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goldfades · 6 months ago

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★ AND YOU SAY I ABANDONED THE SHIP / BUT I WAS GOING DOWN WITH IT / MY WHITE KNUCKLE DYING GRIP / SO HOW MUCH SAD DID YOU THINK I HAD, DID YOU THINK I HAD IN ME? / HOW MUCH TRAGEDY? / JUST HOW LOW DID YOU THINK I'D GO? ─── PB⁵ (part 1/2)

❪ requested -> paige and ex gf!reader that plays on iowa where theres a lot of tension on the court bc they ended on rough terms but u can see that they still care abt each other yet have to prioritize the game // hii could u write for paige x ex gf iowa!reader where they play against each other in the final four and everyone can tell theres sm tension on the court between them bc they ended on rough terms ? they still care abt each other a lot but r forced to put those feelings aside for the sake of the game (but they def had a talk afterwards) - u can make it so that iowa still won or uconn won i think either one would be interesting ! tysm ❫ part two!!!!!!!!!!

─ warnings | ANGSTTTTT!!!!!! mentions of transfers, fighting, paige being a BITCHHHH LIKE so mean (but its for the plot trust), banter at the end, mention of cc and kate martin, jealous!paige

─ ev's notes | tried a new format for the third little part thingy idk if yall like it but lmk (like the iowa game part)

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

JUNE 2022

Y/N L/N ANNOUNCES ENTERS THE TRANSFER PORTAL AFTER ALLEGED DISAGREEMENT OVER PLAYING TIME. In a surprising turn of events, UConn defensive star Y/N L/N has announced her decision to enter the transfer portal.

Despite the official narrative focusing on playing time, insiders report that L/N's decision is rooted in a desire to find a new environment where she can heal and focus on her game without the added stress of her recent breakup with Paige Bueckers, another star player for the Huskies. The emotional toll of the split has reportedly affected her performance and well-being, prompting her to make a fresh start at another school.

UConn’s coaching staff and teammates have expressed their support for L/N, acknowledging the challenges she has faced. "Y/N is an incredible athlete and person," said Coach Geno Auriemma. "We respect her decision and wish her nothing but the best in her future endeavors."

As L/N navigates this difficult period, she remains committed to her basketball career and is looking forward to finding a new team where she can continue to shine both on and off the court. While the specifics of her next move remained uncertain for a short time, it has now been confirmed that she will be transferring to Iowa.

Fans and fellow players have taken to social media to show their support for L/N, emphasizing the importance of mental health and personal well-being in the demanding world of collegiate sports. Iowa's coaching staff has expressed their excitement about welcoming L/N to the team. "We are thrilled to have Y/N join us," said Coach Lisa Bluder. "She brings exceptional talent and experience to our program, and we are committed to supporting her both on and off the court."

As Y/N L/N begins her new journey with the Iowa Hawkeyes, there is no doubt that she will continue to be a formidable presence in collegiate basketball. Her resilience and determination promise to make her time at Iowa just as remarkable as her tenure at UConn.

──

"So you're really doing it?" Paige's expression was unimpressed, bordering disgusted as she pushed herself between you and the door.

You sniffled, glaring at the blonde. "Get out of my way, Paige."

She crossed her arms, standing firm. "So that's it? You're just going to run away? Because of us?"

"It's not about that," you snapped, the weight of your duffel bag making your shoulder ache. "It's about me needing to be okay. And I can't do that here."

Paige's eyes softened for a moment, but she didn't budge. "Y/N, we're a team. You can't just leave us like this. Leave me like this."

You shook your head, frustration boiling over. "This isn't about the team. This is about us, Paige. I can't be around you every day, pretending like everything's fine when it's not. I'm not okay with being on the same team as you, do you get that, Paige?"

Paige's expression flickered with a mix of anger and something else — maybe hurt. "You think Iowa is going to magically fix everything? Running away doesn't solve anything, I promise you that."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "This isn't running away. This is me choosing to put myself first for once. I have to do this."

"What happened to loyalty? As soon as things get hard, you're running away! How does that make sense?" Paige let out a bitter laugh as you bit your lip, trying your best not to blow up. "God, what is wrong with you?"

You couldn't hold it in anymore. "You shouldn't be talking about loyalty, Paige! You left me, remember? We've been through-"

"Don't you dare say it, Y/N." Paige's voice was sharp, but you pressed on, the dam of emotions breaking.

"We've been through so much together, and you just threw it all away! You can't expect me to stay here and pretend like everything's fine when it's not."

Paige's eyes blazed with anger. "Oh, don't turn this around on me! You think you're the only one who got hurt? You think it was easy for me to make that decision? You're such a selfish-"

"Selfish?" you interrupted, your voice rising, ringing throughout the locker room. "I'm selfish for wanting to protect my mental health? I'm selfish for needing to get away from the constant reminder of what we had and lost?"

"You're selfish for abandoning the team! For abandoning me!" Paige shouted, her voice cracking. "Do you have any idea what it's going to be like without you here?"

"You don't get to play the victim," you shot back, tears streaming down your face as you sniffled. "You're the one who ended things. You don't get to decide how I cope with that."

Paige took a step closer, her face contorted with rage. "Fine, go to Iowa. Run away like a little pussy. But don't you dare come back and expect everything to be okay. Don't you dare think you can just waltz back into our lives when it suits you."

"That's not what I'm doing," you retorted, your voice shaking as you averted your gaze. "I need this, Paige. I need to get away from you."

"Then go!" she yelled, her voice echoing in the empty locker room. "But don't expect me to forgive you for this. For leaving when things got tough. For being a pussy."

"Oh, really?" You laughed, anger filling your body. "Fuck you. I thought we could be mature, but apparently we can't."

Paige's eyes flashed with fury. "Mature? You're the one who's bailing when things get hard! That's not mature, that's cowardly."

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your composure. "You think this is easy for me? You think I want to leave? I'm doing this because I have to, not because I want to. I'm trying to survive, Paige!"

"Survive?" she scoffed, stepping closer. "What about me? What about the team? We need you, and you're just walking away."

"I'm not your crutch," you shot back. "You have no right to make me feel guilty for taking care of myself. This isn't just about you, Paige. This is about my sanity, my well-being."

Paige's face twisted with a mix of anger and hurt. "Fine, go ahead and leave. But don't expect me to be here waiting for you when you decide to come back."

"I don't expect anything from you anymore," you replied coldly. "I'm done expecting anything from you."

Paige's expression darkened further, and she took another step closer, her voice lowering to a venomous whisper. "You know what? Maybe it's good you're leaving. No one needs your drama and bullshit. You're not as important as you think you are."

The words stung, cutting deeper than you expected. But Paige wasn't finished. "And let's be real, Y/N, Iowa's not going to "fix" you. You're still going to be the same fucked-up person, running from your problems. Maybe if you weren't so broken, none of this would have happened."

You felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room. Her words were like a knife twisting in your gut. You blinked back tears, feeling your heart shatter into even smaller pieces. "You... you have no idea what I've been through," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "To get here, to prove myself to everyone."

"Clearly, I don't," Paige shot back, her voice full of disdain. "Because if I did, maybe I would've seen what a complete waste of time it was to care about you."

The finality of her words was like a slap in the face. You stood there, stunned, feeling the weight of her anger and your own heartbreak. Without another word, you turned and walked out of the locker room, each step feeling heavier than the last.

As you stepped outside, the cool evening air did little to soothe the burning pain in your chest. Iowa was waiting, but now it felt more like an escape from a nightmare than a fresh start. You knew you could never go back, not after what had been said. The bridge between you and Paige was not just burned — it was incinerated.

Driving away, tears blurred your vision. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead seemed daunting. But one thing was clear: you were done with Paige, done with the hold she had over you. It was time to find a place where you could heal, far away from the person who had just torn your heart apart.

──

NOVEMBER 2022

"Welcome, everyone, to what promises to be an exciting game tonight!" The commentator's voice boomed through the arena. "We have Iowa facing off against Ohio State, and all eyes are on Y/N L/N, the transfer from UConn. Let's see how she gels with her new teammates, especially standout stars Caitlin Clark and Kate Martin."

"Y/N L/N, the former UConn star who made headlines with her controversial transfer, had seamlessly integrated herself into the Iowa lineup. Her defensive prowess, combined with her sharp shooting skills, had brought a new dimension to the team's gameplay."

"And there she is, folks! Y/N L/N, number 89, making her presence felt on both ends of the court. She's been a force to be reckoned with tonight, shutting down opponents left and right while sinking those crucial shots when her team needs them most."

From the moment the game tipped off, Y/N was in her element. She moved with a grace and confidence that captivated the audience, her presence on the court undeniable. Within minutes, it was clear that she had found her rhythm with her new team.

"Clark passes the ball to L/N... she fakes, drives to the basket... and what a beautiful layup! L/N puts Iowa on the board first with an impressive move."

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Y/N's teammates swarmed her, sharing her excitement. Clark gave her an encouraging pat on the back as she jogged back on defense.

"That's the kind of play Iowa fans were hoping to see from L/N," the commentator continued. "She brings a fresh energy and versatility to this team."

As the game progressed, Y/N's synergy with her teammates became even more apparent. She seamlessly integrated into the flow of Iowa’s offense, making smart passes and setting effective screens.

