#and how either the part of her that KNOWS what's going on OR something ELSE (scream!!!!) is just underneath the surface.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Maybe the reader and ghost are childhood best friends who lost touch after he joined the military and one night he’s at a bar off base that the force dragged him to on night off and they run into each other and reconnect and he confesses that he was always in love with her but couldn’t say anything and she admits the same??? And maybe after a confession where the both feel stupid for not saying anything sooner they hook up in his truck or something maybe 👀

This was so much fun to write!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex, grinding

The bar is pretty empty when Ghost enters it. The guys forced him even though he didn’t want to come. He just wants to curl up in bed and read one of the emails you’ve sent him over and over again until he falls asleep. 

And the thing is, he knows it’s pathetic. That he’s making so much out of nothing but he can’t help it. Right now, that’s all he really has to keep him going. He misses you more than he’ll ever admit because then he’d have to tell himself that he’s in love with you. But he’d never do that. You’re just friends. 

The kiss you shared before he left has taken over every inch of his brain, so much so that there’s not room for anything else. And he’s not so sure that he’s upset by that. Part of him wants to tell you exactly how he feels but that’s not exactly something could say in an email. He wants to do it in person, not that he could get himself to do that either. He just misses you and is counting down the days until he can see you again. 

What he doesn’t know yet is that you’re there too. You’re standing at the bar, nursing a beer, already writing out your next email to Simon. Your friends are caught up in conversation and you can’t even get yourself to participate. Ever since he left, there’s been a hole in your heart that can’t be filled with anything other than him coming back into your life. 

You’ve been thinking about him and the kiss every day since, but you can't get yourself to say anything about it, though, because you’re scared. You know you’ll just end up telling him the truth, that you want to be much more than you are. But you’d never do that. You’re just friends. 

You miss him. So much so that you see him everywhere. Even right now at one of the tables where a group of men in uniform are sitting. He’s facing you, laughing at what his friends are saying and that’s when you realize that he’s real. 

You set your drink on the bar and make a beeline for the table, having to squeeze by multiple people in your path, somehow making it there without a scratch considering that he was the only thing you were looking at. 

“Simon?” You ask as you get to the table and when his eyes lock on yours, you instantly melt, all of the feelings you have for him, rushing to the surface, driving you absolutely mad. 

His eyes widen as he takes you in but he’s quick to stand from the table, pulling you into a hug, squeezing you tight because he’s so afraid of letting you go again. You fit in his arms just like always and it takes everything in him to let you go even though all he wants to do is hold you for the rest of the night. 

“I missed you,” you tell him and he can sense the hurt in your voice. He still remembers the tears streaming down your face when you said your goodbyes. Just seeing you cry almost made him stay there with you. Leaving you like that was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He knows you would have forced him to go anyway so he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. Now he wishes he had. 

“I missed you too. So much.” He knows how desperate he sounds but he doesn’t care. It’s taking everything in him not to lay it all out on the table when he pulls away. 

“Oh my god, you’re the girl,” one of his friends pipes up which just leaves you confused. Simon’s talked about you? Well, of course he has. Your friends. 

“Yeah, the girl from his wallet,” another adds. Simon’s cheeks go bright in pink at that and you think it’s adorable. You love seeing this side of him. 

He has a picture of you in his wallet. You gave it to him to remember you and he keeps it in his wallet? This is the best news you could have ever received. 

“He stares at it all the time, don’t you Simon?” His name is said in a teasing tone and he would love nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole. This is not at all how he was expecting your reunion to go. 

He was hoping for love confessions and kisses, not being embarrassed in front of the only woman he’s ever loved. You probably think he’s a freak now and he won’t blame you if you walk out that door. 

“He reads your emails too,” another one speaks up. “Every night before bed.” 

Your heart warms with every confession from his friends and when you look at Simon, he’s staring at you, his eyebrows pinched together, his cheeks and ears a bright shade of pink which you can’t help but giggle at. He’s so adorable. 

“Do you want to get a drink, Simon?” You ask, sensing his unease and need to get away from his friends for a little bit. 

“I’d love a drink,” he replies with that bright smile you know he reserves specifically for you and you grab hold of his hand, leading the way to the bar where your friends are still sitting. They all know him very well and they are all happy to be able to tease the two of you again. 

Everyone in your tiny little town has been rooting for you to get together since you were kids and as much as you wish that could happen, you just don’t think it will. If it was meant to be, it would have happened by now, right? You’re both grown adults with your own lives. No longer attached at the hip, no longer sharing everything with each other anymore. 

Whenever something exciting happened, you’d always run to Simon, but now that all of his time is taken up, all of the reactions-albeit, still matching yours-are way after the fact when the moment has passed. 

And you feel guilty when you get upset because it’s not his fault. And you encouraged him to go when he was asking for any reason to stay so you suppose you really don’t have any right to be upset. 

“Well look who’s back,” one of your friends speaks up. “You’d have thought you died with how upset y/n was.” Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed. Your cheeks heat and you see Simon trying his best not to laugh out of the corner of your eye. 

You turn to look at him and his eyes are already on you, that warm look in them that’s always reserved just for you. You missed this. Even though things seem very different than they were last time, you’re still so happy that he’s here and now that book you were looking forward to finishing tonight is long forgotten on your bedside table. 

You want everything to go back to the way it was. There’s tension where there never used to be and now it all just feels so weird. You both know you need to talk about it, but it’s clear that neither of you wants to be the one to make the first move. 

You turn back towards him and sip on your drink, not missing the way his eyes drop to your lips as they wrap around the straw, almost like he wants them to wrap around something else. He steps forward and you set your drink down on the bar, letting him take your hands in his. He holds them gently as he leans forward, his lips right by your ear and his hot breath sends a chill down your spine. 

“Can we talk?” He asks and all you can do is nod before he leads you towards the front doors of the bar. Rain is pouring down so Simon is quick to take off his jacket and hold it over your head as the two of you race into the parking lot where his truck is conveniently parked out front. 

He opens the passenger door for you and helps you into the seat before rounding the front to get into the driver’s seat. As soon as the door is closed, he leans over the bench to reach into the back for something and once his attention is captivated, you shamelessly look over just in time to see his shirt ride up, the wet skin making your mind swirl with the dirtiest things. 

He sits back in the seat and hands something to you. Once you hold it up, you realize that it’s the hoodie he always lets you borrow. You bring it to your nose and just as suspected, it smells like a mixture of laundry detergent and his cologne that he always sprays on it for you. You immediately unzip it and when he sees that you’re taking off your damp shirt, he clears his throat and turns to face the window, closing his eyes so he’s not tempted by the reflection. 

Once he hears the zip, he turns back to face forward as the two of you both unknowingly replaying the exact thing you’re intending to talk about in your heads over and over just like you have been this whole time. 

“I guess I should just be honest,” he says, taking a deep breath, turning to face you as his tongue runs along his bottom lip before chewing on it- a nervous habit he’s had since you've known him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you nor that kiss since I left and it’s been driving me crazy that I haven’t been able to see you.”

The pit that's been in your stomach for months suddenly disappears and you’re so happy at Simon’s confession that you can’t help but let out a laugh. His cheeks go bright pink and he suddenly feels sick now that you’re laughing at him. Now he wishes he had the power to rewind and not say anything else. 

You seem to sense his unease because your laughter fizzles out and you scoot closer to him, taking his face in your hands. His eyes widen at your closeness and he has no idea what’s happening but he decides not to question it. 

“I love you too, Simon,” you tell him and he can’t help but grin, a little chuckle falling from his lips. “And I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the fact that we’ve been in love with each other so long and somehow neither of us picked up on it.” 

The more he lets the words sink in, the more he feels the urge to laugh as well, laughter bubbling up inside him and pretty soon, the two of you are cackling about the whole thing even though it’s not nearly as funny as you think it is. 

Once you both sober up, you realize how close you got in your fits of laughter and now your thighs are pressed together, holding onto each other, your hands still on his cheeks that are aching from how much he’s been smiling tonight and his hands now on your waist, the two of you now in the perfect position. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers and you smile wider, your own cheeks hurting now. 

“I’d be really disappointed if you didn’t,” you reply and Simon is quick to lean in, his lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss. This is so much better than either of you remember, and now that you know there will be more in your future, you take your time to explore each other’s mouths. 

Your tongue flicks into his mouth and as he pulls you into his lap, Simon swears that he’s going to lose his mind. You taste like the margarita you’ve been sipping and he’s still so surprised that you’re in his truck and willingly making out with him. This is something he’s fantasized about for so much of his life and part of him still can’t believe what’s happening. 

He feels you grinding against him and he can’t help but let out a moan at how good it feels. You feel yourself getting even more wet at hearing it as well as feeling his bulge hitting against you. His hand slide up your hoodie, pressing against your bare back your grinding picks up, your heavy breaths progressively fogging up the car. 

You push his still wet hair from his forehead as your fingers thread through it as his hips buck against yours. He decides that he needs you and needs you now so his hands move up to the zipper of your hoodie and he slowly unzips it, pushing it off your shoulders and only pulling away to get a glimpse of your naked torso. You’re even more beautiful than he imagined and he takes a moment to look at you, the woman he’s been in love with his whole life. The only woman for him whom for whatever reason he’s still unsure of is in love with him too. 

He helps you lie back on the bench as his own shirt comes off, though this is a struggle since he got most of the rain. You pull him down onto you, going for another kiss as you both attempt to finish undressing each other, various clothing items flying around the front of the truck until you’re both naked. 

Simon’s hands reach for yours, threading your fingers together as he slowly slides inside of you, both of you moaning and whining as he thrusts in and out, having no barrier feeling so good. You both fit so perfectly together and neither of you can believe that you haven’t done this sooner. 

Simon takes his time, slowly moving in and out of, wanting the first time to be soft and sweet. He gently squeezes your hands as he tells you how much he loves you over and over which you return before he goes back to complimenting you any chance he gets. He just feels so free and now he feels the need to tell you everything that he likes about you that friends definitely shouldn’t tell other friends.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “In fact, I think this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked.” Your once freezing body is now on fire as his lustful gaze roams all over it.

“I feel the same way about you,” you reply, letting your eyes roam over his body too. You slowly take in his tattooed arm, the very tattoos that you’ve traced with your fingers over and over while you’ve been cuddled up on the couch.

Simon picks up the pace just a little bit but that seems to do the trick as your moans get louder and louder with every thrust. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly and Simon is quick to encourage you, talking you through it with his sweet words.

“That’s it,” he says. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Your name falls from his lips in a loud moan and he can see that you’re going dumb on him so he’s quick to pull out before grabbing some napkins from the glove box to clean the two of you up. 

He grabs your clothes and helps you put them back on, pressing a kiss to your lips as he zips up his jacket for you. 

“Did so well, sweetheart,” he compliments against your lips. “Think you’re willing to go for round two at your place?” All you can do is nod as he gets himself dressed before buckling your seatbelt for you. Once your all set, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads to your place that he still doesn’t need directions for as he drives much slower than usual since he’s got precious cargo as well as his favorite passenger princess in the front seat.

[toastytrusty]

i think it finally clicked what about cassian and luthen's relationship i find so compelling. when cassian officially joined the rebellion at the end of season one, he effectively surrendered all of his autonomy to luthen. "kill me or take me in." he literally put his life in luthen's hands. he clearly had very little will to live, and beyond giving luthen the choice to kill him, he gave luthen the choice to give him purpose again. and not Just purpose, either, but full control over the rest of his life, as well. he became part of the cause because he felt he had nothing else left, and was either going to effectively kill himself, or let someone else dictate every single thing he does until he dies anyway, now with a reason behind it, now able to plausibly deny it being wanted. it's simultaneously an admittance of defeat, where he is telling luthen that he won, and an act of defiance, where he is challenging luthen to discard him rather than use him. and obviously luthen would rather use him.

but then there is the bix aspect. cassian's hopelessness at the end of s1 implies that he did not, at that point, see bix as an adequate reason to keep going. not as a reason to stay alive, not as a reason to stay present in anyone else's life. it was not worth remaining an individual, for her sake or his own. and obviously a lot of that is from the insane depressive grief that the whole Ordeal of s1 + losing maarva was. but still. he was very closed off, and singlemindedly thinking about his own ability to give himself to the rebellion. which makes his protectiveness over her in s2 all the more compelling. he is repeatedly getting worked up over her well-being, and acting out in ways that are possibly jeopardizing to the rebellion. it's such a fascinating transition, and regardless of how they got there again, i think in season 2, cassian sees bix as his last place to be human. the one person in the galaxy he can be an individual with, rather than a tool. which is why, in my current, ever-evolving understanding of these characters, i think he gets so contradictory and confused about what he wants from her. he wants her to be strong and a soldier so they can go to war together, because the war is so terribly important to him, but he also wants her to prioritize her own safety over anything else and never put herself at risk, because if he loses her he loses himself. this is necessarily the conflict between them.

which comes to the incredible exchange between cassian and luthen about bix in episode 6 of s2, where we can see how much this conflcit is affecting cassian. he can't stand that luthen is potentially putting bix in danger, and can't stand that luthen is treating them like droids, rather than people. but then. then luthen Reminds cassian. he reminds cassian that he already surrendered his autonomy. he already surrendered his individuality. "we're not who we were when we started." cassian chose this; chose to change for this, chose to give up being a person for this. he doesn't get to now choose to put bix, his one haven, over it. she needs to be able to handle herself, because cassian asserting himself by worrying about her compromises their entire system. "you will have to decide when it becomes too large a problem." but cassian's response is the most important part: "no. that's gonna be up to you." he's essentially turning it back on luthen. if luthen expects him to remain compliant in the way his role calls for, then luthen needs to be fullfilling his side of it, and making sure cassian has an environment that he Can remain compliant in, without compromising anything. "you want my blood? you help me solve this." he is finally standing his ground on something to luthen, asserting himself in a way that is basically begging luthen to let him submit again. he wants to be part of the cause; he still wants to be able to lose himself in it, but he also needs bix, and will not give up the life he knows is possible to share with her.

