#if ur doing it long after the show came out and know all the context ur most likely doing it as a hobby and not getting paid

[blooky8]

одна профессия, которую нужно гейткипить больше - это написание и перевод субтитров. бро, он не это сказал

one profession that does need better gatekeeping is people who write or translate subtitles. brother that is not what was said.

[luffyvace]

Helloooo! I saw ur request open and writing for saiki k! I see so little context of him 😭

May I request where saiki is dating his favorite author(she is an anonymous writer) and he didn't know (like she Naver though to tell him about it and she Naver really think of her work when w him or when in school) and maybe finding out through his dad that she is ? And how would he react and think after he found out ?

(sorry if my request was long 😭)

Yeah me too !! 😭

ohhh wow! What an interesting and fun request! Thank you :}

(you used ‘she’ so reader implied is fem but I won’t mention you being a girl just in case <3)

Don’t worry it’s not too long at all~

☕️🌷

Everyday you get home after school and write, as a comfort and to make some change to buy things you like :)

You do publish your work, but your an anonymous writer

your sales have been doing really good and everything! Your forever grateful!

it makes you happy seeing as though writing makes you happy and is your comfort!

so the fact that you could be doing that for others makes you joyous 💓

there’s also your boyfriend Kusuo!

he’s a reserved and genuine guy who treats you very well :)

you’ve been an item for a while now and your really happy in your relationship!

man you’ve really got it going for yourself!! 😋💪

this company has been loyally publishing your work for quite some time which makes you satisfied to see they like your writing!

school’s good too! You and Kusuo have a friend group who you go out with pretty often

(alright that was a little bit of some reader POV now here’s the fun part! 😆)

Kusuo finished his coffee jelly and was going down stairs to put the dishes in the sink

until he spotted his dad reading his favorite book/manga!!

”hey dad what book is that?”

his dad’s inner dialogue: “holy crap my son is talking to me!”

“oh uh nothing son just uh (book/manga title name)—I uhh, brought a copy from work home”

”they have that series there?”

”yeah! We do! We have every chapter! Actually, we’re the ones publishing them! Do want me to get you the set?…..if I lick my bosses shoes a couple extra times I’m sure I could pull a few strings..”

”thanks.”

his dad’s inner dialogue: “holy crap I just had a conversation with my son! He was wanted to talk to…me! I can’t believe it..!”

saiki’s inner dialogue: “goodness..😒🤦”

”n-no problem son! Heheh..”

He was gonna go back to his room but stopped at the stairs

“hey dad..the author uses a pen name..do you know who they are?”

“Huh-! Oh!- yeah I do! I’ve met them in person actually- do you wanna meet them?”

Kusuo nods and walks off

his dad then proceeds to dance in his living room, as he’s had a successful conversation with his son that Kusuo started 🕺🕺

Later that week, saiki and his dad wait for you to show up at his job with the latest chapter

he was indeed able to pull a few strings…by licking some shoes..

when you walk in Kusuo’s dad came up to you and (re)introduced you to his son

”Kusuo this is (Name), the author you asked me to introduce you to. (Name), meet my son Kusuo”

you looked surprised to see Kusuo and that he wanted to meet you?? I mean you know your anonymous but he likes your work?! You had no idea he was buying!

Kusuo has a slightly amused expression on his face

“Kusuo? You…”

..were at a loss of words at such a funny situation! (LOL)

you two ended up explaining both sides of the situation

you said you love to write, but anonymously and you never got around to telling him

he said this is his favorite series from you and your his favorite author, he’s been buying for a while to be frank!

ohhh!

this may be the way his parents found out you were a couple and let me tell you he was less than pleased..(not that he wanted to hide it but his parents…..:^ yeah 😃)

Saiki got the privilege of getting the first copy of the latest chapter before it was even published! :)

and now he always does <3

he also has the perk of getting it for free!

horray! Now he can save his money for coffee jelly- 😚

LOL not that he doesn’t wanna support you

you simply give it to him and he accepts ♥︎

he also gets the honors of helping you decide things for the story!

He gleefully reads the parts in which his opinion was inserted

however he doesn’t want to influence any major plot points- he doesn’t like spoilers :P

(It is possible he persuades people at school to buy your books so you can have the funding to keep going and make you happy simultaneously—but we’ll never really know 🤷‍♀️ )

your actually my first saiki k request! Thank you! I appreciate it love!

hopefully you had a good meal out of these headcanons cherished anonymous~ ☺️

[beekeaper]

can i ask what you think about the upcoming c b s wat son <-trying to avoid this being in search results

the whole concept seems a bit silly to me but i dont know much about the people involved in its development and maybe they can really thread that needle? idk. just looking for other peoples opinions on it and i do value urs tbh

thanks for your time

Hi there, I'm trying to be positive about the premise of the show yk, from what they said it seems to be like Hou-se, which is not a problem in context if you remember that Joseph Bell and Doyle were in fact doctors and it was their job, so focusing on the medical side is still makes sense (I don't really like hou-se to be honest)

BUT is from the same producers of Elementary, and although not all Sherlock Holmes fans in general like it, I consider ELM a good adaptation, it has a Holmes with a GREAT character development, one of the best versions of Watson, THE BEST H&W dynamics, and considering this, I'm sure that Holmes&Watson (in a character only view) their characteristics and their development we are in good hands.

From the trailer you can see that it's really going to be just like Hou-se. So for consideration that the show may be good and interesting:

- According to the news that came out, it will have Moriarty and Watson's point of view on the events of the fall. (I don't like it when they put Moriarty as a character who deserves so much importance, we don't need another BBC SH)

- Watson clinic is name after Holmes (🤧)

- Watson jumps after Holmes into the waterfall (!!!)

And I'm sure they'll keep avoid showing Holmes (his face and voice) as long as they can. (Bad, but expected)

Also I hope it doesn't have as many episodes as Elementary had per season, to avoid having the problem of filler episodes and people becoming uninterested (But don't be as short as Netflix) And I hope the medical plots aren't absurd (like hou-se) and end up going more towards the side of criminal medicine.

And I love the idea of Watson being the protagonist and following in Holmes' footsteps. Just like Elementary.

So if you haven't seen Elementary yet, I recommend it.

I hope the answer satisfied you, and happy new year in advance 🫂🩷

[gailsfrog]

A very ridiculously long rant of my SMG4 and Mr. Puzzles Theory's (it's long;-;)

Has anyone ever thought its weird how Smg4 is PERFECTLY NORMAL the Saturday after IGBP!?! like Bro just got done being mentally insane like literally a few days ago and he's just like mentally FINE after all that!?? Nuh Uh- Aint no way- Smg4's probably still coo coo crazy a bit or a lot cuz yalls not gonna be chill after all that far as i know thats not how human minds work. >:/

In SMG4 doesn't meme for one second he's hardcore creepy vibes, ofc more memey ofc which is funny- (Bald Smg4💀) but still sinister none the less :0

then ofc him saying "time to come up with the PERFECT video" in SMG4 simulator then ofc im like NOO :C DOnt gO eVil again and idk do some crazy crap with mr. puzzles and make ur perfect video- amd go all evil- evan tho its cool and eerie-NO :C

Then smg4s really creepy/scarry coocoo cazy vibes in the MEME Factory. Cannon smg4 did actually have an effect on our poor meme boi like bro lost some of his sanity has Mr. Puzzles trauma and now is more antagonistic- which Mr. Puzzles said he makes a good villian Whitch he does in a creepy funny memey way witch is great! and sort of a plot twist cuz smg4 is all cute and bubbly and sweet then he goes all >:000 >:) Creepy and sinister is awsome! it would be cool to see Smg4 as a main antagonest for an arc although we got IGBP so its GREATTT!! AAAAAAAA-

I also sorta feel like Mr. Puzzles is like Smg4 but like: What if smg4 never had any freinds? so he like sorta obsesses and rellys on The TV and makeing entertainment so they dont feel alone or have some sort of purpose. Smg4 and Puzzles are really similar in a way just took a small but major path. Smg4: had freinds his whole life, like a main roll purpose (hes a frickin meme guardian!!!!!! >:D) home and ofc his youtube and whatever chaos happens in this world. Mr Puzzles: never had freinds, probably had crap parents and school bullys, (ISTG HE PRoBably made/re-created little shows with like socks pupets as a kid- AAAA_) anyway- Puzzles sorta just watched TV to comfert him and sorta be his 'freind' in a way which probably ended up inpireing him to proove himself as an actress and become fameous weather to proove the world hes good enough or loved or himself. (Poor Mr.Puzzke wuzzle :'c) So anyway Smg4 and puzzles are like opisites of what they have but similar.

(Mr. Puzzles Headcannon Back story time B) since i wanna type today ;-; ) So ive sotta headcannon mr puzzles childhood suck like- bro had no freinds crappy/neglectfull parents and overall a shit life back then like i sort of immagine his mom being like "shoo im buisy go watch TV or smthn" while on the phone or something idk sad sappy stuff- so little Winston Puzzles (if you have MR theres a first name so puzzles is last name, ITS WINSTON PUZZLES-) aNyWAYy- so puzzles just watched TV ALL. DAY. and probably went to school got bullyed for whatever reason :/ so the beginning basics of the story +Context dElUxE- when mr puzzles got older he bought the showgrounds (whitch in cannon used to be a circus/carnaval) so mr puzzles ran a carnaval place and did some sort of shows + amusement park stuff prbably for like a few years or a couple decades untul money came a problem or went out of buisness, (he still has his face btw lol) so he eventually closed the place and sorta abandoned it and probably the *iNteRnEt* was probably becomeing a thing by now (TV MAN OLDDD-) so he probably doom binges EVERYTHING on youtube in some apartment and works at MC deez or something- idk mOnEyY :/ eventualy yalls probably up at 5am waching Si-fi and stuff with robots get the idea of being a cyborg ither googleing 'hOw tO bE a cYborG EASY" on youtube like a maryos Plane Trip thing AKA Smg4 logic LMAO and probably winging it and then getting his SUppeR fAbulus and Iconic TV head and nows hes probably immortal now :/ (he was probably an old man by the time he finnisghed the body lol not to mention prototypes :/) then he probably did some evil villian laughter shit then downloadded the internet in his brain then eventualy selling the showgrounds to SMG4 and the rest of Puzzlevision continues :/

If yall read all that- WOW :/ its 1am and im typeing esays ;-; anyways this has been cooking in my brain for too long so now its all here now :/

*fades into the distance MEME STYLE B3*

[monstermoviedean]

hi quuen(gn) i know its been like years and its nowhere near the anniversary but i was feeling nostalgic today and was scrolling back through the j2 fallout tag and i saw u post about how u had been theorizing about it before it came to light and i just wanted to say if you ever would like to make an in depth post with all ur thoughts it would personally make my whole entire year. anyways obvi no pressure and i love all ur posting!

anon i'm sorry i took so long to respond!!! i am beyond flattered that this would make your whole entire year so i'm going to try to do it justice but please know that i appreciate you so much 🥹 this was really fun and a much-needed distraction from real life so thank you!!!

okay so the thing i must emphasize is: i don't know shit. i have no evidence. i do not have any insider connection to the fallout. i am wholly pulling stuff out of my ass. but the weird thing is...pulling stuff out of my ass has not always been totally incorrect?? (yes i know how that sounds yes i'm keeping it)

possibly helpful context: i was active on spnblr while seasons 8-10 were airing, drifted away after s10, then returned after 15x18. so i came into it with the 2012 picture of j2 in my mind: best friends 4eva, basically brothers, etc etc. at that point i also didn't know about jared's documented public bad behavior (not a strong enough term but you get what i mean). so when i got a better handle on the 2020 spn landscape it was like oh this is weird.

first off, i did not originate the j2 fallout theory. I don't know who to credit but they're a genius. and anything i say here is likely not an original thought and draws on others' ideas. frankly for a long time i believed in the fallout in the way i believe in the loch ness monster: i think it's fun, it gives me a laugh, and it's ultimately not hurting anyone, so why not? for a brief period in 2020-2021 tumblr had a groups (?) feature that was like a group chat. someone made a j2 fallout theory group (sorry, I don't remember who!), i joined, a couple dozen of us chatted and shared some lighthearted theories. it wasn't that serious iirc, we were just having fun. passing around posts and tagging them with j2 fallout, taking innocuous events and joking that they were rock-solid evidence of a fallout.

the thing is though...the j2 interactions during the period of november 2020 through june 2021 were limited. like, conspicuously so. it was too quiet. and jensen was especially, notably quiet about anything. this is the period where the "sexy silence" came from (my opinion is that the sexy silence continues to this day, but that's just me).

i can't cite sources off the top of my head for this but i'm trying to only use examples that i'm confident happened - but please take it with a grain (or lots) of salt. but here are the important events imo:

mid- to late-2019: that convention where jensen said the finale "didn't sit right" with him and he called kripke about it. kripke helped him come around to it, but he still sounded unsure (imo). i think he said something to the effect of seeing the value in that ending and understanding why it was happening that way, but definitely not the same exuberance others (ie jared) showed for it.

