comfortable silence, voice tight with nerves. “I… I’m really not interrupting anything, right?”

“No.” She answered as emphatically as possible, leaving no room for doubt. “You’re not interrupting, and you’re not a burden, so don’t even think it. I’m glad to have you here, David.”

“Okay.” He exhaled, and some more of that rigid tension seemed to slip from his slim shoulders. “Just checking.”

“I know.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “What do you think of Jack?”

Green eyes grew wide and he glanced comically between Kath and the bedroom door. “Kath, he could come back any second!”

“Just tell me now!” She couldn’t stop her own giggle at the sight of David’s tiny smile, resting an eager hand on his arm. 

He tilted his head and leaned in, still glancing at the door. David’s volume dropped to an intimate sort of whisper, a tone that sounded nice in his soft voice. “He… he seems really charismatic. And handsome.”

“Isn’t he?” Kath gushed, excited to have David’s approval so quickly. “I think you two will really get along well.” 

Moments later, Jack re-entered the room with Sarah in tow. As promised, she had the bulk of David’s things and carried them with ease, impressive biceps flexed as she set the bags and boxes on the floor. Sarah, embarrassingly enough, had been Katherine’s bisexual awakening. Two years older and positively gorgeous, she’d crushed on David’s big sister for the first two years of highschool.

Privately, Kath couldn’t think of anyone that wouldn’t find Sarah stunning. She was tall and built and she had the prettiest dark hair. It was funny- David was like a string bean compared to her as he hugged her tightly. They were close. Sarah might’ve been the only person closer to David than Kath herself.

They exchanged greetings as everyone helped David unpack, setting up the room and slowly making it his own.  

Jack took a liking to Sarah as well, but to Kath’s utter delight, he really seemed to click with David. David laughed at Jack’s ridiculous little jokes and seemed to enjoy his passionate ranting about art. He even let Jack call him Davey for the entirety of the night, which both Sarah and Kath were floored about.  

On the other hand, Jack seemed to like David’s dry humor and found his awkwardness just as endearing as Kath did. He listened to David talk about his rigorous law courses with rapt interest, and Kath decided then and there that they’d be fast friends.

She knew change was hard for David, and that was evident in the way he clung to Sarah once his room was set up. She rocked him back and forth in the hug and gently ruffled his hair as they said their goodbyes. 

Soon Sarah was gone, and Kath could see actual tears in David’s eyes as she left. The only logical thing to do was tug him into a hug, which he melted into. “You’re both gonna be okay, David.”

“I know.” He sniffled, fists gently curling into the material of Kath’s shirt. “I’ve just— I’ve never not lived with Saz.”

“It’s a big change.” Kath agreed, and gently ran her fingers through his curls. 

Jack was wearing a familiar look of sympathy as he stepped closer, gently placing a hand on David’s back. His love language was physical affection above anything else, and thankfully David didn’t flinch away as Jack spoke. “How’d you feel about a movie tonight, Davey?”

Davey hiccuped, “Sounds good.” 

Carefully, Jack patted him on the back and slipped out into the living room. Once they were in private, David’s chest started to shake with little sobs and Kath hugged him even tighter. She’d expected this, but it didn’t make seeing her best friend cry any easier. 

“Shh, David. I’ve got you.” She assured, continuing to card her fingers through his hair. The poor thing was bent at an awkward angle, glasses smushed against his cheek. “This is gonna be fun, right? Longest sleepover ever.”

He laughed wetly and nodded,  pushing his hands beneath his glasses to dry his eyes. “Okay. I think it’s out of my system.”

“Even if it’s not, I’m always right here.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, remembering the countless times he’d held her while she cried over her frustrating parents. Tears weren’t a foreign thing between the two. “Change into something comfortable and I’ll put on Dead Poets Society.”

“Thanks, Kathy.” He whispered, fingers gently trailing down to wrap around her wrist.

Stupidly, her heart skipped a beat. Sometimes he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and the sheer sincerity in his green eyes made her feel some type of way.

The strangest thing was that Jack made her feel the exact same. She tried to push that down and gave him another reassuring squeeze before exiting the room.

David with tear-streaked cheeks was an unfairly pretty sight. 

The smell of popcorn filled the living area as Kath reclined on the couch, pulling up the movie of choice just in time for Jack to join her with a bowl full of popcorn. He glanced at the bedroom door David had since shut, concern lining his features. “Is he okay?” 

“He will be.” She leaned into Jack’s side, balancing the popcorn on her lap. When he still looked uneasy, she laughed softly and nudged his knee. “I promise. It’s tough for him to regulate his emotions when he’s tired, and I’m sure he’s had a long day. Plus, he and Sarah are super close so he might have sister withdrawals.” 

“Okay. That was just sort of heartbreaking.” Jack muttered like the human teddy bear he was, one arm tightening around Katherine. 

“You’re too nice for your own good, did you know that?” She teased, running her fingertips down his cheek. “David will be fine. I promise.” 