[i-loved-silly]

I GOT AN IDEA: smiling dead members x reader but reader is a slooooow healer compared to the others who heal very quickly (besides mel) and the reader gets horribly injured,,,,,,,,,,,,, >:]]]]]]]]] (can be angst & comfort OR just angst, whatever you want)

Made these short headcanons :3

SMILING DEAD X READER | SLOW HEALER

Reader is a slow healer because something went wrong. What curse could’ve possibly fucked up their regeneration this bad? They’ll always come back to life anyway—but the pain? The pain is the most annoying part. In the Gaslight District, no one usually patches up their injuries. It heals up pretty quick, and there’s not really a point. But since your healing is so slow, it could really drain you.

If you’re a risk taker, you’re gonna get hurt often.

KEN is usually the one to cover for you if you’re being shot at or attacked by several rotlings. While he’s gruff about it, he makes sure you’re not in too much pain.

He enjoys inflicting pain on those who wrong him or cross the mafia, but seeing you in pain? That makes his skin crawl. Occasionally, you’ll get a bad injury—nothing out of the ordinary for them. But for you…You’re in agonizing pain, bleeding out while your body refuses to heal for the first few minutes.

Usually, he’s the one to carry you back to the shop or anywhere low while you heal up. His words aren’t comforting, but you’ll always see a hint of concern in his eyes.

It reminds him too much of the fragility of anyone who isn’t rotling. Even if you are one, he’s reminded of Mel (whether you know of her humanity or not). He’s reminded that with the smallest careless slip-up, she could end up like that too. The problem is her wounds wouldn’t heal like yours. It slowly eats at him

MUD is another one who hates seeing you in pain. He knows how much you enjoy going out with them, so he’s torn. He wants you there—with him and everyone else—but he also doesn’t want to let you go at all, not when it means watching you bleed out and pass out.

To be fair, the old asshole might make fun of you for it at first. Usually.

“Damn, why didn’t you move outta the way?”

“Why’d ya let yourself get stabbed like that?”

“Hey, your guts are spillin’ out!!”

He might calm down if he sees you’re in real pain though. It makes him uneasy when you’re screaming and yelling. Too much noise, the type he’s usually the cause of.

Sometimes he’ll make an effort to lift you and get you to safety, but he’s more likely to ask Ken to do it—while he watches very closely.

BREADHEAD would seem very calm about it on the outside, but inside? He’s SHAKING.

It’s safe to say everyone hates seeing you in pain, but Breadhead gets really sad about it.

He feels guilty, and he won’t leave your side until you’re at a safe point. Even then, he insists on covering for you. You’ve basically got yourself a huge, loving shield (in the nicest way possible).

Out of the four, he’s the most gentle when he carries you to safety. There’s a part of him that has to keep reminding himself—you’re still a rotling. You can’t die. It’ll be okay.

Now MEL! This girl can be a little reckless when you’re all out and about. She might not even notice you’re horribly hurt until you’re groaning, face-down on the concrete.

She’ll try to lift you, or drag you away—either way, it just makes your pain worse. Her heart starts racing at the sight of all that blood. My It’s even WORSE if it’s a huge wound or gash.She’s prone to hyperventilating if your injury looks too bad. It reminds her of her own humanity. That same helpless panic she hates feeling.

She’s the most likely to stay at your side until you recover. Always huffing about it, forcing you to promise to never get yourself hurt like that again.

—as if you can control it.

[riverbends]

Hear me outttt pope discovers reader in a depressive episode and forces them out

i’m gonna be so honest i actually don’t know how this would go down. i think helping someone with their depression would require pope to look inward because he’s never sought help for his own. so he’d be quite confused and lost, i think. i always thought he struggled to help his sister with her addiction because he wasn’t exactly in the best shape either. though he does have a way of identifying bad habits or practices in other people (e.g. telling someone else they need to eat or sleep when he knows very well that he refuses to do both himself).

but, for the most part, his concern for your wellbeing would outweigh his ignorance of his own. it happens many times throughout the series. tells lena she needs to sleep and go to school to build a better life. tries with all his might to pull angela out of her relapse (i think he also saw this as a second chance at saving julia in a way. after angela is killed, he's holding that guy underwater and starts calling him smurf and all that. angry that smurf never helped julia. angry that he failed to save another loved one from their own addiction). helps that kid at his skate park GENEROUSLY. pays his hospital bills and gives him a place to stay and everything...which still haunts me. prepares food for all the kids at his skate park (he was so mother-coded for this. pope cody IS a mother).

we know pope is capable of saving while he tries to figure out if he himself can be saved. i think he's sort of compensating. for a lot of things. for everything.

if you're depressed, his patience will wear thin eventually. not because he can't deal with you, but because it would terrify him. he'd come across as angry and fed up when he's really just trying to get something through you. trying to get something out of your head.

i'm remembering that time he kind of went off at lena (in a soft way) in the car after she got in trouble at school because he didn't know how to help her and he was terrified that he was doing everything wrong.

one hundred per cent, he's probably breaking down in front of you at some point. he usually does when he's absolutely helpless and doesn't know what to do. he can be gentle, but he's not above using force (yeah manhandling and locking angela in the bathroom because he knew she scored. forcing her to go to a meeting to get help).

he has no idea how to make you feel better so he'll most likely drag you out of bed and force you to let him take care of you. refuses to leave you alone, thinking that if he annoys you enough then you'll comply just to get him off your back. he'll keep this up as long as he has to because he can't stomach the thought of losing another person to their own sickness.

i'd write a fic about this if i really fleshed something out over time.

all i can say is that he'll probably pull you out of it in his own messy, angst-driven way ://

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Back To You - Joel Miller X Female Reader

Title: Back To You

Joel Miller X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Bandits (Mentioned), Tommy, Sarah (Mentioned), and Ellie

WC: 3,020

| Part 1 |

Warnings: Canon storyline, cursing, italics, murder/killing, mentions of death, typical TLOU drama and angst, yelling, teasing, banter, mentions of blood, angst, and fluff

The cold bit at the skin on Joel’s face and neck as he spurred the horse forward, heart hammering in his chest. The forest around him blurred into a mess of snow-laden trees and shadows, Tommy riding close at his side. The only thing on his mind was Ellie.

“Damn kid,” Tommy muttered, guiding his horse around a fallen branch. “She’s got a hell of a head start.”

Joel didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His grip on the reins was too tight, his jaw clenched. Ellie had run. And the thought of what could happen to her out here, alone, made his stomach twist with something dangerously close to fear. They rode in silence for a while, tracking the hoofprints she’d left in the thin layer of snow. Then, movement up ahead - a group of men, armed, blocking the path. More bandits.

Joel barely had time to draw his revolver before the first bullet whizzed past his ear. By the time the last body hit the ground, Joel was breathing hard, chest heaving from the fight. Blood - not his - spattered the snow, turning it an ugly crimson.

Tommy wiped his blade clean on the coat of one of the fallen. “Shit,” He muttered, “What the hell were they doin’ out here?”

Joel didn’t answer. He was already back on his horse, scanning the horizon. “Let’s go.”

They rode harder, faster, until the outline of a house appeared in the distance. It had broken windows, but other than that, the house was intact, stable. He was off his own before it had even come to a full stop, shoving open the front door with more force than necessary. “Ellie!”

The house was dimly lit, dust motes swirling in the air. Joel’s boots creaked against the wooden floorboards as he stormed inside, fists clenched at his sides. Then, he found her. Ellie stood in the middle of what must’ve once been a living room, her arms crossed over her chest, expression unreadable. She didn’t look scared. She didn’t even look guilty. She looked angry.

“You came all this way just to send me off?” She asked, voice sharp.

Joel exhaled, closing his eyes for half a second. “Ellie, you can’t just run off like that. You don’t understand how dangerous-”

“I don’t understand?” She cut him off, taking a step closer. “I’m not stupid, Joel. I know exactly what’s out there.”

“That’s not the point.” His voice was low, but firm. “You’re goin’ with Tommy. It’s what’s best.”

Her jaw clenched. “Best for who?”

Joel felt his patience fraying, felt the exhaustion of everything pressing down on him. “Ellie,” He started, but she wasn’t finished.

“Everyone I’ve ever cared about has either died or left me,” She said, her voice quieter now but no less cutting. “Everyone - except for you.” Joel sucked in a breath. And then, she said it. “You’re just gonna leave me. Just like Sarah.”

It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. Joel’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching at his sides. He turned away for a moment, staring at the ground as if that would steady him. It didn’t. “You’re ain’t my daughter,” He finally said, voice rough. “And I sure as hell ain’t your dad.”

Ellie’s face twisted, hurt flashing in her eyes, but she masked it quickly with anger. “I get it,” She muttered, taking a step back. “We’re done.”

The words settled like a knife between his ribs. Before either of them could say anything else, the sound of boots on wood cut through the tension.

Tommy, standing in the doorway, rifle in hand. “We got company.”

Joel turned just in time to see movement through the broken window. More bandits. No more talking. The fight was quick, brutal. Joel moved without thinking, every action instinctual, every kill precise. Ellie stood at the top of the stairs, watching him, her expression unreadable.

Joel exhaled, reloading his revolver with steady fingers. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “Let’s go.”

Joel’s grip on his revolver tightened as the distinct click of a gun being cocked echoed through the ranch house. All three of them froze.

A voice - from what Joel guessed was from a mask, was muffled, slightly distorted by the fabric covering their face - interrupted them. “Drop your weapons. Slowly.” Joel glanced at Tommy, then at Ellie, before reluctantly lowering his gun to the floor. Tommy followed suit, his rifle hitting the wooden planks with a dull thud. Ellie hesitated, but at Joel’s sharp look, she did the same. “Turn around,” The voice instructed.

Joel did, moving slowly, his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. His gaze landed on the figure in front of them. Bundled up in thick layers, a mess of cotton, frayed denim, and leather, a cheap Halloween mask obscuring most of their face, winter fingerless gloves covering their hands, and a thick winter beanie covering their head. Then, the person with the gun froze. Joel’s brow furrowed as the person’s grip on their weapon faltered. Their chest rose and fell sharply, like they’d been winded.

And then, they spoke again. “… Joel?”

Joel narrowed his eyes, studying them closer. He didn’t recognize them. Not immediately. But something about the way they said his name made his pulse tick faster.

“How d’you know my name?” His voice was rough, wary.

The person didn’t answer. They just stood there, lowering their weapon, staring at him through the mask’s eye-holes like he was some ghost or something. 

Then Joel’s eyes flicked downward, taking in every detail of them, from their thick layers, to their cargo pants, to their combat leather boots-

Your shoes.

They were untied.

The breath left his lungs. A strange pressure settled in his chest, like something shifting, something long buried clawing its way to the surface.

No. It couldn’t be.

His throat worked around the words, but nothing came out. He just stared. And then, without thinking, he took a step closer. “… It’s you.”

The gun slipped from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull clunk, but you didn’t care. Your breath hitched, and then, without hesitation, you ran to him. Your feet barely carried you forward before you stumbled - your damn shoelaces catching under your boots, sending you pitching forward. Joel moved without thinking. Strong arms caught you before you could hit the ground, steady and familiar in a way that made your heart squeeze. 

You sucked in a shaky breath, muffled laughter bubbling up as you reached up, tugging the mask from your face. Joel barely breathed as he took you in. Your smile was bright, happy tears in your eyes, your cheeks flushed from the cold, from the adrenaline, from the sheer impossibility of the moment. His eyes traced every detail - your face, your eyes, the way your lips trembled just slightly as you exhaled.

It had been ten years. Ten years since he thought he lost you. Ten years since he buried you with the rest of the ghosts that haunted him. He’d grieved you like he grieved Sarah - long, hard, and to the point where he didn’t think he’d come back from it. Losing her nearly killed him. Losing you felt like it finished the job. And after that, he stopped letting himself care. Stopped letting himself hope.

And yet. Here you were. In his arms, warm and alive and impossibly real. A broken sound left his throat, something between a laugh and a sob, his grip tightening on your waist, his calloused fingers pressing into the fabric of your coat like he was afraid you’d disappear. You were here. And you had been. All this time. In Utah. Only a ride away from Tommy. A million questions swirled in his head, crashing over each other, fighting to be asked, but only one left his lips - low, hoarse, almost disbelieving.

“Still haven’t figured out how to tie your damn shoes, have you?”

