#this is really helpful so ill leave this here :)

[leandra-kinard]

I'm in no way invalidating this post, as I assume it's US-centric. But it's a stark reminder how vastly different the work cultures are there and in Germany where I live and work.

Yes, you don't have to tell your boss everything, and in some instances it's a good idea to say less, but if you have any kind of long-term illness or condition, it actually is a good idea to talk about it with your boss (and HR + the work's council, if you have one). Good employers in Germany will then do their best to accommodate for your needs so they can keep you and make things work out for you. They tend to have a more long-term mindset where they want to help the employee get better or find better ways to be a happy (and yes, with that productive) employee.

That's not always the case either; especially internationally operating corporations here are a bit more cut-throat, so it's a good thing to know the company's mindset well, but it's a tendency.

Also, there are actual laws that prohibit them from firing you for something like that. There are limits, for example if you're actually sick (off work) for too long repeatedly with no prospect of improvement that can be a just cause for termination, but the employer has the duty of proof in that instance. If they cannot prove that your absences are too detrimental to the company's well-being for them to tolerate it, you can sue for reinstatement or damages.

At my current company, I've been immensely lucky, because even for German standards the mentality there is extraordinarily understanding and supportive. When I told my boss that I was burned out and had to take a week or two off (on fully paid sick leave, mind you), he said "Two weeks might not be enough. Take as long as you need." So I took four.

I was in the process of switching departments, so I had a conversation with my next boss too and asked if I could work from home completely for a while. He seemed very understanding, and I then told him the whole story - because he also needed to have some kind of prospect and know how long it was gonna take etc - so I said I was in the process of being diagnosed for ADHD and that I just couldn't manage also having to go into the office.

Now that I have the diagnosis and will soon hopefully get my meds, there's that prospect, and we said for now, I was gonna come in one day a week (usually 2 is mandatory) for a while until I feel ready to be there two days again.

That was only possible because I explained what was going on with me; the transparency also gave the employer a positive outlook and a feeling of trust, and when your company's mentality is built on those kinds of values, it makes for a million times more pleasant AND productive working environment. I mean, just by how this all was handled I do feel very loyal to my company now. (I'd be stupid to leave, frankly, lol).

And from many other cases I know how they reacted too. A colleague had to stay at home because she had pregnancy complications - no problem. Another one sometimes has to leave early or work from home because she has frequent and heavy migraines. Sometimes people have to do the same because of something to do with their kids. Everyone is usually fully transparent about it and it really helps create an atmosphere of openness and trust.

TL;DR: Err on the side of caution, yes. But do inform yourself of your legal rights in your country, and the mechanisms in such situations. Suss out the company's approaches to various issues and know their policies. Sometimes, when the outside conditions are in your favor, being transparent about your situation can be the better choice.

Hey here is your friendly reminder to not tell your nice boss stuff.

I’m at the executive management level for my very small company and I have 4 people who report directly to me. I am a nice boss. I’m friendly with my employees, I treat them like professional adults, I actively try to create a positive work environment, and I mentor them and make sure they’re advancing in their careers. I do my best to shield them from the rest of management doing stupid shit. My employees like working for me.

The other day one of my employees came to ask if she could change her hours on Mondays. I said yes immediately because it’s helpful for me to know when she’s here and when she’s not, but as long as she gets her work done I don’t care when and where she does it. She then proceeded to tell me that it was so she could attend therapy and like … I will never use this information but … as a general rule don’t fucking do that.

Do not tell your employer shit about your mental or physical health except for the bare minimum needed to request a reasonable accommodation. Even your nice boss can fire you, even your nice boss can unfairly change your working conditions, and even your nice boss at some point is probably going to face pressure from their superiors.

I’m not saying don’t trust your boss with anything ever. I’m just saying that anytime you are in the workplace you need to keep your private information private. You can still have a good relationship with your boss. Your workplace can still be pleasant. But if it ever feels like disclosing private information is required in order to have a good relationship with your boss, please see that as a red flag.

[animeshotsh]

You what? | Viktor x Jayce x Kid!Reader | Arcane ¤

Summary: Viktor knows Jayce sometimes does things without thinking, but this? This goes beyond his own limits.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma - Kid!Reader - Viktor and Jayce are a couple - OFF CANON EVENTS - Human traffic - GN Reader - PLATONIC - grammar mistakes -

When Viktor enters on monday morning into the lab with his coffee in hand he expects nothing but silence, after all he is here before Jayce most mornings.

But he stops in his tracks when he hears Jayce's voice, maybe sounding less...well less like him. He sounds like he is talking to a small animal. It reminds him on how he uses to talk to Rio when he was a kid.

Pushing memories aside Viktor retakes his way and goes deeper into the lab, where their experiments are.

And oh, if his illness did not kill him as most doctors had said then this would do it.

Jayce, using one of his experiments showing it to a kid who seems to be as suprised as any kid would be and perphas gives the most honest reactions to his inventions.

But wait, go back.

Jayce and a kid.

His cane hits the floor in suprise and he ends being watched by two pairs of eyes.

Jayce looks like he was discovered breaking some important rule, to which Viktor is centrain that bringing a kid into the lab counts as but he wont say it. And another pair that looks at him with curiosity.

There is silence, no one really knows what to say or how to act. But Jayce ends reacting, leaving the experiment and going to help Viktor with his cane who is feeling a headache coming.

"Hey Vik! long time no see, how's your house?"

Honestly? Viktor wants nothing more than to go back in time and insist that he is fine and does not need rest. Maybe like that he would have stayed with Jayce and prevent...this.

But time travel is something that is still on the making, so back to the main point.

Viktor just gives out the most tired look, then turns to a near chair, sits and taking his coffee simple says "Explain"

Becuase if there is something he has come to learn while dating and loving Jayce is that nothing should suprise him (and yet Jayce still manages to do it) and also, is better to ask upfront than to wait for him to talk up. Viktor can still remember that one time he found a big (illegal no less) plant at his home and Jayce ignored it for two hours till he asked.

"Well you see, its really funny actually..."

"Jayce...."

"Alright..., so I took a walk around campus and saw some...suspicious individuals and well lets say I was not very discrete"

Viktor can just imagine the scene

"And they saw me and ran but I chased after them"

Stupid move Viktor thinks

"And then they trow me this kid at me, i mean what could I have done? So i took them home, gave them a warm meal and a bath" Jayce ends sounding a bit too proud of himself.

"Jayce you...you stole a kid?" Viktor asks because he is confused "And did not report the incident?"

"Uh well i was going too but then (Y/N) started to wonder around so i kind of forgot..."

"(Y/N?" Viktor asks and sees you peeking out from behind the big desk.

"Yes! Thats their name, im not sure about much more, only that they like chocolate and blue stuff"

Viktor ends in silence for various minutes. You must be an orphan he concludes, an orphan from the undercity, who had no other choice but to follow a gang in order to survive. He tries to calculate your age but its hard, you have been not eating well, thats clear, and he can already see some bruises from the misstreatment of the undercity.

Being raised by parents or family its a luxury after all.

"Jayce you cant just take a kid in" Viktor says and his heart almost breaks as he sees you run towards Jayce hugging his legs.

Noted, you may not talk but you understand, its clear you are more intelligent than what you leave to be at first.

Street smart maybe?

"But Viktor! I cant just leave them" Jayce responds picking you up. "If they return to the undercity i dont think they will make it"

Jayce sees how you push your head against his chest and smiles softly at you.

"And we cant leaven them at an orphan home! I have read of these places, they suck"

Viktor must agree, its not like he comes from one but knows well that lots of kids ends being sold off...

"Alright and whats your plan?" Viktor asks "Do you even know what it means to raise a kid, or how? What about me? Were you going to consulte me?"

He can see the pain in Jayce eyes at his last sentence. "Of course I was! I was just thinking of a...well a good moment"

"Because bringing them to the lab was the perfect idea"

"I could not leave them at home! I mean i tried but- they would not let go of my leg, i think they have some type of trauma..."

Viktor takes another deep breath, Jayce kidness and heart knows no limits.

"Besides you did say you wanted to help the peopel from the undercity"

"This is different, we are talking about raising! adopting a kid!"

"So you are considering?" Jayce asks in the most hopeful tone ever.

Viktor just lets out another breath.

