#THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOURE OUT OF ART BLOCK?!?!?!?!?!?

[aliceoseman]

Heartstopper S3 Q&A weekend!

Hello everyone! I don't usually use this blog to answer questions, but I've been wanting to answer some of your questions about season 3 of Heartstopper, and I figure this is probably the best place for it!

It's nearly 2 months since the release of S3 and I'd love to go on a deep dive with you all. I always feel like I don't express myself very well in interviews, so I feel more comfortable getting to express myself in the written word here! You may have questions about characters, relationships, themes, production, music, animation, and more... I shall try my best to share some interesting behind-the-scenes trivia!!

Please keep your questions relevant to season 3 of Heartstopper - I probably won't answer them if they're about anything else!

The ask box will be open from now through this weekend, so you have about 2 and a half days to send your questions. I'll answer what I can, probably slowly over the next week or two! I won't get around to answering everyone's question though, I'm sorry in advance! You're welcome to share the answers on other social medias if you'd like to.

If you don't want to see Q&A answers and are simply here for the fan art, please block the tag 'heartstopper s3 q&a'.

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Also, just to get a few FAQs out of the way:

Season 4: I don't have anything more to share about season 4 right now, I'm sorry! As I've said, we're working incredibly hard to make it happen, and there's nothing else I can say about that at the moment.

Bloopers: Are coming soon, but I don't know exactly when!

Deleted scenes: I'm not currently sure whether there will be deleted scene releases.

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Thank you so much for your support for the show! I look forward to chatting with you about season 3 of Heartstopper!!

[ckret2]

It's fic time. The Axolotl tries to persuade Bill to face what happened to his dimension while Bill tries to avoid that literally any way possible.

This is part 8 of a 9 part plot about the Axolotl meeting this friendly harmless innocent little triangle in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre and gradually learning he's literally the worst person ever. If you want to read and/or look at the pretty art on the other parts, here's one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.

(WARNING in this one for nonspecific but pretty obvious suicidal ideation)

####

The triangle whirled around as a milky white void closed in around him. "Whoa whoa hey! What is this? How'd I get here?"

"Welcome to my office. You're in a time and space outside time and space," the Axolotl said. "Take a seat. I have a very comfortable bean bag chair."

The triangle did not take a seat. He pointed at the Axolotl like an angry arrow. "What did you do! If you don't put me back now—"

"Don't worry. When we leave this space, you will be where and when you were. Think of this like a dream."

Furiously, the triangle burst into a ball of bright blue flame. It reeked of burning hydrogen—the stench of the fabric of reality itself burning away to nothing. But he, himself, didn't burn. What was fueling his flames? "Yeah?! Well, dreams are my business!" A wave of blue flames surged toward the Axolotl.

And dissipated without touching him. The Axolotl's eyes glowed white. "THIS IS MY DREAM, TRIANGLE—NOT YOURS!"

The triangle shrank down. He squeaked, "Got it." He quietly perched one edge on the Axolotl's bean bag chair. He didn't look at the Axolotl. He was staring up around them at the Axolotl's tank.

The Axolotl's eyes dimmed again to black voids. He settled back, trying to look unthreatening now that the triangle wasn't fighting him. "Do you see something?"

The triangle laughed uneasily. "Not aside from a whole lot of white."

"You keep looking up," the Axolotl said.

"Up?" the triangle said, confused; then apparently figured out what the Axolotl meant and snapped his gaze down to meet his again. "I never—haven't been able to see the stars before," he said, trying not to sound self-conscious even as he slowly tinted red again. "I've never seen anything that could block them. Except you."

Except him. The guy who passed the wall every day on his way to work; the eclipse that blocked out the sun once a year. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize." The walls of the tank seemingly dissolved, letting the triangle see the scene beyond: the glittery cotton candy celestial clouds of his home.

"Hey, I wasn't complaining! You're the one who asked." But the triangle had already visibly relaxed. He still wasn't looking at the Axolotl; but now, he was staring around at the unfamiliar new constellations with wonder.

It was the most unguarded the Axolotl had ever seen him. They didn't have much spare time; but the Axolotl couldn't bring himself to interrupt this brief peace.

After a moment, the triangle gestured toward the sky and said, "So, you—call that direction 'up.'"

"Yes?" the Axolotl said. "Is that strange?"

"No! Nooo no no. Just seems like it might be confusing, trying to tell apart north-up from star-up."

How odd. "We don't usually call north 'up'."

"Oh," the triangle said, voice small and sheepish.

"Some planetbound mortals do. But usually only when they're—" Oh. "... looking at maps." The world printed on a paper 2D plane. Like the plane the triangle had come from.

For all his power, his charisma, his bravado—the triangle was still just a lost little refugee from a flat little world. He held a whole universe in his hand, and he didn't even know up from down. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to him.

"Listen to me," the Axolotl said. "You're in a lot of trouble. I'm sure you know that."

The triangle scoffed. "Tell me something new."

"How much of our discussion did you hear?"

"Just something about rebuilding the higher dimensions' foundations. Which is exactly what I told you to do! You mind your business, I'll mind mine!"

He suspected the triangle had heard more than that. "It's not that simple. They can't rebuild the foundation until the fires are out. So, as long as your actions keep setting new ones..."

"A-ha. So that's why you're here," the triangle said. "They sent you to intimidate me into letting 'em condemn my dimension."

"No." It was true enough that they had sent the Axolotl to try to talk the triangle down. And yes, he would if he could—he certainly didn't want to see all of reality destroyed—but he wasn't primarily here to help the other gods. "I'm here to help you."

The Axolotl had watched how this triangle puppeted corpses and terrified the barely-living into dancing along to his tune. He had seen the dying and dead melted together into oversized composite corpses at the triangle's party; and he'd seen how the triangle's unhappy victims tumbled down into his hell. He'd seen how blue flames flared around the triangle in his anger, and how his lines of fire warped, melted, and consumed whole universes, and how he burned mortals down to the soul with his mere gaze. He'd felt how all of Dimension Zero moved when the triangle moved.

This triangle, this poor child, was a monster.

The Axolotl wore many faces. He'd been a psychopomp, a god of death. He'd changed roles so he could help the dead he escorted reach better futures—now he was a god of rebirth, a god of second chances, a god of justice.

And in his capacity as a god of justice, he'd proudly defended the villains that no one else would defend. He did not believe in punishment. It was too late to save the villains' victims, and no amount of punishment would ever change that; but it was not too late to save the villains.

He was god of death, god of rebirth, god of second chances, god of justice—and also a god of monsters. And he'd decided this monster was under his protection.

Dubiously, the triangle said, "So they sent you as my legal counsel."

Oh, for— "No. I'm just trying to give you advice."

"Even better—pro bono legal counsel!" 

"You're not my client," the Axolotl said. "But I'll advise you as a friend. I can tell you your options as I see them. We can discuss them if you'd like. You may ask me one question, and no more."

"What? Why—" The triangle caught himself and struggled to rephrase. "That's a—stupid rule—that I want an explanation for!"

"Because I'm the Axolotl."

"What does that have t— I don't know what that has to do with anything!"

"I'm the only one who gets to ax a lotl questions."

The triangle stared at him. He burst out laughing. "I think I hate you!"

The Axolotl gave him a wide, gummy grin.

"St—stop that! It makes you even more ugly, ugh. I thought you were here to give me advice, not bad jokes." The triangle made a show of leaning back as though getting comfortable, although it was clear he was uneasy touching the bean bag chair. "So advise me, pink stuff."

"I preferred 'frills.'" Gently, the Axolotl said, "I think it's in your best interests to give yourself up to the divine authorities."

The triangle laughed in disbelief. "You're kidding. Hey, I heard your pals talking about how they can't fight me without knocking the multiverse down—"

"And once they've put up a fireproof foundation you can't burn your way through, there will no longer be any risk to the multiverse if they come after you."

"Sounds to me like a good reason to make sure they don't get that foundation in place!"

"For you to do enough damage to ensure they can't construct a foundation, you'd probably knock the multiverse down yourself," the Axolotl said. "And if that's the case, they'll have nothing to lose by trying to stop you anyway, and everything to lose by not trying."

The belligerence leeched out of the triangle's face by the word. "Oh. Yeah. I guess that's... yeah," he said.  "Okay." His expression was faraway for a moment, as he tried to wrap his mind around the magnitude of the situation. "Okay. That's okay, it's fine, it's fine." Could he feel the walls closing in on him? Did he see the stars being blocked out? "I've... got a way out of this."

"What?"

He didn't meet the Axolotl's gaze. He pulled off his hat to worry at it in his hands. "I have a way."

Bluffing. Or wishful thinking. "No. This is trouble you can't get out of. There's no greater crime against reality than the destruction of an entire dimension," the Axolotl said. "Right now, the gods think you're an active, divine threat to all of existence. That's what this is about. They're not after you because you broke a couple of rules—they're afraid of you." (The triangle lit up at that. Not quite the reaction the Axolotl had been going for, but at least he had his attention.) "And that means they won't stop until they're sure you're no longer a threat. As long as they're pursuing you, your best case scenario is getting buried alive beneath the multiverse's foundation where they can forget about you until your dream realm unravels."

"So what g—I don't see what good giving myself up would do! My best move is putting off the inevitable as long as possible! Just let 'em try to bury me!"

"But it's not inevitable," the Axolotl said. "They fear you as a divine threat. If you prove you're neither divine nor a threat—"

"No."

"Mortals can't be charged the same way as gods can. If we convince the court that you didn't have your current powers at the time of the inferno—"

"I don't know why you're so convinced I didn't have powers at the time!"

"I'm not. That doesn't mean I can't convince a judge," the Axolotl said, which surprised the triangle enough that he actually shut up for a moment. "If you're charged as a god, you face eternal imprisonment or oblivion. If you're charged as a mortal, you'll be sentenced to a regular afterlife. If you give up your power—I'm not sure where yours come from, but there are ways it can be done—" (the triangle was already raising a finger to protest) "—and it can be temporary! But if you don't have divine power when you're taken in, it will be that much easier to convince the judge that you didn't have any when your wall burned. On top of that, if you surrender yourself willingly and admit that destroying Dimension 2 Delta was an accident, that alone can knock off half your charges."

"Next you'll ask me to give up my eye! No!" He was clenching his fist around his hat so tightly that it shook; but that was the only sign of anxiety he betrayed. His gaze was as intense as the stare of a sun. "I told you: me, my power, and my people are a package deal. We stay together. We're staying right here. I don't care how much it inconveniences you."

"It's not about how much it inconveniences us," the Axolotl said. "I'm here for you—you and your people."

"They don't need you or any of your stupid 'gods.' I can take care of them!"

"Then take care of them," the Axolotl said. "You understand that, no matter how this ends, your dream realm will be destroyed and you'll have to leave or perish—don't you?"

"No." That stubborn little glitter fleck. "I can patch up this dump and repair the wall by myself. Once the wall's back, you don't have to worry about your stupid multiverse destabilizing, right?! I'll stabilize my realm before you get your stupid impenetrable foundation in place! Maybe I'll put a roof on top of it that you can't get through!"

"You haven't done it yet! What do you think you can do that you haven't already done?"

"You don't need to know," the triangle snarled.

He had to be mad, bluffing, or in denial. But he didn't look it—eye narrowed in determination, flames smoldering around his edges, fist clenched around his hat—

And then it clicked.

He hadn't said he would replace his wall. He said he'd repair it. 

The Time Giant had said there was no way the little speck of matter that the triangle kept in his hat could be all the matter from his universe; no mortal could handle it without its gravity crushing them, nor would they have the energy to move it.

But she'd also said that gravity was turned off in Dimension Zero. And the triangle had proven he did have the power to move an entire universe—so why should a universe the size of a grain of sand be any more difficult?

And anyway—what did restrictions like that mean in a place where dreams and reality overlap?

"The Time Giant was wrong, wasn't she," the Axolotl said. "You don't have a dark matter problem. You're carrying around the rubble of your universe. All of it. All the matter she sensed but couldn't find."

The triangle gave him a resentful look; but then sighed in defeat. He loosened his fist, reached into his hat, and plucked up the speck of what remained of his universe. The black pinprick of white light. "You're not as dumb as you look," he said wryly. "Yep. The whole thing's right here—all but a city or two. I figured out how to catch it pretty fast."

Catch it? "What... happened to your dimension?"

A faint uneasiness itched at the back of his mind; a sound, right at the edge of his hearing, that he couldn't quite identify but knew shouldn't be here.

"It doesn't matter," the triangle said. "It's about to un-happen."

"You're thinking about setting off a big bang, aren't you?"

The triangle said nothing. He just rolled his universe between his thumb and forefinger contemplatively. 

"You are," the Axolotl said. "You want to replace your universe."

Coolly, the triangle said, "You're sounding kinda scared, frills."

"I am," the Axolotl admitted. "Of all your options, that's the most dangerous thing you could possibly do."

"Hey, the dangerous choices have turned out pretty well for me so far!"

The Axolotl really didn't think they had. "You know you can't get your old universe back, don't you? It will only make a new universe."

The triangle didn't say anything—but he went still, holding the tiny glowing pearl between his fingers rather than rolling it back and forth.

"It will have similar physical properties—it will be 2D, gravity and light will probably work the same way, all the laws of physics will be what you expect... but it will be a new universe. New stars and worlds will form. New species will evolve. Your people will never return."

The triangle squeezed the pearl in his hand. "You don't know that," he said harshly. "Everything that ever existed is right in here." He shook his fist at the Axolotl. He could see the light shining out between the triangle's fingers. "It has to have some sort of memory! There's gotta be traces of it left in there!"

"It can't remember. It doesn't have a soul to remember with."

"I'm a soul!" The triangle pointed at himself with a hundred arms. "Me! I remember! The whole dimension remembers!"

There was the hiss. The ever-present hiss that the Axolotl heard any time he was inside Dimension Zero, the static in the speakers, the last gasp of a dying big bang, the whisper murmur scream battering against the walls. Fear shivered up his spine. How was it audible from within his tank?

He tried to push down his fear. "You're not the whole dimension."

The triangle laughed. It was a chilling sound.

"Just—consider how much more you'd lose if it doesn't work the way you want it to. What will you do if you can't fix your dimension?"

"I can," he said. "If I can't fix it, no one can."

Why did he think he was more capable than gods who'd maintained the multiverse for trillions of years? "What if you're wrong?"

"I will fix it," the triangle said stubbornly.

"TELL ME WHAT YOU'LL DO IF YOU CAN'T FIX IT!"

The triangle literally shrank back, growing smaller as he sank into the Axolotl's beanbag. "Keep doing what I'm doing now! Partying!" He let out a half hysterical giggle. "I'll party til I die!"

"Set off a big bang in an unstable pseudo-dimension, and you will die! The kind of death no one comes back from!"

"Great!"

They both froze. Neither one of them had expected him to say that.

"Kidding," the triangle croaked. "I just—I just—I'm trying to get under your skin, pinky, that's all. Is it working? Don't answer that, that wasn't my question, that was—rhetorical. I'm assuming that stuff you've got is skin, anyway." The prattle was hollow and meaningless. "The point is, I'm the dream realm's eternal party host, and I'm not stopping this party for anything, no matter what you say, and—and that's it. That's all there is to it!"

He must have witnessed so many horrors, in so little time—his universe incinerating, his people dying, Dimension Zero constantly collapsing even as he attempted to prop it up, the dimensions above him twisting and warping as their people fell into his nightmarish realm...

The Axolotl slowly flew closer to the triangle.

"Oh, come on— don't," the triangle whined. "Whatever little speech you're about to make, don't, I don't wanna hear it—"

Gently, the Axolotl said, "I know you've lost your home."

The word "home" struck a note with the triangle. He didn't flinch, his expression didn't change; but he went still. He looked down at the compacted ruin of what used to be his whole universe.

"But it's not too late for you to find a new home," the Axolotl said. "You can still move on and rebuild. There's a future for you. If you come out, I'll help you navigate the afterlife system. If you're stuck in this dimension, we'll find a way to free you."

The triangle's face darkened.

"You can be reincarnated, or resurrected, or—just set free to be an energy being if you want. You can settle down in a neighboring dimension, join a new people—"

"No. I'm not about to be a couch surfer in someone else's universe." He glowered up at the Axolotl. "Those people will join me. Everyone can either join me, or—or get out of my way! I finally made my kingdom, I'm not giving up my crown now!"

"If you keep your crown, you'll kill your kingdom! You know that if you stay here you'll destroy everything, I know you know it!"

"It's the best option I have! Better than your plan, anyway! Surrender to the cops and let my world fall apart?" He laughed harshly. "No way, Buster! I told my people I'd liberate them from our flat, oppressive little world and take them to a party paradise, and that's exactly what I'm gonna make for them!" He held out his little pearl of a universe again, the paradise-to-be.

Before, he'd said that the dream realm was his paradise. He'd also said that he'd remake his destroyed universe exactly as it had been. How could the "oppressive" world they'd left be their paradise? Nevermind the fact that none of "his people" were from his world. Which of the stories he'd invented was the truth? Which did the triangle think was the truth? Did he even know?

"If all of this is for your people—would you risk them? If trying to build a paradise kills the very people you made it for—"

"They'd never know."

The Axolotl's blood ran cold. It took a moment for him to find his voice. "What?"

