#but i hope it works out for you! if you think you'll be happier in humanities i'd say go for it

[panpanghost]

I can't believe it but part 3 of this :

_"Hey guys!" Monkey king jumped off his cloud and into the sand where the gang was waiting at the shore,

_"Monkey king! Are you okay?! Where's Macaque?!" MK asked worriedly,

_"Hey hey, easy budy. I'm as gorgeous as ever and Macaque is asleep." Wukong put his hands on MK's shoulders and he could feel MK relaxing after saying that,

_"Oh, that's great. Wait- asleep? Why is he asleep?" MK went back to his worry,

_"He was trying to find new info about the crown as well and stayed up for a couple of nights so I thought I'd just let him sleep."

_"he must be working hard... did he find anything?"

_"Unfortunately no."

_"Fiddle sticks... But don't worry! We found something! But thankfully it's wrong."

_"Why would you say that?"

_"Because if what we found is true, Macaque would've been dead by now." Mr. Tang added,

_"What?" it was almost a whisper, Wukong now understands why MK was so worried, "Ahem. Why? What did you find?" he asked hoping it's nothing serious,

_"Well, the scroll said it's 'the corrupted king's crown'. It's supposed to take over the person wearing it. Once under its control, they start to destroy everything around them until it absorbs all their energy... and soul..."

_"Well no need to worry. Macaque has healed nicely and hasn't used his powers to destroy anything, so maybe it's another crown or the information is badly translated." Wukong said smiling,

_"Really?! Oh that great!" MK felt relieved, so did everyone else, their faces finally lit up.

_"Show me the scroll and I'll look into it, maybe ask a few old friends."

_"of course, here." Mr. Tang gets the scroll out of his bag and gives it to him.

_"Now that that's out of the way, I feel so much more relaxed and super hungry, I'd love to eat some noodles." Mei said giving Pigsy a side eye and everyone else joined,

_"ALRIGHT ALRIGHT!! I GET IT!" Pigzy snaps at her, well... if he's being honest, he's also hungry.

_"Do you and Macaque want to join us?" MK asks the monkey king before they started heading towards the ship to leave.

_"I don't think that's a good idea, kiddo. Staying here is safer for him." Wukong felt his heart squeeze when he saw MK's disappointed face, "Once he's all good, we'll go together and have a feast." he said and winked at MK, and it did make him a bit happier.

Once everyone left, Wukong opened the scroll. Damn it. It is the same crown... Is that why Macaque couldn't use his powers? Is that why he couldn't heal and needed my powers? Is that why he couldn't recover his memories? He did say that he feels pain in his entire body every time he tries to use them...

That's...

GREAT! So as long as Moonpie wears the crown he won't leave. But... the soul sucking part is worrying. He hasn't lost his mind yet so maybe the spell wasn't completed properly when whoever did this put it on him. I need to make sure that part is out of the way-

_"Wukong?" Macaque startled Wukong when he came from behind him,

_"Oh, peach! What are you doing here?"

_"I heard them leave so I came. Did they find anything?"

_"Sorry peach, they only thought they found something but it doesn't fit so we're back to zero."

_"Oh.. That's disappointing."

_"Hey hey, don't be sad, it's just a little set back, you'll be fine, I promise." Wukong hugged Macaque and gave him a little forehead kiss,

_"Yeh, I guess." Macaque said hugging Wukong back, "I just don't know what to do. I'm lost." Why...

_"Well, for starters, how about we take a long hot shower, and then I give you a little massage aaaaand maybe we can watch TV, there's a show I KNOW you're gonna love."

_"*sniff* yeh, that sounds good." Why are you lying?

_"yeh?" Wukong held Macaque's face in his hands, "You have nothing to worry about."

_"I know." Macaque said as Wukong wiped his tears, "I have you."

_"Yeh you do! Now let's go, we'll order some food as well."

_"oh I love that! Can we get some noodles?"

_"I'll get you whatever you want." You just have to stay with me and I'll give you the world.

_"I want a piggyback."

_"pffff, haha! Alright, get up here." he held him on his back and headed back home.

edit: part 4

[timetravellingkitty]

basically the sociology teacher is queer-friendly and half the ppl in my math-compsci class look at me as if im the scum of the sink or something. insane how much that affects me even tho the teachers r good and im good-to-fine at the subjects. i enjoy both the subjects of the stream but i think ill be happier in humanities but then doing that cuts off the slim chance of studying in india. likely cannot change but been toying with the idea👍

wow I hope the people in your math-compsci class die

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Hcs for how each of the boys to react to "I'm pregnant"?

Any of them that you want to write for :)

So excited

English not my first language. Sorry

Van Der Linde Gang's Boys' Reactions To "I'm pregnant" (And Eagle Flies)

Hehehe this was so cute and also I didn't edit this ❤️

Warnings: none

Arthur Morgan

He'd be so fucking happy

Probably in disbelief at first but oh my God he'd be overjoyed

Ask you if you're serious over and over

Once he's convinced he's gonna ask all these questions about your physical and mental wellbeing

Celebrates with you (whatever that entails wink wink)

In his elated haze he's gonna wanna ask all these questions about your future together as parents

Is aware the gang ain't the best place to raise a kid but he'll reassure you that you'll have the whole gangs support

John Marston

Oh god

Let's just say he wouldn't be the most elated parent 😭💀

He's already got Jack and now he needs to take care of another?

If this were a revelation that came earlier in the game he's gonna be very irresponsible but I feel like he wouldn't deny that the kid was his

So at that point he's sort of forced to actually give a damn about him

And believe me he'd try but he wouldn't be the best at it, would need guidance

If this came later in the game like epilogue he'd probably be WAY more happier.

Your lives are finally settled and you can afford to have a kid

He'd be the happiest and more supportive husband and dad

Still wouldn't be sure about all the ropes but he'd try

Dutch Van Der Linde

He'd be SO happy

Like genuinely he'd shower you with gifts and praise and reassurance

I feel like part of it would be a power thing for him because not only can he lead a gang, but now he can lead a family

Also some sort of weird power symbol for him. Idk how, but it is

Wouldn't let you lift a finger

Would probably keep you in his tent to rest 24/7 and only allows a few people (Grimshaw, Hosea) to see you

He's going to hope and pray it's a boy

Charles Smith

HE'D BE IN SO MUCH SHOCK AND FEEL SM HAPPINESS IT'D BE SO CUTE

You sorta have to repeat the news to him a few times for him to fully absorb it

Literally a dream of his to start a family one day so now that he has it he's ecstatic

Probably incentive to leave the gang though, doesn't want his child growing up in that environment

Would prefer if you sit back and rest but won't hold you back if you don't want to

Javier Escuella

This is cause to celebrate

Takes you into town on a date

Offers you massages, foot rubs, hand massages

Sings to you to calm you

Holds your hair when you throw up (true love)

Buys you clothes to accomodate to your changing body

Kieran Duffy

THE SWEETEST REACTION

I feel like he'd start crying

Asks to touch your belly and would speak to it

That night he'd fall asleep while holding it

Wakes up the next morning and remembers you're pregnant and his day is already off to an amazing start

Get drunk while celebrating it and he'd boast to everyone about how he's gonna be a dad

Sean Macguire

He'd say some stupid shit I already know it

Probably crack a sex joke

He's getting stupid, fucking drunk. I'm talking black out

He's probably gonna wanna celebrate if you catch my drift HAHAHA

He'd forget to be gentle sometimes out of excitement, like carrying you around and cheering

Refuses to let you do any work

In private I feel like he'd cry

Lenny Summers

He'd probably panic a bit at first

Ask all these questions about how you guys are gonna be parents and if you're even ready

Once the two of you talk through it a little more he'll calm down and his nerves turn to excitement

I'm assuming y'all would be real young so he'd seek for a lot of guidance in the others

Constantly asks you questions about what you want and need

Bill Williamson

He'd be so flustered and nervous

Probably in disbelief for a while and asks if you're serious

I wouldn't blame you for thinking he's upset with the news at first

But he just needs time to process how his life's about to change!

He becomes even more gentle with you, more than he already is

Will argue with Miss Grimshaw about letting you rest/lightening your work load

And let's be real, she would lower your work load but he'd insist it stops altogether

Micah Bell

He'd be in disbelief, but bad disbelief

That or the sleaziest reaction

I'm leaning more towards sleazy reaction

Talks about how he's gonna raise the bravest kid and he's constantly gonna reference to the kid as he because I'm convinced he wants a boy

Brags to the others

Don't get me wrong the gang's happy for you but the way Micah uses it as a point of elevation is IRRITATING

Hosea Matthews

He's the cutest like seriously

He'd be sooo happy

Probably in disbelief that he even managed to get you pregnant

I believe he'd cry, and openly, he's not ashamed! He's happy!

