#though he refuses to see it or acknowledge it there's of course a lot of bad things in his life

[solarmorrigan]

The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

[jellyfemmedyke]

sorry to ramble in your inbox but its kinda fucking me up how "trans man with a cishet boyfriend who misgenders him behind his back" is like seen to be a person to make fun of in the general queer tumblr space instead of a person who is in a vulnerable situation. i know that there is trans men who are also women and there are trans men who are genuinely okay with dating a cis man who considers himself straight but people talking about these hypothetical couples arent talking about these situations but rather about "haha stupid trans man doesnt realize hes dating a bigot"

theres this attitude that the hypothetical cishet boyfriend is actually a conservative so it should be obvious to trans man that he doesnt respect his identity but i feel like its less "oh its obvious that this specific man is a bigot" and more "obviously cishet white men are bigots" and its weird how people laugh at this person instead of acknowledging that even if you are dating a bigot its usually not a big win for you personally. like the bigot cishet boyfriend isnt going to be okay with his trans man boyfriend starting testosterone. like we can sympathize with emotional abuse happening towards other groups but when its gay and mspec trans men its like "oh he should have known that would happen" or "its his fault for dating a bigot"?

of course people have the same making fun of the victim narrative with afab nonbinary people who date cishet men who misgender them [and im sure this bleeds over to affecting all nonbinary people if people arbitrarily decide theyre afab if the nonbinary person refuses to tell them personal information about themselves but the larger narrative always specifies that this is an afab person] and its almost like a "this is what you get for being attracted to men" sort of thing.

and also i theres something to be said about warning people for signs their partner or potential partner doesnt respect their identity but considering i imagine its a common anxiety among trans and nonbinary people who are into that sorta thing to wonder "am i ever going to find someone who loves me and is also accepting of me for being [insert gender here]?" its sort of fucked up for it to be common to basically claim "yea if youre dating a cis man who said he was straight before he started dating you but says he respects your identity hes probably just straight up lying to your face" and then laugh at the person getting misgendered for not knowing they were being misgendered.

anyway sorry for this big ramble i cant even remember specific instances of this to reference so i might seem like im making up a guy to be mad at but i swear this is like a general attitude and almost running joke i see around. anyway. have a good day.

I absolutely see that too, and I think it's a mixture of straight up victim blaming, because oh noo how dare you WANT to date *gasp* cis men

but it come with an intense transandrophobia and exorsexism because there's a lot more sympathy when it comes to cis women dating cishet men "poor things uwu" but when it's trans men or in this case non binary people assumed to be women, it's always "see I told you so" smug superiority. (cis women get this too, because of misogyny obviously, but it's different and worse for trans men) People are just waiting for a chance to be misogynistic and trans men are an acceptable target. This is honestly extra fucked up when we remember that trans men experience some of the highest rates of domestic violence and rape in the community though.

being trans is such a vulnerable place to be in, and a lot of people, trans or not are insecure or just want to be loved, that's normal. A lot of people are willing to accept certain behaviors from their partners that are bad, because of those reasons as well, victim blaming, and ESPECIALLy telling trans men to toughen up or "what did you expect" is apart of the toxic expectations that get placed of trans men as well. I could honestly go on for hours about this. good ask,anon

[jjkamochoso]

Braids and Mochi Escapades

Fluff

Obanai x female reader

Mitsuri braids reader’s hair, Obanai can’t handle the cuteness!

Warnings: none

Being a hashira, your life involved seeing lots of blood, guts, and other horrible things. It didn’t consist of much light and happiness but that all changed one day when you seized the opportunity to work with another hashira and your whole perspective on life changed. You had never had so much fun than when you and Mitsuri slayed demons together. She was a formidable opponent and even taught you many skills you now utilized in your own missions. Not to mention, she was kind, funny, and naturally, very loving. These were traits you had embodied before your life darkened because of demons but Mitsuri showed you that you could still embrace and seek out good times even when all else seems hopeless. That’s how you found yourself having a sleepover with the Love Hashira after your semi annual hashira meeting was adjourned. The hashiras were all granted a few days’ rest before accepting any more missions so when Mitsuri invited you over for a girl’s night, you couldn’t say no (Shinobu did, though—she was always busy with some sort of research). You ordered as much sakura mochi the kitchen could begrudgingly make for you guys and made your way to Mitsuri’s room to hang out while the food was being prepared. You didn’t have the chance to announce yourself before her screen opened and the excitable girl wrapped you in a hug.

“Y/N! I’ve been looking forward to this all day! Come in, come in!”

She dragged you inside and you let out a sigh of relief when her strong grip finally released you. Putting down your futon and extra blankets, you felt your stomach flutter with happiness. You hadn’t had a sleepover since you were very young and were relishing the fact you could have a normal few days without the stressors of being a hashira.

“I ordered us sakura mochi from the kitchens, I hope that’s alright,” you said, a bit shy. You knew it was her favorite but you didn’t want to come off as overbearing. Your worries were instantly quelled by the huge smile that graced her face as she pulled you in for another hug, thank you’s flowing out of her mouth nonstop. You giggled, already feeling content at how the night was going and you hadn’t been there for over a minute.

“So, is there anything in particular you want to do while we wait? I’m not well versed on sleepover activities yet, I apologize,” you said sheepishly.

Mitsuri just gave you a kind smile. “Don’t apologize! Tonight’s going to be so much fun! Ooh! I know! I can braid your hair!”

You instantly lit up. You were always envious of how pretty Mitsuri’s hair was and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t tried her signature hairstyle on yourself many times. However, you could never make it look as cute as she does so you were ecstatic that she would bestow her skills upon your head. She brought over a box of ribbons, all different colors of the rainbow, to tie at the ends of your hair as you released the pulled back style you had kept your strands in. When Mitsuri sat behind you and began to gently detangle your hair, you felt a wave of relaxation run through you. It felt nice to have someone so eager to take care of you for a change. You two basked in the comfortable silence until the talkative girl spoke up.

“So, y/n, do you have a crush on anyone?”

Your eyes that were previously closed opened up in a flash. Of course she would ask that, she’s the Love Hashira! But you were embarrassed that you had allowed yourself to succumb to such a weakness like love. Not even love, just unrequited affection toward a man that barely acknowledged you. It was humiliating to let her know of the truth of your heart but you couldn’t find it within yourself to lie to her.

“Unfortunately, yes, I do. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever had the chance to lay eyes on but we’ve only spoken once out of all the years we’ve known each other. I watch him from afar but refuse to speak to him first out of fear. It’s shameful, I know.”

You were glad she couldn’t see your face as you spoke because you weren’t used to being this vulnerable. You were pleasantly surprised when she kept braiding, not skipping a beat.

“Oh, y/n, that’s so romantic! Pining and yearning are just two pillars of the many that make up love. It’s not shameful. Love is a complicated thing, especially for us, but if you face fear head on you’ll find that most things aren’t as scary as you think they might be. If you like him, he must have a good heart. Don’t be afraid to strike up conversation. He’ll come around eventually.”

You didn’t know how she did it but you instantly felt better. “You’re right, Mitsuri. Thank you.”

A few seconds passed.

“May I know who it is that’s captured your heart?”

You grimaced, knowing this would happen. “Um, I’m not sure I-”

“It’s probably Tengen, isn’t it? He’s so dreamy! If you’re into guys like that. Wait, you two have spoken many times so that doesn’t fit your description. Ugh, it isn’t Giyuu, is it?”

You tried your best not to laugh. Poor Giyuu, you didn’t know why no one liked him but even though you held a soft spot in your heart for him, it was the wrong man.

“No. Different raven haired man.”

She went quiet for a moment before gasping. “Obanai?”

You shook your head slightly in affirmation and she let out a high pitched squeal, inadvertently yanking on your finished braid in excitement. “Oh my gosh! You like Obanai? That’s so cute! You HAVE to talk to him, he’s such a sweetie!”

You grabbed onto your tender scalp in an attempt to soothe it after she almost ripped out all of your strands. “Now that the whole compound knows of my feelings,” you muttered, “I think my confidence to face him is completely shattered.”

Mitsuri gave you a pouty face. “No, don’t say that! You’re a beautiful girl and any man would be lucky to have you. He’s shy, you’re shy, it’s a tough combination but if you’ll allow me, I can tell him of your affections to see where it goes.”

“Oh, that’s alright, no need. If it’s meant to be, it will be. But thank you. And thank you for this gorgeous hair! Maybe this will give me the confidence boost I need to approach Obanai.” You gave the pink and green haired girl a hug and then inspected her work in a mirror. She had tied your (h/c) hair with ribbons, but they were mismatched colors. You were going to ask if she did that on accident before the realization of what the colors reminded you of set in. She had used one yellow ribbon and one turquoise ribbon, perfectly coordinating with Obanai’s eyes. Your mouth hung open in shock as Mitsuri giggled at your reaction.

“I hope you don’t mind! I was originally going to use just turquoise but when you mentioned your feelings for Obanai I thought this might be a way for you to feel closer to him. And it’s a great conversation starter.”

You gave her another huge hug, amazed at and grateful for her quick thinking. “Now that you’ve got me looking this good, we’re ready to get our food!”

Mitsuri clapped her hands in excitement and grabbed your arm as you two raced out the door of her room and into the warm summer night. The hot, sticky air permeated through your haori and left a slight sheen of sweat on your skin. You took a second to appreciate the quiet stillness of the compound, the smell of wisteria giving you comfort. You knew it was impossible for demons to be around, so why did it still feel like someone was watching you intently in secret? You shook it off, thinking you just weren't allowing yourself to let your guard down.

You laughed a little, turning to Mitsuri. "I'm not used to this relaxation time-"

She was gone. You would've been majorly freaked out if you hadn't spotted her entering a building beyond where you stood. Maybe her appetite turned ravenous and couldn't wait another second for food so she ran to the kitchen? You were confused and ready to catch up with her but your attention was turned to the rustling noise from above you. You stood under a wisteria tree and hanging over your braided head was a snake. Its white body slithered through the branches, staring at you and occasionally sticking its tongue out. You weren't familiar with snake behaviors but this one seemed friendly enough so you cautiously reached your hand toward it in an attempt to pet it. It didn't bite you when your fingers touched its smooth head so you took that as a good sign. You were extremely surprised, though, when it fell out of the branches, instead opting to rest on your shoulders. You tried to calm your breathing and before you could get too freaked out at your predicament, you almost facepalmed in realization that there was nothing to worry about. It was Kaburamaru, Obanai's snake friend, that had found his way to you. You were both looking at each other with curious eyes and you gave him a smile, trying to guess at what he was thinking.

"Mitsuri did my hair, Kaburamaru! That's why I look different. Though you probably recognized me by my scent from the other meetings you've attended, hmm?"

Being a snake, he obviously didn't answer you, but he did seem like he understood what you were saying, so you kept talking. "Are you hungry? We could try and find some frogs at the pond if you'd like."

He lifted his head and you could've sworn he shook it in disagreement.

"Alright then. Should we go find Obanai? It's a little late for you to be out here all by yourself."

"He's not by himself."

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Obanai's voice from above you. You looked up and saw the bandaged face of your crush peering at you from some higher up branches, nearly in the same position you had found Kaburamaru.

"O-Obanai! I apologize for not greeting you. I hadn't noticed your presence." You bowed and hoped he would forgive you. He climbed out of the tree and landed at your feet, black hair moving effortlessly around him. Your mouth went dry and any words that could've been said had died in your throat the moment your eyes met his. He was even more beautiful at ground level when you could observe him up close. His eyes glistened in the full moon's light that blessed the Master's compound. The man of short stature had such a strong, powerful aura about him that almost made you dizzy, yet was so intoxicating that it drew you in. Neither of you shared any words for the next minute or so, unsure of what to say.

"Your hair's... different," muttered Obanai, taking in your appearance and then suddenly looking away.

"Mitsuri did it for me! I was telling Kaburamaru all about it. He seemed to notice as well," you said, the warmth of embarrassment creeping on your face as you registered that what you said suggested that you were conversing with a snake. If Obanai didn't think you were a weirdo before, he definitely did now.

"He's very perceptible," Obanai agreed, making you feel at ease about your previous panic. You two found yourselves in another awkward silence and you prayed to any god that would listen that Mitsuri would come back with your food soon.

"So what brings you out here this time of night?" you asked.

He cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you despised small talk."

Your eyes opened the tiniest bit wider. How had he known that? You barely interacted with him in all the years you had worked together yet he was aware of that little fact about you. Had he been noticing you all this time and you were too ignorant to see it?

"I do." You took in a breath. Time to be brave, y/n. "I just... wanted to talk to you. About anything. Get to know you better." Now it was your turn to look away as you cringed at how that sounded. You wished you had gone to Tengen for flirting lessons before ever coming in contact with Obanai.

"Why?"

Your head turned back to face him again as you answered with a shrug. "Because you're interesting." And because you're ridiculously handsome and I'm hopelessly in love with you!

His eyes narrowed. "Interesting enough to mock me with your hair bows?" He pointed accusingly to your hair, the ends of your mismatched ribbons adorning Kaburamaru as he continuously slid over your body.

"What? No, you have the wrong idea! I swear, I'm not mocking you, I-" You didn't know how to respond and your time was running out before Obanai hated your guts. You resigned to telling him the truth; you'd rather be hated for that than for something that was blatantly false. "I told Mitsuri I found you handsome but was too shy to speak to you so she thought matching the ribbons to your eyes would be a way for me to feel closer to you." He had an unreadable look on his face and you wished you could melt into a puddle on the ground and evaporate away from this conversation. You reached your hands to your hair and began to undo the ribbons. "It was a bad idea, I'm sorry for-"

"N-no! Don't!" Obanai's hands shot out so fast you never saw them coming. He grasped your fingers, stopping them from their job of removing the ribbon. When you felt his cool skin on yours, goosebumps made their way across your entire being. "They look pretty. Y-you look... pretty." Was it a trick of the light or was Obanai... blushing? You couldn't believe your ears. Did he just call you pretty? You thought your night was going to be amazing just being at a sleepover with your friend and now your crush was practically holding your hand and calling you pretty. Obanai was about to remove his hand from yours when Kaburamaru quickly wrapped himself around your conjoined appendages, not allowing either of you to let go. The Serpent Hashira was left in a state of blushing and stuttering apologies for his friend's indecencies and you were certain the snake was laughing at you both.

As if summoned by pounding heartbeats and gauche attempts at confessing feelings, Mitsuri finally appeared, copious amounts of sakura mochi toppling out of the bags she held.

"Oh my gosh, you two are SO cute together! Did y/n finally tell you that she likes you?" She asked Obanai, mochi flying out of her mouth as she took another bite. As he was always someone who had a snarky comeback or venomous reply, you had never seen him unable to produce words like at this moment when he was floundering for the right thing to say.

"I, well... she, umm... What's it to you anyway?" He finally spit out, but Mitsuri just laughed.

"I'm the LOVE Hashira, silly, I'm the expert at this stuff. Although, I must admit, Kaburamaru did most of my heavy lifting, didn't you?" She beamed at him as he finally released you and Obanai from each other to receive a big helping of raw meat from the pink and green haired girl. You stared at her incredulously.

"You're telling me that you worked together with a snake to set us up?"

"Kaburamaru found me earlier today and brought me to Shinazugawa who told me that he was tired of Obanai dancing around his feelings for you, y/n. He also mentioned that Obanai was probably talking about you nonstop to his closest friend, Kaburamaru, and that he was also done with the inaction. So, we devised a plan and now here we are. Isn't that adorable?"

"I told you he was perceptive," said Obanai, clearly embarrassed, but you found the whole thing to be strangely sweet. You decided it was time to get back to your sleepover where you and Mitsuri could fangirl over this moment for the rest of the night so you bid Obanai and his snake farewell. Before you could turn away to leave, Obanai got your attention one last time.

"I hope that one day I'll be strong and worthy enough to speak of my truest, deepest feelings for you myself, but until then," he reached up to pick a small bunch of wisteria off the tree and tucked it behind your ear, "please accept this gift and the meaning I've imposed on it."

