#obviously it's more complicated than that

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Spooky Call.

Spencer Reid x Hotchner!reader

Summary: When your boyfriend gets a call from you, the last thing he expects to hear is that you're being held at a police station for decorating your house.

Words: 2,2k.

TW: fem!reader. mention of haley's death, jack, crime, murder, blood (fake). reader was arrested (obviously). implication that the reader is wearing jeans and shirt (not very descriptive). reader is hotch's sister. established relationship. spencer being the standard. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This was the last fic of my october special, but I had problems and never posted it, so I had to change the plot a bit and here it is.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

You’ve always hated asking for help. It wasn’t just a matter of pride—it was the belief that you could, and should, handle everything yourself. Life, however, had a cruel way of reminding you that it didn’t always work like that. Everyone needs help sometimes. At least, that’s what people—well-meaning friends, family, even your boyfriend—kept telling you. We live in a society; there are people who love you; they’d want to help, they’d say. Blah, blah, blah. The sentiment was kind, sure, but it never stuck with you. Not really.

Today, though, maybe you should’ve listened.

All you wanted was to throw your nephew a belated Halloween party. It wasn’t like you were planning anything crazy. Just a few decorations, some music, and a bit of creativity—how hard could it be? Nothing about it seemed complicated or dangerous, not at first. You’d seen your brother overwhelmed trying to keep things normal for Jack, and you figured this was something you could handle on your own. Something small but meaningful.

Somehow, things got out of your control, and now you were sitting in your boyfriend's car in the police station parking lot trying to organize your thoughts to explain to him how you had ended up arrested in the first place.

“This has a perfectly reasonable and not at all criminal explanation. I swear.” You began to speak as you noticed by the watch on his wrist that three minutes of complete silence had already passed.

It had only been a year since you started dating officially, and there were still some things you were afraid Spencer would see, especially the things that got you in trouble for doing stupid things. You'd liked him for a long time, even before he realized you could be more than just his friend and his boss's sister. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin everything and make him run away in terror, even though that didn't sound very much like him or his values.

“This better be a good explanation,” Reid finally said, his voice calm but tinged with confusion. He placed the car keys down in the cupholder and turned to look at you fully. “Because right now, I’m struggling to understand how decorating your house could get you arrested.”

You squirmed in your seat, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter. “It’s…complicated,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Please don't think I'm weird. Please don't think I'm weird. Please don't think I'm weird. That was the only thing that kept repeating in your mind.

“I’m sure it is,” he finally said, his tone dry but still patient, his gaze never wavering.

You exhaled sharply, dragging your hands down your face. “Okay. So, I started with simple decorations—some cobwebs, pumpkins, and all the usual stuff. But it just…it wasn’t enough. I wanted to do something big. Something really cool.”

He raised an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.

“So, I got this idea,” you said, hesitating. You could already feel the heat rising in your face. “I took a garbage bag, stuffed it with paper to make it look like a body, and then—” You paused, your voice dropping slightly. “Then I added some fake blood. A lot of fake blood.”

His eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” you admitted, wincing. “But it looked amazing! For like…five minutes.” You gestured vaguely toward the dashboard, trying to find the words to defend yourself. “I might have spilled some of the fake blood on the lawn. And…it might’ve looked a little too real.”

Too real, extra real.

“A little?” Spencer asked, incredulous. “You mean realistic enough to make the neighbors call the cops?”

You winced, expecting him to think you were ridiculous—or worse, stupid. But then, to your surprise, his lips quirked into a soft laugh.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me!” You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest when you saw the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Yeah, maybe you didn't want him to think you were weird, but you didn't like being laughed at either.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, though the hint of amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“You are absolutely laughing,” you huffed, your pout deepening. “It’s not funny, Spencer.”

He took a deep breath, finally managing to suppress his laughter—mostly. His hand reached out to tilt your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. The warmth in his hazel eyes softened the sting of your embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, though his lips still twitched with the ghost of a smile. “I really am, angel. But you have to admit, you went a little overboard with the ‘terrifying’ concept.”

And there it was, the kind of sweetness that had made you fall for him so hard. The kind you'd expect to receive without question after spending at least half an hour locked in a filthy cell.

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Okay, maybe. But in my head, it wasn’t that bad,” you said weakly. “It just…went a little wrong.”

“A little?” he repeated, his eyebrows raising again. “You got arrested. You scared half the neighborhood into thinking they’d stumbled onto a crime scene.”

“At least it wasn’t illegal!” You shot back, crossing your arms defensively. “I didn’t actually hurt anyone. I just made a mess. With fake blood.”

Spencer’s gaze dropped to your hands, where smears of red clung stubbornly to your skin. His eyes flicked to your clothes—your jeans, your shirt, both stained with dried streaks of crimson. A slow grin spread across his face.

“It wasn’t illegal, but now you look like you walked off the set of a slasher movie,” he said, his voice filled with teasing affection. “Here—and here.” He gestured to a streak of red on your shoulder, then another on your cheek.

You were about to protest when he suddenly leaned in. His face was so close now, his breath warm against your skin. Before you could say another word, his lips brushed softly against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that caught you off guard. You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat. Then, as if it had all been a slow, perfect dance, you melted into him. His lips were warm and tender, the kiss slow and sweet, like a quiet promise that everything, even in the chaos of your night, was going to be okay.

When he pulled back, your breath caught, your chest fluttering in that way only he could make you feel. His grin was wide, playful, but there was something else in his eyes—a depth, a tenderness that made your heart thud. You blinked up at him, still dazed from the warmth of his kiss.

“For the record,” he murmured, his voice soft, his lips still dangerously close to yours, “I never thought you were a criminal. Just a little…overly enthusiastic.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, warm sound bubbling out of you. “Overly enthusiastic,” you echoed, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

“And messy,” he added, his eyes twinkling as they lingered on the fake blood smeared across your face.

“Don’t push your luck, Dr. Reid,” you warned, though the smile on your face betrayed you.

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound melting into the quiet of the car. He leaned in then, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss that felt like a promise—quiet, tender, and full of unspoken reassurance. The warmth of his touch seeped into you, and you closed your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the comfort of his presence.

As he pulled back, he studied you with that signature look—the one that always made you feel like he could see straight into your soul. His brow furrowed slightly, and you recognized that expression well: the one he wore when he was about to ask something important, when he wanted to understand you better. It was a look that never failed to make your heart flutter, even if it made you feel vulnerable.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his tone gentler now. “I get wanting to make the decorations amazing, but why was it so important? Why go all out to the point of, well…” He gestured vaguely toward you, his lips twitching again. “Fake crime scene levels of effort?”

You hesitated, his question hitting you like a wave. You knew the answer, but speaking it aloud felt heavier than you had anticipated. It was as though the words themselves had a weight you hadn’t been prepared to carry. You lowered your gaze, absently picking at the hem of your shirt as you fought to find the right words, your mind tangled in emotions that were hard to articulate.

Reid didn’t push, though. His silence was patient, waiting for you to open up at your own pace. It was one of the things you adored about him—the way he didn’t rush, didn’t demand. He just let you be, trusting you would share when you were ready.

Finally, you exhaled a shaky breath and met his eyes, the vulnerability in your voice clear as you spoke. “It’s not just about the decorations,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about Jack.”

His expression shifted immediately, his eyes softening with understanding but remaining focused as you continued.

“I just…” You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I want to be the perfect aunt for him, you know? Someone who makes things better, even if just for a little while. He’s been through so much—losing Hayley, seeing my brother juggle everything just to make sure Jack’s okay…” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your hands to steady yourself. “He’s only a kid. He deserves to feel happy and safe and…loved.”

Maybe that last word was too personal, and maybe your boyfriend noticed.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent offer of comfort. You took his hand, the warmth of his touch grounding you enough to keep going.

“I know I can’t replace his mom, and I’d never try to,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought maybe, just maybe, if I did this party right—if I made it something really special—it could be a distraction. Something fun. Something he could look back on and smile about instead of just…” You trailed off, biting your lip as the words lodged in your throat.

He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “Instead of just remembering what he’s lost,” he finished for you, his voice soft and understanding.

You nodded, blinking back the sting of tears. “Yeah.”

The car was quiet for a moment, the weight of your confession settling between you. Then Spencer shifted closer, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray tear from your cheek. The tenderness in his touch made your chest ache in a way that was both painful and comforting.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said gently, his voice steady and sure. “You’re already doing more for him than you realize. Just by being there, by loving him the way you do…that’s what matters. Not decorations or parties or anything else.”

His words hit you squarely in the heart, and you let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction. “I just wanted it to be perfect,” you admitted, leaning into his touch. “I didn’t want to mess it up and end up in a cell.”

Reid smiled softly, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw as he held your gaze. “You didn’t mess it up,” he said firmly. “Okay, maybe the decorations were a little unconventional,” he added with a playful glint in his eye. “But your heart was in the right place. And Jack knows that. He loves you and thinks you’re wonderful, just like I do.”

You felt your breath catch at his words, the warmth in his eyes making your cheeks flush despite everything. “You’ve really become good at this, you know,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “The whole comforting and making me blushing thing.”

He let out a soft chuckle, giving your cheek a gentle tap with his thumb before pulling back slightly. “I might have read eleven books to brush up on a few things and be better,” he said, his tone light but not dismissive.

You chuckled, the sound lifting the tension that had been pulling at your chest. “Eleven books? You really went all in on this, huh?”

His arm slipped around your shoulders, drawing you closer, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you grounding and reassuring. “When it’s you,” he said softly, “I’d go even further than that.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the world ease off your shoulders. A quiet thought lingered in your mind, one you hadn’t been able to put into words until now. “But…sometimes, don’t you think I’m weird?” you asked, the vulnerability creeping in despite yourself.

Please say no.

“Weird? No,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “I think you’re perfect.” He paused for a moment, then added with a soft laugh, “And every day, I’m grateful you don’t think I’m weird either.”

You smiled, the knot in your chest loosening, the weight of uncertainty fading as his words settled in. “Guess we both can be a little weird then,” you said, the truth of it comforting you more than you expected.

He chuckled, the sound easy and light, as he pulled you a little closer, holding you in a way that spoke of quiet promises. “It’s perfect for me.”

[ashwhowrites]

Man I always have the best ideas for your requests and then the moment I see they’re open it’s like no thoughts only smooth brain.

Can I request where reader is friends with both Eddie and Steve, they become a little trio. Reader is attracted to both of them but keeps it secret because she doesn’t want to mess up the dynamic, doesn’t know how she’d pick when she loves them both. Eddie and Steve both really like her but their situation is complicated. They’ve been secretly together for a little bit but both agree they want reader. It’s just how do you spring that on someone and if they refuse not make everything weird? (Plus, people are really judgmental about same sex dating and alternative dating etc.) They both actively flirt with her, treat her right, they think they’ll actually reveal if she confesses to liking one of them. They all go out together as they normally do but there is a lot more teasing flirting from both boys to her. She says goodbye to them at the end of the night but is so keyed up from the flirting and what not she has to have an answer. She is intent on telling them that she likes them both and doesn’t know what to do. Except She catches them messing around? (Cause obviously they liked the flirting a lot too.) She’s super embarrassed and lowkey a little sad that they kept the relationship from her and that if they’re together they won’t want to be with her. But then Eddie and Steve confess and happy fluffy sexy ending.

Thank youuuuuu I love you mwah

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

⚠️little bit of smut

Flirting game

Y/N dreamed about the day she'd fall in love ever since she was young, how her heart would race from eye contact and plan a future by their side. She didn't expect how hard it would be to be in love with two different people.

Y/N, Steve, and Eddie had been close friends and didn't spend much time apart. It was easy for them to get along, and they barely had boundaries. Everything in their life was shared and secrets didn't exist. Well, that was a small lie.

Y/N was head over heels for Steve. She felt it was obvious since she could never keep her cool around him. She craved to run her hands through his hair, feeling how soft and silky it was. His sweet compliments paired with his smile made her stomach do flips. He was softer than Eddie, offering a comforting shoulder. He listened to all her feelings and made her feel accepted.

To make it more complicated, she was in love with Eddie too. His long hair and boyish charm never failed to make her heart race. His dirty jokes warmed her cheeks. His rough exterior always had her attention and she wanted his attention on her.

She felt tugged between the two. Steve pulled one arm and Eddie pulled the other, and she wasn't sure who she wanted to win. Her plan was to suffer in silence until one of them made a move, but one night got too hard to walk away from.

~

"Steve this place is amazing," Y/N said in awe as she walked around Steve's newly owned apartment. Eddie nodded as he sipped on his can of beer, walking behind her.

Steve smiled as he handed her a glass of wine. "Thank you, there's one place I want you to see." Y/N was intrigued, blushing to herself when Steve ran his fingers down her arm and moved to hold her hand. Eddie smirked as he stood behind, sharing a look with Steve.

Y/N let Steve lead her blindly, enjoying the feeling of his hand in hers. Steve walked her down the hall and stopped, a smirk on his face as he opened the door.

She looked in the room, expecting something exciting but all she saw was a bed and boxes. "What is it?" she asked, not understanding what he wanted to show her.

"It's my bedroom," Steve said, his hand still in hers. She looked at him confused, and then she felt Eddie's body pressed against her back. She held her breath as he moved his nose against her neck, her eyes locked on Steve.

"You know what happens in a bedroom right, baby girl?" Eddie whispered into her ear. She tried to cover the fact that her insides were burning as she stood between them. Steve moved closer until his body crashed against hers.

"Don't look so scared, love," Steve chuckled, pushing up her head as he placed a finger under her chin, "The bedroom is for sleeping." Eddie and Steve moved away at the same time, allowing air to move through her lungs. Their touch was gone and she felt cold air wash over her. She stood in shock and confusion as the boys walked down the hall. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what happened.

"Coming?" Eddie asked from down the hall. She turned around and nodded, quickly walking towards him.

They worked on putting away boxes for the next few hours. Steve's apartment slowly came together as more drinks were shared. Building up an appetite, Steve ordered pizzas declaring they'd take a break for food.

"Since I have no table, the floor it is!" Steve said cheerfully as he sat on the ground. Y/N held her third glass of wine as she took the spot across from him, and then Eddie joined after. Steve and Eddie's knees touched and Eddie's knee touched hers, all connected in a way.

They talked among themselves as they ate. Y/N listened closely as Steve talked, watching his lips form the words. She was so zoned in on him that she didn't realize she dripped sauce down her chin, but Eddie noticed.

When Steve finished his sentence, Eddie reached over gaining her attention when he swiped his thumb over her chin. She jolted in surprise, her eyes on Eddie as he cleaned up the sauce. She was stunned by the small intimate touch, staring in awe when Eddie slipped his sauced thumb into his mouth. He soaked in her stare, giving her a wink. She quickly looked away, gulping down the rest of her wine.

Eddie excused himself to the bathroom and Y/N breathed a sigh of relief. With her body warm and brain in overdrive, she stood up to grab water from the kitchen.

Steve followed, walking quietly enough that she didn't know he was there. She opened the fridge and let the cold plastic soak into her skin. She took a few sips as she calmed herself down. She turned around and her back was pressed against the fridge. Steve looked down at her with a smile, loving the way her breathing picked up.

"Are you feeling okay? You look a bit warm," Steve said reaching his hand out and pressing it against her forehead.

"Um, yeah. I think I need some rest, though," she said, needing a break from the way these boys were throwing her around. Steve clicked his tongue, and his hand moved down to her neck. She held her breath as he leaned in, his face inches from hers. She couldn't help but look down at his lips, wanting to lean in. Steve's lips formed into a smirk, and he backed away, his touch no longer lingering on her skin.

"Do you need a ride?"

"No!" Y/N knew she wasn't going to survive a car ride with him. "I can drive."

She grabbed her keys and practically ran to the door, saying goodbye to Eddie as he approached.

"She's leaving?" Eddie asked, watching as the door closed.

"Yep. But I think our plan is working," Steve smiled walking over to Eddie.

"Then why won't she just admit something?" Eddie groaned. It's been months of the cat-and-mouse game, and he wanted it to end.

Steve wrapped his arm around Eddie's slim waist, bringing the boy against his chest. "She will, I know she will." Eddie rolled his eyes as he lost patience.

"In the meantime, we can enjoy what the little show does to us," Steve flirted, placing a hand on Eddie's chest. Eddie smirked as Steve's hand slid down his body, landing on the button of his jeans.

"Yeah? Turns you on working her up like that?" Eddie teased. Steve unbuttoned his jeans, sliding his hand inside. Eddie shivered as Steve teased him over his boxers, the touch setting him on fire.