Announces it to the whole gang, means for celebration

Takes you on dates to buy cute little baby items ahhh

Eagle Flies

HE'D FREAK THE FUCK OUT

Pace around the room asking if you're for real, contemplates his entire life, curses himself for cumming inside

You'd have to calm him down and talk him through it

It'd be a super emotional moment for the two of you, eventually he'd realize he's fine with the idea of kids and he's just nervous!

Would ask his dad and a lot of tribe members for advice

Over time he'd get way more excited and bring up the topic more often

[moonsaver]

I’m just imagining the arranged marriage thing but this time it’s Sunday who is head over heels for reader (maybe he was the one who set this up in the first place! This could also tie into reader being higher status but Sunday does something to make them fall and then saves them by entering a relationship with the head of the oak family) but reader doesn’t like him or is into someone else, the angst….i feel like Sunday would do everything to make them love him but it just won’t work so in the end he just begs them to at least pretend they love him and that’ll be enough. A happier prompt on this could be he does actually succeed in getting some of their genuine love in the end. Anyway just thought of this after seeing a clip of Aqua and Akane from oshi no ko. Don’t judge me.

Okay, tons of possibilities here so lets go turn by turn because i really like this idea and unfortunately let it marinate for way too long

And it might have become unintentionally yandere, so i might redo it lol + there's not much fluff.

1 . Sunday arranging the marriage himself because he really likes reader – normal au

Sunday would definitely do this if he was pushed to his wits’ end. If his feelings for you not only disintegrate, but instead worsen and delve deeper, and on top of that, if he senses you yourself are drifting away from him. The added pressure of not reaching you in time after a conclusion to his own feelings is scary to him. In his desperation, he might as well pull some or the other reason out of his ass to marry you, even going as far as to even bribe your parents/guardians or anyone who has the power to object on your behalf.

Negotiations, contract handling, etc.. are all planned by him, so if you have a problem or you want to object, you can only do it by directly confronting Sunday himself. The added intimidation of his knowing, mysterious smile when he stands before you, almost irking you to continue in silence when you hesitate at wanting to object is something he almost relishes. Any problem you might have, has to be directly communicated to Sunday.

In the actual marriage? He's much easier on you. The hard part of coercing you into the marriage was over. He allows you more freedom in the marriage than he does outside of it.

He allows you separate rooms, reigns in any affections for you until you're comfortable, and even openly lets you know you two won't have to immediately consummate your marriage. He'll generally make sure you're comfortable in your marriage.

Of course, deviations and exceptions occur if you happen to still have lingering feelings for.. some nobody. He's bitter about it, so so bitter you can feel the tension in the air when his smile slightly falters at even the mention of their name. Sunday might try to hasten the process of you getting “comfortable” and perhaps even start forcing a few affections on you, such as kissing or holding your hand, brushing your hair in the morning and before bed, lingering his eyes on your lips. He might even not so subtly try to pressurise you, by telling you things like “at this rate, many might not even think we are married, my dear”. 

He plays slightly dirty, but there's so many moments of clarity that he hesitates still. He doesn't want to force you to love him - he wants it to happen on it's own. He's often so loving to you from afar in hopes you'll notice and maybe even return them, but when you look away in anxiousness or discomfort, Sunday's smile falters into a resigned, solemn expression. It hurts, deeply.

2. Sunday arranges the marriage with a reader of higher rank

Its similar, but you'll find the process is hastier. Perhaps it even causes a few slip ups in the middle.

Sunday would be practically tearing at his own hair before he finds the key to catalyze the negotiations of your marriage with him. If it's something that happens to knock you down or push you into unfavourable circumstances, he hesitates. But if you happen to like someone else? All that hesitation vaporises in an instant. He's practically over the moon when you have no one to turn to, his hand is almost shaking from excitement when he reaches it out to you. 

He's much more.. smothering if it makes sense, but he's not outright/direct about it. He always wants to be wherever you are, sometimes stands too close for comfort beside you, and even puts you in circumstances where you won't necessarily be able to push back in the case you damage your already fragile image or so. He's so elated, it's almost creepy. If you don't seem to be driving the relationship, or remain stagnant, his suspicions will grow immensely regarding your feelings for anyone else. Whenever you aren't present, he probably rifles through your belongings, scours for any possibility of traces of that nobody in your life.

He insists on spending the night with you – a familiar knock at the exact same time almost every night on your room's door. He stays with you, talking until it's late at night and you're too tired to shoo him away. But he'd never think himself superior than you, rather he almost takes advantage of it. He's constantly telling you how much incharge of the relationship you are. He disguises choices he wants to make on your behalf as something you can decide on. “Would you like a separate room for us both, or would you like us to have connected doorways?” , “shall I spend the morning with you, or the night?” , or so on. Not doing anything with him makes him sour, but he hides it with a smile. Sooner or later your plans are sabotaged, and in the end he joins you in “fixing” them anyway, and well.. since he's already been here for so long, it won't hurt to have him stick by until the end of it, right?

In some extreme cases, maybe one where the reader is desperately trying to leave the marriage or push back against anything that solidifies it, Sunday might even insist that you two consummate as fast as possible, regarding it as something necessary or even vital. He's so persistent about what he wants from you, like a dog begging and whimpering, that you're practically coerced into giving it to him.

He often poses himself on his knees to you, and stares so tenderly at you, you might crack. It hurts to not give him what he wants. There's times where begging words almost slip out of his mouth when he has to pull you closer. He wants your love so desperately it hurts.

[sleepyangelkami]

Hello, I just wanted to say that I loved what you wrote about Dick Grayson, I hope you continue to write more about him, I love him so much.

CALLER ID d.grayson

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 3K

DICK GRAYSON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - when dick was on patrol, he got an unexpected message from you. however, no matter how hard you try to brush him off, your boyfriend always seems to know when there's a problem and what to do about it.

 ☆ WARNINGS - mentions of violence, jason's attitude problem, crying, reader has insomnia, petnames, use of 'good girl' (non-sexual), intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

patrol was so slow tonight.

it was times like these where dick dazed off at something he couldn't quite make out, a far away building or even something in the sky. his thoughts drifted to you, his sweet girlfriend that had barely whined when he removed her arms from around him, stating that he just had to get to patrol. however, as soon as he was heading out the door, suited up, you'd rolled over and fell back to sleep.

dick loved everything about you, from your sweet personality down to the way you look in his shirts. and boy, did it take him a lot to be able to leave you alone when you looked so pretty in one of his white shirts.

he hadn't even realised that he'd been swinging his escrima sticks around, literally yawning while waiting for someone or something to come out. he was only itching for a fight. "chill out." came from the snappy jason who was leaning against the wall, a literal book in his hands. "you're gonna take someone's fuckin' eye out with that thing."

"are you reading, little wing?" a smirk quirked on his face even from behind the mask. he couldn't help but find it amusing that while waiting for someone to come along to bash their head into the concrete ground, jason had stopped for a little reading time.

but jason seemed in no mood for any games. "fuck off." it was apparent that he didn't want to be here from the start, grumpy as ever and losing enough sleep as it was but sheesh. dick had to roll his eyes, wondering if his brother should just get a lobotomy or something. he wondered if jason would be happier, less snippy. he wondered if jason would stare at him like a dead corpse walking, though he had to question was that better than the stinking attitude that he used now.

the sound of a ding! from his phone caused him to pull it out.

little love do you know what time you'll be home? read, just now.

dick glanced to the time on his phone, it read three thirty. one problem, you had work at six.

dickie!! i'm not sure darling everything okay? read, just now.

with nervousness seeping into his veins, he watched as your text message bubbles appeared, disappeared, appeared again, disappeared again and finally appeared again.

little love im okay be safe, love you read, just now.

but for dick, that simply wasn't enough.

he glanced to jason who didn't so much as look up from the cream coloured pages.

then, dick glanced out to the open streets of gotham, filled with... nothingness. it was one of those nights where nothing happened and they sat positioned on the rooftop of the tallest building in all of gotham. i mean, nothing had happened all night so surely, jason would be fine on his own, right?

before thinking, dick's fingers were pressing against the screen, typing up your contact and then pressing the phone to his ear. this caught jason's attention however dick merely walked further away so that he wouldn't be able to hear their conversation. although, he didn't seem too interested, rolling his eyes, presumedly of the fact that he was merely jealous that grayson had love and he was stuck reading a romance book, then looking back down at the pages and flicking one over.

it wasn't until the fourth ring that he heard the echo from your side. "hey, baby." he muttered tiredly, just knowing you were there was a kind of relief.

"hi." he heard your voice through the phone but you didn't seem as chirpy as normal. if anything, there was a slight sniffle to your tone, as though you'd been crying.

it didn't take a vigilante to figure that much out. he assumed that was why you'd taken so long to answer, trying to stop yourself from sounding all sniffly. but even if you had, dick still knew you better than anyone else in gotham. "it's late." he spoke, kicking a pebble against the ground. "why're you up?"

then he heard it, those dreadful two words that had you tearing up at the mere thought of it. "can't sleep." and dick knew that it wasn't just the type of 'can't sleep' due to the fact that you were on your phone or too engrossed in a book or tv show. it was the type that screamed at him right in the face.

your insomnia.

dick had found out about your insomnia before you were even officially together. he remembered seeing you all down so much, eyes half lidded as you stared at the glass of water in front of you, looking at it as though it were a science experiment. at first, when you walked in looking like that he assumed it was because you were upset about something. and dick being the respectful gentleman that he was, he chose not to ask about it as he didn't see it fit to be his place. however, when you came rubbing your temple, placing your head on the table he soon realised it was much more than that.

the insomnia you suffered with was enough to bring you to tears, as it was now.