You smiled shyly. "Thank you Obanai. I hope our paths continue to cross in the future." As you made your way back into Mitsuri's room, Obanai watched you until you closed the screen door behind you and for a little while after that. He couldn't promise to love you in a conventional way, but he swore from that day on, he would keep you as safe as possible in this unpredictable world you lived in.

BONUS:

On the day of the hashira's departure from the safety of Ubuyashiki's lands, you felt your heart sink at the remembrance of the danger you and Obanai had to go back out and face. However, your aching chest was abated by the raven haired man that entered your view, timidly thrusting a lump of something into your palms. You quickly unraveled the folded fabric and you were greeted with two knee high socks with the same black and white striped pattern as Obanai's haori.

"Obanai, that's so thoughtful of you! I'll treasure these forever."

"You don't need to treasure them, they're just socks," he grumbled, not meeting your eyes.

You giggled. "But they're from you. How could I not want to keep something so precious in good condition?"

"If they rip, I'll buy you more. So don't worry about it."

"Thank you so much for the kind gift." Your gaze softened at him as you frowned the tiniest bit. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything, I feel bad."

"I don't need anything. Just..." He finally looked at you. Your hair ribbons mirrored his eyes once more (you swore to wear them like that until the day you died and then in every reincarnation you were born into) and he felt his heart beat against the walls of his chest. "Just don't die. That's all I ask of you. Let me be able to see you again."

Your own heart panged with the weight of his words. "I promise. I'll see you soon, Obanai Iguro."

[nottswitch]

Hi can I request 64 with Theo! Fluff please

<3

hi there, thanks for requesting 💘 with horror, i’ve realized that i haven’t written any theo fluff with these prompts yet, which i’m very happy to rectify right now.

prompt list

64. "…cake? seriously, now?!"

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; theo m-list ; how to request

candlelight flickered in the corridor, casting trembling shadows onto the stone walls of the castle. the atmosphere would be rather eerie if not for the loud grumble of your stomach, which, to your embarrassment, echoed in the empty halls. thankfully, they were actually empty, and the door to the hogwarts kitchens was already right in front of you.

making sure that no patrolling prefects could sneak up on you, you tickled the pear on the painting, wincing as it giggled, and pulled the door handle, praying it wouldn’t creak. inside, house elves were already out for the night, which made the whole affair a bit easier for you. your eyes searched the numerous tables, and finally, finally landed on something you’ve been craving for ever since dinner – chocolate cake. absolutely delicious, drool-inducing chocolate cake that you only got the smallest taste of, since apparently your housemates also thought it was a really good cake, leaving only the tiniest piece of it for you.

just as you were about to bite into the sweet, delicious sponge of the cake, a weight colliding into your body nearly sent your flying to the floor. only a firm grip of someone’s hand on your shoulder steadied you, preventing you from a potentially embarrassing fall.

"um… nott?"

you gave the guy who simultaneously bumped into you and saved you an incredulous once-over. meeting theodore nott, of all people, in the kitchens way past midnight was not on your bingo card for the day, yet there he was, a piece of chocolate sticking out of his mouth, an equally puzzled expression on his face. the sight was rather hilarious, making you chuckle, and a faint blush spread on his cheeks. he kept his expression stoic, though, quickly sucking the chocolate square into his mouth and nonchalantly shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"yeah, nott," he muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes at your amusement. the last thing he needed was seeing you here, catching him in a shameless display of his sweet cravings. "…cake? seriously, now?!" theo asked, continuing on his sarcastic journey in an attempt to hide the fact that your unexpected appearance made him a bit flustered. or a lot.

"you’re one to talk," you retorted, your amusement growing as you eyed a brown stain adorning the corner of his mouth. theo noticed your gaze fixed on his lips and quickly licked away the sweet trace, biting the inside of his flushed cheek to stifle a smile threatening to expose his innermost feelings at the sight of you.

"can’t a guy have his vices?" he answered with a shrug that he tried to make as casual as possible, given the situation. you chuckled at his pretend attitude, finally taking a bite of cake, as if to prove that you weren’t ashamed about your late night escapade.

"let’s strike a deal," he proposed, leaning a bit closer despite his heart fluttering at the proximity – a feeling he refused to admit to enjoying. "you don’t tell anyone about our… encounter and i get you some more of this cake for, say, a week."

you thoughtfully hummed as you mulled over his words in your head. as much as you’d love to giggle with your girlfriends about catching theo nott in the kitchens after curfew, the deal didn’t sound half bad. "how awfully sweet of you, nott," you replied, your eyebrow twitching up. "is that all the chocolate talking?"

theo rolled his eyes again, letting out an exasperated sigh. "is that a no?" he asked in a flat voice, his lips pressing into a thin line as he waited for your response.

"never said that."

you bit your bottom lip, eyeing theo up and down again. theo’s heart fluttered again, something that he, of course, didn’t plan to acknowledge.

"fine, it’s a deal," you murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. this was going to be fun – having none other than theo nott as your personal cake delivery boy. theo almost chuckled, stopping himself just as the sound was about to leave his lips. he gave you a curt nod and turned on his heels, leaving you alone in the kitchen, his mind racing with every possible outcome of this surprise but very tempting arrangement.

[totowlff]

many fade, but i'm still here

➝ you kept your side of the street clean. they will never know what it means.

➝ word count: 2,2k

➝ warnings: mentions of health issues.

➝ author’s note: you can read the part one here.

The young man sitting in front of the reporters looked uncomfortable. Watching him from a corner of the Mercedes motorhome common area, you could tell he wasn’t at ease in that position. However, he needed to get used to the flashes, the clicks, and especially the attention directed at him.

After all, Andrea Kimi Antonelli was now a Formula 1 driver.

— Kimi, how do you feel being officially a Mercedes driver? — a journalist asked.

— It’s an incredible feeling to be announced as a Mercedes driver alongside George in 2025 — the young man replied in a measured tone — It’s a dream I’ve had since I was little, and even though I’m still learning a lot, I feel ready for this opportunity.

“Of course you do”, you thought to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest. The tests with Kimi had been numerous, with various types of single-seaters, all to make sure of what you had known since the day you first saw him in Lonato del Garda, back in 2018.

— I want to thank the team for the support they've given me in my career so far and for the faith they’ve shown in me — the young man added, scanning the crowd of people present. His eyes finally landed on you — If it wasn’t for the trust Y/N and Toto placed in me, I wouldn’t be here, living this dream.

Your lips curled into a smile as you nodded in acknowledgment of the new driver’s words. Handing him over to Mercedes had been a desperate move on your part, made in the face of Ferrari’s stunning refusal to bring Kimi onboard, contradicting everything discussed in the previous meetings before his visit to Maranello.

However, you couldn’t live with yourself knowing you had crushed the dreams of such a talented boy like Kimi. He deserved that chance, and if you couldn’t give it to him, let Mercedes be the team to do so.

— Toto, what are your impressions of this new duo, which we could say is the first composed of athletes from the Mercedes academy? — a blonde woman asked.

— Our new pairing is perfect to open the next chapter of our history. It’s also proof of the strength of our junior driver program and our belief in homegrown talent — the team principal replied, turning to the young man next to him with a smile — Kimi has consistently demonstrated the talent and speed necessary to compete at a high level in our sport.

Placing a hand on the driver’s shoulder, you noticed there was a certain pride in Toto’s voice, as well as in his expression. And, in a way, it was justified, considering all the energy and resources invested in Kimi’s development. Toto was seeing, right there in that room, that he had made the right choice once again.

— George, could you share your thoughts on your new teammate? — an older journalist asked, hand raised — What can we expect from this partnership?

— I’m excited to have him as my teammate. His results in junior competitions are impressive, and his promotion is completely deserved — the Brit responded — He’s a fantastic young talent and has also been part of our driver academy. I hope I can use my own experience to help him in this step into Formula 1.

“I have no doubt you will”, you thought, searching for Kimi with your eyes. It was impossible not to notice how anxious he seemed. His attention shifted between the two men beside him and the beaded bracelet on his wrist, almost tiny compared to the team watch. It was easy to forget that he was just an 18-year-old boy — newly turned 18, in fact — taking his first steps into adulthood.

The press conference continued smoothly, with the occasional light-hearted comment from Toto, clearly trying to help Kimi relax in front of all those people. But you knew it wasn’t easy, even for someone older and more seasoned in these environments, like yourself.

When Bradley wrapped up the press conference, you noticed Kimi exhale in relief, as if trying to release all the tension. As the journalists left the motorhome, you approached the young man, who was listening attentively to Toto.

— Nice answers, kid — you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. When he realized it was you, he smiled.

— Did I do well?

— Really well. A true Mercedes driver.

A little chuckle escaped his lips.

— I’m glad you liked it, Mrs. Wolff — Kimi replied, making your cheeks warm up.

— For you, it’s Y/N, okay? No ‘Mrs. Wolff’.

— Is there something wrong with my last name, Mrs. Wolff? — Toto asked, raising an eyebrow.

— No, I just think he should call me the same as always.

— Kimi’s just being respectful to my wife — he retorted, moving closer to you and slipping a hand around your waist.

It was still surreal to you. The night after the unexpected meeting you’d had at the hotel bar, you two had gone out for dinner. But, unlike what you had expected, Toto had turned the supposed negotiation for a position in the driver academy management into something more intimate and personal. The exchanged glances and suggestive comments had eventually turned into a kiss at the end of the night, as well as an invitation for another dinner, this time in Monaco.

It didn’t take long before you ended up in his bed, as well as on the Mercedes payroll. Maurizio had tried, but Toto had already convinced you to leave Ferrari behind and dive headfirst into his project, both for the young drivers and for your lives together.

The marriage was a natural step, taking place in an intimate ceremony in Sardinia two years later. Before Toto and a dozen guests, you became Y/N Wolff to the world. But that didn’t mean you had stopped being responsible for the boys and girls in the junior categories.

— Before that, I’m the development advisor for this team’s young drivers.

— Well, it was more or less at the same time — Toto muttered, making you shake your head.

— You’re not helping, Torger.

— Damn — he replied, causing everyone around to burst into laughter.

The conversation went on for a few more minutes before Bradley invited the four of you to head up to the terrace of the motorhome to take some more pictures and record a few interviews for the company’s official channels. However, while Toto was being photographed talking to Kimi, you felt your phone vibrate.

"Your results are available," read the subject of the email you had just received.

Pressing your lips together, you unlocked your phone and clicked on the envelope icon on the screen. There was a strange tension building in your shoulders, a sense of anticipation you knew you shouldn’t have, especially considering what the tests you’d taken were about.

The discomfort you had been feeling over the last few weeks had led you to schedule an appointment with your general practitioner before leaving for Monza. It seemed to be just a severe cold, likely due to the sudden temperature changes during your travels. However, he had you take some basic blood tests to ensure there was nothing wrong.

As you read through the sequence of complicated names, "normal levels" and "negative," one title made you roll your eyes. "Why a pregnancy test?", you wondered as you scrolled down. It was obvious that would never happen — the malformation in your uterus, discovered when you were a teenager, had ended any possibility of you having your own family.

Until a single underlined word made your heart skip.

You felt the blood drain from your head, leaving only the echo of your pulse pounding in your ears. Air seemed not to reach your lungs, no matter how hard you tried to breathe. Your legs felt weak, as did the rest of your body.

— Y/N! — you heard someone shout before everything went dark.

When you opened your eyes again, there was no sun or clouds above you, only a gray ceiling and a fluorescent light. On your left side, a man in a white coat, apparently a circuit doctor, was checking your blood pressure with a serious expression, while someone outside your line of sight was stroking your head.

— Where... I — you mumbled, trying to get your bearings.

— I’m here, my love, I’m here — Toto said, leaning in to look at you. His eyes were filled with concern.

You blinked a few times as your husband murmured something you didn’t pay attention to. The words you had read on your phone’s screen were burned into your mind, echoing back and forth in your head.

The doctor removed the blood pressure cuff and slung it around his neck.

— It seems to be due to the heat — he said, looking first at the team principal and then at you — It’s important to stay hydrated and avoid being outside during the hottest hours.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Toto was quicker.

— Yes, we’ll be more careful about that, won’t we, my love?

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded, still a bit dazed. The doctor also recommended getting you something to eat to help you recover, which Toto assured would be done right away.

After the doctor left the room, you stared at the ceiling for several long seconds in silence, trying to process everything that had just happened. Sitting beside you, your husband brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his worry still evident.

— Are you feeling better? — Toto asked softly.

— Yes — you replied — Did I faint?

He nodded.

— Everyone was scared. No one realized you weren’t feeling well before — the team principal said — If it hadn’t been for Rosa, you might’ve hit your head on the ground, and it could’ve been much worse, but the doctor said it was the heat...

Toto’s words were lost in the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your head. Seeing him talk about what had happened, the care he was taking with the situation, filled your chest with something warm and familiar.

— It wasn’t the heat — you murmured.

— What? But the doctor said...

— Toto, I got the results from those tests I took on Monday.

He blinked, processing the information for a few seconds.

— Is it serious?

You smiled gently.

— We’ll find out in nine months.

The concern on Toto’s face turned to shock. His mouth dropped open, and he hesitated for a few moments before asking the question you had been waiting so long to answer.

— Are you... Pregnant?

— Yes — you finally said, with tears streaming down your temples.

A disbelieving laugh escaped his lips, his brown eyes shining with emotion.

— But how? You told me about your malformation, the nearly zero chance of conceiving naturally, the whole issue with treatment and risk...

— I know, I know, but I did the test and... Oh my God — you paused, trying to take in the enormity of the moment. After years of dreaming about something you could never have, trying to heal that pain with your work in junior categories, you were going to fulfill the desire that had so often brought you to tears before sleep.

— We’re going to have a baby, Y/N — Toto said, as if he knew the affirmation that was repeating itself in your mind.

Nodding, you placed your hands on your husband’s face and pulled him into a sweet kiss, just like everything that was about to come into your lives. A life of diapers, toys, and a love you had never stopped wishing for, not even for a second.

You were still hugging when you heard a knock on the door. After being invited in, a pair of familiar brown eyes peeked through the gap.

— Toto — Kimi said quietly. When the team principal looked at him, the young man hesitated — Are you crying? Did something happen? Is Y/N okay?

You smiled, sitting up slowly on the sofa.

— Yes, I’m fine — you replied, wiping your nose, sniffling.

— You’re both crying — he noted.

— It’s just that we got some news — Toto began, sitting beside you.

You noticed Kimi’s expression shift to something resembling concern, his lips pressed into a thin line.

— And what is it?

You and Toto exchanged glances with a shadow of a smile on your lips.

— Well, we weren’t supposed to say anything just yet, but I guess it’s okay if it’s you...

Kimi moved closer and crouched in front of you, resting an arm on the side of the sofa.

— Is it bad?

— No, dear, it’s not — you replied, looking to the team principal, giving him a cue to continue.

— It’s just that Y/N is expecting a baby.

His eyes widened.

— Sei serio? — he asked in Italian.

Nodding, you confirmed the news.

— Cazzo, that’s amazing! — Kimi exclaimed, breaking into a wide grin before pulling you into a tight hug.

— No swearing, Kimi — you said, pulling away from him — You know you can’t say things like that, especially now.

— Sorry, mamma — he replied playfully. Your nurturing attitude toward the junior drivers had never gone unnoticed by them. Your care and attention, even off the track, had made you a safe harbor, not to mention a maternal figure. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to be at your house, whether for a quick visit or a weekend before competing at a nearby track.

— She’s right, Kimi, you need to watch your language. You have to be a good example for the younger ones — Toto said, placing a hand on your belly — Especially now.

— I will, you can count on it — the young man replied, with the enthusiasm of someone who had just found out he was going to have a younger sibling.

And you couldn’t wait to see him embrace that role.

