#and he had been constantly on my mind for years. i loved him. constantly daydreaming about him and lil scenarios i put him in

[vagueiish]

figures mere moments after i’m like ‘nope, not gonna resurrect that character’ i find a picrew that had me like ‘oh, actually, he might look okay in that……maybe i can indulge a bit…….’

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love. 

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love  +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity. 

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s. 

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory. 

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t. 

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

.

.

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It starts with the little things. 

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23. 

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying. 

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them. 

.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly. 

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy. 

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze. 

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry. 

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji. 

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away. 

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them. 

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in. 

A chuckle escapes you. 

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone. 

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.  

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue. 

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly). 

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing. 

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order). 

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly. 

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly. 

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you. 

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times. 

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick. 

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you. 

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning. 

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage. 

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice. 

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming. 

Is this what it means to be in love with you? 

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you. 

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing. 

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there. 

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will. 

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen. 

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin. 

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own. 

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old. 

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek. 

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this. 

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit. 

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him? 

.

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score. 

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems. 

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely. 

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing. 

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes. 

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this. 

.

.

.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room. 

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into. 

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it. 

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach. 

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’. 

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age. 

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined. 

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines. 

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students. 

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew. 

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly. 

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy. 

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time. 

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced. 

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen? 

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially. 

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully. 

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared. 

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too. 

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing. 

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile. 

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy). 

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since. 

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly. 

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.  

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too. 

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you. 

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked. 

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you. 

.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue. 

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows. 

But it isn’t, and your smile widens. 

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does. 

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

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.

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“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.” 

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel. 

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you. 

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow. 

“What made him ask?” 

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity. 

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.” 

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever. 

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his. 

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t. 

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders. 

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together. 

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks. 

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed. 

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours. 

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17. 

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology. 

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you. 

He says it as if it is the simplest truth. 

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll. 

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think. 

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.  

“Something like it.” 

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?” 

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you? 

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’. 

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering. 

Can he see? You’re meant for him only. 

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away. 

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other. 

You cup his cheeks. 

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now. 

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief. 

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile. 

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips. 

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you. 

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together. 

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips. 

You laugh—sprinkled in love. 

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!” 

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully. 

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.” 

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks. 

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now. 

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true. 

.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage. 

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should. 

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you? 

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.

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For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give. 

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing. 

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too. 

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface. 

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way. 

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.

.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry. 

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up? 

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging. 

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through. 

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking. 

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving. 

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you. 

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

.

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you. 

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with. 

He knows it. 

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with? 

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same. 

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face. 

.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak. 

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him. 

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?) 

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today. 

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet. 

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold. 

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you. 

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go. 

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him. 

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it. 

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright. 

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask. 

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more. 

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society. 

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much. 

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him. 

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you. 

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips. 

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly. 

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks. 

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching. 

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry. 

Your grip on him tightens. 

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck. 

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.” 

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder. 

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum. 

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it. 

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even. 

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately. 

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.” 

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune. 

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled. 

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.” 

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding. 

You always do. 

.

.

.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today. 

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane. 

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making. 

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything. 

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over. 

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy. 

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky. 

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life. 

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.” 

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you. 

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way). 

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now. 

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined. 

You stare at him. He stares at you. 

He’s shocked too. 

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely. 

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.” 

The little laugh you make has him, completely. 

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too. 

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’. 

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you. 

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him. 

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently. 

The best part about being in love? 

He gets to be in it with you. 

.

.

.

Gojo can’t sleep. 

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will. 

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching. 

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck. 

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m. 

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that. 

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it. 

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island. 

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating. 

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever. 

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling. 

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting. 

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him. 

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.  

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain. 

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it. 

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray. 

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too. 

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like. 

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you. 

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek. 

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret. 

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after. 

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already. 

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep. 

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing. 

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin. 

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging. 

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one. 

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone. 

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good. 

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.  

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing). 

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs. 

(And he loves that about you). 

.

.

.

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder. 

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill. 

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice. 

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them. 

He knows. 

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you. 

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only. 

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you. 

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed. 

.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy. 

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides. 

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.” 

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love. 

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night. 

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.  

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong. 

Are you happy with me? 

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!!  of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[floshav]

part 2 to my last rodrick fic which u can read here !

part 3 out now !

summary: Rodrick proves his likeness for y/n through a spontaneous kiss leaving her smitten and dazed. However, thoughts of Heather still lingered in her mind, constantly being reminded of the blonde girl whenever she passed by. "Does Rodrick still like her?" "Does he even like me?" What happens when Heather suddenly takes interest in Rodrick after ignoring him for years just because she can't let y/n get what she wants.

wc: 2k plus

warnings: allusions to smut, heavy make out

2 weeks later...

the kiss, no not just the kiss but the two kisses rodrick and y/n shared that night resulted in their relationship. She had been left smitten and the feeling was one of those that even if you wanted to forget, you couldn't. The heart racing, blush inducing feeling of getting kissed on by rodrick the boy she'd been crushing on for years, with his rough boy lips which still managed to be soft and plush because well, he was Rodrick after all.

It was now a plain old Monday and she was lost daydreaming in her Calculus class, or was it english? She couldn't bother to take notice.

"Alright, take out your calculators and flip to page 56. We'll be grinding through the workbook today class!" Ms. Smith yelled whilst her big buggy glasses fell down the tip of her nose bridge, stopped by her finger which shoved them back in place. Y/n couldn't care less. Her mind was swarmed with what happened 2 weeks ago.

His lips grazed hers one more time, this time softer and one might say more lovingly if she was in a state of delirium. She felt his slender hand creep up the side of her hip brushing it against her shirt so so gently. He broke off the kiss and his face was so close to hers she felt as if she might faint right then and there. The boy who was rough, impatient and borderline rude crumbled in-front of her. She'd never seen Rodrick like this before. Each freckle, each fine line, each perfect imperfection visible to her now. She'd imagined this image thousands of times before, but never had she imagined it to come true. Rodrick hesitated before saying his next words "I- I really like you y/n. And- and i just want to set that clear before you try showing up to my house drunk silly again. You were being so wreck less you know that?" He chuckled dorky-ly ever so slightly which made her heart pound just a little harder. Her heart fluttered at how he cared for her.

"M'sorry I-i just, m'just so jealous." She slurred as her eyes began to tear up with a mix of happiness, jealousy, anger and most of all, sadness. "Why? You know i'm here for you and you only, stupid." Rodrick whispered so softly against her lips but y/n's mind swarmed with confusion. "B-but you always *hiccup* talk about Heather." She sighed as she let herself fall into her hands. "Makes it *hiccup* hard to believe" She said again. "I-" He moves further back and a familiar ache rises to her chest, one of abandonment. "She was just someone I was infatuated in. Nothing more. Fuck. If i really liked her, would i have kissed you back? Let alone kiss you again?" He said making eye contact this time. He looked absolutely illegal. The way his hair was his usual mess, his blown out eyeliner smudged beneath his fox eyes. His puffy lips. Everything about him made her feel unreasonably hot in the cool weather. "S-so no more feelings for her?" "No. no more." he said so seriously it made her scared. "In fact, she's an asshole and i don't want any part of her in my life." He said whilst memories of what Heather did earlier fled his mind. Rodrick plants a kiss at the corner of y/n's lips and this time she knows it was meant lovingly. Still, at the back of her mind, the one aching question lingered, didn't he say he loved her?

"Y/n?" "Ms y/n?" She blinked and the memory was interrupted by an annoying voice. "Do you care to open your workbook? Or do you intend on staring at the cover for the next hour?" Ms Smith's breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck waking her from her daydreams of what happened that hazy night.

"Yea, sorry ms smith." She smiled tightly before flipping to page 66 or 57 the page number was was a blur to her, but an open book would do.

He planted a soft kiss at the crook of her neck.

suddenly her mind wandered to what happened later that night.

Hand riding up under her shirt. "is this okay?" His voice was earnest and soft against the skin of her neck.

her thighs clenched together unintentionally and she felt ashamed for imaging such lewd things. She'd been daydreaming about that night for the past few weeks. Each week making her crave for more until she felt sick. Rodrick hadn't made a move like that on her ever since, and she was just too shy to even ask so images in her mind would do for now.

He unclasped her bra in one swift motion and it made her question if he'd done this before, with... Heather? No, can't be, she doesn't even care for him. Right?

The kissing started to turn into making out and y/n felt his breathing falter when she brushed her pinky against his crotch by accident.

"Fuck do you even know what you're doing right now-"

"Ms. y/l/n!" Just as quickly as it started, her daydreaming had come to a halt.

"I've been calling your name for the past 5 minutes. Care to share your answer to the whole class? I assume you didn't even hear the question number i gave you. Number 5! Now." Ms. Smith tried to hush her yelling down to be more precarious.

"Sorry Ms." Y/n sighed before making her way to the black board with a dumb empty mind filled with Rodrick.

------------------

The same could be said about Rodrick. His usual sleepiness that was met with classes vanished ever since that night. Instead of sleeping, he was putting his pretty dumb brain to use by thinking. Thinking about y/n. Every night, everyday, every moment. He'd be lying if he said that she was the only girl he'd ever gained feelings for, because Heather Hills did exist. But it was true when he said he didn't like her anymore.

"Mmm- Aaah- R-rodrick p-please not my neck."

"Shhh, just one more kiss y/n, please."

"F-fuck!"

"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUC-"

Before Rodrick's dream could get any steamier he was awoken to the sound of Heather cursing just beside him, clearly to get someone's attention.

"FUCK! how am i going to do this!!!" Heathers voice was painfully exaggerated and Rodrick couldn't help but cringe. Was this the girl he was smitten by before?

"Oh- Hey Roddy!" Heather smirked as she twisted her body to face him.

Rodrick's head was rested on his arm and he couldn't help but look at her with dead eyes, clearly annoyed.

"You.... you play the drums right?"

"Mmm" Rodrick groaned as he scratched his temple, he was surprised at how much he didn't care for THE Heathers presence anymore.

"Was wondering if.... You'd wanna play a gig at my birthday party?"

Rodrick's eyes lit up. A gig? That was a once in a blue moon occasion to rodrick's ears. But reality struck him when he remembered it was Heather who was asking.

"Mmm sorry Heather, don't think i can." Though it ached him to decline the gig, he knew you wouldn't like it so he sucked it up. Rodrick felt a sense of pride when he realised he didn't stumble over his words around her anymore.

"Awwww but why! I'll pay you 50 bucks an hour, and you know my parties last long." She feigned a girly voice as she batted her long eyelashes which icked Rodrick out.

50 bucks an hour..... The offer was tempting but, you were even more tempting.

Before Rodrick could answer, you walked in the class with a goofy smile, ready to see your Rodrick with..... Heather.

Heather shot back daggers through a fake soft smile. The type she'd give to a teacher after almost being caught doing something.

"Oh... Hello there y/n! Sorry, Rodrick was just telling me about how he'd love to play drums at my party. Isn't that right Rodrick?"

"Wh- No?" Rodrick scoffed out, eyes squinting at the mischievous blue eyed blonde.

"Oh c'mon, don't lie to y/n just because you pity her! You're a man! Act like one." Heather said as she got up from her chair slightly agitated at the fact Rodrick didn't play along.

"See you there Roddy." Heather said before smirking and popping out her ass dramatically.

roddy... That nickname made y/n's blood boil and she never wanted to hear it again.

"I swear! I-I did not agree to any of the shit she just yapped about." Rodrick panicked whilst stumbling over his words like a nervous teenager, that familiar feeling rising again but this time towards y/n.

"Hard to believe Rodrick. Or should i say Roddy... God! i shouldnt have been so naive. I'm so stupid! I thought you were over her." Y/n lashed out before storming out the classroom in a hurry, not thinking straight.

"Wait! Fuck. That fucking bitch Heather." Rodrick sighed out as he reached for the class door.

You found yourself slanting against a crusty brick wall beside a half broken vending machine. You don't know why you overreacted so fast without even bothering to hear Rodrick's explanation but maybe it was because you were so stupidly insecure. You quickly fumbled around your pants pockets to find an old packet of ciggs you remembered you left there. There were 2 left so you lit one up and breathed in the pure comfort. It felt nice to not care just for a second with the cigarette around. When it could have gotten more peaceful you heard a set of obnoxious dorky feet approach you.

"Hey." Rodrick said lightly as he squatted down to your eye level, lanky hands hanging by each sides of his knees.

It made you jump a little and your facade of wanting to remain mad slowly revealed itself. You couldn't help but suppress a tight smile from leaking out.

"What" You said as you blew a whiff of smoke away from his face. His heart fluttered at the small gesture.

