#I guess it catches like a disease

[karouvas]

“your affection is a promise you couldn’t keep” 🥲

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

So embarrassed for him

[derpinette]

i have a weird relationship with weight because i hated eating more than anything the moment i was ready for solids ( i hate chewing with my entire life always have & will ) which made me underweight for most of my life ( to this day ) & during late primary-middle school this made me actively suicidal because i felt like something was wrong with my sex because i just was not developing whatsoever prompting me to have a years long phase of trying to gain weight in any way i could ( #EPICFAIL by the way ) & i was already insecure but i felt seriously so unforgivably ugly after bullying not just at school but by adults of my entourage. but then i did in my late 15s which prompted the pendulum to swing in the other direction & suddenly i FREAKED OUT & thought well being skinny is pretty much all i have & know myself to be & clearly it is not going to last forever so i Better preserve it i was delusional about how skinny i thought i was actually i look stumpy & weird i have to prove myself. But now i am normal again kind of

[arundolyn]

oh my fucking god why is rebirth, immortal advent so good im going to go crazyinsane

[dbphantom]

Hmmm lungs and throat pain. Don't like that.

[durn3h]

I don't think I'll ever forget that one time I made a post something to the effect of "need a qt gf" and that 30something lady that looks like a meth addict tried to slide into my dms

[lowkeyrobin]

MINHO ; just like the rain

summary ; youre the rain to minhos storm clouds

warnings ; language, talk about mental health and self hate, mentions of death

track ; rain, sleep token

word count ; 874

masterlist

Minho was fairly reserved and didn't talk to many when he had the opportunity to. He'd lost friends, his memories, his life, coming to the Glade. He lost everything and for what, to run around a giant maze for the rest of his life? He was trapped in a cycle of sleep, eat, run, map, eat, and sleep, and he had been for years now. He felt worthless, and hated himself deep down. Thomas and Newt knew but didn't know how to help over his shrugging off of the situation. They decided if he needed to talk, he would if he wanted to or if he was ready.

But, upon your arrival, he found some sort of comfort in you. Your calm and friendly demeanor just had him spill himself one night at another Greenie bonfire. You listened to him talk for hours and gave him a whole motivational speech and reassured him he'd be alright.

And now, he could finally say that the viscous cycle of overworking and hating himself was over, and it had been since the first time you smiled at him.

You were the rain to his storm clouds.

Just like the rain, you cast the dust -his self hatred- into nothing. You washed the salt in his wounds from his hands.

You had your hooks in him, drawing him closer and closer each and everyday. He could see you in his dreams and in his fate, yet still deny the persistent questions from Newt and Thomas, and even Fry and Winston.

He went out of his way after spending hours in the map room just to talk to you and hear all about your day. Even the sound of your voice comforted him and sent a shiver, almost a tingling sensation, up his spine and into his brain.

He jogs to your side, wondering what you're up to at this hour at night. You snuck out in the middle of the night, wanting to feel the cold, wet rain against your skin for a bit. It wasn't pouring but it wasn't lightly sprinkling either, a fair amount of water soaking you.

His feet almost fall beneath him due to the mud under the grass, making him lightly gasp as he reaches out to you, now turning around as you heard him.

"Y/n!" He gasps, recalculating his footing to not fall.

You quickly reach your arm out for him and catch him at the forearm. You steadily help him back on his feet with a smile and chuckle while his face heats up from embarrassment.

"You good?" You ask, wiping away any stray rain around your eyes before it seeped in, not wanting to try and be bothered by it in the moment.

He nods, looking away for a moment. "What're you doing out here?"

You shrug, loosely hanging onto his wrist, not noticing, although he does. "Enjoying the rain"

"Why?"

"...It's nice, I guess. Makes me feel like there's hope outside the Glade"

He nods, seeing and feeling you drop his wrist. He slings an arm around your shoulder, a usual act of affection between you two.

You hear the rain pitter and patter against the Homestead as the force of the little raindrops increases. However, it’s soothing. You feel like you can stand here with Minho forever. He provided an odd comfort, even when silent, as just knowing he’s there beside you could rid you of any worries or fears.

"Are you not cold?" He asks, feeling goosebumps rise along his arms and legs.

You shake your head no with a shrug, "Why, are you?" You tease with a smile.

"No, no, no. Definitely not." He defensively speaks, playing into the joke as he retracts his arm from your shoulders and crosses them. His sassy personality was showing through even in the middle of the night. "I'm never cold, ever"

"I'd be really concerned if you were never cold, Minho. Maybe we should send a note down with the box asking about it" You speak, playing around with him. "Maybe we should stop hanging out. What if it's a contagious disease?"

"No, no, I mean, just get cold! Just like, not around you," He shrugs, taking back his last words.

"Oh?" You question, your lips curling into a smirk. "Around me?"

"I, uhm-"

"Hm?"

Before you can process what he's doing, Minho swiftly moves his hands to your jawline and smashes your lips together. You swear you hear a lightning strike as he does so, and rest your hands on his shoulders, not denying this new act of affection. You could get used to this.

You're the first to pull away, shocked and confused.

"Minho?"

He's silent, face burned up as he can't look at you.

"Min-"

"Don't talk about it"

You take a moment to think before patting him on the shoulder, turning back towards the Homestead.

"I'm going back to bed. Enjoy the rain"

He nods, crossing his arms again as he looks out towards the Deadheads again. He hears you slowly trudge off across the Glade, the squishing of the mud and wet grass below you drowning out as you walk further and further away.

"Damnit"

"Language!"

"How the hell did you just hear me?!"

[vaspider]

My question about the AIDS crisis, I'm mostly asking you because like I said, I don't think I was googling the right things, so even if you could just suggest some things to google that would be more likely to get me answers, that would be really helpful.

I guess it's mostly how did AIDS (and to some extent, any STD) become so widespread? I know that it spread through sexual contact and shared blood, but can you really "six degrees of separation" (god, that sounds so flippant, but i genuinely can't think how else to describe it) a chain of sexual partners and shared needles through any two people with HIV in the entire world? Maybe it's just because I'm a bit of a hermit, but while I can understand how it was so devastating once it was already widespread, I guess I'm having trouble understanding how it got such a foothold in the first place. If the first person with HIV had happened to not have a lot of sex would the AIDS crisis never have happened?

I swear I have absolutely no judgement for people that like to have a lot of sex, maybe I just have an underestimate of the amount of sex the average person has because frankly I don't have any? So I hope this doesn't sound disrespectful or anything, it's just kind of hard for me to believe those "six degrees of separation" kind of things in general when it's not like, famous people, so the realization that theoretically any two people with the same STD, on different parts of the globe, would have this string of sexual partners connecting them almost feels like there has to be something I'm missing... But when I'm googling things like "how did HIV become so widespread" and "how do STDs spread" I'm just getting things about how you should use protection and histories of *where* HIV spread rather than answering this more specific question (probably didn't help I was trying to do this research at 1am)

I mean this as kindly as possible:

What is your proposed alternate theory as to the spread of a disease which is transmitted through contact with blood, semen (and pre-seminal fluid), rectal and vaginal fluids, and breast milk? The disease does not spread through saliva or through touch which does not involve those fluids.

There are relatively rare cases of HIV spread through accidental needle sticks - according to WebMD, there are approximately 385k accidental needle sticks among health care workers per year in the US. WHO says that .7% of the global population has HIV, so for some back-of-the-napkin math, at most, you'll have about 2,700 of those needle sticks involving someone with HIV. Since (again, according to that WebMD article on accidental needle sticks), in cases of an accidental needle stick where the patient has HIV, the health care worker only has about a 1 in 300 chance of catching it (as opposed to 1 in 3 for an unvaccinated person catching hepatitis B via accidental needle stick from an infected patient). So - nationwide - you have approximately 9 people per year catching HIV from a needle stick.

And, to be clear, that fucking sucks. However, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, in 2022 there were approximately 14.7 million health care workers in the US. Not all of these people have equal risk for accidental needle sticks, but there's only so much research I'm gonna do for rough math to answer an ask on Tumblr.

The average US health care worker has approximately - again, based on my back-of-the-napkin math - 0.00000544% chance of contracting HIV from an accidental needle stick. It's astronomically more likely that a random health care worker will die from tripping over an extension cord or breathing in a caustic chemical than that they will catch HIV.

The chances of getting HIV via blood transfusion before we started routinely testing for it were all but assured if you got blood from someone with HIV. Testing now is so stringent that you have about a one in two million chance of getting HIV from a transfusion. The last recorded case I could find was in 2010, and before that, it was 2002, and the 2010 case happened in part because the donor lied about his risk profile and often participated in anonymous and unprotected sex with partners of multiple genders. He really shouldn't have been accepted as a donor at all. Approximately 4.5 million Americans receive blood transfusions per year, so, like, nowadays, it is excessively unlikely, but even in the 80s, it was an edge case means of infection, not a main source of pandemic spread.

A breastfeeding parent with a detectable viral load has about a 15% chance of transmitting HIV through breast milk. Likewise, HIV can be - and was - transmitted to babies during birth because of contact with vaginal fluid or blood, but, again, these relative edge cases are not the things pandemics are made of.

I want to stress that I am not in any way minimizing the absolute tragedy of the AIDS crisis, and I am not dismissing the fact that these methods of transmission are possible and did cause significant disruption to blood banks, stress for pregnant people with HIV, and so on. They just simply are not major methods of transmission, and never were.

With all of that said... what is your proposed alternate method of transmission, with these facts in hand? What do you think happened? Genuinely, this question is so baffling to me.

I think it's important to understand that before the emergence of HIV, most of the STIs we had were at that point either considered an annoyance (warts, HPV) or were extremely easy to treat and cure (syphilis, once a death sentence, became basically a non-issue for most people in the US as long as they were getting tested relatively frequently, and most other common STIs even today can be cured with a single course or even a single dose of antibiotics).

With that in mind, a lot of people, including a lot of queer people, were having a lot of unprotected sex. For people who could become pregnant, the advent of the pill and access to legal abortion meant that they didn't have to become or stay pregnant if they didn't want to, and for cis gay men, the prevalence of antibiotics meant that the vast majority of STIs were a brief inconvenience at worst.

So allo people did one of the things that allo people (and some ace people!) love to do:

They fucked. A lot. They fucked without fear of much consequence in terms of infection, and because it was much riskier to bring someone home where you could be seen, a lot of gay men cruised, fucking in parks or in literal back alleys or the bathrooms of clubs. They worried about getting arrested or getting caught and having their names in the newspaper much more than they worried about STIs. Sex workers, including trans sex workers, fucked in cars or hotels or... wherever the money was, because survival sec work is ... survival.

So... yeah. What is your proposed alternate theory, here? I am truly baffled at what you think otherwise happened, given a disease with a very narrow route of infection.

