#wc 2018: messi

[meowmeowmessi]

need mr balague to be the one writing that inevitable kylian biography i know the chapter on messi will hit like crack

[gojossocks]

Heaven knows

Gojo x Reader Genre: fluff, angst Summary: A glimpse of you and Satoru's relationship before you finally get married. wc: 5.3k a/n: this is set after they defeated Sukuna! so 2018. Nobody died <3

The grand doors swung open, and there you were, framed by the soft glow of sunlight streaming in behind you. In that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, and so did he. You were radiant, ethereal in the way only you could be, adorned in your wedding dress that seemed to shimmer with its own light. 

You look exactly like an angel.

It was like heaven had come down in the form of you— a miracle that Satoru Gojo is privileged enough to see. 

1999

You had marched up right up to him on the first day of school, unimpressed by the murmurs of your classmates around you. 

“Satoru, right?” You asked, giving him a warm smile despite the dismissive look he gave you. 

“I am Y/N!” You announced excitedly as you extended a tiny hand toward him.

He didn’t shake your hand, just stared at it with a displeased look. 

It was the first time someone called him by his first name who isn’t a part of his clan.

But before he could even respond or point out your audacity to call him by his first name, you proceeded into a rambling monologue about the first time you two had met. 

He blinked at you, his blue eyes narrowing in slight suspicion as he debated whether to bully you or ignore you. The memory you described was extremely vague to him—something about your clan visiting his, something that he doesn’t even think worth remembering. 

“You don’t remember, do you?” you teased, tilting your head with a grin, completely ignoring his lack of response. “Your clan was so serious when my family visited. And you just sat there! All boring and serious too, like the world was ending.”

His brows furrowed and he crossed his arms, “I wasn’t boring!” 

“You were! You were talking about tech a nick or something and responsibilities, you didn’t want to play.”

“I did have responsibilities,” he muttered defensively, his chest puffing out slightly. “And it’s technique, you weirdo.” 

“Sure,” you replied with a shrug, your grin never fading. “Wanna prove you’re not boring by watching Digimon with me?” 

That seemed to catch his interest. Hesitantly, he lets you take his hand to lead him where you want to go. 

From that day on, it felt like his life truly had begun when you granted him with your sunshine. For the first time in his life, Satoru wasn’t pressured to be anything he needed to be. You made him feel normal, something he didn’t even know he wanted until then.

You were his first best friend. You were the first person who saw him for who he truly was, not what he represented or what he’s destined to be. 

The world had never quite felt right anymore unless you were in it. 

2007

Satoru has changed over the years. The roles between you had reversed; you were the calm and steady one now.  Gone was the stiff, overly serious boy you met when you were kids.  Now, he was obnoxious and loud, and painfully obsessed with you.

But despite all this, he was still your Satoru.

Satoru always knew that he felt strongly about you, he just wasn’t sure what it was exactly. All he knew was that he likes it when you look at him, the way your voice softens when you speak to him, and how your touch—even the slighted brush of your fingers, is something that he desperately craves. 

He never passes up an opportunity to pull out lame excuses just to touch you, which earns several eye rolls from your circle of friends. 

“Your hair’s messy,” he’d say, brushing an imaginary strand from your forehead and then putting an arm around your shoulders to ‘keep your hair in place.’  Or dramatically say (with an arm around your waist)  ‘come hold my hand, what if an ugly scary curse comes over to kill me?’ just so he could imagine (and plot) so many more moments where he can hold you. 

Everyone knew about it too. It was impossible not to notice. Satoru wasn’t exactly subtle about the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room. It was an open secret that you’d eventually get married anyway. You were practically glued to his side—at lunch, in class, during missions. Even Suguru would tease him mercilessly about it.

“Insufferable. You two are insufferable.” Suguru said one afternoon, groaning at the sight of you and Satoru feeding each other mochi during lunch break. 

Satoru just fluttered his eyes mockingly at him before he pulled you closer to him, practically hugging you. You didn’t pull away, like always. It never occurred to him that you might just like him back because of how much you don’t mind it when he’s hogging your personal space. 

Eventually, all those constant ‘we’re just friends’ seem to wear on Satoru.

He felt ridiculous. Satoru Gojo, bearer of the six eyes, rendered weak by your touch. 

Friends didn’t make his chest tighten every time they smiled, didn’t make his stomach flip with a single laugh. Friends didn’t leave him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way your head rested on his shoulder or how your hand lingered just a second too long on his arm.  Friends certainly didn’t steal the air from his lungs the way you did every time you walked into a room. No, it was only you. 

And then there was the kiss.

It happened during one of your movie nights. 

It started as a joke—when you asked him about his worst kiss so far. 

Poor Satoru was blushing profusely when you asked him that question. At the back of his mind, he wanted his first kiss to be you. 

But he couldn’t say that, of course. So instead, he shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I don’t kiss and tell,” 

You raised an eyebrow, your grin widening as you saw right through him. “Oh my god,” you gasped, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never kissed anyone, have you?”

“What?” Satoru scoffed, but his voice cracked slightly, betraying him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’ve kissed someone.”

Your eyes narrowed, sparkling with amusement. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying!” he protested, his blush deepening.

“Uh-huh,” you said, unconvinced. “If you’re not lying, then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing!”

“You’re totally blushing.”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Of course I’ve kissed someone!”

“Prove it, then.”

The challenge hung in the air between you, crackling like electricity.

“Prove it?” he echoed, his voice faltering for the first time. “Maybe I should show you to shut you up.” 

You rolled your eyes but there’s something about the way you looked at him that caught him off guard, “You’re so full of yourself, Satoru.”

There was a pause, the teasing atmosphere suddenly shifting into something heavier, quieter.

“...We could try it,” You said, your voice a bit nervous. He gulped when he noticed the seriousness in your voice. 

After a moment, your eyes met his.

“For practice,” you added quickly, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

And he just nodded at your dumb excuse. “For practice,” he repeated, nodding as if  he’s convincing himself.

Neither of you moved at first. The air between you seemed to thicken, the rooftop suddenly too quiet except for the distant hum of the city below.

“Okay,” you murmured, leaning in slightly.

“Okay,” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your faces were close now, close enough that you could see the nervous flicker in his usually confident blue eyes. You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of mint and whatever candy he’d been eating earlier.

Then, your lips met.

It was soft—tentative at first, like you were both afraid to mess it up. His hand hovered awkwardly near your jaw, unsure whether to touch you or not. You leaned into him just a little, testing the waters, and he followed your lead.

Your lips are soft, too soft. In fact, he wants to keep practicing with you just so he could feel your lips on his again. 

It lasted only a few seconds before you both pulled away, blinking at each other like you’d just crossed some invisible line neither of you could unsee. He tried to play it cool by shoving his feelings down after, giving you a shit-eating grin you love to roll your eyes at. 

It was extremely hard for him to get his shit together when all that he could think about was that moment. He looked like a fool when he kept stealing glances at you every chance he got. 

but what is this feeling exactly? 

He just wanted to be by your side all the time, to go where you want to go as long as he can have you near. 

And it wasn’t until Shoko mentioned that you were going on a date that Satoru finally admitted to himself that it was not platonic— the feelings he had been bubbling up inside him since he was nine. 

“She’s what?” he asked, nearly choking on his drink.

“Going on a date,” Shoko repeated, her tone maddeningly nonchalant as she exhaled a stream of smoke. “Some non-sorcerer asked her out.”

Satoru froze, the glass in his hand halfway to his lips. A sharp, unfamiliar knot twisted in his chest.

“No way.” he said, though the doubt and the pitch in his voice betrayed him. “No fucking way. You’re joking, right?”

“She already said yes,” Shoko added, the corner of her lips quirking into a smirk. “Maybe you should stop being an idiot and do something about it.”

The words hit him like a sucker punch, and he hated how his brain instantly imagined you with someone else—laughing, smiling, being exactly the way you were with him, but for someone else.

Satoru didn’t even think—his body moved before his mind caught up, and before he knew it, he teleported directly to your room for the first time, barely managing to stick the landing.

The soft hum of music filled the air, and you were perched in front of your mirror, carefully applying your makeup. You didn’t notice him at first because you were too focused on lining your lips (and staring directly into the abyss). 

He leaned against your doorframe, his heart pounding harder than any fight he’d been in.

“Cancel your date,” he blurted out.

You jolted, spinning around so fast you almost knocked over a perfume bottle. “What the hell, Satoru?! What are you doing here? And how did you even get in?”

He ignored your questions, stepping closer to you. “I mean it—don’t go. Please?” 

You blinked at him, your expression shifting from surprise to confusion. “What are you talking about? Why do you care?”

“Because it’s a waste of time,” 

Your arms crossed defensively, your gaze hardening as you tilted your head, demanding answers. “And why’s that? 