"I really did not agree to what Heather told you." He said seriously which was a rare look on Rodrick.

"Are you sure? Cuz it seems like you two are getting along just fine" Y/n sighed as she pushed her hair back, Rodrick's heart beat pounding harder by the second.

"Please, believe me I- I really did not agree to anything, I-I really want you to believe me please." Rodrick was pleading which was something she only saw when he was lovesick. At that moment she knew he couldn't harm her emotionally.

"Alright. Fine, I believe you." Y/n said with a tired voice, though deep down she was glad she could read Rodrick like an open book.

"Im so sorry." Rodrick sighs before nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck, still a nervous wreck whenever he handled her.

She releases her cig and reaches in to hug him back tightly and lovingly before breathing in the intoxicating scent of him. Far better than a cig.

Just around the corner was a cheeky little Heather, listening in to every single decibel of the convo. Heather tightly rolled her eyes and scoffed before it turned into a smirk. Something clicked in her head. She knew what she had to do.

She was going to fake it till she made it.

---------------------------

lol i feel like this story deserves a pt3 so if this does well i will continue it! I know this has been a long times worth of progress but i've been procrastinating writing like crazy lately and i've only started getting back into it. Anyway please do request because i'm always bored and free !

[dirtysvthoughts]

under the neon lights

tags/warnings: smut, pwp, boyfriend! jihoon, switch! jihoon & reader, at the universe factory (cause why not), dick sucking, some dirty talk, pet names (honey, baby, etc.), some fluff at the beginning, based off that one welive (as seen in the photos cause he looked to fucking good 😩)

word count: 1.4k

notes: happy birthday to the man who has been constantly and consistently wrecking my bias list for almost 5 years 🤍 words can’t express how much i love jihoon, he works so hard and deserves so much - i hope he gets to relax a little and receives so much love and the best head on his special day 🥹 but in all seriousness, i really do love and admire him - happy birthday jihoon!! without further ado, enjoy besties! thank you to @wongyuseokie for helping me come up with the title!

11:40 p.m.

in 20 minutes it would be the 22nd, and you would get to celebrate the love of your life’s birthday. you were very excited, but you were hoping jihoon would for once - decide to take a night out of his studio and relax for a bit. but knowing him, he would be at the universe factory if he got the chance, and it would be hard to persuade him otherwise.

so that’s where you are currently, sitting in your boyfriend’s lap while he sits in his chair, scrolling and clicking through different audio files on his desktop, compiling items together. your hands softly stroke the ends of his hair, not sure if the humming coming out of his mouth was from your movements or if he was thinking to himself. your eyes momentarily flit to the digital clock on lower right side of the screen, the time getting close to 11:45 pm. you tap jihoon’s shoulder twice to get his attention.

“hmmm?” he responds, still looking at his desktop.

“hoon, why don’t you shut everything down for right now? there’s only a few minutes left until your birthday, and i had a few ideas in mind..” you begin to trail off as you wrap your hand around his bicep, legs tightening together as you feel how strong he is.

jihoon sighs. he appreciates that you were trying to make more out of his birthday, but he always saw it as just another day. of course he appreciated all the love he received, but he didn’t want things to become such a big fuss. “babe, you know you don’t have to make any extra effort.. just this is enough - me, you, my music, and this ambiance,” he gestures to the turquoise colored lights filling the dark studio.

“i know, i know, but i just wanna make sure i celebrate you in the best way i can. that’s how much you mean to me baby,” you kiss jihoon’s cheek and he can’t help the blush that makes its way on his face. he intertwines your hands with his as he kisses it, your body moving closer toward his touch.

“you’re the best, you know that don’t you?” he asks, looking into your eyes. you nod your head as you shrink into his body, loving the way he envelops around you. there are a few moments of silence but after, jihoon’s mind quickly remembers what you said earlier.

“what did you mean by ideas?”

“hm? what ideas?” you question a little confused.

“remember, you said there were only a few minutes left until my birthday and you said you had a few ideas in mind. those ideas.”

you quickly bite your lip, getting excited at what you had practically daydreamed even before you got to the universe factory. for the longest, you wanted to give your boyfriend the messiest head in his workplace, especially attracted to the thought that no one would walk in. it would just be you two giving him the pleasure he so rightfully deserved.

“well, one idea involves both of us on the couch,” you hinted, pointing in the direction of the soft large leather piece. you avoid eye contact with jihoon as you play with the hem of his black shirt. “we could see what happens from there, but that’s the first step.”

jihoon still couldn’t tell what you were planning, but he couldn’t deny the sudden urge in his body to get up and move. he pats your thigh, motioning with his hand for you to stand up. after you stand, he walks over to the couch and you follow behind him - but when jihoon takes a seat, you promptly kneel on the floor, making sure your body was front and center in relation to your boyfriend.

the second your knees hit the floor, that’s when things finally click for jihoon. “that’s what she meant..” he thinks to himself, but his face doesn’t do a good job of hiding his discovery, in which you quickly take notice.

“guess you figured it out now, huh?” you tease, slowly rubbing your hands across his thighs. “i’ve been thinking about this for a while now.. going down on you in your workplace,” you lean your head against his thigh, innocent eyes staring into his intrigued gaze.

jihoon inhales sharply as your fingers delicately dance across the lower half of his body, dangerously approaching his crotch. you start to palm him through his pants, his breathing becoming shuddered as he grows harder with every touch and graze.

your hands finally reach the waistline of his pants, wanting to finally get what you’ve been waiting for. “can i take these off, honey?” you muse sweetly, your still innocent eyes making jihoon crave for more. he nods in response, “go ahead,” a breathless whisper leaving his lips.

with his help, you pull jihoon’s pants and boxers down to his ankles, revealing his growing, slightly leaning dick, with a perfect red tip to match. “mmm, so big and all for me to taste,” you lick your lips as you inhale his scent, moaning even more at how attractive your lover is.

your lips finally make their way down to his tip, giving jihoon a little kitten lick. a smile makes its way on your face as he groans out, his hands flying to reach the nape of your neck. you give him some more kitten licks, each one causing more beads of cum to spill out, jihoon’s breathing speeding up a bit.

“shit..” he breathes out, his eyes closed for a second and his head tilts back. using the opportunity, you take more of jihoon in your mouth, his full tip and then some now at the mercy of your tongue. the muscle begins to roam across his dick, your head starting to bob at the new intensity you were getting him off to.

you brace your hand on his thigh yet again, this time hollowing your cheeks out to take even more of him in. your nose pushes in closer as you can feel his tip finally near the back of your throat. jihoon doesn’t even try to lower how loud his moans were now, too engulfed in your presence to care about anyone or anything else.

“you naughty baby girl.. getting me off like the needy little thing you are,” his chuckle turns into another groan as you start to gag slightly on his dick. “taking me all the way to back of your throat.. mmm, such a good girl..”

if you weren’t wearing panties, you’re pretty sure you would’ve been dripping onto the floor by now. this was probably the best head you’ve given him and he had the dirty talk to match the experience.

then, jihoon starts to guide your pacing, causing you to go faster and to moan around him consistently. the hand still on the nape of your neck slightly grips at your skin, not hard but not soft either.

jihoon taps at your cheek a few moments later, bringing your attention to him as he begins to gasp for air, climax inching towards becoming reality.

“i’m- i’m gonna c-cum, baby.. think you can swallow it all for me?” you nod back, now intensely taking him in and out of your mouth, jihoon’s dick covered in your essence, your throat feeling the tiniest hint of sore - but did you really care? at this point you just wanted to give him the messiest head you possibly could.

it’s then that jihoon releases a high pitched moan and seconds later, cum is spilling into your throat, and you don’t hesitate to swallow every last drop. when he finishes emptying his load, your lick your lips teasingly and jihoon watches as your tongue roams the top half of your lips, lingering on thought of what i would be like to intertwine your tongues together so he could taste him on your mouth.

“my jihoonie tastes so good,” you giggle as you begin to stand up, reading his mind as you insert a legs in between his, kissing him square on his lips. jihoon holds your jaw as he deepens the kiss, both of you melting into each other. when you separate, you take a look again at the clock.

12:05 a.m.

“happy birthday, my love,” you whisper as you pull him in for another kiss, jihoon gently pushing you down onto the couch as he undoes your shorts.

“thank you baby, and i guess my gifts are just gonna keep coming over and over tonight,” he smirks. “can’t wait for you to come inside me.”

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Hey can I ask you a request?

Basically, I love Anne Sallow x Ominis a lot and I wanted to ask you about the reactions of the various characters who discover the feelings that each other has and maybe get together 💚💗💚💗💚💗

Ps. English is not my language

A/N: I think I understand what you're asking for, but for simplicity's sake, I'm going to give them feelings for MC

HLC REACT TO REALIZING THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON MC

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: The realization hits him like a train. After everything he had dealt with during fifth year, who was still standing with him? Who put up with his shit? Who risked everything for his sister despite barely knowing her? MC. They had become his closest friend, even closer than Ominis, but only now is he seeing them in a different light. The next time their eyes meet, they know.

OMINIS GAUNT: MC had been his peace in the chaos. The rock he could cling to in the storm. He had found comfort in them, but on realizing how deep his feelings were going, he was scared. Surely these feelings would scare them away. He had to be careful going forward.

ANNE SALLOW: She never thought she was the type of girl to fall for a knight in shining armor, but MC literally saved her life. The way they treated her, the way they bent over backwards for her, there had to be more to their feelings than they said. She didn't fall first, but she fell harder.

IMELDA REYES: Panic. No. Nonononono! They are not part of her plan! She is going to graduate school and play professional quidditch with the Holyhead Harpies. She doesn't have time or patience to deal with a relationship. She bottles up her feelings as quickly as she catches them.

NATSAI ONAI: MC has made her feel soft and warm inside since the first day in charms class. Their smile alone could make her feel like kicking her feet like an excited school girl. She doesn't jump to any conclusions, but she does try to ease the idea of a relationship beyond friendship between her and MC as they get to know each other. An innocent butterbeer date wouldn't hurt, would it?

GARRETH WEASLEY: He's kind of oblivious. He knows he likes being around them and he likes getting them involved with his schemes, but he doesn't seem to realize how close he likes to stand next to them in potions class. Or how he takes a little too much joy into making them laugh. MC will probably have to make the first move to make him realize it, then he's just dumbfounded.

LEANDER PREWETT: If MC found him charmingly awkward before, it increases when he realizes he has a crush. He tries a bit too hard to get their attention by opening doors for them and constantly asks where they're going after class. A lot of the times he ends up tripping over something or dropping whatever he's holding. He doesn't mind so much that they're laughing, but he's afraid they'll never take him seriously.

AMIT THAKKAR: He fusses more about how well they're doing in class and if there's anything he can do to help. He figures that maybe he could spend more time with them if they agree to let him tutor them. Especially in astrology. Having MC all to himself in the evening under the stars and a telescope? He can't think of anything better. He has to be careful with his daydreaming, he'll mess up his notes.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He's...not okay. He hates himself for catching feelings. There's no way in any realm of reality that MC would want him. He doesn't even have to go out of his way to avoid MC, they just aren't around him much after flying class. He doesn't think they've ever even gone out of their way to talk to him (Unless they're Ravenclaw). He'll admire from a distance and wait it out.

POPPY SWEETING: She really wishes her face wouldn't be so red around MC. We're going to start asking if she's not feeling well. She tries to play coy, but she's so obvious that it hurts. MC would have to be as thick as a rock to miss the signs. She constantly wants to be around them, always grabs their hand when she wants to show them something, practically stares while they're interacting with beasts, etc. Just don't point it out, she'll get embarrassed.

✨BONUS CHARACTERS✨

ANDREW LARSON: He feels lighter than air when MC enters a room. He knows he's done for. He knows he doesn't stand a chance. He knows they don't even know they exist, but he indulges in their presence while he can. He's not even concerned with wiping the silly grin off his face, it's not like they'll look his way.

LENORA EVERLEIGH: Shy. So very shy. After MC helped her with the mirror puzzle, she got firsthand experience of how nice they could be. From that point onward, when they were around, she'd be too flustered to talk to them again first. She can barely handle being next to them in herbology. She really wishes Professor Garlick would stop asking if she has a fever.

NELLIE OGGSPIRE: She pursues MC like they're a mountain she's dying to climb. She makes her feelings known up front and plain. She'll shrug it off if she's rejected. She already doesn't have them, so what's the difference? If they accept, excellent! They can go on adventures together!

CRESSIDA BLUME: MC was so willing to help her before, perhaps they'll do it again? She intentionally botches up some of her charm work to give her an excuse to have MC's attention. She's put her diary on lockdown, however, the things she writes in there nowadays she doesn't want MC to ever read.

[colonelarr0w]

I love your writing so much!!

Can I request some comfort Sukuna where he finally breaks down the walls around readers heart who has been hurt previously years before…reader made him wonder why they didn’t ever let him see them cry before and that bothered him.

