rey-jake-therapist · 2 days ago
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Sauron, Galadriel and touch
Each time we see Sauron hug someone, touch their arms or their hair, put his arms around their shoulders etc. it's never gratuitous. He always has an agenda. He does that to manipulate them in a way or another, or to steal them something. He isn't a touchy type of guy, really.. I think he probably dislikes it, most of the time.
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In Elendil's case, he probably didn't just pickpocket him but used some magic trick as well, because there's no way Elendil wouldn't have noticed. Not to mention that the dagger literally disappeared from Halbrand's hands up until he gave it back to Galadriel. Anyway, he still hugged Elendil to distract him from what was happening. There was not a bit of sincerity in that move.
Later, he put his hand on the smith's shoulder in an attempt to convince him to take him at his service. It was meant to be a reassuring gesture : "trust me bro, I'm the best !"
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In this case, it was slightly different :
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Sauron did that to steal Tamar's guild crest, so the intention was similar to when he hugged Elendil. But this time, he didn't do it discreetly. We know now that even as Halbrand (so not in full possession of the powers he had as Annatar), he was able to make his blood look red; so he could have easily projected the image of the guild's crest on Tamar's tunique, to make him think it was still there.
But see, Tamar offended him. He recalled him that Galadriel would probably never want him (though not because he was a "low man", but because he was the very evil she sought to destroy), and Sauron didn't like that. So what he did was provoking Tamar by stealing his crest in plain sight, so Tamar would follow him and give him the excuse he waited for, to do that :
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We can also count that as touching, I guess ? But tell me again that Sauron wasn't interested in Galadriel romantically... It makes total sense for him to lose his shit because some man implied he wasn't good enough for her, right...
(I'll later write another meta about the few times that Sauron loses control. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's hot terrifying).
In season 2, I think we saw him touch Mirdania twice, and maybe once for Celebrimbor ? Though I can't find a gif of Sauron touching him except when he grabbed him at the end, so I'm not sure about that.
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I've already discussed several times, including today, how Mirdania was a stand-in for Galadriel, so I won't go back to that here. Sauron doesn't feel any affection for Mirdania: wether he touches her hair and hand to manipulate her, or because she reminds him of Galadriel, or most likely, for both, it is, again, not gratuitous and not genuine.
And as for being touched... Oh boy, he doesn't like that at all. His reaction is most of the time him pulling a disgusted "how dare you touching me, you miserable worm ?" face.
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This scene in particular was hilarious in this regard. He was very upset by Celebrimbor's refusal to forge rings for men, and Celebrimbor unwillingly added to the offence by giving him a condescending pat on the arm. Sauron probably had a hard time refraining the urge to murder Celebrimbor on the spot, here.
The Galadriel Case
Her case is special, as usual. Until episode 8, Sauron never touches her without her consent : after they arrive in Numenor, he invites it, but doesn't force it on her. it's supposed to be a "friendly" handshake symbolizing peace and a mean to give her Finrod's dagger back, but, well, hmm...
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It's just straight out flirting. The way he looks straight into her eyes while pulling her to him, his weird conception of personal space... I can't NOT tag @apoloadonisandnarcissus 's thread about the Freudian symbolism in Haladriel interactions... It's worth reading. There was nothing friendly/platonic in his behavior, but, again... no unnecessary touching here.
Galadriel remains equally guarded towards him, even after she spends time with him and considers him as a "friend". As Sauron in episode 3, she only invites it, on the boat that takes them to the Southlands.
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Even when she gives him back his pouch, in the forge, she does it in a way that her fingers barely touch his.
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When she finds him wounded, she touches him where he's wounded, to check how serious it is. She could take his hand to comfort him, but.... Nope.
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And yet, she's not usually that guarded with her friends, those with whom she shares a (truly) platonic relationship with, as we can see with Elrond and Arondir.
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It's definitely not because she doesn't trust Halbrand/Sauron. She does, or she wouldn't be that heartbroken over him in season 2. No, I think she keeps him at arm's length because what she feels for him is not platonic at all, and she wants to keep her feelings in check. Keeping her distance with him (physically) is the way for her to do that, or so she thinks.
Now, back to Sauron. While during all season 1 he was never touchy with Galadriel, in episode 8, he suddenly is.
Not only that but he's also very flirtatious, like... more than usual.
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Galadriel seems surprised with this unsolicited touching, and iffy, because she doesn't trust him anymore. She has just asked one of her fellow Elves to look in the catacombs of Eregion for everything they had about the Southlands and their royal lineage; after she heard Celebrimbor talk about "power over flesh" and seen Sauron enthusiastically offer his aid to the smith, she starts suspecting that Halbrand may be not who he claims to be.
Coincidence ? I think not. Even if she remained discreet, Sauron probably felt that something was off. He's very observant, and he knows her mind. If she changed of attitude with him, if she seemed even a little bit wary of him, there's no doubt he noticed it.
He certainly planned to tell her the truth about him very soon, at that point, but he also wants the rings to be forged so he could show her what they'd do with them. So this, imho, is Sauron buying time. He knows she's attracted to him, he may even know she's in love with him... I think he's trying to breach her defenses, here.
Did he succeed, even for the few weeks that separated this scene from the Sauron revelation ? That, we don't know. I'd say probably not, because just before the Elf brought her the records she asked for, she doesn't look like someone who trusts him again.
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But then she's still in denial about him even after he admits he isn't the king of the Southlands, going as far as claiming he convinced Miriel to go help the Southlands, while it was her idea entirely... So who knows what happened during these three weeks. It's also possible she didn't suspect him to be Sauron, of all people. And anyways, she loves him. She definitely hoped till he revealed himself that he had a good explanation for everything.
Yesterday I published this post very late, and it's only this morning that I realized I omitted to mention a couple of other very important touches... Stupid me.
How could I forget the chin grab ?
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We're in full "unsolicited touching" territory here. Personal boundaries be damned ! The chin grab has several connotations here : it's coded as romantic, but it's also an act of dominance and control, though there's no brutality at all in his gesture. Sauron wants Galadriel to look at him, aka to face the truth : he's still the man she loves, but he's also the monster she hates. They both coexist, in him, hence why the claims that "Halbrand never existed" or "Galadriel loved Halbrand but doesn't love Sauron" are both nonsenses and a complete misunderstanding of the season 1 finals. Galadriel knows who he is in this scene, and yet she's tempted.
The act of grabbing the chin is in itself controlling/dominating, but there's also tenderness : he's gentle, he caresses her cheek almost shyly; he wants her trust for Halbrand back, not her fear of Sauron. He wants to show her that she's loved, but you can feel that if she asked him to take his hand off her, he would back off.
Finally, this post ends with Sauron taking Galadriel's hands into his, with her holding Finrod's dagger.
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You know, what he did with Morgoth's crown in season 2, binding her to him through a forced blood oath ? He wanted to do almost exactly that in season 1 already, and that's what this scene implies. Except in this scenario, Galadriel would have been ok with it: it would haven't been a metaphorical rape, but the closest to a consensual sex scene we'd have gotten in this show, if they had followed this route.
I'm not saying I wanted this, just to be clear: Galadriel was tempted to join Sauron in this scene, but it would have been a major breach to the LOTR lore if she had. "Touching the darkness", in Finrod's and Galadriel's minds, was never about embracing it wholeheartedly. It was precisely where Galadriel and Sauron's visions diverge. She knows it will never be the way. She knows she'd end up being a tyrant if she succombed to the temptation, and that's why she rejected it, and Sauron with it.
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augustjustice · 1 day ago
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🪱Wiggly Worm Wednesday 🪱
Thank you so much for tagging me @formosusiniquis and @sidekick-hero 💛🖤It's been ages, but I finally have some down time and some thoughts to share!
Transcribed and expanded upon from an idea I discussed with @inkfowl on discord a while ago, this one is always kind of burning at the back of my brain:
Steddie soulmate AU where Steve and Eddie are not each other's soulmates.
Like, maybe Steve's romantic soulmate is Nancy (because of course Robin will always be his true platonic soulmate), but Nancy, being someone who goes against the grain and doesn't want the system to dictate to her who she is, will be, or will be with, already rejected Steve for Jonathan in the earlier seasons. She didn't want to end up trapped in a loveless soulmate marriage by her parents, and she felt called to Jonathan soulmate bond be damned.
Like in canon, Steve was deeply heartbroken at the time when it happened, always being a romantic who wanted to find the one true person he was destined to be with forever. But because he did truly care about Nancy, he let her go, didn't want to stand in the way of her true happiness. And by the time Season 4 rolls around, his own feelings have developed into a healthy friendship with Nancy, having truly moved on the way he told Robin he was in the bathroom confession, and at that point he honestly wouldn't want to go back to the way things were before. Even though he's sad it isn't destined to happen the way it does in all the rom-coms and fairytales, he still wants real romantic love (Robin and the kids more than fulfill the share of platonic and familial love he's looking for, in a way his parents never managed to) and hasn't given up on finding it.
So then the S4 shenanigans happen, Steve officially meets Eddie the DM the kids keep raving about, and falls for him pretty fast even while they're still trying to sort out all the carnage with Vecna.
At first, Eddie keeps pushing Steve in Nancy's direction, because from his perspective, they're soul mates, and it's so clear there's feelings still lingering there. Plus, they'd obviously be a badass perfect couple, just look at them. (And if that's the perfect excuse Eddie tells himself to keep from getting too tangled up in his own feelings, well that's a secret for him and no one else.)
But even in the aftermath of the Upside Down shenanigans, Steve and Nancy still don't get back together, and Steve is insistent that they're just friends, managing to convince Eddie that he's being sincere. So, something tentatively starts to build between them. Nothing officially romantic, yet, but they're slowly working their way up to it, flirting and feeling each other out.