Steve pressed his lips against Eddie's, moving his hand inside Eddie's boxers to wrap around his cock. Eddie moaned into his mouth, diving his hands into Steve's hair. Eddie slid his tongue into Steve's mouth, their tongues massaging against each other. Steve moved his hand up and down on Eddie's cock, twisting near his tip forcing his pre cum to drip out. Steve smeared the pre cum along Eddie's length, using it to help jerk him off.

~

Y/N was halfway home when she turned around. The heat between her legs reminded her how badly she wanted them. Even though she was scared as hell to tell them the truth, she made her way back to Steve's.

Her head was all over the place and she had no idea what she would say but kept moving forward. She dug out the spare key Steve gave her and let herself in. The house seemed empty but she knew they were there somewhere.

She walked down the hall towards the bedroom, freezing when she heard the sound of moans. She gulped as she went to step back, not wanting to intrude on Steve's private time. But a part of her wanted to see, she wanted to see Steve moaning out curious of what was making him feel so good. She stepped forward, peeking her head in the open doorframe.

Eddie and Steve were naked and tangled in Steve's sheets. Their naked chests pressed against each other as Steve pushed himself in and out of Eddie. Their moans meet each other in the air between them. Y/N stood in shock. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She never thought anything was going on between them, hell she didn't even know they were gay. She felt hurt that they kept this from her and that her feelings didn't matter anymore.

She turned to sneak out but her step caused a loud creek to echo throughout the hallway. The boys froze and looked towards the door, catching Y/N's stunned expression. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Then she booked it, running down the hall. Steve and Eddie called out to her, quickly scrambling out of bed and throwing on their underwear as they ran after her.

By the time they reached her, she was staring at the door, trying to decide whether she wanted to leave.

"Y/N..."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let myself in," she apologized. She turned around and took them in. Their sex hair, Eddie's marked chest, and Steve's bruised lips.

"It's okay," Steve coughed, "can we talk about what you saw?"

Y/N nodded and hugged herself. "Are you guys...together?"

"Yeah, for almost four months now," Eddie answered.

"Four months?" She screeched, she dropped her arms in shock. "Why didn't you guys tell me? Did you think I wouldn't accept you?" She accused.

"NO!" Steve rushed, "It's just we are so used to hiding so we hide from everyone."

"So was all the flirting to throw me off? Make sure I believe you're straight? Because that's fucking shitty! You played with my feelings!" Y/N cried, getting so frustrated that tears began to fly down her cheeks.

"No, baby. It is nothing like that," Eddie said softly. He slowly walked up to her, and she allowed him to touch her arm. "We weren't playing with your feelings or using you. We meant the flirting, we were hoping if we made advances towards you that you would tell us how you felt about us."

"How I feel about yo-ouu...b-both?" she stuttered. Did they already know? She looked between the two with fear in her eyes.

"We are both interested in you. We both have strong feelings for you." Steve confessed. Y/N was stunned by their confession. All the time she hoped they'd look her way, and they truly were.

"What do you feel about us?" Eddie asked, leaning closer to the shaky girl. He smiled as he cupped her cheek, landing a soft kiss on her cheek. "Just tell us," he whispered, his lips leading down to her neck.

She gasped in pleasure, and her eyes met Steve over Eddie's shoulder. Eddie continued to kiss her neck as Steve stared into her eyes.

"I want to be with both of you," she moaned out, Eddie's teeth sinking into her neck. Steve smiled at the confession and walked towards them. He walked around her, his naked chest to her back as he pressed his lips to the open side of her neck.

Y/N shivered as both of their lips pressed against her skin, her eyes closing as their hands began to work up and down her body.

"Let us show you how much we want you," Eddie whispered.

"Please," she moaned.

"Our pleasure, baby girl," Steve whispered against her skin.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog

[maeedrg]

Mine to protect

Feral Gojo X non sorcerer fem reader X Geto Suguru

ᯓ★

Synopsis : in which you are freshly dating since two months your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru. Still new to this sorcery world, you try to understand that your relationship had to be kept a secret for your safety. But Satoru hides you many things, informations that could have made everything different. You keep bumping too into a man called Suguru, and as time passes, things get complicated. You end up having a bounty on your head, and that makes Gojo snaps.

Words count : 12k.

Warnings : tooth rooting fluff, Satoru being silly, angst, gore, dead body, death implied, stalking, slight smut, alcohol consumption, slight canon divergence, hidden inventory mentioned, some satosugu, a bit of Suguru x reader if you squint

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ Autor’s note : it took me so long to write, and was harder than I thought. I hope you guys will enjoy, with all the pain it caused me to create this… ugh.

｡⋆˚⋆✩₊⋆˚｡⋆♡⋆｡⋆ ˚｡⋆⊹⋆ ˚⋆｡⋆✧⋆˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆⊹⋆ ˚⋆｡⋆✧⋆˚｡⋆⋆

February 16, 11 : 26 PM, Gojo Satoru exterminated 7 upper grades curses. 12 : 02 AM, Gojo Satoru killed 4 sorcerers. Sentence : no one. Reason : still unknown. 

Gojo pants heavily, each breath long and shattered. Blood is dripping down his skin, staining his hands, face, and clothes. Not his blood, obviously. His eyes lack the usual blue shine they hold, instead dull greyish dirty sky paints his iris. His pupils are dilated, big and creepy, slowly drifting to the side. He throws on the floor the head of one of his opponents. It rolls over, until it stops at the feet of a shaking mess of another sorcerer. The man shivers head to toe, and tries to step back, but he just ends up falling pathetically on the bloody floor. 

“Please, please- spare me ! I just wanted the money !” he screams, big fat tears rolling down his bruised cheeks. Satoru snaps his tongue inside his mouth, making a noise of annoyance, before moving one step closer. His aura is so gigantic and imposing, that the sorcerer feels like he could dissolve on the spot.

“Where is she ?”, he asks one time. No need to say it twice, the life of his opponent is on the line.

“I- In- with our boss- please, I swear… !”, now he babbles, snot coming out of his nose and shaking his head multiple times in pure and utter fear. 

The white haired sorcerer suddenly grabs the collar of the man before him, smashing him in a loud thud against the wall behind. It crackles the paint and breaks some of his bones, coughing some blood and whimpering like a poor pitiful dog.

“Boss ? I bet it’s the one that did put a damn bounty on her head and asked you to do this, am I right ?” Satoru snarls, the small light of the flickering bulb behind him illuminating the side of his crimson painted face. The sorcerer, unable to talk, too scared and in pain to form a normal sentence, nods quickly. He tries to squirm away, weakly, but Satoru sighs and shakes his head in disapproval.

“Uh-uh, no need to run, I still need you to answer me. Where is your boss ?” he asks firmly, leaving no room for argument. Without any further, the sorcerer pronounces faintly the place and area he asked for. Satoru’s eyes narrow, tightening his fingers around the collar of the man in an iron grip.

“I see… well, I don’t need you anymore,” he ends up sighing, clearly bored now. 

“I answered, now please, I beg, spare me ! pl-” SPLASH. A flash of light, it flickers, smoke escapes and then a huge red stain paints the wall. What stays of the body of the sorcerer, more like his calcined legs, falls on the ground brutally.

“Ah, what a mess. How annoying,” mutters Satoru, whipping some of the gruesome mix of red liquid and flesh off his cheek. 

12 : 06 AM, Gojo Satoru killed 5 sorcerers. 

Calmly, we can hear the sound of steps on the ground. One, two, three. Each one is steady, and a terrifying shine of blue illuminates the darkness of the corridor. 

“So it was ***, all along…” whispers Satoru in the eerie quietness, before opening the door in front of him in a brutal motion.

12 : 31 AM, Gojo Satoru found you back. But not alone.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

Dating Gojo Satoru as a non sorcerer wasn’t always that easy. Indeed, after barely two months of dating, exploring the spectrum of romantic relationship together, you both had to keep it a secret. If jujutsu society discovered that The Strongest was dating a non sorcerer girl, it would go sour very quickly. It was for your safety, and you understood that very well. This whole world of curses, gore and morbid routine was better away from you, anyways. And no matter how much you tried to put your mind into it, it was hard to understand everything. Even if Satoru tried to explain to you his line of work, and who he was, he on purpose hid some crucial informations. Informations that could have saved you that day, on february 16. But who could have known ? Neither you, nor him. 

But today was a good day. After coming back from his busy day, Satoru made his best to come back to you as quickly as possible. After all, how could he leave you alone at your apartment for too long ? Nah, never.

“Come on, sweetheart. I just wanna play with ya’ ! Don’t tell me you’re afraid to lose ?”, your boyfriend coos, tantalizing. You shake your head, trying to step away, but his arm swings around your waist and forces you to sit down next to him in front of the coffee table.You huff.

“Satoru, I’m not playing arm wrestling if it’s just for you to show off your strength. You’re going to break my wrist !” you retort, firmly. But the way his fingers slide up your skin towards your palm, and intertwine with your hand, and how his puppy eyes are looking at you, it makes you falter for a second.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I know how to control my amazing strength. Be for real, baby. You’re just scared to lose !” He tilts his head to the side, trying to sound challenging to tease you enough to accept.

“You literally are “The Strongest”, or whatever weird wizard shit you are. I, for sure, will lose !” you exclaim, scoffing, frowning your eyebrows. Satoru snickers, a small smile forming on his lips and squeezing your hand in his.

“Sorcerer, baby, not shadow wizard money gang. And I swear, I’ll go easy on ya’. ‘Kay ? Promise !” he insists, kissing your knuckles tenderly at the end of his sentence. You can’t help but explode of laugh at his joke, and his smile grows wider at your face happily giggling.

How cute. It was in those moments that Gojo Satoru loved to bask in the most. Just pure domestic happiness by your side, aside from the jujutsu world. You, and him. No curses, no fighting, nothing. It’s for that he insisted on not showing you the depth of the atrocity of his world. It was better that way, he thought.

“Alright, alright. I’ll play. But only if you allow me an advantage ! That would be only fair…” you calm down and end up accepting, looking into his blue eyes. He seems like he is pondering. Obviously, he wasn't. He just wanted to put some mystery in his answer.

“Greedy girl. Fine, I’ll give you an edge.”

“That would be… ?” you ask, waiting for him to continue.

“No defense on my side. You can use anything to get me to stop and surrender. How does that sound ?” he ends up explaining, raising his eyebrow.

“That would be easy,” you answer confidently. He scoffs, frowns, and lets out a small laugh at your naivety of thinking you could win. He liked that about you.

“Ah, yes. Right. Very easy. Then, what will you get if you do win ? Which you won’t, by the way,” he tsk, playing a bit mindlessly with your hand he was holding.

“You give me a full body massage. If you win, I’ll give you one. Do we have a deal ?” you answer, ignoring his provocative last sentence, deciding to not indulge into his teasing.

“Yes ma’am. We go at the count of three, then. One…” Satoru says as a start, grabbing back your hand and lining it between his own.

“Two,” you continue, “three !” you both end up saying at the same time. You directly put all your strength into your arm even though his hand is much larger and stronger compared to yours. He tightens his grip, not budging at all. This bitch even fake yawns to provoke you. You narrow your eyes, scoffing, and trying to put on more strength. He said he would put no defense on his side, so what could you do ? Tickle him ?

With your other hand, you slide your fingers and tickle his underarm. He shivers and lets out a laugh.

“Oh ? You’re playing nasty here-” he says in between laughs, but then decides to tighten his grip and starts to slowly push down your arm. You realize that making him laugh is no strategy to make him lose. You groan, frowning your eyebrows and directly stop tickling him to concentrate all your strength on one point, but it’s no use. Each second that passes, he makes your arm go down, and down, and down… He even has the nerves to stare at you with his stupid smirk, amused by your whining.

“Adorable.”

“Shut up,” you snap back, serious about winning, your arm almost fully flat on the table now. No, no, no ! You can’t let him win like that ! 

You decide to then, as a last second idea, lean towards your boyfriend and kiss him swiftly. Surprised, his grip falters. Your kisses were indeed his weakness, and you knew it better than anyone else. Wickedly, you take the opportunity to smash his arm on the other side of the table, finally winning. You directly stop kissing him, a big smile on your face as you jump on your feet and laugh.

“I won ! You damn ass loser !” 

Satoru snaps back to reality, and looks at his hand, then back at you. He directly grabs you and makes you fall on the ground, getting on top of you and starts to tickle you restlessly.

“You caught me by surprise ! It doesn’t count !” Satoru exclaims, smiling at the way you squirm and squirm over again, chocking on your own laughs because of the torture your boyfriend is giving you. And oh, oh how pretty you look, with tears at the corner of your half lidded eyes. Satoru just wanted to carve this core memory in his brain, forever. Was it Heaven ? He didn’t need much to feel like ascending to paradise when he was by your side. Nothing, really. Just you. 

“You sore loser, I-I won- ahahaha !” you giggle endlessly.

The moment the white haired sorcerer was about to reply, his phone rang. He rolls his eyes, sighing and doing this grumpy expression that always makes you melt. He grabs the phone in his jean pocket, keeping you pinned on the ground with his other hand. As he answers the call, his nose scrunch up, and he groans.

“Really ?... A mission, now ?... I cleared my schedule today on purpose…” he says, playing with your hair while looking annoyed at the voice on the other side of the line. You stay quiet, smile faltering at what you hear.

 “Ugh- yeah… Yeah. Alright… Just send me the information… I’ll be on my way… Yeah yeah. Bye,” he hangs up the phone, putting it back in his pocket. He sighs, deeply, a long one. He looks back at you and then takes your face in his hands before kissing your forehead.

“A curse appeared somewhere and is threatening citizens. I’m sorry, I gotta go, sweetheart. I’ll give you your massage when I come back,” he softly explained, in a tone of voice that showed just how tired he was. You lift yourself on your elbows, frown deepening. Clearly, he was the one that deserved this massage. 

“I get it, it’s not your fault. I’ll go buy groceries for dinner, then. I’m sure you will be starving, anyways,” you chuckle softly to lighten the mood. He grins at your words, and helps you standing up before putting back on his blindfold.

“You know me so well. Buy cookies too, please. I need my daily sugar intake !” he teases.

“You and your sweet tooth-” you start to answer in a tiny sigh, but get cut off by his lips tenderly and softly pressing against yours.

“See you, I’ll be back in no time,” he finishes. You can’t help but look at him lovingly.

Some minutes later, you were on your way to the grocery store. It wasn’t far away from home, so the walk was quick. Hands grabbing two bags, one full of sweets, for your childlike man, and the other with what you needed to use to cook dinner. But then, you feel like something is passing by you. You frown, a shiver running down your skin, unable to see anything in this half lonely street. It even felt cold, strangely cold. It passes again, and you were sure you indeed felt something. But you have no time to ponder more, when you realize that your bag of groceries, one of them, got cut in two and some of the oranges fell and now are rolling down the street. 

“What ? No, no !” you exclaim, crouching down and trying to put it back together, yet one of them escapes your fingers and rolls and rolls… before stopping in front of the foot of someone. A hand grabs it, and you lift your head to look at the person, or your savior.

It’s a man, with jet black long hair, half tied in a bun, striking purple eyes, and a soft expression on his face.

“Is this yours ?” he asks in such a delicate tone of voice that you just nod quietly at first, not answering with your own words. “Here,” he approaches and gives it back to you. You take it, and then smile a bit nervously as he dust his fingers on his jacket.

“Thank you so much. I- uh.. I don’t know what happened, but my bag suddenly got cut in two ? That’s weird, ahah,” you end up explaining, still unsure on how it could have happened. You look down, and groan at the mess. With a broken bag, how could you bring that home ?

“Yeah, that looks like… a mess. Need some help ?” he asks gently, crouching down too and smiling at you. You swallow your saliva, mesmerized against your will by the way he talks. 

“Oh, that’s very nice of you. But… With a broken bag, and another full one, I don’t think you could help me that much,” you chuckle a bit awkwardly, bringing back all the products together, trying to think of a way to come back home with this inconvenience.

“I have a bag with me. You could put your groceries inside, that would be easier,” he proposes as he lifts his eyes, staring right back at your soul. You think for a second.

“That would be very nice, actually… Thank’s a lot,” you end up accepting, not wanting to lose too much time outside. You had dinner to cook, after all.

The black haired man takes out a tote bag of his jacket, unfolds it, and then helps you assemble all the scattered groceries inside. You keep thanking him, a bit awkwardly, and once it’s done you slide the bag over your shoulder. You stand back up, and he does the same, towering over you.

“I live right by the corner. I’ll give you the bag back, don’t worry,” you explain as you show with your hands the apartment building at the left of the street, and start to walk. His eyes follow you, before looking at where you were pointing at, hands in his pockets. He smirked at himself, but you couldn’t see it. It only lasted for a second.