A watery laugh escaped you, “Guess not.” You huffed a soft laugh, your thumbs brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks as you held his face between your hands. “I really should remember to tie my shoes,” You murmured, eyes crinkling at the corners. “One of these days, I’m gonna smack my face right into the ground again.”

Joel pulled you even closer, his arms wrapping fully around your waist now. His gaze flickered over your face, your nose, your lips, your eyes, drinking you in. It had been so long. Oh, how he missed you. “You already did once,” He muttered, his voice rough with something thick and unspoken. His lips twitched, just slightly. “Don’t jinx yourself.”

“High school was rough.”

Joel huffed, something almost like amusement flashing in his weary eyes. “Mhm.”

“Busted my lip real good, too.”

He nodded once, “You were bleedin’ all over the damn place. Thought I was gonna have to take you to the ER.”

You groaned, letting your head fall against his shoulder for a second before looking back at him, a soft grin tugging at your lips. “Still embarrassing.”

Joel just stared at you for a long moment, his expression shifting into something unreadable, something softer, something almost reverent, and then he reopened his mouth to speak, but was rudely interrupted. 

“Is he alright? I’ve never seen him smile before.”

“Yeah, he used to do that.” Tommy said quietly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Ellie. Tommy. Oh, yeah, he forgot that they were there. Right beside him. Joel let out a long sigh, the weight of everything - of the past ten years - crashing down on him all at once. All that mattered was you. Joel shifted uncomfortably, running a hand over his face, realizing only then how long he’d been standing there, lost in the moment. He sighed again, the exhaustion of everything catching up with him.

You turned toward Tommy and gave a small wave, then your eyes landed on Ellie, a smile forming on your lips. “Hi! I’m Y/N,” You said, your voice soft yet steady.

Ellie’s eyes widened as she took in your face, then a bright grin spread across her features. “Wait a second… Joel told me about you once!” She nearly bounced in place, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “He said you were-”

"That’s enough, kid." Joel was already stepping toward you, his hand finding the small of your back, guiding you toward the stairs. “Y/N and I are gonna go talk. Don’t go runnin’ off again. Watch her, Tommy, will you?”

As you reached the landing, Joel’s eyes followed you as you then entered a bedroom. He couldn’t help but notice how the bedroom looked - well-lived in, full of personal touches, and perhaps, a little more homey than he had expected. 

You began to peel off your layers of jackets, revealing a plain red sweater underneath, and Joel’s gaze didn’t leave you, even as you spoke. “This is crazy, Joel. Last time I saw you, it was back in Austin. I-”

He didn’t let you finish. Without another word, he crossed the room in a few long strides and reached for you, his hands finding your face as his lips pressed urgently against yours. For a split second, everything else ceased to exist. There was only the warmth of your lips against his, the electric buzz between you reigniting. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, everything he couldn’t say pouring into that simple moment. The ache of all the lost years, the relief of finding you again. You were here. Alive. 

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged. His hands lingered on your cheeks, his thumb brushing softly over the skin there. “I thought I lost you,” He murmured, voice hushed, the weight of those words sinking deep into both of you.

You bit your bottom lip, your hand once again finding his cheek, your touch gentle, but your eyes were full of an unspoken ache. "I thought I lost you too," You whispered, voice thick with emotion.

His heart tightened at that, his thumb tracing small, slow circles along the skin of your face. But then, Joel shook his head, closing his eyes as if he could block out the memory. He leaned into your touch, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting moment. “At the beginning, I searched for you… At your house,” He began, his voice thick with the weight of the past. “I bet I searched the whole damn state until-” He didn’t finish, and you knew why. He didn’t need to say it. The unspoken words hung between you - ‘until I thought you were dead.’

You brushed your thumb gently over the rough skin of his face, trying to ease him, trying to anchor him to the moment. "I looked for you too," You whispered back, your voice barely audible. "But when I got to your house, it was empty, and..." You swallowed, and your voice cracked slightly, as if the very thought of it made everything feel too real. "... Well, I had the same thoughts about you."

He pulled you closer, his hand slid from your cheek, his fingers tangling into your hair as he held you tighter. He buried his face into the top of your head for a moment, breathing you in.

You hadn’t realized how much you had missed him, how much you had needed this closeness, the safety of him in your arms. You broke the silence first, your voice faltering slightly as you pulled away just enough to look up at him. "Joel, I-" You started, but the words got stuck in your throat. There was so much to say, but the words didn’t feel right. Seeing him like this, with Tommy, with the teen, your thoughts swirled. There was one question that had been nagging at you from the moment you first laid eyes on him again. You swallowed hard before you finally said the question that had been haunting you, the one you didn’t know how to ask but knew you had to. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel froze, his hands tightening around you in a way that made your heart stop. His eyes were haunted, pained, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. The silence stretched between you like a canyon, and you could see the turmoil in his eyes, the way the weight of her name crushed him all over again.

He swallowed hard, looking away for a moment, as if gathering the strength to speak. Finally, his voice was hoarse when it came.

“She... She didn’t make it.”

You didn’t need him to say another word. The moment the words left his lips, your heart clenched. You pulled him into you again, wrapping your arms around him. His face buried into the crook of your neck, and you felt his breath hitch, followed by the hot, quiet burn of tears against your skin. Your eyes closed tightly, your hand cradling the back of his head as your fingers threaded gently through his hair. You held him close. Tears burned at the backs of your eyes. Joel had carried so much pain, so much loss. You could feel it in the way he gripped your shirt, in the trembling breath he took just to keep himself from falling apart.

You swallowed hard. You’d lost people too. Over the years, death had become an old, unwelcome friend. You hated how numb you’d grown to it. But Sarah? Sarah had been different. She was like your own. But for Joel… She wasn’t just his daughter. She was everything. And he had lost her. You didn’t know how he kept going. Your hand slid up to gently cup the back of his head, your thumb brushing lightly against his neck as you whispered, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Because there wasn’t anything else to say. No words could fix what had been broken. But you could hold him. You could be the warmth in the hollow ache he’d carried all these years. And for now, that had to be enough.

~~~

An hour later, the sun had dipped lower, casting warm, amber light through the cracked window panes of your bedroom. You and Joel hadn’t moved much. After everything - after the shock, the reunion, the grief - you’d both found yourselves curled in the bed. You laid with your head resting against his shoulder, while his head leaned gently against yours, his hand holding yours; fingers laced. 

Your voice broke the silence softly, not even a whisper at first. “You and Ellie… You can stay here.” Joel’s thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. You glanced up at him for a moment, his profile etched in the fading light. He didn’t respond yet, but you continued, your tone hushed. “I’ve been here almost a year now. It’s safe, mostly. A few bandits now and then, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing like the cities. There’s good land, clean water not far off… A roof that doesn’t leak too much.” You smiled faintly at that.

Joel let out a small exhale that was almost a laugh, low, worn, but real. It made your heart swell.

“You can rest here, Joel,” You said quietly. “You both can.”

He turned his head a little, just enough to press his lips into your hair, holding them there for a second too long. “Thank you.”

Outside, the wind rustled the trees, brushing against the old siding of the ranch house, but Joel barely heard it. For the first time in years, he felt still. No gun in his hand. No fear chewing at the edges of his thoughts. Just you. Just now. His cheek rested against your hair, and his eyes shut, drinking in the weight and shape of you against him. Joel knew he’d have to get up eventually. He knew Ellie would want answers. Tommy probably had a dozen questions. The world wasn’t done with him yet. But with you in his arms, finally… Soft, real, and here… He didn’t want to move. Not yet. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

~~~

Main Masterlist | The Last Of Us Masterlist

[quintessenceofdust88]

fuck it friday

(I STILL HAVE HALF AN HOUR OF FRIDAY OK SO I'M TECHNICALLY ON TIME) I was tagged by my darling @laundryandtaxesworld for this. Love you, Via! ♥ I've been working a bit on all of my fanfics the last few days, and I think I might get the groove of writing constantly again, so here's hoping hehe. For today, I'm bringing you the final part of ch. 1 of my fanfic Trail of Lies , so I hope you enjoy it! ♥ (USUAL WARNING FOR TRAIL OF LIES: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS BUDDIE, BUT IT IS BUCKTOMMY ENDGAME. IT STARTS OFF AS BUDDIE, BUT IT’S NOT REALLY BUDDIE-FRIENDLY NOR PARTICULARLY EDDIE-FRIENDLY. Therefore, I didn’t want to tag it as Buddie, because I know how annoying it can be to have ‘anti’ fics in your ship’s tag. If that’s sth that bothers you - either the Buddie content or the fact it’s not really a good depiction of their relationship - please feel free to skip this one, I absolutely understand)

The restaurant Eddie’s chosen is cozy and quiet, with exposed brick walls and dim lighting, a far cry from the usual burger joints where they go together on the rare occasions they go out. Buck understands the gesture for what it is, and he feels incredibly touched, and kind of bad for the doubts he shared with Bobby. It’s clear Eddie was just having a bad day, and it was unfair of Buck to question his excitement for their family because of it. 

Their meal is delicious, and so is the wine. They start the evening with small talk, and it’s fluid and smooth like it always is with them. He and Eddie were best friends before anything else, and Buck values that aspect of their relationship so much. Even though he’s aching to broach up the topic that’s been on his mind for the last few days, he waits. He wants Eddie to bring it up. 

“So, angel,” Eddie says eventually, putting down his wine glass and smiling at him, that smile that sweeps Buck off his feet. “Tell me what you found out about surrogates? Do you think it’s gonna work for us?”

Buck finds himself beaming widely at Eddie’s question. ‘For us’. That’s all he’s ever wanted, for the baby to be their plan. 

“Yeah, babe, I think it will” Buck says, and doesn’t stop himself from talking this time. 

He goes on a rant about all the options he found online and about how California law works for surrogacy cases. And while usually Eddie indulges Buck in his rants, listening and nodding at the appropriate times, now he’s engaged, he’s asking questions, he’s planning with him, and Buck’s heart feels full. “Before we go on about our surrogacy options, babe, shouldn’t we decide who’s going to be the biological father?” Eddie asks, taking a sip of his wine. “I mean… I have Chris, so if you want to do it, I totally understand”

“Actually, about that, there’s this thing they do at the fertility clinic where they mix up our materials”, Buck explains excitedly, kinda wishing he had his tablet there to show Eddie everything he has saved. “I… I kinda like the idea of watching our baby grow up and not knowing to which one of us he’s biologically related.”

Eddie gives him a beautiful smile at that, squeezing his hand once more. That’s the farthest he goes when it comes to public displays of affection, so to Buck it feels almost like a passionate kiss (or he wants it to, anyway). 

“Yeah, angel, I kinda like that idea too.” He declares. “Well, I guess that leaves us to decide the surrogate matter. I gotta be honest, Buck, I’m not sure about the whole agency thing. Feels kinda…”

“Impersonal?” Buck completes, and Eddie nods, to his relief. “Yeah, I thought so too. I really like the idea of it being someone we know, but I’m not sure who to ask”

Buck has given the matter a lot of thought in the last few days, his mind going through the women he knows and to whom he’d feel comfortable asking something like that. His first instinct, as most things in his life, would be asking Maddie, and he knows his sister would say yes. But Buck can’t do that to her, not when she had such a difficult time after Jee-Yun’s pregnancy. His niece is one year old and only now Maddie seems to be recovering, and Buck can’t risk doing that to her; can’t risk being the reason why she finds herself in that place again, and especially for a baby she won’t even keep.

And with Maddie out of the equation, Buck is at a loss. He would never ask Hen, he knows she has no interest in being pregnant, and he knows all about Karen’s struggles and how that is a sensitive subject for her. He had briefly thought about May, but she’s way too young and has far too much going on in her life for a pregnancy to uproot it. 

He relays all of those thoughts to Eddie, who listens intently, and then goes silent for a while. Buck goes silent himself, his mind frantically trying to figure out if he let anyone out, when Eddie talks. 

“I think I might know someone. We… we work together at the store, and we get along. I think she might be willing. It… It could be an option” He says, and Buck frowns, trying to remember if Eddie ever mentioned having a particularly close relationship to any of the store workers before, but coming up blank. Still, he doesn’t think his boyfriend would be inconsequential about something as important as their baby, so if this woman came to his mind, there must be a reason.

“Oh? What’s her name?” He asks curiously.

“Kim. Her name is Kim.”

Np tagging @bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @moonydanny @frogsinflannel and anyone else who'd like to join! If it's already Saturday on your timezone, feel free to consider this an Inspiration Saturday tag. Love you ♥

[hanafubukki]

(this is a sad ask so pls you're enjoying the event so LEAVE THIS FOR LATER...... Because I read more of Yuurei's post and I got sad with an old thought)

Sometimes I remember that Lilia in his dream gave up on his own life..... but in his past, we were not there to chase him and try to save him when he gave in to the darkness, following Raverne and Maleanor. Maybe in the actual past he left and had more time to think before giving in. I picture he stayed out, staring at the distance or the sea after he saw Maleanor's spell fade and Malleus was taken from him, and wondering if he should just disappear. I wonder if Baur found him and talked to him. I wonder if he saw a fae that thanked him for his bravery on his way to end it all. Or maybe he gritted his teeth and pulled forward after a while of thinking.