“Because... because…” he began, his voice trailing off as frustration bubbled to the surface. His icy blue eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. 

“Because I like you, alright?” he finally confessed. His voice was raw, unguarded, and louder than he intended, but he couldn’t stop now. “There. I said it.”

The confession hung in the air between you, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he watched your reaction, searching for any sign of how you felt.

Your gaze softened, and to his surprise, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

“You’re such an idiot,” you said, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, shoulders slumping as he braced himself for rejection.

But then you stepped closer, the teasing edge in your voice replaced by something gentler. “No, Satoru. I mean, it took you long enough.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, wide with disbelief. “Wait... what?”

The way you smiled at him then—soft, genuine, and a little exasperated—sent a rush of warmth through him. “I thought it was obvious,” you teased, laughing softly.

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to process what you’d just said. A grin broke across his face, wide and boyish. “So... you like me too?” he asked excitedly. 

Your laughter deepened, the sound soft and melodic. “How could you not notice?”

Before you could say anything more, he reached for you, his fingers curling gently around your wrist as he pulled you into him. You yelped, startled by the sudden closeness, but the protest never left your lips. His arms encircled you, holding you tightly, finally after waiting years to do this. Your hands hesitated for a moment before finding their place around his waist, your touch tentative but grounding.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and trembling slightly with emotion. His breath was warm against your hair as he buried his face in it, letting his eyes close. “Does that mean you’re dumping the loser who asked you out and you’re gonna spend the afternoon kissing me?” 

“Satoru.”

As Satoru stands near the altar, his usual confidence falters as his heart skips a beat—then stops entirely.

He swears that he had never been more in love with you, if that’s even possible. 

This feeling, an ache that stretched from his chest to his fingertips, leaves him trembling with an emotion he couldn’t put into words. He had never imagined it was possible to love someone this deeply, to feel his heart swell and his stomach churn with nervous exhilaration just from the mere sight of you.

And everything that he has ever done right, everything he had lost, was all worth it because it led to this moment. 

It led him back to you.

2008

It happened after a mission. The two of you had just finished taking down a particularly troublesome curse, your energy spent and your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.  

Satoru, for once, was exhausted. But you, for once, were weirdly energetic— skipping ahead of him on the rain-soaked streets, your laughter carrying through the quiet night. 

Despite this, he insisted on walking you back to campus, even if his legs felt like lead. He just wanted to be around you a little longer. 

The night was heavy with the smell of rain-soaked pavement, the kind of scent that lingered and wrapped around you, making everything feel muted. 

You stopped suddenly in the empty area, just before you reached the school gates. 

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, tilting his head toward you.  

You didn’t say anything more, just pulled out your newest ipod out of your pocket, fumbling with the earbuds tangled in the cords. Satoru leaned against a lamppost nearby, watching you with an amused tilt to his head.

“What’re you doing?”  He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a smile.  

You brought a finger up to his lips and looked at him mischievously. “Shh.” 

“Music helps me relax,” you said, plugging one earbud into your ear and offering him the other. “Here. Try it.” 

Satoru hesitated, then shrugged, taking the tiny speaker and popping it into his ear. Almost immediately, the familiar opening notes of Every Breath You Take by The Police filtered through, slow and haunting.

“This?” He scrunched up his nose. “Really? The Police? That’s so lame.” 

You looked at him, a tired but content smile tugging at your lips. “This song’s a classic,” you said softly, “It’s my favorite song!” 

He opened his mouth to retort, but you surprised him by stepping closer, your eyes sparkling with a mix of playfulness and something else—something he couldn’t quite name. Without warning, you stepped closer, extending a hand toward him. 

“Dance with me,” you said, your voice barely louder than the melody playing between you. 

“What? Here?” Satoru raised a brow, glancing around at the deserted street.

“Yes, here.” You laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward you. “Come on, Satoru. Don’t tell me you’ve never danced before.”

Of course he didn’t. 

He spent most of his life training to be the strongest and loving you and only you. 

He let you guide him, his free hand hovering awkwardly until you placed it firmly on your waist. You placed one hand on his shoulder and the other intertwined with his. 

The song continued to play, the melody wrapping around you both as you swayed. 

Satoru stood stiffly for a moment, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to process what was happening.

“Relax,” you teased, giving his shoulder a gentle shove.

It was awkward at first but eventually, you fell into a rhythm.  

“You do realize this song’s about obsession and borderline stalking, right?” he said, a smirk adorning his lips. 

“It’s a love song.” You corrected him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.  “I think it’s kinda depressing, in a way. To be able to love someone from afar but not being able to actually love them. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but it’s devotion nonetheless. 

“You’re insane,” he replied, but there was a fondness in his tone that made your grin widen.

Like in the movies, it suddenly started to rain.  The rain was coming down soft at first, then it became heavier as the droplets started to soak through your uniforms and plastered your hair to your faces. 

But neither of you really cared.  Not when you were so close, your warmth cutting through the chill of the night. 

The rain soaked through his hair and trickled down his neck, and Satoru couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when you were looking at him like that, your eyes sparkling with mischief and something softer. Something about the way you looked at him, your face soft and serene under the rain’s glow, made him feel... grounded.

“You’re terrible at this,” you teased, your voice light despite the exhaustion in your body.

“Hey, I’m great at this,” he shot back, spinning you suddenly and making you laugh. The sound echoed through the empty street, warm and full of life, and Satoru realized he’d do anything to hear it again and again. 

When the chorus hit, you rested your head against his chest, your movements slowing. He felt your breathing even out, your exhaustion catching up to you, but you didn’t pull away. His arms tightened around you instinctively, holding you as if you might slip away if he didn’t.

“I want to be yours.” He murmured through your hair, hiding his face from you out of nervousness. “Can I be yours, Y/N?” 

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.   

“I love you, Satoru.” 

He blinked, his heart stumbling in his chest. “Really?” A slow grin spread across his face. “You beat me to it.”

You giggled, the sound melting whatever nervousness was left in him. 

“I love you, Y/N. Can I be yours then?” He asked, his voice dropping slightly. “Can I be your boyfriend?” 

“I think my answer is pretty clear, you idiot.” 

And with that, you pulled him down into a kiss, the rain pouring around you like something out of a movie.  Satoru just held you tighter, thinking that he didn’t need anything else. 

He just needed to be yours.

As you walk down the aisle, closer and closer to him, his breath hitched when finally— fucking finally, your eyes met his. 

You smiled at him with lachrymose eyes. Satoru smiles back, wide and unrestrained, so much so that his cheeks are starting to hurt. His heart is pounding loudly in his chest that he’s afraid that everyone else in the church would hear how much his heart beats just for you. 

You were ethereal.

A dream, really. 

A dream he doesn’t ever want to wake up from. 

Satoru had prepared himself for this moment—or at least he thought he had.

He told himself he needed to be strong for you.

It had been years, after all. 

But no amount of preparation could steady the storm raging within him as the moment finally came. His jaw tightened, his smile strained, and he forced himself to breathe, even as each breath felt heavier than the last.

His chest constricted, and for that single, fragile moment, it felt as though everything he had ever wanted was still within reach. 

When you finally tore your gaze from him and walked past, your white dress trailed like a whisper and a mockery of the life he would never have with you. Satoru just watched, rooted to his place. 

His heart clenched painfully, screaming at him to reach out, to stop you, but he stayed still. He had no right. This was your moment, and he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin it—not for you.

Your happiness means everything to him. It always has. Even if it means watching you walk toward another man, toward a future that doesn’t include him.

Satoru’s eyes followed you as you made your way to your soon-to-be husband,  Nanami Kento.

2013

The rain was relentless, pouring in heavy sheets that blurred the world around him, but Satoru barely noticed it. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold, as he walked toward you. His breath fogged in the air, but it wasn’t the cold that made his chest tighten—it was the thought of what he was about to do.

Through the rain-streaked glass, he saw you sitting at a small table by the window. You were hunched over, your uniform still clinging to your frame. You were drenched because you waited for him at the park before he texted you to meet up with him in this café instead. 

Satoru nearly stopped right there, frozen by the sight of you. That look on your face—the same tired, fragile expression you’d worn for the past six months—made something inside him shatter.

Satoru almost cracked. 

But he couldn’t.

He had to do this. For you.

He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, forcing himself to take another step, and then another, until he was close enough to see the rain streaking down your cheeks. Or were those tears? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to. 

His breath was uneven, his heart pounding as if it were trying to break free from his chest.

He hated this. Hated himself. But it didn’t matter. 

This was for the best.

“Satoru?” you asked, your voice soft but cautious. Disappointment is written all over your face but your determination to make your relationship work outweighs it. 