"Clark with the ball now, looking for an opening... she finds L/N at the top of the key. L/N drives, kicks it out to Martin on the wing... and it's a three! Kate Martin nails the shot, and L/N gets the assist."

Kate Martin and Caitlin Clark were all smiles, high-fiving Y/N as they took a moment to savor the play. The three of them were quickly becoming a formidable trio on the court, their chemistry undeniable.

"Y/N L/N is not just playing well—she's thriving," the commentator observed. "Her ability to read the game and make those around her better is exactly what Iowa needed."

In the second half, Y/N continued to shine, her defensive efforts just as impressive as her offensive contributions. She hustled for rebounds, dove for loose balls, and her tenacity was infectious.

"Ohio State struggling to get past L/N's defense... and she steals it! L/N on the fast break now... passes to Clark, who finishes with a perfect layup! What a dynamic duo!"

As the final buzzer sounded, Iowa secured a decisive victory. The scoreboard read 82-67, and Y/N's performance was a significant part of that success.

"And that's the game! Iowa takes the win, and what a debut for Y/N L/N. She finishes with 12 points, 7 assists, and 5 rebounds. An all-around stellar performance."

"And there you have it, folks! A stunning performance from the Iowa Hawkeyes, led by the dynamic trio of L/N, Martin, and Clark. With players like these, the sky's the limit for this team, and the rest of the league better watch out!"

As Y/N waved to the cheering crowd, she couldn't help but smile. This was the fresh start she needed, and it was only the beginning.

──

"Great game tonight, ladies!" The reporter started, a broad smile on her face. "Y/N, this was your debut with Iowa, and you were nothing short of fantastic out there. How does it feel to be part of this team?"

You smiled, your eyes twinkling with a mix of relief and joy. "It feels incredible. The support from the coaching staff, my teammates, and the fans has been amazing. I couldn't have asked for a better start here at Iowa."

Caitlin, sitting to your right, nodded enthusiastically. "Y/N has been a fantastic addition. Her energy and skills have really brought a new dynamic to our team."

Kate Martin chimed in, a playful grin on her face. "Yeah, she fits right in. It's like she's been here all along, like seriously."

The reporter continued, "Y/N, you and Caitlin seemed to have an almost telepathic connection on the court tonight. Can you tell us a bit about how you've built such strong chemistry so quickly?"

You glanced at Caitlin, who gave you an encouraging nod. "Honestly, it's been pretty natural. Cait is such a smart player, and she makes it easy to connect and play off each other. We've been putting in a lot of extra time together, and it's really paying off."

Caitlin added, "Y/N is a hard worker, and her basketball IQ is off the charts. We clicked from day one, and it's only getting better."

Kate, not wanting to be left out, jumped in with a laugh. "Don't forget about me! The three of us have really gelled as a unit. We push each other to be better every day."

You put your arm around the blonde, earning a laugh from her. "Don't worry, Katie we wouldn't leave you out."

The reporter smiled, clearly enjoying the dynamic. "It's great to see such strong teamwork and friendship! What's next for this Iowa team? How are you planning to build on tonight's performance?"

You looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "We're just going to keep working hard, stay focused, and take it one game at a time. Tonight was a great win, but we know there's a lot of work ahead of us."

Caitlin nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. We have high expectations for ourselves, and we know we can achieve great things if we stick together and keep pushing."

Kate leaned in, her expression serious but with a hint of a smile. "We're aiming high. We want to make a deep run this season, and with Y/N on board, we feel like we can compete with anyone."

The interview wrapped up, and as the cameras turned off, the three players shared a group hug, your bond clear for everyone to see.

As they headed back to the locker room, Caitlin threw an arm around your shoulders. "You did great tonight. Welcome to the team, officially."

Kate added, "Yeah, we're glad to have you, Y/N. And this is just the beginning, trust."

──

"The fuck," Paige grumbled as she watched the post-game interview on TV, bitterness clear on her face. Nika and Aubrey exchanged amused glances as they watched Paige, who's eyes were glued on the screens.

Despite the fallout with Paige, you were still close with the rest of the team. You wouldn't let Paige get in between you and your old team, no matter the circumstances.

Paige's gaze finally averted from the screen, looking at the girls. "Does this shit not bother you guys like, not even a little bit?"

"Nah, P." Nika responded as she sighed, leaning back on the couch. "We're proud of her."

Aubrey continued, her tone gentle but firm. "I mean, you guys dated and shit. There's bound to be some bitter feelings, y'know."

Paige scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. "Yeah, well, it still sucks seeing her over there, acting like everything's fine."

Nika gave Paige a sympathetic look. "I get it, Paige. It's hard seeing someone you care about move on, especially after everything you two went through. But she's doing what's best for her. You have to respect that."

Aubrey nodded in agreement. "And honestly, she's killing it over there. Seeing her happy and thriving makes us happy, too. It's not about choosing sides—it's about supporting our friend."

"Did you hear her?" Their words went in one ear and out the other, her gaze turning back to the TV. "Oh Katie! We'd never leave you out. Like shut up," she mocked as Aubrey let out a laugh.

It was obvious she was jealous, it was a rare sight for the usually, confident blonde. Nika and Aubrey exchanged another glance, this time with knowing smiles. They could see right through Paige's facade.

"Wow, Paige, are you actually jealous?" Aubrey teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm not jealous," she protested, though her tone lacked conviction. "I just don't like seeing her act all buddy-buddy with them."

"Sure," Nika said, leaning back and stretching. "It's just because she's happy and thriving without you, right?"

Paige shot her a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "Shut up, Nika."

Aubrey laughed again, patting Paige on the shoulder. "It's okay to admit you miss her, Paige. We all miss her. But she's doing what she needs to do, and we have to respect that."

"I do respect that." Paige interjected, her voice defensive. The three of them quieted down, continuing watching the TV. "I guess she has a thing for blondes," she mumbled under her breathe.

"Come on, Paige!" Nika groaned as Aubrey began to laugh uncontrollably. "Stop encouraging her, Aubrey."

Paige rolled her eyes, a faint smirk playing on her lips despite herself. "What? It's true. First me, now Kate. Seems like she has a type. Blonde, 6ft and hoopers, I mean..."

Aubrey wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. "Oh my god, Paige. You're insane."

Nika shook her head, trying to suppress her own laughter. "First, you are not 6ft. And maybe it's time to focus on your game and let Y/N do her thing. You can't keep dwelling on this."

"Yes, I am! With shoes, I am." Paige sighed, the humor fading from her expression. "And I know. It's just hard, you know? Seeing her so happy without me. Without us."

Aubrey softened, leaning in to give Paige a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll get there. It just takes time. And who knows, maybe this will be a good thing for both of you in the long run."

Paige nodded, her eyes drifting back to the screen where Y/N was still beaming in the post-game interview. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

Nika stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "Alright, enough of this. Let's hit the gym. We have a season to focus on, and we need you at your best, Paige."

Paige took a deep breath, standing up as well. "You're right. Let's go."

Aubrey joined them, a supportive smile on her face. "That's the spirit. And remember, we're here for you, no matter what."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers headcannons #uconn huskies #paige buckets #uconn #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb x reader #wbb smut #wcbb x reader #nika muhl #aubrey griffin #uconnwbb #uconn women’s basketball

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serialadoptersbracket · 7 months ago

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Round 3, Match 17: Eda Clawthorne vs. Sakyo Furuichi

Submitted kids:

Eda Clawthorne: Luz Noceda, King Clawthorne, Hunter, Edric Blight, and debatably, Amity Blight, Willow Park, and Gus Porter

Sakyo Furuichi: Azami Izumida, Banri Settsu, Juza hyodo, Taichi Nanao (these are just the main ones but tbh all Mankai company characters who were under 20 in year 1 count)

Propaganda under the cut!

Eda Clawthorne:

1. “Eda Clawthorne always said she was a terrible influence and took the word “maternal” as an insult. She then proceeded to accidently adopt a sentient demon beast thing, raise him, adopt some human that tripped into her dimension, mentor her, all while being on the run from the tyrannical government. She canonically adopts King in the second season and King and Luz call each other siblings. She also calls them “her kids.” Eda attempts to sacrifice herself for them at many times and tries her best to keep them safe, and is really sad about the fact that they’ll one day leave her to go back to their own families. She puts away her own biases against the school system so that Luz can lead magic. The maternal instincts basically kick her out of nowhere and she goes from a badass, absolute menace to society to badass, absolute menace to society who happens to have two chaos gremlins.”

Link to the rest here!

Sakyo Furuichi:

“his first adopted child was azami, azami was his yakuza boss's kid but the boss was always busy and the mom died when azami was 5 so sakyo at age 23 ish raised azami singlehandedly. he went out of his way to protect azami's dream of becoming a makeup artist when his biological dad disapproved,, like when azami secretly ordered makeup online, sakyo told the boss it was "stuff teenage boys like" which prompted the boss to leave it alone. azami even said he sees sakyo as a dad 🥺

besides azami, sakyo also fusses over his other kids tho he has difficulty being honest abt his feelings. he's v strict abt the company budget (they're all in a theatre company called mankai company btw) but it's be when he joined the company was in crippling debt so he doesn't want them to go through that again and lose their home. he also expressed disappointment that he wasn't the first one to take banri drinking when banri became of age which is so dad behaviour to me <3”

#eda clawthorne #sakyo furuichi #the owl house #a3! act addict actors #toh #a3!#eda the owl lady #edalyn clawthorne #a3 act addict actors #toh edalyn #serial adopters bracket #round 3 #tumblr polls #tumblr tournament

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kairiscorner · 1 year ago

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hello po ate!! (　＾▽＾)

looking out the car window while it was raining made me think abt the request i'm making rn hehe

basically it's a miles x reader where they can't rlly see eachother that often these days bcs of the daily rain so they have to facecall or chat with eachother but one thing is that they're both touch starved for eachother atp (not in the weird way bcs ik some ppl think abt it the other way 😨) and it comes to a point where miles lit swings to reader's place to cuddle the second the news came out that the rain will stop for that day and they have a cuddle session ehehejdveje

(also !! plss take your time on this one cause i feel like ur alr starting school and i don't wanna be a bother 😕)

-sincerely, the 🧋 anon !!