"Well, its not like they can go back and yes, orphan homes sucks" Viktor responds. "But we need to do this right. And i mean legally"

Jayce nods and all of him lights up like he has discover a new thing. He goes to Viktor carefully managing (Y/N) by his hands and leans down to peak Viktor's lips.

"Yes!! Totally! I will talk to Mel about it, im sure she can move some contacts for this" Jayce says and Viktor can see his brain making more and more plans.

"They also need clothes, and we should think of getting them into school" Viktor adds standing up with his cane and going closer. He can see (Y/N) eyes and cant denied how it makes his heart melts.

"Dad?" Its what you say looking at Viktor, then you look at Jayce "Mom?"

Jayce smiles and nods while Viktor is left without words. "Yes! We are your mom and dad now" he says pointing at him then at Viktor.

"Family?"

Jayce nods again

"...Chocolate?" You asks once more

"Alright thats all, if they eat too much sugar this place will be a disaster, you do remember we have dangerous things in here, right?"

Jayce nods at Viktor then whispers to you "We will get chocolate once we end work"

Viktor snorts then moves to his desk to finally start working and also to let his mind register everything. He hears the doors closing imagining Jayce went with you to talk to Mel.

But no, he feels a pull at his trousers and looks down at you who looks up at him extending your arms

"Dad! Up!"

Viktor does as told pulling you on his lap and passing you some papper and a pen. Both fall in a comfortable silence.

And Viktor thinks, this is something he can totally get used to.

[strawberrystepmom]

canon au. cult leader!geto x f!reader. | word count: 762, reading time: 3 minutes.

“Did I ever matter to you, Suguru?”

In a different life, the fact you’ve even asked would have crushed the man standing next to you. In this imaginary reality, he’d ask how he could show you differently that he cares. He would reaffirm that the attention you spent almost a year of your life extending to him was worth it and helped him through the worst times he has ever experienced, but in this one he knows better.  

It doesn’t matter if you did or not. His feelings won’t change the fact you will never be his, your noble choice to do good far more important to you than any lingering feelings you may have for him.

“No, I guess you didn’t.”

The words taste worse across his tongue than any curse he’s ever ingested. He’s a liar, damned to hell for more reasons than just dishonesty, but he has to finally let you go; to let you walk back into a crowded club with tears blurring your vision because his words cut to your core. You told him years ago you fear being forgettable, someone people can let go of without a second thought, and it’s the sharpest knife he can press into you in some ill guided attempt to get the last word.

“I’m glad to finally know.” 

A chance encounter in a club closes out a chapter in your life you thought you’d stay suspended in forever and your stomach turns, your hands idly resting at your sides while your thoughts race. From “does your boyfriend know you’re out dressed like that?” to turning your head with a grin that swiftly fell as you weaved through the thick crowd to end up out here. 

You sniffle and what’s left of his heart breaks, wondering for a moment if he can’t take it back. If he can’t replicate the grin of his former best friend, jovial and wide enough that you believe he’s joking. He could toss you a sardonic, bitter chuckle and you’d roll your eyes but who would it help? 

It’s not like you’re going to return to him, it’s not like he can undo this.

“Thank you for being honest,” you mutter quietly before turning on your heel to leave.

Words sit heavily in his mouth but they disappear with each step you take, putting distance between the two of you before you glance over your shoulder. He’ll try not to remember the look in your eyes while they dance over the entirety of his form as though they’re seeing who he really is for the first time. 

He’ll fail and it’s why he accepts that tonight you’ll return to Satoru, begging for affirmation that you aren’t as worthless as you feel and he’ll almost certainly give it to you, eager to please with sweet words and teases. Reassurances you aren’t nothing, that you’ve made a mark on his life he won’t soon be recovering from. The boy with the silver spoon has become the man with a gilded tongue, the one who always inevitably gets what he wants.

God knows Satoru has wanted you for long enough, since you first stumbled into his life at fifteen, it’s only right he gets to have you now despite Suguru’s selfish wishes that you stay affected by him forever.

He’ll fail and that’s why he knows he will return to the compound, a failed scouting mission in the city under his belt, but he’ll slide into someone’s bed regardless. There’s a woman who looks enough like you when the lights are low he can pretend, it’s the reason he recruited her in the first place, a poor imitation of the real deal. He can press his hand over her mouth to keep her from speaking pleasured babbles in a voice that doesn’t belong to you and he can close his eyes and pretend the smack of skin on skin is yours on his. He’ll ask her to flip over to her belly so he doesn’t have to look at her but he can imagine that the hair that’s a shade too dark to belong to you is still yours, looped around his fist while he fucks all of his angst into her, pretending he’s another man living another life.

Your retreating footsteps continue and his traitorous mouth opens, gasping quietly enough it doesn’t grab your attention over the sound of pouring rain and thrumming music behind the entrance to the club, and he closes it wordlessly, grateful he’ll never have to see you look at him like that again.

[allykabbet]

Sneezing dynamics I like 5

"Excuse me, I have to sneeze so much."

"Ugh... That hurts" / "Ugh... That looks painful," says someone to another after a particularly strong sneeze that seems to tear at their throat.

Comfort gesture: someone putting a hand on the back of the neck of a person having a sneezing fit, gently stroking, perhaps with their nails, to provide a bit of comfort or relief.

"I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m sneezing so much."

"X pressed the handkerchief harder against their nose, feeling the warmth of his breath against the fabric."

The perspective of a subordinate/secretary/employee witnessing their boss sneeze for the first time, seeing this authority figure lose control. Can they do something as mundane as sneeze? They’re human, after all.

Someone who rarely sneezes is sneezing all day. Their roommate, initially unconcerned, begins to worry. "What’s going on? You’ve been sneezing all day." "I don’t know, it started this morning" / "I don’t know, I’m sneezy today." "Are you okay?" "I think so."

Someone has been sniffling for a while but can't sneeze, as if the sneeze is stuck. They clear their throat, scrunch their nose, release shaky breaths, or gently pinch their nose in frustration. Eventually, their roommate complains. "Could you just blow your nose already?" "Could you dust already?" "Is dust really the issue here? Just blow your damn nose!" "ItsxCshHUu!" "I guess that’s a no."

"ATTschu! Oh my g-ho…Tschu!" (A gasp interrupted by a short, unexpected sneeze that leaves them breathless.)

Groaning after a sneeze. How many times must you have sneezed to groan afterward? Or maybe it hurt from being stifled too hard?

After a particularly strong sneezing fit: "Bless you, darling, are you cold?"

A rapid stifled fit. Small, muffled sneezes that, due to their frequency, the person decides to stifle so as not to "bother" anyone. Their chest tightens with each sneeze, and as the fit continues, the sneezes grow a bit louder, harder to stifled, and more painful, until one or two finally escape uncontrollably.

"Oh dear, are you okay?" The person witnessing the fit puts a hand on their shoulder, worried, forgetting to bless them due to the impact.

A holding a handkerchief to the nose of a vulnerable B, completely overwhelmed by a sneezing fit. This situation is somewhat unrealistic for everyday circumstances, but who knows… Perhaps someone with their hands full? Someone unable to move for some reason? How vulnerable must you feel, at someone else's mercy, to help you cover a sneeze? Perhaps, when B slightly recovers, they could place their hand over A's, without them pulling away. A would feel the moisture and force of B's sneeze through the handkerchief, the way their nose contracts, their head shaking from the effort, the warm breath…

Sneezing on the subway/train/elevator, or in a crowded space where they can’t leave until it reaches its destination. Maybe they’re forced to stifle the sneeze, even if they usually don’t, or they sneeze into their shoulder or hand or inside their coat to avoid spraying anyone and trying to be as discreet as possible. Still, sneezes inevitably draw stares.

Sneezing inside a coat is special. Simply.

Pre-sneeze face, so obvious and desperate.

"ATTSShiu!!" (A usually stifles) "Ow, that was strong. Are you okay?"

A person sneezes a fit of 5-6 times, and someone blesses them each time. "You don’t have to bless me each time; this might go on a while." "But I want to."

Sneezing into a mask, and the mask itself makes your nose itch even more, making you sneeze more.

Sneezing twice in a row and changing the way you cover up for each sneeze, perhaps realizing the first method wasn’t polite enough.

A habitual stifler lets a sneeze slip due to illness or fatigue (they’re too tired to contain it), and someone nearby who knows them well comments: "Oh, bless you! I’ve never heard you sneeze like that." "Thank you," they say, embarrassed.

Someone realizes unknown aspects of another person by analyzing how they sneeze, cover up, or apologize each time they sneeze.

"You’re more polite than I thought!"

Sneezing inside a high-neck sweater, pulling up the collar.

Someone with a generally extroverted personality, except in their sneezing. They usually stifle to avoid drawing attention, feeling weak or less funny/protective/caring than usual. The contrast of their generally loud personality with a soft sneeze stands out, despite their attempts to avoid it.

Sneezing when your throat hurts. The sneeze almost feels like it’s tearing at your throat, and you try to sneeze as softly as possible, making the sneeze almost unsatisfying. It may be accompanied by a groan and rubbing your neck with a grimace of pain.

Someone is about to sneeze into their hand, but midway through an inhale, they realize it’s impolite and pinch their nose with their fingers or cover their sneeze with their elbow.

Sneezes where the exhale is louder than the sneeze itself.

There’s something extremely charming about someone who apologizes after sneezing, even when their sneeze is entirely QUIET, discreet, and polite.

Sneezes that aren’t far apart but have two or three seconds between each sneeze. The people around bless each one, and the person doesn’t have time to thank them, being trapped in the next sneeze.

Sneezing on the phone. The person on the other side imagines the sneezing person’s expression and, lacking the visual cue, focuses on the strength of their inhale, the sound of the sigh, the pressure sound as they rub their nose, and the congestion in their voice. The person sneezing moves away from the phone, so the sneeze sounds more distant or softer than usual, and then they apologize for the interruption.

Sneezing differently when sick, due to allergies, or casually. For example, someone typically stifles their sneezes, but when they’re sick, the sneezes are much more unexpected, frequent, and barely stifled. Those who know them well recognize these as their “sick sneezes,” clearly seeing when they’re coming down with something. (Idea courtesy of @secret19stuff)

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 15: HUMMINGBIRD

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader

It’s not like Satoru can help it. He’s been very good since you decided to stay. Really, he has been. He keeps his hands to himself. He doesn’t make it too obvious when he stares at your ass.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, oral sex (f receiving), edging, fingering, gagging, mentions of sexual assault

ੈ✩ wc: 8k

ੈ✩ a/n: the more i write this fic the more they scream divorced couple. maybe next chapter ill let reader beat satoru with sticks

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

October, 2011

The clatter of dishes punctuates the heavy silence falling over the kitchen. You watch Satoru carefully, noting the tension in his broad shoulders as he wipes his hands on a dish towel, his piercing blue eyes avoiding yours. The playful demeanor that usually adorned his features is noticeably absent, replaced by a melancholy that made the air between you almost tangible.

He says your name, his voice steady but weighted with an urgency that demands your full attention. He clears his throat. 

“About Megumi and Tsumiki…"

His words hang in the room, and you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. You push your half-eaten breakfast aside and lean back, arms crossed, readying yourself for whatever confession is about to spill from him.

"I know who they are, Satoru," you prompt, tone laced with curiosity and apprehension. “I want to know why they’re with you.”

Satoru exhales slowly, as if bracing himself against an invisible storm. 

"When I... when I defeated Toji Fushiguro, he warned me. He knew the Zenin clan would come for his son because of his technique— which they'd exploit without hesitation." His gaze flickers to yours, searching for understanding. "It's been a few years now, and the time is approaching. I couldn't let that happen to him.”

You absorb his words, feeling the gravity of the situation settle over you like a shroud. A gifted child and a vulnerable girl—alone in a world riddled with darkness and greed. Satoru's protective instincts were clear, yet something gnawed at you, a lingering frustration that clawed its way up your throat.

"So you took them in," you state flatly, your voice betraying the anger simmering beneath the surface. "But you left them alone, Satoru. Alone, for days. And a cursed spirit attacked them because of it!"

He flinches slightly at your accusation, the dish towel crumpling in his grasp. 

"I know, and I can't undo that mistake," he replies, his usual confidence faltering as he faces your ire. "But I'm here now, and I won't let anything else happen to them."

Your heart wrestles with the conflict of emotions—anger, concern, and an undeniable sense of loyalty to the man before you. Satoru's intentions were noble, even if his actions were flawed.

"Fine," you concede through gritted teeth, your support given begrudgingly. "I understand. The children shouldn't suffer for the ambitions of the Zenin clan."

Satoru's eyes soften, the gratitude evident in his expression. "Thank you. This means more than you know."

Yet, as you stand there amidst the emotional wreckage, you couldn't shake the sense of unease that clung to you, a shadow of doubt that whispered of complications yet to come. What the hell were you even doing here? None of this was your business, but there are roots in this city that lead to Satoru, whether you like it or not.

With two kids getting involved in that, you have trouble with the idea of going back to your life in Kyoto, even if you’ve only been around for a few days. You trust Satoru more than you’re willing to admit, but you aren’t sure if you trust him enough to leave him as a guardian by himself.

The morning light filters through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the remnants of breakfast. Satoru leans back against the counter, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that feels almost palpable.

"So," he ventures carefully, "How long do you plan to stay?"

You hesitate, your gaze drifting towards the window where the bustling streets of Tokyo seem to call out to you. A mix of longing and uncertainty knots in your chest. 

You missed the frenetic energy of the city, the comfort of familiar places, and the faces of those you held dear—especially Shoko. Her dry humor and blunt advice were sorely absent in Kyoto. You missed… Satoru.

"I wasn’t going to stay.”

“You don’t actually like it better there, do you?” Satoru raises a brow. “I fucking hate going there for the clan.”

“I do,” you lie.

“Come on.”

“Okay, Kyoto was... a trial in independence," you admit, your words laced with both nostalgia and regret. "But Tokyo has always been home. I do kind of miss it."

Satoru's expression shifts, a spark of hope flashing across his features. 

"Then stay a little longer," he suggests eagerly. "Help with Megumi and Tsumiki."

You weigh the offer, your heart tugging you in directions you hadn't anticipated. The children needed stability, something you could provide, even if temporarily.

"Alright," you say quietly, the decision surprising even yourself. "A little longer. Maybe a week. I’ll have to call Utahime and Gakuganji–"

“I can handle it.”

“Um… okay.”

"Great!" His smile broadens. "You can have the extra room—no charge—or the apartment below if you'd prefer more privacy."

“What, it’s just vacant?” you raise a brow.

“It’s a pretty new building. And you know I can pay for it.”

The idea of living under the same roof as Satoru stirs an array of emotions within you. Despite everything, the thought of being close was undeniably appealing.

"The room will do," you respond.

__

You find normalcy over the next few days at the Gojo/Fushiguro household. The rhythm of life with Megumi and Tsumiki becomes a comforting pattern – you and Satoru take turns picking them up from school. The both of you go to Jujutsu Tech together during the day and he tries his best to leave you alone to whatever studies you’re able to do on the Tokyo campus.

You get to know Nanami a bit more, thankful for his company whenever Satoru’s presence is a bit overwhelming. The sorcerer seems to be hovering over you more often than not, to your dismay. The push and pull between you is back, the tension never having left since the Tanabata festival.

Satoru is good at controlling himself. He doesn’t provoke you outright, but there are… things that he does on purpose.

The first day you’re back at Jujutsu Tech, he comes into Shoko’s workspace three times within two hours to “check” on the two of you. The first two times are welcomed, innocent enough to you, but the third time, Shoko yells at him to get out when she’s showing you and some first-years the dissection of a frog.

At home, he’s most definitely trying to impress you. He insists on cooking, which is only successful every other time. You’ve never seen him this eager to make a home cooked meal considering his penchant for takeout. More than once, you’ve caught him napping on the couch with Megumi leaning on him, and it makes your heart swell up so big that it could probably burst out of your chest. The bastard.

The thing that almost makes you snap is his insistence on his late-night showers after classes and missions. Once the kids are off to bed, you’re usually trying to make yourself useful by tidying up. Playing the role of a domestic partner to Satoru was not one that you expected of yourself — not now, at least — so why exactly are you fussing over doing his laundry?

It’s not like he even puts on clothes after his showers. He just loves to hang around in only a towel, often passing by your room to ask you an innocent question while droplets of water cascade his chest, and you’re caught off guard every fucking time. And he knows it.

It’s not like Satoru can help it. He’s been very good since you decided to stay. Really, he has been. He does tend to stare at you longingly, just like he used to, but you’re usually preoccupied with other things, like handling the kids or engaging in your studies. He keeps his hands to himself. He doesn’t make it too obvious when he stares at your ass. 

He’s being good. But it’s in his nature to fuck with you a little.

So he starts touching you more often, too. Wakes up earlier than you (he doesn’t sleep much anyway, apparently) to make you coffee the way you like in the morning, just in his boxers. Sometimes he uses the travel shampoo you bought just so you can get a whiff of him and feel very, very confused. The way you pinch your brows each time your body gives in just a little bit is priceless.

It’s satisfying for him, to say the least. Especially since he can’t help but think of you when he’s in the shower, ruining the shower tiles after he fists his cock at the thought of you like he’s sixteen again. He almost feels bad since the bathroom is connected to both your room and his. 

Well, what you don’t know won’t hurt.

You’re smart, though. You catch on very quickly to his attempts at getting attention from you and ignore Satoru when you realize. It’s almost devastating when you don’t look at him anymore.

One night, he’s particularly antsy. He’d convinced Nanami to go to some happy hour with him just so he could talk all about you and mildly tell him that you’re off-limits. When he comes up behind you while you’re cooking dinner, you smell the artificial sweetness of some fruity liquor. He places his hand on your hip.

“There’s my little housewife.”

You look at him, your expression completely blank. 

“And who are you talking to?” you respond coolly.

He chuckles. “Just kidding. Whatcha makin’?”

“Yaki udon.”

“Oooh. Need any help?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aww, come on,” Satoru pouts. “S’the least I can do.”

“Not when you’re tipsy.”

“Ah, you caught that, huh?” He leans against the corner and grins cheekily. “Just had a drink with Nanami-kun. He’s been a great help on some missions lately.”

You hum as you stir the noodles.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he? Save for that emo-ass haircut–”

“Satoru,” you say his name sharply.

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing,” he asks, his lashes batting innocently. “Just making conversation.”

“Okay, well… can you leave me alone in the kitchen? You’re kind of driving me insane here.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Anything for you,” he mutters under his breath.

You’d have to crack eventually.

__

October, 2008

Gojo was getting a little clingy. He loved having you over, loved handling you like some kind of ragdoll just because he could. In his head, it was making up for all the times he avoided you like the plague. He had you wrapped around his finger – you let him fuck you for all these months, didn’t you?

It was probably the longest he’d ever been with someone. You were basically a girlfriend at this point, or so Suguru liked to tease him. The word girlfriend left an odd taste in his mouth.

But sure, he could pretend. He acts like a boyfriend, maybe. Chases you around the corridors like he used to when he was a kid, only to pin you down to his bed, skirt up. He likes to bite at the ankle of your leg whenever you ignore him while you’re in his bed. 

He was such a teenager about you, but that was his right. He’s young . Both of you could be a little lovesick if you wanted to be. He wasn’t thinking too far into the future anyway. 

But there are moments when you look at him like you’re in love and it fucking terrifies him.

Because he leans into it, too. His kisses with you are longer, his touches lingering. He’s started to get antsy if you’re in the room and he’s not touching you. It’s an itch that won’t go away. He wants to keep you all for himself — that’s why he doesn’t tell you about Shoko’s party.

She had an inkling about the two of you. Satoru always acted like an idiot, but Shoko knew him long enough to see that something was different. She wanted to properly spend time with you, so she said. And you could, Satoru reasoned. Just not in his house full of intoxicated people, comprised mostly of other boys from school.

The thought of you surrounded by other men made his stomach churn. He pictured their eyes on you, their hands reaching out to touch what was his. No, he couldn't allow that. 

He knew he had it bad ever since last week. 

Suguru’s hair was growing past his collarbone and you offered to cut it for him. It was stupid how Satoru couldn’t stand it – the way your delicate fingers combed through Suguru’s dark hair. His boyish grin while you stood above him with kitchen scissors, blades of black cascading down his bare back. Satoru couldn’t help but think that you looked perfect together.

He knew Suguru was no competition — you were Satoru’s, and he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. That fact alone was odd. He’d never been with anyone who was a virgin before. Knowing that he was the first to touch you at all made him dizzy — he still remembered how wet you were the first time, even though he had only kissed you once before.

At the moment, his face nuzzles your belly as you read on a chaise lounge in the Gojo den. He was annoying you, pulling your shirt up, nipping at your skin. You’d swat him away, but there was no use. There’d be pink welts, love-shaped bite marks. Clan blessings.

You were stubborn as always, but he liked the chase. Everyone else would fold too easily — there was no game. With you, there always was. He was addicted.

“Can I eat you?”

“No.”

“Please?”

You snap his name and he grins to spite you, his hands tickling the meat of your thighs anyway.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Did you think about what I said?”

You feign ignorance, barely peering at him. “About?”

“About school. ”

He needed you at Jujutsu Tech. It was better than you being stuck at his estate. No one at the local colleges would be enough for you. Satoru imagined you with human boys, ones at the bottom end of the spectrum in which he was at the top. They’d take you for granted. He couldn’t bare the thought of any of them fucking you with clumsy, sweaty hands. Unpracticed rolls of the hips, fish mouths. It made him sick.

“No, I haven’t thought about it.”

He rolls his eyes. He looks up at you, then. At your lips.

“Please. ”

“Don’t beg,” you smirk. His eyes flicker and narrow. He wanted you beneath him, pressed into his bed. As much as he was mildly pissed off, your tone was different. It made his insides burn. 

Satoru's eyes darken, a mischievous glint dancing in their depths. In one fluid motion, he rises from his position at your feet, his body moving with a predatory grace. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you closer.

"Don't tease me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. The book you were reading clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Your breath hitches as Satoru's lips graze your neck, his teeth nipping gently at the sensitive skin. You could feel the tension radiating off him, a mix of desire and frustration that made your heart race.

"I'm not teasing," you whisper, but your voice trembles slightly, betraying your own growing arousal.

You gasp as his fingers ghost over your center, the thin fabric of your underwear doing little to mask the heat emanating from your core. Satoru's other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back to expose more of your neck to his hungry mouth.

"Satoru," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "Your mom’s home. We can’t—"

He lifts his head, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. "Why not? Just be quiet. She never comes in here anyways." His fingers continue their teasing exploration, making you squirm beneath him. "Besides, I thought you liked a little risk."

As his hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake, you can't help but wonder if he realizes just how much you belonged to him - and how dangerously close you were to stealing his heart in return.

“You love me, right?” he breathes. You look at him with wide eyes, unable to speak.

You could only nod dumbly.

Satoru pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze intense and searching. "Then say you'll come to Jujutsu Tech. Be with me."

You hesitate, torn between the allure of his offer and your own uncertainties. "Satoru, I-"

But before you can finish, his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding. His kiss is bruising, possessive, as if he could convince you through sheer force of will. Your hands find their way into his hair, tugging gently as you return the kiss with equal fervor.

When you finally break apart, both panting, Satoru rests his forehead against yours.

"I need you there," he says, his voice low and raw. "I can't stand the thought of you being anywhere else."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, of his touch. Part of you wanted to give in, to let yourself be swept away by his passion. But another part held back, wary of losing yourself completely in Satoru Gojo.

He was serious. It would kill him — he said it with his eyes. He always spoke in hyperboles. He was allowed as such, his own existence larger than life itself.

"Let me think about it," you murmur, running your fingers along his jaw. "Please?"

Satoru groans softly, clearly unsatisfied with your response. But he nods instead, pressing one more kiss to your lips before pulling away.

"Fine," he says, his tone a mixture of resignation and determination. "But don't take too long. I'm not known for my patience."

As if to emphasize his point, he scoops you up in his arms, ignoring your startled yelp. "Now," he grinned, all boyish, "I believe I asked if I could eat you earlier."

Your protests dissolve into laughter as he carries you upstairs towards his bedroom, the unresolved tension between you momentarily forgotten. He loved playing with you, pulling your hair. He liked the way you yipped like a puppy when his tongue was carving out your cunt, imprinted with the tender muscle. Swirling heart shapes in between the ribboned folds.

He could feel how close you were already from the way your pussy twitched underneath him, his drool mixing with your arousal. When you’re right at the brink, he stops.

“Satoru!” you hiss.

“Say you’ll go to Jujutsu Tech with me.”

“Are you – are you edging me over this?”

“Sure am,” he grins, his mouth wet with you. Your throat dries up. He was always doing this lately to get what he wanted. 

“You’re fucked up.”

“You like it,” he murmurs, licking your clit teasingly. Smirking as your body seizes up.

“You’re insufferable,” you grit. “And entitled–”

“Keep going. I like it when you’re mean to me.” He presses his cheek against your damp thigh. “It gets me hard.”

You scoff. “If you don’t wanna fuck, we don’t have to.”

“You don’t mean that, baby. You want to come, don’t you?” He plunges his fingers into you, hooking into the soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. 

“Satoru—”

“Shit, you’re wet. I could make you feel so good if you weren’t being such a brat.”

“How am I the one being a brat when — hah –” Your breath hitches when he pulls the pleasure out of you. Summoning lightning. 

“You wanna come or not?” he taunts. “Yes, fuck— okay, okay, I’ll… I’ll enroll—”

He pauses, his face lighting up eagerly. “Really?”

“No,” you huff, kicking him off of you with your foot. “But I might. I need to figure out my technique a little more.”

“I’ll train you.”

You roll your eyes and straddle him, pawing at the bulge straining against his pants. He looks at you, love-struck, face red as your other hand grabs his chin forcefully. 

“You still wanna fuck?” you ask, pulling off your soiled underwear. 

“Fucking obviously—” He gets cut off by you stuffing his mouth with your panties. His face flushes as red as a tomato when you unzip his pants and palm him.

“I’ll fuck you if you stop being so annoying. That means you stop pestering me. And you can train me on my terms. ”

Satoru nods slowly, eyes glazed over. You feel him throb against your hand and you smile. 

__

October, 2011

You find yourself alone in the apartment. Megumi and Tsumiki are at a sleepover, and Satoru is out on a mission. The silence is both a relief and oddly unsettling after days of constant company.

You decide to take advantage of the solitude, drawing a hot bath and sinking into the steaming water with a contented sigh. The scent of yuzu soap relaxes you. The tension in your muscles begins to melt away as you close your eyes, allowing your mind to wander.

Unbidden, thoughts of Satoru float to the surface. The sky-blue of his eyes, the curve of his smile, the way his muscles ripple beneath his shirt when he moves. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, trying to banish the images, but they persist, growing more vivid with each passing moment.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't hear the front door open, or the soft footsteps approaching the bathroom. It's only when Satoru's voice cuts through the silence that you jolt back to awareness.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize you were in here."

Your eyes fly open to see Satoru standing in the doorway, his hair tousled from the wind and a faint flush on his cheeks. His gaze roams over you for a split second before he averts his eyes, but not before you catch the hungry look that flashes across his face.

"It's fine," you manage to say, your voice slightly strained. "I'll be out in a minute."

Satoru nods and retreats, closing the door behind him. You let out a shaky breath, your heart racing. The bathwater suddenly feels too hot, your skin flushed and tingling.

You step out of the tub and wrap yourself in a towel, acutely aware of how the soft fabric clings to your damp skin. Taking a deep breath, you open the door and step into the hallway.

Satoru is there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

"I thought you were on a mission," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Finished early," he replies, his voice low and husky. "Wanted to come home."

The word 'home' hangs in the air between you, laden with unspoken meaning. You're hyper-aware of how close he is, the heat radiating from his body.

You run your tongue over your teeth, feeling small under his gaze. His blue eyes are unfaltering, boring into you so intensely that you feel branded. Head waterlogged from the weight of it. 

You know what he’s thinking – you can see the longing in his eyes. It seemed that Satoru decided to cut the bullshit for once, letting his desire flow freely. He doesn’t say a word about his desire, still, but you can tell he’s sick of flirting. Like the ice king he could be, he demands presence by simply looking at you.

It makes your stomach flip the way it used to. You always lie to yourself, convinced you can resist him after all these years. You’re both breathing a little too hard. You notice a maroon streak of blood underneath the loose collar of his shirt and inhale sharply.

“I made soba if you’re hungry.” Your voice is as thin as a willow. “It’s in the fridge.”

Satoru smiles. “Thanks.”

Your face is still warm from the bath, feverish from the hot water. He looks predatory and pleased, making you feel pent-up and fidgety. Touch-starved.

You nod curtly and slip past him, your damp skin brushing against the fabric of his shirt. The brief contact sends electricity crackling through your body, and you hurry to your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Your heart pounds as you lean against the door, listening to Satoru's footsteps retreating down the hallway. You take a deep breath, willing your pulse to slow. With trembling hands, you dress in loose pajamas, the soft cotton a stark contrast to the lingering heat on your skin.

When you finally emerge from your room, you find Satoru in the kitchen, heating up the soba you prepared earlier. He's changed into a simple white t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still slightly mussed. The domesticity of the scene strikes you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would be like if this were your everyday reality.

"Want some?" Satoru asks, gesturing to the steaming bowl in front of him.

You shake your head, moving to the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of water. "I already ate."

As you reach for a glass, Satoru moves behind you to grab the soy sauce. His chest brushes against your back, and you freeze, hyper-aware of his proximity. He lingers for a moment longer than necessary before stepping away.

You retreat to the living room, curling up on the couch with a book you've been meaning to read. Satoru joins you a few minutes later, settling next to you. The silence between you is charged, filled with unspoken words and suppressed desires.

You try to focus on your book, but your eyes keep darting to Satoru. He's scrolling through his phone, the blue light casting shadows across his sharp features. Occasionally, his gaze flicks to you, and each time your eyes meet, the tension in the room ratchets up another notch.

"How was the mission?" you ask, desperate to break the silence.

Satoru shrugs, setting his phone aside. "Nothing too exciting. Just a low-level curse causing trouble in Shibuya."

You nod, trying to appear nonchalant as you take a sip of water. Your hand trembles slightly, and before you can react, the glass tips, sending a cascade of cool liquid splashing onto Satoru's lap.

"Shit," you exclaim, jumping to your feet. "I'm so sorry."

Satoru looks down at his soaked sweatpants, a mix of surprise and amusement crossing his face. 

"Well, that's one way to cool things down," he chuckles, standing up.

You rush to the kitchen, grabbing a dish towel, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. When you return, Satoru is still standing there, the wet fabric clinging to his thighs in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

"Here," you say, thrusting the towel at him.

He takes it, but instead of drying himself off, he catches your wrist, pulling you closer. "Why don't you help me?" he suggests, his voice low and teasing.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look up at him, torn between desire and the last shreds of your self-control. Slowly, almost against your will, you bring the towel to his thigh, dabbing at the wet spot.

The room feels electric, charged with the tension that's been building between you for days. You can feel the heat of his skin through the damp fabric, the firm muscle beneath your trembling hand. Satoru's breathing has quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watches you.

"I think you missed a spot," he murmurs, guiding your hand higher up his thigh.

You swallow hard, your fingers brushing dangerously close to the junction of his legs. The air between you feels thick, heavy with unspoken desire. You can smell his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely Satoru that makes your head spin.

"Satoru," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. 

But even as the words leave your lips, you find yourself leaning closer, drawn in by the magnetic pull of his presence. Satoru's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip.

"Tell me to stop," he says softly, his eyes searching yours.

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, you find yourself rising up on your tiptoes, closing the distance between you until your lips are mere inches apart. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and inviting.

For a moment, you hover there, suspended in time. The world narrows down to just the two of you, everything else fading into the background. Your heart pounds in your chest, so loud you're sure Satoru must be able to hear it. You huff, turning your face away.

“Stop,” you mutter. Satoru’s face falls.

“Twigs.”

“Satoru .”

“What ?” he asks sharply. “I know we’ve been apart for this long but you’ve never stopped being mine. You realize that, don’t you?”

You clench your jaw, glaring at him. It excites him, undoubtedly. Satoru won’t admit it, but his desire is only ignited even more when you’re angry. He knows that you know this, too, but you won’t indulge him. You’re the picture of composure, but the facade is cracking very, very delicately.

“You’re still so entitled.”

Satoru sighs in frustration. “I don’t understand what you want from me. I could give you everything — I want to. Fuck, I will. But your insistence in keeping me at arm’s length is driving me insane.”