And sure, they shouldn't make sense on paper--in the larger scheme of the universe, they don't, allegedly, given the lack of soulmate mark binding them together. But besides just genuine attraction, everything that happened has bonded them together, and they genuinely feel safe together, able to open in ways they can't even with some of their closest friends. They might not have many surface things in common like shared hobbies and interests, but when it comes to the things they both think actually matters, they have a lot in common--like their protectiveness over the kids, a shared inherent silliness, etc. They make each other laugh, they comfort each other on bad nights when the nightmares keep them up. It seems only a matter of time before the tension overwhelms them and they collide together, finally make it official the way Robin is impatiently waiting on them too.
...But then Eddie's own soulmate waltzes into the picture.
Steve finds himself heart-broken all over again, because he's always the second choice. And how the hell is he supposed to compete with Eddie's actual, honest-to-god soulmate? Especially when the guy is just perfect for him--completely into metal, a nonconformist, knows and likes all the songs that Eddie likes. The guy is even hot which pisses Steve the hell off. But he tries to hide it, do what he did for Nancy and push his feelings aside as he encourages Eddie to take his shot with the guy like a good friend would. Because if he really cares about Eddie, then he should just be happy for him, right? He's getting the shot Steve never did.
Robin insists, from the outside looking in, that Eddie seems a lot more conflicted than Steve is willing to see. Confused and hurt at first when Steve pulls away. Going on dates with the guy only after Steve seems so insistent that he give him a chance, telling him he should be excited because It's your honest to god soulmate, dude!
But even as he tries to be supportive, Steve's jealousy keeps bubbling up. Things eventually come to a head in an argument.
"I don't care why you care so much anyway, Harrington! Now's your perfect chance to swoop in--you've got Miss Perfect Nancy Wheeler out there just waiting for you to get your shit together, stop 'experimenting,' and finally go back to her!"
"Newsflash, Eddie! I already told you, I'm not in love with Nancy. And besides, it wouldn't matter even if I was, since I'm her second choice, just like with you, just like--with everybody!"
And then Steve presses an arm over his face to hide his tears, but Eddie catches his wrist and tugs it down.
“Yeah, except, that's where you're wrong, Stevie boy,” he says, cupping Steve’s face in his hands and brushing away his tears with his thumbs, “because you're not. My second choice. Some stupid ass birthmark can’t tell me shit. I don’t want him, I don’t want anyone else, Stevie. Just you."
And then they get an epic, tearful kiss, and Eddie makes some crack about how it's super conformist to end up with your soulmate, anyway, not a very metal thing to do, and Steve lets out a watery laugh in the crook of his neck and then kisses him to shut him up.
Eddie tells Steve all about how he misses his and Steve's silly arguments, and finds it boring that his soulmate and he always seem to agree on things, because where's the fun in that? There's no real spark. None of the push-and-pull he gets when exposing Steve to his interests and the times Steve actually gets into it. Or the delighted confusion when Steve tries to get him into something new and Eddie realizes he actually does like it, or even when he doesn't, seeing Steve enjoy it is enough to make him go from disgust to fond tolerance. And Steve admits he missed it all too, so much, even the metal songs Eddie forced him to listen to that Steve hates he's been playing on a loop while he wallows.
"I want this," Eddie tells him, kissing the tear tracks from Steve's face, "you're here, Stevie, and you're real, and this feels more right than anything else ever has. So, whaddya say, big boy? Will you have me?"
"You're my first pick, Eds," Steve admits, smiling softly, "there's nobody else I'd rather have on my team but you."
Then Eddie complains about Steve marring his love confession with a sports metaphor, and how it's not even true, anyway, because he knows Robin is actually Steve's first draft or whatever. Steve teases him about picking up sports lingo before shutting him up the best way he knows how--with his lips.
And they of course live happily ever after making their own love work, building it together. Even if it doesn't makes sense on paper, even if it's not predestined, they picked it and its theirs. At the end of the day, as far as they're concerned--that's all that really matters.
I'm no pressure tagging @tinytalkingtina @griefabyss69 @wheneverfeasible @thefreakandthehair @ataliagold and anyone else who sees this and would like to join in!
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ssentimentals · 1 day ago
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f1 pairings as famous love tropes: alex albon x logan sargeant
there was only one bed!AU
'and honey, don't you know that you and i were meant to be? sooner or later, in any universe, it's you and me'
'how are you dealing with this?'
oh, what a great question. alex glances around, checking if someone is out there. 'peachy, georgie. just peachy.'
'yeah? not freaking out?' george asks in a tone that implies he knows the answer already.
'of course not,' alex huffs. 'why would i be freaking out? yes, hotel is overbooked and apparently i don't have a room anymore because of some system lag, but my good friend logan kindly offered me to stay with him. what is there to freak out about?'
and if alex doesn't add a tiny detail about his raging crush on said good friend then it's only because george knows. and because george is a very caring individual, he asks the question alex fears the most: 'is there only one bed?'
usually alex is the one who makes fun of george and his love for dramatics, but he's not doing any better now. alex knows that he's making a big deal out of nothing - it's okay for mates to share one bed when circumstances call for it. and even when they don't - it's also fine. everything is fine, but alex can't convince his stupid heart that everything is strictly platonic so if not to count this fact then he's good. he tells george as much and receives a surpisingly serious: 'alex, just go to another hotel, really. if this is too much for you, please don't- do you want me to check availability of hotels nearby? send me the address.'
it's very sweet. george's care wraps around him like a blanket and alex breathes out, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. he takes few more deep breaths before replying: 'no, i- it's really nothing and i'm just freaking out for not reason. and it'd look weird if after agreeing i just leave to another hotel. besides, i slept in the same bed with you million times and it should be the same, right?'
'have you ever had a crush the size of great china's wall on me, albono?' george teases. 'anything you want to confess?'
'idiot. i'm fine,' alex repeats, chuckling. 'but thanks for the offer, mate. appreciate it.'
'of course.' george sighs, yawning. it's around two am in england and time difference really sucks because it's only nine pm in thailand but alex is already barely standing upright. 'you'll be fine, mate. maybe you'll even get lucky, who knows?'
alex highly doubts this prospect but doesn't voice it out loud. instead he says his goodbyes and goes back to the reception desk, where logan is signing some papers. alex has to pause because it's really unfair how good logan looks after seven hours flight and alex does not think so of his own bias: every single girl in the lobby agrees with him, eyeing his american friend up like he's some candy. well, alex supposes he is but-
'all done!' logan announces and looks up, sending brilliant smile alex's way. 'i've got the keys, let's go? or you wanna grab something from the bar first?'
'no, fuck, i'm absolutely knackered, let's go.'
it's not a spacious suite. which is not to say that it's bad, but the bed is certainly not a king size one and bathroom doesn't look like it'll fit two grown men brushing their teeth together there. alex hovers unsurely, not feeling very comfortable with taking not his space, but logan washes away his worries with: 'hey, this is your room too, okay? you're not intruding, i promise.'
and it's so earnest and sincere that alex lets himself unpack more confidently, even going as far as be the one to shower first. (which is the choice he made because he wanted to shower first, not because the thought of being in the shower that smells like logan's favorite citrusy shampoo is unbearing for him). he changes into his pj and takes left side of the bed, trying to figure out how both of them can fit here without touching. (and it's not like touching is bad per se, logan is okay with physical contact but touching is bad for alex's heart, which still refuses to see this all as a purely platonic thing).
'we are like two fifty years old men, going to bed at ten pm,' logan says, coming out of the bathroom. his citrusy scent carries on with him, invades the room and alex grips the sheets pathetically in response. god, where is the book on getting over unrequited crush on a friend? that'd be a great night time reading. 'but i think we can use jetlag as an excuse.'
alex tries not to stare. it's not like he's never seen logan's naked upper body but right now he kind of has nowhere to go and his eyes find toned muscles on their own. logan is stupidly fit. he looks like fashion magazine slapped him on the face, like he can do modeling as a solid job. he has shiny smile, sparkling eyes and unfortunately for alex, extremely kind and likable personality. alex thinks he was doomed from the start, to be honest.
'are you a blanket hogger? i think they have another one,' logan muses out loud, drying his hair with a towel in haphazard motions that send water drops flying everywhere. 'air-con on or off?'
'on.' alex replies, twisting uncomfortably and forcing himself to lay still. 'what about you?'
'hm?' logan turns and pauses, staring at alex on the bed. his eyes widen a little and alex is not sure but it looks like he's blushing even in the poor lightning. it takes few awkward seconds for logan to unfreeze and he stumbles away from his suitcase, almost tripping in the process. 'i'm fine! yeah, i'm fine with everything!'
alex blinks. he's not sure whether to comment on logan's high-pitched voice at the end or not; his friend steps closer and his face is as red as a tomato, so alex mercifully decides to say nothing. something twists in his gut, something akin to hope and it's dangerous, he can't afford it; even a silver of hope will make his heart grow bigger and if alex can't fit it in his chest already, what he'll do then?
'i can go,' alex blurts out suddenly. he catches logan's surprised inhale and adds: 'it's really no bother, i can just go to another hotel-'
'you're not comfortable?' logan interrupts, voice small and hesitant. when alex turns to look at him, his whole expression screams of a kicked puppy and that tugs at alex's heartstrings horrifically. 'with me?'
how does alex voice out his feelings? that he is afraid of how too comfortable he is with this whole ordeal? how this feels too domestic, which does unspeakable things to his heart and he's too damn young to have a heartstroke. how can he politely tell logan that he has to protect his heart from breaking and therefore the most logical solution is for him to leave? how can he tell him that when logan looks at him with those big grey-green eyes, clutching at the towel in his hands with the most miserable expression ever? answer is he can't and alex has never been logical when it comes to logan, so what he ends up saying is: 'of course i'm comfortable with you, mate.'
logan breathes out then, tension sips away from his posture and his bright smile is on: 'ah, you're still worried about like intruding and such? i told you to forget it, alex. i'm all good!'
that you are, alex thinks miserably, watching logan practically skip to the other side of the bed. you are very good. and usually it's never silent with logan, they share banter easily, conversations flows naturally but right now alex can't seem to focus on anything because logan apparently sleeps only with boxers on. american dream climbs into the bed with him and it becomes painfully clear how this is not a king size - fuck, not even a queen size - but is just a bit wider version of a simple single bed. alex is pretty sure if he or logan were on a bigger side then it would've been impossible to fit; now they fit just barely, arms and legs touching due to zero space. alex is hyperaware of logan's hairless leg pressing up to his - he has to will himself not to flinch at the contact.
