#but i really do want to get better. i suppose i just don’t know how

[satoruness]

golden — s . gojo x reader

synopsis — satoru gojo is your bestfriend and you are his. but sometimes, lines between friendship and something more seem to blur.

pairing — bestfriend! satoru x reader

word count — 10.6 k

warnings — making out, somewhat heavy petting, they take off each other's shirts but that's about it LOL, angst (not a sad ending though), reader feels unwanted at times.

Satoru Gojo.

How long have you known him? Your whole life, probably.

Scratch that. Not your whole life, but definitely the majority of it.

It started in preschool.

You were the quiet kid—the one who clung to the edges of the classroom, never quite fitting into the messy, chaotic whirlwind of children who seemed to make friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. You didn’t know how they did it—how they found each other in the noise, how they paired up so effortlessly, how they just knew where they belonged.

You, on the other hand, spent most of your time alone, stacking blocks in the corner, drawing quietly, or waiting for the teacher to tell you what to do next.

And then there was him.

Satoru Gojo, the loudest, brightest, most obnoxiously happy kid you’d ever met. He was the kind of child who ran instead of walked, who laughed at things no one else found funny, who always had a scrape on his knee but never seemed to care. He was larger than life, in a way that made your stomach twist—not quite jealousy, not quite admiration, just… confusion.

So when he plopped down next to you one day, completely uninvited, you weren’t sure what to do.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, peering at the tiny house you were building out of wooden blocks.

You shrugged. “Building.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Can I help?”

You hesitated. You didn’t want help. But before you could answer, he was already reaching for the blocks, stacking them in ways that made no sense.

“You’re ruining it,” you mumbled, frowning.

He blinked at you, then back at the house. “Oh.” And then, without missing a beat, he knocked it over entirely.

You gasped, horrified.

He just laughed. “Now we can build it again!”

You decided, in that exact moment, that you hated him.

But Satoru Gojo was persistent.

He started following you around—not in a creepy way, just in an annoying way. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he’d pop up again like a bad penny, grinning that ridiculous grin of his.

Eventually, you just… let him.

It was easier than trying to get rid of him.

And somewhere along the way, he became your first real friend.

Your moms met not long after.

It happened at pickup time, when Satoru ran straight past his usual waiting spot to grab your hand instead. “Can I go to their house?” he asked his mom, all wide eyes and uncontainable energy. “Please, please, please?”

Your mom looked vaguely alarmed, having not expected to suddenly be responsible for another child, but Satoru’s mom just laughed.

And that was that.

Your friendship expanded beyond the preschool walls, spilling into weekends and playdates. Satoru’s house became as familiar as your own, with its too-big windows and fancy furniture that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to jump on (but did anyway). In return, he practically lived at your place, showing up unannounced, eating snacks straight from your pantry, making himself at home in a way that should have been irritating but never really was.

By the time middle school rolled around, he was less of a friend and more of a permanent fixture in your life.

“Okay, but listen,” Satoru said one afternoon, sprawled across your bedroom floor, Switch in hand. “If you had to pick one Digimon partner, like one to be stuck with for the rest of your life, who would it be?”

You barely looked up from your homework. “I don’t know. Agumon?”

“Agumon?” he repeated, scandalized. “That’s so basic. It’s like saying your favorite Pokémon is Pikachu.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally the main character’s Digimon.”

“Exactly!” He threw his hands up. “No originality. None. Zero. I expected better from you.”

“You asked me,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d at least think about it.” He sighed, dramatically flopping onto his back. “I should’ve known. I’m best friends with a casual fan.”

“You should be grateful you have a best friend at all,” you shot back.

Satoru grinned, tilting his head toward you. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

At some point, he started wearing glasses. Not for fashion, not because he wanted to, but because years of staring at screens in the dark, playing Digimon and Pokémon and whatever else he was obsessed with at the time, had officially caught up to him.

“I’m blind,” he announced the day he got them, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely, totally blind.”

You snorted. “You’re, like, mildly nearsighted.”

“Same thing,” he said, already taking them off to examine them. “Do I look smarter with them?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Not really.”

“Rude.” He huffed, sliding them back on. “What about cooler?”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed, catching it easily. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

—

Then came high school.

At first, nothing changed.

Satoru was still Satoru—loud, annoying, always in your space. He still showed up at your house unannounced, still texted you at odd hours about random nonsense, still sat next to you at lunch like it was a law of the universe. He was your best friend. Your person.

And for the first two years, you were inseparable.

There wasn’t a single moment where people saw one of you without the other. Satoru Gojo and you. You and Satoru Gojo. Always a pair. Whether it was cramming for exams together, getting kicked out of the arcade because he got too competitive, or spending Friday nights playing whatever old game he got obsessed with that month, he was your constant.

Until junior year.

It started small.

A casual comment in gym class about how fast he was. A joke from a teacher about how he should try out for the football team. A half-dare from some of the guys he barely knew.

And somehow, against all odds, Satoru Gojo became an athlete.

You didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another one of his phases, right? Like that time he swore he’d master speedrunning or decided he was going to learn five languages at once. But he was good—annoyingly good. Tall, fast, with ridiculous reflexes that made him impossible to catch on the field.

And people noticed.

By mid-season, he wasn’t just some new player—he was the star. The guy everyone knew, the guy who had a crowd around him in the hallways, the guy who got called out over the school speakers for game-winning plays.

The guy who no longer just belonged to you.

The first time you really felt it was when he showed up at your house one evening. That part was normal. He still did that, still made himself at home on your couch, still stole whatever snacks he wanted.

But something was different.

You were sprawled out on your bed, flipping through a book, when you glanced up and noticed.

“Where are your glasses?” you asked.

Satoru blinked, as if he had to think about it. “Oh. Right.” He shrugged, plopping down next to you. “They’re kind of a hazard in football, so I switched to contacts. Figured I’d just stick with them.”

You sat up, frowning. “But you hate contacts.”

He grinned, stretching lazily. “Not anymore.”

And just like that, something in your chest twisted.

It wasn’t just the glasses.

It was the way he stopped rambling about Digimon, the way he never asked if you wanted to rewatch old anime together anymore. It was the way his schedule started filling up with team hangouts and parties you weren’t invited to. It was the way people started looking at you differently when you were with him.

Because Satoru Gojo wasn’t just Satoru Gojo anymore.

He was Gojo.

Senior year was when it really started to hurt.

He still sat with you at lunch, still texted you silly memes at night, still acted like nothing had changed. But everything had.

He would often cancel on your invitations, his responses still typed in that absurd, unmistakable way of his—yet his excuses always seemed to follow a familiar pattern. It was always something urgent, something unavoidable: he had to rush off to practice, or there was a party he couldn’t miss, or someone needed his help and he simply couldn’t bring himself to say no. Each time, it felt like a rehearsed script, as though his priorities were perpetually elsewhere, leaving you to wonder if you’d ever truly make the cut.

Every time he plopped down next to you, people stared. Whispered.

“Why’s he sitting with her?”

“Shouldn't he sit with the rest of the team?”

“Is she, like, his childhood obligation or something?”

You weren’t an idiot. You heard it. You felt it.

And it made you snap.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know,” you muttered one day, keeping your eyes on your tray.

Satoru frowned. “What?”

“I said, you don’t have to sit here,” you repeated, sharper this time. “If you’d rather be with your actual friends—”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

You clenched your jaw, hating how defensive he sounded. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He didn’t forget it.

You fought about it. About how he didn’t get it, about how easy everything was for him, about how he could walk into any room and belong while you felt like you had to justify existing.

“You act like I abandoned you,” he snapped, voice low and frustrated. “But I’m right here. I’ve always been here.”

And you hated that he was somewhat right. 

So you patched things up. Not because you fully understood each other, but because you both wanted to. And by the time graduation rolled around, you could almost pretend things had gone back to the way they were.

But then came college.

And somehow, Satoru Gojo managed to be even more himself than ever.

Bigger. Louder. More impossible to ignore.

If high school had turned him into a star, then college made him a supernova.

He was everywhere—at parties, in clubs, on the field. Everyone knew him. Everyone wanted to be around him.

And somehow, despite it all, he still tried to keep you close.

“Come with me tonight,” he’d say, sending you an invite to some massive party. “It’ll be fun.”

You always said no.

At first, he laughed it off. But after a while, he started looking at you differently—like he noticed the way you avoided him now, the way you barely answered his texts, the way you pulled away whenever he tried to meet your eyes.

And one night, when he showed up outside your dorm after another party, half-drunk and grinning, you saw the exact moment that grin faltered.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Why would I be mad at you?” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt, as if you could brush the question aside with a casual shrug.

Satoru studied you intently, his glasses nowhere to be found, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it one too many times. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “Because you’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe, or hurt.

You forced a laugh, the sound brittle and unconvincing. “I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Not you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your throat tightened. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s just—” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to piece together the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for weeks. “You don’t need me anymore, Satoru. You have them. All your cool—I don’t know, jock and cheerleader friends, everyone else who likes you. You don’t have time for me now.”

He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His hands gestured vaguely, as though trying to grasp the words you’d just thrown at him. “You think I’d just—replace you? Like it’s that easy? No, like seriously fucking explain to me what the absolute hell you mean?” He mutters out angrily, words slightly slurred.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with emotions neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving only silence hanging in the space between you.

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I’m tired, Satoru. Tired of feeling like a ghost when I’m with you. Tired of pretending I’m okay with being the weird friend you keep around out of habit.”

Satoru opened his mouth, then closed it.

And for the first time in your life, you saw it—hurt. Real, genuine hurt in his stupidly bright eyes.

“You think that’s what this is?” he said, voice quieter now. “Habit?”

You didn’t answer.

Because if you did, you might have to admit that you missed him. That you missed the late-night anime marathons, the dumb inside jokes, the way he used to act like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

But you weren’t sure if that version of him still existed.

And you definitely weren’t sure if you had the courage to find out.

Satoru stared at you for a long time, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t decipher the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something—but wasn’t sure if he should.

Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted, voice lower now, quieter, like he was afraid too many words would push you further away. “You’re acting like I left you behind, but I’m right here.”

You bit your lip. “You don’t see it.”

“Then make me see it,” he shot back, suddenly frustrated. “Because all I know is that one day we were fine, and the next, you started treating me like a stranger.”

That stung.

Because wasn’t that what he did first?

He wasn’t the one being looked at differently in high school when he sat next to you at lunch. He wasn’t the one feeling like a burden when you tagged along with him to something you thought was just going to be the two of you. He wasn’t the one realizing, little by little, that your best friend was outgrowing you.

But how could you even say that? How could you explain it in a way he’d understand?

“It’s not just one thing, Satoru,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… everything.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s real specific.”

You rolled your eyes, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You hesitated. He looked serious, standing there under the dim glow of the dorm hallway lights, arms crossed, gaze steady. But what would it change? Telling him wouldn’t undo the years of growing distance, wouldn’t erase the fact that you felt like you didn’t fit in his world anymore.