“You can keep it, I don’t mind,” he retorts, shaking his head and giving you a reassuring smile. You take a stop and turn around to face him, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s alright, I’ll be quick. It’s only normal, after all. You helped me, so..,” you start to answer,  but he cuts you off, “I insist. Keep it.”

You sigh and end up nodding, giving him a small smile, “alright, thank you,” you accept.

“You’re welcome, hum…”

“Y/n,” you say.

“Right. Goodbye then, y/n,” he finishes, insisting on your name, taking out of his pocket one of his hands to wave at you, before turning on his heels and leaving without waiting for an answer. You wave back, saying goodbye, and turn around too to walk back home.

You realize you forgot to ask about his name. Whatever, it’s not like you would see him again. Thankful of his help, you enter your apartment and unpack your groceries. Once everything is where it should be, ready to start cooking, you look at the bag. Curious, you look inside and realize that a name was written with black ink on the tissue. You squint your eyes, half of it erased by the time.

Suguru… Suguru G something, you couldn’t read the last letters. 

So, Suguru was his name.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

After dinner, you and Satoru were cleaning the dishes, him complaining about his mission and how boring it was, that they could have asked someone else to do it since it was way too easy for him. Tipicall whining behavior of your boyfriend, after all. You nod, still having a hard time understanding this whole concept of his hollow purple and red and blue… Unable to see cursed energy, it was complicated for you to fathom this type of things. But you still tried to, anyway.

“So, he gave you his bag ? What a gentleman. Should I feel threatened, hmm ?” Jokes Satoru, raising his eyebrows as he mentions back your little adventure in the street earlier. You chuckle softly, drying a plate and putting it down next to the sink.

“You don’t have to worry about that, he was just being helpful. Hey, without his bag, there would have been no dinner tonight ! Only… your bag of sweets,” you retorts, and Satoru nudges you playfully, still washing a glass of water.

“I don’t mind eating cookies for dinner, you know that,” he muses, and you roll your eyes at his antics. Him and his sweet tooth… 

“What was his name, by the way ?” he asks, rinsing the glass under the lukewarm water of the sink.

“Uh.. Suguru, I think,” you answer, shrugging, not very sure after all. 

The moment you say this, Satoru freezes and tightens his grip on the glass of water before putting it down silently. He suddenly looks tense, and you frown, unsure at why he acted like that.

“Suguru, you say ? Alright,” he ends up humming, keeping his back turned to you and mindlessly whipping the remains of dishes. You can’t see his facial expression anymore, and you get even more suspicious.

“Is there something wrong ?” you question, raising an eyebrow and narrowing your eyes at his reaction.

“Nope, baby,” he suddenly acts back like his cheerful self, giving you a wink when he turns around to face you again. Even though it’s only been 2 months that you were dating Gojo Satoru, you still could sense when he was lying. Even if it was subtil.

“You don’t like the name ‘Suguru’ ?” you ask, stepping closer, laughing a bit nervously. That would be... absurd. Why would he even hate a name ? His smile falters, but quickly gains back its fake silliness.

“Nah, I just knew someone that was named like that,” he explains vaguely on purpose, walking past you towards the living room. Oh, you narrow your eyes even more, twice suspicious now. He clearly wasn’t telling you everything. Satoru was secretive concerning some information about his life as a sorcerer, and about… his past too. Since it’s only been a few short months that you were his girlfriend, you didn’t insist or pressure him to open up to you. Your relationship with him was still young, after all. No need to rush things. You respected his privacy, to a certain extent.

“Someone ? Alright,” you say, not continuing on the topic, sitting next to him as he slides his arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer.

“How about tomorrow we go on a date, yeah ?” he suddenly proposes, changing subjects out of the blue.

“Will it be okay ? Nobody that knows you would see us together, right ?” you question, knowing that your relationship with Satoru had to be kept a secret for your safety.

“Nah, I’ll make sure of that. Don’t worry sweetcheeks,” he muses as he brings your face closer and kisses the hollow of your neck.

You smile at him, teasing him about how he needs to give you a massage since earlier that evening you won the wrestling game. He chuckles, bringing you to the bedroom. But as the night went on, you couldn’t help but notice how his mind looked elsewhere, and how he kept glancing at the grocery bag, and the name “Suguru” written on the tissue…

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

In this cold weather of February, you were walking outside with Satoru. Cold hands, yet they get warmed by his fingers tangling with yours and putting them in his pocket. He gives you a cheeky grin, rosy cheeks and red nose from the freezing wind. You sniff a bit, feeling like you could catch a cold with this temperature.

“How about we go see a movie ? You know, the new horror one that just went out. We saw it yesterday when watching this pastries tv-show,” he wiggles his eyebrows, taunting you. You inhale and exhale loudly, remembering the trailer of this so-called movie that you saw passing by on TV. 

“I’m going to shit my pants ! We could watch something else-” you start to retort, shaking your head, but Satoru rolls his eyes and brings you towards the entrance of the theatre.

“But I want you to get all scared and to cling to me like a damsel in distress, saying “oh Satoru my love, protect me ! I’m so scared ! Kyaaaa !” See ?” he exclaims as he suddenly clings to you, using a high pitched voice that could make your ears bleed and you cringe slightly. You repress a laugh, pinching his side under his thick layer of clothes.

“You really wanna bully me, uh ? I’m sure in the end it would be you that would be terrified, more than me,” you scoff and your white haired boyfriend acts exaggeratedly offended, opening the door to let the both of you enter the building.

“Excuse me ? I’m used to seeing horrifying things everyday, it’s not a horror movie that would scare me, period,” he refutes, the coldness of outside leaving you to instead be the warmth of the inside. You then remember back that indeed, in the line of work of your boyfriend, he was used to dealing with terrifying curses every day. Based on what he described you.

“Well, sorry, but not me,” you complain. After a little back and forth with him, you ended up going to buy the tickets of the movie, while Satoru went to obviously buy the snacks, which meant tons, and tons of sugary food.

As you walk back with the tickets in hand, searching for your busy boyfriend at the candy aisle, your eyes catch something in the crowd. Curious, you snap your head to the side, frowning, before perceiving long black hair tied in a half bun, and purple eyes. You part your lips, surprised to see the grocery guy, Suguru, if you remember well, coming out of the bathroom. He gives you a look, and then the moment his stare meets yours, a smirk draws on his lips.

“Y/n ?” he asks, surprised too.

“Fancy to see you here, humm.. Suguru, is that right ? It was written on the tote bag that you gave me yesterday,” you exclaim, smiling back and feeling quite funny from this situation. It could be destiny, at this point. Nah, too cliche. 

“Suguru, that’s right. I hope yesterday you could come back home safe with your groceries,” he answers in a soft voice, one that makes you think he must be a really calm and nice guy. Not to add how he helped you yesterday. What a mistake. 

“Thanks to you. Are you here to watch a movie ? Or you already did ?” you continue.

“I already finished watching the movie, the new horror one,” he tells you, crossing his arms on his chest and showing you with his chin his ticket in his hand. You barely look at it, not realizing that the ticket was odd, and then back at him.

“No way ! I’m here too, with my boyfriend, to watch it,” you smile answering that, this coincidence being rather unusual. You notice how his eyes narrow slightly at the word ‘boyfriend’, but then he smiles back as if nothing happened. 

“Boyfriend ? I see. Then enjoy, y/n. See you maybe next time,” he waves at you, before quickly disappearing in the crowd, and in no time he already left. 

The moment you join back Satoru that just finished buying all the snacks, arms full of popcorn, candies, and drinks, you shake your head and walk faster to reach him and help him with everything that he is holding.

“Did you really buy all this ? Is it for the two of us or a whole army ?” you chuckle, and Satoru pouts, plopping a candy in his mouth as he slides his hand in your lower back to make you walk towards the employee that checks your tickets.

“Sweetheart… You know I can eat for ten, don’t be ridiculous,” he rolls his eyes answering that. 

“It’s your stomach that is ridiculous, I don’t know how you can keep your abs with all this food” you tease back, both walking towards the theatre room after getting your tickets checked.

“The gods really like me,” he muses.

The moment you sit next to him, putting down the food to get comfortable, Satoru kisses your cheek exaggeratedly to make you embarrassed, like he always does, but then he freezes for a second. He narrows his eyes and lowers his sunglasses, looking at you with so much seriousness that you thought you did something wrong for a second.

“What is that smell on you ?” he asks, not a single hint of a joke in his voice.

“Uh ? Do I smell bad ? I showered and put my usual perfume, though” you retort, sniffing your arm and raising back your head towards him. The scent that was glued to your clothes were the exact same as usual, and confusion takes even more possession of your body.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” he whispers more like to himself, getting closer to you a moment. His face is right on your neck, and you get even more confused. Satoru swore he just smelled the cursed energy of Geto Suguru on your skin, a scent that he didn’t have the chance to smell since… years. But why would there be his cursed energy on you ? If he was there, he would have seen him. Yet, his six eyes didn’t notice anything abnormal in the movie theatre. 

“Uh…”

“Nevermind, love. Give me the caramel popcorns, please !” he suddenly changes subject and shows you back his big goofy smile. Quickly, you forget whatever had happened before indulging him, rolling your eyes with a hint of a grin on your lips. A few minutes later, the movie started.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

On this sunday afternoon, sun high in the sky and birds flying above your head, you decided to secretly meet your boyfriend outside of his workplace. The jujutsu high campus. It was to bring him some documents he needed for his paperwork that he forgot at your apartment. To be honest, you had nothing to do and just wanted to see him, even though he could have come and teleported at your place instead. But Satoru was Satoru, and you were you. Two very stubborn people.

Squeezing your bag against your left side, you follow the itinerary he gives you while you are on call with him. Left, right, turn here, go straight until the grey wall, turn there, etc… It felt like a damn maze. But oh, you insisted on meeting at the front red door of the domain, wanting to be able to have a glimpse in real life of where he works, instead of the pics he showed you on snowy nights, talking about his life.

“Baby, I can teleport right where you are, you know ?” Satoru urges you, a pout in his voice.

“Satoru, I can walk. I have nothing else to do, whatever. So wait for me at the rendez-vous place,” you repeat again for the second, third, no, fifth time. You hear a huff coming from the other line of the phone, and you imagine him rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Geez, alright, alright... Well, now, you need to climb the stairs all up to the top, and I’ll be right here,” he continues to explain, looking at where you are from the location you sent him on your phone. The little red spot on the map flickers, showing your position.

“No other sorcerer is around, yeah ?” you ask to be sure. That was risky, after all, coming here. You wouldn’t want anyone to catch you coming, but you still wished to see this place with your own eyes, even if slightly from far away.

“Uh-uh, don’t worry. All clear. I will be able to kiss you senseless without any prying eyes !” he muses happily, as if it was the sweetest treat he could ask for. You snicker at his words.

“Who said I would let you ?” you mock sarcastically.

“Awww, don’t be so mean…” he whines dramatically.

You chuckle and continue to walk. You look up at the sky. There are no more birds, nor the sound of their voices. The forest surrounding the stairs is quiet all of a sudden. That made you look around for a second. Suddenly, a squall of wind makes you shiver head to toe, and you squeeze your jacket tighter against you. It gets stronger, and you feel like you could fall from where you were standing. Your heart brutally stops, before starting to beat dangerously fast all over again. You have a hard time breathing, each inhale being ragged, your whole body tensed and screaming at you to run, and fast. You step back, when squinting your eyes, you see what seems like a shadow some meter away from you. Tall, looming, eerie. It was the first time you saw something like that, and you end up utterly terrified, shaking like a leaf.

“Y/n, are you okay ? You stopped moving…” mumbles Satoru in a sudden more serious voice, looking at your location. Some wind makes his hair move in the air, and he directly narrows his eyes. Something is off. He could sense it, smell it. 

“Satoru-...” you manage to whisper, stepping back again, horrified by this shadow slowly becoming clearer to you, looking like a… monster. Were you crazy ? A hallucination ? Or was that… a curse, like your boyfriend described them to you. Why is it scarier than you imagined, worse than the horror movie you saw two weeks ago. Way worse, to be honest. You couldn’t even fathom the fear that was running down your veins.

“Y/n, run as quick as you can, I’m on my way. ” The voice of Satoru snaps you back to reality, and you shiver head to toe as you directly spin around on your heels and dash towards the opposite way. You didn’t even need to make him repeat twice, or to have the time to understand what he asked, no, ordered you to do. Just by the simple word “run”, you were already running.

You breath heavily, racing as fast as you could, and the moment you check behind you to see if that curse was following you and tracking you down, you almost fall when the answer is yes. You let out a scream, the monster smiling in such a feral and unhinged way, opening its mouth wide with big crooked teeth, ready to jump you.  Horrible ! You then stumble on a rock, a damn rock that was coincidently on your way, and you scratch your knee as you fall down on the ground, making you bleed. You yelp, closing your eyes, not wanting to see an ugly curse as the last thing before dying. Everything was going way too quick for you to have the time to stand back up. 

The moment it’s about to reach your body, you hear an explosion meters away.

“Domain expansion, infinite void,” a cold and unwavering voice echoes in the depth of your being.

A scream of despair, and then… nothing. Just the quietness. A second pass where you slowly bat your lashes, ears ringing and feeling dizzy. The moment your vision is back to normal, you directly are facing your boyfriend scooping you in his arm without waiting any more second. His blindfold is down on his collar, a mad expression on his usual cheerful face. 

“Are you okay ?” he asks, six eyes analyzing you up and down with a hint of fear in them.

“I… I guess…” you whisper, still shaken from what happened.

“You’re bleeding, I’ll get you to Shoko,” he announces, turning around and starting to walk, squeezing you against him. You open your eyes wider, remembering that this woman was a friend of Satoru, and a jujutsu sorcerer.

“Will it be okay ?!”

“Don’t worry, I can trust her to not say anything about it. Let’s not lose any more time,” he finishes. And it’s only now that you realize how much your knee is painfully throbbing, all your adrenaline dying down to just let the suffering in your veins. You hiss, biting your lower lip to not scream.

Satoru then teleports, and in the first time of knowing him, you enter the Jujutsu campus. For the best, or for the worst. 

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

“Here you go, all good now,” exclaims Shoko after finishing to heal you, stepping back and sliding a cigarette in between her lips. Amazed, you look at her. How could that be possible ? Your knee was as new as before, only your jeans were ripped at the mid section. You move your leg a bit, realizing that it’s really not hurting anymore. Indeed, it was like magic.

“Wow, thanks a lot,” you whisper, and she winks at you, saying that she does this type of trick everyday.

“How come a curse attacked me ?” you ask, still scared of what you saw. Satoru is sitting next to you and having his arm wrapped around your shoulders, thumb softly caressing your skin as a way to calm yourself, or maybe it was for himself, you didn’t know.

“It was awfully close to tengen’s barrier, so that is the question. It almost never happens, unless the campus is under attack,” starts to ponder Satoru, sighing and massaging his temples as a way to smooth away his starting headache. It reminded him of what happened years ago, with the star plasma vessel mission, and Toji. The man that he killed with his own hands. 

“Yet nothing to signal, campus is safe for now,” adds Shoko, ready to light her cigarette, but Satoru snatches it away, making her glare at him.

“Don’t smoke, I already told you to stop that shit. Even more in front of my girl !” he complains, acting like the scent of the cigarette in his hands could make him throw up. Shoko takes it back and puts it again in its box, sighing.

“You’re a pain in the ass. But anyway, I’ll go tell Yaga that a curse appeared in front of the barrier and got dealt with by you. Don’t worry, I won’t mention the presence of your girlfriend,” she announces before giving you a smile, and then leaves after you thank her again.

Back alone in the infirmary room of the school, it’s quiet. Satoru is lost in thoughts, a guilty expression on his pretty face. He takes a deep breath, and then inhales longly.

“I don’t understand. Was it targeted against you specifically ? That could be a possibility, but how and why, that’s what I’m trying to get here,” he starts to question, frustrated.

“You think someone or something knows our secret ? But we hid it so well so far !” you retort, and Satoru stands up, walking in circles, thinking about the possible answer.

“That would be surprising. As far as I know, I always made sure that no one could discover, aside from Shoko, but that doesn’t count. She met you after the attack. So it’s maybe a coincidence. Let’s hope it is. If not… I’ll have to deal with our problem.”

“You mean… killing someone ?” you whisper, and he stops in his track to look at you in the eyes.

“Yeah. I already killed sorcerers in the past. Obviously, bad ones that went against ethics and the law. Not every person born with cursed energy uses it for the good, you know ? It’s my job to protect people, not only from curses, but including sorcerers too. It would be the same for someone that would target your life,” he affirms, no budging in his voice. You swallow thickly. You already knew what Satoru had to deal with, but as a non sorcerer, a normal human, it still felt weird to hear such things coming out of the voice of someone, even more from your own boyfriend.