"oh, baby." his tone turned soft, ready to comfort. "have you tried the weighted blanket, hm?" that always seemed to help when he wasn't there to wrap you up.

unfortunately, you only made a displeased sound. "mmh, too warm." where dick was standing, the heavy breeze on his shoulders, he wished it was he that was too warm rather than the cold that enveloped him now.

either way, he still pitied you, cooing softly. "i'll be right there." he spoke through the phone but before you could protest, he was speaking again. "I love you."

he couldn't see you, but he could imagine the soft look coming over your features. "I love you too but―"

"see you soon, m'love."

and you were cut off.

he turned to jason who was still with his back against the wall, stupid book in his hands. "the missus alright?" he spoke boredly, still flicking the page as though he had no actual interest in dick's love life.

but dick knew better than that. as disinterested as he may have liked to look, dick knew he secretly liked you, and that was a fact. jason never liked the girls dick dated, never liked much to do with dick but you, he knew you were good for him. "yes but i have a favour." and by the time he was looking up from the book, dick was already giving him them big begging eyes.

he rolled his eyes, turning over the corner of the page. many believe that turning the corners is destroying them, jason would have to beg to differ, it was loving them. "what is it?"

"patrol is slow tonight."

"it is."

"do me this one favour, little wing, please?"

"say it."

"you really like destroying my pride, don't you?"

"It's a little entertaining, yes."

and so that was how the man had rid himself of the nightly patrol. dick didn't like asking for favours nor did he do it often. perhaps that was why jason had let him off so easily this time. or perhaps it was because he knew that dick would soon owe him the same favour in response. 

whatever the case, dick still found himself jogging down the street, your guys’ shared home on wide display. he couldn’t help but smile at the mere sight of it. thinking about it just made his heart swell, you and him, in your very own home. dick didn’t particularly believe in fairytales but if he did, this was sure to be one of them.

he pushed open the front door, taking in the silence that hung heavy in the house but the various lights that you’d left on, a god awful habit. usually, he’d great you with that funny, playful “honey, i’m home!” holding his jacket and bag out, waiting for you to come running into his arms, wrapping your legs around him and holding onto him as though you would never let him go on patrol again.

sometimes, he wished he could give you that.

it was no surprise that you were innocent to the world. you hadn’t seen nor faced the dangers he had, you hadn’t looked death in the eye like him. and for that, he was glad. your soul was too pretty to get scarred. 

instead of the usual playfulness, he merely mulled his bag over towards the living room door, deciding to leave it there until morning. It was filled with his nightwing costume along with his weapons and so on. but dick didn’t believe in carrying that around you. more often than not, he’d leave it somewhere along the door so that he could hide it in the back of his wardrobe when you were busy.

of course, you knew he was nightwing but that didn’t mean he wanted to toss around that danger around you.

he shuffled the shoes off of his feet, now clad in a grey hoodie along with a black sweatpants. the person he was when he wasn’t dressing as a bird.

he was careful not to make too much noise along the stairs to scare you but enough that you could hear he was home, so you were prepared to face him. “baby?” he called out after making the stairs creak, just so you didn’t fear it was someone else out there and not your beloved boyfriend.

instead of a response, he heard a sniffle coming from the bedroom. 

peeling the door open, he stuck his head inside, fluffy black hair peeking in to see you sat atop the bed, grey sheets surrounding you as you sniffled, pathetically. but it didn’t make dick judgemental, when had dick ever been judgemental towards you? instead, his features turned soft.

“hey, hey.” barely in the door and he was already soothing you, though would he really have it any other way? “wh’s the matter?” though he already knew the matter, however that didn’t stop him from sitting himself on the bed, allowing you to wrap your legs around him, sitting atop his lap.

the temperature of the house and the hot skin of your legs was enough to tell him why you’d been so warm.

instead of responding, you sniffled and cried like the crybaby you were. but that was okay, dick didn’t mind having you as his personal crybaby as long as it was he who was wiping away your tears. 

his nose nudged your cheek, attempting to see your face but you only shoved it further into the crook of his neck, not truthfully wanting to face him though how badly you ached for his comfort. “c’mon, lemme see my pretty girl, hm? wanna see your pretty face.” 

the way his hands felt against your waist and your thighs, soothing the plush skin as if trying to coax you to look at him. and it worked, the tenderness that he used and the way everything seemed so… possible. you finally managed to pull your tear-stained face from the crook of his neck, looking at him with that pretty pout of yours.

and didn’t his heart just melt?

even when you were full of tears with a large pout implanted on your mouth, you were still the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. his thumbs were already making a move to soothe your under eyes, wiping away your pretty tears, like diamonds down your cheeks. “there she is, atta girl.” the way he praised you was enough to have your cheeks turning pink, even in your state. 

dick always knew how to fix every problem. 

he was like bob the builder only he was repairing your damaged feelings and little broken heart.

but as much as dick loved taking care of you, his heart did break a little at your tears. your cheeks were passed stained, tears collecting in your under eyes and trickling down your cheeks, softly yet the sniffles still emitted from you. you were his girl, he’d do just about anything to please you and truthfully, seeing you hurt… hurt.

“tell me what i can do.” he whispered against the warm air of the room. he wanted to fix this, he wanted to make sure you slept well but most importantly, he wanted to make sure you didn’t have to cry like this again. “did you take the melatonin?” you nodded your head. “will i make you some tea? run you a bath?” 

you’d been to hundreds of sleep specialists, doctors, so on.

everyone always gave you in around the same ideas. they’d tell you to work out before you went to bed but that was the thing they didn’t understand, it wasn’t because you weren’t physically tired that you couldn’t sleep, you were exhausted. yet it was your mind that couldn’t seem to rest. they’d tell you drink some camomile tea and you’d be on the mend, that was seven years ago.

you sniffled, looking at the one thing that had ever made it easy for you to sleep.

him. 

“jus’ want you.” you mumbled out, thinking you sounded rather selfish. I mean, would anyone disagree? it was unlikely. you’d pulled your boyfriend out of patrol in the middle of the night just so he could help you sleep. you felt downright awful.

but dick? no, his heart was only melting right in front of you, as though you’d just told him that you were adopting a bunny and naming it after him (that’d given you an idea for later). “I’m right here, honey.” he pulled you back towards him again, his hands rubbing up and down your back ever so gently, enough to have you turning to putty at the feeling of his finger tips. 

you sniffled, eventually pulling away and using your arm to wipe your face. “what time is it?” you questioned, now realising that you hadn’t so much as glanced towards a clock in… you weren’t sure how long, you kind of needed a clock to tell those kinds of things. 

his fingers were gently tracing across the softness of your cheek, brushing the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, like they did in those romantic movies. “‘s almost four, m’love.” 

you practically whined at that. “i have work soon.” in approximately two hours. you contemplated not sleeping at all. but you knew that whenever you did that, you surely regretted it sooner rather than later and you’d be taking naps anywhere, through paperwork and in one of those little uncomfortable office chairs.

dick wouldn’t have it. “you’re not going.” he stated briskly to which your brows furrowed. “angel, i’m not leaving you leave the house like this, alright? we both know i make more than enough to support us both until our old age and i know you want to work, that’s okay, but i’m not going to have you breaking your back for minimum wage, got it?” 

slowly, you nodded your head with your teeth wrapping over your bottom lip. “got it.” you mumbled, all flustered.

dick couldn’t help but grin. “good girl.” he then tapped the inside of your thigh. “come on, into bed.” 

and how could you refuse when he spoke to you in that tone that told you whatever he said, goes. whether he was telling you to get outside right now and fly a kite or suggesting bungee jumping in the morning, what did it matter? 

you nodded your head before climbing into the dark grey sheets. you and dick took turns picking the sheets. on his weeks, he’d choose those grey, dark coloured sheets, sometimes black, rarely blues. you always went with pale pink ones or those pretty white ones with little flowers, hearts or so on engraved in it.

you were sure that any pattern on white made your heart just swell.

dick climbed into the bed after you, switching off the lamp light on his way and laying across the comfortable mattress. he helped you move so that your head was positioned on his chest, listening to his lulling breaths and heartbeats, slowly rising and falling as your head moved along with it.

