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#I’ll fix this up at some point
hestiashand · 1 year
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travelling together.
sasuke week day 6 — alternate ending
[ ID: a full body drawing of blank period sasuke and naruto in the woods just before dark. sasuke sits against a tree and naruto kneels, his amputated arm balancing on sasukes shoulder. both are feeding onigiri to two black cats. sasuke has pale skin and wears a dark grey sweatshirt and black jeans. his nails are painted black. naruto has brown skin, light freckles, sun spots, dimples and wears a light grey sweatshirt, pink shorts, a blue headband and blue earrings. his nails are painted blue and he has his normal length hair with roots growing in. END ID. ]
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THE BEST OF MASS EFFECT: VIRMIRE
Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard and Cmdr. Dominik Shepard With: Lt. Kaidan Alenko, Gun. Chief Ashley Williams, Urdnot Wrex, and Tali'Zorah nar Rayya Ft. Special Guest Appearances by: Spec. Saren Arterius and Sovereign There is a realm of existence so far beyond your own, you cannot even imagine it... Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)
#mira makes gifs ✨#sophie shepard#dominik shepard#kaidan alenko#ashley williams#urdnot wrex#tali’zorah vas normandy#mass effect#me#mass effect legendary edition#dailygaming#it’s been so long since i’ve made a BEST OF: lol but virmire called to me the other night#this isn’t really the same as the ME3 ones i’ve been breaking from tbf but also virmire is my favorite mission in ME1#and tbf this is a BEST OF: ME in general#i might make a series but i'm not quite sure yet this was just something that popped into my head when i was playing a UNC the other night#but i did get to use both the kids this time!!! :D#my favorite mindoir twins :)#bc we love BOTH sheps in this house!!!#but this was a lot of fun! i got to do some more interesting stuff with the editing and the coloring than i usually do :)#i was also planning on using a vision shot? but those are so jittery (right word?) in gif form that i scrapped it tbf#also pls excuse soph looking different in literally every gif pack i release lmaooooo#this is the last iteration of her head i promise lmao (actual canon ME1 appearance i swear ignore everything else lol)#finally fixed that sculpt and gave her her piercings and i think she matches up with dom a lil better now :)#tbf dom also went through 50 other iterations of his sculpt but i never giffed those. those are just in a screenshot folder on my PC lmao#i was gonna say OG dom versus now dom isn't that far off but tbh dom did have a CC head at one point#i call that head dan now bc i don't associate it with him anymore it looks nothing like him LMAO#OG OG soph looked crazy different too tbf. and she was an adept at one point before i scrapped that entirely.#oh OG versions of my kids how different you looked and how much you have changed#but the kids are alright! and i'll stop screaming about them now. :)#i’ll stop using the tags to rant now even if it is the mira special™️ but have a good day wherever you are!! :D
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janiedean · 6 months
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two episodes of nervous crying your brains out for longer than one hour in the span of three days were not in my bingo card for 2024 when I graduated ten years ago and I would like to frankly get the fuck over myself
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arolesbianism · 3 days
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Mental health shit is kicking my ass but at least I have my silly guys
#keese draws#eternal gales#oc art#oc#my birthday is in a few days btw wish me luck#I’m trying to be excited best I can but yknow#I’m hoping that my friends and family do a good job at distracting me from the horrors for all that#which I’m sure they will they do a great job at keeping me from losing my shit on days like that#we’re going to eat good food and play games and it’s going to be fun and I’ll be happy#just need to hold out and not freak out too much in the meantime lol#but yeah I’ve been considering tweaking a couple of the staliens antennae recently#hence the mason#but I’m not sure if I’ll commit#most of the cast has fairly distinct antennae from eachother with mason being the main problem child to me#if I was willing to draw more detailed antennae then I’d go absolutely ham with everyone’s antennae but I’m not so#I’m mostly thinking abt this because I drew odile as a stalien a few days ago and gave her some fancy antennae#in my minds eye her antennae are Huge and she uses the to help read carved languages#the actual main stalien cast have very normal not noteworthy antennae except for sorta beats but having two pairs isn’t even that uncommon#but admittedly I am half tempted to try giving one of them huge antennae simply because it’d be fun to draw#but none of them rly fit the bill for that except maybe butter but they already have long ass ears they don’t need both#I should rly go fill out everyone’s toyhouse bios at some point I did like two or three a few weeks ago then gave up#and I didn’t even do any of the staliens I think I just did aris and sier#I also need to fix their mini playlists I have on their profiles but that can wait#anyways I now need to do some fun 2 am cleaning I was supposed to do hours ago#I got distracted drawing
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i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it
#i feel like it’s getting worse too#like its always hasn’t been great but the past few weeks have been especially bad#why can’t i remember things!! why is my short term memory sucking ass!!!!!!#like if i don’t write/type things down i loose it#making me wanna rip my hair out what the fuck is going on!!!!!#gonna start playing those phone games that improve memory or whatever#it’s either that or going to my mom for an essential oil recommendation#i know it’s probably some undiagnosed shit but im also like. i can’t keep blaming whatever is wrong with my brain because its a problem with#/me/. ya know?? like. yeah it is something with my brain. obviously. but i need to take some sort of action to fix it. and i dont know what#that action is#besides the two options i said before#or carrying a fucking notebook around and writing down everything. which is stupid also and i know won’t last a week#problem is im gonna forget about any rule i come up with since as soon as im preoccupied with something else. i’ll forget the rule#i would need a hat with the reminder on paper tapped to the hat#so it’s always dangling in front of my eyes#i don’t know what else to do at this point!!!!#it’s making me so worried about going away for college. cause yeah i did really well at community. but if i have the deteriorating memory#of a goldfish who’s constantly banging its head against the glass. how am i gonna make it through university.#i love writing essays in the tags that no one will read <3#having a ball rn. a great time. not feeling like a waste of resources at all rn. feeling great.#if my mom doesn’t let me wear my earbuds tomorrow i think ill scream#anyways. gonna bake some blueberry lemon sweet rolls tomorrow#me rambling#i love being undiagnosed#but let’s be real#being diagnosed won’t give me anything other than more of an excuse#because i can’t go on meds with my current living situation#and i also don’t really want to go on meds because i don’t trust them#feeling silly i think ill actually post this one maybe someone has a suggestion for what to do#vent
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ethereance · 4 months
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мιяяσя мιяяσя
“So in this universe—”
“Reality.”