“Yeah, I get it…” you sigh. He sighs too, and wraps his arm around you softly, cradling you against his chest and kissing the top of your head affectionately. 

“It’s for that it’s better to keep it a secret. For your safety… having a bounty on your head would mean exterminating any menace that would come your way,” he finishes, looking at you, and you stare at the shine in the blue of his iris, showing all the seriousness in the world. After all, since the minute he was born, Gojo Satoru has been chased down with deadly bounties on his head. He knew better than anyone else the feeling of constantly being tracked down. Each.minute.of.his.life. 

“I know, now let’s go do something that would occupy my mind. I don’t want to think back about what happened. I’m sure I will have nightmares…” you whisper and groan.

“Let’s go eat mochis downtown !” Satoru jumps back on his feet, all smiling now.

“Ah, but wait, you still have work to do. I literally brought you the documents you needed,” you disagree all of a sudden, yet Satoru still takes your hand to coax you to stand up.

“Screw that, you’re at the top of my to do list,” he shakes his head, insisting. You end up smiling, and follow him.

You didn’t know this day, how he meant his words. ‘Exterminating any menace that would come your way.’ 

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

You were just finished with your day. Satoru would come to pay you a visit later in the night, since he was busy with missions and only available starting 10 PM. Taking the metro, you try to think of what you could eat for dinner tonight. Ordering food or cooking it ? That would just depend on how exhausted you are, at this point. You hold your ground as the train starts to move again once people are finished to enter the wagon and the door closes. You see a glimpse of someone tall with long black hair in a half tied bun.

Wait. Is that... Suguru ? You frown, and the moment you look at the silhouette better, he disappears. You were sure that for a second he was standing right in front of you. Were you hallucinating ? Yeah, you were tired… Why would you even hallucinate about this guy, anyways ?

As you leave the metro some minutes after, you pass by the small streets towards your apartment. When looking at the window of a store, you swear you saw in the reflection of it the damn grocery guy again ! You squint your eyes, stepping back. Nothing. Only you, and the passersby.

“I’m fucking crazy…” you whisper, shaking your head and continuing your walk.  

You look at your phone, and now you find yourself alone in the quietness of the night. Each step echoes in the silence. It’s too silent, you think. The light lamp of the alley illuminates your way. You put back your phone in your pocket when a cold wind caresses your neck, giving you goosebumps. You shiver, from head to toe, as if ice was rubbing against your skin. You snap back your attention, remembering oh so well this feeling. This same feeling that you had not so long ago… And here, standing in front of you, another shadow, a taller, much much taller one, compared to last time. Its eyes were yellow, and weird substance was emanating from its skin as an eerie high pitched voice murmured words that you couldn’t understand or make out.

Your stomach drops on your heels, and you stumble backwards, ready to scream of fear and run away. The moment you open your mouth, your back bumps into someone. You turn around sharply, only to be met with purple eyes.

“Are you okay…? Oh ? Y/n ? Is that you ?” asks the voice, and you can’t help but feel reassured to not be alone anymore. But quickly, still in panic, and afraid for your damn life, you exclaim as you directly step away.

“No, run ! It will attack you, otherwise-” 

“What are you talking about ? There is nothing here,” answers Suguru, grabbing your jacket to stop you from running away. Your breath gets caught in your throat, ready to yell at him, but when you spin around you realize that indeed, nothing or noone else was here. The shadow disappeared, and your heart slowly beats at a more normal pace.

“What ? But- I swear I…” you stutter.

“Ah, you must be tired. Maybe you should go back home. Is your boyfriend here to help you ?” he raises his eyebrow when softly answering, letting go of his grip on your clothes. You look at it then back at him again, and you feel reassured.

“No, he arrives later…” you whisper. You felt like what you saw wasn’t just you dreaming, but reality. It was here, in front of you. How could it have disappeared like that ? 

“Are you okay ? Want me to call him for you, to ask him to come get you ? What’s his name ?” he questions, eying you down.

Still in panic, you continue to look around frequently. Wanting to make sure that the curse really wasn’t waiting for any moment to come back and get you. Flashbacks of what happened before, how it was running after you, and if Satoru was one second late, how you would be probably six feet underground. You dig your nails in your palm, breathing heavily, unable to calm down.

“I… Uh... his name is Satoru,” you start to answer, and you see how the look of Suguru darkens, but quickly comes back to normal. “I’ll call him myself, it’s alright,” you finish.

“Want me to stay until he arrives ? It wouldn’t feel right to leave you in such a state, alone…” he hums, shaking his head as he crosses his arms over his chest while staring at you. 

“If you don’t mind, yeah…” you answer as you lean against the wall, and with a shaky hand you dial the number of your boyfriend in front of the purple eyes of your savior. He quickly answers, and you can hear how he is fighting at the same time some curse, but still decided to pick up the call.

“Yeah baby ? I’m dealing with some shitty low grades at the same time, hope you don’t mind !” he exclaims cheerfully, and in the background you can hear sounds of objects breaking. You put the phone tighter against your cheek, making sure only you could hear him. Well, that’s what you thought.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but can you come, please. I think.. it appeared again. I’m scared to the bones, not gonna lie. That shit is making me feel crazy,” you answer, turning your head as you sniff, biting your lower lip nervously and eyes roaming around, quite everywhere, sometimes landing on the black haired male that stares at you.

“What ? Alright, send me your location, I won’t take long. Are you alone ?” suddenly asks seriously Satoru, more grave now in his tone of voice. At the same time, you send your location as asked.

“No, I’m with, you know, Suguru, the guy that helped me last time. I bumped into him,” you explain, looking at him and he smiles as his eyes meet yours. 

Suguru. The moment this name left your mouth, Satoru froze. In one go, he activates his technique, done with fooling around, and hollow purple his opponent. In a ragged breath, he replies : 

“I’m on my way, don’t move.”

He hangs up, and you realize that he must have teleported. You face Suguru, and you try to give him a reassuring smile. Well, you should be the one to get reassured in this situation, actually.

“He’s on the way, he will soon be here, don’t worry,” you resume.

“I don’t worry about me, but more for you. Are you feeling better ? Was someone following you ?” he shakes his head answering that, tilting his head to the side.

“Something, yeah, I don’t know ? It’s complicated..” you try to say vaguely. After all, you couldn’t say to someone you barely knew that a curse was probably after you. Barely one year ago, before meeting Satoru, you had no idea about the existence of such things. Suguru narrows his eyes, letting out a hum.

“Looks like you are cursed, y/n,” he simply states, staring back at you. You shiver, and snap back your head at him.

“Cursed ? Ahah, what do you mean ?” you frown, replying with a quivering voice. Shit, you looked even more suspicious. But hey, wait, that was his answer, that was suspicious. Rather than yours.

“Don’t play dumb, y/n. I’m talking about curses,” he steps closer, smiling at you as if it was funny, and that this whole situation was just dumb. Where you dumb ?

“What ? Wait, hold on, you-”

“Looks like your boyfriend Gojo Satoru is back,” he cuts you off.

You directly turn around, snapping back towards the street. Meters away you see indeed the white haired male looking around, and when he spots you he rushes, you do too, and he catches you in his arms. His grip is tight and comforting, keeping you safe in the crook of his chest.

“I’m here, it’s alright. I sense no curses anymore, you’re safe,” he whispers in your ear, gazing around, blindfold off his eyes scanning the area.

“Anymore ? So it was here earlier, I wasn’t crazy ?” you ask with both fear and hope at the same time. A weird mix of feelings, to be honest. A horrifying duality.

“I sense its presence very faintly, as if it vanished,” Satoru continues to whisper, caressing your back to soothe you down, allowing your breathing to slow calmly back.

Talking about vanishing, you lift your eyes, only to realize that the black haired male disappeared, leaving only the two of you alone in this gloomy alley.

“Where is the guy ?” questions your boyfriend, lifting his head off your neck, hand on your cheek.

“Suguru ? He left already, I guess…” you reply, staring at the empty spot, and you sigh. Satoru narrows his eyes, humming, eyes scanning the area again.

“Let’s get you back home, ‘kay ?” he ends up saying, deciding to investigate this on his own. After all, he did sense again the faint smell of Suguru’s cursed energy. Geto Suguru, more exactly. And that couldn’t be a coincidence anymore. The Suguru you met was 99% sure the Suguru he knew. Satoru wasn’t an idiot. But he couldn’t let you know.

“Alright.. Thanks for coming, love,” you smile and he kisses softly your lips as a light peck. 

“Anytime,” he answers, before bringing you back home. Satoru wasn’t joking as usual, or teasing you as much as he does. He seemed preoccupied with something, surely about what happened, but it felt odd. The evening goes on, and Satoru stays at your side all night long.

As you cuddle your boyfriend in bed, half asleep and basking in the warmth of his body spooning yours, your eyes snap back open.

Hold on. Suguru said Gojo Satoru earlier. But you only remember giving him his name, and nothing more. How could he know his last name ? Did you imagine things ? 

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

A whole month and a half passed. You quickly managed to forget about what happened, thanks to the help of Satoru, and forgot the weird things that Suguru said that night. It was even easier, since you didn’t see him again. In this month of february, you were covered in thick layers of blankets, keeping you warm as you drink hot chocolate in your cup. Satoru comes back from his shower, hair damp and changed into comfortable pajamas. With time, he ended up putting more and more of his personal stuff in your apartment, slowly becoming an important part of your life as your boyfriend. 

“Lemme take a sip,” he whines, suddenly sitting next to you on the couch and wrapping his cold arms around you. You shiver head to toe, yet he keeps his hands tightly against your skin.

“You’re freezing cold !” you exclaim, and he nonetheless takes a sip from your cup, smiling and licking his lips as he puts it back down. He squeezes your stomach, kissing your neck.

“Warm me up, then,” he coos, and makes you lie back down on the couch, straddling you as he continues to snuzzle your chest and draping the remaining blankets over the two of you.

“Don’t get too cozy, I’ll have to leave in 20 minutes,” you say, and he huffs, butterfly kissing your throat before biting your cheek smugly.

“Why do you have to go ? Can’t you stay here with your amazing boyfriend ?” he complains, and you squirm but he bites your cheek again, the left one this time. Not too hard, obviously.

“I promised my friend I would come, and hey, stop biting me-” you retort, and it results only in the chuckle of Satoru vibrating against your skin. He kisses it softly, as a way to make himself forgiven.

“I’ll wait here then, like a good househusband,” he muses and pecks your lips. You grin against his mouth, cool fingers caressing his face and looking at him in the eyes.

“You wish you were, uh ?” you tease him.

“Hmm, that would be a nice change from the constant draining work as The Strongest…” he whispers, cupping your breast in the palm of his hand under your shirt, and moving his lips against yours. You let out a breath of pleasure, his tongue licking your lower lip to allow him access. You slightly open your mouth, and start to make out with him in an affectionate and loving way. He lifts himself on his elbow, deepening the kiss to make it considerably more heated. His knee slides and gets in between your thighs, parting them inch by inch and pressing against your core on purpose. You moan slightly, and he smirks as he breathes more heavily, clearly getting turned on at your oh so sweet voice doing such noises.

You graze your nails against his undercut, making him shiver. He massages your breast, thumb caressing your nipple while his knee grinds against you. It hardens, and you arch slightly your back. He smiles even more, using his other hand to grab your hips to press you more against his grinding knee. The pleasure is slowly heating up, but before it gets too ahead of yourselves, you break the kiss.

“Satoru, I need to get ready,” you whisper. He pouts, slowly letting you go, and sighs before leaving you some space, doing a last final peck on your nose.

“Yeah yeah, my beautiful wife is getting taken away from me,” he whines dramatically. 

“Okay you dramaqueen,” you roll your eyes, and leave the warmth of the cushion to stand up and go take your bag and put on your coat and shoes. Satoru trails behind you and suddenly gives you his wallet. You raise an eyebrow, surprised.

“Use my card while you are out, and please yourself. In that way, it’s as if I would be with you. I mean, my wallet and money will, actually…” he explains his train of thoughts, and before you can answer he puts it inside your back. You were about to protest, but he started to push you outside towards the main door.

“Satoru that is so sweet, but you didn’t need to-”

“Nuh-uh, I insist. Spoil yourself, but don't drink too much, ‘kay ?” he interrupts you. You smile softly once you are two feet outside, and then bring him in a close hug. He wraps his arms around you too in return, and you go on your toes to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, ‘toru. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back home, alright ?” 

“Go have fun !” he waves goodbye at you as you step back, and you give him one last glance before walking outside.

The evening goes by, and meeting with your friends to drink was upgrading your mood. You did use the card of Satoru, but still made it on purpose to not drink too much alcohol. After all, you wanted to come back home safe. And not like a drunk mess.

In the dim light of the bar, you lay back against the chair, looking at the ceiling after paying your final consumption. While you put back the card into your boyfriend’s wallet, you accidentally make something fall. You catch it on your thighs, and squint your eyes when you realize it’s an old picture of Satoru. He was in the company of who you recognized as Shoko, thanks to the mole and the cigarette in between her lips. But then the person to his other side strangely feels like his looks are familiar. Black hair tied in a bun, purple eyes, and ear piercings… Wait wait wait. Is that… on this pic... grocery guy, aka Suguru, with your boyfriend ? No way, no fucking way.

That’s crazy. No. Are you even sure ? Slightly panicked, all the dots connecting together, you turn around the picture and read what is written in small letters behind “Satoru, Suguru, Ieri, 2006”. You blink, once, twice.

That is Suguru. The Suguru you met multiple times, is the Suguru of the past of Satoru. This so-called “someone” he once knew. A strange feeling takes place in your gut, as if something was wrong, damn wrong. You swallow thickly, and now you understand how and why he had said all these weird things before, his reactions too. But, why… Why didn't Satoru tell you more about him ? All you knew is that they knew each other in the past. Nothing more, nothing else. Gojo was secretive, very secretive about this. It was apparently for the better, but right now, it was for your worst. 

Oh oh, you can’t shake off that nagging feeling, starting to be nervous and panicked. Something definitely was wrong in whatever happened this past weeks.

“I’ll go outside to get some fresh air,” you suddenly annonce to your friends, trying to smile to reassure them as they look concerned. You barely put back your coat, keeping in your hand the picture as you step out without waiting for an answer.

You lay against a wall, looking at the people passing by. You take deep breaths, trying to put some order in your mind. As you look up, seconds pass while you stare at the sky, but then, it’s as if everything got even darker than the night. It was like a veil was falling around you. You look back around, and you are now alone in the street. Your breath catches in your throat and you directly decide to go back inside the bar, not liking this at all.

The wind, cold and freezing, caresses your neck. Your heart jumps in your thoracic cage, and you feel sweat rolling down your forehead of nervousness and fear slowly creeping down your back. You decide to walk faster.

“Y/n, where do you think you are going ?” announces a familiar voice behind you.

You directly turn on your heels, and you are met with Suguru, his hair down, and in a different attire that you were used to seeing him. His presentence was far more gloomy, and the monk clothes he was wearing made him look like someone else. More like… the real him. And you knew at this moment that you were in danger. No matter how and why, you were in danger.

“Suguru ?! What is happening here ?” you snap, on edge.

“Satoru didn’t explain it to you ? I casted a veil. It’s only us in here,” he answers as if it was mock evidence, eying you up and down. He suddenly didn’t look as friendly as before. You step back, squeezing the picture in between your fingers.

“What the- are you a sorcerer too, then ? I just saw this picture and... Fuck. What is going on right now ?!” you start to panic, looking around again and again. You felt trapped.

“I guess he didn’t talk much about me. Even though we were best friends. Well, it’s understandable. You are a non sorcerer. It’s not like you would get it, anyways,” he sighs, shaking his head as if he was disappointed. 

“No, he didn’t. But that’s... for now it’s not the most important. I want you to tell me why you are here, casting this veil, and what are your real intentions. Because I doubt now that each time we met, it was from pure accidents or coincidences” you deduce, your gut screaming to you that it was right. You weren’t that dumb, after all.

“You’re smarter than I thought, for a non sorcerer,” he chuckles dryly, slowly walking towards you and circling you. You keep your eyes on him, feeling cornered.

“See, the problem here, is that I would have never expected that the grand Gojo Satoru would be dating a normal human. Imagine my surprise ! You just are a weakness, a big weakness for him, at this point,” he explains, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes as he caresses his chin. 

“How did you discover that ?!” you exclaim, stepping away, not answering the way he pathetically described you. 

“I wasn’t sure at first. Because of my way of life, I always have to keep an eye on Gojo Satoru. One of my curses reported to me that he saw you frequently at his sides when he was being as a civilian outside. I had to see it for myself... That was easy. Well, you were the one that told me yourself that you had a boyfriend, named Satoru. It didn’t take me much, actually.”