Sypnosis - Love wasn't for everyone, you had long since accepted that fact. But ... were you really okay with being alone?

Warning(s) - None besides mature themes and some foul language.

A/N - Oh my god I loved this request so much. Reader is definitely a little bit too much like me in this one, but it's okay because at least she somewhat fixed her issues!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

Love wasn't for everyone. 

That was a hard pill to swallow, but it was one that you had swallowed after so many years of being constantly disappointed. One after the other, it was as if the heavens above were taunting you. Either that, or they were punishing you for some heinous crime. 

Even though you wanted so desperately to experience what everyone else did; stolen glances, random flowers, gentle kisses, passionate sex, late-night dates … you had just come to the conclusion that no matter what you did, it just wasn't for you.  

And you were okay with that. 

Yet, it was annoying to then hear others come to you spewing their bullshit. 

"You just haven't met the one yet!"  "Don't worry, love will come to you when you least expect it." 

"Trust me. The moment that you stop looking for love, it comes to find you." 

"You're quiet," Sukuna says harshly, dropping his finished cigarette onto the ground and snuffing out its orange hue with the toe of his boot. Your head jerks upward, blinking for a moment before you clear your throat – you hadn't meant to fall into a daydream.  

"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm okay," you answer quickly, lifting your own half-finished cigarette to your lips and inhaling. You hoped that the smoke would ease your nerves, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.  

Sukuna's eyes roam over your figure, his mind taking notes on your expression and body language. Your eyebrows are pinched together, eyes flickering to look at anything but him, your lips are turned downward in a frown that he somewhat wishes would go away. Your shoulders are stiff, back standing as straight as a line. Your hands are shaking. 

"Tch," he clicks his tongue, turning his body and half-stepping towards you. His fingers close over your wrist, pulling the cigarette away from your lips. "You're a shitty liar." 

Your eyes cast themselves to the ground, embarrassment heating your cheeks. He falters, but he toes out your cigarette anyway, then turning to face forward again – he doesn't want to make you any more uncomfortable than you already are.  

"What are you thinking about?" he asks after a beat of silence, hanging his arms over the railing of your apartment's balcony. Your eyes flicker to him for a moment, silently admiring the way that the moonlight illuminates his face and the tattoos inked into his skin.  

"Nothing that would interest you." 

Not when it comes to you. Talk to me, he wants to say. But the words fall dead on his tongue. He doesn't turn his head to look at you, only humming in acknowledgement.  

Another beat of silence passes over you and Sukuna. It gets you wondering … did he even like being around you? After all, the only reason why he kept meeting you after work was because he had offered you a ride home. In return, you offered him cigarettes. A fair trade. 

"Interesting or not," he hesitates, biting his tongue, "'s not good when you keep all that stuff in." 

You freeze, hands tightening their hold on the railing as you stare out at the cityscape. Already you can feel tears beginning to gather along your waterline. You try your hardest to swallow them away, but nothing.  

"I-I said it was fine," you manage to choke out, trying to subtly wipe at your eyes. Sukuna notices … he always did.  

He reaches into his pocket for something, then nudging your arm with a handkerchief closed between his fingers. You take it, mumbling a quiet thanks before wiping your eyes with it. "I'm sorry." 

Sukuna doesn't answer, he doesn't have to. It's more of a silent understanding that yes, something is bothering you, but in your own time you would open up to him about it. Maybe it wouldn't be tonight, maybe it wouldn't be tomorrow … but eventually, you would.  

He shrugs in response to your apology. "Nothin' to apologize for." 

Another beat of silence passes over you both, this one more comfortable than the last. Sukuna reaches into his pocket, taking out the cigarettes that you had given him. He opens the box with his thumb, hesitating on taking another one out.  

You eye the box out of the corner of your eye … it was the only reason he even came into your apartment, wasn't it? 

To your shock, he drops the box off of the edge of the balcony, watching it through half-lidded eyes as it falls out of sight. You turn your head to look at him, finding him already staring at you.  

Neither of you say anything.    

One minute turns into two, two into four, four into six.  

"Y'know, I get the whole … wanting to be alone thing," Sukuna says, turning away from you so that he wouldn't have to look at your slightly pained expression. He leans further against the railing, gaze focusing on the blinking lights of a nearby billboard.  

"You can tell yourself all you want that you want to be alone," he finally turns to you, "but do you really want that?" 

You freeze, eyes wide like a deer that had been caught in headlights. Blankly, you stare at him, mind struggling to mull over what he had just asked you.  

Did you really want to be alone? 

"I-" You pause, swallowing the lump that had settled in the center of your throat. "I don't." 

With that, Sukuna swallows all of his pride and tugs you into his arms. You fold into him, nails biting into the back of his leather jacket – the one that reeks of smoke and of must. But at the same time, those two comforting smells remind you that right now, in this moment, you aren't truly alone.  

Do y'all want a part two of this? Or like a series of Sukuna and !Non-Trusting girlfriend? 

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part One

Content Warning: mentions of main character deaths but these are temporary because this is a time travel two-to-four-shot and so, they start dead but then get better :3 Also maybe a whiplash warning? In that it starts off kind of dark for a story that's pretty light-hearted in the end.

Here's the first part of the threatened season 4 AU time travel fic where Steve gets thrown back to the moment in family video when Dustin and Max show up demanding the phones. Previously he was 5 years into a grueling apocalypse.

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

Steve has lived his life in regret. Replaying scenarios in his head over and over late at night when sleep eludes him. And sleep is always eluding him these days, weeks, past five years. Steve hasn't known a day without regret since the day they failed to kill Vecna, the day Max almost died. The day Eddie did.

It's five years to the day today.

Steve spends endless nights thinking about how he'd change that spring break. It was the start of the end of everything. Eddie's death wasn't world ending for Steve. It was the end of a what-if. A maybe. But for Dustin. Oh God, Dustin. Who had blamed himself for Eddie's death, who was broken and then never able to get time to recover. To grieve.

Dustin, who pulled away from everyone, from Steve, because of it.

He's not dead, Steve knows, because he still hears his voice on the radio. Separated from the group but vital to their survival. He spread intel on Demo-creature movements, where safe spaces are, news from across the broken and destroyed America, and how to survive the hellscape.

There have been losses. Terrible, tragic losses.

Murray Baughman. Lucas Sinclair. Karen and Holly Wheeler. Will Byers. And those are just the ones he knows. A lot of people scattered to the wind when Hawkins became overran with the Upside Down and its creatures.

He's still two days out on this supply run. Two more days and he'll get to know who is still around. Who they lost this time. It's not always someone they know, but the horrors never cease, and Steve's been gone a total of three weeks.

"Hey," Robin breaks him from his thoughts as she leans over to whisper in his ear, "since you're gonna daydream, you might as well actually dream. Scouts say it'll be a while before we can continue moving."

"I'm not daydreaming, I'm thinking."

"Well, be sleeping instead. You'll be more useful with some rest," Robin pats her shoulder, inviting him to lean his head against it.

"Don't use my weakness against me. You know I love being useful," Steve sighs as he drops his head onto her shoulder.

"I know. It makes you easy to manipulate," Robin teases. He can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, shut up and sleep."

Steve grumbles under his breath. No real words, just grumpy noises as he does shift and get as comfortable as he can leaned against Robin. He is tired, and with nothing else he can be doing, he won't feel too guilty about it.

He closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden brightness of the sun shining through the glass storefront of Family Video. Usually when he dreams of the past, the sun's never this bright. It's been years since he's seen the sun at all, with the red-black sky of the Upside Down looming above them constantly.

He takes a deep breath, basking in the fresh(ish) air of Family Video. How long has it been since he's taken a breath without his mouth covered by a mask, bandana, some cloth or another? Well, he's not really breathing without a mask on, his conscious self has one on, but it still feels good to fill his lungs and release. He has half a mind to jump the counter and go outside to repeat that; see if his unconscious mind will provide a difference in the air, if it remembers enough to do so.

"Hey Steve," Dustin says as he is stepping through the doors with Max at his side. It's then that Steve takes in where the dream has started. The doors have just opened, and Steve's looking partially over his shoulder, towards the doors instead of the TV as it plays the news of Chrissy's death on the screen. The world fades back into motion, instead of the slowness the beginning of his dream started as Dustin finishes his question, "how many phones do you have?"

"Are you seeing this?" Steve asks on autopilot, playing out the scene he knows, but he holds off from stating the someone was murdered part. He's tired of saying it.

"How many phones do you have?" Dustin asks with more urgency.

Steve takes in Dustin and Max while Robin explains the phone situation. It's been so fucking long since he's seen Dustin. Since Max was able to see him. God. He can't let this play out like normal. It's not going to fix reality, he knows that logically, but what would it hurt to live out his fantasy of getting a re-do while he dreams? Wasn't that what he was thinking about while awake?

He tunes back into the conversation when Dustin shoves his backpack across the counter, and then himself. Instead of whining about the tapes, he reaches for the pen and notepad they keep close to the till. "Hey, what's this about?"

"Max, fill them in while I do this," Dustin replies.

Max turns to him and Robin, who is eyeing both Steve and Max but listening. Max explains what Steve already knows. The lights going crazy, Eddie fleeing his own home, and that it might be Upside Down related.

There's a script here. Responses he has memorized because of how often he dreams this moment over and over. An answer Steve usually gives, but this time he finds he can hold his tongue. He doesn't have to speak. Doesn't have to follow the script.

"Okay," Steve says instead. "Dustin, what's the number for the Byers now?

Surprisingly, that actually pulls Dustin from the computer. He spins on the stool to give Steve a confused look. "What? Why?"

If he's being honest with himself, he's never really had this much control over his dreams before. Having this control makes him want to do all the things he's daydreamed about. To change the choices that fill him with regret and guilt. "I want to leave a message for Jonathan," Steve lies, "or talk to him if he's home. Give him a heads up that Upside Down shit might be going on again."

Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, suspicious, "Jonathan?"

"Yeah. Jonathan," Steve says in his bitchiest voice. "Number, dude."

He can tell Dustin doesn't fully believe the lie, but he recites the number anyway.

"Thanks," Steve says as he scoots around Robin and heads to Keith's office to use the phone there. The first thing he does is call the police station and let them know that he saw Eddie Munson at Rick Lipton's place, up by Lover's Lake on Holland Road. The lady who answered starts to ask questions, Steve just says he recognized the trailer on TV as the Munson's and hangs up. He'll swing by later once everyone else has pieced together the Rick Lipton part of this all themselves. If Eddie's still there, he'll drag him to the station himself.

'Cause the thing is, Steve has thought of many scenarios. So many. And even if nothing else changes, this is the bit that will. Eddie cannot be killed in the Upside Down if he is in a jail cell instead. And if the police do follow up on his tip, then they'll take Eddie in for questioning before Fred dies. And that's.

Well.

Steve's living through the end of the world and that changes people. It's changed Steve. Once there would have been a time when allowing someone to die, knowing it was going to happen and not stopping it, would have filled Steve with guilt, regret, maybe even some self-loathing. But Steve's made enough sacrifices for this town. Lost enough of the people he loves to be jaded. Maybe even cruel. If Fred has to die to prove that Eddie didn't do it, then that's what will happen.

His next step is to call the Byers. It surprises him that Joyce actually answers with a hesitant hello. That never happens in the dreams.

"Joyce. I mean, Ms. Byers. It's Steve. Uhh, Steve Harrington," he says.

"Oh. Hello Steve. What, uh, what can I do for you?" Joyce's voice is still hesitant.

"Listen, the Upside Down is back. Or, like, it was never gone? I don't know. But I needed to tell you."

"Oh my God," Joyce sounds horrified, and Steve can hear Murray in the background asking questions. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Vec- sorry, it has already killed a girl. Max was a witness. Well, of the aftermath. But that's not important. What I need is for you to tell El that she's never been a monster and never will be. That everything has been the fault of One. And I think you should tell her Hopper is alive and you're going to rescue him."

There's not an immediate answer. A rustling sound and then faint voices he can't make out. She must be covering the phone with her hand as she and Murray talk. Or argue, knowing Murray. After a moment, Murray's voice comes through the line, "How do we know you are who you say you are?"

It's followed by Joyce shouting, "How do you know about Hopper?" and Murray quickly shushing her and some shuffling noises before Joyce says, "Okay. We're both listening."

"Look, I know you have no reason to believe me so I'll give you something that might serve as proof that I know things I shouldn't. When everyone gets back from the roller rink, be there for El. She's going to- to have a bad night, because of a girl that's been, like, bullying her at school. Then, I need you to get them headed this way tomorrow morning, because you gotta be gone then, too, but like. Be there for El tonight. There will be an incident involving a roller skate. So, if you believe me, call me back after that."

"How do we know you're who you claim to be, Steve?" Murray questions again, while Joyce says, horrified, "El's been being bullied?"