Jack smiled and nudged their noses together. “I’ve never seen this movie.” 

“It’s his favorite.” She explained simply, smoothing down the collar of Jack’s flannel. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

They shared a little laugh as David emerged from his bedroom, looking a little more put together despite his puffy eyes. He wore a Columbia t-shirt and a pair of soft gray sweatpants that Kath knew he adored. He curled up on the opposite end of the couch, about a foot away, and Kath felt like it wouldn’t be proper to call him over and close the gap. Instead she balanced the popcorn on the cushion between them, wishing he would just sit next to her like he normally did.

His little smile at the sight of the title on the screen was enough. “Have you seen this, Jack?”

Jack and Kath exchanged a look before Jack grinned at David, wide and blinding. “Nope.” 

David’s jaw dropped, and when laughter filled the room, Katherine was sure everything would be alright.

Like most movie nights with her best friend went, he was curled up asleep by the end of the film, using the armrest of the couch as a pillow with his knees drawn up to his chest. She didn’t know how someone so tall could make themselves so tiny in sleep. They liked to joke that he’d never seen the end of a movie before. Jack was crying incoherently behind her as the credits rolled and she decided that this spontaneous quarantine was going to be a bit less terrifying with these boys around.

[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

[charliexclayton]

who: paz and charlie ( @nullmocn ) where: the ranch

Call it whatever you want; torture, masochism, torment, self-flagellation… The truth was that there was always one person in the world who could make her feel shittier when she was already feeling like shit. Paz. Irritatingly hot, disgustingly cocky, and incredibly frustrating. If there was a face that demanded a punch every time she saw it, it was Paz’s face. Charlie never sought Paz out, she usually had too much self-respect than submit herself to another boring self-aggrandizing lecture about how all of Charlie’s shortcomings were somehow a personal problem for Paz. They had been paired up one time for one hunt that had gone horribly. But it was hardly Charlie’s fault that Sargeant Strap-on-for-brains and her had been too busy bickering about “protocol” (whatever the fuck that was in this town) to notice the change in terrain.

Charlie had helped the injured Paz back to town, ear bleeding from the incessant blame and the poor woman had been bedridden for two weeks. Honestly, bygones could have been bygones, but Paz had specifically requested never to work with a subpar hunter like Charlie again. What a load of bullshit, Charlie was a fucking stellar hunter. She was a shit friend though. Sometime when the light caught her hands, she could still see and feel Conor’s blood on them. Blood. So much blood.

Charlie thumped a fist against her forehead. Hard reset. Presently she was stumbling towards the ranch, having drunk an ungodly amount of some weirdly undisclosed potato juice, you know, the kind that made doubles of everything. It made doubles of the streetlights, doubles of the buildings, double of Conor reaching out for her… Another thump to the head. Focus Charlie, you’re on a mission.

The mission, of course, was to tell Paz what was what. And what was what? Well Charlie didn’t know yet, but the alcohol fueled logical thinking told her she’d figure it out once she got there. She was kind of starting to pick up that maybe the people that drank all the time in Arcadia were kind of on to something because this felt amazing. It was freshly dark out once she arrived at Paz’s doorsteps and the bells had just gone off.

“Knock knock,” she slurred out as she thumped on the door, “it’s me.” Charlie giggled, as if Paz, who hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since their last encounter, would know who ‘me’ was. Undeterred, Charlie continued her incoherent drunk rambling. “Don’t worry, I’m not a monster, though I suppose that’s what a monster would say. Are you going to let me in? – shiiiit I think the monsters would say that too. They’re probably watching me right now actually, but it’s okay they’ve made it veryyyy clear that they’re not going to kill me yet, after all I’m so useful to them, getting everyone else hurt or killed—oh! Purple monkey on a dishwasher, I don’t think a monster would say that… Anyway Paz, I gotta pee, can you please let me in. It’s CharChar, Charmander, Charizard…”

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 15

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: 1388

Masterlist

Warning!! You guys are going to love me for this one. Or hate me. Lol.

You are not the first woman I've had to kill for.

Candace had lots of male friends, and at one point or another, they all tended to get too close to her. But she liked it, and she was sad when they died. She blamed herself and asked stupid questions like: “why does everybody around me get hurt, Joe?”

You are stronger than Candace. You recognize how bad Jasper was, and you are not sad. You don't ask stupid questions, either. You just shrug after you tell me your coworker died and say “he kind of had a drug problem, so…”

And that is that.

You are not fighting with your grandparents anymore, but now you're fighting with your mom. When I come over, you're usually in a bad mood and no amount of me trying to make you feel better helps, because you don't want to feel better. You want to be angry.

“What?” you snap at me when I tell you to put on your jacket. “I don't want to go out, Joe.”

“C'mon,” I say, trying to stay calm. “We're going for a walk.”

I'm lucky you like to be told to do things, even when you're angry. Other women might have fought me, but you put on your jacket. You're basically steaming out of your ears, you're so mad, but you go with me.