[sailor-aviator]

We Abide: Chapter One

We Abide: Chapter One

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: It had started out as a small outbreak, but as weeks passed, it was clear there was no turning back. The disease spread quickly, and those who caught it and were unlucky enough to survive? Their minds were no longer their own, driven to hunting what was left of humanity. Your friend had gone West to help aid in recovery efforts before the world stopped, and now you found yourself trekking across the country to try and find her. You were fine on your own, only the company of your dog to help keep you sane, but your reputation catches up with you when a cocky man decides to tag along. (Apocalypse!AU)

Content Warning: Summer heat, allusions to PTSD, Graphic violence, Reader is attacked by a monster, Depictions of mortal wound, Graphic descriptions of blood, Death, Survival mode, Cursing, Crying, Flirting, Older father figure. I think that's it, but PLEASE let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 4.5k

Series Masterlist || Playlist || Moodboard 1 || Moodboard 2 || Tyler Moodboard

Sweat dripped down your forehead, the summer sun beating down on your brow even between the dense foliage of the trees up above. You supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the damn humidity that seemed to grip your throat like a vice. You stopped in your tracks, the snapping of the twigs beneath your feet sounding amongst the forest noises. Cicadas screamed angrily all around you, the tweeting of birds filling the air as they swooped up above.

You slumped against a nearby tree, tilting your head back to try and feel some of the warm breeze that trickled by, offering little comfort from the heat. If you had to guess, it was probably around July about that time. You didn’t keep a close enough eye on the date as you traveled, and quite frankly, it didn’t worry you all that much.

You closed your eyes against the blinding sun, reaching blindly for the water bottle you kept tucked away in your backpack. You frowned at how light the canister felt in your hands, the sloshing of the liquid within causing you to sigh. You were running low again, and you couldn’t be sure as to the safety of the water in this area. Hopefully, you’d run across an abandoned house or survivor community soon. Judging by the map, you weren’t too far from Lake Beaver. You had seen the “Welcome to Arkansas” sign only a couple hours prior, so it would make sense that you were closing in on the large body of water at this point.

The thought of soaking in the cool, lake water nearly made you sigh in relief. You hated the heat—always had. Of course, you grew up in one of the hottest areas of the country, the AC often giving out in those early years until your father finally broke down and bought a new one. You’d sit in front of that window unit for hours, just enjoying the cold air until your mother harped at you for blocking the cool air from getting to the rest of the house.

Rustling to your left pulled you from your thoughts, your head jerking forward as your eyes snapped open. You reached back to pull the hatchet out from the confines of your pack, body tensing as you crouched into a ready position. It wasn’t often that you encountered a snapper during the daylight hours, but it had happened enough that you knew you couldn’t take the chance.

The sound of a twig snapped, and you braced yourself, drawing your arm back to strike when a figure bounded forward.

You let out a startled gasp, eyes wide as your brain processed what was happening. The dog was a large, mixed breed, shaggy red fur and facial features indicating it was mixed with golden retriever and something else that you couldn’t quite place. Big, brown eyes stared up at you as it trotted forward, tail wagging excitedly as it stopped to sniff at your feet.

You let the hatchet drop to your side, a scowl on your face as placed a hand on your hip.

“Dammit, Mars,” you groused, crouching down so that you were eye level with the mutt. His tail wagged faster at the mention of his name, stepping forward and relishing in the touch you were giving him as you scratched behind his ear.

“You nearly died just then, you know,” you admonished, but Mars paid you no mind, head jerking to the side as something caught his attention. Probably a squirrel.

“What were you up to, anyway?” You asked, standing straight as the dog trotted off with his nose to the ground. You watched after him for a moment, wondering how he managed to keep up so much energy amidst the miserable heat. With a shake of your head, you put your items away before pushing off of the tree trunk.

You’d heard mention of a survivor community around those parts, the folks up near the outskirts of Springfield and Branson assuring you that you’d find folks down this way who would aid you on your journey.

It had been a year and a half since you left New York, if you had to guess. You had trekked down along the eastern seaboard, stopping at the different communities you could find along the way. Most welcomed you in, offering you food and a place to stay, others wanted an exchange of some kind, and you found that you were surprisingly adept at hunting. Still, there was the occasional community that didn’t welcome you at all, rather chasing you out of the area and back onto the road.

The locals up in Missouri had assuaged your fears, however, assuring you that the folks of Beaver Lake would welcome you just as they had.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you whistled for Mars, the mutt perking up before bounding back towards you.

“Let’s hoof it,” you told him, readjusting the strap on your pack. “I want to get there before nightfall.”

You came upon the water maybe an hour later, the promise of cool relief nearly tempting you to stop and enjoy it. You eyed the horizon, the sun slowly inching downwards, and you let out a longing sigh as you forced yourself to continue. You stuck by the edge of the water, sure that the survivors would stick near the fresh body of water. You saw the splash of fish, making a mental note to try your hand at fishing before you left. If you caught enough, you could use them to barter for other goods or use them as a repayment for hospitality. The folks in Missouri had been kind, refusing to barter, but there was no telling what the people of Beaver Lake would want.

The sun sunk lower and lower past the trees, and a coolness began to creep into the air. You still had about an hour or two of light, if you had to guess, and you were hoping you’d come across the settlement sooner rather than later. You’d spent many nights out in the new wilderness by yourself, and while it wasn’t ideal, you knew you could hold your own against a snapper or two. But, there’d been once or twice when you’d caught sight of a large grouping of them, creeping along the ground as you sat in an abandoned home or up in the branches of a tree. They never bothered with Mars, much, the snap of his teeth enough to deter the wayward snapper if they did happen across his hiding spot.

The sound of a motor caught your attention, Mars’ ears perking alongside you. Your head snapped towards the water, watching as a small motorboat made its way towards the dock just a little ways ahead of you. You saw two figures on the boat, one steering and the other looking out over the edge towards where you stood.

As the boat drew closer, you began walking once more, albeit faster this time and with Mars hot on your tail.

The boat docked as you trotted up onto the wood of the platform, your steps echoing as you approached.

“Ain’t ever seen you ‘round these parts,” one of the men said as his companion tied the boat to a post. “Wasn’t sure if you was snapper or friend.”

“Friend, I hope,” you offered smoothly, earning a grunt from the same man. The other finished tying his knot, standing straight to look at you. Both men were older, perhaps somewhere in their late forties or early fifties with graying hair and weathered faces. The man who spoke to you had clear, blue eyes that assessed you with curiosity, the man next to him watched you with caution in his dark eyes.

The first man brought a hand up to scratch his bearded chin thoughtfully.

“You the one then?” He asked gruffly, eyes drifting down to watch Mars seated next to you. “The one my buddy up in Cassville radioed me about? What’s it they call you? The Wanderer?”

You held back a scowl at the mention of the moniker you had earned on your travels. No one traveled as far as you did, if they did at all. The only ones that moved outside of the communities these days were those running supplies to and fro.

“I’d rather you didn’t call me that, actually,” you told them, supplying them with your name instead. The man repeated it, mulling it over before nodding slowly.

“Alright then, little miss. I suppose you’ll be wanting a place to stay then, hm?” He asked. His friend stepped past him and onto the dock, grabbing a box that jangled with its contents before walking down the dock and towards a shack that lay past the water’s edge.

“It’d be nice,” you agreed, watching as he grabbed a box of his own to carry towards the shack. “I don’t have much to barter with at the moment, though.”

“Well, we can worry about all that later. How’s about you grab a box or two and help us unload? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can head back to LaRue and get you settled.”

You followed suit, grabbing a box that was much heavier than it looked and catching yourself before you stumbled back into the water. You fell into an easy rhythm between the blue-eyed man—Bill as you would later learn his name was—and Les.

About a half hour later, the boat was fully unloaded, and you sat on the back bench across from Bill as Les prepared the boat for departure. The sun sank lower towards the horizon now, level with the surrounding treeline. You bounced your leg in a nervous habit that you had never quite been able to shake, only stopping when you caught Bill watching you.

“You nervous?” He asked finally. In the short time you had known the two men, it was clear that Bill was the talker.

You shrugged, pressing your lips together and picking at the skin around your fingernails—another bad habit you had yet to break.

“Y’ain’t got nothin’ to be nervous about,” he assured you, leaning forward on his knee. “You’re somethin’ of a legend, you know. Folks around LaRue have been itchin’ to see if you’d make it this way. The young ones ‘specially’ll be all up and over you when we get there, I reckon.”

You always felt a little embarrassed whenever your newfound celebrity status was brought up to you. You didn’t consider yourself famous in the slightest, and quite frankly you were surprised there weren’t more people like you out and looking for their loved ones. You supposed, though, that making a trip cross country on foot was an asinine idea in this world—especially with the snappers posing a looming threat on all those caught unawares. You’d had a couple of close calls to be sure, a snapper sneaking up on you in the Appalachian mountains had come the closest to doing some permanent damage.

It had been snowing that day, and you’d cut it close with finding some kind of shelter. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon, and Mars had still been small enough to fit in your backpack. Your breaths came out in clouded puffs, your legs shaking with exertion when you stumbled upon the tiny cabin. A relieved sigh had left your lips, but you stopped when you saw a figure standing along the treeline past the dilapidated sanctuary.

The figure’s movements had been jerky, their body contorting oddly, and your adrenaline began to spike at the danger you found yourself suddenly in. Your eyes darted toward the cabin. All you had to do was make it the fifteen or so yards to the front door. If you could do that, you could lock yourself inside and barricade the entrance until morning. Slowly, you inched your way towards the door, careful to not make a sound that would alert the snapper to your presence. You had seen one once not too long before—its teeth digging into the flesh of a deer, human hands clawing at the skin of the dead animal as it tried desperately to satisfy the hunger it would never sate. The sight of the blood dripping down its pale skin would haunt you forever.

You remembered the zombie movies Kate used to drag you to. You had never been a fan, finding the creatures boring rather than scary. It wasn’t that the snappers looked like zombies because they didn’t, really. No, they still looked horrifyingly human—they were still human somewhere deep down. The disease attacked the nervous system, yes, but it also prevented the hosts from absorbing the necessary nutrients from food, causing them to look gaunt and weak. They were strong though, despite their appearance. The waif-like beings haunted your dreams, waking you from a dead sleep on more than one occasion. The howls and shrieks as they roamed the outdoors under the night sky sent a wave of fear up your spine no matter how often you heard them.

Slowly, you had crept along the clearing, eyes never drifting far from the snapper in front of you. Your ears remained alert as you listened for any sign of a companion. While snappers tended to move singularly, it wasn’t unheard of for them to travel in pairs or even packs on the rare occasion. You were about halfway to the door when Mars began to squirm in your pack, and your heart skipped a beat at the movement. Praying that he remained quiet enough for you to reach safety, you picked up your pace. You made it three feet before a twig snapped under your heel, a silent curse on your lips as the snapper’s head jerked up towards you. You could see it—her—more clearly now. Matted, brown hair framed her ghostly, white face, eyes glazed over in white stared back at you as her shoulders jerked violently. Your eyes darted around you, looking for something to defend yourself with should you need it. They landed on an abandoned hatchet next to a rotted out tree trunk before back up at her.