"I can keep the party going until the end. They'd never find out what's coming. If the dream realm collapses, it'll be too fast for them to tell what's happening," the triangle said. "In their final moments, they'll still remember me as a hero."

The Axolotl hadn't realized until that moment just how cold the triangle's expression was.

His mind flashed to seeing VENDOR earlier that day, hustling the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force to clean up this mess faster because THEY didn't want the journalists to claim THEY had mishandled the situation during an election season.

Was that all the triangle was?

Another politician more concerned with how his constituents saw him than with what he could do for them?

"But," the Axolotl said weakly, "I've watched how you rescue the mortals from the fires. I've seen how you're struggling to keep this dimension from collapsing on them. I've seen how much you're suffering. You're running yourself ragged to protect them. You want so badly for them to be safe."

The triangle seemed to brighten at the Axolotl's words, as though he was soaking in the high praise. "Well, sure! And they love me for it! Would any god do less for his worshipers? Would you?" His voice took on a bitter tone. "But I don't know of any god who'd stick his corner out for a nonbeliever—and that's what they'll be if I don't deliver on the paradise I promised. I take my party hosting seriously. I'll give them their paradise if it kills me. Or them. Or everyone, if that's what it takes."

He was no hero. He never had been. He didn't care about the countless souls he'd collected, only their worship.

He didn't want his people to be safe; he just wanted to be his people's savior.

If I can't fix it, no one can. The triangle hadn't meant no one else was able to. He'd meant no one else was allowed to. He'd rather die than let someone else fix his mistakes.

And he would. This was a mass suicide.

No. Worse than that—it was a mass murder-suicide.

"You already lost your world once," the Axolotl said desperately, "don't you remember what that was like?"

The triangle flinched back like the Axolotl had slapped him. The tank rumbled around them; the hissing whispers grew louder. "That's... none of your business! Stop talking about my world, you don't know the first thing about it—"

"I know how much you must miss it. I know how deeply losing your people must hurt." It must have hurt, why would he have clung to what was left of his world if it didn't, why would he be so determined to rebuild it exactly as it had been?

"My—my people are fine." His voice was choked. He squeezed his eye shut. "They're... all out at the party. Waiting for me. Don't talk about—"

"The people at the party are shapes you kidnapped from other dimensions." He was so stubbornly loyal to his chosen delusions. "Your people are dead. You know they are!"

"No!"

His scream was answered by howls outside the Axolotl's tank. Through the static, the Axolotl could pick up a sound repeated over and over. A word. Murderer, murderer, murderer.

"No! They aren't dead! I saved them!" He curled in on himself, hands pressed to his sides like it could block out the sounds. "I liberated them from their shallow lives! I gave them their freedom—"

"Then give them their freedom now!"

The triangle's breath hitched.

"If you want to die, you can die. There are ways to break a soul. I can help. But do it alone," the Axolotl pled. "I know you care about these people!" He had to believe it, he had to believe it, he had to. In spite of the evidence to the contrary, he had to. "If you won't let us help you, at least let us help them go home. Please. You need to let them go."

He clenched his tiny hands into fists; he looked so pained the Axolotl thought he might shatter.

In another timeline, a better timeline, he whispered, "How?" The word he should have said echoed around them, blending into the static whispers. It would be so easy to say.

But in this timeline, he asked, "You're some kind of lawyer or something, right?"

The Axolotl paused uneasily. "By... way of metaphor," he said. "We have trials and courts, but not the way mortals understand—"

"There are no laws in my kingdom," the king growled. "Get out of here. Now."

"But—"

"I said OUT!"

A force crashed into the time and space between time and space, shattering the Axolotl's tank, the glittery cotton candy nebulas' pinks and blues disrupted by a twisted geyser of colors—raw frothing stuff somewhere between matter and energy—and it flung the Axolotl away from the triangle like a wave flinging a fish from the ocean. The anxious background static whispers grew to a buzzing roar, 1000 decibel white noise. He spun dizzily through the cosmic miasma.

The first time he'd come in here—the first time the triangle had chased him out—he'd felt instinctively that he'd been in danger. He'd felt flames licking at his heels.

He knew now that that had been a mere warning.

"I might be in your dream, but your dream is in MY dream realm!" The triangle seemed to get larger without his size changing. Maybe it was the universe around him that was contracting. "And you've overstayed your welcome, Axolotl!"

The Axolotl had tumbled into the nightmarish eternal dance party. Shrieking overlapping music drowned out the buzzing whispers. Thousands of eyes stared at him in horror and thousands of voices gasped in disgust; and he realized that as many times as he'd seen them, he had never been in their two-dimensional field of view.

For all the thousands that stared at him, millions of corpses never stopped dancing.

One last time, the Axolotl turned to the triangle and pled, "Just give the hostages the option to leave if they want!"

"My people aren't hostages!"

"Then give them a choice!" He could feel dead hands grabbing at his skin and fins. He wasn't sure if they were trying to restrain him for their Magister Mentium, or cling to him for escape. He wasn't even sure whether they were the dead who still had their own souls, or the triangle's corpse puppets. "Anyone who wants to stay with you can!"

"Shut up!" The triangle boomed louder and louder and he grew larger and larger, until his voice and his eye seemed to fill the universe. He was shuddering with rage (with regret?)—it threatened to shake him apart, and the universe with him. "All of this is your fault! I'm—sick because of you!" In another reality he said insane; but the realities where he didn't closed up around the word and crushed it into silence. "You made me like this! You infected me!"

"With what?" He'd only spoken to the triangle once before today. He hadn't even entered his dimension.

"This—idea!" He didn't say what idea, not in this reality; but the words echoed in from another reality where he did. He screamed to drown the echoes out. "I was fine until I met you and you ruined everything!" Regret spilled out of his eye so thick it was almost palpable, energy like a river. It threatened to fill the interdimensional in-between space and drown them all. The Axolotl could taste the idea that had poisoned the triangle: the idea that everyone mattered. That everyone was worthy of a god's attention. And now, everyone was gone.

Bewildered, the Axolotl said, "You're not 'sick' to think that. It's the sanest idea you could have—"

"Get out!" The shriek echoed through infinity. "Get out! The dream realm is my domain and I am its king! I told you last time, I won't let you threaten my people!"

"I would never—"

"GET OUT!" Blue flames exploded out of the triangle; some of his nearest prisoners were incinerated as easily as tissue paper.

The Axolotl tried to shield himself; the flames consumed one of his forelegs and ate away at his dorsal fin.

He tore himself free of the desperate grasping shapes and swam from the triangle as fast as he could.

The triangle chased him; and, to the Axolotl's despair, as the center of Dimension Zero followed the triangle, the edge of reality pulled ever further away.

His flames licked at the Axolotl's tail, consuming the fin; he swam slower and slower.

As the triangle pursued the Axolotl, his attacks further destabilized the volatile dimension; wormholes formed where the fabric of reality folded and bunched in on itself and was pierced through. Light shot through the holes like a million disembodied sunbeams. 

He saw one that led straight to the edge of Dimension Zero. He wriggled through.

"Where did you—?! HEY!" The dimension whirled dizzyingly as the triangle refocused on his evasive prey. "You think you can get away from me in my own realm?" 

"Do you want me to get out or not?!"

"I want you DEAD!"

The Axolotl shouldn't have asked.

With a roar, the triangle clawed at him. A thick, sucking wave of gravity as dense as a black hole tore through the unstable miasma toward him. The triangle laughed sadistically.

With one last surge of energy, he paddled his tail hard enough to outpace the triangle and burst free of the dimension.

The ragged edges of Dimension Zero ripped further under the triangle's attack, but it dissipated in the third dimension.

The Axolotl sighed in relief—then flinched when the triangle crashed into the invisible barrier holding the cosmic foam in the space-between-space where Dimension Zero should have been. Like a piece of glitter sticking to a bubble, if glitter sticking to a bubble were the most violent force in the universe. "Get back here! I'll skin your freakish hide and make a tent outta it—!" He strained toward the Axolotl, threatening to drag the bubble along with him, like a particularly determined sled dog trying to pull a trailer home.

The Axolotl hastily backed out of range as nauseating plumes of color stretched outside their bounds again. Blue fire danced over the thin membrane between dimensions like a burning oil spill on an ocean. The plumes twisted into shapes almost like arms, hundreds of them, reaching toward him—

And froze. The triangle was staring past the Axolotl.

The Axolotl turned to look.

It was the most sublimely awful sight he'd ever seen. An impenetrable wall made up of gods, angels, sentient forces of nature—there were things here so transcendentally powerful that the Axolotl couldn't even see them; he only knew they were present by the perimeters of the space he couldn't bring his eyes to gaze upon and the terrifying awe he felt when he tried.

They were all armed.

All their weapons were pointed at the triangle.

Apparently, the ATTF had called in reinforcements.

A god that looked like a hologram projection, the light of its projector shining down on it from a higher dimension like a halo, thundered, "ADVANCE ANY FURTHER INTO REALITY, AND WE WILL BE FORCED TO SUBDUE YOU."

"You can't afford to!" the triangle crowed. "You'll knock your own universes down!"

"NOT ANYMORE."

The triangle's eye widened. The thousand arms of raw reality seized the jagged edges of the dimensions bordering the hole left when Dimension 2 Delta burned down, trying to crush them—and nothing happened. He slammed Dimension Zero against the bordering dimension, trying to crack open a larger opening, and then trying to simply shove the bordering dimensions aside—and nothing happened. Dimension Zero burned; but the surrounding first and second dimensions remained still. There was no creak and crack of snapping lines and shattering planes as the triangle tried to squeeze his bloated universe free. There was no glowing line of fire on the distant horizon.

The neighboring dimensions burned and blackened under the thousand hands; but they didn't dissolve to ash. The cinders got caught between the layers together as the dimensions splintered into layers, then multiplied—splintered and multiplied—splintered and multiplied—thicker and denser and harder—

Parallel universes. Every time the triangle touched them, they split into more timelines, reinforcing themselves. The Time Giant already reformatted the universes most closely adjacent to Dimension Zero. Not every universe—but just enough to form a cage.

The triangle gave up with a grunt of pain. He laughed in disbelief—and then anger. "You were the distraction?"

"No! I was supposed to talk you into cooperating with building the fireproof foundation! We agreed to only call in reinforcements if I couldn't persuade you!" He looked around for the Time Giant, but couldn't find her—nor any of the other gods he'd spoken to while dealing with this mess. Everyone, apparently, had been cleared out of the vicinity to make way for the god militia.

The only civilian left on the 3D side of the missing wall was the Axolotl—once again, stuck in the middle of a situation he had no business being involved in.

The triangle's eye widened further, further, white hot with fury. "Nothing's ever your fault, is it, frills?! Every time you ruin my life, it's all a big misunderstanding! You just keep talking your way out of trouble!" His eye opened wider and wider still. His eyelid unhinged. His mandibles split open and at the back of his eye socket was an infinitely dark esophagus. Sprouting in a ring around the triangle's eye like the petals of a grisly flower, piercing the membrane between the zeroth dimension and the third, were millions and millions of—

—teeth. Teeth longer than the spaces between stars and sharp enough to split an atom.

The Axolotl only barely managed to paddle back out of their range before they snapped at where he had been. A couple of the higher gods caught him, holding his sides protectively. His skin sizzled with holy electricity.

The god militia drew back from the gnashing fangs, then readied their own weapons: spears, guns, swords, a wider array of divine and holy weaponry than the Axolotl had ever seen. The projection leading the militia called, "DON'T LET HIM MAKE IT PAST THE FIREPROOF BARRIER."

"Afraid I'll start breaking things again?" The fangs snapped tauntingly. "Hey—how fast do you think I can find the load-bearing dimensions?"

The Axolotl shook off the gods and swam back toward Dimension Zero. "Stop!"

"HOLD FIRE!" The projected god commanded, "OUT OF THE WAY, AXOLOTL. THE MULTIVERSE'S SAFETY IS WORTH MORE THAN YOUR LIFE."

He knew it was. The leader of the militia was so powerful that resisting a direct order made the Axolotl dizzy—but he did resist. He shouted at the triangle, "You can't fight off every god in the multiverse! This is suicide!" He realized too late that that probably wasn't as discouraging as he'd intended it to be.

"So what?! There's no way for me to win! Get executed for god crimes or get erased when the dimension collapses—"

"Those aren't your only choices!" The Axolotl could see the fangs slowly, slowly curling up in his peripheral vision, and pretended he didn't. "It's not too late for you to stand down—!"

"I can't!" A wave of fire blazed up the teeth of the Dream Realm. He held up a fist, and it was far too small for any of the gods, so mighty and large, to see what he held; but the Axolotl knew. "If I don't get a happy ending, why shouldn't I burn the rest of you down with me?! At least I'll accomplish one thing before I go!" His hand began glowing as energy began gathering around the tiny seed of a big bang.

"Do you want your worshipers to remember you as a monster in their last moments?!"

"Better a monster than a LOSER!" His laugh was a strained subsonic roar. "Are fame and infamy really that different?! At least they'll be thinking about me at the end!"

"It would make you a terrible party host!"

The Axolotl didn't know what had possessed him to say that. Apparently the triangle didn't know what to make of it either, because he froze, giving the Axolotl a wide-eyed blank stare.

But it worked. He snapped out of his rage. The light gathering around the remains of Dimension 2 Delta went dark. For a moment, he was frozen, giving the Axolotl a wide-eyed blank stare; and then he laughed again, just as strained, much weaker. The borders of Dimension Zero shuddered with his laughter. "Fair enough!" The appendages stretching out into the third dimension lost definition. "Fair enough." He glowered tiredly at the god militia—but raised his hands in surrender. Both his palms were empty.

The trembling fangs dissolved as they retracted. The whole paradoxical mass sagged sluggishly back into the crawlspace underneath reality.

One by one, the god militia slowly lowered their weapons.

The Axolotl's heart was still hammering in his chest; and only then did it register that he'd nearly been eaten by an entire dimension.

Where had his power come from? How had the triangle done all this—made his whole dimension vanish without a trace, shoved an entire plane inside a point, gained complete control over it all...

He really did have complete control over the entire universe that had formed inside Dimension Zero—didn't he?

And to control an entire universe, he needed to have an entire universe's worth of energy.

Dimension 2 Delta had been an entire universe. And now—all of its energy was in Dimension Zero.

With the triangle.

As he watched the triangle wincing in pain as the Dream Realm sank back into place, as though the triangle could feel the way the edges of the neighboring dimensions dug into the frothing chaos, the Axolotl whispered, "Oh, no. What have you done?"

His power had come from his own universe. He had devoured it. He'd made it part of him.

All that energy wasn't stored inside the triangle's body—but the Axolotl had been wrong to think that the triangle was the body in the first place. The triangle was only the face: the eye, the mouth, the mind. The part of the Dream Realm that could speak.

The Dream Realm was the anglerfish—and the triangle was its pretty golden glowing lure. They were all one monster.

The triangle was slumped in defeat, but still he shot the Axolotl a tired glare. The hissing static whispers rose up around him again, spilling out of the Dream Realm. (The whispers, too, were a part of the triangle.) "Who are you to judge," he muttered. "You weren't there."

No, he wasn't. He'd gotten here too late.

Behind the Axolotl, the god projection said curtly, "APPREHEND THE TRIANGLE WHILE HE'S COMPLIANT."

The Axolotl whirled around, eyes glowing with rage. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!" The gods who had started moving toward Dimension Zero froze again.

"HE'S A THREAT TO THE MULTIVERSE!"

"He stood down!" 

"HE'S PROVEN WILLING TO DESTROY REALITY. HE COULD EASILY CHOOSE TO AGAIN." The higher dimensional projector turned to project straight at the Axolotl, dazzling him even through his shut eyes, shining straight into his brain. "STAND. ASIDE."

"No." The Axolotl tensed his muscles against the compulsion to obey. "He was a threat to the multiverse. Once the last walls are closed over the crawlspace, he won't be anymore. If he doesn't make a move between now and then, you have no grounds to pursue him." It was a little easier the second time to resist the higher god's command. "So if you do follow him out of the third dimension to capture him, you're trespassing in a new god's sovereign territory to make an illegal arrest outside your jurisdiction!"

"HE'S MASSACRED TEN DIMENSIONS AND TRIED TO DESTROY MORE. THERE ISN'T A COURT IN REALITY THAT WOULD CONSIDER PURSUING HIM UNJUSTIFIED."

"I know a few."

"YOU'RE DEFENDING A DIVINE MENACE. WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

He quietly kissed his career prospects goodbye as he watched himself do the stupidest thing he'd ever done. "I'm the Axolotl," said the Axolotl, "and I'm his lawyer!"

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 8 of a 9 part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting the last chapter next week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl deal with having gotten his heart broken by this sweet little triangle who actually isn't sweet.

It's ALSO chapter 61 Part Eight of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: this was The Big One, gang. And now I expect for the next several months I'm gonna get comments from y'all rereading earlier chapters going HOLD ON WAS THIS LINE FORESHADOWING THAT LITERALLY THE ENTIRE NIGHTMARE REALM IS PART OF BILL? And the answer is: yes. yes it was. Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!! 💕

also this was THE absolute hardest chapter to write, goddamn.)