“—Uh. In this reality. Are you and me—?”
“Yes.”
He tries not to squeak. It doesn’t work. “So this means we—?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” she says.
(In which Lance and Allura get fast tracked to their happy ending whilst their alternate selves get thrown back into some robot lion action. Because sure, why not, this might as well happen.)
***
You’ll have to excuse Lance for thinking this is a dream at first, the haze of sleep still a thick fog in his brain, leaving little room for cognitive thought. But here he is, snuggled up under the covers of what’s easily be the cosiest bed he’s ever slept on, face to sleeping face with a certain silver haired beauty he could only ever dream of being this close to, and well, you can understand the confusion. This is Allura he’s talking about here. A princess Lance would compare to Aphrodite had he not gone through a Percy Jackson phase at age twelve and learned all about the consequences of a statement like that. Gods get up to some pretty petty stuff. 
So Lance silently thanks his brain for not only giving him the opportunity to have a waking up in space-Vegas dream about Allura, but making it lucid to boot, and savours the moment, silently begging real life Allura not to choose today of all days to hold an early morning drill, for, as alluring of an alarm clock she is, Lance needs to catch his zzzs somehow. You don’t think he wakes up every morning looking as great as he does without some form of rest, do you? It’s called beauty sleep for a reason, and there’s plenty of beauty in this particular sleep.
There’s something so peaceful about dream Allura’s sleeping face, at ease in a way Lance has only seen once, back when she was suspended in time by that cryopod. She’s a busy woman, always putting every ounce of her time into winning them this war. As much as Lance would love for her to kick back and relax, even just for a bit with them, she simply doesn’t. Maybe, once the universe throws them a parade for karate kicking Zarkon out of business, she’ll finally get the chance. 
Man, even her sleep tousled hair looks ethereal. Lance doesn’t know how Allura does it. He’ll have to ask her what shampoo she uses. L’Oréal for aliens or something. It has to be something other than the ten thousand year old soap they have all been given. Princess privileges, is he right?
Though, if he pays attention, there’s something about her face, subtle as it is, which appears older somewhat? It’s in the cheekbones, the skin. Enough to suggest some sort of passage of time within this dream world, though as to how old she’s meant to be, Lance can’t say.
Allura’s eye twitches, and Lance watches as she stirs awake, looking drowsily around. As her eyes land on him, they widen, snapping into focus. 
“Morning, beautiful,” he says as she sits up, pulling out his flirtiest trump card. Hunk once said his smouldering look makes him look a mix of goofy and constipated, and that it really doesn’t do him any favours—thanks Hunk—but he’s sure dream Allura will appreciate it. 
She stares at him blankly. Guess this dream gets points for its realism. 
“Lance,” Allura says slowly, critically, “Is that you?”
“Well yeah. Expecting anyone else?”
“I wasn’t expecting—do you remember anything that happened?”
Lance feels his face flush. Calm down on the dream lore. “Uh, between you and me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, seemingly appalled at the thought. Ow. “We were with the Prismariums. Do you have any recollection of their festivities? Our fight against the robeast?”
“The prismari…” Lance trails off, blinking away the last of the sleepy haze. He scrambles backwards, almost tumbling off the bed as he does so. “Holy quiznack. This isn’t a dream.”
“No, more like a nightmare,” she says, and again. Ow. 
***
𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎
You know how it goes. Kick robeast ass, save a planet, stay around for the victory celebration. Lance is kinda sorta a pro at this now. Sure, he hasn’t been doing this gig long, the whole Voltron defender of the universe thing, but he’s starting to get a good idea of what to expect. And apparently what to expect are a lot of super thankful, super cool looking aliens. 
All in a day’s work. Or quintant? Lance thinks that’s the word Allura and Coran have been using. Anyway, it’s just what they do. No need to thank them. 