Just as you thought she would turn away, Mars let out a small bark from behind you, and your heart sank to your stomach. The snapper’s face contorted into blind rage, her teeth bared as she launched herself in your direction. You dove for the hatchet, gripping it in your fingers. You hadn’t anticipated her speed, having had just enough time to shrug off your pack, but as you stood straight once more, she was already on you, knocking you to the ground. You grunted as the air left your lungs, and you struggled violently against her, Mars barking in the background. The snapper snarled at you, foam dripping from her mouth as she snapped at you, her teeth clacking in an echo that sent ice through your veins. You held the hatchet between the two of you, the tool acting as a barrier as you scrambled to gain purchase. Your feet kicked against the ground and the snapper’s legs until finally you were able to plant them firmly into the cold ground beneath you. With all your strength, you pushed the snapper off of you and to the side, scrambling to your feet in the confusion.

She was on her feet a second later, long fingernails slashing at you as you dodged them. Your heart hammered in your chest, survival instincts driving you. You swung blindly at her with the hatchet, desperate cries coming from your lips as you fought for life. Her glazed eyes watched you tauntingly, saliva dripping down her chin and neck as she gnashed her teeth once more at you. Mars still barked and whined behind you, and you took a deep breath to try and ready yourself. Your eyes squeezed shut just as you swung the hatchet again, pleading with whatever god or gods were listening to you in that moment.

A sickening thwack sounded, the snapper’s screeching cutting short, and slowly you opened your eyes. To your shock and horror, the hatchet was buried halfway through the snapper’s neck—bright, red blood trickling out from around the blade. You stared in horror as the snapper clawed at her neck, desperate whimpers gurgling out of her mouth. You let go of the hatchet, stumbling back as the trickle of blood became a steady flow, staining the clothes she still wore as she stumbled towards you. She only made it a step or two before collapsing to the ground with a thud, her hands still clawing at the gaping hole before finally she stilled.

The clearing was silent, save for Mars’ quiet whimpering and the sound of your heart still thundering away in your chest. The snow continued to fall, careless of what had just transpired, and it wasn’t until a gust of wind whipped around you that you realized you were crying. The shock of the cold broke you from your spell, and after wiping your cheeks, you walked back over to your backpack. You checked Mars to make sure he was okay, earning a few licks to your cheek as you hoisted the pack back over your shoulders. You paused, contemplating before turning back around. Your hand gripped the handle of the hatchet, pulling until the blade let go of the snapper’s flesh with a sickening squelch.

LaRue was a small community, and by the looks of it, it had been even before the outbreak. Les stopped the boat at one of the docks in the marina, making quick work of tying it to one of the posts.

“Larue and Bland merged after everything went down,” Bill explained as he led you toward the street. “They used to be two different communities, you know. But folks came together to survive.”

Mars sniffed the ground as you walked, watching as people walked to and fro. Some caught sight of you, and before long, people were looking at you everywhere you went.

“Cathy’s place isn’t too far now,” Bill told you, waving as you passed a group of older people, there eyes trained on you curiously as they returned the gesture. “She’ll fix you up and get you settled, don’t you worry.”

You were beginning to feel anxious from all of the attention, eyes darting around as you began picking at your fingers once more. You saw a group of what looked like teenagers whispering to each other, their fingers pointing at you as they chattered excitedly. You stiffened slightly, increasing your pace so that you stood side by side with Bill. He led you a little further down the street before veering right towards an old, brick building. A sign that read “Cathy’s Place” hung above the door, and a bell rang as he pushed the door in. The room was spacious, hardwood floors spanning all the way to the back as different tables took up space and a couple of booths lined the walls. A bar was arranged in the middle, several men and women gathered around it, conversation lulling as the two of you stepped in. Mars stuck close to you, ears perking at the different sounds around him.

You followed Bill towards the back, ever mindful of the watchful eyes that followed you, and you were sure you looked worse for wear. You had showered in Branson, but the long day of trekking had left you sweaty and caked in dirt.

Bill plopped himself down at a table, leaning back in his chair with a tired groan as his joints popped. You slowly sat down across from him, careful to take in your surroundings without making eye contact with anyone there. You weren’t sure how long you’d be staying, but you didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

You turned to see an older woman with graying, blonde hair stroll up to your table. Her jeans were worn, and a green apron was wrapped around her waist. She smirked down at the man across from you, hands on her hips as she took him in, eyes glancing at you for one curious moment.

“Heya, Cathy,” Bill greeted, hands resting on the top of the wooden table.

“Heya, Cathy,” she mocked with a cluck of her tongue. “Cutting it a little close to nightfall today, aintcha?”

“S’pose,” Bill agreed with a nod, a twinkle shining in his eyes. “Les and I had a lot to move around today.”

Cathy hummed disapprovingly before glancing at you once more. “Gonna introduce me to your friend here?”

“Cathy,” he grinned, gesturing across the table at you. “This here is the wanderer.”

All conversation stopped at the mention of your moniker, and you bristled at the sudden lack of noise. A couple of seconds passed before the whispers started, and you shot a scowl at Bill.

“I’d rather you called me by my name,” you groused, giving it to the hostess. She nodded.

“Heard a lot about you,” she said. “Heard you’re headed west.”

“I am,” you confirmed. Before Cathy could continue her questioning, your stomach let out a loud growl, your hunger suddenly catching up with you.

“How’s some chicken fried steak sound, sugar?” The older woman asked. “An old family recipe.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had beef,” you muttered, your mouth watering at the thought. Cathy let out a chuckle at your unwilling eagerness.

“Lucky for you, we just traded for some the other day,” she smiled. “I’ll get you some water and something for your little friend here while I’m at it.”

She grinned down at Mars who wagged his tail excitedly at the sudden attention.

“I’ll pay you back,” you promised her, resting a hand on Mars’ head. Cathy opened her mouth to respond, but stopped as the chair between you and Bill was pulled out with a scrape against the floor.

“You can put it on my tab, Cathy.”

You turned to see a tall, blond man sit down in the seat, a wide grin on his face as he looked at you. He was handsome, some scruff littering his jaw and green eyes twinkling in delight.

Cathy rolled her eyes, but turned to walk back towards the kitchen. Your cheeks warmed at the attention from the man next to you, and Bill cleared his throat.

“Tyler,” he greeted, though it sounded more like a warning than a friendly acknowledgment.

“Evenin’, Bill,” Tyler nodded, his eyes never leaving you. “Knew you’d bring back something interestin’ one day.”

You stared at him, keeping your features schooled as you met his gaze. Tyler continued to study you in silence, the corners of his lips twitching into a wider smirk as if he liked what he saw. The two of you never broke eye contact, even as Cathy came back with water for your table, dipping down to lay a dish on the floor for Mars. The dog lapped up the water happily, tail wagging all the while.

You arched a brow in challenge to the newcomer, daring him to say something else. He only smiled at you, leaning back in his chair with a tap to the tabletop.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” muttered Bill, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you let us eat in peace, kid?”

Tyler’s eyes finally left you, looking over at the grumpy, older man.

“It’s not everyday we get a celebrity in these parts, Bill,” he drawled. “Especially not one with an interesting story, wouldn’t you say?”

Bill scowled at the blond, tearing his eyes away as Cathy came back with three plates, once more setting them down in front of you, Bill, and Mars.

“Mars, sit,” you commanded, and the dog obeyed, wolfing down the chicken Cathy brought out for him.

“‘S a good-looking dog you got there,” Tyler commented, nodding over towards Mars.

“Thanks,” you said, cutting into your own food. You nearly moaned at the taste. It wasn’t often you got a cooked meal, even rarer that you got them on back-to-back nights.

“They not feed you up in Branson?” Bill teased in a chuckle.

“They did,” you assured him. “Just been a while since I had a good country fried steak.”

“You staying long?” Tyler asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. You offered him a shrug, unsure of how to answer. It would be better if you left sooner rather than later.

“Not sure yet,” you amended. “Haven’t made much progress in the last week or so. I’ll need to take stock of my supplies.”

“Suppose you’ll need more bullets for the road,” he agreed with a nod. You scrunched your nose up and shook your head.

“Guns are too noisy,” you told him, your exhaustion making you chattier than usual. “They attract snappers more than deter them. No, I keep a hatchet with me. It’s lightweight, but it gets the job done. Can use it for more too.”

Tyler let out a quiet laugh, a grin plastered on his face as he sat back once more.

“A hatchet,” he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, look at you.”

“I hate to rush y’all,” Cathy said, walking over with her hands in her pockets, “but the sun is setting any minute, and you know they don’t keep those lights on for long. I’ll need to get closing up here in a second.”

Bill nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, alright. You wanna get her a box, and we’ll get it sorted out where she’s stayin’ tonight?”

“She can always stay with me,” she hollered as she moved back to grab you a box for your half eaten steak.

“Y’ain’t got no room, woman!” Bill guffawed, patting his stomach. “You got four kids and all o’ their kids livin’ under your roof. Where’s she gonna sleep? The roof?”

Cathy scowled at him as she handed you the box.

“Well, she ain’t gonna stay in that shack you try to pass off as a house,” she snapped.

“She can stay with me.”

All three of your heads snapped to look at Tyler, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Ain’t no way-” Bill began, but Tyler cut him off.

“Everybody else has already booked it back home,” he pointed out with a serious look, and for the first time you noticed that it was just the four of you in the room. How had you missed that?

“Besides,” he continued, his smirk crawling back into place. “I’ve got the room and I don’t live that far from here. You can come and check on her first thing in the morning.”

The room was silent, and you allowed yourself to glance between everyone. Cathy pursed her lips, but didn’t refute him. Bill didn’t look happy about it, but he finally sighed.

“Yeah, alright,” he groused. “But, honey? He tries anythin’ funny, and you got my permission to chop a couple of those fingers off, you hear?”

A/N: Lowkey? This might be one of my most favorite things I've ever written. I'm having so much fun exploring this world and flexing my writing skills. I hope you guys are enjoying it so far! Let me know!!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to receive updates on when I post, please follow my sideblog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! You can also find my works on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[n0tamused]

Could I request Aventurine's s/o just making and giving him a bunch of random gifts? From simple things like cupcakes and plushies to more lavish gifts like a multi-purpose gun and tricked-out sunglasses.

A/n: A little drabble for this idea, hope you enjoy

Contents: Aventurine x GN!Reader, fluff, not proofread

“My, my, what do we have here? And who are you bringing this to?” Aventurine inquired after he glimpsed the little pile of gifts stacked on the coffee table. There are boxes wrapped in pretty and colorful papers and decorated with bows on top, and there are desert boxes next to them, ones he could see the contents of due to their translucent lids. 

You startled at the sudden voice, too immersed in wrapping up another gift in pretty green wrapping paper. Turning your head to look at him you beam with mirth, eyes gleaming as you notice the genuine confusion in his eyes. Had you not known him as best as you do, you would have thought him dull-witted for not already noticing these were for no one else but him.

