#that doesn't match the way ppl talk abt it idk

[sunjoys]

saltburn is not a fucking eat the rich movie ??

[drdemonprince]

Any advice for supporting someone who’s being publicly called out in a pretty vile transmisogynist way? This feels worse because it’s something in the local scene (small city where everyone knows each other) rather than purely online. Don’t wanna re-litigate the merits of the callout - this is a girl I know somewhat but don’t talk to and there are a few friends of mine either spreading the callout or who are friends w/ someone who got in a public shouting match with her over it all. Feels fucking slimy and gross regardless of whether there’s merit to the claims - I’ve never cut ppl off before (avoidant & cowardly) but idk. It’s coming off rlly nasty and hypocritical from ppl who espouse a radical politic, i wanna dm her some words of support but I wanna do so knowing I got the backbone to stop fucking with these ppl. Better to talk to these friends abt it or ice them out? How do u talk to ppl who feel they’re doing this shit for the common good / social murder can be justified and is only a problem when it’s not

I'd check in with the cancelled person first and see what it is that she wants. She might be very uncomfortable with the idea of you cutting of a segment of your own social circle as a principled stand in her defense, or it might have broader social consequences that kind of escalates things or creates a sense of different "camps" existing in ways that could absolutely make life way worse for her. Before you throw yourself into this fight, best make sure it's a fight of only your own making and that it doesn't go back to her. Typically, it's the trans woman who gets blamed for fucking everything.

I think it's best to just keep in mind that certain friends of yours are willing to take these kinds of actions, and let that inform your trust of them and your degree of social exposure to them. If they did this to her, they can do it to you, and they might do it to her even further to punish her for whatever you do about it. It's much better potentially to de-escalate, keep yourself out of the noxious feedback loop of the cancellers entirely, not give them any fresh information or drama to become incensed about.

Quietly and *privately* do what you can honestly do to show up for the trans woman herself. Hang out with her. Invite her to private gatherings with people who don't know or care about this dumb bullshit. Help her pay her rent if her living situation is now threatened. Cook her a meal. Just listen to her vent.

Only offer support that you are actually prepared to consistently provide, whatever that might be, don't do so out of guilt or pity or abstract obligation, that will not be sustainable.

To the extent that you can, build social networks that are not dependent upon this scene that is currently cancelling her. Find some older queer people's running club or a book club or something completely divorced from this shit. It will help you see your way over and above the tangled mess of the people doing the cancelling, and less alone in your resistance to it. I understand it is far harder to escape the blast radius of in a small city with a highly interwoven scene, but there are almost always other people out there who don't care about this shit and have a different perspective on life and treat people differently. And you can help build those kinds of social connections, too.

[t4tpumpkinduo]

every day i mourn the fact that cpumpkinduo could have become the next gomez and morticia in this fandom if only people had read their relationship right

TEARING MY SHIRT OPEN NO LITERALLY LITERALLY LITERALLY my 9/11 is ppl's bone chilling media illiteracy and it happens to me EVERY DAY multiple times. they're MATCHING in how bizarre and strange they are there's no nefarious malicious horror dynamic there's no abuse on either end they're just speaking in tongues!!!

it's weird loaded kinda shouldn't be doing this in public power plays, it's hiding the earnest want to be with eachother expressed through riddles and actions, it's cq eating cschlatts heart and saying he doesn't gaf abt him to a crowd he's performing for then crawling to CBADBOYHALO OF ALL PEOPLE (?) with cschlatts bloody bones in his hands asking about revival, it's cschlatt spiraling in manburg so bad that one of the things that gensrs destroys a MASSIVE chunk of his stability is cq shooting him (he dies frm this the same way he did during the FESTIVAL, another manic self betraying decision he didn't think would escalate that far), cq leaving, then him thinking cq planted the tnt under manburg (which was actually cwilbur ✌️ smthing cq tried to talk him out of. btw. cq who's entire deal is he hates being looked down on he doesn't like being treated as lesser spent an entire thing pleading with cwilbur to let him meet up w cschlatt. who he then doesn't corner or hurt and earnestly engages with in a clear plan tht would allow him to step down w/o harm. they make prenup jokes during the fucking meeting don't speak to me.). "you left me in my hour of need" WHAT THE FUCK. having GAY SEX in front of CQS DAD while he was ACTIVELY ENGAGED WITH TWO OTHER PEOPLE!!!!!!!! cq keeps the fucking jerk off book he kept the manburg flag in his enderchest cschlatt reaches out to CQ FOR REVIVAL despite having countless options he tries to keep learning spanish for him he's allowed to leave lnv and yet he keeps coming back so they can play board games cq is directly propelled into TORTURE on schlatts behalf he already has plenty motivation why was cschlatt needed in this plotline. can we get goddamn REAL

the fandom urge to scrub down every interesting dynamic into a one note dehumanized abuser prop and uwu poor baby blameless mush woobie KILLS me, and ESPECIALLY with how much people show their asses abt it. (i've said it before i'll say it again. why do you see addicts and brown people as inherently crueler meaner more sadistic abusers assaulters ✌️ and why am i killing you with meteors) it's such a disservice to everything involved it's so boring and one note and Nothing it's NOTHING. make ocs and stop bothering me.

like if it pisses you off stay pissed oawf idc.... t4t gomez and morticia cpumpkins is beautiful and true cschlatt stunning revived politician arm candy in lnv and cq freak weirdo who loves her so much and hunts people with bricks about it. like get mad if you wanna but they will keep kissing idk what to tell you

[domokunrainbowkinz]

babe wake up its time for more manhwa posting!!!!!

titles mentioned:

painter of the night (18+)

bend over backwards (18+)

miscreants and mayhem (18+)

fly me to the moon

why Ophelia couldn't leave

taming the tiger (18+)

walk on water (18+)

codename: anastasia (18+)

the ghost's nocturne (18+)

steel under silk (18+)

dreadful night (18+)

toxin (18+)

smyrna and capri (18+)

roses and champagne (18+)

painter of the night (18+) - listen so many ppl talk abt this one and have hyped it up so much, but unfortunately I didn't really like it 😔 I do like their relationship at the end and they are very loving but the journey....bruh 💀 I just think it could've been so much more interestingly written, and I think most of my problems stem from me just straight up not liking nakyum as a character. the art is very pretty though. I would skip if you're not a fan of passive/weak MC'S who are treated like shit by the ML in the beginning but get stockholmed into developing feelings somehow (I rly don't know how else to explain it IDK MAN). warning for non-con/dub-con between the 2 leads.

bend over backwards (18+) - very cute!!!! it does start out kinda toxic and in like a transactional/coercive FWB situationship, but it doesn't last super duper long and they do end up being very cute and loving. I have this bookmarked as my comfort read 😌

miscreants and mayhem (18+) - HEAR ME OUT THIS ONE SLAPPED OK. I originally was gonna skip this one bc the main pairing is uh about a guy and his step-son 🧍‍♀️. extremely questionable rship and he does get called "dad" when theyre fucking but my 4th wall must be made of titanium bc I was able to look past that due to the way the story was written. it deals a lot with the mc's guilt about failing his family and not being able to raise his step-son, and he blames himself for why his step-son turned out the way he did. a wild ride with the most HWOOOO spicy scenes that i would definitely give a try if you're able to like look past the inherent weirdness of the rship.

fly me to the moon - God this one started out so promising but as soon as the main pairing was established the MC's personality went poof 😭 WHAT HAPPENED TO MY NO-NONSENSE SARCASTIC CHAIN-SMOKING MOMMY....THEY TURNED HER INTO A TYPICAL DAMSEL IN DISTRESS 😭😭 this also was giving "I can't believe it's not omegaverse!!" bc they were talking about like pheromones and scenting and imprinting, it had me going "is this straight omegaverse.....??" I think I knew it was time to drop this when I started caring more about the unhinged insane 2nd ML that everyone hates more than the main couple bc at least he elicits an interesting rxn from the MC rather than the boring ass vanilla insta-love vibes of the main pairing. maybe I just have weird taste 😭

why Ophelia couldn't leave - once again started off promising but started going downhill once the main pairing was established 😔 I think it's bc I was expecting more of a battle of wits or mutual manipulation story, but there wasn't a whole lot of that. i thought the ML's personality was quite flat, bc although i am biased towards obsessive characters, the way he was written just didn't click with me since he has no depth besides "I love ophelia". I did think the slow reveal of the truth behind the parents' death was interesting, they do feed you some info bit by bit, and Ophelia's unreliable narration also helped with the mystery. honestly I was a little mad when I finished this one bc I lowkey felt like I wasted my time 😭

taming the tiger (18+) - by the same author as "miscreants and mayhem", this one was A Ride. this pairing is the definition of matching each others' freak and it also had the best spicy scenes out of all the ones i've read so far like they made me go aWOOGAAAAA!!!!! it can get quite sad near the end but i personally LOVED the way it ended with the side stories....the soulmate-ism of it all.......i would highly recommend this one if you're looking for like something that will make you Feel Things.

walk on water (18+) - by the same author as "under the green light", this one was the most grounded and realistic bl manhwa i've read. at times it gave off almost indie movie vibes with the way the dialogue was written. it deals with discussions surrounding the ethics of like the gay porn industry and the stigma that is attached to sex workers in that industry. would definitely give this one a read!!

codename: anastasia (18+) - the only reason i'm continuing this is bc i think it's finally getting to the good shit after an entire season of me wanting to grab the MC by the shoulders and yelling "HELLO????? YOUR PARTNER IS SUS AS FUCK WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!" for a spy he is kind of stupidt 😭despite that though i did like the banter between the 2 leads, and i'm really curious to see how they will interact in the new season now that uhhhh Shit Happened. anyways huge warning for non-con between the 2 leads like. it was fucked up man.

the ghost's nocturne (18+) - i love supernatural stories, especially ones that deal with folk horror and curses and ghosts, so obvs i liked this one. the art style for this one is SO GOOD, each panel is coloured so beautifully and rendered so well shit had me staring at each panel going "HOW?????" the rship between the nok and jaeshin was pretty iffy in the beginning but it improves pretty quickly once jaeshin explains wtf is going on and they come to an agreement. anyways i'm enjoying this one so far and i am also in love with jaeshin, unfortunately i am not immune to sexy half-ghost man 😔. warning for non-con/dub-con between the 2 leads in the beginning.

steel under silk (18+) - listen when i heard this one was a joseon-dynasty enemies-to-lovers revenge story my ass was clicking into it IMMEDIATELY. i do admit the beginning is a little rough since our MC was acting mainly on impulse and doesn't really have a long-term game plan, but he smartens up and starts to actively scheme around the 20-episode mark. it's so nice seeing both yeonjo and heeryang's perspectives and their thought processes, they each know the other person is scheming and they're constantly thinking of ways to out-scheme the other person to get the upper hand (yeonjo's goal is to gain the governor's trust so he can create an opportunity to assassinate him, while heeryang suspects yeonjo wants to kill him so he constantly blocks opportunities/creates obstacles to make sure he never gets a chance). i am really really curious to see what direction the story takes, especially with the recent chapters that have come out. it's really hard for me to read enemies-to-lovers stories and not compare it to captive prince, which i still consider to be the creme-de-la-creme of enemies to lovers, but so far this one is very promising. warning for dub-con between the 2 leads, and non-con between the MC and another character.

dreadful night (18+) - really unique premise, basically our MC is stuck in a slasher horror game, and he needs to clear all of the endings in order to escape. i'm really enjoying this one bc it's clear the author is a horror-enjoyer with the way they're so knowledgeable about tropes and death flags and like the mechanics of horror games, that has a horror enjoyer myself it made me go "ohohohoho....." they should make more transmigration stories where they transmigrate into a horror game, enough with the fantasy/otome games!!! give me stories where people transmigrate into silent hill or something!!! the ML seems to be an NPC who's sentient and aware of the game, but he also seems a little obsessed with our MC (in a yandere way) so i'm curious to see what his deal is.

toxin (18+) - i usually give something like 20 episodes before i decide if it's for me but like 6 episodes in i went "brother eughhhh". it's an enemies to lovers story but the ML gave me the biggest ick. idk if i just dropped it too early but it's giving colonizer romance (like the ML literally hunted the MC's people for sport and doesn't see them as individuals, he views them as livestock and lower beings). i do get it's enemies to lovers, but this particular brand doesn't appeal to me.

smyrna and capri (18+) - once again by the same author as "miscreants and mayhem" and "taming the tiger", i got curious about their other works since i really enjoyed what i've read from them so far, so i decided to open my heart and try reading an omegaverse story. i think i can conclude that i really don't like omegaverse bc i liked everything about this story except for the pregnancy and pheromone shit 😭i would recommend this if you're a fan of omegaverse, the rship between the 2 leads is very sweet and the alpha is also very very green flag (he is so cute...i lov him...)

roses and champagne (18+) - man this one started off interesting but then went off the rails at the end and made me go "HUH????? okay i guess!!!!" also the MC is a lawyer but he can also be kinda dumb which frustrated me. i did like their relationship in the beginning, but once again Something happens near the end that made me go "oh you Crazy crazy" and i felt like they kinda speedran the ending. there are side-stories, but i honestly lost interest so i stopped following. this is going to sound deranged but this story gave off mad victuuri mafia au vibes. warning for non-con between the 2 leads near the end (where it goes off the rails LOL)

[pleucas]

this is said with no malice towards you i love your art!! i like you!!

also not capitalizing chuuya's name even tho i have better humor than this

this is going to be loooong but i never read a more stupid ask….

i don’t hate skk bcs i use my brain and see that they’re actually good and a fun ship when someone isn’t ruining it. what i hate is most skkers being unfunny towards Dazai and the continuous mischaracterization of him just to make chuuya look better (mostly chuuya stans but also dumb Dazai stans are guilty of it)

and no Dazai isn’t the worst and chuuya doesn’t deserve better in fact i think yall can’t handle a person with mental illness and a fake persona he clearly put on people always demonize him so i think saying he’s the worst and chuuya isn’t proves my point. they both EQUALLY did the same bad things Dazai isn’t more toxic than chuuya it’s more like Dazai is the one who’s going back to a toxic ex (mind u chuuya was ready to hurt or maybe even kill some of the ada members people Dazai obviously cares for)

the skk hater? who loves chuuya and hate Dazai because they know chuuya’s character will never be as important or as impactful on bsd universe as Dazai’s noted.

if you love chuuya and hate Dazai your opinion about Dazai is immediately invalid like i think they just know no bsd character can be better written and more interesting than Dazai he's what keeping bsd good (and Fyodor i liked him in the last chapters even more)

imo if chuuya keeps appearing he'll just get boring🤷‍♀️ because most of his storyline is over

Dazai on the other hand always entertaining and deep and there’s a reason he’s involved in everything and never forget everything he did for chuuya stormbringer would be nothing without Dazai helping chuuya from the shadows and chuuya knows it but i guess people will still makes him the bad person in skk when he’s the one trying to change and be better person

also Dazai is someone who’s storyline is still on going as well as we know almost nothing about his past or what actually goes on in his brain i can say three things about his backstory and that’s it.

sorry for rumbling i can’t take that level of stupidity

pls don’t block me im not evil…..

holy shit we got cross-ask beef. this is insane

i'm gonna lowercase Both their names because i think this is the reasonable next step. LOL. & i'll also ramble a bit to match ur freak!

i will strive to clarify that me agreeing that dz=worst chuuya deserves better was, as i specified, "on a generalized scale" — on a very, very, VERY surface level this is a jokey way i've seen a lot of skkers talk about their relationship. more of an inside joke atp ig? idk. srry if that wasnt clear

but i do think it's valid to dislike a ship because you don't like one half of it. i totally get how dz's character can piss ppl off, esp if ure missing lns and mangas (which rimu wasn't, but they watched the anime first so the precedent was set). i found the first part of their thesis to be pretty funny actually, just (again) taking it at face-value.

it's also understandable that they try and dissect dz then miss the mark by a mile LOL. but again, can't be blamed if you hate the guy and thus don't read into him too much, which i think is a reasonable way to consume media... probably more reasonable than me. hence why i didn't respond with my own thesis paper. overall idk man it's not that deep, i've been having fun with rimu and i'd advise y'all to also be silly w/ ur Budgeted RPF Dead Author Yaoi, it'll make things a lot better

abt what you've said, i think dz and chuuya can't exist as true characters w/o each other, unless you fundamentally change their truth. a lot of their good & bad (& inbetween) sides are exposed through their relationship, which i believe is asgr's very interesting way of employing "show-don't-tell." i don't think chuuya's storyline is over, because dazai's isn't, and vice versa. this doesn't mean i don't think they have their own arcs, just that these arcs Must involve the other — if dz's main conflict is good/bad + the mafia, chuuya is his biggest amiable tie to it, and if chuuya's conflict is his self + power, dz must be there for corruption. there's more to say there, but again i don't want to feed rimu's claims of us all being dormant essayists LOL

we got dz glazer and rimu, D1 dz hater. and cheese anon.

[mamawasatesttube]

no but fr abt ur post in what world does tim put down kon or call him stupid. like yeah when they first met they butted heads and argued all the time but they were 15. after all they’ve been through kon is literally one of the most important people to tim in canon. tim trust kons judgement, they’re the bestest of friends idk about y’all but I dont go around calling my bestie dumb (unless it’s like joking around when they do something silly). he’s completely obsessed with kon and everything about (and vice versa). tim would probably destroy the world to keep kon safe that’s the dynamic. they’re best friends first and foremost and that’s what makes their dynamic so great

RIGHT!!!!!!!!! they butted heads in the early days but imo they did so in a way where they did both have a mutual respect for each other, just disagreed a lot on priorities and ruffled each other's feathers regularly. (tbh also i think worth noting is a good chunk of the parts where "kon" is undermining tim are actually all match, too.) like not to be always pointing at wf3 (<- guy who is a chronic wf3 enjoyer) but...

they tease each other all the time sure, like the issue of sb94 where kon is wearing a paper bag batman mask and pretending he's trying to give tim a sex talk (also? shoutout to this being one of the weirdest forms of flirting ever. godspeed you weirdass losers) and tim's like "we don't kill, we don't kill," but thats....... such a different ballpark than just "[kon does anything] tim vc 'ugh youre so stupid and annoying, im trying to work, go away'" which is like. half the jokes i see ppl make regularly about them.

and RIGHT!!!! see my friends and i regularly get each others asses but like... the reason that works as a bit and is funny is bc we ALSO regularly all say sappy shit about loving and supporting each other. if its all just constantly putting someone down That's Not Friendship I Am Pretty Sure Actually,

anyway tim respects and even likes kon, and enjoys his company, and doesn't look down on him. shocking but true statements!!!

[spacenintendogs]

5, 6, 1 for the ask game? If it’s not too much trouble ^^

1. Which part of the series was your introduction to HTTYD? How old were you when you first became a fan?

i rmr it pretty well. i was abt 11 years old & my mom found the first movie on comcast on demand & wanted to find a movie for us we (my siblings & i) hadn't seen so she chose it. i rmr the year prior with all the commercials on tv & stuff & was like hey!! i rmr wanting to see this! cool!! and i rlly liked the movie!!!!! my full obsession, however, didn't start until abt a year later when she brought home this pack of the first 6 books (that's all that was available at the time!) & reading through them i rewatched the movie & we had it on dvd by that point and that was it. the rest is history

5. What type of dragon do you think best matches your personality?

oh gosh. the impulse to say my fave but whispering deaths don't rlly "match" me personality wise. tbh a gronckle, me thinks. with a personality like meatlug or shattermaster. :') they're such goofy goobers but they're also rlly sweet & i am so soft for that LOL. they remind me of the dog i grew up with with how snorty they are & the way they wag their tails :'))

6. What are your favourite ships in the fandom and why?

haaaa.

snotstrid... IDK their chemistry is just??? i love how they constantly bicker & snotlout is just a piece of shit & it causes astrid to retaliate & treat him like that even when he's not actively being a piece of shit which pisses him off & yet they always somehow end up by each other or saving each other much to astrid's chagrin half the time & then snotlout's confusion UGH ESP SNOTLOUT'S ANGELS the nose flick & then astrid admitting she doesn't hate him & his FACE HIS FUCKING FACE he's so got a genuine crush on her but doesn't know how to Behave & i love them getting together & then breaking up & for astrid it's smth she looks back on fondly but never wants to go back to while snotlout is stuck adding her to his list of ppl being the one that got away & yearning..... they're also so funny together & i feel like if they're ever on the same page they're so powerful & it's scary LOL

fishlout used to be my fave & i still love it. rtte spent more time building their relationship to each other than either of them with ruffnut & we all saw the potential of what could have been :') it can easily fall into the jock x nerd thing but it's more than that to me bc while fishlegs is anxious he doesn't take snotlout's shit lying on his back (esp after gem of a different color) & by rtte fishlegs is rolling his eyes & quipping back & it's just forever this contest of who comes out on top & then u have thw whole thor bonecrusher thing & it can so easily be an exploration in snotlout's bisexuality (and fishlegs'!) esp after return of thor bonecrusher when snotlout is just SO happy fishlegs is back to the point where he gives him a hug (and was like :D woah when fishlegs bodied a dude to protect him) & they def had a brief stint after that. they don't talk abt it. it's only between them... snotlout yearns so badly...

i'm realizing my fave ship is anything that'll make snotlout yearn & wish he could have someone as all of his friends find their ppl or are comfortable with themselves enough to not need a romantic partner LMAO

i like a lot more ships than i talk abt tbh!! i just like taking characters like they're my dolls and making them kiss lol. heathstrid, ruffther, hiccstrid, heathlegs, rufflout, rufflegs, tufflegs, eretlout, etc!! i like the art & fics ppl make abt tufflout but it's just not my thing (if that makes sense!!) i also like lot of the poly ships, too! literally i just thrive off making this group of teens who probably spend too much time together but don't rlly have anyone else to spend time with have relationship drama LOL

[emeritus-fuckers]

hello i was wondering if i could participate in the match up event?

I am afab and nb, I use any pronouns :) I'm cool with being any gender or being with any gender neither matters much to me

I lov the ghouls and their silly little shenanigans :)

I'm pretty feminine looking, I'm 5'1 and I'm built like a comic book male superhero like broad chest and shoulders but a straight line from the ribs down like a upside down dorito w legs

I'm asian so my eyes and hair are dark, my hair's like a shoulder-length wolf cut ish thing... idk I just hack at it. sometimes I wear glasses, but sometimes I just feel like being blind. When I get dressed I pretend like im dressing up in a fun little costume so my day is more whimsical and silly my go-to is like sailor uranus prince-type girl crush but a wizard or a wizard who is going on an epic expedition to recover lost artifacts but no matter the outfit the key is that I look like I'm secretly a merlin-style cartoonishly evil wizard. So i guess maybe like goth grunge academia something something pinterest buzzword Oh and I have major rbf, and it makes ppl scared of me

I'm an introverted person and I tend to be very logical but. I think different from a lot of ppl apparently. I've been described, to paraphrase, as "sort of ominous and mysterious but actually funny", "uncanny and unsettling in a good way", and "awkward and weird but its endearing" which just sound like insults. I like to live in my head and make silly stories and things to play with. Like every tumblr user I've got fucked up mental health and bad parents so I am kind of like one of those freaky ass chihuahuas that is always scared and shakes and bites people and has digestive issues. I tend to be hard to read or sort of deadpan so I like fucking w people since they can't tell if I'm joking bc i love mischeif and japes. I want to be a silly not-quite-supervillain like Dr doofinshmirtz or like a trickster archetype sort yk

I was a pretty intense synchronized swimmer for like 9 years I competed at like opens and nationals and all that when I was in school but my university doesn't have :( I'm on the rowing team now but I would rather do synchro esp since being my main thing was being flexible and it has no advantages in rowing lmaooo I've been a huge vocaloid fan since elementary school so I've been around in that community for a while (I am so well-adjusted). I like to make vocal synth covers and draw, especially when I'm able to work with producers to provide art for their vids it's so cool hehehehhe I mostly listen to vocaloid music but I like a lot of metal stuff as well that's how I found out abt gonst. I also like 2 play video gamez, I'm so fucking bad at them but I think it's rly funny so I just spend hours giggling and watching myself get mauled over and over.

I love horror a lot but I'm less a slasher girlie and more of a supernatural psychological tormet girlie esp if its got mythology or religions shit involved. Im majoring in history bc all good history ppl like silly metal and I wrote this instead of my abstract that's due in like an hour bc I have no idea what to do for the topic 🥲🥲

- the fuckin wizard

This post is part of the 1000 followers match up event. Entries for the event are now closed.

Your match is... Zephyr

They like listening to you talk about your major and interests. He's a very good listener.

While they might not be the best swimmer, they enjoy the activity and if you want to show off, they'll absolutely let you and be super proud.

He doesn't mind how unique your style is. He probably wouldn't really try to match clothes with you, but they'd try their best to buy you stuff you'd enjoy.

Since he doesn't really walk much, they picked up drawing and started doing it with you. They're surprisingly good at it for someone who just randomly said "I'm bored, maybe I should start drawing".

Also, horror movie date nights! They're also much more of a psychological horror person, but his favorite is of course the paranormal (he finds it hilarious) so you two take turns picking the movies.

Video game dates included, too. He's got a PS3 and the first three Uncharted games, as well as some others. Their favorite is Uncharted 3.

He'll insist you wear your glasses. He knows the consequences of ignoring his health. It's not fun.

~

Written by Nosferatu with the help of the wonderful and of @ask-zephyr-ghoul (ilysm pookie).

[teddybeartoji]

thinking about

https://x.com/OwwlllY/status/1803550523322507308?t=GeVDL_ljw1j1W0sNVc0aXg&s=19

(love this artist and their lil comics w satosugu they're so!!!)

it's a recurring thing w me but i just love like. horny, down bad people. "slutty" things. or suggestive. sometimes people just exist and it's so hot to me for some random reason like the type of skirt worn or certain movements... or the voice, the tone man idk i just 🫠

okay so i was thinking about this and also how would i imagine different jjk characters dealing with someone with super high libido, a dirty mind and a super sensitive body? i can imagine some taking advantage of it and teasing a lot (suguru)

but really imagine it's like the highest amount anyone could be. like full on succubus level. 24/7. would some characters tap out? i read a toji headcanon where he, bc of his age, didn't have as much energy but still had fun hearing reader pleasure themselves in the room next door before coming to cuddle next to him

often in fics it's expected that the libidos match so i'm rlly wondering how a difference could change things around 🤔 how they/you would adapt to it in order to keep everyone happyyyyy

so yeah ig i'm wondering what your opinion would be :3333

take care as always,

~ ☀️

HAIII HAIII SUNNYYY MY DEAREST!!!!!!!!!!!!

I LOVE OWWLLLYYYYY!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THEIR ART SMM (HERE'S THE LINK BTW)!!!!!!!!! and aaahhh i totally get what you mean by kind of getting turned on by the smallest things - i genuinely love smiles so much those also make me horny lmao, i really love back muscles, i love when people are sweaty!!!!!!! like oh myfukcing god if i saw toji or satoru or suguru working out in front of me.... i am FROTHINGGGG AT THE MOUTH OKAY i will lunge at them!!!!!!!!!!

i absolutely agree that suguru would definitely use that to his own advantage, he is very very patient and he knows how to keep his own please back a little just so he could last longer for you yk? but i do think that satoru the puppy would love it!!! he can get so hyper during sex and his stamina is just fucking godddlyyy i think he could keep up with you really well. aaand i do think that he can be a bit of a horn dog, like the smallest things do it for him too - short shorts, you brushing your teeth, your messy hair, you cooking for him, you bending over to pick smth up - everything goes!!!!! but it's just bc he really fucking loves u ok, it's not his fault you're so sexyy!!!!!!!!!!!!

ahh i know exactly what toji piece you're talking abt i loved it a lot!!!! and i agree with that too - while he does have good stamine and he fucks you so good, he's not as horny overall like satoru is yk? sure he thinks that you doing the most domestic things are hot but that mostly gets his heart racing for Love reasons lmao i love sappy old man toji ok he means so much to me. i also think that kento is gonna have a bit of a problem keeping up with you too. i don't know he just doesn't strike me as an overly sexual guy, he'd just love to relax with you in some other way. don't get me wrong though, he also fucks you so fucking well and he makes you cum plently of times but he just won't wanna go for like hours on hours on hours on hours. kento and toji are also both men that will put their own needs and desires on hold and focus on you!!!!!!!!!!

so yeah the ppl with the highest libidos in my opinion are suguru and satoru (though i don't think this is a surprise lma) aand the one's with the lowest are in fact toji and kento and hiromi (the working men😭😭). actually wait i feel like shoko is on the lower end as well. she's just working all the time and yes while sex is a good way to relieve stress it's also just fucking exhausting lmao she just wants to take a bath with you and have a glass of wine. aaaaaand man i kinda wanna say that sukuna is also here... idk that might just be me but yeah king or not i feel like he has other stuff to do and he's not always thinking abt sex. i feel like he's the most likely to let you suck him off whenever you feel like it though,, i think he's really into cockwarming too.

but i do feel like all of the ppl on the lower sex drive side on the scale feel more than comfortable with you taking care of yourself when they're ready to tap out (ok kuna might try to act a lil pouty tbh but he doesn't really mean it)(he feels a bit old so u just gotta reassure him a litttle lmao) buuut yeah these are just some of my thoughts heheee i love them all sm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sepheray]

wanted to support u by doing the match up (but also bc I wanna know ur opinion sooo)

im 5'4 (shortie, ik but- genetics didn't like me at all, I lost it), brown hair, brown eyes- I've got a pink streak in my hair rn!! very pale, freckles yay! mid size probably- idk I'm so disconnected from my body bc dysphoria that idek

ummm I'm trans, gay and demiaroace!! he/him bc she and they make me feel weird?? like not bad but it just feels like another person, not me.

I really like anything space- physics, theoretical physics, planets and rockets and shit- I edit for fun, dr edits and like Wil edits. reading, writing- I write poetry! im learning bass and guitar- sometimes I make jewelry n things- space documentaries or movies or shows I love- ooo crocheting!! I love that-

i looooove puzzles, escape rooms, strategy games. I am an absolute menace when I play risk- love playing Stardew valley and Minecraft- Harvey is my favorite bachelor!!

favorite shows include; Loki, criminal minds, heartland, rizolli and isles and the closer

mm- I listen to a lot of indie rock tbf- just indie music in general but like a lot of arctic monkeys and front bottoms (and Lovejoy)

I'm very observant, probably to a fault but I like to help ppl, be there for them. I'm very affectionate, lots of hugs and cuddles for whoever needs it but if that's not someone's forte I get it :) ummm idk- what else is good Abt me?? dbjffn

I kinda shut down when I'm upset or triggered, just kinda freeze up and panic. I don't talk a ton unless given a reason to, very very quiet. I have a hard time raising my voice at all. I keep everything bottled up til it's like about to explode.

also love languages; acts of service, physical contact, words of affirmation

Connor I ship you with Wilbur!! ☆@mysticalsoot☆

your interest in planets and theories are very wilbur, I feel like you two could sit there and like fun-fact-dump to eachother all day

When you shut down, Will would be so doting while still giving you your space. He'd do the little things to let you know that he's here from a distance.

Wilb has definitely stated in the past that one of his love languages is words of affirmation so you two would be the most affectionate couple with your sweet words to eachother.

Will is so so observant as well so you guys would be looking out for eachorher 24/7, there is not a single second that you feel alone because his close watch on your feelings doesn't let you feel bad in any way

Wilbur loves puzzles and logic games too (flashbacks to the traumatic tetris streams)

You'd be Lovejoy's biggest fan and their #1 groupie (jkjk) you'd be at every concert, festival, behind the camera in every interview, you'd be his +1 to events.

He'd probably try to help you with learning the bass but then Ash would end up giving u lessons cus you weren't learning much ahaha

You'd make him little matching jewellery pieces - rings, bracelets, necklaces!!

[observer-of-the-world]

I'm a transmasc nb person and let me tell you, I have never been as scared as when I was at a party and stood in line for the men's restroom but the security guard was urging ppl to use the urinals and I obviously couldn't. I was shaking and almost crying at just the THOUGHT of having to explain it to him and people around being able to hear me.

And I had never realized how cis people's mind's are until I became really good friends with a group of guys. From what they watched as kids to not understanding my constant back pain (binder) to forgetting not every man has a dick (a friend once literally forgot I couldn't pee standing up). It's just such a different kind of existance and it's VERY tiring.

Even things I thought we would relate (like liking girls) are fundamentally different. And that's why I personally feel safer around girls overall. Because I know I can talk abt period cramps, makeup, sex or simply have a world view that matches. The way I interpret the world is so much closer to the way a girl interprets it, BECAUSE I LIVED AS ONE FOR 21 YEARS!

Don't blame me for finding that more comforting than hanging out with guys.

An example: once me, a guy friend and a girl friend were walking home late at night. Her and I were visibly nervous while he was walking with his hands behind his head, not a care in the world. He asked us why we were tense and we started explaining all the bad stuff that could very well happen to us in that moment. He said he hadn't thought abt it. We burst out laughing at how absurd such concept was.

And this is what I mean, I need to feel like someone gets me, is there with me without needing to explain. I knew she was carrying her keys in her hand ready to use them as a weapon. She knew I was walking a step behind her to have a better view of our surroundings.

I took this to a more physical discussion, but it applies to anything really. Like exctedly talking abt idk, High School Musical instead of whatever cis boys watched when they were 11.

And this comes from education. Cis people (esp men) need to educate themselves. The guy from my story constantly changes after getting new info from me. Like after the bathroom thing, he ALWAYS goes with me and stands in front of the stall's door, just in case some asshole decides to do something, or does the talking if someone pushes me towards the urinals (he doesn't out me btw).

But it can't be women and trans people's job to educate you. YOU have to do the work. And that starts by not criticizing who we rather hang out with.

ykw it's fucking bonkers how trans guys are made to feel bad and/or irrational for being nervous around entering spaces dominated by cis men & boys. like we are straight up told that either our fears of harassment and violence are proof that we aren't real men (because real men take patriarchal hazing on the chin and never complain!) or – & this one is especially pushed by other queer people – that no trans guy ever has anything to fear from cis men. like personally i have never seen someone tell a cis gay guy that he's self-victimizing or has a misgendering kink when he talks about hanging out with girls because he didn't like straight cis guy culture & it being actively hostile to him. but the only kind of trans guy that's allowed to exist in a lot of people's eyes is "typical masc cishet guy but with a pussy"

[noxtivagus]

i like my handwriting

[bluelockednyx]

mind if i brainrot about rin/isarin in your anon asks? sorry, i know of zero other isarin shippers on tumblr 😭 personally, one of the reasons isarin has such a tight grip on me is because of rin himself. i was thinking abt this for a while but now ive got a bigger urge to talk about it cuz of something that the author aparently said about his depiction of his character. his edginess is sorta how he represents rin's apparent attempt at "having to become an adult" which i thought was interesting. the author also said he thinks his desire to grow up is why rin intentionally complicates his relationship with sae. to me, it reads as though rin associates maturity with broody angst. reminds me of a lot of the "friends are stupid, everything sucks" type of faux maturity where ppl think them closing themselves off to healthy emotional support is them being logical. the fact that he's younger than isagi makes a lot of his underlying naivete matter a lot to me and my feelings towards this ship. ig i use isarin as a way to develop rin opening up to love and affection again, and realising that growing up is so much more than just being angsty 24/7 idk if this makes any sense tho. i could just be being dumb lmaoo

I will take any and all opportunities to talk about Isagirin, and yes, there are very few of us, so ask away as many times as you want :D

I'm not surprised Kaneshiro-sensei said that -- referring to his edginess specifically -- about Rin, because he and Nomura-sensei did a really good job showing it in the manga! The sweet, sweet angst of growing up in shonen manga; Rin being all broody about it is so typical teenager but also depicted so well.

The edginess and 'friends are stupid, everything sucks' mentality is a side effect, imo, of being so attached, and then badly hurt by Sae. I would say that it's a bit of a self-defense mechanism too, because if his own brother, whom he adored so much, and he's sure loves him back too, could hurt him this badly, then it's a bit of a no brainer for someone who's not even family, to hurt him too. I'm pretty sure Rin hesitates to let himself get emotionally attached to anyone at this point, and I'm also pretty sure he's not fully aware of this part of his psyche yet.

On growing up and how Rin intentionally complicates his relationship with Sae: I think yes and no, on this. The simple part - they're brothers, and they always will be. Neither of them can erase that even if they wanted to.

On the complicated part - sibling relationships can be very complex, and just because at the end of the day they can interact properly with each other in a civil manner doesn't mean that there hasn't been real damage done in a relationship, and to a person's psyche. Even the dumbest things done without real intention of hurt can cause lasting psychological effects, whether or not the person knows it for themselves.

Kaneshiro-sensei views Rin as intentionally complicating his relationship with Sae. I don't. But YMMV with this: this POV is personal, and there's a ton of cultural aspects to consider which I am definitely not in a position to talk about.

Sae was cruel to Rin in the flashback when they had their 1v1 after Sae came back from Madrid, and Rin never gets the chance to address that issue because he never gets to communicate properly about it with Sae. There's probably a camp out there who says Rin should just get over it, that Sae said it in the heat of the moment, but I'm not part of that camp. I don't believe in sweeping stuff like that under the rug. It's not fair to the person who was hurt. It's also, well, a common tactic in abusive relationships to trivialize the victim's feelings, which sits even less right with me.

We know Sae better because we get an omniscient POV as readers, but from Rin's perspective, Sae stonewalls Rin and never tries to explain or elaborate. While I do agree that trying to talk in the middle of a football match isn't the best place for it, it still doesn't change the fact that they wouldn't be in this situation at all if it weren't for Sae (and also for the sake of compelling plot drama). Sae definitely owes Rin an apology imo, though given what you've just told me about Kaneshiro-sensei's view on Rin intentionally complicating their relationship, I really doubt he's ever going to have that happen in the manga, so :/

And yes!! Rin being younger than Isagi was something that I had suspected back when they were doing the first 3v3 matchup, from just reading the way he spoke. It was confirmed later, I think, in the yoga scene, then the character guides. And yeah, one of Rin's bigger flaws is definitely his lack of close relationships. It severely limits his ability to empathize with other people, and can become a horrible feedback loop in and of itself. Yet, like I said in my meta, if Kaneshiro-sensei wants to develop him into a healthier, more well-rounded character, that's what Rin needs to do -- develop relationships with the rest of the Blue Lock boys as equals, and become actual friends.

I get you!!!! That's what I want for Rin in the Isarin ship too. Just Rin opening up to love and affection again from Isagi, and growing up and realising that he needs friends the other Blue Lock boys that he can count on too. Let's be dumb about fantasizing Isarin with a loving and affectionate Rin together!!!

[twistyprefect]

CONGRATULATIONS FOR HITTING 1K 🎉❤️ can i have a Friends Forever match-up? i dont have an oc so its for me 👉🏼👈🏼

im a non-binary ambivert and aside from playing games and watching anime, my hobbies are reading books and collecting them! i like trying out adventures like rock climbing and bungee jumping. i also like sharing music and exchanging playlists with friends. i HATE know-it-alls bc i encounter a lot of them in fandom spaces

as for my personality, im shy to strangers so i tend my circle small. but once i find ppl who can either relate to me or can handle my nerd talk, i literally never stfu. but tbh that rarely happens bc im embarrassed with that side of me LMAO so since idk what to talk abt, i just listen to a lot of ppl and i like it that way actually!! im a great listener and im happy give an advice if they need it~ (basically, i can be both in this meme depending on who im with dksjdjs)

hullo anon!! i had a few characters i wanted to math you with but i ended up with two main ones so i hope that's ok! 💞💖

Your forever-friends are...

Jack Howl!

Jack loves listening to people talk about themselves and their interests; he loves to hear about your adventures, and probably gets a lot of fun ideas for trips to go on himself. He definitely asks to come on your next adventure with you, regardless of what it is. He doesn't read much outside school, but he'd love to hear you talk about the books you're reading! He's very protective of his friends, so he also has a smaller group of friends. He invites you along to any first-year hangouts but he makes sure there's no pressure for you to join them. Overall, he's just happy to have friends to share his adventures with.

and...

Malleus Draconia!

Malleus adores books and stories and loves finally having someone to talk to about them. He'll probably invite you to his many, many library outings; he likes hearing you talk about whatever book you're interested in. He also asks you if you could make a playlist for him based on some of his favorite stories. He spends a lot of time in Diasomnia by himself, so feel free to pop by whenever you want. He'll definitely invite you to any Diasomnia event or get-together, and since he understands you're a bit shy he'd really appreciate when you DO come to them!

[seiwas]

ALEXIS PLS OMG 😭 am so touched wth!!!!! thank u so much for reading and for leaving such nice comments?!?!?!?

omg where do i even begin... 🥺

for you to say that the best thing abt reading it is rereading it?? omg??? icb u reread it 😭 the time!! the effort!! to write this out!! i am soooo touched!!?????

i love how you pointed out the specific bits you liked too omg 😭 it's always so interesting to me which parts speak to others bc there are parts that i personally try to drive home but it doesn't really land, while there are also some parts that i don't expect to hit so much but they do!! and it's always a pleasant surprise each time 🥺

dialogue is one part i rlly struggle with!!! so for u to highlight that distracting line omg it's such a compliment!! esp since ur dialogue always gets to me 🥺

and!! an emotionally stunted gojo omg 😭 i love exploring that side to him 😭 just bc i think!! he's all talk, all flirt, but rlly when it's real feelings, i think he kind of freezes a bit?? and really thinks hard abt it!! like u said!! and how it all goes back to reader 🥺

I AM ALSO SO HAPPY!!!! that u can relate to the whole 'baby' as a pet name thing 🥺 i'm particularly choosy with pet names, and while i do think that gojo uses every petname under the sun LMAO, i feel like baby really matches him (both ways) — the drunk phone call scene has a special place in my heart just bc the whole distance aspect of it is really personal 🥹 so i'm so happy!!! that you find it pretty and that you love it as much as i do 🥹

YOU'RE ALSO SO RIGHT!!! i like to think he's that type of person too— that at the end of it all, it'd feel nice to be grounded 🥺 to find a place to just settle, y'know??

and i'm so happy u agree that he's a hichew fucker LOL he's also an obnoxious gum chewer but that's for another fic LMAO m also so happy u noticed that lil bit of him asking if reader has eaten yet!! bc!!! i rlly wanted to emphasise the give and take that their relationship has!! and that he rlly is considerate abt col reader 🥺 (idk!! i just think he notices things a lot more than ppl let on)

LITERALLY URE SO RIGHT TOO LMAO MEGS IS A MENACE DEEP DOWN AND IS RLLY ONLY DOING THIS FOR THE LOVE OF READER SDSAJ

and AAAAH alexis 🥺 for u to say that!! abt my kinda is kinda not explicit writing 🥺 i am so touched!!!! that is such a compliment i swear 🥺 (i super get you with being picky abt smut shdbfsadf i think i'm the same 😭) for you to say that it's the prettiest smut u've ever consumed ?!??!?! oh my good?!?!?!?! i am so 🥹🥹🥹 idek what to say!!! ur comparison to train to busan too omg (that's so real) 😭😭😭 this is such high praise!!! the highest form of compliment 😭😭 i'm speechless!! w u saying that the way i characterise him is beautiful!! it's all i could hope for really!!!

i so appreciate!! that you like the way i structured/formatted the fic too!! i was kind of worried that people would forget about that first bit bc its a format ive never tried before but!! you noticed it!!!

your favourite lines too!! omg am so glad the vulnerability came thru 🥺 and the ENDING!! aaaah i played around w the phrasing for a bit bc i wasn't so sure but i'm glad you like it 🥺 sobbing rn at u saying this is a fic u're gonna be thinking abt in ur 20's PLS i appreciate u sm thank u 🥺

₊˚⊹。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, pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), symptoms similar to synesthesia, reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby, loml), 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! (lots of callbacks and references + better context!), lots of songs as inspo (would gladly share if you’re curious!), will add descriptions for the food in the a/n at the bottom!, from conceptualisation to actual writing this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) <- 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 of the cook continues: he heats up the skillet for 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 in lieu of an apron.

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 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 mingles 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 his 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 keeping you with him, 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 in time for the next use.

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

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes. You noticed when you caught him washing his face in the dark, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm. 

And the 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 against squished cheeks, 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 slides off his knee 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 @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[touyaz]

OO HELLO HELLO!! congrats on ur milestone love 🥺💘 id love to get a toxic matchup from u hehe <3

i suck ass at communicating and trusting people, will keep everything bottled up till i get found out or i can't take it anymore. also overthink too much </3 bc of that i need someone who's perceptive enough to notice when im not okay, and be patient but honest/straightforward ab it. im an introvert, my love language is physical touch and i don't prefer people w acts of service/gift giving as love languages (simply bc. i feel bad every time i accept a gift/service? idk it's weird but i can't take people doing things for me LMAO)

hope that's not too much!! have a beautiful day angel and make sure to drink lots of water mwah <3

aether !!! thank u very much, i hope you are doing well + taking care of yourself also 🥰💞 !!

i'm gonna say your toxic match-ups are ushijima + osamu!! ushijima's social skills are....... lacking, put nicely, and i think it'd be a struggle talking to him about deeper/ more serious things bc he doesn't really... make the situation easier for you? like, you could be working up the courage to tell him smth that's been eating away at you + you just want to get it out, and he'll be staring at you like 👁👄👁 + it makes you wonder whether he even wants to be there/ cares (he does but he does absolutely nothing to ease ur worries. just sorta sits there ominously. waiting.). osamu is better at communicating, but he's a very "they'll tell me in their own time" kind of guy, so even if he can see you struggling, he won't encourage you/ push you to talk unless it's been going on for too long. neither of them are particularly good w the emotional side of things which will def lead you to overthinking whether they even care bc they're not the most verbal/ expressive abt how they feel. osamu is better than ushijima, but he's still not the loudest guy, he prefers subtle acts of love which aren't as obvious, especially if youre in a headspace where you're beginning to think he doesn't like you bc he doesn't say it v often. rip to you but osamu's love lang is acts of service; like i said, he's not good at declaring his love, but he hopes you see it through his actions. if he can see you getting uncomfortable by that he's like,, at a crossroads bc it's hard to up and change the way he acts, but he can tell you're not the biggest fan? he'll probably continue it tho bc words are not his forte </3 thats not to say he won't initiate physical contact though, but he tends to do that in private/ only when w close friends. ushijima........ tbh, i think he likes having his own personal space, so you have to initiate physical contact bc it just doesn't register in his mind that he should do this stuff (esp at the start of ur relo) he's a work in progress </3 for similar reasons to osamu, i would say suna as well. i love them both but they suck ass at speaking to ppl + giving comfort when it's needed <///3