[arcanarix]

Because You're a Big Deal - Satoru Gojo X Fem!Sorcerer Reader

Content Warnings: handjobs, body worship, exhibitionism, cockwarming, edging, cunnilingus, satoru might have a slight humliation/degradation kink, satoru is lowkey a creep and yandereish but not really, he also has no concept of personal space

Word Count: 10.1K

Summary: It’s common knowledge that Satoru Gojo is completely devoted to you. Why?—Because he makes it everyone’s, especially your, problem!

AO3

Since he’s been ripped out of his mother’s womb, life has bent to Satoru Gojo’s will. Everything falls into place as if the universe itself acknowledges that he’s destined for greatness. He barely has to lift a finger, and his achievements pile up, much to the irritation of literally everyone around him. It’s not just because he’s able to back up his skill—he makes sure it’s known that he’s the best sorcerer in the modern world, though—it’s also the way he exudes this untouchable self-assuredness which sets him apart from the rest. He’s practically a God walking among mere simpletons.

In a way, you find yourself pitying the guy at times. You can see how that kind of existence could be isolating. Being blessed—or cursed—with so much power from the get-go. He’s high above everyone else, like he’s observing the world from a higher vantage point��like a God in the sky or on another plane of reality. So to someone like you, who scrape by on sheer determination, ambition, and hard-headedness, Gojo’s life feels impossibly distant.

You’re not part of the elite three clans. You’re…just you, really. You’re a fledgling sorcerer who’s stumbled into this world all on accident, thanks to some Grade 2 curse spirits running amok on your college campus. Among the student and faculty body, you’re the only person you know who can see them, the only person who can react. It’s kind of made you an outcast there because you were afraid of stepping out of your dorm. That’s how you ended up here, after meeting Gojo and the others through chance. You’re training at Jujutsu Tech under Yaga and Gojo’s guidance, as a Grade 3 now—not that far along, but still a step above from where you began which was rock bottom. You still don’t compare to your peers at all in terms of experience.

But as much as you are grateful for Satoru Gojo and his small group of students, who have already rapidly become family to you, you can’t say you’re exactly pleased to be in his presence 99 percent of the time.

Why’s that, you wonder?

It’s simple, really.

From the moment he met you, he’s made it painfully clear that you have captured his attention. He’s obsessed, locked on you with such fervor it could decimate entire buildings with the same energy as a Hollow Purple. While it may have started as a shallow infatuation—you can’t even begin to imagine why—you know better than to let your guard down. With men like him, it’s easy to feel like a conquest, a prize to be won. From someone who’s so used to winning, without a doubt, he sees you as a challenge.

His favorite toy. You refuse to give him that satisfaction.

You don’t know how wrong you are about that assumption, though.

Because titles aside, he’s still just some dude who probably thinks more with his dick than with his brain.

You’re not sure why you in particular, either. Maybe others who’re more aware of his reputation might find it flattering, for the following reasons: he’s the strongest sorcerer of the modern times. That’s one. He’s rich as fuck. That’s two. He’s also stupidly handsome with those striking blue eyes of his and that lanky figure. That’s three.

You can’t find it in your core to give a flying fuck about it, though. Because beyond the superficial, he’s lacking in a lot of areas.

Everyone around you seems to agree.

Even now, as you sit in the classroom, waiting for him to show up—because of course, he’s late again as usual—you feel the tension building in your gut. You lean back, your chair creaking as a deep sigh leaves your lips. Your fingers idly trace the screen of your phone. Fushiguro’s gaze bores into your skull, with an all-knowing feeling. Is Gojo going to pull some bullshit today like he always does?

Your eyes roll, as you whip around to meet his gaze. As if silently communicating to him. Of course he is. Gojo always pulls something and everyone knows it, but especially Fushiguro. You have learned to expect it just as everyone else does.

The door swings open with a rush of air, and in strides Gojo, with that smug grin plastered across his face. He carries himself with a straight posture, hands stuffed into his pockets, acting like the world revolves around him because obviously it does. To him it does.

“Sorry for the wait! Since there’s not a lot of things we have to go over today before Megumi and the others are sent on yet another mission, I won’t keep you guys that long.”

Even without looking up, the weight of his gaze locks on you. You feel like you’re on a stage and those blinding blue eyes are the spotlight. When you do glance his way, you catch the faintest twitch of his lips. You’re not wearing your uniform today, and that seems to spark something in him. His blinding blue eyes, though hidden beneath his blindfold, must gleam with mischief. He’s definitely scheming.

“Well, most of you,” he finishes, that smirk of his widening.

You suppress a groan, already knowing where this is going and what thoughts might be running amok in that idiot brain of his, which only thinks with his dick in your presence. The outfit you opt to wear is nothing special—just a pair of shorts and a tank top—but for Gojo, it’s like a gift sent from the Heavens. He always twists the simplest actions of yours into a reason to give you a hard time.

As the briefing drones on, your eyes drift upward by mistake, sneaking a peek at him. What a bad move. Of course, he’s already looking at you, that grin still so wide his face is cracking. He raises his hand to his mouth—thrusting his tongue between two spread fingers—and your face flushes deep from embarrassment. Without thinking, your hands fly up to cover your face as you bite back a sigh.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Luckily, no one notices.

True to his word, the briefing is just that—brief. Itadori, Kugisaki, and Fushiguro head off, leaving you behind with Panda, Inumaki, and Maki for a few moments…at leaste, until they, too, make their hasty exit, leaving you alone.

Leaving you alone with that sad fuck of a man.

He slides up to you, peeling his blindfold up with a slender finger as he leans in closer than necessary. His breath fans against your forehead, and you have to resist the urge to step back lest you want to stir up more trouble for yourself, to push him out of your personal bubble. But Gojo doesn’t seem to have any concept of personal space. He never has. Those eyes of his, sharp, and blue like glaciers in the north, flicker across your face, down to the exposed skin of your shoulders and collarbone.

“Where’s your uniform?” he asks, his voice casual, with a playful note beneath it. There’s a layer of something else, though. His slender fingers trail along your arm, ghosting over your skin where the thin fabric of your tank top exposes you.

The guy acts like he can do whatever he wants. That he’s the man.

You aren’t ever going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that because he already knows he’s a big deal. He already knows he’s absolutely all that and he doesn’t need more reminders. You aren’t interested in stroking his ego (or any physical attributes of his body, for that matter). That must get under his skin and you might be a little too proud of yourself for that, mentally giving yourself a pat on the back every time he seems a little disheartened by your lack of reciprocation.

You need to set that record straight with him. He needs to be knocked down a LOT of pegs.  

Fuck him and his Infinity…you’d love to kick him where it hurts because that’s the only thing he thinks with in that idiot brain of his…

You finally swat at his hand, irritation burbling beneath your skin. “Didn’t Ijichi tell you? It’s at the dry cleaners.”

Gojo gives a non-committal hum in response, but his grin never leaves his features as he settles onto your desk, sprawling out like he owns it. His gaze locks on you, studying every part of your body, and your insides are screaming at you to bolt out the door. But it’s only going to cause him to be more annoying.

“You sure you didn’t wear this just for me?” His voice is a low rasp, dropping an octave, a purr in your ear that sends a shiver dancing down your spine. His hand brushes your cheek, his thumb grazing your supple skin.

You smack his hand away again, maintaining a blank expression.

“Not interested,” you deadpan, rising to your feet. “Now, am I dismissed?”

Gojo’s expression falters for a fraction of a second before that smugness of his bounces back, slipping the blindfold back over his eyes.

“Sure,” he replies, but not before his fingers tuck under your chin, tilting your head in an angle ever so slowly.

You swallow on a lump of nothing—

Oh.

--that bulge in his pants, straining against the fabric of his uniform, growing more and more prominent by the passing second. You swallow hard again, your heart dropping tor your stomach.

“Now you know,” he finishes in a low murmur, sliding off your desk with his infuriating smirk still on his fucking face.

You scowl so deep your forehead wrinkles, stepping back away from him. Before you make it further, he grabs your elbow, pulling you close—too close. Flush against his warm body, where your thigh brushes against his hardness. You hate the way it makes you feel.

You hate that you don’t hate it.

“You’re too beautiful for your own good, you know that?” His voice is low, soft, reverent, but the edge of teasing remains.

“I could have you written up for sexual harassment,” you mutter under your breath.

His laugh is quick, sharp, echoing through the walls of the empty classroom.

“Hoho, I’m so scared,” he retaliates in a mocking tone as he allows you to break free from his grasp. “The worst Yaga will give me is a little reprimanding and a swat on the wrist, which won’t change much in the grand scheme of things.”

Utahime is right, you idly muse. He’s a fucking man child.

Why does he find such joy in being a troll? You want to give him the benefit of the doubt. That maybe he has some depth beneath the stupidity he embodies. Is it to hide trauma or something? Can’t he, for once, be a little more serious? Address you like a person because that’s all you want from people?

Do you even care to pick his idiot brain and find out?

“Because you’re the untouchable one in this universe,” you remark with a defeated sigh. Maybe consider transferring to Kyoto? But then he might find another way to harass you…

“Exactly,” he retorts, as you whip around to fully face him. He towers over you; he towers over nearly everyone. But you don’t often take note of how intimidating that is in combination with his reputation. You wonder if he truly is blessed in every aspect of his life (perhaps his only vice, that you can name thus far anyway, is his lack of interpersonal intelligence).

“I’ll be seeing you, Sensei,” you mumble through gritted teeth as you gather your things and amble out the door. His wolf-whistle follows you out, and you resist the urge to turn around and deck him on the spot. Not that you can be able to with his goddamn Infinity.

Maybe you should still write him up for harassment.

But then, upon further reflection, you sincerely doubt it’s going to make a difference. He even says so himself. Nothing changes his mind.

The cool autumn air rushes through your hair as you and the other students stroll down the busy streets, laughing and chatting it up. You find comfort in this routine—the way you can shed the weight of becoming a sorcerer, even if only for a few hours.

To cap off the end of a grueling week, the students often orchestrate a fun night out in the town. You and the other students engage in some semblance of normalcy outside of jujutsu society. You actually get to have fun—and not in the presence of any of your superiors, which helps you take the edge off, for sure.

Itadori and the others—well in particular he, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki—they make you feel like one of them and you haven’t even been with them for that long. Each and every one of them, they’re unique and talented and genuine people. You are willing to admit even Gojo is, in his own right. You just won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, on some levels, you do respect him for certain things.

You probably won’t be alive today if not for these guys.

Itadori grins, his arms stretched behind his head as he glances at the group.

“Is anyone up for a karaoke night?” Itadori inquires, eyes twinkling.

“I’m down, but maybe after I’ve had a few drinks,” you tease with a light giggle. “I’m no Mariah Carey or Ariana Grande.”

“None of us are,” Fushiguro scoffs, shaking his head. “Except for Gojo. Naturally.”

You resist rolling your eyes. Even when he’s not here, Gojo finds a way to worm into the conversation and in your fucking bubble.

“Of course he is,” Kugisaki quips with a smirk playing on her lips. “Guy’s got no shortcomings.”

Fushiguro is quick to challenge that statement.

“Actually—!” Fushiguro starts, only for Kugisaki to cut him off.

“—What, Fushiguro? Apart from his lack of personality, what else?” Kugisaki asks, curious.

That clamps his mouth shut, lips pressed in a deep frown. He falls silent as you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Can we actually not talk about Sensei?” you ask, your own frown stressing your features. “I want one night where I don’t have to think about him and his stupid face.”

Fushiguro glances at you, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, of course,” Fushiguro states, “Is he still giving you trouble?”

“When does he not give any of us trouble?” Kugisaki chimes in with a sigh. “Then again, he’s been a bit pushier with you lately. We can bring it up to Yaga, you know.”

Your shoulders tense for a moment, before you shake your head.

“He hasn’t done anything,” you realize how meek you sound and try to find that strength in your voice again. “Well, nothing Yaga would take seriously. Not like Gojo would take anything seriously, either.”

“Understatement of the modern age,” Fushiguro wisecracks in a low murmur.

“Come on, Sensei’s not that bad,” Itadori interjects,  always the sort of person to give people the benefit of the doubt. Where applicable, of course. Which for someone like Itadori, it’s 99 percent of the time—especially when it comes to people he admires like Gojo.

Never mind how overt and rambunctious Gojo can be, he’s still a good person. Or at least, he fights for the right things. You can concede to that. But still…

“Sure, he’s kind of…persistent, though. I don’t know him all that well still so maybe Fushiguro will have a better handling on that.”

“He’s as idiotic as any other man comes,” Fushiguro concedes with a grunt. “If I have to punch him out, I’ll punch him out. That is, if he’s gutsy enough to shut off his Infinity to take a little disciplinary action like a man.”

“We’re still talking about him,” you point out.

“Sorry,” they all apologize in unison.

The conversation finally drifts away from Gojo, and you find yourself easing up a bit. The tension melting off of your body. It’s nice to be in the presence of your friends.

“So,” you drag out the word to catch their attention again, hoping to lift the mood. “Karaoke?”

“Yeah! Let’s do it!” Itadori jabs two thumbs up in the air.

The lights of the karaoke bar you all frequent blinks ahead. You’re excited for a few hours of escapism.

Of course, life has other plans as it seems the faculty of Jujutsu Tech orchestrate their own karaoke night. Since you’re together in the same bar, you decide to rent a room for all of you to sing your lungs out with unlimited drinks.

The karaoke room is dark save for a few string lights casting soft glows across the plush seats, low tables, and around the ceilings. The music blares from the speakers, the laughter of your friends mixing with the thumping, reverberating bass as you amble over to the couch. While Gojo and your mentors are here, you still find yourself unwinding and enjoying your time with your friends.

But of course, the universe has decided you can’t have nice things for very long.

On your way to the couch, you trip over something—a bag, a dropped can of beer, a foot, who fucking knows—and before you can catch yourself, you fall right into someone’s lap.

Not just anyone’s.

The odds, as always, are in Gojo’s favor. The planets always align for this fuck.

His arms secure around your waist instantly, securing you in place with an unyielding, vice grip.

“Well, well, well, happy birthday to me,” he murmurs, his breath fanning the nape of your neck. You shift, attempting to break free, but he yanks you back down, pressing your ass into his lap. That unmistakable hardness beneath you makes your heart jump to your throat.

“Stay,” he whispers, his voice demanding, as he presses the growing tent in his pants between your ass cheeks.

You grind your teeth, whipping your head over your shoulder to glare at him. His grin is as infuriating as ever—that shit-eating smirk that makes you want to tear him a few new assholes.

“I’m about to go back up and sing,” you hiss, squirming in his lap which only seems to encourage him, a low whimper escaping his lips that only you can hear. It makes your hairs stand on end and your blood burble. He tightens his iron grip, grinding his hips against yours.

“Stay a little longer,” he coos, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. He bites back another little whimper as he rolls his hips again, and there’s a heat pooling in your legs that’s impossible to ignore. Luckily, everyone’s too distracted with Shoko’s and Utahime’s drunken rendition of Smells Like Teen Spirit, and no one’s paying attention to you or to Gojo.

For once, the universe isn’t humiliating you.

“Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw. “I wonder how amazing you’d feel bouncing on my wood.”

“Gojo!” you whisper in a harsh tone, finally slipping free from his lap. You’re tempted to smack him, and you almost do, but you recognize the challenge in his gaze.

Him and his fucking Infinity.

“Fuck you,” you sneer, turning on your heel and returning to the others, but you still hear his response:

“Soon,” he calls back with a lazy wave.

You know you don’t get the luxury of avoiding Gojo.

You come to a realization that hits you like a Falcon punch to your gut: you’re not sure if you want Gojo to ignore you. It’s not because you’ve come to enjoy the attention. Far from it. He’s still crass; he’s still pushy; he’s still overt and obnoxious. It’s still infuriating and he’s still very punchable about this shit.

But today…today, you just aren’t into entertaining him. Today, you’re feeling really off your game in more ways than one, and he wants to whack the hornet’s nest out of sheer habit.

He must sense your shift in mood since that karaoke night. One second, you’re telling him to piss off, leave you alone, and the next, his large hand wraps around your wrist, jerking you toward him. His body is pressed to yours, and you can feel that hardness against our thigh.