Though, yeah, all that thanks is very much appreciated. 
(It’s still super weird. Because him? They really have all this unwavering faith in Lance, in all of them, to end a war that’s been going on for far longer than his family tree has been alive?
How could—)
The prismariums are a species that can best be described as what would happen if you squeezed toothpaste into a human-ish shaped mould. That clear stuff with all the microplastics in. Their skin shimmers at the touch, pulsing in colours specific to the individual, blues and greens, and yellows, and reds. There’s this particularly beautiful one at the front of the group with eyes vaguely reminiscent of Allura’s, and pink scales lining her neck and upper arms. Her hair descends just past her shoulders, and has an overall effect that reminds Lance of that one fibre optic lamp he had as a kid, always enthralled by its colours. Even her eyelashes pulse with colour.
She introduces herself as Princess Evuth, the third daughter of Queen Naex, and practically begs them all to follow her to the castle to speak with her mother so she can coordinate the proper ceremony required for saving her people.
“We’re just doing our job as paladins,” says Shiro, who much to Lance’s disappointment seems to have no intention of accepting any reward. “The safety of this quadrant will be reward enough.”
“But it is customary!” Princess Evuth protests, something in her tone triggering immediate action from Allura.
“Shiro,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Lance does his best to suppress the slight pang of jealousy at their closeness. “I think it’s best we agree. We wouldn’t want to offend her people’s customs.” Lance recalls their time with the Arusians, all too ready to throw themselves into a sacrificial pyre. Perhaps Allura is currently doing the same. “And I would very much like to speak to the queen about joining the coalition.”
“Excellent,” says Princess Evuth, beaming with joy. “Please allow me to escort you to the castle.”
Lance hadn’t really had time to admire the sights earlier on, back in his lion, a little preoccupied at the time, but looking at this planet now, it’s easily a beautiful one, flush with greens, fields and hills as far as the eye can see, which it does pretty well, twenty twenty vision and all, rip Pidge (“What do you mean you don’t actually need glasses?”) Between triangular shaped crystal outcrops—their numerous windows suggesting that these are their homes rather than ornamental scenery—copious amounts of trees spring from the ground, leaves oddly translucent, a running theme on this planet. 
And if you think the prismariums are colourful, they have nothing on their castle, a giant glittering set of prisms protruding from the ground, reflecting beams of rainbow light every which way. They truly live up to their prismarium name, so it seems. 
“Ahh, it may be different, but it’s just as colourful as I remember,” says Coran, an achingly nostalgic glint to his eye, “I’ve only been the once. My old band, you see, we wanted to branch out to other music genres, find a wider audience outside of Altea. Those were the days. The Prismariums were famous for their Yarflemfloop, this long instrument that wobbles around like this, see?” He makes this wobbling motion with his whole body, his limbs suddenly jellyified. “Though I never could quite get any of the notes right. It does make for a nice hat. Though I wouldn’t recommend keeping it on unless you want it stuck there. Haha!”
Princess Evuth’s eyes widen, horrified. “Who in the stars would ever put a Yarflemfloop on their head?”
“Oh, you know.” Coran’s smile turns sheepish. “Just a fellow I once knew. Had one too many a pint of nunvil. Nothing worth dwelling on now, it’s all in the past.”
Allura rolls her eyes, shaking her head to herself. And yet, it’s an action that’s so incredibly fond. 
They make their way into the castle with significantly less anecdotes from Coran this time, giving Princess Evuth the opportunity to throw in some tourist trivia as they shuffle onto this large, circular platform to take them upwards into the castle. Stuff about the glamorous views in the Winter months—an approximately nine month long period in their twenty four month long year—and the planet’s musical history, such as how they managed to make their rocks ‘sing’ in a way, achieving notes through contact. 
The castle appears to have a hollowed out centre, though, which becomes obvious when the queen meets them in her throne room, large and spacious with a glass floor that has even Lance—a pilot with no history of having a fear of heights—feeling slightly queasy upon realising how far up they are. He has no idea how Hunk lives like this. 
“Esteemed paladins, Princess Allura, Advisor Coran,” begins the queen, red and purple where her daughter is pink. She rises from a triangular shaped chair to greet them. “I cannot thank you enough for protecting my planet’s safety, and by extension, the safety of my beloved daughters of whom are my greatest treasure of all. Please allow me to extend you my hospitality, and request that you attend our victory celebration later this evening.” She pauses. “I hope my invitation won’t delay you on your mission to recover peace across the universe.”
“We would be honoured to attend,” says Allura, and before they know it, they’re getting a tour of the castle as the chefs prepare. 
The rest of the castle lacks the transparent flooring that distinguishes the throne room, going for all of the colours instead of none. They get led down passageways completely orange, or blue, or whatever shirmple is (“I see. It appears your eyes cannot pick up the varied range of colours as we can.”) to just as vibrant rooms, some of the highlights being the music room (none of the instruments in there remotely resembling anything you’d find on Earth, though Lance does get to find out what a Yarflemfloop is as well as firsthand experience that Coran cannot play it), the golf course (which none of the prismariums refer to as golf), and the swimming pool (Lance does not know what that liquid is but it is not water. Looks rather rejuvenating though. He’d be open to trying it out). Lance supposes that, on whatever planet you’re on, rich people will be rich people.