[creamflix]

PHD IN LOVING YOU! — gojo satoru x (south asian) female reader [oneshot]

summary: you’ve perfected the art of running your classroom with all the intensity of a courtroom drama, leaving most of your students sweating bullets. enter gojo satoru — chaos incarnate, immune to your terrifying presence and oddly persistent in his antics. when his usual charm fails in the lecture hall, he decides to take up a part-time gig at a restaurant you frequent, just to catch you off guard. falling for someone? totally against his rules. but for you? maybe he’s willing to rewrite the script. after all, what’s love without a little melodrama?

content warnings: fluff & crack. sunshine gojo x grumpy reader. slightly “tsundere” reader. age gap of barely a few years [gojo is in his last year of college, reader has recently finished college]. mentions of alchohol, drunken confessions, frat party. food as a metaphor for love. he fell first, s/he fell harder trope. oblivious idiots in love. mentioned characters: nanami and suguru. many south asian and desi vocabulary/references, non-english words have been italicized - can be read with poc reader if you’d like. 

read on ao3!

“you know, around here, they call me the strongest.”

you didn’t even bother looking up from your notes. the voice — a mix of arrogance and charm that seemed to be dripping in its own self-confidence — was impossible to ignore. you clicked your pen shut, deliberately slow, and turned your head just enough to give him the most unimpressed look you could muster.

“wow,” you said, voice flatter than a pancake in a hydraulic press. “should i clap or…?”

he grinned, and lord help you, it was the kind of grin that made people weak in the knees. unfortunately for him, you were built different. built on hard work, resilience, and the occasional well-timed tea break.

“clapping’s optional. fainting’s encouraged,” he quipped, leaning against the desk like he had all the time in the world and none of it was for anything remotely productive. his hair was somehow whiter than freshly washed bedsheets in an ad, and his sunglasses — indoors, mind you — screamed “i’m better than you” energy. he radiated main character syndrome. 

you hated it already.

“yeah, no thanks,” you replied, finally closing your notebook and looking him over. he was tall — ridiculously so — and gave the impression of someone who breezed through life. his uniform was slightly undone, tie askew, and his energy screamed chaos. how was this guy even a student? better yet, why was he bothering you?

“what’s your name?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

“assistant professor,” you deadpanned. “yours?”

he chuckled, and you immediately hated how smooth it sounded. “gojo satoru,” he said, sticking out a hand. when you didn’t take it, he dramatically clutched his chest. “ouch. is this how you treat everyone? or am i just special?”

“special, alright,” you muttered, gathering your notes. “special cases need special patience.”

he laughed again, entirely too amused for your liking. “oh, i like you. you’ve got bite. most of the other assistants here just nod and take notes.”

“maybe they’re smarter than me,” you said, shoving your notebook into your bag. “because clearly, engaging with you is a waste of time.”

his hand shot to his chest again, like he was physically wounded. “harsh. let me guess — you’re not from around here?”

“nope. just an exchange student,” you said, trying to sidestep him, but he moved to block your path with the kind of speed that made you pause. his grin widened.

“ohhh, so you’re fresh meat. perfect.”

“i’m what now?” you asked, tone incredulous.

“fresh meat. new blood. the newbie. means you need someone to show you around — and lucky for you, i happen to be the best tour guide on this campus.” he said it like it was a fact, like the sky being blue or tea being superior to coffee. “and by best, i mean me. obviously.”

“oh, obviously,” you said dryly, finally losing your patience. “listen, gojo-san —”

“just call me satoru,” he interrupted, and you could swear the man was physically incapable of shutting up.

“fine, satoru.” you narrowed your eyes. “i don’t need a tour guide. i’ve been here two weeks, and i’m doing just fine without whatever… circus act you’re trying to sell me.”

“two weeks?” he repeated, looking genuinely surprised. “and i’m just meeting you now? tragedy. an absolute tragedy. who’s been hogging all your time?”

you pinched the bridge of your nose. “my job, satoru. you know, work? responsibilities? ever heard of those?”

“vaguely,” he said, waving his hand like the concept was beneath him. “but they don’t sound nearly as fun as whatever we could be doing. come ooonnnn, i’ll even buy you lunch. do they have the food you like here? no? okay, we’ll work with what we’ve got.”

you stared at him, wondering what karmic sin you committed to end up here. but as much as you hated to admit it, he was…kind of funny. infuriating, sure, but funny. 

not that you’d tell him that.

“why are you so determined to bother me?” you finally asked.

“because,” he said simply, leaning down until he was eye level with you. “you look like the only person here who won’t bore me to death. and i’m the strongest, remember? you should be honored.”

your eyes twitched. “the only thing i’m honored by is how incredibly patient i’m being right now. do you ever stop talking?”

“not when i’m around someone interesting,” he shot back, straightening up and casually stuffing his hands in his pockets. “so, assistant professor — what’s your name?”

you debated lying, but something about the way he looked at you — like you were a puzzle he was determined to solve — made you relent. “it’s y/n.”

“y/n,” he repeated, like he was trying it out. then, with another blinding grin, he pointed finger guns at you. finger guns. 

“well, y/n, you’re stuck with me now.”

you sighed. “this is gonna be the longest exchange program of my life.”

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo wasn’t the type to waste his time on newbies. fresh faces didn’t interest him, and assistant professor types were even lower on his list of people to bother. but you? you were something else. and not in the way where people threw around the word "exotic" like it was a compliment when really it made your blood boil. no, what made you different was your no-nonsense, whip-cracking, grade-A work ethic that had the entire campus buzzing.

rumor had it you’d leave the university with a teaching badge instead of your certificate, and honestly? no one would be surprised. you were that good. the kind of good that made nanami — notoriously stoic nanami — actually praise you. it wasn’t swooning, obviously; nanami would never swoon. but if he was capable of admiration beyond his rigid work-life balance philosophy, you had earned it. the rest of the student body? 

terrified.

genuinely, pant-shitting levels of fear. because for the first time in, well, forever, students were completing assignments on time. early, even.

fear, respect, or some chaotic cocktail of the two, no one dared question it. the unspoken rule? just do your work before you end up on the wrong side of assistant professor y/n.

gojo? oh, he saw all of it. the storm you stirred up, the iron grip you had on a campus that thrived on chaos. he knew you wouldn’t let him get away with his usual antics. not the skipping class, not the snarky comments, and definitely not his self-declared celebrity status. you were a buzzsaw of accountability, and gojo loved it. not in the way you think, though — don’t get ahead of yourself.

because gojoism — yes, that’s a thing; yes, he coined it — has a very clear rule: don’t get attached. people, places, things — they’re all just pit stops in the grand marathon of gojo satoru versus the world. getting attached? getting sentimental? that’s for suckers who don’t know how this game works. and catching feelings for an assistant professor? please. that would be career suicide.

but here’s the thing about gojo: he thrives in contradiction. so while he’d never admit it, he couldn’t get enough of the way you refused to be impressed by him. not his titles, not his abilities, not even his very charming face (his words, obviously). the way you rolled your eyes at his jokes instead of laughing? addicting. the way you’d cut him off mid-sentence with a pointed look? chef’s kiss.

he’d push your buttons — because of course he would — and you’d push back harder. sometimes literally, if he got too close.

“gojo,” you’d say, voice clipped as you slammed a stack of papers onto the desk he was currently lounging on, “do you even know what deadlines are?”

“do you even know how cute you look when you’re mad?” he’d shoot back with a smirk, only for you to grab the stack of papers and smack him on the head with it.

“i’m docking points for that,” you’d reply.

“good thing i’m not in that class,” he’d say, rubbing the back of his head but grinning all the same.

you weren’t like anyone else here. and while gojo would never admit it — never — you made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, attachment wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

not that he’d act on it. he had a reputation to maintain, after all.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

your hometown wasn’t kind to its students, and for women? the hurdles were sky-high. if you made it past the expectations of marriage by twenty-five, you were already considered lucky. but leaving the country? going all the way to japan to work as an assistant professor? it was practically unheard of. you fought tooth and nail for this opportunity, and everyone in your life — your parents, your friends, and especially your sleep-deprived self — knew it.

your parents bore the brunt of it back home, of course. aunties with too much time on their hands whispered about how you’d “slipped away from their hands” and speculated with relish about what a young woman like you must be doing all alone in another country. you heard about the comments in their phone calls, the carefully worded complaints disguised as updates. but you? you silently flipped every single one of those people off and worked harder.

and when you got to japan? well, you expected the students here to match the academic rigor you were used to. surely, you thought, at a prestigious institution like this one, students would treat education with the respect it deserved. but what you found instead was chaos. procrastination, laziness, and a classroom full of students who had clearly never experienced the kind of academic discipline you grew up with.

so you showed them. you brought the fire and brimstone that only years of being forged in the relentless grind of your own education could provide. your methods were strict, your expectations sky-high. deadlines weren’t suggestions; they were law. a harsh approach? maybe. but you weren’t here to make friends — you were here to do your job. and, to your satisfaction, it worked.

assignments started coming in on time. some students even began submitting them early. the whispers in the hallways stopped being about how scary you were and turned into grudging admiration. you weren’t just another assistant professor anymore; you were the assistant professor. the one who could whip an entire class into shape.

but there was one exception to your reign of order. one glaring, white-haired exception.

gojo satoru.

no amount of stern talking, rule-enforcing, or pointed glares seemed to get through to him. while the rest of his peers buckled down and locked in, gojo remained steadfastly, infuriatingly gojo. he treated your class like a casual hangout session, his assignments as optional suggestions, and your authority as a particularly amusing joke.

you tried everything. you talked to him one-on-one (he just grinned and offered you candy). you imposed stricter penalties (he seemed genuinely delighted to rack up a record number of deductions). finally, in frustration, you tried reverse psychology: ignoring him altogether.

if you thought that would deter him, though, you clearly underestimated how much gojo thrived on attention — especially yours.

at first, he made a game of it. raising his hand obnoxiously in class, only to say something irrelevant when called on. loudly announcing how much he missed being scolded by you. once, he even showed up early, leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin as if daring you to acknowledge his punctuality.

“oh, wow, professor y/n,” he said with mock sincerity, “do i finally have your attention, or should i try harder?”

you didn’t even glance up from your notes. “if this is you trying, then maybe you should quit while you’re ahead, gojo-san.”

he pouted. actually pouted. “cold as ever. don’t you think this is a little mean? ignoring one of your best students?”

you finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “best at what? wasting time?”

the class laughed. gojo didn’t. instead, he grinned, a slow, deliberate grin that made you feel like you’d walked right into a trap.

“oh, you’re good,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering over to his seat. “but i’m better.”

and that was the thing about gojo: he wasn’t just a student. he was a problem. an unshakable, incorrigible problem. and as much as you hated to admit it, ignoring him was harder than it should’ve been. not because you cared what he thought, obviously. but because he was just so damn annoying.

and, if you were being honest with yourself, a tiny part of you begrudgingly respected his ability to get under your skin. not that you’d ever let him know that.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo knew what you were doing the second you started doing it. reverse psychology? seriously? please, he’d been playing that game for years, mostly with girls trying to “tame” him, and he always came out on top. so when you turned that tactic on him in the most mundane, academic context possible, he thought he’d laugh it off.

except, he wasn’t laughing.

it stung. not in the obvious way, like a slap or a scolding — those he could handle with ease. no, this was a slow, persistent sting that gnawed at him. he told himself it was just the principle of the thing. after all, he was gojo satoru. he didn’t get ignored. not by students, not by professors, and definitely not by some assistant professor whose job was to notice him.

so, naturally, he did what he did best: he tried to annoy you back into paying attention to him.

he showed up late with the loudest excuse he could think of, dumped his belongings on the desk noisily, and waved like he hadn’t just interrupted the lecture. “don’t mind me!” he’d said with a grin, as if the entire class wasn’t already staring.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t even pause. just kept writing on the board like he didn’t exist.

then he started asking the most absurd questions in class, his hand shooting up every five minutes. “uh, do you think math could ever, like, save the world? or is it just numbers pretending to be important?”

without missing a beat, you replied, “math can’t save the world, but it might save your grade. if you pay attention, gojo-san.”

still, you didn’t really look at him.

and that’s what got him. no matter what he did — no matter how big his antics got — he felt like you were slipping further away. it was maddening. why was he so perturbed by your lack of attention? it wasn’t like he was starved for it. hell, there were at least three girls giggling at him from the back row, clearly waiting for him to flash a grin their way.

but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

because all he wanted, all he needed, was for you to look at him. just once.

and when you finally did — fleeting, barely a second — he swore it knocked the air clean out of his lungs. it wasn’t a soft, affectionate gaze. it was clinical, assessing, like you were deciding if he was worth wasting your energy on. and yet, it made his heart race like he’d just run a marathon.

he coughed, choking on his own spit like an idiot, and the giggling girls behind him burst into laughter. he barely noticed. his entire brain was short-circuiting because of one tiny glance from you.

oh no, he thought, panic creeping into the edges of his mind.

because if this meant what he thought it meant — if the flutter in his chest and the heat rising to his cheeks were any indication — then he was cooked.

and not in the cool, suave, gojo-satoru-untouchable way. no, he was the other kind of cooked. the pathetic kind. the “i might have it bad for you” kind.

and that? that was unacceptable. because the rules of gojo-ism were clear: no attachments. no crushes. no letting someone get under his skin.

but as he caught himself sneaking another glance your way, only to find you resolutely ignoring him, he realized something even worse.

it was already too late.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

the exhaustion from the week was creeping up on you, and all you wanted was the comfort of home — specifically, a plate of steaming hot rice served just the way you like it: with spices, gravy, and soul. you had a list of places to try, but tonight, your craving led you to a cozy little restaurant tucked into the corner of the town, its windows fogged from the heat of its bustling kitchen.

the moment you stepped in, it was like being transported back home. the air was thick with the scent of turmeric, cumin, and garlic sizzling in oil. old 90’s hits blared from the bose speakers, their crackly charm only adding to the vibe. the tables were covered in laminated menus adorned with bright pictures of curries and rice dishes, and the faint clinking of plates and laughter of families made the place feel alive.

you inhaled deeply, a small smile tugging at your lips as you muttered, “finally, some real food.”

but just as the nostalgia began to settle, so did the chaos.

“auntie, i swear, if you add me on instagram, i’ll give you an extra drink on the house!”

you froze. that voice was unmistakable.

slowly, you turned your head toward the noise, and there he was — gojo satoru, in all his obnoxiously white-haired glory, standing at a table of middle-aged aunties who were giggling like schoolgirls. he was holding a menu in one hand, the other gesturing wildly as he leaned in with his megawatt grin.

your first instinct was to turn around and walk out, but it was too late. his stupid sixth sense or whatever it was must’ve pinged because his gaze snapped to yours.

for a moment, he froze, his grin faltering slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. then, like the human embodiment of chaos he was, he lit up.

“well, well, well,” he said, straightening up and strolling toward you, the menu still clutched in his hand. “if it isn’t assistant professor y/n. what brings you to my establishment?”

you blinked. “your establishment?”

“yepppp,” he said, popping the “p” with a smirk. “i work here now. part-time, of course. y’know, givin’ back to the community and alla that.”

“giving back?” you repeated, skepticism dripping from your tone as you glanced at the aunties still swooning over him.

“what can i say?” he shrugged dramatically. “the people love me. i’m a man of the masses.”

you narrowed your eyes. “last i heard, you said part-time jobs were, and i quote, ‘too lame.’”

“ah, well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, the smirk slipping for just a moment before snapping back into place. “turns out, this place has… sentimental value.”

you raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but before you could press him further, the manager — an older man with a sharp mustache and a no-nonsense attitude — poked his head out from the kitchen.

“boy! less talking, more working!”

“right, right,” gojo called back, waving him off. then, turning to you, he added with an exaggerated bow, “your server for tonight, at your service.”

“oh, god,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“don’t worry,” he said, grinning as he led you to a table near the window. “i’ll make sure your dining experience is unforgettable. five-star service, guaranteed.”

you sat down, glancing around at the restaurant. the energy was warm and lively, the kind of place where families lingered over their meals, and you couldn’t help but relax a little despite gojo’s antics.

but as soon as he returned with the menu, you realized relaxing wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

“so, what’ll it be?” he asked, placing the menu on the table with a flourish.

you reached for it, but he held on, his hand lingering just long enough to make it awkward.

“gojo,” you said flatly.

“right, right,” he said, quickly letting go and stepping back. “just thought i’d help you decide. you know, spice levels, portion sizes, all that jazz.”

“i think i can handle it,” you said, scanning the menu.

he nodded, rocking back on his heels like he had too much energy and no idea what to do with it. “cool, cool, cool. uh, so… how’s the food situation at the dorms? still… uh, bad?”

you looked up, startled by the shift in his tone. was he… making small talk?

“it’s fine,” you said cautiously. “why do you ask?”

“no reason,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck again. “just, you know, wondering. totally normal thing to ask. not weird at all.”

you stared at him, and for the first time since you’d met him, he looked… nervous.

“gojo,” you said slowly, “did you…get this job just so you could talk to me outside of class?”

his eyes widened, and for a second, you thought he might actually deny it. but then, to your utter disbelief, he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“okay, fine,” he admitted, throwing his hands up. “yes, i might’ve suggested to the manager that hiring me would be a strategic move. but can you blame me? you’ve been ignoring me for weeks!”

“oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“but hey, look,” he said, leaning on the table with that infuriating grin, “it worked, didn’t it? you’re here, we’re talking, and you’re not ignoring me anymore.”

you peeked at him through your fingers. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet,” he said, winking, “you’re still here. coincidence? i think not.”

you couldn’t help it. despite yourself, a laugh escaped you. maybe it was the smell of the spices or the familiar music or the sheer ridiculousness of gojo trying to be suave while fumbling a menu, but for the first time in weeks, you felt… lighter.

“fine,” you said, sitting back with a sigh. “just get me some biryani, and maybe — maybe — i’ll stop ignoring you.”

“coming right up!” he said, snapping his fingers and spinning toward the kitchen.

and as he walked away, practically bouncing with energy, you realized something unsettling.

you didn’t hate this. not as much as you thought you would.

for all his loud boasts and infuriating antics, gojo somehow managed to deliver on his promise of five-star service. you weren't sure whether to be impressed or mildly alarmed by how committed he was to the bit. the complimentary lassi arrived first, its frothy top sprinkled with crushed pistachios and saffron strands.

“on the house,” gojo said, placing it in front of you with a flourish, his grin as bright as ever.

you raised an eyebrow. “on the house? or on your paycheck?”

he clutched his chest in mock offense. “you wound me. can’t a guy just be generous without being interrogated?”

you took a cautious sip, the cool, sweet tang of the lassi immediately soothing your tired soul. okay, maybe he wasn’t completely useless. but you weren’t about to let him know that.

“it’s good,” you said grudgingly, setting the glass down.

“good?” he repeated, looking almost scandalized. “it’s amaaazzing. i personally quality-checked the batch this morning. and by quality-check, i mean stole a glass when no one was looking.”

“why am i not surprised?”

he laughed, loud and carefree, before turning back toward the kitchen. “don’t go anywhere. the main course is coming up, and trust me, it’s gonna blow your mind.”

“i’ve had biryani before, gojo,” you called after him.

he paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with a wink. “yeah, but you’ve never had biryani here.”

you rolled your eyes, but despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips.

when the biryani finally arrived, it was accompanied by a plate of papad so stacked you thought it might topple over at any moment. gojo set the dishes down with exaggerated care, his expression comically serious.

“i present to you: the finest biryani in town,” he announced, stepping back like a magician revealing his latest trick. “and, of course, an appropriate amount of papad.”

“appropriate?” you said, staring at the pile. “are you trying to feed me or an army?”

“details, details,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.

you took a bite of the biryani, the warm, spiced flavors instantly transporting you back home. for a moment, you forgot where you were, lost in the sheer comfort of the food. gojo, who had been watching you like a hawk, grinned triumphantly.

“knew it,” he said, crossing his arms. “you love it.”

you looked up, your expression neutral. “it’s okay.”

“okay?!” he exclaimed, clutching his head in mock despair. “this is a masterpiece! an edible work of art! you should be weeping tears of joy right now.”

“maybe if you’d actually cooked it, i would,” you shot back.

his grin faltered for the briefest second, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. “give me time,” he said softly, almost to himself.

“what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“nothing!” he said quickly, the grin snapping back into place. “anyway, don’t fill up too much. dessert’s coming.”

“dessert?” you repeated. “i didn’t order dessert.”

“i did,” he said, smirking.

you groaned. “gojo, i —”

“truuuust me,” he interrupted, leaning on the table. “you’ll thank me later.”

and sure enough, minutes later, he returned with not one but four different desserts, ranging from gulab jamun to kulfi.

“are you trying to kill me?” you asked, staring at the spread.

“what? no,” he said, feigning innocence. “just making sure you have options.”

“i grew up eating this stuff, you know,” you said, picking up a spoon.

“yeah, but now you’re eating it here, with me,” he said, his tone oddly earnest.

you looked at him, surprised by the sudden shift. he was still grinning, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“you’re really going all out, huh?” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “what can i say? you’re worth it.”

your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he straightened up, the grin back in full force.

“now, hurry up and eat,” he said, waving at the desserts. “i’ve got a reputation to uphold as the best server this place has ever seen.”

you shook your head, laughing despite yourself.

and as you dug into the desserts, gojo lingered nearby, shooing away any other server who dared approach your table.

“she’s got me,” he said to one particularly annoyed coworker. “go help table six.”

you rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t deny that you appreciated the effort.

because for all his theatrics and ridiculousness, gojo was trying. and maybe — just maybe — that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

the air in the restaurant was thick with the aroma of spices, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. it felt like a piece of home transplanted into a foreign land, and you couldn’t help but soak it all in. across the room, families leaned into each other, sharing plates and stories, while a gaggle of aunties erupted into loud laughter.

you glanced at them and caught gojo in the middle of an animated retelling of what looked suspiciously like a made-up story. he gestured wildly, miming what might have been a tiger fight or possibly a dramatic fall into a ditch.

“and then,” he said, lowering his voice for dramatic effect, “just as i thought it was all over for me, i —”

“slipped on a banana peel,” one of the aunties interjected, to the uproarious laughter of her companions.

gojo clutched his chest. “how dare you ruin my heroic tale! i was going to say i wrestled the tiger with my bare hands!”

the aunties waved him off, and one of them, a silver-haired woman with a cheeky grin, called out to you. “dear, you need to keep this one in check. he’s too much.”

you snorted, raising your glass in mock salute. “believe me, auntie, i’m trying.”

gojo turned to you with an exaggerated pout. “i thought you were on my side!”

“i’ll be on your side when you stop embellishing your life stories,” you shot back, smirking.

“ouch,” he said, clutching his chest again, this time as if you’d shot him. “right in the heart.”

shaking your head, you turned your attention back to the rest of the room. a group of kids at a nearby table was sneaking curious glances at you. when you caught their eye and made a funny face, they shrieked with laughter, their giggles cutting through the hum of the restaurant.

one of the little girls tugged on her mother’s sleeve and whispered something, and the next thing you knew, she was waving shyly at you. you waved back, smiling, and the shy wave quickly turned into an enthusiastic flurry of hands.

“look at you,” gojo said, leaning against the edge of your table, watching the interaction. “miss popular already.”

“it’s not that hard,” you said, shrugging. “kids are easy. you just have to know how to talk to them.”

“oh yeah?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “and what about me? am i easy to talk to?”

“no,” you said flatly.

he burst out laughing, tilting his head back dramatically. “you wound me again! how many times is that tonight? three? four?”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound surprising you. it wasn’t one of those polite, measured laughs you reserved for acquaintances. it was genuine, a sound that seemed to echo somewhere deep inside you, loosening a knot you hadn’t even realized was there.

gojo must have noticed because his expression softened, just for a moment. “you should laugh more,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

you looked at him, startled by the sudden change in tone. “what?”

“you,” he said, gesturing vaguely in your direction. “you’re always so serious. it’s nice to see you, you know…relax.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat. instead, you looked down at your plate, suddenly feeling exposed.

“anyway,” he said, his usual grin slipping back into place. “don’t forget to leave me a glowing review. something like, ‘best server ever, would definitely recommend.’”

you rolled your eyes, the moment broken. “sure, i’ll write that right after ‘most annoying person in the world.’”

“i’ll take it,” he said, laughing as he straightened up.

as you lingered a little longer, watching the bustle of the restaurant and sharing quiet smiles with strangers who felt like kindred spirits, you let out a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let yourself enjoy this moment. and maybe a little bit of that had to do with gojo.

the restaurant door jingled shut behind you as you adjusted the strap of your jute satchel on your shoulder, the warm scent of spices still lingering on your clothes. the streets were quiet now, a soft breeze carrying the distant hum of city life. you were about to start your walk back to campus when the sound of a dramatic skid on the wooden floor made you pause.

“hey, wait up!” gojo’s voice rang out, followed by the thundering clatter of his sneakers against the floor. you turned just in time to see him stumble slightly as he reached you, grinning like a fool.

“what now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he bent over, hands on his knees, panting dramatically.

“shift’s over,” he wheezed, straightening up with an exaggerated flourish.

“is it?” you asked skeptically, glancing over his shoulder to see the restaurant manager yelling furiously in a mix of japanese and some choice words that sounded suspiciously similar to the ones your dad and uncles would yell when things went sideways back home.

“absolutely,” gojo said, completely ignoring the manager’s tirade. “and besides, it’s unsafe for you to walk back alone. what kind of guy would i be if i let that happen?”

you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, twitching into a small smile. “oh, please. like anyone would dare mess with me.”

“you’re scary, sure,” gojo said, falling into step beside you. “but even the scariest people need someone to walk them home. it’s, like, basic chivalry.”

“is it basic chivalry to leave your bike at the restaurant?” you asked pointedly, watching as his confident stride faltered for a split second.

“details, details,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “i’ll get it later. this is more important.”

you snorted, clutching your bag tighter as you walked. “you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet, you’re letting me walk with you,” he shot back, grinning. “what does that say about you?”

“it says i’m too tired to argue,” you replied, though your tone lacked any real bite.

gojo stuffed his hands into his pockets, occasionally stumbling over uneven pavement as he talked — no, rambled — about anything and everything. from the latest anime episode he watched to a bizarre dream where he was somehow the ruler of a pancake kingdom.

“and get this,” he said, nearly tripping over his own feet. “the pancakes? they talked. like, actual conversations. one of them was trying to unionize —”

“how do you even come up with this stuff?” you interrupted, shaking your head in disbelief.

“it’s a gift,” he said, flashing you a grin. “i’m a man of many talents.”

“like tripping over your own feet?” you teased as he stumbled yet again.

“it’s called multitasking,” he said, puffing out his chest. “walking and being charming at the same time is no easy feat.”

“you’re definitely failing at one of those,” you muttered, though the warmth in your voice betrayed your amusement.

as you reached the dormitory gates, you stopped, turning to face him. “well, thanks for walking me back. now you can go fetch your bike and actually get home.”

“right, right,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. but he didn’t move, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long.

you tilted your head. “what?”

“nothing!” he said quickly, holding his hands up. “just…y’know. goodnight.”

you rolled your eyes and turned to walk away, only to pause as the realization hit you. “wait a second.”

gojo blinked, confused. “what?”

“you don’t even stay on campus, do you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. “your bike’s still at the restaurant, and you just walked me all the way here. now you have to walk back.”

his grin faltered, replaced by a sheepish expression. “uh…surprise?”

you stared at him, torn between annoyance and something softer that you didn’t want to acknowledge. before you could stop yourself, your hand shot out, delivering a solid whack to his chest.

“idiot,” you muttered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you turned away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

gojo, however, was too busy clutching his chest dramatically, a mix of mock pain and genuine delight lighting up his face. “owwww! was that necessary?”

“completely,” you called over your shoulder, refusing to look back.

“ya know,” he said, his voice carrying through the quiet night, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re warming up to me!”

“don’t push your luck,” you shot back, your pace quickening.

as you disappeared into the dorm, gojo stood there, a stupidly wide grin plastered on his face. he pressed a hand to his chest where you’d hit him, feeling the faint ache beneath his palm.

“totally worth it,” he muttered to himself, practically skipping as he turned to start his long walk back.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo satoru had many things in his arsenal — charm, wit, absurd confidence — but subtlety was not one of them. so when he started showing up to campus hours earlier than necessary, or when steaming boxes of samosas began appearing on your desk, the culprit was obvious.

the first time it happened, you’d barely set your bag down before spotting the box, the smell of spiced potatoes and crispy dough wafting up to greet you. your eyes flicked to the door, just in time to catch a streak of white hair and the sound of hurried footsteps retreating down the hall.

inside the box was a sticky note. the handwriting was atrocious, barely legible, and at the bottom was a crude drawing of a tiger that looked more like a cat with a mohawk.

“thought you’d like these. you’re grrr-eat!  – g.s. :3”

you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly fell out of your head, but your lips betrayed you, curving into a reluctant smile.

by the end of the week, you had a growing collection of these notes in your desk drawer. one had a lopsided peacock that looked like it had been attacked with a blue highlighter. another had a flower that could generously be called a lotus if you squinted and tilted your head.

the students noticed the change in you almost immediately. your usual stern demeanor softened ever so slightly, and while you were still a stickler for deadlines, you now nodded understandingly at genuine excuses.

“did you hear? professor assistant’s in a mood lately,” a student whispered loudly to their desk mate.

“yeah, but why though?”

“maybe she’s —” the student leaned in dramatically, eyes wide —“dating someone.”

gojo, who had been lounging in the back row pretending to nap, shot upright. “dating? her? no way!” he said, loudly enough for the entire class to hear.

all heads swiveled toward him.

“i mean,” he said, backtracking with an exaggerated wave of his hands, “it’d have to be someone really cool. maybe, like…an alien prince? yeah, that’s it. she’s totally in an intergalactic love affair.”

the class burst into laughter, and while the gossip shifted to debating the plausibility of alien romances, gojo stole a glance at you. you were shaking your head, lips pressed together in what he hoped was an attempt to hide a smile.

it wasn’t just the little gestures, though. gojo had also started reigning in his usual chaos. sure, he still submitted assignments late, but only by a day now, and the answers — stolen from nanami or not — were at least complete. he even started hushing other students when they got too rowdy, shooing them with a dramatic, “respect the queen, peasants,” before earning a chalk stick to the head from you.

“owwwww! abuse!” he’d whine, rubbing his head as the class laughed.

“then stop acting like a child,” you’d retort, though there was no real venom in your words.

one day, after a particularly chaotic lecture, you caught him lingering outside the classroom.

“something you need, satoru?” you asked, crossing your arms.

he froze, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “uh, no! just, um, making sure you’re not, y’know…kidnapped by aliens or something. it’s a dangerous world out there.”

“right.” you raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “and the real reason?”

he hesitated, shoving his hands in his pockets. “just…wanted to see if you liked the samosas.”

you softened, just a fraction. “they were fine. but you don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“doing what?”

“whatever this is,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “i don’t need bribes to do my job.”

“it’s not a bribe,” he said quickly. “it’s just…you work hard. too hard, maybe. figured you could use a little something to remind you of home.”

your chest tightened, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“besides,” he added, his grin returning, “i’d never bribe you. i’m saving my bribery skills for the day you actually give me detention.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “get out of here before i reconsider.”

as he walked away, practically skipping, you found yourself clutching your satchel a little tighter, feeling the faint weight of all the silly notes tucked inside.

and gojo? as he left campus that day, he was grinning like an idiot, hand pressed to his chest like he’d just won the lottery. sure, he was falling for you, and yeah, maybe it was a little terrifying. but if falling meant more moments like these, he figured it was worth the risk.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

exam season turned the already bustling campus into a pressure cooker, and you found yourself at the center of it all. drafting question papers, aligning marking schemes, coordinating with the examination department — your plate was not just full; it was overflowing.

amid this chaos came the final straw in the saga of gojo satoru: his ban from the staff room.

it started innocently enough — if delivering steaming boxes of samosas to a restricted area could be called innocent. but when the coordinator raised an eyebrow too many and rumors of "the assistant professor's favorite student" began making rounds, the decision was swift and final.

"satoru, this is the last time. you’re banned from the staff room,” you’d told him sternly, pointing a finger for emphasis.

his response? a dramatic gasp and a hand clutching his chest. “you’re banning me? your number-one supporter? your — your cheerleader?”

“yes. cheer me on from a distance,” you said, turning away before he could see the twitch of your lips.

what followed was a week of gojo-level theatrics. he’d pout like a scolded puppy when you walked by, groaning loudly to anyone who’d listen. “my heart’s been broken,” he’d lament to his classmates, sprawling across desks like a tragic hero. “she cast me out. me!”

by day four, you were done.

you found him loitering by the library, feet propped on a bench like he owned the place, a pair of obnoxiously bright sunglasses perched on his nose.

“gojo,” you said, arms crossed.

he sat up straight at your tone, glasses sliding down his nose. “yes, teach?”

“why are you making such a big deal out of this?” you demanded, exasperation lacing your voice.

“because it is a big deal,” he shot back, standing now, his height making you tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. “do you know how stupid i feel? sneaking into staff rooms, drawing peacocks that look like roadkill, trying to get you to notice me — just for you to shut me out? it sucks, okay?”

his words hung in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless.

you weren’t good with emotions — back home, vulnerability was a luxury few could afford. confrontation wasn’t much better. and yet, here you were, faced with both.

“satoru, it’s not —” you started, faltering as his gaze bore into yours, uncharacteristically earnest.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “look, i… i appreciate what you’ve done. the effort, the —” you gestured vaguely, “ — everything. but this is a professional setting, and you make it really hard to keep things, well, professional.”

his lips quirked up at that, a hint of his usual cockiness returning. “so, you’re saying i’m distracting?”

“don’t push it,” you warned, though your tone lacked heat.

he took a step closer, his grin softening. “i get it. i do. but, y’know… you could’ve just said ‘thank you.’”

you rolled your eyes. “thank you, gojo. for the samosas. and the terrible art.”

“you’re welcome,” he said, stepping back with a mock bow, the tension between you easing ever so slightly.

as you turned to leave, he called after you, “but, hey, just so you know… i’m not giving up. banned or not.”

you didn’t look back, but the small smile tugging at your lips gave you away entirely.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

you stared at the stack of papers on your desk, each one a potential pandora’s box of missed grammar, nonsensical arguments, and uninspired prose. english papers were always a minefield, and you had somehow drawn the short straw for grading them this term. but it wasn’t just the sheer volume of work that made your stomach churn.

it was gojo’s essay.

his name glared at you from the corner of the page like a taunt.

you sighed, running your thumb along the edges of the papers, already bracing yourself for the absurdity to come. he wasn’t exactly known for his academic prowess, and his past submissions had ranged from thinly veiled comedy skits to outright gibberish disguised as poetry.

but as you started reading, your brow furrowed.

"yearning," it began, in unusually elegant script.

his handwriting was still a little messy, but there was care behind each stroke, like he had taken extra time to make it legible.

the essay itself, though…

at first, you thought it was a joke. some elaborate prank he’d written to make you second-guess your sanity.

“yearning is the ache of a soul reaching for something it knows it shouldn’t want but can’t bear to let go of.”

you paused, scanning the words again, waiting for the punchline. it didn’t come. instead, the essay unfolded into something — god help you — poignant.

gojo described yearning as a quiet, persistent tug. an itch in the chest that worsened in silence and swelled in proximity. he wrote about the way it demanded attention, yet he danced around the specifics, cloaking his examples in poetic vagueness.

“it’s the way someone’s voice lingers in your mind even when they’re scolding you. it’s noticing the shape of their smile, even if it’s not meant for you. it’s knowing they’d call you a fool for feeling this way and somehow wanting to hear it anyway.”

you blinked at the page, heart stuttering as the words sunk in. this wasn’t just any essay.

it was about you.

you fought the urge to throw the paper aside, suddenly hyper aware of the way your pulse quickened.

“yearning is seeing someone’s dedication to the world and wanting, selfishly, to be a part of it. to have them look at you with the same seriousness they reserve for their passions. but it’s also knowing that some things are too good to reach for — that trying might ruin the very thing you admire.”

you sat back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as a wave of emotions rolled through you.

was this… sincere?

was it some convoluted joke? a test to see how far he could push you?

but the writing was too raw, too heartfelt to be a simple prank. you could feel him in the words, the way he stumbled through emotions he probably didn’t fully understand.

and yet, there was still that hint of gojo: the irreverence, the humor.

“yearning is stupid, really. because no one wins. either you tell them, and it’s weird, or you don’t, and you’re stuck writing essays about it like some tragic hero in a bad movie.”

you snorted despite yourself, rubbing a hand over your face.

what were you supposed to do with this?

your instincts screamed at you to fail him. this was wildly off-topic, an indulgence of personal feelings instead of academic analysis.

but another part of you — the part that softened at his ridiculous peacock drawings and earnest (if misplaced) attempts to make you smile — couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

you picked up your pen and, after a long moment of deliberation, scribbled a tentative B- in red ink. it wasn’t an outright failure, but it wasn’t exactly encouragement either.

as you set the paper aside, your thoughts swirled, torn between exasperation and something you didn’t want to name.

because even if you didn’t want to admit it, his words had reached you in ways you weren’t prepared to confront.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

when gojo walked into class that day, his usual swagger was amplified tenfold. he was practically glowing, strutting past his peers with his essay held aloft like a trophy. the grin plastered on his face was so wide, it threatened to split his face in half.

“behold, ladies and gentlemen,” he declared, tapping his paper against nanami’s head for good measure, “the masterpiece that is my essay. highest grade i’ve ever gotten. third highest in the entire grade.” he puffed his chest out dramatically, looking at you as if expecting a standing ovation.

nanami rolled his eyes, snatching the paper from gojo’s hands to inspect it. “an a-minus isn’t exactly groundbreaking, satoru.”

gojo gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “it is when it’s me, nanami! you don’t understand the emotional labor that went into this! the blood, the sweat, the tears —”

“the copied half of my notes, you mean,” nanami muttered, handing the paper back.

you tried to focus on setting up the lesson, suppressing the urge to smirk. his antics were nothing new, but this time, you couldn’t help but feel a faint tug of pride, even if it was mingled with irritation.

when it was finally time to hand back the essays, you made your way down the rows, handing out graded papers with your usual neutral expression. but when you reached gojo, his bright, expectant eyes locked on yours, you hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

you handed him the paper, your fingers brushing his momentarily, and he took it with both hands, holding it up like it was a sacred artifact.

“a b-minus bumped up to an a-minus,” he said with a faux gasp, loud enough for the entire class to hear. “why, teach, you playing favorites?”

you shot him a warning look, but it only made his grin grow wider.

“don’t push it, gojo,” you said evenly, though your tone lacked its usual edge.

he leaned back in his chair, still gloating as he turned the paper over and over in his hands. but behind the theatrics, you caught the flicker of something genuine in his expression — a quiet kind of satisfaction that spoke louder than his words ever could.

to everyone else, his boasting was just another act. but to you, it felt like something more, like he was seeking validation in the only way he knew how.

and for some reason, that thought lingered long after class ended.

when the bell rang, gojo didn’t rush out like the others. instead, he waited until the room was nearly empty, shuffling awkwardly near your desk.

“soooo, uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck, “you read it, huh? like… really read it?”

you didn’t look up from the stack of papers you were organizing. “i wouldn’t have graded it if i hadn’t.”

he let out a dramatic sigh, slumping against the desk. “not what i meant. did you get it? like… the deeper meaning?”

you finally glanced up, meeting his gaze. his usual bravado was still there, but there was something softer underneath it, something almost nervous.

“i got it,” you said quietly, and for once, he didn’t have a snarky comeback.

his grin softened, and he straightened up, spinning the paper in his hands again. “cool. just… cool.”

and with that, he left, his usual bounce in his step. but as he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, giving you a look that said more than words ever could.

you shook your head, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. whatever this was between you and gojo, it was unspoken and strange, but maybe, for now, it didn’t need to be anything else.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

it was a rare sunny day on campus, and most students were sprawled out on the grassy fields, reveling in the freedom of post-exam bliss. the air buzzed with chatter and laughter, a stark contrast to the usually tense corridors filled with murmurs of last-minute cramming. and yet, instead of being the ringleader of some over-the-top celebration, gojo was trailing behind you like a shadow, a paper box of samosas balanced precariously in one hand and a bottle of mango lassi in the other.

“seriously, gojo,” you said, glancing back at him. “don’t you have somewhere else to be? like, i don’t know, with your friends?”

“what, and miss the chance to see you enjoy my samosas?” he quipped, flashing that obnoxiously bright grin. “besides, i’m everyone’s favorite. they’ll be fine without me for a bit.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t shoo him away. in truth, the quiet after exams was unnerving, and his chatter filled the void in a way that was oddly comforting.

at some point, he insisted on feeding you. the first few times, you outright refused, giving him a look that could curdle milk. but then, for reasons you couldn’t quite fathom — maybe the post-exam haze, maybe the sheer persistence in his puppy-dog eyes — you caved.

“fine,” you relented, leaning slightly forward. “but if you drop even one crumb —”

“relaaax,” he said, his voice dipping into something annoyingly smooth. “you’re in good hands.”

and to his credit, he was careful, holding the samosa with an exaggerated delicacy as if it were made of glass. you bit into it, the crunch loud in the quiet that had suddenly fallen between you two.

he beamed like he’d just won a nobel prize. “seeee? told you i’d make the experience unforgettable.”

“unforgettable, my ass,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lips.

gojo laughed, the sound loud and unrestrained, drawing a few glances from passersby. “you just admitted i’m unforgettable. it’s okay, teach, you don’t have to hide your feelings anymore.”

you smacked his arm lightly, and he let out a mock yelp, clutching it as if you’d injured him.

the box was gone faster than you expected, mostly thanks to gojo’s bottomless pit of a stomach. he flashed you a sheepish grin, crumbs still clinging to the corners of his mouth.

“uhhh… i think i ate more than half,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“think?” you snorted, shaking your head.

the two of you started walking aimlessly around campus, the kind of companionable silence that only came after shared food and banter settling between you.

at one point, gojo said something so utterly ridiculous — something about how samosas were the perfect metaphor for love, with layers of spice and warmth. you snorted so hard, you nearly tripped, your laughter ringing out clear and unfiltered.

“god, you’re such an idiot,” you said, whacking his chest lightly, only to immediately regret it.

why was his chest that solid? it was like hitting a brick wall wrapped in a hoodie.

“owww,” he said dramatically, rubbing the spot as if you’d actually hurt him. then, before you could pull your hand back, he caught your wrist.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice losing its usual playful lilt.

you froze. his hand was warm around your wrist, his touch firm but gentle, and when you looked up, his eyes were — god, they were so blue, it was like staring into a summer sky.

the world around you seemed to blur, the distant hum of campus life fading into nothing as he took a half-step closer.

“you ever notice how weird this feels?” he murmured, his tone uncharacteristically quiet. “like… i’m standing here, and you’re right here, but it still doesn’t feel close enough.”

his forehead brushed against yours, and suddenly, you forgot how to breathe. the space between you was practically nonexistent, and yet, it felt like he was somehow closing a gap you didn’t even realize was there.

“gojo…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but the rest of the words died in your throat.

“satoru,” he corrected softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

the proximity was overwhelming, every detail amplified — the faint scent of whatever cologne he wore, the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheekbones, the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

“don’t worry,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, “i’m not gonna kiss you. not unless you want me to, of course. i’m not that forward.”

the laugh that bubbled out of you was equal parts disbelief and nervousness. “you’re literally the most forward person i’ve ever met.”

“yeah, but not with you,” he admitted, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart stutter.

you pulled back slightly, breaking the moment before it could swallow you whole. “you’re such a drama queen.”

“and yet, you still stick around,” he teased, his grin returning, but this time, it felt softer, less of a mask and more of a truth.

as you walked back to your dorm, his hand brushed against yours, and though neither of you said anything, the warmth lingered long after he’d waved goodbye.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

it was a friday night, the campus buzzing with whispers of the party of the semester. gojo’s name was on every other tongue, along with exaggerated promises of free drinks, loud music, and the type of chaos only he could orchestrate. you tried to brush it off as you walked past clusters of students gossiping on the quad.

“you comin’, miss?” one of your more confident students called out, giving you a cheeky grin.

“unlikely,” you replied, raising an eyebrow but offering a small smile. “don’t think i’d blend in at a college party.”

“oh, trust me,” another chimed in, “you’d be the star of the night. even gojo would agree.”

you waved them off, feigning nonchalance, but the comment lingered.

it wasn’t like you wanted to go to his stupid party. you were a teacher, not some college kid with zero inhibitions. and yet, there was something about the idea of gojo hosting this wild bash, completely in his element, that gnawed at you.

you sighed, staring at your reflection in the mirror. the bindi perched perfectly on your forehead, your jhumkas catching the light as you moved. why not? you were in japan — far from home, far from prying eyes, and definitely far from anyone who’d lecture you about propriety.

dressed in a fusion of your traditional style and something a bit more casual, you hailed a cab, heart racing as you approached the house blaring music loud enough to rattle the street.

the party was exactly what you expected — students spilling out onto the porch, laughter and music mixing with the smell of cheap alcohol. heads turned as you walked in, your attire catching more than a few curious glances.

you ignored the whispers, stepping further into the house. the atmosphere was electric — lights flashing, bodies swaying, drinks being passed around.

and then you spotted him.

gojo was in the middle of it all, a drink in hand and a stupidly wide grin on his face. his glasses were slightly askew, and his cheeks were flushed, the telltale signs of someone thoroughly drunk.

you were about to turn and leave — because clearly, this was a terrible idea — when his voice rang out.

“oh. my. god,” he said, pointing vaguely in your direction. “you look… so familiar!”

you froze. surely, he wasn’t —

“no, seriously!” he stumbled closer, squinting at you. “you remind me of someone. someone important.”

he was too close now, his breath smelling faintly of vodka and whatever sweet mixer he’d drowned it in.

“you’re drunk, satoru,” you said, your voice steady despite the laughter bubbling up inside.

“i’m not that drunk!” he protested, swaying slightly. “okay, maybe a little. but listen! you look just like — like her!”

“her?” you prompted, folding your arms and trying not to smirk.

“yes, her!” he exclaimed, his voice dipping into something uncharacteristically soft. “she’s… she’s amazing. drives me insane, but in a good way, ya know? like, i wanna punch a wall and write poetry at the same time.”

“sounds intense,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“it isss! she’s so smart, and — and kind, but also terrifying,” he continued, his words slurring slightly. “she doesn’t take my shit, which is honestly hot as hell. and her laugh — oh my god, her laugh! s’like… like a warm hug, but for your ears.”

you bit your lip, trying to hold back your laughter. “sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

“i doooooo!” he groaned dramatically, leaning against the wall for support. “but she doesn’t even like me! well, maybe she does? sometimes? she whacked me the other day, and i think that’s a good sign.”

at that, you couldn’t help it — you burst out laughing, the sound lost in the thrum of the party. gojo blinked at you, his expression shifting from confusion to dawning realization.

“wait a second…” he said, leaning closer, squinting as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “no way.”

“yes, way,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a soft chuckle.

his jaw dropped, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“oh my god,” he finally managed. “you’re her! you’re you!”

“brilliant observation,” you teased.

he groaned, covering his face with one hand. “this is so embarrassing. please tell me you didn’t hear all of that.”

“every word,” you said, grinning.

“kill me now,” he muttered, sliding down the wall dramatically.

“don’t worry,” you said, crouching down to his level. “i’ll keep your little rant our secret.”

he peeked through his fingers, his cheeks somehow even redder. “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

“maybe,” you admitted, standing up and offering him a hand. “come on, let’s get you some water before you embarrass yourself further.”

he took your hand, his grip surprisingly steady despite his inebriated state. “thanks… for not, like, running away or something. you’re cool, you know that?”

“yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling nonetheless.

as you led him toward the kitchen, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — this ridiculously charming idiot was starting to grow on you.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo wanted to be anywhere but here. 

okay, scratch that — he wanted to be here, with you, but also wanted to dig a hole in his living room floor and yeet himself into it. his brain, muddled with alcohol, was doing its best to keep things together, but with you suddenly here — looking like that — his chances were rapidly dwindling.

he adjusted his arm around your waist, a loose but deliberate gesture that made his heart stutter. it was a casual hold, or at least he hoped it looked casual, but the warmth of your body pressed lightly against his side was sending his brain into overdrive.

“and this,” he said, gesturing grandly with his free hand to what was very clearly the kitchen, “is where the magic happens.”

“the kitchen?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, your lips quirked into a smile that had his knees dangerously close to giving out.

“obviously?!” he said, leaning into the theatrics to keep himself from spiraling. “you see that microwave? legendary. best instant ramen in town. and that fridge? it’s seen things. horrors, really. we don’t talk about it.”

you laughed, and he swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“right, sure,” you said, shaking your head. “what about actual food? do you ever cook anything that’s not from a packet?”

he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “are you accusing me — me — of being a heathen who doesn’t know his way around a kitchen? i’ll have you know, i make a mean lassi.”

“oh, do you now?” you teased, clearly enjoying his antics.

“absolutely,” he said, grinning. “one day, i’ll prove it to you. you’ll be begging me to cook for you every day.”

“we’ll see,” you said, but there was a softness in your voice that made him wonder if you actually meant it.

his heart was racing now, the alcohol loosening his tongue in dangerous ways. he should probably stop talking. any second now.

“you know,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as he glanced down at you, “i can’t believe you came.”

“why wouldn’t i?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him, your expression curious but open.

he wanted to say because i thought you’d never want to be in the same space as me outside of class, but that felt too raw, too real. so instead, he shrugged, trying to play it off.

“i dunno,” he said, looking ahead. “you just… don’t seem like the house party type.”

“i’m not, usually,” you admitted. “but… i figured, why not? life’s too short to say no to everything.”

“huh,” he said, his voice softer now. “that’s… cool. you’re cool.”

“am i?” you asked, laughing lightly.

“so cool,” he said earnestly, and then immediately wanted to slap himself. shut up, satoru. shut. up.

but then you smiled at him, and he thought maybe he didn’t mind sounding like an idiot if it meant he got to see that look on your face.

as the two of you tried to navigate the packed living room, someone bumped into him, and instinctively, his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer. you didn’t pull away, and he was pretty sure his heart was about to explode.

he tried not to think about how you fit so perfectly against his side, or how your scent — something faintly floral and familiar — was making him dizzy. he definitely tried not to think about how easy it would be to lean down and —

nope nope nope. bad idea. terrible idea. the worst idea.

“you okay?” you asked, looking up at him with a hint of concern.

“y-yeah!” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. he cleared his throat, forcing a grin. “totally fine. just, uh, making sure you don’t get trampled.”

“how chivalrous,” you said, the corner of your mouth twitching as if you were holding back a laugh.

“always,” he said, his grin widening despite himself.

but inside, he was panicking. this was too much. you were too close, too warm, too everything. he needed to get his shit together before he did something stupid, like —

confess to you.

kiss you.

pass out.

or, god forbid, all three.

oh shit.

the bass thudded in your chest, a constant pulse that seemed to sync with the frenetic energy of the house. people were dancing, shouting, laughing, and the chaos around you was almost comforting in its anonymity. that is until satoru — flushed, swaying slightly, and clearly far more drunk than you’d initially realized — gripped your arm like it was a lifeline.

“i need to tell you something,” he blurted, his words loud but barely cutting through the music.

you blinked at him, trying to read his expression in the flickering multicolored lights. “what?” you shouted back, leaning closer to hear him.

he leaned in too, his mouth near your ear. “i said, i need to tell you something!”

“okay! so tell me!” you yelled back, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“i…” he trailed off, his face scrunching up in frustration as he tried to string his thoughts together. he took a deep breath and then, to your utter horror, yelled at the top of his lungs, “I LIKE YOU!”

you froze, sure you’d misheard him. the bass was too loud, the room too crowded, and his words had gotten lost somewhere in the noise.

“what?!” you shouted, your voice rising in disbelief.

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his cheeks flushed red— n ot just from the alcohol, you suspected. “I SAID —”

but even in his drunken state, he realized the futility of trying to out-shout the music. with a sound of pure exasperation, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you through the crowd. your protests fell on deaf ears as he led you to a slightly quieter corner, away from the worst of the noise.

“what are you doing, gojo?!” you hissed, but he didn’t answer.

instead, he pressed you gently against the wall, his palms flat against the surface on either side of your head, caging you in. his head dipped low, his nose brushing against yours, and your breath caught as his blue eyes, even hazy with alcohol, locked onto yours.

“i said,” he murmured, his voice lower now but no less intense, “i like you.”

your brain barely had time to register the words before he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. it was desperate, clumsy, and so full of unspoken emotion that it stole the air from your lungs.

you gasped against him, your hands instinctively coming up to grip his shoulders. the solid warmth of him under your fingers was grounding, but the way his body pressed against yours, shielding you from the world, sent your heart into a frenzy.

his lips moved against yours with an urgency that bordered on possessive, and when he tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss, a small sound escaped you — something between a gasp and a moan.

that was when he pulled back, just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

“don’t… don’t pull away,” he whispered, and the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache.

“gojo —”

“call me satoru,” he cut in, his eyes fluttering shut as if even saying the words was too much. “please.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, his body seemed to sway, his weight leaning more heavily against you.

“satoru, are you okay?” you asked, your hands sliding to his chest to steady him.

“huh?” he mumbled, his voice distant. then, with a slight slur, he muttered, “oh, no. no, no, no —”

and just like that, the man crumpled.

“satoru!” you yelped, barely managing to catch his ridiculously lanky frame before he hit the floor completely.

someone nearby shouted, “man down!” and the phrase seemed to echo through the room, followed by a ripple of concerned and amused voices.

“oh my god,” you muttered, crouching down beside him. his head lolled slightly, and his mouth was parted as he let out a faint snore.

he was out cold.

you pressed a hand to your face, your cheeks still burning from the kiss. the memory of his lips on yours was vivid enough to make your knees weak, but the reality of the situation — of this ridiculously tall, ridiculously dramatic man passing out at your feet — brought you crashing back down to earth.

“can someone help me with this idiot?” you called out, your voice tinged with equal parts exasperation and concern.

a couple of guys came over, one of them laughing as he said, “dude’s got no tolerance, huh?”

“none,” you muttered, sighing as you tried to get a grip on yourself — and satoru. his confession and the kiss replayed in your mind, and you knew you were in for a long night of trying to sort out your feelings.

for now, though, you had to deal with the immediate problem of hauling his ridiculously heavy frame to a couch. the emotional fallout could wait until tomorrow.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

the room had descended into a chaotic mess of unsolicited advice, mostly coming from half-drunk college students who thought they were experts on everything, including reviving a passed-out satoru.

“try shaking him harder!” someone shouted.

“just pour water on his face!” another chimed in.

“give him coffee. wait, do we even have coffee?”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. amidst all this nonsense, nanami stood off to the side, arms crossed, his expression screaming this is beneath me.

“he’s not dead. just let him sleep it off,” kento said flatly, his voice cutting through the chatter.

“oh, thanks for the revolutionary advice, nanami,” you snapped, the sarcasm lacing your words.

then there was geto, leaning against the wall with an air of detached amusement. “honestly, i knew this would happen. saw it coming a mile away,” he said, flipping his hair dramatically.

“yeah? well, maybe next time warn the rest of us,” you shot back before turning your attention back to satoru’s unconscious form.

you knelt beside him, sighing deeply. “alright, everyone back off. i know how to handle this.”

“what are you gonna do?” someone asked, curious.

“something tried and tested.” you raised your hand high and delivered a firm slap across satoru’s cheek.

the sound was loud. so loud, in fact, that the room collectively gasped.

satoru bolted upright, clutching his face as if you’d just smacked the soul out of him. “what the hell was that?!” he screamed, his voice loud enough to rival the bass music that was still pounding in the background.

“welcome back to the land of the living, drama queen,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

“did you just slap me?!” he exclaimed, his wide, watery eyes staring at you like you’d betrayed him.

“oh, i’m sorry, was that not enough? i can do it again,” you said, raising your hand threateningly.

“no, no! i’m good! fully awake!” he yelped, scooting back like a scared puppy.

“good. now drink this,” you said, handing him a bottle of water.

satoru grabbed it, but instead of drinking, he sniffed it suspiciously. “this isn’t vodka, right?”

“no, genius,” nanmi said, stepping forward and plucking the actual vodka bottle from the floor. “this is vodka, and you’re done with it.”

“oh, c’mon, nanaminnnn, don’t be such a killjooyyyy!” satoru whined, though his pout faltered when you shot him a glare.

“shut up and drink the water, satoru,” you snapped.

he obeyed, gulping it down dramatically before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “ugh, water’s so boring.”

“you want excitement? i’ll slap you again,” you threatened, and a few people in the room snickered.

“you’re so mean,” satoru muttered, but then his gaze softened. “wait… you stayed.”

you blinked. “what?”

“you stayed,” he repeated, his voice quieter now. “even after… you know.”

“oh, you mean the part where you screamed out a love confession, kissed me like your life depended on it, and then passed out in front of half the student body?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“don’t remind me,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i wanna die. nanamin, can you just — i don’t know — throw me out a window or something?”

“tempting,” kento muttered.

“look, dork,” you said, kneeling back down in front of him. “you’re not getting out of this one. you did all that, and now you have to deal with the consequences.”

“oh god,” satoru mumbled, peeking at you through his fingers. “what are the consequences?”

you tilted your head, pretending to think. “well, for starters, you owe me samosas for the rest of the semester.”

“done,” he said immediately.

“and,” you added, leaning in slightly, “you have to stop being such a dramatic idiot.”

“that one’s harder,” he said, flashing you a sheepish grin. “but for you? i’ll try.”

“good.” you stood up, brushing off your knees. “now, get your act together. and maybe next time, don’t drink yourself into oblivion before confessing to someone.”

“wait, does that mean —” he started, his eyes lighting up.

“i didn’t say anything!” you cut him off, walking away as the room erupted into laughter at his bewildered expression.

“she likes me,” satoru whispered to himself, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

“oh, shut up, satoru,” nanami said, but even he couldn’t entirely hide his smirk.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

it was almost miraculous, really, how none of these college kids managed to piece together the details of what actually went down at gojo’s house party. you’d think with all the drunken chaos, someone would’ve remembered you storming in like a heroine, slapping satoru awake, and then, well, the incident. but no. all they seemed to retain was that the super cool, smoking-hot assistant professor had swooped in to save satoru from... something.

the specifics? conveniently erased from their collective memory, thanks to cheap vodka and loud bass.

but you? you weren’t so lucky. gojo’s confession — or whatever that messy string of drunken words and one life-altering kiss could be categorized as — played on a loop in your head. not that you wanted it to, but come on, how were you supposed to forget the feel of his lips against yours, the way he’d pressed you against the wall like he couldn’t get close enough? and then, the audacity of the man to crumple to the floor like a marionette whose strings were cut? you still couldn’t decide if you wanted to slap him again or — ugh, no, you weren’t finishing that thought.

“stop,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples as you sat at your desk, the pile of papers you were supposed to grade staring back at you accusingly. “focus. you’re an adult, not a hormonal teenager.”

and yet, that little voice in your head — your grandma’s voice, no less — crooned in your mind, “what kind of boy is he? does he play cricket? is he an engineer?”

“no,” you grumbled under your breath, “he’s an overgrown man-child who flirts through samosas and makes me question my entire existence.”

the reality of it all was... you weren’t equipped for someone like gojo. back home, dating was simple. boring, but simple. you liked someone because they played cricket well or because their math grades could rival einstein’s. the bar was low, and your teenage self still barely scraped over it.

but satoru? he wasn’t just attractive in that this-is-gonna-get-me-into-trouble kind of way. no, he was ridiculously charming, stupidly funny, and utterly chaotic — so much so that he somehow managed to bulldoze his way past every defense you’d painstakingly built.

and that left you here, with a pile of grading untouched, your thoughts veering dangerously off-course.

what do i even do with him? you thought. he’s not even the type i should go for. he’s immature, irresponsible, a complete disaster of a human being…

... and yet, all you could picture was his stupidly lopsided grin when you’d handed back his essay. that grin that said, you gave me a B-, but i’m taking this as an A+ in your heart.

and then your mind went straight to climbing him. like a tree. a tall, stupid tree with an even stupider face.

“oh my god,” you muttered, dropping your head onto the desk. “get it together, girl.”

you groaned into the wood grain, mentally kicking yourself. this was getting out of hand. you needed to lock it in. focus. channel your inner no-nonsense professor and figure out how to deal with gojo without losing what little composure you had left.

and maybe — just maybe — figure out how the hell you were supposed to climb a man-child and maintain your dignity in the process.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

gojo had been avoiding you — not intentionally, of course. he would never do that on purpose. it was just… he was terrified. 

gojo satoru, the guy who could ace a test he barely studied for, host the best parties on campus, and make a joke out of literally any situation, was absolutely crumbling under the weight of his own feelings. gojoism did not account for feelings like this. and yesterday? he’d completely fallen — literally and emotionally. now, there wasn’t a subreddit or thread in existence that could save him from the mess he’d created.

his shift was dragging, a mix of customers and yelling from his half-indian, half-japanese manager filling the air. his coworkers kept glancing at him like he was a stray dog caught in the rain, but he didn’t care. he was in the middle of wiping down tables when he caught sight of you through the window.

you. walking by. not even glancing toward the restaurant.

his heart sank. did you hate him now? was this how it was going to end?

without thinking, gojo bolted out the door, ignoring the string of colorful curses his manager hurled at him. “oi, boy! you’re paying for this if you don’t get your ass back here!”

he didn’t stop. the second he caught up to you, he practically tackled you from behind, arms wrapping around you so tightly you almost dropped your satchel.

“what the hell, gojo —”

“please don’t move!” he blurted, his face buried in your shoulder and neck, his lanky limbs curling around you like some desperate octopus. you froze, unsure whether to be annoyed, amused, or alarmed.

“are you serious right now?”

“yes! extremely!” his voice was muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “listen, i’m an idiot. the biggest idiot ever. i shouldn’t have kissed you like that while i was drunk. or passed out. or confessed. or all three. god, that was so stupid. i’m so stupid.”

you sighed, your heart racing at how tightly he held you. “satoru, what are you doing?”

“i’m fixing this. please, just — lemme say this. properly this time.” he tightened his hold even more, as if letting go wasn’t an option. “i like you. a lot. like, so much it’s actually pathetic. and i know i’m a dumbass most of the time, and i mess things up, but i promise i’m serious about you. so, like… if you don’t feel the same way, you can say no. just don’t hate me, okay? i can’t deal with you hating me.”

you felt his breath against your neck, his voice wavering just enough to make your chest ache.

“satoru…” you started, turning your head slightly to glance at him, his stupidly handsome face now fully pressed against you.

“say something,” he mumbled, the weight of his confession sinking deeper into the air.

you turned in his arms, making him loosen his grip just enough for you to face him. his blue eyes were wide and unsure, a rare sight from the usually cocky gojo satoru.

“you done?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“uh… yeah?” he said, unsure.

without another word, you grabbed his collar, pulling him down to meet you as your lips pressed against his. the world seemed to fade away — his coworkers, the restaurant, the yelling manager. all of it dissolved as he melted into the kiss, his hands sliding down to hold your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

when you finally broke apart, his lips parted in shock, his cheeks flushed. “wait, does this mean —”

“yes, you absolute idiot,” you huffed, shoving at his chest lightly, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

he grinned, wide and stupid. “i knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“oh, shut up before i change my mind.”

“never,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again, completely ignoring the cheers of his coworkers from the restaurant door.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

did you expect to be leaving japan with a full-grown manchild trailing behind you? absolutely not. but here you were. did you expect to cheer for said manchild when he finally got his degree? obviously. the man deserved it — barely, but he did.

you’d both agreed to keep things under wraps, citing the whole student-teacher dynamic as a big no-no. so, of course, when the graduation ceremony rolled around, satoru had to make things dramatic. he dropped to one knee — mid-stage — held his degree out like a trophy, and loudly declared, “this is my phd in loving you!”

“that’s not a phd, satoru,” you muttered, face buried in your hands as the crowd chuckled.

“close enough!” he beamed, earning a mix of applause and groans from his peers.

graduation break was spent in the usual push and pull — you pushing him away from his over-the-top antics, him pulling you right back into his orbit with that ridiculous grin. every time his pout got too exaggerated, you’d give him a quick kiss just to shut him up, which only made things worse because he’d cheer. cheer. in public. like a child who just got a gold star.

“you’re the worst,” you mumbled after one particularly dramatic cheer, covering your face as passersby laughed at his antics.

“and yet, here you are, willingly in my presence,” he shot back, smug as ever.

“god help me,” you groaned.

satoru, of course, wasn’t just sunshine and chaos with you — he had this annoying charm that endeared him to literally everyone. the aunties who came by the restaurant giggled like teenagers when he served them, and the little kids gathered around him like he was a walking anime character. “white-haired older brother” became his unofficial nickname, and satoru leaned into it hard, regaling them with wildly exaggerated tales of his life.

“and then, i fought off a gang of ninjas to save her,” he’d say, winking in your direction.

“satoru, stop lying to children!”

he’d just shrug, grinning wider. “it’s not lying if it’s entertaining.”

it was funny how he’d originally gotten the part-time job just to talk to you, but now he genuinely liked it. still, some habits died hard — he continued to bring you samosas daily, despite your protests.

“satoru, if you don’t stop, i’m going to develop a permanent aversion to these,” you warned, eyeing the familiar paper bag he held out to you.

“blasphemy!” he gasped, clutching the bag to his chest like you’d insulted his firstborn.

eventually, he started pestering you about meeting your parents.

“so, when can i meet them?” he asked one afternoon, grinning like he’d already been invited.

“never,” you deadpanned, whacking him on the chest for good measure.

unbeknownst to him, you’d already told your parents about him. they were eager to meet the man who’d apparently stolen your heart and managed to survive your stubbornness.

all in due time, though. for now, satoru could continue proudly showing off his “phd in loving you.” and maybe, just maybe, you were okay with letting him.

⟡ ₊ . ༄

[epilogue]

it felt almost surreal how gojo transitioned from serving at the restaurant to outright owning it. the previous manager had retired with teary eyes, handing the keys over to satoru with a heartfelt, “please, i beg you, don’t ruin this place. my wife and kids will haunt you if you do.”

gojo, in true fashion, had laughed, draping an arm around the man. “don’t worry! i’ll make this place legendary. maybe even name it after me.”

“over my dead body!” the manager had shot back.

and, of course, satoru didn’t miss the chance to ask you, “so, when’s it gonna be us? two kids, a little restaurant legacy — what do you say?”

you smacked him on the back of his head, rolling your eyes. “focus on not burning the place down first, romeo.”

under gojo’s ownership, the restaurant thrived — though not without his signature flair. he introduced a new “special offer,” one that quickly turned into a local superstition: if two people shared a plate of samosas, they’d fall in love, and their love life would prosper.

“just like us,” gojo would tease every chance he got, holding up a plate dramatically.

“you’re insufferable,” you’d reply, trying not to laugh.

but you couldn’t argue with results, especially after dragging this white-haired menace home to meet your parents. they’d absolutely adored him, of course, stuffing him with so much food you swore he left glowing.

“your mom’s cooking? divine. i’d marry you just for the biryani,” he joked, leaning back against the car seat as you drove to the airport.

“good to know your priorities,” you shot back, though your smile betrayed your words.

and as much as satoru joked about weddings and kids, the two of you agreed there was no rush. after all, between the restaurant, his endless antics, and your job, life was already chaotic enough. not that gojo made your work any easier — especially during exam season.

“paper checking is ruining us,” he’d complain dramatically, sprawled across the couch as you ignored him in favor of a particularly stubborn essay.

“us?” you raised an eyebrow, not looking up.

“yes, us,” he insisted, standing up to scoop you into his lap without warning.

“satoru!”

“what? if you’re gonna ignore me, at least let me help,” he said, plopping a spoonful of biryani in your mouth.

you glared at him, but he just grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. and as much as you hated to admit it, moments like this were when you realized just how good life was.

chaotic? absolutely. ridiculous? always. but trading it for anything else? not a chance.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[moonpascaltoo]

9TH, 10TH, & 11TH DOCTOR FIC RECS

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the doctor stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!)

MASTERLIST • 11/29/24

9TH DOCTOR

@lz-didyounotice ✰ it was quite a sunny day today

10TH DOCTOR

@magiccath ✰ psychic paper In which the psychic paper betrays the Doctor ✰ a very noble christmas In which Donna is really fed up with her love-sick best friends and calls in Wilf for backup ✰ distracted In which the Doctor can be very distracting

@simp-ly-writes ✰ for all time Many, Many worlds ago you were married to the Doctor. That was until a war tore your home planet and species apart and you were part of the lucky handful that managed to make your way out into the universe- alive. As you go through many regenerations of yourself, you run into the Master, an old friend of yours that you faintly remember. He tells you of the Doctor, warns you of your spouse and from then on, you are on a mission to never interact with him. Should be easy... right?

@gracesimp ✰ i just wanted to The Doctor is oblivious. Donna is not. ✰ soulmates it's rare, but sometimes in the universe, people meet their soulmate. Upon first touch with one's soulmate,a connection is formed. A physical and mental bond. What happens when the Doctor meets his soulmate? ✰ jealousy the doctor isn't too pleased with his companion's new friend. Donna gets inlvoved in some overdue matchmaking.

@imaginesfordifferentfandoms ✰ not leaving you

@nghtwngs ✰ silly human traditions you’ve never had a new year’s kiss before. neither has the doctor. you decide to change that tonight.

@raz-writes-the-thing ✰ devoid of attention The Doctor is oblivious as per usual

11TH DOCTOR

@arting-block ✰ the words i don’t mean After a stressful day, you overhear Amy arguing with the Doctor. When he realized you heard everything, he tries to set things right.

@the-fiction-witch ✰ illusion

@social-mockingbird ✰ dangerous habits

@cloginthedrain ✰ a day in reader reflects on her curiously romantic, unspoken relationship with the doctor. cuteness ensues.

@watchoutforthefanfics ✰ my john At the news of an unknown distress call from the Tardis, the Doctor must go undercover. With the trust of thousands of years, he places himself (both watch and being) into your hands. Enter Dr. John Smith (not really a medical doctor just has his doctorate) your new roommate.

@mystic-writings ✰ selfishly, i love you after two years of being burdened with love for the doctor, you make the choice to leave him behind. 

@holly-the-trash-writer ✰ safest place in the universe Y/n wakes up to find that the Doctor fell asleep on her. Which would be normal if Time Lords slept. Upon waking the Doctor explains just how much she means to him.

@11thsdoctress ✰ you’ve changed After an argument with The Doctor, and leaving the TARDIS, you went back to your semi-normal life, but due to some nightmares, and maybe fate, you never thought you would meet the same alien with a new face.

[klarolinexluv]

Four years ago. I used to hate this one ship. Like I would go out of my way to just speak that opinion and fuck everyone else right? I was 14.

A year or so past and I grew out of that a bit. I realised that I did like one of those characters in the ship but I still preferred the other ship that was much more popular and canonly didn’t end up together. (I mean the guy died so what do you do).

Anyway… so I was 15 and realised that my behaviour wasn’t the best so I changed. I realised that the character I didn’t like was actually a nice character. I grew to appreciate her more and I started editing her and the guy. The ship that I didn’t like. People thought I was crazy… I sort of laughed it off because yeah, I suppose I was a bit crazy for editing them but I quietly enjoyed doing it.

I was 16 and I shifted away from ships. I started posting more about my favourite character who canonically was a massive bitch do said character I thought I hated. I still made my opinion clear but I never judged anyone for liking something that I didn’t.

I was 17 and I stopped posting for that fandom. I got into Harry Potter and Drarry and the fandom I was surrounded by was a lot calmer. I didn’t see much passive aggressive or toxic behaviour between shippers and that made me feel safe. I realised that a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

I was 17 and I joined the Marauders fandom. For a while it was much of the same. I was safe and I felt loved and I enjoyed it so much.

I’m 18. I still love the marauders fandom so fucking much. Everyone is so incredibly talented and so amazing and I cannot see myself ever abandoning this fandom.

I’m 18 and I got my first anonymous hate comment in my inbox. I was angry. I thought that I had moved on from getting hate for my opinion. I thought the marauders fandom was made up of a lot of mature and liked minded people. I was wrong.

I stuck to my guns. I shared my opinion even with the anonymous hate. I have an open mind. I understand where these haters were coming from. Hell, I even enjoyed the ship they were vouching for… it just so happened that I adored another ship more.

I’m a multi shipper. I always have been. I will try anything at least once and if I don’t like it, I’ll click off.

I would never leave a hate comment under someone’s hate and go off at them for shipping something that I don’t like. I’ve never done that. Even when I was 14 and hated this ship very publicly. I would never hate on someone’s art or edit or fic. I would just click away.

I will defend my favourite characters, my favourite ships until I physically cannot. I will not hate you for having a different opinion even if you hate on me first.

I have received death threats. I hope that no one ever experiences that feeling.

In conclusion, if you love something, that’s amazing. If you hate something, that’s cool too. If you hate on someone for loving something you hate, that’s not okay. Everyone deserves respect.

If someone loving something you hate makes you angry. I’m going to be so fucking for real, go outside, touch grass or taking a deep breath and scroll. Block tags. Block blogs/accounts.

Putting someone down is a form of bullying, repetitively or not. It’s bullying. Hating for no reason, I’ll go so far as to say that’s bullying.

You’re allowed to be angry, that’s your right. It’s not your right to hate one someone because of it.

Take it from someone who used to get angry for someone shipping something I hated.

I say from experience that it feels better to just let it go, to move on, to open ao3 and read the things you love, to open the tag you love and scroll through it. You’ll feel better, you’ll feel good.

I promise you. The best thing to do when you are angry is to turn away, focus your energy on something you love rather than something you hate.

I’m sorry to op for highjacking the post haha. My rant was rather inspired.

some of you cannot be the age you say you are because the way you react to fictional characters with such anger is jarring

[cherryblossombombs]

call me a conspiracy theorist atp because I'm now more convinced that this isn't the ending hori truly wanted to do.

1) he wanted to do a big fuck you to shonen jump. Apparently, a new ceo/boss came in near the end of the manga, and maybe what happened is that the new boss said "no" to the 430 ending or an ending that hori wanted to do, so hori said "that's cool" and gave us an quater-assed epilogue as a "There. There's your straight ending, SJ. Now everybody mad lol"

2) possibility that some of the leaks are fake. Apparently, people found art style errors in quite a couple panels (such as midoriyas head scar missing, the weird teeth placement of katsuki, the jirous ears, etc). Apparently, the writing style isn't usually how hori writes. The leaks are super clear compared to how the old raw leaks used to be. Another thing someone did point out is how quiet the leakers have been since they revealed some of the leaks.

3) same as 1, but this isn't the only chapter that will drop. Like we may see the 38 pages, but it may turn out that hori has more to explain what happened. He's may destroy the ending, just to take the fandom. I wouldn't be surprised if he does this patreon/or something similar and uses it to finish the story on how he wanted it without shonen jump on his back, y'know?

but hey, I'm just coping lol.

NOTE: and when I said fandom I mean the ones who know that this was damaging to izuku's character, katsuki's character, the villains, hero society, I don't just mean bkdk. many of us bkdks had a feeling that izch was likely canon/implied, but we didn't expect it to end this badly. Hori couldn't even make the iz//ch handhold romantic. It just feels like the ending was made by some anti that wanted the most shonen/dudebro ending that even made Naruto feel better how this author did him.

If you still have a problem and want to mock/crosstag, I'm not arguing, I'm blocking you right away. Go argue with a wall friend.

[witchkittymeow]

JC Leyendecker study with my boy Eugene

(I did not draw the og this Is a study yall😭)

@julialepetit

[snepfeathers]

I need some good advice.

About 2 and a half year ago. I had a close friend ghost me on a lot of platforms.

But Recently I found them on ticktok with a discord link.

What sude I do.. ask them way they ghosted me or just let it go and realized that friendship die a long time ago.

you have received.... a trick!

your emoji kitchen combination is: ghost and alarm clock!

happy halloween!

[smol-reblogss]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!?!?!??!?;?

he gaster on my blaster til i

[singull]

i vote we should all stop reblogging from anyone that adds “don’t reblog if you ship xyz” to their fan art posts. even if you don’t ship xyz. just let the art rot away into obscurity.

[artofgeppetto]

Posting this here cuz i don't feel comfy fighting people on Twitter about this. I reblogged something from @/ohnoitstbskyen here about how commercial viability often overrides individual expression and i think this is the perfect example of that phenomenon.

I don't really have any way of asking every black writer what their feelings are on this, but personally, I feel like the topic of racism is an invisible chain around black creativity sometimes. On one hand, you have people in the year of our Lord 2024 STILL TRYING TO FIGHT YOU on basic talking points about the fact of racism. This makes stories that discuss the very reality of it super impactful. On the other, sometimes it feels like all you can talk about as a black person is racism. Sometimes it feels like that's all your voice is worth, y'know? And it's not like anyone is outright saying that, but when your parents and community leaders see you in this field, the first thing they say is some variation of "you gotta make sure you let the world know who we are with that gift of yours".

But what happens if you don't want to?

I mean, on a personal note, this is half the reason why I struggle writing anything ever! I always feel obligated to discuss "the white people" in a story about black people? But sometimes, I kind of want to write about... love! Or adventure! Sometimes, I just want to pretend, I guess.

...I have no idea if this is hella incriminating or not LOL. But I thought I'd share it.

[mawibblap]

I know that at first glance, this may seem like a fun idea and heck, it may even seem helpful, but I would like to differ and explain why it's actually a bad idea,

like I'm aware that it's a joke, but, that got to be one of the worst idea I have ever heard of, it sounds like a recipe for pizdets.

what if blocking someone on tumblr worked like banning someone from a minecraft server

[weirdmageddon]

i was thinking about this since i posted earlier about us needing to address the trend of gen z men being pulled into alt-right pipelines might have contributed to the outcome of this election.

i think contrapoints is really smart, and from what i’ve seen, has been way more effective at getting people out of harmful ideological pipelines than i’ve seen from the majority of leftists online who instead berate and drive a greater wedge of antipathy (though i understand why! and it can be very hard to have empathy for the people who see you as a threat). that antipathy makes the right more radicalized because they don’t feel like they can talk about anything without the “crazy lefties” who won’t even engage with them. where did these issues come from?

what i’ve noticed, and i’m even guilty of this, is that people don’t interact with groups of people whom they refuse talk to, which makes realities more hypothetical in the minds of their opponent since they aren’t open to seeing reality from their perspective. this is true on both sides. from what i’ve observed, it seems to originate from hypothetical perception of the opponent, but when people treat those perceptions as though they are real, it becomes real with their actions, which then makes the antipathy justified to someone. again, on both sides.

what makes contrapoints so successful at breaking this down is that is that she creates these socratic dialogue skits that represent real people and ideologies, has a sense of humor, isn’t afraid to discuss these things, reframes how we see these things by introducing nuance to both sides. she’s a leftist, but she also knows how to engage without ripening division, of meeting someone halfway and being completely humble about it. she is able to soften extremes.

she is able to get into the mind of people who aren’t aligned with her views, understand the nuance and rationales from a realistic perspective, breaking down a big block of “this is all bad” into “ok, some of this makes sense…”, what this does is create a space for self-reflection that doesn’t feel ham-fisted (which could otherwise cause people to double down on their beliefs instead of opening up to other perspectives outside of their bubble). while also being entertaining and well-produced on top of it.

what she is doing is creating these scenarios and socratic discussions that SHOULD be happening in real life but aren’t in this polarized social climate.

i graduated from new college of florida this spring, the small liberal arts college that was in headlines across the country for ron desantis’s board of trustees hostile takeover and exodus of professors.

new students and student athletes from conservative walks of life were being basically incentivized to go there who were taught to fear the lgbt boogeyman growing up in their conservative communities. but once they actually interacted with lgbt students there, many of them they felt like they understood them, and they weren’t as bad as they were told they would be. new college of florida was also famous for getting derek black (child of the man who created stormfront, and godchild of the kkk grand wizard david duke) out of white nationalism. their peers at NCF called them out but also interacted with them, invited them to dinner. black wrote a book about it.

now of course some people are too far gone and you shouldn’t waste your time with them, like derek’s family for example. but i also think a lot of people who voted for trump are not informed, are operating off of emotion and knee-jerk mentality because it’s easier than thinking, and they are not seeing the discussions that need to be had to change their mind because fuckin…nobody is doing them.

and we feel this visceral disgust to people of the opposing party because of its associations. i just want to know how it happened and how we got to be like this. i think social media is partly to blame and also the algorithms that take people down dangerous pipelines and sharpen them, insulate them.

i myself understand the vitriol you might have for anyone that voted for trump. i feel so disappointed that half the people of this country voted against our collective benefit. and i’ve seen a lot of sentiment from the left today saying “every single person who voted for trump is dead to me. i disowned you”.

you can see the reality of trump’s demagoguery, and it’s so obvious, but what i want to know is: what do they see? why did they vote for him? emotion and entertainment travel faster and have more reach than reason. and it’s that’s why i think contrapoints’s videos are exemplary at tackling this ideological divide. this is something i’ve been thinking about for months before today and i thought now was a better time than ever to give my two cents on it.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

FYI artists and writers: some info regarding tumblr's new "third-party sharing" (aka selling your content to OpenAI and Midjourney)

You may have already seen the post by @staff regarding third-party sharing and how to opt out. You may have also already seen various news articles discussing the matter.

But here's a little further clarity re some questions I had, and you may too. Caveat: Not all of this is on official tumblr pages, so it's possible things may change.

(1) "I heard they already have access to my data and it doesn't really matter if I opt out"

From the 404 article:

A new FAQ section we reviewed is titled “What happens when you opt out?” states “If you opt out from the start, we will block crawlers from accessing your content by adding your site on a disallowed list. If you change your mind later, we also plan to update any partners about people who newly opt-out and ask that their content be removed from past sources and future training.”

So please, go click that opt-out button.

(2) Some future user: "I've been away from tumblr for months, and I just heard about all this. I didn't opt out before, so does it make a difference anymore?"

Another internal document shows that, on February 23, an employee asked in a staff-only thread, “Do we have assurances that if a user opts out of their data being shared with third parties that our existing data partners will be notified of such a change and remove their data?” Andrew Spittle, Automattic’s head of AI replied: “We will notify existing partners on a regular basis about anyone who's opted out since the last time we provided a list. I want this to be an ongoing process where we regularly advocate for past content to be excluded based on current preferences. We will ask that content be deleted and removed from any future training runs. I believe partners will honor this based on our conversations with them to this point. I don't think they gain much overall by retaining it.”

It should make a difference! Go click that button.

(3) "I opted out, but my art posts have been reblogged by so many people, and I don't know if they all opted out. What does that mean for my stuff?"

This answer is actually on the support page for the toggle:

This option will prevent your blog's content, even when reblogged, from being shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models.

And some further clarification by the COO and a product manager:

zingring: A couple people from work have reached out to let me know that yes, it applies to reblogs of "don't scrape" content. If you opt out, your content is opted out, even in reblog form. cyle: yep, for reblogs, we're taking it so far as "if anybody in the reblog trail has opted out, all of the content in that reblog will be opted out", when a reblog could be scraped/shared.

So not only your reblogged posts, but anyone who contributed in a reblog (such as posts where someone has been inspired to draw fanart of the OP) will presumably be protected by your opt-out. (A good reason to opt out even if you yourself are not a creator.)

Furthermore, if you the OP were offline and didn't know about the opt-out, if someone contributed to a reblog and they are opted out, then your original work is also protected. (Which makes it very tempting to contribute "scrapeable content" now whenever I reblog from an abandoned/disused blog...)

(4) "What about deleted blogs? They can't opt out!"

I was told by someone (not official) that he read "deleted blogs are all opted-out by default". However, he didn't recall the source, and I can't find it, so I can't guarantee that info. If I get more details - like if/when tumblr puts up that FAQ as reported in the 404 article - I will add it here as soon as I can.

Edit, tumblr has updated their help page for the option to opt-out of third-party sharing! It now states:

The content which will not be shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models, includes: • Posts and reblogs of posts from blogs who have enabled the "Prevent third-party sharing" option. • Posts and reblogs of posts from deleted blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from password-protected blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from explicit blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from suspended/deactivated blogs. • Private posts. • Drafts. • Messages. • Asks and submissions which have not been publicly posted. • Post+ subscriber-only posts. • Explicit posts.

So no need to worry about your old deleted blogs that still have reblogs floating around. *\o/*

But for your existing blogs, please use the opt out option. And a reminder of how to opt out, under the cut:

The opt-out toggle is in Blog Settings, and please note you need to do it for each one of your blogs / sideblogs.

On dashboard, the toggle is at https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/blogname [replace "blogname" as applicable] down by Visibility:

For mobile, you need the most recent update of the app. (Android version 33.4.1.100, iOs version 33.4.) Then go to your blog tab (the little person icon), and then the gear icon for Settings, then click Visibility.

Again, if you have a sideblog, go back to the blog tab, switch to it, and go to settings again. Repeat as necessary.

If you do not have access to the newest version of the app for whatever reason, you can also log into tumblr in your mobile browser. Same URL as per desktop above, same location.

Note you do not need to change settings in both desktop and the app, just one is fine.

I hope this helps!

[thepowerofswayze]

demonstration

originally on ao3

based on this post by @fantasylandloser

pairing: art donaldson (challengers, 2024) / afab reader [gender not specified]

word count: 1.9K

warnings & info: 18+, afab reader, college era art AHHH, friends to lovers, first time together, mostly smut, oral sex (reader receiving), art is a munch obviously, reader wears a bra and skirt

summary: Catching Art up on your adventures gets hard when he doesn't get your explanations, or your hand puppet examples. Looks like you just have to show him exactly what went down. Based on this post that i could not stop thinking about. :))

☆

“Oh my god, fuck you!”

Art chuckled from where he stood, watching as you tossed the t-shirt he’d balled up and chucked at you back in his direction. It fell harmlessly to the floor a foot from him, and you glared at him as he snickered, picking it up and putting it away.

You were visiting Art, your close friend from high school, at Stanford. At that moment, you happened to be explaining how an interaction at a party at your university had gone a couple weeks before. Art never really liked listening to you talk about guys- hence, the shirt thrown directly at your face when you’d started describing this particular frat boy to him in detail- but he’d given up complaining a while ago. It was either that or be honest about why he hated it so much, and that was never going to happen. So, he tidied up his room as you explained the lead up, the flirting, the stumbling up the stairs. He fell back parallel to you on the bed as you got to the “good part”, his head by your legs and an arm over his eyes, like he could block out the imagery.

“Anyway, I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, like when we were flirting, but then I was on him, kinda like-” You took a moment to sit up straight, grinning as art groaned and propped himself up on his elbows to see you better. He watched you attempt to mimic the position with your hands, your left hand being the guy you were talking about, your right being you.

To Art, it just looked like you were mashing your hands together. He looked up from your hands to see you raising your eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he was following. “Huh?” He said.

With an exasperated sigh and without another thought, you pushed yourself up on your knees and waddled over to him, swinging a leg over his body and hovering just over his torso. For a moment, Art just watched, bewildered, as you steadied yourself with your hands on either side of his head. He let himself fall back from his elbows, hands sliding up your hips and settling at your waist, catching momentarily on the fabric of your skirt. His fingers peeked just under the hem of your shirt. Your skin tingled where he touched you.

“... Like this,” you said finally, blinking at him for a moment. “Well, uh.” You moved your hands to his chest instead, careful not to push too hard (though with the muscle he’d acquired since he’d started playing tennis for Stanford, you were sure it bothered him much less than you thought). “More like this, I guess.”

Art nodded, quickly licking his lips before asking, “Then?”

You tried not to look at his mouth. “What?”

“Then what did you do?”

It finally hit you then: what the fuck were you doing, climbing all over your best friend to ‘show him’ how you and some guy had been fooling around a couple weeks ago? That would just mean fooling around with him, obviously. That wasn’t really the plan.

But, it was too late for your common sense to kick in now. There you were, your hips hovering over his, not quite touching yet. You watched his eyes dart down to your lips, then drag slowly back up to meet your gaze. You couldn’t wait here and think about what you’d gotten yourself into and how this would change your friendship forever, though you got the feeling he’d let you take as long as you wanted.

Then what did you do?

You steeled yourself, biting your lip and watching his lips part slightly as he tracked the action with his eyes. Then you took that moment to fully sit on his lap.

You could feel his chest expand beneath your hands with his sharp inhale, his eyes snapping down to your hips, then back up to your face.

“This,” you murmured. You’d intended for it to come out cocky, maybe even a little seductive, but you could hear the breathlessness in your own voice. You were trying your best to ignore the growing pressure where your hips met his, though really, it was hopeless. 

Art’s ears were burning a bright shade of pink. The urge to gently nip at them crossed your mind, just for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Then?” His voice was almost a whisper, chest rising and falling unevenly with his nervous breathing. The way he was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure you were real…

Fuck.

You leaned forward, trying not to let your breath stutter at the friction caused by the movement, until your lips hovered just over his. Then you kissed him.

You pressed your lips together gently, lingering for a moment before pulling back by centimeters. His lips chased yours, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly, and you were right back on him, lips falling open against each other. A soft sound escaped him as your hips shifted against his, along with a contented sigh from you. You repeated the motion, reveling in the low groan he let out, followed by your name murmured into your mouth.

Art’s lips were soft. And he’d shaved recently, you thought, hands cupping his face. The smooth skin of his cheeks was a stark contrast to the calloused hands he was now raking over your thighs, your skirt pushed up around your hips. You broke away from his lips, kissing down his neck instead, listening to the noises he made whenever you left a mark, whenever you ground against him just right. “Shit,” he gasped. “You’re- You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You left another kiss just below his ear, before murmuring, “What is it?”

You could feel him all but shudder beneath you. “Fuck,” he groaned, then your name, before he looked you in the eye. You resisted the urge to dive right back in. “Let me eat you out,” he said, suddenly determined, though still flushed and dazed. “Please.”

All you could say was “What?” because, surely, this was one big dream.

“Please.” His hands hadn’t stilled, still rubbing shapes into your thighs, his hips rolling up against yours. “Can I?”

Your entire body was on fire. “Okay, yeah. Yes.”

He wasted no time flipping the both of you over, laying you against the bed so he could kiss down your neck. You barely had a moment to process, your hands moving to tangle in his hair, one of his knees slotted between your legs. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, prompting you to lift yourself slightly and help him get it off. Your bra came next. “You, too,” you murmured, pulling at his shirt and making him chuckle. He reached behind his head, tugging it off in one swift movement and abandoning it beside your shirt and bra on his freshly cleared floor.

One of his hands slid down your chest from your shoulders, enclosing one of your breasts, the thumb circling your nipple. You bit your lip and sighed, pulling him down for another kiss by the back of his neck.

Art let his hand trail from your chest down the sides of your stomach, then slotted his palm right between your legs, over your underwear. You gasped quietly, pulling away long enough for him to return his lips to your neck, your shoulders, your collar bone. You murmured a couple choice words as he started to move his palm, rubbing at your clit through the fabric. The dulled sensation was almost enough on its own, paired with the kisses he left against your chest. “Arthur,” you whined, tugging at his hair. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

A grin overtook his face at the use of his name, his hands only slowing down, tracing torturously slow circles over you. Art only snickered at your glare before hooking his fingers into the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down and leaving you in your skirt pushed up to your waist. He watched you carefully as he slid further down so that his head was between your legs. His finger only traced a line from your clit to the bottom of your hole before whatever restraint he had was gone, and his mouth was on you.

Art’s tongue flattened against you, the warmth and friction making your head fall back as your eyes fell closed. “Fuck,” you moaned, hands threading into his hair as he answered with an equally obscene noise, muffled against you. ‘Hungry’ didn’t even begin to describe him, his mouth falling into a vague rhythm, eyes closed blissfully, whining into your pussy like it was doing him just as much good as it was you.

You thought about asking him to finger you while he worked, but his tongue prodded at your entrance and almost immediately, words escaped you. You brought one hand up to your face, clasping it over your mouth to muffle your moans, but Art stopped suddenly, watching your face. You whined your confusion, and he reached out to tug at your hand. “I wanna hear you. Let me.”

You blinked at him, chest heaving, and murmured “Alright,” before watching his head dive right back between your thighs, one hand still intertwined with yours. You had no choice but to moan unabashedly, your other hand busy pulling at his hair.  His free hand was wrapped around the outside of your thigh, pushing it in towards his head, so tightly you were sure it couldn’t be comfortable. But there he was, continuing to move his tongue against you like there was nothing else he’d rather do, whining and whimpering like you were his first meal in weeks. “Fuck, Art,” you cried, barely keeping your eyes open so you could watch him move. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He groaned at that, relenting the pressure of your thighs against his head just long enough to reply: “That’s it, baby, please.” If he had anything else to say, he couldn’t keep himself off of you long enough to finish, already pushing your thighs back against his head, nose bumping against your clit as he bobbed up and down.

It seemed like that was all it took, really. You squeezed his hand and his head embarrassingly tight as you felt yourself tip over the edge, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. Art kept up his rhythm as you cried out his name, your hips rolling against his face. He didn’t stop even when you’d come down, chest heaving, until you basically pushed him off, desperate for a moment of relief.

He kept a hand on your thigh, the other untangling from yours to push his blonde hair out of his eyes and look at you. He was breathing as hard as you were, you noticed. His mouth hung open as he panted, the entire bottom half of his face coated in saliva and your arousal. Fuck, he was pretty like this. “‘S good?”

You shook your head, beckoning him toward you and pulling him down by the back of his neck when he was close enough. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, lips against his almost before you were even done speaking. You didn’t mind the stickiness. You pulled back to look at him, then glanced down to the tent in his pants. “Lemme return the favor.”

Art let out a breathless chuckle. “I don’t think I’m gonna last that long,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. “Not if you’re the one touching me. Not after this.” He gestured to the shine still on his face, to your thighs beneath him. Your face burned, and your smile was so wide that your cheeks hurt.

You shrugged. “Lemme try anyway,” you said, before bringing his ear down to your lips, nipping at the lobe gently. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to you.

[sharlsworld]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ parents these days - 𝐋𝐍𝟒 𖤓

（ 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ）𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗑 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌𝗇𝗍 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖽𝖺𝖽，𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 ✫ 𝗂’𝗆 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗇 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 😭

🝮

landonorris

liked by pierregasly and 1,982,446 others

landonorris we miss our mommy

georgerussell63 Who left you in charge of a 1 month old and a 2 year old?

⤷ landonorris i’m their dad??

⤷ georgerussell63 And??

yn i miss my boys too 🥹🥹 & don’t forget to pick up mathéo’s ointment

♥︎ by author

⤷ all4lando she’s such a mom i love it 😭

francisca.cgomes our??

⤷ landonorris she was my mommy first

⤷ francisca.cgomes you’re disgusting

joris__trouche Justice for Malachi 💔 0.5’s are not his friend 😞

⤷ yn are you implying my son doesn’t look cute joris?? 🤨

⤷ joris__trouche Nonono you and lando make the most beautiful babies in the world

leclerc_pascale My boys 🥰 We need to gave a family dinner soon

⤷ landonorris YES PLEASE i’m in need of your pasta right now

⤷ leclerc_pascale Come over and bring the boys, I just made some

⤷ landonorris already in the car

arthur_leclerc i bet they miss uncle art so much 🥰 i’m coming over right now dw

⤷ landonorris i’m locking the door

⤷ arthur_leclerc girl…i have a spare key

⤷ yn since when?

⤷ arthur_leclerc me & charles snuck in when you guys were sleeping 🥰

⤷ charles_leclerc Hey don’t expose me

🝮

yn

liked by oscarpiastri and 3,331,747 others

yn back with my boys 🤍

landonorris first

leclerc_pascale Have fun on your date night!! Love you two 🤍

⤷ lorenzotl Not to much fun though, I don’t need another nephew right now

⤷ arthur_leclerc seriously do you guys ever just lay in bed?

⤷ landonorris i am incapable of that you’re lucky we’re not on baby number 6

⤷ arthur_leclerc oh!

maxverstappen1 Pussy whipped

⤷ landonorris damn right

charles_leclerc Finally he wouldn’t stop calling me to tell me he misses you

alexandrasaintmleux The sweetest baby boys 🥹 I love them so much

⤷ landonorris woah now i’m a devoted and loyal husband to y/n alexandra

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 😐 blocked

carlossainz55 I miss my nephews I will be over soon to kidnap them ❤️

⤷ yn sounds great los 🫰🏽

⤷ sharls_leclercussy “los” i’m crying 🥹

danielricciardo Gurl boss ✊🏽

🝮

landonorris

liked by georgerussell63 and 1,128,632 others

landonorris moms such a party pooper 💔 she wouldn’t let me paint the boys yellow and dress them up as minions

charles_leclerc Do you all just lay in bed all day? And do nothing?

⤷ landonorris would you like it to be just me and y/n in bed alone doing something?

⤷ charles_leclerc I will come sleep in between you two lando norris

mlnmarta Chiara misses Mathéo & Malachi!! We need to visit soon 🤍

⤷ yn yess come over!!

georgerussell63 We must make this happen I can’t get the image out of my head

francisca.cgomes hot mama 😍😍🥵

⤷ landonorris real she can spank me anytime she wants

⤷ mclaren Please do not make us take over your social media again Lando.

yn i’ll put you in timeout

⤷ landonorris please do 🫦🫦

🝮

yn

liked by susie_wolff and 3,435,189 others

yn my babiesss 🤍 living my dream

carmenmmundt So happy for you baby 🥹 You’re so cute I miss you

⤷ yn carmen ilysm 😭💝

alexandrasaintmleux Seriously though, our shopping date when? 🤨🤨

⤷ yn tomorrow 😫

francisca.cgomes MILF MILF MILF

⤷ carmenmmundt MILF MILF MILF

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux MILF MILF MILF

⤷ lilymhe MILF MILF MILF

⤷ lilyzneimer MILF MILF MILF

⤷ landonorris MILF MILF MILF 🤤🥵🍆🍑

landonorris let me put another baby in you please please please mommy 😈😈😫🍆

⤷ yn lando…we’ve talked about what’s appropriate to comment and what’s not

⤷ mclaren Come on bro 😔

⤷ francisca.cgomes take away his social media rights‼️‼️‼️

leclerc_pascale My beautiful girl and her beautiful family🥰

lilymhe ok period aesthetic queen

haileybeiber literally my pintrest board

carla.brocker i miss you sweet girl 💕

⤷ yn i miss you we need to have a sleepover soon 🥹

⤷ flowers444yn y/n still having sleepovers as a wife and mom of 2 kids is so on brand

landoslove this post was for the girls

⤷ landonorris don’t forget lando 😍😇🥰

🝮

landonorris

liked by mclaren and 3,892,715 others

landonorris Enjoying Barcelona with my family ❤️

arthur_leclerc yk it’s not lando because he’s using auto caps

thisistotallynotlando they didn’t take away my burner account 🤣🫵🏽 i can’t be stopped

♥︎ 1,729,143

alex_albon free lando till it’s backwards ✊🏽

pierregasly YOU WILL BE AVENGED LANDO

georgerussell63 This definitely sounds like lando 👍

oscarpiastri Very convincing

slutmeoutlewis they actually took over his account again 😭😭

hoeforsainzzz justice for lando

thisistotallynotlando not gonna be a little family for long 😈

lordperceval petition for lando to get his account back ✊🏽

♥︎ by alex_albon and 1,113,648 others

🝮

yn

liked by patrickdempsy and 3,790,631 others

yn do you wanna play mermaids with us?

alexandrasaintmleux My love 🫦🫦

beloved.hamilton where are mathéo & malachi at??

⤷ yn with their dad 😊

carmenmmundt My mermaid tail is purple

oscarpiastri Come back down lando can’t talk to you cause they took his phone and he’s tweaking

⤷ sharls.eclair THEY TOOK HIS PHONE 😭

francisca.cgomes damn ma

leclerc_pascale Beautiful girls ❤️

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 🥰🥰❤️

⤷ yn thank you maman 🤍

charles_leclerc My girls ♥️♥️

⤷ yn ♥️

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 💋♥️

mclaren i miss you baby - lando

⤷ maxverstappen1 LMFAO GIRL 💀

⤷ sharls_lerklerk max?? 😭

landosfootfungus where’s lando’s comment?? 😪

⤷ yn he’s in social media jail rn

lilymhe SO GORGEOUS UGH 😫

georgerussell63 The last slide is actually lando and y/n is you guys didn’t know

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux Actually 🤓☝🏽

🝮

landonorris

liked by tomholland2013 and 5,167,765 others

landonorris 3 weeks of good behavior and i got my account back. and what did i do in those 3 weeks of good behavior? i got my wife pregnant again 😊

arthur_leclerc sick bastard (i’m so excited)

lorenzotl I jinxed it 😪

yn baby girl norris?? 😇

leclerc_pascale Can’t wait to meet my new grand baby 🥰

alexandrasaintmleux yayaya so happy rn

carmenmmundt You two make the cutest babies it’s not even funny 🥹🥹

francisca.cgomes YESYESYES SO EXCITED

joris__trouche Crazyy congrats you two 💞

maxfewtrell Leave that poor girl alone

carlossainz55 UNCLE CHILI 🌶️❤️

flavy.barla Awhh so happy for you two 💗

ciscanorris Another one! 🩵🩷

charles_leclerc WHY DO YOU DO THIS?? MY BABY SISTER?? JUST LAY IN BED AND SLEEP ONCE IN A WHILE OH MY FUCK

⤷ lilymhe anways…CONGRATULATIONS 🥹

🝮

yn

liked by krisjenner and 7,762,831 others

yn matthew senna norris 🤍

comments on this post have been limited

landonorris i love you baby thank you giving me everything i’ve ever wanted and more ♥️

⤷ yn i love you more

⤷ landonorris i love you the most

alexandrasaintmleux baby matty 🥹🥹

leclerc_pascale Another boy, are we surprised? He’s the cutest boy in the world

georgerussell63 Coming over now

carmenmmundt Stopp how cute 💗

charles_leclerc Je t'aime ma petite étoile

⤷ sharlsworld “i love you my little star”

arthur_leclerc project senna

mclaren Future world champ 🧡

lorenzotl Maybe another one isn’t so bad

oscarpiastri Malachi is barley 2 months old??

⤷ landonorris i want a football team. it’s not my fault my wife is so sexy and i’m horny 25/8???

francisca.cgomes auntie kiki is coming baby!! 💓

lilymhe cutie boy 🥹🩵

maxverstappen1 Now get a vesectomy lando ❤️

♥︎ by landonorris & 2,223,841 others