Sometimes I think of Lilia in his past, alone, having lost everything and wanting to make his own heart stop, and I start crying :') ANYWAYS. GOOD DAY TO YOU (i am so sorry)

Hello Anonie 🫂💞💚

Don't be sorry, its okay. I'm always in the Lilia feels and this moment that you mentioned is one that I constantly think about. So I understand how you feel anonie 🥺🫂🤧

I think in reality, Lilia's moment of despair probably went different than what happened in dream world. Certain moments we see have some indecrepencies in Lilia's dream that there's no way he would have known.

In addition to that, we know the darkness goes after people at their lowest and Lilia, at that moment, was his lowest.

But, we know for sure that he did have those feelings and he probably did have thoughts to end his life to see his friends again.

But then what stopped him?

I like to think there's a few reasons why he didnt go through. I believe Baul checking up on him was an integral part of his survival. Maybe he visited him and talked him from making his final move. We know for certain that Baul sent letters and even though Lilia acted like he didn't, we know he read some of them, and at the very least, he kept them.

But as we know, Lilia mostly didnt respond so what kept him going? And I think the reason why is Malleus.

I think that during his exile; he waited for news about Malleus' hatching. I believe that was his reason that he survived that long.

I can imagine him in the forest, waiting for news from Baul that Malleus hatched. He kept waiting. That's probably one of the reasons why he went so quickly when he was summoned.

Meleanor said that he should hatch the egg in her stead should something happen. She entrusted the egg to him. The egg got taken away from him and he couldn't do anything about it at the time. He thought it was for the best.

His insecurity even back then shows. That despite what he was told, maybe someone else could do it...but that never happened.

In fact, he was shocked to hear that Malleus was dying. So, then he set off on his journey to find the key to hatching him when he was the answer all along.

I fully believe that Meleanor gave the egg to Lilia because she knew the possible outcome. Whether because someone told her or she knew there was a chance that she might not make it despite her arrogance.

She knew how Lilia would react and she knew eggleus need someone too. She obviously didnt trust the Senate and we can infer that she knew her mother wouldn't be able to hatch him either.

So, she gave them both a purpose/reason to live and that was each other.

Aghajsjs just??? Here we have General Vanrouge, who's very clearly loved, who doesn't realize how loved he is. He was "cold" and always isolated himself. But he was always surrounded by love.

People always saw his value even when he didnt see the value himself. He was so loved that someone checked on him repeatedly, another ensured his survival through a purpose, another would rather die than come out in this world without him, etc.

And they knew him so well too, knew his value, so they showed their care in their own way.

And I think, Lilia also followed his own advice as well. His advice always being to "live" no matter what. Do whatever it takes.

And he lived. When so many he cared for are gone. He lives. He lived in exile, a self-punishment, he but made the choice to continue.

Agshdjddj he really went from being cold and someone who wouldn't be tied down to someone who is warm, his love the very essence that saved so many lives; which not saved only his in the end but theirs as well.

All the pain he went through was worth it 😭😭🥹🫂💕

And that just makes me want to cry in a corner 😭😭💞💞

[ed3lsgard]

I wish I had been more invested in things when they were filming/going on hiatus/rewriting etc. I feel like I know a lot of snippets of what happened, and because of who I am as a person, I'm definitely making a timeline in my head.

I want to know when they filmed the last refining scene because it sounds like Britt and Adam were absolutely wrecked when they were filming it. I always assumed Chikhai Bardo was filmed last, but I have no idea why I think that. But I thought it was very interesting that Britt was there with Adam and Dichen even though she didn't have any part in that ep.

I also wanna know what they rewrote and why. What had they already filmed before the strikes etc., and what got changed, and did any of that have to do with shifting relationships on set or?

And I saw that post about them hiring the same publicist during the hiatus, does that mean the writer's strike hiatus? Or between end of filming and start of pressers for s2?

Him and her sitting in the back at her movie premiere giggling and then her security asking fans not to take pictures after?

The ring thing honestly kinda seals it for me. I feel like they're having a trial separation or something. I know Ben Stiller and Christine did that for a bit, and then got back together. I wonder if that would be the advice he would get. Maybe the event was one they couldn't miss. But the fact that NEITHER of them had their rings on? So sus. You can go back through 10 years of red carpets and there isn't a single one where he isn't wearing his, same with interviews, so I don't think it was an "oh I'm filming so I took it off and forgot." AND THEY BOTH- anyway.

Don't even get me started on how the way they look at each other/smile/interact has shifted completely as well. I'm also so sorry to dump this in your poor inbox. I have no one else to talk to about this and I am full-on obsessing.

hsmdmsnjsdj don’t worry i don’t mind lol. ok well abt the publicist thing, im not sure abt the timeline of that, but if i had to guess it would be either when they started to film s2 or after.

don’t even fucking start abt them at her movie premiere. him being the only one amongst cast and crew to show up? them sitting together alone at the back, apparently giggling and laughing a lot according to some of the ppl that were there?? he was sitting right next to her… while her bush was out on a huge screen… right… oh and then they took the same fucking car, back to the hotel she was staying at??? mind you apparently he has his own solo apartment in new york…

the ring thing is also crazy to me, especially because the timing with the blinds is kinda hilarious. when you’ve been married for that long, and have a history of always wearing your ring, you don’t just happen to forget about it when you’re gonna be at a huge public event. with your wife next to you, mind you.

[coralhoneyrose]

i stole this idea from a post you reblogged but, do you have any "deleted scenes" from your fics? stuff you really wanted to include but just couldn't find the right place for?

I do, yes! Or like...sort of?

Basically, I have a "passage graveyard" where individual lines, passages or chunks of scenes that I couldn't find a way to work in all go to rest, but I would say it's fairly rare for an ENTIRE scene to get written out and cut. Usually I realize part way in that it's not gonna work for whatever reason and hop ship there. But probably more often the 'deleted scenes' are scenes that DID wind up in the main fic but took a slightly different direction than I initially planned, or where I had two competing ideas for how to execute something and wrote them both out and then obviously could only use one.

Occasionally I'll go fishing through the graveyard and find a line or two that can be repurposed somewhere else, which is always a nice surprise! But most of them are specific enough to what's going on that they're unlikely to see the light of day.

Not sure if you have interest in reading any of them, but here's a few random scrapped bits from various parts of PtLY. This first one would have been somewhere around chapter 11:

“You’re still wearing your dress from the tea earlier,” Chrom observes. Robin smiles ruefully. “I didn’t have a moment to come back and change until just now. Lord Dorian insisted on best three out of five.” It takes conscious effort for Chrom to keep his expression from slipping into a frown. “He insisted, did he?” Robin shrugs. “I didn’t mind. It was nice to have a new opponent.” “Was it a fun match, then?” “Oh yes, he’s a formidable foe," she answers. "I’d say he plays a bit better than you but not quite as well as Virion.” Now Chrom scowls outright. It’s silly to be so bothered by it; he plays a passable enough game, but it’s not like he’s ever invested much effort into mastering chess. Still, if Lord Dorian plays so much better than him, Robin will have scarce reason to keep up their own games together. Chrom doesn’t want to relinquish even that much to this man.

From early in chapter 12:

It’s alarming realizing the last morning he need duel with such feelings has already passed. He’s going to confess to her the truth of his heart, and if Robin loves him as he does her—and if she loves him enough to want to be with him—then waking with her in his arms will no longer fill him with bittersweet yearning. He’ll be able to hold her as close as he wants and cover every inch of her in kisses. It’s a frightening crossroads to be standing at. One way or another their fake relationship is drawing to a close. It’s only a matter of if a real one will take its place.

From Chapter 6, in Chrom's room after Frederick leaves:

“You’re going to have to get used to it, you know,” Robin continues. She keeps her voice light but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. “This sort of thing comes with the territory of being engaged and sharing a room. No matter what we do, people are going to make assumptions. Are you sure you want me to stay here if it means dealing with that?” Chrom doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “Of course I’m sure. Embarrassed or not, I’d much rather have you stay here. Your safety is far more important to me than any damned notions of propriety.” Confoundingly, Robin flushes more over this admission than anything Frederick said to them.

Last one for now, from...either chapter 2 or 4 I think?:

Loving Robin came effortlessly to him—it was hard to pinpoint when, precisely, it began when it seemed so intrinsically interlaced with knowing her at all. It was a talent he’d accidentally honed through endless practice—every moment at her side a whetstone that sharpened his adoration further. It came so naturally to him that he had no idea how to stop doing it now that it posed a very real risk of unraveling everything.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i have officially returned. ask me anything.

[nyxi-pixie]

finished s3 and stand firm in shauna defense EASY WORK!!!!!!!!!!!

[leori-the-unlearned]

the way digimon does conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: chef’s kiss <3

the way sonic idw handles creating conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: *wilting flower*

[diredeliverance]

Deciding to run with "Ismene not only could have known Enver Flymm, she did" has been a rewarding experience purely for the fact it means this guy has been positively haunted by Bhaalspawn in his life. Good. Suffer.

[nezuscribe]

there’s been a couple nights where you and arranged!gojo have had to host little dinners at the estate to show face and let people know you two are still alive.

it’s before the big confession, when the two of you were becoming closer, so it was just pretend niceness hiding the tension for a couple hours.

you tried to talk to the people around the large dining room table, sitting near gojo as you listened in on the conversation, but it was better to just be a part of it rather than the center of the spotlight. gojo had become increasingly aware of the long looks people gave your way, the hushed talks behind the women’s hands. you didn’t notice, maybe you’d been jaded to it, but he did, and he was becoming more tense under their stares.

he noticed how you’d try to jump in and say something, but was instantly cut off by somebody else. gojo had told you before the dinner started that the two of you should hold hands, but you hadn’t let go of his, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of you either. he’d give you an encouraging squeeze, one which you gave him a little smile to, but still clammed up, sitting back in your seat.

"want me to tell them to shut up?" he whispered to you, dropping his head near your ear so that nobody else could hear.

"no it's okay," you say with a laugh, waving it off, "i was just going to ask what cashmere is," you say, in relation to a previous story one of the girls was telling about cashmere moth, and how her entire closet was chewed to bits because of the creatures.

"it's a type of fabric," he explains gently, his eyes searching yours, "very soft," he adds with a little smile and yours grows wider.

"i'd like to see it," you comment, leaning a little bit closer to him.

"i'll have your closets full of cashemere by the morning if you'd like," he says, but you know deep down it could be a promise if you simply said yes.

but you giggle, shaking your head.

"no," you're looking up at him in that way that makes his tongue feel heavy, "the moths, they must be huge," you murmur and he snorts, squeezing your hand a little bit tighter in retaliation.

to be honest, gojo hated these dinners. these people he grew up with were dull and annoying, their conversations full of lame gossip and cheap jokes, and he’d much prefer your lively stories with just you, but they were a necessary evil.

when the servants had cleared the meal away and had begun setting up for dessert, he could feel the stare of one of the girls, anya, and the way her eyes squinted when he caught her looking. he saw the way she sneakily tipped her head back, chin pointing to the opening near some of the stone columns, and excused herself a couple seconds later, looking over her shoulder at him before she disappeared.

gojo knew anya. he’d fooled around with her a couple of times long before the two of you got married, but he found her a bit shallow and dim, nothing he found interesting. he looked over at you to see if you had seen her, but you were looking at your plate, moving some grains of uneaten rice around with your fork.

curiosity got the better of him, wondering what it was she wanted, and so he stood up, his chair scraping behind him as you let go of his hand, you, along with everybody else, looking at him as he excused himself to the washroom.

he walked briskly past the table, leaving through one of the openings of the stone columns, looking around until he say anya at the end of the hall, waiting for him.

“what?” he bit out, hushed, looking behind him to make sure that nobody had followed him out.

anya smiled, her teeth glimmering as he neared her, standing a safe distance away as she pouted slightly.

gojo winced. he forgot how her smile up close was unnerving, the way it wasn’t as soft or full of emotion like yours. her eyes, a deep hazel, glimmered as she took a step closer, her fingers reaching for his collar.

“i missed you,” she whispered, lips glossy as she peered up at him, her lashes batting against her cheeks as he felt his mother dry up, feeling a sudden air of nausea overtake him as he swatted her hand away.

he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“is that all you wanted to tell me?” he hissed out, knowing how stupid he sounded seeing how he had followed her out, surely expecting this.

“what?” anya tilts her head, “thought you’d like to hear it.”

gojo rolls his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest.

“i thought you had something important to say,” he shrugs, looking away, focusing on a crack, getting ready to leave until she laughs, shaking her head.

nobody said he was the brightest soldier in all the land. he’s not above some actually good gossip, but he had a feeling this ain’t about to be that.

“you’ve always loved gossip,” her eyes glimmer as she takes another tentative step closer, “is that why you married the center of it?”

his eyes narrow slightly, but she just sees him listening to her.

“come on,” anya snorts, her hand coming up to his face until she stops at his cold gaze, pulling her hand away, “we all know it’s not rank or looks that made you marry her.”

gojo feels his arms tighten, a vein bulging in his neck as he swallows thickly. he doesn’t say anything, wants to see how she continues, wants to see what everybody else thinks without saying it.