“Take a wild guess, why don’t you? I might give you a reward if you get it right on the first try” you tell him, feeling rather proud of yourself with the assortment of gifts you managed to snag on the planet that was new to you both. There were local delicacies and deserts in the boxes on the table, but also wrapped goodies that would be of daily use to him, 

Aventurine feigns skepticism, although he now recognizes his momentary error and chuckles for not already having guessed. “Might it be.. hmm, hmm..” he hums and coos, dragging the moment out as he prowls around your sitting form and trying to get a glimpse at what you were wrapping up, but the box was already enveloped in the pretty glimmering paper. “Could it be me?” he asks at long last, tilting his head down at you when you look up to meet his colorful gaze.

Judging by your smile spreading further, crinkling the corners of your eyes, he was right on the dot.

“Took you long enough, but you got it right. Would you like to open these now.. or perhaps when we’re back home? I thought I had more time to hide these away - I wanted it to be a surprise, but alas, you always had such amazing timing” you tell him, clearly in jest.

“What would you prefer? I don’t wish to trash your plans any further... I may have caught you off guard with this, but now you have me rather speechless, I must praise you for that” he responded, your smile spreading to his lips like a disease as he lets his eyes wander over to the other presents once more. You rise from your seat, leaving behind the box and go to meet him in an embrace. He accepts it, a bit stiff at first but it is like your warmth melts that unease away from him, and soon after he is wrapping his arms around you. “Missed me already?” he coos at you, his tone now mellow as if his usual tone would hurt you at such close proximity.

“I have” you state simply, looking up at him as you pull away, melting into the view of the pretty blonde man.  “And I’d rather show it all to you now. We have time until this ship lands again, might as well indulge in some sweets, right?”

His gloved fingers brush against the line of your jaw, slightly tilting your head to the side and he mirrors the motion. “That is right.. I am desperately craving something sweet right now. You mentioning it is only making me more hungry for a taste” he says, and you notice the slight flush that comes over his cheeks. You beam at it, but it is him that leans in and catches your lips in a chaste kiss.

You chase his lips before he can fully part, finding yourself in a craving as well, in need of another kiss. It felt as if days had separated you until now and not just a few hours. You feel his huff against your skin, the corners of his mouth twisting upward. Once you pulled apart, you notice his grip on your arms, keeping you steady as your own hand keep him steady in return. He blinks at you, his eyes half lidded and full of warmth that was only reserved in quieter moments like these. 

“Come.. let me show you what I’ve gotten for you” 

He obliges, your voice snapping him out of his fuzzy thoughts. He doubts he’ll ever get used to your kindness and gifts, they’re too sweet to him, and he doubts he has earned them, but he is not the one to decline your invitations or offers - that’d be too mean.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[sorcerersseestars]

LIMERENCE (II)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

part i here

summary: Gojo is uncharacteristically insecure and unsure to the point of double guessing himself—something practically unheard of for the self-proclaimed Honored One. Meanwhile, the ever-feared blood-laden flowers make an unwelcome appearance.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: mentions of sickness and blood, descriptions of vomiting (caution to fellow ppl with emetophobia), characters are anxious and stressed!, cussing (obvs), use of (Y/N), kidnapping!

genre: hanahaki disease au, hurt/comfort, DRAMA

a/n: Here is part 2 (finally lol)! It is a whole 6.7k words (😫) to make up for not updating until now haha. This chapter features serious!Gojo and worried!Gojo 😳. It seems out of character but it’s intentional (or so I claim). Also, I kinda make a pun out of Utahime’s name—hime (姫) means princess in Japanese! Two last notes: for clarification—I use italics to emphasize things, but also for characters’ thoughts. Geto is still alive (still excommunicated tho) in this timeline. More notes at the end of the chapter!

“Hey, ‘Hime, when’s your lunch break today?”

He hears a scoff that hardly conceals the crackly laugh that follows through his speakers. Her laugh is delicate and bright, even over the phone.

“Don’t call me that, Gojo. Never been into the princess thing.”

“We’ve been over this, it’s Satoru. And what should I call you then? Hime is perfect, it’s literally in your name.”

“I’ll call you Satoru if you call me by my real name: Utahime.”

“You’re so boringgg! Come on!” He whines, pretending to pout.

Utahime breathes in sharply at his words, “Satoru…you shouldn’t say things like that.”

Gojo stops walking. His brow creases in confusion: this is how he has always behaved, with obviously facetious and playful words. Even the people that claim they can’t stand him the most, like Shoko and Nanami, recognize when his words are intentionally over the top or ridiculous. Utahime also knows this: he has not concealed this aspect of his personality from her.

He can’t stop his next words from being spoken with a twinge of annoyance. “I was kidding, you know. Is something wrong?”

Utahime sighs, “No, no. Sorry, I’m just a bit stressed since the higher-ups asked for a meeting with me. Have no idea what it’s about…”

“They did? So, you’re not free for lunch? Please say you are…”

His words feel unnatural and stilted, but he brushes the feeling aside. He’s probably just nervous since it’s her, right?

“Yeah, I’m going to my meeting in a few, but I should be able to make it. Could you get the reservation for us?” Utahime asks, tone leaning on snippy.

“Mm, maybe. What’s the magic word?” He teases with a playful tone, trying to lighten her mood. This should work, it should make her feel better. He has experience with this.

“C’mon Gojo, not now,” She groans, apparently disgruntled. “But, fine, could you please make the reservation?”

He frowns. Not exactly the reaction he anticipated.

“Okay, but next time you gotta call me Satoru,” He says with a small awkward chuckle, this time easing up a bit on his teasing tone. “I’ll let you off the hook this time, though.”

“Sure,” She snorts, but not in the way that she would if she thought it was funny. It’s a sardonic snort, rather, and he would bet money that her eyes are rolling.

A loud click signals the end of conversation, but his phone remains pressed to his ear. He lowers it slowly, a strange feeling swirling in his chest. It’s an uneasy, heavy feeling from deep down, but he can’t discern what exactly it means.

“Why would I expect that to work?” He mutters to himself. “That’s so annoying, who would tolerate that?”

Suddenly, an image flashes under his eyelids, almost making him flinch at how intensely it conjures itself. A vivid apparition of you doubled over in laughter appears in his mind. It’s a memory, he realizes: you’re leaning on him as tears part from your eyes, unable to catch your breath due to how hard you’re laughing at one of his horrible, stupid jokes.

He remembers this moment well. You had been crying for real before—quietly sniffling, trying to hide it from him. He knew that you hated crying in front of others—trying to always appear strong, he knew this feeling well—so he started direct attention away from it with the corniest jokes he could make. That’s when your tears, first full of the hurt that he could clearly see in your crumpled expression, turned into ones of relief and joy. Your eyes had sparkled with some other emotion he couldn’t identify—something familiar, something that made him feel warm in the chest, but also made him feel so, so scared.

He never did figure out what it was. Or, rather, he has tried not to dwell on it. Every time it pops into his head, he pushes it down, the fear rising in him each time he comes closer to the answer.

Utahime never made him feel like that. That must be better. He never feels scared like that when he thinks of his feelings for her. That must be better, it has to be.

He enjoys talking to Utahime. He likes that he can get under her skin with little effort, likes how easily he can get a rise out of her: and most of the time, she’s amused by it, giggling and slapping his arm. He’s never scared with Utahime, but…why does something feel wrong?

His fingers, typing in his name for the reservation, pause and begin to tremble when he sees what he typed. He typed your name. His eyes widen beneath his blindfold—he’s grateful it helps to conceal his expression, even if nobody he knows is around. In truth, this is partly why he seldom removes it; he masks his true emotions more often than not. Not that anyone suspects it, though, too convinced by his saccharine smiles and forever jocular personality.

The blue horizontal line blinks in and out of existence as his fingers hover over his keyboard. Your name, though written in normal text, appears bolded to him: it sucks his attention away from anything else on his screen. He begins to break out in a sweat.

Sweating just from their name? How pathetic…

He shakes his head, frantically backspacing, trying to erase all traces of you from his mind. He’s been trying to do this for months, ever since he began to distance himself from you. There is a legitimate reason he has been giving you the cold shoulder, but it feels like an excuse to drive away this fear that grips him when he thinks of that warmth, that sparkle in your eyes.

Fuck. Now he can’t get that image of you out of his mind—his chest aches, his breathing comes quicker, but he does not know why.

He walks almost endlessly in the town he booked the restaurant in, in a pace-like fashion. His large stature and height make the brisk pace he walks at look absurdly hurried to passerbys: they stare at him unabashedly and he barely notices.

It’s only when he checks his phone that he realizes how much time has passed since he called Utahime. His reservation is soon: he will be late if he doesn’t start walking there now. Shit.

His breath comes heavy when he finally reaches the restaurant. It’s a casual yet nice ramen place—something familiar yet suitable for a lunch date. He’s wearing a baby blue button down shirt, nice slacks, and trades in his blindfold for heavily shaded sunglasses: also suitable for a lunch date.

A date. Yes, that’s what he’s on. A nice lunch date with a girl whom he kissed before the first date. A bit untraditional, not that he would be one to mind.

He approaches the hostess, about to ask for a table for two, but then he spots a familiar red ribbon perfectly adorning the dark strands of hair she always pulls back. She’s already here, sitting alone in the corner.

Gojo sighs. Fuck, ‘messed up again.

He hurriedly stumbles over to Utahime, probably looking a bit disheveled. She gives him a questioning glance at his appearance—Gojo laughs and immediately plasters on an easy smile.

“Hey,” He says nonchalantly, slowly lowering himself into the chair opposite her.

“Hey. You’re late,” She notes, but she doesn’t sound as bothered as he thought she would. “Did something happen? You look…like something happened.”

He goes along with it, sighing dramatically, “How’d you know? Yeah, Yaga was bothering me about some mission stuff. Dumb paperwork I’m supposed to do and whatever.”

She smiles, but it’s tight lipped, “Of course. But that doesn’t explain why you’re all sweaty.”

“I am?” He questions, feigning confusion, but his next words are partly true. “Ah, well, I realized I was gonna be late since he was pestering me so much. Guess I walked too fast.”

“Hmm,” Is all she says. She stirs the tea in front of her with a small spoon, expression blank as she does so.

Once he realizes she isn’t going to initiate talking further, he takes it upon himself, “How did the meeting go?”

She stops stirring. She sets down the spoon more harshly than she means to: it clangs loudly on the tea tray.

“I have some questions,” She says seriously.

“Questions? About what?” He asks.

Her dark, stormy eyes meet his. “…About you.”

He gulps, “Sure! What type of questions? You know, people ask me a lot of stuff. I’m sure I can handle anything.”

He winks at her, his usual smirk spreading across his face. Maybe if he jokes he can diffuse this god-awful tension. Not that it worked before, but he can try.

Utahime blinks slowly, exhaling deeply, as if attempting to calm herself down. He can see the fire in her eyes between blinks.