“I dragged you out of patrol.” you mumbled into the dark only moments after the light had been switched off.

dick brushed you off, though he knew that the worry could eat you from the inside and out, like a worm with an apple, rotting it the entire way through, never knowing when to stop. he never blamed you, of course, but sometimes he did curse that beautiful, intricate mind of yours, hoping one day it would decide to treat you a little better. “it was a slow night.” 

you could invision jason all alone, though when you tried to imagine it all you could think of was him either flirting or doing some kind of a ‘dirty talk’ with the enemy, unintentionally of course. everything he said had sort of a flirty tone to it, even with a blood covered face and uttering a death threat, perhaps it was because he’d still somehow manage to slip a petname in. “i’m sor―”

but before you could get the sentence out, his arms were wrapping around your own. “shh, shh.” mumbling as he shook you gently, as though you were a baby. “don’t apologise, princess.” 

you found yourself sighing, snuggling yourself into him as your eyes began to droop, feeling awful heavy, with a yawn, your mouth parted. “you know, i’ve been to so many doctors…” your voice extra low as he could tell the tiredness was taking over your feeble body. “‘n they give me the… worst ideas ever. one of them even told me i should get a treadmill and put it in my room.” he huffed out an airy chuckle. “think i finally found the medicine.” 

his brows furrowed. if you’d had a medicine, how come you weren’t taking it? how come you still lay awake at night when he wasn’t there? “what’s that?” 

poor, oblivious, stupid dick. 

“you.” 

main masterlist/dick's masterlist

[findingoblivion]

@photomatt

Since you turned your messages off, replies off, and asks. I guess you're getting pretty tired of feeling the same way a lot of trans women on this site do huh? Starting to feel like Avery did?

You say that you don't think Tumblr and yourself are transphobic. You say that you personally donate to LGBT orgs and that you believe in all of our rights.

If you really believe that, then why are you silencing the trans women on this website? Why was nebula, a minor, banned, when she never harassed someone or posted anything sexual at all?

Why was Avery's most recent account banned? An account that existed for all of a few days and had said nothing about you or posted anything harassing or sexual. Why did you terminate her account without even telling her why?

Why is it that a large contingent of TERFS and radfems can be IN YOUR REPLIES, ASKS, and MENTIONS, telling you proudly how they mass reported this user and saying "this is what you get for messing with radblr!" and still exist? If Avery harassed and sent death threats to you and others, why are there still so many blogs that openly do this and aren't banned?

If you support LGBT rights and donate to organizations so much, why can I go on the #radblr tag but not #tgirl? Why is it that Predstogen no longer has a tag? Why is it that for years there were tags that were filtered just like #tgirl is that had to do with trans people, and yet that's never been a problem for Terfs, or often even Nazis.

Why is it that for years trans peoples content has been flagged as NSFW when it isn't, you've lost a lawsuit about this, and yet it's still happening?

I don't even know if you're aware of all of this. Maybe you aren't. Maybe you just put your head in the sand and accept whatever your T&S team says to you.

But there are still many issues that Tumblr has. And your moderators are silencing more and more people every day. For talking out. For criticizing you.

And yet there are hundreds and thousands of posts in the radblr tag.

I hope you enjoy your sabbatical. Meanwhile all of the trans people on this website will be exposed even more to your mods. More of them will be deleted and silenced. More of them will leave this site. I hope, sincerely, that when you come back you take a long hard look at what the people in power on your platform do. I hope that you put effort into fixing this situation. It doesn't seem like you have any interest in doing that. I mean, you yourself have silenced people, and even writing this post means there's a chance I'm going to be next, right? I've seen so many posts about this topic get deleted.

I can tell you that if you want to monetize tumblr and keep the site afloat and invest in it, that you're going to not want to alienate a large portion of your userbase. It's not that hard to do. And you can come back from it even now. Apologize, promise to do better, and follow up. Change the culture at Tumblr and work towards making it a better place.

Or don't.

Have a nice day. I'm sure you'll be a lot happier than a lot of the trans people on this site!

[deathbxnny]

hello hello! platonic blade, aventurine and dr ratio with a severely chronically ill teen!reader? like they are prone to passing out and vomiting, and are often bedridden

Sorry for taking so long for this, anon, and thank you for the request!! I hope you'll like this!!<33

Content: Mentions of an unnamed chronical illness, non-descriptive vomiting, blood, angst, teen reader, platonic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not fully proofread))

》DR. VERITAS RATIO

Ratio tries his best to be strong and stern in the face of the inevitable and progressing sickness that was destroying your young body unfairly. It drove him near insane that he couldn't find a long-term cure for it, despite his high intelligence. And so, he simply focused on your comfort instead.

He tries to make your life as easy and accessible as possible. Ratio knows how important it is for you to still be able to do some kid things whilst you still can and therefore attempts to give you those possibilities whenever he can. He's glad that he can use his intelligence to create solutions for anything you want to do but may not be able to on your own.

Despite not looking like it, he doesn't mind staying up with you whenever your sickness is truly killing you on bad days. He has a hard time looking at you when you're suffering, but does his best to be reassuring and calming, even when he finds that difficult. He's used to simply giving solutions and facts to problems. But even so, he'll be right there for you when you need him, no matter how bad things get.

》AVENTURINE

Your suffering kills him on the inside. It really does. He can't bear knowing that you were suffering so immensely without him being able to do anything about it. And despite how much it destroyed him emotionally, he never let his smile slip around you. He knew how important it was that you knew you could rely on him fully without being afraid or ashamed.

Aventurine is glad that he has all the money needed to take care of you perfectly on his own. He spoils you greatly. No matter what it is you want or need, he'll give it to you with no further questions as long as it makes you smile. He sees himself in you in a way and wants to make sure that you have a much happier childhood than he ever did, despite your unfortunate circumstances.

He also practically hires every doctor in the universe to see if there is a way to find a cure anyway. He won't give up on you and could easily bet his life on the fact that he WILL find one. It doesn't matter how much it takes or how long and hard he'll have to work for it. You will lead a healthy and happy life even if he suffers for it.

》BLADE

Despite what people may think, he understands and respects your chronical illness due to Firefly. And whilst your sickness isn't necessarily the same, the pain and suffering you both go through was alike. This made it easier for him to handle it, especially as he didn't let the discomfort he felt during your harder days ever show on him. He doesn't mind if you have to depend on him fully for most things, even if he'll never say it outloud. His actions say enough.

With that said, he does his best to keep you out of the Stellaron Hunters business whenever you can barely stand. The job is challenging as it is for a kid your age, and he therefore will not so rudely tell you to stay in bed and rest. Kafka teases him for caring so much for you, which he denies and simply states that you were needed for the team... but he, too, knew it was a lie. It was clear when he brought you small trinkets or food that he thought you may like. It may not be much, but it's enough for you to smile even on bad days.

His condition is also seemingly incurable, so perhaps he relates to you in some ways, which makes you two bond greatly over it. And whilst there may be no cure for him except for death, he'll attempt to find you one so you can continue living on for him. He considers that fair.

[writingstoraes]

Hi lovely i absolutely adore your work! Could i please request a charles x actress!reader fic where charles hard launches their relationship after someone flirts with reader? (i hope this makes sense 😭😭) thank you!!🩷🩷

all mine 🪩

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!actress!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: tysm for requesting this, anon! i hope you like this hehe fc is hailee steinfeld! and yes ur request makes sense <3 lmk what u guys think!

about: during your first paddock appearance, charles gets wind of someone else being a little too friendly with you.

yourusername

liked by zendaya, florence_pugh, brielarson, and 2,998,221 others

yourusername Finally watching my favorite sport live! Props to the F1 paddock club for the banging champagne 🥂

f1thusiast crazy publicity for the team she's going to be supporting

forzacharles didn't she say shes a merc and ferrari fan? ynoscars Yeah but she's apparently visiting different teams and not just those two

ynlover ATE EVERYONE UP! HAVE FUN QUEEN

spiderverses the main attraction everyone's talking about her

ferrariyn Y/N twt in flames there's too many content so much people are trying to interview her 😭

mercedesamgf1 Thank you for the visit, Y/N! We loved showing you around 🤍

scuderiaferrari Looking forward to your garage tour here at Ferrari ❤️

leclercsyn give me a y/n and charles interaction and then ill forgive you guys for all your slip ups

yourusername added to her instagram story!

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, ynfanbase, and 1,452,009 others

charles_leclerc My love's first grand prix and paddock appearance today and I couldn't be happier. To my biggest fan, best believe I'd never miss a chance to brag about you — and I'm over the moon that I get to start today.

Almost two years together and I'd honestly say that seeing you in the paddock has been something I've been looking forward to ever since. Je t'aime, à l'écran et dans la vraie vie, que tu sois à côté de moi ou loin. I love you, on-screen and in real life, whether you're beside me or far away.

carlossainz55 I knew you'd skip the soft launch and do it your way 🤣

pierregasly I will send you that clip every day lol

mercrbr THIS IS SO FUNNY

yourusername What a shame you weren't at the garage when I toured it 😣

charles_leclerc We'll visit it again later :)

scuderiaferrari Love is in the air indeed! ❤️

landonorris Bro don't be mad but she visited us earlier... afraid you'll quote me on Twitter too 🤣

forzasainzz they will never live this down lmao

yourusername

liked by arthurleclerc, scuderiaferrari, zendaya, and 3,001,221 others

yourusername P1 today! Was on the edge of my seat the whole time, but my faith on you never wavered. Truly the happiest when I watch you in your element 🏎️ Couldn't resist not taking the first picture when you showed up on screen.