'wanna watch something?' logan asks, evidently being the only normal one out of them two now. 'or you gonna sleep?'
tiredness practically weighs alex down, but logan is next to him, smelling good and looking happy for having alex with him and he clearly has some videos he wants to show, so alex indulges him with a nod. logan perks up at this - puppy, he's like a puppy - and shuffles close, closer, until his head is pillowed comfortably on alex's shoulder and his hair is right up alex's nose. 'so okay, i have few videos i wanted to show you.'
alex's arm is in the way. it's very obvious and yet alex hesitates, unsure if he can do what he desperately wants to - free his arm and wrap it around logan, pull him even closer until their joined body heat won't make him start sweating. it's for comfort, alex repeats like a mantra in his mind, when he moves his arm as casually as possible. logan is all on board with this, he instantly lifts up his head to give alex more room and shimmies closer with a contented sigh like he waited for this and- what alex can do with this information? how can he not read too much into this? logan presses play and giggles at the very start, saying something that alex doesn't catch. alex, in fact, doesn't catch anything what's happening, too focused on logan, who has no idea of turmoil happening in his friend's mind. george always says that alex can get too into his head but he thinks he has valid reasons to, especially now. logan's wet hair, logan's warm body, logan's scent, logan's laugh - he can't be blamed for what he does next, he'll blame it on tiredness and jetlag if anyone asks. alex leans in and places small kiss on logan's wet head as his hand moves from where it was wrapped around logan's shoulder to much, much lower, until it wraps comfortably around logan's middle, fingers touching the hem of his boxers. logan freezes at first - stops midsentence, doesn't move for few seconds. alex holds his breath, wondering if this is it, if he crossed the line; apology is on his lips, when logan suddenly shits and practically melts into him. he starts talking again and does unthinkable - grabs alex's waist and pulls it closer, silently asking alex to wrap his arm around him tighter. this is - crazy. alex can't hear anything apart from loud beating of his heart, he can't fucking breathe, when logan starts playing with his fingers, all while explaining some video to him.
'logan,' he calls out, voice raspy and tense.
'hm?' logan doesn't look up at first but when alex doesn't say anything, he raises his head a little, turning to the side to see alex's face better. 'yes?'
say something. alex just stares for a while. really drinks in logan's handsome features that he learned to love over the time they know each other. stares and stares and maybe he's delirious with want and his desire for it to be real, but he thinks he sees his own feelings reflected back at him in logan's stormy eyes. alex lets go of logan's hand and moves lower in a bold move, squeezing his hip. run away, he thinks, run away or i won't stop. logan, apparently, also has his logical mind turned off when it comes to alex, because he doesn't move. no, what he does is angle his hips just slightly so in an inviting manner and oh. oh.
'logan,' alex whispers and this name sounds like a prayer from his mouth. with other hand he reaches out to take a gentle hold of his chin. 'do not indulge me if that's now what you want.'
logan leans into the touch like a kitten, watching alex with a mix of awe and excitement. he pushes his leg in between, gets even closer to alex and stretches his neck uncomfortably all to grin at him widely: 'why don't you ask me, hm?'
alex swallows. 'that's not a game for me,' he says because he needs to say it, he needs to look out after his own heart.
logan's grin fades, gets replaced with a serious frown. 'i'm not playing.'
and- can alex dream? can he have this? can he be bold and selfish and just take-
'ask me,' logan asks, no, demands. 'because if you ask me then i'll be able to tell everything.'
'what you'd tell?' alex asks, getting lost in his eyes.
logan smiles softly, taking his own hand to gently cup side of alex's face, caressing his cheekbone. 'i'd tell you that i liked you from the second you smiled at me. i'd tell you that being your friend is the biggest honor, but i'd also add that just being your friend would've never been enough. i'd tell how happy you make me, how proud of you i am, how i want you around, always.' logan leans in, brushing their noses together. 'i'd tell how much i want you.'
'how much?' alex speaks into his mouth, not breathing.
'so much, alex,' logan shivers, plastering himself all over thai guy. 'you have no idea.'
alex's hand moves, cupping his neck. 'i think i do, actually.'
the kiss is everything. it's slow and deep, it's exploring each other's mouths with tongues like devouring one another is a good option, it's exhilirating and murderous. alex thinks he won't ever be able to kiss anyone else again. he leans back, pushes their foreheads together and smiles at the way logan's pale hands try to touch him everywhere they can reach. 'i was going crazy,' he whispers, making logan stop. 'with how much i want you. how much i want to be more than friends.'
logan giggles, blushes adorably and hides his face in alex's neck. 'we are idiots. we could've been doing this for- wait, how long have you been pining for me?'
'long enough,' alex mutters, not even correcting the 'pining' thing. it's true, anyways. 'how long you have been pining for me?'
'oh no mister, that's not how it works!' logan laughs and gets on top of him easily. 'you don't get to turn this around!'
alex grabs a hold of his hips and looks at him with a smile. he's not even ashamed of the fact that he basically is pulling out full on heart eyes on logan because logan looks exactly the same way at him and it's - amazing. brilliant. perfect. logan is perfect.
'i did get lucky in the end, huh,' alex mutters to himself, thinking about call with george.
'what?' logan asks, leaning down. he finds alex's lips and yeah, alex can get used to this so, so easily.
'nothing, babe,' he says, smiling at logan's blush at the petname. 'nothing.'
a/n: if you think that this looks unfinished then it's because i can't stop and will get carried away writing it, so i had to pull a stop somewhere. hopefully this was good, let me know! - nini
my other formula 1 works are here
my seventeen works are here
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shorlinesorrows · 7 months ago
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qpr jean and neil. that's all i'm gonna say.
do you see my vision?
#i might add onto this later but right now I'm too busy crying#“misplaced forever partner” ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT DESTROYED ME#neil ordering a hit to keep jean safe changed my brain chemistry#i need them to be friends#i need them to call each other and gossip and send each other stupid memes that only they understand#i need them to slowly grow closer as they heal until one day they can finish each other's sentences#and they ocassionally make super dark jokes about their trauma out of the blue (they bet on how people will react competitively)#i need them to call each other derogatory names but get Super Upset whenever anyone else talks shit about the other and offer to kill them#and i would love them to reclaim the spots next to each other that riko set#and make them their own#they're not partners on the court but they sure as hell are partners in life#the mcs ever#at one point andrew and jeremy are just looking at each other across a table at a restaurant as these two bicker#and realize they have somehow both become the Third Wheel despite the fact that 1) there's four of them and 2) jean and neil aren't dating#the amount of queer platonic pining i could fit in these traumatized people#the: “i'm lowkey obsessed with you but I Really don't like you romantically and I don't know what to do with it”#and the: “oh thank hell me too i thought i was even weirder than i already am. wanna go harass the fbi with me?"#jeremy and andrew watch this trainwreck both exasperatedly and proudly you can't convince me otherwise#cannot convince me that these four won't somehow end up living in each others pockets even if they live 1000 miles away#kevin pops in frequently as his usual wonderful diva self#anyway i'm going insane how yall doing#neil josten#jean moreau#all for the game#the sunshine court
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foxstens · 5 months ago
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i don't want to vague but i resent the idea that kevin has to be with someone
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loismagic · 2 years ago
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on tonight’s demily discourse, this would have been a perfect moment for a kiss :)))))
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rhfffas · 2 years ago
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They are very GOOD friends
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gojonanami · 8 months ago
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❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞
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❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞
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✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader
✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,
✧ wc: 16,043
✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!
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“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,” 
You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it. 
You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead. 
“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?” 
“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,” 
“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,” 
You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?” 
“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,” 
“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?” 
“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” 
Yup, you have a headache now. 
“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?” 
Why were you considering this? 
“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?” 
“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?” 
“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“ 
“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble. 
“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor. 
And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it. 
Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life. 
And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this. 
He said your name, “Well?” 
He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did. 
It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place. 
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“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself. 
Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now. 
His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was. 
“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair. 
“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh. 
You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?” 
“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,” 
“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror. 
“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?” 
“Gojo, this is—“ 
“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,” 
Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?” 
“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,” 
You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“ 
“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire  — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way. 
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“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion. 
“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed. 
Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most. 
“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event. 
And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did. 
“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn. 
“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,” 
His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?” 
You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate. 
And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them. 
“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“ 
“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled. 
“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,” 
The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,” 
“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours. 
“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,” 
You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?” 
He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,” 
“No one can see us,” 
“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,” 
Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling. 
“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?” 
You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks. 
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“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?” 
“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn. 
“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.
“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,” 
You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“ 
He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you. 
“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare. 
You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?” 
Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had. 
“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst. 
So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,” 
But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?” 
You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?” 
Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.” 
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“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“ 
“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,” 
“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,” 
You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?” 
“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”
It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru. 
And you really didn’t hate Suguru —  it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him. 
You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs. 
And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend. 
“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“ 
“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?” 
But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it. 
“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“ 
“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,” 
“How long will you be gone?” 
“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?” 
You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,” 
His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?” 
“You don’t have to—“ 
“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm. 
And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.
“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”
“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.” 
“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,” 
He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.” 
And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—
You were already there. 
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You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious. 
