#he has the audacity to think hes a normal person

[ichbinmeltdown]

Omg you're right! I completely forgot about the fact that he tried to use it on Omega too

And I never realized it before but you're right! Soundwave does talk a bit more regularly than Omega does, but he certainly doesn't talk much. It's actually something that I wanted to talk about but I get worried people will think I'm being rude by pointing this out... a lot of people make Soundwave talk like that constantly with every single sentence and refer to himself in the third person when he really doesn't do that very often. I've noticed he mostly talks in the "whatever: whatever" format when he's giving orders to his Cassetticons or in battle. When he's talking to Megatron and the others though he just talks normally, albeit in a much more concise and formal way than the others. There's a scene in A Prime Problem (I think that's the episode) where he's explaining something to Megatron and he says like 4 or 5 sentences (I loved getting to hear him talk that much by the way 💚)

But yeah he definitely talks in the "whatever: whatever" format a lot too, don't get me wrong. Perhaps his speech was less affected than Omega Supreme's was- or maybe that's where his vocoder came from! Maybe the Robosmasher degraded his speech synthesizer itself more than his language processing, giving him a very unique voice (it makes me feel kinda bad for thinking his voice is beautiful and sexy, if that's how it came to be 😿). And Soundwave doesn't show much, if any, emotion so I think that theory fits like a glove!

Another bot who has a unique voice that I want to mention: Astrotrain! It's not as much so as Soundwave's or Omega Supreme but he's almost got... Two voices? Whenever he talks he has this high pitched one layered on it, almost like the opposite of how people make demon voice effects in Audacity. Though he doesn't show any other problems besides that so I'm thinking maybe his speech synthesizer suffered physical damage rather than being corrupted by the Robosmasher. What I'm thinking is he got punched or shot in the throat and it kinda broke his speaker a little.

Oh yeah for sure! You don't mess with Soundwave's cassettes and live to tell the tale.

Okay, so apparently Omega Supreme used to be friends with the Constructicons, before Megatron reprogrammed them to be Decepticons

I mean I’ve heard bits of this before, but now we’ve gotten to the episode proper (admittedly I may have stopped paying attention a bit though after writing this)

Another interesting dynamic I’d say. Though I mean, I suppose I can understand why it doesn’t get used, since Omega Supreme’s incredibly powerful and having him around causes narrative problems. But I mean, I’d like to see it more

Also this episode reveals Megatron reprogrammed bots to become Decepticons, and that his brainwashing is permanent no matter what you do. And while we don’t know who’s gone through it, it’s entirely possible the Constructicons aren’t the only Decepticons we see that’s gone through it (I think Starscream’s too rebellious to have had it done)

Gotta say, pretty evil of Megatron. I mean yeah, he is evil and he’s done other bad things, but like, this on its own ranks him pretty high on the evil tier list

[sarachidouinsbae]

wilsons such a freak why does he think its okay to propose at a wedding FREAK!!!!!!!!

[starrbucky]

.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere academic rival who really, really wishes he could just get you out of the way.

Dead dove Do Not Eat! MDNI ! NSFW !

Tw. Dubcon/Noncon, bullying, academic pressures, blackmail, oral sex, explicit photos, mentions of baby trapping, yandere, stalking, forced relationship, AFAB reader

Elias had a certain level of respect for you.

You both attended a prestigious university crammed full of students vying to make connections and nab a cushy position for themselves in the future, and while it was easy for him to be on top of the social and academic scenes, he knew you had to work a bit harder. He came from a very wealthy household, one where needing something was merely a concept and not something he ever actually encountered. You, on the other hand, definitely come from a lesser background than him and his circle. Your scholarship and just above the average academics seemed to have pushed you into a good spot to be hoisted into the same realm as him.

But he didn't really think of you much at first.

You were some nameless face that wasn't really worthy of being around him. Maybe he would catch glimpses of your hair, or someone woud mention you in passing and he'd pretend to be intruiged.

It was really when you started to be compared to him of all people that he started to really pay attention.

You were smart, cunning, and ruthless when it came to your assignments. Just like him. Normally he worked overtime, paid industry professionals to help review his papers, his study materials and poured blood sweat and tears into his academics. And yet you somehow managed to be on his level with less than half the resources. It drove him up a wall because if you were nearly as good as him now, then what could you be like if you had the chance?

Elias was like a man obsessed after your sudden, explosive rise in the minds of professors and lecturers alike. He spent hours studying, shirking his friends and other responsibilities just to make sure he was still better than you, to keep you in your place.

He started to focus in more on your personal life, too.

Where on earth did you come from? He's half convinced that you were genetically designed in a lab to piss him off. But the more he glares at the back of your head when you're not looking, the more he's transfixed. You're like a black hole, or some kind of other abyss like metaphor. Fuck, you had him writing poetry in his head. He hated poetry. He hated you. Or at least, he would really like to hate you, but he couldn't. You had the same amount of drive as him, maybe even a little more. No matter what he did, he was forced to acknowledge you, forced to be aware of every twitch of your hand or every flutter of your eyelids. To him, you were something that demanded attention, even if it was taken from him through gritted teeth.

The only reprieve from his spiraling was the fact that you felt the same way about him. He liked to imagine that you were just as obsessed with him, sitting there in the late hours of the night writing down equations with him as your sole motivator.

But then he finds out that he's not even occupying your mind, and he loses his shit.

"Oh Elias? Yeah I guess he's fine. Huh? Rivals? What the- no way I just want good grades. He has nothing to do with it haha."

You just said it in passing when someone teased you about it, and he knew that he shouldn't linger on your words for too long. If anything, it should make him feel better. You had nothing against him, so it meant everything was fine, right? Wrong. It was so wrong.

Elias was seething, nearly throwing a tantrum. How could you not even think about him. Him! You were some piddling, pathetic excuse for a human being, and you had the audacity to not even regard him when he spent nearly every waking moment thinking about you.

He was fine just watching you from the corner of his eye. He was fine knowing that on some level, the two of you had a respectable if not distant relationship. Just because in some aspect, he wanted a piece of you all to himself. And if you weren't going to let him just have a little bit of your life, your passion, your drive, he would just take all of you instead.

He follows you into the library late one night. You're sitting there, glowing in the warmth of the nearest lamp while your pen makes soft scratching noises against the paper. You look pretty. You've always looked pretty to him. You don't notice him as he approaches, and he feels any vestiges of doubt or restraint float away. Even now, as he loomed over you, you didn't even spare him a glance.

The library was empty. He made sure it was so before hand, and he's glad he did. The quite air was shattered by the sound of him shoving you over the priceless lacquered wood desk. Your eyes go wide as you take him in, and his hands fly up to your throat.

"Augh! What are you-?"

"Shut up." He hisses and narrows his gaze. Your pulse is racing underneath his fingers, and he has half a mind not to crush your windpipe into oblivion so that he can be the last one to feel it. "You have no idea," He mutters and leans in close. Your frightened breath ghosts over his skin, and he shudders. Now that he thinks about it, this is the first time he's ever been so close to you. It feels so right. He never wants to be away from you again. Not when you look so damn alluring with tears rolling down your cheeks and your clothes rumpled on the floor by his feet.

He wants you like this always, with your twitching cunt stuffed full of his fingers and your cries filling his ears. Soft, wet squelching noises met each of his ministrations, and a cruel, wonder filled grin spread across his face.

"You have no idea how much you've driven me wild," He laughs. It's a sharp sound that grates on your ears. "How much you infuriate me," Each word is punctured by a thrust, by a curling motion that has you gasping and seeing stars.

If this is what he has to do so that you notice him, so you will just fucking care about his existence more than you would any other speck of dust on the street, then so be it.

It only gets worse from there.

Elias takes photos of you. So many. Ones of your crying face, ones of your leaking pussy, some of him shoving his dick past your puffy lips. Once the camera shuttered and they were in his hands, it was all over.

He played the role of your boyfriend after that.

There wasn't a moment where he wasn't hovering over your shoulder, whispering threats into your ears. He gets you to start doing worse in your classes and on your assignments, and for once, he's happy. He finally has your eyes on him, and if you ever try to leave him or say anything, then he'll make sure you can never show your face around here again. Don't worry, though. He's kind enough to keep it so you won't fail outright. In fact, he'll just slip some money to some of the professors so you don't have to do anything other than sit on his lap and pay attention to him while he actually works for the top spot.

Elias takes you out on fancy dates as if it's any way to soothe the sting of having your life ruined. He pays for everything and practically preens under the feeling of finally getting what he wants. He's such a brat, and he doesn't even care about hiding it when he's with you. Part of the reason why he likes you is he can be his nasty, awful and conniving self and you have no choice but to accept it. He doesn't mind if you're reluctant or stubborn. In fact, he kind of likes it because in the end, you still gave in to have a chance to graduate from a prestigious school. And plus, now you're living the high life with him! It's kind of a win win if you think about it.

He loves having you sit on your knees (a cushion underneath them of course. He wouldn't want you to ever actually get hurt) and taking his cock in your mouth while he studies. You look so cute like that, with your eyes all narrowed in mildly hidden frustration, and he loves it even more when he thrusts into your throat. You always make these little spluttering noises that just drive him wild, and he clamps his thighs around your head to keep you there.

Elias who soon becomes the university's beloved model student. He's not going to let anyone get in his way ever again, especially not after he has you to provide for now. After all, he's got plans for you. Once he manages to put a baby in you, he'll know that your future family is secured, and he's got to support all of you. There's no way he can fail now!

[stagprongs]

I cannot believe people let Snape get the high ground.

How do people casually overlook the fact that Snape spent six entire years of his life telling a kid—who never even got the chance to know his father—that said father was an arrogant douchebag? Like, how do people think that behavior is normal?

Snape, a grown man, spent years trying to convince a grieving, orphaned child that his dead father—who literally died protecting his family—was a terrible person. No compassion for a man who gave his life for his wife and son. No sympathy for a kid who grew up abused, unloved, and completely alone, only learning about his parents through stories told by others.

Instead, Snape chose to rehash his teenage rivalry with James Potter by bullying his son. Imagine being so petty that you can’t move past your high school grudges, even when the other person has been dead for over a decade.

Even the coldest, most detached person would muster some respect for a man who died fighting for good. But Snape? No. He chose to sit on his high horse—ignoring the fact that he was once a Death Eater who only changed sides when his own personal interests were threatened—and still had the audacity to act morally superior to James.

James Potter died a hero. Snape, on the other hand, spent his life tormenting the child of the woman he claimed to love—while refusing to let go of a teenage rivalry and weaponizing it against a traumatized, grieving boy.

I cannot get over how utterly selfish and cruel that is. Snape had no empathy for the dead and no sympathy for the living. And people still try to defend him? Seriously?

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 6:34

do u want to celebrate your bday, mr. great explosion murder god dynamight

Bakugou stared at your message for a while. He sits by his study desk, supposedly taking a break from his homework. His brows are contorted to one of contemplation, a pout on his lips as he types in his reply—rather quickly, too.

hell no

(ꃋᴖꃋ)

He shook his head. Bakugou turns off his phone and sets it to the side. 

If anything, he hates and genuinely gets upset with surprises, especially when celebrating his birthday. He doesn’t get it; why people celebrate another year closer to death. When he was younger, he remembered loving the attention, the gifts, and the praise. 