Love you to bits, my world champ :) Cat's outta the bag now I guess, no more hiding how crazy I am for this man in red (lol)

zendaya Finally!

leclercsyn this is like a dream come true for me

charlieferrari QUEEN SUPPORTING THE KING THATS RIGHT

landonorris Charles just can't stop smiling

charles_leclerc ... Get out

taystan power couple! we love to see it ❤️

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: lmk if anyone wants to be a part of my taglist! as usual this took surprisingly long for me to make lolol requests for charles are open <3 lmk what u guys think!

[s4lv4tions]

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

1.

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands. 

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope. 

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

2.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business! 

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with. 

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone? 

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking. 

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest. 

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying. 

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard. 

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

3.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it. 

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning. 

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.) 

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke. 

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt. 

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

4.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly. 

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

5. 

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off. 

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need? 

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun. 

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

6.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate. 

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead. 

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up. 

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them. 

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

7.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you. 

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick. 

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living. 

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice. 

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

8.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all. 

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later. 

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it. 

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased. 

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness. 

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths? 

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns. 

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

9.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay. 

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will. 

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body. 

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised. 

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him. 

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw. 

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of. 

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish. 

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die. 

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact? 

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves. 

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin. 

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata. 

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight. 

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry. 

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities. 

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless. 

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce. 

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release. 

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes. 

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever. 

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness. 

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more. 

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful. 

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far. 

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again. 

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you. 

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others. 

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips— 

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk. 

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

[yanderehsr]

Requesting Knight of Favonius Reader telling Yandere Jean, Eula, and Amber about how they want to quit someday and explore the world.

Sure, Hope you'll enjoy😄

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapping

Jean: She becomes heartbroken, so you wanna leave the knights of favonius, you wanna leave her, she won't stop you, and she certainly wouldn't kidnap you either, she just becomes really depressed on top of her overworking herself.

In her heartbreak Jean makes up delusions to deal with this, maybe someone is forcing this decision on you, maybe you needed a knight in shining armor to save you… maybe she can be that knight, she still won't kidnap you but some people around you seem to go missing and Jean has been looking happier recently, weird right?

“Yes, I am looking into the disappearances, you have nothing to worry about… until this situation is figured out I will need you to stay in Mondstadt, thank you for your cooperation”

Eula: Nope nope, never, not happening, there is no way she would ever allow you to travel elsewhere, not when there is so much danger out there and especially not away from her, the only thing she thinks is a good thing is that you are going to quit being a knight, she never wanted you to be one in the first place.

Eula is patient, she waits for you to quit and when you go outside of Mondstadt she is already waiting for you, to bring you to her home, she knows it was your dream to explore but she can't let you, she rarely allows people a place in her heart and she would be a fool to allow you to get away.

“Don't look at me like that, you brought this unto yourself when you wanted to leave”

Amber: Oh you wanna leave, no problem she'll go with you, she'll take a few weeks vacation, she doesn't mind it if you quit working as a knight, she'll provide for you herself, in her mind she sees your relationship as dating even if you two aren't.

But the second Amber figures out that you wanna leave for longer than her vacation is, she drags you back to Mondstadt, you and her are meant for eachother, you are supposed to never leave each other, so Amber does whatever she has to do to bring you back.

“You aren't trying to leave me are you… Y-you totally are, I won't allow it you are coming back now whether you want it or not”

[mythicmanuscripts]

Hello, Sea, how are you? I hope your migraine is gone and you're fully recovered from it 💖

If you don't mind me being super self indulgent, I really sad at the moment, so I'll ask how hotd boys would try to cheer wife if she was down.

Thank you for sharing your qork with us, it always make me happy to read

I'm doing much better now thanks! Unfortunately I'm just someone who gets migraines occasionally and there's not much I can do about them, but I'm feeling much better.

Anyway, I love this question! I'm gonna write a little bit about our three main lads. This whole answer was supposed to be SFW but then I reached aegon and well... he's Aegon. So needless to say, I've had to put a cut in

JACAERYS:

So the first thing to note about Jace is how good his memory is? He always remembers all the things you tell him. He takes careful note of the things you like and the things you don't, and also he learns how you act when you're upset and what can upset you.

So he will notice almost immediately when you're feeling down and he will always try to help. Jace just wants you to be happy and healthy and so he will literally drop whatever it is that he's doing to try and help you. And if someone else needs him to be doing something else, he will distracted the entire time because he can't stop thinking about you and about what he can do to try and help you.

His go to method is to bring you your favourite flowers or wine or treats or whatever. If there's anything you have mentioned you really like in the past few weeks then he'll make sure to get that as well. He also just won't leave your side? Sure you can be in a bad mood and sulk all day if you want, but you certainly can't do that alone he won't let you.

AEMOND:

So I actually think realising you're feeling down would be genuinely distressing for Aemond? Especially if it's something he has absolutely no control of. He has no idea what to do, no idea how to make this better. His entire being is centred around making you happy and pleasing you and now you're upset and he feels like he failed. Even if whatever is upsetting you has absolutely nothing to do with him and can't be changed, he'll still feel like a failure.

He usually ends up asking you what you need. He would do whatever you want to make this better. No request would be too big. He would make anything work to make you happier. And you do have to actually give him something to do because if you don't he will be paralysed and not know what to do.

Needless to say, if he thinks there's even the smallest chance of someone having caused your distress then that person's days are numbered.

AEGON:

The moment Aegon realises you arent as happy as you usually are, he immediately asks you who needs to die. You always just roll your eyes and make him promise he won't set the kings guard on anyone, but he still might do it anyway.

When you inform him that no, he can't just murder every person to mildly inconvenience you, he sighs and then proceeds to promptly ask you if he can go down on you. Aegon's horny little gremlin mind literally goes, "Oh I can't kill someone? Fine, can I eat you out?"

Aegon will try his best to help in his own chaotic little way. Of course he will ask you what's wrong and listen to you, but to be honest he's one of the worst people to vent to. You'll say someone is making your life difficult and aegon is just like 'oh I'll have them killed' like no, no aegon don't do that.

Oh and also, he will cancel his appearances that day without a second thought if you're distressed. He could not care less about all the lords and ladies who travelled far and wide to see him, his pretty wife is upset so obviously the entire kingdom must come to a standstill until you feel better.

[angelicyoongie]

lovesick • yandere profiles

➝  a/n: thank you so much to anon for this commission!! ❤️ this is my first time writing a yandere profile, so it was a fun challenge and nice little side-project to work on. i hope this will give you all a little more insight into the lovesick boys! ➝  word count: 2.6k ➝ content warning: yandere behavior, stalker behavior, mentions of kidnapping, self-harm, murder, etc.

🥀 NAMJOON ➝ yandere type: overprotective, mildly possessive

Namjoon is overprotective to a fault. But how can he not be, when the illness that ripped his family apart left his mother nothing but a memory and his father a shell of what he once was? Losing a soulmate is pure torture and Namjoon refuses to repeat the same history as his parents. You're too precious, his darling, and there's nothing Namjoon won't do to ensure that you stay healthy and happy. Sure, maybe his methods come off as a little more invasive than caring when he books health check-ups in your name without your knowledge, but he doesn't mind your anger as long as it means that you're all right. 

Namjoon is for the most part calm and collected, but even he has his limits. He can't stand it when his advice or orders aren't followed; when you blatantly disregard your health or put yourself in dangerous situations despite his warnings. Those are the only times he truly ever gets angry – well, aside from when his claim on you is challenged, of course. Namjoon's possessive streak rears its head whenever someone tries to pretend like they know you better than he does, after all, you're his soulmate – his to care for and his to protect. He isn't above hurting someone if it means it'll keep you safe. Murder would be the absolute last resort for him but if it had to be done, then so be it. He'll do anything for you.

There's nothing that makes him happier than when you let him care for you without a fuss, allowing him to pamper you to his heart's desire. Namjoon craves to have you close, to feel your warmth in his arms and your steady breaths against his chest. He won't allow anything to jeopardize that – not even the six other people he shares the bond with. 

You're the most perfect soulmate he could ever wish for and the rest of the world can burn as long as it means you'll be safe, healthy, and happy (with him). 

🥀 SEOKJIN ➝ yandere type: obsessive

Seokjin has always been cynical about his soulmark. How was he supposed to find someone through their shared pain when there are so many people in this world? It seemed impossible and unfair, and Seokjin figured that the chances of ever finding you were slim to none. Even so, there was always a little part of him that hoped that the universe would lead him to his soulmate – you – at the right time. And it did. Seokjin swears he was reborn the first time he laid eyes on you, the pain insignificant in comparison to the joy of finally finding his soulmate. 