"i mean, your mother keeps saying it was reciprocal," she rolls her eyes, laughing mirthlessly, "but i know that's a lie. you look miserable whenever you're around her."

gojo feels his eyes twitch, his ring shining in the slivers of moonlight through the large, overarching windows.

"did you call me here to talk ill of my wife?" gojo bites out, but she can't sense his tone, giggling as she shoves him, his body not moving.

"drop the theatrics 'toru," he feels bile in his mouth at her sweetened words, "it's just me," she says, biting her lips as indiscreetly as she can, eyes raking over his toned body as she looks back up to his face, "but regardless, no, i had something else i wanted to tell you."

she sighs, her voice a little higher as if he wouldn't notice.

"i'm staying at the hostelry in the town near here for a couple of nights," she bats her eyes again, and suddenly gojo wonders if he had been insanely ill when he had slept with her those months ago because now he feels sick just looking at her, "if you wanted...i'm there for you."

he raises his white brow slightly.

"gods anya," he breaths deeply through his nose, his eyes darkened, "you have audacity if nothing else."

she smiles brightly, taking it as a compliment.

"i know," she winks, "i looked around the area, and nobody of import comes near there. i know you need it as bad as i do," her voice drops a little, eyes falling slightly to the ground, "people are talking. i know how lonely you must feel."

his nose wrinkles slightly in confusion.

"what are you talking about?"

anya looks at him briefly before looking away, shrugging.

"everybody knows you two don't share a room," she explains, "and how she's not even showing signs of pregnancy. is she frigid in bed? you know, some people are saying she's infertile."

gojo straightens up, a new look taking over his face that makes her voice die down.

"what? who's saying that? who's talking?" he presses, and she feels her mouth dry up, suddenly picking up on the fact that he doesn't seem to be at all interested in the deal she's trying to make.

he feels a sudden wave of mixed emotions washing over him.

are the maids taking? gods, that makes him feel even worse. it surely couldn't be yours, they care for you too much. but it must've been somebody who knows your situation, somebody who sees the way you live on different sides of the estate. gojo feels a sinking pit in his stomach. these rumors that are growing because of his own selfish actions, rumors at your own expense, ones you have no control over, by people you've been trying to befriend for ages.

he knows people look at you whenever you enter a room, hears their awfully concealed whispers. and despite the fact that you try to hide the hurt on your face, he sees the way you avade their glances, hide into yourself to act like it doesn't bother you.

are these whispers now because of him?

"i don't know," she mutters, annoyed, "everyone. you barely look at her. did your parents pay you to marry her? she must've been-"

"stop it." gojo warns, and she shuts her mouth, eyes shimmering with shock.

she looks like she's about to say something but stops, looking over his looming body at something.

"gojo? is that you?" another voice calls out, and he turns around, all the anger melting off of his face when he sees it's you, standing near the pillars as you try to find him.

you smile when you see him, still not seeing anya who's hidden behind him, and wave for him to come back.

"they're about to serve dessert," you say, trying to be as quiet as you can, "oh, are you with someone? sorry, i didn't mean to interrupt..." you trail off, your smile falling when anya shuffles around, making sure you see her behind him, your eyes widening.

gojo feels his world slipping beneath him as your shoulder drops, looking at him and then at anya, a somber look taking over your features. you look for another second, not knowing what to do. gojo feels like a fish, gaping silently at you, never looking back at anya, but you excuse yourself, going back to the dining hall without saying another word.

gojo stares aimlessly at the wall in front of him, not sparing his energy to look at the girl peering up at his face.

"get out," he murmurs, his voice low with timber.

"w-what?" she stammers, brows furrowing in confusion.

"get out before i call the guards," he snaps, looking at her from the side of his eyes, "fucking now anya, leave."

she looks up at him, swallowing thickly, but gets the memo that he's being serious. she scammers away, sniffling dramatically as she disappears through another hallway.

he drops his head into his hands, massaging his temples.

his eyes fall to his ring, the one that seems to be growing cold on his finger.

he feels his heart burn in his chest, every step feeling like he had stones tied to his feet as he makes his way back to the hall, hearing the edited clammer of the people welcoming him back, but there was only one person he cared about.

and you weren't looking at him.

in fact, you didn't speak to him that entire night. nor that following week.

gojo has almost bled to death before and has had arrows pierce his back and exit through his chest, but he'd rather experience that ten times again than feel the agonizing silence of the woman he's starting to love.

(second part)

[ghostboyravenight]

”trans men are the weakest links of the trans community” my trans male friends and I have lived a lifetime of having our bodily autonomy stripped away to the point of sexual harassment. people talk about our bodies like everyone except us owns them because no one can handle the idea of precious female bodies being “mutilated” by gender affirming care. we are treated like traitors by women and as confused, silly girls by men. we have no spaces in which we belong because even the queer community tries to control our bodies. if we pass as men then we get ousted from queer-friendly spaces, and if we don’t pass as men we’re treated like cringe, theyfab trenders. everything we love is considered annoying. we’re called ugly and sad and “what a shame you guys are men haha”. We have to watch as society uses us as an excuse to ban gender affirming care for young people because our bodies belong to the government, because our bodies belong to our mothers, and because our anatomy is the only thing they see us as. And then we have to sit back as the trans community blames us for these bans. “All of these fake transtrenders are the reason they all hate us” when we’re busy having the women in our lives scrutinise our bodies to make sure we’re not being “infected” by the trans contagion. There’s no space we can belong in. No space that tries to make us feel welcome because either they treat us like women or they treat us like dangerous, cis men.

Every trans man I know has been sexually assaulted. Every trans man I know has been brought to suicide attempts, either due to their families or due to people online bullying them to death. Our struggles are constantly diminished and yet behind the scenes we’re fucking exhausted from fighting attacks from every single goddamn side. How fucking dare you call us weak. We’re going through fucking hell like every other goddamn trans person out there and our bodies are being abused and controlled and scrutinised every day of our fucking lives. Have you seen how TERFs talk about our bodies? How they lament us “mutilating” our breasts, our fertility, our anatomy, all in the name of feminism. That’s sexual fucking harassment, and it’s disgusting. But that’s all they fucking see us as. We’re not human, we’re just defected specimens. Cis women give themselves free passes to harass our bodies because they see us as “one of them”. One of them, but wrong. One of them, but need to be fixed. My mother regularly checks my chest to make sure I’m not trying to flatten it, and she can get away with it because “that’s what mothers do to their daughters.” Even when I’m not her daughter. Even when I’m screaming at the top of my lungs wanting to die because my body doesn’t belong to me. My body stopped belonging to me as soon as I came out as trans, because female empowerment doesn’t apply to me anymore. Female empowerment is now about “correcting” me, to restore my body back to its former glory, because only then was I worth something.

We are not weak. We are strong as fuck for dealing with the shit we have to deal with. And the worst part is, so much of the bullying comes from other trans men. We’ve been taught to hate ourselves so much that the only way to get ahead is to put down our own brothers and treat them in the way we’ve been treated.

There is no weak link of the community because we’re all dealing with absolute shit from all sides, but don’t you ever suggest that trans men are somehow the whiny babies who have nothing to complain about when we’re constantly holding back from screaming our guts out because there’s nothing else we can do.

[nanamiskentos]

SHE TOLD YOU THAT SHE CELIBATE, SHE TOLD ME I COULD NAIL HER SH*T — gojo satoru minors dni

PART I. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

prologue. → you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. college au, reader wears a skirt, reader is choso's twin and yuuji's older sister, but no appearance detailed. kissing, making out, óral (f) receiving, general bitchiness and fuckups 😚 ensemble cast of poor bystanders (geto, shoko, sukuna, yuki etc)

word count. 10k! song inspiration. gang baby — nle choppa

a/n. it's because of that one edit by satorupedia that's going around rn. yall know which one 😭 art by touno_stupa on twt!

dedication. yayyy decided to start my little gift series for new years with this fic inspired and dedicated to @fushitoru who was one of the first blogs i followed on here before i was super familiar with jujutsu kaisen. aashi writes thee most wonderful gojo fics that are so well characterised and heart-stoppingly adorable and HAWT. 😁 🤭 and i easily associate her with physics/college au gojo now, ever since her spiderman gojo fic that lives in my head!!!!

gojo in this fic:

ACT I. don't puck around and find out!

"i ran into gojo today," choso says, his voice as unbothered and monotone as ever, scraping the gravel lazily with the heel of his scuffed combat boots, "or he ran into me."

"gojo satoru?"

"how many gojos do we know?" your twin brother huffs, giving you a dry side-eye. but before you can retort something equally acrid, he's yanking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, halting you midstep, "wait. car."

you blink out of your tired daze just in time to see a battered camry putter past, its engine groaning like it's on its last legs. just how you feel after a long day of seminars and lectures. the car rattles down the street with the grace of a tin can tied to a string.

"thanks," you mutter, half-heartedly as you shift your laptop case from one tired arm to the other, "could have been the end of my genius academic career."

"would have been a short one either way," choso quietly quips, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"so?" you press on.

"so, what?"

"what did gojo say?"

"ohhh," choso drawls, in that irritating way of his that indicates he has no idea how to deliver good gossip, news or any form of tea, "he asked if i wanted to play hockey for his team tomorrow. they're down a player ever since kento went on exchange."

"hockey?" your eyebrow arches, and skepticism curls your lips for choso is hardly known for his athleticism. you mean, you're sure he has the physical ability in him somewhere but you (and the rest of the world) are yet to see it, "are you gonna join the team, then?"

not that you care about gojo's stupid, state-tournament winning team. of course not. you're just curious. and curiosity is harmless.

it has nothing to do with the fact that you woke up last night wanting to jump gojo satoru's bones. just like you did the night before, and before. and the week before that. yeah, suffice to say that this has been going on for a while.

"nah," choso says, shaking dull, greasy strands of dark hair out of his eyes, "got placements tomorrow."

right. placements. choso's all about pathology and lab medicine and test tubes, while you get queasy at the mere mention of haemoglobin. and it unsettles you mildly at how your twin brother's eyes light up at the mere mention of a blood test.

"and?" you prod when he starts to drift off again, his attention wandering like it always does.

choso is often like a calm river. slow, broad and lazy.

this time, you pull at his one of his headphone cords to reel him back, "did gojo say anything else?"

choso gives you that dull look, quiet but loaded. like he's already solved a puzzle that you didn't know you were trying to hide. it just makes your stomach twist, "why do you care what gojo satoru says?"

"i don't," you snap, far too fast, like your tongue is racing your brain to a crash site. the lie sits heavy in your throat, thick and obvious.

choso's pale and dry lips twitch, and you wondered what happened to the lip balm you threw into his christmas stocking last year, "should i have told him you could sub in for his team instead?"

"no-one likes a smartass, cho," you grumble, speeding up your steps as your twin leisurely rummages through his fraying backpack for his house keys. you roll your eyes and push ahead, jamming your own keys into the lock before you die of boredom waiting for him to dig through the trash heap that lies at the bottom of his bag, "anyway, i was just asking. you brought gojo up."

choso trails behind you, his tone infuriatingly casual, "you always get weird when someone mentions him. i thought you guys were friends."

"we are friends. and i don't get weird."

"you get so weird. even yuki said so."

"i love yuki, i do. but she has no idea what she's talking about —"

the door swings open, cutting off your false deflection. standing there is yuuji, with half a sandwich dangling from his mouth like he's some kind of feral creature. there's a smear of mayonnaise clinging to his cheek as he yanks a red, track hoodie over his tank top.

"mmph! hey, you guys!" he muffles through a mouthful of bread, waving at you with the enthusiasm that only a teenage boy could muster after inhaling half the fridge.

"where are you off to?" you peer at your younger brother, your eyes zeroing in on his mutilated sandwich. a sandwich that you're certain you made for yourself this morning, leaving it for a study session upon your return.

"track practice," yuuji says, swallowing the last bite whole, "then dinner with fushiguro and kugisaki." he's already halfway down the driveway, sneakers untied and laces flopping on the pavement behind him.

choso narrows his eyes, "got money? or a water bottle? a hat? did you wear sunscreen?"

"i'm good!" yuuji calls back without breaking stride, waving a quick hand at the two of you.

"why don't you hold his hand and walk him to school, mother?"

"shut up," choso grumbles as he brushes past you into the house, throwing you an exaggerated scowl of wounded, elder-brother pride over his shoulder, "why don't you hold gojo's hand to hockey practice?"

your bookbag swings through the air, connecting to the back of choso's oversized head and a loud thud follows.

ACT II. long overdue and lacking a spine

you had been in this library for hours, eyes blurring as the words in your textbook stubbornly refused to make sense. it was all a gross blur of terms and diagrams, and your $8.00 coffee had gone lukewarm an hour ago.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that was the plan, no distractions.

your phone, however, had other ideas as it sat innocently next to your stack of notes. you tapped the screen quickly under the guise of a 'quick break' but before long, you were deep into instagram stories. someone's dog, a flyer for a rave that you definitely weren't going to, and then, of course, him.

gojo satoru. on someone's reposted story with a classic, grainy photo of one of the campus's most darling boys. long arm draped casually over some girl. both of them lit in the neon glow of what looked like a party bus. he wasn't even looking at the camera, just flashing that effortless grin that you had seen your entire life growing up. and the girl was gorgeous, obviously. not that you cared about that.

but speak of the devil and he hath appear. a long shadow fell over the table, and you felt the chill in your bones, trying not to shift in your seat.