Oh, poor you. You didn’t know who Geto Suguru was, aside from the past best friend of your boyfriend. How could you have the clue that he deflected Jujutsu Society years ago to become a wanted criminal, creating a cult, despising non sorcerers to his soul. How could you, really ? Satoru should have told you, and maybe, more likely surely, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into this situation. 

“So all along… it was to get an answer… Did you staged all this ? From the very beginning ?!” you almost stutter, utterly shocked and feeling like a mouse getting played by a cat. 

“Yeah,” he simply responds casually, as if it wasn’t the most mind blowing thing you heard today. You gasp, eyes wide open.

“What is wrong with you…” you whisper horrified.

“Oh no, the only wrong thing here is you, y/n. Do you really not know who I am aside from your boyfriend's past best friend ? That could have maybe helped you out there,” he sighs and gets closer, menacing.

“You’re a goddamn devil in disguise, that’s what you are,” you add, narrowing your eyes and clenching your hands, angered. 

“Close. I’m just doing what I think is right, getting rid of the filthy things that stench this world. You’re part of that, actually. But well, I started to get attached to you, you see ? Funny when I despise you at the same time. Too bad you’re a non sorcerer, and the girlfriend of my now nemesis,” he ends up brutally, face suddenly becoming as cold as ice and then raising his hand up, a black spiral forming on his palm.

In utter fear of what could happen, you quickly try to run away, not wanting to lose any more time, knowing what would occur next would be bad, very bad for you, if you didn’t exit quickly. But the moment you rush towards the end of the veil, a big, more like gigantic bird, as huge as a dinosaur, appears before you and opens his mouth wide. Masked men jump out of it, and suddenly grab you and one yanks you brutally towards them. You try to squirm, like a wild and feral animal, but they drag you with them back towards the bird without much difficulty, threatening you. You just have the time to scream, that it swallows you in its mouth, and then all you see is pitch black before the void. 

The curse vanishes, as soon as Suguru Geto does as well. The veil is gone, and the only thing that is left is the old picture of the trio on the cold ground of the lonely street.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

Back to the present. February 16, 11 : 26 PM, Gojo Satoru exterminated 7 upper grades curses. 

12 : 06 AM, Gojo Satoru killed 5 sorcerers.

It wasn’t hard to trail back to you, actually. The moment you disappeared, your friends didn’t take long to notice your vanishment. They tried to contact at first people that they were sure would know maybe where you were. Going on your phone and on your emergency calls, they contacted your boyfriend. As soon as he came, being as quick as possible and dread consuming him, he knew. He knew because he saw the picture on the floor, grabbing it in his hand and staring at it in the void. Your vanishment wasn’t something what normal humans would think, and maybe he didn’t like that idea as much, knowing it could be worse, way worse than you just running away. 

Following the cursed energy, he arrived in an abandoned building. Bit by bit, like a rat following the smell of cheese, he went to each place and corner where he could slightly feel your presence. Satoru knew it was a trap, but your safety was his top tier priority.

Minutes passed, and everytime he faced an opponent that didn’t give him any proper answer, annoyance took over him. It was maddening, frustrating. Satoru was going crazy at the idea that you could be dead right now, somewhere lifeless, and how it probably was his fault. His eyes were cold, as freezing as ice, having no more patience left anymore.

“Who’s next ?” he asks, each step echoing in the corridor, searching for you, but too for someone else to rip their damn head off if they go on his way. 

He senses the presence of another sorcerer, but they run fast, fearful, not wanting to live their last seconds on earth being exterminated by The Strongest in a monstrous way like their other comrades.

“Pathetic,” he whispers, about to go after his new found victim, an unhinged smile forming on his lips, but he stops dead on his track when he senses your presence faintly.

With no other thoughts, he teleports there immediately. He appears suddenly in front of a door, and bangs it open brutally, breathing heavily. Time stops the moment his eyes meet the purple ones of his best friend, his nemesis, his one and only. And then his smile drops, when he sees you unconsciously laid in his arms while he sits lazily on a tatami.

 12 : 31 AM, Gojo Satoru found you back. But not alone.

“Satoru ! Long time no see,” exclaims Suguru, smiling at him like he used to in the past.

“Suguru…” whispers the white haired male, standing almost lifeless, body feeling limp.

“You were quicker than I thought. Even if I know you’ve been knowing for weeks now. I’ve enjoyed the chase, right, Satoru ? Yet, we still didn’t reach the end, you and I. And you know that very well,” he hums, his hand softly touching your unconscious face before looking back up at your boyfriend. 

“Suguru, don’t involve her into that,” he simply says, voice firm as he wipes some of the blood off his face.

“I never thought you would date a weakling, you, that always said they were a pain to protect. Look where it brought you. It’s a weakness that I can use against you, and I’m doing it,” he states, narrowing his eyes while he taps his fingers against his thigh. Tap, tap, tap.

“I changed, you made me change. You were the first one to say we had to protect the weaker for the best,” answers Satoru, stepping closer and being tense, ready to attack at any second. The dim light from the candles next to the black haired man illuminates your unconscious face. At least you didn’t look hurt, just asleep, as if everything that happened was just a dream, or a living nightmare.

“Well, I changed my mind. I learnt my lesson, and you know that it’s too late to make me think otherwise,” sighs Suguru, replying with a colder tone. Some seconds pass in silence where they just look at each other in a heavy silence.

“... Suguru. Let her go, she has nothing to do with our little game of cat and mouse,” continues Satoru, more calmly, almost pleading.

“Don’t tell me you are that attached ? If I hurt her, kill her, would you finally kill me ?” scoffs Geto.

“Yes.” That was the simple answer of The Strongest, raising his hand and positioning his fingers, ready to activate red or blue any moment now.

“At least we think the same,” ends up answering Suguru vaguely in a quiet voice, looking at the fingers of his once best friend. A moment passes. Then, he puts you down on the floor, and stands up slowly, now facing the white haired male. 

“Poor thing. There is no curse more twisted than love… Next time, curse me too a little bit in the end,” adds Suguru, letting out a mocking laugh, staring into the soul of Satoru through his eyes. 

Satoru doesn’t answer, not knowing what to answer. He keeps his fingers up, shaking, and then he grabs you with his free hand, using his technique to make you not fall and glued to his palm. He tried to control his breathing, feeling in between numb and overwhelmed. Both in a strange duality.

“You killed an awful amount of my curses and mercenaries. Well, at least I can keep the money of the bounty for myself, since they can’t reclaim it anymore,” he starts to say, raising his eyebrow and then invoking a curse next to him. Satoru’s eyes snap towards it, ready in case it attacks.

“But don’t rest easy, I’ll make you pay back in kind. I like that new student of yours, Yuta Okkotsu…” the black haired male continues, and then a void slowly appears under his feet, created by the curse.

“Leave the kids alone, Suguru,” snaps Satoru, frowning, and stepping menacingly closer. But he had to be careful, having you with him meant he had to be extra cautious.

“Then kill me now.” These single words made the heart of The Strongest sink, and his fingers tighten. He grits his teeth, feeling like he was 18 again, surrounded by a crowd and unable to stop his best friend after finding out he deflected and massacred a whole village.

Satoru couldn’t kill Suguru, not yet.

“Right. Next time, maybe. Goodbye, Satoru. Say hi to y/n too,” finishes his best friend, before vanishing in the void created by the curses. It disappears too, leaving only the two of you alone. The candles slightly waver at this change of atmosphere, and Satoru breathed again. He brings you up in his arms, scooping your asleep self against his chest. He cradles you, burying his face in your hair and inhaling your scent.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. So sorry…”

Gojo Satoru feels a tear rolling down his cheeks, and it’s the first time in a long time that he breaks character and his fake bravado.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

“Satoru, I swear I’m good now. Shoko already checked me up. Well, maybe I would need some therapy, but trust me, I’m not hurt,” you try to reassure your boyfriend, as he sits next to you on the bed, making sure you were okay. His hand slowly caresses your cheek, and you lean on his palm, appreciating his touch.

He had dark circles under his eyes. Satoru didn’t sleep for 56 hours. After what happened, he didn’t close his eyes aside from blinking, making sure you were okay, paranoid and on edge that something else could happen to you. He sighs, staring at your face and rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

“Y/n, it’s for your safety… You know I can’t rest,” he insists, shaking his head and gripping slightly your cheek.

“Satoru, love, you need to sleep. I’m with you, nothing will happen,” you reply, sliding your fingers against his, and interwinning them together, kissing his knuckles. 

He looks at you in silence in the quietness of the night.

“I can’t sleep, not after what happened,” he continues, passing his free hand against his face, trying to wipe the tiredness away. 

“You need to,” you answer, frowning, clearly concerned. He doesn't answer, looking at the window instead. He looked so drained, almost like the living dead that crawled back from the cemetery. You felt like that if you blew on him, he could break. The Strongest would damn break. 

“Satoru, you’re going to drop dead if you continue doing this. You can’t keep up, please, for the love of God, listen to me,” you add, tugging on his hand to make him look at you, a hint of despair in your voice.

“Y/n, it was all my fault, I-” he shakes his head, biting his lower lip.

“Stop saying that !” you snap.

“You don’t get it ! If I didn’t protect my own peace, If I decided to open up more to you in the past and told you about Suguru, and everything that happened, maybe nothing of this would have happened. This is all because of my own fear of vulnerability, of thinking it was better like that, to keep you safe, and keep myself safe from remembering the past. I don’t know anymore. I messed up badly, and I’m not allowed to mess up. I don’t know. I’m so tired from all this. Fuck, I… I can’t even think straight right now,” he exclaims at first, but ends up laughing nervously. He surely was becoming more and more crazy as the hours passed.

Your heart sinks, and you look at him sadly.

“Shhh… come here, come here,” you whisper, and bring him towards you. You wrap your arms around his body and he immediately hugs you back close, squeezing you strongly as if his life depended on it. He shakes, big hands covering your back and keeping you in the crook of his heart. He kisses your lips softly, like an anchor to reality.

“It’s alright. Maybe, if you start to tell me about it, it’ll help you sleep better at night ?” you propose after some seconds. He looks at you in the eyes, not answering at first, debating inside his head.

“Alright…” he ends up saying. He sighs deeply, and then takes a long breath to gather the strength he needed to talk about this, to open up his heart, to expose his vulnerable past and mistakes.

“Suguru and I, back in the days, we both were The Strongest. Nothing could stop us, really. He was my best friend, my one and only, actually. But everything went downhill when we got assigned the star plasma vessel mission…”

Satoru starts to explain, laying back down on the bed against you. While he talks, you look at him and gently caress his back to sooth him down. As the minutes passed, his eyes started to close against his will, and he found himself fast asleep in your arms.

You kiss one last time his head, bringing him closer to share all your warmth, and love.

For once, you’ll be the one to look over him tonight.

You were his to protect. But he was yours to protect too. 

And that, no matter what would happen in the future. 

THE END

[pro-birth]

I have a weird relationship with the age-related infertility discussions. Does aging affect fertility? Absolutely. But are you doomed to never or not likely get pregnant if you "wait too long"...? That's where the conversation gets complicated, but no one seems to understand why it's complicated, let alone admit that it's not ever simple.

You see, it can take 7 or more years for a woman with endo, PCOS, etc to get diagnosed and properly treated for it. This means that her teen and young adult years are spent festering her undiagnosed complications until she reaches her 30s or so, and not only has perimenopuase to worry about, but her untreated disease(s) also. These compounding factors, obviously, makes it hard to get and stay pregnant.

And that doesn't even get into how terrible treatment is! Even when endo/PCOS/etc ARE diagnosed early on, they are --- surprise! --- given HORMONAL BIRTH CONTROL to "treat" it. At best, you get mild BC side effects while the condition never gets better, and you still struggle later on. At worst, you have someone with: severe nutritional deficiencies, wrecked gut and mental health, and other health risks that make pregnancy difficult to achieve down the road (or increase maternal health risks even if she does get pregnant).

Is age a factor? Yes. But assuming the woman is healthy and properly taken care of, it's a factor that shouldn't raise alarms. It may take longer for her to get pregnant, but a woman in her 30s and even 40s can achieve a full term pregnancy with the right support and knowledge. After all, women in the past traditionally had their last child in their EARLY FORTIES.

The issue is that everyone looks at age and nothing else. They don't question why it takes so long for female reproductive diseases to get treated and addressed. They don't question why fertility awareness is continually suppressed by the medical establishment. They don't question why women struggle to be taken seriously by their care provider.

I guess for them, it's easier to gaslight and shame women than to address the system that allows infertility to fester to begin with.

[mantis-lizbian]

okay, y'know what? let's go into this same. ignoring all the rules in 5e that i think are dumb, an itemized list with explanations. obviously, my list won't necessarily be the same as everyone's, but it'll illustrate the problem with suggestion in a practical sense, not just as a structural critique from the standpoint of game design, which i know a lot of people don't actually care about.

bare in mind that these are going to be criticisms with regards to the kind of game D&D 5e is and wants to be, and are largely going to use other editions of D&D as points of comparison, rather than other TTRPGs as a whole, just because to do so i feel could easily approach "i want a game about a witch looking for lost pets in the Alps" type stuff. no sense in criticizing D&D for not being Monsterhearts or GURPS, after all.

classes are too simple. any given berserker barbarian is functionally indistinguishable from another. for some classes, even different archetypes don't offer enough variation from each other to feel meaningfully distinct. here's a challenge: take your party of four and make an entire 6th-level party using only one class in each of 3.x, 4e, and 5e. depending on the class you choose, you may have more or less difficulty, but in two of those, you generally can manage to make four characters who can all function in a party together without feeling like clones of each other, and perhaps even able to actually complement each other.

classes are too complicated. for the most part, AD&D, BECMI, OD&D and the like, classes only have a couple of fairly basic features, most of which are granted from 1st level. this means that if a character dies, you can roll up a brand new one and jump straight back into play that same session. not being able to do this makes everyone, even the GM, resistant to allowing a character to die, defanging one of the only meaningful consequences to losing combat inherent to the mechanics.

battle master fighters restrict everyone's options in combat. if you're playing a melee combatant, there's very little you can do apart from run up to your chosen enemy and smack them in the face with your weapon until they die. disarming, feinting, tripping... these were all things any character could do in 3e, as outlined by the rules, and these things were possible in AD&D and the like because they weren't explicitly spelled out in the mechanics. the GM is free to adjudicate how to handle these maneuvers as they see fit, but because they aren't explicitly granted to a specific kind of character, they aren't implicitly denied to everyone else.

ability scores do not matter outside of Dexterity and whichever one your class cares about, and specific circumstances dependent on which saves are being targeted. 4e did start this, but even it made a conscious effort to make every class care about at least two scores alongside Dexterity, outside of saves. in AD&D, every score determined a number of things independent of your class (with the exception of Intelligence and Wisdom, if you weren't a spellcaster). and 3e required you to spend character resources (feats, specifically) to do things like use Dexterity on melee attack rolls, and even then it couldn't be added to damage, so there was still value to Strength even if you fought exclusively using daggers. all of this results in making it so that if you're using point-buy to determine ability scores, there is no meaningful mechanical consequence you can count on having to contend with for dropping every score to 8 so you can pump the ones you care about up to their maximum (in fact, i suspect that 5e makes point-buy cap out at 15 specifically to prevent players from doing exactly this to pump their two important scores to 18). unless you're a barbarian, even Constitution isn't as important as it should be, given the ingrained hesitancy 5e's design creates towards letting characters die.

only a couple of feats are actually better than taking the ability score boost, until you hit that cap of 20. even fewer are ever going to be meaningfully applicable to the same character as another, meaning that altogether, depending on what you were able to boost your class's main ability score to, by level 12 or so... you're likely to feel like meaningful pickings are slim for what to do with your remaining ASIs. it also becomes clearly apparent that the reason feats are an optional replacement for an ASI isn't so much an attempt to simplify the game compared to 3.x's notorious endless ocean of feats to wade through, and more about just having something to do with those ASIs after reaching 20 in your main score.

due to free Dex-to-damage, the only reliable consequence of a low Strength score left is encumbrance. which is often the first rule players choose to ignore, and even if they don't... an 8 Strength is still enough to wear full plate, and carry a pike and heavy crossbow and still having plenty of carrying capacity for a decent amount of random loot. so yeah... this is a rule that even if you aren't ignoring it, the rules are doing plenty to avoid it ever coming up anyway.

skills offer a great way to flesh out who your character is outside of "someone who rages" or "someone who chucks fireballs". unfortunately, your class still fully defines these things, outside of the two you get from your background, or if you choose to spend one of your feats/ASIs on gaining another three. at which point, you're probably going to have proficiency in more than half of all the available skills.

several excellent designers have gone into a number of other issues with D&D 5e's skills, from how overwhelmingly important ones like Perception are, how laughably irrelevant others are, and the issues in figuring out how to make good use of the knowledge and Investigation skills.

resting is... so... a lot of classes have nothing to do with a short rest. one time, i was playing as a warlock in a group that only ever took long rests because no one else got anything from just taking a short rest. which meant that the warlock essentially only had 2 spells per day. granted, this didn't mean nearly as much as it should thanks to cantrips, but i'll get to that later. so yeah, short rests were introduced in 4e where every class got equal value from them, and so they were more reliably used.

crafting is pointless. the example it gives of making a suit of plate armor taking 300 days means that it would take an entire year to make something that you're likely to find or at least afford with easily a month of adventuring. there's also no accounting for how good a craftsman you are. in 3e, that same suit of plate armor will take (assuming no failed checks along the way, to be fair) at most a month and a half. even assuming you fail half the checks, that's still only a quarter the time it takes to make that armor in 5e. this is still a decent time investment, but especially when you consider how having a higher Craft skill bonus (or even just a good roll) means you may be able to shorten that time, it brings it into the realm of "okay, that could be worth it, if i really wanted to".

bonus actions are only usable by a handful of classes, and may as well not exist for the rest, outside a couple of feats. with only one other action, alongside moving, that makes the kind of tactical combat built on the same principles of 3.x and 4e drag and feel incredibly monotonous (especially when, see #3). 3.x and 4e have alternative things you can do with your move action, which - especially alongside full-round actions - just as a way to open up design space means that there are a lot of ways to expand your options in combat. while AD&D also only features an action and movement - and doesn't even have a bonus action - combat is much smoother due to the overall simplicity of the game, and the fact that rounds represent a whole minute, not just 6 seconds.

cantrips are broken. they're usable at-will all day, which is fine. definitely an improvement i like over 3.x, and it gives your spellcasters something spellcastery they can reliably do any time. that's cool. but when they deal as much damage as a crossbow, and are based on your spellcasting score, it adds to the aforementioned thing about how most classes don't need to worry about more than one or two ability scores. why bother carrying around a crossbow when your fingers can shoot infinite crossbow bolts, possibly even targeting something other than AC and not dealing physical damage?