HELLO 🧋 ANON 💖💖💖 wait that's super CUTE, also i got your follow-up message, ty for making it clearly luv (≧▽≦) OK I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS 💖

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

i can't wait any longer. – miles 1610 x reader

it's been a whole week, and you have yet to see your boyfriend face-to-face. it's been pouring rain ceaselessly all over the city, and the weather forecasts say it might not let up anytime soon. though, you and miles stay connected through facetiming and texting all day throughout the week you two have been away from each other, simply communicating doesn't bring the whole feelings you two experience when speaking to each other face-to-face and being around each others' presence.

as you were working at your desk on the homework your teacher assigned, you got a text notification from miles himself. the message was the same as always: him expressing how much he missed you, with the addition of sad, crying kaomojis that just made his longing for you a bit more impactful and... pitiful, in a way; it seriously made you want to drop everything, put on your nearest rain coat, not even bother to don on your pair of boots and just run over to him, even if you'd slip on the way or get sick afterwards. but you knew you couldn't do that, reality had always opposed your desires, especially those desires of yours that you sincerely wished for with all your heart; the universe was truly cruel to the sweetest of hearts.

you were confused as to why he suddenly seemed so hurried to text you, like his thumb was slipping from across the keyboard. before you could decode in your mind what he meant, you heard a light tapping by your bedroom window. you turned your head, and upside down, facing you with wide lenses for eyes, was spider man—your boyfriend, miles morales.

you tried to cover your shock from his sudden arrival, but it was harder to do as miles casually waved at you and pointed down at the lock of your window—gesturing for you to unlock it so he could come in. you knew miles was spider man long ago, and he already admitted it to you a few weeks prior; though he had never come to your place personally as spider man, so just seeing him clad in the black and red accented suit is just... a little jarring, surprising, and fun to you all at once.

"babe!" miles exclaimed as he climbed onto your windowsill and gazed at you. he was sopping wet from the constant rain, and your floors were soaking up the rain drops falling on him, but he didn't care if he was wet or dry, all he cared about right now was just being here with you. you spoke to him a mile a minute, pointing out how wet he was, offering to get him a towel—but you couldn't go anywhere else since miles grabbed your wrist gently and tugged a little on you, practically begging you not to leave him yet, not when he's finally here with you now.

he got off your windowsill and wrapped you in a wet, soaked up hug, murmuring how he missed the warmth of you against him. "i can't believe it's been a week... man, i can't another week without you, it'd be like going a whole week without food, water, or air." he muttered as he held you closer. he pulled away from you and took off his mask, and underneath it, you could see his hair all droopy now from the rain water he soaked up; but his charming, brilliant smile and shining eyes full of love and adoration for you persisted.

you told miles you missed him, it was wonderful seeing him again, but you had to get him a towel to dry him off. you went over to your closet and handed him a clean towel for him to dry himself off. miles got a little embarrassed and nodded. "oh, right, right... sorry, babe, i, um... got a little too excited." he said with a chuckle as he dried his hair. you turned around, not facing him as he dried the rest of himself off; luckily, the hoodie he lent you was still with you, dry and clean. he donned the hoodie on and wrung his suit out from your window, the rain droplets it absorbed rejoining the rain droplets falling down on the roofs and pavements, pattering against windows on buildings left and right.

you made miles a cup of hot cocoa and made one for yourself, too. his had little marshmallows and extra sugar, just the way he liked them. you snuggled up with him as you wrapped a blanket around you two by your shoulders, the two of you getting warmed up by each others' body heat and the fluster you were both experiencing right then and there being in each others' presence after so long. miles chuckled as he looked at the mini marshmallows in his drink. "you remembered how to make my favorite, huh?" he asked you as you blew on your hot cocoa and smiled. "how could i not remember?" you asked him as miles smiled wider and kept chuckling in glee as he sipped on the hot cocoa you made him, with you leaning your head against his shoulder as you two drank up, relishing this moment where you two are just sitting together in comfortable, loving silence—being in each other's company after so, so long; with your free hand on top of his, clutching the back of his hand as miles smiled wider to himself as you held him closely to you, almost as if you were wordlessly telling him, 'i'm glad you came... and i really, really missed you, too'.

tags @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @popeheywardssecretgf @onginlove @meowmoraless

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alittlelela-blog · 6 months ago

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Hello!!! Ok first I wanna say I’m IN LOVE with your writing like omg 😭 I also didn’t see any requesting rules on your page so if this isn’t in your boundaries feel free to ignore!!

I was thinking abt a fic withJoseph punishing a fem/gen neutral reader after they/she rescued a survivor while they/she were going against him in a match? Idk something about has just been plaguing my mind omg 😭

Thank you sm <3 hehe. I’m pretty good with most things, so I don’t mind being asked. I’ll probably post something like my boundaries for witting later??

And of COURSE I will write this 🤭🤭🤭 sounds just like Joseph tbh! Here you go 🤩

My apologies, your majesty. (Joseph x gn!reader)

Warnings: Slapping, that’s it LMAO

It was the middle of a match in Leo’s Memory when you noticed one of your teammates had been chaired. You knew the hunter was Joseph by the cameras you found around the map. He was the only hunter who had cameras. You had talked with him before about what you would do in matches together since you both had taken a liking to each other. He demanded you stay away when he chaired someone.. but your teammate was currently crying for help. You couldn’t let your teammate suffer alone and none of your other teammates were bothering to help them. You decided to leave the cipher you were at and run towards them.

You approached carefully, making sure Joseph wouldn’t see you. He was facing the other way while playing with his rapier. It took a second, but you were able to get to the chair quietly. However, you felt Joseph whack you aside the head almost immediately. You cried out in pain from the impact. You turned towards him and saw a look of betrayal and hurt on his face. You instantly realized your mistake and started to sob.

“I-I’m sorry Joseph!” You cried out apologetically. You held your hands to your head as you were now terror shocked. Joseph looked at you with worry and sadness.

“What did I tell you?” Joseph questioned with hurt laced in his tone. He reached over to grab you by your arm. He then lead you over to a secluded area of the map where he draped you over a crate, completely ignoring your teammate that was still chaired.

“I-I’m sorry.. I wanted to save them.. th-they were crying for help…” You tried to explain in between sobs. You heard Joseph put his rapier away and sigh.

“This is why I told you not to save them. I hurt you because I didn’t know it was you.” He retorted with a sigh. He reached over to brush your hair out of your face.

“I’m so sorry.. I went against your word.. I’ll take any punishment you give me..” You offered as you began to tug on his shirt.

“I had already planned on punishing you.” He draped you over the crate again. Almost immediately he landed a slap against your ass. You squeaked in surprise.

“I-I thought you didn’t want to hurt me..” You muttered out. Joseph landed another slap against your ass. Another squeak left your lips.

“With my rapier. It’s highly dangerous if I hit you with that. You’re lucky I hit you with the back of it.” He retorted with a grunt. He landed another slap to your ass. You clenched your fists at the pain.

“That’s.. fair. A-Are you gonna keep slapping me?” You questioned while turning your head to look back at him. He immediately hit your ass two times in a row. You whined at the pain of the slap. “I guess that’s a yes..” You muttered out with a soft whine.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson now?” Joseph questioned as he roughly squeezed one of your asscheeks. You whined from the pain of his nails digging into your asscheek.

“Yes! Definitely! So sorry, Joseph… it won’t happen again.” You pleaded desperately while squirming on the crate. Joseph rolled his eyes at your squirming and placed another hard slap to your ass again. You yelped out in pain.

“Alright.” He said with a sigh. He then gently rubbed your asscheeks with his hand to help ease your pain. “I’ll trust you, for now. Don’t get in the way again, do you understand?” Joseph declared while staring down at you. You slowly slipped down onto the floor and looked up at him with a deep blush on your cheeks. You nodded your head as your eyes were full with tears. “Don’t cry now, dear. I forgive you.” He reassured as he crouched down to pull you into a hug. You gently hugged him back and rubbed your face against his neck.

“I won’t do it again.. I love you, Joseph, and I don’t want to upset you.” You reassured in a soft tone.

“Love you too, dear.” Joseph smiled softly and gently rubbed your back in a soothing manner. Neither of you seemed to care at this moment about the game you were currently in. The sound of the sirens going off didn’t cause either of you to flinch. Your focus remained on each other.

You pulled away from the hug to then press a gentle kiss to Joseph’s lips. He kissed you back almost instantly. You stayed with your lips together for a moment before pulling back to look into each other’s eyes.