"go away, gojo," you muttered, not even deigning to look up.

"how'd you know it was me?" his voice is teasing, all light and airy as he's pulling out the chair next to you.

"what can i say? lucky guess," you reply dryly, keeping your eyes glued to the suspiciously-stained textbook. worried that you'll look up and your iron resolve will disappear from one glance at big, blue eyes.

but out of the corner of his eye, you try not to twitch at the sight of the soft, pale blue hoodie that swallows his broad frame whole. thick, white strands of hair that fall gently over his face. and that cloying scent of mint and something faintly sweet that leaves your ears hot and your heart sitting in your throat.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that's what you tell yourself in a now failing mantra.

"are you following me today?" you ask, flipping a page with exaggerated nonchalance, like you're not about to tear up pathetically from a stupid crush.

"caught me," gojo says, the grin audible even in his voice, "i just couldn't resist finding you. is that what you want me to say?"

you finally look up, swallowing at unfairly fine features, "saw you were at some party yesterday. i didn't think you'd be on campus today."

gojo just laughs, the sound soft and infuriating, "keeping tabs on me now?" and he's rifling through his bag for something, "or you don't think the library's a good look for me? i'm broadening my horizons. testing the waters."

you narrow your eyes, willing the heat rising in your face to stay put and not crawl into your voice, "i think you're testing my patience. i have a test tomorrow, so if you're here to waste my time..."

"maybe i just wanted to hang out with my friend," gojo says, tearing open a kitkat wrapper in an obnoxious way that echoes through the silent hall, and the crinkle of plastic grates against your nerves, "we haven't seen each other in ages."

"don't you have a lot of other people to hang out with nowadays?" you're mentally beating yourself with a bat at your question, wincing at how it sounds like you keep count of who he hangs out with, and you're pathetically down bad for him. like a 90s singer begging on his knees for a kiss.

"i mean, i could hang out with them," gojo says, breaking his kitkat horizontally like a monster, "but they're not you."

his sunglasses are gone, revealing eyes so blue they look otherworldly, and he's throwing you that smiling, lopsided grin that makes your heart run around a room and bang into the walls. but no. you were not going to let gojo satoru get to you. he probably made every girl feel like this, like they were the centre of his fast-paced universe. until the next shiny thing came along.

besides, gojo satoru dated models. or stunning cheerleaders. the kind of people who looked good under strobe lights, and in the glow of his party bus digital camera pics.

and hey, it's not like you were self-depreciating or awfully insecure. you liked who you were and you would never change it for anyone. quiet and ambitious. reserved, but down for some fun. you'd like to think you were the type of person who saw the world in a beautiful, cinematic light. but it was maddening how gojo satoru seemed to bring out the most juvenile issues in you that had your stomach turning itself into ugly knots.

"gojo," you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, "are you even here to study?"

as in why are you really here? please ask me out.

gojo looks unbothered, unshaken, "coffee. cake. maybe even some flirting, if you're up to it."

the universe hates you. it has a way of delivering what you want right into your hands, when...you don't exactly want it.

you blink at the white-haired man, disbelief bubbling under your skin, "you're not serious."

"why wouldn't i be?"

"c'mon, satoru. everyone knows you're not the actual dating type. you ever been in a relationship that wasn't pr and lasted for more than two weeks?"

absolutely bonkers at how your heart and your tongue are not on the same wavelength at all. it's like your mouth missed the memo and is just firing bullets that have gojo's grin faltering a bit, as a flicker of heated annoyance flashes in his eyes. even hurt, but it's gone too quickly for you to read into it.

"didn't realise that you thought i was that much of a joke," and you're not fond of how gojo's voice is quieter now, and a pretty sneer is dancing across his lips. you're biting your lip before you lose your stupid, petty resolve to not get involved with someone who could truly break your heart.

"if you didn't make everything a joke, it wouldn't be," you snap at him, and you're not even sure what you're angry at. there's no reason to be annoyed, or frustrated or even hurt and snippy with a friend who came and sat with you to catch up.

but you don't want to untangle whatever you're projecting onto gojo satoru, so you let bitter words spill over, "some of us don't have time for your games, gojo. we have real lives to deal with."

gojo's expression shifts completely, and that playful spark in his eyes is replaced with something colder as he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, "right." and his tone is clipped, pissed, "got it. no time for games."

you watch as gojo walks away, already tapping away on his phone, but his footsteps are quieter than you expect. part of you wants to call after him, to take back the teeth and claws that painted your words.

but instead, you just look away from him and grimace. you must have pulled an awful, twisted face — for the man sitting across from you leans in and asks if you need to take an aspirin, or if you're low on fibre.

ACT III. between the covers

the bookstore smells faintly of old paper and new ink. a sharp contrast to the chill lingering outside, so the warmth hits you like a welcome blanket. the air buzzes with the muted chatter of customers, and the occasional beep of a cash register.

you're winding your way through the aisles, set on two missions. find that jacket-cover book that you had been wanting for weeks, and to hunt down the manga that yuuji had begged you to pick up for him.

you dart past a couple lingering in front of a 'booktube' bestseller display, narrowing avoiding a child wielding a stuffed dragon that you can only assume is smaug the magnificent from the hobbit. straight into the quieter section of the store, tucked in the back and smack-bang right into —

thud!

your shoulder collides hard with someone else, sending you stumbling back a step.

"fuck's sake. watch it," the person snaps, his tone sharp.

"maybe you should —" you start to retort, before the words die and patter out on your tongue as your mouth goes dry.

gojo satoru, ladies and gentlemen.

he's scowling at you, with sunglasses pushed up onto his head that expose those ridiculously pale eyelashes under the glow of the overhead lights. he's layered on a crisp varsity jacket, over a thick hoodie, all shades of soft blue and grey. and he looks irritated, with thick brows furrowed at you. but you don't miss the faint surprise that flutters across his face when he takes you in.

"seriously?" gojo murmurs, though more to himself, and his voice still holds an edge that has you wilting, "out of all the aisles in this store..."

you blink, caught somewhere between an apology that dances on the edge of your lips, and a bewildered laugh at how the divine powers deliver the worst luck on you. instead, you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your aviator jacket, "sorry. didn't see you."

gojo's shoulders relax, but just barely. as though he's still caught in the heavy fog of tension from your last words to him. but to your mild credit, he doesn't quite look ready to storm out either. progress?

"so. what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to break the ice and pretend that you're not doing internal pirouettes.

"just had to pick up a textbook," gojo mutters, holding up a thin and over-priced looking book on something like...quantum mechanics, "exams are coming up. gotta keep the top spot, you know."

you blink, "you're actually studying?"

gojo raises his eyebrow, lips twitching into the faintest smile, "what? you think i roll into my classes and ace everything through sheer willpower? or i spend all day being a joke and annoying everyone, right?"

you sigh, feeling the frosty, ice-gaze settle once more over you, paralysing you from head to toe, "look, gojo. i don't know what came over me that day," and now you're being sincere, looking away from his narrowed stare, "it's like some crazy, evil monster came over me and it possessed me. i think i incarnated some demon king in me and i said all that mean shit."

he shifts slightly beside you, and you don't miss at how gojo's lower lip juts out at your apology, or how close he is to you right now. "and i was jus' being stupid. swear i don't think you're a joke." you try to pick up some random book, pretending you're very busy as you speak.

but it's very hard to look genuine when you've just picked up a glossy copy of 'stand and deliver: a hard look at fixing male erection problems.'

it earns you a small laugh, light and quick, that has you almost falling to your knees, and you can hear choso's voice in your head. muttering out a dulcet 'i told you so. you want him so bad.' but it's worth it as gojo leans against the nearest shelf, the annoyance from earlier starting to ebb.

and for a moment, gojo studies you and his expression is unreadable. for your part, you're pretending to read the back cover of 'stand and deliver' and some blurb about how this award-winning author managed to help her husband 'get it up' after twenty years of marriage.

but the tension in his posture dissolves, relaxing further and gojo hums, "noted." that's all he says, and an awkward silence hovers. it hovers so uncomfortably, leaving you floundering for a new topic until gojo's voice breaks the silence.

"choso's doing good, yeah? i heard he got a girlfriend."

you smile, "yeah. yuki, she's like really cool. i don't know how he did it."

gojo snickers, "i asked if he wanted to play hockey and i think he's been avoiding me all week."

you try to pretend its not because of how you re-enacted your little spat with gojo, demonstrating the entire thing for your twin brother. who had just called you stupid afterwards. among other not-so-flattering terms, with little consideration for your crushing, beating heart.

"you going to suguru's party next weekend?"

ah, now that's a curveball.

because, again, you are your own brand of cool. or so you'd like to think, so this isn't really a matter of pitying comparison. but geto suguru is like on another level of effortlessly vogue. at least in your eyes. you know that he's gojo's best friend and he delivered a (controversial) and killer project on gene editing last semester. you know that geto's involved with gig photography as a hobby, and thus, has personal access to some of the coolest bands in the city.

and you also know that he occasionally waves a hand to you, but it's not like you actually know the man. it's just mutual association.

"i wasn't planning on it," you hesitate, for you really had been planning to cram through a mid-term session, "but someone asked me to go as their date."

gojo's smile evaporates, "who?"

"naoya zenin," you say cautiously, watching as gojo's face twists. like he's resisting the urge to gag and tear his hair out.

"naoya? he's like a walking billboard for being an entitled cunt," gojo groans, running a hand through glossy hair that has you trailing your gaze over slender, sculpted hands.

you narrow your eyes, "he seemed...okay. smart, i think."

"oh, he's smart. i'm not questioning that," gojo crabs, "he's so arrogant though. i grew up seeing that guy everywhere. our families were like, half friends."

you cross your arms, suddenly defensive, "are you warning me? or just mad that he asked me out?"

gojo seems to flounder for half a second, quick enough that you could miss it and he could deny it, "jealous of naoya? please," and he scoffs as he leans back against the shelf, "i have taste. unlike some people."

"you can't be the one giving me a lecture on dating etiquette. i mean, how many dates do you have lined up for geto's party? two, three?"

gojo gives you a sly grin, "more than that, hah. gotta keep my options open."

"tacky," you wrinkle your nose, trying to pretend that you don't feel like you just guzzled a gallon of curdled milk, "and classless."

"yes," gojo sighs sadly, "and endlessly charming. it's so hard being me," shooting you back a quizzical look as he pulls up to the register, paying for his textbook.

as he paid, you linger near the shelves, pretending to browse while stealing glances at gojo satoru. there was something different about him today, something quieter that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

and on gojo's way out, he pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. his expression is still entirely unreadable, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual. and then he was gone.

ACT IV. blush confidential

there's a soft hum of pop music wafting from someone's phone, blending in with the rustle of fabric and the hiss of a straightener. your bedroom is a whirlwind of motion and chaos, with clothes thrown over chairs, and pre-game drinks piled up over your vanity.

"i can't believe you're not coming with us," you gripe to yuki, watching as she lounged up on your bed, denim crinkling as she shifted to adjust herself.

"tch, you know i love a good party," yuki grins with sparkling ideas, "but choso and i have a date tonight. he's been texting me about it all day."

you snicke at the thought of your hapless twin, "yeah. he was practically glued to your dm's. ran into the kitchen table twice this morning."

shoko snorts from her spot at the vanity, from where she's running a brush through cropped, chestnut hair, "choso nervous? i need to see that," she catches your eye in the mirror, "do you still have that lip gloss?"

"on it," you're digging into the vast depths of your purse, grazing your wallet and a hal-featen granola bar. stubbing your finger on an opened gel pen, before clutching a small shiny tube that you toss to shoko.

"so," shoko smacks her lips, "how's it going with naoya?"

you blink, pausing in the middle of capping all your drying pens, "what do you mean how's it going? nothing's going."

your friend swivels on her stool, raising a thin eyebrow, "he's your date at this party, right? and why him, of all people?"

"seriously. that guy's got a reputation. and not a good kind, for a very good reason," utahime chimes in from her corner, where she's yanking on a ribbon woven through her hair.

you shrug, suddenly feeling defensive under their collective scrutiny, "hey. he asked, i said yes. it's not that deep."

shoko exchanges a pointed glance with utahime, and both of them looking equally skeptical in a way that has you flushing.

"he's just annoying, you know," shoko points out, "he thinks he's better than everyone else, and half the time? it's just hot air."

"and the other half?"

"still hot air," shoko flatlines, "you can do better."

"anyone's better than gojo," utahime mutters, "you don't want to be stuck with him."

yuki's snickering, and you're doing your utter best to pretend that the mention of gojo satoru doesn't have you crawling up and down the walls like a termite on crack.

"speaking of gojo," yuki drawls, running a comb through a golden sheaf of thick hair, "is he going with anyone to this party?"

you freeze for half a second, before busying yourself with some new body mist that you picked up from a sale, all vanilla and coconut and macademia, "i ran into gojo the other day," and you keep your tone as neutral as possible, "and he said he had a few dates."

"ugh," shoko groans, wrinkling her nose, "of course he does," and utahime mutters an affirmative, exasperated sigh, echoed only by yuki, who pauses mid-brush to look at you sympathetically.