Maybe it was better to let it go.

So you shook your head, stepping back toward your door. “It’s late. You should go.”

Satoru let out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said, jaw tightening. “Run away, then. You’re good at that.”

That hurt more than it should have.

But you didn’t argue. You just stepped inside, closed the door, and pretended the ache in your chest wasn’t real.

It got worse after that.

You thought maybe that argument would clear the air—that he’d finally see why you had been keeping your distance. But if anything, it only made things weirder.

Satoru still texted you, but not as much. He still invited you to things, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he asked, like he was bracing for rejection. And when you turned him down (because of course you did), his replies became shorter, more clipped.

Then, one night, he stopped asking altogether.

You didn’t realize how much you had come to expect it—his name popping up on your phone, his easy confidence that somehow, eventually, you’d say yes. But when Friday night came and went without a text, something inside you twisted.

Maybe this was what you wanted. Maybe it was easier this way.

So why did it feel so awful?

A week later, you ran into him by accident.

Literally.

You were coming out of the campus library, arms full of books, when someone rounded the corner too fast and nearly tackled you.

“Oh, shit—sorry—”

You looked up, heart dropping to your stomach.

Satoru.

Your hands clenched around the books, pulse stuttering. It had only been a week, but he already looked different—like he’d fully settled into his role as that guy. Loose hoodie, messy hair, the faint scent of cologne and something vaguely alcoholic clinging to him.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. “Hey.”

It was awkward. Awkward. When had things ever been awkward between you?

You shifted your grip on your books. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, no, my bad,” he cut in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Silence stretched between you. Too long, too tense.

Then, suddenly, his eyes dropped to the stack in your arms. “Of course you’re carrying, like, ten books at once.”

It was such a Satoru thing to say that, for a second, you almost smiled.

Then his gaze flicked up to yours, something softer in his expression, and your breath hitched.

And then—

A voice called his name from across the quad. Some guy you didn’t know, waving him over. Satoru hesitated. Then, with a small exhale, he gave you a lopsided grin. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning away.

And you stood there, watching him go, feeling like something important had just slipped through your fingers.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

And for the first time in years, Satoru Gojo wasn’t part of your life anymore.

No more texts. No more unannounced visits. No more standing at your dorm door at 2 AM, grinning like he belonged there.

You had wanted this, hadn’t you? You had wanted the space, the distance, the freedom to not be caught in his orbit.

But now, without him, everything just felt… quiet. You hated it.

You missed him.

—

It was months before you and Satoru spoke again.

At first, you kept waiting for him to text you, to pop up at your door with some stupid excuse, to send you a meme like nothing had happened. But days passed. Then weeks. Then months. And Satoru Gojo—your best friend since childhood—became just another person you saw in passing.

Sometimes, you spotted him across the quad, surrounded by his usual crowd. Sometimes, you caught glimpses of him at the library, laughing too loudly with friends who barely even acknowledged your existence.

And it hurt.

More than you wanted to admit, it hurt.

But you told yourself this was how things were meant to be. That he had moved on, and you needed to do the same. That whatever had existed between you belonged to another lifetime, one where you weren’t the quiet girl who spent her nights buried in books, and he wasn’t the golden boy who belonged to the whole damn world.

You thought you were doing fine. You thought you were getting used to it.

Until the professor announced lab partners.

The moment your name was called, a small, high-pitched voice cut through the classroom.

“Uh… who?”

Laughter rippled through the room. You felt your face go hot, every muscle in your body locking up as the girl—some blonde from Satoru’s usual group—looked around in exaggerated confusion.

It was humiliating.

Because she wasn’t just some random classmate. She was someone who had spent actual time with Satoru. Who had probably been to his dorm, who had probably sat next to him at parties, who had probably heard him talk about people in his life.

And she had no idea who you were.

You didn’t even dare look at Satoru. Didn’t want to see his reaction. Didn’t want to see whether he’d step in, whether he’d say anything—

But he didn’t.

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t correct her either.

Didn’t turn to acknowledge you. Didn’t make some joke to brush past it. Didn’t do anything at all.

Just stared at the table like he was somewhere else entirely.

And that, somehow, was worse than anything.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral as you scribbled down the details of the assignment. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

Working with Satoru again was… weird.

Not just because of everything that had happened between you, but because neither of you seemed to know how to be around each other anymore.

Gone were the days of effortless conversation, of teasing remarks and stolen fries and arguments about Digimon evolutions. Now, everything felt stilted, careful, like you were two strangers trying to relearn the language of each other.

Sometimes, it almost felt normal.

Like when you sat across from each other in the library, bent over research notes, and he’d randomly hum the Sailor Moon theme song under his breath. Or when he muttered something stupid under his breath about the professor’s handwriting, and you nearly choked on your water holding back a laugh.

But then, inevitably, the moment would pass.

Because girls from his usual group would come over, acting like you weren’t even there, their voices too sweet as they draped themselves over the back of his chair.

“Satoru, are you coming to the party on Friday?”

“Satoru, when are you free? We should all hang out.”

And he’d always answer them. Always give some noncommittal shrug or a lazy smirk. But you could tell—even if no one else seemed to notice—that he wasn’t really there. That when he looked at them, he wasn’t listening.

And yet, he never told them to leave. Never told them that you were working. Never acknowledged you at all when they were around. So, after a while, you just stopped expecting him to.

And then, one day, you got sick.

Not just a little sick. Not just a sore throat or a cough you could push through. No, you were the kind of sick that made your whole body ache, that sent shivers down your spine no matter how many blankets you curled under.

But it was a project day. And despite everything, you still had responsibilities. So, begrudgingly, you shot Satoru a text.

Come to my dorm. I can’t go out today.

He didn’t reply right away. But twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You barely managed to drag yourself over, your vision swimming slightly as you opened it.

And there he was.

Looking the same as always—messy white hair, sharp blue eyes, hoodie slung over his frame like he’d just rolled out of bed.

The only difference? The way his expression immediately dropped the second he saw you.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You look awful.”

You groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks for the confidence boost.” He kicked off his shoes, setting his bag down before eyeing you carefully. “Have you been drinking water? Eating enough? D’you eat somethin’ you weren’t meant to eat?”

You rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to know, I just woke up sick as hell.”

Instead of a snarky remark, Satoru just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, before you could protest, he was guiding you toward the bed, nudging you to sit.

“You’re not working like this,” he said firmly. “Lie down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Lie down.”

You hesitated.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the version of Satoru you had gotten used to in the past year. The one who was always a little distant, a little out of reach. This was… him.

The Satoru you had known since childhood. The one who always knew when you were exhausted, even when you swore you weren’t. The one who used to push his fries onto your plate when you were too stressed to eat.

The one who, for the first time in months, was looking at you like you were still his best friend. So, slowly, you lay back down.

Satoru exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get you some tea or something. You have any?” You nodded weakly. He moved toward your desk, rummaging through your stash of instant tea packets like he had done it a million times before.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was familiar.

Safe.

And even though you felt like death warmed over, for the first time in months, you didn’t feel so alone.

—

From that day on, something shifted.

It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—a quiet, almost imperceptible change in the way things were between you and Satoru. The library, once the default meeting spot for your project sessions, was suddenly off the table. He stopped suggesting it altogether, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. But then, one afternoon, he showed up at your dorm unannounced, arms loaded with snacks and a careless shrug when you stared at him, bewildered.

“Library’s too loud,” he said, brushing past you and stepping inside like he owned the place. “Figured we’d get more done here.”

You didn’t question it. Not then, and not a week later when you found yourself in his dorm instead, sitting cross-legged on his bed while he scrolled through research notes on his laptop. 

“Library’s too crowded,” he explained that time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After that, it just became… routine. Your project meetings moved from the library to your dorms, back and forth, as if by some unspoken agreement. The shift was gradual, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You still weren’t quite friends again—not the way you used to be, back when everything was easy and uncomplicated. There was still a careful distance between you, an unspoken awareness of all the time that had been lost, all the moments that had slipped through your fingers. But things weren’t cold anymore. They weren’t distant.

Satoru filled the quiet moments with mindless chatter, the way he always had. He teased you about your typos, stole your pens when you weren’t looking, and groaned dramatically whenever you made him do too much reading. Slowly, bit by bit, the pieces of your friendship started falling back into place. Not completely. Not yet. But enough that sometimes, when the two of you were laughing over something stupid, it almost felt like the past year had never happened.

Then, one day, everything cracked open.

It was late—much later than usual—and the two of you were sitting in his dorm, textbooks and notebooks sprawled across his desk. You were both exhausted, the kind of tired that made your eyes burn and your thoughts sluggish. Satoru was absentmindedly flipping through one of your old notebooks when he suddenly snorted.

“Oh my God.”

You blinked up at him, too tired to muster more than a mumbled, “What?”

He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at a messy doodle in the margin. It was a Digimon—a rough, scribbled outline that barely resembled anything recognizable. But something about it made him grin, leaning back in his chair like he’d just uncovered a hidden treasure.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Feels like a whole different lifetime ago.”

And then, in a voice so casual, so familiar, he added—

“Remember when we made a whole ass PowerPoint ranking every Digimon evolution?”

That was it.

That was what broke you.

It was so stupid—just a random memory, an offhand remark. But the second he said it, something in your chest twisted violently. You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard, telling yourself not to be dramatic. But then your vision blurred, and suddenly, you were crying.

“Oh—oh shit.”

Satoru’s chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You barely managed to shake your head, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady yourself. But the tears kept coming, and then—through the hiccups, through the pathetic, trembling gasps—you broke.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold it together, but the tears spilled over anyway. Your chest heaved as you choked out the words, “I miss you. I—God, Satoru, I miss you.”

His face went slack, his usual confidence faltering as he stared at you, stunned. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, like he was trying to process what you’d just said. Then his voice came out quiet, almost fragile. “What are you talking about? I’m right here.”

You shook your head, your hands gripping your knees so tightly your knuckles turned white. “No, you’re not. Not really. You’ve been… gone. For so long. And I—” Your voice broke, and you hated how weak you sounded, how raw and exposed you felt. “I don’t want to be without you anymore. I don’t—I don’t want you to hate me.”

Satoru’s breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw his composure crack. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to fight it, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, his voice trembling as he muttered, “You’re so fucking stupid. How could I ever hate you?”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I don’t know. You just—you stopped talking to me. You stopped needing me. And I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

He shook his head, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “I care. I care so much it’s stupid. I just—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to come back after everything. It felt like you were pushing me away.”

“You could’ve just— I don’t even know what to say,” you hiccuped, your voice barely audible. “You could’ve just… stayed. I don’t know— like yell at me, tell me that you care for me or something. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn about not speaking to you either, but god, maybe I just wanted you to like— tell me how much you needed me. Because it never felt like you did anymore.”