He has always been level-headed, thinking his actions through before acting on them, but Seokjin found that when he was faced with you, all of that flew out the window. He just couldn't leave you alone, not when he had finally found you. Seokjin likes to take pictures, to capture your every moment so that it can be remembered forever. Every smile, frown, and pout you make is a gift to this world, and Seokjin loves that the pictures all show off the genuine you, unfiltered and real. After all, you can't put on a fake smile if you don't even know that you're being followed. 

Seokjin has lost track of how many hours he's spent fantasizing about your bond and the life you're going to lead together. His obsessive thoughts are only quelled when he gets to see you, to follow you around; pretending he's taking part in your life as he watches it unfold from the shadows. And now that he finally has you, Seokjin is free to let all of his fantasies play out, to be the perfect soulmate that you deserve. He isn't one to raise his voice or get angry, but Seokjin finds his frustration building when you don't respond to his advances the way you were supposed to – the way he imagined you would. Even so, he doesn't dwell on it for long. His fantasies can always be changed, reimagined, to make sure they capture the real you – just like his photos. 

Seokjin loves spending time with you, indulging in your hobbies, and watching you do things that make you happy. Of course, he hopes that one day the only thing you'll need to make your heart sing is him, but he doesn't mind the wait. You have the rest of your lives to figure that out. You were the impossible was made possible, and Seokjin has no intention of ever letting his angel go. 

🥀 JUNGKOOK ➝ yandere type: mild clingy, mild obsessive

Jungkook always hoped that his soulmate would end up being someone like you. Coming from a broken family that pushed him aside the moment he showed signs of weakness, Jungkook only ever wished for his soulmate to accept him – to love him – like he was. His stutter and shyness didn't define him and yet, there were so many who couldn't look past it. You, however, felt like you were heaven-sent with how you only saw him and not his flaws.

He wanted so desperately to approach you when he realized that you were his soulmate but the insecurities his family had instilled in him held him back. So, he instead watched you from the back of the room, memorizing the way your hair moved and how you would tap your pen against your beautiful lips when you were deep in thought. The classes he didn't share with you were torture, but in turn, it made the moments he caught a glimpse of you around campus even sweeter. 

Truly, the only thing Jungkook wants is to be loved by you. His heart feels like it's bursting with happiness whenever you look at him, your touch electrifying his skin in a way he never thought possible. He used to be dependent on his hyungs for affection but it's nothing compared to the way you make him feel, the way you make his soul glow just by being near. His past has left him starved for your attention and Jungkook finds that his emotions get a little too overwhelming whenever you're not around. He relies on you for stability and love, something that only fuels his mildly obsessive tendencies. 

Jungkook would rather hurt himself before ever hurting you. He might not be willing to go to the lengths that his hyungs are to protect you, but that doesn't mean he can't keep you safe. Jungkook would do anything for you, even if it means sacrificing himself. You're everything to him. 

🥀 HOSEOK ➝ yandere type: impulsive

Hoseok believes that the best-laid plans are those that happen on a whim. The choices he's thought the least about are those that have given him the most; he started his business based on a bet, joined a fundraiser because he had nothing better to do that day and somehow all of it led him straight to you – his other half. Hoseok may not believe in fate but he does trust his gut, and he especially listens to it when he's around you.

Compared to your other soulmates, Hoseok comes off as cold and stoic, his true emotions hidden behind a mask. Hoseok was known to be loud and expressive when he was young but the more he got teased for his outbursts and over-the-top reactions, the more he started hiding them away. Now, it takes a lot of coaxing before Hoseok feels comfortable enough to let his mask slip, a burst of genuine laughter from him so rare it stuns you every time you hear it. 

Hoseok's impulsive nature has worked well for him over the years, but it also means that he often acts without thinking much of the after – like how he would ever be able to explain your drugged drink to a room full of people who weren't equally as sick as him. His quick mood changes make him unpredictable and he's quick to anger when something doesn't go his way. Hoseok isn't above giving out punishment, not if it means you'll learn to never disobey him again. He'll never intentionally hurt you but he's more than capable of giving you a good scare.

Although you may be safe from his wrath, other people aren't so lucky. Hoseok will certainly resort to murder if someone ever dares to lay a finger on you and he'll take great joy in removing them from your sight. 

What Hoseok loves the most is seeing your reaction as he gives you new treats he's created especially for you. There's nothing as satisfying as watching your eyes light up and your smile bloom as you bite into them, praising him for his hard work. Even if Hoseok's feelings and actions are a little convoluted, he does mean well. You're his sunshine, the one person that manages to break through the dark clouds in his mind and he'll do whatever it takes to keep you by his side. 

🥀 JIMIN ➝ yandere type: self-indulgent, obsessive

Jimin spends most of the quiet hours at work fantasizing about you. It started innocent – Jimin was just so thrilled that he had found you that he couldn't help but imagine all of the ways he could reveal himself to you – but as time passed and nothing happened, those thoughts turned a little… dirtier. Jimin thought of all the ways he could show you just how long he's been waiting for you, yearning for you. He knows he can make you feel good, that he can make all of your dirtiest dreams come true, and if by satisfying your desires he also satisfies his own, well, that's just an added bonus. 

While Jimin may love to please you, he's also quite selfish. He doesn't hold back when there's something he wants and he doesn't mind pulling a few strings to get his way. Jimin needs you to pamper him; to tell him how much you like him and how much he means to you. It's the only thing that quells that needy voice in his head, the one that constantly thinks of you and only you.  So really, it doesn't take that much to make him happy. He preens under your attention, especially when you ignore the others to solely focus on him. Jimin loves to be touched and kissed, but nothing beats being intimate with you. It makes Jimin feel special, to be able to experience you like that, vulnerable and needy for only him. 

Due to the nature of his job, Jimin keeps a cool head most of the time. The one thing that will set him off, however, is you lying to him. Jimin can smell lies from a mile away, is trained to spot them, and yet you like you think that you can deceive him. Perhaps if it didn't upset him so, he would find the idea of it funny. Even if you may test his patience and temper sometimes, there's still nothing Jimin wouldn't do to keep you safe. He knows how to use his resources well, how to make it seem like someone never even existed. He's willing to do anything for you, his soulmate. 

🥀 TAEHYUNG ➝ yandere type: impulsive, delusional

Taehyung was raised on the belief that the universe would lead him to his soulmate. His family romanticized the soul-system, never doubting that fate would steer them in the direction they needed to go. Taehyung was the same, and those beliefs were only cemented in his mind when he finally met you. He only caught a glimpse of you that day in the coffee shop but it was enough to convince Taehyung that some part of your soul had recognized him too – and you were waiting for him to make a move. 

Using his programming skills, Taehyung easily hacked your phone. He wanted a way to feel close to you, to make sure he always knew where you went in case something happened. It didn't take long before it wasn't enough – before Taehyung had to start following you home after your classes, just to get a peek at your pretty face. The texts you sent your friends about feeling watched on the way home only fueled Taehyung's desire to do it more – it was definitely a code meant for him, a message that you knew he was there. 

The few times you do something that upsets Taehyung or he grows too impatient from holding himself back, his impulsive nature jumps out. There's really no telling what he'll do – Taehyung doesn't give his actions much forethought before carrying them out. One day he may send you bloody roses because you ignored him, the other he may plot to kidnap you because he's grown tired of waiting. Taehyung is a wild card and there's no limit to how far he's willing to go to keep you with him.  Taehyung's reality may not be the same as yours – he believes that you have liked him for much longer than you actually have – but it still makes his heart beat like crazy whenever you express your love for him. Being able to hold you in his arms is the most amazing feeling Taehyung has ever felt. You're his soulmate, his destiny, and nothing will ever drive you apart. Taehyung will make sure of that. 

🥀 YOONGI ➝ yandere type: obsessive, very mild overprotective

Yoongi might have believed that music was his first love, but it all pales in comparison to how he feels about you. He was used to spending most of his time dreaming up narratives and poetry that would flow well with his beats, working tirelessly to create the perfect track again and again. There were days Yoongi didn't even see the outside of his studio, but that all changed when he finally found you. He went from barely being home to leaving work on the dot, hurrying to his apartment in hopes that he might get a new update on you from Taehyung. 

Having a gentle disposition and good self-control, Yoongi is surprised to find how flustered he gets around you, his body suddenly reacting in ways it never has before. He finds that his thoughts keep straying to you constantly, dreaming of the dates he wants to take you on and how your relationship will evolve. All of the sad ballads he's supposed to write turn into bright pop songs whenever he thinks of your smile. He loves seeing you happy, watching your thrilled reaction as he lets you listen to his songs first, love confessions being whispered into your ears repeatedly. 