"what?" you snap, defensive, "why are you all looking at me like that?"

shoko tucks a thin strand of hair behind her ear, "well, i mean. you like gojo, right? like really like him?"

"huh?" the question catches you so off guard that you're left sputtering, as the perfume leaves a sharp and awful taste on your tongue, accidentally leaving a fresh spritz into your mouth, and not the curve of your neck.

"oh, blech. absolutely not," you say vehemently, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "i don't like him like that. not that i think he's awful or anything —"

utahime crosses her arms, white sleeves brushing against each other, "he is awful."

"yes, thank you for that, utahime. but he's just not my type," you finish firmly, "he's loud. he's disruptive. he can't take anything seriously. i can't date that."

yuki gives you a long and knowing look, "oh, he likes you," she says lightly, as though she's telling you a casual piece of news, and not something that has you biting your tongue till iron spills, "he's been crushing on you for so long."

you feel your stomach twist uncomfortable, like little, evil goblins are dancing in your gut, "that's ridiculous," you mutter, fiddling with the clasp of your purse, "if he liked me, he would ask me out properly. and not date half the student population."

"he probably thinks it's fair, because you keep turning him down," shoko says matter-of-factly, standing up to grab her bag.

"i just don't think he's good for you. or anyone," utahime mutters, earning a pinch from you.

ACT V. stereo love

normally, gojo thrived at these parties. suguru was always able to pull a crowd that straddled the line between chic and cool, with just enough alcohol to keep things interesting. the thrum of the bass-heavy music should have been the perfect escape after a gruelling day spent staring at equations, leaving him half-convinced that his course coordinator was plotting against him and wanted him dead.

but now gojo satoru was just jittery, restless. and he hated that.

so for now, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a full cup in hand, watching people spill out of the living room and into the backyard. it seemed that other students had been aching for a party, something to take them off mid-terms and yet here he was, scowling like a storm cloud. he took another swig of his drink, ignoring how his own stomach was doing unexplained cartwheels.

"you good?"

suguru's low voice cuts through the noise, startling gojo enough that he has to tighten his fingers around his cup so sticky beer doesn't spill over pristine tiles.

gojo waves his closest friend and confidante off, "i'm fine. obviously."

suguru's frown deepens, though it's obscured by his loose, choppy dark hair. and there's skepticism painted all over his face, "you're never this quiet at any party. i thought that by now, i would have had to convince you not to jump off the roof."

"you think too little of me."

"you think too much of yourself," suguru drawls, but he's leaning against the counter beside gojo, as leather and cool metal rustle against each other, "so where's your date? or dates, i should say?"

gojo freezes, his cup halfway to his lip, "come again? what are you talkin' about?"

suguru arches a thin brow, "it's practically all over campus, man. apparently, you had several dates with lovely, young ladies lined up tonight. and i tried to defend your fragile honour, said it was too ambitious even for you. but..."

this revelation hits gojo like a punchline that he wasn't in on, and then it clicks for him. oh, he had started that rumour a few days ago. in the bookstore, to you. his brain replays the scene like a cruel, little highlight reel: the way your expression had wavered minutely, just for a moment, when he had straight up lied and claimed that he had a few dates.

truth be told, gojo had only said it to make you jealous, to see if he could ruffle you and play your game even better.

but now the joke was so clearly on him.

because gojo satoru had no dates. and you? you were here with someone who wasn't him.

suguru's following his gaze across the room, and gojo doesn't even bother to hide his petulant interest. he can see you standing near the back walls, laughing at something that naoya zenin, mayor of all things putrid, had said. naoya, with his stupid green roots and louis vuitton jacket, standing just a little bit too close to you for gojo's liking.

but before he can stew in it any linger, suguru's reaching out and pinching his ear. hard.

"ow! fuck was that for?" gojo's yelping, jerking away from his clearly evil, traitrous best friend.

"that," suguru says evenly, "was for looking like a lovesick idiot. pull yourself together, man."

"i'm not lovesick," gojo weakly protests, rubbing his bruised, throbbing ear and moving further away from suguru geto.

"you're not exactly screaming cool and collected," suguru dryly comments, "sulking like a sore loser while your crush laughs at another guy's jokes."

gojo feels his face heat up, just a little bit, because he knows that suguru's hitting close to home, "i don't sulk and do all that whiny shit. second of all, it's not my fault she went with zenin of all people. it's up to her if she wants to be stuck with someone who talks about his family's real estate portfolio as foreplay."

suguru snorts, and it's clear that he's not playing the role of sympathetic best man for life, "you know what's more obnoxious? watching you fuck around like this. you need to figure out how to ask her properly."

"i did all that!" gojo shoots back, throwing his arms up so his drink dances over the edge of the cup, "she said no. each time. you know what they call a guy who can't take a hint? she thinks i'm a loser!"

"and are you?"

gojo narrows his eyes, "am i what?"

"a loser."

"is it easier for me if i just say yes?" gojo half-heartedly gripes, "is that what you want me to say?"

"or," suguru says calmly, "you're a guy who hasn't proven he's worth saying yes to."

gojo groans, tipping his head back so he can block out the vision of his irritatingly wise best friend, "you sound like my grandmother."

"that's not even an insult. your grandmother is on some metal shit," suguru counters, unbothered, "and you sound like a twelve-year old. you can't flirt and sleaze your way through this. if you want her to take you seriously, i don't know how else to say this, you have to stop being...you."

"excuse me?"

"no. stop, don't make that face," suguru scowls, "you know what i mean. stop being a stupid flirt, and be a genuinely better person. otherwise, you're just spinning and burning out your wheels."

"did you pick up a self help book?"

suguru elbows him, sneering, "i'm trying to help you. if you don't want my help, i'm telling her you have an std."

"maybe you should just do that. end my misery," gojo downs the rest of his drink in one go, the burn of cheap beer doing nothing to ease the olympics in his alimentary canal. what's worse is that suguru is right, the bastard always is.

suguru claps him on the shoulder, "relax, satoru. you've got charm in spades. just use it...wisely."

"yeah, yeah. thanks, man," gojo mutters, brushing him off as suguru wanders away, probably to mediate some dumb argument between that big oaf, toji fushiguro and the even bigger oaf, ryomen sukuna. honestly, why were they even invited?

but gojo stays where he is, eyes flicking back to you. away from the distracting curve of your thighs in that skirt, and rather on how interested you look in naoya's stupid, animated gestures. and you look so at ease, but there's something hot and sharp twisting inside his gut.

suguru's soft, measured voice echoes in his head, "prove yourself as a person first."

oh, yeah. gojo could do that. he would absolutely do that. for you, he'd do just about anything, short of donating his vital organs (but he would definitely be considering it). but how hard could it be to be better? more mature? more grounded?

gojo satoru can handle all that. all he had to do was be a dignified, charming man. you know, someone who puts his best foot forward into the world. someone that you might actually consider taking seriously. someone calm and respectful.

if you were happy with naoya zenin, then who was he to interfere? who was he to ruin that for you? even if the guy looked like wile e. coyote when he smiled. even if naoya zenin was the most smug bastard to walk the earth.

gojo scowled at nothing in particular. but the point was that it wasn't his place to meddle. not if it meant risking your happiness. all he could do was be the best version of himself. polite, kind and above reproach. a good and respectful friend.

ACT VI. a shot of love, on the rocks.

"please, i want you so fuckin' bad."

gojo satoru is on his knees. at a party, in the middle of the living room. for you.

you feel like your mind isn't able to process all this fast enough, like your brain is on some pause. the music is still thumping in your head, but not as fast as your poor cardiac muscles as you're rendered frozen from pathetic, piercing blue eyes blinking up at you.

"please," gojo satoru repeats, and his voice vaguely warbles out like he's kinda lost his marbles and —

let's rewind.

five minutes ago, you had been standing with naoya zenin. and despite your initial reservations, you had been entertained. he's sorta witty, and definitely loaded with snarky remarks that cut through the noise of the party. it's hard not to laugh at his biting commentary, although half the time he's skewering people for fun, and the other half? just out of pure spite.

his golden eyes gleam with that edge, the kind of sharpness that makes you think of a hyena circling around its next meal. naoya is definitely full of himself, but it doesn't help that he's also ridiculously good-looking. and he knows how stunning he is, but its bothering him that you're not showering him in enough compliments for it.

still, he's here with you. he's your date. and you're doing your best to remind yourself of that. naoya is the only option you have at the moment, and he's definitely offering you more attention than anyone else tonight.

from across the room, utahime gives you an exaggerated, pained thumbs-up — while shoko shrugs in her usual blithe manner, but she gestures for you to smile more. you plaster on a wider grin, a little too obvious but naoya doesn't seem to notice.

"you know, if you're getting bored of all this, we could always find another room," naoya's low hiss slices right through the bass-thrum of the pulsing room, "do a little more than just talk."

for a moment, it's easy to imagine slipping away with him. but the sharpness in his killer-smile makes something in you bristle, like he's already envisioned you saying 'oh yes, naoya! please take me to bed!' and you shake your head, and give him an amused look.

"maybe later," you say lightly, "not now."

naoya zenin doesn't seem quite offended, but his smile grows wider as he stands up straight again, from where he had curved his tall frame into you, "i'm a patient man. fine by me, 'm gonna get some more drinks."

and you watch as his golden head of hair disappears into the crowd, leaving you all alone while the music blares around you, like a suffocating fog. you rub your temples, wondering if you should just go after naoya and tell him to go to town, something for the night's enjoyment. but before you can go any further, you hear a shout cut through the noise.

"hey!"

you whip around, blinking in surprise at gojo satoru.

but also not quite the gojo that you're used to. the one that you grew up with, and held hands with in kindergarten, one who smiled easy and laughed too loud. it seems he's ditched the oversized hoodies and varsity jackets tonight, opting for a black tee that fits him a little too well and dark cargo pants that only highlight...

you're getting distracted. but it's hard to remain focused, when he's walking towards with you. seemingly determined, as his white hair falls forward over thunderstorm-eyes. for a moment, you're not sure if you’re hearing him over the pounding music, or if it's just your own pulse making everything seem louder.

"i hate that you're here with naoya," gojo says suddenly, and his voice is low and serious, something that you've never really heard from him before.

your brow furrows, "what?"

"i lied about the dates," he continues, as words just jumble out his candy-pink mouth, "i don't have a bunch of dates. fuck, i don't even have one date. i only want to date you."

you blink, and then you blink once more, because again what?

the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you think you might have misheard the man. his blue eyes are wide and earnest, and they're staring right at you.

and before you know, he's on his knees. muscular thighs bending so his knees hit the cool tiles with a heavy thud, hands splayed out for you.

"please," he implores, "you gotta understand. i need you to feel what i feel, because it's not even a passin' thought, i swear. it's not even a stupid crush. this is like —" and he's gesturing wildly with one hand, still kneeling like a knight about to beg for his lady's favour, "this is destiny."

"gojo," you manage, "are you on drugs?"

the white-haired man, bless his sassy heart, rolls his eyes, "no. i'm on beer and vodka. will you please let me finish?"

"yes, but what are you doing?" you hiss, exasperated and sibilant, as more eyes turn to the most ravishing man on campus, who's absolutely off his rocker. and there are phones being pulled out, god help you.

"what am i doing?" gojo smiles, and it's unnervingly wide, "i'm like laying it out all here for you. my love. because that's what you are, to me. like you're everything. and i swear everyone knows this already. should i call you my sun, my moon, my entire universe? it's like time stops when i see you, a-and trust me, i do physics. i know time shit," and he must have caught at how your mouth is flapping open because he suddenly wags a finger, "no! i'm not done. i haven't even told you how the world fades, and all that's left is you glowing. like a star that i can't reach."

he's placing a hand on his broad chest, digging into the tight top clinging to his pectorals, like he's being dramatically wounded, "i have to reach you. i have to be with you."

you're not sure what parts you've processed, or what part of this slow train-wreck has settled in your head, "are you, like, actually begging right now?"

gojo's eyes flash with the intensity of a thousand suns (well, fuck — gojo's awful poeticism is rubbing off on you already). you can hear the low snickers of two men that had been beating the living daylights out of each other half an hour ago, those fuckwits that go by toji and sukuna. you can hear sukuna's deep mutters about how no-one ever would like toji enough to do this for him. and yep, you can hear them scuffle again.

"yes!" gojo booms, and more than a few heads have turned now. you wonder if naoya zenin is watching in the background, and realising that this isn't a battle he wants to pick, "i will kneel for you. like i'd do this shit for eternity, even if my knees hurt so bad right now. but as long as you give me a chance to prove my worth. and my devotion, d-don't forget that! deep as the ocean, endless and vast. and the stars align...oh, how they align for us."

"ah, satoru," you cut in, and you realise that you're now smiling. embarrassment and mild humiliation be damned, there's a quirk tugging at your lips, "you can get up now. this is a bit dramatic."

gojo blinks, not missing a beat, "i'm dramatic because i'm in love, okay? and —" he swivels his head to the crowd, grumbling, "shut up, sukuna! i heard that, i'll beat your wonky ass. you don' know shit about love."

he's turning back to you, all sticky and soothing sugar once more, "where was i? eh, my confession. well, it's all for you. and it's me, givin' you every part of me. beggin' you to see that you're the only one who can break the walls around my heart."

you think that you've completed a full speed-run on every stage of grief that there is to experience, and if the small plink! coming from someone's phone is any indication, gojo's monologue has already made it's way onto someone's private story. and so naturally, everyone will have seen it by tomorrow.

"can you get off your knees? you look ridiculous."

gojo's grin falters for a split second before he straights up, all with a hefty groan as he runs a hand through snowy strands, "ridiculous? i'm being vulnerable as hell, and you think i look stupid?"

"a little," you admit, but you're reaching a hand out to push a strand of thick hair out of his eyes. and it's maddening at how gojo seems to tremble mildly under your touch, at the brush of your fingers against his temple, "kneeling at a frat party is crazy work."

gojo sinks his teeth into a plush lower lip, "that was me trying to show how much i care, and all that sweet shit. you make me lose all my cool, and this isn't even a joke."

"you never had cool, and now you've lost your dignity too," but you're blushing, and it's a giddy feeling at how he's now close enough that you can feel his body heat.

gojo satoru's eyes twinkle, "maybe. but i'd do all that again if it won you over."

"with your future oscar nomination?"

the man shrugs, broad muscles rippling, "he who be a fool for love is far better than he who doth never dare to try at all."

"fair point," you murmur, feeling dizzy in that familiar scent of lemon candies and mint, like the world is swirling around in a heady haze, "do you wanna kiss me to seal the deal?"

"yes please. i think i'm gonna pass out and — mmph!"

you've pulled yourself up, and thrown your arms around his warm neck, drawing gojo into you. crashing your lips into his before either of you can say anything else. it's an urgent, reckless kiss. like a dam has burst and all the pent-up emotions that you've been carrying have finally exploded.

gojo's lips are soft, but demanding, taking more and more air from you. they fit against you with an ease that feels almost too natural. and his broad arms come around your waist with a force that leaves the air punched out of you. he's holding you tightly, as though he's afraid that you'll just disappear if he doesn't keep you close enough.

you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the muscles in his arms that flex as he pulls you in, deepening the kiss. all while his mouth moves against yours with a slow and deliberate intensity, as his tongue parts your lips. all so messy.

when gojo finally pulls away, the last brush of his lips catches your quiet whimper. just as his breath goes ragged, and you're left standing there, dazed, with your forehead resting against his. you can still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that electricity that's crackling and buzzing through your veins as you giggle.

gojo, however, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. he tugs your wrist with a sharp, swift motion. but his grip is firm, not harsh as you pulls you away from the living room, "c'mon. let's get outta here."

shoko's eyes are wide, her jaw practically locked in disbelief, "what the hell just happened?"

utahime's lips curl, "someone took gojo's brain out and replaced it with a clone. ah! geto, what did you do?"

suguru has been standing near the kitchen counter, absolutely floored, and he's shaking his head so hard that he feels a headache forming, "hand on my heart, ladies. i told him not to pull any stunts. swear on destiny's child that i didn't tell him to do all that."

ACT VII. i bet we'd have really good bed chem!

gojo satoru has absolutely lost his mind. but you wish that he had lost it a bit earlier, because you're practically pawing at his top now. critically working to make quick work of the tight fabric, letting your fingers run over hard planes of muscles and lower.

right until you're reaching a trail of soft white hairs that disappear into the band of his pants.

"seems like you're just as desparate as me, hah," gojo snickers, and his broad hand is trailing further up your thighs, letting your skirt bunch and crinkle under his ministrations. thick fingers brush over dewy cotton, and you moan.

"s-satoru!"

"you don't even know how long i've w-wanted this," and his hand clenches at the fabric, gripping it so tightly that you fear it may just be on the verge of tearing, but you can only buck your hips into him further.

no longer even mindful of how you must be already dripping onto the palm of his hand, "and i thought you knew. i r-really thought you knew how much i wanted you."

his middle finger is gliding through your damp and searing slit, with clinging strands latching onto his skin as you muffle a whine into his chasing, teasing lips.

it's sending deep, low curls of arousal in thick waves, settling low in your groin and you don't even care what room of the house you're now in, someone's bedroom with a dark, stylish bedspread and vinyls up on the walls.

the force of his large hands drives you down onto the bed, pressing your back onto the soft mattress.

and gojo looks so pleased, at how you're splayed and sprawled out underneath his torso, his hands tugging at your now bare thighs to spread your legs even further. pulling them far enough so they come to rest on either side of his face.

"fuck, she's so pretty. even better than i imagined," and gojo's voice is husky and low, almost strained, "and believe me. imagined her plenty." the sound of drenched cotton being torn rips through the air, slippery and resistant from your arousal.

it's even stubborn as the fabric refuses to budge, until it gives way under the force of gojo's tug, soft and tearing. leaving your pussy open to the cool, cold air. bare for gojo's eyes to rest upon and widen.

his lips brush against your thigh with an uncharacteristic gentleness, one that makes your entrance clench and wink.

but gojo is nothing if not teasing, and he feels light-headed. pressing featherlight kisses to the crevice of your thigh, and then closer to your aching mound. but even he cannot hold off for much longer, and he's pressing a flat, lazy print of his tongue against your cunt.

that first munch sends a burst of tangy sweetness dancing across gojo's tongue, and he thinks he might just bust a load right then and there. the heat of your clenching cunt is almost overwhelming, but hey.

gojo's never been a quitter, and he doesn't care if he creams his pants at this very moment, he needs to hear that sweet whimper of his name from your lips again.

his lips part, blowing a quick breath on your aching clit, right as his fingers begin to press and meld into your syrupy folds. it's got you practically jumping further into him, so wet strands are clinging to the very tip of his nose. and gojo knows that this is heaven. that he's unlocked true paradise.

"satoru, c-can't you...?"

he's too busy running his tongue over your clit, drawing small circles with the very tip of the hot muscle, "can't i what, pretty? don' want me eating you out?"

and you are so adorable, pushing your head up to scowl down at him with furrowed brows, but the flush in your cheeks paints you the most beautiful shade of cherry red. and gojo vows to spend the rest of his life ensuring that this shade never leaves your cheeks.

"can't you get to the eating part? thought that you were gonna — f-fuck! hnngh, 'toru!"

he's pulling your thighs tighter around his head, and he doesn't give a fuck if this is how he goes. suffocated in this tantalising heat, with your fingers lacing themselves into woven patterns in his white hair.

he's lowering his tongue once more into your throbbing pussy, making sure that his pleased vibrations send pleasurable rumbles right through your core.

grinning and slurring his tongue further into you, right as you buck desparate hips over and over. dragging yourself against his chin, so he's sure that the lower half of his face must be glistening with your sweetness.

gojo absolutely thinks he can get used to being like this, at having you angle and force his head further into your cunt. letting you angle and toy at him and use him for your pleasure. he snaps his teeth around glossy strands of arousal, once and then twice, before delving back in.

making sure that his spare hand finds your clit to draw quick flicks and shapes over it, pushing a finger right up against the throbbing hood.

"satoru, ah, satoru! 'toru!" it's all you can even manage right now, just chants and groans of his names, as he's practically sunken your hips into the mattress, while he's on his knees for the second time this night.

"hey, none of that, yeah?" and gojo's gently tugging at your arm. trying to get you to stop muffling your whimpers and cries, because he just needs to hear your adorable sounds. and he needs to hear your bird-like cries when you come undone.

what a joy it is for gojo. to be able to dive between your legs and run his tongue between your folds. he's losing his mind at how your body trembles under his touch, and how he makes the mistake of peering up at you. your lips are parted, open and glossy. and your brows are furrowed, as lashes flutter against your cheek. you have to cum, gojo satoru needs you to cum right now.

and so, he exerts all his effort ten fold into having you finish. it's so sloppy, and so messy. gojo lets his own eyes dip shut, letting himself feel your glossy, glistening cunt pulse around his tongue. and let there be no doubt that gojo satoru is a munch, for he's eating you out in such an ardent manner, and it basically sends you barrelling towards a heart-stopping orgasm, where tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

you needn't have even tried to warn him of your impending climax, for gojo knows in the way that your legs quiver and get sloppier over his face. stars fall over your vision as you heave and toss your head back, muscles rippling as "satoru, satoru!" falls from your lips, long and drawn out as the rest of the world goes dark around you.

you gasp, struggling to inhale as the syrupy air is stolen from your lungs, all while gojo runs his tongue through your folds, head spinning with the dizzying rush of sensation. it's as if you've been swept away, hurtling towards space, weightless and disorientated.

only to crash back into reality as gojo seemingly hasn't stopped letting himself taste all of you, with not a drop of arousal wasted. your back is further pressed into the soft mattress beneath you, and the surge of overstimulated numbness follows, all pleasurable pins and needles and ferocious need.

"look at that, 'm already addicted," gojo coos, almost to himself, scooping a finger through the translucent gloss that leaks from your cunt. bringing it up to his mouth to wrap his tongue around, "think you can handle giving me another one?"

you let out a weak, breathless laugh. your gaze lingering on gojo's face, the soft moonlight that casts an ethereal glow on his features. his chin still faintly gleams, coated in your mirror-sheen and his lips are a plump, rosy red. you part your lips, propping yourself onto your elbows, but before you can form the words, the door slams open with a force that makes your ears rattle.

"i've looked in every fuckin' room in this house, and i swear to everything holy, satoru. if you chose my bedroom, i'm gonna —"

geto suguru's voice cuts off mid-rant, his words dissolving into a strangled, pained gasp as he takes in the sight before him. gojo, kneeling between your legs, wearing a ridiculously pleased grin. just like the cat who got the cream. you let out a squeak, hastily tugging your skirt over you, but it's hard to look innocent when gojo is still unabashedly pawing at your thighs.

geto pales, his jaw going slack, and he looks like he's about to collapse, "god help me. satoru, i'll kill you tomorrow," and then he shoots you both a nasty look, "and you're both paying for new sheets."

"so you and gojo are...dating now?" choso pries, with a tone that is entirely too casual but his eyes are keen. your twin is nursing a cup of coffee while he absolutely demolishes a plate of fried eggs. he had been quiet so far, but it's clear that curiosity gave out and now he's peering at you like a big owl.

you try, or do your very best not to smile too hard. to not look giddy and ridiculously pleased, "yeah, i guess we are," you admit, keeping your voice as level as possible.

choso blinks once, before setting his fork down and shaking his head, "i knew it. it was only a matter of time," he mutters, and without further ado, he resumes shovelling eggs into his mouth, utterly unfazed.

before you can respond, sukuna appears in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, his tattooed arms crossed and his expression dripping with disdainful amusement, "oh, i was there," he drawls, sharp fangs flashing in a wicked grin, "that loser pulled the dumbest, most dramatic stunt of all time. got on his knees and everything."

choso freezes mid-chew, raising a thick brow as he glances at the older man with mild interest, "wish i'd seen that," he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

to your utter astonishment, sukuna nods gravely, his face taking on an uncharacteristically serious look, "yeah. i've got a video if you wanna watch."

your jaw drops as you glance between them, "this is officially the first time that i've ever seen you two agree on anything," setting your mug down with a thud, "if i had known that dating gojo would bring about world peace, i would have done it ages ago and —"

yuuji bounds into the kitchen like an overeager puppy, his blush-pink hair still a mess from interrupted sleep. but he's clapping his hands together like he's just won the lottery, "finally! look at that! everyone's getting along for once."

sukuna doesn't even bother to hide his irritation, shooting yuuji a withering glare. but it's hard to take him seriously when his own pink hair rivals yuuji's in sheer disarray, "don't push it," sukuna warns darkly, grabbing a glass of orange juice and downing it in one morose gulp. he slams the empty, cold glass on the counter before stalking off towards the door, "i'm seriously gonna move out at this rate."

"promise?" choso quips, without missing a bit, "wish you'd stop getting our hopes up and actually do it."

yuuji is undeterred, and he elbows you with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, "you have to invite gojo over all the time now. i like him a lot. he's like super cool."

"of course," you grin, sliding a plate towards him as he eagerly digs in.

and your younger brother beams like the sun itself. right as a mocking, high-pitched voice floats from the other room, "and then we're all gonna be lovesick, and skip around town while holding hands!" right before falling back into sukuna's usual gruff tone that echoes through the kitchen, "god, you're all so insufferable."

your phone buzzes on the table, and you glance down. gojo's contact photo lights up the screen. it's a snapshot from a year or two ago, taken the summer that you both graduated high school. he's standing at the edge of the beach, with the sun dipping low enough behind to catch his white hair. turning it into a halo of glowing light. it's a photo that you never had the heart to change.

satoru 🪐

good morning princess!! my one and only!!!! my sugar plum (too much? i can tone it down but you just can't put a lid on love) hope you dreamed of me 🙂‍↔️ so what are you doing today because i've got abt eight possible things we can cover today starting with [read more.]

"ugh, gross."

sukuna's disdainful drawl cuts through behind you, as an icy finger prods at your phone, trying to scroll up and snoop through your messages. you freeze and slam your phone down on the table. whirling around to come face to face with the world's most judgemental gargoyle sneers at you, "i think i'm gonna throw up."

"get a life, holy fuck."