You raise a brow. “Begging for sex now, are you?”

“That’s not—” he flushes. You have a point, and there’s no use in denying it. He’d rather be humiliated and be thrown a bone. “So what if I am? Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

“Can you just— behave? I know what you’re doing. I know what you’ve been doing.”

“What have I been doing?”

“Seriously, Satoru? Walking around half-naked when it’s just the two of us, flaunting the kids around because you’re trying to awaken some maternal instinct in me or something? Are you trying to babytrap me?”

“I’m not! I just — fuck, I missed you. So much. Maybe I get a little desperate sometimes. I can’t help it.”

You sigh, scrubbing your hand over your face. “Eat your damn soba and behave. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“About what? Our sexual tension?” he teases.

You flick his forehead, huffing, before turning on the television to distract yourself. Thankfully, he only snorts and sets down his bowl of noodles to quickly change in the bedroom. He merges in a pair of athletic shorts and the mere sight of it makes your jaw tick.

He resumes eating next to you, eyes fixed on the television. He knowingly manspreads, thigh to thigh with you. The television flickers, casting a soft blue glow across the dimly lit living room. You try to focus on the drama unfolding on screen, but your attention keeps drifting to the man beside you.

Satoru sits with an air of casual indifference, one arm draped across the back of the couch, his fingers mere inches from your shoulder. His legs are spread wide, his muscular thigh pressed against yours, radiating heat through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

You shift slightly, attempting to put some distance between you, but the couch suddenly feels impossibly small. Satoru doesn't move, his eyes fixed on the television, but you can see the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

Asshole.

The air in the room feels thick, charged with an electricity that makes your skin tingle. Every breath he take is hypnotic in its rhythm. If you weren’t so attuned to it, you’d have the mind to control your own breathing, the persistent hummingbird pattern of your pulse.

On screen, the lead actress leans in for a passionate kiss with her love interest. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. From the corner of your eye, you see Satoru's tongue dart out to wet his lips, and you grimace.

He stretches, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned abdomen. Your eyes are drawn to the trail of silverish hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. When you drag your gaze back up, you find Satoru watching you, his blue eyes dark.

"Everything okay?" he asks innocently.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Satoru's hand moves from the back of the couch to your shoulder, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. The touch sends shivers down your spine, and you have to bite your lip to keep from leaning into his warmth.

"You seem tense," he murmurs, his fingers kneading gently at the knots in your muscles. "Want me to give you a massage?"

The offer is tempting, so tempting that for a moment you consider giving in. But you know where it would lead, and you're not ready to cross that line. Not yet.

You don’t respond, merely giving him an annoyed look that acts as a warning.

Satoru shrugs, his hand sliding away, leaving your skin burning in its wake. There’s a glint of mischief in his expression, the cock-sure boyishness of his younger self stewing under the surface. But he’s behaving. Technically.

"Suit yourself," he snickers, turning his attention back to the TV.

As the on-screen kiss intensifies, you feel your cheeks grow warm. The embrace seems to last for an eternity, the actors’ hands roaming each others’ bodies in an urgency that reminds you of the person next to you. Satoru notices the way you awkwardly shift and grins.

“Getting turned on by some softcore porn?” he whispers, his voice playful. “Or are you getting flashbacks?”

You shoot him a withering glare, but it only seems to encourage him. “Shut up, Satoru.”

The tender love scene gets even more intense, the sound of gasps and moans filling the space. 

“Don’t be so shy,” he snorts, reaching over to squeeze your knee. “Though I have to say, I’m a bit hurt. You never blushed like that for me.”

You open your mouth to give him a sharp retort, but the words die on your lips when you catch his dilated pupils and playful smirk.

“I— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter.

“No? Should I refresh your memory and you can prove me wrong?”

You roll your eyes, ignoring him. His forwardness never ceases to surprise you, but your blood warms up from your frustration — with him, with the way you’re so close to giving in. You refuse to let him have power over you despite knowing he does and always has.

Satoru stretches an arm over the back of the couch again, his skin touching your hair. He leaves you be, for now, but the lazy smirk on his face lingers as if he’s won an unspoken battle.

You know better, though. You’ll give him what he wants if it’ll satiate him, but he won’t be the one winning.

“Hey, Satoru.” You scoot closer to him, your eyes dark in the bluish shadow of the television. “How have you been managing without me?”

He raises a brow. He doesn’t know what you mean — truthfully, he’d been a mess the entire time, but you already knew that, given his confessions months prior. But he’d been alright with the kids. Having you back just made him feel normal again.

“Uh, fine?” 

“Right,” you nod slowly. “You know, I ran into one of our classmates yesterday at the grocery store.”

“No kidding.”

“Mhm. Fukuda Masako. You remember her, right?”

He narrows his eyes. Yes, he remembered her. He’d fucked her a couple of times when he was sixteen, usually at his house, usually loud enough for you to hear on purpose. He doesn’t know why you’re bringing that up now .

“Sure.”

“She asked about you. Wondered if you were single.”

“What’d you say?” he asks carefully, jaw tightened.

“I said you were, of course. The great Satoru Gojo would never let a girlfriend hold him down, right?”

He gives you a sharp look. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing,” you smile innocently. “I was just looking out for you. Tsumiki says you look lonely sometimes, you know?”

“I’d rather not waste my time with a non-sorcerer,” he scoffs.

"Why not? You used to all the time, even when we were underclassmen at Jujutsu Tech. You’d do it to get back at me and Suguru sometimes, right?”

He stares at you. The playful atmosphere from moments ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden tension that crackles in the air between you.

"That was a long time ago," he says, his voice low and controlled. "I was young and stupid."

You lean back, crossing your arms as you regard him coolly. "Were you? Or were you just being yourself?"

The words hang in the air, sharp and accusatory. Satoru's eyes flash with a mix of anger and hurt, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for a moment.

"What are you really trying to say?" he asks, turning to face you fully.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation you've been avoiding for years. 

"I'm saying that you have a history, Satoru. A history of using people, of playing games. And I'm not sure that's changed."

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the tense set of his shoulders. 

"Is that what you think? That I haven't grown at all?"

"Have you?" you challenge, your voice rising slightly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're still playing the same games. Flirting, teasing, trying to make me jealous. It's all so familiar."

The words tumble out, years of pent-up emotions finally finding their release. You remember the nights you spent lying awake, listening to the sounds of Satoru with other girls, the way he'd smirk at you the next day, daring you to say something. The constant push and pull, the mind games that left you dizzy and confused. The times he’d be overly possessive and jealous despite having his arm around other girls at parties while you’d find comfort in Suguru.

Satoru's face darkens, a storm brewing behind his eyes. 

"That's not fair," he says, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I've changed. I'm not that person anymore."

"Really?" you press, leaning forward. "Then why does it feel like you're still trying to manipulate me? The half-naked wandering, the constant flirting, using the kids to tug at my heartstrings. It's all calculated, isn't it?"

Satoru stands abruptly, pacing the length of the living room. The muscles in his back are taut beneath his thin t-shirt, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Is it so hard to believe that I genuinely care about you?" he asks, whirling to face you. "That maybe I've realized what I lost and I'm trying to make amends?"

“So you admit you’ve fucked up? Tell me what you’re making amends over!”

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “Do you know how embarrassing it was when I’d feel confused over you and I’d vent to Shoko and Utahime? What about years ago when you were sleeping with me exclusively and then pretended I didn’t even exist?”

“What? I’ve never—”

“You ignored me the entire time at Shoko’s nineteenth birthday party,” you snap.

He pauses and thinks back to how drunk you’d gotten. How he went ballistic on another boy for putting his hands on you, how you’d vomited in his bathroom. The guilt creeps back again like a parasite and his face crumples.

"I remember that night," he says softly, his voice muffled. "I remember every detail, every mistake I made."

You watch him, your anger tempered by the raw emotion in his voice. Satoru takes a deep breath, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

"I was terrified," he admits. "Terrified of how much I cared about you, of how much power you had over me. I'd never felt that way before, and it scared the shit out of me."