...oh wow. there's a character limit in posts...

im confused about the dnd 5e hatred. yall arent just ignoring rules that are dumb? ur dm actually follows every single thing in the book for real?

if you have to ignore some of the rules for the game to be good then the game is not good

[muiitoloko]

Hi! I LOVE your writing!!!!

I have a request for Frank x younger reader, maybe where the reader works as his assistant, but it's temporary—like a substitute for a while. Obviously, there's a connection between them, but Frank, being so professional🫡 wouldn’t act on it because technically, he’s her boss. (IMAGINE ALL THE TENSIONNNNN)

Then, when the reader’s time is up and the regular assistant returns, on her last day, she tells him it’s her final day and that she’s done for the day—so, technically, he’s no longer her boss 👀👀

If you want to write it, feel free! If not, no worries at all!🥰

Title: Office Hours

Summary: After months of unspoken attraction, Frank finds himself caught in a late-night showdown with his secretary, where no rules apply.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your request. I hope you enjoy it.

Also read on Ao3

Frank sat at his desk, his hazel eyes trained on the papers in front of him, though his mind was entirely elsewhere. You stood at the far end of the room, your fingers deftly sorting through files, your expression focused. The sight of you—the curve of your figure, the way your hair framed your face—was enough to make his chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away. Two more weeks, he thought, his baritone voice muttering under his breath. Two more bloody weeks.

You glanced up, catching the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against the desk in a rare show of impatience. “Is something wrong, sir?” you asked, your voice warm and professional, but with a hint of genuine concern that always made him feel seen.

Frank’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he was silent, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he exhaled through it. “No,” he said finally, his tone brusque. “Everything’s fine. Just… a lot to get through today.”

You nodded, offering a small, understanding smile before returning to your work. Frank swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long before he forced himself to focus. The sexual tension that crackled in the air between you was impossible to ignore, and it was getting harder for him to maintain the calm, composed demeanor he prided himself on.

The problem wasn’t just your beauty, though that alone was enough to drive him to distraction. It was the way you seemed to anticipate his needs before he even voiced them, the way you moved through the office with a quiet confidence that both impressed and unnerved him. You weren’t just competent—you were exceptional. And that made everything more complicated.

“Lieutenant General?” Your voice cut through his thoughts, soft but insistent.

Frank blinked, realizing you were standing in front of his desk now, holding out a file. He reached for it, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Thank you,” he muttered, his baritone voice quieter than usual.

You hesitated, studying him with a slight tilt of your head. “Are you sure everything’s all right?” you asked, your tone gentle but probing. “You seem… distracted.”

Frank stiffened, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m fine,” he said firmly, though his voice lacked its usual authority. “Just a long week.”

Your lips quirked into a small smile, and for a moment, the tension between you felt almost playful. “Well,” you said lightly, “if there’s anything I can do to help, you just have to ask.”

Frank’s mind immediately went to places it shouldn’t have. He could picture it all too clearly: you leaning over his desk, your hands braced on the edge as he buried his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer. His cock stirred at the thought, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearing his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his tone clipped as he forced himself to look back at the papers in front of him.

But you didn’t leave. Instead, you lingered for just a moment longer, your gaze steady and knowing. “You work too hard, sir,” you said softly, almost teasingly. “You should let yourself relax once in a while.”

Frank’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes snapping up to meet yours. The way you looked at him—like you knew exactly what he was thinking, like you were daring him to act on it—was maddening. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said coolly, though his voice held a faint edge.

You smiled, a slow, almost mischievous curve of your lips that sent heat rushing through him. “Good,” you said simply before turning and walking away, your hips swaying slightly with each step.

Frank watched you go, his hands gripping the edge of his desk as he tried to steady himself. Two more weeks, he thought again, his baritone voice muttering low and bitter. God help me, I don’t know if I’ll make it.

The day dragged on, each interaction with you a careful balancing act as Frank struggled to keep his composure. By the time the office emptied out for the evening, he was a mess of frayed nerves and pent-up frustration. He stood by the window, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring out at the city lights as he tried to collect himself.

“Sir?” Your voice startled him, and he turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, your coat draped over one arm. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said quickly, though there was a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

Frank set his glass down, his hazel eyes scanning your face, searching for… something. An excuse, perhaps. A reason to keep you here just a little longer. “Goodnight,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm.

You nodded, hesitating for a moment before stepping closer. “Frank,” you said quietly, dropping the formality. The sound of his name on your lips sent a thrill through him, and he tensed, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he inhaled. “You don’t have to keep holding back, you know.”

His eyes widened, the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself threatening to crumble. “What are you talking about?” he asked, though his voice was rough, betraying him.

You smiled, your gaze steady as you stepped closer still. “I’m saying,” you murmured, your voice low and warm, “that maybe you don’t have to wait two weeks.”

Frank’s breath hitched, his heart pounding as you closed the distance between you. He wanted to stop you, to tell you this was a terrible idea. But when your hand brushed against his, when your eyes locked onto his with that unmistakable heat, he found himself frozen, unable to resist.

“Two weeks,” he muttered, his baritone voice trembling as his control began to slip. “Just two more bloody weeks…”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Or maybe just two more minutes.”

Frank turned sharply on his heel, distancing himself from the intoxicating heat of your presence. His jaw tightened as his hazel eyes fixed on the window, the city lights beyond blurring into a kaleidoscope of frustration and longing. His white hair caught the dim glow of the lamp on his desk, and his hooked nose flared slightly as he drew a deep breath, his baritone voice firm yet trembling as he spoke.

“No,” he said, his tone resolute. “This is inappropriate. You’re my subordinate, and I’m your commanding officer. I won’t… I can’t cross that line.”

You stepped closer, your voice soft yet imploring. “Frank,” you murmured, your eyes searching his with a mix of frustration and desire. “We’ve been dancing around this for months. Why keep denying it?”

He turned to face you, his gaze sharp but filled with unspoken longing. “Because,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, commanding register that sent a shiver through you, “I won’t be the man who abuses his position. Amy will be back in two weeks. Two weeks. And then, maybe…”

You exhaled, a mixture of disappointment and resignation washing over you. “And then, maybe?” you asked, your voice tinged with a sadness that made his chest tighten.

Frank clenched his fists at his sides, his hazel eyes darkening as he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. “Then,” he said softly, “I’ll be free to want you. Freely, without question. But not now. Not like this.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly, and you gave a curt nod, the professionalism you’d always carried slipping back into place like armor. “Goodnight, sir,” you said, your voice steady but distant.

As you turned and walked away, Frank’s heart twisted. He wanted to call you back, to tell you to lock the door, to throw propriety to the wind and finally claim what he’d been denying himself for so long. His hand even twitched toward the glass of whiskey, as though it could drown the torrent of desire coursing through him. But he held firm, his military training keeping him rooted in place as the sound of your footsteps faded into the night.

He took another sip of whiskey, the burn doing little to ease the ache in his chest or the throbbing heat elsewhere. His mind betrayed him almost instantly, conjuring images of what he would have done if he’d let himself slip—if he’d grabbed your wrist as you passed, pulling you back into the room, into him.

He imagined the startled gasp you’d let out as his lips crashed against yours, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he pressed you against the wall. His voice, deep and rough with years of restraint finally breaking, would growl your name like a prayer. He pictured the way your body would melt against his, your fingers clutching his shirt as you whispered breathless pleas for more.

Frank’s grip on the glass tightened as his mind wandered further, the fantasies growing more vivid. He could see it so clearly: you kneeling in front of him, your eyes wide and filled with trust as he undid his belt with deliberate slowness, his cock hard and aching, thick and veined, begging for your touch. He would guide you gently at first, his voice low and encouraging as he murmured, “That’s it, love. Take me. All of me.”

He groaned softly, his free hand running through his white hair as he struggled to pull himself back from the edge. He could almost hear the way you’d moan his name, feel the way your lips would wrap around him, warm and willing, pulling him deeper until he couldn’t think straight.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his hazel eyes staring at the now-empty glass of whiskey. His hooked nose flared as he exhaled sharply, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. This was madness, he thought. Utter madness.

And yet, as he sat there in the quiet of his office, the scent of your perfume still lingering faintly in the air, Frank couldn’t stop himself from imagining what two weeks might bring—and how much harder it would be to hold himself back when the clock finally ran out.

Frank sat at the head of the conference table, his hazel eyes scanning the room as the officers around him discussed the latest intelligence reports on operations in Afghanistan. His expression was as calm and composed as ever, the weight of his rank and experience evident in every line of his face. But beneath that facade, Frank Benson was seething.

His gaze kept straying to the corner of the room, where you stood with a young soldier, your head tilted slightly as you spoke in hushed tones. Frank didn’t need to hear the words to know they weren’t work-related—the easy smiles, the soft laughter, and the way the soldier leaned just a little too close made that abundantly clear.

You should have been taking notes, cataloging the meeting as you always did with meticulous precision. Instead, you were there, entertaining some wide-eyed boy who clearly didn’t know his place. And it was driving Frank mad.

He clenched his jaw, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he tore his gaze away, trying to focus on the discussion at hand. The officers were speaking of strategic deployments, air support logistics, and humanitarian considerations—things that demanded his full attention. But his mind was elsewhere, filled with the image of you, the sound of your laugh, and the irritating sight of that soldier’s grin.

“Lieutenant General?” one of the officers prompted, drawing Frank’s attention back to the table. “Your thoughts?”

Frank blinked, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the question. “Continue,” he said curtly, his baritone voice low and commanding. “I’ll provide my input shortly.”

The officer nodded and resumed speaking, but Frank’s attention had already drifted again. His grip on the edge of the table tightened as he glanced toward you once more. The soldier was leaning in, his lips moving as he whispered something that made you smile. And that was it—the last straw.

Frank pushed back his chair, the legs scraping against the floor as he stood. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him as he fixed you and the soldier with a glare that could have frozen molten lava. “Miss [Your Last Name],” he barked, his baritone voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Do you have something to share with the rest of us?”

You froze, your smile fading as you straightened, your eyes darting toward the soldier, who now looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor. “No, sir,” you said quickly, your tone steady despite the flicker of embarrassment in your expression.

“And you,” Frank continued, turning his glare to the soldier. “Is this how you behave in a serious meeting? Whispering and grinning like a schoolboy while your colleagues are discussing operations that involve life and death?”

The soldier stammered, his face turning crimson. “No, sir! I—I apologize, sir.”

Frank stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back as he loomed over the younger man. “You’re a disgrace to that uniform,” he growled, his hazel eyes cold and unforgiving. “Since you seem to have so much energy to waste on idle chatter, why don’t you go outside and give me fifty push-ups? Now.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier barked, snapping to attention before practically running out of the room.

Frank’s gaze shifted back to you, and the tension in the air was palpable. “And you,” he said, his tone softer but no less firm. “Your job is to take notes, not to flirt. I expect you to conduct yourself with professionalism at all times. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Frank said sharply, turning back to the table. “Let’s proceed.”

The meeting resumed, but the tension lingered. Frank kept his expression neutral, his hazel eyes fixed on the reports in front of him. But inside, his thoughts were a storm of frustration, jealousy, and something darker—something he refused to name.

When the meeting finally ended, Frank lingered behind, pretending to organize his papers as the officers filed out. You hesitated by the door, clearly unsure whether to leave or stay. Finally, you stepped closer, your voice hesitant. “Sir, may I speak with you?”

Frank glanced up, his expression unreadable. “Make it quick,” he said curtly.

You closed the door behind you, your hands clasped nervously in front of you as you approached his desk. “I didn’t mean to be unprofessional,” you began, your voice soft but earnest. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

Frank stood, his white hair catching the light as he rounded the desk to stand in front of you. His hazel eyes bored into yours, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he exhaled. “Do you know what upset me, Miss [Your Last Name]?” he asked, his baritone voice low and dangerous. “It wasn’t the distraction, though that was bad enough. It was the fact that you allowed that boy to think he had even a fraction of your attention.”

You blinked, your breath catching at the intensity in his gaze. “Sir, I—”

“You’re mine,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to a growl as he stepped closer, his hands bracing on the desk behind you, effectively trapping you in place. “Do you understand that? Every smile, every glance, every bloody laugh—it’s mine. Not his.”

Your heart pounded as his words sank in, his hazel eyes blazing with a mix of possessiveness and desire. “Frank,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough as he leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against your temple. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Frank let out a low growl of satisfaction, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Good. Because if I ever catch you entertaining another man like that again, love, I won’t stop at fifty push-ups. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing as heat coursed through you.

“Good,” Frank said again, his baritone voice softening as his lips trailed down to your neck. “Because you’ve got a lot to make up for, and I intend to make sure you learn your lesson.”

The fire in his eyes left no doubt—this was a punishment you wouldn’t forget.

But Frank straightened abruptly, his hazel eyes hardening as though some invisible wall had slammed down between the two of you. You blinked up at him, confused and breathless, your body still humming from the way his low baritone voice had growled those possessive words just moments before.

But now he was backing away, his hands adjusting his uniform as if nothing had happened. “This is highly inappropriate,” he said, his voice curt, devoid of the heat that had filled it just seconds ago. “I’ve already crossed a line by saying too much.”

You pushed yourself off the desk, your legs trembling slightly as you tried to steady yourself. “Frank,” you said, your voice wavering between frustration and desperation. “You can’t keep doing this.”

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and unyielding. “Doing what?” he asked, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he gathered the papers he’d left scattered on the desk. “Maintaining my professionalism? Upholding the integrity of my position? Is that what you’re accusing me of?”

Your jaw clenched, and you crossed your arms, staring him down despite the ache in your chest. “No,” you said, your tone sharper now. “I’m accusing you of provoking me, of making me feel things I can’t act on, only to walk away like none of it matters.”

Frank’s hand froze mid-motion, his hazel eyes darkening as he stared at you. For a moment, you thought he might say something, might finally admit what you both knew to be true. But instead, he shook his head, his white hair catching the soft light of the office. “There’s still a week and five days,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Until Amy returns. Until this…” He gestured vaguely between you. “Is no longer an issue.”

Your heart sank, and you bit your lip to keep from shouting at him. “That’s all this is to you?” you demanded. “An issue?”

Frank exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “You don’t understand,” he said softly, his baritone voice tinged with regret. “If I lose control now, I won’t be able to stop. And you deserve better than being someone’s mistake.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as his words hit you like a physical blow. “I’m not a mistake, Frank,” you said, your voice trembling. “And you’re not as composed as you think you are.”

He flinched, the truth in your words cutting through his defenses. But instead of responding, he simply nodded once, gathered the last of his papers, and turned toward the door.

