#fic: intrinsic warmth
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kicking my feet and giggling rn bc the author of a fic I'm reading rn replied to my comments
#giggling and kicking my legs#i feel like a little kid#smiling so hard#eeeeeee#aaaaaaaaaa#fic: intrinsic warmth#author: thatdesklamp#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#gojo satoru#satoru gojo x you#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#ao3#ao3 fanfic#the fic is literally so good like go read it rn if you havent
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Yk I literally don’t know how I have any readers sometimes
Committing to a 100k+ incomplete fic with the slowest most inconsistent updates known to mankind? Y’all r better than me
#intrinsic warmth#would I read my own fic for the tropes? absolutely#would I read my own fic with all the PRACTICALITIES INVOLVED? no mf way Jesus
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FUCK THERE IT IS. BUT I'M SO CLOSE I'M SO FUCKING CLOSE I'M GONNA SCREAM.
#nikuniku fic spam#i knew another chapter of intrinsic warmth was dropping soon#so i wanted to finish fall apart before that happened
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I know this is like so random but do you have any geto, gojo, nanami, or megumi ao3 recs because the only good fics I’ve read of jjk are ones you’ve written 😭
you have come to the right place :,) i post more recs than fics at this point haha
most of these are copy pasted off previous rec lists but have been added onto! the ones with green + marks are NEW RECS
here's a post on how to use ao3 to find fics by yourself for those who dont know <3
gojo + ao3:
+ intrinsic warmth: my favourite fic of all time. like genuinely. insane writing, fucking amazing in every sense of the term. 2nd time recommending this! reader's character is so sick BUT updates real slow (which isnt a bad thing!! good things take time!!) so i wouldn't read if you aren't patient // 122k words, 15 chapters, incomplete
+ ripverse: not really a series, more like a compilation of fics! it's got a lot of angst and the one titled 'interlude' contains smut i think so beware, and it's also a lovetriangle/poly-but-geto-goes-crazy-so-not-poly moment // 55k words, 8 pieces
+ the witches' brew: super cute fluff! reader owns a cafe, gojo is a regular, it's all around adorable // 2 chapters, 11k words, completed
+ all that is solid melts into air: arranged marriage trope! i haven't read but @/aanobrain loves this one // 7k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ cake batter: established relationship w/ dad!gojo & megumi <33 not much to say, just short n sweet, i am such a sucker for dad gojo so its no surprise there's one of these on the list.. // 2k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ best of luck: initial concept is really unique!! confessions, slight angst, takes place at the beginning/middle-ish of s1 i think? so cute loved this <;3 // 5k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ afternoon tea(se): gojo torturing megumi. classic !! so so cute love the banter // 1.7k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ my apologies, gordon ramsay: god i hate this man. jk. reader is a teacher and a functional human being; gojo is not. loved! // 8k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ a name known only to paper: platonic, angst- beautifully written, such a unique idea. reader is gojo's older sibling. // 3k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ heart beats: another collection! i looove gojo in this so so cute i also adore bff nanami in the last one haha // 11k words, 3 pieces
+ exposure therapy: this is 1/2 of a 2 piece collection. when i read this for the first time i was floored- i love the creative take, and the reader's character (it was a 'she's so me' moment). this author writes with such a subtle but unadulterated take on love and i adore it // 5k words
+ how to be a human being: 2/2 of the previous rec and the perfect continuation in every sense of the term. oh my gosh, is this masterful- from the relationships & writing of megumi and tsumiki to gojo (i almost forgot this was a rec for him) it's all around amazing // 20k words
+ the sanctity of a name: SO SENTIMENTAL !! what an adorable work that rly goes into the psychology and significance of his technique + upbringing. so real and raw and very him // 2k words, complete, 1 chapter
+ assumptions: omf jealous gojo...... he's so cute in this!! you guys are married and it's almost his birthday, but while you're planning his surprise party he suspects something else.. // 6k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ even with the lights off: RAHHHH another fic that has me floored and pushing the #saveijichi agenda at the same time // 8k words, 2 chapters, complete
nanami + ao3:
+ math help: dad!nanami w son!yuuji.... yeah that's all i really need to say i think! // 1 chapter, 2k words, complete
+ photo albums: nanami shares abt his childhood! // 1k wc, 1 chapter, complete
+ i don't really read for nanami but i would check out @aanobrain and maybe shoot them an ask bc she's a big fan :)
geto + ao3:
+ lessons in love: DAD!GETO.................. im such a sucker for a good family dynamic in fics and this is adorable !! no curse au if i remember right! // 4k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ forever is in your eyes: angsty but ends in fluff :,) touches on his mental state, riko's death, all that! so sweet, i adore how this author writes him <;3 // 2k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ ripverse: not really a series, more like a compilation of fics! it's got a lot of angst and the one titled 'interlude' contains smut i think so beware, and it's also a lovetriangle/poly w gojo-but-geto-goes-crazy-so-not-poly moment // 55k words, 8 pieces
+ dog days are over: a series!! by the same author who wrote ripverse which is how you know it's going to be brilliant !! marriage, parenthood, some nsfw moments // 30k words, 5 chapters, incomplete
+ curious cat: cat gojo and neighbor geto.. i love this one! it's so so cute and sweet, if you're looking for some light fluff this is definetely for you // 8k words, 5 chapters, complete