You’re praising the gods above that there isn’t anyone around to witness this because this is probably you at your most unbecoming self.

“Sensei,” you grind out, your voice low with frustration. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Come on, no need to be so formal here. It’s us, baby girl. Say my name. Satoru.”

“Gojo,” you sneer, attempting to pull away, but his grip strengthens like titanium around your wrist. Those blue eyes of his—no, they look more like predatory slits now—bore into you with an intensity that you only saw once before back in Shibuya. When something inside of him fractures, splitting like glass under the high stakes. The memory of it, jagged and sharp, makes your heartbeat skyrocket.

You aren’t interested in exploring what lurks behind that gaze; you don’t wish to challenge it. But he doesn’t give you the luxury of turning away. His hand remains secured around your wrist, jerking you off balance as you’re spun in a fluid motion, pressing your back flush against the wall, his body caging over yours. You collide with the cool surface with a light thud, but you’re not all that disoriented. Just a little taken aback. The scorching heat of his body crowds into yours. His knee is still wedging between your legs, the pressure firm but demanding as it rubs into your clothed cunt.

“When are you going to stop punishing me?” he murmurs, his voice a near-growl that rumbles through his chest and vibrates against your skin. The sound is barely audible, yet it hits you like a tidal wave. Your breath hitches, and your eyes narrow into slits out of defiance.

“I’m not—!” The retort dies in your throat as his lips graze against your ear, his breath sending a rush of heat from your neck shooting all the way down to your groin. He shifts his knee, pushing it harder against the sensitive core between your thighs, and the friction draws a gasp from your lips before you can act to suppress it.

“Don’t feed me that bullshit,” he growls, his teeth taking in your bottom lip and grinding it between them. He chews hard on it, just enough to make you flinch, before his tongue swipes across the sore spot, soothing the light sting. More heat rushes to your cheeks, spreading in waves throughout your body as his hands roam your body, still skimming the modest areas, but it’s enough to make you squirm and fidget. It makes your breath come out in short, ragged, uneven breaths.

His grip slides dangerously lower, tracing the slight dip of your waist with his fingers that linger just a little too long for your comfort.

“Stop dancing around how you feel about me.”

“Gojo…” you whimper, though your voice pitifully muffled against his mouth. Your hands push against his chest, but to no avail, you’re weaker than him (everyone is weaker than him, but you especially so and for other reasons not related to physical prowess); your mind is torn between pushing him and away and… wanting to understand what the hell this is. What the hell he’s doing with you. What he wants to do with you.

“Satoru.” He corrects, his voice thick and guttural from arousal. The way he demands it, it’s primal, feral, a low rumble like distant thunder that leaves you no room to refuse him. “Say it.”

“Satoru,” you stammer, the syllables tumbling from your lips unbidden as he nips at your lips again, hard enough to draw yet another breathy gasp. You reluctantly tilt your head back, exposing the line of your neck to his relentless pursuit.  “Stop.”

His eyes continue to bore into yours, drilling deep like a jack hammer through your skull. Those eyes of his, they’re so bright, so blinding, almost as if they can strip you bare with just a glance because he can bend everything to his will like he always does. Even with his Infinity shut off, they’re so intense. He’s suffocating. Inescapable.

Unforgettable.  

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, his voice softening to a lower murmur as he dips his head lower, his nose brushing along the sensitive skin of your neck. His lips trail after, feathery light over your skin, barely there, and he inhales sharply when he reaches your pulse point thundering just beneath your collarbone.

“I know you don’t mean that.”

Your cherry perfume lingers in the air between you as he continues. His fingers graze at the dips of your waist. Suddenly everything feels too constricting, all consuming.

“Please,” he mutters, his voice cracking. He sounds almost…pained, almost vulnerable in a way that you have never seen from him before. He’s always so sure of himself. So haughty. For another second, there’s something fragile flickering in his gaze.

“Stop torturing me.”

It happens before you can stop it—you can’t help the slight twitch of your eye. Torturing him? Is he serious? You almost want to laugh off the sheer absurdity of that accusation. But the thought soon dies when he leans in again, his lips wet, sloppy kisses along your jawline, taking his time like he’s savoring this moment. Like he’s not sure he’ll ever have a chance again. He might be wrong; he might be right.

You don’t even know yourself.

He stops at the tip of your chin, his voice a low crackle like the strike of lightning.

“You’re torturing me by not acting,” he grunts out that explanation, his words now rough and strained. There’s a rawness in his voice—a kind of sincerity that you’re shocked he even has in him. His hand slides even lower, now grazing your hips, before grasping your wrist and guiding it down to rest against his pelvis. There’s the heat of his arousal, the strain of it sticking through the thin fabric of his slacks, and you freeze.

“You see what you do to me. You see how hard you make me,” he whispers, guiding your hand along the rigid length of him through his slacks. His eyes remain locked on yours, bright, blindingly hungry, studying your reactions. As always, he’s relentless in his pursuit of you, determined to get what he wants. He’s not used to things not falling in his lap.

He moans low, guttural, still pained, like…like this is a need for him.

The world between you narrows, sharpens like a camera filter, focusing in on the two of you. Just the two of you in the empty classroom. His ragged breaths fill your senses, the feel of his smooth hardness beneath your soft moisturized palm. You feel the erratic pounding of your own pulse in your eardrums. He moans again, low, needy, a pained, pitiful sound. It’s so thick and suffocating, and you honestly wonder how you got to this point. Why you’re letting him do this.

It’s a lot, and yet you can’t find yourself ripping away from his gaze. His gaze never leaves yours, even as his hips buck slightly into your hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. Those eyes, full of that unsettling lust and vulnerability, continue to glow bright and shiny. It’s too much, way too much, too bright, too overstimulating. You want to break the connection, yet you can’t. You’re caught in his web. You’re trapped.

“Keep rubbing me like that,” he rasps, his voice in broken gasps, as he presses his body needily into yours. His hands find your waist and grips tight, fingertips digging into your skin, securing you in place as if he can’t bear to let you leave as he continues to grind helplessly against your hand. “Fuck… your hand’s so soft… feels so good…”

He keeps rolling against your body, making your breath catch. It’s kind of sexy. He’s unguarded in a way you’ve never seen him in other settings, even when he’s goofing off with other colleagues or the other students. Every broken whimper that leaves his yappy lips just adds to the appeal all of a sudden, because you can’t believe you’re able to make him succumb to you like this. You’re making his control slip with each passing nanosecond. You’re the center of this world, and you don’t find yourself hating that.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice pitching higher now, desperate as he ruts against your paml with a lot more urgency, a lot more desperation. His cock twitches through the thin fabric of his slacks, the friction too much, too good to pass up. His body’s shaking against yours, and it’s because of you. His breath hitches with every languid roll of his hips.

“I need you,” he quavers, his voice catching in his throat as he trails heated kisses along your collarbone. His lips feel soft, but his words are laden with a kind of desperation you’ve never thought you’d see in your life. “Can’t you feel how badly I fucking need you?”

You can. You can feel every ounce of his need, pressing against you. Your bodies are so close there’s nothing but headiness and heat. That need of his…it makes you a bit wary. You don’t trust Gojo for a myriad of reasons.

Not like this, at least.

Yet, while your mind is screaming at you to rip away, to cease this nonsense, you find yourself complying. Your hand remains where it is, your fingers grazing his bulge on their own accord matching the rhythm of each roll of his hips. He’s still trembling, falling apart at your touch. Something about that…something about that is so fucking hot, and you hate that you don’t’ hate this.

“Almost there?” you murmur, your eyes fluttering as your thumb brushes lightly over the tip of his cock poking through. It’s an instinctive motion, and his reaction is immediate, drawing out a choked gasp, his head dipping onto your shoulder as his full body shudders.

“Fuck…yes,” he moans, his voice still rough and strained from need and arousal, rutting harder into your hand. “More. Fuck… please, more…”

Your breath catches in your throat as you jerk him faster, each stroke sending him over a dangerous edge. That grip on your hips constricts, almost bruising your skin as he chases his release. His moans falling from his lips are so soft, breathy, needy…it’s so juicy.

“Baby,” he whimpers, his voice broken as he thrusts one final time into your hand. His cock twitches again, hard, swollen, before he creams into his slacks with a strangled, pitiful whine. He pants in short, ragged gasps as he nuzzles his forehead into your shoulder.

The world halts between you. The only thing filling the room is the sound of his ragged breaths. His body slumps against yours for a few more moments, before he reluctantly pulls away. His gaze never leaves yours, dazed, delirious…drunk off of you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your ear before nipping it in a playful manner. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before fully stepping back.

You remain there, pressed up against the wall, dumbfounded, your mind reeling from everything that’s just transpired. You want to feel disgusted, repulsed even. Yet…you’re not.

You feel almost…

Your cheeks burn at the mere notion. There’s no way. Guess Hell has finally frozen over.

Gojo says nothing more, sparing you the embarrassment as he retreats, his hands smoothing over his slacks, in an attempt to conceal any remnants of his little time to rejoice. His perfect posture bounces back far too quickly from this. It’s infuriating how he can act like nothing happened and you’re still taken aback. He bends down, retrieving a small disinfecting cloth from his desk drawer, then wipes your hand in a soft, reverent motion.

His eyes flicker to yours as he does, lingering with a softer expression.

“You…” Your voice comes out pathetic, wimpy. You find some semblance of strength over your voice and your body. Everything that’s happened finally sinks in, and your mind is swirling.

His natural scent still lingers, he’s so close. Crisp, fresh.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence like he always does, a spark of amusement hidden just beneath that calm tone of his. His lips twitch into that infuriating, ever smug grin of his. “Didn’t hate it?”

You open your mouth to snap back, to scream and yell at him, but the words catch in your throat. You can’t even hate him. You can’t even find the anger that should be threatening to burst through that tightly sealed lid, that you keep bottled up. There’s just confusion, frustration, uncertainty…

You rip your hand from his and twist on your heel, ambling toward the door as your body is operating on autopilot.

Your hand reaches for the doorknob, his voice cuts through the thick silence.

“Come on, it was good, right?”

You freeze in your tracks, your back still turned to him. His gaze burns into your skin. You don’t respond. You don’t know how to respond. You can’t. You twist the doorknob, the door emitting a creak as it opened, stepping out into the hallway—away from his suffocating, overstimulating presence.

Suddenly you feel lighter, cooler.

But as you stride down the empty halls, your mind replays the events in an endless loop—that nagging sensation gnawing at your soul.

Are you coming around? You don’t know. You know you didn’t hate it; that’s as much as you’re willing to admit. Your heart thunders, echoes of his parting words lingering.

You don’t notice him peeping out through the door slightly ajar and watching you walk away.

You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes.

Not through the briefing, where the low chattering of conversation barely registers over the pounding heartbeat in your ears. Sure as hell not through the training, where your hands fumble through the motions, distracted. Fushiguro and Kugisaki get a chance to tumble you to the ground without so much as a shred of remorse.

It’s like you can’t break away. Every time his eyes land on you, you can feel them burning straight through our soul, making your stomach twist and churn.

When you’re back in the classroom, it feels stifling. The chalkboard behind Gojo is worn from everything Gojo writes on it. You sit at your desk, twiddling a pencil between your fingers; your mind relaying the events over and over, no matter how much you want to shove them down, push them away. It’s almost impossible to focus on anything else. You entertain the glimpses of his expressions, how he unravels at your touch…they all keep floating to the surface of your brain and it’s both a nightmare and a dream. You’re not sure which.

He's always been open about his feelings. It’s never been a secret. He makes it everyone’s problem, for fuck’s sake. But now, seeing it firsthand, how he reacts to the slightest brush of your fingers…it’s different now. You don’t know how to feel about it.

“Yoooo,” Itadori’s voice snaps you back to the present, his hand waving in front of your face. You blink a few times, jerking back into reality as his curious eyes meet yours. “We’ve been trying to get your attention. Everything okay?

You force a smile, but it feels strained and awkward on your lips. It’s like a mask that doesn’t fit you.

“Yeah,” you lie right through your teeth, strained to your own ears. “Just a lot on my mind.”

You haven’t noticed Gojo excused himself at some point—how long has it been since he left the room? Not like it matters that much to you. Because even when he isn’t present, his energy clings to the air, inescapable, suffocating. Unforgettable.

Fushiguro leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assesses your reactions.

“Is it Gojo?” he asks, his voice a low, irritated grumble.

You hesitate, your fingers clenching around the pencil.

“…No,” you manage to say, the words slipping through your teeth with a bit of difficulty. “Other stuff.”

Itadori, ever the peppy optimist, flashes you a heartwarming grin. His sincerity can get so annoying sometimes, but endearing all at once.

“Enlighten us? Maybe we can help!” he suggests.

You shake your head, avoiding eye contact. You hate lying to him. “Nah, too dark.”

Itadori is unconvinced, his beady eyes focused on you. “You sure?”

“I’m good,” you insist, hoping your forced smile will suffice. “I swear.”

“She gets harassed enough by Gojo,” Fushiguro interjects with a snarl, swatting at Itadori’s head to knock some sense into him. “Knock it of, Yuuji.”

Before the conversation drifts to another direction, a voice cuts through the room like a blade.

“Yeah, Yuuji Itadori,” Gojo’s voice drawls in a playful way from behind you. You don’t have to see him to know his smirk is ever present on that stupid face of his. “Annoying her to death is strictly my territory.”

You stiffen in place, your muscles tensing as Gojo’s presence draws nearer. You don’t want to turn around; you can’t. His stare presses into your back, seeping through your skin like a stain.

“Alright guys, I think we covered everything we needed to today. Go enjoy the rest of your day, yeah?” he instructs after clapping twice, officially dismissing the students.

You don’t hesitate to scurry past him, the scrape of your chair echoing in the classroom as you hop to your feet. You don’t look back. As soon as the words of dismissal leave his lips, you’re up from your desk, making a beeline for the exit. You think you make it, your feet dragging you toward the sweet embrace of freedom—

--His hand is on your shoulder before you take another step. His grip is firm, not tight, but secure enough to make chills surge through your body. Every muscle in your body is screaming at you to run, but it’s like you’re stuck in place—pinned by the overpowering force of his presence.

“Hey,” he drawls, a soft, teasing purr that causes your skin to tingle. His lips graze against the shell of your ear as he chuckles. Your cheeks flush deep from heat. You curse your body for giving you so much Hell around him.

“Sensei,” you state, voice sharper than intended, yet it still lacks the strength you wish it normally has. “I’m just trying to enjoy the rest of my day, just as you instructed.”

He hums in response, breathing down your sensitive skin.

“Satoru,” he bites back in a growl, his lips still brushing the curve of your ear before nipping at it, a playful gesture that makes you jump in place. He soothes the sting with a few passes of his tongue, and you shiver.

“Say it,” he goes on again. “Say my name.”

You grit your teeth, annoyance laden in your tone.

“Satoru,” you mutter, the irritation in your tone clear. “What do you want?”

He chuckles again, but this time there’s a bit of an edge to it—that same, primal edge.

“You know,” he quips, and before you retaliate, his hand is guiding yours to his lap, and your breath hitches as you feel his unmistakable hardness pressing against his slacks again. He slips his cock out from his confines this time, and in an instant, he wraps your hand around his shaft. Your fingers trace the heat of his length. This time, he doesn’t plan on holding back. The realization of what’s happening dawns on you, and your mind is screaming bloody murder at you to knee him there and see how he likes it, but you don’t. You don’t know why you don’t.

You’re not surprised that he’s not lacking in this department either. So he’s not overcompensating.

“Like what you see?” he teases in a low, silken tone, his free hand sliding up to our neck, fingers wrapping gently around your throat and applying just enough pressure that sends a thrilling jolt through your veins.

“Someone might…see,” you manage through a choked gasp. Gojo glances over his shoulder, ensuring the door is locked, leaving no room for interruption because he won’t allow it.

His head dips lower, his soft lips pressing against the curve of your neck, planting soft kisses along the exposed skin as your hand strokes him, jerking him. His breathing quickly grows ragged, his shaggy white hair brushing against your cheek as his hips roll into your hand.