“Goodnight, Miss [Your Last Name],” he said formally, his tone cold and distant as he walked out of the room without another glance.

You stood there, still leaning against the desk, your body burning with unspent desire and simmering frustration. “Damn him,” you muttered under your breath, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “Damn that man.”

You tried to calm the pounding of your heart, but it was no use. Every interaction with Frank felt like a carefully orchestrated game of push and pull, and you were growing tired of always being the one left behind, yearning for something he refused to give.

And yet, as infuriating as he was, you couldn’t stop wanting him. His sharp wit, his commanding presence, the way his hazel eyes softened just enough when he looked at you—it all made you crave him more, even when he left you seething in his wake.

“He can’t keep doing this,” you whispered to yourself, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady your breathing. But even as you said the words, you knew they were hollow. Because no matter how much Frank provoked you, no matter how many times he pulled away, you couldn’t seem to let him go.

Not yet. Not until you had your moment. And you would have it—if only you could survive the next week and five days without losing your mind.

Frank sat at his desk, his hazel eyes scanning the last document of the day, though his attention was half-hearted at best. The tension that had been building between you over the past few months hung in the air, thick and oppressive, and he could feel it wrapping around him like a vice. Today was your last day as his secretary, and while he’d done his best to maintain his composure, the thought of you leaving left an ache in his chest he couldn’t quite ignore.

You stepped into his office, the soft click of your heels against the polished floor drawing his gaze. You held out the final paper of the day, your expression calm and professional, though your eyes sparkled with something he couldn’t quite place. “Here’s the last one,” you said, your voice steady. “Anything else you need before I go?”

Frank took the paper from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. He set it down on the desk, glancing up at you with a faint, almost reluctant smile. “No,” he said, his baritone voice low. “You’re excused.”

You nodded, your lips twitching as if you were holding back a smile of your own. “Goodnight, sir,” you said softly, turning toward the door.

Frank exhaled quietly, thinking that was it. The end of months of tension, of longing, of resisting the pull between you. He’d let you walk out of his office, out of his life, and he’d never have to face the maddening temptation you represented again.

But then he heard the soft click of the door locking.

His hazel eyes snapped up, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he saw you turn back toward him. Your expression had shifted, the professionalism gone, replaced by a sly, knowing smile that sent a jolt of heat through his body. You leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing your arms as you looked at him.

“Today’s my last day,” you said simply, your voice steady but laced with a teasing edge. “My shift is over. That means I’m no longer your secretary.”

Frank swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he realized exactly what you were saying. He nodded slowly, his baritone voice calm but tinged with something darker. “No,” he agreed. “You’re not.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him with a look that made his pulse race. “So, what are you planning to do now, Lieutenant General?” you asked, your voice soft but full of challenge.

Frank stood slowly, his white hair catching the dim light of the office as he straightened his jacket. He took a step toward you, his hazel eyes dark and locked onto yours. “I was planning,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “to call you tomorrow. To ask you to dinner. To take you somewhere nice, wine and dine you properly. Do everything by the book.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a small, wicked smile. “And now?”

Frank stopped in front of you, his gaze unwavering as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was deliberate, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Now,” he murmured, his baritone voice dropping to a growl, “I think we can skip all that.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as his lips hovered just above yours. “You’ve driven me mad for months,” he whispered, his voice rough and filled with restrained desire. “Every smile, every glance, every bloody word out of your mouth—it’s been torture. And now that you’re not mine to protect anymore…”

He let the sentence trail off, his hands moving to grip your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His hazel eyes burned into yours, his control slipping with every passing second. “I don’t have to hold back anymore,” he growled, his lips finally crashing against yours in a kiss that was all-consuming, filled with months of pent-up frustration and longing.

You moaned softly against him, your fingers tangling in his white hair as you returned the kiss with equal fervor. Frank’s hands roamed over your body, his touch firm and commanding as he lifted you onto the desk. His hips pressed against yours, and you could feel the hard evidence of his arousal, thick and insistent, through his trousers.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your lips, his baritone voice trembling with need. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

He stepped back just long enough to undo his jacket, tossing it aside before pulling you closer again. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Tell me,” he growled, his hooked nose brushing against your collarbone. “Tell me you’ve wanted this as much as I have.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice breathless as his hands gripped your hips. “I’ve wanted you, Frank. Always.”

Frank’s hazel eyes darkened as he hovered over you, his hooked nose flaring slightly with every labored breath. His large hands moved with careful precision, one gripping your thigh to keep you steady on the edge of his desk, the other teasing slow circles over your clit. His touch was deliberate, his baritone voice low and thick with desire as he murmured, “Let’s take our time, love. I need you nice and ready for me.”

His eyes darkened at your words, and he let out a low, guttural groan as he began to unbuckle his belt. “Good,” he murmured, his voice rough and commanding. “Because I’m not stopping until I’ve had every inch of you.”

The desk creaked beneath you as Frank claimed you, his touch, his kiss, and the sheer intensity of his presence leaving no doubt in your mind that he’d been waiting for this moment as desperately as you had. And as he pulled you closer, his baritone voice growling your name like a prayer, you knew that this was only the beginning.

Your breath hitched as his fingers pressed against you with just the right amount of pressure, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips. You clung to the straps of his shoulder holster, your fingers curling tightly around the leather as your body trembled beneath him. His white shirt was still tucked into the waistband of his trousers, which were bunched awkwardly around his ankles, held in place by his polished black shoes. The sight of him—partially dressed, utterly commanding, yet entirely undone—was enough to make you clench around nothing.

“Frank,” you gasped, your voice shaky as his fingers worked you expertly. “Please… I need you.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, his hazel eyes glinting with both amusement and something darker. “You’ll have me,” he promised, his voice a growl as he slid a finger inside you, testing your readiness. “But not until you’re dripping for me. I’ll be damned if I hurt you, love. You’re going to take every inch of me, but you’ll enjoy it.”

You moaned as his finger moved inside you, slow and deliberate, stroking your inner walls with practiced precision. His thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, the sensation sending shivers through your body as he leaned closer, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek. “That’s it,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Let me feel you getting wetter for me. I want you soaking by the time I bury myself in you.”

Your nails dug into the leather straps of his holster as your hips bucked against his hand, desperate for more. “I’m ready,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Frank, please. I need you inside me.”

He groaned softly, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip, steadying you. “Patience,” he growled, his baritone voice laced with a mix of command and affection. “You’ll take me when I’m sure you can handle it.”

Frank pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes locking onto yours as he withdrew his finger and brought it to his mouth. He licked it slowly, savoring the taste of you as a low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. “Sweet as sin,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “But I need more.”

Without warning, he dropped to his knees, his trousers straining around his ankles as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider. You gasped as his tongue flicked over your clit, the sensation sharp and electric. His hooked nose brushed against your mound as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue working you with the same calculated precision as his fingers.

“Frank!” you cried out, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the white strands as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. Your legs trembled, your body arching off the desk as his tongue plunged inside you, stroking you in ways that left you breathless. “Oh, God… I’m going to—”

“Not yet,” he growled against your skin, his voice muffled but no less commanding. He pulled back, his hazel eyes blazing as he straightened, towering over you once more. “I want you to come while I’m inside you, love. While you’re wrapped around my cock, taking all of me.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he positioned himself at your entrance, his thick cock already leaking with need. He stroked himself once, twice, his baritone voice dropping to a husky whisper as he murmured, “Relax, love. Let me in.”

Slowly, carefully, he pushed inside, his cock stretching you inch by inch. The sheer size of him made you gasp, your body tensing instinctively. Frank stilled, his hands gripping your hips as he whispered soothingly, “Easy, love. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You did as he said, your body relaxing as he slid deeper, his cock filling you in a way that was almost overwhelming. He groaned low in his throat, his hazel eyes dark with lust as he watched your face, gauging your every reaction. “So tight,” he muttered, his voice trembling slightly. “Christ, you feel incredible.”

When he was fully seated inside you, he paused, his hooked nose flaring as he struggled to keep himself in check. “Tell me,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Tell me you can take me. Tell me you’re ready for me to move.”

You nodded, your voice a breathless whisper as you clung to his shoulder holster. “I’m ready, Frank. Please… I need you.”

With a growl of satisfaction, he began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Each movement was measured, controlled, as though he was determined to make you feel every inch of him.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his thrusts grew deeper, harder. “So tight, so wet… taking me so damn well. God, I’ve never—” He cut himself off with a groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he lost himself in you.

Your moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of his labored breathing and the soft slap of skin against skin. Your nails dug into his shoulder holster as you clung to him, your body arching with every thrust. “Frank,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “I’m close… I’m so close.”

“Then come for me,” he growled, his hazel eyes locking onto yours as he drove into you with renewed intensity. “Come while I’m inside you, love. Let me feel you.”

And when you finally did, your body trembling and your walls clenching around him, Frank let out a shuddering groan, his own release following moments later. His hips stilled, his cock buried deep inside you as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened settling over you. But as Frank pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes meeting yours, a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

“Worth the wait,” he murmured, his baritone voice soft but filled with warmth. “Every bloody second.”

[ainzbainz-blog]

jason todd's (non-pit) rage

I was thinking about jason todd and his anger after he resurrected himself and the pit and everything. Obviously, we all know "pit rage" isn't actually a thing. I think he's really valid in his anger (not justifying his actions, but his emotions) but it had me thinking why. And I think it all comes down to his self-worth.

Before he got adopted, I don't think he thought very much about himself. He was trying to survive, he didn't have the time or energy to debate with himself whether he is loveable, or worth someone's love or care. He knew his (step) mum loved him, knew his dad probably didn't, but it was irrelevant to whether he would survive till the next day.

Then he got adopted and he had the time to think about it, to feel it. To feel someone try with him. His mum loved him, and tried to care for him, but ultimately failed. Alfred and Bruce both loved him and tried to show him that (Alfred was more successful, I'd think). This relates to his self worth because, although he knows he is loveable from his mum, he is slowly learning that he is worth the effort of showing him that love.

And then he dies, presumably before he fully learns that he is worth the effort of love. He would've woken up from the pit hoping, but not fully believing, that him, and his death, was worth grief and retribution from the people that had started to show him love and effort. And then, probably from Ra's and Thalia, he would've had the absolute shock of realising he wasn't. He wasn't worth it.

I also think that anger comes entirely from love. And anger for oneself come's from some sort of self love. His self worth was low after this shock and betrayal from Bruce, and any love or care that he had for himself would have fully transformed into rage on his behalf.

But still, his self worth is completely tied to other people and how they value him. And so he needs to force Bruce to show him how much he actually values him, he needs proof.

And he's got such rage because every ounce of emotion that he's ever felt for himself or any of the people he's cared about, including his (step) mum and Sheila and Dick and Alfred and Bruce (obviously) has been completely transformed. He hates himself because, again, his self worth is tied to others, and he believes he's never been worth the effort of love. But he also loves himself, and has the, almost childish, hope that he's wrong.

And so he goes though with his plan, and it comes to the climax where Bruce has the chance to prove that he's worth more to him than the Joker, than his moral code. And Bruce proves him wrong. He almost kills him, hurts him more than he's ever hurt the joker, and I think his self worth is absolutely shattered after that.

I mean, there it is, theres the proof that he isn't worthy of love. That those he loves / has loved / had said they loved him don't think he's worthy of of them and their love.

So yeah, his rage comes from love. For himself and for Bruce, and Bruce proved to him that his rage was justified because, no, he didn't care.

(Just to be clear I do think that Bruce was way out of line in Under the Red Hood, but I don't think that he never loved Jason. They're both very complicated people who make a lot of mistakes)

[tozettastone]

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm sakura. more specifically dirt and ashes sakura 😌

Regarding the "new FMK ask meme where you send me one character and I answer what they'd be like in bed, what marrying them would be like, and how to kill them" post.

This one might need a little context for at least some of my blog followers. Dirt and Ashes refers to a fanfic I wrote some time ago where the Naruto plot line diverges following the Konoha Crush arc. It focuses on a Jashinist Sakura who follows Hidan around like a cute bloody duckling. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/4012402)

Let's go!

--

Sex with Dirt & Ashes Sakura is probably unsatisfying. She's curious, but it's overhyped and underwhelming to her. There's no orgasm that feels as intense or as gratifying as dying in agony in supplication to a god who loves you. Obviously.

Also, if you do bite this bullet, you really have to be prepared for Hidan to eventually hear about every single thing you do together. Sakura will tell him. Like, they've held each other's intestines, she's been face to face with his limp genitals while she reattaches chunks of his naked body to the rest of it. Her dimly-remembered social conditioning has taken a few hits when it comes to TMI vs Hidan, and he's not squeamish. He'll ask. She'll tell. Just hope he doesn't give you constructive feedback.

--

Marrying D&A Sakura is a bad idea because she's really dedicated to the holy doctrine of suffering. She violated it once, for Sasuke, and vowed not to do that again.

You'd probably have to convert, and that process might kill you if your faith isn't strong enough to carry you. But then, she might kill you if you don't.

Also, again, you are constantly dealing with the intrusion of Hidan into your life. One really does marry a spouse's whole family, I'm afraid.

--

If you want to kill her, you will have to pin her down somehow and starve her until she can no longer produce the chakra to passively recover. It'll take weeks. (This is "canon" to Dirt and Ashes.)

There will be complications. She's probably smarter than you, for one, and if she goes missing for too long you'll get a face full of Hidan for your troubles. Be prepared to kill them both, man.

[graintourette]

classic doctor who: the doctor and the master have some sort of a complicated relationship. they were once friends, now they are rivals. every second writer wants to make them brothers

modern doctor who: soo the nature of their relationship is definitely something more than just ex-friends... they have a certain tension that we love to explore. every writer ships them

doctor who wilderness era: yeah you got it right they fucked. OBVIOUSLY

[kalinara]

So @mythomars posted something recently about wanting to see baby Scott freeze up in front of the team and Xavier react badly to it. I couldn't think of anything that hit that beat off the top of my head, but it did remind me a bit of Deadly Genesis. So I decided to make this post.

Anyway, Deadly Genesis was the story by Ed Brubaker that established the existence of Vulcan, the third (and probably not last) Summers brother.

So in this story, it's revealed that the Krakoan mission that led to the recruitment of the team in Giant-Sized X-Men was a bit more complicated than it initially seemed.

In Giant-Sized, we're told that the entire team was captured on Krakoa, essentially trapped in some kind of suspended animation state. Cyclops was the only one to escape, returning to Xavier for help and then leads the new team to rescue his old team.

Now in Deadly Genesis, we're told it happened a bit differently. In fact, Cyclops hadn't escaped. He was captured like the others, and Xavier had sent a second team of youngsters (this group trained by Moira MacTaggart) as a cavalry. Among them is Gabriel Summers, the long lost third Summers brother.

They manage to extract Cyclops, but then things go very wrong:

So Xavier does a scan with Cerebro and determines that the Original Team (the O5 + Alex and Lorna) are still alive and trapped. But there's no sign of Vulcan and the others. They're dead.

Moira is understandably distraught, but the others still need rescue. Fair enough. But that's when we get this:

I mean, obviously Scott did react very badly to the idea of his new brother dying to save him. He's probably going to need a lot of time and help to deal with yet another traumatic loss on top of, well, his whole life.

But who needs therapy when you have telepathy:

Sorry about your brother, kid. But you're a lot more useful as a team leader than someone with functioning mental health, so we're just going to mind-wipe you clear. Congratulations!

[awakefor48hours]

You ever just think about the fact that being a momma's boy is the reason why Mark can help save the universe from Viltrumite take-over

[dancerfelix]

Talked with my partner about this and have put together some thoughts:

I actually think transphobia and misogyny are more closely interlinked for trans men. Kind of inherently, every instance of misogyny faced by a trans man is also an instance of or the result of transphobia. And generally speaking, the reverse is true as well, most experiences of transphobia are tinged with misogyny. The few that aren't explicitly so tend to be by radfems, and even those I think carry tinges of misogyny. It's genuinely quite hard to find occasions that are explicitly one but not the other for us. I obviously think the systems of transphobia and misogyny do intersect for trans women but it is at the very least easy to imagine her experiencing an instance of not explicitly transphobic misogyny (especially if she passes). Arguably there can be cases of transphobia that arent explicitly misogynistic against her but I'm not really going to die on that hill. It is definitely true that for a trans man, ability to pass may prevent a lot of transphobia, and that will inherently mean less misogyny will be faced. For trans women, once they are acknowledged as such, it seems the rate of misogyny faced is not going to decrease, even as she passes better and potentially faces less transphobia. I do think this is fundamentally important to conversations about trans experiences and social power (ie, why I think it makes sense to use the term transmisogyny to refer to the social forces against trans women specifically) This does however lead into my next point.