“How about that the higher-ups were asking me about my relation to you, when they believed you to only show interest in someone else?”

No. They can’t still believe that.

Terror strikes Gojo’s heart, electrifying his nerves, but he tries to play it off. He breathes out a chuckle and a few weak words, “That wasn’t a question.”

“For once in your life, be serious! We’ve only been dating for 3 weeks and I–” She inhales deeply. “I don’t think it’s a good sign that you’re intentionally avoiding answering me about this.”

“I’m not, I just don’t know what you’re talking about. Who did they even ask about? I can’t think of anyone they could say that about.” He’s lying through his teeth. Alarm bells are ringing through his head, and he dreads her answer.

She narrows her eyes, but seems convinced enough at his alleged cluelessness.

“They were asking about (Y/N). Asking about…your relationship with them. About how close you are. Asking if it’s changed.”

Gojo takes a sip from his glass, avoiding her eyes.“Well, did they say why? Seems awfully strange to ask you about it.”

She’s silent for a few seconds, mulling over her next words. They end up making Gojo bristle. “Satoru, you know I couldn’t tell you even if they did.”

His tone is abruptly serious. “The hell does that mean?”

She blinks at him slowly, with anger flashing in her dark eyes. “Gakuganji is very involved with them. If I told you, it would definitely get back to him. Who knows how he would punish me.”

"So you'd rather possibly endanger (Y/N)?" Gojo scoffs.

“Who said anything about danger?” Utahime says lowly, suspicion clear in her voice.

“Well, when the higher ups ask questions about my life, it usually isn’t just for fun,” Gojo says with a shrewd smile. “I don’t know what the hell they’re thinking so I can only assume the worst.”

“Does this really matter right now? (Y/N) is capable enough if it does turn out like that, and besides, I sorted it all out. Told them that your ‘relationship’ is fine and dandy and yada yada.”

Gojo sucks in a breath, nerves beginning to turn in his stomach. No. No! That’s not what I wanted…

Utahime doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort and continues, “You two have always been close…didn’t you have a thing for each other in high school? They have always had these eyes for you.”

Her tone is strange, gushing and gossipy yet also jealous.

“What?” Gojo says more loudly than intended as he takes in all of the information Utahime just casually dropped.

“You know, I even told them that you two were meant to be together,” She chuckles. “Funny how things work out—or, rather, don’t work out.”

Gojo’s stomach twists painfully at her insinuation—even though it shouldn’t. He likes Utahime, he’s with Utahime. Not with you. He’s not with you, he has never been with you.

“Gojo,” Utahime says suddenly. He blinks rapidly in surprise, eyes finally landing on hers. “Can we agree to be honest with each other?”

“Of course. What do you mean?” He says easily, nervously.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” She shakes her head. “You’re deflecting at every question I ask. You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

Gojo lets himself sigh this time.

He studies her expression. She’s beautiful, he has to admit. She’s beautiful, but she’s not you.

“Utahime…what is this all about?” He asks slowly.

“I should be asking you that,” She counters. “Why did you ask me out if you won’t actively participate in our relationship?”

“What do you mean? I’m here, aren’t I?” Gojo responds carefully.

“But you mind isn’t,” Utahime sighs. “You’re miles away, Satoru. You always are. When you’re with me, you’re not thinking of me, are you?”

The question is so accurate that it seems rhetorical to Gojo, to the point of him not responding for many moments before he realizes she is genuinely asking him.

It’s so true and yet he physically cannot bring himself to admit to it. “I mean, I think about the higher-ups and work related stuff a lot. I’m sorry I haven’t been that present on dates and stuff, but–”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Gojo!” Utahime hisses out, tone bordering on venomous. “You’re always thinking about them. You make decisions thinking of them. I bet even when you kiss me, you think about them. Are you going to deny that?”

“Utahime…” He says softly, guilt constricting his vocal chords.

“I don’t understand you, Gojo. You asked me out and have taken me on fancy dates as if you want a committed relationship, but then your mind is always wandering away. I know that you still care for them, but then I heard from Shoko that you’ve been ignoring them for months. And then the fucking higher-ups ask me your relationship with them. Why would they ask me that and why would they even care? Something isn’t adding up. What’s really going on here?”

Gojo blinks in surprise at the depth of concern in her voice. It’s like she has already moved on from her jealousy towards you, and now is worried for you.

He must look surprised, because she adds on, “Just so you know, I’m not that sad. You’re kind of a shithead for doing this to me, but this wasn’t that serious for me. Obviously not for you, either.”

Gojo winces. Everything she has said so far has been true, but he wishes it wasn’t.

“Iori, I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t even realize that…that I was doing that,” Gojo sighs. “And to answer your question—I didn’t want to tell anyone, but I think I owe it to you. I don’t know what’s going on either, and that’s what scares me. I have no idea what they want or what they’re plotting, but it can’t be anything good.”

Utahime sits there with a small smirk on her face. When he raises an eyebrow at her expression, she just chuckles and shakes her head. “You can’t even say their name. Just how much denial are you in?”

He can’t even answer. He just sits there, a hand brushing his cheeks in order the cover the warmth the rises at the mention of the depth of his denial concerning his feelings for you.

When she realizes he isn’t going to answer, Utahime rises out of her seat. “Well, I guess I can say I’m officially breaking up with you, not that you or I really care. Just…if you need help with this, just know I’m in your corner, yeah? Unless it’s something to do with Gakuganji, and in that case my hands would be tied. Otherwise, just ask. You know, I wasn’t joking when I said I rooted for you guys in high school. That’s a fact and I can’t deny it.

You should really figure this out—for their sake. It sounds like they’re not having the best time with it. And besides, as much as it pains me to say it, you owe it to yourself after fighting against whatever feelings you have had for them for so many years.”

He doesn’t interrupt her even once, instead quietly absorbing her advice. He fidgets at the mention of his feelings for you, still uncomfortable even at the thought of them. Still scared.

“Goodbye for now, Satoru. I hope you figure all this shit out. Have a nice lunch,” She says coldly as she readies her things. Her coldness stings a bit, but what else could he expect?

“Oh, one last thing,” Utahime pauses. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me this, but I guess you’re too in over to head right now to think straight. I think I might know partly why they have taken an interest in (Y/N).”

Gojo’s gaze turns to her sharply, blue eyes bright with curiosity behind his shades. “Why? How do you know?”

“I think the higher-ups must have asked Yaga about them. I forgot until now, but they were asking me if I knew anything about (Y/N)‘s identity. And who would know better than anyone? Your nosey principal who digs deep on everyone,” She rolls her eyes, huffing out a small but humorless laugh. “Well, that should be it then. Bye, ex-boyfriend.”

She gives him one last look, then struts away with her head held high. He sincerely hopes she isn’t hurting too much, despite her very “okay with it” façade.

So it has to do with your identity? In Satoru’s view, you have somewhat of an average identity for a sorcerer. A grade one sorcerer who comes from a sorcerer family. You had not inherited your clan’s special innate technique, but you are still pretty strong regardless. There’s nothing unusual about your background, or at least to the best of his knowledge.

And yet this sickening feeling has begun to creep into his stomach, that feeling that something is horribly wrong. What he does not know is what he cannot control, and each heartbeat and breath of his feels tortured with the knowledge that you may not be safe.

Shoko won’t stop texting you, almost on the hour, despite your radio silence. It’s strange when you think about it—she has always hated texting, always grumbling that it’s going to give her carpal tunnel someday. And yet here she is, blowing up your phone with notifications.

You haven’t been to school in weeks, taking mission after mission instead. It’s very obvious that you’ve been avoiding Shoko and Gojo, but you won’t admit that.

The missions have been grueling and gruesome—your stomach turns when the curses you exorcised spring to mind. They were ghastly and frankly were some of the most mentally scarring curses you’ve encountered. So, you’ve decided to take a break.

You feel your skin crawl when you’re sitting at home doing nothing—the curses come to mind much more easily, and also thoughts of him—so you abandon being cozy for the sake of your mind. It’s cold outside, so cold that your breath greets you in a cloud with every puff of air you release. Winter has arrived, and it nips at your cheeks and numbs your extremities just to remind you.

You haven’t been coping well, and you know it. Avoiding thoughts of Gojo has not been working very well, even after physically avoiding him. You try to forget what you heard that day, but it won’t escape your mind no matter how much you distract yourself. You think of Utahime: her beauty, her quiet strength, of how she always seems so calm and collected and yet somehow always makes her voice heard. She has everything that you lack.

The skin of your face burns with envy when you think about her. And when you picture her with Gojo—her dark eyes looking into his pooling blue depths, her leaning forward and up to kiss him—your chest crumbles in on itself.

It hurts. Right now, everything surrounding Gojo Satoru hurts.

But today, you will change that. This will definitely help. You’ve taken yourself out of your apartment and straight into a place that has always lifted your spirits—the local florist.

You scour the aisles, wincing at the very romantic red roses and the bright yellow daffodils. But then something catches your eye: an array of festive bouquets.

You end up picking out a bouquet fit for the season: it features a string of cranberries, enveloped by branches of pine and pinecones, with a striped garland draped around it all. Despite all of your poisonous feelings inside, you crack a small smile at the sight.

You take it home, putting care into the beautiful and yet flowerless bouquet. You carefully mix the plant food into a vase full of cool water, cut the ends of the stems under running water, then submerge the bouquet.

It brings a sense of homeliness that you’ve been desperately missing ever since you’ve starting living on your own. It almost soothes the ache in your chest.

But, as always, reality swoops in to remind you that you cannot run from your feelings within. Within only minutes of arranging the new bouquet, you accidentally swipe at the vase. It crashes to the floor, the glass shattering everywhere, glinting beautifully as it spins through the air. The cranberries begin to bleed into the water, the impact too much for them to tolerate.

You bend down, slowly processing the collision. When you stare into the expanding pool of water, you see wild eyes brimming with pain. Brimming with heartache. It is then that you are painfully reminded what cranberries represent: a cure for heartache.

The irony is not lost on you. You begin to howl in laughter, and the voice that reverberates back to you sounds crazed.

Then, it begins. You abruptly stop breathing; you are choked, silenced, almost as if something is blocking your airway. And then your throat begins to convulse, an instinctual reaction to choking, and you have no choice but to obey your body. You stumble through the shards of glass and collapse at the foot of your toilet. You heave and heave—whatever is lodged in your throat is large, making it difficult and painful to retch up.

When you finally use enough force to hack up the offending object, you freeze at the sight in front of you. Vibrant hydrangeas the same color as his eyes float in a murky red cloud. Blue hydrangeas: a symbol of rejection and regret.

Your chest bursts in pain at the realization. You are in love with Gojo Satoru, and he doesn’t love you back.

You feel another bloom emerging from within. You shudder in fear, knowing that you have little time left. Once the flowers present themselves, death is almost always imminent.