But now that he’s older, he’d much rather just spend time by himself. Maybe cook himself a dish or two to celebrate, but that’s it. He doesn’t need anything grand—not anymore, at the very least.

Then again, why would you be asking him a question like that as if you weren’t on the other side of Japan? He thinks it’s childish; besides, celebrating his birthday is a complete waste of time. He’s a hero-in-training, and so are you, so he’d rather use that time of celebration to either train or study (and he has the audacity to call other people nerds).

Bakugou decides to go to school earlier than normal because he doesn’t want to give those idiots (his classmates) time to even prepare for a surprise party (yes, Kaminari’s horrible at whispering and keeping secrets) for him in the dorms (and also the classroom; it just slipped from the tip of Kirishima’s tongue).

A hand holds onto his shoulder, and by instinct, he moves away from the contact and turns to the person with a scowl. If he weren’t alert, he would’ve blown said person to bits, and yet the moment he hears that familiar laugh, all raised defenses are lowered and his tense shoulders relax.

“What the fuck?”

“Surprise! I knew you’d come to school early,” you greet him with a bear hug. Bakugou scowls as he tries to push you away.

“Kats, I missed you so much! It’s been forever since we last saw each other—”

“How the hell did you get here?”

You grinned, ignoring his non-serious threats of exploding you to the skies. “Come on, Grouchy. I don’t have much time, y’know?” You dragged Bakugou toward one of the private lounge areas within the grounds of U.A., and he’s surprised you knew how to navigate your way around the campus. “Don’t worry, I asked for a bit of help from Midoriya since he’s the only one I know aside from you that goes to this school.”

“That damned—”

“Don’t get mad at him! Getting mad would make you wrinkle quicker, and don’t furrow your brows; I think I’m seeing wrinkled lines in your forehead.”

“You—”

“There’s no time for scolding me, Kats!” You held up a bento cake to him. 

He notices the two little boxes of what he assumed would be his presents behind you and the lighter you used to light up the candle. He thinks it’s wasteful when he could’ve just lit it up himself with his Quirk. Then again, he couldn’t really do anything anymore because what’s done is done.

The cake itself was thoughtful. Frosted with light orange frosting, decked out with what he assumed were mini explosions made out of fondant at the sides and a little lettering that said, “hbd dynamight,” with a little spark of red, orange, and black at the end of the sentence. 

Bakugou looks back on it, and the realization dawns on him.

This is the first time someone—aside from his parents—made the effort to give him a cake for his birthday. 

“Do you want me to sing happy birthday?” You ask when he doesn’t immediately blow out the candle.

“Fuck, no.” He rolled his eyes and took a moment before doing so.

“You didn’t have to do all this, nerd.”

“But I wanted to.”

That made Bakugou smile, even if it was only a little. “Thanks.”

“You’re seventeen now, and that is one year older than being a senior citizen,” he chuckled, “and as always, don’t smoke, drink, or do anything that would get your hero license revoked. Lessen the frown and turn it upside down; remember that I’m an awesome friend for remembering your favorite cake flavor even if you don’t eat it often—and finally, happy birthday, Kats.”

His heart is beating too quickly as he tries to play it cool by nodding to everything you said. He’s missed this, though he’d rather die than tell you that, knowing damn well you would never let him live it down.

“Whatever, you sap.” Bakugou stuck out his tongue, and you did as well.

“Well— shit, I have to go before I miss the next train.”

“Don’t have morning classes, then? Shiketsu’s a four-hour commute from here.”

“Uh huh. Remember—”

“Yeah, yeah. Cake goes in the fridge if I don’t want to eat it, and send you a video of me opening your gift. I hope it’s not ass, like last year’s mug with our picture on it.”

“Hey–! It was a very good picture,” you replied. “I have one too, just so you know,” you chuckled after finishing packing everything up. “Because it’s cool to match mugs. Really good way to strengthen our relationship. It makes you think of me whenever you have your morning coffee or tea.”

He snorts. “As if, nerd.”

Bakugou watches you leave, but not before seeing you stumble against your feet, which made him cackle obnoxiously at your misery. With the bento cake and gifts in either of his hands, he thinks this is one of his best birthdays yet. And spending it with you, even if it were only for a short moment, is surprisingly fulfilling.

He may start to enjoy surprises if they were this pleasant.

Now he just has to worry about getting back to the dorms without being seen by any of the idiots that would pester him about where he got his cake and gifts from.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[jjkbambi]

the morning after luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! part two of is it new years yet because you do not get back together just cuz he has good dick OMG 🖕🖕🖕🖕😒 he also has a great personality and loves eating pussy

warnings: smut, kinda angsty, he’s manipulative but honestly he’s such a nice guy, you should really give him a second chance

^ not edited let’s alll just practice gratitude 🙏

seven days, thirteen hours, and nine minutes and thirty six seconds.

that’s how long it had been since luigi had seen you. not that he’d been counting, he was truly trying to be normal about the distance this time around.

he replays the morning after on a loop, searching for the slightest hint he’d done something wrong to no avail. as a matter of fact, your quiet body was beside him until deep into the afternoon, nothing but soft snores exchanged between the two of you. he wakes before you, kissing your forehead before taking his leave. his frat brothers whistle at him as he enters the wretchedly messy house, throwing him a water.

“happy new year, big guy,” one of them, hasan, greets. “did’ya spend your night thinking about new goals or scoring the same one?”

luigi rolls his eyes. “fuck off.”

another brother chimes in, bright-eyed. “when are we meeting her?”

“in your dreams.”

he had no intention of sharing you in any way; the thought of anyone else even looking at you irritated him. but starting the new year off by your side was far too great a fate to be stoic about. he grabs a plate of what’s left of their shitty communal breakfast (jar salsa from the night before, scrambled eggs, and two pieces of mostly burnt toast) and brings it into your room.

“y/n,” he calls out while entering. the door to the bathroom is now closed, and he sees your shadow shuffling around the room.

hesitant, the door creaks open. youre back in your black minidress, holding onto your heels. “hey, pretty.”

“hi,” you say tightly, the mistakes and soreness from the night before lingering in your mind. you’ve just wiped away the tears still streaked on your face, yet your ex-boyfriend hardly looks hungover.

“dressed up just for me?” he jokes, kissing your cheek. he offers you the plate of food but you shake your head.

“lacy’s waiting for me. i’ve got to go.”

“stay,” he says, his voice honey-sweet, like the boyfriend you knew months ago. it makes you feel sick, the familiarity of it all suffocating you. the room feels too small.

you push away from him. “i have to go.”

“baby,” he drops everything he’s holding to grab you again. “what’s wrong? is everything alright?”

he always blows your mind with his audacity. “no, everything’s not alright, luigi,” you spit back. “we shouldn’t have—none of that should’ve happened.”

“what do you mean?”

“luigi,” you sigh. “we’re over, alright? it’s done.”

“y/n—”

“i mean it,” you raise your voice so slightly, but still it breaks. “you cheated on me, then pulled all this shit, i can’t do it anymore.”

“you can’t do it anymore? are you serious?”

“yes!”

“you ignored me for weeks then showed up at my fucking party, dressed like that,” his voice was low, but angry. brows furrowed, he doesn’t lose his grip on you. it scares you. “you can’t tell me you weren’t bartering for my attention.”

“i wasn’t.”

his jaw sets. “then who’s?”

“oh my god. nobody’s!”

“don’t fucking lie to me—”

“lu, stop, seriously.” your voice trembles this time, and you both notice it. he drops your hand.

“i didnt mean to hurt you,” he says, soft at your upset. “i swear—i dont remember cheating on you. i’m not gonna mess up like that again, i promise.”

he leans in to kiss you, to seal the pledge with his gentle touch, but you pull back. “it doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean to hurt me—you did. you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.“

his big brown eyes bear into yours and he swears, “i can make it up to you.”

“luigi,” you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until he brings his hands up to wipe your tears away. “i just don’t think this is a good idea, i’m sorry.”

“come on,” he says, frowning. “i love you. only you.” his lean-in to kiss you is successful this time. the kiss feels much better—softer—than last night’s. he’s gentle with his desperation, intent on making you stay. “‘m sorry, okay?” he says between kisses. “let me make it better.”

“no, luigi, we shouldn’t—”

“you’ve got to hear me out, y/n,” he takes your lips again. his hot kisses move down your neck—and it all feels so different this time around. even the air in the room feels lighter. his voice is against your ear when he swears, “i’ll be good to you, sweetheart, i promise.”

saying no to him is near impossible—it’s why you shut yourself off of him for weeks, avoiding places he frequented, deactivating your social media, ignoring his constant stream of messages and calls. now, he has you, and within minutes, you’re pressed against the wall again.

“feels good?” he teases, grinding his hard-on into your core. you melt underneath him, you can’t help it, he’s so warm.

“lu,” you whimper. you’re still sensitive from how selfishly he took you the night before, you can’t help but react to his touch so quickly. it felt so raw.

“wait—” he never does. his hands are on your hips again, moving your body against his.

“just let me take care of you,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck again. this time, he was sure to leave marks.

he keeps the dress on this time. he places you back onto the bed, and as you gather the courage to take him in again, he moves beneath you.

“knew i recognized these,” his voice hot against the fabric of your panties.

you told yourself the lacy black panties were just meant to match the dress, but it all seemed so intentional—the party crash, the kitchen drive-by, the fact that you were wearing his valentines day gift. whether this was a manifestation of your greatest fear or desire, you couldn’t tell.

he kisses your thighs, then runs his tongue against your core through the fabric of your panties before ceremoniously ripping them off. he kisses and sucks at your wetness. you tremble at the suddenness of his movement. his big nose is so prominent in your pussy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his perfect face and whine as he drinks you in.

“you’re such a fucking mess,” luigi says, smiling into your warmth. his unshaven stubble tickles your sensitive cunt, sending a tremor through you. “so wet, i’ve barely even touched you.”

“i can’t help it,” you whimper.

he grabs your ass, pulling you closer to his relentless mouth. it’s ridiculous how good he feels. he’s completely shameless in his endeavor to ruin you.

“look at me,” luigi orders, so you do. you look down to see him, finding that he’s already gotten to touching himself. his hard length at the edge of the bed, furiously red, as he strokes himself. “i think about you everyday,” he admits in between licking at your core. “i missed how this pretty pussy tasted. i missed having you like this. holding you down so you can’t squirm away. missed hearing you beg.”

you’re almost there, fidgeting underneath his hands. “luigi, please. it’s too much.”

“you’ve taken worse,” he growls into you.

he feels like he’s on fire. one hand moves up and down along his cock fervently, while the other lends itself to fingering your frothing pussy. you mewl at the sudden entry, back arching.

“luigi,” you whine. “please.”

“i’m trying to do a nice thing for you, y/n,” he hums, “but you want me to be selfish, hm? want me to take you?”

“yes,” you say, breathless.

“fuckin’ slut,” he grumbles, pulling himself away from your wet cunt. he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “what d’you want from me, huh?”

“want you.”

“course you do,” luigi says, surprising you with hard slaps against your sensitive clit. you cry out at the sensation, the unfamiliar storm of bliss and torment, and he chuckles darkly. “you fuckin’ belong to me.”

he grabs your chin and forces you into another kiss, your wetness now staining you both. he lifts your leg up and slides himself back into your wet warmth. “you’re dripping,” he praises as he pounds into you. the exhilarating pain sets your senses alight, you grip onto him tighter without even realizing. “all for me, yeah?”