megumi + ao3:
+ complicit: college!au !! i remember reading this and loving it omg, the unique concept kept me hooked and interested, especially paired w the lovely writing! one of my fav series ive read. be warned, last chapter is nsfw // 18k words, 5 chapters, complete
+ a very special december 22nd: cute bday fic :,) forgive me for reccing all this author's megumi fics... theyre just too good !! i love the dynamics, all of it! // 5k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ kisses and cough syrup: THE BANTER!! THE FLUFF!!!!! i love this fic sm, so cute! // 1k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ nocturnal: establishING relationship fics are one of my fav genres and this hits the nail on the head.. he's so stupid silly in this and i know you'll love it like i do // 2k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ lover boy: 2nd year reader, annoying meddling gojo, placed at the beginning-ish where megumi gets beat tf up- what more could you ask for! // 2k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ difficult to not overthink: todo strikes again! you ponder megumi's type // 1k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ ten confessions: megumi: ten dif confessions in dif tropes each time, so they can all be read as stand-alone pieces! so so cute and beautifully written.. we all know i love a good confession // 19k words, 7 chapters, incomplete
+ therefore, i am: reader gets mixed up in the world of sorcery.. megumi's there, too! // 3k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ takes one to know one: flowershop au..... convulsing on the ground. my fav trope, ever, and so so cute oh my GOSH // 2k words, 1 chapter, complete
+ i really (x6) like you: fluff!! this is the one i linked in my og ask but it deserves a place here too <3 // 4k words, 1 chapter, complete
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x reader#nanami kento x reader#geto suguru x reader#megumi fushiguro x reader#getou suguru x reader#gojo x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader#nanami x reader#this is the most i've written in ages LMFAO and i didnt even do anything.. but look at me!! replying to an ask on time!! unheard of honestl#mitz recs
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me & you, beyond a horizon so blue.
scaramouche/wanderer x (gender neutral) reader
cw: slight angst, brief and vague mentions of scaramouche's past and the shouki no kami fight, you and wanderer have adopted a child together, this fic takes place before scara tries to erase himself in irminsul
note - after he's defeated in a fight against the traveler, scaramouche wakes up in the distant future and learns a few things about an emotion he's always felt undeserving of.
It’s dark until he has the courage to force his eyes open.
Immediately, he wants to shut them. Near-blinding, the afternoon sun beams into his room through a part in the curtains. If he were human, it would have caused some sort of irreversible retinal damage. He’s not—though he isn’t spared the impending irritation—and so he’s able to adjust with relative quickness, his indigo eyes soon finding comfort in the brightness. It means a new day has dawned. He’s not dead—if that mortal concept can even apply to a puppet like him.
With a weak groan, Scaramouche drags a hand down his face and, like a sluggish, reanimated corpse, sits up in bed. The sheets are clean and soft, a soothing balm amidst the unrest that vibrates through him. It has been a long while since he’s slept through the night, preferring the shadows over the sun. Nocturnal like nature intended. A creature created in gloom can change and adapt, but it will always seek familiarity no matter what.
Intrinsically like a rooted habit.
It’s only natural he would be forced into sleep, considering the fall was not pleasant, nor was the inevitable impact. He brings his fingers to his cheek, presses against the area, and assesses for injury. Nothing is damaged.
But then nothing is fixed. Not internally.
Having expected the dreary interior of an infirmary, he’s struck with bewilderment when he makes note of the bedroom he’s currently confined to. It’s furnished like a typical residence, unlike that of any inn he’s ever known, and there is a strange sense about this space. As if he’s always known about it and has just recalled it, destined to wake here one day and submit himself to its simple charms.
This can’t be right.
He’s never seen this bedroom before, let alone slept in it. Until now, that is. Perhaps a part of him has subconsciously willed it into existence with all of his fruitless wishing, the result of some illusion weaved from the intricacies of hopeful dreams.
Scaramouche glances at the bedside table, his brow furrowed in the beginnings of a wary scowl. Something is so obviously, painfully not right. He knows it has something to do with this room and the fact that he’s alone and unguarded. Lesser Lord Kusanali is not a fool, no matter how much he’d like to comfort himself with that delusion, and so he knows there should be no reason why he’s here instead of where he’s meant to be.
And then he hears them—voices. Three of them, actually. One is high and giggly. It’s a little girl. Judging by the intonation of the other, an adult. Her guardian, to be more exact. He can’t place the third, especially since it’s one that sounds so grossly affectionate. He’s never heard anyone, human or not, speak with such tender warmth.
He’s never known such a thing. Not in a long while.
Scaramouche throws the covers off at once, stumbling from the bed in a panicked flurry. Watching it like it’s a threat, he clutches his chest. He doesn’t feel a heartbeat; rather, it’s the crackle of Electro deep within the core of his being that resounds, fizzling like snapped, angry circuitry. His fingers dig into wrinkled fabrics and he takes pause, realizing his actions.
To think something as mundane as a bed could startle him.
To think comfort would feel like a curse.
What a joke. Even here, I’m not allowed the peace of a lonesome parting.