But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point. 
how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended? 
You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.
Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad
You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds 
It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge. 
This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later. 
This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you— 
“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?” 
“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,” 
“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?” 
He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter. 
“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?” 
“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,” 
“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it. 
“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,” 
“Gojo—“ 
“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them. 
All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t. 
He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one? 
You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again. 
Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen
You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy. 
You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept. 
You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen. 
You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?” 
“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?” 
“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,” 
“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?” 
You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly. 
“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?” 
“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,” 
He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?” 
Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,” 
“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts. 
“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,” 
But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”  
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You glanced at the time, he’s late. 
Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a  way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground. 
Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked. 
Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad. 
It was probably the latter. 
You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel. 
“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,” 
You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?” 
“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh. 
“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch. 
“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?” 
“A bad rom com,” 
He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,” 
“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,” 
He sighs, running fingers through his hair,  “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,” 
“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,” 
“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table. 
“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,” 
“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,” 
“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,” 
“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,” 
You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there��“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,” 
And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?” 
“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem. 
It was unspoken. 
Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t. 
You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now. 
Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever. 
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Your neck hurts. 
The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed. 
Or what you thought was your bed. 
Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear. 
Gojo. 
Gojo??? 
Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears? 
You really should have fucking known better. 
Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer. 
And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh. 
Fuck. Your. Life. 
He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes. 
Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first. 
And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?” 
“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—” 
And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone. 
“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur. 
“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace. 
“What is it?” 
“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?” 
You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,” 
Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan. 
Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.
“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,” 
“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,” 
He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?” 
“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long. 
“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 
Right. Tomorrow. The wedding. 
Fuck. You were so screwed. 
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KNOCK. KNOCK. 
Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything. 
You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress. 
Another knock. 
“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?” 
You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?” 
Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square. 
“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,” 
You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,” 
“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair. 
“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,” 
“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?” 
“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,” 
“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,” 
“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks. 
“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,” 
“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”
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You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this. 
A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan. 
And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over. 
“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it. 
“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?” 
“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips. 
“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,” 
Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in,  “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his. 
Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—” 
“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?” 
Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?” 
Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. 
“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,” 
And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh. 
“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”
Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—” 
“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips. 
“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—” 
“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?” 
His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“ 
Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act? 
Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins. 
And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru. 
Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him. 
Like it always never was. 
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The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,” 
You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours. 
And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—” 
“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—” 
“My apartment isn’t—” 
“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do. 
“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 
“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away. 
“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo,  “Gojo, what do you want me to say?” 
He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“ 
The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“ 
“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head. 
“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“ 
“But what you said—“ 
“I said what I had to—“ 
“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room. 
“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“ 
“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?” 
“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“ 
“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” 
“You don’t have to—“ 
“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,” 
“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand. 
“Give you what?” 
And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“ 
“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop. 
No, it was. It was, right? 
“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“ 
“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“ 
“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear. 
“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,” 
Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,” 
He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?” 
“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“ 
And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?” 
“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you. 
“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?” 
“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,” 
His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone. 
His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer. 
“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards. 
“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,” 
“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 
“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,” 
“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips. 
“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,” 
Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”
“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,” 
“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.
And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”  
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“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress. 
He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?” 
Slap. It’s definitely a slap. 
“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest. 
“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?” 
“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance. 
“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you. 
“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,” 
“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders. 
“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away. 
“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.” 
~~~~
Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name. 
“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.
Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side. 
And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate. 
But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you. 
And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —- 
And he realized it was you. 
“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“ 
“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?” 
“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat. 
Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you. 
“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?” 
Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you. 
“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit. 
“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased. 
“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,” 
“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,” 
“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief. 
He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit. 
His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm. 
You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,” 
And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds. 
“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back. 
You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined. 
“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,” 
And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips. 
“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin. 
“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,” 
And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.” 
Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick. 
“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“ 
“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life. 
Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again. 
“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off,  I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.
He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body. 
“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle. 
“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,” 
“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes. 
“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—” 
“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—” 
“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out. 
“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face. 
“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you. 
“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit. 
“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours. 
He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 
“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled. 
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.” 
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Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist. 
Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips. 
Fuck, it was real.  
You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake. 
But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more. 
“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse. 
“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?” 
“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort. 
“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body. 
“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,” 
You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,” 
And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer. 
“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?” 
“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow. 
“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips. 
“How about we make breakfast together?” 
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“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.
“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised. 
“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good. 
“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?” 
And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?” 
He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,” 
You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again  — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?” 
And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”
He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,” 
“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck. 
“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,” 
“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile. 
“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,” 
And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?” 
“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze. 
And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,” 
“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.” 
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You didn’t know what to do with yourself. 
Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present. 
And you supposed the soul wasn’t present. 
You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.
You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you? 
You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it. 
And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview. 
You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture. 
Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation. 
A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now? 
There’s only one person who’d text like that. 
Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now? 
He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business. 
Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly. 
You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink. 
Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head. 
You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you. 
But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that. 
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“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman. 
“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets. 
“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go. 
“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,” 
“I was expecting to meet 
I suppose we’re on the same page,” 
He tilts his head, “Really?” 
“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,” 
He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,” 
She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her. 
“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her. 
“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?” 
She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“ 
He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you. 
Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways. 
“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back. 
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Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen. 
You needed to talk to him in person. 
And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet. 
You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt. 
“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,” 
“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,” 
“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line. 
And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,” 
“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” 
And he’s blinking, “Why?” 
“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—” 
“But you didn’t—” 
“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,” 
“Why do you always push me away when we get close?” 
“No I don’t—” 
“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?” 
“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”
He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,” 
You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?” 
“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?” 
“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“ 
“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,” 
“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?” 
He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“ 
“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“ 
“But—“ 
“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?” 
And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,” 
“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.” 
And this time he doesn’t stop you. 
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It’s for the best. 
That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas. 
It was for the best. 
Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories. 
And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them. 
Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru. 
Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did. 
And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing. 
Fuck. You were home. 
You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye. 
Gojo? 
You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name. 
You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops. 
Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address. 
Satoru was…getting married? 
It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here. 
You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove. 
You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved. 
Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot. 
You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors. 
You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy. 
Even if it wasn’t with you. 
So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now. 
So you wait. 
And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom. 
That wasn’t Satoru. 
He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding? 
And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were. 
“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head. 
“But you—what?” and his brow furrows. 
“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands. 
“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.” 
He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?” 
You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze,  “Satoru—” 
His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips. 
“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—” 
And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it. 
“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek. 
“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,” 
And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,” 
“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake. 
“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,
“Well, you don’t know until you try.” 
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✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).
✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz
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trollex-is-gay · 1 year ago
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Honestly when the new movie hits streaming and I can watch it somewhere I'll probably come back to tending this blog, my newest hyperfix has been treating me well but I do miss this community. That being said...I might like. Purge a bunch of old stuff or at the very least private some posts, because the last time I really posted something on here was 2022 if you don't count the post I made abt the third movie earlier. I have indeed grown quite a bit and honestly a lot of my ideas and opinions are still the same but some of them aren't, even from year to year I cringe at my past self and part of me wants to restart the whole shebang, but the other part knows I don't have it in me bc c'mon I have some good stuff left over. So in short yeah, once Band Together is somewhere I can watch it in good quality, you're probably going to be seeing a lot of me again, but I might change my profile's setup and maybe even my url, I do miss having Trolls as an interest, might make a proper pinned post for myself. I'm not sure if anyone missed me lmao, but then again I wasn't *that* active to begin with so oijdfsfjdios it would make sense if my absence went unnoticed lol.
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arminsumi · 8 months ago
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🔞 / 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈 / 𝐀𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 / 𝟏𝟖+
𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮
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𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 is a strange friend.
You can share anything with him — completely confide in him. Spend nights curled up on his chest crying about things in your past that you can't change as he genuinely listens, sometimes stroking your hair.
Ending up kissing him once, twice, more, with a cheap excuse each time, desperate to convince yourselves that you're just friends.
It was a dare. It was one time at a party. I was drunk. You were drunk. We were both drunk. Oh, that time? We were experimenting.
Well, next thing you know, you're in between Satoru's sheets. And he's smiley, cracking jokes, acting casual and as if he didn't just let you cum all over his abs.
Anyone breaks your heart, Satoru's there for you; so is his dick. He always says there's nothing a good 'pillow fight' can't fix. Or is that just his excuse to sink 7.8 inches deep into you? Probably. The way he slides into your soft pussy, there's nothing platonic about it. He started out fucking you like a friend just needing to release tension, but now he's beginning to fuck you like he's your man.
Satoru stubbornly insists that you and him are platonic. That you're just casually fucking in his shower, that it's just a funny experiment if he wants to control your vibrator in public.
"No, we're just friends." he shrugs. "What? Do friends not typically cum on each other's faces? Weird."
"Be serious, Satoru. What are we?" you ask one day. "Sometimes I feel like you like me."
He goes silent, hands behind his head and smug look erased. No reply.
𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮, who is your 'friend' and is also uncontrollably attracted to you and wants to try creampie you until you fall in love with him. Maybe if he fills you enough, you'll think he's as irresistible as he thinks you are?
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© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢
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pomefioredove · 3 months ago
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if its ok can i request a overblot boys and ruggie and kamil with a reader that just forgets to eat? like they can go the whole day without eating then suddenly they just get dizzy cause they haven't eaten and when they get asked why they passed out/not ate they're like "lol yeah i forgot to eat my bad gang🧍🏻" they're just so nonchalant and act like its whatever😭its ok if not if this makes you uncomfortable!! Love your blog pookie and make sure YOU eat properly💥💥
ahh... just like me fr. this ask actually reminded me to eat, thank you!
summary: reader who forgets to eat type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, ruggie, azul, jamil, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, mentions of food and not eating!