"I can't exactly prove I'm me. But call my house tonight after you've spoken to El and I'll answer. That's the best I can do. I... I don't know if Jonathan or Mike have my number, but Mike can call home and get my number from Nancy. That'll be proof, right? Or Will can get it from Dustin. Whichever."

"And how do you know about something happening tonight at the roller rink?" Joyce demands.

"I know more than I should. So, if the roller rink thing holds up, and you decide to at least hear me all the way out, call my house," Steve hangs up then, not wanting to get into a loop of explanation.

"Steve! Hurry up and come help people while I help Thing One and Thing Two!" Robin calls through the door and Steve takes a step towards the closed door to comply but he stops, hand hanging just above the doorknob. That's how the dream goes. That's what 19-year-old Steve would have done.

But that's a Steve that died five years ago, when the world ended, when the apocalypse started. Steve's not 19 anymore, though he must look it, a master of his own puppet. He's never sought himself out in a mirror when he dreams; he's too busy taking in everyone who has been lost to him in his waking life to bother with himself.

What does he want to do this time?

What does he want to do right now?

He leaves Keith's office to beeline to Dustin, pausing only to pat Robin on the shoulder. He slides around Max and comes to a stop beside Dustin.

"I already told you, I need this for-" Dustin starts to speak but cuts off with a squawk that sounds like a mixture of indignation and confusion as Steve just reaching out and bodily turns Dustin towards him. "Steve, this is important!"

"I know," Steve says and then hugs Dustin. Dustin doesn't hug back, but neither does he pull away. Steve knows he's missed Dustin, felt his loss for many years now, but holding Dustin now, feeling him solid and here feels Steve what he can only equate to grief.

Dustin lets himself be hugged for what is, undoubtedly, an awkward amount of time for him before he thumps Steve's back twice and says, "okay... You can stop now."

Steve lets go and turns to Max, who immediately puts her hands up, "No. Absolutely not."

He chuckles and steps around her. He won't force his affection on her.

Then he takes off the family video vest and sets it on the counter.

"Steve?" Robin asks.

"Sorry, Robs, I can't stay and help customers. I have some things I got to do."

"Steve, you cannot abandon me on a Saturday!"

He can't quite bring himself to feel bad for abandoning her. It is a shit thing to do but right now saving Eddie and Max from Vecna is more important. He's already wasting daylight, so instead of answering his gives her his best 'I'm so sorry' face and bolts out the door. All three of them shout after him but he doesn't slow.

He's got a list of regrets to change.

-

Tagging the besties and all the people that expressed interest when I posted the lil blurb about this. Sorry if I missed you!

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @music9009 @apomaro-mellow @soaringornithopter @reighnofdreams @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @vampirestevie @alex-axolotl @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched

[seniaasaysstuff]

BRAT; Ryomen Sukuna x fem!Itadori Reader. (Soulmate au)

This is a sukuna x fem itadori reader wip. I thought a soulmate au with sukuna possessing you would be an interesting idea haha. It has some cracky undertones.

Yuji is your twin brother but you ate the cursed finger instead.

Would you like to read more of it? Let me know!

Sukuna had been waiting his entire life for you, his soulmate. From the time he learned about soulmates, he was obsessed with the idea of meeting you.

He didn’t quite understand what the words on his wrist meant but he adored him. “Holy fuck you’re hot.” were illuminated on his wrist. He reasoned that maybe it was some other language. He always ran his fingers on the words, tracing them gently whenever he felt sad or angry. It was his only solace in this cruel world.

He didn’t care about the abuse he received from his parents nor did he care about how the villagers treated him.

You were the only thing on his mind. His mind was always wandering around thinking of you. He wondered about what you looked like, how you were doing, if you thought about him as much as he did.

He wished you would just come and save him from the hellish life he was living. He was at a point in his life where he was weak and he wasn’t able to do anything to protect himself.

He trained everyday on his techniques, worked on building muscles and just becoming strong. He got strong and eventually became the strongest sorcerer alive so that he could protect you.

He waited and waited and waited for you to show up one day. But you never showed up. Sukuna felt gutted. He was so filled with grief and sadness that he went mad.

He slaughtered numerous people. It didn’t matter who it was, men or women he killed them all. He didn’t care about the consequences of his actions. He just wanted to meet you.

A time came when he had to be killed. His only regret was that he never got to meet you. His fingers became a cursed object and were sealed away.

In the 21 century, there you were. Itadori y/n, Yuji Itadori’s twin sister.

You were a bubbly child, always happy and just rambling all the time. It didn’t matter who it was, the moment someone talked to you? You went off on tangents about anything and everything. You had never-ending topics and facts and the urge to never shut up.

Your twin, Yuji, was constantly annoyed with your incessant talking but it was also one of the things that he loved about you.

When you found out about soulmates you were amazed by the notion of it. Someone that was going to love you no matter what.

The words written on your wrist were embarrassing and in some ways endearing to you.

The words “I finally found you huh? My brat.” adorned on your wrist. You figured your soulmate was quite a grumpy person that was like an old soul.

You daydreamed about your soulmate all the time. You wondered about what he was like. You eagerly wished to meet him.

————————————————————————

You and Yuji were on your way to the hospital. You both had brought a beautiful bouquet for your Grandpa Saitou. To others he may seem like a rude old man, he literally was but he was so much more than that. He was like your father. He had single-handedly raised you and yuji and loved you both immensely.

You walked inside the hospital room and rushed up to your grandpa Saitou and hugged him. “Grandpa! I missed you.”

Now Grandpa had a soft spot for you. You reminded him of his son, Itadori Jin. Over the years he had fondly spoken about the similarities between you.

“I joined a club with Yuji today!” “Oh really? Tell me all about it.” your grandpa replied with a glint of amusement in his eyes. He was the only one alongside Yuji who loved hearing you talk.

“Yuji? Why am I hearing just now that you joined the occult club?” Grandpa now turned towards Yuji who was placing the flowers in the vase.

“Uh, you know how she is. I am not going to leave her alone.” Yuji shrugged. “This is why I love you yuji!” you fake cried. “Shut up.” He blushed. Grandpa cleared his throat.

“Yuji, you're a strong kid, take care of others, especially her.” Grandpa now turned over and looked at you. “You're the sweetest child and I am proud that I raised you both.”

“Grandpa-why are you saying this?” you stuttered.

“Both of you protect each other no matter what.” Grandpa Saitou spoke and turned over. That was the moment you knew he was dead.

“Grandpa? Grandpa?” Yuji called out.

“Yuji? Is- he de-ad?” your lip quivered. Yuji did not respond, it made you sob. Your legs felt weak and you dropped to the floor. Hot tears were streaming down your face.

Yuji scooped you in his arms and led you out of the hospital room. He sat you down on one of the chairs and let you cry on his shoulder. Yuji also had tears in his eyes, he didn't expect this. Neither of you did.

You were approached by an emo-looking boy with spiky hair. "Yuji Itadori, correct?" The person asked. “You're my soulmate?” Yuji asked, looking dumbfounded.

“This is crazy,” You mumbled. “I’m Fushiguro Megumi. It's nice to finally meet you. I’m from Jujutsu high school. Sorry, but there's no time." He said.

"The cursed object you have is extremely dangerous. Hand it over right away." Megumi spoke. “I don't want you to get hurt,” he added.

"Cursed object?" Itadori asked, confused. You moved to a more secluded area. "This, you have it right?" He asked as he pulled out his phone with a picture of the cursed object.

“Hm?" Itadori looked closer. “Yuji, isn't that the ugly-looking finger?” you questioned.

"Oh yeah! I found it. I don't mind giving it back, but my fellow club members have taken a liking to it." He spoke. "I’d at least like an explanation."

"The majority are the result of negative energy that flows out of people..." Megumi started. “And it's a very dangerous object. I can't risk you getting hurt or other people getting killed.'' Megumi spoke.

“I said that I don't mind it, you can have it.” Yuji handed him the box.“It’s empty? I was just following the taint clinging to the box?” Megumi mumbled.

“Yuji? Where is the finger?” He asked. “It's with our senpais. Actually, they were thinking of removing the talisman tonight.'' Megumi backed away.

“What? Is it bad?” You asked. “Bad? It's worse than bad, they're going to get killed.”

~time skip~

"I just need some cursed energy, right?" you rustled through your pocket and pulled out the finger, and ate it.

“You dumbass. Are you trying to kill yourself?” Yuji yelled at you. “Well if it saves you then i’ll do everything in my power.” you smiled at yuji.

Your entire body convulsed and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You could faintly hear yuji and his soulmate scream for you as you collapsed on the cold floor.

You woke up in a weird dark place that awfully looked like a shrine? And someone was sitting on the throne made up of bones.

You squinted your eyes, “Holy fuck you're hot.” You blurted out then squeaked.

The man chuckled, his voice sounded deep and velvety. “I finally found you huh? My brat.”

“YOU?!!” you shouted.

And just like that, you found your soulmate.

He snapped his fingers and you landed on his lap. “Wow, today is like a trainwreck,” you mumbled.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, propping his chin on your shoulder. “Well first my grandpa died then my brother found his soulmate and then we heard that our senpais could die because of the old crusty finger so then I ate it and well then I passed out and then I found you?” you animatedly spoke. “Well where did you come from tho?” you asked.

He chuckled again. “I quote ‘The old crusty finger’ That was my finger from my old body that got sealed away.”

“Wait- does that mean you're inside of me?” You asked, feeling confused about the whole situation.

“That sounded so bad.” Sukuna groaned. “But yes I’m quite literally inside your body.”

“How does that even work? And how haven’t you shriveled up like a prune yet? Like you’re so old?” You were very confused.

“I have a good skincare routine.” Sukuna sniffed. You laughed.

“You know I imagined my soulmate to be a grumpy man with an old soul but you turned out to be a grumpy old man with an even older soul.” You giggled.

“I'm not that old, okay?” He grumbled. “How old are you again?” You questioned.

“I stopped counting after 300.” You burst into a fit of giggles.

“Does that mean you're a gilf? Like you're so old.” “Well, I tried to keep myself alive for you and what does gilf mean?” He inquired in confusion.

“Grandpa I’d like to fuck.” You snorted.

He groaned, “That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard. I’ve never had children so how can I be a grandpa?”

“Well, you have that aura.” You spoke, trying to muffle your laugh. “You cheeky brat.” Sukuna huffed.

[fleetingcalypso]

I am very sorry to bother you, but a very sweet prompt fleeted into my mind as I prepared myself to come out to my parents, and I'd thought I'd share it in the sheer hope you'd read it, enjoy the thought and perhaps write something based on it, if you're comfortable.

Just imagine, you're very close to Sirius Black (you can choose to which degree, platonically, romantically, interested but not together yet, preferably the last because hehe). You've known for a while you were transgender (FtM) but never had the strength to come out, fearing rejection and alienation from the friend group. Just a sweet little comfort fic because I'm anxious as fuck.

≋ What you're doing is extremely brave, I'm so very proud of you. I wish you the best, friend. Know that whatever goes down, you'll never be judged or rejected here. I'll pray your coming out will be met with love and affection.

≋ Sirius Black x TransMasc!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2285 words.

≋TW: Dysphoria, Misgendering (not done by Sirius)

Hogwarts seemed intimidating, more than anything. Eleven year old me, sitting in that train, chewing my nails and staring out at the moving scenery, had not the slightest idea that finding friends would be as easy as breathing. At least it is when four troublemakers decide to adopt you into their friend group, barely a week after classes started.

‘The marauders’ they’d call themselves, not so slowly becoming every professor’s nightmare.

They each had something that made them so intriguing. The four of them were attached at the hip, and with me being dragged into their pranks and escapades things only got more entertaining. Even as my house was far away from the castle we studied at, every day I got to spend with them made it feel like I was home, with their jokes and their being able to light up a dull moment with only a couple of words. James, Sirius, Remus and Peter welcomed me in, as one of them.

In the midst of my lowest moments I wondered, would they still accept me if I let my walls down? I sprinkled seeds of the truth here and there: I cut my hair short, I opted for pants instead of the usual skirt, I was at my happiest during winter - when finally I could show off the baggiest of sweaters to conceal the appendages on my chest. It’s not purely a physical discomfort, though. It’s in the little things, small seemingly meaningless moments that no one appears to notice but me. 

People perceive me differently based on how I move even the tiniest of muscles, it is painfully obvious. The boys have never done it, not once, they’ve always treated me as one of them. Never has one of them implied me being weaker, more delicate or called me ‘sweetheart’ in that obnoxious way lots of people do when they’re trying to put me back in my place.

 My head constantly feels underwater with the knowledge that if I were to sit wrong I’d be labeled as a girl, if I walk in a specific way it’ll put attention on my hips, even just standing, unmoving, gives me anxiety. The most insignificant of movements could shoot down the image of me that I want people to see whenever they lay eyes on me.