He’s letting go around you. You can’t believe you’re the one doing this to him. Satoru Gojo is the pinnacle of the jujutsu society, seeming so untouchable, just out of reach. The one who’s been blessed in any and every aspect of his universe. But here, his control is slipping at just your touch.

It’s…not just kind of sexy. It’s really fucking sexy. You will never give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

He clutches your waist, his fingertips digging into your skin and you bite back a whine.

“Fuck, baby, please, stop torturing me,” his voice is a soft, broken cry, and you chew on your bottom lip.

Your eyes flutter a bit, a little dazed and you’re untouched. Entirely focusing on his release. You’re not sure why you’re letting this happen. Probably because there’s not much you can do. If he’s so tormented by the prospect of your existence, then shouldn’t you feel an obligation to grant him some kind of respite?

Why do you even feel that way? You shouldn’t even care, and yet…here you are.

You assess his debauched expression with a soft stare. His face is flushed, his lips parted as he pants for breath, purring your name over and over again. His eyes—half-mast, glassy—flicker open, and you lock gazes. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart flutter.

“Say my name,” he rasps out, pleading.

“Satoru,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Are you…close?” you murmur, your thumb ghosting over his tip leaking with pre. He chokes on a gasp at that, and you don’t know why you feel so powerful in that moment. Probably because you can make the strongest sorcerer of the modern age like this and you’re barely doing anything much. You don’t think so, anyway.

Your breath hitches. Any smart retorts you may have, have died on your tongue long ago because it’s no longer applicable. You’re right into his hands; he’s putty in yours. Quite literally.

He tightens his grip on your waist and hunches further over as a distinct confirmation. He’s chasing the friction with your hand, his hips bucking in tandem with your strokes.

“More,” his voice is now an uncontrolled falsetto, and you jerk his cock in time with hie hips. “Fuck. More…”

And here you are, the one in control, stroking him faster, harder, watching him fall apart to your touch. You remember telling yourself you wouldn’t stroke his ego or any physical part of his body, but you’re doing exactly that now.

You’re such a fucking liar. He mewls your name, catching your attention.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers, jerking into your hand faster until shots of seed leaks from his tip, hot and sticky and gooey. His head drops to your shoulder as he catches hie breath.

He pulls away a bit, his half-lidded gaze meeting yours. He looks all dazed, delirious…satisfied. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss full of heat and passion, his tongue twirling around yours. When he breaks the kiss, a thin line of spit connects your tongues before he cuts it with a twirl of his own wet muscle, his eyes still never leaving yours.

You’re trapped in a state of shock, your mind spinning. You don’t know how to feel—should you be angry? Repulsed? Relieved? You don’t know. All you know is that he’s getting his way, and it’s pissing you off.

Gojo steps back from your personal bubble, moving toward his desk with his casual nonchalance, leaving you reeling. He once again retrieves a disinfectant cloth, wiping himself clean before tossing that and retrieving a fresh one, cleaning your hand and face as if nothing out of the ordinary just transpired.

You’re frozen, your mind grappling with the current reality as he finishes cleaning you up. He flashes a little smile.

Your lips curl into a soft pout, that frustration still burbling beneath your skin.  

“What?” you demand, voice lighter than you intended—softer, more out of curiosity. He rests his hand—large, calloused, warm—on your cheek, brushing his thumb over your soft, plump lips. The tenderness of the gesture feels a bit foreign to you.

“Mine,” he growls low and gravelly. His eyes, usually filled with mischief and scheming a way to annoy or embarrass you, are shining with pure affection instead. You feel like he’s seeing right through you, and with those legendary Six Eyes of his, you might not be far off. He can read everything about everyone and anything. He’s always constantly processing everything with his Six Eyes and Limitless technique. His thumb presses into your ilps, gentle at first, before grazing the tips of your teeth.

“Gojo…?” His name spills from your lips, tentative, as his thumb pushes further, brushing your tongue now, as your senses are now hit with a tang of salty skin.

“Satoru,” he corrects in a sharp tone, his frown deepening, dissatisfaction etching across his stupidly handsome features. His eyebrows furrow, that little crease forming in frustration. Your attempts to pull away irritate him—it’s clear in his actions. “I don’t answer to Gojo or Sensei with you anymore.”

His words are definitive, absolute. He carries authority like he always does.

And it’s so fucking maddening.

“Satoru,” you try again, your voice faltering as his thumb presses deeper onto your wet muscle, warm and insistent against it. Your heart skips a beat; your heartrate speeding up as heat flushes across your skin. “What… what are you doing?”

He grins that easy, carefree smile you’ve seen thousands of times. Now it feels different. Dangerous, as his sparkly blue eyes twinkling with trickster energy. He might rival Loki himself.

“Assessing how pretty my girlfriend’s pussy is,” he answers easily, waiting for your reaction. “Especially when you’re riding my face the way you will my cock.”

His crassness, though usually expected, still catches you off-guard, and more heat rushes to your cheeks. Your breath is lodged in your throat, embarrassing consuming the very core of your being like a wildfire.

“Did… did you just call me your girlfriend?” your voice wavers, caught between disbelief and something else…something that feels a little bit like…flattery?

Oh, Hell has certainly frozen over.

“And stop being so lewd!” you add in an icy tone.

He responds with a rich and lazy chuckle, far too pleased with himself.

“Don’t act so shocked, gorgeous; don’t dance around what’s been happening since you got here,” he coos. His thumb slides down, grazing your bottom lip. “Mine.”

You step back slightly, gripping his wrist and brushing him off; impressing yourself that you keep your touch firm when you’re trembling on the inside.

“Satoru,” you start again, trying to regain some semblance of control—some clarity amid all of this chaos.

“Yes, honey?” he addresses you in a low purr, teasing and commanding, making hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

He’s looking at you like he’s already won.

This fucking guy needs to be put in his fucking place.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to sigh. That frustration is still simmering beneath you; your foot tapping against the polished wooden floor, the sound sharp in the quiet classroom.

“What the hell is this?” you demand, narrowing your eyes into slits at him.

He tilts his head at you, folding his arms over his chest in that casual way of his. The movement causes his shirt to pull tight across his chest, emphasizing his taut lines.

“Isn’t it obvious? Or is your stupid showing?” he quips, but his voice is not in jest; it’s in a more serious manner. You’re impressed he can even take this seriously. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. It’s not rocket science, or some complex cursed technique, you know.”

You part your lips to protest, but he cuts you off, eyes flickering with something dark.

“Yeah, but—!”

“—but nothing,” he interjects, voice firm. “Mine.”

Your frustration finally boils over.

“No,” you growl, taking a few steps forward, forcing him to really look at you eye to eye. “You answer me. You owe me that much right now, Satoru.” You hate that your voice is trembling now, emotions raw and unfiltered because you have nothing to lose here.

He drags out a defeated sigh, the tension in his body easing as he relaxes his body. His eyes remain locked on yours.

“Fine.”

“Tell me the truth,” you demand, your voice low yet firm—a crackle of lightning in a raging storm. “What is this to you?”

He studies your face. When he speaks up, his voice carries a softer tone. More genuine.

“It’s simple,” he answers, carefully selecting his words. “You give me all of you. I give you all of me.”

His fingers trail down your arm, stopping at your elbow.

“Is it really so hard to understand how bad I got it for you? I’m nuts about you,” he goes on, his expression is almost…vulnerable. Open. He’s usually so guarded in spite of his silliness. “This isn’t a game to me.”

He’s giving you a chance to grapple with what he just admits to you. He’s giving a piece of himself he hasn’t given to anyone else since…well, you don’t know. You haven’t known him for as long as the others.

You chew on your bottom lip, warring with the questions in your mind.

“So…” you hesitate, voice barely audible. “Why me?”

He runs his hand through his shaggy hair, his eyes flickering with something that feels out of place. Raw. Honest. Something you’re so unused to seeing in Satoru.

“I mean, don’t you get it?” he sighs, almost to himself.

“Don’t you know how rare it is for someone to get my attention?”

You take a moment to process his words. You know they carry more weight than a casual, generic compliment. So far from sweet nothings. It’s a crack in all those layers he set up for himself. You’re peeling away at some of them.

“That’s not a direct answer,” you counter in a firmer tone, as a frown stresses your features. You won’t let him get away with just that.

His shoulders sag a bit in defeat.

“Then why don’t I just show you?” he suggests, his voice smooth, the challenge in his tone unmistakable. The atmosphere shifts like gears.

Before you can even process what he’s told you, Satoru hoists you by your bottom in a fluid, effortless motion, like you weigh a can of grapes to him (and you may as well have). Your back hits the hard surface of his desk with a thud.

His hands, gentle, but rough, trail down your thighs, his touch electric and the air between you growing thick and staticky, making shivers crawl down your spine. He meets your gaze, his electric blue eys locked onto yours. It’s too much to bear. Too much!

“May I?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly like earlier. His fingers hover just below the hem of your clothes. He’s so close yet so far away and you can’t believe you want this. You can’t believe you’re letting this play out. Maybe you like him more than you care to admit to yourself.

While he poses the question, his eyes tell you he already knows your answer.

Words dying on your tongue, tension in your body winding tight like a wind-up toy…

You bite your lip. With a barely perceptible nod, you grant him the permission.

In that same fluidity and effortlessness, he slips off your pants along with your panties, the fabric falling unceremoniously to the ground, leaving you fully exposed to him. The cool air nips at your skin, sending a ripple of goosebumps over your body as he spreads your legs wide across his desk. You’re vulnerable, laid bare before him, but the way he looks at you…you feel like you’re on top of the world.

Satoru’s gaze flits downward, and his liips part slightly as he takes in the gorgeous, raw sight of you, glistening in your natural arousal already. He licks his lips absently, a soft, animalistic sound escaping from deep in his throat.

“And you claimed you weren’t into it,” he purrs, his breath fanning against your sensitive flesh. The words are so teasing, so trolling, like he always is, but the effect he’s going for is anything but playful for you. Your body jerks involuntarily.

“Mean,” you pout, your lips forming that irresistible curve you know now that he can’t resist.

But you doubt Satoru’s going to give you any mercy here.

He shushes you, his voice a soft command as he leans in closer, his nose barely grazing your sensitive sex. Slowly, he uses both his hands to peel apart your folds, the movement achingly intimate. His eyes glisten with something almost feral as he whistles softly at the sight he’s been blessed to behold. Then, carefully, he dips a finger between your folds, gliding it along the slickness building there. His touch is feather-light, teasing, reverent, causing more heat to pool low in your belly and your groin.

“Look at that,” he teases, dragging the pad of his finger through your wetness, making you squirm under his touch. “All soaked for me. God, that’s the highest compliment in the world, baby. You have no idea.”

Your face burns from embarrassment, the flush spreading down your neck like you’ve caught a fever.

“Shut up,” you whimper as you feel his breath ghosts over your core again; the anticipation is worse. It’s so much worse. He eyes it for a few moments too long before finally sinking his teeth into the delightful meal that’s you.

The moment his tongue hits your sensitive flesh, a jolt of electricity shoots through your entire body. He starts from your entrance, rolling his tongue slowly up through your goopy folds, tracing a deliberate pattern toward your clit. The wetness, the gooeyness, everything leaves you breathless. You jolt in place, your back arching off the desk, but Satoru’s strong hands are quick to keep you steady. But his grip is tender yet firm.

His hands find yours, fingers intertwining with a kind of gentleness that is quite the juxtaposition to the party going on between your thighs. His thumbs brush over your knuckles in a soothing gesture, grounding you as his tongue pokes and prods at your sensitive flesh, lapping at your slick, gooey folds. He makes low groans, soft hums, little whimpers like he’s honored to finally do this.

It's so mean. It’s too much.

“Relax for me, gorgeous,” he purrs between fervent licks, his voice muffled slightly by the way he’s devouring you whole. The pressure coils in your stomach as his tongue continues to lap at your building slick, sloppy, wet, passionate. You can barely think straight now. The only thing swimming in your mind is Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. But you’ll never let him know that.

“Aw, fuck yeah,” he breaths, pulling back for a moment to speak and get an eyeful of your aroused, debauched state. “You have any idea how long I’ve been jerking off to the thought of this pussy?”

“Satoru!” you shriek, more out of embarrassment than indignation. Okay, maybe a little indignation. Each pass of his tongue makes every nerve ending in your body light up like fireworks!

“Stop being so lewd!” you demand, but there’s no real conviction behind your words.

He groans against you, the sound vibrating against your sensitive sex, and you’re squirming and writhing again beneath him and you know he’s savoring every minute of this, soaking this victory of his up like a sponge,

“I can’t help it,” he confesses, his voice ragged, breathless, reverent, as he continues to lap at your thick slick more urgently now. It’s messy, it’s sloppy, it’s wet, unrestrained, some of that thick slick catching on his chin. “You make me so wild, baby.”

He flicks his tongue over your clit, fast, hard, precise, and you swear you’re going to lose your fucking mind. Your mind is still spinning with Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, oh fuck. But you don’t want to say it out loud. It’s too much. It’s way too much

“And you taste so fucking good,” he growls, hoarse, that reverence in his tone still prominent, unmistakable.

Every roll of his tongue feels amazing. It’s dragging you under like the tides. You allow yourself to drown in the sensations, to live in the moment. Hie’s clinging onto you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Finally, you feel something twitch down there, and something deep inside you snaps in two. The dam breaks, and you’re splattering more of your arousal on his face while screaming his name (something you can’t hold back now) which he gladly laps up like a thirsty dog, dramatically and loudly gulping down your slick as you come down through such an intense climax. Your pussy is still pulsating and he’s still licking along your gummy, sensitive skin, groaning at your natural taste; he tightens his grip on your hands, just slightly.

You find yourself pouting again when he pulls away, his lips and the bottom half of his face sheen from your slick. Your face is deeply red from arousal, panting as you come down. He shuffles around for more cleaning supplies, helping to wipe you down before helping himself.

“That convincing enough for you, gorgeous?” he inquires with a cheeky grin, sticking out his tongue in a petulant manner. He hums as he savors the taste of you still lingering on his tongue, dragging it along his teeth and catching any remnants of your taste.

“Fuck. That’s going to be amazing to come home to every day.”

“Satoru!” Your hands fly up to cover your face. “Stop! Stop! You’re being ridiculous!”

“I can’t help it,” he says again, prying your hands away from your face to get a good look at you in your flushed state. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. God, can’t you just let me spoil you now? Let’s stop dancing around this.”

“If you just stop being so….argh.”

“Like what, a pirate?” He strokes his chin as if lost in thought. “So when you say shiver me timbers, it’s because I’m making your legs tremble when I eat you out and worship you like the queen you are, right?”

You let out another frustrated groan and you so dearly want to wipe that stupid grin off of his pretty face! Why does he have to be so infuriating even now?? Even when you’re not wholly against the idea of being his girlfriend? It actually sounds kind of nice…

“OH MY GOD! SATORU! STOP!”

He chuckles, and a comfortable silence falls upon you both as you catch your breath.

“So does this mean you know how serious I am about you?” he finally asks, breaking through the silence. “I’m crazy about you. I’m nuts about you. I just want you to actually give me a chance to prove that to you.”

“There are so many more productive ways you could have gone about it,” you grumble with a shake of your head. “But fine, Satoru. You’ve earned this much. …I’m still a little pissed at you, but maybe you can make it up to me over time.”

“Deal,” he replies with a grin. “Just as long as I get to call you mine, and you get to call me yours.”

He cups his ear and leans in toward you, his grin not moving. “Now let me hear you call me yours.”

You roll your eyes in jest, leaning in toward him to whisper in his ear. “You’re mine, Satoru.”

His grin widens, and he pecks your lips, gazing into your eyes with pure adoration twinkling in them.

Yeah, you decide in your mind. You can give him a chance.