“The legend goes that our people were cut out of the very rocks that form our land,” Princess Evuth says as they pass through an art gallery showcasing the works of various artists hanging from the walls. One in particular is of a prismarium emerging from a glittering crystal, all geometric shapes and angular lines. “Whilst I’m not sure that it is true, we have always had a deep connection with our land. Not quite in the way the Balmerans do, but enough to rely on the rocks for navigation. They tell stories in a way, echoes of history, and we listen. We are never lost among our stone.”
“Well, princess, if you were a rock, you’d surely be a diamond,” Lance says, adding in a wink for good measure. He ignores the groans, especially Keith’s. That guy wishes he had lines as good as his. 
Princess Evuth blinks. Then giggles. “I have no idea what that is.”
“Oh.”
“But I believe it was a compliment?” the princess adds hopefully.
Lance clears his throat. “Um. Yeah.”
“Then I consider you all diamonds too,” she says with such open earnesty as she leads them down the next hallway.   
“Smooth going there, Lance,” says Pidge, nudging him in the arm. Hunk rolls his eyes beside them.
“Oh shut up.”
***
The last stop in their tour can be summarised as the funhouse mirror room. Just. So many mirrors. Hunk and Pidge are already posing in front of one that makes Pidge look like Goliath rather than three apples tall in comparison to Hunk who looks like he has been shrunk in the wash. 
“Not bad,” says Pidge, raising her hand above her head to compare heights. “You know, I used to love these as a kid.”
“Uh, Pidge, you’re still a kid,” Hunk observes, “We’re still kids. Technically. I mean, my birthday’s coming up… uh… sometime soon. I think. Space time throws my head through a loop. But until then…”
“Well, this was years ago. Back when Mum and Matt would…” Pidge trails off, a nostalgia exchanged for the grim reality of the present. She deflates. 
Hunk squeezes her shoulder, a gentle encouragement. “Let’s look in the other mirrors.”
“Hey, Hunk,” says Lance, waving the pair over. He points at a mirror next to him, one that seems to have an in-built Instagram filter, making his skin glitter as if dusted in stars. “Do you think it captured my good side?”
“You have no good side,” comes a voice that is distinctly not Hunk. Thanks Keith.
“Yeah? Well, who was talking to you, huh?” Lance counters, glaring daggers far sharper than Keith’s ever touched. “‘You have no good side’, puh-lease. I’ll have you know that that was a trick question! Every side is my good side.”
“… Uhuh,” is all Keith says. Lance will take this as a win. 
“Oh man, that is a cool mirror. My skin’s all spacey,” says Hunk, now standing next to him. After waving at himself a few times, his attention is distracted by another mirror nearby. “Oh hey! Look at this one. Everything’s all red. Keith, you should check this one out. That colour’s, like, your thing, right?”
“Yeah, Keith, you should check it out,” says Pidge, a rising smirk that suggests some sort of jab is coming. Hah! Take that Keith. “You wouldn’t want to come between Lance and his reflection after all. Just leave them to it.”
“Hey!” protests Lance, feeling the sting of betrayal, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Allura sighs, shaking her head. “Paladins, please. We’re in company.”
“It’s alright, Princess, no one’s destroyed anything. Yet,” says Shiro, giving off the aura of an amused parent watching his kids scramble around on the play equipment. And he calls himself too young to be ‘space Dad.’
“Agreed,” says Princess Evuth, “You should see me with my siblings.” 
“Uh, Princess. I think your mirror is broken,” says Keith, peering at his complete lack of a reflection in the largest mirror here, with a grand, ornate swirling frame, encrusted with many a priceless jewel. True to his word, its surface remains distorted, a haze of colour and nothing much else. Poor excuse for a mirror if you ask him. Can’t even mirror right.
Or—
“Or maybe you’re just a vampire,” suggests Lance, “Would explain the fangs.” He points to his own teeth. Lance swears up and down, left right and centre that Keith’s canines were a tad on the pointy side when he caught him munching on that space goo. Does he spend all that time in the bathroom sharpening his teeth?
“They’re not—” Keith whirls around to face him. “I have very normal teeth, thank you.”
“You’re joking, right? Have you looked in the mirror lat—oh. Wait.”
“Lance,” chides Shiro, and come on mr. favouritism. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.
“Oh! I see you’ve found the oldest mirror in our collection,” says Princess Evuth, making her way over. “It’s remarkable, really. It predates even this castle. It’s over hundreds of thousands of deca-phoebs old.”
“So it needs a clean, then?” says Lance. He finds it strange how dust manages to land on objects vertically. What’s even keeping it there?
“No, it simply doesn’t reflect. The legend goes that a meteorite fell from the sky unlike any our people have ever seen before. There wasn’t much of it, but my ancestor, Queen Oleeria, had it crafted into this very mirror you see before you by her own hand, wanting a metal so precious to be displayed in her room. It was strange. Despite it not being of our world, she found a way to connect with it in a way that defies words.” 
Lance casts the Princess and Coran a curious look, noticing how they both suck in a breath. Huh.
“They say that it’s a window,” Princess Evuth finishes, “A window to other realities.”
“Other realities?” repeats the echo in the room, Pidge, “Huh. I’ve read many theories about them from plenty of respected researchers, but that’s only speculation. And if it were possible, it would require a device much larger than a pane of glass.”
“Like I said, it’s just a legend. What matters is that my mother holds it dear. Please go careful near it as I… Princess Allura, are you quite alright?” 
Allura seems to snap out of some sort of dazed expression, pulling her hand back from where she was unconsciously reaching for the meteorite mirror. Double huh of the day. It’s not like her to space out like this. Coran similarly regards her with concern.
“Forgive me for interrupting. You were saying?”
Whatever Princess Evuth was saying, they’ll never know, as her eyes seem to fall on someone behind Lance. Turning around, he sees a prismarium with orange scales, dressed in a simplistic attire, signifying them as one of the castle staff. “Ah. Yes?”
“They’re ready for you, Princess.”
Princess Evuth glances at them all. “Perfect. Shall we?” 
***
The dining hall is utterly extravagant, maybe something reminiscent of Altea’s in its heyday, crystal chandeliers and a table so long the only way to communicate with the other side is via messenger pigeon. Atop the table boasts a bountiful feast fit for kings. Which makes sense. There’s a lot of royalty present. 
Princess Evuth ushers them past nervous castle staff and guests to the head of the table where the Queen currently sits, accompanied by two others Lance surmises are the Princess’ siblings, one red, and the other a darker shade of pink. Hot pink. And yet, just as equally hot as her sister. 
“Now this is what I call a feast,” says Hunk as they sit down, Lance opting to take the seat next to him and Allura (heck yeah). Hunk’s gaze lands inquisitively on a dish in front of them, and whilst Lance isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to eat food so fluorescent his insides could be glowing for decades, it’s a step above food goo. And at least it doesn’t move of its own accord. 
“It’s a special occasion,” says the Queen, and then a little louder, projecting her voice so at least half of the table can hear her. “Another quintant of our planet being free of the Galra. Let us pray that they do not find us here. Or if they do, we will have Voltron to keep them at bay.”
“Then can I assume you’re accepting our proposal to join the coalition?” Allura asks, hopeful. 
“Of course. It would be my pleasure. We are long due an era of peace.”
As Lance starts searching around for food he’ll be able to digest with minimal consequences (“Paladin, are you eating garnish?” Princess Evuth asks, clearly amused), and Hunk’s talking to Pidge about seasoning and five star reviews or something, Lance notices Allura’s got that weirdly glazed look in her eyes again. She hasn’t even touched her plate. Or added anything to it.
“Allura?” Lance prompts, his worry growing. “Are you okay?”
“Hm?” She seems to come to. “Oh, yes.”
Lance doesn’t believe it for a second. The worry stays.
“Lance,” she says, “I’m fine. Truly. I—” She grunts, cradling her head. 
Coran jumps to attention. “Princess?”
“I’m okay,” she says through clenched teeth. “It’s just a headache.”
“Perhaps you would like to take one of our guest rooms to rest in?” suggests the queen, “I can have one of my staff escort you there.”
“I’ll come too!” says Coran, never one to waver when it comes to Allura’s wellbeing. 
“Please, there is no need to cause a fuss. I should be here to…” Allura winces. 
“It’s no fuss at all,” assures Queen Naex with a sympathetic smile. And before Allura has any more time to insist that she’s okay, she’s being led out of the room with Coran, the latter of the two returning about five-ish minutes later. 
After the feast, there’s a period of time where they mix and mingle, giving the chance for many of the other prismariums to ask them about Voltron, and what it’s like to fly the lions. Lance, of course, isn’t one to keep a crowd waiting. 
Allura’s still gone. 
“Do you think she’s hungry?” asks Hunk, a second conductor on the Allura train of thought, “I mean, there’s all this nice food, and she didn’t take anything. It seems like a shame that she has to miss out.“
“Ooor I could take some to her,” offers Lance, seeing an opportunity to check up on Allura. He’s worried, okay. And can you blame him? She always looks so strong, it’s easy to forget that she’s only human. Or, rather, altean. Guess they aren’t exempt from headaches. 
“Is this really the best time to try and make a move on Allura?” says Hunk, giving him an unimpressed look. 
“That’s not what—just help me find something she might like.” 
Considering they’re guessing here, they pile a plate up, the more the merrier, the greater chance at least one of the snacks will be a hit, and Lance starts making his way to the general vicinity of the guest rooms after getting one of the staff to repeat the direction to him about five times. Hey. He’s just being careful. You could get lost in a place like this. 
He’s about halfway there when he spots Allura, having apparently decided a walk would clear her head. 
“Allura!” he says, rushing up to greet her. “Is your head feeling better? I’ve brought you some food from the feast and… uh. Allura?”
Not for the first time today, her eyes are glazed over. She’s also continuing on her walk, oblivious to Lance’s presence. 
“Allura?” he says again, hoping it’ll snap her out as it did before. When it doesn’t, he starts waving his hand in front of her face, accidentally bonking her on the nose as she walks into it. Still no response. “Yoohoo? Princess? Are you still in there?”
Again. No response.
“Allura? Wakey wakey?”
Nothing.
“Uuuhhh. Are you sleeping beauty, because girl, you’re stuck in a trance.”
Well. Pick up lining her awake doesn’t work. But this does get Lance thinking. It does appear to be some sort of trance, one that started in the funhouse mirror room.
She had been trying to touch that mirror.
And now—
Lance remembers this hallway, remembers the door at the end.
“Nu-uh, Princess,” says Lance, attempting to hold Allura back. “I can’t allow you to do that. I know it’s a pretty cool mirror and all, but it’s super old and grimy. You don’t want to put your hands all over it.”
Allura pays him no mind. No anything. His cheap attempt at restraining her simply doesn’t go noticed when a) she’s under some sort of sleeping beauty curse that’s gonna get her to prick her finger or something on a mirror (?) and b) Allura’s an altean with unthinkable level of raw strength. Lance wouldn’t last two seconds against her in an arm wrestling contest. 
He could really do with backup right now. But he doesn’t have his helmet comms, and there’s no time to run for help. He’ll have to play this smart. 
A barricade. That’s it. He needs a barricade. That should slow her down, long enough for him to get the others. 
Lance runs ahead, and drags some fancy cabinets from the hallway over to the door, mentally apologising to the prismariums for any damages that might occur. It’s very much not a one person job, but he makes do, pulling together a makeshift barricade out of what he has.
“Now, if this can stop you long enough—” Lance is interrupted by the sound of splintering wood as Allura breaks through. 
Oh cheese. Even those barricades you see in movies hold longer than that. 
Lance is desperate now, holding her arm and refusing to let go as she gets closer and closer to it. Lance can power of love this, right? That’s usually the hero’s last trump card, and it always works at the last possible moment. 
“Don’t do this!” Lance says, then starts wracking his brain for other quotes, noticing how the mirror’s surface starts to swirl like rolling smoke. “You have to fight it, Allura. We need you, here, with us, to save the universe. We can’t do that if you get possessed by an evil mirror. Or—Or—Whatever it’s doing to you! Don’t listen to it!”
***
𝙽𝚘𝚠
“But, uh, long story short: you listened to it. So I guess we’re here now?” Lance says, finishing up his own abridged version of the story. There really wasn’t much for him to tell. “Wherever here might be. Hey, does this mean we’re inside of the mirror? Is this some freaky mirror world?”   
Lance has played some horror games like this before. Very brain trippy. The reverse controls were a pain. 
“I can’t be sure. Wherever we are, it’s certainly not Queen Naex’s castle.” Her eyes scan the room, taking in the blue walls, and high ceiling, all incredibly familiar. “The Castle of Lions I believe? Though I can’t say I recall this room. Or this… photo?”
From a nightstand, Allura picks up a photograph, looking at it for no longer than a second before her face is flushing. She immediately presses it down, frame first, back where she found it. 
Now, that’s curious. “Uh…”
“It’s nothing important,” says Allura, not looking him in the eye. Weird. She clears her throat. “Remember what the Princess said? About the mirror being a window to other realities?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s as if it… called to me, wanting to show me something. It felt warm, and familiar, and I at first mistook it for my bond I share with the lions. It felt like coming home.” She takes a steady breath. “There could be truth to her tale. Though instead of a window, it is a door.”
Lance blinks. “Well huh. Aliens and now the multiverse. Sci-fi’s starting to feel like a documentary.”
“You’re remarkably calm.”
“You kind of just learn to roll with it. Takes a lot to phase me, you know.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep,” says Lance, sliding himself off the bed. Huh. Something feels off. “Is it me, or am I taller?”
“It’s not just you. We seem to be occupying the bodies of our variants. They’re a little older than we’re used to.”
Lance splutters. “Older?! Don’t tell me I have wrinkles!? Do I have wrinkles?”
“… Well.”
Her pause is telling. “My skincare routine! How could you future me? What about our future?” Lance laments, a great tragedy indeed. All his hard work and age is failing him. He’s too young to be this old!
“Were you not just telling me about how it takes a lot to phase you?”
“And this is a lot! I mean, we wake up who knows where, in a bed… together. Um.” Backtrack, backtrack. He gulps, feeling his face warm once more. “So in this universe—”
“Reality.”
“—Uh. In this reality. Are you and me—?”
“Yes.”
He tries not to squeak. It doesn’t work. “So this means we—?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” she says, curt, to the point. It betrays no emotion.
“Oh. Okay,” says Lance, that buoyant feeling in his chest sinking into a wreckage of scraps. Cool, cool, cool. No thinking about this very real reality where he and Allura may be in a committed relationship. No prob. 
“We need to focus on finding our way back.”
“You’re right.”
Something in Allura’s eyes softens slightly. “Look, Lance. We can talk later. But for now, we must find our entry point into this reality. Voltron needs its blue paladin.”
“And its Princess,” adds Lance, because if they need him, they sure as quiznack need her. “Let’s get looking.”
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reflections-of-mobius · 5 months
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"If you've got time to worry, then run!"
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donutcats · 1 year
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a little peek at my norrie pov fic because I’m having a lot of fun. I don’t know how to write for any of these characters but boy howdy I’m trying.
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ghostbeam · 2 years
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If i ever have a typo or punctuation error in my fic u can always tell me u can always send me a message or an ask or something and I will fix it cause omg
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noirapocalypto · 1 year
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One more and I’ll shut the fuck up. ✌️
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vivalabunbun · 2 years
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I tend to edit works after I post them to fix the formatting or small errors that slipped my eye, I hope the ever shifting text isn’t too annoying 😭
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mrburnsnuclearpussy · 2 years
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I haven’t been actively lately because I only just got internet and phone access where I’m staying rn and I finally have my new sim card in so I can have WIFI HALLELUJAH (I’m only supposed to have 1 hour phone time a day but no one needs to know heheheh)
Anyway I just wanted to say that I nearly died and I will still die and stand for Carson because he is amazing and a good person and season 6 isn’t in character but even if it was what happened to Thomas CLEARLY wasn’t even Carson’s fault and if you say it was then you SUCK and you’re WRONG!!! 😌 CARSON IS MY LIFE AMD MY WORLD AND THATS JUST SOMETHING FHAR YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT ABOUT ME!!!!!!!!!
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#I’m so happy to have wifi back and I made plans w someone and talked to my mum one to one like a real person and everything’s been insane o#obviously like I was in the icu and now mental ward and it’s been some of the darkest most traumatic time of my life but after talking to th#the right ppl I feel hopeful again and like an entirely difffeernet person from this morning#random tmi life update#hopefully I’ll be able to draw something decent and I can post some Downton animals soon ☺️ lol#force everyone here to care about tiger carson <3#still obsessed with him#weird stuff going ik this is weird but I like just got my internet and tumblr back and I’m like WHEEEEEEwWWWwwW#maybe there can br hope lifean da future for me#also probably the fucking shitton socktail of meds I’m on rn has something t di with it lol#i think I’m getting some more in. a bit but I’m gonna go to the art room or something and try to draw more or whatever#coz it’s too early to sleep and I’m bouncing with energy!#crazy like I couldn’t even walk by myself a couple days ago and now I’m like chatting with everyone and hyper ^~^#idk whether to say I feel good or bad at this point coz idk what either means anymore but#yeah like I need that seeet sweet therapy pls fix my BRAIN and the dr upped my meds so Horay that should help too#suicide mention#not rly but just being safe tagging#death mention#?#idk it. and be triggering though I know#like the topic I mean#anyway I stand by and live carson and if you blame him in any way for Thomas suicide I’ll personally kill you
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strohller27 · 2 years
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#okay. so given the response of one of my supervisors it seems like I’m the one being the asshole in the work drama#which. if having a stress response so bad I wake up one night feeling like I’m having a mild panic attack is being the asshole then. yeah.#fair I guess#I’ll admit I am judging this person rather harshly but…let’s look at where that’s coming from shall we?#she gave me extra work that I attempted to say no to and felt completely ignored about#when I tried to meet with her and her supervisor to refuse again I was told I had to participate anyway#which made it feel like I was being ignored by two people#and my stress response is basically: a) get so flustered I can’t speak b) cry or c) both#so hearing ‘yeah I’m so sorry I gave you extra work. would you please suck it up and deal with it tho? I’d really appreciate it’#causes me to shut down and go ‘okay I must be required to put my entire life on hold for you. got it.’#so I’m the asshole for that and for assuming that this lady sees our team as a problem to be fixed#and for assuming she thinks the team is not responding to her on purpose and thus it’s *our* fault she’s not getting participation#(when let’s be real here…I led a team training and had no problem getting the team to participate…who’s fault is it really???)#honey her words and her actions are both giving me that impression#and I’m not the only one saying it. so maybe I’m the asshole but I’m not the only asshole#but that’s fine. if I have to be the asshole in this situation I’ll play the damn part#as long as this shit gets resolved. the team may need me to play the bad guy#at this point I won’t feel like it’s really resolved until she experiences some consequences for her damn actions#she needs to learn that just because she’s team leader doesn’t mean she gets to do whatever the hell she wants#with no regard for how her actions affect others goddamn it#also as long as I don’t get fired for this because if I do I am going to raise absolute hell#I’ll take a second to think about it like ‘how would you feel if someone was criticising your work?’#and I’ll think ‘well. first off I wouldn’t disrespect my team members so hard and if I did I would deserve a swift slap in the face’#‘and second off. I would feel so utterly terrible for just making someone do extra stuff that wasn’t in their job description#especially if they weren’t my direct subordinate. and if I ever did that I do hope someone woulf sit me down and say hey. not fucken cool.’#and I would apologise and come up with an actionable plan that didn’t involve disrespecting that person’s autonomy#because I feel like that’s a common courtesy I was not afforded in this situation#so yes. if I ever start acting like this girl slap my cheeks and tell me to wake the fuck up and stop being rude#and I will face the music without making others suffer for it
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luke-shywalker · 4 days
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youtube
#i’m terrified to ever watch this movie. i think it would kill me. basically it’s about a marriage falling apart.#anyway—adam driver would do so good as bobby in company and i would die to see him in it#i’m seeing company tonight!!#it’s a special musical to me. it’s about marriage. how marriage is both exciting and boring and makes your life better and worse.#the months leading up to our wedding i was kind of a cynical mental wreck. there was so much i did not like about my husband-to-be.#sometimes i felt like the only reason i was going through with the marriage was because it was too late to get out of it.#i had spent my teen and college years wanting to have a boyfriend/husband then i got one and realized#oh wait this didn’t actually fix my problems huh#actually there are NEW problems now#and then somehow this past year has actually been like. the best year of my life lol#it’ll be a year next month!#yea there are still those Little Things. sometimes there are Bigger Things. but bruh this dude is so good for me#i have never been thriving as much as i have this year.#i’m so much healthier in so many ways than i have ever been all my life#and like it’s cringe to say that cuz i don’t want to say MARRIAGE is what fixed me but. i think it’s okay to say that#there must be some kind of GOOD to marriage otherwise there’d be no point in doing it#and i think i make his life better too. he tells me so at least lol.#and i’ll only be able to watch the show with one eye LOL but my husboi will be with me watching this musical#that i used to listen to when i was angsty about getting married#and now we are married#and life is great.#somebody need me too much#somebody know me too well#somebody pull me up short and put me through hell#and give me support#for being alive…#yeah there are times when it’s harder than being single but. the blessings are multiplied along with the hardship.#shywalker stuff#Youtube
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celestie0 · 17 days
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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]
title. around the clock
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Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.
ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)
ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.
ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes
ᰔ word count. 12.6k
a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!
alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem
➸ masterlist
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2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?
2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure
2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha
2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts
2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 
2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it
2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter
2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?
2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him
2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?
2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah
2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up
2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?
3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you
3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up
3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy
3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow
3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 
3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE
3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here
3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(
3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 
The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 
But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 
The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.
He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 
Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 
He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).
He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.
It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.
But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.
“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 
There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?
The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 
Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 
So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.
You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.
“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”
He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.
If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 
“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.
“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”
He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 
He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.
The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.
So much for no flirting.
6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet
7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen
7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy
7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????
7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?
7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY
7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?
7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(
7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh
He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 
But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 
4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(
5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]
5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!
5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume
5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?
5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah
5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something
5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him
5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.
5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.
Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.
But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 
“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.
“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”
“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”
Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 
Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.
“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.
Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.
“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.
Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.
“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.
Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”
Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.
He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.
But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.
Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 
Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”
“Yeah. Bros.”
The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.
“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.
Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”
The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 
This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 
His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.
1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 
He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.
1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(
The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 
1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell
1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy
His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.
1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?
1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?
1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that
1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge
1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((
He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 
1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 
His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 
1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure
He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.
1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me
His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.
Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.
“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.
Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.
He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 
There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.
“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”
Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”
Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.
Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”
“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.
He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 
The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.
The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.
Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 
He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.
His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.
Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.
Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 
Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!
There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.
He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!
He feels like throwing up. 
Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.
The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”
Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.
Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—
sometimes, i think of when you kissed me
Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.
His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 
What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?
Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.
He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.
“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 
Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.
The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 
Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.
He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”
“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”
“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”
Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.
He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.
He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.
Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?
He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 
He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.
He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,
3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 
—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 
“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 
You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 
Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 
You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.
And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.
Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)
With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.
Oh fuck.
That was right.
You drunk texted him last night.
You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.
Fuck.
Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.
You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.
In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?
The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.
You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.
You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—
3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 
It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.
I think about fucking you all the time
At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 
Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.
But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.
Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.
You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.
But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.
And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 
You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—
10:34am you: do it then
—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 
He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn���t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”
“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.
“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.
“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.
“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 
“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 
The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.
“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.
“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”
“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”
He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 
“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.
He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.
“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.
“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.
He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”
Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”
“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”
“It’s cum, Satoru.”
He shrugs. “Bad?”
“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”
He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”
There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.
“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”
He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—
Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.
The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.
He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.
“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.
“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”
Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.
“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.
“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”
Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 
“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”
“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.
Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”
“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 
Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.
“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”
“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”
He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 
Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 
“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.
The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.
“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.
He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.
“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”
“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.
“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—��� he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”
“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.
“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 
“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.
His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.
“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.
“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”
He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.
You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”
He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”
You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”
“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”
“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”
“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”
“I never said you were stupid?”
“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”
“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”
Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 
“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   
“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.
You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 
“I—” He stops himself.
Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.
“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”
You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”
He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.
You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!
This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.
“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”
“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 
He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.
3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon
.
.
.
[the end]
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a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3
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positivelyghastly · 2 months
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In other news, I finally got to scribble out a sketch for a Ghost tattoo that’s been in my head for 2 years now
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