summer/fall 2019: the press run where jensen wore the "if they did but know" gucci jacket and looked visibly checked out during those interviews, which is kind of incredible given what we know about his ability to control his face. i have gifs.

september 2020: finale filmed. jensen immediately turns around, sets up chaos machine, and acquires the rights to spn. within a few weeks iirc.

november 2020: the interview (entertainment weekly?) where jensen was super excited about the confession and talked about coming up with the handprint on the day of ("that'll make somebody scream in their apartment"). the instagram comment on the picture of the handprint jacket thanking the crew for their work. liking two tweets about 15x18 (misha's for sure, and i think berens'?) and nothing. NOTHING. about the finale. no goodbye. no post. not even liking others' posts. just. Nothing. sexy silence era begins.

december 2020: the stacey abrams call. nothing said about the finale. we all start going "oh shit something is very, very weird here." Someone wins the jensen q&a but it either never happens or we never hear about it.

january 2021: little fuzzy on these but i think this is when he got that award and thanked a bunch of people but not jared. he was wearing a bi flannel and in the mountains. and i think this is where "moving to get away from jared" speculation started because he clearly wasn't in texas. i think this was the interview where he made his hair stand on end like a mad scientist and laughed half heartedly when jared said something about working together again.

spring 2021: not much eventful - a couple cons, not much discussion about anything regarding the end of the series. which is still so weird! somewhere in here was jensen getting new roles which were conspicuously Not walker. and he still didn't like anything on twitter. at all. for months his most recent likes were the two 15x18 tweets.

june 2021: everything blows the fuck up!!!!!!!! prior to that we had absolutely no solid evidence that the fallout was real and then all of a sudden it was live on twitter!!!

here is what i think. i think the relationship had been drifting for a while (the s15 gag reel bit where jensen is clearly irritated that jared isn't paying attention comes to mind). and when the finale was pitched and jared was fine with it - or even actively supportive - that was the beginning of the end. known deangirl here but if i had played and loved a character for 15 years and that ending was pitched to me (as a good ending no less!) i would be upset. And i would be more upset if i was the only one who was upset.

my baseless speculation is that jensen was not good with the ending (for extremely obvious reasons) and wanted a different ending, but nobody else supported a different ending. and i do believe that it's possible the ending could have been changed if both jared and jensen pushed back. i got the sense that they rarely pushed back on the writers, but if they made a concerted joint effort they could effect change. and that didn't happen.

jensen had a lot of feelings about this (not making fun of him, i really do sympathize). and jared didn't. and that felt alienating, and then the whole last season happened and covid happened and the confession happened and jared is saying the finale is his favorite episode while jensen is saying he had to fight tooth and nail for dean to die on his feet. can you imagine spending months filming your final season, knowing what it's leading up to, watching jared phone it in because it won't affect him? knowing he didn't have your back at a time when you really needed it?

again. i don't know shit. maybe jared borrowed jensen's impala and crashed it. maybe he pissed in that absurdly expensive pizza oven. maybe he insulted family business beer. who knows. i just think that jensen put up with a lot for a long time, and the finale was the last straw. and he would have been polite and cordial to the very end if jared hadn't had a toddler meltdown live on twitter. (there might also be something interesting in "oh so it's fine if dean dies in canon but if sam isn't in the winchesters it's the end of the world?!")

i hope this was satisfactory anon :) lots of love to you!!!

[eldritchmochi]

yeah I am pretty young lmao, I'll spare you from another playlist by just naming some artists that gave me inspiration for god knows at some point

first off you mentioned Hozier, which I kinda only mention because he released a new album recently. Arctic Monkeys and Father John Misty are kinda in the same boat as him. More like the same lake.

The Amazing Devil and The Oh Hellos never fail to give me some sort of D&D/character inspiration. Ghost does?? something??? as well with characters, but specific ones. Same with Steam Powered Giraffe.

other than that, Library Magic by The Head And The Heart is very Wizard, along with The Magician by Andy Shauf. and because I just can't go without mentioning it, Queen is my favorite band. :)

that's all! with any luck it'll end up being useful somehow lol

hozier is one of those artists who i dont listen to on purpose like ever i dont thinki could name a single song of his with confidence BUT i know his voice starkly as one i really lusted after pre-t. i saw he just dropped a new album and i HAVE to give it a listen to especially the video of sssomething or other (full album mv??? pLEASE) because it stars domnall gleeson and i am still horny for that man even after all these years (he's the actor for hux for context lmao)

queen is also one of my long time favs, though definitely a band i dont know in and out the way i do with a lot of more modern punk bands lmao. freddie has and always will be Gender (god the video for i want to break free was IT for me in like 8th grade right around when i came out)

ive seen spg live before!! they are *great* experience even if you're not deep into the lore (i had friends who were big lore fans). i have heard precisely One And A Half Ghost Songs and im keeping it that way on purpose because its just sooooooo funny that im not into them because aesthetically they are way up my alley (and one of my sibs, a number of irl buddies, and MANY artists i follow are all nuts for them)

ive some passing familiarity with the artic monkeys, enough that i can pick out a number of their more popular songs on the radio even if i cant name them (i am garbage at song titles tho so)

i'll have to check out the rest, especially good Wizards Songs 👀

in response!! further things to check out:

FUNKY.FM - playlist by alexmoukala who is one of my FAVOURITE video game composers. i know him primarily through twitter where he posts snippets of remixed or reimagined video game music... but FUNKY (this one is particularly relevant to u based of ur playlist shared w me)

ye old spooky club 1995 - playlist by unnerving governess who i am 90% sure is gothic charmschool. i know i got the link thru her but i thiiink she also made it (another playlist that may vibe w u based off your playlist)

creature feature, especially the album "the greatest show unearthed" (ookey spooky rock with a lot of vincent price era horror camp and a lot of really impressive technical skill. i want it to be halloween damnit)

the mind electric by the miracle musical (behold, the essence of the inside of my brain but in tangible form. it is. incredibly ominous. do recommend headphones for max goosebumps (includes a lot of records played backwards type sounds and other distortions))

dance monkey by tones and i (one of my big essek songs since i get a lot of that vibe where he's beholden to his station for *so much* that its a disservice to his growth as a person)

bottom is a rock by mother mother (my m9 as a whole song. the chorus has a line for each of them i stg and if i could reliably draw i would do an old school lyricstuck to it)

my verdict on ur playlist btw is that it is very solid and cohesive a+, but *just* to the left of my tastes, largely because a lot of it skews 70s/80s which just by nature of the beast lacks the bass i like (because it was mixed entirely different compared to modern music, which is better suited for sounding big when played digitally through smaller speakers. ive heard some of these bands on big sound systems and theyre MUCH more in line with my tastes then lmao)

[falsebooles123]

Car Trouble and a Full Scredule - Diary of a Big Ole Gay - 3/26/23

Hey Whores, I'm back after what feels like a ridicolous long week.

Let Me get into it. Monday morning my second kitchen job cuts my hours because they got a new guy. He seems pretty Chill, Then both the business meetings and date I had planned on monday got reschreduled for the middle of the week. My car has been acting up so I had to deal with the stress of driving a ticking time bomb that I don't know whats wrong with it to work because I need the money. and my scredule changed again friday like a couple hours before work. That was when I set up my second checking and spent a bunch of money because my bills had already came out. It was like 40 bucks but y'know what I deserved to treat myself. Also this was the weekend so not only did we have a shitshow of a friday prime rib night dinner but I also got to finally do a dinner service on the line. The fact that they have a bonified dishwasher now instead of just recreating that thing were your mom passive-aggresively bitches about the dishes because no one else will wash them.

(I'm the mom in this context, also this was the only gif I could find that didn't give people seizures or was literally porn.)

so I had a lot going on. I also watched a bunch of TV and did manage to catch a few films since the last week we did this.

Caged! (1950) dir. John Cromwell

Some people have called this this the Godmother of the Women in Prison movies and you wouldn't be remised to notice its DNA in later films and shows like Orange is the New Black.

I talked about it in a lot more depth on Letterboxd so I'll try my best to summerize.

First the movie is about a young ingenue named marie who is sent to an all-women prison on trumped up charges, the film makes a point to discuss the cruelity from the prison guards, including the trunchbullian Matron Harper, the lack of resources for the prisoners, and how oftentimes this type of uncivil atmosphere and lack of real resources to reintergrate them into society cause most of these women to return or in marie's case enter into a life of crime.

Luckily we have fixed all these issues in the prison system and thats totally not the same issues we have today /s

As I have said this is the Proto-Woman in Prison film, perhaps the ur-WIP movie and thus the question is raised.

What About The Lesbians!!!!????

So first I will say that this film is not textually queer, Marie is not eating kitty the second she gets into lockup but the film I will say has a queer sensibility.

I'm just going to quote my Letterboxd Review.

"and the answer is probably. I've haven't read the book that this is based on so I can't tell you if Kellog talked about it but this is a womens prison honey we can guess. We have to remember that this is in the middle of the haes code and so you couldn't have a character just be like, "hi, I like women". That being said there are a few choice lines that hint at that kind of thing. Kitty mentions that after awhile "You don't even think about men, you just fall out of the habit", a newspaper discusses prison immorrality, which probably is reffering to like gambling and smoking cigerettes but might hint at a more siturational inversion so to speak. 

Outside of these supposed oblique references there is the culteral queerness of it. The aestetic aspect of queer coding. First there is obviosly a lot of butchness about this film. we have just a fuckton of these butch tops in this film from Kitty(Betty Garde), Elvira (Lee Patrick) to the trunchbullian Everlyn Harper (Hope Emerson), to even the prison warden Benton (Agnes Moorehead). they all have this kind of dominant aggression to them. This masculinization. 

And this trope continues, Marie has her head shaved at a crucial part of the film and there is the repeated motif of the women doing rollcall were they have to speak there last names first, Marie Allen, now being called ALLEN, marie. Its literally patronymic. 

On one hand we can absoulutely interpret this trope as a comment on how prison dehumanized women, talking away there individality especially there vanity. The social way that they are able to express themselves. And this is emphasized a lot actually, the gift of lipstick at christmas, the head shaving, the fact that Marie asks for a brush during her mugshot and the guard quips back, "why theres no men here".

And I think its important to recognize that this type of dehumanization is different from mens prisons because our sense of vanity is different. A man can affirm his gender by getting jacked in prison but a women can't affirm herself along traditional feminity the system is designed in a certain way to masculinize that experience. In some small sense the very notion of a womans prison is a queer space outside of its constuct as a gynocentric space. 

(note: prison cosmetology is absolutely a thing and women perform a lot of amazing feats of ingenuity, from like tattoing on eyebrows to making makeup out of magazine ink and deoderant but note that these are ways of subverting a system not a byproduct of that system)

Even if we except the trope of a womans prison as a non-normative gendered space its also important to notice that one of the main conflicts in this film is not just between trunchbully Harper and her cruality against Marie, but also between the power struggle of "Corrupting" Marie by the hands of Evelyn and Kitty, who both want her to join there crime syndicate. Marie at one points says "If I said No to Kitty why would I say yes to you". Both of these characters are maternal in a sense but they also take on a very lesbian coding. Evelyn makes a point to gift the women feminine products for christmas, (makeup and a handmirror). In a straight lens its another commentary on femeninity and Evelyns power in the system through a queer lens its almost courtship. This is the type of thing you could buy your girlfriend as a present. In some ways A Life of Crime and Criminal Gayness are symbolic analogs to each other"

Honestly if you were a fan of Orange is the New Black or just like Butch Crime Donnas then this is a pretty good time. Another one of those "This is honestly not that gay but it was an absolute iconic piece of cinema so thank you" movies.

Tea and Sympathy (1956) dir Vincente Minnelli

This was one of those films that took me like a week to watch.

So I've quoted vito russo like 15 times at this point so let me just summerize the vibe. Basically theres a guy in this movie whose a sissy, he dances, he's in theater, he even sews. Wow, what a faggot. and none of the other boys want him to play in their raindeer games because he threatens there fragile masculinity. What I'm saying is that the first half of this TWO HOUR FILM, is just him being bullied for being a sissy.

I'm also saying this shit was highly triggering as both a cocksucker and a limp-wrist soyboy.

(oh god I just had a truamatic flashback were a church mom and her daughter were mocking me for being a limp-wrist faggot and I didn't understand why they asked me to do the limp wrist gesture. and so i'm just puzzled at this random gesture they wanted me to reinnact while my father is just visable angry sitting besides me. Honestly first fuck them and also my dad might be a homophobic asshole but at least he had the decency to never call me a slur.)

so childhood truama and complicated relationship with my father aside after we get through the very long and insuffrable queer misery porn we get to the actually fun part of the movie where there are HORNY MILFS. HORNY MILFS IN YOUR AREA.