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*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Riddle is also guilty of this
it's not that he's neglectful, it's just that...
...well... he's a little neglectful
it's usually Trey who has to remind him to take breaks from studying
none of that will stop him from scolding you, though
"What were you thinking, going a whole day without a meal? It's no wonder you're always so tired!"
expect lots of snacks from him after he's done berating you
he sends someone every day to make sure you've had something
(both a blessing and a curse)
you'll be in your room then suddenly Che'nya is there asking if you had lunch yet
and if not, you'll be recieving an invitation to Heartslabyul for tea
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Leona can't be bothered to ask why you're always so... out of it
he just assumes that's your personality
he even teases you for it, once or twice
then Jack offhandedly mentions that you rarely eat until dinner, and he gets all... worried
Ugh
suddenly, his room is always stocked with your favorite snacks from Sam's
what? no, they're not for you. he's just taken a liking to 'em. but you're welcome to have some if you'd like
his act is unconvincing
"What? Stop looking at me like that. I'm not some sap. I'm just making sure you don't go passing out on me,"
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Ruggie is worried that Crowley's cut your food rations
he'd been mooching off of you for a few months now, after all
plus, he knows what it's like to go hungry
of course, he doesn't outright ask. he doesn't want to embarrass you or anything
he just... casually offers to split meals and comes over once a week with half of his forage greens
"What, this? Nah, I just had extra. What, you're complaining about free food? Shishishi,"
you repay the gesture by making him a few meals, and it becomes a little tradition between the two of you
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
why, oh why, does Azul have to care about you so much?
he's become familiar that exact look on your face; distant, dizzy, disoriented...
and he's caught himself mid-scold far too many times
"Have you no sense of self-preservation? You can't keep relying on others to care for you; you'll only be taken advantage of,"
...and, of course, he's the poor soul who cares for you
he convinces himself that verbal reminders cost nothing
then he starts sending the tweels to make sure you've eaten
and then he insists you drop by the Mostro Lounge at least once a day
it's not that he's giving you his time and energy for free
he's just making an investment in you!
that's it. NOTHING ELSE! (<- lies)
(cue tweels giggling in the background)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
poor Jamil
first Kalim, and now he has you to worry about, too?
of course; he has no obligation to help. that's what he tells himself
nothing will happen if he just ignores you
...except that sinking feeling in his stomach
Sevens, help him...
he starts letting you help around the kitchen
just... tidying up, doing the dishes, etc
and if you happen to want a bite of what he's cooking? ohoho, who is he to deny you the chance to test for poison?
(feigns to mention that these dishes have already been tasted)
"Good? Why, I'm flattered. You're welcome to help any time- how about tomorrow?"
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Kalim will never pass a chance to host
you offhandedly mention that you forget to eat sometimes? just come over for breakfast!
and lunch
and dinner!
and you'll stay for dessert, too, won't you?
he's nothing if not gracious, and he has a penchant for taking care of others
he likes feeling useful, after all
just be ready to give him your full thoughts and feelings on every dish; he's already making a mental list of your favorites to serve every time you come over
"Hungry? No problem! We have all your faves waiting for you. What music do you want to listen to while we eat?"
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
you know that Vil loves you, right?
so, so much?
good. because that love makes him want to shake you
of all the stupid things...
it's no use trying to hide it from him; you could look and act completely normal and he'd still see right through you
he can just tell
he has to restrain himself from threatening Crowley into letting you stay at Pomefiore so he can care for you
Vil believes you're capable, after all. you just need a little push
"I've set a daily reminder and stocked your kitchen. Remember that some food is better than none. If you need me for anything, I'll see to it as soon as possible,"
you can expect Epel and Rook to ask if you've eaten, on his behalf, every time you run into each other
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Idia sets like, 30 reminders in your phone
he knows as well as you do that three measly alarms won't be enough
...he, too, is guilty of forgetting to eat
he probably makes you a custom alarm sound and everything
a little pavlovian conditioning never hurt anyone, right? it's basically no different than training an AI
...or something like that
will send Ortho over to check your vitals every once in a while
"it's NBD. can't have u losing all your lives on me. who would tolerate me then?"
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
thank your lucky stars it's Malleus who notices your drowsiness first and not Lilia
Malleus, at least, will find you something edible to eat
he's trying to keep you alive, after all
he's very sweet and gentle about it
soft little reminders, nudges to keep you awake... he will up and leave a dorm meeting if he realizes he doesn't know if you'd had anything yet today
Malleus is very conscious about human mortality, and is very... delicate about it
he's just a little overprotective, that's all
it mostly comes to sharing little treats together every now and then. it feels less awkward when you're together, after all
"There is no need to thank me. I'm simply happy to spend my time with you,"
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kirain · 10 months ago
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I want to take a moment to talk about Gale's "obsession" with Mystra, because I've had that thrown at me a lot when discussing his character with players who hate him.
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First off, I'd like to emphasize a point that many people already know: Mystra groomed him. Though his exact age when she "slept" with him isn't known, a new document that's been supplied in the epilogue confirms he was merely "eight summers" old when she took him under her wing and sent Elminster to find him. Mystra, in fact, has a vast history of grooming little boys, to the point that many parents hide their sons from her gaze if they show an early aptitude for magic. Though Gale did have other lovers before her, Mystra was really all he knew throughout his childhood, and the power dynamic was not equal. It makes sense that he'd have trouble pulling away from her at first, especially since she convinced him that she/the Weave were his only value in life.
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Second, I want to discuss something most players probably aren't aware of. In D&D lore, there's a place called the City of Judgement. This is essentially D&D limbo, where all mortal souls go to be judged after death. Bad news for atheists, if you don't believe in or worship any gods, you're known as a "faithless", and since no gods will grant a faithless entry into their domain, your soul becomes part of the Wall of the Faithless.
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In short, a faithless' soul will be sucked into the wall, where it will guard the city and suffer endless torment for all eternity. This fate isn't only reserved for faithless, however; it's also a punishment for fallen Chosen or anyone who's been abandoned by their gods. Like Gale. He's absolutely terrified, and he tells you as much if you romance him. If you keep things platonic, he alludes to it during the "go to hell" scene. This is compounded by the fact that raiding demons sometimes attack the City of Judgement, tear souls from the wall, and drag them to the Abyss, where they're used to spawn new low-level demons or to feed their masters. There's no good ending, whether a soul remains trapped in the wall or not.
Gale doesn't explicitly say it, but he's contemplating his own death here, as he probably did the entire time he was locked away in his tower. This is why he's so quick to agree to kill himself for Mystra's forgiveness. It's not because he's "obsessed" with her or because he wants her back, it's because he'll literally go to hell if he can't convince her he's worthy of her twisted sense of forgiveness. By the time we meet Gale, he's honestly over Mystra in all romantic sense, and even more so by Act 2, whether you romance him or not. He's simply...
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depresssant · 4 months ago
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NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader
synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?
so reader is very flawed ppl. i’m trying to make this as gn as possible for pls bear with me. asks and requests r open. reblogs are also much appreciated. now that i’ve gotten my e-begging out of the way, enjoy this pathetic excuse of a story
warnings : child abuse, past sexual abuse, yandere, etc
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you want to die.
you always do.
staring at the wanna be thug pointing a gun at you, you sigh and roll your eyes in exasperation. perhaps pissing him off will the best way to get him to curl a finger around the trigger. or judging by his temperament, you won't have to do much.
"you? i should give my money to you?"
"who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?" the thug screams at you angrily. his grip gets tighter and clammier. he's not experienced with this. he's probably ganged up with a bunch of thugs to pull shit like this. it wouldn't take much to disarm him. "give me the fucking money before i blow your head off!"
"to a junkie like you?" you are a junkie, too, so you're not too sure about making fun of him for that. "i don't give money to hobos."
that is wrong, too. but you want to piss him off.
"that's it, you stupid bitch!" the thug's stances becomes defensive. his hateful glare is pointed at you while he musters the courage to actually press the trigger. he doesn't look like he'll do it. you've seen countless like him roaming the streets, holding you at gunpoint. he probably won't do it. then again, this is gotham. you don't expect much. either he'll shoot you dead, forcibly take your stuff, flee the scene out of fear, or be dismantled by one of the city's vigilantes. perhaps he'd shoo—
"stop right there!"
damn it.
you think too soon.
a young robin is quick to have the wanna be thug tied up and beat down. you would've questioned why a kid who seemingly looked twelve can do such a thing, but you've learned to not question most things in your life. you merely sigh in disappoint and pick up your dropped backpack before beginning the journey to hell.
"excuse me? wait! where are you headed?"
gosh, his boy-ish voice grates your nerves. makes you clench your teeth. your gaze narrows, but you know better than to react. reaction gains a reaction—one that will never be in your favor. it'll lead to a fight—one that will never be in your favor. you'll end up broken, bleeding, and bruised. now that isn't something in your favor. now you're thinking of favor too much. forcing a smile, you turn around to face the pre-teen vigilante. "yes?"
"are you alright?" he asks with practiced concern. he doesn't actually care. it's probably just protocol.
"a-okay!" the words are hollow. they lack depth. like you. "thank you for your help. i don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't there."
you do know. you wish you wouldn't.
"you're welcome," robin replies with polished words like he's not exactly convinced. "would you like for me to walk you? the city hasn't been safe for some time now."
"when is it ever safe? but that's okay. i live just around the corner, so i think i'll be fine."
"are you sure—"
"completely."
please. why won't he just leave you alone? there goes your plan spoiled by him again. every time you've been in an attempted robbing, he's been there to destroy your chances of getting shot. of escaping. he always does this. this is a repeated cycle between the two of you. he's a flying bird until you shoot him down. your name clearly wants to escape from his lips, but robin nods his head in understanding.
"this seems to happen to you all the time. my wish is for you to be safe."