He walks on intact legs, bidding the room a final glower before throwing the door open and stomping outside. Wherever he’s found himself, whether the mortal coil or a place beyond, he’s determined to get out. He pays no attention to the picture frames on the wall as he stalks down the hall, his mind working twice as fast to conjure a plan. If this place proves to be foul, there will be casualties. Three of them.
Bloodshed is nothing new.
What is new, though, is the scene he walks into when he approaches the kitchen, stepping through the threshold and immediately stopping short when he sees himself.
Only…he’s different.
“You’re in poor shape,” his other self comments, almost conversationally, as if this sort of talk is casual. He’s dressed in breezy colors: whites and blues, the prettiest of hues. It’s a color scheme he would never entertain at present, but it sings of free skies with fluffy cumulus. An unburdened soul, light as a feather.
Scaramouche opens his mouth to retort—so are you—and shuts it because that’s not true. His other self looks better than ever as he sits at the table. He looks healthy.
He looks happy.
“Whoa! There are two Papas?!”
He flinches, horribly rigid, every sense on high alert. His gaze pans over to the little girl peeking out from behind your legs. She looks at him like he’s a wonder to behold—like he’s someone worth adoring.
It’s different. It’s not the fondly fearful gaze of a devout follower, nor is it the clinical stare of a mournful creator or a deranged doctor. It’s something else.
It’s…
What is it? What is that emotion—the one that has evaded him for the entirety of his existence?
“Good afternoon, sleepyhead. We were beginning to wonder when you’d wake up.”
He turns to look at you. A smile softens your features. Coupled with the glorious sunlight filtering in from the window, you are the most seraphic creature he’s ever seen. Horrified at the development of his thoughts, he hardens his face into a vicious glare and tamps down the weakness that rises to the surface.
“You were expecting me?” he asks, but it sounds like a demand. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Why don’t you take a seat? I can fetch you a cup of tea,” you offer, your voice gentle and coaxing. He glances at the little girl. Her gaze is worn down with worry.
“I will do no such thing,” he snaps, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no authority over me. I’ll sit if I so please, and I do not please. So I will not sit, nor will I indulge in tea.”
His other self barks out a laugh. “To think I was like that… I was intolerable.”
“Still are,” you reply with a cheeky grin.
“You’re just as bad,” he snipes back, but there isn’t any heat to the remark. There’s that emotion again, reflected so clearly when he’s looking at you. His other self smiles—genuinely smiles—and then addresses him next. The smile tightens into something serious. “Relax. We’re not going to bite.”
“No, but I can and I will. Don’t think for a minute that just because you’re me I won’t—” He stops himself when the little girl tugs on his shorts, peering up at him with more wide-eyed concern. Rather awkwardly, he does his best to bring his attitude to a child-friendly level. “I… I’m fine.” He searches the silence for her name.
“Aaliya! Nice to meet you, Papa Number Two!”
Scaramouche nods mechanically, moves to bend down to her height, and then straightens again, thinking better of it. “What is all of this?” His hand sweeps across the room. “Just who are you?”
Like clockwork finely tuned, you and his other self exchange a furtive glance before nodding. It’s some unspoken language Scaramouche can’t decode. He frowns as he watches this interaction, even more suspicious than before.
“Aaliya, could you draw something for me?” you ask, guiding her from the kitchen towards the neighboring sitting room. Aaliya grabs a notebook and pencil from the countertop as she goes, humming her compliance. “We need another masterpiece to hang up, and you’re the best artist we’ve got.”
She giggles. “You can count on me!”
The sound calms him. He almost allows his shoulders to drop. Almost.
Scaramouche watches from the doorway, observing the way you interact with the girl. It’s parental and adoring. You care for this child, and she cares for you.
Just what is that elusive emotion? Why can’t he place it?
Once Aaliya has been successfully distracted with the allure of art, you return to take your seat beside his other self. Scaramouche stares between the both of you, utterly lost.
“You don’t have to sit—not like I could get you to after you’ve made up your mind—but, at the very least, let’s talk.”
Scaramouche’s eyes narrow. “Speak.”
“So entitled…” His other self sighs. “I shouldn’t expect anything less. I am you, after all.”
“Was,” he corrects astutely. “This isn’t the present day, and it can’t possibly be a dream.” He scrutinizes his surroundings, slowly fitting the pieces together. “It’s gone on for much too long.”
His other self tilts his head, playful. “Are you sure you’re not just stuck under Buer’s thumb?”
Right. Dreams. Lesser Lord Kusanali can poke her nose in and out of dreams as she pleases.
“Plausible, yes. But this is too detailed. And you—” he gestures to Blue Scaramouche— “are different. I wouldn’t dream of something so inane. Something like…this.”
Something so carefree and content, he almost tacks on as an afterthought, but he refrains. Weakness.
“Oh, but of course. You’re too good for good things,” his other self jeers, sardonic in a way that incites violence. He pushes that urge away. There’s a child nearby. “For what it’s worth, we’re still the same person.”
“Do not compare me to a weakling like you.”
“Hah? You think I’m the weak one? I’ll show you—”
“Wawan, relax,” you say, moving your body to obstruct his view.
Both look on, horrified.
“Wawan?” Scaramouche ventures, brows furrowed.