[bomber-grl]

DAMIAN WITH A FLIRTY BOYFRIEND

JUSY JDNDHDKWBDJDNKD

🫀🫀🫀

😭

And if reader works with Batman/oracle

Like, a mini oracle 🥺

And bothers Damian as much as he can

Flirty as fuck

Damian Wayne x Flirty!Reader

Pairing(s): Damian Wayne x M!Reader

Art Creds to @/RLDDLE69 on twt/X

Even the before the two of you began to date you were rather…straightforward

If he can even call you that

He honestly admired it since he’s also pretty straightforward but when you set your sights on him?

Yea it’s no longer a good trait

It’s gotten even worse after you’ve established your relationship

You’re constantly calling him pet names and always flirting with him whenever and wherever you can

Ranging from when you’re hanging out at school or just during the day

It’s not like he can catch a break from you when he’s not pretending to just be a normal civilian

Because you’re quite literally in cahoots with his father and oracle

Basically everyone else too

He acts as though it’s annoying and bothersome but his reactions say otherwise

Whenever you wrap an arm around him and begin to compliment him, even mildly- a light blush will dust his cheeks

And like the tsundere he is (only way to accurately describe him so sorry for the cringe) he’ll act as though you’re nothing but distracting him 👀

Which would work since the blushing is very light

But cmon, he lives with built in detectives and are around them basically 24/7

They know that your constant flirting causes Damian to fluster

And so he becomes a victim to some relentless bullying teasing from his family members

Which then prompts him to ask you to no longer be flirty and basically exert PDA anymore so that he’d no longer be a victim

This only makes it worse for himself as you practically cling to him and compliment him over the top and explain all the reasons you can’t do that- them being him

Of course as usual- you’re teasing him and he can’t help but give in

Did I forget to mention that?

Damian refuses to acknowledge him liking that you flirt with him all the time

You both knew that to some extent

The only time he gets upset (?) is when you’re on a mission or just on patrol and you’ll just start pulling pick up lines out of your ass

Like Damn how desperate could you possibly be?

He’s the desperate one

Not much changes when you’re the one filling in for barb or assisting her

Your job is to review the perimeter through technology and see a good route into wherever he’s breaking in

-checking security cameras and looking for any bad guys to give him a heads up to a tee

Well instead of doing that, you’d much rather whisper the cringest, sweetest thing you could

Damian never knew how many words rhymed with pookie, that’s saying a lot

Hence why you two are no longer allowed to work together on missions because you’re too much of a distraction for him

Rip but you reap what you sow 🤷

[morphean42]

Rewatching Falsettos I was suddenly struck by an epiphany that I’m sure someone else has had at some point, but I needed to write out. This ending scene from “March of the Falsettos” jumped out at me from the first watching, but even though I recognised the nod to the “See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil (and lesser known do no evil)”, I didn’t know what it meant. Today, I tried to piece it together, and I think I’ve gotten it. These poses represent core attributes of the characters, as well as Trina’s view of them, so click the read more to hear the ravings of a mad man wayyyyyy too obsessed with this show

The idea of ‘evil’ to me is very loose. It can represent a lot of things for these characters; their actions towards each other, their character flaws, etc. But, for this analysis, one can replace ‘evil’ with ‘truth’. Each of the characters refuses to see, speak, hear, or ‘do’ the truth (please excuse the lack of grammar for that last one), and that is where the ‘evil’ stems from. Taking into account this is mostly based on Trina’s view of the men, I think ‘truth’ fits in well.

Let’s start with the one who fits in least— Jason. “March of the Falsettos” is a physical manifestation of how Trina views the men in her life (as childish and immature), but some slack is given to her son. He doesn’t sing his lines in falsetto, because we acknowledge he is in fact a child, and has more of an excuse to act as such. So, take his analysis with a grain of salt. The boy has every right to be a little selfish— he’s 10.

So, Jason has his hands over his eyes, representing ‘See No Evil’. This is a direct nod to his character flaw; his view of the world with him at the center. Although his parents are less than good to him, he still sees them through unfair lenses— ‘My mother’s no wife/My father’s no man’. He sings ‘everybody’s yelling and everybody’s ruining it’ in “Everyone Hates His Parents” because he is unhappy with how his Bar Mitzvah is turning out and wants to simply cancel it. He doesn’t have a concept of doing things for other people (again, he’s a child, I’m not blaming him per se), so he is blind to the will of others and refuses to see their side. In addition to this, even when Mendel tells him Whizzer will most likely die, Jason pleads with G-d to save him. He still views himself as the center of his world, thus Mendel’s line ‘Life’s not all about him’.

In addition to this, his ‘See No Evil’ means something when thought about from Trina’s perspective. She thinks her son is blind to the truth of the world, this son who stays inside playing chess alone, this son who ‘seems like an idiot to [Trina]’. She worries Jason will turn out like these other men in her world, blind to everyone but himself.

Now we come to Mendel, who has his hand over his mouth in ‘Speak No Evil’. Mendel’s flaw throughout the show is his refusal to accept the truth of any situation. He tells Jason to ‘feel alright for the rest of your life’ instead of actually trying to help, he is ‘frightened of questions’, he repeats over and over ‘I’ll make you well’ to Whizzer in the hospital. He will never say anything negative, nor will he allow others to do so. Even in the end of the show, he tells Jason they don’t know ‘when or if’ Whizzer will get better— he is still not accepting that it’s a definite thing. He believes that if he and those around him just don’t speak about the real problems, they’ll go away.

Trina’s view on Mendel is complicated here. In the next song she agrees to marry him, of course, and we know she at least likes him (the most of all three adults she knows). She says that Mendel ‘decides the role to assume’. She looks down on the fact that he can’t speak the truth to her, that he’s expecting this happy wife, this perfect new family. He wants her to play along with him and make their home together, even if she sings ‘liking our lives’ instead of loving. Even if he’s better than Marvin ever was, there’s still an element of control here. Mendel wants this family, and he wants them to all pretend nothing is ever wrong again.

Marvin, our titular character, is in the ‘Hear No Evil’ position. This one is fairly straight forward— he wants control and will never listen to the needs of those around him. He can’t hear what they actually need, he simply does what he wants. He also struggles with his masculinity throughout Act 1, his outward misogyny and need for the nuclear family (his treatment of Trina and Whizzer), so he imagines himself at the top of his family system. He will never take any other opinions, or counsel, in his decisions, seeing that as weakness. He’s similar to Jason in this regard, as he only hears what he wants to (like Jason only sees what he wants). He ignores the pain around him to pursue his own desires, he covers his ears and moves on.

Trina, of course, despises Marvin at this point in the show. Her subconscious showing Marvin in ‘Hear No Evil’ can tell us a lot about their relationship, how she was never seen as equal in decisions. Marvin always put her to the side, not listening to her needs, acting without thinking of her.

Whizzer is complicated. I’ve seen people laugh at his pose before, saying we’ve got ‘See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil, and Gay’, but I think he represents the ‘Do No Evil’. This final character is not often seen with the other three, and can be depicted with arms over the chest or covering the genitals. It wouldn’t make sense to have Whizzer be the outlier (especially because the fourth depiction of evil does exist), so I’m assuming he is supposed to be ‘Do No Evil’.

This fits in well with Whizzer’s flaws throughout the show. He doesn’t accept responsibility for his relationship with Marvin; seen in the lines ‘I’m not responsible’ during “Late For Dinner” or ‘I will not accept blame’ in “Games I Play”. He sleeps around, despite Marvin wanting monogamy, and clearly did not have an issue hooking up with a married man. Whizzer fundamentally doesn’t think his actions have consequences, he believes he has done nothing wrong (he has done no evil). Whizzer also has a hard time admitting to his love for Marvin. He says it ‘depends on the day’, he flat out says ‘no’ when asked if he loves him. He doesn’t want to show his love for fear of being too vulnerable, so he hides and doesn’t do anything about it.

To take this even further, him being ‘Do No Evil’ can represent his later question of ‘why me of all men’ when he is dying. He hasn’t done anything to deserve his death, and ‘all men get what they deserve’, right?

Moving on to how Trina sees Whizzer. He’s come into her life and ruined her marriage, though she ‘wants to hate him’ she can’t. She views him as the cause of her recent hardships, his actions being to blame. He is ‘Do No Evil’ to her because he has done evil in taking Marvin away (though it is obvious Trina is better off because of it). He has upset the careful balance of her world by breaking down the lies of her marriage and exposing the truth— Marvin never loved her, could never love her. She puts him in ‘Do No Evil’ because what he has done is what the rest of the men won’t— see, hear, speak the truth even at the detriment of her family.

Another way to view this is, of course, the fact that ‘Do No Evil’ is rarely seen with the others. Trina is separating Whizzer from the other men, not putting him in the same category as the rest of the ‘family’. He views himself as an outsider as well, yes he’s part of the group, but only as a technicality. Only as Marvin’s lover. Once he leaves Marvin, he is easily taken out of the equation and the remaining three do not feel the loss.

My conclusion is such: Each of the poses our men do represents the character flaw they must overcome throughout the show, as well as how Trina views them in her mind. I really hope this made any sort of sense, and if someone has already said all of this well… I guess it can’t hurt to be thorough.

I’m way too tired to read through this again so if there are spelling mistakes please print out this post, correct it in red pen, and send it to me by carrier pigeon.

[annebd]

have you ever written a thing and had no idea where it was gonna go because you didn’t actually have a plan and then you were somehow still surprised (but pleasantly) at where it ended up anyway? yeah, me too. this is super short, just a little slice-of-life domestic maxiel moment.

They’re at the farm in Perth, nowhere to be and nothing to do for ten full days before they have to head back to Milton Keynes for the start of testing. They spend the first night sitting on the back porch, sharing a frankly terrible delivery pizza and a bottle of Daniel’s shiraz- out of disposable paper cups because Daniel can’t be bothered to unearth his actual wine glasses and because Max always claims the taste is the same as in proper glass anyway. They go to bed early, too jet lagged to do anything more than share a kiss goodnight and cuddle together under the quilt that Daniel’s nonna had given him when he’d first moved to Italy- a small reminder of home. Nowadays, the quilt stays on the farm, a reminder that this, actually, is home.

In the morning, Daniel awakens to a streak of sunlight shining brightly across his face. The quilt is thrown haphazardly across the foot of the bed, kicked off during the night as the warmth of the Australian summer melted across them in sleep. He stretches big and yawns, scratching lightly at the peach fuzz on his lower belly that he’s finally allowing to grow back in. The giant antique clock on the wall across from the window (his mum had made him buy it- said he needed some kind of interior decoration in his place, and Buffalo Bills merch emblazoned with Josh Allen’s name didn’t count) tells him that it’s just after ten. He reaches out a hand: the other side of the bed feels cool- Max must have been up for a while already.

With a groan, and a refusal to acknowledge that hopping out of bed at 35 involves much more moaning and creaking knees than it did at 22, Daniel gets up and stumbles his way towards the living room. He follows the faint sound of Dutch cursing and an even fainter whiff of coffee. Max hates coffee- says it makes him gag- but whenever he’s up first, he makes Daniel a cup exactly the way he likes it, with the tiniest splash of creamer and an even tinier bit of sugar.

He rounds the corner to the living room and sees the source of the cursing. Max has set up his Playstation and is in the middle of a FIFA match.

“Honestly, Daniel, they’re terrible. Look at this,” Max says crossly, waving his hand at the TV in a gesture that Daniel takes to be an all encompassing indicator of terribleness. “How can they be so bad?”

He’s not even looking in Daniel’s direction; the sofa faces away from the passageway to the back of the house. It’s one of the things Daniel loves about him. Max doesn’t need any preamble to a conversation. He knows that if he starts, Daniel will simply catch up.

Daniel shrugs, climbs over the back of the sofa to plop comfortably next to Max. “Dunno, Maxy. Can’t all be rockstars like you.”

Max glances at him quickly, a small frown in his brow as he assesses in an instant whether he thinks Daniel is teasing him, warring with a smile at the inherent compliment anyway. “Yeah, well, of course it takes lots of practice. Maybe they are just not putting in the time.”

“Maybe so,” Daniel agrees. He leans over to grab the cup of coffee that Max had made for him and takes a sip- perfect as always. He sinks a bit lower into the couch, getting comfortable. “Any plans for the day? Other than kicking some randos' arses in FIFA?”

“I though that we could—” Max cuts himself off to interject a string of cursing in Dutch as his player onscreen clearly does something other than what he’d intended. He mashes at the controller furiously, and a moment later, Daniel sees the screen light up with a goal. Max nods, satisfied, and continues “maybe invite Isaac and Isabella to spend the day here. Always, you’re talking about wanting to take them out on the dirt bikes. We can do that together.”

Daniel nods. “Sounds good. I’ll give Michelle a call- maybe we can swing by and pick them up. Say hi to Mum and Dad on the way.”

Max is already absorbed back into his game, but when Daniel stands to go grab his phone (slightly less groaning as he stands from the couch, no less knee creaking), Max reaches out a quick hand to squeeze his thigh gently. “Good morning, by the way.”

Daniel smiles. “Good morning, baby,” he says, and leans over to peck Max lightly on the lips.

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Did Leon change or did he stay the same?

A character analysis by me because it’s 1AM and I can’t sleep.

I’d like to think Leon goes through an identity crisis throughout the course of RE4R and after RE2R.

Everywhere he went, he’s been told that he has stayed the same even though he believes he’s changed. This got me thinking two things about his character.

A) He’s not as self aware as he thinks he is. To him, maybe he’s changed because he’s had to go drastic changes in order to become the agent he is now. The extensive work that was put on him as well as the pressure to perform well probably made him believe he was not the same man he once was. He probably feels as if a part of his humanity was ripped away. We actually see his monologue in Vendetta where he states that when he was younger, he’s always wondered about what type of man he’d grow up to be. And to realize that the version of himself, the “future” version, is probably something that he wished he didn’t have to be. He wished things were different, he wished he was different.

B) A lot of people underestimate him and his sensibility. Leon is someone who’s always known what’s just. One of his prominent characteristics is probably a strong sense of justice and humanity. He’s the type of person that would save everyone even if it meant he’d have to sacrifice himself. He’s a very noble person and most people see this as a weakness, hence why Krauser thinks he’s too “soft” for the job. But I think otherwise, I think it’s a good thing that Leon is the way he is simply because he’s still holding on to a part of himself that he refuses to give up. It’s what makes him a good person despite his bloodied hands. He’s saved countless people but he’s also killed many to save others.

After being confronted by Ada and Krauser, I’d like to think he’s doubting himself.

“Have I really not changed?”

“What about rookie me?”

“Who was I before?”

But maybe there’s another reason. He hasn’t talked to Ada in six years and he hasn’t seen Krauser since Op. Javier. So that means it’s been a long time since he’s seen both. Maybe Ada and Krauser refuse to acknowledge that Leon did in fact change and want to keep a small fragment of what Leon was prior to their meetup in RE4R. Not because they underestimate him but because Leon is a symbol of what is right. Hence why Ada didn’t give Wesker the Amber and why Krauser was so willing to die at the hands of Leon.

Leon’s character is a complex character that is heavily influenced by others around him. But that doesn’t mean he’s letting himself be used as a carpet. I’d like to think that the cop inside him didn’t in fact die, instead it grew. Why does he keep pushing through even though he says he doesn’t want to keep fighting? It’s not just the government forcing him, it’s the cop Leon that’s telling him to do what’s right for the innocent lives that could be at stake.

Leon is a good man.

[12thbiologist]

Introduction by N. K. Jemisin, from 10th anniversary Authority reprint

"To my own shame, I've become a jaded reader in recent years. By this, I mean that my enthusiasm and curiosity, my drive to experience new worlds, have all been damaged by a persistent disjunct between reality and the speculative fiction I most enjoy.

"Is it any wonder? Given the horrors of Trump's first regime, the looming threat of another, a global plague allowed to run rampant, and a billionaire backed culture war on the rest of us. I'm more jaded about everything now. Escapism at this juncture feels like a way to temporarily pretend that everything is fine. And while there's value in taking a break from Hell, it also feels dangerous. Like drinking to drown my sorrows. Nothing wrong with alcohol now and again, but nobody needs a steady diet of oblivion.