I think a lot of theory about trans men (especially by people who are not themselves trans men) implicitly focuses on trans men who do generally pass, who do have access to hormones, who have been out for years, etc. And of course theory needs to include them, and of course there's a form of transphobia to discussing trans men as if they are not men + pretending we as trans people are only ever defined by our AGAB + have exactly the same relationship with our AGAB as a cis person would. But like.. most people who are trans wont ever acknowledge that they are, nevermind publicly coming out as such, nevermind choosing + being able to access hrt (and options to DIY when transmasc are riskier + more limited) + being able to access surgeries (especially phalloplasty which generally is the more cis passing™ bottom surgery, which genuinely very very very few trans men have). It feels like people are intentionally focusing on trans men as an unfluid category of people who are granted privileges from the day we come out, when in reality, its significantly more complicated for the majority of people. You do mention trans people as having quite fluid genders which I think is really important to this conversation, but I think in the case of trans men, it kind of is the meat of the conversation and it is genuinely just not possible to write meaningful theory about us without specifically addressing timelines. I think it is probably still relevant to trans women but it seems (from the outside) a bit easier to skate past the issue and still come away with something meaningful.

In regards to the trans men siding with patriarchy/transmisogyny/terfism... I have two main thoughts. First I'd like to say that absolutely some trans men fully do buy into patriarchy and try to emulate normative + parriarchal gender roles. But it is kind of frustrating to see such an emphasis on this idea of trans men as potential abusers, when trans men and afab nonbinary people do consistently report (on surveys, not to police) having the highest rates of sexual assault and domestic abuse (although trans women are more likely to be specifically murdered or hospitalized by an intimate partner). There's not really data on the rates of trans men abusing other people, but it'd have to be quite high (30%+) to make us more likely to abuse than to be abused. I also think that trans men fall victim to this analytical phenomena where if they and a cis women have a similar issue, the trans man will be labeled evil misogynistic patriarchal man, whereas a cis woman will say pretty much the same thing and not get the same shit. Example, if a cis woman says she struggles to do dishes because it just feels expected of her because shes a woman, anyone with any interest in feminism will understand that she probably is doing a disproportionate amount of housework and probably is still doing the dishes, and even if she's not, its totally valid to struggle with doing them and if she has a cis male partner, she should encourage him to do more dishes. And its valid to feel discomfort with engaging in gendered activities. Some "piss on the poor" people will choose to argue "ummm are you calling me a misogynist for enjoying doing the dishes??" but most vaguely leftists will not object to this (at least not publicly). A trans man says "doing the dishes makes me dysphoric so I dont like doing them" and we all assume he has a girlfriend and he's forcing her to do them and we circlejerk about how much of a misogynist he is for making her do them, even though we have literally no other context (genuinely I know of at least two instances of this specific thing). This then goes into the big book of evidence for how misogynistic trans men are even though it's literally the same emotional experience + dysphoria added on top. So while I absolutely do see the occasional fucked up comment, or fucked up guy, within the trans man community, I think it does feel like online theorists do really overestimate how much this happens. Which gets into my next point, that while I think that most of the analytical frameworks used by online transmascs have issues, it's just genuinely hard to find a framework that is universally good for speaking about our experiences.

(More of a 3.5 really) The main choices we have are a) transfeminism, which is great for discussing the experiences of trans women but none of the Canon really speaks about transmasculinity in depth, and when the theory does speak on my experiences, I find it to be lacking. Which is fine, I think transfeminism has its uses, to some extent I identify as a transfeminist (kind of hesitant to Use That Label™ because I've heard different things on whether or not this is acceptable to do as a non transfem) but it just doesn't really have much for *me* outside of tips for being a better ally to trans women. b) buying into "we are oppressed for our gender", which I would argue is tied in with the more recent liberal feminist (not necessarily derogatory) swap from "sexism"/"sex based discrimination" to "gender based oppression". If we face gendered violence, it is because of our gender, this means men are oppressed (kind of a strawman admittedly). I think to some extent there is interesting stuff here but it's not a super useful framework and to me it just kind of feels like cope. There's sometimes a hesitance to describe things happening to transmascs as misogynistic, both because of a genuine concern around misgendering and because of arguments that "misogyny only affects women". I don't think all transandrophobia believers actually buy into this framework, but I do think enough people do that it's worth talking about. This framework is probably the only one that speaks in any way specifically in regards to the transphobia faced by trans men (vs a which doesn't really address much specific in regards to trans men, in c which is just transphobic). c) terfism (or more commonly, terf adjacent rhetoric). So, gender obviously isnt why we're oppressed. We're not oppressed for being men. We're oppressed for being born afab in a society that seeks to control afab bodies. And uh shit it looks like the only people who consistently speak this way identify as wombyn-born-wombyn and are speaking a lot about the divine feminine or whatever the fuck. Part of this issue is TERFs love coopting and weaponizing legitimate vaguely true things (cis women generally do experience 'female socialization ' and cis men do generally experience 'male socialization' but we should probably not go around calling trans women 'male socialized' and implying theyll never be REAL WOMEN™ because of this). Part of the issue is that yeah, I genuinely just would not be oppressed if I didnt have the reproductive organs that I have. It is just kind of hard to avoid speaking about the way I'm oppressed without kind of misgendering myself sometimes. The guy weirdly staring at my chest is weird about women, and I'll say this and then think like, well I'm not women. But there's not really like, good/commonly used terminology for that. Women, women + femmes, women+, women&, women + nonbinary people, women + people identifying as women, non man, etc all are semi commonly used attempts at inclusive terminology, and none of them include trans men. Sometimes I'll see "gender marginalized people" which is better but still maybe a bit odd, as if I was just a binary trans man, we get back to like, well men aren't oppressed for being men. There's also the part where people generally do (mis)gender our issues, I mean, abortion is always talked about as a womens rights issue, we are implicitly excluded from this conversation if we are not willing to misgender ourselves to speak about our oppression. This then gets to the (actually quite radfem coded) nihilism of "no one respects my identity during these conversations/I can only contribute if I do misgender myself". Of course, this is a toxic impulse and it makes it quite easy to ignore when radfems say noxious shit about us (doesnt excuse it though, especially when radfems say fucked shit about trans women). d) we can of course entirely invent a new framework for speaking on our oppression. Not exactly convenient though lol.

I do think your choice to focus on privilege from transmisogyny as a really interesting (and useful) one. It's very reminiscent of discourses more generally in regards to assimilationism. Do you think it is possible for a trans woman to generally (albeit perhaps not fully) exempt herself from transmisogyny through 'successful' assimilation?

Editing to add: I use 'we' to refer to transgender men but my relationship with the question of whether or not I identify as such is complicated but I have at times somewhat identified as such and still sometimes do. Most accurate way to describe me is nonbinary but I have a hard time fully separating myself from manhood. Also have a gard time fully identifying with it. Lol

[do not use this as justification for sexist bigotry, this is a personal thought relating to the investigation of ideas and not a statement meant to be derisive towards feminist theories.]

disclaimer out of the way, I've been thinking about transmisogyny a lot lately and it's really interesting to consider the nuances of. I think a lot of the objections to transfeminist theory simply come from sexism, but there is one point of potential critique that I think warrants further inquiry. to get at this we have to first clarify something else though.

the distinction of tme/tma might sound like an issue to a lot of transmisogynists, but most of their objections die away as soon as you clarify it's not "never ever experiences transmisogyny" and is perhaps more accurately "trans misogyny exemptable" as this gets at the reality of trans women facing transmisogyny regardless of what we do, there is no way out, we are the intended targets. other people face transmisogyny as a sort of warning, a clarifying statement that "if you are transfeminine we will Other you" and they're able to exempt themselves from this in most situations by clarifying "I am not a trans woman" regardless of the particular form that takes.

not everyone is able to exempt themselves from all gender related bigotry though. you cannot, for example, make this distinction (of not being transfem) to escape intersexism, which is why many intersex repeatedly experience gender based oppression and cannot opt out of it. this is oppression is fundamentally not an result of transmisogyny, it is a result of intersexism.

with that clarification out of the way, I think there is an understandable critique regards the simplification that

"men have power over women" <- correct, easily verifiable, almost everybody agrees. "Black men have power of Black women" <- still correct and non controversial (at least in feminist spaces). then you go to "trans men have power over trans women" and everybody freaks out, yeah? like people start to object to this understanding suddenly, even though we've only changed 1 thing, which we've changed before and nobody found issue with it in those other areas. much of theee objections come transmisogyny, but I don't think it actually tells the whole story to write all of this off as transmisogyny.

I think why we run into an issue with this understanding (again, critique, not refutation) is that trans people's gender is often, perhaps even usually in flux. the statement "men have power over women" is trivially true, and is a statement on gender and misogyny. this comparison can be brought to trans men and trans women, but it's not without nuance, as the most basic information we can get from this is applied to gender, something which is often actively shifting for trans people.

the reason is don't see this as some kind of disproof of transmisogyny or something should be clear though, for two reasons (aside from the obvious statement towards trends rather than specific instances)

1. transmisogyny is fundamentally not the same thing as misogyny at large, and

2. though trans-gender is often shifting, we can use the prior distinction of exemptable and intended targets to largely do away with this problem.

despite the framework of misogyny not applying 1-1 onto trans people (many who identify as trans men have 'correctly' experienced misogyny), we can still see how it is useful to look at the intersection of misogyny and transphobia. While yes, trans men often experience both of these things, it is often not simultaneously like it is for trans women. As trans women transition our closeness to womanhood tends to increase so as our experiences of transphobia increase, so too do our experiences of misogyny- where as the opposite goes for trans men. it's not that one can't be sexist and transphobic to a trans man, they're not transmisogyny exempt in some metaphysical sense, but rather that for trans women our transness and our womanhood have a positive correlation, our transness and our womanhood are inseparable, we cannot denounce one by leaning on the other.

on the contrary, while trans men will still face transphobia and sexism which denies the validity of their transness and treats them with misogyny, as they transition their relationship begins to more closely match that of men, because of course they are men, this leads to them being able to escape transmisogyny not by being part of some magically 100% transmisogyny excluded class, but because they have the ability to meaningfully denounce trans feminity, to put down womanhood and to become "one of the guys", it's conditional, yes, but often the conditions are not to "pass" in the traditional sense but rather to express views aligning with the patriarchy and derision of feminity, i.e, misogyny.

I think we can see this in the popular responses to tme/tma discourse within the trans community: many trans men correctly recognize what is happening and stand in solidarity, transmisogyny is a genuine problem and it makes sense to talk about the intersection between misogyny and transphobia, trans men even experience both at times, so it is a good idea to stand against. Then, some men begin to talk about their experiences with denial of who they are and the misogyny that can come with that. This too is rather sensible, though it doesn't somehow counteract or disprove transmisogyny generally, it can be studied and acknowledge much in the same way we understand cis men are tested with transmisogyny to enforce what others call "toxic masculinity", despite them not being transfeminine. Then we have a third and wildly popular group, who appropriate the struggles of the second group, where co-option occurs by men who buy into or express sexist ideas for the sake of more fully exempting themselves from transmisogyny. Along with this, instead of recognizing the basis for transmisogyny as intersecting gender based oppression, because doing so would show their fleeting relationship to it, they redefine it as being intersection of two metaphysical identities generally, and thus "transandrophobia" is born, posed as being on an equal to transmisogyny, after all, they're both born from intersecting identities are they not?

of course, we know Androphobia is not something which actually exists, nor is Misandry - these arent axis' of oppression, and they largely know this too, but their goal is to obfuscate the ways in which marginalized men still benefit from their manhood. it takes what I think can be a rather genuine expression that trans men experience both transphobia and misogyny, and instead of grappling with the ways they can societally put down others to gain exemption from transmisogyny, the way their relationship to it is transient, they instead cling to it and invent new terms or fall on old bigoted talking points to justify doing so. "transandrophobia" yes, but also "sex based oppression" and "male/female socialization" these terms and rhetoric are regularly used against transfeminists by these trans men who have exempted themselves from transmisogyny, who have sided with patriarchy over their trans sisters, instead allying with the general terf movement at large and often implicitly misgendering themselves in the process.

and just to be clear, not exempting yourself doesn't mean you will experience the brunt of transmisogyny or to the same degree trans women do - you may be called slurs by bigots, may be harassed in given instances, or sometimes worse, but the systemic forces of transmisogyny go far deeper than negative interactions with individuals, and these transmisogynistic forces are again, aimed specifically at trans women. While I want to recognize the ways in which transmisogyny permeates all of society, do not see this and mistake it for support for the idea that everyone experiences it equally and their relationship is only changed by putting down transfemininity, it is and always has been about targeting transfemininity, the reason I clarify exemptable is due to society's constant enforcing of transmisogynistic ideas on everyone, even if the worst persecution is specifically and intentionally reserved for trans women

Lastly I want to say that these ideas are still developing and my understanding of them will likely change with time and discussion. I dont think these ideas are particularly new, they seem to underpin a lot of discussion on these topics, but this is my attempt to bring them from an implicit unspoken agreement into a more firmly expressed position. Doing so is necessarily going to expose flaws and I see that as a good thing, as doing so is required to elevate understanding of these theories to a higher level. Some of these flaws will be with my expression and understanding, and I will work to correct those, but some will likely be with the ideass themselves and it will take time for them to develop. Please read in good faith, thank you.

[wiisagi-maiingan]

I am actually a Native person who has always gone by animal names, both my deadname and every name I've used as a trans person, and I think if you have a Native character who you feel would have a nature name (because of hippy parents or because they're trans or whatever), then you can avoid stereotypes by having ~more than one Native character~

I know, it's a shocking concept, but it's actually pretty easy to avoid contributing to stereotypes in your works when you remember that you are allowed to have more than one character from the same ethnic and/or racial group. Just have a different Native character with a "normal" name. Problem solved. Have fun.

[bearsandbeansart]

I'm just going to make a quick sketch, I said. It's going to be simple and fun and chill, I said, completely forgetting I have no chill.

[musicalsilence]

I've seen people make this claim before, and I have to say that I think you all are fundamentally misunderstanding what an NFT is.

First of all, NFTs have absolutely nothing to do with AI, 0 things in common except that when people started getting mad at AI they decided to start pretending that it was somehow the same thing as NFTs.

Second of all, the problem with NFTs was never that they were useless and ugly. The problem was that they were a foot in the door to expand usage of the blockchain.

I won't get into all the details here, but suffice it to say that crypto nerds tried to make a system that was immune to fraud as a part of their libertarian master plan to get rid of all regulations. However, libertarians are not that smart, and fundamentally misunderstood where fraud was coming from. So instead of making a system that was immune to fraud, they created a system that had *no recourse* to fraud. Once you got scammed, there was no way for you to get un-scammed. No way to give you your money or your NFTs back without *every single user* consenting to a chain wide rollback. And obviously that would never happen.

And so NFTs and crypto became synonymous with a community based around fraud and scamming idiots out of their money. That's the issue with NFTs. Not some vague "technology is bad" sentiment.

Another thing about people being dumb about ai, it's like, hey, maybe we were too hard on nfts? It's the same people complaining, just saying. Idk why we were getting so mad about *checks notes* people selling pictures that were king of ugly

idk i think nfts deserved the hate. it's true that their environmental impact was wildly overstated but they were, like, a scam. whatever you think of chatgpt or midjourney, they are, in fact, functional products that do something. nfts were a ponzi scheme with extra steps

[rystiel]

what’s kinda crazy is that, had filbrick been a better father and raised them in a loving home, the twins probably could’ve actually made a lot of money for the family… stan was never accommodated for while growing up so he never got to demonstrate his smarts (and he is very smart, he taught himself advanced math and shit while building a long-lasting business from scratch, man), and instead he was made to feel more and more worthless, like he had nothing to contribute to the world—the only purpose he was able to find was to always be there for his brother. what was he if he didn’t have a brother to be there for anymore? of course he would eventually lash out over losing ford (and accidentally ruin ford’s project in the process). on the other hand, ford had so much pressure on him that he pushed himself too hard to prove just how smart he was. to prove that he was the best. he needed to hear how smart he was, because what was he if he wasn’t a genius? of course bill’s manipulation worked on him. of course he wanted to make something that could change the world despite the potentially dangerous nature of it, something that would put his name in the history books. his only value was to bring success to his family, and this was how he was going to do it. if stan had been encouraged and supported, he could have used his skills to find success. if ford hadn’t been put under so much pressure, he wouldn’t have needed to turn to a literal demon so he could prove himself. he could’ve focused on the other groundbreaking research he already had in gravity falls. stan probably never would have broken that project in the first place and ford would’ve made it to his dream school, just like filbrick wanted.