You spend the next few hours by the toilet, conjuring a newer, more painful bouquet than the one that lays in shattered remains in your living room.

“You told them what?” Gojo exhales deeply, a sigh following his exasperated words. He pinches the bridge of his nose��a gesture uncharacteristic for someone as self-assured as him.

“That (Y/N) is important to you,” Yaga Masamichi states calmly. “Satoru, there is no reason to fret. Their intentions concerning this matter are pure.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? The higher-ups intentions are anything but pure.”

“I can sense that you are agitated,” He observes, eyebrows beginning to furrow. “But you are blinded by your bias. They first and foremost protect our community. (Y/N) is of no threat to Jujutsu society, thus they should be in no danger.”

“You don’t understand,” Gojo shakes his head. He is clearly angry, but now his nerves are showing through more: his voice is uneven and his tone has an air of desperation. “The higher-ups are out to get them. I don’t have any answers for that, even though I’ve been searching for months. I’ve had to show indifference towards (Y/N) to convince them that there is nothing between us, and it was starting to work. Why did you tell them this without consulting me first?”

A frown etches Masamichi’s stony features. Behind his shaded glasses, his eyes rake over his former student, taking in his state. Gojo isn’t one to openly show fear or anxiety, yet his breathing is audibly shaky and his fingers twitch by his side.

“I see I have made a mistake,” Masamichi concedes. “But why are you so convinced the higher-ups have ill intentions toward them?”

Gojo begins to pace back and forth in front of Yaga’s desk—also very unlike him.

“They called me to meet them a few months ago, asking what my relationship with (Y/N) is. I brushed it off at first and basically told them to stop sticking their nose into my business, but then I started to notice something.”

Gojo pauses by a window. The light streams down onto his face, illuminating his rather uncommonly stoic portrait.

“They started assigning (Y/N) missions that were labeled as second or first grade, but actually turned out to be special grade. And it can’t be coincidental—the incident rate of this happening is much higher for (Y/N)’s assignments than any other person.”

“That does seem to be true,” Masamichi comments, thinking back to reports he’s reviewed.

“No, not seem,” Gojo snaps. “That is the reality of this situation. Ever since I realized that, I’ve acted coldly towards (Y/N), distancing myself as much as possible. And guess what? No more special grade missions. Less injuries. And—”

“Satoru!” Masamichi raises his voice, pulling Gojo out of his frantic spiel. He blinks in surprise; he didn’t even realize how much or how fast he has been speaking.

“I don’t know what they are thinking or planning, but stressing like this will not help the situation. This is our world; this is how they operate,” Masamichi says, leaning forward and resting his chin on steepled fingers. “We will find a way around this.”

“It shouldn’t be like this,” Gojo says, voice rumbling deep and low, dangerously quiet.

“They are resistant to change,” Masamichi counters. “We can’t directly influence their decisions.”

“Not if they can’t make them anymore,” Satoru snorts, a dark and bitter smirk curling his lips.

“That is completely out of the question,” Yaga says firmly in a warning tone.

“Their thinking is antiquated,” Gojo argues. “I think we need a complete refresh.”

“And yours is too radical and rash. No, Gojo. I will not even entertain your idea.” Yaga says with a note of finality.

“Won’t you let me have my fun?” Gojo sighs, exaggerating his disappointment. “You’re such a drag, old man.”

Yaga almost smiles. He’s back to his normal antics.

“So, there is nothing that you can think of that would cause the higher-ups to go after them like this? I know you looked into all of your students closely even before you became principal. You must know something.”

Yaga frowns. You were his student and, as Gojo claims, he did thoroughly look into your background. But—how can you truly be thorough when the information presented is so little?

“There was little to nothing on them,” Yaga says. “Even when I tried digging further, I didn’t find much. However…there are rumors that they have made a Binding Vow.”

“A Binding Vow?” Gojo echoes back. “That’s very vague. That can mean practically anything.”

“But it’s still interesting, is it not?” Yaga says with a wry smile. “If the higher-ups have heard, we can only assume that the Binding Vow is with another entity, not with themselves. Otherwise, why would they be interested? That is assuming this is true, of course.”

“Who did you hear this from?” Gojo asks. “Someone credible?”

“I’m not sure about their credibility. And you can’t really go out and interrogate them, even if you wanted to. If you did, there would be another expectation for your visit.”

Gojo grows suspicious from his obvious attempt at a non-answer, “Yaga, who?”

He sighs, “Geto Suguru.”

There’s silence. Then, Gojo cackles—it’s a bitter and sardonic laugh, slightly crazed as well—and shakes his head.

“Of course. Of course it was from him,” Gojo continues laughing, a hand covering his face this time. “Guess you’re right—there’s no avenue for conversation there. In that case, I’ve gotta go. See ya, old man.”

Yaga bristles at the nickname, but does not attempt chastise Gojo as he walks away without waiting for Yaga’s response. It simply doesn’t work, so why waste his breath?

Gojo walks out, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. He opens his text conversation with you, fingers twitching over the keyboard. But what would he even say? The last texts are all from you, scattered over a few weeks from literal months ago. He didn’t respond to any of them. He feels the need to contact you, but how would he even start that? ‘Hey, I know I’ve been ignoring you for months, but I heard that you might have told Geto that you made a Binding Vow and I think the higher-ups know about it.’

Nope. That’s not gonna work. He swipes the texting app out of existence, then locks his phone and puts it back in his pocket.

He leans back on the pillar, resting his head while he closes his eyes. Why does everything surrounding you have to be so complicated? Then, a series of hurried footsteps meets his ears, and he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it is. Gojo is ambushed by someone he hasn’t seen for a few days—your mutual friend, Shoko.

“I heard what happened from Utahime,” She says immediately.

Gojo exhales loudly, not even trying to conceal his annoyance, “Shoko, I really don’t have time for this right now.”

“No. Tell me what’s going on.” She says firmly, her tone hard.

“What? We broke up. What’s more to say?” Gojo says dismissively.

“No, Gojo. That’s not all there is. Things have been going on. She told me that she’s concerned for (Y/N) but wouldn’t tell me more. And it just so happens that I have been texting them just about every day for weeks and have heard nothing back. Tell me there’s ‘nothing more to say’ again! Because obviously something is going on.”

Gojo inhales sharply, his breath suspended at her words. He shifts his weight forward, finally leaning away from the pillar. Shoko takes notice of his surprise.

She sighs, deciding to clarify one detail, “They’ve still been taking missions so I assume that they’re fine…but they’ve never ghosted me like this. Even back then, when Geto…they didn’t…agh. Well, you know what I’m saying. I don’t know what they’re thinking.”

He only really gathered one thing from that. So you’re safe for now. Gojo recovers, his expression evening out into something more normal.

“Shoko, I don’t want to complicate things further,” Gojo sighs. “Too many people are already involved in this, ones I had no intention of involving. I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I should say anything.”

“You ass!” She shouts at him, making his eyes widen under his blindfold. Shoko never blows up like this—she’s always indifferent and sort of passive. “They’re my friend too, and I want to know what’s going on!”

“I don’t know what’s going on!” Gojo blurts out. Shoko blinks rapidly, shocked by the volume of his voice. He hates getting emotional like this, but he can’t help it when he’s so fucking worried. “I don’t know, Shoko. The higher-ups have been probing into my life, but this time– this time it’s about them, and I don’t know why they want to know. I don’t know what they’re looking for. I’m just praying every day that they stop, but then somebody else in our circle tells me that the higher-ups keep mentioning them. I don’t know what’s going on, but it can’t be good.”

She looks at him, finally noticing how…un-Gojo-like he looks and sounds. Worrying about others isn’t something that Gojo does, or at least not something he ever speaks about. He never has his brow creased like he does right now. He doesn’t bite his lip in worry, either, so why is he biting down so hard he’s almost pulling blood?

“Okay,” Shoko yields. “Okay. I believe you. I didn’t realize…I didn’t believe that you still cared so much.”

“You don’t even know,” He mutters under his breath, but Shoko still hears it. She acts like she doesn’t.

“Well, if you hear anything, tell me, okay?” Shoko asks him with a low exhale. “They’re really stressing me out.”

She pulls out a lighter and a cigarette, prepared to light up. The blinks, and the cigarette now lays on the ground, mysteriously absent from her grip.

“Fuck you,” She grumbles. “You know, that’s littering.”

She hates to say it, but her chest, heavy with worry, lightens a bit as his regular smirk spreads across his face. She feels a bit more hopeful as Gojo disappears in front of her, the wind from the teleportation blowing her hair and lab coat around furiously.

“If only you two weren’t idiots, this mess might have solved itself ages ago,” She chuckles to herself. “The densest people I know.”

Your lungs ache. You wheeze with each breath. You blink blearily, rubbing your eyes with one hand. You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep while you’ve been laying on the cold tile in your bathroom. The air is tinged with iron—the smell of your own blood curdles your stomach.

“What time is it?” You mutter to yourself, and jolt at the sound of your own voice. It’s raspy and weak; you almost don’t recognize it as being your own.

Your hands skate across the smooth tile as you try to locate your phone. When you finally do, you grab it and bring it close to your face. Your eyes, barely cracked open, ache at the bright light of your screen.

The time reads as 3:31 AM. You’ve really been here for that long? Under the time, a plethora of texts from Shoko appear. You groan and slam your phone back down on the ground, ignoring the guilt that rises from how long you’ve been flat out ignoring your friend.

I’m being just like Gojo. Your lips curl down at the realization.

You feel a wave of weakness wash over you, and you are forced to lay back down on the ground. You are half conscious, vision swimming half through dream and half through reality. You can barely think, barely process your own actions.

You feel cold metal in your hands, smooth glass under your fingers. You are tapping randomly, the light blinding you so much that you can’t open your eyes to see what exactly you’re doing.

All you hear is your own horrible breath. And then you hear a voice.

“(Y/N)? You called me?”

You blink blankly in confusion. Did you? You can only assume that you did.

“‘Guess so,” You try to say, but you can barely get it out with how sore your throat is. “Who…who is it?”

“What do you mean? You called me, silly.” They say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 3 am. Are you drunk or something?”

Why can’t you recognize their voice? Their voice sounds underwater to you. Your head is spinning so much and your ears begin to ring. Your feel yourself slipping from reality.

You hear yourself saying words, but you don’t remember thinking them.

“No…gonna pass out. Or die. Can’t tell.”

“What? (Y/N), what’s going on? Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you right now.”

You swear you know that voice. It’s deep and smooth, but filled with so much worry that you barely recognize it. He’s never sounded this scared before.

“Oh, you’re…you’re Satoru,” You wheeze out. “Why? Why you?”

You’re not making much sense, you don’t think. But you can’t, not with how far from reality you are right now.

You called him? It’s just too painful, too cruel a fate, that you accidentally called the man you’re in love with and who doesn’t love you back while you’re knocking on death’s door. You cough violently and choke on the bloody petals that rise to your throat. You wince in pain and struggle to breathe.