He froze for a second. God, you looked so beautiful, even like this—wet, shivering, and confused. A part of him wanted to just pull you into his arms and to apologize for what he was about to do, hold you so close that the world would have no choice but to give you to him without exceptions.

But instead, he dropped his gaze and forced the words out. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

He slid into the seat across from you, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He couldn’t meet your eyes, so he stared at the surface instead, tracing a crack in the wood grain with his finger. “I’ve been thinking… about us.”

“What about us?” you asked, your voice quieter now. 

Satoru exhaled sharply. “I don’t think this is working anymore.”

You stiffened, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Satoru, what are you saying?”

“I’m not in love with you anymore,” he said, his voice hollow, as if that would make it hurt less—for both of you. “For a while now.” 

The words tasted like poison on his tongue, each one more painful than the last.

Your eyes widened, disbelief etched across your face. “You– you don’t mean that.”

When he finally looked at you, he thought about telling you the truth—that he was terrified of putting you in danger, that loving him came with risks you didn’t deserve. But he swallowed it down.

“I do.” His voice cracked. “I’ve been feeling this way for a while. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

You shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “Satoru, if something’s wrong, we can fix it. Just talk to me. I know you love me—”

“There’s nothing to fix!” he interrupted, louder than he intended. He winced at the hurt that flashed across your face. Softer now, he added, “It happens. People fall out of love.  Don’t make this situation harder for the both of us, please. I can’t give you what you want.” 

“You’re lying. Why are you doing this?” you whispered in disbelief. You quickly held his hand.  “You’re trying to push me away. Just tell me what’s really going on.”

He couldn’t answer that. Not the truth, at least. That being with him would mean a lifetime of danger, of being a target simply because of who he was. That he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of him. That he loved you too much to keep you by his side.

“I’m not lying,” he said quietly, the finality in his tone slicing through the air between you. “This is just how I feel.”

Your shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he thought you might collapse under the weight of his words. 

You took a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself as though you were trying to hold yourself together. “I see.” 

“Sorry, Y/N.” 

Without another word, he turned and walked away, the rain drowning out the sound of his footsteps and the sobs he was certain he would hear if he stayed a second longer.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to. Because if he did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to leave.

The first few years after your breakup were a strange limbo. You stayed friends—on the surface, at least. But there was always tension, unspoken words that hung heavy between you. He could see it in the way your eyes lingered on him during missions, the hope that flickered and faded every time he said something or did something that he used to do with you.

You waited for him to come back to you. Satoru knew that. 

And for a time, he almost let himself believe that he can. He just needed enough time to muster up the courage to come back to you. 

and when he finally received that wedding invitation on a random friday morning, he stared at it for hours before opening it.  He felt like he died twice as much when he also learned that your fiancé gave up his job as a sorcerer just to have a peaceful life with you. 

The life Satoru dreamed of giving you. 

That night, for the first time in years, he let himself cry. Not the quiet, controlled tears he shed in the rain that day, but the kind that left him gasping for breath.

And Satoru Gojo, the strongest, could do nothing but watch.

Looking back at everything he had done to keep you safe, Satoru doesn’t know which one’s better—losing you for good or losing you to someone else.

Always an arm’s length yet never close enough. 

His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He bit down on his lower lip hard, a desperate attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape—a choked sob, a plea, a broken fragment of a heartache he couldn’t afford to show.

Out of the corner of his eye, he felt a nudge at his elbow. Gojo turned to see Shoko, quiet as ever, holding out his sunglasses.

Shoko looked at him with such softness and sympathy, one that Gojo wasn’t sure he could bear right now.

Shoko didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. 

Gojo took the sunglasses, slipping it over his eyes. He gave her a half-hearted grin before painfully turning his gaze back on you. 

His resolve cracks little by little, then all at once, when he finally sees the way you look at Nanami Kento. 

Gojo will never have the privilege to wake up to you in the morning, to be the first person who would witness your sleepy eyes as the sunlight slowly makes its way into the room. Never again will he have the privilege of making you breakfast, of watching your expression shift from fondness to playful exasperation as you scold him for drenching his pancakes in too much honey, his sweetness nearly as overindulgent as the way he looked at you. He will never be able to be the recipient of your lovesick eyes, that softness in your smile that was only ever reserved for him. 

He’ll never be able to feel your touch again, at least not in the way he yearns for used to. 

Gojo’s mind wanders off at the stolen moments he buried deep within his heart. How it seems like it was only yesterday when he’s still in your shared bed, with you curled up by his side while he wraps his arms around you, and how you’d point out that he was clingy even if he knew you loved every second of it anyway. How you caress his face and laugh at his antics only to assure him that he is the only one you love and that you won’t ever go away, putting his demons to sleep just with the sound of your voice. 

Oh, what a bliss.

And perhaps the most gut wrenching realization of all is that it was almost him. Those nights full of whispered secrets and promises to grow old together all vanished just because he was too scared of not being able to protect you.

Nanami will have all that he dreams of, all that he let go of, and all of you. 

What a lucky man he is, to be someone that is seen and loved by you. You look at Kento like how you used to look at him, so full of love and adoration as if he was the one who put all the stars in the sky. 

He wanted to hate him, to despise the man who now holds your heart, to curse the universe for giving your love to someone else. But how could he? How could he, when Nanami Kento wears his love for you so plainly, so unabashedly, as if it were his very lifeblood? All he needs to hear is evident in the unspoken devotion that screams in the way Nanami looks at you—a love so evident it makes him force to swallow down the bile in his throat. 

If it wasn’t clear before, it was painfully clear now—the ache in his chest was sharper, more unbearable than any blow he had endured as the strongest. His ribs felt as though they might collapse under the weight of his regret.

The realization comes all too late and unrelenting, you were already promising forever in the arms of a man who wasn’t him. 

He wanted to shout, to tell you to stop the wedding. to choose him. to beg for your forgiveness. 

Would you take him back? 

The voices in his head are becoming louder, much louder than ever. He was so stupid. So cowardly. How could he have let you go when being with you is the only thing he had ever truly wanted? 

He stayed firm in his place, knuckles turning white as he held himself together.

Not once did you look back at him. 

It has always been you, you had once told him. 

Yet you have already said I do—

It has always been you. 

It will always be you. 

a/n: sorry, did i scam you?

my song inspo for this is bizarre love triangle by new order. I feel like it's such a depressing love song aka love triangle between the writer, his lover, and something else. In Gojo's case, it's his duty as the strongest.

[captain-hawks]

flower on my skin

— takashi mitsuya x f!reader

summary — In which getting fucked in the dressing room right before you're due to walk down the runway modeling Takashi Mitsuya's lingerie line has become a bit of a habit, to say the least.

18+ ONLY

wc — 1.5k

content — model/designer dynamic, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, light choking, pussy slapping, rimming, spit kink, cum eating, squirting, soft!dom Takashi

final!timeline Takashi, set after 2018

“Has anyone ever told you what a brat you are?” Takashi sighs, hooking one of his long fingers beneath your chin.

Hands clasped on the cold metal lip of the stool between your thighs, you look up at Takashi from where he’s standing over you, his lilac eyes mirroring the amusement in the tilt of his smile. 

You shrug, reaching out to flick at the metal edge of the sewing tape draped around his neck, but he catches your hand in his, thumb scraping delicately across your palm. You’re due to walk the runway in less than an hour to model a new piece from Takashi’s lingerie line, but there’s no sense of urgency in his movements. 

“The girls in the dressing room never tie the back of these outfits up right,” you pout, gesturing toward the silky ribbon that’s yet to be threaded through the eyelets running from your lower back up to your shoulder blades. 

After sitting patiently through hair and makeup, you’d hardly given the stylist a chance to prepare your outfit before texting Takashi, pleading that he needed to meet you in one of the empty dressing rooms for an emergency. 

Twirling the stool so you’re facing the large mirror mounted to the back of the table in front of you, Takashi stands behind you, eyes meeting yours in the reflection as his deft fingers get to work. He tightens the top more than necessary, and a flicker of amusement crosses his face when you sharply inhale at the arousing feeling of the sheer lace digging firmly into your peaked, sensitive nipples. 

He leans in, lips tickling the shell of your ear. “I don’t think that’s it at all,” he murmurs. 

You blink back at him innocently in the mirror, sitting perfectly still despite the rapid thrumming of your pulse. “Oh?” 

Takashi chuckles, the sound low and rough as he splays a hand over your throat.

“You just like when I fuck you before you go out there,” he rasps, fingers tightening their grip just enough to make your spine arch in response. “You like looking at all those other girls wearing my clothes, knowing you’re the only one walking that runway with a pretty little pussy full of my cum.”

You gasp as he mouths at the side of your neck, his messy lavender and black locks of hair falling into his face as he drags his teeth over your soft skin. His fingers find their way to your breasts, and you fight the urge to drag your palm between your legs as he pinches at your pebbled nipples. 