“Trying to distract me from the game with a kiss?” Joseph questioned playfully with a soft smirk on his face. Your face went red at his accusation.

“N-no, no! I just wanted to remind you how much I loved you..” You defended shyly while shaking your head and waving your hands at him. You became slightly flustered and averted your gaze from him. He chuckled at your reaction and gently caressed your cheek. You felt your cheeks redden more at the feeling of his hand on them.

“I’m teasing, my love.” Joseph reassure while pulling you closer to him. He smiled wide at you, feeling the spark between you two. “Aren’t you going to go with your teammates?” He questioned while playing with your hair between his fingers.

“Well… I was thinking..” You fiddled with your fingers while looking down at the ground. “That I would be nice enough to surrender to you.” You spoke shyly. Joseph widened his eyes.

“Really? My dear, you don’t have to do such a thing..” He reassured while gently caressing your cheek again. You looked up into his eyes as you spoke again.

“I-It’s only fair.. although you punished me.. I feel like it is the right thing to do..” You explained with a soft blush. “Plus, it means we both get a tie.. so we both win.” You reason with a confident expression. Joseph carefully listened to your reasoning and sighed.

“Alright. I’ll let you do it this time.” He agreed while gently poking your nose. You giggled softly at his gesture. You then took a step away from him and bowed.

“I hereby surrender to you, your majesty.” You said with a big smile, obviously putting on a show. Joseph chuckled as he watched you.

“I guess that means I’ll take you to my room.” He declared while walking towards you. You stood up straight and started to giggle at his proposal until he suddenly picked you up by your waist to throw you over his shoulder. You squeaked in surprise.

“Joseph! Put me down!~” You giggled as you began to writhe around in his hold. He kept you steady as he began walking to the gate.

“Hush now dear, or I’ll give you some more spankings.” He declared with a smirk. You didn’t listen and continued to squirm. He stayed true to his word and landed a slap against your ass. You immediately laid still.

“Alright.. just don’t drop me!” You declared at him. He merely chuckled.

“I promise, my dear. You’re safe with me.”

#idv #identity v #identity v x reader #idv photographer #idv joseph

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alphaketoglutaricacid · 5 months ago

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man im glad kabru put his sword down n acknowledged hes no good w monsters. He hurt himself so much trying to be a person hes not… dying over n over again… becoming so good at killing people in the service of that goal n it gets him no closer to it… and i dont think dungeon life is actually what he wants either… he had such a miserable time but i feel the people he met…was the journey. Maybe. I think theres something moving about him venturing out n meeting ppl from all walks of life.

And a life of many more…and i may be about to do a horrific misreading but i always thought part of the reason kabru got namari n toshiro to go w him instead of his own party was trying to keep em outta harms way esp rin. But in turn he cut himself off of his closest connections while interacting w ppl who bring up really bitter memories for him. Man kabru n rins relationship… they dont love each other in the same way but u can tell theyre always thinking of each other. Like interacting w the canaries is hard for him. But also on another level he may have taken them bc they do in fact live up to his idealized version of ppl who can effortlessly slay monsters n its something he knows he lacks. But idk if being good at slayin monsters particularly helped in the end of that situation tho it was good to have a few ppl good at it on retainer. Kinda bummed they cut out of a lot of kabrus interactions w namari and shuro bc i do find them interesting in the short moments they interact. Thats the b team (w mithrun acting as the antag of it so he flits in and out)

Like kabru has a moment of vulnerability in telling his own story to them honestly. It was hard for him. And if they cut out namaris genuine moment of unconditional kindness when she reaches out for kabru while everyones trampling over each other and hes having a ptsd moment ill be at their doors. I think it was a pretty vital moment in reminding him why he feels so strongly abt autonomy. I feel kabru very rarely gets acknowledged for his kindness often no string attached. N ppl are much quicker to note hes manipulative n a charmer but i think some of these moments he just likes listening to ppl some of whom have never been listened to in their lives…. Its sad how much kabrus willing to accommodate others n give em grace n yet he wont give it to himself : ( But also that those two were genuinely moved by his moment of vulnerability and even tho theyre mainly there for their frat bro allegiance towards laios where theyre like idc if he did that #freemyman, i do think what pushed them over the threshold is thinking about what he said about the elves trampling everyone and how they trampled over this delicate infrastructure ppl built for their livelihood . I like to think their lil turn everyone against the canaries was them pouring one out for him. Carry his dream on a little bit longer bc they dunno if he survived. I found it like aw. That all his like kabrus been trying to carry a mountain on his back, trying so hard to be a manipulative charming person to that end, but he can move ppl just as he is. By being open n vulnerable .

the last survivor of utaya… but is just surviving enough? Think its good he makes a new home in melani so that he can move onto the next part of his life while keeping every place hes ever been close. A dungeon that wiped out all life. A dungeon that created a new one

#dungeon meshi spoilers

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blossomwritesthings · 2 months ago

Text

𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩

⬷ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ┊ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬┊ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

pairing: minho x felix (minlix)

genre: dancer!minho/artist!felix. brothers best friend troupe. college au. age gap (abt 4 years). minho pov. extremely dark themes throughout, including smut - MDNI, 18+ only.

word count: 2.7k

the playlist 🗡️

a/n: what can I say, you guys??? I'm nothing if not an absolute WHORE for angst. I really be putting the boys through the RINGER with this one, just I can assure ya'll- there is a light at the end of the tunnel… eventually 😭☝🏼 just please, pleaseeee be patient with me, cuz we gotta get through the difficult and dark stuff before we can have soft fluffiness and smut 😫 love ya guys, thanks for all the supports always!! 💖

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). do not copy, spin-off, or write inspired work based off of this fanfic without full permission to do so. ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

̶﹒⊹﹒ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅɪᴇ ！،، 🌌 𖥻 𓂃 ᴀ ғɪsᴛ ғᴜʟʟ ᴏғ ᴘɪʟʟs ᴀɴᴅ ʀɪᴠᴇʀs ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs╰╮ 🌑

After their night studying together at Minho’s dorm, there was complete radio silence from Felix. And the one time Minho had texted him to wish him good luck on his midterms, he had been left on delivered.

Minho knew he was doing okay, though - from the things Chris said in passing and the rumors he heard throughout campus… about Felix’s weekend parties and continuing to make out in public with random people.

Before he knew it, weeks had passed since the last time Minho saw Felix. And each night, when he laid down to sleep, each time he closed his eyes… he saw Felix right there. In the front of his mind - back pressed against the wall of his dorm, staring up at him with a mix of burning anger and agony. And every time he envisioned Felix in his dreams, he had to bite his tongue to hold back the tears.

Chris and his other friends didn’t understand why he was in such a bad mood, but they tried to cheer him up as much as they could… by eating their meals together and hanging out around campus to study.

His friends were the reason why Minho found himself in the thick of a crowd in a nightclub one weekend. He usually didn’t go out into the city late at night, opting instead to play video games at home or read a good book, or even cook a meal for everyone.

But instead, there he was- standing in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by writhing bodies. Couples were bumping and grinding to the music that blared all around the expansive room. The bass thrummed in the floor, vibrating against Minho’s heels and up into his legs. Hyunjin was the one who had invited him and Chris to the nightclub, stating that it was the best one in the city and fairly new. On top of that, Changbin was DJing a set for the night, so Minho decided to go out just once to support his friend.

So far, he had drunk two rum-and-cokes and could feel the buzz of liquor shooting through his veins. As he shuffled off of the dance floor, stumbling over people's feet, he searched the crowd for the rest of his friends. Changbin was busy up at the DJ booth, head bopping to the rap beat he was remixing with a famous pop song. Chris was right before the booth, in the throng of the crowd that was head-banging to the song. Hyunjin, meanwhile, was in the center of the dance floor, doing a sensual dance with a beautiful woman.

Immediately, Minho could feel the heavy weight of exhaustion and sadness tumble down onto his shoulders once more. Just seeing his friends - and everyone else - have a good time was making him even more depressed. So Minho made his way over the bar, sitting on one of the stools and ordering a tall bloody mary. As he sipped on the sour liquor, his eyes continued to survey the crowd.

He was extremely dressed down from the rest of everyone— opting for a pair of black jeans and a matching button-down that Hyunjin had convinced him to unbutton by just a tiny bit so that his chiseled pecs were visible only slightly. Minho studied the people all around him, who were mostly college students. People were making out at the bar, groups of guys were in the corners of the room, their laughs growing louder with each shot they took and then there were the people alone—

For a second, everything stopped. The room froze in place, the music died down, and everything came to a screeching halt. Slowly, Minho’s eyes slid over to the end of the bar, where a cluster of circled tables were positioned in a corner.

There, two figures were sitting on one of the cushioned plushes. One was an older man, whom Minho had never seen around town before - he looked to be in his late thirties, with a beard and dark hair, and eyes that seemed to pierce right into a person’s soul.

And next to him was…

Lee Felix.

But, as Minho looked a little closer, squinting for a better view, it wasn’t Felix.

Not the one he was used to, at least.

No— this Felix was finding it hard to keep his eyes open. This Felix’s delicate shoulders were beginning to cave in with exhaustion. This Felix’s cheeks were as pink as a rosebud, his lips just as red and a little swollen.

His blonde hair was a mess of curls atop his head, having grown out a little bit since the last time Minho saw him weeks ago and now touching the nape of his neck. As usual, his skin was dripping with silver jewelry and diamonds. Minho couldn’t make out his entire outfit from such a far distance, but he caught a glimpse of the red, glittery tube-top Felix had on and that was enough to make his throat dry up.

Minho took a long drawl of his drink, watching over the salted rim of his cup as the older man cozied up to Felix’s side and grew a little closer. He whispered something into the blonde’s ear, and Felix turned to him with a tiny frown. Then, the stranger was taking hold of his jaw, pressing a few kisses against the exposed skin of his neck and collarbone.

Minho held onto his glass a little harder at the sight of it all, the chilled feeling of his drink radiating throughout his palm and waking him up from his liquor-induced daze by just a tiny bit.

Deep down, in the back of his mind, he knew something wasn’t right.

There was something… off, about the vision of Felix like that. Of how he was acting. How he was letting such an older stranger fondle him so obscenely. It wasn’t normal for him - even despite him being a big one to party and fuck around with people.

Minho waited and watched, eyes flicking back between the two of them. As the minutes ticked by, the man grew closer and Felix seemed to grow more exhausted. And then, things were happening again.

Too quickly and too soon—

The man was standing up from his spot on the couch and grabbing ahold of Felix’s arm, hoisting him up, and pulling him out of the booth. He grabbed ahold of his hands, smirking as Felix started to hit his arm in protest. But he was too weak, and a lot smaller than the stranger. In an instant, the man was yanking him away from the bar entirely and into the crowd of people, and the last thing Minho saw was Felix hitting at the man's chest, struggling to pull away with his halted movements.

Just like that, Minho was losing sight of them. Heart beating wildly against his ribcage, he shot up from his barstool and slapped a tip down onto the countertop. Then, he was shooting through the bodies on the dance floor, searching for Hyunjun. By the grace of all things holy, he was able to find his friend in the crowd.

Reaching out, he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, shaking him out of his trance. “Hyunjin, I gotta go— something’s happened. Let the others know!” He screamed over the music, motioning with a hand to the exit.

It was much too loud for Hyunjin to hear, and he was probably too drunk to process Minho’s words. Even still, he nodded and held a big thumbs up. Minho didn’t wait for him to reply verbally, pushing through the shivering and gyrating bodies.

He was taking too long— Felix was probably gone already.

Gone with that man and—

His anxiety and worry forced his legs to push harder, faster, until he was busting out of the nightclub’s front entrance. Eyes scanning the streets all around, he didn’t see anything.

He couldn’t find them.

Felix was gone.

But Minho didn’t give up, running down the street… eyes scanning every surface around.

Then, his eyes landed on a blonde head. One that was being led away on the opposite street by a taller man. They had gotten so far from the nightclub, that Minho had to sprint to catch up.

It was so late into the night, that darkness had settled in all around. The alleyways of the area called out to Minho in a foreboding kind of way. The nearby streetlamps did little to brighten up the surroundings, and by the time Minho made it close enough to call out to them, he was so out of breath he could barely talk.

“Hey- Lix!” He yelled out, as he reached their figures.

But the man didn’t stop, continuing to drag Felix with him. His hoodie was up now, and he had a strong grip on Felix. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Minho’s alcohol-addled brain was moving a little too slow to process everything, but he knew the basics of what was going on and what he had to do.

So without any more formalities, he walked up behind them and grabbed ahold of Felix’s other arm, forcing them to a stop. The man turned around, giving Minho a dark glare. “And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Minho started, getting a firm grasp of Felix’s forearm and pulling him a little closer to his body.

But the man didn’t let go, instead giving Minho a sly kind of smile. “Back to my place— we’re dating. So let go of my lover and I won’t call the police on you.” The man said, his voice coming out gravelly and deep.

Raising an eyebrow in question, Minho stared down at Felix, catching onto the way his eyes were nearly rolled into the back of his skull. He was so limp, he could barely hold himself up. Minho’s hand crawled down his arm, his fingers entangling with Felix’s chilled ones.

“He’s much too drunk for you to take him anywhere. So let go of him and I’ll make sure he actually gets home.” Minho seethed out, the rage boiling deep inside of him at the sight of Felix so weak.

He had been drugged, that much Minho knew.

Drugged by the man in front of him.

“And who the fuck are you, to tell me what to do?” The guy was yelling now, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping Felix’s arm.

“I’m his friend. Now let him go,” Minho said, giving the man a poisonous, deadpan stare. “And maybe I won’t report you for drugging him.” Which was a complete lie, but at that point, he was scrambling for anything.

And just when the man was about to open his stupid mouth to say something else, people were shouting down the street, across the way from them. Turning only slightly, but still keeping an eye on the man in front of him, he saw three figures trudging down the street.

He recognized the first one, with silver-fox locks.

The people in question were Felix’s friends.

Thank fuck, he wasn’t the only one around now.

Almost instantly, upon seeing the three men stride up to their sides, the man was yanking his hand away from Felix’s skin as if it had burned him. Then he turned around and made a run for it.

“Fucking coward! I'm still gonna report you, fuckface!” Minho screamed in his wake, watching the stranger bolt down an alleyway and quickly get lost in the misty night. Felix’s friends were growing closer now, and Minho’s head pounded with a mix of liquor and adrenaline that still rushed through his veins.

Felix felt light as a feather in his arms, as Minho grabbed ahold of him. Wrapping his arms around his waist, Minho pulled him close. “Felix… can you hear me?” He whispered, brushing a few fingers against his cheek. He was so warm to the touch, his lips slightly parted and eyes completely closed. “It’s going to be okay… please, just hold on a little longer, baby…”

“Who was that?” Jisung was the first one to talk as they neared Minho, taking a long drawl from his joint.

“Probably some weirdo that wanted to fuck Felix- what’s new-“ Seungmin joked, his tone light.

The carelessness of Felix’s friends made Minho’s blood boil. And when he turned around to face them, and they saw the state of their friend, all of their casual expressions dropped instantly.

“What the fuck were you all doing?! Leaving him alone in there-” Minho screamed, pointing back towards the nightclub with its loud music bleeding out of the front entrance. “He was drugged and he would’ve been taken by that man if Ihadn’t stopped him!”

The first one to speak up was Jeongin, nearing them and brushing a hand against the top of Felix’s head. “Is he okay?” His voice trailed off, as his eyes searched Felix’s face.

“I don’t know, but I need to get him home. So one of you useless fucks need to call a cab.” Minho gritted through his teeth, pulling Felix away from Jeongin’s touch. Then he was hoisting him up into his arms, bridal style. Keeping him as close as humanly possible.

Jisung frowned at the insult, shaking a finger at Minho. “Hey! Don’t get mad at us— we didn’t know where he had gone, that's why we came out here looking for him,” He started, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Plus, he’s a manwhore anyways— he loves getting fucked by strangers. Ask anyone on campus.”

Minho watched, as Seungmin pulled out his phone and began to call a cab. “You’re the worst friends, you know that?” Minho said, voice low as gravel. He looked around the small group, at the way Jisung continued to smoke his weed right there while his friend was drugged, at the way Seungmin was typing away on his phone without a care in the world. The only one who seemed mildly concerned was Jeongin, with his knit brows and a deep frown. “I can’t believe he got mixed up with you. You all suck and I’ll get my own taxi so don’t even fucking worry about it.”

And then, like a random chance of luck, a taxi pulled up to the curb right outside of the nightclub. A group of girls in short skirts and stripper heels tumbled out of the car, giggling and smiling as they made their way into the club. Stepping onto the curb, Minho waved down the taxi.

Only after he had carefully seated Felix down in the backseat did he turn around and regard Felix’s friends. “I really hope this situation teaches Felix who his true friends are,” Minho said, glaring at the three of them.

Shrugging only a little bit, Seungmin stared up from his phone and gave Felix a sardonic kind of laugh. “Your hatred for us is kinda entertaining, not gonna lie,” then he was showing his phone to Jisung beside him, scrolling through something. “Ji— look, there’s a bigger club just down the road, let’s go check it out.”

Without another word, Minho was sliding into the backseat right beside Felix. Just as he was about to slam the door, a hand caught ahold of the frame. Jeongin leaned into the car, eyes scanning over Felix’s limp body which was slumped against Minho. “Let me know when you get home. Here’s my number.” He pushed a piece of paper into Minho’s hand.

Staring down at it, Minho crumpled the thing between his fingers. “I don’t want any kinda contact with you.”

“Do it for Felix, then. Please.”

Then Minho’s eyes were flicking up to Jeongin’s and he noticed the way his face was colored with desperation, the way his mouth was pulled into a thin line and his eyes danced with concern.

So all Minho did was nod silently before Jeongin pulled away and shut the door with a quiet click.

Minho reached out after that, as the taxi began to move. He gently grabbed ahold of Felix’s hand and squeezed it. The blonde was fast asleep against his shoulder.

And it took everything in Minho’s power not to start crying just then. At seeing Felix’s weakened state, his mind replayed the scenes of the night. How Felix was almost taken away. How he could’ve been kidnapped and raped by a stranger. Or, even worse.

Leaning his head against the seat, he stared out the car’s window. Studied Seoul’s dark streets, and the blaring lights all around. He squeezed Felix’s fingers a little bit just then, feeling like he never wanted to let go.

Making a promise to himself that he never would.

Not again.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

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aromanticautiesworld · 9 months ago

Note

I CAME BACK FOR MORE 😭

Finn and Fern x GN!Reader headcanons where the reader is a thief/robber and eventually they learn more about them and develop a crush on them (Could it be separate for each, same scenario but different brother if you get what im saying)

Finn could be like an enemies to lovers type of eal with finn thinking the reader is a little cute from the get go and feeling conflicted with hair feelings due to the reader's being a thief, eventually becoming friends and seeing different side of the reader (yk?? i feel like im yapping and not making sense 💀)

While for fern, the reader just feels bad for him because he can't do as well as being a hero and becomes friends with him, farm keeps it a secret from finn and they eventually become friends and see a different side (yappayapayappa) :)

Give em a cute hobby like a baking or crochet

SORRY IF THIS DOENST MAKE SENSE

AWH this feels like the plot of an ep of adventure time ……

////

finn + fern/thief gn reader hcs

FINN

at firstyou guys do not like each other at all (ofc)

he gets in your way all the time. he gets calls about you from people across Ooo complaining about their missing stuff

(even ice king )

Finn is a good hero though. so he ignores that you’re kinda pretty

(he thinks he might have a type of crush at this point (people who could probably kill him if they wanted to))

so one day (abt a month into your spree)

you decide to steal from Finn’s house (not knowing that it was the fucking Guy who’d been stopping you this whole time)

and you almost get away with it (stealing his hat. it was his hat you chose to steal). almost

“YOU!! YOU’RE the one that’s been stealing from all those peeps!!”

you run escape him (again) but he stops you in front of the door.

“Put it back.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Put it back.”

“Nuh uh.”

you reach an impasse.

now at YOUR end, you reeeeally dont want to admit it but this guy is a little cute (a little. you refuse to go further) with the hair he has happening.

you do eventually put it back, faced with the prospect of staying in here any longer. glob

against any of your better judgement, you decide to stay

and investigate this weird guy

and against his better judgement, he lets you stay

now you’re both at this weird little hangout

(with your enemy)

and you tell him about you

for one, you steal for the rush. and out of habit

and for two, you crochet (this is probably why you steal so much yarn)

Finn traces his finger in circles on the ground.

“d’you think you could teach me how to crochet?”

“Pshh. You’re telling me you believed all that?”

“You were lying?”

“Nono, that was the truth. im jus’ messing with you.”

“Ok…”

“Seriously!”

“Ok!”

you smile at him.

“y’wanna meet tomorrow?”

he brushes a piece of his hair out of his face. “yeah.”

as for general hcs, i think you would start stealing things just to meet up with him

like you would think in all your time thieving you would have at least one phone

but no

you don’t enter through the door either

you will just break in. sometimes in the dead of night

Finn would dedicate himself to learning how to crochet (I wonder why. it couldn’t possibly be to impress someone)

FERN

so you first meet fern when he decides to answer the banana guard’s call and oh boy

this guy

he is not doing well at Heroing

like imagine a baby kitten. now imagine it sad

And you realize, wait a minute

This thing might not be worth it

so you check in on this poor guy. in the middle of your getaway

“dude, are you okay?”

his leg was stuck in a crack in the ground

“don’t pity me!!”

“I’m not! Just let me help you—”

“Well I’m supposed to be a hero. I shouldn’t get help from thieves.”

(he’s more telling that to himself than to you.)

You help him out anyways, of course.

He brings out his sword to your neck, you sigh and roll your eyes.

“Fine..”

You give him back what you stole

The sword is still there

You dump out all of the other objects you stole out of your bag

The sword is still there

You sigh again, taking off your shoes and gloves and shaking out the other other objects you stole.

He begins to collect them into his own bag, before asking you,

“Did I do good?”

“What?”

“Was I a good hero?”

“Oh, um. Well, anyone else (because I am extremely brave and unafraid) would probably be squealing out of fear so, yeah.”

He crosses his arms, looking down to the side.

“I don’t want people to be afraid of me…”

You step back, observing him.

“Why d’you even want to be a hero so badly?”

“Because—because….because I’m supposed to be.”

Your expression softens.

“How about I be a bad influence on you, and you take a break from heroing for a bit?”

“How?”

“Y’ever learn how to crochet?”

#sorry if this is more like story bullet points than head canons…i like writing them thws way #mariner talks #adventure time x reader #finn the human #finn x reader #adventure time #mariner writes #IT MAKES SENSE ITSOK ..#fern the human #fern x reader

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sso-montana · 8 months ago

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Catherine lives! AU

Ok so I finally got around to write this thing so here you all go, more under the cut bc it kinda got long

Also if you want me to make a post specifically abt how Catherine being alive would impact the general story tell me and I'll make one for that, too ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Catherine always knew Montana was like her, even when she was little. At first she was hesitant to let Justin play and spend time with her but after seeing how good they got along and remembering how she never really had friends she decided to let them be.

Fast forward to Montana coming back to Jorvik and Catherine's motherly instincts I immediately kick in. Yes, she hasn't seen this girl in almost 8 years and she's grown up and changed so much. The Montana before her is so quiet and almost desperately tries to She's reminded so much of her younger self, of how lost and alone she felt and decides that she won't let this happen to another girl. Once Montana realizes she posses magic abilities and starts training with Ydris and a WIP oc of mine (it's a bit messy right now kay?) Catherine sits her down and tells her about how they're the same. Obviously Montana asks her for help and guidance, which Catherine immediately shuts down. Montanas initial reaction of anger and confusion leaves after Catherine explains that she no longer associates herself with magic, hasn't used it in years and never was that good at it. What Catherine can do though is make Montana aware of the dangers of magic, to tell her about her own mistakes, the Keepers and the Sisterhood.

And there are times when Catherine is almost scared of Montana. Because Montana isn't like her, isn't afraid to loose control. She's so full of anger and frustration and sadness right after loosing her parents and that paired with uncontrolled power is a dangerous combination. Montana isn't hurting others on accident but rather manages to keep injuring herself while learning. There are so many times she comes back to the stables and Justin and Montana sit in the saddle chamber putting creams on her arms and wrapping bandages around her hands because she burnt or cut herself. She's stubborn and impulsive and acts without thinking things through and clearly struggles with magic.

And yet she makes up for it with her sheer determination to learn, to master this power which allows her to protect what's left and Catherine can't help but be amazed at this young girl. They're the same and yet so completely different.

Of course as soon as Justin starts to get more involved with all the magic stuff Catherine is worried about him. It's not like she wasn't worried about Montana to begin with, but Justin is her son, her baby. It's the first time the two of them ever had a big argument since Justin never really fought with his mom. Even after they talk it out she's not happy with him joining Montana on trips. But after seeing his determination and desire to protect Mo, to be able to return the favor because she always protects them and he desperately wants to keep her safe, to make her understand she's not alone and doesn't have to do everything by herself, even if at times it scares him, Catherine gives in. At least she has the comfort of knowing they're looking out for each other.

Catherine isn't unfriendly to the soul riders either, quite the opposite. It would be easy to be angry at them, to hold grudges and not want a single thing to do with it, but that's not like her. Catherine isn't a hateful person. She wouldn't be angry at kids for something that their predecessors did. Elizabeth and Avalon are a different story of course, but the girls never did anything bad, she doesn't hold any grudges against them specifically. They're just kids, kids who have way too many things that they have to shoulder than anyone that age should. Those girls aren't even in their 20s and are being told the fate of Jorvik and perhaps the whole world is depending on them. That's fucked up, like, severely fucked up.

So Catherine always tells them that no matter what, they can always come to Moorland Stables. Even if she can't do much in regard to guiding them on their Soul Rider journey, she can make sure there is a place for them where they're safe.

It does hurt to see that just like her Montana feels like she doesn't fit in, doesn't belong with them. To see that cycle repeat itself. Yet Montana doesn't seem to be as bothered by it as she had been, which isn't exactly better if you hear the 'I wasn't really able to make friends after we left Jorvik, so it's nothing new' explanation.

I do think she would stay away from Valedale and the Keepers and Elizabeth as far as she can. The only time I can see her showing up again is after Justin got imprisoned and for the first time in her life Catherine is full on willing to throw hands with someone. (She doesn't. She doesn't stop Montana from doing it for her either.)

TL;DR

Catherine is basically treating Montana as her own daughter and being a great at it. She doesn't hold grudges against the current Soul Riders bc they're just kids. The Keepers can go fuck themselves she ain't dealing with them. When are Montana and Justin getting married she'd love to have her as her daughter in law

#sso #ssoblr #star stable online #Catherine lives! AU #I actually really like this AU it's becoming one of my favorites lol #if you have more specific question feel free to ask them!!!#I love getting to info dump (￣▽￣)#kali talks lore

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trx34ksh · 1 year ago

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Guys I just saw a really sad TikTok edit of Ed so I just gotta put my two sense in.

ED WAS SUICIDAL AFTER STEDE LEFT HIM!!!! THIS IS SO HEARTBREAKING AND I DONT SEE PEOPLE TALKING ABT IT ENOUGH!!!!!

Ed tells stede in the scene where they first kiss back in ssn 1 that he doesn’t want to return to his old life of killing and hurting people just to live. As a pirate he is always on the run, always going, never slowing down; except for his time with stede. Being with stede opened his eyes to a new way of life, not just peaceful but joyful!! Ed wants this new way of life specifically with stede.