“all for you.” you nod. this is not how you expected this conversation to go. you writhe at how big he is, how hard.

“you can take it,” he grunts. he’s not fast, this time—his thrusts are agonizingly slow and tortuously deep—just as you think it’s all entirely too much, one hand grips your clothed tit, the other lifts to cradle your chin, forcing your lips to part open. he spits into your mouth. “swallow,” he orders.

you do.

“good girl,” he places sloppy, wet kisses along your jaw, your neck, then goes to bite at your tits. “so fuckin’ pretty.”

“i thought about you too,” you admit sheepishly, out of your mind. he looks up at you, raises his eyebrows, urging you to go on. “i missed you.”

to your surprise, he scoffs. “fuckin’ bitch.” he suddenly loses the interest in being gentle with you, returning to your body rough and angry. his fingers massage against your clit, unraveling you. “you’re just as crazy as i am, you know that? running around town like you don’t belong to me. like you don’t touch yourself late at night thinking about this cock. wishing those fingers were half as good as mine, huh? fuckin’ idiot.”

“luigi,” you cry out. was this him being nice?

“be a good girl f’me,” he grunts. he feels you pulse around his cock and drives into you with even more force. “cum all over me, baby. have my fuckin’ kids.”

“luigi,” you mewl again, desperate for release.

“come on, pretty, show me how good it feels.”

his lips return to yours, hot wet and desperate, as he cums inside of you. you’re a complete mess—squirming and whimpering as you unravel onto his cock, he catches your moans with kisses and leaves you shaking underneath him.

“good girl,” he hums, kissing your forehead.

for a fleeting moment, the two of you are perfect. everything feels just right. he slips into the spot beside you, the disarray of tangled sheets forgotten as he pulls you into his warmth. you sink into the nape of his neck, and though there are no more words spoken, the air is thick with an undeniable love, quiet but all encompassing.

but when he stirs awake, reaching for you, all that lingers is the soft, fading smell of your spring perfume.

MASTERLIST send requests ! <3

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses. 

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy. 

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly. 

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials. 

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has. 

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed. 

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer. 

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal. 

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come 

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party? 

i can be ur escort ;) 

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you. 

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before. 

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes. 

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself? 

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy. 

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly. 

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway. 

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy. 

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are. 

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood. 

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can. 

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams. 

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird. 

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room. 

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact. 

but not so bad. 

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.” 

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

[batchilla]

False Accusations (You know I KNOW right? Chapter Two)

Let me first say thank you for all the kind reception part one received. It was … a surprise, and a welcome one.

Also, a massive thank you to @sunnie-angel for beta reading. If you haven’t read their work… Do yourself a favor and check out their masterlist!

This Chapter takes place over a few days in two mini stories., and I would appreciate being told if at any point this causes confusion. Currently how I’ve done it is as tilted segments. Content warning: this chapter has themes of sexual harassment in the workplace up to the point of groping (from an OC), and corruption. Proceed with caution. Be safe.

The morning after. You are going to murder your partner, Grayson. Perhaps with a gun. Maybe your own two hands. Or maybe you just need coffee.

It's probably the coffee thing. Coffee, then you’ll decide if you're going to kill him and how. As you sit at your table, surrounded by notes you’d made at 4am, the urge to throttle Grayson slowly subsides. You hadn’t slept a wink. You’d had a weird night. But if you were going to do this, help him find this killer… you’d need a plan for if it all goes to hell. A diversion. A plan so that if you’re made, maybe the killer will think you’re on the wrong track. A dummy investigation. But simultaneously one that you won’t overthink, so that you can devote your time and brainpower to the truth. Luckily for you, you have the perfect person to pretend to accuse. After all, your partner, Grayson, is an incredibly weird guy. 8:55 am finds you walking into the station sipping your third coffee of the morning, only to find Grayson sat at his desk. Shirt pressed, tie perfect, hair shampoo commercial glamourous yet slightly messy. The urge to murder your partner returns, just a little. How dare he be so… normal? So unaffected? How dare this man fight crime by night, and be smiling at you as he is now, chipper and bright and perfect, before 9am? The nerve. Maybe you could hit him with a patrol car and claim it was an accident. “Morning detective… Long night?”

Oh.. This fucker. Your partner, Grayson, is the most annoying man alive. You hate how badly you have to fight the urge to grin at the sheer audacity.

She looks exhausted, the poor thing. Dick remembered the feeling, but at some point he’d adapted to running on less sleep than was by any means reasonable. He hoped she wouldn’t need to. That this would be over in a few weeks and she’d be back to getting a full eight hours. “Morning Detective… Long night?” She glares at him like he’s caused personal offence. He raises an eyebrow at her to prompt a response. Inside though, he panics. Had he done something wrong? Could she suspect? No. no of course not. But whatever she said next would surely be important. It was a test of sorts. What would she say she’d spent the night doing? Would she betray his alter ego? Could she sell the lie if she didn’t? “Just had a night in, had a little too much to drink,” she shrugs, opening her bag and removing a notebook. Casual, calm, partially true and nearly impossible to disprove short of a blood test or breathalyser, and even then there was deniability. Dick nods, and looks back down to his computer to hide the grin that splits his face in half. He knows he can’t dwell on it, knows he can’t act on it, but it’s completely unfair that she was that smooth. That helpful. She’d agreed to help him - as Nightwing - instantly. Her words about how Blud owed him a debt had played in his mind on loop for the rest of his patrol. He knew what it felt like to fly. To flip through the air at dizzying heights, gravity a mere afterthought. It was cruel, frankly, that he’d found someone who made him feel even better than that, only for her to be someone he couldn’t be with out of principle and professionalism. It wasn’t that he objected to her as a partner - short of his family, she was possibly the best he’d ever met. Frankly, if she was transferred to Gotham, the bat signal would be turned on far less frequently. And he didn’t object to rules about dating fellow officers, especially one’s partner. Objectively it made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that her smile was the best part of his day. That on the rare times she laughed he could swear he heard an angel just straight up quit its position in the heavenly chorus out of pure envy. That when she’d said she’d help he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her till she was breathless. But he can’t. Or at least Dick Grayson can’t. A new voice breaks him from his spiralling thoughts. “Detective Grayson.” The man standing behind his partner's desk has a hand on the back of her seat, preventing her from swivelling around. 

“We haven’t met yet, I’m Sergeant James McElroy. Seems you spent most of my first day back stuck on a stakeout.” “Pleasure.” he responds, with all the charm he’s learnt to use at galas and parties, forcing down the venom incurred by the way his partner had seemed to lose a gallon of blood at the sound of his voice, and the way she had seemed not to breath since the name was spoken.

He's not touching you. Of course not. He knows better than to do anything so blatant. It's how he’d gotten away with it for so long last time. He doesn’t touch you, or say the things he was so clearly thinking. He would masterfully walk the line between making you feel unsafe, alone, and naked, while never crossing over into anything actionable. Till one day he had. It had been in a crowded lift where he’d used the crush as an excuse to grab and to feel, whispering something vile in your ear. 

He’d figured he’d gotten away with it when you tried to tell your captain and he’d asked if you had a witness. You’d thought he’d gotten away with it too. Till a uniformed officer, Janet Rodwell, had stepped up to have your back. You should have known, really. For the second time in 24 hours you feel like a fool. But while the first time it had been accompanied with a dizzying realisation of love, this time the realisation is dark and chilling to your core. You’d thought you’d won, that it was over. But he’s back and he’s not touching you, but you feel the ghost of his hands all over. You can’t win. He’d been sent away and you thought you were safe again, but he’s back and he’s a sergeant now. Because Bludhaven, as it is, rewards men like him. You can’t bring yourself to look over your shoulder at him, so you look straight ahead, across your desk and to your partner’s adjoining one.

It's not Dick Grayson’s eyes you meet though. They aren’t cheerful, carefree and beautiful. Well, they are beautiful. But they are angry, intelligent, and fierce. You meet Nightwings gaze, and you feel the claws around your lungs relax, even if they do not recede. 

His partner did not rattle easily. Did not panic unnecessarily. 

Pinned down by the Penguin’s smugglers, he’d thought their goose had been cooked unless he could work at his true capacity, so he had shot out the lights and gotten to work. He’d taken out nine, but been unable to find the tenth, until he’d heard the struggle. 

She’d taken him down blind, without drawing her gun. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t, she’d told him she’d lost sight of him in the chaos, and was unwilling to risk it. He wished he hadn’t shot the light out so he could have seen it. 

Still, he had been oblivious. It had hit him like a batarang to the face last night, in that moment where she agreed without hesitation to help him find a serial killer. He’d known she was beautiful, and brilliant. That he had a crush. 

He’d realised last night he was in far, far deeper trouble than that. So, if she was frightened and upset by the presence of this man, then Dick would take his looming over her as a serious threat. He trusted her gut. “You haven’t introduced yourself to my partner, Detective—-” He’s cut off with a dismissive wave that boils his blood. “Oh we’ve met. In fact, she was my partner first. Until the misunderstanding.” There are many ways to snap someone out of a panic. He’s seen sheer rage do it many times. As it does now. “There was no misunderstanding,” she says, her voice firm, her teeth gritted. “Well. I want you to know-” he moves from directly behind her, to her side, leaning down over her, invading her space. Dick wanted to hit him. “I understand that what I did could have been seen as invasive, and you may have felt that I overstepped. I have completed a course, as demanded by HR, and will attempt not to cause you to feel that I have been inappropriate again.”

She takes a deep breath. He can practically hear her count in his head. He stands, moving around the desk to stand beside her, not quite a barrier but a comforting presence, or at least he hoped. “Well. Whatever occurred, we have work to be getting on with, if you don’t mind.” It takes a great deal of the restraint his training has given not to add the words ‘you bastard’, or something far more creative. “But of course. Detective. Detective.”  

Your hands shake as you sit back down in your seat. Your partner, Grayson, returns to his own, his gaze - Richard’s gaze, never leaving your face, crumpled in concern. “I don’t want to overstep… but are you alright? What … did he do?” “I…” you want to tell him, in part. Or maybe you don’t, and you want him to know without having to go through the ordeal of rehashing it all. Maybe by consulting whatever ‘oracle’ he used as nightwing. But you can’t right now. So you don’t. “I… need some air.” Your partner just gives you a comforting smile, a nod, and lets you leave without question. Wingding in the window 

It's five days later, on his patrol, when he notices it. The wingding left in her window. He stops on the roof of the building adjacent to her. As far as city roofs go, this one’s relatively nice. Someone’s placed some potted plants around, in an eclectic attempt at a rooftop garden. Some of these pots contain small pebbles as cover for the soil from the wind. Grinning to himself, he takes a handful. 

Was this a good idea? No. 

Was it deceptive? Well, no more than anything else he did as Nightwing… well, maybe a little more. 

But it hurt, holding her at arm's length, when a part of his soul he tried to ignore yearned to be as close as she would allow. He knows it’s not good. He knows it’s a violation of the utter trust she seems to hold in Nightwing. Really, it would only make things even more messy for his chances as Dick. But he wants to make her smile. Blush, even. He knows she finds him attractive, and in both contexts, but he wants more than that. Over the last week he’s realised just how much he wants to have with her, and it terrifies him. 

If it was simple lust he could deal with it.  But it wasn’t, and so here he was, about to attempt the cheesiest move known to hallmark films, just to see if it would make her laugh at him again. 