Satoru’s face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’d already ruined everything.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just… I needed you. And you weren’t there. And really, it was my fault too, for not communicating—”

He cuts you off, his own tears falling freely now, though he didn’t seem to care. “I know. But I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to fix it. I— I should’ve been there for you more often because God, life without you is just so horrible, and I’ve been so horrible— ”

“You’re fixing it now,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me again. Please.”

He let out a choked laugh, his hands finally reaching for you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “I won’t,” he murmured into your hair. “I won’t. I promise.”

You buried your face in his shirt, your hands clutching the fabric as you cried. His body shook against yours, and you realized he was crying too—quietly, almost like he was trying to hide it, but you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled as they held you.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every fucking day. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because the weight of everything—the months of silence, the distance, the ache of missing him—was finally crashing down on you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t a bad kind of crash. It was relief. It was the feeling of something broken finally starting to heal.

Satoru’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm despite the tears. “Not again. Not ever.”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

It took a long time for the tears to stop, for the sobs to quiet into shaky breaths. But even when they did, neither of you moved. Satoru kept holding you, his arms tight around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. You felt like you were home.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy, but he was smiling—a small, tentative smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “You’re stuck with me now, like y’know, the annoying kid who’d follow you around as kids,” he said, his voice soft. “Just so you know.”

You laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “Good. Because I miss that Satoru, and I��m not letting you go again either.”

He grinned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Deal.”

And just like that, something shifted. The distance between you closed, the cracks in your friendship slowly mending. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was a start. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

—

After that night, Satoru made it a point to talk to you during class.

It was weird at first—uncomfortable, even. Because now, whenever he sat beside you, people stared. People whispered. But Satoru didn’t care. And after a while, neither did you.

Then, one day, it happened.

You were in the middle of a conversation when one of the girls from his usual group strolled up, her friends lingering just behind her.

“Dude,” she drawled, arms crossed. “We’re waiting for you.”

Satoru didn’t acknowledge her.

She huffed, looking at you for the first time.

“Who even are you?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Silence.

Then—calmly, lazily—Satoru turned to her.

“Fuck off.”

Her expression twisted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, resting his chin in his hand. “We’re talking.”

You swore you saw steam coming out of her ears.

She spun on her heel, storming off in a flurry of designer fabric, and Satoru just turned back to you like nothing had happened.

You blinked at him, stunned. “That was… aggressive.”

He shrugged. “Don’t like her.”

You snorted. “You used to hang out with her all the time.”

“Yeah, well.” He gave you a pointed look. “I was an idiot.”

And maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, the way he leaned in just a little closer like this—this—was what mattered.

But for the first time in a long time, you felt something settle inside you. Something warm. Something steady. Something that told you, without a doubt—

Satoru Gojo wasn’t leaving you behind again.

—

It happened slowly.

At first, it was just the way things had been before. You and Satoru were best friends again—finally, properly—and you were making up for lost time.

You sat together in lectures. You ate together between classes. You spent hours holed up in each other’s dorms, either working in silence or complaining about whatever god-awful assignment was due next.

And it was good. It was easy.

But then—then—things started to shift.

It was subtle at first.

A hand brushing against yours for just a little too long. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in a too-crowded study session, his breath fanning over your ear as he leaned in, muttering something you could barely focus on.

The way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way yours lingered, too.

—

It was a Friday night, and you were at Satoru’s dorm, lying on his bed while he sat at his desk, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I don’t wanna study,” he whined, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s do something fun.”

You turned a page in your book, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you define as ‘fun’?”

“Dunno,” he mused. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You sighed. “Satoru, it’s almost midnight.”

“And?” He grinned, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “C’mon, live a little.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “You just don’t want to do your readings.”

“Obviously.” He snorted. “But also, I feel like getting snacks.”

You hesitated, torn.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

His eyes lit up. “Knew you’d cave.”

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

—

It was raining by the time you got to the convenience store.

Not heavily—just a light drizzle, enough to make the streets shimmer under the streetlights.

Satoru grabbed half the store’s supply of junk food while you rolled your eyes, paying for your single bottle of tea. Outside, the air was cool, the pavement slick beneath your feet.

“I’m driving,” you said as he dug through his bag of snacks.

“Nah.” He grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. “I got this.”

You gave him a look. “You almost crashed last time.”

He scoffed. “That was a red light, not a crash.”

“You ran the red light.”

“Meow.”

You cringe, snatching the keys from his pocket. “Oh my god. Absolutely not.”

Satoru laughed but let you.

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip.

—

Back at your dorm, Satoru made himself at home—because of course he did.

He sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other mindlessly tossing a snack in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“You should be paying me rent at this point,” you muttered, shutting the door behind you.

“I would,” he said, grinning, “but I’m broke.”

You huffed, settling onto the bed beside him. “What, your trust fund isn’t enough?”

He smirked. “Nah, gotta save that for important things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Like overpriced sunglasses.”

“Exactly.”

You shook your head, reaching for the remote.

And then—a shift.

Satoru turned his head to look at you, and when you met his gaze, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched.

His fingers lingered at your temple, just for a moment. His touch was warm, featherlight.

You exhaled, heartbeat stuttering.

And then—just as quickly—he pulled back, flopping onto his back with a dramatic groan.

“What should we watch?” he asked, stretching like nothing had happened.

You exhaled.

Your chest felt tight.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat. “Dunno.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

—

But the tension didn’t. If anything, it only got worse.

It was in the way his hand brushed your waist when he reached past you.

The way he sat just a little too close, his knee knocking against yours under the desk.

The way his fingers trailed across your wrist when he grabbed something from you, his touch slow, deliberate.

And—God—it was in the way he looked at you.

Like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he wanted something.

And maybe—just maybe—so did you.

—

By the time second year rolled around, you weren’t sure what you and Satoru were anymore. Still best friends, technically. Still Satoru and you. But there was something else, too.

Something unspoken.

Something fragile and complicated and new. And neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

 —

The weather had started to change, the air cooler as autumn crept in. You could feel it in your bones—when the days shortened, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows. It made everything seem a little softer, like the world had gone quiet just to give you and Satoru a chance to breathe, to figure things out.

You were both sitting in the small, somewhat neglected corner of the university park, surrounded by towering trees with golden leaves fluttering to the ground. You were both on the grass, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed whenever you shifted. It was the kind of quiet afternoon you could’ve stayed in forever, and maybe that was why you weren’t quite ready to let it end.

Satoru stretched, his arms reaching high above his head. “Ugh, my back’s killing me. Who knew studying could be so physically demanding?” He rolled his shoulders, groaning dramatically.

You shot him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. “I think that’s just you, Satoru. You’re a professional at making everything harder than it is.”

He shot you a grin, a smug little thing, like he knew you couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Oh, please, I make things look easy. It's a gift.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the great Satoru Gojo.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, catching the teasing tone in your voice. “That’s right. You should be honored to sit next to greatness.” He nudged your shoulder with his, the warmth of his body spilling into yours. The touch was light but undeniable. Familiar.

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I don’t know if I’d call you ‘great’ when you still lose to me in Mario Kart every time.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just struck a mortal wound. “You—I’m just going easy on you because I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m a gentleman like that.”

You could hear the playful teasing in his voice, but the way he looked at you—his eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish grin—felt like something deeper.

“I don’t need you to go easy on me,” you teased, leaning in just a bit too much, your voice soft. “I’m pretty good on my own, thanks.”

That was when you noticed it—the way his eyes flickered for a second, his lips curving down ever so slightly before he caught himself. His gaze held yours for a second longer than normal, and for the first time in a while, you both just stayed there. Not a word. No jokes or banter. Just the space between you thick with unspoken things.

Satoru was the first to look away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, want me to go grab us something from that little café over there? You could use some food if you’re gonna keep up with me.”

You hesitated. He’s back to that again. The Satoru who was always making sure you were fed, always thinking ahead for both of you, even when he had to act like nothing was different.

But you didn’t want to ruin the moment, not now. Not when everything felt right.

“No, I’m good,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But... thanks.”

Satoru studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “I swear, you’re impossible.” But even as he said it, his hand reached out—just a quick pat of his large hand atop yours. The briefest of contact, and for a moment, the world paused around you.

The warmth of his hand lingered even after it was gone, and you could feel your chest tightening, your pulse picking up. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

And for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed like that. Silent. Comfortable in the space between you, letting the quiet be enough. But you both knew it wasn’t just the park that made the air heavy—it was everything unsaid that clung to it.

Eventually, the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the grass. You sighed, looking up at Satoru. “We should probably get back soon. It’s getting late.”

He glanced at his phone, then at you, and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” He paused. “Hey, you want to walk with me to my dorm? I’m not ready to head back alone yet.”

It wasn’t even a question, not really. But you could feel his eyes on you, like he was waiting for your answer to matter just as much as the offer itself.

You nodded, and the tension between you both lifted just a little as you both stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. “Sure, let’s go.”

As you and Satoru walked side by side, the night air crisp and cool against your skin, the silence between you felt heavier than before. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It was charged, like something waiting to tip over the edge. Every step you took together seemed to draw you closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body beside you, even in the chill of the evening.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his hand brushed against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. The tips of his fingers grazed your knuckles—light, tentative. Like he was testing the waters. Like he was waiting for you to stop him.

But you didn’t.

You swallowed, trying to focus on the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath your feet rather than the way your skin tingled where he touched you. It was such a small thing, barely even a touch, but it sent your heart skittering against your ribs. And when you finally dared to glance up at him, Satoru was already looking at you, his lips curled into something between amusement and something softer, something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Satoru tilted his head, his silver-white hair catching in the glow of the streetlights. “Nothing.”

A lie.

Because there was something—so much something—wrapped up in the way his eyes flickered over you, lingering for just a second too long on your lips before he looked ahead again.

The air between you felt tight, humming with something unsaid.

You were nearing his dorm now, the pathway growing quieter, fewer students passing by. It was just the two of you, footsteps slowing, the night pressing in close.

Satoru exhaled a slow breath, and then—without thinking, or maybe because he had been thinking about it too much—he reached out again. This time, his fingers laced through yours, not just a brush, not just an accident. A deliberate touch, a quiet declaration.

Your breath caught, and you felt him squeeze—just slightly, just enough.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he should be asking.

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. You?”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno,” he said, squeezing your fingers again. “You’re kind of distracting.”

Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your neck. “Oh, I’m distracting? That’s rich, coming from you.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound warm, teasing. “No, I mean it.” He stopped walking, tugging you gently by the hand so you turned to face him. “You ever notice how quiet things get when it’s just us?”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “Satoru—”

His free hand lifted, his fingertips barely skimming your jaw. He wasn’t quite touching, just there, like he was still giving you room to pull away. Like he wasn’t sure if he should close the space between you.