He is bordering on panic now, but he fights to keep it out of his voice. “It’s okay, (Y/N), just tell me where you are. You’re on a mission, r-right? I’ll come get you. Just hold on.”

Confusion floods your brain. A mission? Are you on a mission? Is that why the scent of blood is clogging your nose?

Your heart beat pounds in your head, faster and faster. It’s scary just how confused you are—how do you not know where you are?

“I don’t know,” You choke out. You didn’t even realize you were crying. “I don’t know where I am.”

“It’s okay, c-can you check your phone for me? It’ll tell you your location. Just open it and–” His breathing is fast. “And check in your maps. Please. Please (Y/N), I need you to do this for me. Then–then everything will be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” You answer softly. “How do–”

You startle at the sound of a loud bang, your own gasp cutting off your words.

The door to your bathroom—that’s where you are—is knocked down, nearly missing your form where you lay on the tile.

Satoru is calling your name desperately, his voice louder with each repetition of your name. You can’t decipher any other words, but you know he’s shouting things, trying to get you to say something, to say anything so that he knows you’re okay.

A dark shape towers over you. You can’t make out who it is with your blurry vision and with how dark it is—but you are immediately intimidated by their large, broad frame.

“There you are,” They snarl. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this to happen. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

You scramble to get up, grabbing your phone while you unsteadily rise on your shaky legs. You are an inch away from passing out and you fight the feeling with every ounce of your strength.

“Not looking too good, are we?” He says, tutting mockingly. “That’s perfect. Remember what we agreed on, my dear (Y/N)?”

You stare at him blankly, no recognition in your eyes.

“Silly me! Of course you don’t remember. That was intentional, you know. A good move on my part,” He chuckles, and it’s a soft sound that juxtaposes his words. “While you’re the one who has to suffer. Don’t blame me too much, though…this is all situational. It’s not like I ever disliked you or anything. It just has to be like this.”

You hear Satoru’s voice again, and this time it sounds dangerous, “Who the fuck is that?”

Anger runs through the man’s features, and he strikes the hand that carries your phone harshly. You yelp loudly both in surprise and in pain. Your phone clatters to the ground, instantly silenced. Probably broken beyond repair.

His words are chastising and almost playful, but he is furious. “You shouldn’t talk to him anymore, (Y/N). That’s not part of our agreement.”

Then he grabs hold of you and begins dragging you out of the room. You scream loudly, kicking and punching him as much as you can as you’re moved against your will. You are a strong sorcerer, but all of your cursed energy and strength has been sapped away by this horrible disease that afflicts you. You are powerless to stop this man.

There’s one thing you were mistaken about. With the crunch your phone made as it shattered against the ground, you assumed it was completely broken. That’s only partly true: the speakers were damaged, no sound coming out, but your phone actually survived. Your microphone continued to pick up every scream and cry you made as you were dragged against your will—kidnapped. He heard every whimper of pain and every plea of yours for the man to stop! and to let you go!

Even in this state, your heart would ache if you had heard the unadulterated fear that gripped his voice as he shouted and screamed for you through his phone.

Even if you didn’t recognize the man who manhandled you out of your apartment, Gojo Satoru has no doubts about who it was. It makes his blood boil thinking about it—he’s never going to forgive him for this, even if they used to be best friends.

next part

a/n 2: Thank you so much for reading, it means a lot!! This got a bit out of my hands, I will admit…I ended up writing some details I hadn’t planned on (and a lot more lol) 😅 But I think it actually makes it more interesting!

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Some of these tags didn’t work, but I hope it still tags you…Lmk if I typed anything in wrong haha. 😌

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

So, I live a very isolated life and I have a ton of different kinks and all my friends are kinky freaks (highest affections). This means that I am extremely bad at guessing which kinks of mine are going to be considered normal.

This is a confession about probably my worst blunder to date with assuming one of my kinks was common.

So I was GMing a role playing game with a trio of monsterfucker friends, and I had three really fascinating demons for them to interact with. This included methods of esoteric communion with the demons as well as methods of taking them into their bodies in a vampiric-metamorphic-erotic sort of way.

One player was having a ton of fun leaping into that with the Duke of Storms, and I was eager to give my other most monsterfuckery player a similar opportunity. So I set up an encounter for him with the demon I thought was the sexiest when his character got lost in the storm drains under the city.

And to my confused surprise he didn't go for it at all! In fact he pretty vehemently refused it at every turn!

I was sitting there for WEEKS scratching my head, wondering why he didn't like this demon. I suspected it might just be the gender, as I had Her cultists refer to Her in the feminine, but the thing is I'm a gay man too and this demon's appeal had always transcended gender for me so that didn't really make sense to me.

Then, finally, my poor player complained that he was stuck with, 'The world's most disgusting, rotting hag that just wants to fill me with disease and worms and to make my skin slough off!'

And it was then, and only then, that I realized most other people, even other monsterfuckers, do not consider getting eaten alive by billions of maggots from the inside out to be the epitome of hotness and that actually The Grandmother of Maggots was not going to be considered a desirable catch by anyone at the table other than me.

Oops.

.

[eunwhore]

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐄𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐌.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. In which you and Megumi get a special special lesson for Satoru Gojo himself after he learns about your relationship.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. Satoru Gojo being a menace to society; Suggestive by the end; Megumi and the reader are of age, of course !

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 1120 words

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Reader x Fushiguro Megumi (ft. Gojo)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @dearmymoon @lacopinedechan - 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

"Alright, kids."

You don't know why, but feeling stuck in a classroom alone with Satoru Gojo and your boyfriend doesn't sound right, especially when Satoru Gojo himself looks like he's about to crack another one of his dumb jokes.

Not to mention that your mentor called this session a "special special lesson" to put you in this situation. An honorable mention to the double special that didn't reassure you at all. Megumi, the one stuck here with you, seems to be a lot calmer than you are, probably because he's used to the white-haired man's antics.

"Before I start this special special lesson with you." the way he wiggled his eyebrows while phrasing a double special again sent shivers down your spine.

"I want to say that I'm very happy for you too !" Oh no. Those are the first two words that come to your mind when you hear his exalted appreciations. He knows. It was probably dumb to think you could hide your relationship with the six-eyes's holder, but it was a nice try, right ?

"What do you mean ?" You turn to your newly claimed boyfriend after he speaks for the first time since this comedy started. "Oh, you know what I mean, Megumi." You were petrified, frightened, or any word that resonates with fear itself.

"But we're not here to talk about your beautiful love, even if I would adore to gossip with you guys." Your professor sends a disgusting wink to your boyfriend, and you didn't waste a minute to launch a killer look at him to make it clear that you DON'T want him to spill the beans about what's going on between the two of you. Fortunately, he catches that look and is quick to reassure you with a glance that only you could read.

However, your attention quickly returns to the class sorcerer about to continue his lecture. "I was given a very important mission by Shoko, as you two are still young and probably unaware of how this world works, and we don't want any unwanted babies running around in this school."

You could die just by hearing what your senior just said, not to mention the fact that his right hand reveals a whiteboard covered in notes that you shouldn't dare to read right now. A disgusted look appears on your face as you quickly hide your reddened cheeks in your hands, looking straight at your desk.

"The most important thing you need to know about any sexual activities is that you must protect yourselves!" You can only guess that your boyfriend must be in the same state as you, the only difference is probably that he manages to hide his emotions better than you. "Not only because it prevents pregnancy but it's also important for preventing any nasty diseases you can get."

It's crazy to realize it, but your professor has never been this serious before. He gives his lesson like a professional in that matter, and it's disgusting to think of him in that way. As you finally gather the courage to look up again, you're not surprised to find your boyfriend completely emotionless, staring at the board, perhaps with a bit too much conviction. Is he really listening to these instructions?

"One of the effective protections is this little thing." After digging into the left pocket of his uniform, Mr. Satoru pulls a square package out of it, and you already know the next few minutes will be extremely long. Now you understand why he entered the classroom with a banana in his hand earlier today.

You let your body fall onto your bed as soon as you enter the room. A class shouldn't be so tiring; the subject itself drained the energy out of you, and it's even worse when it's Satoru Gojo teaching you how to put a condom on a banana for a whole 30 minutes.

Megumi, on the other hand, seems to be a lot more relaxed, or it's just his natural unbothered look that misleads you. He's quick to join you, lying next to your figure, and by muscle memory, your body relocates against his, your face hiding in the crook of his neck. You are still very embarrassed by everything that you've been through this afternoon. "I want to disappear."

You earn a cute giggle from your lover that resonates into his chest, his arms wrap around your inviting body. "He just wanted to help..." He answers, defending his senior.

"Well, there were more discreet ways to help us." You sigh as you roll on your back, staring at your ceiling before the black-haired boy appears in your vision, and obviously, you can't help but search for his eyes.

"Discreet doesn't exist in Satoru Gojo's vocabulary." he jokes, even if he's definitely speaking the truth. His hand slides on your cheeks while his eyes take a moment to admire the features of your face. Wanting to get rid of this worried expression, he leans to place a soft kiss on your forehead. "At least we'll be prepared when the day comes." he adds. You hate but love seeing this look on his face; it's one you've never seen before, and you can't help but be taken aback a little.

"Are you flirting with me, Megumi Fushiguro ?" You raise one of your eyebrows when you feel his hands wander on your body. It would be a lie to say you've never gotten handsy before, but now it feels different after receiving all of this new information. It looks like your lover has been influenced to explore this part of a relationship. You both had no experience in that matter, but if there was one person you would want to explore with, it would be with him and him only.

"Maybe I am." he whispers, and you feel shivers running down your spine; he really has that effect on you. "Of course, only if you feel comfortable with it." There he is, your sweetheart, the one who always puts your well-being before anything else.

"Well... I got to say that... I'm kinda curious about... you know..." You are still a little shy about it, as your cheeks return to a shade of red, your boyfriend smiles softly at your demeanor, finding you oh so adorable when you're shy like this. "Let's explore each other at your rhythm, hmm ?" He offers before pressing a second kiss to your kiss, then a third one and a fourth one, going from your cheek to the base of your neck. "Good thing Satoru gave me a box of condoms."

"He gave you WHAT ?"

© eunwhore 2023. 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

[short-honey-badger]

Helo I was wondering if you could fo Law x reader with the reader having an heart disease,so like breathing problems and possibly heart attack? With cpr

Thanks in advance

I couldn’t find your rules

*I hope I did your ask justice! I'm not very well versed in medical slang, but I did some light reading and tried my best!❤️*

Law liked to keep you by his side. Mostly because he enjoyed the company of his partner, but also so that he could keep a close eye on you. They'd joined his crew a year ago, and it was two months later that he learns that you have a heart condition. Every now and then, your heartbeat would change pace, either too fast or too slow.

It'd scared the hell out of your captain the first time you'd gone down, seemingly fine one second, and then swaying on your feet the next, hitting the deck before he could catch you. Law had scooped you up and booked it to his office, and then activated his devil fruit to find the heart of the problem.