“Am I wrong?” he asks, staring at you in the mirror while he nips at your earlobe.

“No,” you exhale, spreading your legs even wider in invitation.

“So fucking needy,” he murmurs as he glances down at your glistening cunt on full display, though his tone is more appreciative than anything else.

The sexual tension brimming between the two of you had been suffocating from the very start when you began modeling for him, an ongoing, flirtatious game of cat and mouse that grew to a boiling point between each fitting and show. And after far too many dressing room make out sessions spent straddling one of Takashi’s firm thighs—which resulted in countless pairs of ruined panties, soaked and dripping with your arousal before you could even hit the runway—the designer had switched tactics, outfitting you exclusively in crotchless lingerie going forward. 

Naturally, without that extra material in the way, your pre-show activities were upgraded from riding his thigh like a bitch in heat to muffled moans against the palm of his hand while he brought you over the edge with his long fingers quickly pumping in and out of you. And then when lapping at your cunt while he palmed at his throbbing erection through his slacks still wasn’t enough, he finally sunk his cock inside of you for the first time, fucking you so hard you had to swap out your precariously high heels for a more stable shoe for the catwalk that night, lest your wobbling legs give out on you midway through your strut. 

And yes, you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t bring you an obnoxious sense of satisfaction—knowing that none of the other models batting their eyes at the devastatingly handsome fashion designer are wearing pieces designed solely for them. 

None of them know what mischief lurks beneath his gentle smiles and sweet disposition. 

None of them have wet and messy try-on sessions at his house that lead to long, long nights and breakfast in bed afterward. 

None of them intimately know the pornographic sound of him moaning their name as he comes.

None of them see the possessive flash in his eyes when he murmurs, “Mine.”

Takashi likes to tease you for being a brat when his hands are too full to take care of you on show days, but in reality, you know he loves it, too—watching you walk down the runway in his designs, freshly fucked and glowing. For him. 

“Did you notice something different about this pair?” he l casually asks, interrupting your train of thought as he grasps your hips and motions for you to slide off of the stool.

His hand slowly trails down your back as he bends you over the table, only coming to a stop once he reaches the globes of your ass. 

“There’s an extra hole,” you reply without hesitation, the surprise modification to the panties—it hadn’t been there during your try-on session—had left you aching with anticipation from the moment you slid them on earlier. 

Takashi’s finger teases the added opening, which is positioned right over where your other tight ring of muscle is. 

“I wonder if you’d be able to walk the runway after having your ass fucked,” he muses, gripping and spreading your ass cheeks. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of him spitting, a whimper escaping your lips as he spreads the glob of saliva over your tight little rim. 

“Taaaa…Takashi,” you keen as he tugs at your puckered hole with the tip of one finger, and you can feel thick arousal begin to slide down the inside of your thighs.  

He folds his body over yours and whispers in your ear, “What do you think, should we try?”

“Please,” you nearly sob, your untouched clit throbbing with need. 

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, dragging a shameless moan out of you when he reaches between your legs and slaps your wet cunt. 

Spreading your legs wider apart, you push your ass out toward him, and Takashi chuckles. “You could come like this, couldn’t you?”

You nod feverishly, and Takashi smirks, “Come before I count to ten, and I’ll fuck your ass before you go out there.”

Six rough slaps to your messy, dripping pussy later, and you’re absolutely delirious with need, sobbing as your climax punches out of you, squirting all over Takashi’s hand and onto the floor in the process.

“Good girl,” he praises you, his tone rough and edged with his own desperation, and you hear the sound of a plastic cap popping open behind you.

Takashi’s in the process of carefully scissoring open your ass with three lube-slick fingers when you come again, fingers scraping across the table as every nerve ending in your body catches fire simultaneously. 

But once he’s satisfied that you’re ready for the stretch of his thick length, nothing can compare to the feeling of his cock sinking into your ass—and the downright broken moan that crawls up his throat when he presses his body flush against your own as he bottoms out inside of you.

“Shit,” he groans, one hand sliding between your legs to tease your swollen clit. “You feel so good.”

When he starts to move, your vision nearly goes white, your entire body wracked with blistering pleasure as your lubed hole squelches wetly with each deep thrust. His fingers continue to stroke your drenched folds as he plunges in and out of your ass, the table squeaking in protest with the growing force behind the hungry snap of his hips. 

You whimper his name, the aching tension coiling in your abdomen rendering you incapable of any words beyond that, and Takashi slides two fingers into your cunt, sliding right through your creamy channel. 

And right as you find yourself dangling from the edge, it’s the sight of Takashi lustfully staring back at you in the mirror that sends you tumbling over, his composure entirely lost in a frenzied haze of pleasure. 

Takashi moans while he watches you come for him, your entire body shuddering with the force of your orgasm, and that’s all it takes to have his hips sloppily stuttering as he comes right after you, dumping rope after rope of sticky, hot cum in your ass and filling you to the brim.

--

And even if you’re a little sore on the runway after, your tight hole still quivering from the firm, broad strokes of Takashi’s tongue when ate his cum right out of your ass—and spit it into your mouth afterward—it’s worth it for the adoring, satisfied grin that spreads across his face from the front row when you strut by. 

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[hanatoumahi]

Deep Reef - Chapter 01: First Day of Summer

- Chapter 01: First Day of Summer

Deep Reef Masterlist

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Synopsis: Six years have passed since that eventful day in Okinawa. Six, long years since Gojo has seen his estranged best friend. Six years since Riko's death. He frequents the aquarium in Tokyo, reminiscing about his past that he can't let go. He lets the blue wash over him, but unlike the rocks by the beach's shore, his resolve does not weather. The waves gently swayed his cumbersome body, a body that, unbeknownst to Gojo, was the host to a parasite that looked akin to flowers. Water, no matter how where it is, will always return to the sea, just as Geto Suguru returns to Gojo Satoru. And flowers do not stop until they touch the warmth of the sun to flourish. "Suguru?" ... "Deep Reef" is a semi-canon-compliant fanfic through the Star Plasma/Hidden Inventory Arc, this is the only spoiler warning that will be given. Warning: Angst, Major Character Death, Hospitalization, Hanahaki Disease, Semi-Canon-Compliant, NOT Spoiler Free for Hidden Inventory/Star Plasma Arc (Season 2, Part 1 of JJK), Hurt/Little Comfort Pairing: SatoSugu (Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru)

WC: 3.7k

Gojo Satoru, July 21, 2018

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“You’re here again,” Shoko quipped, sitting next to him on the bench.

Gojo hummed in response but continued to stare ahead. The usual smile on his lips wasn’t present, he looked troubled. 

“You look horrible.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself,” he shot back, to which Shoko shrugged off. If dressing up to look good in public is above the bare minimum then she doesn’t try at all. Her heavy, purple eyebags prominent against her pale face showed her lack of self-care. However, what his friend said bore some truth. His hair messy hair was more unkempt than usual, and his lips that shined with lip balm were crackly. His eyes which had such a bright sparkle in them had dulled a little, and his shirt was wrinkled.

“Why’re you here anyways? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”

Shoko sat alongside him and watched the fish swim in the glittering water, “No, I’m off Saturdays. I figured I should check up on you. You’ve been coming here more and more lately, you know?”

He remained silent. Of course, he knew, that coming to the aquarium during his downtime became routine for Gojo; finding himself walking up and down the halls and watching the marine life swim around their tanks. Now that it was break, he had nothing else to do; so why not spend more time here? He memorized all of the signs and fun facts the place had to offer, every last one down to a tee. Solace was how Gojo described the aquarium. If he stared deeply enough into the mass of blue, his surroundings disappeared and it felt like he was being swallowed. Though it was smaller than the one in Okinawa, an aquarium was an aquarium nonetheless. In an odd sense, it was comfort; a second home, even. Namely, the Deep Reef exhibit was his favorite. That’s where he and Shoko were right now. 

“Hm, well, how do you always know when I’m here? Are you stalking me, or something?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“You stopped taking your meds, didn’t you?” Shoko asked cooly, looking at him with raised brows, ignoring his question. She recognized that look. It was the way his eyes became half-lidded, long lashes covering them, and the corners of his lips downturned slightly into a sullen frown. It was the look he made every time he thought of Suguru.

Gojo feigned a shocked look on his face, “What?! Never! I always listen to my doctor’s orders!” He sat up straight, watching her sigh and take out a cigarette from her pocket. 

He shot her a look that said, “You’re not allowed to smoke here!”

She narrowed her eyes at him but supposed that he was right. She decided that she’d press on the “medicine matter” later. Tucking the cigarette back in, she asked, “Wanna go out to the bar?” 

“You know how I am with alcohol. Plus! What if my condition accelerates because of my drinking?” 

“Wow, and I thought you were supposed to be the fun one. It wouldn’t hurt for you to tag along, it sucks drinking alone, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” he rose from his seat, patting dust off his lap, “How did you know I was here though?”

“It’s the first day of summer break and you have no other friends. Where else would you be?”

“Ow! Cruel as ever, Shoko!”

…

Tokyo was livelier during the nights than the day, noise overwhelming the ears with bright lights to match. Even more so since school had ended.  Busy lanes of the city are filled with vehicles waiting to go to their destinations. And the thick, humid, summer air laid slack against the surface of Gojo’s skin. But the silence between the two was thicker. Upon arriving at the bar, the barkeep recognizes Shoko and preps slides over a bottle of soju.

“And you, sir?”

Gojo ordered juice. He wasn’t one for alcohol, and he preferred saccharine drinks anyway. The barkeep tended to his drink, sliding it over the counter. No words were uttered between the two as they sipped on. 

Shoko eventually spoke, breaking the silence between them, “How’ve you been holding up?”

“Great! I still cough here and there, but it’s not as bad as it used to be. You?”

She nodded, ordering another drink, “I’ve been doing fine, but work is as tiring as ever. You’re lucky you’re a teacher, at least you get a break when the kids do. Speaking of which, how’re Megumi and Tsumiki?”

“They’re fine, they were insanely worried about me, though. But thanks to the medicine, they aren’t breathing down my neck about it,” he joked.

Shoko raised a brow, remembering the question he dodged earlier, “If the medicine was working, why’d you stop taking it then?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, thinking about what to say before deciding on: “I don’t know, to be honest. One day, I just didn’t want to anymore. Plus,” he shrugged, “I’ve been doing fine lately without them, so I don’t see a point taking them.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “Don’t worry, Shoko! I’m a responsible adult, if it starts acting up again, I’ll resume my meds!”

“Define “responsible adult” in Gojo terms,” she snorted.

Gojo huffed, “You’re being cruel again!” To which she chuckled. 

He looked down at his juice, staring at his reflection deeply. Gojo thought back to the day he first made an appointment with Shoko.

Gojo Satoru, June 17, 2018

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“I think you should really see Ieri-san, Satoru!” Tsumiki huffed. It had been a little over a month since Gojo had fallen ill, but he insisted that he was fine. “Just a sore throat,” was what he told the two.

“I’ll be fine, Tsumiki-chan! Nothing to worry about, I’ll be better in no time!” he patted her shoulder with one hand while the other gave her a thumbs-up. It was dinner time, and tonight’s dish was miso soup. Soup was the only thing Tsumiki had made for dinner since Gojo got sick, hoping that he would get better if she did. Gojo was helping her set the table, it was routine, after all.

“I agree with Tsumiki, I think you should still visit to make sure it’s nothing serious,” Megumi entered the room–he had been holed up in his room the entire day, “You’ve been sick for awhile now, and it only seems to be getting worse.”

“Not you too, Megumi! C’mon, guys, I’ll be fine!” but as he tried to reassure them, a dry cough erupted from his throat. He took the glass of water that Tsumiki handed to him and chugged it down. Megumi looked at him unamused, while his sister bore a worried expression. He smiled sheepishly, “Alright, I guess if it’ll ease your minds I’ll call Shoko.”

Tsumiki grinned widely, thanking him while Megumi only nodded.

After cleaning up the table and bidding the two kids goodnight, he makes his way to his room. He switched on the light and closed the door gently behind him. Opening up his phone, he scrolled through his contacts.

“S… S… Shoko!” He smiled, but that smile faltered. Right below her contact was one that he hadn’t contacted in years. Suguru. Gojo pressed his lips into a thin line, he could feel another fit clawing at his throat. It seemed that any mention of his former best friend triggered this reaction. He swallowed dryly, thankfully, neither Megumi nor Tsumiki were too familiar with his high school days, and he didn’t surround himself with people who reminisce. His thumb hovered over the call button for a moment, wondering if he should call Shoko. He could always just fake the appointment, wander around the city for a few hours, and then go back home to tell the kids that there was nothing to worry about. But something in the back of his head gnawed at him, telling him to just call her. 

He pressed the button and looked up at his ceiling, he stood there for a moment or two, listening to his phone ringing until he heard a click, indicating that Shoko had picked up.

“Hey!”

“Hey.”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

…

“He’s with me,” Shoko notified the receptionist, she turned to Gojo, “Do your paperwork, and a nurse will come to get you.”

Once he was done, a nurse called for him and led him to Shoko’s office. The smell of alcohol wipes and antiseptic floods Gojo’s nose. His face scrunched at the scents, he never really liked clinics or hospitals. The nurse did the standard check-up, checking his weight, measuring his height, and more. She introduced herself, but he didn’t catch her name. 

“I’ll get Dr. Shoko,” the nurse said, shutting the door behind her before he could ask. 

Walking through the halls of the clinic made Gojo’s chest squeeze. It wasn’t out of nervousness or anxiety, no. He hadn’t told anyone, but he’s been getting headaches in addition to his coughs. Gojo sat on the bed with his arms crossed, legs bouncing up and down to ease his nerves. There weren't many things that could make him anxious. If anything, he was used to being the one causing the nervousness. 

Shoko entered the room soon after, her assistant nurse following suit. Her assistant positioned herself behind the computer, typing away to record any notable concerns.

“Satoru, I’ll cut to the chase. How have you been feeling lately?”

“Well, I’ve been,” he croaked, “coughing a lot lately. At first, I thought it was just a sore throat, but the coughing’s been getting worse. I’ve also been getting headaches lately, so I thought I just had the cold.”

She nodded at her assistant to take note. 

“Lift your shirt, I want you to take a deep breath for me,” she said, readying her stethoscope to his chest. Gojo inhaled as deep as he could. He found it hard to, strangely. Shoko furrowed her brows, “Now exhale.”

They repeated this on different areas of his torso.  He watched as Shoko’s brows became more and more knitted, which only worried him more.

“You know …” he began slowly, muttering in a low voice so only she could hear, attempting to make light of his situation, “for someone who cheated two years'  worth of medical knowledge, you sure do know your stuff.”

Shoko jabbed his forehead with her index finger and muttered something that sounded like “Shut up.”

She pulled away and turned towards her assistant, “Hmm, I heard rales in his lungs.”

“Rales?”

She turned back to her friend, her expression now unreadable, “Rales is a type of sound heard when something’s obstructing your airways. It’s, uh,” she waved her hands in the air, trying her best to describe it, “it sounds something’s crackling in your lungs.”

Gojo’s heart sank, “What’s the normal sound that you should hear?”

“Well, it depends on where on the torso you’re listening. But normally, someone’s breathing should be smooth. Not interrupted like yours.”

They finished the rest of the appointment without any other hiccups. She told the nurse to schedule to contact a colleague of hers for a referral. 

“Here’s the number of my friend, she’s a radiologist and can help you better than I can. Her name’s Dr. Kuji. I’ll tell her about your case, but you should still call her to schedule an appointment,” Shoko scribbled her friend’s contact information on a sticky note and handed it to Gojo. He thanked Shoko, walking out of the clinic. Each step that he took felt heavier than the last.

“How’d the appointment go?” Tsumiki asked when he got home that night while placing down bowls for another night of miso soup. 

“It went well, I just have to make another appointment with Shoko to double-check that I’m in tip-top shape!” he smiled widely. Gojo didn’t like lying to them, but he didn’t want them to worry anymore about him.

…

“Hello, my name is Gojo Satoru and I have an appointment for 2:15,” he greeted the receptionist. The receptionist looked up at him through her thick-lensed glasses. 

“One moment,” she clicked through her computer, confirming that he did have an appointment today at 2:15. She handed him an iPad, saying that he needed to fill it out. It took a while but once he finished, he waited for his turn. 

“Gojo Satoru?”

He stood up and raised a hand. The nurse smiled at him and gestured for him to follow her. The last thing he heard before the doors shut behind him was another patient saying, “Wow, he’s so handsome!”

He was led into a room and was told to change. He felt breezy in his lab gown. Folding his clothes neatly, he gave them to the nurse who mentioned that they’d be kept in a locker. He was then told to lie on the bed.

“My name’s Hoshizawa Gin, but please feel free to call me Hoshi. I’ll be your nurse today!”

Gojo smiled, at least his caretakers were friendly. Hoshi looked to be his age, if not a little older. She was short and had tan skin and bangs. Her black hair was tied back into a low ponytail. She wore thinly framed rectangular glasses, and Gojo noticed that she had a habit of furrowing her brows. 

She asked him the standard questions: “What is being done to you today? Do you have any allergies? Are you wearing any metal on you? Do you consent to today’s procedures?”

He answered them all briskly, “I’m having a CT Scan done for my chest, just my sunglasses, no, and yes I consent.”

She continued asking him questions, and when she was done, she clicked her pen and smiled politely, “Alright, thank you! Please give me your sunglasses, they’ll be placed in your locker with the rest of your belongings. Dr. Kuji will see you shortly, I’ll be getting her. Thank you for your time!”

Hoshi bowed before stepping out of the room, sliding the door gently. He waited patiently, doing his best not to scratch his IV drip. Gojo closed his eyes and laid his head back. He hoped that the results to come were nothing serious, much less life-threatening. After what felt like an eternity, the sliding door opened, and in stepped his doctor, trailed by Hoshi.

“Hello, Gojo-san, my name is Kuji Kai. Please call me Dr. Kuji, I’ll be your radiologist today,” bowing to him. She had medium-brown skin and hair that draped down her shoulders into tight and thick locs. Her glasses were similar to Hoshi’s but their frames were much thicker. “You’ve met my assistant Hoshizawa. She’ll be injecting dye where your IV drip is. Don’t worry, dye is harmless and, as the name implies, will dye your x-ray so are given better results,” she explained.

Gojo nodded but was weary of another needle being poked into the already itching area on his wrist. He winced when Hoshi injected the dye. After another run-through of the procedure, he was wheeled out. Stifling another coughing fit, they turn the corner and enter an empty X-ray room.  

He lay on the CT scanner’s bed and waited for it to start up. More nurses and a technician filtered into the room but exited once everything was ready. The x-ray equipment whirred as it booted up to scan his ribcage. He stared up at the scanner’s ceiling, waiting for it to be done. It was uncomfortable lying there. Unlike his soft bed, this one was made of leather and stiff. He hadn’t noticed it before due to his bed’s softness, but on the medical table, he could feel something long and thin wrapped around his spine.

To say that it is uncomfortable is an understatement. Sure, he could tolerate it but what he couldn’t was the dull burn that crept up his throat. It meant another coughing fit was about to start. Suppressing the cough felt similar to the sensation of beer going down which made him dislike it even more. Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed thickly with what little saliva he had, not wanting to have a fit while in the scanner.

Once he was done, he was wheeled into the recovery area. Dr. Kuji stood next to him, peering through her clipboard, “Alright, I will be sending over the results to Dr. Shoko, you will get them in about a week. We’ll send you home once we make sure that the dye has no side effects on you,” she smiled kindly. Gojo thanked her. He lay there for an hour or two before he was able to return home where he was, again, bombarded with questions by Tsumiki about his well-being.

A week passed since his appointment, and he waited anxiously for his results. In that week, that’s when the chest pains began. Finally, he got a call from Shoko who asked him to schedule an appointment with her tomorrow. 

“You have the Hanahaki Disease.”

He blinked. The what disease? He’d never heard of it before.

 “The Hanahaki Disease is a disease that stems from “unrequited love,” if you will. It’s when flowers bloom out of the person's chest cavity and clog their host’s airways. Not much is known about it, and it doesn’t sound real but this will only happen if the love for someone is very, very strong.”

“Unrequited love?” he thought, “There’s no way he…”

“Gojo, you saw him again, didn’t you?”

He snapped out of his thoughts but didn’t say anything, which Shoko took as confirmation. It made sense. This all started the day he saw Suguru. It made sense why when he saw Suguru’s contact name, a strong itch burned his throat.

She continued, deciding to ask him about the details at a later date, “See here?” circling her finger towards an area with multiple lines running up and down the developed image, “From what I can tell, you’re still in stage one, but you’re steadily progressing into stage two. It’s a little too early to tell what kind of flowers they are since they haven’t fully bloomed yet. Now here,” she points to a group of soon-to-be-budding-flowers, “Those are the beginnings of stage two, wherein dicots are starting to develop alongside the monocots. Once you reach stage two, you’ll start coughing petals.”

“Eh?” Gojo responded, completely lost on the information that was laid out in front of him. Shoko gave him an exasperated look and pressed her lips into a thin line. He chuckled and shrugged as if to say, “Can you blame me?”

Sighing, Shoko continued, “Monocots have smaller, sporadic vascular tubes, therefore their blood intake is considerably less than dicots. Dicots have arranged tubes and have larger intakes of blood. Because the dicots consume blood more, they are deemed “metastatic”. In serious cases, it’s known that thorned flowers, like roses, can grow and cause internal bleeding. Meaning that if you don’t do something about this, you could start coughing up blood and petals. But roses only appear late into stage three,” Shoko looked at the male standing in a daze, “In short, your condition is only worsening.”

Gojo stood there staring at the screen in front of him, processing the information she had just given him. He could understand it just fine now, but for some reason, it just didn’t sit right. 

“Have you been feeling dizzy lately? Like, you’re low on iron when you stand up? Do you also feel thirstier than usual?”

He nodded.

“Drink more water than you think you need. The flowers drink off of your water supply. It’s a little counterproductive–drinking water hydrates you and the flowers, but if you don’t drink water to dehydrate the flowers, it dehydrates you too.”

She stated that there are two ways that this could be solved. The first being prescribed medicine, and the other being surgery.

“It’s a two-part surgery. The first half is open heart surgery, it’ll be the removal of all obstructions in your chest. The second half would be the removal of the hypothalamus. The hypothalamus is this small part of the brain that controls a lot of things, but the most relevant thing in your case is its capability to control emotion. But be warned, because the hypothalamus is responsible for regulating your emotions, removing it means that you’ll be incapable of feeling any emotion. Including love.”

 Money wasn’t an issue, he was well off and could very easily pay for it at the drop of a hat. But he didn’t want to, he disregarded his feelings most of the time, masking it with his usual jubilance. But how long could he keep up that facade? 

He opted for the medicine. Though he didn’t tell his kids about it, he began coughing less which eased their worries. 

Gojo Satoru, July 21, 2018

——————————————————————————————————————————

It was nearly midnight when he made his way back home. He talked to Shoko more than he thought he would. Gojo reflected on that funny feeling that he had in the pit of his stomach that day in Okinawa. That must’ve been when this, the flowers growing inside him, all started. Only now were they wreaking havoc in his body, he wished that they had remained dormant longer. Gojo fumbled with his keys, struggling to put them through the keyhole. When he did finally manage to open the door, he was greeted by Megumi who happened to be walking past.

“Welcome ho–” Megumi paused in the middle of the hallway and took a whiff at the air, he looked pointedly at Gojo, “Were you… out drinking?”

“What?! You should know me well enough by now to know that I don’t drink. Megumi! Shoko was the one drinking, not me! I’m not drunk, see?” Gojo chirped, striking a pose in an attempt to prove to his student that he was sober.

“You don’t go to the bar. Ever.”

“Don’t worry so much about me, Megumi! I appreciate you and Tsumiki-chan’s concern, but I’m doing great! Honest!”

The younger male looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze but chose to hold his tongue. Toeing off his shoes, Gojo wished the two of them good night and beelined to his bedroom.

“You know, I’m getting more and more worried for him. He never stays out this late, and going out to a bar?” Tsumiki, who stayed up to greet Gojo as well, glanced at the white-haired male’s retreating figure. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall, sighing, “I should talk to him.”

“No, you need sleep. I’ll talk to him to him in the morning,” Megumi reassured her, following her gaze. It was worrying him now, too.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

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A/N: I also publish on AO3.

I've had the bare bones of this chapter sitting in my drafts for about three years now. I don't think I'll ever upload back-to-back like this unless I'm very driven. When I originally began the outline of this fanfic three years ago, I thought deeply about what I wanted my interpretation of Hanahaki to look like. I researched for a long time about hospital procedures, body parts/anatomy, and experienced how medical staff operate when I shadowed at hospital. However, I am not a licensed professional so I apologize if there are some inaccuracies.

If there are any questions about how my interpretation works, please feel free to ask. I will answer them to the best of my ability in my next Author's note or write a FAQ. Hoshizawa Gin is my JJK original character while Kuji Kai belongs to my friend @/Mango_peaches1010 on AO3 (Please check her fanfictions out as well).

As always, thank you for reading!

[thesunshinemaria]

Bought L’Equipe in time for the Netflix World Cup 2022 docu series

Most of the paper is neutrally dedicated to Les Blues. Like huge pieces about the history of Les Blues and Deschamps instead of being an actual Kylian Mbappé fanzine.

I can’t believe this truly is the best photo they got of Kylian vs Leo from WC 2018. It looks like Leo was being super careful around Kylian🤣

In the opening article I believe they are super hyped about Leo possibly finally winning the one award everyone wants him to win:

So of course the only argentine that his own piece is of course the one and only, Lionel Messi.

Dinho!

Pretty dope little pieces about all the players. Kylian and Leo are the only ones playing for a club in France. The rest plays in Spain, England and Italy.

You know that the situation is historic when they start bringing in the baby pictures of EVERYONE

Super dope that Kylian and Leo were tied for goalscoring. How much more hype can this battle get?

Finally, L’Equipe actually went around the world to poll the people

[nocontextmessi]

2020 messi

2018 WC // 2022 WC

[cant-get-no-worse]

I like that some sensed people are still able to recognize that whether Erling Haaland or Leo Messi take the award home, it's valid. Changes from all the others ~ wave hand in a general direction ~ people. Not even to mention how past and current football figures agree on it too. Soothes my mind.

Honestly I'm just tired of talking about it, since 1) it's silly 2) it's settled 3) it's simple. Let's make it plain.

"Why not just put the goals?"

There are awards for the best goalscorer. This isn't one of them.

Brief comparison

Haaland had a maddening records breaking season, won the treble, but didn't show up for the semi and finals of those. Messi did an average club season (equal to, if I remember correctly, the "excellent" season of Antoine Griezmann so, there's that.) and an all-time World Cup campaign. It's a WC year; it has since after 2010 (year of change of criterias + voting participants) weighted on the BO's results.

The reason it's a close call this year is cause of the treble (huge weight) balanced by the ghosting of Haaland during those crucial points vs WC all time balanced by the average club season of Messi. Haaland being a 9 means that when he's not there, he doesn't do anything for the team. Stems from his position. Whereas if Messi doesn't score, he still has his passing and playmaking which, picture me surprised, actually make him having more impact as a player for his team.

Look at the pic. Make the needed mental gymnastics. To get to the conclusion that one of them is robbing the other is mental. Both are deserving.

WC's weight

It's ultimately this and the WC's weight (and I sure ain't about to get into an argument comparing the treble, insane achievement that can be achieved every year, to the WC, insane achievement that can be achieved once every four, and being the MOTT of said tournament) that makes it tip towards Messi, even though I expect the votes to be close. The WC has been held over Messi's head for more than a decade. Everyone knew that if he put a consistent season and a good WC campaign, he'd been a strong contender. He had a consistent season and had an all-time, MOTT WC campaign. Point's made.

Criteria : Vital role

Another point: the "vital role in the team and honours" criteria. Haaland makes this City team dominate, not a shadow of doubt. But Kevin de Bruyne is the one that's vital to it. Take away KDB and Haaland isn't there (once again: stems from his position. He's a 9.)

Due to his national team not being in the WC (which once again : he's indeed from Norway, a NT which hasn't much WC history. But, in 2018, Messi single handedly drew Argentina to the WC. Haaland wasn't capable of this.), he couldn't prove himself to be crucial there either. So, Haaland is important but not vital to this City team, whereas Messi was important in PSG (a-fucking-gain, 40 G/A, this isn't an argument) and vital for his NT. There you go, one criteria more.

Sweet sweet "robberies"

When you got R9, Wenger, Henry, some France NT (Griezmann and others, can't recall), Hazard, Silva and co - current/former players who played and know the weight of the WC - saying Messi deserves it; the club coach of Haaland saying they'd both deserve it ; and you arrive to the conclusion that Messi is robbing Haaland (or, for that matter, that Haaland would be robbing Messi), then the true reason of your positionning can't be clearer.

And finally,

Those are what you call robberies. Can't be one when both deserve it. Haaland will be just fine and will have plenty of WC-free seasons to destroy every records available and show up at crucial points. Chill. I'm done talking about this, people are to stuck to their own opinions to be changed atp.

This is a fun night, I'm so ready to make fun of everyone's fit and awkward talk. It ain't that deep. Hope everyone, whether for Haaland, Messi or bloody Musiala has fun!

[epuiseeparmedia]

Moving goalposts again

Sensing the tally of goals would be hard to overcome, and the number of international goals might be too much, and knowing that discounting penalties (their favourite excuse) wouldn’t work, Messi PR moves the goalposts with a new approach where they count the knockout goals of WC/Euros/Copa.

Euro: Sure failing to score against Germany (2008) in round 16, Terminator!Spain (2012), Belgium (2021) round 16 again and France (2024) is wildly inferior to scoring non decisive goals against Venezuela and the USA in 2015, Ecuador in 2021 and Canada in 2024. Oh I have to bow to the superior player!

WC: 2006, lose without scoring to France in semi and Germany in the third place match, Germany who also beat an Argentina in quarterfinal where the Golden child (GC) didn’t score. We made an Carragher and Rooney cried till their death though, so I count this a win. 2010, Portugal got Terminator Spain in RO16, Villa scored while he was offside but it’s okay because offside rules and VAR are for impertinent Portugueses not good Spanish boys. Once again GC didn’t score either so the fanboys have to add an assist on an offside goal, but again offside rule are for peasant. Argentina got slapped 4-0 by Germany but hey, clutch player! 2014: Ronaldo is injured. 2018: Messi assisted twice in a losing game against France. 2022: lol that bullshit ?

See the things with ESPN statistics or basic statistics ? Only terminally online morons trust ESPN and everyone should learn to read the notes before spewing numbers they don’t understand. I know everyone on X has the IQ of a room temperature or needs the hate agenda to justify the futility of their lives, but come on. and I didn’t count assists for Ronaldo : G/A is a made up stat hyped by the GC PR.

Messi scored against Canada? No one cares. Leave Ronaldo name out of your filthy mouths.

PS: and I didn’t count penalty shout outs, since apparently penalties are bad depending upon who take them.

[hearttsck]

my name is POPPY AUGUSTA STERLING … and i am from HELLTOWN  and i’m a LAWYER . i lived in helltown for  18 YEARS, BEEN BACK ONE MONTH  because  THE STERLING FAMILY HAS DEEP ROOTS AND DEEPER SECRETS . i am 29  my pronouns are  SHE/HER  and i am  OUTGOING, METICULOUS, DEVOTED  though some may say i’m  OBSESSIVE, SECRETIVE, HYPOCRITICAL . i also hear i look a lot like  VICTORIA PEDRETTI  but, i don’t know if i see it. i’m here because  MY MOTHER’S GHOST WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE  but, maybe there’s more to it than that. you never know with helltown.

BIO | MUSINGS | CONNECTIONS | PINTEREST

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: Poppy Augusta Sterling 

Nickname: Pops, P 

Birthday: February 7, 1995 

Place of Birth: Helltown, Ohio

Places Lived Since: New York, New York; Durham, NC ; Washington DC

Current Residence: Helltown, Ohio ( begrudgingly ) 

Notable Family Members: Ottilie Juliet Sterling ( daughter, age 5) ; Violet Sterling ( younger sister ) ; Rose Sterling ( older sister ) ; Daphne Sterling ( mother, deceased April 2024 ) ; Julian Sterling ( father,  deceased 2004 ) ; Nicholas Sterling ( uncle, missing since summer 2014 )   

PHYSICAL:

Faceclaim: Victoria Pedretti

Height: 5’3

Build: slim 

Hair Color: currently blonde, naturally brunette 

Eye Color: dark blue 

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: both ears pierced , many hidden tattoos that will be expanded upon in a post to come 

Scars: tbd ( there are stories here ) 

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: twisting her rings, eyes suddenly losing focus, avoiding corners, running when things get messy 

PERSONALITY:

Occupation: Lawyer 

Level of Education: BA Columbia University ; JD Duke Law School 

Languages Spoken: English, Spanish, French, Latin 

Positive Traits: outgoing, charming, devoted, meticulous, resourceful 

Negative Traits: obsessive, paranoid, avoidant, secretive, hypocritical

Likes: the east coast, a particularly tricky legal argument, the oxford comma, early 2000s romcoms, a crisp diet coke

Dislikes: lazy writing, landlocked states, the legal ambiguity of deals with the devil, cliches, feeling trapped

Aesthetic: perfectly crafted citations; falling asleep to the comforting sounds of the city; this house is not haunted - you are; collecting scars as penance for your sins; the turn of a page in a silent library; intimacy like a drug, these hands on your body are the only thing separating you from your ghosts; your daughter's laughter carried across the breeze; craving the ephemeral taste of early spring because it will not last; is it worse to be doomed by the narrative or haunted by it?

BIO ( coming soon )  Tldr - grew up in helltown, middle child of three, perfectionist and outgoing and obsessive - prom queen gunning for a full ride to an ivy energy. there was An Incident her senior year involving her sisters and resulting in the Death of her uncle. poppy got the fuck out of ohio. undergrad at columbia, went to law school at duke. came home for thanksgiving 2017 during her 1L year and had a fling/one night stand/something { wc } that resulted in a pregnancy which she fully hid from her sisters/everyone in helltown until her daughter was born august 2018. Been living in DC as a single mom since law school, came back when her mom died a month ago.

[dybalassunshine]

Just my thought

I started watching football when I was 12. Before that, I used to hear my parents talk about it and how great of a sport it is. My father would tell me about all the teams and great players like Cruyff, Maradona, Pele, Beckenbauer, Ronaldo, Cannavaro, Gerd Muller, etc.

My father's favorite player was Diego Maradona. He would tell me about his crazy skills and how he led Argentina to World Cup glory. I remember asking him about the World Cup and he said to me that it's the most prestigious trophy any footballing team can have. I said I wanted to watch a World Cup and I did. World Cup 2014 was my first WC ever. I had seen the 2010 one but I was too young to understand anything and all I remembered was that my father was super happy about Spain winning it. I wanted to experience that joy. In 2013, I started watching club football and came across Barcelona and that's when I was formally introduced to Lionel Messi. Of course, I knew about him, but who didn't. He was a phenomenon. Everybody spoke about the Argentinian boy who was Maradona's heir. But I had never seen him play properly. After watching him play, I was mesmerized. The way he controlled the ball was something magical to me. I knew what team to root for the WC. I was all the way with Argentina. I experienced the sheer joy of seeing him play and take his team to the finals but I also experienced terrible heartbreak. I remember crying the entire night he lost, they lost. But my father told me that he would definitely win one, someday. And I believed him because Leo was magical that way. 2018 came with another heartbreak. Between the two tournaments, I grew to love that man more than anything.

I saw people online trolling him for not winning the "most prestigious trophy" with his national team. I was constantly praying for him to win it. And finally, last year, he did it! They all did it! I was the happiest person that day. Seeing him lift that trophy made me feel proud. I asked my dad if now he would be counted among those players he used to tell me about and he said to me that Messi was always there, at the top but yes, it solidified it. I went online, expecting people to appreciate him and give him his due respect. But all I saw was "rigged", "undeserving", "it's just a 7 game tournament", and "the wc means shit"...

WHY? Why the double standards? When Pele was considered the best ever because he won 3 WCs when winning one is difficult, why is Messi finally lifting that trophy not significant? How did the magic of WC and the pride of winning one become meaningless only when, after years of heartbreaks, Leo won it? Why him?

I will always believe Suarez's words: "Football has a short memory"

Lionel Messi rendered himself the Greatest of All Time on 18th December 2022. And not because he won the "7 match trophy" no because he proved every one of the doubters wrong and put a beautiful cap on his glorious career. Lionel Andres Messi, the only GOAT of football, the best ever, and my idol forever.

[mbabeys]

He’s regressing and it’s so obvious. Dunno why he wants to play in a team like PSG. I know Messi’s there but he already won the wc and I don’t think he actually cares anymore and Ney... poor boy is injured all the time he can’t even play. People say it’s bc he wants to stay w/ his family in Paris but I can’t see that being a problem. He wants to win w/ PSG bc if PSG wins it will be his victory, if he wins w/ RM it will be just another day for RM but still staying doesn’t make sense. PSG won’t be winning any shit w/ that shitty owner and they shouldn’t have given Kylian any privilege bc getting out of PSG comfort zone will be so hard for him. No other team would let him have the same privilege.

People need to stop assuming another champions league for RM is business as usual, because it's not. It's still huge and they take an immense pride (and rightfully so) in every single title. The fact PSG hasn't won any or that OM is still gloating about its one star thirty years later doesn't diminish Real Madrid's incredible achievements. If Kylian was to go to Madrid and won, it would still be his first UCL, and it would still be huge for him, the same way 2018 was for him. We don't live in this dual timeline where we can get front seat tickets to his reactions to both winning the first title with Paris and winning his first title (potentially with RM), so one way or another, we won't know because both can't be true at the same time, and that's okay?

As for the regressing part, he's not. At worst, he's stagning, and both things are vastly different, and often times whenever you see him on the national team, you see that it's simply not true. When he has good assists, a strong team, where he's not solely responsible for the team's success, that's when the magic happens. As for the privileges, I'm tired of hearing people ramble about them. Sure he's been buttered up by the club and the management, because he's their star player, in his homecountry; the Kylian Mbappé ride in France is strong and as it is, or at least as it was at the time of the contract renewal, it was impossible for them not to cash in on it. But then what? What are those privileges we've been hearing about? The press made it sound like he was in charge of everything, yet i haven't seen a lot going his way in the past six months, starting with all the hires Kylian wanted that just didn't happen, and the transfer window disaster. They said he was the one who insisted they get Campos, which, sure, they did advocate for him, but the guy is still only working part-time for PSG so, really? They played that card for months, sold the narrative that Kylian tried to sell Ney (and yet he's still around?), but when you tally up all those 'privileges' and 'requests' Kylian supposedly made and/or forced the club to get behind, you quickly realize that they have either been blown out of proportions, or they never existed in the first place. The most we've seen is that insane amount of money he's getting in wages and/or bonuses, but that certainly isn't unheard of.

I'm not defending his choice to stick around last year, and i'm not saying that he's this perfect angel who can do no wrong. His family set themselves up for those rumors and backlash, the same way Neymar Sr does. But so much has been said, with so little basis, that sometimes people need to take a step back.

[meowmeowmessi]

he was literally the presi of messi fc..

[heartsoftruth]

I know you like Mbappe but if it’s really true that he’s involved in the Neymar mess and pushing him out as they are claiming then I am done with him!! Rumors of him doing the same to Di Maria…there is no smoke without fire tbh. At least when these kind of rumors came up about how Leo controls Barca blah blah…his teammates always came out to defend him one way or another but NO ONE has ever defended mbappé against these continued rumors both in the france NT and PSG. I really really hope these rumors are a lie because i have been defending him in my office for a while now (I work in a football agency) and I have watched almost all my colleagues start to dislike him- mind you, they were all rooting for him at 2018 World Cup but all feel there is something off and has changed about him in recent times. Say what you want about Neymar and his many issues in the press but he has always always been liked by his teammates in ALL the locker rooms he has been a part of. This is a fact, you can go through many interviews, quotes, posts etc of his former teammates and see so if there is indeed a problem, it isn’t him.

Hi! I think we can see one old colleague that didn't like Ney: Xavi. Since he is - apparently - one of the main reasons he ain't coming back. In all honesty let's say: Kylian has pushed Ney out. He costs 90 million. You meant to tell me no other top club was willing to pay 90 million for Neymar Jr (31)? Maybe him being so injury prone - during his time at PSG - and his lifestyle off the field has something to do with it. I'm not a Ronaldo fan, but 117 million was payed for him by Juve at the age of 33. I find this shocking and think it says a lot about him. He went to PSG since he wanted to get out of the shadow of Messi and lead the team to the CL (that's my opinion on the reason at the time). Then WC 2018 happened, France won and Kyky's stardom (especially in France) was at an extreme high. I think Kylian came in humble. Admiring Ney. But with the years to come he saw the injuries and maybe off field things Ney did and something changed. I'm not saying Kylian pushed Ney out, but I do think he made it clear he's the #1 or at least #2 (behind Leo) now.

In my eyes Ney can only look into the mirror and think: what if? What if I didn't make that transfer to PSG. What if I stayed at Barca?

A guy with so much talent to have a career like he has... Oef... That hurts tbh. I know he could have gotten so much more out of it.

[kumarseo]

FIFA World Cup 2022: Team of the tournament

After almost a month of football extravaganza, the FIFA World Cup 2022 in Qatar ended on Sunday, December 18, as Argentina beat France 4-2 on penalties to clinch its third title. The first winter World Cup in history, the tournament saw 172 goals, one more than the 2018 edition in Russia. Also Read | Lionel Messi, the artist, needed a crown and FIFA WC 2022 finally gave it to him Over the course…

[messitheking]

Football in 2018 meme: [4/8] Goals → Lionel Messi vs. Nigeria - World Cup 2018 Group Stage June 26, 2018  // 14′, 0-1 (F.T. 1-2)

“With a cottony touch, Messi brought the ball down with his hip before creating enough space to rip an eight-yard, angled effort past goalkeeper Francis Uzoho and into the far corner. Arms outstretched, he flashed a smile of both relief and happiness while he glided to the corner, dropped to his knees and thanked the heavens.”

[cant-get-no-worse]

I just saw someone on tumblr rank Mbappe as number one in the Ballon D’or, like I don’t think Messi necessarily has to win it to be honest, but there is no way Mbappe cshould be number one.

I also don't agree with those putting him only at 2% odds to win it. It's somewhere in the middle. That hattrick in the final was def something, but overall his WC performance was less good than in 2018 and his season was okay. No 1st place worthy. I'd expect him to be second or third - fourth wouldn't do it.