"What I've found myself seeking instead are philosophies of entropy and survival. That is, fiction that addresses multifaceted decay and the psychology needed to survive it. At this point, to mangle Audre Lorde, the master has handed his tools out freely after designing them to break at first usage, buying out the only shop that could fix them and the only newspaper that tried to report on the scam, and charging all customers a subscription fee. And these days, it's no longer just us marginalized folks who need our media to acknowledge the slow motion apocalypse we're all trapped in.

"Enter, The Southern Reach books. When I first read Annihilation during the run-up to the 2016 election, it was a welcome breath of fungal, fetid air. Other fiction of the time seemed determined to suggest there was no need for alarm. Things couldn't be so bad. Anything broken could be fixed.

"Could it though? As I watched my country embrace a stupid, incompetent, and blatantly criminal fascist while insisting his spiteful, privileged sycophants somehow had a point—Well, when you're already queasy, sweet smells make the feeling worse. It helped to read instead about the smells and sights and horrors and haunting beauty of Area X. It helped me to imagine that creeping transformative infection warping body and mind and environment and institution. Because that was the world I was living in. It helped to meet the 12th expedition's nameless women who were simultaneously individuals, with selfish motivations, and archetypes, trapped in their roles. The biologist, driven by the loss of her mate and the need to integrate into a new ecosystem. The psychologist, a human subjects ethics violation in human flesh. We are dropped into danger with these women, immediately forced to confront an existential threat with courage and perseverance. And this? This was what I needed from my fiction.

"The second book, Authority, was even more what I needed. As we watch Control slowly realize he's never been in control, and that things are a lot worse than his complacency allowed him to see—it just resonated so powerfully. His over reliance on procedure and the assumed wisdom of his predecessor. His dogged refusal to see the undying plant in his office as a sign of something wrong. There was nothing of 2014's politics overtly visible in the book. And yet, they were all over it like mold.

"I've read and written reviews of these books and it seems to me that there's a common misreading that applies. Namely, that they are "climate fiction," or "cli-fi." This clunky label fits superficially, in that climate change occurs during the course of the book.

"However, Area X, with it's inexplicable reality warping power, is a poor metaphor for human caused destruction. Or even for the surreality of climate denial- talk about reality warping. I think a better analytic is to view the books as postcolonial fiction. Per Caribbean Canadian writer Nalo Hopkinson, postcolonial stories take the adventurous repertoire of science fiction—such as traveling to a distant realm and taming the exotic flora, fauna, and people who live there—and from the experience of the colonizee, critique it, pervert it, fuck with it. The characters of The Southern Reach books are only obliquely marginalized. Their races, ethnicities, class distinctions, and other markers of identity are deliberately downplayed, down to the lack of personal names. But they are all women, which is atypical of pretty much any US government agency. Two of them, the Asian biologist and the half-Indigenous psychologist, are racialized. Biology and psychology and anthropology are often dismissed as "soft sciences," in large part because too many women thrive in them. Or because they've done too good a job of reconsidering racial/cultural/ethnic equity and updating practices and personnel to suit.

"As the 12th expedition proceeds into Area X, on the surface it seems they are reenacting a thousand science fiction novels: going forth as intrepid strangers into a strange land. But for any reader who's familiar with those classic narratives, Annihilation's version feels like a setup. Our marginalized protagonists lacking the privileges and power of stalwart square-jawed white men seem doomed from pretty much the moment they enter Area X.

"So, they are the colonizees in this situation and Area X is definitely fucking with them. But as the story proceeds, it becomes clear that they are themselves fucking with that classic adventure dynamic. The psychologist has wholly focused her skills on taming her fellow adventurers, and perhaps herself. The biologist is trying to solve a mystery of identity: something unquantifiable and scientifically immeasurable, more felt than known, and deeply personal. The anthropologist has no one to study, save her fellow expedition members, and only the surveyor seems wholly focused on Area X at all. Perhaps this is why she later tries to kill the biologist. We see the irony of this setup most clearly with Control in Authority. He is the stalwart square jawed man that traditional science fiction has primed us to expect, even hope for, because he'll have the power to solve the situation, right? But Control becomes the proof that no colonizee can ever tame Area X. At best, they might manage to tame themselves.

"By the end of book one, the 12th expedition becomes the first successful one by a colonizer's rubric, in that they manage to share new understandings of Area X with those outside it and in that at least one member of the team survives with her mind and form somewhat intact. The beginning of book two seems to confirm this, as the story shifts to explore the Kafkaesque bureaucracy of the Southern Reach itself. But the expedition members' choices have become the choices of the colonized. Survive or not? Internalize or not? Assimilate or not? They bring these choices to Control, who adds his own familiar, horrifying existential questions. When change seems inevitable and irreversible, can it be controlled to some degree? Can the self remain intact after the mind and body have been "Ship of Theseus"-ed into something unrecognizable?

"This is not to say that climate focused readings are irrelevant to The Southern Reach series. I mean that climate issues are also colonization issues. In that, the worst effects of climate change fall hardest upon the most marginalized. We observe the breakdown of the 12th expedition, an invasive species to this new biome, even as we observe the breakdown of recognizable life within Area X. New configurations of life emerge from this collapse of old structures. Hybridizations, commensalisms, wholesale assimilations. Even our bureaucracies, as evidenced in Authority, form a kind of natural order that can be deconstructed and readapated. Control fails to contain Area X because of another key understanding that the colonized eventually develop: you cannot fight that with which you have become complicit. The best you can do is realize what's happening and hope its not too late by the time you do. Never fear, Area X reassures. Colonization and its associated harms, terrifying and painful as they might be, are not the end—however much traditional science fiction stories might suggest otherwise. Survival is possible if one is lucky, brave, and clever, but it might require a transformation far more nuanced and complex than mere death. And this is a reassurance. Speculative fiction has historically framed colonization as a contest with winners and losers, but its never been that simple. Human beings are syncretic, some element of who and what we were will always remain in what we become. Entropy cannot be stopped but new energy can be added to the system. And those who are caught up in the transformation can claim a degree of that power for themselves. And, ultimately, syncretism means that we are carried forwards regardless, if only in part. Still better than nothing.

"As I write these words, multiple genocides are in progress. I feel no certainty for the future. Half my nation is so enthralled to it's own bigoted fantasies that I neither expect nor particularly want the United States to survive. I do not fear the singularity, sentient AI, or any technological boogeyman. I fear the confluence of greed and shortsightedness and spite that human rights and human consciouses cannot survive intact.

"But new systems emerge, inevitably. After a climate extinction or a natural disaster, ecologies adapt, new entities eventually fill old empty niches, power changes hands, and stories can be deconstructed. Even when the situation is most terrifying, least stable, there will always be those who embrace the change, and perhaps gain new strength from it. It's a bittersweet understanding, but the change is upon us. We're all in Area X, now. If we are lucky, clever, and courageous, we might still recognize ourselves when its all said and done."

-N. K. Jemisin, Authority

[leonw4nter]

Hockeyplayer!RE2R!Leon drabbles

Hockeyplayer!Leon who started out in high school and got the position of starting goalie. Around senior year, right before college, he made sure to do a lot better so recruits could take an interest in him and offer him a sports scholarship. Besides practicing his skills on the ice, he made sure that he did twice as well in terms of academics; he avoided going to parties and studied as much as he could, nose-deep in a text book or his notes.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who is so shy, usually stays quiet and keeps to himself in the locker rooms before a game. He occasionally butts in with a corny ass joke but he only tells Chris, the team captain who is also someone he’s grown close with. Chris encourages him to have a life outside of academics but Leon politely refuses, repeating that he has a scholarship to vie for.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who graduated at the top of his class and got accepted into his dream university, taking up aerospace engineering. Between classes and hockey, he’s having a slightly hard time juggling all his activities but he’s holding up well for someone taking a course that would make anyone want to rip their hair out. Because of his scholarship quotas he doesn’t have time for parties or to visit Chris, which he feels guilty for but Chris is understanding about it.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who was one of the Dean’s listers one time, which felt rewarding after several nights of zero sleep and a concerning reliance on Snickers and energy drinks to stay awake. He decides to take a breather for a bit and comes along with Chris to a party, where he meets hockey recruits (for some reason) )and they take interest in his abilities. He leaves that party signed under them, his future stable under a nice hockey career and a promising team. Chris teased that he’d be the nerd of the group, being the only engineering student in a room full of guys who took up sports courses but he feels relieved when Chris tells him that he’s signed up with them too (though he’s still going to be the only nerd).

Hockeyplayer!Leon who now doesn’t feel that anxious about his future outside of college but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t slack off though, still studying hard and smart. A lot of girls take interest in them and he does find them attractive but his gut tells him that they’re not the one, so he doesn’t mind. He feels a little sad with his lack of romantic experience but Chris tells him that it’ll come in its own time.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who is absolutely adored by the entire team– they come to him for help regarding math and he goes to them to proof-read his papers.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who just finished up practice with his team, sweaty and pink-faced, blond hair sticking to his forehead with strands sticking together. He takes his gear off, now only in his jersey and skates while he sits at the bleachers and hydrates. The other guys are talking but he’s keeping to himself, taking this opportunity to catch his breath and do a quick recall of everything but he hears a yelp, a feminine yelp. He looks around and sees one of the ice skaters in the rink skate over to the side, she probably tripped.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who doesn’t hesitate to get up and apologize, asking if she’s okay. She turns around and he’s met with the most beautiful woman ever, stopping him in his tracks; she had soft curves with some muscle, her hair tied into a ponytail. All of a sudden, he goes shy and forgets basic communication.

“Sorry for uh– the ice,” he apologizes. You turn around and the first thing your gaze falls on is a pair of irises that are a hue of a midwinter sky. “I’m apologizing on behalf of my team. Do you, um… need any help…?,” he shyly asks. He swears that his hummingbird heart is beating so strong and loud, the pretty skater in front of him might hear it.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who accepted it when he left the rink, acknowledging that he’ll never see you again– but that doesn’t mean he was kind of sad. He was disappointed that his low confidence and shyness got the better of him and prevented him from asking for your number, or name at least. All self-loathing goes out the window when he sees you again and you actually approach him. His cheeks and the tips of his ears turn rosy when you ask for his number, giving it to you though he has the urge to kick himself for stuttering so many times.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who soon sees you for more than your physical attractiveness; you aren't just beautiful, you make the space around you beautiful too, you affect others and bring their beauty out of them. And you do it with ease. Having a bit of muscle goes a long long way in sexual attraction. Yet she was beautiful from her heart and soul.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who gets teased about his crush, the entire team giving him knowing looks whenever you sit next to him and talk about whatever. He’s still shy but he notices himself stuttering less, much more comfortable than he previously was. His attraction is evident to everyone but you and he doesn’t want to confess because he thinks you won’t feel the same way.

“C’mon, Leon. Confess already! I’m so tired of seeing this tension fizzle out into nothing! She’s clearly into you!”

“She’s just nice, Carlos. She’s nice to everyone and that doesn’t mean she likes me, y’know.”

“She’s the nicest when it comes to you!”

“What if she feels bad for me…”

“Why would she feel bad for you? You’re awesome, man!”

“I’m quiet, a nerd, and I don’t talk much. She probably thought I’m a loner or something…”

“Not with this negative self-talk, Leon! I need you to man up and do something about this crush. I’ll help you– Chris too.”

Hockeyplayer!Leon who invited you to meals as his way of flirting, with the help of Carlos and Chris. He swears his eyes nearly popped out of his pretty head every time you agree to go on these little meal runs with him. With plenty of pep talk and encouragement from the guys, he gets you a small bouquet of flowers for the first time. His clumsy ass didn’t notice those itchy ass caterpillars crawling into his hand so for the whole time, he had to hide the redness and irritation on the back of his hand but he’s thankful you’re not the one who got an allergic reaction.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who tried to make a move and kiss you but chickened out midway for many, many times. He lies awake in his bed at night, staring into the ceiling as he recalls all the times he messed up before groaning and screaming into his pillow. You’re in his head more often than he’d like but he doesn’t mind.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who you asked out to be your plus one to your coach’s birthday celebration. He ran up to Chris and Carlos, jumping and giggling, which confused them. He ran back to his room and took his phone, showing them the text that you sent.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Y/N

“My coach is having a birthday party this Saturday and I got invited. We can bring plus ones soo… can you be my plus one? Dw it’s fine if you got practice on Saturday and can’t come along :)))”

“Sure. I actually don’t have practice this Saturday so I’m totally free :)) What’s the dress code?”

“Smart semi-formal or business casual. Alsoo what time r you gon pick me up?? Or do you want me to be the one to pick u up-”

“I’ll pick you up an hour before the party starts, I’ll just come over to your place. Is that good?”

“YEEAHHHHH :)))) TYSMMMM”

“No problem ;) See you there”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Smooth bro, real smooth,” Carlos compliments. Chris is busy jumping around for Leon, pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug.

“Let us take you out on some shopping, little bro. I’m going to make sure you look dapper, fine, handsome, sexy, drippy.” Chris beams.

“Please don’t say ‘drippy’ ever again to describe how I’m going to look,” Leon sighed.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who arrives at your place 15 minutes before he’s supposed to with another bouquet of dainty flowers. Chris and Carlos asked the entire team for help to style him and they all came together visiting the shops for clothes. After several fittings and visits to many different stores, they all decided to dress him in a cream turtleneck that hugged his figure well and well-fitting navy blue trousers along with black dress shoes. They also decided to try out new hairstyles for him but none looked great so they all decided to settle on Leon’s default hairstyle. Leon felt handsome in his outfit but his insecurity was slowly seeping in but thanks to his teammates and friends, he managed to keep that feeling at bay.

Hockeyplayer!Leon whose jaw drops and world freezes when he sees you open up your door. Space and time halts in reverence for the heavenly beauty standing in front of him; whatever words were waiting at the bottom of his throat are now a jumble of letters, his mouth slightly agape with no words coming out.

“You look stunning,” he softly whispers. He doesn’t even notice the way his hands are clenched tightly around the bottom of the bouquet, his knuckles going pale.

“Very stunning.”

He ends up blushing even more when you compliment him, shimmery eyes glazing over his body and suddenly everything feels a lot more warm. His lip quivers when he puts on a smile for you when you decide to take a picture with him and you can’t stop gushing about how his clothes fit him, making a mental note to wear something like these more often before sending his thanks to the team group chat.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who has more fun than he thought he would, enjoying your company and good food. He feels some eyes on him, sizing him up and probably whispering about the plus one that a figure skater brought along but for once he doesn’t feel self-conscious because he doesn’t have attention to spare for them when you got all of it from him. When he sent you back home that day, he was so sure that he was going to kiss you but his nerves got the better of him again. Instead, he told you how much he had fun at the party and how you were good company to him before bidding you good night.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who looks good with your first kiss after you made the move and pulled him in for one on an outdoor ice skating rink as the first snowfall gently fluttered down, tiny snowflakes landing on your coats and hair. He is practically glowing with it and you swear you see your future in the twin pools of his sapphire lakes.

Hockeyplayer!Leon who was your boyfriend of three years, is now your fiancé. He got down on one knee and asked a question that would ultimately define both of your futures during the first snowfall inside your shared home. He couldn’t stop staring at the ring on your hand, proud that he managed to get it this far. Who would’ve known that someone as timid and nervous as him, who literally struggled to find the golden opportunity to kiss you would be able to do something as defining as this. He swears to stay by your side forever and in every universe and timeline; he’ll be a star in whatever constellation you’re in, the sun to your moon, he’ll be the boundless ocean that reflects the vast beauty of the sky.