And God, you wanted him to.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. It would be so easy. Just one step closer. Just one little push, and—

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand falling away, his fingers untangling from yours. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind,” he muttered, laughing under his breath like he was scolding himself. “Forget I said anything.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the absence of his touch making your skin feel cold.

“No,” you said, firmer than you expected. “I don’t want to.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled. “You don’t?”

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “No.”

Satoru stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a low chuckle, he shook his head. “You really are impossible.”

And then, before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—you stepped forward, pressing your palm against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. His breath hitched, his body going still under your touch.

The silence stretched again, thick and unyielding.

“Say it,” you whispered.

His hands hovered at your sides, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Say what?”

You looked up at him, unflinching. “Whatever it is you’re holding back.”

Satoru exhaled, a sharp, unsteady thing. His hands finally settled on your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer, more certain. His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding himself in the feel of you.

And then, his voice—low, raw, real.

“I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore.”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The words hung between you, heavy and dangerous and everything.

Then, Satoru leaned in, his nose just barely brushing yours, his lips hovering so close. His breath was warm, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper.

“I want more.”

And then, finally—finally—you closed the space between you.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was hungry, desperate, like the both of you had been waiting too long to do this, like neither of you wanted to waste another second. His lips crashed against yours, and you gasped against his mouth as he backed you up against the door of his dorm, hands gripping your waist tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, feeling the heat of him seep into you. His body pressed against yours, and the air between you turned thick with something intoxicating, something impossible to stop now that it had started. The small, breathless noises you made against his mouth only seemed to push him further, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare skin, warm and firm and so much.

The door behind you dug into your back, and for a fleeting moment, a thought broke through the haze—what if someone sees us?

As if he could read your mind, Satoru groaned against your lips, impatient, and without breaking the kiss, he reached behind you, fumbling for the handle. The second the door swung open, he practically pulled you inside with him, kicking it shut before his lips were on yours again, urgent, demanding.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was guiding you backwards, hands never leaving your body, mouth never straying too far from yours. You stumbled together, his grip firm, his kisses growing deeper, hotter, more insistent as you moved through the dark room.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your pulse was a wild, unsteady thing, your skin burning under his touch.

His mouth was warm and soft against yours, kissing your lips like he was afraid you were gonna disappear. Using his strength to his advantage, he manhandled you into his lap on the bed, while he sat up against the headboard. His tongue prodded into your mouth experimentally, and when you obliged him entry, he swirled it around with yours before licking into the cavern of your mouth, tasting you as if you were one of those sickeningly sweet delicacies he enjoyed.

His hands roamed from your waist to your hips, to your thighs before stopping hesitantly over your ass, to which you dragged them down until he was squeezing and kneading the supple flesh with his hands, mouth slotted against yours.

You pulled back slightly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. But Satoru didn’t let you go far. His hands were firm on your ass, keeping you anchored to him as his lips trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His mouth moved lower, pressing hot, lingering kisses along the column of your neck. Each touch of his lips against your skin felt like fire, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your throat. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. One hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he captured your lips again in a desperate, hungry kiss that left you dizzy. His tongue slid against yours, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around you seemed to fade away.

His hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. One moment they were in your hair, the next sliding down your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, and you tugged at it impatiently, wanting—needing—to feel his skin against yours.

He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time. His hands found the hem of your top, and you lifted your arms without hesitation, letting him pull it off and discard it somewhere on the floor. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Satoru’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast under your bra. You arched into him, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His mouth found yours again, urgent and unrelenting, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that left you breathless. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, like he didn’t care about anything else but this—you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven. Every kiss, every touch, every press of his hands left you dizzy, lost in the haze of heat and want.

And when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from kissing, you swore you’d never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at you now.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Both of your chests were heaving, your own shirt flung on the bed somewhere and Satoru’s completely off and forgotten somewhere on the floor. His hands were still settled on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your heated skin. His head lolled back against the couch, a lazy, satisfied grin stretching across his lips.

“Damn,” he exhaled, voice slightly hoarse. “I think I saw the pearly gates for a second there.”

You scoffed, giving his shoulder a weak shove, while reaching for your shirt. “Dramatic.”

He only laughed, the sound bright and breathless. “I mean it, nerd. Who knew you had it in you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers curling against his shoulders. “Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

His grin widened, but he obeyed—for all of two seconds. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he waggled his brows. “You know, we should really make this a regular thing. Like, for health purposes. I feel like I just did an entire cardio session.”

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god.”

He gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his bare chest. “See? That was uncalled for. Here I am, trying to improve my well-being, and you’re—”

“Satoru.” You fixed him with a look, but the corners of your lips twitched. He was impossible.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your fingertips. “Okay, okay, I’ll be good.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if to ground himself—or maybe to keep you exactly where you were. “But… just so we’re clear, this isn’t, like, a one-time thing, right?”

You blinked, his sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. His usual playfulness was still there, but there was something else beneath it—something genuine, something careful.

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

His gaze flickered over your face, searching. “I mean…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you again. “I was serious, you know. About liking you. More than a friend.”

Your breath hitched. “You were?”

Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. You think I just let anyone straddle me and—”

You smacked his chest. “Can you not ruin the moment?”

He caught your wrist before you could pull away, lacing his fingers through yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “I was serious,” he repeated. “I am serious.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I like you, and I want to do this properly.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. “Properly?”

He nodded, suddenly looking almost shy. “Like… an actual date. Multiple dates. Boyfriend privileges. All that cute shit.” His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “So, what do you say?”

Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re actually asking me out?”

Satoru huffed a laugh. “Well, yeah. What, you thought I’d just kiss you senseless and leave you hanging?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think. “I dunno. You are kind of a menace.”

His brows shot up. “A menace?”

You giggled, and he groaned, tightening his grip on your waist. “Okay, that’s it, you’re legally required to say yes now.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile stretching across your lips. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll go out with you.”

His face lit up, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, arms wrapping fully around your waist. He shifted, rolling you onto the bed so he was hovering over you, his weight pressed deliciously against yours.

“Guess that makes you my girlfriend now,” he murmured against your lips. “Which means—” His fingers trailed down your side, teasing. “—I get unlimited make-out privileges.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Would you like it if I said sex privileges too?”

“I’m gonna seriously hurt you—“

Satoru only smirked before cutting you off with another kiss.

—

A few months into dating Satoru, you realised three things.

One, he had absolutely no concept of personal space. If he was near you, he was touching you—whether it was throwing an arm over your shoulder, draping himself across your lap, or trapping you against a wall just to say hi like a complete menace.

Two, he was shamelessly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously obsessed with you. If he wasn’t texting you, he was calling. If he wasn’t calling, he was physically finding you. And if he couldn’t find you, he’d send a stupidly dramatic voice memo about how he was “perishing” without you.

And three, he was always teasing. Always testing his limits, pushing your buttons, flashing that damn smug grin whenever you got flustered.

Like right now.

“I think you should stay over.”

You blinked up at him from where you were curled up on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that was way too big for you. “I am staying over.”

Satoru huffed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “No, I mean, like, actually stay over. Move in.”

You snorted. “Satoru.”

“What? I’m serious.” He nudged your knee with his own. “Just think about it. That trust fund has enough money— actually maybe more— for an apartment near college. We basically live together anyway.”

“Not even close.”

He scoffed. “Oh, please. You leave clothes here, you steal my hoodies—”

“They’re practically dresses on me.”

“—and you’re here more than you’re at your own place.”

“That’s a lie.”

Satoru gasped dramatically. “Oh, so I’m imagining you in my bed every night?”

Your face warmed, but you shot him a glare. “You’re exaggerating.”

He only grinned, scooting closer until your noses nearly brushed. “You love sleeping here,” he drawled. “You love my bed, you love my cuddles, you love this d—”

You smacked a hand over his mouth, but it barely muffled his muffled laughter.

“I swear to God, Satoru—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him in one smooth motion. His weight was just enough to make your breath hitch, his silver lashes casting shadows over sharp blue eyes.

“You love me,” he finished, his voice dipping lower, teasing, smug.

Your stomach flipped.

“…Debatable,” you muttered.

Satoru barked out a laugh. “Debatable?” He leaned down, nuzzling into your neck as his hands slid under his hoodie, warm palms settling against your waist. “You’re literally in my bed wearing my clothes right now.”

Your breath stuttered as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your ear.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping his bare shoulders. “Satoru—”

“I mean, I don’t blame you.” He grinned against your skin, pressing another kiss, this one lower. “I am insanely hot.”

You groaned. “You ruin everything.”

Satoru laughed, bright and breathless, before rolling over, pulling you fully on top of him with ease. His hands never left your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin in slow, lazy patterns.

Then he suddenly reached behind him, grabbed something off the nightstand, and slid his glasses onto his face.

You blinked. “I thought you preferred contacts now?”

Satoru hummed, adjusting them slightly as he gazed up at you. “Yeah, but I dunno…” His lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “You always liked me better in these, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t wrong—there was something about the way his glasses framed his face, how they softened him just a little, made him look more like the Satoru you’d known before he became everyone else’s.

“…You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered.

His grin widened. “And yet, you’re still staring.”

You scoffed, reaching up to pluck them off his face, but he caught your wrist, tugging you down until your noses brushed.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You like me better like this.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“I like you anyway,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his eyes—something soft, something warm—before his grin turned teasing again. “Good,” he said, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. “Because I was gonna keep you here all night either way.”

You barely managed to mutter, “You’re so weird,” before he cut you off with another kiss.

i don't like this work at ALL lol but tbh i wrote this because i want to be wanted UGH hdhjsdh

[xanofmercia]

Not a huge fan of some of the later notes roasting this. Of course what you choose to do with your own body is valid, and people trying to shame you into a different choice, however well-intentioned, are not doing a good thing. You’re expressing concerns or stating your choice for yourself and you don’t deserve to be made fun of just for that.

That said, draconym is right that you can still be yourself, The Real You, on pills! I can’t speak for all meds, but I’ve never had a problem with the “regressing because meds ran out” with ADHD meds. I’ve ran out for reasons mentioned in the previous reblogs. With ADHD meds, I did actually worry a lot about losing myself or my chaos while on them, or not being able to be as creative, or becoming some kind of more boring version of myself. Luckily that didn’t happen! I’m literally me with the only difference being that I feel like I have more energy and I can actually just decide to do things sometimes instead of spending hours psyching myself up to do them. There’s not really any other difference. The ‘versions’ of me are the same. And the ones I take aren’t actually supposed to be taken every day; you’re supposed to avoid doing them too often so you don’t build up a tolerance. I only take them when I feel like I could use the boost. Running out sucks because I can’t get a focus/executive energy boost when I need it, but I don’t “regress” back into a previous version of myself. It’s not a huge comedown or massive drop between my normal state when I have them versus when I’ve run out.

Depression’s a bit different because withdrawal can give you brain-zaps which scared me when they first happened, and stopping too quickly can cause some bad side effects, which has happened to me a fair amount because pharmacies and medication in my country are terrible. If that’s a serious concern for you, depending on the medication it could actually make sense to decide you don’t want to have to deal with things like withdrawal symptoms if you forget and miss a few days, or having to always remember to get to the pharmacy on time. I did also get concerned about taking this one because I heard it could level out your moods a lot so you couldn’t feel as happy as you did before. But I didn’t really feel like it made a significant enough impact on that front for me to stop taking it.

I know people who dislike the idea of manufactured chemicals altering things in their brains. It doesn’t matter if that’s rational or logical or not; it is what it is. You don’t *have* to take meds. You don’t *have* to do anything you don’t want to.

But it’s always good to have more information about important decisions like this, regardless of your ideas or reasons. You’re welcome to talk to me, or you can check out some forum testimonials or do some research on specific disorders and their treatments and the effects people experience with each. This isn’t intended as pressure to change your mind or anything; you’re absolutely free to do whatever you want with the information. It’s just better the more information you have, no matter how much you already know. And if not going on meds is definitely the best decision for you, then that’s also valid! Either way, it won’t hurt to have more information about them.

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything​ in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

[reminiscingtonight]

Guilty

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Tis the season for sequels. Featuring a lot of Kyra and Alessia and not so much of Lia

[The Thing About Families Masterlist]

You should have known better than to trust her. 

There’s a reason Steph’s always more than happy to drop Kyra off on your doorstep whenever camp’s over.

There’s a reason Mini looks like she’s gained five years every time the younger girl has been granted privileges to “babysit” her two kids. 

You have a million reasons to not trust her yet you did. 

Why did you trust Kyra with the ring?

Your knuckles are nearly white as you drag the young girl into a nearby unoccupied conference room. Kyra’s looking apologetically guilty, but a delirious haze is starting to take over you. It’s a mixture of horror and disbelief, but at the bottom of it all, you feel beyond stupid.

“What do you mean you lost it?!”

Kyra looks like she’s moments away from crying, but you can’t find it in yourself to be compassionate. You can console her later. Right now you need to get to the bottom of this and try to salvage your relationship with your girlfriend first. 

“I swear it was stashed at the bottom of my drawer but it just wasn’t there when I looked this morning.”

“Well where did you put it?”

“I never moved it! Someone must have taken it.”

You pinch your eyes shut, praying to whatever soccer gods that are above that this was just a cruel joke. This wasn’t really happening and you weren’t about to postpone all the plans you’ve spent months working on. “Kyra, I am begging you not to do this. What am I supposed to do? The dinner’s been booked! The restaurant knows I’m proposing!”

“We can get you a new one! I’ll front it, I swear.”

Forget Kyra crying, you’re going to cry. 

“Unless you’re willing to shell out five grand in the next few hours, I don’t think ‘buying me a new’ one will work.”

The young Australian’s eyes bulge out at the sound of how much you spent on Lia’s ring. 

It’s not a well kept secret that you were going to propose. You and Lia have been together for years now, married in every way except for the official one. Wedding plans have already been discussed, from venues to food to the invitation list. The last thing you actually had to do was the actual proposing and getting married parts.

Though with the ways things are going, you’re not sure you’re going to get married anytime soon. 

There’s a knock on the door but you ignore it, pacing back and forth as your mind races. There’s not really much you can do at this point. The place you got Lia’s ring custom made at is already closed at this time of day, and your girlfriend deserves something better than a last minute generic engagement ring. 

A flash of blonde enters your peripheral just as you make your decision.

“Okay. I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh I’ve been looking for you guys--”

“Now’s not a good time, Less,” you wave your sister off, not even bothering to pay her any attention. “Okay Kyra, listen closely because I won’t repeat myself.”

The younger girl nods, determination painted all over her features. 

“I’ll cancel the reservations. That’ll buy me a couple days.”

“Guys--”

“Less. Not a good time,” You repeat, shuffling to turn your back to her to ensure Alessia can’t interrupt again. “The jeweler still has the plans I sent him. I can probably get Gio and Luca to lend me some money, but you have to find where you stashed that ring, Kyra. It wasn’t cheap.”

“About the ring--”

“Not now Alessia!” This time your and Kyra’s voices blend together, neither of you willing to give Alessia a minute of your days. 

She lets out an offended huff and you have half a mind to just strangle her right here and now, your mother’s feelings be damned. 

Gritting your teeth you turn around, not really happy to have to find out what your sister wants. She has free reign to bother you at any minute of any day but why was she so insistent on doing so right now? “What could possibly be so important, you impatient piece of--”

You cut off suddenly, eyes doubling in size when you look down at her hands. 

There’s a velvet box clutched between her perfectly manicured nails, the tiny thing sitting there like it’s mocking you for losing your temper earlier. 

“That’s my--”

“The ring! But-- but--”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Oh god, Lessi I could kiss you, you just saved my ass--” Kyra breaks off, something clicking in her brain. “Wait, where did you find it?”

There’s a slight pause as you wait for Alessia’s answer. 

“Err… so funny story.” She blows out a breath of air, trying her best to look nonchalant. “I might have been-- actually Kyra hid…” Alessia fidgets, not liking the crease that was growing deeper and deeper between your brows. “IwantedtoprankKyraaftersheprankedmesoItooktheringthelasttimeIvisited.”

She slams her mouth shut the second the words are uttered, but no one says a word. 

An uncomfortable tension settles into the room and Alessia does her best not to wilt to the ground. 

You stare at her.

Kyra stares at her.

Alessia stares at a spot past your faces, nervously shuffling under the weight of your gazes.

There’s no mistaking icy stare or the clenched jaw that proved you caught every word of her fastball confession. 

“You… What?” There’s an edge to your voice, a tone Alessia rarely was at the end of growing up, but one that she recognizes all the same. The order there is clear, but Alessia’s not so sure she wants to repeat herself out of self preservation.

She shrinks, suddenly wishing she wasn’t so tall. “Um. Well. So Kyra hid my earrings the other day, and I, uh, I thought hiding this would be a funny way to prank her back?” Alessia cringes, not liking the way this all sounds now that she’s saying it out loud. “But judging by the looks on your faces, I’m going to say otherwise.”

Your nose flares but that’s the only response she’s given. 

Kyra looks grumpy, probably the result of taking your misplaced anger from earlier. 

You hold out your hand.

No words are exchanged but Alessia is quick to drop the box into your hand. 

Just as quick as she darts forward to do so, she jumps back, shoving her now empty hands into her pockets. 

“See, no hurt no foul, right?”

Crickets. 

That’s all Alessia hears as she nervously chuckles. 

Neither you nor Kyra have moved, faces giving nothing away. 

At least not until you call the Australian’s name calmly, eyes never leaving your sister’s.

Alessia watches as the two of you slowly peel away from each other. Her eyes keep darting between the two of you, feeling more and more like prey that’s being stalked as the seconds tick by. “Guys, c’mon–”

“Remember how I told you to play nice with my only sister?”

Kyra’s frowning. It’s probably supposed to come off frightening but she looks too much like a kicked dog for it to really do too much.

But the look on your face… yeah, that was intimidating enough for the two of you.

“Forget everything I’ve ever said. I don’t have a sister.”

Alessia gulps.

“Get her.”

She bolts.

[adamarks]

Good morning Fox! (Letting you know I just woke up in case any of this is incoherent) First of all, I agree with a lot of what you’re saying about the crew and the pacing and whatnot. Finding Ed on a beach WOULD have made more sense for those reasons.

ON THE OTHER HAND, hear me out, I’d say the Izzy line is more important than a throwaway explanation and it was kinda vital for Stede to see him on the revenge.

Firstly, the line. “Seeing as you’re the one who kept his body aboard.”

Frankly, this doesn’t make like HUGE surface level sense, and if it was anything it was supposed to be in conjunction with “I have…. Love 🤢… for you.” But really, what it starts hammering home once again, is that Izzy is the personification of Ed’s coping skills— what makes Ed Blackbeard. Ed was drunkenly keeping his own shambling corpse on board for months. He didn’t want to be there; he wasn’t happy. He had become the “insane shell of a man that’s merely posing as Blackbeard.” The line, like most lines surrounding Izzy, is meant to tell us where Ed’s head is at.

The scene where he tells Ed to go off and become a fisherman -> Ed’s misaligned coping skill of running when things get too real or too uncertain

Izzy throughout season 1 -> Ed’s commitment issues and self sabotage

It’s why Izzy had to die. It’s why we heard “sit with me, Eddie” after Fang says “Do you think you don’t know how to sit with yourself?” And most importantly (to this conversation) it’s why Stede had to go ask Izzy for his tiebreaker vote. It was Ed saying he wanted to leave. Stede awkwardly and miserably standing there was him trying to respect Ed’s wishes etc etc you get me. Which is important! That’s what he’d learned at the end of season 1! He’s listening when other people make their stance on him clear.

As for leaving Ed on the Revenge, a complaint I see often is that we never see the auxiliary wardrobe in s2. What no one seems to understand is that the point was less that SPECIFIC room and more “I have a bunch of secret passages on the ship.” Ed being found in a secret passage in the belly of the ship was our return to the auxiliary wardrobe. It was the “let me let you into the most intimate parts of me, my hidden self” for both of them. Ed never actually left Stede’s love, and Stede is always willing to come meet him at the worst, at the most hidden parts of him. In this way, the reunion couldn’t happen on the beach, they needed to have that “auxiliary wardrobe” moment again.