Yoongi knows that he sometimes gets a little overprotective of you. He never wants to hurt you, but if a small punishment can steer you over on the right path, then Yoongi is willing to look the other way. He cares about you more than anything else and so, he's really just acting in your best interest by making sure nothing bad will happen to you. Yoongi wouldn't hesitate to land a punch if he caught someone looking at you twice, but murder is out of the question for him. Luckily that's not something he needs to worry about, not when you have other soulmates who are more than willing to do that work for him. 

You're the best thing that has ever happened to him. Nothing beats seeing your smile, hearing your laugh, or watching your eyes light up as you let yourself be pulled into his arms. You're Yoongi's soulmate – his love – the only person who can turn his rainy days into endless summer. 

[bigfan-fanfic]

The Things I Do For You (Male!Reader x Josh Washington)

@inhumanshadows Josh Washington introduces his bf to his friends and sisters at the lodge.

Set of course in an alternate universe where Josh's therapy went far better and the prank never happened!

His sisters are literally the nicest people in the world, it seems. Hannah's the one with the glasses, you remember.

Both of them were so happy to finally meet you, and instantly treat you like one of the family.

"Josh has been... so much happier lately. So... thank you. For being there for him, cause he tends to clam up around us." Beth smiles.

You grin back at her. "He's been there for me, too. We're a good team."

"That's good."

"You'll need it up here." Hannah says cryptically. Beth just rolls her eyes.

"No drama, Han. This weekend is about Josh and Y/N. Okay?"

Hannah sighs, then smiles. "You're right. I'm sorry."

It feels like some sort of choice has been made, but by then, Josh has returned and mischievously pulled you into a kiss from behind.

He grins at you. "Howdy, pilgrim." He drawls in a terrible cowboy voice.

You push him away lightly. "How dare you. Kissing me the coward's way."

"Well, allow me to try again." He winks, then moves to your front to kiss you again. Hannah mimes a gagging motion, and Beth smacks her arm.

"The others should be arriving soon. Should we just all just hang around and not say anything about Y/N until they freak out?" Hannah asks mischievously.

"You mean gaslight them out of meeting my boyfriend?" Josh laughs. "You up for it, Y/N?"

"Nah, I'm not much for pranks. Besides, you couldn't keep your hands off me for that long."

"Guilty."

Beth chuckles at your easy banter, but then the twins freeze when you look over at Josh. "Did you get your meds yet, babe? I think I heard your alarm go off."

"Oh, shit, you're right!" Josh's eyes widen and he goes to grab them.

Beth looks at you. "Wow. He used to get really sensitive about that."

"He knows I'm looking out for him, and we're just trying to work together on it."

"Well, I'm glad." Hannah grins.

The others arrive, and Josh lets the twins handle the greetings, because he took you down to the boiler to get the hot water working so you could make some tea.

"So, my friends... some of 'em can be a little... hard to handle sometimes. But deep down, we're all in a little love fest." Josh chuckles.

You nod. "They're pranksters, eh?"

"Yeah. I know you don't like em all that much, so I'll try to let em know you're not about practical jokes."

"Thanks." you smile, kissing his cheek.

An impatient text from Hannah recalls you both up from a make-out session in the basement

Emily and her boyfriend Mike are the first to arrive, having given Beth's best friend Sam a ride.

Mike shoots you some finger guns, and Sam offers a hug. Emily seems a little more reserved, but offers you a warm greeting. She makes a little joke about you finally teaching Josh some manners, and offers you some advice.

"Make sure you train them early." She winks. "These boys don't know their heads from a hole in the ground, but they learn quick. First rule: Emily is always right. Second rule, Mike?"

Mike gives her a mock-pout. "Nothing else matters because Emily is always right."

She gives you a little shrug as if to say "See?" before sauntering off.

Jess, Ashley, Matt, and Chris come next, having carpooled, Jess shows off her braided pigtails, claiming she let Ashley braid them in the car. Matt high-fives Josh and lets you know he's "totally supportive of the LGBT community, you know?"

Chris pretends to stand off with you. "So, you're the other man, huh?"

Jess giggles. "I always knew you two had a thing, Chris!"

"What? I meant, like, platonic versus romantic and-"

"Chris is jelly!" She sings, and Chris chases after her as she chants it through the lodge.

"I hope you're doing okay. Lots of meetings all at once - I'd be freaking out." Ashley chuckles, and shakes your hand.

It's lucky you're there - it's one of the last times here at the lodge for them before they all go off to college and start the next phase of their lives.

You suspect that had they not all been on their best behavior out of support to their friend, someone would've caused some huge drama.

But as it is, Josh refuses to drink cause it messes with his meds, so Mike and Chris decide to polish off a bottle in his honor - meaning Mike passes out with Chris halfway into the night and thus instead of Hannah making a move and Emily and Jess starting a retaliatory prank, the group has more of a chill game night vibe.

Josh gets clingy when the sun goes down and demands cuddles.

"The things I do for you," you playfully sigh, and the two of you settle under a blanket in front of the TV.

The gang easily pivots to putting on a movie and falling asleep, the snow falling peacefully outside.

And far across the mountain, the ancient things remain contained, another year kept at bay.

You never do get back up to the lodge. But even if a lot of Josh's friends move on after that, his sisters become your lifelong friends, and you know that Josh and you are gonna be something good...

[koolades-world]

happy halloween!

hope everyone is having a great evening!! because of the upcoming festivities tonight, I decided to post this just a little earlier :) what's everyone else being this year? as i write this (october 27th) i am undecided between reusing an old alice from alice in wonderland costume, or diying a loofa costume using a dress i already have. will probably just go as alice haha. haven't worn it since i was 16 which is when it was made, but it should probably still fit!

it's up to you who you'll be matching costumes with so i made sure i left room in each character for that!

(psttttt boops welcome! if you boop me i will get you back. this is a threat)

Halloween with the om cast

Lucifer

the dadesque figure that walks around with everyone while they trick or treat

only there because mammon and diavolo begged

also only dressed up because the aforementioned two convinced him (he's wearing that stupid swimsuit of his and is calling it whatever mammon feels like introducing it as in that moment)

Mammon

100% goes as a pirate and his not so little trick or treat bag looks like a grim bag

is the dastardly, hated demon that takes the entire bowl when left with a note that says take one please

you help him curb this habit by threatening to withhold affections haha

Levi

he goes as ruri, of course. he already had it ready since he'd worn the cosplay in the past

he's insistent on being in character all night too! he loves halloween because is the one night a year where he can go out in public in cosplay and be normal

candy is a plus, but not a must. is more than willing to share with you

Satan

you once told him he'd make a cute librarian, so that's what he's dressed as this year

perhaps he's using this as an excuse to sit around all night and read

either way, he's having fun, but he could be convinced to go out with you with the promises of cuddles

Asmo

every year, he goes as a sexy something and you can't convince me otherwise. he's a sexy whatever you think is sexy this year haha

i feel like he'd usually be at a party, but since you wanted to go trick or treating, he'll go with you instead

you may have to cover the eyes of some young ones if parts of his costume start to give out as the night goes on...

Beel

he wears basically the same costume every year: a cheeseburger

now, i say 'basically' because he always ends up taking several large bites and needs to buy a new one, and they're always slightly different

the candy he collects is always gone by the time he gets back home

Belphie

he's the one that goes as himself almost every halloween

either he gets dragged along with wherever beel ends up going, or he stays back to help pass out candy

by that, i mean he naps near the candy bowl and accidently freaks out kids coming to get candy that don't see him

Diavolo

probably in a cheesy vampire costume and loving it

plastic teeth that are impossible to talk with in and all

he wanted to most authentic experience as possible, so he asked you for your experiences!

Barbatos

he's the one that hangs back at the HoL to hand out candy, since the little d's have the palace covered

however, he isn't lame enough not to be dressed up

i can't decide if he's the kind to slap on a cat ears headband and call it a day, or go all out and handmake a costume. you can pick :)

Simeon

linguini from ratatouille. i will be taking no questions at this time.

he made it himself! he also made luke and solomon's costumes

the other dadesque figure that takes his kids trick or treating, but is much happier about it then lucifer is

Luke

for some reason, he wanted to be a piece of cheese, so simeon and solomon decided to work with him so he looked less out of place

if he ends up going off with beel to trick or treat, they look like they intended to match too!

just, maybe go with the two of them to stop beel from taking a chomp out of luke's costume...

Solomon

holy shit he's in a rat costume (remy) to piss off barbatos, and when he gets grilled about it, he can just pass it off as matching with luke and simeon

and of course, barb doesn't want to ruin halloween for his son. solomon is going to have his ass handed to him tomorrow

Mephisto

thinks dressing up is stupid until his little brother begs him to dress up too

so, to make him happy, he goes as the prince to his brother's mini fire breathing salamander. not as a dragon slaying prince, a dragon friend prince (his brother's words)

to his surprise, he actually enjoys celebrating the holiday, especially with you and his brother

Thirteen

thought it would be funny to go dressed as what humans think the grim reaper is

plus, you bet she wouldn't so now she has to! it's actually quite cute on her

she doesn't hand out treats, she hands out tricks. including people who haven't asked trick or treat

Raphael 

dressed as a hedgehog (if you get it, you get it)

half the people he meets asks what he's supposed to be, while the other half gets it instantly and chuckle about it

hey, at least he's trying and having fun!