He’d managed to be professional while surrounded by highly capable, badass women in skintight clothes for most of his life. He’d had crushes before and gotten over them. He wanted everything with her. And that was not something he knew how to handle, given the mess of their situation. Dick shakes his head, snapping himself out of his doom spiral. He had a detective to meet, and a serial killer to find.

Bap. Bap. Bap. You look up from your book. You’d been getting ready for sleep, wearing your cosy pyjamas, curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate. You go still, listening. Bap. Bap. A pause. Then, the rap of knuckles on glass. “I ran out of rocks”

You know that voice. “With you in a moment.” You pull on a dressing gown, and take a moment to curse the fact that your slippers are rabbits before pulling the curtains aside. Nightwing is crouched on your windowsill. You lift it, stepping back as he enters through the window with all the grace of a cat. You know that you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be in your pyjamas, it's late, you had no means of knowing when he’d arrive. But he looked divine in that suit. An adonis. And you're in your old bathrobe and bunny slippers. Truely, you must have done terrible things in a past life. “Nice footwear.” Nightwing says with a smirk. Curse him. Curse his cheekbones and the way his lips look so damn inviting. “You picked up what, five rocks?” you sass right back. Nightwing makes a noise you suspect was supposed to be a scoff, but is more of a squeak. “Do you see a lot of pocket space on this?” 

“Fair.” you say, leading him out of your bedroom and into your living room. He sits on your couch, one leg spread wide, the other’s ankle resting on its thigh, as you open a drawer on your coffee table and produce your masterpiece. Nearly five metres of red string. Names, photos, dates, all studded with pins so pressed so tightly in they haven’t a prayer of accidental removal. You prop it up on the coffee table. 

Maybe your friends were right. Maybe you did need to touch grass. A line of thought for later. You look at Nightwing, who’s no longer relaxed and laying back on your sofa like he owned the place. 

Its years of maintaining a poker face in interrogations and more recently, dealing with his shenanigans that prevents you from grinning. 

He's as pale as you’ve ever managed to see him, and leaning forward now, elbow on knee and chin in hand. “Well, this is… impressive.” He sounded like he’d inhaled helium. “Shall we start with Sergeant McElroy?” you offer, smiling your best ‘there’s nothing wrong’ smile, enjoying making him squirm. “You seem to have … a significant amount of evidence against Detective Richard Grerson?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you take a ruler, poking your picture of him between the eyes. You hadn’t planned to do him first, you’d hoped to discuss evidence that would actually lead somewhere. 

This was still going to be fun though. You take a deep breath, and pause for a suitable level of dramatic effect, and begin your game. 

“Detective Richard Grayson. He’s my partner. He’s an excellent detective, and a good man. You might have heard of the charity he founded.” Nightwing makes a noncommittal humming noise. “But is it all too good to be true?” you ask, moving to your first notecard. “Exhibit one. He asked about the file. On its own, innocuous. But then, exhibits two through four. He’s prone to frequent disappearances on cases. He often knows a little too much about the criminal underside of Blud. Things that I have triple checked are not in any police database.”

You run a hand through your hair. “He’s a highly trained combatant. I once saw him take down nine men armed with guns, in the dark. They don’t teach that at the police academy.” “No? No.” Nightwing says, clearing his throat. “I mean yes. That is… suspicious.” “Incredibly. Which brings me to exhibit five. Now I’m no behavioural analyst or shrink. But I know my basics. Childhood trauma and instability can have… lingering impacts. I… don’t feel the need to dredge up his past, but I did look into it… and it’s grim. He was then taken in by Bruce Wayne. His relationship to his father, whatever it is, is something he’s even tighter lipped about then… everything else honestly. It’s not on the board because it’s circumstantial at best… but he has this skill of being able to hold long conversations and yet you come away not having learnt anything deeper about him.” 

He was pretty sure he’d been nodding for a good thirty seconds at this point.  

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

The worst part was that it was all well reasoned. Practical. He had done everything she accused him of. She had just drawn a far more down to earth conclusion, that he was a corrupt cop, rather than Nightwing. 

It made sense. Too much sense. How could he shut this down without seeming invested in his own innocence? 

That isn’t what causes his lungs to burn though. No. The root of that was that even if he’d forced himself to maintain a professional - if friendly - distance from her, he would have hoped that she trusted him. 

But in this moment, looking at the evidence, looking at her holding that ruler to his photo’s face like a judge's gavel ready to condemn… he knows. He knows that she will never look at Dick the way she does as Nightwing, happy to see him, believing in his mission, ready to help as soon as he’d asked. Even if he clears himself of this crime, she would surely suspect him of others. 

He’d known it, at least on one level, ever since he’d first met her. He knows it now all the deeper, and he wants to scream. Dick Grayson will never get to tell her how truly wonderful she is.

How highly he regards her. 

How she is one of the reasons he keeps fighting for Bludhaven. 

Dick Grayson will never get to tell her that he loves her. 

But… perhaps Nightwing could have something. Because if she was his north star, then the way he’d felt when she agreed to help him had been like being engulfed by a supernova. 

If she was water, then seeing her cosy and ready for bed and smiling as she let him in through the window had been an oasis in the Sahara. 

If music was the food of love, her attempts not to laugh and stifled giggles over his peeps popcorn had been a symphony orchestra. 

But he’d never have her as himself. Not at all. Nightwing though? She at least found him attractive. Aligned with his ideology. No, he’d never feel that warmth of 10,000 stars directed at the real him. 

No, he’d never be able to be quenched by her life saving presence. 

No, he’d never feel her laughter shaking his bones as if in a musical crescendo.

But even the dimmest and most distant star gave off some light.

Even the last drop in an empty water skin was better than nothing.

Even the memory of a melody could be sweet. True, he would only ever have scraps of her affection. True, he could flirt, and perhaps go even further… but he’d never truly be with her. 

But who was a starving man to deny scraps of sustenance? He’d take what he could have and try to ignore the lingering hunger. 

“Perhaps we should discuss… another suspect?” he prompts, realising how long he’s been silent. How long she had been too, watching him with a strange, concerned look.

She nods, and moves on to their Captain.

Dick is almost relieved when some ten minutes later Oracle calls in a robbery downtown. “Well - sorry Sherlock.” He takes a picture of her board for further study. “I’ll be around next week to continue this discussion, and look over this in my own time till then. Duty calls.” “Be safe,” She says softly, as he’s halfway through the window He looks over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

Taglist: @jasontoddproblems

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@soradragon Banner credit is to @strangergraphics

If you would request to be added to my taglist, please reblog the fic. Honestly please just reblog it anyway? I worked hard on this. Nothing more demotivating than a fic getting only likes. If you want part three, reblog part two. 

[dreamsteddie]

Once Steve and Eddie come out to the broader world, Eddie's floodgates open, and before interviewers can even think to ask about his "long-term partner and love of my life" Eddie starts gabbing about Steve almost as soon as a microphone is put near his face.

At first, Eddie refuses any and all requests to be on talk shows or long-form interviews. Steve himself has no desire to be interviewed ever, and Eddie wants the media hype to die down before he makes any big appearances off the stage. He knows that if he does the conversation will be a glorified investigation into his private life no holds bared.

So Eddie takes the occasional question after a show or on the red carpet but always dominates the conversation and finishes quickly. He's always dropping little tidbits about Steve, even if it's just talking about whether or not he was able to make the show or how handsome he looks in their matching outfits today.

Once the hype dies down and the media vultures aim their beaks at another celebrity, Eddie agrees to do a couple of talk shows with the rest of the band.

Everything is normal. The focus is on their next leg of the tour and the music video they released last week that went viral. Right up until the last three or so minutes when the interviewer asks, kindly, how his boyfriend Stevie is doing.

Stevie.

As in Eddie's Stevie.

The name only Eddie and Robin have ever called him. The name that used to make Steve flush so pretty when they first started drifting together. The name that still makes Steve give him one of those pleased little smiles that make his heart pitter-patter in his chest years later.

Eddie's hackles are immediately raised at the audacity of this stranger to talk about his boyfriend so familiarly. His shoulders rise, eyes narrowing ready to say something scathing when the rest of the band notices and steps in. Jeff drops a not-so-friendly hand on Eddie's shoulder while Freak steps in to very loudly tell a funny story about the last time Steve joined them on the road. Emphasizing "Steve" a little too much as he does.

When Eddie finally gets to stalk off stage he's let himself get worked into a tizzy. Logically, it's not a big deal but Eddie has always been territorial when it came to Steve and has been even more on edge since they came out. The idea of anyone outside of their family acting like they know them, know him, just because he's married to Rockstar Eddie Munson and shows up in the occasional gossip rag makes him so fucking mad.

As soon as he's backstage he's dialing Steve's number, impatiently running one hand through his hair as the phone rings and rings. As soon as he hears the beginning of Steve's standard WASPy "Hello, this is the Harrington-Buckley residence, Steve speaking" greeting Eddie launches into a long rant about "the audacity of media vultures."

Steve doesn't say a word the entire time, just letting Eddie vent out his frustrations. At the end, Steve lets the silence linger for a little bit before speaking.

"Hey babe?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"I don't know how to tell you this but you've been referring to me exclusively as 'Stevie' since we came out. I'm pretty sure when we made the announcement you said 'This is my Stevie. He's been my partner for six years.'"

".....what?"

"In fact, I'm sure that's exactly what you said because Robin replaced all my nametags at work with ones that said 'My Stevie' because she has the sense of humor of a middle schooler."

"God fucking damn it!"

They hang up not long after. When Eddie looks up for the first time since he dialed Steve's number he's met with the rest of the band and their personal crew all wearing various faces of exasperation.

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he rocks on the balls of his feet and says "Sooooooo...I may have overreacted."

----

The next day, despite Eddie's hopes that his outburst wasn't that noticeable, his clearly irate face is the subject of every magazine and gossip rag at the grocery store.

Robin frames her favorite one and gives it to Eddie for his birthday.

[gojossocks]

Heaven knows

Gojo x Reader Genre: fluff, angst Summary: A glimpse of you and Satoru's relationship before you finally get married. wc: 5.3k a/n: this is set after they defeated Sukuna! so 2018. Nobody died <3

The grand doors swung open, and there you were, framed by the soft glow of sunlight streaming in behind you. In that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, and so did he. You were radiant, ethereal in the way only you could be, adorned in your wedding dress that seemed to shimmer with its own light. 

You look exactly like an angel.

It was like heaven had come down in the form of you— a miracle that Satoru Gojo is privileged enough to see. 

1999

You had marched up right up to him on the first day of school, unimpressed by the murmurs of your classmates around you. 

“Satoru, right?” You asked, giving him a warm smile despite the dismissive look he gave you. 

“I am Y/N!” You announced excitedly as you extended a tiny hand toward him.

He didn’t shake your hand, just stared at it with a displeased look. 

It was the first time someone called him by his first name who isn’t a part of his clan.

But before he could even respond or point out your audacity to call him by his first name, you proceeded into a rambling monologue about the first time you two had met. 

He blinked at you, his blue eyes narrowing in slight suspicion as he debated whether to bully you or ignore you. The memory you described was extremely vague to him—something about your clan visiting his, something that he doesn’t even think worth remembering. 

“You don’t remember, do you?” you teased, tilting your head with a grin, completely ignoring his lack of response. “Your clan was so serious when my family visited. And you just sat there! All boring and serious too, like the world was ending.”