Stede leaving Ed drove him to go back to his old, harmful life because he had nothing else to fall back on. Something so devastating as the love of your life leaving you unexpectedly would always drive someone to go mad. Ed is the farthest of exceptions. He goes back and turns it to 11. He cuts off Izzy’s toe and feeds it to him, then later on making Izzy loose his left leg. He pits the crew against eachother till he finds the people on top and kicks out the rest to die on a small island. He is so mentally unstable that he turns to abusing not only drugs and alcohol but the crew aswell. It’s no wonder it’s taken up to 5 episodes for many of the characters to now start healing from the trauma Ed (and by effect, stede) had put on them!!!

When everything goes belly up, Ed is fully ready for any of the crew to finally put him out of his misery. He doesn’t know anything else. He wants the final grand escape: death. The only thing that saves him while in the “gravy boat” is the fact that Ed thinks he is unlovable. He wants that to change because stede showed him at one time that he is lovable!!! That he is able to love and be loved and be truly happy! The first thing that comes to mind of the pros and cons to living is warmth. Stede has an open fireplace on his ship, the “we need to be a lighthouse” bit where stede spits alcohol twords a fire, when ed talks about opening that shop with stede during their adventure out from the ship they talk over a campfire. Warmth grounds him! He finds a home in it.

Without warmth (or rather, stede) Ed has no home! No stability! Nothing to ground him to who he was when he was with stede; someone happy and lively rather than the cold and brooding Ed we see after stede leaves.

TLDR: Ed’s suicidal tendencies is so poignant and it should be talked abt more. His heartbroken era is so so so important to his character and his relationship with stede and why they need each other.

Also sorry for any typos this was all just sprung from my brain in one go. ^_^

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laf-outloud · 2 years ago

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To clarify, when I said Jensen is not a producer, I didn't mean he didn't hold the title or the job. He was given the title and the job, sure. But he has absolutely zero idea how to do it and (going by what I've seen) very little interest, humility, curiosity, or care to actually learn. Never mind the backstabbing part, keeping the idea from Jared was INSANELY stupid from a business perspective. Jared would've helped because he's incredibly generous. Of the two, it's Jared who is the producer. I remember at 2015 Comic Con when Jared was asked if he'd like to direct besides acting he said no, if he was going to do sth else it would be producing. All the way back in 2015 and he already knew what he could do. He's smart & self-aware enough to know his strengths and put effort into cultivating them. Jensen is a passable director who is better than passable when the camera is on Jared, maybe due to what seems like his own weird proprietary-ish obsessive love-hate, admiration-jealousy mess when it comes to Jared. He really should stick to acting & directing. He can make money and minions out of those. Friends, however? Not so much, but he doesn't seem interested in the ONE real friendship we've watched him benefit from over the years, so I'm guessing he's not worried abt friends. He's happy to play up for hellers then sulk when they fall for what is clearly an act, and he's never spoken up abt the hate Jared gets from vocal fans of Jensen. And how many vocal Jared haters has Jensen employed so far? Even creativity isn't his forte: Unlike Jared, Jensen never reads scripts in advance despite complaining (read: throwing ppl under the bus) later and for YEARS abt SPN plots & dialogue. He needs to shut up, stop thinking, accept directing and acting jobs that pay, and bask in the gross horny lies, er, "flattery" from his loon fans. As for Jared, I hope his sympathy, generosity, and kindness don't mean he ends up giving Jensen work on Walker or any other project Jared helms, and I hope Jared never feels he owes it to Jensen to help out by appearing on any fiasco Jensen decides to make. I'm so grateful Jared was never on The Boys or TW. He has ample sense not to, but we've seen how his kindness makes him continue to support Stands to help out. Jared's caption on the latest Instagram post was poignant. Slide through life with people who love you. Not "with good buddies" or "good friends" or even any indication to the bond he and Anson have after surviving that horrible crash. No. He chose to say "people who love you". It's sad that he now knows that there are others who don't and were only ever using him. Remember the cryptic Instagram post a few years ago on his birthday, when he said (paraphrasing here) that it was awful and some people were working against him? I thought it about someone behind the scenes. Now I think it must've been about Jensen. He wouldn't have sounded so hurt if it had been anyone else. Imagine rooming with your costar, discovering you have so much in common, building a beautiful cult show together, starting families and doting on each other's kids, all of it for FIFTEEN years, only to discover the dude you had to create boundaries with wasn't simply too controlling or obsessive because you were his most precious best friend, oh no. It was because he never had any friendship or love for you in the first place. God. I'm so glad he has his family and Gen and his kids and people like Anson. Thank you for allowing me to send you all this. You're a wonderful blogger with a good head on your shoulders and a heart in the right place. I respect you a lot because you keep your criticism where it counts. You don't make fun of people's looks (ppl we hate, like Dmitri, Danneel, etc), for instance. I love your blog. Have a good day or evening, laf-outloud.

Thanks for clarifying the producer part! I totally agree. Obviously, there were issues from even before the announcement, but the fact that Jensen admitted to sitting in his car while everything supposedly ran smoothly on set (and later finding out they had to do a bunch of reshoots), told me all I needed to know about his producing 'skills' early on. And if Jensen decides to continue directing, I hope he takes advantage of some of the directing programs studios offer so he can improve his skills.

I'm truly grateful that Jared's been able to experience a much healthier and loving environment around his family, his true friends, and his coworkers. Every time I see photos of him, he just looks healthier and happier than he seemed to be on the SPN set.

Thank you for sharing everything else, I really have nothing to add because you've said it so much better than I ever could, and especially, thank you for your very kind words! I may get salty sometimes, and don't always get things right, but I do try and stay fair, and I'm glad that you, and hopefully others, see that. Sending love back to you and best wishes for a wonderful weekend!

#ask box #lovely anon #anti jensen #anti producer jensen #producer jared #jared padalecki appreciation

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laneywrld · 6 months ago

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still a champion | Lewis Hamilton

request: hiiii i saw you said we can submit request do i was wondering if you could write something abt abu dhabi 21 where you and lewis have a daughter maybe like 2 years old and after the race lewis just is wrecked and he just wants to be comforted by his little family and everyone in the paddock is watching him and how he interacts with you and your daughter 😕 and he’s just trying not to show how upset he is and trying to be strong in front of you and your daughter but she can just tell so shes like "whats wrong daddy" and his heart just shatters 💔🥲 can you make it really sad but also really fluffy?i was watching that episode of dts the other day and it just made me wonder what it would be like if lewis had a little girl 🥹 sorry if this made no sense lol i tried my best to explain 😂

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

As Lewis steps out of his car after the Abu Dhabi 2021 Grand Prix, a heavy weight settles over him, dragging at his shoulders and sapping the energy from his limbs. The taste of defeat is bitter on his tongue, a stark contrast to the sweet victory he had hoped to savor.

His heart, is heavy with disappointment and frustration, he's lost this battle. His mind is a whirlwind of emotions,No matter how much relentlessness and determination he's put into this season and these races, it was stripped away from him in the final moments. He fought tooth and nail for this championship, pouring every ounce of energy and every ounce of fight into each race, only to come up short at the final hurdle.

The realization that victory had slipped through his fingers at the last moment gnaws at him like a relentless beast. It feels like torture to be tormented by what could have been. He replays every moment of the race in his mind, searching for answers, for any sign of where it all went wrong.

But try as he might, he can't shake the feeling of loss that grips him.

Now Lewis isn't a dramatic person, in fact, he does well with not compartmentalizing but there is a sense of emptiness that echoes through his soul. He had poured his heart and soul into this season, sacrificed so much in pursuit of his dreams, only to fall agonizingly short. He was cheated.

You hold onto your two-year-old daughter tightly; her excitement is obvious as she eagerly awaits her father's return from the race. Her innocent joy is, in a way, crushing.

As Lewis exits his car, you can see the disappointment etched on his face, a stark contrast to your daughter's radiant smile. She reaches out for him eagerly, her tiny hand outstretched, expecting to celebrate his victory with him.

You rock her on your hip as you watch the other drivers approach Lewis first. You decide to stand back and take the time to calm your daughter. "Hi, Mommy's girl," you hum at her; she looks up at you, her giant orbs mimicking her father's with that same radiant smile.

"Gonna see daddy," she states.

You coo, pressing your nose against hers, "Yeah, baby going to see daddy, we have to be very very calm okay no squealing like a piggy." You tease tickling her tummy, and she lets out her signature squeal. "Gotta give daddy a hug and a kiss, okay? Make him feel better. We gotta be extra extra nice to daddy."

Like all two-year-olds, she begins to ramble on and on, and you take a moment to observe your husband from across the garage.

As you watch Lewis accept condolences for his stolen race, you notice the subtle telltale signs of his inner turmoil. His knuckles are tight against his skin as he clenches them tightly, and you know him well enough to know that it's a desperate attempt to hide the emotions bubbling just beneath the surface.

You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders slump ever so slightly under the weight of this letdown. And as he murmurs his thanks, his voice is strained, betraying the effort it takes to keep his emotions in check.

You know him so well, that you can see all of this from your spot across the garage.

Despite his best efforts to hide his pain, you can see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. And as you offer him a supportive nod, a silent gesture of recognition, you can only hope that he knows he's not alone in his struggle.

Lewis stares into you, his eyes almost pleading for a sense of comfort and your hand instinctively clutches onto your daughter tightly as if you're preparing to comfort her as well as Lewis approaches.

His demeanor is somber and distant, and your heart sinks with his. You can see the turmoil in his eyes, the crushing weight of defeat bearing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

You try to shield your daughter from the harsh reality of the moment, plastering on a smile and gently guiding her toward her father. But deep down, you know that she's too young to understand the complexities of this race, too innocent to comprehend the depth of her father's distress.

As Lewis scoops her up into his arms, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness for him. Despite his best efforts to hide his disappointment, you know that he's hurting inside. And as you watch them embrace, you silently remind yourself of your vow to be there for him in any way you can.

Lewis brings her to his chest, holding her to him like a teddy bear, his arms hold his daughter against him like she too could be stolen. Unlike other races, Lewis isn't happy and cheerful; he isn't smiling at his daughter or tossing her up into the air gleefully.

She may be young, but your daughter was wise beyond her age. "Daddy?" Her voice is a mere whisper and you watch Lewis face as he pulls frees her head from his neck.

"Yes, baby?" He asks, and his voice, too, is low and broken.

"What's wrong, Daddy?"

Lewis feels his resolve crumble as she speaks, her teary eyes resulting in his own. "Why are you sad?"

As Lewis looks to you for guidance, his eyes filled with uncertainty, you step in to save the day. Joining in on the embrace, you wrap your arms around both him and your two-year-old daughter, creating a cocoon of love and support.

In a gentle tone, you explain to your daughter as simply as you can, "Sweetheart, sometimes things don't go the way we want them to. Daddy's feeling a little sad because he lost the race unfairly." You hold her close, feeling her small body pressed against yours as you try to convey the complexity of the situation in a way that she can understand.

"But you know what?" you continue, your voice soft and reassuring.

"Daddy did his best, and that's what matters most. We're proud of him no matter what." You press a kiss to her forehead, feeling her tiny arms wrap around you in a comforting hug.

As Lewis watches you explain the situation to your daughter with such grace and compassion, he feels his heart swell with love. In that moment, he's overwhelmed by a strong sense of gratitude for having you by his side, supporting him through the highs and lows of life and his career.

Seeing the tenderness and care with which you handle the situation fills him with a deep sense of warmth. He's reminded once again of the incredible bond that the three of you share, a bond that far impedes any disappointment or setback.

In your embrace, Lewis is reminded of just how lucky he is to have you by his side, guiding him with your unwavering love and support.

"But you know what always makes Daddy feel better, beautiful girl?"

She perks up, her eyes igniting in a sparkle.

"What is it, mamas?" You inquire with a dramatic, inquisitive look on your face.

"A kiss?" she guesses, and you lean forward, pressing your lips to her tiny nose.

"You're so smart baby, a kiss. They always make Daddy feel better," You turn to Lewis, a loving look on your face, "Isn't that right baby, you want some kisses?"

Lewis can't help the smile that graces his lips as you peer up at him. "Kisses would make me feel a whole lot better right now." He admits.

He lowers his head, allowing your daughter to reach his cheek and you lift onto your tip toes, pressing your own against his forehead. You speak life into him as you pull away and linger in his embrace.

As you gaze into Lewis's eyes, filled with a mixture of sadness, you feel an overwhelming surge of love and admiration for him. Gathering him close, you speak from the bottom of your heart, "Lewis, I am so proud of you. You are a winner in every sense of the word, even if the score won't reflect that."

You hold Lewis close, your arms wrapped tightly around him, as you speak softly into his ear. "I'm so proud of you," you repeat, your voice filled with sincerity. "You're a winner, no matter what they say. I love you more than words can express."

You gently stroke his back, feeling the tension slowly melt away under your touch. "You're so resilient," you continue, your voice steady and reassuring. "No matter the challenge, you always rise above it. I believe in you, Lewis. And I'll always be here to support you, no matter what."

In the hushed silence of the garage, all eyes are fixed on the tender moment unfolding between your family.

There's a softness in their gazes as they witness the love and support shared between you, Lewis, and your daughter. Even amongst such a hard experience, the love you have for your husband and the love your daughter has for her father could pull him out of any and every dark hole he's ever fallen into.

At that moment, the sound of engines and clattering tools fades into the background, replaced by the quiet attention of those gathered around you. The scene speaks volumes without a single word. No matter the challenges that lie ahead or the ones standing face to face, the undying love between your small family would defeat them every chance.

And as the moment lingers, bathed in the soft glow of admiration, it's clear that your family's bond is a beacon of hope for all who witness it, it wasn't just your husband who lost this championship.

As he stands on the podium, forced to watch his rival celebrate triumphally, a wave of raw emotion washes over him. He fights to keep the tears at bay, to maintain his composure in the face of defeat, but it's a losing battle.

The weight of disappointment hangs heavy on his shoulders as he watches the celebrations unfold around him. He can't help but be struck with the feeling that he came so close yet fell so agonizingly short.

With a determined stride, Lewis hurries to escape the podium, his heart once again yearning for the comfort and solace of your embrace. As he navigates through the crowd, his only thought is of finding his place in your arms, where he can seek refuge from the horrible night he's endured.

When he finally reaches you, he pulls you and your daughter close, enveloping you both in a tight embrace. The warmth of your bodies pressed together soothes his frazzled nerves, easing the weight of the disappointment he carries.

With a sigh of relief, Lewis sinks into the comfort of your hold, feeling the tension slowly melt away with each passing moment. He closes his eyes, reveling in the simple pleasure of being surrounded by the ones he loves most in the world.

In that moment, nothing else matters to him except for you and his daughter. And as you hold each other close, He finds solace in the fact that together, you can weather any storm that comes your way.

"What'd you have to tell Daddy, baby?"

"You are still a cham-"

You giggle at your daughter, reaching up to pinch at her cheeks as Lewis holds her up in one arm, "champion." you whisper.

And she nods with squinted eyes, turning to face her daddy again. "You are still a champion."

Lewis coos, pressing a kiss to her cheek and squeezing you tighter into his side.

"My victor." You hum, "Let's get back to the hotel? Have a relaxing bath and some dinner?"

Lewis nods, his heart thumping no longer from disappointment but from love.

As Lewis basks in the warmth of your embrace, surrounded by the love of his family, he feels a sense of contentment wash over him. The burden of the lost title fades into the background, overshadowed by the overwhelming love he feels for you and your daughter.

He marvels at the way you effortlessly know how to be there for him, how you always seem to say all the right things to comfort and uplift him. And as he watches you pass on that same love and wisdom to your daughter, his heart swells with gratitude.

At this moment, nestled together in the comfort of your bed, with your daughter snuggled between you, snores filling the room with a symphony of peaceful sounds, Lewis feels genuinely at peace. He gazes into your eyes, and the look of them alone helps to ease his troubling mind.

He'd always be a champion in your eyes, and no one could ever take that away from him.

short and cute request!

My requests are still open. You can leave it in my asks, and I'll get to writing it as soon as I can. 🫶🏽

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #black reader friendly #sir lewis hamilton #formula 1 #laneywrldrequests #laneywrld

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seiwas · 11 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wc: 12.9k

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

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

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

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

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out.

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

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

He paces around the room.

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

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

To you, this is just like every other Friday.

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

To him, this could change everything with you.

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

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

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only ever get like this sparring against him.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

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

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

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

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

“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You reach for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just like old times,” he nudges you.

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

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

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

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

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

It was never supposed to be important to him.

Until you.

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

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

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

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

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

The way he feels when he’s with you.

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

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

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight.

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

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

He misses you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates.

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

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

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

1:20 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

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

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

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

You’re calling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Nside.” you slur.

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

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

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

Another ache.

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

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

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

“Just miss you.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

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

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

He should really just go to you.

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

He swallows, “I miss you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

But right now, it feels so empty.

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

Now his heart really aches.

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

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

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

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

You giggle again.

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

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

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite?

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

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

“Sweet-talker.”

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

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He takes a seat on his barstool.

“Listening.”

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

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

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

And this… this aches in a different way.

How can you even think that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence.

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

“Satoru,” you call him softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s thankful it’s you, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or not.

Because you seem to have gotten him—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a seat on the edge of the bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is he to say no?

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

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

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist.

“Have you eaten?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

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

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

“You’re too good to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shoot him a look, then pout.

“Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets kicked in the thigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The unease makes him fidgety.

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

He has to get this right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Megumi!”

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!”

Megumi stares.

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

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

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

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

“Sensei’s recipes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a simple question. Innocent.

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

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

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

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

“I guess not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s bland?”

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

“No, it’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All his hard work? Shattered.

Gojo is dumbfounded.

It’s too late to change everything now.

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout?

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

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

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

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

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

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

All he told you was to wear something nice.

And, by god you did.

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

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing.

He reaches for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He holds your gaze.

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

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

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

You do it for him all the time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As long as it’s with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just… did.

Because that’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities.

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

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

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

It’s just you.

It’s just you—

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

—it makes him feel sick.

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

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

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

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

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

If you were here—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He practiced this, damn it.

Why can’t he remember a single thing?

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

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

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

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

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

His heart is pounding.

“I stay over at yours too much.”

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

“I think we need more space.”

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

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

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

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

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach.

It’s not like that at all.

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

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

“It’s not—”

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

He blinks.

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

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

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

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

“You ran yourself dry because of me.”

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

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

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

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more.

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

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

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

You blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make a home with me?”

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

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

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