[bedoballoons]

AFTER SEEİNG THE MİTSURİ READER ONE I HAD TO ASK FOR THİS

So hear me out

On a reader like shinobu, i mean like her intelligence and teasing ykyk

W genshin bois

(especially tighnari if you write for our fox boy 🤭🤭)

I love fox boy!!! I hope you enjoy! <3 Also incredibly sorry anon if you sent this a long time ago!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Shinobu Kocho like reader!~༺}

CW: Fluffy! Reader calls Lyney dearest and he calls them ma chérie! A little bit of teasing! Technically this is a part 2!

(Includes: Lyney, Gorou, Tighnari, and Scaramouche!)

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𑁍༄Lyney:

You looked up at Lyney, watching with intrigue as a blue winged butterfly landed gracefully on the top of his hat, it's presence entirely unknown to him as he continued to walk beside you, making the situation that much sweeter. For a second you thought about letting him know, but then a idea started to formulate...perhaps you could tease him a little, get him back for all the teasing he had done. "Lyney dearest, you might want to clean your hat, I swear I saw something move amongst all that dust."

He stopped mid step, raising one of his eyebrows at you in curiosity and you could only chuckle in response, watching the butterfly on his hat open and close its wings peacefully without a care in the world. "My hats never dirty, ma chérie how could you say something so cruel." Lyney pretended to act offended, deciding to play along in your little game and you couldn't be happier. "I think you might want to check again... your hat certainly isn't free of live creatures.." You giggled cheerfully as his face went pale, uncertainty in his eyes as he lifted his hat of his head slowly.

The second he saw what you were talking about he couldn't help but laugh, a blush of embarrassment coating his cheeks as you placed a kiss on his lip, the two of you watching as the butterfly flew away.

𑁍༄Gorou:

You looked at the bottles in front of you, examining their multi coloured exteriors that concealed the various deadly poisons you'd created, each one perfected and ready for you if you ever needed them. To anyone else, this collection would seem terrifying, but in your eyes it was a wall of achievements, of trails and tribulations....and only one other person seemed to understand, his support enough to keep you experimenting even when everyone else acted like you were insane.

"Whatcha working on now?" Gorou appeared next to you, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy, a big happy smile on his face that was one hundred percent contagious, forcing you to smile along with him. "Actually I'm not working on anything currently, just spacing out until you got home. Did everything go well with Miss Kokomi?" You leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder and absorbing his warmth, his tail wagging slightly with joy at your cuddles.

"Mhm! Her excellency has everything prepared for the trip to Inazuma city...and I'm hoping you'll join us..." He pulled away so he could look at you, his eyes wide and pleading, begging you to come with him so he wouldn't have to be away from you for such a long time,...how could you say no? "Alright alright...calm down doggy, I'd love to go with you." You placed a kiss on his cheek, watching in delight as he blushed lightly and hugged you in response, clearly excited to take a trip with you.

𑁍༄Tighnari:

Tighnari was more than impressed by you, in fact awestruck seemed like a better word to describe his current state of being. He'd never met someone like you before, absolutely beautiful in every way, with butterflies as your source of inspiration when it came to clothing and your intelligence when it came to alchemy absolutely blew him away, not to mention you seemed to know a few things about being a doctor too!

It seemed like you had him wrapped around your finger, to the point he found himself thinking about you in his spare time and wondering what you could be up to, just like he was now. His heart tempting him to go find you and ask if you'd like to go out for lunch, or maybe have dinner together, but he also felt nervous...would you catch onto his feelings?

"Tighnari? You alright?" Your voice knocked him right out of his thoughts, disbelief taking over his features at the realisation that you'd snuck up on him...how has he not noticed you? "Yes Im alright. Sorry I was...thinking about something. What're you up to?" His eyes met yours, sending warmth to his cheeks and making his heart race, he hoped you wouldn't notice the change in his mannerisms..."I noticed you sitting here spacing out and I figured maybe you'd like some company, wanna go grab a bite to eat? We can talk about the new medicines you've been working on. I figured out a alternative for capsules!"

He smiled happily, his tail wagging with excitement as he nodded, his little crush growing with every moment he spent with you...to the point of no return.

𑁍༄Scaramouche:

You narrowed your eyes, your attention trained solely on Scaramouche, his usual smirk replaced with pure focus and neither of you moving a muscle, the stakes were high this time and you weren't going to go down without a fight. You could feel victory was on its way though, the match of true champions coming to a end as the seconds ticked by...and then it happened.

"You blinked Scara!" You jumped up from your seat at the table, cheering happily and feeling quite proud of yourself for besting such a high ranking harbinger, proving power wasn't enough to win everything. "I did not! I say we have a rematch, clearly you weren't paying good enough attention! Worthless being!" Scaramouche stood up too, his cheeks red with anger and slight embarrassment, he knew full well he had lost fair and square, but he couldn't just let you win that easily!

"Nope absolutely not. I won and that means your power isn't as strong as my intelligence, remember that was the deal." Your crossed your arms, smirking at him playfully as he tried to come up with some other excuse or reason to play again. When he didn't respond after a few moments you started to wonder if you'd gone to far...only to be proven entirely wrong, "Fine...my turn then...if I win you have to give me a kiss..." a devious look flicked across his features and it made a shiver run up your spine.

"Alright what is it?"

"Let's play the game of whoever is taller wins."

"Hey!"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

[cipheramnesia]

Part 2: The Lonely Extermination of Athena Six

Awhile after Dr. Stevenson left, and after Dr. White's visits were rarely more often than once or twice in a month, Athena began to notice the iron cage. It grew very slowly between the earth and the sky, deep shadow bars tinting narrow strips of the world. The first ones she saw were in the sky, on a day where she could feel the sun inside her room. She felt the slim bands connect to each other overhead.

The small transistor radio at the nurse station had a square of dark bands around it. Dark lines grew from light fixtures and intercom speakers. While she sat with an orderly doing a geometry workbook that Dr. White was supposed to supervise, Athena noticed dark lines on the overhead fluorescent lights. The orderly said it was okay for her to go back to her room and read, so she sat at her desk to re-read a set of old fantasy novels. They were about a prince who was always beset by tragedy and sickness. Now matter how much good he tried to accomplish, he always hurt someone important. In some of the stories he traveled to other versions of his story and met happier versions of himself, or sometimes sadder versions, but mostly happier. Athena thought there were probably happier versions of herself somewhere.

The dark bands grew and crossed and multiplied. The more of the bands she could see, the harder it became for her to find the dancing light. She wasn't supposed to make the light dance anymore since Dr. Stevenson's accident, and the times the orderlies caught her, they stuck a needle in her and she fell asleep right away. That was also okay, but the lights made her happy, so she played with tiny sparks against her wall, too tiny for the camera in her room to see. Except with the dark bands the lights were harder to coax put and she was usually exhausted after trying.

Eventually the grid of darkness covered the sky in its iron cage. She only sometimes saw little dark smears from the radio or people's eyes sometimes. No one else noticed the grid, but she could tell because her thread was less bright and the omnipresent iron bars were visible through the walls and ceiling. She wished she could take them down and so she practiced more and more to control her lights. They were still waiting for her, only a little more out of reach, but she got stronger and reached further every day.

A little while after the grid was in place, Dr. White visited her. He was always very nice, but Athena noticed he didn't listen very much to what she talked about. He seemed to care more about if the orderlies and nurses liked him, but she could tell they didn't anyway. He opened up a box and laid two flat rectangles of woven metal on the table, then pulled his hands away quickly. Athena noticed he always did that.

"Athena, for the next few weeks we're going to try some new games and I think you'll like them very much." He gestured at the smaller, darker screen. "Closers call this a spark buffer, do you know about them?" He kept his arms close to his body, she shook her head for no. "It's okay, not a lot of people do." He gestured at the larger screen, with shiny metal weaving, and some kind of stone under it. "This is possibly a new prototype, and I hope you can help me make sure it works right."

Athena looked blank. "I don't know how... how it works."

"Don't worry," he laughed the fake laugh a little. "All I need is for you to make the dancing lights, and make them touch the buffer."

"The cage makes it hard," she said. "Can we go somewhere out of the cage?"

"Cage? What... I'm not sure what you mean."

Athena just shook her head and Dr. White slotted the new buffer into a small box. He stood up and took several steps back, suggesting Athena begin, so she did.

It was harder than ever before but eventually a flicker of light danced in her palm for an instant. Then there came a spark out of the buffer like a mosquitos into a bug zapper, and her light blinked out. She jerked back her hands as well, feeling a sharp stab of pain at her fingertips.

Dr. White wrote notes and she sucked her fingertips because they hurt. He said "Okay, let's repeat it and then try the other one."

Athena wished Dr. White would go away again.