His brows furrowed and he crossed his arms, “I wasn’t boring!” 

“You were! You were talking about tech a nick or something and responsibilities, you didn’t want to play.”

“I did have responsibilities,” he muttered defensively, his chest puffing out slightly. “And it’s technique, you weirdo.” 

“Sure,” you replied with a shrug, your grin never fading. “Wanna prove you’re not boring by watching Digimon with me?” 

That seemed to catch his interest. Hesitantly, he lets you take his hand to lead him where you want to go. 

From that day on, it felt like his life truly had begun when you granted him with your sunshine. For the first time in his life, Satoru wasn’t pressured to be anything he needed to be. You made him feel normal, something he didn’t even know he wanted until then.

You were his first best friend. You were the first person who saw him for who he truly was, not what he represented or what he’s destined to be. 

The world had never quite felt right anymore unless you were in it. 

2007

Satoru has changed over the years. The roles between you had reversed; you were the calm and steady one now.  Gone was the stiff, overly serious boy you met when you were kids.  Now, he was obnoxious and loud, and painfully obsessed with you.

But despite all this, he was still your Satoru.

Satoru always knew that he felt strongly about you, he just wasn’t sure what it was exactly. All he knew was that he likes it when you look at him, the way your voice softens when you speak to him, and how your touch—even the slighted brush of your fingers, is something that he desperately craves. 

He never passes up an opportunity to pull out lame excuses just to touch you, which earns several eye rolls from your circle of friends. 

“Your hair’s messy,” he’d say, brushing an imaginary strand from your forehead and then putting an arm around your shoulders to ‘keep your hair in place.’  Or dramatically say (with an arm around your waist)  ‘come hold my hand, what if an ugly scary curse comes over to kill me?’ just so he could imagine (and plot) so many more moments where he can hold you. 

Everyone knew about it too. It was impossible not to notice. Satoru wasn’t exactly subtle about the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room. It was an open secret that you’d eventually get married anyway. You were practically glued to his side—at lunch, in class, during missions. Even Suguru would tease him mercilessly about it.

“Insufferable. You two are insufferable.” Suguru said one afternoon, groaning at the sight of you and Satoru feeding each other mochi during lunch break. 

Satoru just fluttered his eyes mockingly at him before he pulled you closer to him, practically hugging you. You didn’t pull away, like always. It never occurred to him that you might just like him back because of how much you don’t mind it when he’s hogging your personal space. 

Eventually, all those constant ‘we’re just friends’ seem to wear on Satoru.

He felt ridiculous. Satoru Gojo, bearer of the six eyes, rendered weak by your touch. 

Friends didn’t make his chest tighten every time they smiled, didn’t make his stomach flip with a single laugh. Friends didn’t leave him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way your head rested on his shoulder or how your hand lingered just a second too long on his arm.  Friends certainly didn’t steal the air from his lungs the way you did every time you walked into a room. No, it was only you. 

And then there was the kiss.

It happened during one of your movie nights. 

It started as a joke—when you asked him about his worst kiss so far. 

Poor Satoru was blushing profusely when you asked him that question. At the back of his mind, he wanted his first kiss to be you. 

But he couldn’t say that, of course. So instead, he shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I don’t kiss and tell,” 

You raised an eyebrow, your grin widening as you saw right through him. “Oh my god,” you gasped, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never kissed anyone, have you?”

“What?” Satoru scoffed, but his voice cracked slightly, betraying him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’ve kissed someone.”

Your eyes narrowed, sparkling with amusement. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying!” he protested, his blush deepening.

“Uh-huh,” you said, unconvinced. “If you’re not lying, then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing!”

“You’re totally blushing.”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Of course I’ve kissed someone!”

“Prove it, then.”

The challenge hung in the air between you, crackling like electricity.

“Prove it?” he echoed, his voice faltering for the first time. “Maybe I should show you to shut you up.” 

You rolled your eyes but there’s something about the way you looked at him that caught him off guard, “You’re so full of yourself, Satoru.”

There was a pause, the teasing atmosphere suddenly shifting into something heavier, quieter.

“...We could try it,” You said, your voice a bit nervous. He gulped when he noticed the seriousness in your voice. 

After a moment, your eyes met his.

“For practice,” you added quickly, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

And he just nodded at your dumb excuse. “For practice,” he repeated, nodding as if  he’s convincing himself.

Neither of you moved at first. The air between you seemed to thicken, the rooftop suddenly too quiet except for the distant hum of the city below.

“Okay,” you murmured, leaning in slightly.

“Okay,” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your faces were close now, close enough that you could see the nervous flicker in his usually confident blue eyes. You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of mint and whatever candy he’d been eating earlier.

Then, your lips met.

It was soft—tentative at first, like you were both afraid to mess it up. His hand hovered awkwardly near your jaw, unsure whether to touch you or not. You leaned into him just a little, testing the waters, and he followed your lead.

Your lips are soft, too soft. In fact, he wants to keep practicing with you just so he could feel your lips on his again. 

It lasted only a few seconds before you both pulled away, blinking at each other like you’d just crossed some invisible line neither of you could unsee. He tried to play it cool by shoving his feelings down after, giving you a shit-eating grin you love to roll your eyes at. 

It was extremely hard for him to get his shit together when all that he could think about was that moment. He looked like a fool when he kept stealing glances at you every chance he got. 

but what is this feeling exactly? 

He just wanted to be by your side all the time, to go where you want to go as long as he can have you near. 

And it wasn’t until Shoko mentioned that you were going on a date that Satoru finally admitted to himself that it was not platonic— the feelings he had been bubbling up inside him since he was nine. 

“She’s what?” he asked, nearly choking on his drink.

“Going on a date,” Shoko repeated, her tone maddeningly nonchalant as she exhaled a stream of smoke. “Some non-sorcerer asked her out.”

Satoru froze, the glass in his hand halfway to his lips. A sharp, unfamiliar knot twisted in his chest.

“No way.” he said, though the doubt and the pitch in his voice betrayed him. “No fucking way. You’re joking, right?”

“She already said yes,” Shoko added, the corner of her lips quirking into a smirk. “Maybe you should stop being an idiot and do something about it.”

The words hit him like a sucker punch, and he hated how his brain instantly imagined you with someone else—laughing, smiling, being exactly the way you were with him, but for someone else.

Satoru didn’t even think—his body moved before his mind caught up, and before he knew it, he teleported directly to your room for the first time, barely managing to stick the landing.

The soft hum of music filled the air, and you were perched in front of your mirror, carefully applying your makeup. You didn’t notice him at first because you were too focused on lining your lips (and staring directly into the abyss). 

He leaned against your doorframe, his heart pounding harder than any fight he’d been in.

“Cancel your date,” he blurted out.

You jolted, spinning around so fast you almost knocked over a perfume bottle. “What the hell, Satoru?! What are you doing here? And how did you even get in?”

He ignored your questions, stepping closer to you. “I mean it—don’t go. Please?” 

You blinked at him, your expression shifting from surprise to confusion. “What are you talking about? Why do you care?”

“Because it’s a waste of time,” 

Your arms crossed defensively, your gaze hardening as you tilted your head, demanding answers. “And why’s that? 

“Because... because…” he began, his voice trailing off as frustration bubbled to the surface. His icy blue eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. 

“Because I like you, alright?” he finally confessed. His voice was raw, unguarded, and louder than he intended, but he couldn’t stop now. “There. I said it.”

The confession hung in the air between you, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he watched your reaction, searching for any sign of how you felt.

Your gaze softened, and to his surprise, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

“You’re such an idiot,” you said, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, shoulders slumping as he braced himself for rejection.

But then you stepped closer, the teasing edge in your voice replaced by something gentler. “No, Satoru. I mean, it took you long enough.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, wide with disbelief. “Wait... what?”

The way you smiled at him then—soft, genuine, and a little exasperated—sent a rush of warmth through him. “I thought it was obvious,” you teased, laughing softly.

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to process what you’d just said. A grin broke across his face, wide and boyish. “So... you like me too?” he asked excitedly. 

Your laughter deepened, the sound soft and melodic. “How could you not notice?”

Before you could say anything more, he reached for you, his fingers curling gently around your wrist as he pulled you into him. You yelped, startled by the sudden closeness, but the protest never left your lips. His arms encircled you, holding you tightly, finally after waiting years to do this. Your hands hesitated for a moment before finding their place around his waist, your touch tentative but grounding.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and trembling slightly with emotion. His breath was warm against your hair as he buried his face in it, letting his eyes close. “Does that mean you’re dumping the loser who asked you out and you’re gonna spend the afternoon kissing me?” 

“Satoru.”

As Satoru stands near the altar, his usual confidence falters as his heart skips a beat—then stops entirely.

He swears that he had never been more in love with you, if that’s even possible. 

This feeling, an ache that stretched from his chest to his fingertips, leaves him trembling with an emotion he couldn’t put into words. He had never imagined it was possible to love someone this deeply, to feel his heart swell and his stomach churn with nervous exhilaration just from the mere sight of you.

And everything that he has ever done right, everything he had lost, was all worth it because it led to this moment. 

It led him back to you.

2008

It happened after a mission. The two of you had just finished taking down a particularly troublesome curse, your energy spent and your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.  

Satoru, for once, was exhausted. But you, for once, were weirdly energetic— skipping ahead of him on the rain-soaked streets, your laughter carrying through the quiet night. 

Despite this, he insisted on walking you back to campus, even if his legs felt like lead. He just wanted to be around you a little longer. 

The night was heavy with the smell of rain-soaked pavement, the kind of scent that lingered and wrapped around you, making everything feel muted. 

You stopped suddenly in the empty area, just before you reached the school gates. 

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, tilting his head toward you.  

You didn’t say anything more, just pulled out your newest ipod out of your pocket, fumbling with the earbuds tangled in the cords. Satoru leaned against a lamppost nearby, watching you with an amused tilt to his head.

“What’re you doing?”  He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a smile.  

You brought a finger up to his lips and looked at him mischievously. “Shh.” 

“Music helps me relax,” you said, plugging one earbud into your ear and offering him the other. “Here. Try it.” 

Satoru hesitated, then shrugged, taking the tiny speaker and popping it into his ear. Almost immediately, the familiar opening notes of Every Breath You Take by The Police filtered through, slow and haunting.

“This?” He scrunched up his nose. “Really? The Police? That’s so lame.” 

You looked at him, a tired but content smile tugging at your lips. “This song’s a classic,” you said softly, “It’s my favorite song!” 

He opened his mouth to retort, but you surprised him by stepping closer, your eyes sparkling with a mix of playfulness and something else—something he couldn’t quite name. Without warning, you stepped closer, extending a hand toward him. 

“Dance with me,” you said, your voice barely louder than the melody playing between you. 

“What? Here?” Satoru raised a brow, glancing around at the deserted street.

“Yes, here.” You laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward you. “Come on, Satoru. Don’t tell me you’ve never danced before.”

Of course he didn’t. 

He spent most of his life training to be the strongest and loving you and only you. 

He let you guide him, his free hand hovering awkwardly until you placed it firmly on your waist. You placed one hand on his shoulder and the other intertwined with his. 

The song continued to play, the melody wrapping around you both as you swayed. 

Satoru stood stiffly for a moment, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to process what was happening.

“Relax,” you teased, giving his shoulder a gentle shove.