He leans back, his gaze fixed on some distant point as he continues. "That night at Shoko's party, I— I couldn't handle it. Being with you. I don’t know why I ignored you, why I was trying to pretend everything was more casual than it was. If I’d just— been there , then you wouldn't have—”

His voice tapers off into a choke. Satoru's confession hangs in the air between you, heavy with years of unspoken truths. You remember that night vividly – the sting of his indifference, the confusion and hurt that had driven you to drink more than you should have. The way you felt when someone else’s tongue was in your mouth.

“When I saw that creep put his hands on you," Satoru continues, his voice tight with remembered anger, "I lost it. I wanted to tear him apart. And then when you got sick, all I wanted to do was take care of you, protect you. But I didn't know how to do that without making myself vulnerable."

He clears his throat. “I know I apologized, then, but it wasn’t enough. Do you remember what you said before I apologized for not being there? You blamed yourself. You said, please don’t be angry with me. ”

Your shoulders slump. You don’t remember that moment, not clearly, at least. You only remember vomiting and crying before falling asleep in Satoru’s arms.

“And I kept being a fucking idiot over and over after that. Even when we were with Suguru, when everything felt good. I was in love with you and fucked you over so many times because I was stupid and jealous and didn’t know what to do with my feelings. And I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

He expects you to be on the brink of tears, but you let out a sigh of exhaustion. His heart beats frantically, half-expecting you to leave him right then and there. But you don’t. You stand there and you say nothing.

“There were so many times that your selflessness just — fucked me up. I knew I didn’t deserve you but I kept wanting you anyway, and you kept letting me in. It wasn’t fair. If I—” he pauses, inhaling sharply, “If I ever treat you like that again, I want you to knock the daylights out of me. No infinity, I swear.”

Your neutral expression cracks. You laugh.

You… laugh?

Your laughter catches Satoru off guard, his brow furrowing in confusion. But as the sound fills the room, you feel something inside you begin to unravel. Years of pent-up tension and hurt start to dissolve, replaced by a bittersweet catharsis.

“God, I put up with so much of your bullshit,” you exhale, your laughter subsiding. Satoru looks at you with caution as if you’re a wild animal. He can’t tell if you’re livid or not.

“Yeah, you did,” he says quietly. “And you shouldn’t have.”

“I guess that’s why I went to Kyoto.” You sink back to the couch, your expression calmer now. 

Satoru doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you. Silence ensues for an uncomfortable amount of time before you speak up again.

“You know,” you sigh. “I wasn’t… completely blameless in all of this either.”

Satoru’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “What do you mean?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "I... I played games too, Satoru. Maybe not as obviously as you did, but I wasn't always honest about my feelings."

You remember the nights you'd spent with Suguru, knowing full well that it would hurt Satoru. He wasn’t entitled to you, of course, but there were times you’d deliberately leave him out when you were pissed off with him. Times you'd deliberately ignore his texts or calls, relishing in the power it gave you.

"I was selfish, sometimes," you admit, your voice cracking slightly. "Especially with Suguru. I wanted both of you, in different ways, and I couldn't bring myself to choose. I mean, I know I didn’t have to choose – we loved each other, right?”

He nods, face flickering with emotions you can’t decipher. Neither of you had talked about Suguru in so long. It almost felt taboo.

“I didn’t know how to be in love with you both and healthily navigate it all. So I just... let things spiral out of control."

You pause, gathering your courage for your next words. "I knew how complicated things were between the three of us, but I kept playing both sides. I'd comfort him when you two fought, knowing it would drive a wedge between you. And when everything fell apart with Suguru, I... I blamed you. It was easier than admitting my own role in the mess we'd created."

Satoru listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face.

“It was immature of me to basically ghost you after I went back to Kyoto. I wanted space, but I just… cut you off instead of having a conversation with you.”

“I deserved it,” he mutters.

“Even if you did, there was no reason for me to isolate myself and not talk to you for six months. I wanted to be more independent but I just pushed away the person that loves me most. I’m sorry.”

Satoru reaches out, hesitantly taking your hand in his. His touch is warm, familiar, and you find yourself leaning into it despite your reservations. His thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, his touch a soothing counterpoint to the tumultuous emotions swirling between you. The soft glow of the television casts dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes.

"I’ve missed you so much," he says softly. "But I think... I think maybe we needed that time apart to grow. To figure out who we are without each other."

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. "I think you're right. Being in Kyoto, as much as I hated it sometimes, it forced me to confront a lot of things about myself. About what I want, and who I want to be."

Satoru shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours. "And who is that? Who do you want to be?"

You take a deep breath, considering your words carefully. "Someone stronger. More independent. Someone who doesn't lose herself in other people's expectations or desires."

A small smile tugs at the corners of Satoru's mouth. "You've always been strong. But I understand what you mean. I think... I think I needed to learn how to be on my own too. To be responsible for someone other than myself."

His gaze drifts towards the hallway, where Megumi and Tsumiki's rooms lie silent and dark. "Taking care of the kids, it's changed me. Made me realize how selfish I've been in the past. I used to think I was invincible. That nothing could touch me, that I could do whatever I wanted without consequences. But seeing how vulnerable they are, how much they depend on me... it's terrifying. And humbling."

“I’ll admit you’ve… grown a lot since I’ve come back. You’re different.”

“Different?” Satoru chuckles softly. “You mean less of an asshole?”

You can't help but smile. "Well, yes. But also more... I don't know. Present? Like you're really here, not just putting on a show. You’re still a cocky little shit, though.”

“It’s the Gojo blood,” he deadpans. You exhale out a laugh.

A comfortable silence falls between you, filled with the quiet hum of the television and the distant sounds of the city outside. You find yourself leaning into Satoru's warmth, your head resting on his shoulder.

“So… what now?” you mumble. Satoru's arm wraps around you, pulling you closer.

"I don't know," he admits. "But I know I want you in my life. In whatever way you're comfortable with."

“Me too,” you nod.

Silence washes over the both of you again, though you have no qualms about it. You bask in his warmth and the beat of his heart. His hand rubs your thigh gently, tantalizingly. You glance at him, amused when he looks back at you innocently.

“We're still not having sex tonight,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Damn it.”

[plant-ago]

An Open Letter to Dan and Phil

Dear beloved nerds,

This was originally going to be an (even longer) actual letter that I was going to give to you at the tour, but my nonprofit-employed ass can’t afford a meet and greet, so we’re doing this instead. I promise it’s not just trauma dumping— mostly, it’s about saying thank you and trying to cultivate some hope for all of us.

I’ve been a big fan since around 2014, when I was a mentally ill neurotic deeply repressed loner egg (average phannie, let's be honest). Now I’m a whole adult who got therapy and HRT and has joined the legions of transmascs with the Dan Howell haircut! What a legacy.

I’m making jokes because the thing I actually want to talk about, and the reason I decided to make this an open letter, is kind of serious. But in light of the election, I feel like I need to share this, both with you and with all the other queers in this little corner of the internet.

Here’s the gist: I’m a paralegal at a non-profit organization that works to help queer migrants get asylum. Mostly what I do is sit them down in our nasty sterile office and try to be kind, and help them get through telling me all the most terrible things that have happened to them, and then turn around and pare it all down into legalese that is digestible to the government to make the case they should get asylum.

It’s a horrible job, really, and one that shouldn’t have to exist. Some parts are plainly wonderful, like meeting so many queer people from all walks of life. But it’s also heartrending and difficult, and burnout is always looming. My horrible banal work is often literally a matter of life and death for the client, and I’m fighting a broken system for a chance at giving them the happiness and safety is owed to them by international law and, really, by any decent human standard, should never have been in question.

The thing is—and this is reason to hope—queer people really do exist everywhere, no matter how much repression and violence we face. In a tiny village in Colombia, there's a kid who’s all spit and vinegar, dresses like a boy and plays football and fights anyone who says that they can’t, who grows up wiry and gets black eyes because men still can’t handle getting their asses handed to them on the soccer field by a dyke. This client texts me at my work number sometimes to ask if I’ve eaten that day, because they wanted to check in on me. He asked me to call him by a boy’s name, recently. I don’t know that he’s told anyone else. I open every message I send him with "Hola, James."

Then there’s the sweet, babyfaced college freshman who got death threats when he was outed to his classmates back home, and whose parents kicked him out when he refused to marry a girl to protect the family's reputation, leaving him alone in a foreign country. He was couch surfing and just trying not to miss class so he could keep his student status and he was so conscientious I wanted to cry— he’s eighteen, guys. Eighteen. I’ll get him his papers or so help me fucking God I will kill for him. You know? You know. After that meeting I had to sit at my desk with my notebook and fill an entire blank page with the phrase “he’s just a kid,” over and over again, until I felt like I could breathe.