NOTE - Hi guys sorry for the inactivity lately, I've been making Valentine's Special fics for diff versions of Leon and there's about 8 of them so I don't exactly have time to post. I decided to write drabbles of RE2R!Leon based on my first fic in here so yeah :) My mom and brother also found a 4-5 week old kitten that kinda looks like a rat and we're not sure of the kitten's gender so ig I'll just update on this too (if you're interested) 😭😭. I haven't come up with names yet but I'm planning to name the kitten after video game characters. My grades for the second quarter release tomorrow and I'm so scared rn bro like I literally did NAWT do that well during the first quarter so let's hope I somehow did better in the second 😭😭😭 Anyways, thanks for reading my fics coz I rlly appreciate ittt!!!!!!!! <3333333333

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us ― chapter nine. avoidance cw: semi non-graphic domestic abuse, implied/referenced self-harm (although both are brief, please don't trigger yourself! I'll include a tl;dr at the end so you know what happened.) ↝ wc: 1.2k previous | masterlist | next waiting for us taglist. (29/50) @abbiestearsricochet @sanriiolino @boo-ven9eance @melleus @lenilla15 @adorawritesalot @inlovewithallmusic @soulphoenix1618 @alnex05 @borahae-reads @zonked-times @httphans @yoonrimin @sunoosult @slay-and-gay @itz-not-me-guys @jihanniee @berrybearbear @lovelixie @katsukis1wife @aksoace @realrintaro @0325tiny @adestayskz @minhwa @littleaprilcherryblossom @soobery @luvvvash @lillithathecat @ilychee08 @everglowdaisies @boi-bi-ahaha @yandere-stories

You hated that you enjoyed your time with Jeongin, that you had felt comfortable and safe in his presence. You had to remind yourself several times that you couldn’t get too close, too attached because it was gonna hurt when you inevitably had to leave. 

Yet here you were, letting him walk you towards the parking lot, trying not to get lost in his dimples that threaten to suck you in. You could tell that you were already so screwed. His voice breaks you out of your never ending cycle of thoughts. 

“Noona, have you found your soulmate?” You tense up at the question, an unpleasant shiver going down your spine.

“Oh. No, um. I’m a blank,” It’s the same lie you tell everyone, so why does your chest suddenly ache as the words leave your mouth? You know why but it’s something you refuse to admit. 

Jeongin frowns at your words. He doesn’t want to think you’re a liar of course, you must have your reasons for not telling the truth. But he knows it’s a lie. Even if you weren’t their soulmate (something he didn’t want to think about), you definitely had one. Fate would be too cruel to deny someone as beautiful as you, your other half. Jeongin wishes it was him. He so badly wants you to be his soulmate, their soulmate. More than anything. 

He goes to open his mouth to say something but a loud shout of your name stops him and both of you turn towards the sound. You flinch, your blood running cold as you watch your brother walk up to you. He looks calm but you can see the anger in his eyes. You had planned to ditch Jeongin closer to the parking lot so your brother didn’t see you with someone, it seems though you had been late, leaving the man impatient.

You wished he had just made good on his threat to just leave you there, to walk a half hour to get back home instead. 

“Mio, I’ve been waiting,”

“S-sorry. I was just um. Sorry, let’s go. See you later Jeongin,” You don’t even look back at Jeongin, walking straight forward and even leaving your brother behind, all too eager to get out of this uncomfortable situation.

He glances at Jeongin, nodding his head in acknowledgment before leaving without a word. Jeongin blinks, processing the confusing interaction for a second. He realizes that he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to you, instead watching as you get smaller and smaller, ignoring the empty feeling he gets in his chest. 

The car ride home is deadly silent, your brother not having said a single word since he slipped into the driver's seat. It fills you with relief that he doesn’t ask, but you know that it’s not a good thing that he hasn’t said a word, knuckles turning almost white from how hard he’s gripping at the steering wheel. 

When you arrive home you hope that he’ll continue to ignore you but he grips onto your wrist before you can run away. His fingers bruising your skin easily as he holds you in place, glaring down at you. 

“who the fuck was that huh?”

“no one. he’s just my lab partner— we were going over homework,”

“doesn’t explain why he was with you still,”

“He was just being nice, walking me to the parking lot,” 

“You two looked awfully cozy. Is that why you were late? Too busy being a whore?”

You’re silent, gritting your teeth but your brother doesn’t take your silence well as he strikes you across the face. You barely make a sound, all too used to this. 

“Whatever. Stay away from him, got it? I better not catch you with any boys anymore,” 

With that, the conversation is over as he throws your hand down and stomps off to wherever it is he goes when he’s pissed at you. 

In silence you make your way to your room, throwing your bag down onto your bed in pure frustration, slamming the door behind you before sliding down it. You’re gripping at your hair, feeling your body go numb from the pain of trying to hold everything in, but from meeting three of your soulmates recently and now this— it’s all too overwhelming. The stinging pain from your cheek slowly dissipates but you know there’s gonna be a small bruise at least. 

You come up to dig through your bag until you find what you’re looking for, a small pocket knife you keep on you at all times. For now, you’d have to cope in the only way you know how to. 

You’re glad to not have bio again until friday, being able to avoid Jeongin easily with how big campus was. But of course, fate loves to fuck with you which is why you’re somehow not surprised that you come face to face with him at the coffee cart for your daily fix of caffeine. He waves over at you with a smile but you duck and move to go the other way, coffee not worth having to talk to him right now.  

Jeongin frowns, a brief pang hitting his heart as you blatantly ignore him. He knows he shouldn’t run after you but he can’t help it, finding his feet chasing after you before he can stop them.

He’s calling out for you but you continue to pretend not to hear him, hating the fact that he’s making a scene. Of course, with his long legs he catches up to you in no time, reaching out for you as he grasps at your forearm.

You flinch, his hands wrapped around your new wounds and you all but yank your arm out of his grip, clutching it to your chest, face scrunched up in mild pain. He frowns at your reaction and before he knows it, he’s grabbing at your hand again, this time rolling up your sleeve.

Jeongin’s heart shatters as he sees the all too familiar scars littered on the inside of your wrists. A few of them are fresh, just barely scabbing over and red.

When he looks up at you with a sad look you’re still in a state of shock at what had just occurred. You snap out of it and pull your hand away again, though this time you’re furious and completely baffled by his audacity. 

You turn again to walk away and thankfully Jeongin doesn’t pull you back but he still follows after you. 

“Mio please, talk to me. What happened?”

You’re still feeling entirely too much, it’s all too overwhelming so it’s not really all that surprising to you that you snap.  “Just go away! Who do you think you are? You don’t know me and I don’t know you. We’re just fucking lab partners Jeongin. Don’t act like we’re all suddenly buddy-buddy, ok? Just leave me the hell alone,”

You yell, probably a lot louder than you should have but it gets the point across and this time Jeongin lets you leave. He watches you walk away for the second time in two days, his heart a jumbled mess and his eyes glossy with unshed tears.

TL;DR !! YN's brother catches her with Jeongin. Once home, he slaps her across the face and warns her to stay away from him and boys in general. YN's feeling overwhelmed by everything and SH's as her only way to cope. She sees Jeongin the next day but she tries to avoid him only for him to grab onto her. She flinches, which he notices and pulls up her sleeves to see her recent SH scars. YN gets mad and yells at him before leaving.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

hi dear just wondering if you're taking request? If not then feel free to ignore me but I was wondering what or how would the yandere twisted wonderland boys react to a willing reader who actually finds there yandere tendencies hot and endearing and actually does not mind being locked up or the reader is just generally obsessed as they are with them hahaha sorry if it's to hard but if you find it uncomfortable then feel free to ignore me dear

Yandere-Obsessed | Yandere Twisted Wonderland x Reader

Malleus Draconia

“I will never let you leave my sights again!”

“Why would I ever?” 

After nearly obliterating those he feels as though are a threat to your health

He snaps 

With glowing green eyes, he refuses to let you go despite any protests you may have

But you have none 

Immediately jumping into the near-dragon amalgamation’s arms as you lovingly rub your cheek against him

“I’m so happy, you feel the same!” 

“Wait…does…this mean you purposefully orchestrated the incident?”

“Hehehe maybe?”

“...You love me as well?”

“Ohh Malleus I adore you!”

He’s near melting 

You guys are the couple that sits in public places with hardly any space between you as your constantly looking into each other's eyes

Its a fight should anyone intervene

On both ends

Sebek’s reeling but he gains a whole lot of respect when you easily threaten his life

Malleus and you are in your own world

Most people don’t get killed only because you two are so focused on one another no one really penetrates your bubble

“My child of man it felt as if my heart was torn in two! I can breathe now that your in my arms again!”

“Oh Mal-Mal!”

Jack Howl

“W-wait (Y/n) i-its not what you think!”

“Really? It looks like that guy was suffocated to death and your burying him.”

“(Y/n)-”

“You can’t bury him yet until we remove any and all traces of you! See!? Your nail marks are a dead-giveaway!”

“Uh–��

“Here we should just burn this part that way no one will know!”

“T-thanks?”

“Of course, baby.”

He’s always felt guilty for the stuff he was doing in your name

But to see you his beloved, his mate assure him

Brings him an air of confidence

Now he knows that you acknowledge him and will even defend him

Like a true mate!

He’s so pleased he doesn’t have to fight you to accept him

Rather he’s fighting you from doing the same

It just makes him so embarrassed you care for him

“Love you don’t need to do away with the other contestants!”

“But look at your blush! You won’t mind it all that much you can step down from your high horse for me? Right?”

“...Fine b-but you promise to spend the rest of the night kissing me, right!?”

Idia Shroud

“Y-you knew I was watching? T-the whole time?!” 

“Yup! I’m surprised you hardly noticed the ones I had on you!”

“W-what!?”

Any semblance of the love-obsessed mad scientist is diminished by your overwhelming display of love

He’s too busy reeling from that obsessed look you give him

He’s so easy to dominate from then on

Avidly obeying all your promises to terminate anyone who talks to him 

All with a love-obsessed blush on his face

But even with your reciprocated love, he’ll eventually want for more

Whether he convinces himself you're faking it or that you are trying to outshine his love

He’s turning the tables on you 

Coming up with something that will really blow your socks off

Something to show you he is the ultimate yandere in this relationship

“Darling, how clever you summoned the robots of S.T.Y.X to eliminate all your rivals. But believe me, I will do the same.”

“Hehe you misunderstand, muffin! They’re aren’t only here to eliminate my rivals but there also going to escort you to my love dungeon!”

“Love dungeon?”

“Yeah, how’s that for yandere!? I love you more than anyone even you can’t compete with me!”

Jamil Viper

“So if my suspicions are right you’ve been using snake whisper so that they’ll all stay away from me, right?”

“...”

“Don’t look so tense I wanted to thank you! And I wanted to ask if you noticed my own attempts to be noticed by you?”

“W-what?!”

He’s usually on top of it when it comes to knowing about you and hiding his feelings at the same time

But he completely skimmed over your various attempts to reciprocate his violent-obsessive tendencies

He’s reluctant to believe you 

But when he does he’s falling even more in love

He plans to occupy all your time

And doesn’t mind when you start sleeping at Scarabia just to be closer to him 

He loves it so much

He acts so much goofier because he’s falling in love all over again

“You better not be lying to me about this…”

“Trance me if you really want to know!”

“Maybe I will.”

[kairiscorner]

question of the day: who would fall the hardest if they ever fell in love?

well... i've got 4 candidates in mind, and i think... (3/4)

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

miguel o'hara. — guilty of falling hard for you.

summary: for all of his life, he's never felt the need to be in love or to love, he's never felt the rush, the surge of electricity coursing through his body when he's close to or with someone he even remotely finds spending time with enjoyable--until you happened, you came, and everything changed. pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader genre: fluff as FUCKKKK

miguel o'hara is a stern, serious man; nobody would approach him for anything unless it was absolutely necessary. he made it clear he didn't want to be spoken to by anyone unless he specifically requested to speak to them, he's that professional when it comes to those he works and associates with. though when it came to you, all professionalism it out the window–in private, at least.

miguel o'hara swore to himself that connections and attachment were the last things he needed right now. all that he needed was the safety of the multiverse to be ensured, and that would be it. it didn't matter to him what would happen next or what would happen to him, just not other people getting hurt at his expense or if be could help it. but thankfully, ever since he met that extremely wonderful, strong, kind, and compassionate somebody in his life that changed his everything... he had a new, more personal reason to want to keep the multiverse intact, on top of his other reasons, you were one of his only reasons to keep going.

miguel o'hara is a practical man, he doesn't do things that warrant sentiment, at least not anymore. though little by little, he noticed that you've always done things for him–such simple, everyday things he and other people could do for themselves–make coffee for him, buy him some treats you know he likes from your home dimension, and share with him little trinkets you want him to have or think he'd like.

miguel o'hara was moved, very gradually, by your little acts of kindness and generosity for him. in a way, he's felt the need to do the same for you in return, but all his attempts have been awkward; he refuses to acknowledge your words of thanks outwardly–just nodding or looking away from you and muttering a 'you're welcome' under his breath–and he struggles explaining why he got you those things or did those things for you, well, he always explains, even when the act itself is self-explanatory.

miguel o'hara wants to let you know that it's never his intention to come off as a big, scary grizzly bear of a man; he's just a guy, a guy who has anger issues and finds a lot of things wrong with himself that you find–for some reason–beautiful. "why are you romanticizing my flaws?" he'd ask you with a genuinely puzzled look and questioning tone; he'd never use the word 'beautiful' to describe his own plethora of mistakes, regrets, and reasons why people don't find him approachable or amicable–but you do, for whatever reason that may be.

miguel o'hara didn't think he'd find himself in this situation, being spoken to with these kinds of words–it doesn't feel real, he doesn't feel worthy of this kind of treatment. he's done many bad, irreversible things in his life; unknowingly hurt many, many people with his actions. hearing you say that it's not his flaws that you find beautiful, but rather, it's the fact that he's trying to correct the failures from those flaws he has that's beautiful.

miguel o'hara is perplexed, and he feels a little whirlwind in his stomach and his heart feels a little lighter; he feels... strange, though a good kind of strange–he doesn't want this foreign feeling to end, yet his mind keeps telling him to disengage, tell you not to keep praising him like this–because he knows, he'll fall for you even more than he already has.

miguel o'hara can't believe it, he admitted it to himself: he's fallen for you, he's still falling for you. this scares miguel even more than you can imagine; he's hopelessly, utterly, very much in love with you. you being a strong, capable, and respectable member of his team is one factor in him finding you so amazing–but you being a kind, gentle person towards him is a whole nother thing that made him spiral into this whirlpool of emotions for you.

miguel o'hara wakes up every morning thinking about you, spends the rest of his day with you in the front of his mind, and ends his day with you as his final though before drifting off to sleep–with you being in every one of his dreams ever since you two became close.

miguel o'hara never goes on with the rest of his day without the the feeling and memory of you being carried in his heart–he can't even begin to understand how through your constant smothering of kindness towards him did he become... fond of you. he has never felt this compelled to be near someone, to have his mind casually and involuntarily storing adjectives and compliments to describe you and how you you can be.

miguel o'hara is undoubtedly conflicted about what he should do to quell the feeling, because even though he wants to avoid it at all costs and to ignore that it's there, he desperately wants to be near you and hold you close to him–you're all that's right in the multiverse to him, and if you being kind to him is just in your nature and not because the multiverse decreed you to be so, he's even more in love with your pure and clean heart and soul and he wants to be with you all the more.

miguel o'hara tries to do everything he can to ignore the nagging of his heart and listen to the rationalizations of his mind; you're better off without him, and he's better off not feeling anything for you, even if it means he has to bury it–like he does with all other feelings he has–and never speak of it again to properly hide it from everyone, including himself.

miguel o'hara, though, just can't avoid you. he can't avoid your constant presence in his daily life, he can't avoid your tender, giving self–and he can't avoid you because you're permanently living in his mind rent-free, and you work with him. he doesn't want to avoid you, he just thinks that's what's best for you–but if you have no problem being near him, treating him like a friend as opposed to a mere colleague, and complimenting him in areas where he's confused and conflicted over and helping him grow as a person... then maybe the multiverse is cutting him some slack for once and giving him a chance to... to love, and to love deeply, passionately, and truly for the first time in ever.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @ophanimgold @fictarian @yuridopted0 @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok