#and i cannot possibly begin to fathom it

[fagtainsparklez]

if i had to guess fundy is crossed off probably due to the “racism” drama of 2021/2022, which people never rlly seemed to get over despite it being unfathomably stupid <- being a fundy fan is a curse that never full leaves

SEE THE THING IS i also considered a bunch of stuff that fundy got in trouble over but i cannot fathom him being crossed out but not like. schlatt or michael or even h if that’s the case. the tweet’s tone very much has a “people that have been canceled SINCE then” because there is something very specific about crossing off connor but not schlatt

[ace-of-hearts-and-spades]

Sometimes I worry about interpreting my favorite characters wrong, and then I see a take so egregiously awful and and off-base to such an extreme degree that I realize I might as well be receiving prophetic visions from God Themselves about my blorbo.

[sugarysakurakitty]

skibidi gyatt gyatt gyatt gyatt gyatt

I don't think that's the proper use of those words /lh

[pirates-and-posies]

Yeah fyi I support Palestine and any action against colonialism so if you're a Zionist or support Israel and even my own country's horrifying actions contributing to the deaths of children in the middle east please live miserably and may karma come for your throat. My next few posts are gonna be links for donations and other things that will assist this movement

[sparklystarrrr]

Hi! Can I ask the platonic Crewel and the reader (the reader is his daughter) where she tells him about the guy she likes? "Well... You know him well." "Is it Vil?" "Not really... You know him well, but in a bad way." "......" "It's Floyd." "WHAT?! Please tell me this is a joke.""

Stop this made me giggle SO hard

Father’s Standards

Synopsis: Crewel has a clear standard for his daughter’s love life….

Contains: Divius C. x Fem! Reader, platonic, Reader is crushing on Floyd, so fluffy oml I cried writing the end

When school was over, Crewel would swipe his daughter away and being her right home. He had a set schedule and that involved having a healthy snack after school. He knew school food was usually terrible and as much as he wanted to trust the kitchen ghosts, he was a firm believer that nothing else would be better than his own cooking for his child. “You will have the charcuterie board i prepared earlier as long as you can take the dogs out for a walk right after. Are we clear?” He spoke whilst he unlocked his home’s front door. Once no words left his daughter’s mouth he turned around, slightly annoyed.

“(y/n). Are you listening to me, young lady?”He spoke firmly. (y/n)’s eyes seemed to be very fixed on the image of her and a certain dopey eel boy on her lock screen. At the sound of her name her head snapped up and shut off her phone. A clearly flushed expression was on her face as she looked right up at her dad.”Huh? Y-yeah I heard you dad! Food then dog walking, got it.” (y/n) jumbled. Crewel sighed heavily.” You’re incredibly jumpy today, I cannot begin to fathom a reason why…”

His daughter laughed nervously,”Yeahhh uhm, I-I don’t really either! It’s nothing!” The man clearly knew something it wasn’t nothing. He did not teach his daughter to speak in such a jittery manner! He rolled his eyes and brushed it off. He knew she would tell him. 

(Y/n) sat stiffly in a plush chair at the kitchen counter. Her posture crunched as she pulled out her phone to text her friends, ignoring the snack in front of her. “Young lady, elbows off the table. Fix your posture. And what do you need to be texting your friends about right this moment?” He spoke. His eyes squinted to try and see what she could possibly be typing.

Upon seeing her father peeping at her phone, (y/n) slammed her phone down on the counter,”N-nothing dad!” Crewel sighed heavily,”(Y/n) it is obviously something, you can’t fool me.” He grumbled. The (h/c) haired girl glanced from her twiddling fingers to the food in front of her, then at her father, the wall and back at her fingers.

“I may… like someone. You know him… very well.” At that, Crewel’s ears perked. “Who is this boy? Vil Schoenheit?”

(Y/n)’s face lowered slightly. “You know him really well but… not in a good way.” She said in a whisper. Crewel furrowed his brow. “There are many young pups who cause a ruckus in my class, you’ll need to be specific.” 

(Y/n) shuddered. “It’s uhm… Floyd… Leech.” She said under her breath hoping it would be inaudible. When she looked up from her twiddling fingers her father audibly and dramatically gasped. A hand was on his chest as if in the most dramatic shock.”Excuse me? Say that again pup. My age may be getting to my ears already.”

The girl sighed “It’s Floyd Leech, dad. I like him.” She said with an embarrassed frown and flushed cheeks. “You have an… interesting type Pup.” He said while clearly in deep thought. The girl sat squirming in her chair while her father huffed,”I will accept this, just this once. Only because you’re my daughter.” The man reasoned while clearly holding back from saying things. (Y/n)’s (e/c) eyes glittered with hope,”Really?!-“ “Do not let this happen again. If he dares hurt you, you come straight to me pup. I do not trust that boy one bit-“ “Yes, dad yes, okay! I get it!” The girl huffed.

Crewel walked to the other side where (y/n) sat, still embarrassed. He brushed some of her hair aside and kissed her forehead leaving a small lipstick stain, “You’re growing up puppy. As much as I’d like to still have you as my little baby pup, I’m content to see you grow into a young woman,” He placed a hand on the back of her chair gently. “Even if your type is concerning.” He let a small chuckle leave his lips and watched (y/n)’s lips curl into a dazzling smile as she giggled. The girl wrapped her arms around around him tight as a silent thank you. Before the man could say something like “You’ll wrinkle my clothes”, he wrapped his arms loosely around her as well, pressing a small kiss on the top of her head.

[nerdygirlramblings]

This began as the final chapter, but the gods had different ideas. Planning one more after this.

Your gods are here, again, in the guise of humans. They are preceded by two men nearly identical in build and attire, with broad shoulders and even broader grins. The clothing of these men is not of the same style. Each piece seems like it was plucked from a different part of the world, with colors and patterns you have never seen before. You realize with a start this must be Ale and Rudi, leading your weary travelers back. For what purpose you cannot fathom.

As they approach, you realize with a start how large a procession there is. Behind Ale and Rudi are Jon, Si, Gaz, and Tav, followed by women you can simply tell are Las and Wel. Fra and Lex, who, like your gods, is wearing a slightly different face from the one he used before, are at the rear of this group, but they are one of many such small groups entering your village.

You recognize the patterns and styles of some clothing, people from neighboring villages who, since the miracles, have had one or two people visit, along with many whose attire is completely foreign. As the procession fully enters the village, several Elders converge, wearing looks ranging from wonder to concern. There is no fear, however, and no anger.

"Welcome!" Elder Hrafn calls to Ale and Rudi as they approach, hands outstretched. "We are honored to have so many visitors, and from so far away." He looks around at the group of gods, not knowing what they truly were. Watching the interaction, you feel gazes like caresses, and you know your gods are looking at you.

"To what do we owe such a congregation of friends and neighbors?" Elder Hrafn finally asks.

Jon steps forward then, introducing himself as Eyrir. "Thank you for your welcome. We," he gestures only to the gods behind him, "heard of the miracles here, of how you prayed to ancient gods and received blessings in return." Several members of the village turn their eyes to you, making it clear to all whom they believed is responsible for their situation.

Jon continues. "We wanted to come and see the altars and ask for blessings of our own, perhaps speak with your renowned seer." He finally looks at you, and there is a fire in his eyes you've not seen before.

"These others," Gaz says, stepping to Jon's side, "decided to join us when, in passing through their own villages, they heard where we were going."

Elder Hrafn looks startled. It seems no Elder thought about the possibility of pilgrims coming specifically to see the altars, despite it happening often. "We are delighted you've come," he finally says. "We will have a feast in the village hall this evening!" He looks around and begins nodding at people who will play a role in tonight's festivities: hunters, farmers, bakers.

Then he sees you. "Ah! And here is our seer," he says, leading Jon and the others to you. He turns to address you. "You will be alright while I work to prepare for this evening?" You cannot blame him for wanting to start on preparations quickly. Showing hospitality to so many newcomers will take time and effort. You nod once, and he slips back into the bustle of the village.

Jon takes your hand and kisses it quickly, murmuring, "My queen," as he does. He is followed by Si, Gaz, and Tav greeting you the same. Las, Wel, and Fra embrace you like old friends, calling you, "My lady." Lex, Ale, and Rudi also kiss your hand quickly both for proprietary sake and to keep Si's growls from escalating. They, like the women, call you, "My lady."

The gods have arrayed themselves around you so your people cannot see you. You are grateful for the distance, as you're sure shock is clear in your features. "I...I do not understand," you stutter. "I am grateful for all you've done for my people." You look directly at Jon. "I did as you asked. Did you want me to awaken more?"

"No, my queen," he says. "You have done all we asked and more. Now we are here for the life you swore." He chuckles, the sound rumbling out of him like distant thunder or the far-off pounding of feet. It is dark, promising not foreboding.

You look at the ground, voice small, and admit, "I do not wish to die." The warble of it is impossible to hide. You look at Si pleadingly, "Please do not think I tricked you with my sacrifice. I do pledge my life. But is there a way I can pledge it to you in service here?" You are close to pleading and know it will not work if you do.

The gods step closer, completely shielding you from view as Si sweeps you into his arms. "Mi vida, I cannot bear to kill you. I need more than to have you rewarded in my realm."

"We need our Queen," Tav says lowly. "We need you with us."

Confused, you turn in Si's embrace to look at Jon. "I don't understand." You can only hope he hears how desperately you need to understand.

"The palace at Fjall Gothar is complete. All the thrones, save one, occupied." He gestures again to the ancient gods around him. When he catches your eye, you gasp at the possessive intent in his stare. "The only throne left is yours."

more

series masterlist | main masterlist

taglist: @hidden-treasures21 @lostintransist @sirbonesly @lilynotdilly

[emilys-bangs]

What kind of sleeper is Emily 🤔 I'd like to think she's clingy once your relationship is at that level, maybe little unsure in the beginning. Let's be real there have to be some restless nights and difficulty sleeping due to all the things she sees at work. But with you. She'll feel safe to sleep soundly, knowing always have her back, not just at work but always and everywhere.

But I think If you're married to her, better be prepared for a cuddly Em wrapped around you for the entire night. Best place to be tbh

Waking her up in the morning. Would you get a pillow thrown at your face? Would she just totally ignore you gently calling her name and shaking her lightly? Would she try to trap you in her arms so she could sleep for extra 15 minutes?

Would she be grumpy in the morning but accept a peace offering in form of coffee ☕

Idk I just love soft Emily and I wanna give her the world 🥺

Hmm I think she would naturally be a light sleeper because of the job (and yk trauma) but after a few years with you it would start to deepen🥺 she’d feel so safe that she’d start turning into a heavy sleeper (this is purely the romantic in me speaking, just let me live okay). But yes, definitely clingy!! And such a blanket hoarder!! She’s so cold! AND she stretches herself out in every way possible, her foot would literally be lodged in the middle of your back. If she’s not wrapped around you in her sleep, you’d have to rearrange her limbs every so often in the middle of the night loll there’s no in between.

Mornings are absolutely distasteful to her. When she immediately gets called in, she just gets up with minimal grumbles (she knows time is short so she saves that for when she’s dressed and can spend a few precious minutes waking you up and kissing you goodbye. every kiss turns into “just one more”). On normal days however. No pillow thrown in your face but definitely threats of one!! She grumbles and whines and tries to pull you closer to block out the sun, it’s a whole thing. Every. Morning. Especially on weekends!! She cannot fathom why on god’s green earth are you trying to wake her up well before the afternoon. Making the most of the day? What’s that??? To her it’s purely lying around lazily in bed. Super grumpy in the mornings but accepts peace offerings in the form of kisses💗💗

[poisoned-fruit-prose]

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

synop: you get frustrated when you realize viktor is making more progress than you on hextech.

wc: 1037.

includes: just fluff. reader is a secret mage, and their connection to magic inspired them to start developing hextech. reader and viktor are academic (and romantic) partners. lots of czech pet names. he loves you so much.

author's note: been writing a lot of fics relating to being viktor's "only one" (instead of jayce, though jayvik is still very close to my heart) as if they're memories he's looking back on. maybe this will be some sort of anthology series. hope you enjoy.

Your face scrunched up in the exact way Viktor recognized as your last straw. Before he could speak your name, you were already storming out of the lab, stray papers billowing behind you.

Viktor knew to let you cool off for a moment—the frustration of not understanding was unlike any anger comparable. It was self-deprecating, self-destructing, and the sole reason an institute such as the University was build to assuage. There was no point in consoling you before you were ready. You could read the writing on the wall. Viktor was going into territory you couldn’t follow; he was getting too advanced. You would either have to play catch-up or give up altogether. Both, in your mind, were options only for those who have lost.

Viktor gave you an hour. Well, forty minutes before he decided to get up—it took him twenty to make it to the garden he knew you were stewing in. Your form was predictably balled up beneath the swaying willow tree, the branches engulfed in golden light from the sunset.

He rested his cane against the trunk and grunted as he sat down beside you. He spared you the embarrassment of looking at you; he knew you hated how you looked when you cried. Instead, he looked out over the pond for a long moment.

“You know, I get frustrated too,” he murmured.

“Not over little things like this.” You sniffled. Your tears had long stopped, but you always seemed to have a stuffy nose for the rest of the day. And a godsdamned headache.

“No, admittedly not. But you know what I do get frustrated with?”

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. Viktor shrugged and spoke anyway.

“When you don’t see just how intelligent you are. Just because you cannot understand some of the technicalities of Hextech does not mean you are any less brilliant. You are two things, drahá. You are a scholar, and you are a mage.” He clicked his tongue. “And no matter how far we push Hextech, I cannot begin to fathom what you understand about the Arcane. There is a reason you are my partner on this, and a reason I want you as our guide.”

“Yet if anyone knew I was a mage, I’d be hunted down and killed.”

Viktor sighed. “Maybe not killed—but hunted, yes. That is why I also say you are a scholar. You do not put all your eggs in one basket. You aren’t just a being of magic. You are a perfect storm of words and ideas. You see things others cannot, write things others could only dream to dream of. I cannot let you go around thinking you are stupid when you are the one that conceived Hextech in the first place—the one I go to when I’m stuck and need a fresh perspective.”

“What good am I to the world with words and ideas? Everyone has words—it’s those who can make physical improvements that are the most lauded. You take my words and make with them. How could merely thinking of it compare?”

“That is preposterous, miláčku. Everyone may have words, but it is those who wield them with uncanny ability that give people like us a goal to work towards. Who would I be if you had never explained to me the possibilities of harnessing magic? Likely still following Heimerdinger around, an occasional project here and there—but now I have a hand in changing the world. Your words, your ideas, they are not separate of that. I have the ability to make fire, sure, but you have the ability to use it. You are the foundation of my work. I can only go where you have laid down a path. That is where you lack self-awareness. You are exceptional because your ideas are mixed with your smarts. You dream big, you conceive higher, yet you haven’t thought of anything impossible. Not yet.”

Viktor reached over and gently placed his hand atop your arm.

“And do not think that an award from the Council is the highest honor in life. You have done good for all of Runeterra—but for me especially. If I had the choice, I would shower you with accolades and statues, miláčku. You are an extraordinary thinker, an analytical mind, and a mage immune to the trivialities of academia.” His hand slid up to lift your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. “And you are not that far behind me in invention. Don’t let one problem destroy your vision and hope. You will work through it. You always do.”

You looked at him a long moment, then sighed as you laid your head atop his shoulder. He welcomed you, leaning equal weight against you and holding you still with a hand on your waist.

“...I’m sorry for storming out,” you murmured. “I know that was unprofessional.”

Viktor clicked his tongue. “Oh, please, do you think Jayce is professional?”

You both laughed softly. You sniffled again as you rested a hand atop his knee.

“I think… I’m frustrated, because I want to use magic to help you. And I keep failing. And without the documentation of magic before the Rune Wars, I feel like I’m grasping for a fly in a fog.”

“Don’t worry about me, lásko.”

“You know I can’t do that, Vik.” You nudged him, solemnly playful. “People like you are the reason I started trying to harness the Arcane.”

“Hextech is for everyone.”

“You aren’t included in that?”

Viktor sighed, then leaned up to press a kiss to your hair. “Of course. I just worry you tunnel vision because of me. I don’t want to be the reason you miss a breakthrough.”

“Breakthroughs that don’t lead to you getting better are useless to me.”

“But they are useful for everyone else.”

“Yes, but…” You gently squeezed his leg. Viktor used his free hand to take yours.

“I understand,” he murmured as he watched his fingers lace between yours. “We will both be just fine. Your concern is endearing, but it will cloud you in your studies. Make Hextech your top priority, and my health will be right there with it. And with me, lásko, always comes you.”

dividers used: clouds • scribble

[the-hexcore]

Hexcore how do I ask a guy out

wait until he's at his lowest, his most desperate, when he can feel his body begin to fail, and time itself start to slip away from him faster than he can reckon with. offer to heal an affliction he has been suffering with his entire life, at a cost that he cannot even begin to fathom and once he has tasted the conditional freedom you've given him, once he becomes willing to set aside moral quandaries just for the possibility of "fixing" himself, then you can start to corrupt him from the inside and—i mean... sorry what was the question??

[shycoconutt]

you, more than anyone, know that satoru isn't invincible. as his closest friend, you see what those who call him “the strongest” miss.

they don't see him remove his blindfold at the end of the day, rubbing at his tired eyes. they don't notice how he spends each evening at jujutsu tech, staring out the window, watching the sun dip behind the mountains. they never question why his infinity is always active, even when there's no immediate threat. they don’t feel the tension in his muscles that lingers hours after he meets with the higher-ups. they aren’t aware of his sleep schedule, where he barely gets 1-3 hours of “rest” each night. they can’t imagine the countless scars he'd bear if not for his rct. they don’t realize that the only things he consumes are sweets to dull the constant ache behind his eyes, not food to nourish his body.

but you notice, of course you do.

-

after a late-night doom scroll, your eyes light up when you see an advertisement for a cooling gel eye mask. after purchasing one in a pretty pink color and storing it for 24 hours in the office freezer, you hold it behind you as you stroll casually into his room.

“toooooruuuuuuu,” you sing as you walk up behind his desk.

reclining in his chair, he lets his head lull off the back so you can see his face.

“i know you have something behind your back, weirdo. you can’t hide it from me, remember?” he says as he points to his eyes behind his mask with a goofy smile.

“tsk, just go along with it for a second, will ya?” you scold playfully.

not without a dramatic sigh, satoru folds his arms in front of his torso. suddenly, you feel the air around you still, signaling to you the drop in his infinity as he lets you have your way with whatever you plan on doing.

with one hand, you carefully peel off his mask and toss it on his desk.

“keep your eyes closed, okay?”

“mmmmm”

the short walk from the communal fridge to his office was enough time to freeze your fingertips. bringing the gel mask in front of you, you do your best to stretch it as flat as possible before placing it slowly on his face.

“oh! what the- it’s so, ah, cold!”

you smile, tugging the elastic band around his head to hold the mask in place as he jerks around in his chair. your hands naturally fall to rest on his shoulders to steady him in place.

“toru!” you laugh, “it’s okay, just give it a second to get used to it!”

slowly you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax under your palms. as if on instinct, you start to work at them, kneading the muscles between your fingers. satoru’s face flushes a soft shade of pink, probably a reaction to the harsh temperature on his skin.

“huh,” his voice soft, “this actually feels pretty good.”

“of course it does,” you scold, “things like this exist for a reason. it’s called self-care, toru. it’s this wild and crazy idea where you take care… of yourself.”

“sounds like a gimmick.”

a smile creeps to your lips but quickly falls flat. satoru is always dismissive about his health, putting on a playful tone with his signature smile. but it’s a mask covering the ugly truth–there’s no time for self-care when there’s no sense of self. self does not exist in a world where he is merely a pawn–a very powerful, unforgettable pawn–but one nonetheless. he is an atomic bomb in society’s arsenal, labeled the strongest with the security that there is nothing, no one that rivals his ability. we are all protected while he suffers, out there alone in scenarios absent from our nightmares, as none of it is fathomable.

no one cares.

no one knows.

they are all so ignorant.

we are all so ignorant.

“OW,” satoru gasps, snapping you out of your spiral.

“oh my gods, i’m so sorry! did i hurt you?”

he puts on a show for a few more seconds before relaxing again. “not really, but i can read your thoughts and you were starting to get a little intense there.”

bringing your hands off of him, you fold them in front of you defensively, “you cannot read my mind.”

satoru rolls his head side to side on the chair, teasing you. “yes i can, and i appreciate you worrying about me.”

you huff out the air in your lungs as he peels the mask off his face, gets up, and turns to stand before you. his size makes it difficult to take him all in at once–his proximity to you causes you to crane your head upward to look him in the eyes. the skin around them glistens subtly from the condensation there, making them reflect even more intensely somehow. getting lost in his eyes isn’t just poetry, the blue pools of infinity stare right back at you, so deep and real.

it’s selfish to think you have any ownership, any authority over them. but in this lifetime, you’ll be damned if anyone dares to take them away from you.

“but i’ll be okay.”

his tone is so soft. as you search his face for any sign of fallacy, you see now that there is no mask–no fake smile. his infinity remains down, confirmed by the hand you place above his heart. 

“you promise?” you question in a whisper.

suddenly, but not unexpectedly, his hand is placed above yours. 

“cross my heart,” he swears, lifting your hand with his own to draw an x over his chest.

humming in response, you bring your eyes to your intertwined hands. it’s difficult to not pry more, but, unfortunately, you know this has to be enough.

“in all honesty,” you begin, “i wish i could kidnap you to a remote, faraway island. i would chain you up in bed, feed you warm meals every day, and force you to get a solid eight hours of sleep.”

satoru’s laugh rings throughout the room.

“sounds kinky,” he muses with a wiggle of his brow. 

sighing dramatically, you continue “but, alas, i cannot. so taking you to my place tonight will just have to suffice.”

“huh?”

“fine, fine, i won’t chain you to my bed. but i am making you takoyaki and tucking you in at eleven.” with his hand in yours, you begin to lead him out of his office. quickly, he is in your step by your side, a wide grin on his face. 

“you know,” he tempts, “you can chain me to your bed if you want to.”

“don’t tempt me, boy,” you play along, “you know how i can get carried away.”

somehow, the shiver that escapes satoru’s body is even more intense than the chill of any ice-cold face mask.

a/n: i wrote this sometime after i read the thirty-three questions gege was asked about satoru gojo and was sad to learn more about his daily life. our overworked king deserves a little break, yeah?

[taco-pal]

I’m sorry but I need to speak my truth; too many people seem to think Syril didn’t do evil things simply because they like him as a character. (This is not a judgement on liking Syril as a character.) You can empathize with a CHARACTER and understand why they are the way they are while also knowing they are a fundamentally bad person.

He had no community to speak of. He came of age during Imperial rule and probably hardly remembers life under the Republic, which to many was the same thing. He lives on Coruscant, which is an incredibly oppressive place to live. He receives a single shaft of natural light in his home at a certain time of day. He lived under the thumb of his oppressive mother.

All of these things allow you to understand how this character is fully rounded as a person and how he has come to be who he is. Syril’s biggest problem is that he simply cannot begin to fathom any nuance. This is shown to us immediately when he talks to Chief Inspector Hyne about the two corpo cops that were killed by Cassian. Hyne immediately understands every bit of nuance to the situation and why, through this kind of malicious compliance, they can keep the Imperials happy and keep their jobs while doing the least. Syril DESPISES this. He organizes a raid and MULTIPLE people get killed all because Syril could not understand the complexity of a situation.

We see this again when he cannot turn his cop brain off and continues his relentless foolish quest to get Andor, simply because he cannot understand that he himself is the one that has ruined everything. He knows the Empire does bad things and STILL pursues Dedra. He helps the Empire with their anti-Ghorman propaganda by being a double agent. He has blinders on so tight that he can’t begin to put the pieces of his own flaws together and how he’s being used as a pawn by the regime until the very last moment. All he sees through the blinders is Andor and Syril’s possible sympathies for the Ghormans evacuate his brain immediately. He aided in dooming the planet. He would get ruthlessly judged in any tribunal had there been any for him.

Great character though!

[dasinclair]

mark/eve development if it was good

let them slow-burn it all throughout season 3. if they aren't a couple yet, what does it really rob us of? a montage of romantic moments, of which there were about three? the invincible inc. arc, and even then it only being specifically about them getting a house together? conversations on the rooftop where she behaves like his therapist and he shows very little interest in her inner life?

for starters: future eve does NOT tell mark that eve loves him and needs him to give her an answer. this was terrible for her character, and that's even acknowledged in the show, so i cannot fathom why this was necessary to get them together. a meaningful look would have conveyed everything that needed to be said

instead, mark sees future eve - beaten down by time, but always resilient - and thinks, wow, she looks so sad. she doesn't want to admit it, but i know her. i want to do more to be there for my eve, my friend eve, in the present. we're in a unique position to understand each other, but that doesn't mean we always will, so i'm going to make an effort

mark gets in his own head about why he pictured eve when he thought he was going to die. why he saw her that way. does he want to protect her the same way he does his family & friends, or does he just want her close? maybe he started seeing their possible future together and it felt different, and she didn't look so sad as she did in that abandoned earth, and he doesn't know how to tell her any of this?

show eve's perspective, too. her wondering if it's right for her to feel something for mark when she's so close with amber, when mark has so much on his plate... she needs to be sure, too. she doesn't want to feel like they're only together because it's easy. maybe she could have a non-specific conversation about it with her new friend from college

when eve is attacked by conquest, that's the breaking point. that's when mark has to confess to her, if she's even able to hear it. he's realized just how important she is to him and in what way - and eve, who has had time to really think about her own feelings too, is able to reciprocate. in near death and rebirth, in vulnerability and openess, they finally come together. a new beginning. now they know

[askviktor]

Viktor removes his hands from the rune matrix’s control panel, exorcising his frustration in a sigh as he pulls off his goggles and lets them fall to the floor. He flexes his perpetually cold hands, his head pounding as orange traces of rotating runes shift and dissipate behind his eyelids.

Five and a half hours. What a waste of time.

The Hexcore defies him at every turn, presenting him ever-shifting responses to his precisely inputted algorithms. There is a pattern to its kinetic language, yes, but with variables affecting its response he cannot fathom. It is as if it has a mind of its own.

Gently, with profound resignation, Viktor sets his forehead on the desk. He feels nauseated and dizzy, and wonders how much time it has been since he has eaten. When was lunch? Did he eat lunch?

Yes, a croissant. Sweetmilk with a “dash of coffee,” as Sky liked to say. She had taken to bringing him food of late. Usually, Jayce ordered them lunch, but Jayce had not made it in for the second day in a row.

Viktor worries his lip until he tastes iron, then stretches loudly, bones protesting then popping in relief. He reaches for his crutch, and begins to walk to the desk near the workshop door, a purportedly liminal space where their mail and other miscellanea reside.

Viktor sits on a stool, one of a collection of worn, mismatched seats littered about the lab, and begins to draft a letter.

Jayce,

He pauses, considering his words, making sure not to allow the frustration to bleed into passive aggression.

If convenient, please stop by the workshop today. I could use a fresh perspective on these algorithms.

Viktor contemplates the possibility of another wasted day. Ah, fuck it.

If inconvenient, come all the same.

V.

He seals the envelope and drops it in the mail receptacle outside their door. The hallway clock strikes midnight. In six hours, a university messenger will come by to pick up the note, and in ten hours, Jayce will open it.

The hallway is silent but for the ticking of the clock. Viktor dreads the walk home and does as he has many a time before and decides to sleep in the lab.

As he wearily disrobes by the cot in the corner, he wonders why he bothers keeping an apartment at all when this place is home.

Though it does admittedly feel a bit colder of late.

@jaycehousetalis

[exquisink]

When The Daylight's Gone, Ch2 - Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Fem!Sorcerer Reader

warnings. nothing in particular in this chapter, except for a brief mention of masturbation. but heed the tags on AO3. This chapter has been already posted there but I forgot to cross-post. Whoops.

wc. almost 11K this chapter, lmao.

Adjusting to life at Jujutsu Tech may not have been the smoothest ride for you, but everyone has been kind, considerate, and helpful with you; everyone has been ready to help and practically at your beck and call. Especially Gojo-sama. You’re not oblivious to how much he seems to be interested in helping you feel part of the organization—or whatever you’d call this (it’s definitely not truly a school)—and you let him know that his efforts don’t go unnoticed, which seems to change something in him every time you do. It’s almost as if he doesn’t get enough gratitude for all of the effort he puts into making a change around here. While his colleagues don’t seem all that impressed with him for a myriad of reasons removed from his role, you find that you think of him as more and more compelling of a person. 

You notice it in his little mannerisms around his students, in particular. He and Kento Nanami share a common goal: they want to protect those flames within the students, they want to protect their youth and allow them room to just be kids. You have a feeling that in the world of jujutsu, you are forced to grow up far too quickly as you are thrust into some of the most gruesome situations that most people honestly cannot fathom experiencing themselves. It’s why you have removed yourself from hunting curses, much like Ijichi-sama. It’s not something you can stomach. Having the curse of seeing spirits is something you already wish you didn’t have, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find a way to help others. That’s the whole reason you’ve taken this job in the first place. 

But Gojo-sama…it absolutely doesn’t take a genius to see that the way he acts around others is a mask. It’s painfully obvious the more you hang around him, the more you observe from the sidelines, and you wonder if somewhere in all of that haughty, obnoxious, condescending as fuck facade of his that he wishes someone else had done the same for him. Maybe back in his days as a student here, he hasn’t had someone to shield him from the horrors of the world and he’s witnessed them far too early in his life.

“So! I think the students are going to enjoy a quick trip to Shinjuku!” Gojo suggests, drawing your attention back to the present as he leans so far back into his office chair that it begins to creak against the wooden floor. His hands clasp together as he continues to speak. “And while Nanami is off babysitting them, that means I have a lot more free time to spend with y—I mean you guys!” 

Shoko shakes her head. “I can’t guarantee I’ll have my schedule freed up for your sake, Satoru.”

“Not even if drinks are on me?” Gojo-sama offers with a little smirk playing on his lips. Now you’re the one shaking your head, a hint of a twinkle in your eyes. They may be authority figures in their own rights, but they all have their own vices, you suppose. They probably don’t expect to be the greatest role models to the students, and perhaps these are behaviors or habits of theirs they keep shielded from the impressionable youth as much as possible.

“Yes, not even after that,” Shoko deadpans, her expression serious. That’s a sign to take to heart, and Gojo backs off. Smart move. “I need to cut back.”

“Such a shame,” Gojo pouts, before grinning wide at you as Shoko takes her leave. With that fucking devastatingly beautiful smile of his that seems to just hide so much deep-seated loneliness that you can’t believe people are outright refusing his offers. Oh, curse you and your tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt (even if they have continually shown you reasons not to, but right now Gojo doesn’t appear to fit that description). “Guess that just leaves you and me.”

“So it does,” you reply with a lazy smile. The last thing anyone wants to feel like is an obligation, and you don’t want to make anyone feel like that; you’ve known what that’s like with past friendships yourself. Honestly, you still aren’t sure why you’re making a point in accompanying him. But you also feel like it’s just basic decency as a person. As a participant in the human experience overall, if you must go so far as to say so. 

No one wants to be lonely, not even a guy as boisterous and annoying as Satoru Gojo. (Even if you don’t personally find him as such like the others do.) With a life like his, that seems to keep him on some higher plane of existence as everyone else around him, that must keep him feeling isolated from everyone else. That doesn’t feel good no matter how much someone likes being powerful.

There is a thought that keeps popping up in your mind with each exchange you share with Satoru Gojo.

Is his status all that is cracked up to be for him?

Is he lonelier than he would ever admit to anyone in his life? Even to you–or anyone else in his life he ever considered close to his heart? 

Doesn’t he wish he could drop the act and show people who he really is, or is he already so accustomed to the icy cold backhanded slap of rejection that he may as well play into the role jujutsu society imposed on him? 

There’s so much more you want to know about Satoru Gojo, but you don’t know if you’re jumping into things too quickly. It’s already been a few months, but you still feel out of the loop in a lot of aspects. The more you get acquainted with everything and everyone around you, you find the less you truly understand or truly know much of anything. When Ijichi takes you under his wing for training, you’re not sure how to utilize your own cursed energy–what little you believe you have of it. But Ijichi reminds you–that you are more powerful than you think you are–after all Gojo insists that you might be better off labeled as Grade 2 or Grade 1 with the potential your cursed technique has. 

Should you take his words to heart, though? Better not to let it get to your ego (however little you have).

“Hey,” Gojo waves his hand in front of your face. “You kind of zoned out for a little bit there–everything good?”

“Oh!” You blink owlishly; you have been lost in your mind a lot lately huh? “Yeah! I”m okay. So what are we doing now?”

“I wanted to ask if you’ve seen any progress with your cursed technique,” Gojo replies like he’s been reading your mind, but you doubt that’s how the Six Eyes technique of his works. Maybe it’s just a hunch or a feeling he’s got and he just happens to be right about what you’ve been drifting off into thought about in that small pocket of time. 

“Er…don’t you ever check in with Ijichi-san?” you inquire in a wobbly tone. You honestly have not been keeping as much track of your progress as you should have been… you didn’t expect to be quizzed on it like this so soon but then again…maybe you should have.

“Of course I do!” Gojo scoffs, “I just can’t hear your perspective? I want to know what you think and you forget I’m here to help you out too if you’re not sure what you’re doing.”

You shake your head. “I really have absolutely no idea what I’m doing with any of this! All I can do right now is create veils, and that’s as far as it goes right now.”

“Hey! That’s still progress,” Gojo insists with a thumbs up. “I mean, did you have any exposure to anything related to jujutsu before all of this?” 

Another shake of your head. Nope. You’re pretty much fresh meat in regards to any of this, and from what you understand, sorcerers themselves are extremely rare breeds of humanity. You are stunned to see how small the classes in both Tokyo and Kyoto are. 

“See?” Gojo beams at you so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It may be slow progress, but it’s still progress.”

You laugh at that bit. “You actually sound like a real teacher, Gojo-sama.”

“Come on, you know I told you that you don’t have to call me that,” he counters, “We may be working together, but we’re friends too, remember?”

You bite into your cheek as you chew on a proper response. 

“Are you not my superior?” you point out not in an accusatory way, but isn’t it not too intimate to do something like that? After all, it’s already feeling too intimate for you to be calling Ijichi ‘Ijichi’ or ‘Ijichi-san,’ but he’s also insisting on disregarding formalities. Maybe you are too much of a stickler for the traditions, but it’s mostly out of respect for everyone here. After all they have gone through experiences and trials and tribulations you have yet to experience yourself. You have so much to learn from all of them.

“I mean, yeah! But that doesn’t mean you have to get all formal. You’re not with Shoko!” he reflects for a moment, then adds: “Or Ijichi or Nanami!” 

“Okay, okay! Fine, I’ll work on it, Gojo.”

“Oh, come on. I”m working so hard to make you comfortable around here.”

“I’m just trying to respect your authority, Gojo,” you counter with a smile. Gojo just stares at you for a few moments before surrendering.

“Fine, fine. I’m just saying. It’s not necessary, you know? You’re not a student or anything either. At least, you’re not mine .”

“But I am still learning a thing or two from you and Ijichi,” you remark, “And Principal Yaga especially.”

“Still, since you’re so new to all of this, don’t expect anything to happen overnight, you know? Not everyone can be me, I guess,” he scoffs again, rubbing his nose and you find yourself rolling your eyes in jest. Yeah, there it is. That (honestly warranted) self-confidence. 

Most everyone around him finds it obnoxious, but you can’t help but find it refreshing. A lot of people are afraid of keeping that flame burning inside them, but he isn’t. People always want to play small to make others comfortable but he’s not interested in that, not necessarily in the way someone expects. 

Satoru Gojo is an instructor, first and foremost, and the goal of an instructor is to mold his students to become stronger, faster, and better versions of themselves–in fact he has stated on several occasions to you that he wants them all to surpass him. Because one day he’s not going to be here just like anyone else, and since he’s also not shy about droning on and on about how he wants to reset and reshape jujutsu society as it stands now, he channels all of his energy into this one singular goal. 

You can’t help but admire him for that kind of dedication, that kind of passion. You are curious what made him choose this kind of path because if you had to be honest with yourself, Gojo doesn’t seem the teaching or Sensei type. Far too lax, far too easy going and goofy. But maybe the students need a personality like that. Still, he deserves something where he can really let loose and not lose so much sleep over. (Yes, you have caught wind about his wild sleep schedule that would put most soldiers to shame.)

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Sensei ,” you tease with a little smirk twitching on your lips as he appears aghast at that address. Just pouting like some petulant child who’s just been denied his favorite snack. “So seriously, since it’s just us, what’s the plan for today? I don’t have much going on, so you better make this worth my time.”

Of course you mean it in jest. You don’t plan to bail on him, not when you’ve already made it a point to yourself that you aren’t going to leave him hanging. Even everyone else has made some remark about how ‘brave’ you’re being just enduring extra time with Gojo, but you don’t view it that way at all. You might be the odd one out here, but thus far you just don’t get it.

The big deal, you mean.

He finally speaks up again.

“Come on, seriously? I’m going to have to beat Gojo or Sensei out of your system. You’re a student in a way, sure, but like I just told you, you’re not my student, you know?” 

You hide your smirk into your palm. “Whatever you say…”

In spite of himself, he’s smiling at your antics, and that’s really your only goal. Just like he gives everyone else a hard time all on purpose, you’re returning that energy, and the good news is that he doesn’t seem to mind it all that much. That’s progress more than anything, right? Here you are, doing a better job at adjusting to your new environment than you expected to be doing, and he’s honestly made this new life a lot easier for you too–even if he doesn’t know it just yet. 

Actually, why not change that right now? 

“Gojo, I um…” you start a bit tentatively before you break into a fit of giggles again at his melodrama. “Seriously, thank you.”

He raises an eyebrow at that as he adjusts his blindfold. “What for?” 

“Making me feel like part of the group,” you answer, “You work really hard to make sure I don’t feel left behind, and I just appreciate it. That’s all.” 

He looks at you like he’s in a bit of a daze before shaking himself out of his stupor. He probably doesn’t get recognized for his efforts enough; teachers are an underappreciated profession in every aspect of life, it seems like, even in the world of jujutsu.

“It’s kind of, you know, basic human decency and all,” he reasons, but somehow he keeps an even tone with an underlying layer of playfulness. “Plus that’s kind of my job too, or at least part of it.”

”So what?” you challenge him, but you don’t mean to in a negative way. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be recognized for something like that.”

”For doing the bare minimum?” he nearly scoffs at that notion, but you do catch him smiling a little, which is the goal here. “All right, whatever you say, Princess.”

”Princess?” you repeat, your lips curling into a little bit of a pout. This time it’s you raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize I gave off that vibe.”

”A vibe of…?” he beckons you to finish that statement for him.

”Spoiled rotten?” you try to fill in the blanks with the first thing that pops in your mind and he once again looks aghast that that is the first thing you would even consider! “Bratty? Mean?” 

”No! You don’t act like that at all,” he counters, a hand over his heart as you feel his eyes scanning you through his blindfold. “You give Pretty Princess vibes, though.”

”Pretty Princess, huh?” Is he just trying to flatter you or wiggle his way out of something else? 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “You’re pretty. I thought you’re aware of that fact.”

”Am I?” Your gaze flits to your feet as they shift, his words settling in. He does sound genuine. You have to admit—you don’t get called that often, or at all as far as you remember.

”You are,” he insists, poking your cheek, brushing the tip of his finger along your skin. “You should really believe that a little more, you know? Being humble is so out these days.”

”Of course Satoru Gojo would say something like that,” you snark back with a roll of your eyes. “But that is sweet.”

”Well yeah, I’m Satoru fucking Gojo, and what I say is definitely law,” he retorts with a playful smile twitching on his lips again. 

“Weren’t we supposed to be doing something?” you remind him after a beat of silence, and Gojo hums in thought after he mulls over what you might have meant by that. 

“If you want, I could help you train today. Ijichi’s working with Itadori and Nanami right now with something…” he trails off, “Unless you’d rather do something fun instead, like I could show you some of my favorite places with all of the best sweets in the world!”

”I think we should train first, Sensei ,” you reply, “I’ve been slacking and I want to make sure I can make my veils actually last long enough.”

”Oh for fuck’s sake, I told you—I’m not your Sensei at least.”

”Uh huh,” you quip, “But you know what, you’re right, you’re not my Sensei because people might assume you’re trying to fraternize with a student because you just admitted you think I’m pretty.”

”Or I was just merely making an obvious statement,” he insists, “You just happen to have a hard time believing that you are with the way you carry yourself. Easy to tell when someone doesn’t know who they are or what they want, you know?” 

“Oh, and I suppose then that means you’re an expert at that kind of thing?” you probe while batting your eyelashes. 

Gojo nods, “Of course! That’s my whole role in society after all.” 

 “Is it?” You scoot in closer to him, ignoring the way your heart is racing beneath your breasts as your nose barely brushes against his. His Infinity is down with you, and his skin does feel so soft just from that. “Then enlighten me, Gojo. Is this going to help me perfect my cursed technique if I have a better sense of identity or of my desires in life?” 

“Well yeah,” Gojo starts, but you do catch him faltering slightly, likely from the sudden proximity. “I mean, knowing who you are and what sets you off is a major key in harnessing your cursed energy. I mean, cursed energy is all about keeping your emotions in check. Cursed energy is primarily negative energy so learning how to channel that energy into something against a spirit is important. And you know, low self esteem counts as negativity and that can cause curses to spawn. I mean, didn’t you hear about Okkatsu and how he cursed a normal girl because he didn’t want her to die? Curses can come from both sorcerers and non sorcerers. Until Okkatsu, all we knew was that curse spirits are often a manifestation of non sorcerer cursed energy…”

You nod along as he rambles on. “Uh huh. So how does someone go about managing their negative feelings then?”

“Well, I remember helping Itadori out by having him watch a bunch of terribly boring or annoying movies,” he explains as taps his finger against his chin. “We could do that but I think you need something a little more advanced than that. Like I mean you already seem to have a good handle on your emotions since you’re spending all of this time with me and you seem more charmed than irked by my presence.”

”Why would I be irked by your presence?” you interject, “I didn’t give off that vibe to you, did I?” 

“I may be the world’s strongest sorcerer but that doesn’t earn me brownie points in popularity,” he admits, but he’s acting like it doesn’t affect him when it likely definitely does. “Even Megumi gets easily ticked off at me and I’m raising the kid.” 

You huff at that. “I mean, you know what they say, Gojo. You could be the juiciest peach, and there’ll still be someone who doesn’t like peaches. So who cares!” 

”And Megumi definitely doesn’t like peaches,” he snorts with a shake of his head.

”Oh, please. Don’t say that!” you retort with a playful shove to his shoulder. “He adores you. Kind of like how he behaves like he’s annoyed by Itadori all the time but he didn’t want him to die for a reason.”

“A fair point, m’lady.” 

“First Princess, and now m’lady?” you tease, “Come on, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Alright, alright!” Gojo surrenders while clasping his hands together.  “Okay, so are we training or what?”

“Of course,” you reply, “Just tell me where we can start and then as a reward for staying consistent, we can go grab all of those sweets you keep talking to me about, because now I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Gojo laughs, “Deal.”

It’s not outright obvious to anyone or even you at first, but Gojo has been tagging along with you wherever you went like an over excited little puppy dog. He behaves more like your guard dog in much more public areas though. You don’t mind his constant shadow at first, thinking it as a nice refreshing change of pace after spending most of your time in solitude. It can either be comforting or it can be suffocating. But you don’t find Gojo suffocating, not like how everyone else seems to. 

And maybe he has taken that to heart, which is another thing about him you don’t find yourself minding. Clearly, he just hasn’t been used to someone actually actively wanting to be around him after who knows how long since you waltzed into Satoru Gojo’s world and maybe a part of you finds it flattering that he enjoys your company so much. 

“Hey,” Gojo stops you while you’re strolling side by side down a street with many jewelry, makeup, or designer clothing stores down the strip. “Didn’t you say you needed to restock on some makeup?”

A record breaks in your mind. Say what now? He actually listens to your mindless ramblings? Why are you so shocked every time someone pays attention to you, especially someone as esteemed as Satoru Gojo? Moreover, why are you still gawking at him like he’s just sprouted three extra heads? 

You blink once at him. Then twice. You glance up at the store he’s stopped you for and your breath hitches. A Sephora, huh? Is he sure about this? What is he even thinking about, splurging so much money on you like it’s not a big deal to him? Your eyes scan the rows upon rows of various brands you have only watched Youtube influencers review and can only dream of owning yourself. The Dior row is especially calling out to you like a siren in the Dead Sea. 

This is so dangerous… you pout, gaze flitting between Gojo and the entrance to the store. Your gaze lingers on the Dior aisle once more. You long for some of those lip oils. Or their blushes even if a lot of influencers have admitted they suck for their price points… 

“Yeah, but…” you trail off, frowning as you peek through the windows, fearing for the total costs if you actually do follow up on his offer. “Their stuff is usually out of my budget.”

A brief silence stretches over the two of you. You’re about to turn but he stops you, grabbing your wrist, and you glance up at him through your lashes. 

“Don’t sweat it. I got it,” he offers with a small smirk, pushing the door open for you and your feet stop you just short of entering the store. 

“Seriously,”—he places an arm on your shoulder—“I got it.”

“I can’t pay you back,” you reply, biting on your lip. 

“You don’t have to. Come on,” he declares as he grabs your wrist, yanking you inside. The dozens of stares falling on the two of you make your heart flutter but it’s probably not you they’re really paying attention to. In fact you’re absolutely positive it’s probably because of Gojo. He’s a show stopper in a lot of ways. Maybe they’re gawking at how tall or handsome he is, how shock snow white his hair is. Wondering what shade his eyes are beneath his blindfold that he wears all the time. 

Wondering what he’s doing with a puny little thing like you in a cosmetics store. Maybe they’re all wondering if you’re a couple and he’s just your sweet patient boyfriend humoring your love for cosmetics. 

As if you can ever be with someone as untouchable as Satoru Gojo. You can only dream of being with someone like him, someone so otherworldly and ethereal and practically regarded as some kind of Messiah. 

Gojo stands close to you, and you observe him. It’s hard to figure out what anyone’s thinking without seeing their eyes. You wonder how his Six Eyes must be unbearable for him a lot of the time that he has to wear a blindfold. 

As if he senses you staring, he peels his blindfold back and hums as if lost in thought. 

“I think you talked about loving lipstick the most, right? What brand do you like to wear? Gucci? YSL?” he inquires idly while lifting his blindfold; he scans the aisles before walking toward one of the more expensive luxury brands you can never hope to afford a first time around already. You grab his elbow and stop him in place, and he peers down at you, those blue eyes appearing to admit a kind of glow. 

“I can’t afford to wear any of those!” you protest, flabbergasted, “Can we just stick to the mid-range priced items? You really don’t have to buy me anything!”

“You can now! So name the brand and we’ll look at it, yeah?” he retaliates with a goofy grin that is convincing enough to let him win you entirely over. This is not something you can easily accept from anyone! Not even him! Especially not him! It feels all kinds of wrong to you if you can’t return the favor in any way and you know you can’t. He knows you can’t either and he’s doing this anyway all because he wants to. There is no hint of obligation or feeling like he has to repay you for spending so much time with him.

You almost want to shrivel up and die in that very moment, but he’s being kind of pushy and you don’t really know why. It’s not like you can’t go get makeup at some affordable drugstore, and he can just pay for those, something you can easily return the favor for with enough time. 

You’re not all that picky. And you know one taste of luxury is going to have you hooked for life . There’s no going back. 

Although, like you have been fantasizing about already, you have been dying for anything from Tom Ford or YSL or Dior… 

You drag out a sigh as you weigh out your options. 

“You’re not going to let me get out of here until I let you buy me things, aren’t you?” you inquire in a flat tone. 

Gojo’s still grinning ridiculously and you kind of hate how cute he looks getting all giddy at the prospect of spoiling a friend just because. 

“Now you’re getting it! So seriously, what are we feeling?” he asks again, that stupid grin of his unmoving. 

Yet you find it more endearing than annoying like everyone else seems to… 

“Slow down,” you reply. He relaxes his grip on your wrist and you release it. You don’t miss that unreadable expression flashing in a nanosecond. “There have been some shades I’ve been needing. But we are not going overboard here. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” he answers almost robotically with a mock salute. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

You lead him to one of the Dior aisles where a classic red lip shade catches your eye. You have two defaults, and you don’t need too much makeup: a flattering red lip for an occasion and a flattering nude shade for everyday is really all you’re going to need in this department. Then you know you need the rest—new foundation, new concealer, mascara, etc. etc. 

And since Gojo is being so pushy you may as well take advantage of the opportunity. Even if does feel all kinds of wrong in your soul you know he’s not letting you get off that easily. So you decide to reframe it this way: you’re really only allowing this because Gojo’s resolve about this isn’t going to budge. 

“Oh! This shade is gorgeous,” you muse out loud as you pry one of the tester red lipsticks and grab one of the free lip applicators to test the color on your lips. You glance around for a mirror and find one just down the aisle, pouting your lips into it as you assess the shade you chose. You hum in thought. 

Then you turn to Gojo, who’s keeping a fair distance but watching your every move. 

“Do you like it?” you inquire, pointing to the shade painting your lips.

“It’s nice,” he replies, “Totally evens out, um, your complexion!”

You giggle into your hand. He’s trying , which is better than most men who have ever walked into your life. Most of them think makeup is fake or stupid or pointless or just plain lying. Then in the same breath claim they like a natural girl but most of them don’t understand what a natural girl looks like. 

Gojo seems a smidge less ignorant about that kind of thing though. Just a smidge. 

“C’mere,” you declare as you gesture with a come hither motion. He obliges, and you have to prop yourself up on your tippy toes just to reach his cheek, where you smack your lips against. A bold move, perhaps, but he deserves it for all of this generosity he apparently isn’t known for at all amongst his colleagues. 

“How ‘bout now?” you ask with a sultry purr, fluttering your lashes. Which both definitely feel naked. You love mascara. They definitely need a good mascara… something both lengthening and volumizing, perhaps? You haven’t been exploring much in that regard…  

“It’s perfect ,” he purrs smoothly, not skipping a beat. He doesn’t even bother wiping off the stain and it’s not like you two are an item or something. You just want to give something back. “Aren’t you going to try more shades?”

You deflate, flushing a little at that as you twiddle your fingers. Oh, he sounds a little too interested now. Should you back off? 

You pull back. Absently you run your tongue around your teeth as you eye your reflection. Oh wow, this shade kind of makes your teeth look way whiter so you’re definitely snagging it. This really is so dangerous and it’s not fair hat Gojo is making you go through with committing such a sin. Grabbing a basket and tossing the tube of lipstick into it while swiping a makeup remover wipe from a nearby dispenser and cleaning the color off. Gojo snags the basket out of your hands. 

“Hey!” you protest again with another pout of your lips. There’s some blotches of leftover lipstick you missed but Gojo can’t help but find it cute. Almost a complete idea of what those pretty lips of yours might look like when he’s the one kissing the color off and not some damn makeup remover. 

“I got it,” he insists, keeping the shopping basket just out of your reach. “You enjoy more shopping, alright?”

Your eyes begin to twinkle and you don’t notice that Gojo’s heart must have skipped a beat in that moment. 

“Can we window shop at the designer stores here too?” you beg him eagerly, eyes sparkling like a child winning a plush toy in a claw machine.

“Yeah,” he breathes in reply, composing himself. “Anything.”

You’re not paying attention to him now as you’re already sprinting to check out the mascaras you’ve seen online and can only dream of owning yourself. This is already more power you can ever hope to have!

You snag the one you hear is best for your kind of lashes. 

But you find yourself scattering around all of the aisles but don’t buy that many things out of common decency. Even if someone like Gojo comes from a lot of money, it isn’t right. You just can’t help it though. He’s given you a taste already and you wish you could buy with your own money but that’s not a reality for you. You are going to allow yourself to indulge just this one time and then never again. As nice of a gesture it is from Gojo, you have not been raised a leech, and you’re not going to take advantage of someone’s generosity like that. So you give yourself an item limit but that doesn’t stop you from trying all of the samples of makeup and swatching the colors, asking for Gojo’s opinions and he tries to seem interested which is the nicest thing he could do for you.

All while you’re browsing, Gojo hangs back just to observe you. Admiring how lost you get in such a simple hobby to him and probably to everyone else. 

You just don’t realize how much he is truly paying attention to you. How much he wants to know more and more about you. Your likes. Your dislikes. What makes your eyes keep shining like that like they are here. 

Snapping discrete photos of the things you eye with longing but don’t toss into the basket for future reference. 

You test another lipstick shade in another brand aisle, then test it on Gojo’s cheek like you did before. A classic nude shade is something every girl needs, you tell him, and that’s all for the lipsticks. 

Once you grab all of your essentials you don’t even dare to so much glance at the receipt and neither does Gojo. Tossing it into the trash as soon as you both walk out. 

“So you don’t try to return anything out of guilt,” he explains with a little wink. “So, you still want to check out those designer stores?”

“Yes! Can we go to Chanel?” You clasp your hands together, doing your best to contain the fact that you may be a little too excited.

“Of course,” Gojo replies easily once again, “Anything.”

“I’m not buying anything! I just want to look,” you remind him as your hands rest on your hips, chin slightly raised. “You got me enough.”

You gesture to the bag he’s clutching with that huge hand of his, you can’t help but point out to yourself. And dang, you never have noticed before how long his fingers actually are… 

He follows your gaze, before glancing back at you and you catch onto what is a bit of a judgy stare in that he’s such a fucking nepo baby way. 

“There’s not even 10 items in here!” he argues with a fret. 

“Yeah but you forget my budget isn’t usually made for these items. You got me enough. Way more than enough,” you assure him, “Trust me. Let it go, Gojo. I let you buy me stuff already.”

“Fine, fine, waving the little white flag,” he quips while wagging a finger. “Now come on, we still have a whole day since that mission was cut short for us and the students.” 

“Alright, alright. Bossy,” you tease while flashing him a little smile and then planting another kiss on his cheek. Where this time he leans in completely prepared for. “Thank you, Gojo. You really didn’t have to. But this isn’t happening again.”

“Fine,” he relents, sagging his shoulders; he’s saying so to your face at least. You don’t know what he’s plotting behind that blindfold. But you choose to take his words at face value to spare him some dignity. 

You beam at him again, grabbing his free hand and leading him to the closest designer store. The same cycle continues. Your eyes twinkle like brilliant little galaxies upon the endless choices but you know you can’t really have them and you emphasized to Gojo again as you waltzed into the store together that you won’t let him buy anything more for you. 

But you still let yourself loose! Putting on a little fashion show for him. You grab an item you wish you could have for yourself. This piece feels vintage and soft, delicately crafted and sophisticated like everything else in these stores. You strike a few poses in front of a tall mirror and Gojo just watches idly on the sidelines as you enjoy yourself. Sometimes still capturing little snippets of you unguarded and you haven’t the slightest clue as you’re living out what you can only define as your dream life. These might make beautiful candids in his office or somewhere more private in his estate, but you have no idea he’s thinking that right then. You’re too busy having the time of your life. Grinning madly like you’re alight and carefree and you look absolutely stunning. 

And you don’t know that it’s absolutely killing him . It’s maddening, how well you flaunt yourself like this, like you’re dangling yourself in front of him, all his for the taking. 

You don’t know how he wants to bend you over and blow your back out in the middle of this fucking store, in the middle of the mall, in the back parking lot, or the parking deck. Anywhere. Everywhere. But you’re not his yet, but you’re dangling yourself in front of him like a tempting sin and he can’t take it. 

Not his mind, his body, his heart, his soul, and definitely not his aching cock straining through his boxers. 

It doesn’t seem like you notice either as you stride up to him, stars in your eyes as you show him another bag before putting it back. 

“Are we going to the other stores? Are you getting bored?” you ask, looking very much like you’re bouncing off the walls. Much like him when he’s consumed way too much sugar. 

“Of course. Anything,” he replies immediately repeating the same damn line but not before glancing away. “I have to take a quick trip to the washroom first. Do you want to grab a bite to eat too?”

You nod, following him out. You take the bag he was holding and wait for him by the restrooms. 

Thank God, you’re out of his line of sight for the moment. And the stalls are empty. Doubly thank God . No one has to watch someone as esteemed as Satoru Goio (not that the mortal world would know anything at all about someone like him) fist a few just because he can’t control himself. What is he, some kind of hormonal schoolboy? What the fuck! He’s got more class than this! 

Resorting to something like this… 

It’s unbecoming. So very unbecoming of a man known to be the strongest in this physical and metaphysical world. 

He can be quiet about all of this, even still. He just… 

He just needs to take care of this before he loses his fucking mind and takes you for himself. 

(Maybe he might have already been plotting how to do that. To shield you from a world who only looks at you one way and no other way.)

On some occasions, Shoko joins you and Gojo when he wants a little company. Shoko has said before that she considers him dear even if she playfully declares he’s trash like any other man. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t make time for him, though. Especially when there’s alcohol involved and she doesn’t have to worry about paying those ridiculously expensive tabs. 

You have gotten used to going out with them on work nights (which is honestly every night with Gojo, at least), and you have come to realize his expectations each time. This time you have gotten some pointers on how to make yourself a bit more put together with these transitions from Shoko and you can’t be more grateful. You haven’t delved into the world of beauty all that much before this, mostly because you’ve had no reason to and you only stuck to the bare basics, but now you have a bit more of a social life than you once had. 

And maybe you want to catch Gojo’s eye in another way and not just in terms of your potential as a sorcerer. 

You glance over your shoulder, frowning as you take note that Gojo has yet to pop out into the front schoolyard where you planned to meet together before driving off. The nighttime air is crisp but a bit nippy; you’re scrunching your nose each time you feel a feathery light gust of wind tickle your face, and the thick layer of foundation you beat all over your face to death with a beauty sponge isn’t doing you many favors in the world of uncomfortable sensory feelings. A part of you wants to claw your face off because you’re not used to full glam looks, even if this is a softer glam look. You prefer the light every day getup, ‘no makeup makeup’ or whatever these trendy girls call it, you wish you were as cool and trendy as they are but you feel like you fall behind on what’s cool all the time. 

You twist back around while admiring Shoko with stars in your eyes. God, you have so much inner work to do yourself! She seems to know everything about how to bring out your best self and she embodies an absolute goddess in your eyes. She’s an ethereal presence. Her chestnut brown hair flowing down to her buttocks, her slim figure and her heart shaped face are all downright enviable. She can have anyone she wants, and she probably knows it too. 

Man, what you’d give for confidence like hers. Gojo does have a point from before–a negative self image is no good and can interfere with your progress as a sorcerer yourself. Even if you’re not all that interested in power scaling, you still want to be able to protect the students and yourself when the situation calls for it. 

Shoko calls your name, and you snap back to reality, blinking owlishly as she lights herself another cigarette to burn through–how many of those has she had in one day already? Is she one of those types to smoke entire packs within a night or a whole 24 hours? It’s not like they’re actually going to kill her or anything from what you understand about reverse cursed technique, but that doesn’t mean destroying your body over and over just for the shits and giggles. 

“Why do you go hang out with Gojo without another thought?” Shoko asks you out of the blue as you grow increasingly impatient waiting for Gojo to get here–he’s probably working on wrapping up some things for future missions this week or something–and you purse your lips as you shrug off her question. 

“Everyone needs a friend,” you decide is your simple response. Shoko stares blankly at you but you remain firm in your answer. You don’t believe it needs any further elaboration. And technically, it really shouldn’t. You’re just not that kind of girl. The kind to just take advantage of someone just because you can get away with it. There’s nothing “in it” for you at all. Stripping away all of your layers, you’re truly just a simple girl at your core. 

But for some reason, Shoko doesn’t buy that answer right away. 

“Really? Are you absolutely sure about that? Is there something in it for you?” she prods, and of course you’re right on the money of her being unsure, but her tone isn’t accusatory or anything—she’s just trying to seek an understanding of your motives and truthfully you have none. Nothing outright malicious or self-motivating, anyway, like she likely suspects. “Don’t get me wrong. Satoru’s a dear friend of mine but he usually bribes me with drinks or the nicer cigarettes when I’m not particularly interested in doing something with him involved.”

“No,” you declare, once again, with full confidence, swiping a pocket mirror from your clutch and pouting your lips, touching up on your lipstick which has already smudged off a bit. It’s a nude shade that complements your features; you’re still a student when it comes to these things but the tips Shoko has offered you for a more “office appropriate” look has helped plenty. Besides, Gojo has bought you all of those nice luxury brands that are typically so out of your budget; why not put them to daily use like you should so they don’t go to waste and expire because you’re too afraid to use such nice things? 

You recall all of those suggestions of hers—a medium-buildable coverage skin tint, a natural, luminary blush, two mascaras that separate, lengthen, thicken, and hold your curls without getting too clumpy or smudge throughout the day. All put together with a soft glam eye shadow look. It’s perfect. The girl’s a fucking genius at this stuff. 

“Then why?” Shoko prods again, a little too insistently. You wonder why the fuss. Just like she must wonder why the fuss! Is Gojo that bad of a person to be around because you genuinely haven’t gotten that vibe? If anything else, he’s become a comfort to you. You have been kind of used to being alone too. It doesn’t feel as sad as it sounds, not like how it must feel for Gojo. 

You try not to seem a little dejected by the fact that Shoko is suspicious of you. It’s not like she knows you well, though… 

“Because it’s like I just said, everyone needs a friend! The kind of friend who doesn’t want anything from them in return, or at least doesn’t expect it,” you continue to her after stashing the tube of lipstick and pocket mirror back into the Chanel clutch you still are absolutely positive Gojo sent you after your last outing together. “He just, I don’t know. He seems kind of… I don’t know. Alone. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“We hardly have the time for our own struggles,” Shoko remarks, turning away with a wistful expression. “Why do you think I smoke so much?”

“Maybe that’s the problem with all of you guys,” you point out, not meaning to try to read people to filth here or anything like that as you’re fluffing your hair a little bit. You’re just starting to see a pattern. Ugh, these fucking flyaways! How does Shoko’s hair always look so perfect even in these conditions? That’s something else to ask advice about from her later… “You guys are too caught up in your own lives to notice what’s going on right in front of you. I’m not saying that to call anyone out; it’s just the way everyone’s wired, anyway. Human nature and stuff. We are too busy worrying about ourselves to worry about everyone else all the time. if we did that then we can’t live our damned lives, and that just can’t do. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to remind the people in your life that you care about them.”

Shoko frowns in response to that, burning through her current cigarette which is already halfway gone. Bits of ashes drop unceremoniously to the ground as she puffs out some smoke, mulling over your words, and something flashes in her eyes, like she’s flipping channels of so many memories in her mind but for some reason you doubt it involves Gojo and probably some other people she considers close to her.

“That’s a fair point, I guess,” she grunts, her eyes flashing again with something–something like grief or regret ? Over what? Do you pry or just keep it to yourself? 

“Is there something I’m missing about Gojo?” you finally demand of her, your tone thick with curiosity as ever like you’re trying to debug some kind of code. “You guys all keep rambling on about how he’s this peculiar character and yeah, I’m not denying it but what sorcerer isn’t a little crazy? Don’t you have to be in a profession like this, one where the majority of the population would write off as utter hocus pocus?” 

Shoko processes more of your rapid fire questions before shrugging, taking another shot at her cancer stick between her fingers which is nearly gone now. She burns through those like Gojo burns through all those sugary foods he ingests practically every second of every day.

“Spend more time with him and find out,” Shoko answers, probably more flippantly than she intends to sound, flicking more ash off of her cigarette as a wry smile plays on those juicily glossed lips of hers. You almost want to pout at how she seems to have everything figured out for herself–from the way she carries herself to the way she shows up for herself too. Dark sultry eye makeup with a flawless makeup base and when she decks herself out, she decks herself out . You can’t recognize her sometimes outside of work when she’s having too much fun cutting up dead bodies and putting together autopsies or beautifying dead bodies or whatever else she does as a healer  “It’s never a dull moment. Love the guy to death, but even I have my limits with him.”

“No one is easy to be around,” you admonish with a sigh. “Not even me. I know my shortcomings or at least the ones I’ve been made aware of thus far. With that kind of logic, you won’t have anyone around you.”

“That’s…also a fair point,” Shoko acknowledges with a nod, more bits of ashes dropping to the concrete below. “I guess I might have some reflecting to do. But you know, I have noticed Gojo becoming a little more relaxed these days. You’re probably why.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggle, hinting at a bit of uncertainty. “I’m just little old me.”

“And that might be someone Gojo needs,” she adds with a little wink, before her gaze flits to your purse. “You still haven’t made a guess on who’s been sending you these expensive gifts? Who else do you know likes to spend money without any regard for how much it is?”

You follow her gaze to the purse before shaking your head in response. 

“Well of course I know it’s Gojo,” you admit bashfully as you ponder her other words. Gojo is a perfectly capable man who doesn’t rely on anyone. Surely he doesn’t need someone like you around, right? “No one else around here is made of money like he is. And I doubt someone like Gojo needs someone like me.”

“How can you be so sure?” she teases in a singsong tone. “I’m just saying—he clearly doesn’t hide the fact, either.”

You don’t really know how to respond or react to that. You aren’t going to deny it, not really. Gojo has been a lot more attentive with you than anyone else, and he’s known Shoko since they went to high school right here at Jujutsu Tech together. She has to know so much more about him than even she cares to know about Satoru Gojo and maybe there’s a part of you that wants to badger her for all of the information she might have on him for… reasons .

Hm. Maybe there is something in it for you, but you expect absolutely nothing regardless. You don’t want to be like those people who try to be someone’s friend just to get with them. That’s not really being someone’s friend. That’s being a total weirdo and no one wants to be that guy.

“I should say I also commend you for a character like yours,” Shoko admits after a moment of reflection–maybe she does have to check in with herself too more than you realize. There must be a lot she’s hiding from everyone too. “We don’t see authenticity like that around here these days so it’s probably a breath of fresh air for Satoru too.”

“I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are, Miss Ie—I mean, Shoko,” you stammer as a blush rushes to your cheeks. 

“I’m not insinuating anything,” she teases, pinching your cheek. “But it has been a while since Satoru has acted like this. Not since…” She holds off on finishing that thought, which again piques your interest but you don’t poke and prod the bear with the stick, and instead she settles with: “Yeah, not since a while.”

Your forehead wrinkles a bit as you ponder her words. 

Now you’re only left in the dark much more than you already have been in the world of jujutsu sorcerers. You are still a fledgling yourself, yet right off the bat Gojo determines you should be bumped up to grade 2. Not only that but you learn that Satoru Gojo is something like a quasi-religious figure around here, possessing both the Limitless and Six Eyes cursed techniques which hasn’t been a thing for centuries, apparently. He’s the strongest special grade out there to exist, but he has admitted to you and to the higher ups that there are going to be many who surpass the special grade rank and by extension may surpass him. He expects that of Itadori, Fushiguro, and Okkatsu, in particular, but he hopes for that for the future generations as a whole. 

Still, these don’t really fill in many blanks for you. You don’t understand why everyone’s got their reservations over Gojo; if anything, he’s so arrogant and haughty because he can back up his claims and that must grind everyone’s gears. To a certain extent you can understand the frustration everyone has with him, but that can’t be all there is to it. Then again, you have only been on Jujutsu Tech grounds for what, five months or something like that now, tops? You still have so much to see in how he interacts with the others. Other superiors, other colleagues, but with his students, they seem to enjoy his company… (well, at least Itadori seems to; the second years have a few choice words on how to describe him.)

“Did I leave you ladies waiting?” you hear a voice call out to the two of you. 

Your head snaps up to find Gojo carrying dozens of bags hooked around all of his slender fingers. You can’t help but giggle at the sight because it reminds you of the times you did the same thing to spare you another trip to the trunk with all of your purchases. 

“What’s all this?” you question with a smile. Gojo pauses before answering, as if a little taken aback by a change in you. Probably he’s noticed you put a little more effort to look more business appropriate, actually with a full face of (hopefully passable) makeup… 

“You look lovely, I-I mean, as always, of course,” he coughs before he sets all of the bags aside. “And ah, I just tend to splurge a little. Stuff for the school, stuff for the students, stuff for me…” 

“That’s sweet of you,” you comment before you cradle the Chanel clutch in both your hands and present it to him. “So does this mean you actually are the one responsible for this?”

Gojo’s face falls for a split second before bouncing back. “Did you not like the color choice? I still have the receipt and I can change it o—!”

—You raise your hand to cut him off. 

“I only started using these because I have no idea if I should return these to you, but now I do,” you interject with a little chuckle. “If this is your way to thank me for hanging out with you all of those times, I don’t need an incentive for it, Gojo. I’m happy to hang out with you because we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Gojo beams at that. “Of course we are! Just, you know! Don’t worry about the gifts. Use ‘em or don’t—I just like giving gifts, and um, you deserve them, and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Shoko quips, shooting Gojo a look with a little wraggle of those perfectly groomed eyebrows of hers. Gods you’re so jealous of her effortless beauty. “Real suave, Satoru.”

“Like you know how to charm a girl’s pants off,” Satoru shoots back. 

“I think we know who gets more pussy between the two of us,” Shoko deadpans.

You can’t help snorting at that. Why do people find this guy so off-putting? It honestly seems like he tries really hard to bring some light into the situation since life as a sorcerer is far from peaceful. If he finds you refreshing, then you find his character just as refreshing right back. 

“Girl, yes, show ‘em,” you cackle into your hand. Shoko grins at your words of encouragement and Gojo’s posture slumps at that. 

“No more expensive alcohol for you,” he huffs like an insolent toddler, folding his arms over his chest. Shoko doesn’t seem all that bothered, shrugging him off. 

“I’ve been meaning to swear off that stuff anyway.” At some point between all of the silly banter she’s tossed the butt of her cigarette away and admits that she’s finished another pack. 

“God, you really have to nip that nasty habit in the bud,” Gojo suggests with a sly little grin and a cock of his head. Shoko rolls her eyes. 

“Cry me a river. We all have our thing. Mine’s smoking. Yours is sweets. One step at a time or whatever,” she answers, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “Are you two ready to go?”

“Where do you plan to keep all of those bags?” you query, and Gojo’s eyebrows flash. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he replies after considering your question. “Let me do that real quick, actually.”

Gojo strolls off with those items and returns just moments later with a thumbs up. Shoko has a look on her face that you almost want to call her out on but you decide to hold your tongue for the time being. You tap your foot on the earth beneath you as Gojo shuffles back to the two of you after storing away all of those various ‘goods’ he’s stocked up on that you can’t help but be a little curious about. Gojo tosses you a little grin and you find yourself grinning back, and as soon as that happens you can feel Shoko’s scrutiny seep deeper and deeper into your soul and you are absolutely tempted to call her out on it until Gojo speaks up.

“Okay, now I’m ready to go!” Gojo announces, his gaze fixing on you, which Shoko definitely takes into account as she’s still assessing you with that fucking look in her eyes that says ‘ nothing in it for you, huh? ’  “I was just kidding about the no expensive alcohol part, Shoko.”

“I figured,” Shoko chuckles, “Now stop eye fucking her and let’s go.”

You hide your face as it reddens an even darker shade, if that’s even possible at thai point.

“I-I was not!” Gojo blubbers and Shoko cackles back at his face as his posture slumps a bit again. Even if you're suppressing the urge to bust up laughing at his reaction, mostly because you do not expect it, acting like he’s been caught red handed doing something completely unforgivable. 

“Uh-huh,” Shoko scoffs as she saunters off with the two of you following close behind her. 

You catch Gojo sneaking a few glances at you. You don’t seem to mind that at all and are actually feeling your heart soar to the heavens. But you notice something else. Him inching a pinky toward yours. You try to bite back a little hint of a grin but fail, so you initiate, curling yours around his and you can hear the faintest sound of a contented sigh escape his lips. 

Shoko’s back is still to the both of you, her hips flouncing as she walks like she has no care for the world what the two of you do. You hope you’re not giving her the impression that she’s the third wheel because it’s not like the two of you are together or anything like that. As far as you know. You have already written off the possibility of you and Gojo ever being a thing. He’s so far out of your reach but he seems happy being all touchy with you like he is your boyfriend and for some reason you don’t have an issue with that. 

Well of course you don’t have an issue with that. This is the closest you’re ever going to get, and that’s perfectly all fine and good with you. Besides, you have reminded yourself that you’re not in it for yourself. Gojo is happy to have found some kind of comfort in you, and that’s your goal. 

“Sheesh, Shoko’s too eager to get absolutely shitfaced on all that beer,” Gojo leans in and whispers into your ear. “But she has the strongest alcohol tolerance I have ever seen. Reverse cursed technique is pretty dang awesome once you get the hang of it, but it’s easier said than done. Took me forever to figure out how to use it.”

”Are you gossiping about me back there, Satoru?” Shoko accuses as she tosses her head over her shoulder. 

“No ma’am,” he vows, “Just giving her the 411 on your drinking abilities.”

”So you’re admitting to gossiping, you useless shitstain,” Shoko snorts but she doesn’t seem to take it that seriously. You still aren’t sure what the dynamic is between them, but they do seem closer than everyone else here. 

“Oops!” Gojo hollers back at her with a little snicker. “Keep walking those thick ass fucking thighs of yours so we can get to our ride, pissface.”

”Oh, that’s a new one! And you wish you had these thighs, fuckface!” Shoko shouts with her tone laced in sarcasm as they approach the parking deck. She refuses to allow Gojo to ‘warp’ them everywhere. You have yet to experience what that’s like. Having cursed techniques like Gojo’s must come with so many perks like getting to mimic flying and shit. You still are not sure what you can do with your techniques.

Now you’re practically in stitches at their exchanges. They’re riots around each other. Shoko’s not kidding about there never being a dull moment, but why does she say so with it laced with some negative connotations? There must be something you’re missing in this picture but you’re not putting two and two together. All you know is that you enjoy Gojo’s company and Gojo enjoys your company just as much, and just because everyone else keeps their distance doesn’t mean that you have to because you don’t find Gojo burdensome like everyone around you seems to. Maybe there’s something there, something where you have yet to scratch the surface and unravel, but who the hell knows? 

As you follow Shoko, you don’t miss Gojo’s hand grazing your pinky now dropping to rest on the small of your back. You peer up at him with curiosity twinkling in your stare; what’s going on in his mind? Why’s he–? Suddenly that sharp prickle of goosebumps scatter across your arms as you catch onto some men staring you down around the block. 

Your eyes flit to different areas of the street ahead once you exit Jujutsu Tech grounds; is he trying to make a statement, or something? 

“Gojo?” you mutter, as you attempt to shy away from his touch. “No one’s going to try anything, you know?”

His mouth twitches as he glances down at you, slipping his hand away and allowing it to fall back to its side. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, “You never know with men , you know? You can trust me on that one.”

Should you have paid closer attention you may have caught onto the fact that he might be calling himself out there. But you shrug off his behavior as you finally approach where Shoko parked her sedan in one of the parking garages, but Gojo’s still on high alert, scouting any potential threats like you’re easy prey or something.

You just give him one final curious glance before hopping into the backseat, Gojo deciding to join you back there. Shoko starts her car and pulls out of the parking area, not before making some quip to Gojo about something you have no context over, and neither bother to fill you in on the topic. It’s probably not something that concerns you anyway; you’re going to focus on a night out with your friends.

And they are your friends. You’re glad Shoko considers you as one, and that Gojo thinks of you as one. Even if it is still way too intimate to call him Satoru for some reason no matter how much he insists you absolutely can call him that. You really are adjusting to life here a little better than you think, and while the progress may be gradual, you have a feeling it’s just going to get better for you from here.

[actual-changeling]

i think one of the reasons why crowley and aziraphale stuck together for six thousand years is because when it comes down to it, they have pretty much the same problems—they're just at entirely different stages of dealing with it.

aziraphale sees god and wants to be what he thinks she wants him to be. everything they've been told as angels amounts more or less to the same personality blue-print, and he is trying to fit himself into. unfortunately, as even he realises, there is so much wrong with the standards and ideologies, his goal is not only unachievable but also fundamentally fucked up.

his current solution for that is to compartmentalise the parts that don't make sense to him and otherwise try to get as close to it as possible without abandoning what he has of himself.

meanwhile crowley never fit into that shape to begin with, not even remotely, and he fell from grace because of it. all that pain, rejection, and suffering, but there are still standards, simply different ones compared to before. if you don't fit into one shape, you're supposed to squeeze yourself into the other—but he doesn't want to.

crowley wants his freedom, to be him, whatever that turns out to mean, and he wants aziraphale there with him, and yet he cannot fully let go of god.

they're both looking at the sky and screaming love me back.

aziraphale continues because i can be what you want me to be, while crowley says i'm still your child, i still want to be wanted but for myself—you made me like this, love me like this.

they're both terrified of the way the other is dealing with it, which is why they split; it was never about miscommunication, it's a fundamental difference in beliefs that cannot be combined.

crowley could never go back to obeying that way and aziraphale cannot fathom giving up on it just yet (though in season 3 he hopefully FINALLY will).

[ninibeingdelulu]

heyy could you write any headcannons you have in mind about Levi in a “relationship” with one of his female scout? Whatever you have in mind cuz i like the way you picture him

headcanons ft. levi ackerman

a/n: hii ty for requesting I LOVE this

At first, dating humanity's strongest and most renowned soldier feels utterly surreal. You go through bouts of imposter syndrome wondering how someone as incredible as Captain Levi could desire an ordinary scout like yourself.

His icy demeanor and prickly standoffishness in public make it easy to forget the softer side he only allows you to witness behind closed doors.

Levi is an incredibly private person, so keeping your blossoming relationship on the down-low is a must around the scout regiment.

No overt PDA or unprofessional doting - he maintains strict boundaries while on duty. Only in fleeting moments does the faintest hint of tenderness shine through his steely facade directed solely at you.

Perhaps his hand lingers electric against the small of your back as you salute and depart his office after filing reports. Or you notice his piercing gaze following your movements a beat longer than necessary across the grounds.

Each covert caress and weighted look reminds you this guarded man longs for you just as desperately.

While out beyongdthe safety of the walls, however, a transformed sort of protectiveness takes over Levi. His hyper-awareness of your positioning and safety borders on smotheringly paranoid at times.

He simply cannot fathom losing one of the few tethers still binding his soul to living.

You've lost count of the number of times Levi has abruptly extracted you from the heat of battle using his ODM gear like a ragdoll - eyes blazing with frantic fear.

Only once you're tucked away in some temporary haven does he finally allow himself to cup your face tenderly, scanning you over for injuries through trembling palms.

Harsh words laced with worry always tumble from his lips during these fraught reunions. "Foolish brat...always taking unnecessary risks...would never forgive myself if—"

Whatever self-recriminations Levi begins spitting will instantly evaporate as you surge up on your tiptoes to silence him with a searing kiss. Your reassurances that you're perfectly unharmed gradually smooth down those worry-lines etched across his brow.

Assuming you survive each expedition unscathed, Levi becomes almost insatiable for your affection whenever your boots hit headquarters ground again.

As if proximity to death's cold embrace reignites the urgency to savor every possible second with his greatest source of warmth and comfort.

He'll stride directly up to wherever you're stationed, seize you by the elbow and all but frog-march you both down the halls to his personal quarters.

Once the door bangs shut, Levi finally releases that ragged groan you've come to recognize as pooled tension seeping out like a valve opening.

All it takes is your delicate fingertips cradling his face and lips seeking out the jump of his pulse in that elegant throat...and suddenly you find yourself pinned flat against the nearest wall.

Every sacred inch of your body abruptly scorched and worshipped with ardent, possessive fervor.

Long after the afterglow of your frantic lovemaking has faded to drowsy embers, Levi's stormy gaze still rakes over you with mingled awe and disbelief.

As if whatever deity charged with spinning the threads of this cruel world saw fit to weave this small but brilliant spark of solace into the tapestry of his life.

Each time he rediscovers you lying sated and tousled beside him, you become the gravity lashing his heart into orbit anew.

On nights when memories of carnage past seep like toxic fumes into blacking out his dreams, Levi clings tighter to your sleeping form than he's ever dared to anything else.

You are his lighthouse, hearth and sanctuary against the darkness continually attempting to extinguish his faltering flames.

Enduring the loss of so many admired comrades has made your captain extraordinarily skilled at donning an impenetrable mask.

Only when your hands and lips and limbs entangle with his does Levi's stillness gradually erode back into the fiery embers burning hot at his very core.

No words need transpire for him to silently thank you time after time for slicing through the ice barricading his war-torn soul.

One look from those stormy greys conveys everything he can never find the breath to articulate before crushing you tight against his rapidly thundering heart once more.