On a Friday morning recently I get up and open my laptop to interpret on a call with a soft-spoken older trans woman who's sat in the bleak phone room of the ICE detention facility because her immigration judge didn’t believe that she was really transgender. “An odor of mendacity pervades everything the respondent says,” the judge wrote in her ruling, where she determined the client wasn't "credible." To this day I’m still floored that she straight up ripped off Tennessee Williams—new frontiers in bigotry, truly. She didn’t even cite. In our meeting now, the client quietly tells us how hard it was when she came out but how happy she was the first time she wore makeup, and she'd rather stay in detention here for indeterminate years as proceedings spiral on than go back to Guatemala, where they'll kill her—boys, if I ever get within spitting distance of this fuckass judge, it is on SIGHT. Absolutely fucking ON SIGHT. For legal purposes, that was a JOKE.

So I finish the call and get up to get a snack. It’s only ten am but feel tired already because I’m angry, which is not unusual but also not something I want to hold onto, because it doesn't help anything. So I make some toast and look at my phone— two texts, which I ignore, a spam email, and, wouldn't you know it, a YouTube notification from Dan and Phil games! Jarring! That’s just sort of how life is though, isn’t it? Deathly serious and lighthearted in the same breath.

But regardless, seeing the notification makes me feel warm, so I have my toast and watch a little video of you two playing Roblox or dress up or whatever it is you do on that channel these days. I have a good giggle and I finish my toast and go back to my desk. It’s a crucial part of my diet really— the giggles, not the toast. I’m not angry anymore. I’ll be angry again, but for now my cortisol levels are manageable and I can put my head back into emails or whatever the fuck. Do you ever think about how plants make food for free out of sunlight but we sit around writing emails all day? And that’s if we’re lucky. Capitalism is hell.

Anyway, there is a point I am trying to make, and it’s not really about the banal horrors of neoliberal nation-state or capitalism or even homophobia. It’s to say thank you for coming back to make silly videos together, because I love them, and you never fail to make me happy. And yeah, maybe something about the story of that scared eighteen-year-old kid at the front of my mind makes it particularly sweet to watch you two goofing off and being openly queer. It reminds me why I’m doing what I’m doing, and it gives me the strength to send another fucking email because sometimes doing “important work that I value and believe in deeply” means having to send another fucking email. And sometimes I’ll rewatch your older videos, and then come back to the more recent ones, and my heart bruises, because you remind me what I’m fighting for and why. It’s nothing grandiose, it’s just— for queer people to get to have the ability to grow into themselves and be outrageous and silly and make mistakes and to love and be loved for who they are. To have the safety and support and security that no one should ever go without. That’s all.

So I am being dead serious when I say thank you for making top-tier light entertainment, and for coming back to a job that wasn’t always kind to you, and that it does actually matter. All this talk about terrible influences and legacies has made me think that sometimes you doubt whether you do good in the world, so let me be clear: you really, really do. I kind of get the sense that in order to accept sincerity Dan needs to be beat over the head with it, so if that’s the case, consider yourself coerced, you dickhead. You matter to me, and especially in times like these, I think I speak for all of us when I say that the joy you share is a precious and treasured gift. So please accept my gratitude in return.

All my love,

Jules

(I removed or changed all identifying information in this letter to protect privacy, but the stories are real).

[professional-bulshitter]

i think it's because of Rose actually?? in the way that when Rose is taken away (so violently and jarringly, mind you) the audience doesn't really know how to react? Because they got too attached to Rose as a character (one, as a self insert but relatable character and two, as a person that humanises the doctor) and this had a very doctor like response to the idea of someone like Martha replacing her?

Because here, Martha is doing all the things that Rose used to do and her unrequited crush on him is making it worse because ten and Rose's relationship did have a canonically romantic undertone which means that when Martha desires him, so close to the doctor and the audience having lost Rose, they have a very aversive reaction to it

Additionally, there's the fact that Rose was the first companion that the doctor had post the revival of the show which means that again, the audience got very attached to her in a way, that when she was taken away, they felt ill equipped to deal w that kind of loss and so the insertion of Martha in that role meant the starting of an audience-character relationship on a very turbulent note very much like that of doctor and Martha.

Doctor's hot and cold dynamic with her again didn't help because the doctor is essentially the character that the audience uses to judge who to trust and who to like (in most cases) and that worsens the way that Martha is viewed in a way that the show runners literally needed to have her commit the absolute act of loyalty when there was no other hope she travels for a year and saves doctor by spreading the message and her departure then, (to me at least) feels like a mesage of not realising what you had till you lose it and then there's no going back, which again, is a great lesson to learn for that doctor in particular but also, the audience of the show who are just getting used to this format of changing actors and characters (esp because a lot of the audience of the show was people who hadn't watched the show pre-revival)

but absolutely, Martha deserved better and I'm so happy that she chose to leave the doctor and recognise her self worth instead of waiting around (because she is so so cool and deserves so so much!!)

ps- i think it's v v fascinating the way this kind of relationship between the characters and the audience manifests because Batman fandom experienced something similar when Jason replaced dick as robin and a lot didn't like him because they felt like dick was being replaced and only started liking him after the tragedy of his narrative unfolded.

but yeah :)

Honestly, I don’t understand some of the criticisms against Martha. I’ve watched several videos, and it’s always the same comment: people blame her for falling in love with the Doctor. But let’s be real—she’s not the only one who developed feelings for him. Many companions have been in the same situation, and no one seems to have a problem with them.

Take Rose, for example. She not only fell in love with the Doctor, but their relationship was framed as a romantic storyline. River Song is literally married to him, though their dynamic is much more mature and balanced. Clara shares an incredibly deep emotional bond with the Doctor; while it’s not always romantic, she’s willing to do anything to stay by his side. Even companions like Sarah Jane or Madame de Pompadour had feelings for him.

So why is Martha singled out and criticized for something that’s a recurring theme in the series? What bothers me even more is that people also criticize her for being jealous of Rose. Yet, Rose herself showed jealousy—like in School Reunion, when she was clearly uncomfortable with Sarah Jane’s history with the Doctor. Jealousy is not unique to Martha.

I feel like Martha is judged much more harshly than other companions. Maybe it’s because her relationship with the Doctor was unrequited, which made her more emotionally vulnerable. She felt invisible to him, especially compared to Rose, whom he still idolized. But is that really a reason to hold it against her? Her jealousy is a human reaction, an understandable response to a painful and frustrating situation.

In my opinion, these criticisms lack nuance. Martha is a strong, brilliant woman who eventually recognizes her worth and chooses to leave the Doctor—a bold and empowering decision that few companions have made. She deserves to be appreciated for her entire journey, not reduced to these unfair criticisms.

[pcktknife]

Ive just progressively wanted to exist less and less and less in front of others for like years now and on my worst days it really gets to me

[altruistic-meme]

i hate having executive dysfunction and decision paralysis cus i have shit i need to get done today but im staring at the list of things to do and going "idk where to start :( guess ill just Sit Here until i magically decide" and internally in like "NO YOU HAVE TO PICK SOMETHING. YOU WILL WASTE THE WHOLE DAY" but externally im just chilling.

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[pollen]

:|

[penisbilt]

the bittersweet but absolute flood of relief that comes from admitting defeat at living independently, to have to move back in with parents. we tried! we gave it our best shot for almost 3 years! but living like this (being on our own) is just not possible for us at this time of our lives. we've finally proved it to ourselves that we can't do it. it'll be okay to let ourselves rest now

[me1onmi1k]

I'm very happy abt it so I'll share it here lol- IM OFFICIALLY A PERMANENT RESIDENT OF CANADA !!!!! WE DID IT LADS !!!! I GET TO STAY WITH MY WIFE !!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[thetangibleghost]

I think we might have trauma tied to the literal feeling of falling asleep/waking up. Like we get nightmares that are just. The feeling of changing concousness but drawn out + adrenaline + terror

[radgeorgie]

had an amazing interview yesterday.... was told I'd know by Monday.... but it's alleged they DRUG TEST and I just bought 6 packs of weed edibles 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