THESE WOMAN WANT TO FUCK! NO CREDIT CARDS! HOOKUPS ONLY! CLICK NOW!!!!

yeah basically this movie is two hours of this guy making moves on his landlords wife while the guy is out hanging out with a bunch of twinks.

as I said in my extremly long write-up on the topic. T&S is absolutely a good film in showcasing what this type of homophobia and toxic masculinity is like and it was controversal for a reason but I also want to recognize that as a queer person this shit was hard to sit through.

so for a bit of fun yet another LB quote.

Because this shit is true to life. It feels very reminescent of my own experiences with homophobia. The kind that is more subtle and exclusionary and so while this is a objectively subversive and provokative film. I'm still going to relegate it to "Things I'm making Straight People watch during pride month while I leave the room". Its a double feature with brokeback mountain. Whats that.... thats four hours of Queer Misery Porn. Well too damn bad. Maybe if you stopped sharing those proto-terf facebook memes we could have watched Cruising or Rocky Horror. Sit Down, Shut Up, and relive my childhood trauma and daddy issues straiggot.

The Strange One (1957) dir. Jack Garfein

One of the weirdest episodes of Haze Him I've ever seen.

Jokes aside The Strange One is basically this drama set at a military academy. Person with a real name. Jocko De Paris, (I'm not making that up), is basically one of those rich assholes who is also criminal insane. He manipulates a group of other cadets into getting a guy expelled for being drunk.

Why did he do this. Well if you believe morissey (yes that Morissey), its because Paris is a little bit of a closet queen.

This film is weirdly homoerotic for no discernable reason. The queerness of the characters have nothing to do with it the director was like I'm going to make a movie with deep ideas about the nature of evil and tyranny and also everyones going to kind want to suck dick.

Another one of those films thats honestly kinda slow but I still think about the visuals.

Everything Else I Watched This Week

oof ok I finished Re: Mind, loved it messy moe drama made no goddamn sense would watch again.

Tried to watch Circus of Fear which is a Rialto Crime Movie but not one of the Krimi Films. Also Really Boring.

Also binged the second season of carole and tuesday. I loved it, the shows not perfect but I had so much fun with it.

I also saw Free Guy which.... was fun. I'm sorry but not every blockbuster is going to be worth adding to the Falseboolesey Hall of Fame. Also its like a second-rate Lego Movie which is without any irony. A modern Classic.

(this is non-negotiable. The lego movie is a deep introspection on the apollian vs dionysian drives, an exploration of childhood and adult perspectives and are fear of the joy of choas. It also may literally be cladestine Agritprop)

I also tried to have a Falsebooles123 Kinema movie night. I watched Grandma's Boy which people mention a lot as the prime example of like the sissy trope but honestly I don't remember anything about the film. I kinda just blanked out.

anyway whores. I have an entire week off starting tomorrow so its going to be a lot of editing, yard work, and doing some prep stuff for april which will be so busy. I'm excited through. I'm also very close to watching all the films I could find in the internet archive so theres that. woot woot.

[antoncore]

ok i’m trying to get this all out concisely..

i have nasty heeseung thoughts idek where to start but i have this one idea for either him or i think it could fit sunghoon really well too🤭🤭 BUT when i worked at the adult toy store most ppl were pretty normal but one time there was a guy who came in around my age and he kept asking about the bdsm stuff and being like i just really like knowing she’s feeling good or smth dumb asf like that i think it might’ve be more weird like about how he likes restraining girls or whatever and i was like ok dude idc do u wanna buy these handcuffs or not🤓🤓 like this isn’t anti-bdsm this is just me being like pls i don’t wanna hear ur sex life details just buy the stuff and gtfo

anyways storytime over.. i think it could be hot in the context of like… a fic.. au.. if u know what i mean hear me out??

sunghoon coming in to the shop u work at and being polite and asking u questions and ur showing him like the toys and stuff he’s looking at or the ropes, and his long, slender fingers just look so pretty handling the dildo or playing with the restraints and tugging on them to see how they hold up… maybe he comes in a few more times after that, wanting u to help him and ur more than happy to🫣 and maybe he asks for ur number one day and to take u home to try things out with him🤭🤭

idk like irl with anybody else?❌ absolutely not. with sunghoon in my brain?🤩🤩🤩

- 🧸 anon

eww that guy sounds so weird, it must’ve been really awkward to listen to him talk abt his sex life😭😭 but sunghoon who’s attracted to you from the first time he saw you in the sex toy shop and keeps coming so he can see you!! he would boldly ask you if you’d like to go back to his place after your shift which you agreed to because it was ending soon. you end up on his bed, tied up all pretty while he uses a vibrator on your clit :( whining all pathetically for sunghoon even though he’s basically a stranger :( ugh why is that kinda hot to me lmao

[misqnon]

hi, i just read all of ur posts tagged as misqnon's one piece liveblogging and it was so much fun T-T. im here to rant about one piece and im sorry.

i really love seeing people react to content i am caught up with and hold close to my heart.

i got into the 800s in the anime and stopped watching, took a break and then read the manga up to around 1060. but last month i decided to read the whole thing from the beginning and it is genuinely SO WORTH IT.

after u have caught up completely its super rewarding to go back and look at previous chapters bc its constant "oh my god look what was foreshadowed here??" and "now i understand the context behind this!!!" and "this interaction is so much more meaningful now that i know their relationship!!". yes it did take me a whole month of nearly nonstop reading to catch back up but i have 0 regrets.

wano and the arc after it are both super fun and interesting and i think ur gonna love it. the lore is crazy. i hope u dont see any spoilers bc going into it completely blind will probably be way more exciting, especially with the most recent arc since its kinda suspenseful and mysterious,,.

anyways thats all i have to say how do you end these things.. take care!!

AAAAA ANON THIS IS SUCH A FUN MESSAGE TO RECIEVE THANK YOU...

I ended up talking a lot so I'll put this under a cut lol

I used to be the person who said I would never watch one piece 😭😭 I've been into anime since I was like 12 and I'm almost 24 now (fuck . That's like half my life) and obviously it's always been on my radar but I always thought it was 1. Too popular 2. Too Long 3. Hated how oda draws women lmao so I was fine ignoring it and only knowing the basics from just Being On The Internet

I think sometime early on I caved and attempted to watch it- I got to alabasta and stopped bc the anime pacing wasn't doing it for me (though I liked it up until then, but didn't LOVE it)

cut to high-school where a couple of my good friends liked it but we never really talked about it, it was a lifelong interest for one of them bc he'd started reading it on like 4th grade

Well I'm still friends with them (shoutout to sam and seb) and they convinced me to watch one piece film red with them in like July or August of last year bc they were showing me the songs and I, ado fan bc I'm a retired weaboo and a vocaloid Stan, was like "haha that sounds like ado" and they went "IT IS!!!!??" so I had to watch it for her.

again, I was like oh this is fun I like this :^) but no IMMEDIATE interest, more of a passive thing... until the live action came out a month or so later and I watched it just because and DAMN I FELL IN LOVE FAST

I went back to the anime and rewatched the beginning, then skipped back to alabasta where I had left off years and years ago and now I'm Here 🧍

I watched up through part of dressrosa before I started reading the manga, and now I'm doing that while watching certain episodes of just the parts I really wanna see animated

It's been. So Fun

I am now that person who's like Hey You Should Watch One Piece. I get it now. I so get it lmao. And you know the weirdest part is that with it being divided up into arcs like it is I find myself thinking it really doesn't feel that long!?!? Am I insane,

anyways. It's been a while since I was in an active fandom or even in a fandom at all - ESPECIALLY such a big one!?! (I was in college for 4 years and Busy).

but it's. Crazy. I'm writing fanfics and joining discord servers and I've never done that before. it's been very fun and rewarding tbh...I don't like a lot of things about oda and aspects he included and ofc one piece isn't perfect or unproblematic but it IS a really awesome epic of a story about friendship and found family and anti authority and its just.

I'm also a person who's always loved reaction videos or just even seeing otherppl react to things I like so I RELATE AND IM SO GLAD I CAN BE THAT FOR U...

I'm ngl as I've been reading I've been wanting to look up some old one piece forums dated the time certain reveals happened bc I want to see how people felt as this shit came out holy Shit....

it's additionally funny bc this blog is about 10 years old and has amassed a decent amount of followers over the years who were just into some of the other random stuff I've been into but I know a fair amount of them were thinking we were on the same page of not being into one piece and now here I am. Ruining that. And with the pervert character as my favorite no less. lmao SORRYYYY YALL <3

I'll leave u with this message I sent into the discord I share with some friends the other day, none of which really watch op, when asked to explain something about the show. In fact, I think the reasoning for this message was BECAUSE I was explaining to a friend just how much oda foreshadows things!! jinbei, kaido, haki, sanjis backstory, ALL being mentioned by name or referenced DECADES/YEARS BEFORE APPEARING ON SCREEN...HUNDREDS OF CHAPTERS APART....I could rant on more but I'll stop for now.

thank u for the message and feel free to dm me to talk about this silly show anytime bc its sunken its claws into me 😭

[seiwas]

hello!! omg will reblog this for safe-keeping but aaah i am so touched by your comments 🥺 thank you so much for reading!!

you're always so so supportive of my lil writings, i appreciate it so much 🥺 am so touched that it made you cry omg (i'm sorry!!) i feel like i can't possibly write anyth sad on him anymore bc i also just want him to have a good life 🥺

i so appreciate!! how you even singled out the lines you liked 🥺 the effort and time to write out your comments!! aaaah thank you so much 🥺

for you to say that you felt the visual of the 'two blue skies' description means so much!! writing that scene was a bit tricky bc i've ever done action scenes before 🥺 but for u to feel all the playfulness and love!! aaah i am so relieved!!

and the tenderness and shy confessions + soft banter too!! like u said!! i adore the col couple for that reason 🥺 i truly think he deserves a gentle love, so i try my best to make col reader be that for him 🥺 and i think. when he's in, he's all-in you know?

and this: “We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…”

aaaah can i just say that!! writing this line, i didn't think people would think much of it, or even pay attention to it as closely as you did 🥺 but oh gosh i'm so thankful you noticed!! (bc i can now talk abt it dfgvhbj)

thank you for going through col from the start (it's a lot of words, i think the entire series is averaging around 30k rn?) because i don't think that line would hit the same without the context that they've spent more than a decade together. i try to emphasise that as much as possible in every col fic!! and you caught on!! it's such a good feeling 🥺

you're right!! it really is against all fucking odds that they have this chance to grow old, and together at that 🥺 it's so special that neither of them really take it for granted. it's the idea that, they've known each other for so long, in a certain way, under certain conditions but now that that's all stripped away it's like learning eachother all over again!! differently!! in this completely new life phase 🥺 aaaah i am so touched you get it!!! 🥺

and once again, you get it!! gojo cooking, being so nervous, doing smth he doesn't normally do and hoping he gets it right 🥺 i think he knows that reader will love it anyway, but just has a hard time believing it yknow? kind of like he wants to make sure he deserves it still, even after all this time 🥺 even tho he rlly is alr so loved 🥺

AND YOU GET IT AGAIN pls omg 😭😭 scene 5 was a bit tough for me bc it's such a specific moment that's basically just gojo's internal thought process LOL and i wasn't sure if what i put in the outline was rlly what i was getting across writing it. but!!! you get it omg 🥺 how they've assimilated into eachother's lives!! how reader's already carved out a space for him to fit 🥺 the belonging yes exactly!!!!!! (in my outline, i listed the theme for that scene as: belong)

THE TITLE FOR THE +1 TOO OMG 😭😭😭 it was the first title that came to mind when i started writing!! mainly bc i rlly wanted to do a callback to the scene in 'tell me about love (show me how)'. i'M SO GLAD IT HIT 🥺 ur reactions are too kind mg hdbgasj i am soooo touched

and i did juggle around with the idea of a proposal!! but felt like smth like this would fit them more 🥺

thank you so much for reading again!! you are so so sweet for carving out the time to read and write this 🥺 i appreciate this and you so much!!! i am keeping this so close to my heart!!

₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours. 

contains: f!reader, uses pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), vague allusion to symptoms similar to synesthesia, mentions of reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, use of pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (there are lots of callbacks and references, and you’ll get better context!), used lots of songs as inspo for this (would gladly share if you’re curious!), food names are in japanese, so i’ll add explanations in the a/n at the bottom!, hope you enjoy! from conceptualisation to actual writing, this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +4 (extra). take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out. 

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity. 

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish. 

He paces around the room. 

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday. 

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming. 

To him, this could change everything with you. 

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you. 

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours. 

.

.

.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he woke up earlier completely fine. 

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice. 

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.  

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them. 

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength. 

So when a cluster of clouds pass by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with. 

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down. 

You only ever get like this sparring against him. 

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you. 

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to. 

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you. 

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out. 

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute? 

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred. 

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?” 

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?” 

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling. 

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding. 

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway. 

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you. 

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs. 

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right. 

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…” 

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies. 

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him. 

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze. 

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it. 

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric. 

You reach for him. 

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly. 

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear. 

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do. 

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds. 

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally. 

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too. 

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief. 

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely. 

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it. 

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room. 

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all. 

“Just like old times,” he nudges you. 

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out. 

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it. 

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it. 

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking. 

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on. 

It was never supposed to be important to him. 

Until you. 

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach. 

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random. 

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference. 

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him. 

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you. 

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it. 

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were. 

.

.

.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight. 

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon. 

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty. 

He misses you. 

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.” 

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub. 

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe. 

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels. 

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left. 

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you. 

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even. 

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes. 

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates. 

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to. 

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you).

1:20 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute. 

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling. 

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear. 

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot. 

“‘Nside.” you slur. 

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already. 

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen. 

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.” 

Another ache. 

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit. 

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is. 

“Just miss you.” 

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable. 

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.” 

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one. 

“I can go there now, if you want.” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment. 

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility. 

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space. 

But right now, it feels so empty. 

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches. 

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint. 

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?” 

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover. 

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over. 

You giggle again. 

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’” 

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him). 

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite? 

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight. 

“Sweet-talker.” 

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids. 

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing. 

“I do,” you whisper, admittance ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.” 

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips. 

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious. 

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening). 

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru.” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool. 

“Listening.” 

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully. 

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way. 

How can you even think that? 

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him. 

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear. 

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.” 

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating. 

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?” 

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids. 

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool. 

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s ‘my dog ate my homework’s. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday gift trip to Disneyland on a weekday. 

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try). 

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home. 

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now. 

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now.” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants. 

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence. 

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you. 

“Satoru,” you call him softly. 

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is. 

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling. 

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you. 

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable. 

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too. 

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows. 

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time). 

“I love you.” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone. 

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to. 

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version. 

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.  

.

.

.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?” 

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology. 

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night. 

“You’ll get a stomach ache.” you whisper, with emphasis. 

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out. 

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.” 

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you. 

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this. 

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you. 

. 

Or not. 

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened. 

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else. 

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything). 

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed. 

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it. 

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes. 

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain). 

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks. 

You take a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“That’s kind of the point, baby.” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.” 

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines. 

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being. 

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable. 

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out your bedroom, checking in.  

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him. 

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him. 

The bed as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him. 

Who is he to say no?  

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down. 

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside. 

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist. 

“Have you eaten?” 

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.” 

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,” 

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.” 

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising. 

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed. 

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer. 

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin. 

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.” 

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases tickle your eyes. 

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight. 

“You’re too good to me.” 

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it. 

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.” 

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami. 

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you. 

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach. 

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you. 

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.” 

You shoot him a look, then pout. 

“Satoru.” 

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already). 

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—” 

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.” 

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek. 

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. 

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely. 

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you. 

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do. 

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?” 

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little. 

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go. 

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.” 

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter. 

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—” 

He gets kicked in the thigh. 

.

.

.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way. 

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way). 

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking. 

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all. 

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps. 

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin. 

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one. 

He has to get this right. 

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other. 

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes. 

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to. 

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt. 

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies. 

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later. 

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter. 

“Megumi!” 

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?” 

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.” 

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove. 

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!” 

Megumi stares. 

“Anniversaries are emergencies.” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.” 

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be. 

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.” 

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears. 

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you. 

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair. 

.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup. 

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent. 

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that). 

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all. 

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove. 

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers. 

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs. 

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?” 

It’s a simple question. Innocent. 

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—-how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).   

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind. 

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.” 

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it. 

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him. 

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating. 

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds. 

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?” 

“Or bland.” Megumi adds, smacking his lips. 

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan. 

“No, it’s okay.” 

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.” 

“I don’t.” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up. 

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest cook continues: he heats up the skillet to cook the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it. 

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway. 

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after. 

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay. 

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—-the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside. 

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction. 

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking. 

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it. 

“They don’t go together.” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks. 

All his hard work? Shattered. 

Gojo is dumbfounded. 

It’s too late to change everything now. 

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout? 

“But they’re not bad.” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed because there were no more aprons. 

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.  

. 

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready. 

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely. 

All he told you was to wear something nice. 

And, by god you did. 

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now. 

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing. 

He reaches for you. 

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight. 

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?” 

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.” 

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest. 

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss. 

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then.” he chuckles, hands sliding lower to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk. 

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating. 

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating. 

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?” 

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly? 

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him? 

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing. 

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying. 

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently. 

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously. 

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.” 

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine.” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him. 

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—-has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes. 

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t. 

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru.” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates. 

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you. 

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space. 

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly. 

He holds your gaze.  

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.” 

You say it again—how you call him that so casually. 

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life? 

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress. 

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves. 

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier. 

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say. 

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingled with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks. 

You nip on his upper lip, playful but lightly, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck. 

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat. 

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie. 

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—-blood rushing, ears ringing. 

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt. 

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.” 

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

.

.

.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription. 

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately. 

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day. 

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep. 

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing. 

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom. 

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away). 

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—-how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink. 

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you. 

As long as it’s with you. 

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel. 

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.” 

.

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are. 

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else. 

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now. 

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.” 

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling. 

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom. 

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like you’re right there, everywhere he goes). 

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry. 

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and found a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his. 

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white is too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm. 

And thing is, he never asked you to do any of this. 

You just… did. 

Because that’s you. 

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances. 

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully. 

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed. 

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time. 

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry, lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm. 

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory. 

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile you always give him, the hands that always reach for him, first thing. 

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it. 

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying. 

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities. 

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you. 

.

.

.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you. 

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick. 

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes. 

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it. 

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale. 

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves. 

If you were here—-

—-the door opens, and you step into the room. 

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say. 

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17. 

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?” 

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat. 

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter. 

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.” 

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch. 

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say. 

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you. 

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too. 

He practiced this, damn it. 

Why can’t he remember a single thing? 

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you. 

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying,

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’ 

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.” 

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?” 

His heart is pounding. 

“I stay over at yours too much.” 

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add. 

“I think we need more space.” 

Your hand on his knee slides off as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now. 

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—” 

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?” 

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach. 

It’s not like that at all. 

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now. 

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands. 

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.” 

He blinks. 

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you. 

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it. 

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.” 

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper. 

“You ran yourself dry because of me.” 

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty. 

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility. 

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.” 

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more. 

Do you still think he wants to do this without you? 

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” he tells you firmly, surely. 

You blink. 

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him. 

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?” 

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…” 

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning. 

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts. 

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means. 

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—” 

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely. 

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[relaxxattack]

hi im asking u this bc u seem to be bee duo enthusiast so

ive been calling c! beeduos relationship platonic because i thought that was what their cc’s said, and i thought they had said that they were uncomfortable with ppl shipping the characters. But ive seen a lot of posts that say their relationship is canonically romantic? and i absolutely do not want to come across as homophobic by watering down a mlm relationship to just friends because that happens so much in media so.

what is the canon state of their relationship / ur opinions on the platonic thibg

dont worry abt answering if u dont want to!! i see a lot of differing opinions and i trust yours :)

aw it’s totally fine, im flattered you asked me about this!

let me put it simply: it’s a whole mess, lol.

first im going to talk about what’s happened fandom-wide that caused differing opinions, and then i’ll explain my own opinion/interpretation. :]

(this got really fucking long im so sorry)

ranboo and tubbo initially proclaimed the relationship was romantic, specifically in argument with the wiki editors who had set it as platonic by default. (you can see this in the vod where they decide they’re canonically married— it’s very funny. chat tells them the marriage is already on the wiki, they check, tubbo is jokingly offended that it says platonic and asks if he needs to up the romance).

tubbo also makes jokes about adultry, which sort of implies the relationship is not necessarily a platonic one.

(theres definetly more in that stream alone but it’s been a long time since i watched it so i don’t remember a lot of it.)

the wiki, because of this, suffers from going back and forth on platonic and romantic, seemingly unsure where the joke ends and the canon begins, or if its canonically a joke! a mess, as you can already tell.

this gets more complicated as the marriage bit goes on: outsiders, such as phil and scott, both at one point say “platonic marriage”, which then ranboo and tubbo agree with. however, when chat asks them if they’re platonic, they say the opposite. so there is a lot of confusion there.

there’s also the difficulty of being able to tell streamers and characters apart. ranboo and tubbo both don’t like being shipped irl, and that’s their boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. (they’re also minors, but tbh when they’re 18 in a year i will still be following their boundaries regardless of their legal age).

due to people not wanting to be accused of minor shipping, they started adding the platonic tone indicator to most of their drawings— basically a way of saying “no homo”. meanwhile, tubbo frequently on stream flirts with ranboo and makes quite a bit of nsfw comments towards him that are frankly hilarious.

this goes on for a while with nobody really sure what’s canon, but a lot of people assuming it’s probably platonic, until: the drama of the mods night. a few mods dmed all the wiki editors telling them ranboo wanted his canon character relationship officially set to platonic.

unfortunately for those mods; the very same day, a few hours later, ranboo on stream makes fun of puffy delivering him and tubbo “friendship flowers”. because, and i quote, “bruh. we’re literally married. this must be how the ancient greeks felt.”

in case you don’t know, the internet often jokes about how historians will call ancient greeks ‘very good friends’ when they are quite obviously gay. so in this context, ranboo is joking that people will call him and c!tubbo, who are married, “close friends”, when he doesn’t think they are.

basically, ranboo canonized romantic bee duo, the very same day the mods told everyone he’d wanted a platonic one.

chaos and drama immediately erupted everywhere. on tumblr, we were talking about how weird it was of his mods to do something like that without asking him first. we ALSO talked about how weird it was of them to assume that ranboo can’t make his own decisions, or assume teenagers cannot be in relationships without it being sexual. twitter did the same thing but in the opposite direction: called ranboo mods homophobic, or said they were mad ranboo felt pressured into making a romantic relationship canon ‘just so people could have mlm rep.’

i dont want to go into detail about the drama that happened that night because apparently official people follow me and i dont want to stir it up or have them come “clarify” things. im just saying what we talked about.

ranboo in typical ranboo fashion apologized quickly and seriously. he was deeply sorry for possibly offending anyone with how he’d portrayed his rp relationship with tubbo, and he also assured everyone the mod thing was just a miscommunication.

he said he would talk to tubbo and they’d decide once and for all whether it was platonic or romantic, and then announce so everyone would know.

it’s now been a few months and we've had no word from them on that development. we still have no clue.

-

now, here’s my opinion:

i want to take ranboos word for it that it was a miscommunication with his mods, but... we had it on good authority from people on the wiki team and people in the discord with the mods that (while it was happening) they were really going after the wiki admins, and also made some weird comments about it. that combined with the way ranboo seemingly had no clue (considering he canonized their romance that very same day).... it’s very. sus of the mods.

then there’s the canon we’ve got since then. although occasionally adults in the room have called it a “platonic marriage” and tubbo once (back when it first started) called it a “plankton tectonic” marriage, in roleplay it’s been... kind of not that. tubbo and ranboo make nsfw jokes about each other in character, and their characters also share a master bedroom and bed in the mansion. there's also the way c!tommy really thinks it’s a romance between them as well, and they agree with and play off that— for instance confirming that they “fell in love” when he asked, or ranboo confirming that they “make out on occasion”.

people will still put platonic on their art and posts, imo, because they’re worried about breaking ranboo and tubbo’s irl boundaries by looking like they ship them. or even just being accused of shipping real life minors. and that’s a valid fear to have.

the thing is though: c!bee duo are not cc!bee duo. they’re roleplay characters. cc!bee duo are not okay with being shipped, but they made their characters get canonically married, and call each other “husbands”. so it’s okay to write the word “husband” in your comic without adding “platonic” to it, i promise.

telling the ccs that their characters have to be platonic is... weird. it comes off as not only babying them, but also as saying teens can’t date without it being gross. which isn’t true.

(this is why seeing people overuse “platonic husband” so much bothers me. like, they ARE husbands. you can just say it. what are you trying to hide...?)

-

do i think they’re canonically romantic? ehh, its likely. it’s still okay to interpret them as platonic, because again, it’s hard to tell where jokes end and roleplay begins. like, maybe it’s jokes in the rp too, and c!bee duo are just friends. friends can and should be allowed to make jokes like that with each other! aro & ace marriages exist!

or, maybe it’s actually part of the rp, and they’re very much romantic. we don’t know!

some people say they could be a qpr (queerplatonic romance), which i could see. (a qpr is a relationship that fluctuates between, or can’t quite be sorted into, “romantic” and “platonic”. people in a qpr can do romantic things while having platonic feelings for each other). in my opinion this is a very valid interpretation as well!

-

CONCLUSION (sorry this got so long omfg):

are c!bee duo romantic?

its likely, but you can still interpret them however you like!

should i put /p on bee duo content?

ehhh? i find it annoying when it’s overused (as do others), but if you’re worried you can. its up to preference. putting it too much is weird though

should i put /p on things cc! bee duo do?

no. you’re not the one saying it so you can’t decide the tone tags for that. imagine you said something to your friend and a random stranger came up and was like “haha but that was /p right...?”

can i ship c!bee duo?

mmm. i’m not sure on this one. they are canonically married and very flirtatious, but the ccs don’t like being shipped and they’re close enough to being the ccs that actively shipping might be against boundaries.

can i treat c!bee duo as romantic?

yes. literally just don’t be weird about it. it’s not that hard! you can understand that two characters are husbands without making it weird

here’s the most important thing: boundaries. cc bee duo still haven’t told us what their preferences and canon is about this whole thing.

right now, i am assuming based on what they already show us they’re comfortable with, but! the second they give us any more info! all these opinions will change!

i am only going off what they do. i would never want to cross boundaries at all. i just wish they would make theirs a little more clear.

..... i hope that helped anon, i went way off the rails... i need to go to sleep.

[flashflashhundredyarddash]

batkids and their relationships with their siblings headcanons. under read more because this got fucking LONGGG

dick

dick is the eldest so he doesnt want to bog down his younger siblings with his problems, but if he DOES, he tends to talk to jason about it

dick and cass start to really begin to bond when Cass shows up to dicks gymnastics class for 3rd-6th graders and then cass shows up all the sixth graders and they get frozen yogurt after lmao

dick and tim are Very much thick as thieves. tim is very much like bruce on the Emotional Suppression scale, so dick just really wants to make sure his little brother is safe and happy ALL the time

Duke and Damian are the only two really permanently at the manor anymore, so when dick drops by he tries to do something with both of them. duke frantically zoom calls dick every other week to help him with his his trig homework. dick shows up to dukes high school graduation with literally the BIGGEST SIGN

everyone insists damian is dicks favorite but he does actually genuinely love all his siblings equally, his relationship with damian is just Very different from the others because of the age gap and being dami's primary caretaker for a year. dick babies dami every chance he gets

jason

would sell Dick to satan for One corn chip

him and cass don't have the greatest start to their relationship because cass is very much Against Killing so it takes a while for jason to warm up to her and earn her trust. now, though, jason is competing with steph by showing cass all the classic American Teenager things she missed out on. steph is currently winning but jason is like 98% positive a crunch wrap from taco bell is going to push him over the edge

tim and jason are currently competing over who can solve the most cases in a month. tim is winning. that won't last long.

jason Loves to Big Brother duke its so embarrassing. duke will get out of school and go to his car and jason is SITTING IN THE FRONT SEAT FRANTICALLY WAVING TO GET DUKES ATTENTION. JASON THAT IS MY CAR. signal has one (1) mission with arsenal and arsenal goes hey did you ask that girl to homecoming yet and duke is like I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU.

Damian is proof that Actually, Little Brothers are Pests. Jason fully believes that he was brought back from the dead PURELY to torment damian and he will fulfill this mission at any cost

cassandra

it actually really upset her when Dick didn't accept her at first. she knows her other siblings really adore dick so his lack of trust was really disheartening. it takes dick a while but once he Actually Accepts that cass is going to be a permanent part of their life and oh, wow, dick you really hurt her feelings he really hyperfocuses on bonding with cass for a couple of months which definitely improves their relationship

she really likes jason!! their relationship doesn't start well but because he's close with steph and tim who are cass's top two favorite people to exist ever, cass is like well i GUESS ill hang out with him more. jason is fun to talk to because he always tries his best to explain jokes and give context to what people are talking about (also tim took her to taco bell already but she didn't tell jason she just wanted to hang out)

cass LOVES tim. they just click okay. tim always seems to know when to give her space and when to push and come closer. Tim's "guest room" is just her room lets be real. tim and cass occasionally get mistaken for twins and Cass Loves it.

duke makes cass listen to metal once and cass loses. her. damn. mind. they bond over music a lot because they both Love Music to a degree the others in their family don't.

damian!! damian is her little brother!!! dami isn't As Hostile to cass at first because he is 100% aware cass has the edge in fighting and respects her. cass likes all of his instagram posts and they have a snapchat streak going

tim

tim Loves dick, dick was his first sibling!! he had Very strong hero worship when he first met dick but it mellowed out when tim got older because wow 17 is really not that cool and mature lol. tim has an open invitation to dick's apartment which he does occasionally take advantage of. tim has more than once scared the shit out of wally when wally comes over and wally is convinced they're being robbed (HA) for half a second. i mean. he's not wrong.

listen. tim understands that forgiving the guy who tried to kill you would be a Struggle for some people and it was! definitely! but also at least he can trust jason to, uh, be open about if he doesn't like tim. which is not an assurance he has with other people. so if the guy who tried to kill him tells him tim is cool now then like. maybe tim isn't that bad or annoying a person? also jason arrested a whole gang and won the cases competition but then it created a power vacuum that the whole batfam had to clean up the rest of the month. thanks, jason.

tim LOVES cass. you know how most of the time theres this empty feeling inside you and you just kind of ignore it because you don't know what will fix it or if you do, you know you can't fix it? cass makes that empty feeling feel a little less empty. they just click. tim always tries to travel with cass whenever she leaves gotham.

tim and duke. Tim is actually the sibling who duke goes to whenever he has questions he doesn't want to ask bruce or alfred about, like, life or vigilante-ing or school or college or whatever and Tim is always like yes!! i love Giving Advice and Solving Problems!! tim and duke and jason fill out their college applications together.

tim and damian. LMAO. ROUGH START THAT'S ALL ILL SAY. at some point alfred goes like fuck it. family therapy. and tim and dami are PISSED. tim and damian get along best when they have a common enemy to work against. their relationship gets much better when damian is older and they actually talk about their feelings like emotionally stunted bats. despite how bad their relationship was, tim will ALWAYS protect damian

duke

very much intimidated by dick at first. dick is so much older and has his own job and friends and life and is very much AN ADULT. dick likes to take duke out to do lots of cool stuff (paintball, lasertag, tech exhibitions, concerts, etc). also, dick PERSONALLY introduced duke to superman and is dating THE FLASH. 10/10 awesome big brother.

was intimidated by jason for 0.5 seconds before jason actually opened his mouth and started speaking. jason is literally. So Embarrassing. which is weird because nobody else really seems to feel that way about jason but duke knows he's 100% in the right here. like yeah jason is also An Adult and does Adult Stuff but he's also at the manor like every other weekend???? and he always complains about bruce but always seems to be in the same room bruce is in????? like okay jason. they bond over literature!! jason and duke and alfred will spend literal hours talking about books and duke loves it. duke is the only one who doesn't think jason is funny and jason gets so upset about it lmao.

cass has this one week where she gets really into photography and by virtue of being nearby (and also not nocturnal), duke becomes her victim subject. duke prints out all the pictures and hangs them up in his room (his favorite is one he took when he stole the camera and took a really bad selfie of them together).

tim is closest in age to duke so duke tends to hang around with him a lot. tim introduced duke to his young justice friends and duke is like yes!!! meta-friends!!!! tim really helps duke out with his powers because tim is always like wow i wonder if your powers would work if we did This? can you see farther than other people? is your visible spectrum of light different than other humans? Bruce does the same thing but bruce is boring about it lol.

damian and duke live in the same house and will be in the same room and just send each other social media posts back and forth. they follow each other on instagram and will, OCCASIONALLY, make tik toks together because they're tik tok fiends. each of his siblings have visited his parents once or twice but damian routinely comes with him.

damian

damian gets a special bullet point to say that it took him. forever to come around to the idea of having siblings. he very much believed that he was Bruce's Blood Son and everyone else were just tagalongs or allies. it took him ages to acknowledge that dick, jason, tim, and cass were his siblings, so when duke came and like a week later damian was like Ah, Yes, this is my brother Thomas everyone else was like dude wtf

listen. LISTEN. Obviously. Richard is very highly skilled. and also Father values him highly. and also Richard will listen to Damian complain about his schoolmates. and also Richard is much more patient with Damian than other members of his family. listen....,,, (all this to say damian kind of fucking adores dick lmaooooo this kid).

Todd is kind of unbearable but damian has been informed this is both a normal feeling when it comes to Todd and also big brothers. damian was an only child for ten years so yes, Father, if Todd attempts to tickle me I WILL break his fucking nose. yes i WILL put money in the swear jar but I want you to know i don't regret it. they always try to sneak up on each other but mostly fail.

DRAKE!!! but no lol once damian grows up and is like I Apologize for attempting to murder you it was wrong and you are just as much a son to Father as I am tim is like UGH i guess its cool since ur being so emotionally mature and all. also im 2 for 5 on siblings trying to murder me so im definitely going to win trauma bingo and damian is like i take it back you are insufferable. When Will My Older Siblings Stop Joking About Their Trauma.

CASS!!! listen. cass is cool. Cass Gets It. They have a special Bond. also damian really likes it whenever cass is home because 1) he gets to hang out and do something cool with cass and 2) he feels significantly safer with cass in the house because Nobody will be able to hurt any of their family if Cass is there. ALSO he tries to call her cain but everyone is like DONT DO THAT and he doesn't want to call her wayne bcus theyre ALL wayne (dick adds it on as a middle name but also Richard John Wayne West-Grayson is just. the lamest name ever so dick needs to reconsider it before his upcoming nuptials)((dick will not reconsider it except maybe whether grayson-west would work better)) and so he tries cassandra but cass is like :) call me cass and damian is like cassandra is more formal and respectful and cass is like :) and finally damian just has to give in.

Duke! him and duke actually live together so they get the Most Bonding Time and have a bunch of inside jokes as a result. (is it bad i wanted to laugh because inside jokes... joker... i'll see myself out). they're eating breakfast together (and also alfred sits with them IM NOT A MONSTER ALFIE'S LIKE 70 NOW OKAY) and duke laughs and bruce is like what are you laughing at, son? and duke is like oh damian just showed me this funny meme and then he shows the phone to bruce and bruce grabs it (both the boys groan) and after WAY TOO LONG is like "i don't get it" and so now duke and damian have to try and explain the comedic intricacy of bob's burgers

[awake-my-oceans]

so sorry for the dumb question but i recently started the cased closed manga after i saw ur posts and was confused where kaito kid came in?? are they in the same universe? i searched it up and i found some results saying that he's from another manga by the same mangaka but some that say that he's in case closed too. tysm!!

Dear anon, that’s not a dumb question; this is a weird topic with a weird fan base. Detective Conan (the English dub is called Case Closed) has been running since 1994, and it’s has a relatively small fan base outside Japan (where it’s HUGE). Aka, most people talking about Detective Conan will assume that you’ve been following the ins and outs of it for years, and will therefore fail to explain things like how Kaitou Kid is kind-of-and-kind-of-not a crossover. Bear with me.

I’m putting the rest under a cut since I got excited and this got long.

To be clear, I’m not one of those longtime fans, I got into it like……..8 months ago shgjwngjwnjfms. I guess I just followed the fandom convention of not explaining stuff. Until now!

Let’s start with the author, Gosho Aoyama. Early in his career, he starts a fairly lighthearted manga about the mishaps of a teenage magician who goes the not-at-all convoluted path of trying to hunt down his father’s murderers by being an international jewel thief. He also starts a child-aimed manga called Yaiba about a boy who’s competent at being a samurai and incompetent at pretty much everything else; when he learns he has to defeat a great evil, he goes on adventures via The Power Of Friendship.

At this point, Gosho says “ok but I want to launch a more successful manga.” Fair enough! So he starts Detective Conan, which turns out to be a whopping success. He’s having fun quietly referencing Yaiba in the background—it’s the show the Detective Boys/Junior Detective Club (depending on sub/dub) are obsessed with.

Gosho decides to have even more fun by bringing in Kaitou Kid for a one-off crossover. Except he made the (excellent) mistake of making Kaitou Kid so incredibly fascinating and have such great interactions with Conan that Kid keeps coming back out of sheer demand. Seriously. He keeps ranking second in popularity polls and it’s not even his manga. The fandom took one look at him and said “yeah, we’re keeping this one.”

(Then again, how could we NOT? Look at him. LOOK AT HIM.)

A lot of the groundwork for Detective Conan was lifted straight from Magic Kaito. Like. Shinichi (Jimmy in the dub) looks identical to civilian Kaitou Kid. In the non-canon movies, Kid keeps using his real face to disguise as Shinichi, to Conan’s great displeasure, and it’s hilarious. Plus, aside from the fact that Magic Kaito has one character who uses magic and Detective Conan is author-confirmed to not have magic, they live in the EXACT same world in the EXACT same city and the two mangas will in fact occasionally reference each other.

Most people gave up at this point, threw their hands in the air, and decided that for fandom purposes, Detective Conan and Magic Kaito were functionally the same universe narrated from two different perspectives. Hence, pretty much everyone referring to this as DCMK—aka Detective Conan-Magic Kaito.

Tldr—technically Magic Kaito is a different manga, but 1) they’re almost identical worlds and 2) Kaitou Kid appeared once in Detective Conan, making him so popular that he’s been brought pretty fully into the Detective Conan universe. He’ll pop up every fifty to a hundred episodes or so. Which I know sounds like a long time, and it is, but also the anime just celebrated its thousandth episode, so, uh, yeah.

If you want to speed run all the Detective Conan appearances of Kaitou Kid, you totally can—you don’t need canon context. I do recommend going in release order, because Conan and Kid’s relationship has fascinating development. The one Detective Conan plot-heavy episode featuring Kid is the Mystery Train episodes (701-704), so you might want to skip that for strong Detective Conan spoilers. Note that Kid works out that Conan is Shinichi early on in the timeline of the non-canon movies, but we have no confirmation that he knows this in canon, although there is plenty of speculation.

If you want a full-on dose of Kaitou Kid, you can also jump over to the Magic Kaito manga and anime! Featuring this mysterious, elegant, and highly competent gentleman thief being a very sweet teenager who is an absolute disaster at everyday life. I think that’s only in sub, not dub, but I could be wrong. Either way, it’s absolutely worth your while.

If you want more DCMK content, you can also hang around this blog, follow @redrobin-detective who has excellent DCMK stuff and actually dragged me into DCMK herself, and go check out the ao3 tag. Trust me, fully half of the DCMK tag is Conan or Shinichi interacting with Kaitou Kid.

Once I finish my vast DCMK wip, you can read that, too! It’s postcanon fallout of everything, with Kid and Shinichi/Jimmy as the main (platonic) relationship.

[starlight-writes-stuff]

hi, do you think you could do another blurb for ethan? maybe something nsfw? like, a party hookup? im thinkin about fratboy!ethan 👁👄👁

(wc: 5.5k) pls im always thinking about fratboy ethan :,) but yes i can do this 100 % ! this ask prompted something deep in me and i ended up making a playlist to go with it as well 🤧here’s the link to that if ur interested https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4yXuVtAKBHexm5ifE9NQ2B ! A L S O i’m sorry this took forever to get to ,,,, life has been a lot recently lol . reblogs are always appreciated ! <3

AYO LOOK AT THESE ! : smut (obvious but still) , sex while under the influence (with explicit consent given) , softdom! ethan , marajuana use , alcohol use , unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it , plz) , swearing , college au , an unus annus reference if u look close enough , and i believe thats it . enjoy ! xoxoxoxo , starlight .

a little party never killed nobody

it was the exact same as every other college party you’d ever been to. shitty music, shittier alcohol, shittiest people- except for him. 

when ethan nestor had invited you to a frat party, you’d laughed in his face. you knew that he was a member of data data data, but he wasn’t the type that made it his whole personality. as far as you’d observed, he wasn’t the partying type, either, but there he was, texting you the house address.

“so you’ll come tonight? it’s going to be a pretty big thing- a lot of people coming. you should be able to walk right in, but if anyone gives you shit just tell them you’re with me,” he said, a slight smirk playing on his lips. you and ethan hadn’t been talking for long; technically, you hadn’t even known that he’d existed two weeks ago. 

when ethan had first sauntered up to you in physical sciences, that same smirk painting his face, you’d picked up on the underlying chemistry right away. he was a flirt by nature, but he seemed to play it up even more around you- the brunette boy had asked for your number the first day you met, and you’d been talking almost constantly since. he was funny and sweet and extremely charismatic, and he made your heart flip in your chest with the smallest glance. the two of you hadn’t hung out alone yet, so this party felt like a big deal.

or, at least, that's what you’d thought.

when you showed up at the front door of the frat house loud, bass-filled music was already shaking the window panes in their frames, and you could hear what sounded like a hundred different voices all talking over each other. ethan hadn’t been kidding when he said that it was a big party; at least half of your year was here, plus the older and younger students interspersed throughout the throngs of people as well. as you made your way to the kitchen, ethan was nowhere to be found. you felt as if all eyes were on you as you started to pour a drink, and dimly, you wondered if people could tell that you didn’t belong.

however, most of your anxious thoughts had been subdued after the first solo cup of vodka lemonade, and you were now well through your second. the music pounding throughout the house felt as if it had infiltrated your veins, filling them with a warm, buzzing sensation that loosened your limbs. at some point, a guy had come up to chat with you. then another. you weren't sure how many times you’d given out your snapchat tonight, but it had been a lot, and you were about to do it again. 

the guy you were currently talking to introduced himself as danny. he was some sort of business major, much like every other guy that you’d spoken with tonight, and was very clearly trying to hit on you. even through the alcohol-induced haze, you remembered who you came here for and you weren't leaving without him. you put a hand on danny’s shoulder, effectively cutting him off in the middle of his sentence.

“hey, do you know where ethan is? ethan nestor, i mean? he’s the one who invited me here.”

danny looked disappointed, but seemed to shift and slot puzzle pieces together in his head, snapping his fingers. “you're the girl he invited? that makes so much sense, actually. yeah, he’s out back- toking up, probably,” he explained, gesturing towards a door you would’ve never noticed. “out there and down the stairs. need an escort?”

you almost denied his advances but spotted an old fling loitering by the hidden door. giving danny a tight smile, you drained the rest of your drink and held up a finger. “one sec! stay here.”

butterflies flooded every inch of your being as you stumbled over to the makeshift bar, pouting a variety of liquors into your cup. you were going to see ethan outside of class. on his turf. something about it shook you to your core, but you couldn’t quite figure out why. 

sure, ethan was hot- that was obvious. but he’d been flirty, too. were the two of you a thing? if you weren’t, why had he been talking to danny about 'the girl he was inviting’? clearly, ethan had been talking about you, you just weren't sure of the context. you tried to swallow all these fears as you topped off your cup with lemonade, taking a small sip. trying not to spit it out, you added more juice; you’d made the strongest mixture you could think of, and it tasted like some sort of poison. that didn’t stop you from taking another small sip, then a bigger one. you needed the buzz.

“okay! let's go.”

danny led you out the door and down the stairs with no issue, and you quickly realized how tipsy you were - the stairs seemed to bob and warp under your feet, and you grabbed onto the handrail with a death grip. he noticed this easily, laughing a bit. “are you good?”

“great. it's the heels and alcohol- they don't mix well.” you laughed at yourself, regretting the chunky, heeled boots you’d thrown on.

“you can ditch them, if you want. we’re going out onto a deck, so you won't be in grass or anything,” danny explained, pointing to a pile of shoes by the door you were about to exit. you weren't going to argue with that, thankful that you’d chosen cute socks as you wrestled the footwear off and tossed it onto the pile. your stomach flipped as danny opened the door, cool night air biting into your warm skin, waking you up a bit. the sourish-sweet scent of marijuana flooded the small stairwell, and danny chuckled. “told you he was smoking.”

nothing could’ve prepared you for the way you felt watching ethan take a long drag off of some sort of pen, letting the vapor pour from his lips in pale blue plumes. something about the easy way the smoke seemed to float from his mouth went straight to your center, and you dug your nails into your palms, trying to get yourself under control. ethan finally realized that more people had joined the small crowd on the bench, and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to light up as they roamed all over you lazily. this only furthered the sensation between your legs, the coils starting to tighten in your lower stomach. 

what the hell?

“y/n, you made it,” ethan said, a smile taking over his face. he quickly hopped down from where he’d been sitting on the guardrail and made his way over, wrapping an arm dangerously low around your waist. he hugged you tightly, making your heartbeat stutter as you squeezed him back.

you mumbled a ‘hello’ into his neck as ethan let his touch linger, your body held tightly to his. someone cleared their throat, conversation starting back up, and ethan reluctantly pulled away, dropping his eyes to yours. he kept a hand on the small of your back, sending electricity running up and down your spine. “having fun?”

you could barely talk as you forced yourself to respond. “yeah, lots. you’re a hard person to find.”

ethan grinned again, letting his head fall back as he laughed. “my bad. i thought you would text me when you got here. found someone to take care of you , though?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. the facial expression did absolutely nothing for the situation building up under your skirt- only worsening your want for the tall boy in front of you. 

“who?”

ethan smirked, dropping his lips to your ear. “that's what i like to hear. you look pretty, y/n.”

the way he said your name practically undid you, ripping your self-control apart at the already weakened seams. you let a hand wander up and down one of ethan’s sculpted arms, outlining the planes of muscle through his hoodie as you crossed your legs; sure, it was the ladylike thing to do, but you were desperately looking for some sort of friction, anything to lessen the need for him.

“thank you.”

ethan nodded, the hand that had been perched on your back sliding over your hip before finding your hand. he laced his fingers into yours, and you were shocked at how forward he was being. the two of you had flirted heavily- and okay, maybe you’d sent some suggestive pictures back and forth- but ethan seemed to be claiming you as he led you over to the round table where all his friends were sat. again, you carved half-moons into your palms with your nails as you added up all the chairs- there wasn’t enough. you began to let go of ethan’s hand, ready to boost yourself onto the railing, but he gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. you watched as ethan settled into the overstuffed outdoor chair, gesturing at his lap.

fuck.

you took a brief moment to admire the mess you’d gotten yourself into before you gingerly sat on ethan’s lap, trying to make yourself as small and weightless as humanly possible. that didn’t last long, though. ethan circled an arm over your hips, pulling you onto his lap firmly. you couldn’t breathe as you settled into him, crossing your legs tightly. your lower body was tucked away, hidden under the table, but still. you tucked a small portion of fabric between your thighs, ensuring nothing would slip. 

you didn’t say much as ethan continued to conversate with his friends, passing the silvery, skinny device around the table. 

soon, the talk turned from school and classes to typical, stuttering stoner laughing; everyone besides ethan and danny seemed to be a complete lightweight, gone after one hit of the cartridge. however, both the boys were on at least their fourth hit and still seemed relatively composed. they’d started to talk about some sort of economic study, and you’d quickly grown bored and confused. after sitting through 10 more minutes of the terminology you didn't understand, you began to wiggle around on ethan’s lap, loosening his grip on you. 

at the same moment, you and ethan both shifted in just the right way, causing one of his legs to end up between both of yours just as your hips rolled forward. delicious friction flooded your system, and you bit down hard on your lower lip, trying to stifle a moan. you fought with everything in you not to rock your body again, sensation overwhelming your impulse control. before you could do anything, one of ethan’s large hands found your hips, squeezing just enough to leave fingerprint-shaped marks on your skin. ethan knew what he’d done- you could hear the satisfaction threaded through his voice.

“you okay? what d’you need?”

you tried to steady your voice, painfully conscious of the people around you. while most of ethan’s friends were high enough that they wouldn’t notice, you knew that danny would pick up on any changes in your demeanor. you swallowed hard before answering him.

“i'm gonna go get another drink.” another gentle squeeze practically lit your skin on fire, and ethan held the pen up to you. 

“wanna try this instead?”

you weren’t going to lie- you’d been a bit jealous of the boys, not even thinking of passing the device to you. with shaky hands, you reached to accept the cartridge, but ethan had different plans. a sinful look found its way into his slitted eyes as ethan held the pen up to your lips. “go ahead.”

you could’ve passed out from the command, the look, the way that he’d started to bounce his leg. it was as if he was trying to break you- like he wanted you to give him some sort of sign that you wanted him. you did, more than anything. desire seemed to curl its way into every inch, every cell of your body, its spurs digging into your skin. 

you met ethan’s eyes deliberately as you accepted the cold metal into your mouth, inhaling deeply. you took immense pleasure in the look that crossed ethans face as you pulled away with lungs full of the hazy drug. you held your breath for as long as possible before letting the vapor drift from your lips, just as ethan and done earlier. you watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, his eyes snapping off of yours and over to danny.

“i’m gonna take y/n to get a drink. watch them, will you?” he asked, gesturing to the rest of his friends. danny just nodded, mumbling a low ‘have fun’ as ethan practically lifted you off of his lap. adrenaline coursed through each and every one of your veins and ethan laced his fingers through yours, leading you inside. 

ethan barely let the door shut before his hands were on your hips, pinning you to the wall of the small stairwell. his lips met yours roughly, and you couldn’t hold back the whimper that had been building in your throat for the past hour. you felt ethan smirk at the soft noise before he bit at your lower lip, dragging the soft flesh between his teeth. again, you let out a whine full of pleasure- he just felt so good. you let your arms circle ethans neck, one of your hands knotting in his dark hair. you pulled at the roots gently as ethan’s tongue rolled against yours, your body entirely succumbing to him.

he forced himself to pull off of your body, and you let out a small whine; you’d been waiting on this. ethan smirked, his laugh coming out dark and much raspier than usual. “don’t worry doll, i'm not done with you yet. just can't have you here.”

the words went right through you, only adding to the ache between your thighs. ethan took your hand with a profound gentleness, and dropped a soft kiss on your forehead. “before this even starts, are you sure?” 

you nodded eagerly, getting up on your tiptoes to recapture his lips, but ethan pulled back. you furrowed your eyebrows at the tall boy, confused- until he brought a hand up to your face, holding your jaw. ethan tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “i need words, baby. are you positive? i can-”

“so sure. i promise.” you nodded at him, your eyes never leaving his. “i want you.”

ethan swore under his breath and kissed you hard before leading you up the stairs. you started to feel the effects of the drug as ethan took you from kitchen to living room, up some stairs… you lost track of all the places you’d been, allowing the weed to cloud everything in a gauzy veil. you felt good; light and somehow heavy at the same time, and you enjoyed the way that everything seemed to slow down. finally, ethan opened a door and pulled you in behind him. you realised where you were- his room. it smelled like ethan, like citrus and musk and something you could only describe as boy. 

you let out a small giggle as ethan reached for a remote, colored lights dousing the room in a sultry red glow. “setting the mood?”

quickly, you were shut up in the best possible way. ethan kissed your roughly, all teeth and tongue and hands everywhere as he backed you against one of his walls. you let yourself get lost in him, basking in the warmth of your hunger for him. one of ethan’s cold hands made its way under your shirt, the other holding your jaw in place as he bit into your bottom lip once again, making you whine. 

“feel good?” ethan asked, breathlessly. you could hear the smirk in his voice, but you couldn’t help the way your back arched at the simple question. your nails dug into his shoulder as ethan slid his thumb under the band of your bra, and he let out a rough moan, managing to undo the clasp with one hand. ethan pulled away from you long enough to rid you of your shirt, discarding your bra on the floor as well while you practically ripped his hoodie off, desperate to feel his skin against your own. he clearly wanted the same, judging by the way he wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you flesh against his chest. 

ethan managed to capture both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them above your head. you were unfamiliar with the feeling of being restrained, but the sensation seemed to send your heart thrumming even faster. he kissed you until your lips were sore and your knees were weak before finally dropping his forehead to yours. ethan took his chance, letting his eyes roam all over you and you watched his pupils grow larger until his eyes were practically black. “jesus fuck, y/n. you’re beautiful.”

your voice came out high and breathy as you responded. “ ‘could say the same about you.” you were practically panting, your body no longer responding to your mind as your back arched. ethan let out a hard breath. 

“do you know what you do to me?”

your eyes fluttered shut as ethan’s lips met the sensitive skin of your neck, his tongue exploring the delicate flesh. he quickly found your weak spot and focused his attention there; he let his teeth gently sink into your skin, making you gasp before using his soft tongue to soothe the spot. he repeated this process all over your neck, sucking on your flesh when he found a sweet spot. you knew that you’d be covered in purple-blue bruises, but you’d wear them proudly- that was ethan’s motivation for marking you up.

ethan trailed soft, wet kisses all the way down your neck to your collarbones, groaning at the way you pushed your chest toward him. he hesitated, but started kissing back up your neck, your jaw, back up to your lips. he released his grip on your wrist and you quickly cupped his face in your hands, kissing him with everything in you. you wanted the boy to feel the way you wanted him, and you knew he could as his lips seemed to slow, the kisses getting deeper and deeper. you lost yourself completely in ethan, unsure of where he started and you ended. you could feel his heartbeat against your own, the two thumping rapidly, almost erratic.

the two of you stayed pressed up against each other, your back firmly against the wall for a while, until ethan finally pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “bed?”

you nodded eagerly, wanting the boy all over you. the two of you stumbled, half kissing over to the mattress, falling together. ethan quickly situated himself on top of your body, caging you in between his arms. he began kissing down your body at a torturously slow pace, tracing the dark marks he’d already left with his soft tongue, driving you insane. ethan took his time working down to your breasts, finally taking one of your sensitive nubs into his mouth. you let out an almost guttural moan at the sensation, pleasure overwhelming your senses. ethan hummed at your reaction, only intensifying the feeling. you tangled a hand in his hair, the other digging into his back, leaving long, red scratches on his pale skin. 

ethan swirled his tongue around your bud, taking extreme pride in the way you let your head fall back against the mattress, moans of his name spilling from your lips. he tucked an arm under the arch of your back, pulling your body even closer to him- he didn’t want any space dividing the two of you. ethan pulled off of your puffy nipple with a soft moan, wasting no time in kissing over your chest, pulling the other into his mouth. he covered your chest in dark, deep bruises, admiring his work under the sensual glow of the red lights. “so pretty..”

you couldn’t form full sentences to respond with, just broken moans and pleads and tugs on his hair. ethan found it endearing, the way you wanted him so badly. he couldn’t help but give you what you needed.

he kisses hastily down your body leaving small lovebites here and there on your ribs, your stomach. ethan hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your skirt and pressed a kiss to the exposed skin right above the fabric. “this okay?”

“yes, i- please,” you pleaded, lifting your hips to make it easier. ethan got rid of the piece of clothing, discarding it on his bedroom floor, quickly followed by your panties. he let out a throaty moan, his eyes working over you lazily, like he had all the time in the world. he admired your body until you wriggled underneath him, needing some sort of stimulation. 

“what do you want, baby?”

“you,” you whined, desperation weaving through your voice. ethan pressed gentle, warm kisses on your hip bones, fighting a laugh. 

“i know that. what specifically?”

“fuck, ethan. anything, just touch me. please.”

“okay, okay. and you're positive this is alright?”

“yes. i’m so sure. i swe-” your words died in the back of your throat as ethan pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing small, soft circles. “holy fuck.”

“already so worked up,” ethan mumbled, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. “this because of me?”

you were taken aback by the way your high seemed to multiply the pleasure by tens of thousands- ethan was barely touching you and you could feel your high approaching quickly. you couldn’t find the words to answer him as ethan shifted between your legs, giving himself a better view of your sex. “does that feel okay?”

a stream of swears left your lips as ethan quickened his pace, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. “so fucking good, just like that.” the knots in your stomach continued to tighten as you balled the sheets in your fist, tugging at his hair with the other hand.

ethan pressed a kiss dangerously low on your hip, looking up at you. “can i?”

your hips bucked at the tone of his voice, and you nodded vigorously. ethan kept his eyes on yours as he ran his tongue through your folds, lapping your arousal up. he couldn’t help but groan at the taste of you, the way you pulled at his hair, putting his mouth where you wanted it before letting your head fall back onto his bed. ethan started to suck at your sensitive bud, rolling his tongue over the bundle of nerves and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

“i- fuck- i’m close.”

he hummed, the vibrations sending you over the edge. your eyes rolled back into your head while you tugged at his hair, your orgasm completely undoing you- the high only added to the sensation, making it that much better. your hips bucked under the skillful work of his soft tongue as ethan let you ride out your high on his face. 

ethan dropped a gentle kiss on your clit before peppering your entire body with them, giggling at the way you squealed. he finally attached his lips to your neck, your jaw, back to your lips. you kissed him hard, tasting yourself off of him. finally, when your exhaustion won out you pulled away, running your hands through ethan’s fluffy hair. 

“how was that?”

you propped yourself up on your elbows, pecking ethan’s lips. “so, so good,” you mewled between heavy breaths. ethan bit down on his lower lip and smiled, pride filling his system. 

“god, you look good moaning my name. you're beautiful, you know,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. ethan looked at you with a tenderness in his eyes, placing another kiss on your lips. “think you can go again?”

ethan started trailing down your body again, not waiting for an answer. he was laser focused on pleasuring you, making you whine and whimper for him- only for him. before he could get far, though, you were grabbing at his arm and shaking your head. he flushed, peeling away from you while starting to profusely apologize, but you pressed a finger to his lips. 

“want you. inside of me,” you explained between pants, still exhausted from the first round of stimulation. ethan threw his head back, swearing. 

“jesus christ, y/n. need me that bad, baby?”

his choice of words drowned you in desire, and you were all his. “yes. please, ethan?”

he wanted to fuck you until all you could do was moan his name just like that, over and over again. before you could process what was happening ethan had his hands all over you, roaming your body as he practically drooled at the sight before him: your already fucked out body, the sweet look painting your face, begging for him. ethan could barely control himself, his words coming out as rough murmurs.

“protection? i mean, i have it.”

you bit at your lip, hard. you were on birth control, and you wanted him- all of him.

shaking your head, you explained. “birth control. we’ll be fine, if you’re comfortable.”

you jumped as ethan moved a finger to your entrance, dipping into your sex. he groaned at the way you clenched around the appendage, his cock jumping in his boxers. “want my cum inside you?”

“yes- fuck, ethan, please,” you begged, reduced to nothing. all you wanted; all you needed was him inside you, ruining your body until you couldn’t take anymore pleasure. 

“so tight,” he mumbled, lining another finger up. you bucked your hips, the sensitivity almost too much as he stretched you out, watching the way your face contorted under his influence. ethan placed a large hand low on your abdomen, applying light pressure. “if you can’t take this, you won’t be able to take me.”

you nodded, pace almost desperate for him to continue. “feels good baby. so good.”

you took note of the pleased expression that stretched over ethan’s face as you praised the boy- you were just telling the truth, but clearly he liked to hear what a good job he was doing. ethan brought his thumb up to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves and you grabbed at his wrist, nails digging into skin. 

“gonna make me cum again,” you warned, but ethan only smiled at you, nodding almost condescendingly.

“wanna finish on my fingers, pretty girl?”

you wanted to say no, wait to come undone around him, but his movements felt too good. you dug your nails into his arm even harder, your other hand clawing into ethan’s soft sheets as the knots in your stomach came undone, your walls contracting around his fingers tight enough to make him moan. 

ethan let his pace slow, extending your orgasm as you practically rode his hand, crying out in absolute euphoria as he increased pressure on your clit.  unable to form words, you released your grasp on the boy’s arm, bringing your hand up to his face instead. you pulled ethan’s lips down to meet yours, whining at the feeling of his clothed cock grinding against your center.

ethan couldn’t take it anymore, quickly ridding himself of the soft sweatpants. you watched as his manhood sprung up, hitting his abdomen; the sight in and of itself enough to make you let out another bliss-filled noise. ethan let his eyes fall to yours as he stroked himself, shuddering at the heavenly friction. again, his voice came out low as he lined himself up with you.

“sure?”

far beyond words, you nodded and laced your fingers through his. 

ethan returned your grasp with a sweet squeeze, gliding the tip of his cock through your folds- coating himself in your arousal. the two of you moaned in sync; a sweet, satisfied sort of harmony. finally, ethan pushed into you slowly, gasping at the feeling. you couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled back into your head, the feeling of him inside you almost too much. 

“you okay?”

“so good,” you breathed, trying not to yelp at the feeling spreading through your lower body. ethan was well endowed- the biggest you’d ever taken- and it was an addictive sort of pain. he moved slowly, stopping a few times; allowing you to adjust around his length. when he’d bottomed out, ethan let his head fall back, groans escaping his throat.

“so fucking tiny,” he gasped, a groan cutting his statement off. “feel so good around me, gorgeous.”

you nodded at him, trying your best to meet ethan’s eyes as you praised the boy. “so fucking big- you feel so good,” you whined, your hips bucking. “want you so bad.”

a breathless laugh escaped ethan’s lungs as he maneuvered a hand behind one of your thighs, lifting your leg to hook over his shoulder. he pushed even deeper into you and black spots began to crowd the sides of your vision, the pleasure overwhelming. slowly, ethan started to pull out of you, eliciting filthy words and moans from you before he slid his length back in. 

“fucking hell, y/n. so tight,” he said, voice tipping up into a whimper at the end. he quickened his pace, the noise of sleeping skin filling the room. you could barely contain yourself, no longer fighting the stream of murmurs and swears leaving your lips as ethan continued to pump in and out of you. your next orgasm was already building, the coils tightening rapidly in your lower belly.

ethan let his hand wander down to your sensitive bud, almost coming undone at the sight of your eyes fluttering shut. you traced up his forearm, scraping at his sweet skin before knotting your fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots. 

“eyes open, baby. look at me.”

you could’ve cum then and there, the instructions only turning you on further. you forced your eyes open, meeting his as ethan sped up again. an almost animalistic noise left your throat as ethan thrusted into you roughly- you weren’t going to be able to hang on much longer. ethan felt the way your walls were clenching around him, fluttering and tightening as he increased his speed on your clit.

“close?” he asked, unable to say much more than that. your grip around him was euphoric- he was closer than he’d like to be. it hadn’t been more than 20 minutes, but with the way you were pulling at his head, almost crying in completely bliss, ethan wanted to fill you to the brim with his cum then fuck it into your sensitive pussy, overstimulating the sweet flesh.

you nodded, humming a small “mhm,” as you looked at him with wide eyes. ethan paused for a moment, shifting your leg up even higher onto his shoulder before plunging back into you. you felt the head of his cock hit a new, even more delicious spot and you became almost delirious. looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, you felt a tear crawl down your cheek.