"this is gotham." the grip on the straps on your backpack tighten. "everyone's gotta go through this. anyways, i gotta go, you know. thanks for savin' me."
"of course."
you don't spare him a single glance. the sky is wrapped up in black clouds heavy with the burden of rain. icy cold wind sings a melancholy tune through the stiff air. the door to your apartment looks like the gates of hell. it's all futile. no matter how many sighs you sigh, how many wishes you wish, and how many curses you curse, you'll still land up in the same fate. without escape.
that is the summary of your life.
taking a few seconds to prepare yourself for the incoming session, you open the door to be met with radio silence. silence is never good. half the time, it means something is brewing for you, and they're taking their sweet time to scare you into thinking nothing will happen. sometimes. not all the time. the other time, it just means he need to rise from his pile of misery first.
the hand of your mother's boyfriend is instantly wrapped around your neck before you can even register why the hell the apartment looks like a tornado hit it. he squeezes so tightly you feel like blood is gushing out of your ears with how loudly they ring. white spots dot along your blurry sight as you struggle to breathe. you can hear a frantic voice telling him to let you go, but you're pushed up more against the wall. this is the norm. doesn't mean it hurts any less. he'll let you go, give you some time to regain your breath, and then rain down bullets upon you.
that's exactly what happens.
your hand goes straight to your neck as your raspy and shaky coughs wreck your chest. he squeezes hard enough for it to hurt but it not show. and then the kicks and punches come. with how much your chest and ribs are struck, you're a bit surprised at how you haven't broken a bone yet. your potential step-father screams at you, but you can barely hear it over the repetition of words in your head. he grabs your bloody face and shout something incoherent before letting you go to kick you.
leaving you in your own pile of misery.
it's normal. yes, it's completely normal. you're used to this. it'll get better. it always does. but you've got the crushing idea it never will.
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gotham heights high school—the school you're forced to attend.
the class division is insane to look at, because it's there even from a short and near prospective. how the richest kids got put in a school with the poorest—you'll never know. the only thing you do know is that every one of these kids are pieces of shit. even the ones that pretend to be nice.
tim drake—or shall you say tim wayne—is no different.
even as he helps up the girl who just got roughly pushed to the floor, causing all her textbooks to scatter, you can only eye him with disdain. if he really cares, then he would've beat the shit out of those athletes. but he doesn't. they're all the same—privileged and all. sympathy shouldn't be given to them. not to drake or the wealthy yet somehow bullied girl.
"but y'know what i heard?" your friend drags your attention back to him. zarian leans against a locker lazily, but excitement practically buzzes off of him. "the bruce wayne is coming to our track meet today!"
your other friend, jaylene, rolls her eyes as she applies her eyeliner using the mirror hanging up on the inside door of her locker. she speaks exactly what you're thinking. "only because his beloved son is gonna be there."
"well, still. think about the connections we can make! all the famous people that'll be there."
"keep dreaming. asshat. i put all my money on the attention being on rich the kid. i don't even know why he joined track. varsity, at that, too. there has to be some sort of bribery going on."
an incoming argument is clearly brewing up, so you take in a deep breath to say something, but a new voice beats you to it.
"excuse me?"
you and your two friends turn to face the guy standing in front of you. charismatic, intelligent,  and optimistic—he's an enigma that shines on everyone. tim drake. his black, messy yet somehow in place hair does no justice for his good looks. he's the complete package. rich, good looking, tall, and empathetic. the mere sight of him annoys you.
zarian is the first to speak up. he quirks a brow and offers tim a grin. "what's up, man?"
"you're leaning against my locker." tim rubs the back of his neck. he smiles awkwardly in the presence of the three of you, and it takes your friend a beat to understand what he's saying before moving away.
"oh yeah. my fault," he says as he moved to stand next to you.
the school's very own bruce wayne only shakes his head and tells him it's okay while opening his locker and grabbing a few things. people flock around, waiting for him to be done with whatever the hell he's doing, so they can be back to his side like leeches sucking on blood. he surely can't be this dumb, no? these people don't want to be his friend...
well, it's not as if it's your problem. you wish it is. you and your friends turn to make way to first period, but drake clearly has other plans. he sandwiches himself between you and zarian with a grin of his own plastered on an unblemished face. one carefree of any worry or pain. "so," tim begins. "first track meet of the year, huh? aren't you guys nervous?"
jaylene merely hums in amusement and shrugs. "it gets better. when you've spent four years in track—in front of all those judging people—it wears off. hopefully, you'll get used to it soon."
that is jab, though, rich the kid doesn't seem to catch on. he laughs casually, but even you can sense the anxiety like it was radioactive. ""i hope so. i've sprinted so much i feel like i'll get shin splits again."
you zone out while he has a conversation with your friends. as if drake has ever had experience with track. it took you all of freshman year to just prove that you can actually be a part of the track team, and here tim drake is, parading around about getting on varsity without a single grain of hard work. he's a naturally talented person. good at everything. that's what makes you hate him so much. people like him get everything handed to them just because they're good at it first hand and leave behind people that actually work for it. you want to tell him to buzz off—that he can't talk about how much he's practiced and how nervous he is, but you keep your mouth shut. that is, until he directly addresses you.
tim's eyes narrow at you with comedic suspicion. "you know, you look like someone i know. a lot. the resemblance is crazy."
"eight billion people out there. you never know." your tone is flat, stoic, lacking any bit of emotion.
"gosh, you even sound like him! that's really terrifying."
"well, whoever, it is, i hope i never meet him," you murmur.
your two friends leave for their classes soon, and you and drake find your seats at the back of high school economics. exhaustingly so, you sit together in one of the many desk pairs, and drake uses this opportunity to annoy you any chance he gets. you give off the vibe that you don't want to talk to him. he doesn't get the hint. you don't tell him, though. maybe that's the problems. his shit-eating grin ticks you off when you look in his direction. "what?"
"let's be friends!"
"no."
"what? come on! don't be so cold!" he whines like a petulant child being told no.
"no."
"too bad! you're my friend now."
"tim," you sigh. it's wrong to scream. it's bad to scream. screaming leads to fights. fights lead to you laying in a pool of your own blood. laying in blood leads to missing practice. missing practice leads to less skill. less skill leads to less of a chance of getting the hell out of here. just smile. forgive and forget. know your persona. know who you are. kind. happy. funny. "fine." so you smile with gritted teeth. you smile like you played a cruel joke on him. "we can be friends... i guess."
his face brightens at your fake words like he is just given the the world.
tim drake wiggles his eyebrows playfully and nudges you with his elbow. "you know, i've been trying to get you to say that since school started?"
"really now?"
"really. i'm glad we're going to be friends. oh! should we go out to eat with zarian and jaylene after the meet?"
... there's a chance your mom's boyfriend will get pissed off. he'll probably beat the shit out of you since the track meet would have happened, and you wouldn't need to have an unblemished body for meets. he'd scream, yell, and punch... like his life depended on it... fuck it.
"yeah," you reply shortly after with a firm nod of your head. "we can go to this diner near the theater. i'm sure you'll love the food."
this doesn't mean you hate him any less. he's still rich scum⏤how you're poor scum. he's stuck up, pretentious, and sickeningly sweet. exactly what you hate. you just hope you can have a good time after the track meet. the mischievous glint in his eyes told you otherwise.
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"and this is my dad, bruce wayne."
what the hell are you doing?
the sun is setting along the horizon, the air is getting cooler again, and you want to sink into the floor. the plan was to head straight to the diner after this, but rich the kid somehow roped you into meeting his dad?
nausea pools in your stomach from both hunger and the feeling of thousands of eyes staring at you. cameras are flashing at gotham's billionaire as he smiles and firmly shakes your hand. confidence drips off of him disgustingly. his high-tailored suit radiates wealth and money. his stoic demeanor gives off an aura of mystery. you want to lay on a railroad track with an incoming train speeding along the way.
"it's nice to meet you. tim has ranted about his track teammates quite a lot."
there's an eleven year old standing next to him. his eyes are on you like that of an owl's but you neither glance at him or bother to acknowledge him. you just want to eat some food before meeting your doom at that apartment for not placing first like your mom's boyfriend wanted you to. like a goat getting stuffed before slaughter. it always leads down to that. no matter how many times you try to wish it was different. no matter how many times you imagine it to be different. no matter how many times you try to make it different.
"nice to meet you too." you shake his hand as well with a polite smile on your face. polite. calm. gentle. proper. "and yeah, he seems very eager to be on the team."
"of course, of course. well, it is getting late. why don't you come over for dinner some time?"
"maybe tonight?" tim suddenly adds in. at your hesitant expression, he groans in exasperation. "who do you think we are? blood-sucking bats? come on, we can go to the diner some other time!"
you have just met him... you've just accepted being his friend... you aren't the most social person. you've never had much friends, but even you can understand that dinner with the family doesn't happen until the friend and person have come close in a long period of time. jaylene and zarian have other matters to tend to, so it's going to be just you and tim at a diner. not⏤
ding!
your phone's notification's alarm chimes, and when you check who has sent you a message, you feel like getting on the ground to pray to whatever deity for letting you have a moment of peace.
mom: ⏤he's heavily drunk. don't come home.
a part of you is hit with a strong current full of guilt. this is your mother. you're supposed to be there for her through thick and thin. you're supposed to protect her and be her wall of defense against monsters like him. family look out for each other. you have to take care of her... but she doesn't take care of you. this makes you a terrible person. you know that. she'll probably get beaten to an inch of her life and hide her heavy bruises under makeup that was terribly done in a rush. and then, she'll throw whatever object is in sight at you in a fury of anger.
telling you she made too many sacrifices for you. telling you that you're ruined her life. telling you that she should've aborted you like your father had told her to. telling you exactly what you believe yourself. a curse that should've never been born... she'll be beaten within an inch of her life. but you have already lost yours.
after pretending to text her and sliding your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, you nod with a sigh of joking resignation. "sure. i asked my mom, and she said it's okay."
"wonderful." mr. wayne nods and gestures to the limo you can see in the parking lot. a bit of overkill, perhaps.
honestly, you're still surprised that gotham's billionaire is inviting you to dinner. this man is the topic of magazines, and you're about to take a ride in his limo. how the hell have you ended up in a situation like this? fate is still fucking with you, isn't it?
you find yourself seated next to tim while mr. wayne and his youngest son, damian, sit on the seats to your right. they're talking about something, but once again, you find yourself half listening and zoning out, staring at nothing until mr. wayne's questions pulls you back to reality.
"so how has school been faring for you?" mr. wayne asks in a cool and collected tone.
you laugh lightly and smile as politely as ever. "pretty good. i hope to leave gotham after graduation to study somewhere else."
"who would want to stay in gotham?" tim rolled his eyes, rolling the first place medal between his fingers. "by the way, remember when i said you looked like someone i know? i was talking about my dad?"
your brows rise in both exasperation and annoyance at his claims. now he's just plain, out right trying to make fun of you in front of a billionaire. your shoulders tense, ready to refute his claims, but mr. wayne surprisingly chuckles and rubs his chin while taking a good look at your face. "well, i can see it, but there's eight billion people out there in the world. i'm bound to look like someone. though, i didn't expect for it to be someone as talented as [name] here."
you force a quiet laugh along at the sound of his tone. foreboding. you know tones like this. like he's hiding something that they all know except for you. it means you've made a mistake in even giving in to tim drake's constant begging. why the hell was he so eager to have you become his friend? why is he so eager to maintain a friendship with you? why the hell has mr. wayne invited you to dinner when he's rumored to be mysterious, secretive, and a literal brick wall that nobody can get past?
"you've achieved so much for a child your age." mr. wayne sets his gaze dead on you. "your father must be so proud."
and his eyes glimmer with that same shine you saw in tim's.
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ewwww
this was not proofread so forgive me and uh, i will be turning this into a series
um also making a tag list if anyone wants to be a part of it
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landograndprix · 5 months ago
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╰┈➤ ❝ desire us • l.n ❞ ii
part one - part three
➪ life changed after you decided to go through it as a single woman, offering your daughter the best life she deserves, focusing on work, friends and family but damn, that guy.
➪ your friends are up to no good while you make another life changing decision.
➪ mom!reader x dad!Charles (platonic) x lando
➪ you really thought i was gonna keep my babies apart? Y/n's 2nd child = millie & are text messages between millie and Manon ;)
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y/nusername
📍 Paris, France
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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 476,321 others
y/nusername 🏡
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chilisainz ah you're telling me this is not a happy little family? 👀
↳ yukisan just a couple of besties spending every single free minute together 🥰
chilisainz like all besties do 🥰
julieeeexo this is a last warning for zoë..stop growing
hamilt44n girl I wanna live in Paris, are you looking for a roommate?
landitonorris so you're telling me our girl flew to the UK to 'hang out' with lando and they flew back to Paris together to 'hang out' with each other at y/n her place?
↳ sharl16 they'll probably fly to Japan together as well 😅
landitonorris but they're just friends though 😉
sharl16 oh yeah for sure!!!!!!!!!
milliexoxo ...but when I ask for a sleepover you say no :(
milliexoxo ...just say you don't like me and logan
↳ norry4 love makes blind bestie, you're on your own 😔
y/nusername so dramatic and for what? :')
landonorris princess bed sleept amazing
bott_ass you're not fooling anyone my guy, you're sleeping in the same bed 😂
norrizz actually living my dream life
charles_leclerc my pretty princess ❤️
↳ landonorris thank you, you're a pretty princess too ❤️
landoscar I love this dad and (ex?)stepdad dynamic <3
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y/nusername posted to their story
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manon_roux replied to your story
manon_roux
cutest little girl in the world ♡
I'm talking about zoë
kidding you cute too
Also, you can't convince me lando's able to keep his hands to himself at night when you're looking like that next to him in bed
or does he really sleep in zoë's tiny ass princess bed?
I know you're ignoring me
what secrets are you hiding from me girl?
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y/nusername
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y/nusername 🇯🇵
tagged: milliexoxo
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sharl16 babe is okay, you can tag lando <3
yukisan we better get a 3 hours long vlog to make up for all the months you haven't posted 😭
norry4 don't be shy lando, drop those pictures you've taken of y/n
↳ norrizz and zoë
norry4 I just know he's got a ton of pictures of them 😭
hamilt44n damn Logan so lucky
lando4norris once again asking to be a third in whatever relationship y/n and lando have going on
norrislandooo I've gone nearly 6 months without a vlog, this better be worth it ma'am 😭
logiebear can logan fight?
↳ y/nusername logan's a lover, not a fighter
milliexoxo this man fights me 24/7, don't know where you got that information
logansargeant that's one way to exaggerate
milliexoxo get back in your cage captain america
logiebear millie I love u 😭❤️
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Lando taglist: @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2 @i83andrew @mcmuppet @justdreamersdream
Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @ireadthensuetheauthors @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseoki @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightdragon @cherry-piee @namgification @mycenterfold @celestialend @jsjcue @d3kstar @themislovesf1 @mehrmonga @destinyg237
Desire taglist; @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalicinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki @dark-night-sky-99 @sheslikeacurse @nerdreader 
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a-hazbin-reader · 9 months ago
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Alastor X Reader Headcanons
✅️Romantic
❌️Platonic
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TW: Extreme Fluff!! Sweet Intimacy!!! A little canon cannibalism
Description: Different ways Alastor likes to be pampered by Wifey!Reader
When it comes to his wifey...Alastor is super spoiled and he knows it, craves it like nothing ever before
He's a glutton for your attention and everyone knows it
Every little act of kindness, every drop of affection and loving gaze just melts over his (shriveled black)heart like a sugary glaze
Mmmmmm glazed hearts
Great now he's hungry
ANYWAYS-
Even the normal everyday things make him feel warm and fuzzy inside
Like when you bring him his favorite tea in the mornings, giving him a soft kiss on the side of his face as you drape your arms around him
"Mm...good morning my dear..."
Or when you smooth over an unruly hair for him or fix his bow tie before he leaves the hotel
You can't have your snookums going out looking like some scruffy strawberry clown
You always make sure his staff is clean and polished, suit flawless and pressed, shoes shiny before he has an overlord meeting
You're NOT going to let your pookie bear hang around the other overlords with smudged shoes
Just. No.
Loves the days that you drag him off to the bathroom to coax him into a hot bath
"You've been so tense lately... let me take care of you..."
How can he say no to you?
He just relaxes and closes his eyes, letting your gentle fingers massage his scalp as you lather shampoo in his hair
The candles and bubbles 🫧 were a good touch too 👌
He almost always falls asleep by the time you're done massaging and cleaning him up, once you start scrubbing under his nails then he's OUT LIKE A LIGHT
Not that you mind, he's so attractive when he's sleeping
WAIT HUSBAND DON'T DROWN
Wakes up to an empty bathtub and a warm towel being wrapped around him by his delicious boo
You're so good to him how did you know he needed this
Always finds himself in a better mood after that, like his problems have all been washed and scrubbed away by your gentle pampering
He secretly loves it when you come by his radio tower with a fresh lunch, interrupting his set just because he needs to eat
Though he pretends it's a big hassle
He savors the food you bring him either way, walking you to the door afterwards and thanking you for thinking of him
Bby boy that's all you do is think about him
He locks the door on your way out tho
Alastor loves the way you convince him to come to bed with you, knowing he needs to sleep but also armed with the knowledge that he'll fight bedtime like a child
You leaning on the doorway already in your sleep attire, giving him a soft pout as he tries to continue his work and ignore you
"Alastor..."
Not his ears flicking up at the sound of your voice
When whining doesn't work, then you slink your way over to him, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look at you
He's trying so hard not to though, the moment he looks at your face then he knows he's done for
"Look at me, darling~"
Okay maybe just a quick glance-
Alastor you are a strong man, you are cruel and sadistic and you are an overlord with very important business!! You can handle telling your wife no-
Ffffffffuck.
Not the gooey goo goo doe eyes
Immediately leans into your touch, savoring the feeling of your fingers stroking his cheek
Not his tail fluttering
"Come to bed already~ I can't sleep without you, you know..."
And that's how you convince him to get to sleep every single night, a full 8 hours or whatever is recommended in Hell
Getting out of bed is hard for him because you look so delectable asleep and curled into him
Maybe he should take more time to pamper you too
But he's a selfish, greedy man who likes being spoiled by his wife so that thought is gone as fast as it came
He gets out of bed just to watch you whine and blindly reach out for him, so adorably pathetic
Okay just five more minutes of snuggles then I gotta go-
If he's cranky then you manage to convince him to nap, patting your lap and stroking his hair once he lays his head down
Your soft singing lulls him into a light sleep as you scratch and rub the ends of his ears
Wakes up drooling
Wakes up with his face buried in your stomach, arms locked around your waist as he sleepily breathes in your scent
How is he supposed to get any work done with you around????
Alastor loves all those things but his favorite way that you spoil him?? His number one fave?? That he would never admit to anyone??
When you give him your special smile, the one that's always been his to see and his alone
The smile that conveys enough warmth and love to make all of Hell seem like Heaven, at least for him anyways
The same smile that he first saw when you told him that you loved him, the same smile that tells him you still love him
You spoil him
Alastor thinking of his wife:
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year2000electronics · 3 months ago
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Bill & Ford & A Book, Oh My!
DISCLAIMER: The Book of Bill has Bill Cipher serving as an unreliable narrator. If we go out trying to say something is "definitively a truth" or "definitively a lie", we're going to keep arguing about it until the heat death of the universe. This is just my own personal interpretation of the source material. If you don't agree, that's fine! Also TBOB spoilers abound.