I don’t disagree that the crew stuff would’ve shaken out better the way you proposed. Ideally, they would’ve just had 10 episodes, not been working with scraps, and would’ve gotten to actually do 2.06 the way it was intended. But I WILL say I think how they did the innkeeper was perfect and that a lot of the Izzy stuff/pacing makes more sense when you see him not just as like Ed’s fatherish figure but as his metaphorical daddy issues. That itself explains everything about the swiftness of his arc, the weird romantic/not-at-all undertones, and makes oooh daddy 80x funnier. Just food for thought. I don’t have a neat way to rap this up sorry xoxo

so let's talk about david jenkins saying the idea was that the crew would dump ed overboard in the mutiny before the writers changed their minds and had him kept in the hold.

he says they changed this for pacing reasons, so that the reunion could happen in 2x03 instead of being delayed longer, and i cannot argue with that, waiting any longer sounds excruciating. so i'm not complaining about this as, like, villainous interference from the WBD suits or anything, although it might be a decision forced by cutting the number of episodes. probably still the right call under the circumstances. BUT i'm interested in it because this explains a couple things that are weird about the plot structure of the whole season as it stands.

so first of all the crew throwing the body overboard just immediately makes a lot more sense because it doesn't actually require them to have failed to notice he wasn't dead. it would be pretty tough to carry the body into the hold and lay him out and cover his face with a lil washcloth and everything and not notice at any point during this that he's still breathing or that he has a pulse. and if they did notice you'd think they'd either finish the job quickly or try to treat him if they'd had a change of heart, not leave him to die slow. however the idea that they would beat him till he stopped moving then immediately chuck the body overboard, that totally makes sense, you wouldn't stop to check if he was already dead or not because one way or another he will be pretty shortly after you dump him in the ocean.

second the line from stede to izzy about "you were the one who kept his body onboard" always bugged me because it feels like it's meant to establish something about izzy but it's really unclear WHAT it tells us about him, in a way that doesn't seem like intentional ambiguity: i've seen people interpret it as a sign of his devotion and i've seen others assume it was a practical decision that the crew should keep ed's body around to claim the bounty on blackbeard. (and i've seen both interpretations from people both in and out of the canyon, so it's not even a normal izcourse divide.) i actually wondered at one point if the purpose was to foreshadow where izzy's arc is going to end by establishing that he thinks it's more respectful to bury a pirate on land than at sea, although if that was the idea it sure didn't work on the people who'd care most.

however this new info from djenks explains it pretty neatly, which is that the reason for the line isn't to establish character stuff about izzy at all it's just there to awkwardly patch a plothole. it's that someone in the writers' room was like "but it doesn't make any sense, why WOULDN'T they dump his body overboard once they'd killed him" and somebody else was like "idk uh maybe we can put in a line about how izzy stopped them or something."

now more interestingly! this also would change something bigger about 2x04. because i'm guessing the idea here would be that ed would have actually for real washed up on an island that looks just like the one in the gravy basket and just never actually gotten up off the beach, and stede would find him there, mermaid scene, and ed would wake up mad and storm off into the woods with where he meets mary read with stede already trying to follow him and the rest of the episode proceeds as normal from there. (and probably buttons would be just, like, hanging around following stede, or maybe he was already acting as a psychopomp and led stede to ed's body, idk, lots of possible ways to play that.)

this means you completely lose the beat of the crew voting ed off the ship. you wouldn't lose the idea of the crew being pissed at him; you could still have the kitty collar onesie probation stuff after he got back. but this is a BIG change.

first of all it solves a big obvious problem LOTS of people pointed out immediately when the episode aired which is that it makes no sense that stede would just stay on the ship after letting ed be exiled. reuniting with ed has been his driving goal for months and it's not even like ed has definitively told him to fuck off, he's just stomping off angry and incoherent and not even clearly in his right mind. but they couldn't let stede actually follow ed on his own initiative immediately, because it would undermine the later fisherman breakup if stede has already established that he's willing to leave his pirate career behind if that's what it takes to be with ed. so you end up with this awkward beat where he's just kind of passively standing there until buttons tells him what to do.

i think there's something even more important it does though! one criticism a LOT of people had about s2 was feeling like the crew all hated ed now and there was no clear sign they'd forgiven him by the end, and also some people had the impression that stede had just overriden the crew's decision (even though he does say he's going to ask their permission; it DOES feel weird we don't see that). now i've said before that i think there was probably going to be a reconciliation between ed & lucius, and by extension the crew as a whole, in the lupete wedding verision of 2x06, and i still think that. but regardless of whether i'm right or wrong about that. even without a reconciliation, this would seem like WAY less of a problem if the crew hadn't voted ed of the ship.

as it is, we have THREE scenes devoted to the idea that the crew as a whole (not just lucius & izzy, who both have more complicated individual relationships with ed) are uncomfortable with ed's presence on the ship - there's the initial one where stede's holding the meat on his face where they're all yelling at him, and then there's the actual walk of shame where they've just voted him off, and THEN there's the youtube apology scene where they're heckling him and stuff. and having three separate scenes like that makes it feel like the narrative is really hammering in this idea of a big dramatic rupture in the whole crew's relationship with ed. but only the last of those scenes was originally supposed to be there! the first two were just thrown into the plot to justify why ed ends up wandering around an island to run into anne & mary! if you only had the youtube apology scene, it would be much more clear that most of the crew weren't really all that mad - as it is, roach and jim explicitly saying they aren't mad feels like it's overshadowed by the weight of the earlier scenes.

(also a minor issue, but i've mentioned before that surprisingly often people think the vote was unanimous. this doesn't actually make sense in terms of the episode, because we know it was deadlocked and izzy cast the tiebreaker. but it is sort of weird, if the idea is that the crew is split on this, that we never get any sign of who voted which way; there's nobody but stede who is clearly presented as specifically not wanting ed to be exiled. which DOES end up making it feel like it's the crew as a unanimous block that wants him off the ship. but that makes sense if the whole concept of the crew wanting him exiled was sort of hastily written to patch a plot hole instead of being a fully developed idea.)

anyway. like i said i can't really complain about this as a pacing decision. but it is really interesting to me how many knock-on problems with the whole arc of the season were created by the change, and how much cleaner the original idea sounds like it would have been.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Max 🔀

Yeah! 1k for:

---

 “You’re not an it,” Evan sighs.

Buck turns to look back at him. “I thought you hated fairies?”

“I do,” Evan grumbles. “But you’re still not a thing. You’re a sentient being with feelings. And occasionally one isn’t wholly terrible.”

“Well, uh… Thanks,” Buck says quietly. “Seriously.”

“Whatever,” Evan mumbles. 

Looking out at the road, Bobby smiles. 

🟢

The next time they stop, it’s because Bobby needs to talk to Athena about what happened. They pick a bustling rest stop. Somewhere with lots of witnesses, in case anything happens. 

Bobby walks off with the phone to his ear. He obviously intends for a private conversation. Buck takes the same chance to call Maddie. Unfortunately, his call is not private. Evan is in the backseat still, listening. 

“I got a flight out tomorrow. Early,” Maddie explains. “Mom and Dad know I’m coming. I said something came up with your case and you’ll arrive not long after me.” 

��They must be confused,” Buck says. 

“They are,” Maddie confirms. 

“There’s another thing,” Buck says.

“What other thing?” 

“We’re being followed,” Buck explains. 

“Followed?” 

“Agents of some law enforcement agency or another,” Buck says. “They won’t identify themselves.”

“Are you in trouble?” Maddie asks.

“I don’t know. Bobby’s talking to Athena. I think we have to be careful,” he says. “Only stop in populated areas. Not get caught alone. Film them. That sort of thing.”

“Be careful then. Do what Bobby says.” 

“I am!” Buck insists. “I said we were being careful.”

“Yeah, well I know you. And I know how you get when you’re hurting.”

Buck frowns. Eddie had expressed a similar sentiment, hadn’t he?

“I’m gonna get him to Pennsylvania,” Buck promises her. “In one piece.”

She sighs. “Okay. He doing alright?” 

“You want to ask him yourself?” Buck offers.

“Sure,” she says. 

“One sec.”

He passes the phone back to Evan, who smiles gratefully as he takes it.

“Hi, Maddie,” he says into the phone.

They chat for a minute or so before Evan hands the phone back to Buck.

“Thank you,” Maddie says. “He seems okay.” 

“Yeah,” Buck answers. 

“I want both of you to be okay.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Buck promises. “I love you, Maddie.”

“I love you, too, Ev… Buck. I love you, too, Buck.”

They end the call, and Buck sort of thinks he wants to cry. But he can’t. Not with Evan here. A moment silence passes between them, and then once again, it is strangely not broken by Buck.

“What are they like?” Evan asks.

Buck frowns. “Who?”

“My parents,” Evan says. “Your parents, too. I suppose.”

Well that’s a change of attitude. They can share, apparently. You save a guy from unlawful arrest one time.

“Uh…” Buck doesn’t actually know how to answer. He can’t lie. He doesn’t want to give them any credit they don’t deserve. But… But maybe they’ll be different for Evan. Maybe?

“What?” Evan asks. “Don’t try to think of clever wording. Just answer me.”

Buck sighs. 

“They never liked me,” he admits. “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s because… Well. Mom always suspected there was something wrong. Dad always supported Mom.”

“Ah,” Evan replies. “So they’ll believe us?”

“Oh, for sure,” Buck nods. 

“Were they good parents otherwise?” Evan asks.

“No,” Buck admits quietly.

“Oh,” Evan says. “Just not to you or…”

“No, not to Maddie, either,” Buck answers. “Though they’ve been better since Jee was born. They never really recovered from losing Daniel.”

Evan stays silent after that.

Bobby comes back sometime later. He has a tight sort of expression on his face. 

“Everything okay?” Buck asks him.

Bobby looks at Buck, something serious in his eyes. Buck can’t read it. Doesn’t know what to think.

“Yes,” he says. “Yeah, everything is good.”

ii. 

By the time they get to Hershey, everyone is tired and fed up of being in the car. Evan actually, surprisingly, is the least noticeably disgruntled. Not that anything bad happens or anyone argues or anything like that. They’re all cordial. Just when stops trying to be conversational - somewhere around Missouri - Buck knows everyone is ready for a damn break. 

“Why did they move here?” Evan asks when they’re nearing the small city. 

Buck inhales tightly. He doesn’t want to talk. Not about this. Even Bobby winces. Like he knows the timing on this is poor. But the thing is, Buck can still understand why he’s asking. Why did they leave his home and make it so hard for him to find them? 

“We moved after Daniel died,” Buck says. He thinks that covers it. Though, he is aware things are never that easy.

“Why? Why leave the only place with memories of him?” Evan asks.

In the passenger seat of the car, Bobby’s expression falls. He could answer that question better than Buck, couldn’t he? Bobby left the only place with any memories of his family. And unlike Buck, when he left Pennsylvania, there was never a chance of making any new ones. 

“Sometimes it’s easier to leave a tragedy,” Bobby mumbles.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Evan says.

“Not if you haven’t had one, no. I imagine it doesn’t,” Bobby replies. 

“People were also… Uh… Judgmental,” Buck explains.

“About their kid dying?” Evan asks. “That’s a little messed up.”

“No. About the lengths they went to save him. Having me… Uh, having you.” 

“What does that mean?” Evan asks.

Buck’s stomach drops.

“Oh my god. You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Evan asks.

“Of course you don’t. You were four. They weren’t going to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” 

Buck sighs.  “They only had you to save him,” Buck says. “The only reason they had another kid was to save Daniel’s life. To give him bone marrow. You - we - were only ever for spare parts.”

[culpeppercheckers721]

Turn OC Week 2025– Day 1: Not-So Short Bio

Character: Aileen Darcie O’Connor (Feat. One of the shittiest collages I’ve ever made so let’s ignore that! 🤪)

Ahh first and foremost, sorry this post is so late in the day! It’s been a busy one lol. Anyways, when this week was announced I was honestly rather nervous, because Turn fandom events have been SO fun for me every time I’ve done them so far, and I knew I’d love to contribute, but, despite all of the writing I do in this era and the amount of 18th century characters I have, I had never actually made a Turn OC! But, it reminded me that I’ve recently been thinking, as unfamiliar with this sort of shipping as I am, that I could DABBLE in some Ben Tallmadge/OC stuff, and to make a long story short, I decided I’d use this as an excuse to actually develop the OC I’ve had a vague idea of for too long now, so I introduce you all to Aileen O’Connor!