You'd woken up halfway through his examination, eyes wide as you watched your new captain study your heart in his hands. He watched the organ jump in his hand and begin to beat at an irregular pattern. Law had turned on you and pointed at the heart cradled delicately in his hands.

"You have a condition called arrhythmia. You'll have to stay close to me from now on so that I can keep an eye on you. If your heart isn't pumping your blood correctly, it can lead to you passing out," He glared at you over that and then continued.

"Lack of oxygen is cause for CPR, and in worse cases, it can lead to a heart attack. I like you, _. So I'll take care of you."

The only thing you could do that day was give a teary nod. You knew that something had been wrong, but nothing that serious. From then on, you rarely left Trafalgar's side, and with that closeness came a budding relationship.

So it terrified Law any time he saw a change in your behavior. You've been lethargic all day but unwilling to rest. You assured him that you could continue your duties, and foolishly, Law had believed you. Two hours later, the doctor heard and thud and turned in his desk chair to see you on the floor.

Trafalgar dove out of his chair and press his fingers to the side of your neck. Your pulse was weak, but there. He cursed quietly and fisted his, keeping his palm just below your sternum and shifts to his knees. Law counts out loud.

"One, two, three..."

Before pausing in his compressions and dipping to pinch your nose and blow into your mouth. He does this three times before he rises and goes back to counting.

It takes longer than Law likes for you to finally come to, coughing harshly, and sitting up with a raspy gasp. Law helps you sit up, moving to sit behind your back so that you can rest against him. He rubs your back, and quiet reassurances fall from his lips.

"That's it, baby. I've got you."

You gladly let your boyfriend take your weight and try to regulate your breathing, "Sorry, Law. Guess I should have listened to my doctor, huh?"

Trafalgar huffs behind you and bends to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We do know a thing or two."

[unfinishedslurs]

RIP Mike Wheeler’s heterosexuality

“Is being gay contagious?”

Steve stares at his phone groggily before putting it back against his ear. “…Mike?”

“Is it?”

“It’s three in the fuckin’ morning is what it is.” He rubs his nose, Mike’s words finally catching up to his brain. “Seriously, Mike? No it’s not fucking contagious, you’re not gonna get the gay disease or whatever from me. I promise you’ll keep liking girls.”

He’s a little hurt, even though he knows the question is innocent. They’ve been asking a lot of questions, like the inquisitive little assholes they are, but none of them had seemed like they weren’t okay with it. Until now.

“…that’s not what I meant,” Mike says. Steve realizes that his voice sounds shaky, even over the phone.

“Then what—“ he cuts himself off, realizing halfway through his bitching that there was only one reason Mike would call about this. “Oh.”

“Can you pick me up?”

“It’s three in the morning,” he repeats, even as he starts wondering where he left his keys. “Your mom…”

“Steve,” Mike pleads. “Please?”

He sighs. “I’m on my way.”

Mike is sitting on his doorstep when he pulls up, head in his hands. Steve doesn’t have to get out of the car, he stalks to the passenger door with all the vitriol of a boy with too many emotions to hold in, and wrenches the door open hard enough that Steve worries he’s going to break it.

“Watch it, noodle arms,” he says, trying to pretend this is normal. Maybe if he acts like it’s not well past midnight, Mike will relax.

It doesn’t work. Mike slumps in his seat, not bothering with the seatbelt. “Can you just drive?”

Steve drives. Doesn’t really know where they’re going, but it doesn’t matter. Just away seems to suffice.

He eventually pulls into a side road

“I’m scared to even touch another guy now! Because apparently hugging is gay when you’re older, and so is sleeping in the same bed, and telling your friends you love them, and…and I’m fucking scared all the time, ‘cause what if they’re right? How do they know? How can they tell by just fucking looking at me? It’s bullshit!”

“Shit, kid,” Steve says, heartbroken. “Shit. C’mere.”

He pulls him close, and Mike turns his face into the crook of his neck, shaking. His shirt collar starts to get damp.

“I don’t know what to do,” he cries. “I thought it was normal, I thought everyone was just…so scared all the time, and we just didn’t talk about it. But then you said that thing about being afraid and pushing it down, and I didn’t— I tried to ignore it. I tried so hard not to think about it, Steve, I swear I tried.”

“I know you did,” he says quietly. It hits him that he might be the only one who really gets it. Eddie gave up denying it long ago, deciding to evolve into something else for them to focus on. Robin’s a girl. Which doesn’t mean jack shit in most cases, because being a lesbian fucking sucks in a town like Hawkins, but girls aren’t as obsessive about it. Sometimes when they compare notes, Robin will just stare at him.

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he mumbles tearfully into his shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve says with a surprising amount of vehemence. He grabs Mike by his scrawny little shoulders, pulls him away so he can look directly into his bloodshot eyes. “Not a damn thing, do you hear me? There is nothing wrong with you, and anyone who tells you otherwise deserves a swift kick in the balls. Got it?”

Mike responds by bursting into loud, messy sobs.

Steve just keeps holding him, running a hand through his hair and soothing him gently, like he wishes someone had done for him or Robin or Eddie when they were young. Finally Mike pulls away, embarrassment starting to set in.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve asks instead of a meaningless platitude he knows Mike wouldn’t accept.

Mike gives him a suspicious look. “I guess.”

“I’m scared too. All the time.”

“No you’re not,” Mike snorts. “You don’t need to make me feel better just because I’m a pussy.”

“I’m not joking,” he says. “Why do you think I dated girls? Why do you think I went through so many lengths to hide it? It’s fucking terrifying, man. But you know what makes it less scary?”

“Dating girls? Marrying a woman?”

“No.” He pokes Mike’s chest, right over his heart. “People. Friends who love and accept you. Friends who know what you’re going through, even.”

“Do you…” Mike chews his lip. “Do you think Nancy would be okay with it? With me?”

“Absolutely I do. She was okay with me, wasn’t she? And I was her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when it’s your family, right? Sometimes people don’t care if someone is… people don’t care until it affects them. Do you think Nancy is like that?”

He knows Nancy isn’t like that, but that's a talk they’re going to have to have themselves. “I really don’t,” he encourages. “I think she’d be really glad to know this part of you, actually. She loves you.”

“…I know,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t… we made this dumb no secrets pact the first time the Upside-Down happened, I don’t know why. It’s stupid. But…I don’t want to keep secrets from her anymore.”

[six-eyed-samurai]

YOU HAVE 30 UNREAD MESSAGES...

SUMMARY: Rindou loves you and all but...you really aren't supposed to be spamming his phone during a meeting right now.... A/N: This is absolute crack, based off a recent convo and dedicated to my unhinged moot @plebbypebblepleb WARNINGS: Sanzu on drugs and swearing

>>look at this cat I found

>>he's so cute!!!!!!

>>IM GONNA DIE FROM CUTENESS can we pls pls adopt him???

>>never mind

>>HE BIT ME

Rindou felt his eye twitch. He discreetly swiped away the notifications on his pinging phone away under the table. Thankfully no one had noticed yet, although Ran was grinning slyly at him he always was.

Twenty messages.

Barely ten minutes had even gone by in the meeting.

Luckily he had turned off volume for his phone. Mikey wouldn't be too happy to have his Bonten meeting so frequently interrupted so unprofessionally. Rindou didn't have much interest in being laughed at or questioned by the others either.

>>riiiiiiin

>>I was watching some videos

>>would you become a 100 foot boa constructor who eats British children boiled and gets skinned to be used as socks or boots for a Russian lady I consumed three centuries ago (she tasted like coconut)

I'm in a meeting<<

And no???<<

Rindou continued to nod at Mikey's words, doing his utmost best to divide his attention between his rapidly typing fingers and his boss while Ran ducked his head under the table curiously and came up with a wink and a very obvious smirk. Koko eyes them both suspiciously.

He was used to this. Absolutely. One thing that came with dating you was that you had a tendency to spam his phone with updates of what you were doing, odd things you had seen, the most creative of questions and pictures bordering on unhinged.

He wouldn't change it for anything, of that Rindou was certain. He loved you to Pluto and back and in an every day fight he'd take your side over Ran (even despite the elder Haitani’s “miserable” theatrics of supposed betrayal). The texts livened up the dreary work of being part of the number one most wanted criminal gang.

But…

>>I'M NOT FINISHED

>>or drink fruit juice that will give you the seven most deadly diseases

Both are terrible<<

>>[image attached]

WTF<<

>>Like it?? <33

I don't want close up pics of your feet<<

>>how dare you

…it was quite the inconvenience when he was supposed to be working.

Like right now.

Rindou reached up and rubbed his temples. Mikey was getting to the important part and he was really struggling to concentrate. It wasn't like you didn't know he was busy. He had specifically mentioned it today. Rindou couldn't fault you either - this was just your love language and…this was probably revenge for him misplacing your favourite shirt.

He briefly considered ignoring your texts for now, until he could answer them later. But then it'd probably spiral to a 100+ and the vibrations were really starting to get to him. And he did once promise to never ignore anything you said after you apologized for talking too much. You might even call him.

Ugh. What a conundrum.

Ran’s smile widened and a new notification sprang up on Rindou’s phone.

>>Ah ah ah lil bro

>>texting your gf in a meeting?

>>you're very obvious about it

>>I'm sure Mikey will notice soon~~

Great. Two idiots were spamming up his phone now. Couldn't he ever catch a break? He caught Kakucho’s frown at him and adjusted his poker face again.

Shut up<<

You're on your phone too<<

>>I'm just warning you~~

Rindou exhaled sharply and kicked his brother under the table. Childish, but Ran was a child and he deserved it.

>>Rin???

>>guess what!!

>>my fav singer just dropped a new album!!

>>can we buy it later

>>pleaseeeeee

“Haitani Shithead! What are you doing under the table?”

Crap, Sanzu caught him. Rindou shrugged, leaning away from his side-eyeing neighbor. “Nothing, just need to arrange some things on my phone for some debts to be collected,” He lies casually.

The pinkhead is probably too high to realize the holes in the fib. Thankfully he lets it go with another pop of a pill. “Sure, don’t gotta be so secretive.”

“Also, don’t call me Shithead.”

>>[3 images attached]

>>chat wake up what is going on in my friends gc rn

Yes, Rindou wanted to scream, he absolutely had to be secretive…with the cursed pictures you had just sent him. Thirty unread messages already and the meeting wasn’t even ending yet! God, Ran wasn’t helping either - he too was now spamming Rindou’s chat.

>>rindou and (y/n)

>>sitting in a tree

>>k

>>i

>>s

You know what, he could make his excuses later. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Rindou massaged his temples again, sighed deeply and looked down on his phone.

He blocked the both of you.

***

Of course it came back to bite his ass when he went home later that night: having taken extreme offense to the block you had promptly banished Rindou out of your once shared bedroom and he was exiled to the couch.

Which was being hogged by Ran who claimed he was there first for his sixth nap of the day.

Maybe next time he should just “lose” his phone before a meeting.