I feared the worst each time I let my mind tug me into a daydream. Deep down I knew, they’d never turn their back on a friend, but fear nipped at my heels every day. Not only was I hiding who I was from them, but I was lying to their faces about it as well. What hurt me the most, though, was not being able to admit my identity to Sirius.

Sirius Orion Black, he’s been the one that made sure I felt safe around him and the lads. More than once I caught myself being entranced by his words as he let the rest of us know what a nightmare his family life was. He was the total opposite of what his mother wanted him to be, yet that didn’t stop him from being his pure unfiltered self, if anything he enhanced each trait she found disgusting. Sirius wasn’t scared to be his true self, even if it meant going against his blood.

It sparked something in me. My heart has been his, for a long time now.

Sirius, with his raven locks, smooth skin and ever present smirk on his face is the one and only subject of all my dreams. He constantly looks as though he knows everyone’s secrets. The thought makes my stomach twist. When I awake, with the moon still high up in the sky, I almost turn to the pillow beside me, to take a peek at him, they’re that realistic. 

At any rate, if there’s someone that I feel should be the one to know the true me, it is him. I contemplated asking all four of them to meet me, but I don’t think I could rip the bandaid that easily. I want to talk to the one who knows -somewhat- how it feels to have expectations placed on oneself, the one who knows that being someone you’re not is more painful than the Crucio curse itself. Of course our situations are oceans apart: he doesn’t deal with having the need to hide certain parts of my body, or with the numerous wailing moments caused by being born in the wrong body, but I think he'd be the first one to accept me.

I had a whole speech prepared, a letter pages and pages long that I was going to give him, so he could read it without my presence, but as I hear his footsteps approaching me, I can imagine him already. His wand resting behind his ear and tie loosened, hands comfortably and nonchalantly situated in the pockets of his jeans with his luscious hair possibly styled into a bun.

“You’ve been rather gloomy lately, mate.” His foot taps my leg, before he lowers himself to sit next to me. We’ve always enjoyed sitting in the astronomy tower together, in the short span of time between a prank or two. Here, we don’t have to worry about being something else, we’re just humans admiring the stars. In hindsight, I should have figured out he knew I’d be hiding out here, as for my ‘being gloomy’, well, I thought I’d done a good job pretending. Apparently not. It makes me wonder if he’s seen through all of my white lies.

“You know how it is, life is hard.” I turn to him, expecting a silly joke like ‘Life is hard, but I’m harder’, something stupid to cheer me up as he usually does, but said joke never makes it into reality. He’s not even smiling, his lip is caught between his teeth in a clearly troubled look, it doesn’t suit him. No trace of a bun holding his luscious hair in place, what a shame.

“Are you okay though?” He whispers, even if we are the only beating hearts in the room and the sincerity in his voice almost brings me to tears. “I mean it when I say you haven’t been yourself lately.” I haven’t fully been myself for ages, but he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. I’ve been everything but myself. Oh, how many times have I hoped I could just rip my chest apart and rid myself of this body that doesn’t belong to me, before emerging from the depth of it as the man I know I am.

My tongue is threatening me to run faster than my mind. ‘I’m a man’ I want to shout, ‘I have always been a man, from the moment I was born, and I hope you can accept me for what I am.’ It sounds so easy in my head, which is why I hate it more than anything when my throat dries up as soon as I part my lips. His gaze falls to them, but it comes back up to meet my eyes when only a sigh escapes from them.

In being faced with my hesitation he speaks again, a subtle comforting smile on his face, “Hey, I’m not holding you hostage. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t feel like it.” His elbow meeting my side in a gentle shove sends my heart ablaze, it is just a simple touch, not even skin on skin, yet it makes my entire body warm up.

“If one day you woke up and saw that you were trapped in a cage, what would you do?” I tentatively ask, testing the waters of the ocean I know I am going to dive in today. My question causes a corner of his lips to tilt upwards, “I’d pick the lock,” He says, as if the solution would be that easy. I foolishly hope it was.

“What if there is no lock to pick? What if you could escape it, but you’d have to face one of the biggest fears in your life in order to do so?” 

His answer, before I can even finish the last syllable, “I’d do it. If it means freedom, I’d do anything. You know it.” His hand rests on my shoulder, I can feel his thumb pressing into my muscles, more than anything I want to hug him and confess my reality with my face hidden in his neck. But I don’t. I’m tired of hiding. My life has turned into a twisted version of hide and seek, where I’m both the seeker and the one hiding. I seek a day where I won’t have to hold back anymore, a day where I’ll be able to use a masculine pronoun without expecting weird looks towards me, yet I hide away in the darkness, afraid of the future, afraid of losing everything I’ve built so far. 

I’ve built mansions, cathedrals, palaces with precarious foundations and I think the time has come to fix that. 

“What’s with all the philosophical talk today? Cages and fears and whatnot. Is it a new idea for a prank? Because if it is you need to hear one James had just a while ago-”

“I’ve been lying to you, Sirius.” I confess with the taste of bile in the back of my throat. The letter I had prepared and read so many times I’d memorized it sits deep in the pockets of my pants, I’m running on no script and no idea of where this conversation will bring us. I have no patience to hear what he might say, so I don’t even stop to breathe before I speak again.

“I’ve been lying to all of you, even to myself at times. I want to preface this by saying that I understand if this is confusing to you, or if you don’t understand where this is coming from but I am not the girl you boys befriended all those years ago. I’ve never been a girl, not once, but this doesn’t mean I’ve been faking to be your friend. I’m still the friend that helped you get out of detention, I’m still the friend that sent professors down the wrong hallway when they would ask for you mid prank preparation, I’m still the friend that would do your essays for you in exchange for part of your food at lunch. I’m still your friend, just not the friend you thought you had.” The words flow out like a river overflowing, it is only as I say the last word that I notice the tears rolling down my cheeks, “I’m not a girl,” I say again, my voice cracking in a sob, “I’m a guy.” 

The grip he had on my shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets out the loudest sigh of relief I’ve ever heard, “By Merlin’s beard, you scared me half to death there.” His other hand rests on his chest, most likely trying to relax his beating heart that, if it’s pounding half the speed of mine, then it must be fighting tooth and nail to escape his ribcage. Something halfway through another sigh and a chuckle comes from him as his head shakes, “So, you’re a bloke, huh? Is that what you’re telling me?” 

I nod, swallowing the gulp stuck in my throat, I can’t force myself to make a sound. The arm wrapping itself around my shoulder and pulling me into Sirius takes me by surprise, “You were always one of the lads, mate.” He says, grinning ear to ear, “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine this was easy for you…” The weight on my back does not abandon me completely, it is only the tiniest amount lighter. The first step is taken, there is no going back, little by little he’ll be able to uncover all of me. One small step at a time. Now it is no time to let him know how the only things I smelled while brewing amortentia was his cologne, butterbeer and the occasional cigarette. 

I don’t know what else to say, it feels like I just lept from a flying broom awaiting contact with the ground, but the crash never comes, my bones never break and no absurd pain breaks through me. “Thank you for still being here.” I choke out. His thumb runs over the corners of my eyes, the silver rings on his fingers graze my hot skin, “Thank you for telling me.” He repeats, dragging my body closer to his in a warm hug, “I want you to know, telling the others, that’s your choice. I won’t say a word. There’s no rush. I’ll even hold your hand while you do it.”

I melt in his arms. His last remark, as teasing as it was, is enough to pull a smile out of me. “I’ll make sure to let you know whenever I’m ready so you can wash your hands first. Who knows what you’ve touched.”

“Wow, rude much.” Sirius holds me for what feels like a lifetime. They say Hogwarts is the safest place there is, but I think I’ve found a worthy adversary to that claim. We don’t say anything, I said my piece and he listened. That’s all that was important. One day I’m going to have to tell James, Remus and Peter as well, but that can wait for now. The worst is done. 

“Do you feel a little more free now?” He murmurs in my ear, “Has that cage began to feel like something you could escape from?”

“Yes.” And I mean it when I say it. The future looks brighter than it ever has.

[love-bitesx]

hobie brown w a chubby reader ?? 🙏🙏

it would be such a horrific shame if any 18+ chubby hobie lovers followed me and dm’d me UGHHHH what an AWFUL thing to happen (pls god i’m begging it’s my kryptonite)

also i’m worried this is a tad afab biased, but absolutely no pronouns or afab body parts mentioned (i am plus sized so this is slight projection)

hobie brown x plus size!reader

he is in love with every single part of you. and he MEANS it.

chubby thighs, bigger arms, pudgy stomach, stretch marks, anything. it belongs to you, so he’s head over heels. he’s obsessed.

when you first met, you wore these soft, cotton pants that hugged your thighs and stomach tightly and that man thought his knees were about to give way. eyes glued to you like he’d seen heaven, he couldn’t stop staring, thoughts far from respectful. at first you were convinced he was judging you, insecure under his heavy gaze, shrinking into your skin.

but when he approached you, and his face had this sort of ‘i think you could make me believe in god’ kind of expression, you melted into him entirely.

he’d constantly buy/make/steal his clothes in bigger sizes, telling you it’s because he preferred a comfier fit. it was a lie, but he’d never admit that because one morning, you trudged out of his bedroom wearing an old t-shirt of his that he’d discarded years ago, an old band that he’d grown out of, and his poor heart doubled in size at the sight. it hugged your hips, pulling against your soft skin in all the perfect places, and he swore he felt light-headed – treasuring the image for his daydreams.

“look fuckin’ unreal, darlin’.” he’d mutter, and pull you flush against him.

you might’ve been secure in yourself and your body most of the time, but just as everyone experiences, there were nights that had you covering every part of your skin and shying away from the mirrors that haunted your walls. on these nights, hobie was there with a heart full of affection and a mouth that could say and do wonders. in his eyes, you were heaven’s descendant, and he was baffled that you couldn’t see it yourself.

gently, he’d run his hands along all the places you were insecure about, lips trailing behind closely, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. not inherently sexual, but he was prepared to do whatever it takes for you to see yourself through his love-heart shaped eyes.

picture it. date night, maybe second or third, and he was waiting outside your apartment door, leant up against the frame with his guitar slung over his shoulder, and a freshly-stolen bouquet of flowers clasped between his ringed fingers. the first date had been a success, and it was difficult to find a single second of the day where you weren’t on his mind, so he’d be lying if his chest didn’t bubble with anticipation.

“coming,” your voice hummed through the wood, and his lips curled into an excited smirk.

a wave of your scent hit him as you opened door, the hot air of your apartment spilling out into the hallway. smiling up at him, you almost felt the need to cower under his gaze – strong, trained on you as he took in your appearance.

god, you looked stunning. every single inch of clothing wrapped you perfectly, dark black attire that just held you in all the right ways, presenting every curve, every bundle of soft skin, every inch of you to him on a silver platter and his stomach was fluttering with adoration. and it was all for him.

fair to say, you skipped any prior plans you had that night.

he takes pride in you no matter what you look like, as long as your heart shares the same tenderness as his own, he doesn’t care what size you are.

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @miya-akane request: okay I'll request for the last tine-

How about Xiao, Chongyun, Freminet and Albedo (my top 4 in genshin<3) with s/o that kins Akito and/or Ena? Like they tend to comparw themself with others and felt like they're not good enough ? Also they have a bit anger issues perhaps? In conclusion they're somehow like akito. (My akito and ena kinnie ass need to)

That's all! Don't overworked yourself and always remember to stay hydrated bee~

-🌹

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Yess! Omg this one was actually great idea! I tried looking at Akito more though I guess they're so similiar it didn't made difference hah And no worries, I'm taking care of myself, but I hope you do as well miya!

Anyway, I know I took my time with this one but I hope you'll like it in the end!

Short boys supermercy forever and ever, I love writing for them sm I swear

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

✧ Albedo almost never let's emotions carry him so you could tell he's always the one calming you down when needed

✧ but he does understand that you need to let the negative emotions out, so first thing he does is getting your emotions out on paper

✧ he'll let you all his painting equipment and won't even mind if you damage the canva in the process

✧ as for you comparing yourself to others, he starts noticing you daydreaming and will sometimes make remark for you to not worry about it

✧ he's rather reassuring type so whenever you try comparing yourself out loud, he'll stop whatever he's doing just to hold your hands gently and remind you of all your values

"Don't call yourself like that. You're the most skillful person in this field I know. And believe me when I say I don't just throw words on wind."

✧ and of course, there's also your tsundere behavior which often leaves him chuckling quietly at how you're trying to hide your affection

✧ he's not necessarily the teasing type but he can't stop but naje you clarify what you want just to see that little blush on your face

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @miya-akane - come get your chalk alchemist!

✧ as Xiao can be a bit of a tsundere sometimes as well, he doesn't really have problems with anger

✧ he'd sometimes be the type to put his hand on your shoulder and reassure you there's no need to waste your energy on something like that

✧ but sometimes... he'll let you. It all depends of the situation you found yourself in

"They said what to you...? I'll go fight them instead, you shouldn't risk any danger. Especially when I'm around."

✧ something he can't understand tho is you constantly comparing yourself to others. He saw many mortals do it and yet he still doesn't understand why you're comparing yourself to someone with much more experience

✧ he's gonna be rather blunt with it and just tell you it's not logical at all to compare yourself who just started with something to someone who's been devoted to this genre for few years already!

✧ but if your topic ever goes to not being enough of a lover, he'll try to break his tsundere barrier and tell you all the things he loves you for

✧ in the end, he ends up being a blushing mess when you have a bit of breakdown, assuring you that he means every word he says

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @miya-akane - come get your tsundere adepti~

✧ Chongyun is on rather calmer side and his bursts are usually one of annoyence rather than pure rage

✧ you were definitely the first person he met with such an anger issues so he had hard time getting used, but once he does, he doesn't mind that much

✧ he will try dragging you aside whenever you get angry at someone and offer for you to take your anger out on him or on any object he doesn't care about instead

"Take it out on me. You can imagine I'm them and just tell me anything you want. I won't get upset, I'll only be happy if it helps."

✧ if you decline tho, he'll try to look for other ways since he doesn't want you to carry these emotions inside but he also doesn't want you taking it out on others

✧ as for your comparing, he won't tolerate that! he'll stop you and tell you all things he likes about you right in the face while holding your shoulders or hands and maintaining eye contact. He want's you to be sure you know he's being honest!

✧ though he might need a popsicle or two after such an interaction...

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@bleachtheidiot - come get your popsicle boy!

✧ Freminet is rather quiet so he rarely bursts out, bur something you have in common would certainly be comparing yourselves to others...

✧ you're perfect in his eyes and he's perfect in yours, but that doesn't seem to stop you from putting yourselves down

✧ when he hears you talking badly about yourself, he'll immidietly tell you it's not true and try to tell you some compliments, but he get's shy quickly so it may end in many ways...

✧ he's also trying to help you calm down with your anger! First thing he thinks of that might help would be those anti stressing toys to squeeze!

✧ he'll buy you as many as you'd want, even if you keep breaking them. What matters to him is if they work

✧ if they don't, he'll do his best to find a good excuse and pull you away as he's doing his best to calm you down

"It's fine, it's fine... Breath with me. In... and out... That didn't help? Well uh..."

✧ and finally, there's your tsundere self! Your lovely interactions are certainly rare but they're somehow sweet, since you have to watch out to not say something discouraging to him or he might stop initiating affections...

✧ but don't worry, he'll learn your way of speaking sooner or later and it won't bother him as much anymore!

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@bleachtheidiot - come get your shy diver~

[mewnekoice-mecha]

DP x DC

Part 2 of Idol!Danny

Quick summary: Danny is performing in Gotham, the bat boys & girls go see it. Que Simps Damian and Tim

Here’s Danny’s outfit as always

*knock**knock*

“Phantom ,your on in 5 ok”,said the manger for this event, “Please head to the stage, we’re ready”.

“Ok, I’m on my way,” came a light male voice with a soft undertone that didn’t seem human. The male in question was none other then teen idol and meta sensation PHANTOM or in his dimension Danny Fenton, a teen with glowing white hair that constantly shifts like it’s underwater, eyes that glow a bright neon green, small fangs that fill a faerie like face, his entire appearance screams supernatural. That’s not the only reason he’s so popular, but we’ll see why later.

At the moment he was about to do one of his biggest concerts to date in the city of crime itself Gotham City, Home of the Bat and His Birds. Doing one last check to make sure his outfit and makeup was perfect, Phantom left his room and headed to the main area in the arena that he will be singing in, in just a few minutes.

Taking a breath Danny shook himself and grabbed the headset that was handed to him, as the workers fitted around him doing last minute checks before he goes on. Eyes flashing brighter then ever, a smirk came across his face as he felt Lady Gotham’s Knights had decided to join his little concert, now he HAS to make this a performance worth remembering.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, YOU KNOW HIM YOU LOVE HIM, PLEASE WELCOME PHANTOM!!!!”

Time to knock ‘‘em dead Fenton

*Jason’s POV *

‘I can’t believe Cass and Steph, dragged us to a concert for some lame meta twink singer, I could be sleeping or shooting at assholes right now buutt nooo I gotta be here with demon brat, replacement and dickie as well’ I thought as we grabbed our seats. Steph and surprisingly Cass have been raving nonstop about some meta singer that popped up a year ago. Apparently he’s been taking the music scene by storm and he’s already won awards for his music despite his young age, I can’t help but Amit I’m a little curious about him as it’s almost unheard of for a meta to be so open about they’re powers like he is. As soon as I thought that, the announcement to welcome the kid who’s stage name is apparently Phantom came on, guess I’ll see what’s the fuss about ,when QUIETNESS and Darkness greeted me.

*Danny’s POV*

After my announcement came, i floated invisible and intangible to the center stage, then I grabbed on my core and PULLED all the light to me so there was only Darkness, that’s when the music started and I began to SING

🎶Better-Arc North, Rival🎶

I slowly became visible as I sung a bright spot in total darkness

“Like we’re underwater

Can’t hear nothing

You’ve been casting a spell

I’m all yours now

Yeah, you’ve been

Fillin the space upon my mind”

I floated slowly around the stage like I was looking or daydreaming about someone, a dazed/happy expression on my face

“And tell me everything

Both the good and bad

Cause whatever you tell me

I will still like everything that I see

Cause nothing feels better then us

I’m so high can’t get down

No nothing feels better than when I’m with you”

Moving closer to the edge of the stage I could see and hear the dazed, blushing faces of my fans screams and cries of I love you and Phantom filled the air, it was almost time to dazzle my little specters

“My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won’t lie

Nothing feels better than you”

As soon as the bass started to drop Releasing my hold on my core, the entire arena became a NEBULA with me as its center, bright blues and purples filled the arena as shooting stars shot behind me

“Nothing feels better than this

No nothing feels better than this”

Looking at the faces of my fans I could spot some shocked faces in the front row, and low and behold it was Lady Gotham’s birds. Creeping closer I leaned close to one of them a male with shocking blue-gray eyes and smelling a bit like coffee I sang my next part

“Let me be your safe place

If the sky would open

I’m making sure that you stay dry

In the greatest of storms

I’ll be your light”

Leaving him slacked jawed with a pretty blush I moved on to the next bird closest to me which happened to be the one with pretty green eyes and gorgeous Arabic tan I’ve ever seen, he was scowling but had a light blush that was unnoticeable to untrained eyes, taking a clawed finger I lightly brushed against his face not quite touching but still noticeable

“And they can’t tell me nothing

That will make a difference

Since I got everything I need in you

I’m invincible I believe”

He was staring wide eyed at me like he couldn’t even believe I was talking er singing to him, moving back to the stage I started using my ecto-ice to make a light mist that cause the nebula around me to sparkle as I air danced

“Cause nothing feels better

Than us

I’m so high I can’t get down

No nothing feels better

Than when I’m with you

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won’t lie”

Bringing my hands in front of me I slammed them together creating a would be universe around me with a shadowy figure reaching a hand out toward me for me to take, reaching for the hand I grasped it and pulled it towards me as the shadows peeled away from the figure showing a gothic loli teen with a bat choker on and golden eyes

“Nothing feels better than you

Nothing feels better than this

Nothing feels better than this

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I wont lie

Nothing feels better than you”

Ending the song on that note I hugged Gotham as a thanks for letting me use her as a stand in.

But as for her knight’s I had no way of knowing just how true my song would become for me and them

@skulld3mort-1fan @kawaiikenna @xye-chan

as always this is an open prompt so if u like the prompt you can borrow it or make a story out of it all I ask is just a mention of where it came from

[kydrogendragon]

I saw your birthday post and had an idea. It's comics canon Dream gets obsessive over his romantic partners, but... But! I wanna see that kind of obsessive devotion showered on his friend. His friend who waited and procured a new meeting place. No romance, no sex though QPR levels of skinship would be nice. I could see them both being different levels of touch starved. I would love to see 0 to 100 levels of friendship. Dream should get the chance with Hob who has already shown such loyalty.

We got our fifth post for the day!!

Ohhhh I loved this promp, thought! Honestly, this deserves it's own full length character study-type fic cause there's so much you can do with it here. I tried my best to fit bits in in a coherent manner and tried my best to show that obsession and devotion without it feeling like it dove too close to the "romance" track.

Thank you so much, anon! Hope you enjoy!

Relationship: Hob & Dream Words: 4141 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

The first time that Dream met with Hob Gadling after escaping Fawney Rig and restoring his realm, he had expected a great many things. What he hadn’t expected was for the White Horse to have been demolished and for his friend to create a new meeting place for them. The words The New Inn hung proudly against the brick building and a sense of warmth emanated from it in a way Dream had not experienced in many years.

Hob Gadling greeted him with a smile. Dream shouldn’t be surprised by this. The man was a well of optimism and joy. He has always looked upon life with a sense of wonder and excitement that Dream could hardly fathom. He should not be surprised his arrival was treated with that same level of happiness.

Still, he was surprised nonetheless.

They had talked well into the night, far past the normal operating hours of the establishment, but it did not matter when Hob owned the place. Being here with Hob, simply talking and listening to the mundane stories of his life, brought a peace to Dream. It was a comfort to simply be in a way he has not known how. When he was imprisoned, even then he had not simply existed. He was far into his mind, constantly staking out any weaknesses in their defenses or gaps in their bindings. Even when he had not moved in over a hundred years, Dream had not known rest.

But here was different. In these walls, rebuilt and lovingly fashioned with friendly intents and hopes, and with Hob’s cheerful baritone voice washing over him, Dream could finally relax. It was a strange sensation, one he fought initially, but sometime, after most patrons eased out and it was just the two of them, Dream managed to let the tension in his shoulders drop.

Then, Hob had invited him back. He had said Dream was welcome to visit anytime. Didn’t matter when, he was welcome. It was an offer he had never received before. A standing invite, one that Dream well knew Hob meant with all his heart, was a rare thing to be extended to anyone, let alone an Endless. And yet, the impossible immortal did so anyways.

Which is why Dream is currently sitting on Hob Gadling’s couch in the dark.

He had shown up to his flat the next day. Repairs in the Dreaming were progressing and, if Dream is being honest, he missed the sense of comfort he got from being near his friend (a friend. He did not have friends. And yet, he now has one.) Dream had failed to account for his work schedule, however, and upon arriving in Hob’s living room, found the place empty. It was no matter. Hob had told him he was welcome at anytime. He could wait.

Dream had explored the living room, trailing a finger across book titles and picture frames, ghosting touches over ancient artifacts with stories so embedded within, it made Dream smile. He brushed against the daydreams of sunlight and warmth from the plants upon his window ledges and, when the sun began to tilt down, heading for the horizon, Dream plucked a book from the expansive selection of Hob’s personal library and began to read.

He had lounged upon the plush fabric couch, his boots fading to sand as he tucked his legs underneath him. The book in had was an original print, well loved and well worn. The pages still carried with them the dreams of the author, though faint. It had also been many years since Dream had simply taken the time to read a book himself. Yes, the knowledge, the story told, it lay inside him, but the act of turning each page, of reading each word, there was something also calming about it.

Dream was nearly finished when Hob Gadling finally arrives.

The door creaks open into the darkness that’s settled into the room. There is a faint glow from the streetlights outside. Dream watches as his friend shuffles his bag off of his shoulder as he closes the door behind him. He tosses his keys on the counter beside him and sighs. “Ah, Christ,” his friend mutters, slinging the bag onto the counter as well. He looks up. Then he screams.

Dream blinks.

“Jesus, fuck! Dream?” Hob cries, stumbling backwards into his front door, one hand raised out, as if prepared to defend himself.

“Hello, Hob.”

His friends sighs and visibly sags. Dream frowns. Perhaps the invitation had not been made genuinely. Perhaps he should leave-

“Christ, you scared me, my friend,” Hob says, chuckling to himself. “Are those... do you have cat eyes?”

Dream blinks again. “Cat eyes?”

“Yeah, s’what scared me half to death. Two beady little eyes staring up at me in the darkness.”

“Ah,” Dream says, closing the cover of the book in his hands and setting it on the coffee table in front of him. “They are stars that you are seeing. They are not cat eyes.”

As Dream’s gaze lifts back to his friends, he sees Hob just staring at him, mouth slightly agape. “Right. Stars.” He says. Hob takes a steadying breath before nodding. “Sure. Star eyes. Why not.” Dream follows Hob’s movements as he makes his way to the kitchen and flicks on the soft under cabinet lighting. It brightens the room, but not considerably. The soft glow is comforting, almost. “Tea?”

Dream nods as he stands. He makes his way to the other side of the counter, watching Hob go through the motions of preparing two cups of tea. He pulls down a pair of novelty mugs, chuckling to himself as he reaches for the black mug peppered with small stars. He looks over to Dream with a smirk. “Star mug for Mr. Star-Eyes.”

It is after they had drank their tea on the comfort of Hob’s couch in the darkness and when Hob’s foot taps against his leg with a smile at a joke he cracks that Dream begins to realize that he cares quite deeply for this man that he calls friend.

It is a month later when Dream returns to the New Inn. It is not his third visit, but rather his tenth, though this one is special. He had brought with him a gift. It is customary, he has found, to give gifts to ones friends. And, Dream finds, he wishes to. Hob Gadling, who waited, who was loyal. Who stayed here, knowing Dream would return eventually when he had given him every reason to believe otherwise. He showed a level of faith he’d seen only in one other - Lucienne. And she had been his Raven, his first. How better to reward, to thank, such faith, such loyalty, than with a gift, spun from dreamstuff by his own hand?

The fine metal bracelet rests in his coat pocket. It it warm against him, thrumming with his own power and vibrates, perhaps a bit too excitedly, against his hand, eager to fulfill it’s function. Dream steps into the building that has become as close to a home in the Waking as Dream could ever know. Hob sits at their usual table, engrossed in his laptop. He walks forward, pulling his usual seat out, and sits as Hob looks up and greets him with that familiar smile.

“Well, hello there, my friend!” Hob says, closing the top of his laptop. He crosses his arm atop it. “How are you doing?”

“I am well. Yourself?”

Hob smiles and dives into their usual routine. He talks of work and his students, he talks of the staff and the customers. He talks of the frustrations with the Dean and the lack of support for a new course he wishes to teach. Dream makes a mental note of this. But most importantly, he talks of himself, of his latest botched cooking attempt and his struggles with keeping his newest plant alive.

As the conversation naturally ebbs, Dream speaks. “I have a gift for you.” Hob’s eyes widen comically.

“A gift? For me?”

Dream nods and reaches into his coat pocket. The thin gold metal band shines in the overhead lighting. It is simple in design, though the underside of the band contains script of a language few speak any longer, though Hob was borne into. The Middle English reads, “Min Gadling”. He holds it out on his palm in front of Hob.

His friend looks between him and the bracelet, shock and confusion on his face, but reaches forward, slowly, and plucks the metal from his hand. Dream sighs, his hand retreating, as the dreamstuff hums in Hob’s hold. He examines it, turning it in his hands, when his eyes finally spot the text. He inhales sharply as his eyes dart up to Dream.

It is in this moment that Dream realizes, perhaps, this gift is too much. When he’d broached the topic to Matthew, his raven had ensured him that gifts between friends were fine, though the examples given were often food or small tokens. This, he realizes, may not qualify as appropriate gifts.

Dream tenses, his mind already spinning tales of possible ends, most of which involve Hob revoking his offers of friendship, of visitation permission. Even in friendship, it seems, he is too much. Then Hob speaks.

“You know, my last name apparently means companion or comrade.” He smiles. Dream lets out a breath.

“It can also mean rogue,” he replies, allowing a small smile to grace his face in return.

Hob chuckles. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s what mine was meant to mean.” He looks back down at the bracelet, fondness in his eyes. “Thank you for this. It means a lot. Truly. I don’t have much with my true name on it these days. It’ll be nice to have something always on me to remind me where I came from. How far I’ve come.” His eyes lift, meeting Dream’s. “The friends I’ve made along the way.”

Hob fiddles with the metal in his hands, his brows furrowing as his eyes dart across Dream’s face. “Not that I’m not grateful. I am. Completely! And I love it and will always happily accept any gifts, but… why?”

“I-” Dream starts, letting his eyes fall to the table between them. The truth? Dream wished to bestow upon Hob all that he could offer for everything Hob has given him. He wished to thank him for his friendship, for his stories and companionship. He wished to offer him but a paltry piece of the debt he has piled himself with off of Hob Gadling's kindness. He wished to see Hob wear that which marks him as his, as his friend, his one and only. Dream only knew intensity. His lover often complained of such, but change does not come easy to Dream. And in friendship, it seems, he is no different.

“Friendship bracelets, I’ve been told, are common in this century, are they not?” It is far from the truth, though it was the inspiration for the gift’s form.

“Well, yeah,” Hob chuckles, finally sliding the bracelet over his hand. It shrinks, fitting his wrist perfectly. His friend’s mouth drops as he stares at the metal. “I- did that just shrink?”

“Yes,” Dream replies. “It will adjust to whatever size you desire.”

Hob runs a hand through his hair, his eyes glued to his wrist. “I’ll never get over just how incredible you are, you know that?” Dream smiles, preening under the praise. Hob shakes his head and manages to tear his eyes away and turn back to Dream. “Anyways, yes, friendship bracelets are a thing, but they’re usually small things made of twine or colored yarns, not decorative metals with fancy scripts and fancy magics. Besides, usually friendship bracelets have a twin. One for each of us.”

“Oh?” He has made an error, it seems. One that can be resolved quickly. He moves, readying to whirl in a matching bracelet for himself when Hob speaks again.

“But! Key part- I have to make yours. Just, you know, don’t expect anything as fancy as this, yeah?” He says, waggling his wrist just above the table with a grin.

Ah. The act of the creation is as important to the function as the bracelet itself. “I look forward to the fruits of your labor then, Hob Gadling.”

If the Dean suddenly wakes up with an overwhelming nagging feeling to greenlight Hob’s proposed class the next morning, who’s to say?

The first time Hob truly touches him, Dream stiffens. They are out visiting the newest exhibit at the Natural History museum. Hob was staring up at a wall-sized painting of a Titanosaur, the largest dinosaur, according to the various placards in the room. Dream had been talking to the inaccuracies of the painting, noting a distinct lack of fur and a poor distribution of fat when a large school group makes their way through the smaller hallway they are standing in.

The hoard of teenage youth slide through, jovial and pointing at various pieces of arts and relics as they pass. Hob reaches out, a hand resting on Dream’s back as he guides the pair of them a few steps closer, making room for those walking by. His touch is warm and melts into his core like honey-sweet syrup. The sensation is so startling, Dream simply… goes. He follows Hob’s hand and allows his friend to move him. Then, he returns his hand to his side.

Dream, on principle, does not allow touch, not unless he wishes. And he most certainly does not allow for people to move him. But, he finds, his mind allows both of these to Hob Gadling, even if he had not consciously made the choice. It is a strange realization, learning the allowances he would have for his friend. The worst is Hob seems oblivious to the inner turmoil occurring in Dream.

The strangest, he supposes, his how a part of his wishes to list into his friend, into his warmth again. It has been mere minutes, yet he is left wanting for the feeling. He looks down, his eyes drifting beside the nameplate to the right of the large work of art as Hob’s voice washes over him again, talking of archeology and his desires to “give it a shot, one of these lives.” Perhaps, Dream thinks to himself, he has been without touch for far too long.

The second time Hob touches him, Dream had initiated it. Well, more than he had the last time, at least. They are in his flat, this time, resting on the couch, watching a movie Hob had insisted upon. It is evening in London. A few boxes of Thai takeout rest on the coffee table beside a plate of biscuits Hob had made just for Dream after learning his preference of the sweet things. He has a blanket draped over his form, another insistence from Hob. He claimed movies were always better when bundled up, then accused him of always looking cold.

Dream had been unable to argue against him. He was always cold. It lingered on the edges of his form. The memory of cool, unforgiving glass pressed against his skin, chilling him to his core. Though, Dream is certain he has been cold for longer than that. But with Hob, in his flat, under a well-loved blanket that feels and smells of his friend, Dream finally feels almost warm.

Hob sits beside him, still upright, still near, as he works through the last few bites of his Pad Thai. Dream could shift his foot just slightly and rest it against Hob’s thigh if he so wished. So he did. The slight curve of his foot melds into the soft give of his warm flesh, covered as it is by corduroy. Hob tilts his head back and to the side, eyes looking at Dream with a question in his brow.

He stares at the television, refusing to meet Hob’s gaze. It was an ask, nonverbal as it was. He did not wish to see the rejection should it come. But it didn’t. Instead, he felt Hob shift, setting down the now empty takeout container on the table and shifts, letting his arm drape over the back of the couch as he presses back against Dream’s foot. When he finally glances over at Hob, he’s met with a gentle smile before those warm brown eyes turn back to the movie.

If Dream rested his head against the back of the couch, just beside Hob’s hand, and if he let his eyes fall closed as fingers carded through his hair, he would never say.

“Hey! I was hoping I might see you today,” Hob called from his usual spot in the New Inn. Dream made his way over to the seat across the table and looks at him with a confused frown.

“Is something the matter?” Was he in trouble? Or perhaps Hob was finally shifting from this current life to the next one. He had talked with Dream about running out of life left in this place after all.

“No, nothing bad, don’t worry.” Hob said with a smile. He turns, digging through the bag to his right. He exclaims in joy as he pulls forth from the depths of his bag a small paper box. Sliding it across the table, he looks up, excitement in his eyes.

Dream reaches down, plucking the small, light-weight box from the table. Already, he can feel the daydreams that waft through the box from the object inside. Tales of friendship and hope, of care and consideration flow through. Most importantly, though, is how he is the focus of all these daydreams. When he removes the lid and sees the delicate black leather cuff inside, he knows exactly what it is.

“The twin to your friendship bracelet, yes?” Dream asks, taking the leather cuff in his own hands. It is thinner than many cuffs. Perhaps two fingers wide, but the face is decorated, stamped with care, with trailing vines and images of birds - ravens, he suspects - in flight. It is not perfect. There are imperfections in the stamping, shadows of a second press just slightly misaligned from the first. The stitches are mostly even, though there are spots, Dream notices as he rubs his thumb over the edges, that are off– a little too close to the edge, a little too far from it.

It is imperfectly perfect. It is human and hand-made. Dream would not have it any other way.

Hob nods, speaking as Dream slowly buttons the leather cuff around his wrist, letting the softness of the well-worked leather cement him more firmly into this form. “Yeah, took forever trying to think of what would match your all black ensemble. Figured a dark stained leather would be a safe bet. Plus I’m shit at weaving.” He smiles, watching Dream’s deft fingers finish securing the leather around his wrist. Dream turns his wrist, watching the light cast shadows in the small indents of the hide.

He has not been gifted things often. Less so is he gifted things with the sole intent of giving him something without wanting something in return. He is also nearly certain that this is the first time he has been given something with the intent to match, so that they each hold claim over the other. Dream shivers at the thought. Hob had eagerly accepted his gift, his mark, and that alone had been a heady thing. This? Having Hob Gadling's mark upon him? Having the spoils of his work and effort, all done solely for him, so that they’d “match”?

There are tears in his eyes. Hob’s face falls into one of concern. “Hey, you okay? Is it too much?” He asks, resting his hands, palms up, on the table in front of Dream. An offer of comfort, if needed. Hob has always been considerate in this regard since that movie night in his flat. The offer of touch has become an open one, though gestures such as this make accepting it all the easier.

Dream rests his hand, the one bearing the black leather, on top of Hob’s own. Warm fingers wrap around him instantly, giving him a gentle squeeze. “No,” Dream manages, tearing his eyes away from their hands and up to his friend’s face. “It is perfect. Thank you, my dear friend.”

And Hob smiles. “Anytime.”

It has been well over a year since Dream returned to the Waking, since first returned to Hob Gadling. He has just arrived for their newest tradition: Monday Movie Nights. Matthew rests on his shoulder as he stands outside the door to Hob’s flat, a bottle of wine plucked from his own dreams along with the venison pasties he had so wished for Dream to try back at their 1589 meeting.

Hob opens the door with a wide smile and ushers them both in, taking the food and drink from Dream’s hands with a fond chuckle. “Grab these from a dream, did you?” Hob asks, setting both offerings on the coffee table next to the fish and chips and the plate of biscuits. There’s also a small bowl on the table beside the chair that Matthew has taken to resting in full of different seed. “Can’t imagine you slaving away in a kitchen.”

“Ha!” Matthew cries, flying from Dream’s shoulder over to the chair’s armrest. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.” His raven cranes his neck up, watching as Hob uncorks the wine and pours them both a glass. “Can you even cook? Like, I know you don’t usually eat, so you probably don’t really need to cook. And you could probably just… magic up food if you really wanted it.”

Dream sits on the edge of the couch, waiting for Hob to take his usual spot before getting comfortable. He whisks away his boots and coat with a thought, letting them fall into sand, disappearing before hitting the ground. “I contain the collective subconscious, Matthew. I could cook if I desired to.” He takes the offered wine glass in hand. Hob nabs the remote from the table and falls back into the plush cushions. He wears his usual lounge wear, the cuffs of his joggers riding up his legs slightly. He leans back, his spine pressed into the soft curve of the edge of the back cushion as it flows into the armrest. Dream scooches himself closer, letting his back fall against his friend’s chest as he settles himself between his legs.

He has found, after a night spent in tears in Hob Gadling’s arm after telling him the tale of Fawney Rig, of cold glass and dried blood, that he feels calmer than ever when enveloped in his warmth. So, when the situation allows, Dream lets himself be draped in Hob’s arms and enjoys the solidity he finds in the touch and the warmth. Hob has since admitted, during one of their previous movie nights, that he is happy Dream enjoys these moments, that he’s missed being able to hold someone close like this.

Dream had been surprised at the time. Hob was always a touchy person, based on his interactions with others, though after the many many months together, he’s found that while Hob may have other friends and expresses his affections through hugs and touch and friendly slaps on the back, he misses this. He lacks the skinship they have with each other here. Human society may be getting better at allowing such gestures among friends, “cuddling with the homies” as Matthew had so gracefully put it, was still not widely accepted. But they had each other. And that was enough.

Hob’s arm wraps around his center, holding him close, his other sets his glass down on the side table next to Matthew’s seed. He hits play on the remote and retrieves his glass again, giving it a gentle tap to the edge of Dream’s own. He smiles, tilting his head against Hob’s shoulder.

The movie plays. Dream snacks on the freshly baked biscuits and even tries one of the venison pasties, much to Hob’s delight. He will admit, they were quite tasty. Hob, himself, works a steady pace through their acquired snacks and drink and sighs contentedly when he sets down his emptied glass of wine. He and Matthew chat, commenting on the film and it’s poor special effects work while Dream listens. The fireplace below the television crackles gently.

Dream smiles, closing his eyes as he lets his mind focus on the friendly chatter, the warmth of Hob’s body against his own, and the the feeling of happiness that starts to stir inside of him. He must thank his sister one day for bringing Hob Gadling into his life. Dream doesn’t know what he would have done without him.

[pandoa]

Hi!!! Can I request yellow pansies and anemones in a balcony theme for Jamil? Thank you!!

Yellow pansies ~ “they love me, they love me not. they love me, they love me n—” “what are you doing?” “GAH!”

Anemones ~ “just take my hand. don’t you dare second guess yourself”

~jamil viper x gender neutral reader~

the moment i saw the balcony theme and anemones prompt i immediately thought "ALADDIN A WHOLE NEW WORLD SCENE-" AND I'M JUST SDJNJVDV THE PERFECT WAY TO END THIS EVENT, THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING <3

♡shining, shimmering, splendid!♡

He was perfect. Way too perfect, actually. What kind of man was just too good at everything?

It was to the point where it drove you absolutely crazy. Every step he made caused your heart to flutter hoping each step would be an inch closer to him standing right beside you, every mention of his name made you helplessly lift your head thinking you and him were in the very same room, every word he said to you was another word you would place high on a pedestal as if it were the most enchanting sentence your ears had ever heard. He had lucid locks of hair your hands had only dreamed of running themselves through. Skin as smooth as silk that sent electrical shivers down your spine with just one simple touch of his skin on yours. His dancing lyrical, his mind intelligent, and his soul beautiful. 

You were in love with Jamil Viper. And you were nearing the verge of insanity if you did not find out if he had felt the same. 

Days would seem to pass in no time at all—mainly because you would constantly be dazed with your mental consciousness never present at all—and it regrettably began to influence, not only your emotions, but the life lived around you as well. You could no longer keep still, your mind always drifting off into never-ending daydreams, friends concerned for your health, and your heart needing a definite answer before it exploded into a million pieces. Which was why you were there now, leaning on Ramshackle’s antique balcony, pulling at the dainty petals of a flower you had picked on your way back to your dorm after class. This had to be settled once and for all. In the name of your ever-pounding heart.

“He loves me, he loves me not,” your hopeful muttering played through the trees and grassland residing at the bottom of your balcony, each petal you gently picked off gracefully gliding down to touch the greenery as it twirled and spun in the wind. Going up to Jamil and directly asking him about his own feelings was obviously not an option in these circumstances; that was simply too bold for your taste. So, you had resolved to the next best thing for determining someone's romantic emotions: using flower petals to predict your crush’s feelings. 

Plucking another petal off of the delicate flower, you sighed wistfully as a gentle breeze began to comb through your hair, “He loves me, he loves me n—”

“What are you doing?”

“GAH! J-Jamil!” Upon hearing the calm voice of the Scarabia second year, your body jumped up in surprise as you hid the flower you had been holding behind the small of your back. Lifting your gaze up to face him, however, you had noticed something off about the way Jamil’s figure had slowly risen up and down as if he were flying in mid-air. That’s odd, you curiously thought, I don’t see a magical broom with him anywhere?

“What brings you here…floating on a…” a small pause cut your sentence as you looked over the balcony’s railings only to see a familiar piece of tapestry-like cloth hovering over the air—confusion plaguing your voice as you turned to look the boy directly in the eye, “magic…carpet? What the heck, Jamil?”

Jamil, softly clearing his throat, attempted to avoid eye contact as a hesitant hand shot up to nonchalantly cover a part of his face. For whatever reason, it had seemed like he was embarrassed—for what you did not know. You were too focused on hiding a burning blush on your end to notice the also red tint creeping onto the vice housewarden’s cheeks. Trying to continue on with what he had come here for, Jamil finally gained back some of his composure and looked back at you, “I noticed that you seemed…quite stressed this past week and thought that you could use a moment to clear your head. So, I borrowed Kalim’s carpet and headed straight for Ramshackle. Apologies for scaring you, though. That, I did not plan.”

“What do you mean?” you timidly asked, heart still palpitating miles and miles each second Jamil’s gray eyes had bore into your own. 

“I’m taking you with me to relax.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” you watched as Jamil had shifted his position to get a better angle before reaching his own hand out to latch onto yours. “Here, just take my hand. Don’t you dare second guess yourself,” he said as the sun over Ramshackle’s balcony reflected onto the shining gold accents of his charms and bracelets—causing him to glimmer brighter than any star you had ever seen, “And don’t worry either.”

“You can trust me.”

a/n: and then reader and jamil ride off into the dramatic sunset singing "a whole new world" throughout the entirety of nrc until jamil finds out kalim tried to cook again and jamil's little date is interrupted because he doesn't want the housewarden to burn down their whole dorm <3

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hi! Omg your Urogi is super cute. I love the way you write him :D

Would you be willing to write winged demon + Urogi cuddling and purring together? Any gender is just fine by me. Tysm in advance!

Oooh! I didn’t know Birds can purr! But hey, it’s cute so I don’t mind! You think my Urogi is ‘super cute’? Thank you so much!

Urogi- A Noisey Snuggle

Urogi is now beyond excited as he finally lays his kanji-marked eyes on you once again

He has been waiting to see you for years now, finally he has gotten the chance and he immediately tackles you to the floor

Urogi built a cute little pillow fort nest for the both of you. Neither of you can sleep like humans, but he’ll still place you in it anyway

He rubs his cheek against your neck and collarbone, wrapping his wings around you as your own wings flap out randomly

Eventually, Urogi lays down half atop of you and his vocal cords start rumbling, rolling out deep purrs as he is overjoyous to hug you

You’re very surprised as you feel those purrs thunder in your chest, and hear them roll out through the air;

“Urogi. Get off me” You bark annoyed at the joy clone demon, your falcon-styled feathery wings stretching out wide enough to brush over the high-risen pillow nest as Urogi slightly pushed his raptor-like feet up against the pillows and rubbed his cheek affectionately in the direct middle line of your chest. You didn’t even know birds could purr but there it is, clear as the clouds

Urogi purring and purring in happiness. He has been waiting for too long to see you again, since Hantengu shut him away in that awful dark place with his brothers. It was painful, every second made his heart feel like it was being torn apart. No Dokusha, no cuddles. What kind of hell was this!

His dear clone brothers, Karaku, Aitetsu and Sekido tried all they could to distract him from the constant daydreams he had over you but it never worked. Urogi just couldn’t get you off his mind after he unintentionally taught you how to fly, and he just needed to see you again. He is truly in love

Urogi hummed, lifting his head slowly whilst his bright golden eyes gazed into yours as invisible love hearts hovered around him. “Naaaah~ I’m too comfortable, doll” He smirked teasingly, poking his tongue at you enough to see his branded Kanji as a playful gesture to draw out that infamous frown of yours he loves so dearly

You grumbled annoyed, hearing his jovial purring getting louder when his mouth hangs slightly with his cute tongue poke. Leaning your head back in defeat, you felt him firmly nuzzle the nape of your neck whilst his purrs buzz through your bloodstream. Urogi shifted his wings a bit so they further circled around your back, brushing on the edges of your feathers

“Ooohh~?” Urogi chirped in delight after a few seconds of pure silence, as he felt a gentle rumble course around your chest. Purring. It wasn’t his since he couldn’t feel his own purring rumbles, they were most definitely yours. You liked this hug, despite the fact you openly refused him and his affectionate gestures

Grumbling and hissing in stubbornness, your vocal cords betrayed you and expressed how you genuinely enjoyed him giving you so much attention and love. Despite how loud and unbearable this damn birdbrain is, Urogi has actually won your heart and you found yourself appreciating being around him. Even if he gives you a headache

You liked him a lot, and you actually really liked that he took the time out of his night to build this comfy warm spot for you and him to spend quality time together. For sure, you wanted to be with Urogi in a spot where nothing can happen, no demon slayers, no loud clone brothers, no constantly crying main body Hantengu

“Dooollllll~ are you purring~?”

[josiesullysblog]

~Lo’ak x Na’vi Reader

~Fluff

~Proofread?- yes

~Summary- Lo’ak and you :)

“Catch me if you can!” Tuk screamed as you both ran around in the forest, “wow Tuk, you're too fast for me! Slow down!”

Lo’ak watched as you pretended to be slow, he often watched you play with the little kids and pretended it was your children. He envisioned the family you two would have, but these were nothing but thoughts. No one knew that his eyes lingered longer than they should on you. Or how he sometimes purposely gets hurt to be around you more.

“Lo’ak, come on let's play,” Tuk screamed snapping him out of his daydream. You smiled at the boy before he joined the little group. “Let's play family and you're the parents!” You smiled brightly at the idea before turning your head at Lo’ak, “you down?”

He smiled quickly while nodding. “Mom?” Tuk said clinging to your arm, “yes, my darling?” Lo’ak knew you were only playing around but he still wished it was him you called those pet names.

“Tell me how you and dad met,” she let go of your hand before sitting down and waiting, “well, a long time ago your father was a very brave warrior.” you turned to the boy signaling to continue the story you started, “I had fought everything in the entire world, I was brave, had integrity, and was very handsome.”

You let out a small laugh, Lo’ak’s heart skipped a beat knowing he was the reason you laughed. “He had everything he wanted, but love,” you finished off, “he traveled far and wide looking for the perfect girl.”

Lo’ak didn't need to search, you were right there smiling at him, “he finally found me after years of searching, but I was stuck in a tall tower!” Tuk gasped loud, “how did you get in there?”

“I had a very wicked stepmother,” your eyes lingered on Lo’ak, well they always did. To be frank, you were head over heels for the boy. Constantly trying to be near him, always talking louder in a group setting to get his attention. In your mind, it wasn't working, but you failed to realize the long stares he gave back.

“It was a hard and long journey, but eventually I was able to get close to the tower,” Lo’ak thought about proposing the idea of being his mate to you, but he was scared of rejection.

He wasn't a fool, he knew every other guy wanted to be your mate, but you always stuck around him. “My evil stepmother saw him and became a dragon and attempted to kill him!” Tuk gasped loud placing a hand over her mouth, “oh no!” Lo’ak smiled, “but I fought hard and found my way to your beautiful mother.”

Your heart stopped, you had never been called beautiful by Lo’ak, you blushed which didn't fall short to Lo’ak. “And we fell in love and lived happily ever after,” Tuk clapped before running off to play with other kids.

“You're good with kids,” Lo’ak said while helping you up. You sighed, “I guess, kids are just fun to play with.” Lo’ak nodded before smirking, “I saw you blush when I called you beautiful,” you covered your face before letting out a squeal. “Aw the princess is shy,” he kept teasing before he took your hands off your face, “but I did mean what I said, you are gorgeous.”

You shyly smiled, “thank you,” you kissed him which caught him off guard, but he responded quickly. He grabbed your face deepening the kiss and placing you on a tree. The kiss went on for minutes before you broke it off to get some air. He placed kisses on your neck, causing soft sighs to leave your mouth.

“Lo’ak, mom needs-,” Kiri was caught off seeing the scene in front of her. You both quickly got off each other and smiled awkwardly at her, “I’d cover that up if I were you.” She pointed at your neck before running off, you both let out a laugh before Lo’ak looked at you, “don't cover them up, let everyone see them.”

***

HEYY!! so, I probably won't be able to write this week due to school, but fingers crossed I will be!! Hope you enjoy byeee!!~Josiee