You don't ask me where we're going when I hail us a cab. You're trying to stonewall me again, but this time I won't let you.

This time, I think I really have found something that might help.

Here's something I've learned about you, (Y/n): your emotions hit you like a freight train. When you're anxious, you don't know what to do with yourself, so you rearrange all your furniture. When you're happy, you sing and you dance. People like you usually have the most destructive anger, and you know that, so you turn it all inwards and shut people out.

Other people would try to blow off steam with sex, but you've convinced yourself that even after nearly three months of dating, it's still too soon for us. You told Grey about it a while ago, which is good because it means you're finally ready to tell the important people in your life that we're together (you also, finally, told Nadia).

But also, (Y/n), I'm going a little bit insane.

I have to blow off steam, too, you know?

There's a derelict building in Bed-Stuy. When walking past it, you might just assume that it's sitting empty. But no. It's owned by a friend of Mr. Mooney's, and it's a legitimate business.

You're suspicious when I try to lead you inside, but then a woman opens the door for us and you relax a little.

The woman greets us happily. She introduces herself as Janine and tells you she loves your top. She's thirty and bottle blond and wears a lot of pastels. I can tell you want to throttle her, but you thank her instead.

Janine leads us to a room which is set up just like a regular office, and hands you a baseball bat.

You look at me blankly.

“What is this, Joe?”

“Well,” I say, as Janine hands me a baseball bat as well. “It's a rage room.”

“A what?”

Maybe they don't have rage rooms in The Netherlands, or maybe you've just never been to one.

“A rage room,” I repeat. “It's a place where you can go to destroy things.”

“You guys have an hour,” Janine tells me happily, and then she leaves.

We're alone and you're still not getting it. You follow me into the room, but you don't know what to do with yourself. I'm going to have to get this thing started.

I lift the baseball bat in my hands, feeling its heft. It's not one of those cheap plastic ones, but real, solid wood like the one I keep under the counter at Mooney's. You could really hurt someone with this.

I throw all my weight as I swing the bat. You gasp when the desk lamp shatters.

“Like that,” I say.

I can see the wheels inside your brain turning. I'd love to know what you're thinking right now. You've never seen me do anything violent, so maybe you're trying to process that. Or maybe you're just trying to process the fact that I expect you to destroy things.

You lift the bat. You look at it like it's an alien.

Then, you swing it, and the analog computer screen crashes to the floor.

You like it.

You are smiling and the desk is next. You tell me to help you and we go at it together, hitting the cheap wooden furniture until it splits right down the middle. I throw a chair at the wall, you swing at the corner table. We both leave the bookcase in the corner alone, though. We would never destroy books. We're better than that.

You look beautiful when you're violent.

Your hair is flying around and at some point, you take off your jacket. There is a drop of sweat running down your collarbone until it disappears into your tank top, right between your boobs. There is even some dirt on your forehead, I don't know where it came from.

Then, you're done and you see me watching you. You drop the baseball bat and you rush me. For a moment, I think you might even hit me. My head is still in that place. But of course you don't.

You put your hands on my cheeks and I wrap my arms around your waist and drop my bat, too, and it clatters to the floor loudly.

Did I tell you you're a fast learner, (Y/n)? You are so good at kissing, now. You know exactly what I like and I know exactly what you like. When we kiss, it's electric, and that's not just because we're both sweaty and out of breath and ready to blow off even more steam.

Your hips are pressed into mine and you can tell I'm hard, but you don't pull away from me. You let me push you against the wall and kiss and bite your neck. You moan. You're not sure what to do with your hands so you grab my shoulders, and you bring your leg up so it's rubbing me through my jeans.

I really think you might let me fuck you right here, in this room that we just laid waste to together. But then, the worst thing that has ever happened to any man ever, happens to me.

A flash of lightning. I groan. I hide my face against your neck in embarrassment.

You are quiet. You're not sure what just happened.

“Did you just…?”

Of course I just. It's been so long, (Y/n). I should have known this would happen the second you put your hands on me.

“Joe?”

“I'm sorry,” I say.

I'm not sorry. This is kind of your fault. But what else do I say when I just came in my jeans like a high school boy?

You take a deep breath. Then, you laugh.

You're laughing at me. I've ruined everything.

“Oh, my God,” you say. “I've never made a guy come before.”

You're not laughing at me. You're laughing at yourself - at the power you have over me. I pull away from you and you're smiling, and then you kiss me again. Slow and sweet this time.

“Next time,” you whisper, “you're going to be inside me when that happens.”

I could get hard again right now. I really could.

But our hour is almost up. I don't want Janine to come in here and find us fucking against the wall. And, really, now that I'm thinking more clearly… I don't want our first time together to be like this. I don't want your first time to be like this.

“Can't wait,” I say.

The cab ride back to your apartment, and then mine, is the most uncomfortable I've ever been. I'm glad when I can change out of my dirty clothes. But it was worth it because You've never made a guy come before.

I was your first. I will be your first.

And it will be soon.