And because I physically cannot be concise apparently, more under the cut!

SO. For the longest time, my vision for Aileen did not go beyond “loud mouthed Irish woman”, but as decidedly accurate as that description is, having an excuse to flesh her out has given me something of an actual sorry I could pursue one day about her, falling pretty in line with that one Turnsgiving post about “what I’d do in Turn” (even though she’s not supposed to be a COMPLETE self-insert, but still)! 😂 Hence why I will try to condense this character to bullet points:

- Aileen O’Connor, like many Irish Americans of the time, never favored the British government. So, her eventual stance as a patriot is no surprise.

- She grew up in Long Island, where her family ended up establishing themselves in Montauk. Her aunt, Rylee O’Connor, ended up marrying a Woodhull related to the rest of the Woodhull family we all know and love(? Maybe not Richard though lmfao), and this is where her connection to the story comes in.

- When she suggests Aileen go on a family trip to Setauket to meet this new, extended family of Rylee’s, Aileen accompanies her because the two have a pretty nice relationship, and who doesn’t love hanging with their Cool Aunt, after all?

- Upon meeting Abraham Woodhull, she figures out (by chance or perhaps by investigation, I haven’t gotten into the intricacies of this part of her arc yet ahahah) his position as a rebel, sees her in to help the cause, and she fucking takes it.

- When she proclaims “Hi hello yes I’d like to offer my services as a spy, please!!” the majority of the ring is just like??? “No???” But Anna of course, who barely knows her, can appreciate a woman wanting to help the cause (despite how few options they would’ve had at the time), and is likely the force that pushed for Aileen to get an opportunity to help, however briefly.

- And what starts as her just being aware of the ring and wanting to shove her nose in everyone’s business (you all Aileen has NO regard for propriety 😭🤡) eventually escalates to her heading off to York City (not side by side with Abe per se but he was probably her way in), and eventually, finds herself— incidentally— at a business called Rivington’s.

- Honestly feel like she and Robert Townsend are like “platonic soulmates” lol, they have a surprising amount in common, and definitely some gay/bi solidarity there.

- To be completely honest with you, I don’t think she’d really change the plot that much, other than being a partner for Ben lmao. 🤡

- Anyhow, personality-wise, she most definitely is a bold, outspoken woman who isn’t skilled at keeping her opinions to herself. As fun as the classic “girlboss” personality trope is, though, unfortunately Aileen’s inability to stop talking is kind of a genuine character flaw of hers but we’ll save that for another day. ;)

Anyways this was definitely NOT short, so my deepest thanks if you actually read this UNIMAGINABLY cliche, cornball yapping! I’m trying to get better at being comfortable being “cringe”, because let’s be totally honest, I think we all have more fun when we spend less time worrying about how we’re perceived, right? ;D

Can’t wait to work out some details of Aileen’s character even further, and share with you other parts of her story that I DO already have a grasp of later on this week! 👀 Thank you SO much for reading once again! 💕

[stereopticons]

On this Day in Schitt's Creek: February 28

2018

i'll tell you how (you're the one for me) [david/patrick, T, 813] by bytheseas

He’s broken from a cloud of thoughts by Stevie cracking the door open, and slipping into the room. She’s wearing makeup and her hair is all done up and he wants so badly to give her shit for it, but her face is serious, so he holds back. “So I didn’t want to do this, but you need to go talk to David.” Patrick raises his eyebrows. “He’s panicking.” “He’s panicking.”

2019

Buttons Can Be Sexy [david/patrick, T, 2,016] by Obsessivecompulsivereadr

Patrick’s excitement about Cabaret was just too adorable for words, and David couldn’t help but smile every time he caught Patrick rehearsing. He’d asked David about his own past experiences with acting, and David had been honest, telling him that it hadn’t been for him. He’d left out the details. While he was willing to share a lot of himself, which was totally against David’s character to begin with, he still drew a line at sharing too many details that would make Patrick question his life choices.

Hearts on Fire [david/patrick, M, 13,044] by LaReineDuLune

In which David learns how far Patrick will go to prove his love for him.

in need of a generator [david/patrick, E, 1,946] by iamtheenemy

Bear-hugging a tree trunk and dangling twenty feet above his boyfriend didn’t exactly put his body on best display. There’s a reason why red carpet photo shoots weren’t done suspended in midair. He was never going to forgive Alexis for roping him into this indignity.

squared off at the toe [david/patrick, T, 755] by @startswithhope

just a little fluffy coda to "Rock On"... (an excuse to dive into David x Patrick fic with some kissing)

2020

compromise... [david/patrick, T, 1,374] by @startswithhope

This is a little coda to “The Presidential Suite”. Conversations need to be had. And there’s one thing Patrick needs.

Fast Crash... Slow Burn [david/patrick, M, 22,091] by @ineveryuniverse-sc

“Are you okay, though? I could call for help. You hit the tree really hard, and…” “No! No, no, no. I don’t do hospitals. I’m fine… it’s just, my car. My car is not fine.” And it wasn’t fine. It definitely wasn’t drivable. “No, yeah... How about I call you a tow truck?” Just then the wind picked up and almost blew them over sideways. Patrick’s face stung from the bitter cold wind. He swore he could feel ice pellets hitting him on the cheeks, and the other man seemed to be just as pained. He had a better idea. “Actually, uh, I live five minutes from here. Why don’t you come back with me and we can call a tow from there. I’m Patrick, by the way. Patrick Brewer.” He extended his icy cold hand, and the other man reciprocated with his gloved one. “David Rose.”

Not with Haste [david/patrick, G, 1,835] by @holmesapothecary

Patrick opened the door quietly, noticing all the curtains were drawn and only the light above the sink was on in the apartment. Setting down his keys and shrugging out of his coat, the quiet remained. He sighed, hoping this wasn’t how his whole evening was going to go—silence. David and Patrick decide on their future.

Take Me Home [david/patrick, T, 15,523] by DavidRoseBrewer

David was supposed to be in New York in his warm and cosy-yet-very-tastefully-decorated apartment getting ready for the usual extravagant (but unbearable) Christmas art gallery parties but now he was standing in some crappy backwater town in god-knows-where, locked out of his Airbnb in a snowstorm, all because of his sister. -x- Schitts Creek AU - the Roses never lost their money but Alexis still ends up in Schitts Creek anyway. David comes looking for her as the holidays approach.

Tangerine Skin [david/patrick, M, 2,939] by barelypink

“Can we just agree to stop making this wedding a bigger deal than it needs to be? We are not these people.” Or David and Patrick have a conversation about their engagement photos after a spray tan derails them. A coda set after s06e08 "The Presidential Suite."

2021

[Podfic] Beneath the Winter Snow [david/patrick, E, podfic] by @petrodobreva

David can’t keep from smiling at the look on his sister’s face, radiant and beaming through what is sure to be the best day of her life so far. Even if the man who is partially responsible for this day is a show-off. And insufferably smug. And unassumingly sexy. And unbearably gorgeous. And David hates him. Or he hates that he loves him. He’s never known for sure. David Rose, former figure skater turned coach wrestles with the realization that he still carries a torch for his ex-boyfriend, former hockey player Patrick Brewer, during the Olympic Winter Games. Spoiler alert, he's not the only one who isn't over it. A Schitt's Creek Winter Olympics AU. [Podfic of Beneath the Winter Snow by Distractivate]

[podfic] standing in the sunlight in the middle of the street [david/patrick, M, podfic] by fairmanor

David is done with New York, until he isn't, has dealt with it, until he hasn't. A podfic of "standing in the sunlight in the middle of the street".

A glimpse of relief [david/patrick, T, 1,300] by petrichor_apothecary

Patrick has surgery after he experiences a major hiking accident but David is by his side the entire time.

a romantic entanglement... [david/patrick, E, 2,408] by @startswithhope

Set at the end of "Dead Guy in Room 4", David has to escape the one room his family is now forced to share after they catch him text flirting with Patrick. Now, out on the street in the middle of the night, he's prepared to wait alone until they all fall asleep. Patrick, thankfully, has other plans.

Be your remedy [david/patrick, G, 2,048] by JessX2231

Patrick closes his eyes and brings to mind all the times David has put on music while Patrick is engrossed in a book or his phone or even the occasional weekend work task. Eventually, David will slink into his space, just enough to rest his head in Patrick’s lap. He doesn’t always do so with the intent to fall asleep, but it’s usually not long before Patrick’s fingers involuntarily find their way into David’s hair — much like they are now — and David’s breath will even out for a while. He can definitely make an abridged version of that happen. Or, David can't sleep and Patrick helps.

Denmark [gen, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

if i lay here [david/patrick, G, 2,201] by alldaydream

David accidentally falls asleep in Patrick's bed for the first time and does not panic about it. Much.

light up my world [david/patrick, T, 2,269] by @dessertwaffles

David is always met with a wave of anxiety right before a performance. He’ll be fine once he sings his first note, but right now his heart is pounding, threatening to beat right out of his chest. The cheers from the crowd are ringing in his ears as he looks out at the sea of glowing cell phones, their light penetrating the darkness like constellations of stars. A video screen starts a countdown in huge luminous numbers. He glances over at Patrick; he’s staring into the arena in awe, his smile more radiant than the stage lights will be when they whir to life in thirty seconds. He turns his smile on David and David feels time freeze, his world narrowing to Patrick as an answering smile forms on his face. “Let’s do this,” Patrick mouths. Or, David and Patrick are in a boyband and it's their biggest concert yet.

love is like a butterfly [stevie/twyla, M, 2,800] by @samwhambam

A drabble for each day in February for femslashfebruary2021. "Love is like a butterflyThe multicolored moods of love are like its satin wingsLove makes your heart feel strange insideIt flutters like soft wings in flightLove is like a butterfly, a rare and gentle thing." Love is Like a Butterfly by Dolly Parton

Ten Tender Kisses [david/patrick, G, 1,010] by @cheesecurdsgravyandfries

Ten drabbles featuring ten tender kisses.

Thanks, Twy: A Twylexis Femslash February 2021 Drabble Collection [alexis/twyla, E, 2,816] by @danieljradcliffe @sarahlevys @roguebebe @schittposting singsongsung @landofsonlali and @turningtimeinthetardis

28 drabbles to celebrate Femslash February, written by an assortment of Twylexis authors! These drabbles are all stand-alone, and are not necessarily intended to be continuations of each other. We'll add tags and adjust the rating as needed, and we'll also state each drabble's author and specific rating at the top of each chapter. Hope you enjoy them!

2022

[podfic] a simple complication [david/patrick, T, podfic] by @sunlightsymphony

If Patrick had spoken up right away, he might’ve been able to get himself out of this mess. He could’ve told Ray that David wasn’t his date, could’ve explained the chance meeting at the bar and cleared up any misunderstandings before they’d had the chance to spread like wildfire. He’s in far too deep for any of that now. Podfic of a simple complication by LFTPD.

[podfic] Click Bait [david/patrick, M, podfic] by @thesleepyskipper

David surprises Patrick with a boudoir photo shoot. [a podfic of Click Bait by petrodobreva]

[podfic] Hold You In My Arms All Night [david/patrick, G, podfic] by AlexisSomethingRose

Even behind closed eyelids Patrick can tell the bedroom is dark, save for the desk lamp David informed him was on in case he needed to get up for anything. “The last thing we need is for you to get disoriented and sprain your ankle or something.” Podfic of Hold you in my arms all night by maxbegone.

[podfic] I Put a Spell On You [david/patrick, G, podfic] by cottagepodfics

David is a witch who spends his days baking cupcakes and uses his magic to to help people find happiness until his life is turned upside down by the arrival of a very cute and very unhappy Patrick Brewer. [Podfic of I Put A Spell On You by houdini74]

[podfic] i'm a hieroglyphic, i'm an open book [alexis/twyla, G, podfic] by @sarahlevys

Alexis is leaving in a week. She’s moving to New York to be a girl boss and everything she’s ever wanted. But she told Twyla that she loves music. Post-Canon. Twyla gives Alexis a going away present of sorts. (Podfic of I'm a hieroglyphic, I'm an open book by lilythesilly.)

[podfic] Linger Like a Tattoo Kiss [david/patrick, T, podfic] by @n0connections

One thing Patrick Brewer prides himself on is his ability to stay calm in any given situation. He doesn't panic, as a rule. He never shows his hand, his poker face an immaculate mask, even if inside, he's screaming. He just keeps a gentle smirk on his face and his arms folded. Cool. Calm. Collected. Except that today, there's an absolutely fucking gorgeous guy standing in the line, his thick eyebrows knit in concentration as he stares at the phone in his hand, shuffling forward with every person Patrick serves. And with every cup Patrick hands over, he sweats just a little more, his breathing becomes just a little shallower. If only this guy had shown up an hour ago, before the lunch rush, his insane legs would've been hidden by the counter, out of Patrick's view. Instead, Patrick didn't even look at his last customer, or what he wrote on their cup, his eyes glued to the bare calves, the skirt swishing at the knees above them.

[podfic] Mixtape [david/patrick, T, podfic] by @rhetoricalk

For their second monthiversary, Patrick gives David a mix CD. Podfic of 'Mixtape' by sunlightsymphony

[podfic] not much, but all i would ask for [david/patrick, T, podfic] by @petrodobreva

Patrick knows he’s staring a little, watching the glint of the light on David’s rings as he moves, the four flashes of gold spread across his right hand and the smaller, duller, infinitely more heartstopping band on his left. It’s been four days and Patrick still can’t quite believe it. **** or: brand new husbands and some soft as shit making out ****Podfic of not much, but all i would ask for by foxtails

[podfic] would you be mine? could you be mine? by dinnfameron [david/patrick, T, podfic] by RattleAndHum

David had been content to ogle Patrick’s various parts from afar while resenting himself for thirsting after a smug, snippy guy with terrible fashion sense. It'd been comfortable, because David knew it would never go anywhere. Patrick wasn’t into him, and David didn’t even want Patrick to be into him. They had an ideal relationship. Except now Patrick was, like, a real person. One who wanted to be friends and hang out. And David didn't know what to do with that. A neighbors-to-idiots-to-idiot-boyfriends au

[podfic] your body's poetry (speak to me) [alexis/twyla, NR, podfic] by @hullomoon

Ballet has been at the center of Alexis’ life since she was three years old, the first time she saw New York City Ballet perform The Nutcracker. She pulled on her mother’s sleeve, much to Moira’s displeasure, pointed at the stage, and said, “Me!” It was the very first time she felt like her mother saw her. That feeling was intoxicating enough that she couldn’t help but chase it. She’s seen some of the world's most celebrated ballerinas perform. But she’s never seen anyone dance like this girl, whose name she doesn’t know. The stage lights turn her auburn hair burning red. Her pirouettes are perfectly landed; there’s no struggle at all in the way her leg lifts behind her in attitude to tap against the tambourine she holds above her head. As she flits across the stage, her tambourine extended toward the judges like an irresistible invitation, there is something real in her smile, something seductive in her eyes. Alexis forgets to breathe. Ballet AU.[podfic of your body's poetry (speak to me)]

Femslash February 2022 [alexis/twyla, T, 2,800] by @landofsonlali

a collection of f/f drabbles inspired by this Femslash February prompt list. tags, rating, and pairings will be updated throughout the month.

got no sway on my destiny [david/patrick, T, 4,300] by @5ambreakdown

All he knows is that he woke up in his old New York apartment alone with his phone claiming it was 2014, and his next thoughts were a flurry of “what the actual fuck” and “I need to find Patrick.”

2023

[podfic] You Told Your Daughter She Was Ordinary [gen, G, podfic] by Amanita_Fierce @b13-maybethistime @doublel27 HowOldAreWe MadAlien @petrodobreva @sunlightsymphony @landofsonlali

At the end of Cabaret, Stevie continues to face the idea that she might be more than someone just watching the world pass her by. Podfic of You Told Your Daughter She Was Ordinary by DoubleL27.

28 Days, 28 Shorts [david/patrick, M, 15,060] by @tyfinn

Daily ficlets for the month of February based off of prompts given to me by friends and tumblr mutuals and anons. Tags will be updated as needed.

Month of Love [stevie & david, NR, 11,689] by @jesuisici33

My attempt at doing 28 drabbles in 28 days! These prompts were too good to pass up.

undeserved [david/patrick, G, poem] by elifisher96

i know i should’ve told my parents about us and there really is no excuse

2024

i think i'm the problem with you [david/patrick, G, 17,886] by unrealcityunrealheart

Every couple fights; Patrick is fine with fighting. It's the not-fighting, lately, that scares him.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017 2018: 1 fic/813 words 2019: 4 fics/17,761 words 2020: 5 fics/43,762 words 2021: 11 fanworks (9 fics, 2 podfics)/17,152 words 2022: 12 fanworks (2 fics, 10! podfics)/7,100 words 2023: 4 fanworks (2 fics, 1 podfic, 1 poem)/27,114 words 2024: 1 fic/17,886 words Total: 36 fanworks (24 fics, 11 podfics, 1 poem)/131,588 words

[salsflore]

[floralstorms]

tehe I have. An au. For The Characters

[trueloveandy]

feeling inadequate about my writing tonight

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[ihearnocomplaints]

More personal things, mainly just asking for help i guess

Hey does anyone know how to like. Buy a car. Or do adult things. Like provide for yourself and move out of the house?

18 years old and I have less than $300 saved. I feel like its ridiculous to expect so much from someone who still feels like a kid.

Im genuinely terrified of moving out or having to actually provide for myself, as spoiled or sheltered as that may sound. I am entirely unsure if I can survive.

I need to move out soon because living with my parents is more emotionally exhausting than I initially realised.

If y’all wanna send me some money, I have a ko-fi (but i’m still not sure how it works. If y’all wanna DM about this stuff, that would help so much.)

If you wanna commission me to draw something for you, I can. I can’t assure you that it’ll be that great and all I can draw is the DCA. But I can try? I’d say a $10 minimum for that. Check out the tag #complaintsconcepts for examples of my art, digital and traditional. (i am willing to mail traditional art if you live in the US)

I know i probably don’t have a big enough audience to get much support, but anything helps. I’d do just about anything to be able to get out of my house. Before i can do that I’d have to get my own car, though.

[mielgf]

do you ever speak to ppl and are just like… how do you navigate the world… with so little self awareness…

[toastspirit]

man the little mental categories I have for “this is a universal human experience” and “this is something Specific” are. incredibly wrong sometimes. and it’s not even that I’ve just assumed a lot of specific things are universal, or vice versa, but it goes in both directions!!! and I don’t realize something I learned was wrong unless I actively think about it/am presented with additional information to change my perspective!!! This sucks!!!!!

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

hi! can i ask what's ur opinion on giving pets away? not necessarily because u can't afford to care for em anymore but maybe incompatibility of personalities or maybe lifestyles. is it wrong to give ur pet for adoption if u know someone who's better suited for keeping a pet, like emotionally?

This is going to be controversial, but I support making that choice.

There’s a lot of rhetoric lately around how it’s evil and unethical to rehome your pet if you don’t “need to.” And what that does is prioritize human ideology over the actual animal’s well-being.

Pets that aren’t a good match for your home or pets that aren’t really wanted anymore frequently have lower welfare! When caring for an animal becomes a burden or is forced, people end up resenting them, and that means the animal often doesn’t get all of its needs fulfilled. Even if you’re still feeding it and providing appropriate vet care, how likely are you to provide affection or enrichment to an animal you’re tired of being stuck with?

Lifestyle and personality really matter to making sure a pet is a good fit for a home. A dog that alert-barks at every leaf that moves is probably a bad fit for someone who has a chronic migraine syndrome, and they might not know that until the dog has been in the home for weeks and started to open up. A really feisty kitten that requires a ton of play might not do best in the home of someone older who wanted a quiet lap cat. And while you can you do your best to plan to find a compatible animal, you won’t always know ahead of time what issues might arise.

“Forever home” rhetoric is really, really popular and I think it’s very unfair to the animals it is supposed to support. It started with the backlash of seeing animals abandoned inappropriately, and has been heavily reinforced in the public mind because it’s so frequently used to drive fundraising and support for legislation. The whole “forever home” concept communicates to people that getting an animal is an immutable commitment and that if you can’t keep an animal, it is a personal moral failing. It frames human priorities (we think people who get rid of animals are Evil and Bad and should be shunned) as more important than actual welfare needs for individual animals (are they getting the care they need where they are).

Obviously, I don’t support people dumping animals or just getting fad pets they’ll discard immediately, but there’s so many alternate situations that can arise. Even if it’s just “they got a pet and didn’t know what caring for it would take and didn’t want to care for it so they brought it back, how awful” like… okay, I’d like the person to have done more research before they got a pet, but isn’t it better that the animal now has a second chance to go to better home? Knowing what a commitment requires theoretically can be very different than having to actually follow through regularly, and I’d rather see someone maturely acknowledge that having an animal isn’t a good fit than keep it anyway!!

If animals being happy and with all their biological, veterinary, and social needs fulfilled is actually the goal, we need to prioritize their welfare over human opinion. I’d much rather see an animal rehomed responsibly to somewhere it will thrive and be welcomed than see people keep animals they can’t/don’t want to care for out of guilt or shame.