It was awkward at first but eventually, you fell into a rhythm.  

“You do realize this song’s about obsession and borderline stalking, right?” he said, a smirk adorning his lips. 

“It’s a love song.” You corrected him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.  “I think it’s kinda depressing, in a way. To be able to love someone from afar but not being able to actually love them. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but it’s devotion nonetheless. 

“You’re insane,” he replied, but there was a fondness in his tone that made your grin widen.

Like in the movies, it suddenly started to rain.  The rain was coming down soft at first, then it became heavier as the droplets started to soak through your uniforms and plastered your hair to your faces. 

But neither of you really cared.  Not when you were so close, your warmth cutting through the chill of the night. 

The rain soaked through his hair and trickled down his neck, and Satoru couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when you were looking at him like that, your eyes sparkling with mischief and something softer. Something about the way you looked at him, your face soft and serene under the rain’s glow, made him feel... grounded.

“You’re terrible at this,” you teased, your voice light despite the exhaustion in your body.

“Hey, I’m great at this,” he shot back, spinning you suddenly and making you laugh. The sound echoed through the empty street, warm and full of life, and Satoru realized he’d do anything to hear it again and again. 

When the chorus hit, you rested your head against his chest, your movements slowing. He felt your breathing even out, your exhaustion catching up to you, but you didn’t pull away. His arms tightened around you instinctively, holding you as if you might slip away if he didn’t.

“I want to be yours.” He murmured through your hair, hiding his face from you out of nervousness. “Can I be yours, Y/N?” 

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.   

“I love you, Satoru.” 

He blinked, his heart stumbling in his chest. “Really?” A slow grin spread across his face. “You beat me to it.”

You giggled, the sound melting whatever nervousness was left in him. 

“I love you, Y/N. Can I be yours then?” He asked, his voice dropping slightly. “Can I be your boyfriend?” 

“I think my answer is pretty clear, you idiot.” 

And with that, you pulled him down into a kiss, the rain pouring around you like something out of a movie.  Satoru just held you tighter, thinking that he didn’t need anything else. 

He just needed to be yours.

As you walk down the aisle, closer and closer to him, his breath hitched when finally— fucking finally, your eyes met his. 

You smiled at him with lachrymose eyes. Satoru smiles back, wide and unrestrained, so much so that his cheeks are starting to hurt. His heart is pounding loudly in his chest that he’s afraid that everyone else in the church would hear how much his heart beats just for you. 

You were ethereal.

A dream, really. 

A dream he doesn’t ever want to wake up from. 

Satoru had prepared himself for this moment—or at least he thought he had.

He told himself he needed to be strong for you.

It had been years, after all. 

But no amount of preparation could steady the storm raging within him as the moment finally came. His jaw tightened, his smile strained, and he forced himself to breathe, even as each breath felt heavier than the last.

His chest constricted, and for that single, fragile moment, it felt as though everything he had ever wanted was still within reach. 

When you finally tore your gaze from him and walked past, your white dress trailed like a whisper and a mockery of the life he would never have with you. Satoru just watched, rooted to his place. 

His heart clenched painfully, screaming at him to reach out, to stop you, but he stayed still. He had no right. This was your moment, and he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin it—not for you.

Your happiness means everything to him. It always has. Even if it means watching you walk toward another man, toward a future that doesn’t include him.

Satoru’s eyes followed you as you made your way to your soon-to-be husband,  Nanami Kento.

2013

The rain was relentless, pouring in heavy sheets that blurred the world around him, but Satoru barely noticed it. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold, as he walked toward you. His breath fogged in the air, but it wasn’t the cold that made his chest tighten—it was the thought of what he was about to do.

Through the rain-streaked glass, he saw you sitting at a small table by the window. You were hunched over, your uniform still clinging to your frame. You were drenched because you waited for him at the park before he texted you to meet up with him in this café instead. 

Satoru nearly stopped right there, frozen by the sight of you. That look on your face—the same tired, fragile expression you’d worn for the past six months—made something inside him shatter.

Satoru almost cracked. 

But he couldn’t.

He had to do this. For you.

He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, forcing himself to take another step, and then another, until he was close enough to see the rain streaking down your cheeks. Or were those tears? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to. 

His breath was uneven, his heart pounding as if it were trying to break free from his chest.

He hated this. Hated himself. But it didn’t matter. 

This was for the best.

“Satoru?” you asked, your voice soft but cautious. Disappointment is written all over your face but your determination to make your relationship work outweighs it. 

He froze for a second. God, you looked so beautiful, even like this—wet, shivering, and confused. A part of him wanted to just pull you into his arms and to apologize for what he was about to do, hold you so close that the world would have no choice but to give you to him without exceptions.

But instead, he dropped his gaze and forced the words out. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

He slid into the seat across from you, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He couldn’t meet your eyes, so he stared at the surface instead, tracing a crack in the wood grain with his finger. “I’ve been thinking… about us.”

“What about us?” you asked, your voice quieter now. 

Satoru exhaled sharply. “I don’t think this is working anymore.”

You stiffened, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Satoru, what are you saying?”

“I’m not in love with you anymore,” he said, his voice hollow, as if that would make it hurt less—for both of you. “For a while now.” 

The words tasted like poison on his tongue, each one more painful than the last.

Your eyes widened, disbelief etched across your face. “You– you don’t mean that.”

When he finally looked at you, he thought about telling you the truth—that he was terrified of putting you in danger, that loving him came with risks you didn’t deserve. But he swallowed it down.

“I do.” His voice cracked. “I’ve been feeling this way for a while. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

You shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “Satoru, if something’s wrong, we can fix it. Just talk to me. I know you love me—”

“There’s nothing to fix!” he interrupted, louder than he intended. He winced at the hurt that flashed across your face. Softer now, he added, “It happens. People fall out of love.  Don’t make this situation harder for the both of us, please. I can’t give you what you want.” 

“You’re lying. Why are you doing this?” you whispered in disbelief. You quickly held his hand.  “You’re trying to push me away. Just tell me what’s really going on.”

He couldn’t answer that. Not the truth, at least. That being with him would mean a lifetime of danger, of being a target simply because of who he was. That he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of him. That he loved you too much to keep you by his side.

“I’m not lying,” he said quietly, the finality in his tone slicing through the air between you. “This is just how I feel.”

Your shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he thought you might collapse under the weight of his words. 

You took a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself as though you were trying to hold yourself together. “I see.” 

“Sorry, Y/N.” 

Without another word, he turned and walked away, the rain drowning out the sound of his footsteps and the sobs he was certain he would hear if he stayed a second longer.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to. Because if he did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to leave.

The first few years after your breakup were a strange limbo. You stayed friends—on the surface, at least. But there was always tension, unspoken words that hung heavy between you. He could see it in the way your eyes lingered on him during missions, the hope that flickered and faded every time he said something or did something that he used to do with you.

You waited for him to come back to you. Satoru knew that. 

And for a time, he almost let himself believe that he can. He just needed enough time to muster up the courage to come back to you. 

and when he finally received that wedding invitation on a random friday morning, he stared at it for hours before opening it.  He felt like he died twice as much when he also learned that your fiancé gave up his job as a sorcerer just to have a peaceful life with you. 

The life Satoru dreamed of giving you. 

That night, for the first time in years, he let himself cry. Not the quiet, controlled tears he shed in the rain that day, but the kind that left him gasping for breath.

And Satoru Gojo, the strongest, could do nothing but watch.

Looking back at everything he had done to keep you safe, Satoru doesn’t know which one’s better—losing you for good or losing you to someone else.

Always an arm’s length yet never close enough. 

His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He bit down on his lower lip hard, a desperate attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape—a choked sob, a plea, a broken fragment of a heartache he couldn’t afford to show.

Out of the corner of his eye, he felt a nudge at his elbow. Gojo turned to see Shoko, quiet as ever, holding out his sunglasses.

Shoko looked at him with such softness and sympathy, one that Gojo wasn’t sure he could bear right now.

Shoko didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. 

Gojo took the sunglasses, slipping it over his eyes. He gave her a half-hearted grin before painfully turning his gaze back on you. 

His resolve cracks little by little, then all at once, when he finally sees the way you look at Nanami Kento. 

Gojo will never have the privilege to wake up to you in the morning, to be the first person who would witness your sleepy eyes as the sunlight slowly makes its way into the room. Never again will he have the privilege of making you breakfast, of watching your expression shift from fondness to playful exasperation as you scold him for drenching his pancakes in too much honey, his sweetness nearly as overindulgent as the way he looked at you. He will never be able to be the recipient of your lovesick eyes, that softness in your smile that was only ever reserved for him. 

He’ll never be able to feel your touch again, at least not in the way he yearns for used to. 

Gojo’s mind wanders off at the stolen moments he buried deep within his heart. How it seems like it was only yesterday when he’s still in your shared bed, with you curled up by his side while he wraps his arms around you, and how you’d point out that he was clingy even if he knew you loved every second of it anyway. How you caress his face and laugh at his antics only to assure him that he is the only one you love and that you won’t ever go away, putting his demons to sleep just with the sound of your voice. 

Oh, what a bliss.

And perhaps the most gut wrenching realization of all is that it was almost him. Those nights full of whispered secrets and promises to grow old together all vanished just because he was too scared of not being able to protect you.

Nanami will have all that he dreams of, all that he let go of, and all of you. 

What a lucky man he is, to be someone that is seen and loved by you. You look at Kento like how you used to look at him, so full of love and adoration as if he was the one who put all the stars in the sky. 

He wanted to hate him, to despise the man who now holds your heart, to curse the universe for giving your love to someone else. But how could he? How could he, when Nanami Kento wears his love for you so plainly, so unabashedly, as if it were his very lifeblood? All he needs to hear is evident in the unspoken devotion that screams in the way Nanami looks at you—a love so evident it makes him force to swallow down the bile in his throat. 

If it wasn’t clear before, it was painfully clear now—the ache in his chest was sharper, more unbearable than any blow he had endured as the strongest. His ribs felt as though they might collapse under the weight of his regret.

The realization comes all too late and unrelenting, you were already promising forever in the arms of a man who wasn’t him. 

He wanted to shout, to tell you to stop the wedding. to choose him. to beg for your forgiveness. 

Would you take him back? 

The voices in his head are becoming louder, much louder than ever. He was so stupid. So cowardly. How could he have let you go when being with you is the only thing he had ever truly wanted? 

He stayed firm in his place, knuckles turning white as he held himself together.

Not once did you look back at him. 

It has always been you, you had once told him. 

Yet you have already said I do—

It has always been you. 

It will always be you. 

a/n: sorry, did i scam you?

my song inspo for this is bizarre love triangle by new order. I feel like it's such a depressing love song aka love triangle between the writer, his lover, and something else. In Gojo's case, it's his duty as the strongest.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Ok hear me out… jealous Lando. You’re Landos best friend since childhood as you’re fathers are not only business partners but best friends since university and so and Lando spent a lot of time growing up and he never liked sharing you from Kindergarden during you’re first boyfriend until today he has a hard time when he thinks that someone could challenge his status as you’re favorite person it got better when Lando started traveling a lot and was in his own relationships but when he finds out that you’re seeing Kygo (the DJ) he try’s to hide his jealousy and be happy for his two friends thinking that it’s only an fling and won’t last long but as the months go on and the Miami GP comes around and you all spend the time together in the paddock and later an party Lando realizes that he was probably wrong and he can’t help but get extremely jealous.Much Love❤️

everyone knew except you two

Lando Norris had always been your constant. He was your best friend before you even knew what friendship meant. Your fathers had met in university, and through their shared love of racing and business, a bond had formed that would tie your lives together forever. As children, you and Lando had spent nearly every day together, from playdates at his family’s house to sleepovers at yours, both of you oblivious to how intertwined your lives were becoming.