“gonna cum, ethan-”

“fuck- me too. let go, baby.”

your entire body seemed to shake and shudder under the force of your orgasm- it hit you like a fucking train. you felt ethan’s thrusts get sloppier as he buried himself inside you, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. he whimpered as he shot his cum deep into your pussy, the sensation all consuming. the two of you stayed like that for a while- riding out your highs with each other, rough moans turned to honey-sweet mewls. 

as your heart rate started to come down, you peppered the boy's face with soft, careless kisses: ones that he gladly returned. ethan finally found your lips, pressing tender, long kisses to the swollen skin. 

“you’re a fucking god,” you murmured, stressing the word as ethan’s face flushed even hotter than it already had been.

“that,” he huffed, breathing still hard and uneven, “would be you.”

you giggled at the statement, your voice hitching as ethan slowly pulled out of you. you could feel a mixture of him and you spill out, the substance flowing over your things as ethan kissed down your body, taking in the sight between your legs. 

“so pretty, baby,” he whispered, sinking a long finger into your pussy. your whole body spasmed at the feeling, completely overstimulated. ethan pulled out of you softly, watching the way his cum seemed to spill out of you endlessly. he placed small, delicate kisses to the marks he’d left covering your thighs, admiring his work. “can i keep you here for the night?” he asked, eyes turning affectionate.

you nodded at the boy as he came back up to meet your lips, then your forehead. as you settled onto his chest, drawing lazy patterns on his skin, ethan's voice seemed to return to normal.

“such a good girl.”

[iamverysmall-andihavenomoney]

i know other writers have done this before,, but hickey prank with suna and atsumu please?

(if ur not comfy writing smt that’s been done before by other ppl or you don’t want to write atsumu, pls feel free to ignore😙)

I didn’t know if you meant SMAU short or headcannons or drabbles, so I did a mix of headcannons and drabbles 😅 I don’t mind doing the idea, at all, and I don’t mind writing for Atsumu at all, no worries. We love all the Inarizaki boys here 🙈💕

Hickey Prank

Pairing(s): Suna Rintarō x Gender Neutral! Reader, Miya Atsumu x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: Slight angst to comfort, Suna gives you a hickey, Atsumu jokes about giving you a hickey

Suna Rintarō:

You asked him to come over and help you study...

Not really, you two would most likely get in a solid five minutes of studying, before Rintarō walked over to you and lay on top of you, forcing you to take a nap with him.

However, you had an idea, while he was making his way towards your home.

Get him back for the prank he’d snuck on you last week

It was a tiktok prank and it went viral smh

Anyways, you set off to work, applying the makeup to the skin of your neck.

Rintarō occasionally put a hickey on your neck, if he was jealous. But usually, he liked to keep his hickeys on your collarbones and chest, where only he got to see

So when he walks into your room and spots the dark mark on your neck, he furrows just brows, the dim lighting only helping you in masking that it was fake.

Suna Rintarō hasn’t ever felt his heart break so quickly in his life.

But you wouldn’t have cheated on him, right? Right?

He’s trying to act tough and angry. But in reality, he’s just hurt.

He’s near tears and his voice is quivering

However, the dim lighting covers up the betrayal in his eyes as he stares are you.

Rintarō had frozen himself were he stood, just inside your doorway, backpack frozen, halfway through it’s trip to the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything or react at all for a long moment. His mind kept trying to tell him that he’d left the mark — no marks...

But he hadn’t and he knew that.

“Tarō—” your voice snaps him out of it, his reaction finally coming, not letting you finish what you were about to say.

“Don’t call me that,” his tone was harsh, making your eyes widen. You’d honestly thought that your efforts wouldn’t fool your usually calm and collected boyfriend. “I brought you home to meet my family, I introduced you to my team, I showed you the most private and sensitive parts of my life... And you... You fucking..?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish, voice cracking unsteadily. “Who?”

You can’t see his eyes water from your position on your bed, though his voice cracking the way it did made you cave immediately. You ride to your feet, wiping the makeup, effectively smearing it to prove your point. “Rintarō, it was just a prank. I’m not seeing anyone else,” you say calmly.

Well, as calmly as you can. Sure, you’d caved quick. But anyone would have, based on Rintarō’s sad eyes. In reality, Rintarō was a bit of a big baby, when it came to you. You were the one person who he knew that he’d never ever have to do anything else or be anything else for. He just couldn’t lose you.

Rintarō pouts a bit as he looks at you for a long few moments, before sighing and walking over to you where you stood in front of him, wrapping his arms around you. “Wasn’t funny,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, a few stray tears slipping down his cheeks.

You coo, gently stroking his hair, “Deep breaths baby. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” you murmur soothingly. “Wanna lay down and we can take a nap?” You ask as you away to look at him.

Though, he was still focused on your neck, bringing his hand to rub the rest of your makeup off, leaning it to place his lips on your neck, sucking a dark mark against your throat.

“There.” Rintarō mumbles with a huff, before pushing you back on your bed and crawling on top of you. “Love you,” he mumbles to you as you continue to take soothing hands through his hair.

“Love you too, baby.”

Miya Atsumu:

You weren’t able to fool him.

Well, you were at first

Let’s give it some context.

You were going to watch one of Inarizaki’s games, wearing Atsumu’s jersey (the reversed colors for when they play a team with similar colors, y’know)

From the stands, he didn’t notice it, just happy you were there to watch him play.

Plus, now he could brag about his wonderful partner coming to watch him play

Mainly rub it in Osamu’s face

It isn’t until you come down to congratulate him on their win, that he spots it.

His expression falls momentarily — he hadn’t left that mark on you

He always, always remembered every kiss he gave you, every kiss he pressed to your pretty body.

Every kiss was meant to love on you and every kiss was a silent ‘I love you’ to Atsumu

He never wanted you to forget that he loved you more than anything.

Your body, mind, heart, and soul.

And he expressed that through his actions, everyday

Anyone who said Atsumu didn’t make for an extremely loving boyfriend didn’t know what they were talking about

At first, his brows furrow. Though, that’s when he noticed that in you excitement and cheering for him — the makeup had smeared.

Atsumu steps forward, his happy, triumphant grin slowly falling from his lips as he spots the mark on your neck — the one you’d honestly forgotten about.

You’d just been messing around with your makeup, bored as you waited to get ready for Atsumu’s game. You’d forgotten to wipe the makeup off and on the way to the gym, you’d been reminded of it, seeing a video with a girl doing the same thing with her boyfriend. So, knowing that you most likely wouldn’t be able to fool him, you left it.

Watching your boyfriend play had made you completely forget about your little prank. So seeing the way his brows furrowed and he took a wary step back from you made you frown.

He couldn’t believe it for a minute. You would never. You were his soulmate. You loved him just as much as he loved you and you would never cheat on him, which was why he persisted in looking at it even closer.

After a moment, you realize what he’s looking at, and seemingly he realizes that it’s just makeup, at the same time, pouting at you as he approaches.

“ ‘Yer so mean,” Atsumu groans as he wraps his arms around you. “Ya’ gotta make it up to me somehow, ya know?”

You smile and kiss his head, “How about we go out to eat with the boys, then we can go home and I’ll take care of you, baby?”

His expression lights up once again and he nods excitedly, nearly like an excitable puppy.

“First, gotta get that makeup off ‘n give ‘yer a real mark,” he mutters as he leans in, making you playfully shove him, your eyes widening and tone scolding.

“ ‘Tsumu, your entire team is right there!” Saying that caught the attention of the other members of his team. He casts them a look, before smirking and shrugging.

“And? I don’t care if they look. ‘Yer all mine. Ain’t that right, doll face?”

“Yeah, that’s right, ‘Tsumu.”

General Taglist:

@thathoneybee3

[batmansymbol]

hi riley! read this recently and would love to get ur perspective on this as a YA author https://tinyletter.com/misshelved/letters/did-twitter-break-ya-misshelved-6

hi anon! yeah, i read this the day it was posted. thoughts/supplementary essay below.

firstly, i'd put a big "I AGREE" stamp across this essay. i think it's well-cited and thoughtful, and i agree with pretty much everything in it. i especially appreciate it for introducing me to the terms "context collapse" and "morally motivated networked harassment" - seeing internet sociology studied and labeled is ... odd, but useful.

i left twitter in 2017, but i keep an eye on things, which seem similar now to the way they were four years ago. the essay describes the never-ending scrutiny, the need to seem perfect, and the pressure on writers to out themselves. all of that is spot-on. twitter is an outing machine. there is so much harassment and anger on the platform that in serious conversations, good-faith engagement becomes something that must be earned, rather than something that's expected. and in order to earn good faith, strangers expect you to offer up an all-access pass to who you are. otherwise, things might take a swift left turn into verbal abuse.

obviously twitter is a cesspit of harassment from racist, homophobic, and transphobic people, but i think the most painful harassment comes from within the community. i, and most people i know, wouldn't give a single minuscule little fuck if ben shapiro's entire army of ghouls came after us and told us we were destroying the sacred values of Old America or whatever. but the community at large does care about issues of racial justice and queer liberation and economic justice. which is why it's painful to see this supposed "community" eating its own over and over again.

how cruel can we be to people and pretend that we are their friends? that's the emotional crux of the essay to me. what we're doing to ourselves - people who do share our values and want to achieve the same goals - because this one platform is built on rewarding the quickest, most brutal, and most public response.

god forbid you don't have your identity figured out. god forbid you have an invisible disability, or are writing a story about something sensitive you've personally experienced but had an off-consensus reaction to. on twitter, if you are not a paragon of absolute and immediate clarity, you may as well be lower than dirt morally, because you're unable to do what the platform requires of you: air every private corner of your identity, up to and including your trauma, to justify not only your everyday actions and opinions but also your art.

(this is all honestly incompatible with interesting art, but i'll get to that in a bit.)

it doesn't take a genius to see how troubling this environment is when combined with twitter as a marketing tool. i remember that around the time of my debut, i'd tweet out threads of private, painful, personal stuff, which felt terrible to recount, but i'd watch the like count increase with this sense of catholic, confessional satisfaction. all of this was tied to the idea of my potential salability as a writer.

i was around 21 at the time. i felt a lot of pressure as a debut. i wanted people to like me and think i was exceptionally mature and confident. i wanted to do my job and build buzz for my book. i saw that all these publishing professionals and authors spent day in, day out angry and exhausted on twitter. every few days, a new person fifteen years older than me would say, "i can't take this anymore, i'm so fucking tired of this, i'm logging off for a while." i thought, well, this must be how online activism feels: like running on a sprained ankle.

i can still remember book after book after book that inspired blow-ups, big explanations, and simmering resentment: carve the mark (whose author was forced to admit that she suffered chronic pain after relentless criticism of that element), the black witch (a book explicitly about unlearning racism that was criticized for depicting ... racism), ramona blue (a book about a bi girl who thinks she's a lesbian but winds up in an m/f relationship, because she's still discovering her identity) ... etc

each book, each incident, followed the same pattern. firestorms of anger, a decision of where to place blame, the desperate need for a single consensus opinion in the community. i think a lot of people on book twitter see these as bugs inherent to the platform, but really, in twitter's eyes, they're features. the angrier and more upset twitter's userbase is, the more reliant they are on the platform.

i wound up leaving around the time i realized that not only was twitter making me anxious - NOT being on twitter was beginning to make me anxious, because of vaguely dread-infused tweets all around like "i'm seeing an awful lot of people who are staying silent about X. ... why are so many people who are so loud about X so silent about Y?" etc.

that shit is beyond poisonous. people will not always be logged on. the absence of someone's agreement does not mean disagreement. actually, someone's absence is not inherently meaningful, because it is the internet and silence is everyone's default position; internet silence in all likelihood means that that person is out in the universe doing other things.

this is already a ridiculously long response, so i'll try to wrap up. firstly, i think that progressive writers and readers have GOT to stop thinking that a correct consensus opinion can exist on every piece of fiction, and on every issue in general, and that if someone diverges from that consensus, they're incorrectly progressive.

secondly, i think that progressive writers and readers have got to uncouple the idea of a "book with good politics" from a good book, because 1) there are books about morally grimy, despicable subjects that help us process the landscape of human behavior, and

2) if, in your fiction, there is only one set of allowed responses for your protagonist, you will write the same person over and over and over again. you see this a lot in religious fiction. the person is not a human being but an expression of the creator's moral alignment. (not entirely surprising that this similarity to religious correctness might crop up with the current state of the movement. i read this piece around the time i left twitter and it shook me really, really deeply.)

i understand that in YA, there's a sensation of immense pressure because people want to model good politics and correct behavior for kids. this is a noble idea - and maybe twitter is great for people who want to be role models. but i've become more and more staunchly against the idea of artist as role model. the role of the writer is not to be emulated but to write fiction. and the role of fiction is not to read like something delivered from a soapbox, or to display some scrubbed-clean universe where each wrong is immediately identified as a wrong, and where total morality is always glowing in the backdrop. it's to put something human on paper, and as human beings, we might aspire to total morality, but we fall short again and again. honestly, that's what being on twitter showed me more clearly than anything.