So it's no secret that interest in the dynamic Bill & Ford have (enemies, platonic, romantic, formerly romantic, whichever way) has really skyrocketed since TBOB's release. Of course, there are the 'easy' culprits to point towards, with Mabel referring to Bill as 'being like a needy ex', and the whole O'Sadley's fiasco (Him literally crying over losing Ford and going "one Sixer, please"? Messy. Messy behavior. Still, I think it goes so much deeper than that.
Bill, being the unpredictable chaos entity that he is, also serves as the main antagonist for a show about family and having close bonds with each other. We don't really need to look into his inner psyche that much, because that's just not what he needed to be doing at that point in the cartoon. He's meant to be a way to divide the Pines, really. And a silly little guy. A silly little obstacle. So, naturally, when it came to Bill's arguably "closest" relationship to someone in the show (Ford), it was very easy to interpret it as Ford being tricked by a completely apathetic Bill, who was just using him as a rung on the ladder. And I do want to stress that Ford and Bill's physical actions remain fairly consistent throughout interpretations, and focusing on the fact that Bill badly hurt Ford is important, so if that's how you still see it, then fine by me! No harm no foul!
But I think the relationship, their story, their tragedy just becomes so much more interesting with the lens The Book of Bill has presented. We’re finally able to see Bill’s perspective as a “protagonist” of sorts in a medium where he’s not just something to defeat- and that’s something we’ve never gotten before, so it’s shedding light on an area we didn’t know about for sure! Again, Bill is lying to the character of "the reader", so we can't trust it as a completely unbiased source. But we can speculate on where the "truth" is between these lies.
First of all, Bill's backstory was that he destroyed his home dimension- we knew that already. But now, with the extra content we have about it, we see something interesting- that Bill's backstory mirrors Ford's to an uncanny degree.
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Both of them champion their intelligence, although they highlight how it set them apart from others, as well as highlighting their own 'rare mutation/birth defect'.
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Again, with this self-isolation already spurred on from their "weirdness", but also as a little aside, I would also like to highlight that Bill being 'ready to be one', looking up at the stars, striving to 'reach' them, is a shared motif he has with Ford, who is also associated with space, the stars, and reaching them.
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Bill's 'trying-really-quick-to-convince-Ford' fantasy sequence even has him in a field of stars as a sort of "ultimate wish fulfilment". Remember, this is Bill showing Ford something he thinks would win Ford over, at least a little.
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(And I'll take a quick time out for this train of thought to point out- hey! Bill admits he sought out most of his other victims, but Ford summoned him, and it took him by surprise! That adds a fun little layer of complexity to everything, don't you think? Another little layer of humanity for this whole mess- Bill didn't expertly seek out the 'perfect victim' or anything, it was just... luck. Some twist of fate.)
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Anyways.
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Obviously, the intro page to the 'Sixer' section has a ton of red flags galore (I mean, poor guy's literally depicted as a hapless puppet. C'mon, Bill. Not to mention the "OH BOY HE'S ALREADY SO ISOLATED, IT'S PERFECT" thing.). This guy is kind of a terrible companion no matter how you slice it. He's terrible to everyone close to him, because he's a deeply traumatized character who refuses to heal. BUT, the wording here is kinda deliciously intriguing to me. All of humanity is Bill's puppets, his future victims, but to me, it's clear that he holds a fondness for Ford. From "This is what a partner looks like", to "Me and Sixer could be the perfect team", to "He had what I always wanted- fingers" (drawn to his strangeness, maybe?), "He was destined for so much more", "I looked at his futures and giggled", and most stand-out to me, "Society calls these people freaks, I call them Henchmaniacs!"
Going back to the pre-Book of Bill era I was talking about, Bill's offers for Ford to join him were always in a sort of murky territory for interpretation. The first offer could definitely be read as mocking, with the line "WITH THAT SIX-FINGERED HAND, YOU'D FIT RIGHT IN WITH MY FREAKS!" in particular making it seem like Bill was only saying that to rub Ford's strangeness in his face, and the second offer to join Bill being under a new circumstance- that now Bill is desperate and believes Ford is the only one who can help him. But the Book of Bill mentions the idea of Ford becoming a Henchmaniac more than once, and also has Bill upset at losing Ford and claiming "he'll be back", as well as Bill seeming to use "freak" more like a badge of honour, and having previously complimented Ford's six fingers (In the Sixer intro page, he highlights Ford's fingers as a quality he likes, and in the pages about bodies, he states that "humans should have more fingers". To me, that first offer reads more now like Bill being genuine about finding Ford a place among his misfits. ...Although, the moment Ford says no, he does zap him into a statue. So. Y'know. He's still got issues.
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(Yeah, again, red flag city. "Just hazing"? Bill, none of what you were doing over there was okay! You might have suppressed everything traumatic that happened to you, but that doesn't mean you can go around traumatizing everyone! Good lord.)
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Bill has already been imply to like other characters because they remind him of himself. Pointing towards a connection with a character Bill DOESN'T have a weird undefinable ex-partner thing with... Mabel! Alex has says in multiple official media and interviews that Bill sees a lot of himself in Mabel, and essentially, that he thought Mabeland was the perfect prison because if HE liked all that awesome, uncontrolled chaos over any family or friends, why wouldn't SHE? And we see that again in TBOB. So basically, what I'm saying is that we have two characters to back up the fact that Bill seems gravitated towards humans or other living beings that he views as being 'like him'- beings he can relate to! So, y'know, what does that say about Bill and Ford?
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There's also Bill's plans for the reader and "Weirdmageddon 2.0", where he portrays the reader as getting to, like, perch on his arm like a little bird and get their own little crown? And specifically calls out Ford for not going through with things?? Okay, Bill??
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AND Ford not only being the only human mentioned on the list of people he "definitely doesn't miss so stop asking", but also having his own category? Alright, man.
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Of course, another point to the 'Hey, maybe Bill can actually feel emotions towards humans besides complete and total apathy' club is this page here, which has ALSO been hotly debated! Certainly, we know he's telling the truth about his home dimension being destroyed, and we know that he's lying about the 'monster', but some interpret this scene as Bill not being remorseful at all and playing his reaction up to earn Ford's sympathy. And me, personally, I dunno if I agree. I feel like the specific inclusion of Bill "looking distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him" (Mirroring the fact that he keeps blacking out when thinking about all his large-scale massacres) and him "laughing joylessly", I think this sequence is meant to tell us that Bill actually is being vulnerable with Ford here, it's just hidden under layers and layers of deceit, whether towards himself or Ford or both.
And finally for my Book of Bill collection stuff, there's the stuff that could be read as more romantic in nature. In the 'love' section, Bill claims he doesn't love anyone, but, like-
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Come on. You can disagree with me that it's Ford, but he does have exes. And he's clearly not over them. Shrimpy little liar. And then there's the fact that a lot of his hokey 'advice' is stuff he ends up directly doing to Ford.
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These rats.
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The Love Cage.
The Book of Bill really outlined all that in bold, but in my opinion, it was never an entirely new revelation! Bill seems to hold a preference for Ford over other humans in the show. He shows up in Ford's dreams just to say hi, tease him, and gloat (Mabelcorn) unlike the other two dream appearances he's made (Dreamscaperers, Sock Opera) which were exclusively for business purposes. Unlike every other character that gets exclusively one nickname for their zodiac sign, Ford gets multiple (Fordsy, IQ, Sixer, smart guy, brainiac, the list goes on). Bill asks Ford to join him TWICE, whereas anyone else who tries gets their face rearranged, put in a cage and made to dance, frozen in stone, etc etc. And finally, I think, the most emblematic of Bill's weird, specific relationship with Ford, is that whereas everybody else gets turned into stone, Ford got turned into gold.
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Which kinda sums up their whole thing up pretty well? Bill gave him special treatment by turning him into a golden statue (similar to yellow ha ha), always holding him close, but, like... Dude. You still kidnapped a man and turned him into a statue and then threatened to kill his niece and nephew. I don't think it will change his opinion on you if he's the Most Pampered Hostage, Actually. I just don't think that we need to explore the relationships between characters as simply "Well, this character hurt the other one, so we shouldn't really think about why or what they feel personally, because what they did was bad, so there".
Bill & Ford interest me because they're a tragedy in motion. We can see that Bill and Ford mirror each other in a multitude of ways, and we can see that they both do have positive feelings towards each other at the time they meet, and we see that Bill very desperately wants Ford to be just like him in the unhealthy ways; the ways that make Bill destroy entire universes and compartmentalize it all, because maybe then, he can finally have the companionship he so deeply aches for. Bill and Ford both had tough, lonely upbringings, but Ford moved on from that "I don't need you" mentality. That's what saved him. Bill didn't, and that's what got him where he was in the end. I feel like that's just so much more interesting than Bill just being a flat entity that makes abuse Happen to Ford, just as another Event in his life. I mean, isn't it just SO much more interesting that Ford humanizes Bill, in a way? That Ford makes him- in Bill's own words- "sentimental"? That a chaotic dream demon has regrets and loves and favourites and connections? It's the same thing with Fiddleford & Ford, although, obviously, to a MUCH lesser extent than Bill & Ford. But you get what I mean, right? You know that Fiddleford and Ford are going to undo each other in the end, and the path to that downfall is... it's telling a story! I like the story of it all! I think that's what I've been invested in and intrigued by all these years- the story, the tragedy of Bill and Ford. No matter what form it takes.
(Plus, as tumblr user fordtato pointed out in their own essay (not tagging because this post is messy enough as is oh god), hey, Ford now has two incredibly queer-coded narratives, with one of them being about how he recovered and was able to heal from an abusive relationship. And, well, I think that's just neat.)
Anyways, that's the end of the post. Thanks for reading this long!
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