It was never normal to have Lando around all the time, but you never knew life without him. He was the first person you ran to when you scraped your knee or when you passed your driving test, the first person you celebrated with when you aced a test. But it wasn’t just his presence you adored—it was his protectiveness. Lando was the one who always had your back, no matter what. Even as kids, he was fiercely protective, not just of your feelings, but of your heart.

From the very beginning, Lando made it clear: no one could have you but him.

There was that one time in kindergarten when a little boy named Max had tried to hold your hand during nap time. Lando—who was already a few months older than you—had stormed over to Max, pushed him away, and declared, “If you ever touch her again, I’ll make sure you can’t walk straight for a week.” Max, terrified, ran off, and Lando proudly sat next to you, holding your hand as if he’d just saved the world.

It wasn’t just that time. Throughout your childhood, whenever a boy had the audacity to show interest in you, Lando would find a way to intimidate them into backing off, sometimes even going as far as threatening them with his ‘impressive’ racing skills or inventing rumors about how he could get them into trouble. His jealousy was always there, but it was subtle, hidden beneath the surface of his grins and jokes.

As the years passed, though, the jealousy never faded—it only grew more complex.

As you grew older, you and Lando kept a tight bond, but something started to change when you reached high school. That’s when Lando first noticed how your attention shifted. The world became bigger, and so did your interests. You were no longer the child he could protect from the world’s dangers. Instead, you were blossoming into someone who had ideas, dreams, and, inevitably, love interests of your own.

Lando didn’t know what to do when you first got a boyfriend. He didn’t like it. But instead of voicing his concerns, he retreated into a grumpy shell. He told himself he was being ridiculous, that you deserved to date and be happy. But every time he saw you with him, laughing, smiling, Lando felt that old jealousy flare inside him, though he tried to bury it.

It wasn’t until you got your first kiss, under the glow of the streetlights in your neighborhood, that Lando’s jealousy reached its peak. You’d come back to his house, giddy and glowing, and he had acted like nothing was wrong. But inside, he had felt something shift that he didn’t know how to name.

“You kissed him, huh?” Lando had asked casually as he slouched on the couch, his eyes narrowing as you nodded, blushing slightly.

“Yeah… It was… nice,” you said, your voice soft.

Lando had nodded. “Well, just make sure you’re not going to regret it.” He’d quickly turned his head to the TV to avoid showing how hard his heart was beating.

But it wasn’t until you started seeing Kygo—the famous DJ—that things really began to change.

You and Lando had always shared everything, but there was something different about Kygo. He was a DJ, an internationally known figure, someone who moved in different circles than you and Lando had ever been a part of. At first, when you casually told Lando about him, he dismissed it. “He’s just a fling,” he had said, trying to sound convincing.

But as weeks turned into months, Lando realized that this wasn’t just a fling. You were serious about Kygo, and Lando was struggling to come to terms with the fact that this man—this stranger—was taking up more and more of your time and attention. Every time you’d show up to the paddock for a race or post photos on social media with Kygo, Lando felt like his place in your life was slowly being pushed to the edge.

He tried to hide it, to ignore the gnawing feeling of jealousy that made his stomach twist when he saw you smile at Kygo in a way that he hadn’t seen you smile at him in years. It wasn’t fair. He’d always been there for you. He had earned that smile, hadn’t he?

The Miami GP weekend was the tipping point for Lando. You, Lando, and Kygo had all decided to spend time together after the race. You were in the paddock, hanging out as friends, but Lando could see how much you and Kygo were enjoying each other’s company. The two of you had a chemistry that he couldn’t ignore. He tried to focus on the race, on his car, on the things he usually loved, but his mind kept wandering back to the way you laughed with Kygo, the way you touched his arm when you talked, how he had his arm draped around you like he owned you.

It made Lando’s blood boil.

Later that evening, the three of you went to a party. The music blared from the speakers, the crowd was a blur of flashing lights and people moving to the beat, but Lando’s attention was fixed on you. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. You looked stunning, laughing with Kygo, your hands brushing his shoulder as you danced.

Every time you and Kygo got too close, Lando felt the sharp stab of jealousy in his chest. He didn’t want to feel this way. He shouldn’t feel this way. But the truth was becoming undeniable. You were slipping away from him, and Lando couldn’t bear it.

At one point, you caught his eye across the room, your smile brightening. “Lando!” you called, waving him over. He forced a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You pulled him into the conversation with Kygo, your two worlds colliding, and Lando suddenly felt more like an outsider than ever before. Every time you laughed at something Kygo said, or when he leaned in close to whisper in your ear, it was like a knife twisting deeper into his heart.

“Are you okay?” you asked him later, once Kygo had stepped away to get drinks. “You’re being really quiet tonight.”

Lando didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to admit that he was jealous of his best friend’s boyfriend. That he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just tired, I guess.”

But you didn’t buy it. You could always tell when something was off with Lando. “You sure? You know you can tell me anything.”

Lando hesitated, his eyes flicking nervously to Kygo, who was now talking to someone else across the room.

“I guess I’m just… not used to seeing you like this,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “With him.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lando began, searching for the right words, “we’ve always been close. But now… now it��s like you’re distracted. I don’t know. I don’t like it.”

There was silence between you for a moment, and for the first time that night, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Lando,” you said softly, taking a step closer to him. “You’ll always be my best friend. Nothing’s going to change that.”

But Lando shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I don’t think you understand, Y/N. I don’t want to just be your best friend anymore. I can’t do it. I’ve always been there for you. But seeing you with him… it just… it hurts.”

And in that moment, Lando realized what he had known for years but had never allowed himself to admit. You were meant for him. And only him.

You stared at him for a long moment, your eyes wide with surprise and something else—realization. It was as if everything clicked into place for both of you in that instant.

“I… I didn’t know,” you whispered.

Lando took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with you being with someone else. You’re meant to be with me.”

And there it was. The truth that neither of you had been brave enough to say until now.

[miaoua3]

I Know You…Or Do I?

Pairing: vernon x gn!reader

Genre: fluffiest fluff to ever fluff, a little bit of comedy, first kiss scenario, childhood best friends to lovers (finally)

Synopsis: vernon decides to give you a heart attack and kiss you for the first time.

Note: i always thought that vernon would be such a friends to lovers guy and 2 minus 1 solidified that so here i present to you how i think a first kiss with this guy would go, enjoy!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

it is clear to anybody who has known vernon for longer than one minute that he’s a bit…on a peculiar side. that wasn’t an insult, but rather a truth acknowledged by a wider audience.

you, of course, knew what was an usual and an unusual behaviour coming from him. this skill didn’t come up all that easily to you, but rather from knowing him since you were but an infant. you both had your mothers to thank for that, considering that their own history goes years beyond your births.

knowing someone for that long of a period is certainly admirable. you’ve always looked up to your mom’s and auntie melody’s friendship, ever since you were a child.

but now, you are an adult yourself, with your own decades long friendship.

you could confidently say that you knew vernon better than the back of your hand. so, as already mentioned, you know what’s usual and unusual for him, even though everything about him is a bit unusual.

for example, for usual behaviours we have his weird thoughts that he would message you at 2am, his weird food combos and his weird way of texting that nobody really gets except you and sofia, his angel sister that you love (sometimes more than him), to name a few.

for unusual behaviours we have the fidgeting when he’s nervous, getting unusually quiet (i mean, sure, he’s more on the quieter side as it is but…there’s just certain times when his quiet is just…off, yknow), trying to hide himself behind you in uncomfortable situations and not answering your messages for longer than 15 minutes.

oh, and kissing you out of the nowhere in your kitchen for the very first time to thank you for getting him his favourite snacks, apparently.

you’re not very sure if this has really happened or if you maybe accidentally did coke and this is just a weird hallucination as a side effect, but it got you so shocked to you just stood there, in your kitchen, with his favourite cookies in hand that you started to unpack and put on a plate before he waltzed in.

see, the reason why this is a really big problem and why it got your heart beating faster than a a racing car is because you have had the biggest crush on your best friend since you were 13. and you did such a good job at hiding your feelings and acting normal around him, even when you wanted nothing more to kiss those plush and soft lips of his.

and now it will all go to waste because how do you go back from this? how do you go back to being his friend now that you know how his lips taste, how soft they are and how much it makes your heart race?

see, you were always under the impression that, other than your friendship, vernon wanted nothing more from you. it seemed like he was perfectly okay with just having you as his platonic partner in crime.

or apparently f*cking not.

after another few second, you quickly finish platting the cookies and go back to the living room, where he’s sat, watching the movie he picked, without a care in the world.

you sit a respectful distance away from him, just watching him watch the movie, apparently feeling perfectly fine.

if only you knew.

with what must sound like the tone of a dead person, you more-so inform him “you’ve kissed me.”

the beautiful bastard has the audacity to not even turn his head in your direction, he just answers “i did”.

pondering over all the possible reasons as to why he did it, you gulp, and with all the courage left in your body, you hopefully ask him “do you like me?”

his answer makes you want to punch him…with your lips against his own, either very aggressively or very gently.

snorting, he answers “have for the last 10 years, thanks for finally noticing.”

you don’t give him any time to prepare or to see it coming for that matter-as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, you are pouncing on him, arms going around his neck, lips colliding with his, clumsily, at first, until you find your balance and climb on his lap.

it is clear that he both didn’t expect you to pounce on him like a wild animal and that he has been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

because as soon as your knees are on both sides of his hips, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as the universe will allow him to and kissing you back like a starved man, like he’s dying and you’re the only antidote that could save him.

your hands finally-finally-sink into his silky soft brown hair, scratching his scalp to see how he would react.

and his reaction doesn’t disappoint-he immediately groans in your mouth, his hands starting to wonder themselves, squeezing your thighs before they travel over your butt, over your back all the way to the nape of your neck, pulling your head closer to his so he can deepen the kiss.

your own arms tighten around his neck, your bodies so close that there isn’t a single part of your body that isn’t touching his. your thoughts are both running and are nonexistent. thinking “finally, this is all i’ve ever wanted to know-the taste of his lips and the strength of his love”, but at the same time, your mind is nowhere to be found, it’s probably floating somewhere between the cotton candy soft clouds.

after many minutes, your kiss turns from hungry and rushed to intimate, soft and tender, until it eventually comes to a stop, your noses still touching, foreheads leaning on each other.

in what must be the softest whisper you ever heard him speak in, vernon says “took you long enough”.

you lightly pinch his cheek and smile “could say the same thing to you. been waiting since we were 13 for you to finally get your head out of your ass and kiss me.”

his heavy eyes fall on your mouth, inviting him to get himself lost in them again “well, the good thing is that now that i finally did, i don’t plan on ever stopping”.

and he never did.

as it turns out, you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did-there were still some things you had yet to find out about him. luckily, his kiss was officially off that list.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(somewhere, not that far away, your mom gives auntie melody 10$ for losing their bet that they had going since you and vernon were both 10.)

[ddarker-dreams]

Lock I need you to share something about Gojo. Jjk is getting worse with no hope in the future. Plis just a tiny part is god. 🙏🙏🙏🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Detour.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Mild not SFW implications, Gojo and Geto are Not normal about you, exhibiting possessive behavior. Word count: 1.2k.

-Index-

"—Excuse me, miss!" 

The exclamation barely registers amidst the crowded street's ambiance. Everyone has a destination they're eager to reach, and you're no different. Unlike those native to the area, however, you're more likely to get lost; hence your current conundrum. 

You examine the mess of squiggly lines, blocks, and patterns intended to function as a map. 

Kagurazaka, Kagurazaka... c'mon, I know this one... it starts with the kanji for god or something, right? 

While you scrutinize the map, the same voice from earlier calls out again, this time beside you. You glance around, not wanting to respond if he’s trying to flag down someone else. In doing so, it becomes increasingly obvious that you’re who he’s been trying to grab the attention of. 

From the looks of it, he’s a man in his late thirties, wearing a suit that could use a good ironing. You can’t recall meeting him before. Then again, you’re not privy to everything that happens back on campus. Meetings with influential figures frequently occur without your knowledge. You only ever find out about them later when Satoru loudly voices his critical view on everyone who attended. You are wearing your uniform, it’s recognizable to those in Jujutsu circles. 

You’d rather not stir up a scandal by unintentionally snubbing a Zenin or someone equally important. With this in mind, you politely inquire, “Can I help you?” 

“That uniform… you’re a high schooler, right?” 

You nod, figuring that this confirms your hypothesis. 

“What year?” 

This question makes less sense. Maybe he wants to know your proximity to Suguru, or, far likelier, Satoru. These types always have their own designs for the pride of the Gojo clan. 

“I’m a second-year.” 

“I see, I see,” he begins rummaging through his blazer’s inner pocket. He procures a business card and holds it out. “How about a job? From the looks of it, you’d make a good fit.” 

You blink. 

Are you… allowed to do freelance work? You’ve heard of specific sorcerers being requested for jobs, but that’s always been through the school. Besides, as a Grade Three, you don’t think you can go on unsupervised jobs. Not wanting to seem rude, you reach out to accept the card— 

—Only for it to be intercepted. 

“Sorry, she’s completely booked,” a voice that sounds the furthest thing from apologetic chimes in. 

Gojo Satoru stands to your right, adorned with his circular sunglasses and trademark grin. He rips the card in half without so much as a second thought. You stare at him, incredulous. Questions swarm around your head. When did he get here? How didn’t you notice him until now? Why does his cursed energy have such an unnerving quality to it? 

He bends down and hangs his arm around your shoulder. “You’re somethin’ else. Ignoring Suguru and I’s calls, chatting up strange men in Kabukichō… I swear, we can’t take our eyes off you for a second.” 

“Wh— I’m not chatting anyone up!” You whisper yell. His infinity nullifies enough for you to jab a finger at his chest. “Why can’t you give better directions?! ‘West of the Edo Castle’ doesn’t tell me anything, it just sounds like a TV drama!”

Satoru shrugs. “Should’ve just asked an auxiliary manager to drop you off.” 

“You might treat them like a personal taxi service, but I’d rather not. Taking the train’s fine.” 

The man finally overcomes the shock inflicted by Satoru’s audacity, taking a step forward. “What are you, her boyfriend or something?” 

“Bleh, no!” 

“Future husband.” 

Yours and Satoru’s responses come out simultaneously. 

“In that case—” 

“Excuse me,” A new presence interrupts the increasingly irritated man. Suguru wears a friendly smile which somehow comes across as more menacing than Satoru’s wolfish grin. He places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are aware that it’s a minor you’re trying to recruit, correct?” 

The man flushes at the accusation. “Listen, I dunno what you’re trying to accuse me of—” 

“I’d hate to see you get in trouble for a mistake like that,” Suguru cuts him off again, raising his voice ever so slightly. This attracts the attention of some bystanders. “Who knows what consequences that’d result in, especially for a married man like yourself…” 

Huh. You hadn’t even noticed the gold band on his ring finger. Suguru’s nothing if not perceptive. 

Nearby commuters whisper amongst themselves while eyeing the scene. The man’s gaze flits between a self-satisfied Satoru and an overly polite Suguru, eventually settling on an escape route. Wordlessly, he departs, although you swear you overhear him muttering ‘crazy kids’ and ‘doomed girl,’ along the way. 

“Yo, Suguru. Took you long enough.” 

“Unfortunately, not all of us can teleport.” 

“Your curse did a better job at tailin’ me than you.” 

Ignoring the jab, Suguru dusts his hands off while honing in on you. “You alright? You weren’t answering our calls.” 

“And you’re late,” Satoru whines. He helps himself to searching through your purse, taking your pink Razr hostage. “Huh. Battery’s dead.” 

Suguru appears content. “What’d I tell you?” 

“If she’s blocked me before, the same could happen to you.” 

“I wouldn’t block Suguru.” 

“She wouldn't block me.” 

This time, it’s you and Suguru who speak concurrently. Satoru pouts, putting his hands up like he’s under attack (which he probably believes himself to be). You snatch your phone back without issue, unlike when he last stole it. He unblocked himself and dangled it above your head until you promised you wouldn’t do that again.

“And here I was, about to treat you both to pastries,” Satoru sighs, melodramatic as ever. 

“While we were waiting for you, I noticed creampuffs and macaroons on the menu; which would you recommend?” Suguru inquires, not bothering to acknowledge Satoru’s complaints. 

“That depends on what you want from the experience,” you mimic his decision. “Creampuffs tend to be one flavor, whereas macaroons come in multiple, so the variety’s nice. When I get a variety pack, I always end up disliking one of the flavors and wishing I’d just gotten my favorites instead.” 

Satoru sighs as loud as he can. “Right, right, I’m just a walking wallet. Let’s get going before someone else solicits [First].” 

“Eh?” You turn your head to face Satoru. “‘Solicits?’ As in…?” 

“Se—” 

Suguru slaps a hand over Satoru’s mouth. “What he means to say is that this isn’t the best area for a high school girl to linger.”

“W-Wait, hold on! I thought he was like a… er, how would you say that… sorcerer employer?” 

They both stare at you. 

“You do know what Kabukichō’s famous for, right?” Suguru tentatively asks. 

“Hm? ‘Kabuki’ is a type of traditional theater, isn’t it?” 

“...” 

“...” 

“Let’s just show her what we mean,” Satoru bends down, picking up two halves of the business card he split in half earlier. “It’ll be a good lesson. I’d rather not have to come fetch her in this place again— oh.” 

Suguru inspects what has the power to shut Gojo Satoru up. You watch as his eyes move back and forth, his face shifting while he does so. His lips narrow into a thin line when he pulls back. Curious, you stand on your tiptoes, hoping to catch a glimpse yourself. Thankfully, there’s yomigana above some of the kanji you don’t recognize. This eliminates any possibility of you misreading the card’s contents. 

‘Oh’ indeed, you think. That poor guy…

It’s a business card for the company that oversees AKB48. 

[blackknight-kai]

Wukong and Cat

I just think it would be funny to see Wukong dealing with a house pet. Specially a cat. (Maybe a dog but that’s not the point today) - In this Wukong can travel to the modern day to stay with you (before you fully commit to staying in the past with him Edit: yes taking the cat with you).

See, cats are…cats. Yes they can be skittish or friendly, mean or weird as hell. They come in all shapes and sizes both in body and personality. They consistently push boundaries - keeping them off counters am I right? And sometimes as the slightest change they do awful shit to tell you it displeased them - pissing outside the litter box because you moved it a few feet from where it normally is or got rid of their favorite chair.

Cats are entitled and they run the house. You ever been hounded by a cat that woke up from its nap and thinks it’s dinner time but they don’t eat for another 3 hours? Yeah it’s annoying. (We love them)

They are our mini gods basically.

Wukong would NOT do well with one at first.

It doesn’t listen to him, it gives him dirty looks 24/7, he doesn’t know what the hell it’s up to or thinking but he knows it’s plotting harm to him, he knows it’s mocking him as it watches him form its perch across the room. The damn thing even had you on a feeding schedule!!! It OWNS you!

But it will not own him. No. He is a free monkey. A KING! The Great Sage Equal to Heaven and Earth! No house pet will have dominion over him.

You even buy it toys it seems to play with 1 time before and never again. You spoil the ungrateful shit. It also sleeps with you, but not since he came along much to his pleasure. Yes furry asshole, that’s HIS spot now.

He finds it ridiculous that you even scoop up its fucking shit that it leaves for you. At the very least it covers it up but why are you its designated poop scraper? He doesn’t understand why it doesn’t shit and piss outside like every other animal. He may be a king but he’s never had anyone shovel his shit!

So when you ask him to help with the house chores one day, specifically handling the litter box and trash, he is taken aback. Him? Use the tiny shovel to scrape out its excrement? Oh absolute not. Hell no. Not on your life.

He is a KING. He does NOT shovel SHIT. No. He doesn’t budge until you glare at him. He can tell you’re getting annoyed and he doesn’t like it when you’re mad at him.

Wukong, thinking he’s being a genius summons a clone and decides the clone can handle the shitty sand. But then the clone also refuses. Starts arguing with him! The audacity! This goes on for several minutes, neither clone or original giving in until you come into the room having heard the heated conversation.

You tell him with a tone of finality to stop being a monkey cub and grow up, that if he doesn’t sift the litter by the time you come back he’s sleeping on the couch - one night for every turd and pee clump you find in that box. You stomp off to finish the laundry and Wukong & Clone look at the doorway with slight surprise. Clone snickers and gives Wukong a smirk, saying “Looks like our Queen has spoken, the King is on turd duty.” Before offing himself and disappearing with a cackle as Wukong curses his own cheekiness.

After several minutes of staring at the box with disgust he hears you walking through the house and his heart races. Quickly he grabs the weird little shovel and starts sifting, as you step into the room he smiles at you as if to say “See I’m a good boy” and you give him a look before going back to your own chores.

Wukong doesn’t DARE push you enough to ruin his nightly cuddles with you. No. Nothing is worth losing that. So he scoops the damn cats box and as he does so he hears tiny footsteps. Looking over he sees your cat watching him, as though supervising him. It pisses him off to no end that the house pet is looking at him so smugly. “Who’s the king now.”

Grumbling under his breath Wukong finishes his task and finally stands up straight. As he does so he looks at the furry animal. “Is it clean enough your highness?” He asks sarcastically but then his eyes widen as the cat steps towards the box.

To his utter annoyance and anger it takes a shit! RIGHT AFTER HED JUST CLEANED IT OUT? HOW DARE!!!!

He throws a tantrum he will deny to this day about it to you and you laugh saying that yeah, that happens almost every time. It infuriates him to no end. But he loves you and you love the cat. So he can’t do anything that would bring the little asshole harm or he’d risk losing you which is NOT an option.

He hates the damn thing so much.

But one day, while he’s napping on your couch, he wakes to a weird rumbling on his chest. Groggily he opens his eyes and lifts his head a little and is met with the sight of your cat curled up on his chest, eyes half lidded and watching him, its purring. He lays his head back down and tries to be annoyed by it. But the damn purr is soothing….it’s genuinely kinda nice. And his chest is warm. If he ends up stroking your cats fur making it purr louder until the two of them fall back asleep? That’s between him and cat.