“You…” He turns away with a huff.
“What? It’s cute! You like it!” You smile and nudge him.
Scaramouche is in awe, nearly slack-jawed from witnessing such a bold display. If anyone were to do that to him—to the fearsome Lord Harbinger Scaramouche—they would not get away unscathed. In fact, he’d subject them to a death so brutal they’d beg for release even in the afterlife. No one lays a finger on him unless they’re actively seeking a bloody finale. More importantly, no one reduces his being to such flowery nicknames.
Disgusting.
His other self—this Wawan fool—recovers from his flustered state and clears his throat. “Wanderer,” he says, hurrying the syllables before you can make any more comments. “The name I go by. You should know it because you’ll use it one day.”
“I will do no such thing.”
Wanderer’s expression softens at that—out of sympathy, he realizes. Uncharacteristic, Scaramouche thinks. I do not soften, nor do I sympathize.
“You lost, Balladeer. There is no future for the god you hoped to become because he doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”
He bristles, suddenly defensive. “And who’s to say I haven’t already achieved godhood? Your claims are as useful as a corpse. You have no valid proof.”
“But I do. I’m you.”
“Even so, you’re woefully uninformed if you can so carelessly prattle on about—”
Wanderer sighs again, and this time you offer your hand. He hesitates, looking between Scaramouche and you, before his hand slips into yours, holding tight. Scaramouche’s face twists.
Foul.
“You failed, and this is the result of that—the future neither of us could have foreseen.”
“Failure is a strong word,” you chime in, running your thumb over the top of his hand. You look at Scaramouche next. “You didn’t succeed, yes, but you can learn from your mistakes and grow.”
“And grow I so apparently did,” he mutters, bitter and resentful. “Into a weakling who…” He pauses, his tongue heavy in his mouth, eloquence escaping him. “A weakling who… Who shackles himself to idyllic nonsense with nothing but…” His fingers curl into tight fists. “Nothing but filthy weaknesses to show for it.”
Nonplussed, Wanderer submits to temporary silence, to the comforts you provide. There’s a feeling sprouting between the both of you. Neither of you says anything, but you understand regardless. It’s a silent sort of communication, an undeniable connection. An understanding fostered from that despicable emotion.
With an offended scoff, Scaramouche turns swiftly on his heel and freezes when he finds Aaliya standing there. She peers up at him, studies his poker face, and presents him with her drawing.
“Papa tells me love is hard, but it comes easy when you’re with the right people. You need to be willing and accepting. When you are, love will find you and you’ll find love.”
She presses the parchment into his hands. Shakily, he beholds it. It’s a poorly drawn family portrait, but Aaliya’s artistic talents mean nothing to him. It’s the first time he’s ever been willingly included in a portrait. A family portrait. The only time someone has bothered to document a side of him that isn’t the vindictive, villainous, ever-raging tempest he’s known for. The one time he’s ever known what it means to be loved.
Ah. There’s that emotion. That temperamental, difficult, stormy emotion. It’s love.
In this future, he is treasured and cherished. He has a family. He has love, and he feels it and it’s reciprocated. Or Wanderer feels it, that is. But Scaramouche can see it: the quiet intricacies of your relationship—it’s all the result of love. You love him. Him—a being who was never created for the sake of loving. A being who has always been undeserving, unfit for the burden of divine admiration and reverence. You love him, and he loves you. Godhood and power and control—none of these things matter when compared to love itself.
Scaramouche stares at Aaliya next. He folds the drawing into a neat square, clutches it in a trembling fist, and—
And he cries.
Silently. His shoulders do not shudder. He does not gasp and wail like a newborn. It is entirely soundless, a reaction delayed by years. Tear trails streak down his porcelain cheeks in steady streams. His lip wobbles.
And he cries.
He cries as he brushes past Aaliya, ignoring her protests and your mumble of, “Let him go. He needs space,” while he flees, beelining for the bedroom. He cries when he unfurls his fingers to cradle the folded square in his palm. He cries when he thinks of the life he’s lived—the suffering and the lies and the tragedy and the backstabbing and the manipulation. He cries because he can’t hold back anymore. Because he failed. Because he will never be a god. Because he is inadequate in the eyes of the divine—as unsubstantial as a common pest.
He cries because he’s loved. Because someone has found something within his fractured being that’s worth loving.
He cries into the night, curled in on himself to protect what’s left of his exposed weakness.
It’s dark when he closes his eyes, and unlike before they remain shut. Because if he opens them—if he doesn’t patch up the damaged floodgates—he will cry.
And it hurts to cry.
And Scaramouche, for all of the pain he’s dealt, has never enjoyed being on the receiving end of agony, self-inflicted or otherwise.
It is a long, sleepless night punctuated with the soft pitter-patter of rainfall.
He’s lying sprawled like a defeated starfish when the first few rays of sunshine poke through the window. Groaning, he slides his arm over his eyes. He knows himself, even if Wanderer is a version of himself he has not yet experienced, and so he doesn’t expect to be checked on. The silence is both a comfort and a curse, smoothing his nerves and chewing through to the core of his being.
He thinks I’ll come to him first. How utterly foolish.
Scaramouche turns his back towards the sun and presses his face further into the sheets, drained of energy even though he’s just woken up. His ears prick at the sound of a girlish giggle and he lifts his head slightly, his eyes sliding towards the window. Aaliya skips down the pathway, carrying a basket in one hand and holding another girl’s hand with her other.
A friend, Scaramouche observes, watching the girls until they’re out of sight. He hears you call out to them even though they’re already long gone: “Be back before dinner and don’t get into any trouble!”
He peers at his own hand and flexes his fingers experimentally. Is everyone this feeble in the future, or am I just too strong?
There’s a knock on his door next. He intends to lie back down and block the world out, but instead he sits up and stares.
“Balladeer, I’ve put a pot of tea on. You’re more than welcome to have some if you’d like.”
He won’t dignify you with a reply. Or that’s what he initially thinks, but then he’s covering the distance to the door before he can stop himself. He yanks it open, much to your surprise.
“I—” he starts, his scowl mellowing into a reflection of the cold and cruel Fatuus he’s known to be. “I…will have a cup,” he finishes, oddly subdued.
“You don’t have to force yourself to talk. You can glare at us if it makes you feel better. Just make sure to take care of yourself, okay? We’re here for you if you need anything.”
He scoffs, straightens his posture into something regal, and pushes past you. “I was feeling much better until you opened your mouth and spat that irritating dross.”
You exhale through your nose, tentatively stepping into his path. For a minute he considers sweeping past you, but deep down he knows that he—the one he supposedly becomes in the future—would regret it. He would hate to push you away when you’re making an effort to be close—an emotional proximity he’s so clearly avoiding.
“You’re always welcome here.”
“Considering the circumstances, you have no choice but to be hospitable. It’s pointless to feign sincerity just because I’m here. I’m not fragile. Do not treat me as such.”
“You’re right. You’re far from fragile.”
He opens his mouth to argue that point and then pauses, absorbing your words with a dubious frown.
“You may not believe me, but you’re very resilient and so strong. I should know because I wake next to him every morning, and his existence is enough to remind me that he’s come a very long way.”
Smiling, you continue onwards. Scaramouche stalls, wondering what that could possibly mean. A very long way from what?
He’s not sure he wants the answer to that.
As if it matters.
“Without spoiling too much, I’ll say you’re in for a world of development,” Wanderer says once Scaramouche has graced the kitchen with his arrival. He’s sitting at the table, which is set for three people and adorned with the usual Sumerian snacks. The scent of tea hangs in the air, fragrant like perfume. “Lots of fun things.”
“Fun,” Scaramouche parrots, his nose scrunching. “What an unconventional way to refer to countless days and nights of agony.”
“I never said it’d be easy.”
“You never said it’d be difficult either.”
“Both of you,” you cut in—vocally and physically, you’re standing between the two of them— “no fighting at the table.”
Wanderer takes your hands in his when you lower into the seat beside him, his thumbs tracing delicate patterns into your skin. “Do you see how troublesome he is? Did you really have to put up with him all those years ago?”
“He’s part of you, Wawan.”
He scoffs. “No part I particularly care for anymore.”
Scaramouche rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest so the couple in front of him won’t pick up on his discomfort. “I’m not asking to be cared for or coddled. Hate me all you want. I don’t intend to like either of you.”
“Well?” Wanderer raises a brow, a smirk lazily tugging at his lips. “Insufferable.”
“Bitter like your tea,” you agree, to which Wanderer and Scaramouche huff in unison.
They glance at one another, searching the other for an indication of mutual tolerance, before turning away.
“I suppose,” Scaramouche says after a beat of silence, “I shall indulge. Be grateful.” He steps closer towards the table, lifts his cup from its saucer, and brings it to his lips. It’s lukewarm and just as bitter as the tea he’s enjoyed in the past. “It would be a shame to let tea go to waste after your efforts to prepare it.”
He nods in your direction and you beam under his approval.
“Thank you, Balladeer.”
His brow raises, but he doesn’t ask. You fill in the blanks yourself.
“This is the current you. Right now, Wanderer and I, this entire home, the life we share, and even our dear Aaliya—none of it exists in your present. If anything, we’re just a dream to you. So who else are you if not The Balladeer?”
Who else…
“Obviously I’m no one in this…reality.” He frowns. “If I’ve become that, there’s no need for any of my current aliases.”
“Perhaps not, but you’ll see for yourself when you get there.”
“I’d rather not. I’ll simply shut my eyes.”
“Avoidance is a common symptom of unresolved trauma,” Wanderer oh-so-helpfully adds.
“Oh, you’re a comedian now, are you?” But he isn’t laughing.
“Just passing on a fact I learned. You’ll hear it for yourself one day. Why not share it in advance? Soften the blow a little.”
“And you’re so perfect?”
“I have no intention to be.”
“Sure.” Scaramouche sips his tea, swallowing the torrent of insults weighing heavy in his mind and on his tongue. “I suppose all of this just fell into your imperfect lap then?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Before they can continue their petulant bickering, you gaze sharply at Wanderer and then at Scaramouche. He’s never felt compelled to obey anyone; he’s never needed to heed those who have always sat below him on the hierarchical pyramid. But for some reason he shuts his mouth and lowers his gaze to the floor.
This is pointless. I must find my way out of here at the earliest convenience before he drives me into the ground with his irritating sentiments.
“Arguing isn’t going to solve anything. He’s our guest, first and foremost. We should treat him like one.”
“I guess it can’t be helped. If this truly is our reality for the next few days, there’s no point in living in denial and self-loathing,” Wanderer concedes with a huff.
“Which is precisely why we should welcome this opportunity. It might not come around again.”
“Let’s hope it never does,” Wanderer and Scaramouche admit at the same time.
That elicits a giggle from you, and they turn on you with disapproving glares. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny—I know. I just couldn’t help it. You’re the same person, yet so different. Even your stares hold different feelings.”
Scaramouche won’t acknowledge your observations with a response. Instead, he watches his reflection as it warps and wavers in the tea. And then he drinks.
This is by far the most excruciating dream I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing.
There is no pain or death in this dream. No power tantamount to that of a god. He may as well be an apparition without an apparent place in this world. But there is domestic bliss and that is by far the most torturous aspect of this dream.
To think anyone could look upon my visage with such tenderness… You must be out of your mind.
“It’s not like I particularly care, but you seem to lead a quaint life.” Scaramouche sets his empty cup down and leans against the wall, his arms folding impetuously. “Why?”
Wanderer, troublesome menace that he is, bats his eyes and pulls you against him in a possessive half-hug. “Difficult to believe, isn’t it?”
Scaramouche wants to scowl, but he refrains. “I wasn’t asking you.”
“It’s mostly quaint,” you cut in, smooth as alabaster. “Life is always busier when you’re with your loved ones and there’s plenty to do—never a dull moment, as they say—but I don’t mind it. I like busy days.”
The delivery sounds rehearsed, but Scaramouche suspects it’s the truth. Your eyes soften and your smile mellows into something adoring when you nudge Wanderer. He almost retches outright when his other self nudges you back, discreetly reaching for your hand beneath the table. He won’t comment, but it prickles his skin with disgust when he watches this display. His other self fancies you so openly… The current Scaramouche would never.
Could never.
“Also, busy days prevent useless idling.”
“And keep boredom at bay,” Wanderer finishes. He assesses Scaramouche with a fleeting once-over. “You’ve always been a sad, lonesome existence. Your busy days were but minor distractions meant to fill a bottomless void that could never truly be filled.”
“What of it? I prefer solitude.”
He exhales a humorless breath. “Centuries of solitude and all it took was a single vase of flowers… Neither of us could have guessed.”
A vase of flowers? he wonders, bewildered, but too prideful to ask for an explanation. When will I ever receive flowers?
“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” you say, sipping at your tea with a cryptic smile. “Good things come to those who wait.”
Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “I’ve had enough ‘good things’ for the rest of my life.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Even if you don’t think so, you’re deserving of good things. Everyone is, even if they’ve done something bad.”
He waits for the gutting punchline. It never comes.
He watches the world beyond the window: fluffy clouds, grass rustling in a breeze, a bird hopping about on the ground. His reflection frowns back at him. “I don’t agree.”
Wanderer shrugs. “If you say so.”
“That’s okay. If that’s what you think, who are we to judge your opinion?”
Briefly, Scaramouche wonders how you can have the patience to put up with him. With Wanderer, he thinks, even though he knows he’s just as troublesome, if not more.
He finishes the rest of his tea and then rises from his seat.
It’s not as if it matters. He doesn’t fit in this family portrait. He never will.
But he does in some distant future.
How peculiar…
Scaramouche wakes on his third day in a rather pleasant purgatory. As it happens, he’s still stuck in this unusual cottage with a bizarre doppelgänger.
So be it, he thinks, sitting up in bed. It occurs to him that he hasn’t been very resistant since he was plucked from his timeline and dropped here. But what is there to resist? You and his other self? This comfortable home? Family? Happiness? Love?
I should get back to my world as soon as possible. That’s my priority. Do not get distracted.
Ideally, he’d like to imagine that’s where he belongs, but he knows there’s no place in this world—or any other world and timeline—where he’s wanted and accepted. At the very least, there’s some semblance of home in his timeline. Even if it isn’t the most welcoming.
When he wanders into the kitchen, he finds you standing over the stovetop. Strips of meat sizzle in a pan. Sitting at the table, doodling on a blank page, is Aaliya. He hasn’t spoken much to her since his first day, and she hasn’t come to his room to pester him.
“Let him settle in,” you and Wanderer tell her whenever she stalks past the closed door.
Still, he feels the beginning of a smile pull at his lips as he watches her kick her legs to and fro to an imaginary tempo.
I’m looking after a child in this timeline. Me. A parent…
He struggles to fathom it.
“Oh, Papa’s back!”
“Already?” You whirl around, a greeting on your tongue. “Ah, no, honey, that’s our visitor. The Balladeer is his name. He does look like Papa, though, doesn’t he?”
“B-Balla… Ballaba… Babadeer?” She scrunches her face up, perplexed.
Scaramouche offers her a gentle, understanding smile. “You may call me ‘Baba’ if it’s easier to pronounce.”
She lights up immediately. “Okay! You’re Baba and Papa’s Papa!”
He finds that the term is more endearing than any alias he’s taken on in the span of his lengthy existence.
“Speaking of, where is he? I would assume he’d be smart enough not to leave me by my lonesome.”
“He’s out for the day. Won’t be back until later.” You lift the pan from the stove and proceed to distribute breakfast between two plates. He shakes his head at you when you attempt to fix him a plate. With a shrug, you add, “You slept in. How was it?”
“Acceptable,” he admits, lowering into the chair beside Aaliya. “I suppose it’s better than most places.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” You place a cup of tea in front of him. “Bitter. Just how you like it.”
Scaramouche eyes it like it’s poison. “Your hospitality is…appreciated.”
“What do you think?” Aaliya lifts her drawing, proudly showcasing the portrait she’s sketched of you.
Scaramouche is a critic of many things. Art is not one of them. Still, he takes the page in his hands and spends a moment admiring the shaky linework.
“Very wonderful,” he praises, and he means it. “You should become an artist.”
“I want to, but I also wanna be like Papa. He’s really smart.”
“Is he now?”
“Mhm! He’s studying at the Akademiya. My friends told me only really smart people go there.”
I’m a scholar? Truly? He looks to you for confirmation. The proud smile on your face is answer enough. To think this is what becomes of me in a distant reality…
“A commendable occupation. You should always do your best in your studies. They’re very important. But most of all…” He hesitates. Thankfully, his other self isn’t here to listen to his encouraging words and ridicule him. He’s certain he’d never hear the end of it. “You should pursue what you enjoy.” He reaches out to pat her on the head. “Always dream, Aaliya.”
“I will! I promise.”
Scaramouche doesn’t do promises, but somehow he’s convinced by this one.
You sit across from him. “Time to eat, my dear. You can finish your pretty drawing later.”
She nods and pushes her pencils and crayons away in favor of focusing on her plate. Scaramouche watches, stiff and awkward. Family meals are not an unusual occurrence, but it’s been so long since he’s spent quality time with another living creature. With humans.
Am I really so foolish that I’d willingly indulge in a life with humans? Don’t I know better?
“Wawan told me your arrival might be linked to a faulty Ley Line. We’re not sure when you’ll return to your world—if that’s even a possibility—but until we know more you can stay here with us.”
“If I must. Although I assumed that was already established.”
You chuckle. “Is that right? Then it looks like you’ve gotten comfortable in the three days you’ve been here.”
He rolls his eyes. “Your singular deeds are not enough to earn my veneration.”
“I’m not trying to.”
With a huff, he averts his eyes. An uncanny feeling crawls up his throat and settles on his cheeks. You hide your playful grin behind your utensils and eat alongside Aaliya in peaceful silence.
If only everyone could see him: a puppet now named Wanderer, who attends the Akademiya and has a family of his own. A puppet who seems complete when he surrounds himself with his loved ones. It’s impossible to live in denial when all of it is unfolding before his eyes like a fantastical tale in a storybook. He really can’t believe it.
“Tell me—am I fulfilled in this reality?”
You blink back at him, and suddenly he regrets asking. There’s vulnerability in a question like that. An open wound waiting to be exploited.
“Will knowing put you at ease?” Before he can snap back with a defensive reply, you add, “I suspect you’re already aware of the answer.”
He stares at the amber-colored tea in his cup. “I am,” he confesses quietly.
“And do you feel any better?”
“Am I supposed to feel that way?”
“I can’t tell you because there’s no right or wrong way when it comes to emotions. You just…feel them.”
Just feel them?
“I’m more conflicted than anything else. That Wanderer fool… He can’t truly be me. I would never allow myself to grow so weak. To surround myself with weaknesses… How utterly thoughtless.”
“What you see as weakness is his strength.”
Scaramouche’s gaze slides from the tea to you. “And he… And I… I’m happy here? This isn’t a grand farce?”
“As absurd as it seems, this is to be your reality. You’re not always going to be happy. Sometimes you’ll dwell on the past. Sometimes you’ll feel angry and upset. It’s all part of existing.”
“That sounds horrendous.”
“What does?”
“Existing. Isn’t it tiring? I’ve never understood how humans do it.”
“It’s tiring, yes. But it’s also very rewarding. To exist is to cherish happiness and weather hardship. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. Sometimes all you need is enough.”
What if I’ve never had enough? What if I’ve never had anything?
He shuts his mouth. So many questions flit around in his head, but he already knows the answers to most of them. He just doesn’t want to hear it from himself.
To have enough when you’ve never had anything—when you’ve never felt like anything substantial—he surmises Wanderer can sympathize.
The first few drops of rain patter dry earth. Like dolls moved with wire, you and Scaramouche turn towards the window to watch water beads pearl on verdant fronds.
“Oh, it’s raining!” Aaliya exclaims with a delighted giggle.
Scaramouche reaches to touch his cheek. A single tear wets his fingertip.
“Huh,” he mumbles. “So it is.”
Sitting on the stoop, watching worms wriggle in wet soil, Scaramouche sighs.
“Did you know the worms sometimes lose their way when it rains?”
“Is that right?” he murmurs, glancing at Aaliya who scoops one up from the stone path and places it in the grass. He smiles at her kind impartiality. “It’s very admirable of you to help them.”
“Mhm! Papa tells me even worms need homes, so it’s important to help them when the rain washes them away.”
He breathes a laugh that sounds more like a scoff. “I really said that? That’s difficult to imagine.”
Ironic, too.
“If no one helps, how will they find their homes?”
“They’ll find their way. Everyone does eventually.”
“Even you?” She blinks at him from where she stands in the grass, worms held in her palms.
He exhales slowly and gazes skyward. The clouds have opened to let in the tiniest peek of sun. “If worms can find their way, then so, too, can I.”
He’s not sure he trusts it. Not now, at least. But it’s just as inevitable as the shifting seasons—an undeniable, irrefutable fact. He’s changing, if only slightly, and soon he’ll be in Wanderer’s shoes—a puppet with a home and a family. With all of life’s greatest joys and sorrows at his fingertips.
Aaliya sets the worms down in the grass before meandering over. She lowers to sit beside him, resting her head against his arm. “I believe in you, Baba.”
“Thank you.”
Soft as rain, subdued like a snuffed candle, his voice doesn’t waver. For the first time in a while, Scaramouche is defenseless. He’s not so sure he believes in himself. Wrapped in waning sun, listening to the hushed sway of grass, he tries on a smile. Albeit awkward, it fits.
He knows why his future self has become the wind, free and flowing, gentle and tumultuous all at once. Liberated from the past.
Even though he has his doubts, he knows he’ll get there soon.
The sky clears up just as Wanderer’s form comes into view. At first, he’s an insignificant pinprick against a blue sky. Aaliya jumps up from her spot on the stoop to run the rest of the way, calling out to him in an eager voice.
“Feeling any better?”
He keeps his eyes pinned stubbornly ahead. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”
“You’re our guest, silly. Of course I’m going to be concerned if you’re not comfortable during your stay. Ah, but I expect you’re coming up on the end of that, aren’t you?”
He blinks at his hands and realizes they’re transparent. “So it appears.”
“Does it?” you tease, patting him on the shoulder. Or you try to, at least. Your hand goes through him. “Guess it wasn’t very funny.”
“Not in the slightest,” he snaps with a scoff. He checks to make sure Wanderer isn’t within earshot. He’s kept occupied with Aaliya, who jumps around him like an energetic bunny. “But… Thank you…for everything. I’m aware I wasn’t the most grateful guest, nor the kindest.”
“You don’t have to be. As long as you felt safe and secure during your time here, despite everything that’s happened in your timeline, that’s all that matters.”
Scaramouche stares at you. I suppose it was a worthwhile escape. Unnecessary, but worthwhile.
“It wasn’t as hellish as I thought it’d be.”
“I’m glad. It was nice having you.”
Just then, Wanderer approaches. Aaliya sits proudly on his shoulders, her fists in his hair. “Glad to see everything’s still in one piece. No atrocities today?”
Suddenly, any sort of security Scaramouche might have been feeling evaporates. He’s reminded that it’s impossible to endure his other self for more than a few minutes. It’s actually impressive you’ve put up with him for this long.
Love is weird like that.
“Go back to the Akademiya and maybe you’ll learn a better sense of humor.”
“Aren’t you a bundle of joy?” Wanderer chuckles and levels him with a playful smile. His next words are tender and truthful. “Good luck on your journey. Have lots of fun.”
What sort of fun could possibly be found in pain? I don’t want or need your sardonic optimism.
“Oh? Baba’s leaving already?”
Scaramouche and Wanderer share a look. You smile behind your hand.
“Baba?”
“P-Pay it no mind!” He reaches for his hat in hopes of relieving everyone of his flustered expression and stops short. He’s not wearing his hat. He hasn’t had it this entire time. Refusing to admit he forgot such a crucial detail, he turns away and folds his arms over his chest. “It matters not.”
“Sure,” Wanderer concedes, but Scaramouche can tell he’s thinking something snarky. “We’ll go with that.”
“Thank you for visiting us,” you interject before the two of them can argue semantics. “Even though our time together was short, it wasn’t any less enjoyable.”
“I’ll miss you, Baba!” Aaliya extends her arm for a high-five.
“Careful now,” Wanderer warns, steadying her on his shoulders. “I suppose, though you’re more trouble than anything, it wasn’t so bad seeing my past self again.”
“You’re a welcoming lot,” he says with a curt nod. “It made this entire debacle slightly tolerable.”
“Only slightly?”
“Your presence didn’t add anything of substance. Don’t get it twisted.”
“Hmm. Perhaps not. At least I get to say I saw you once more.”
At that, he rolls his eyes. Am I supposed to feel flattered?
Wanderer smiles, but Scaramouche can’t place the authenticity. Maybe it’s there and he just doesn’t want to confront it.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know the feeling well enough.”
“And live every day one at a time. There’s no rush,” you advise, sweet like a real parent.
“I believe in you, Baba! You’ll find your way just like the worms.”
Wanderer raises a curious brow, but instead of ridiculing him he takes your hand in his and squeezes. Aaliya giggles and pats Wanderer’s head. The three of you make a family. Togetherness. Love. It’s everything he’s never had.
Now he understands. When Wanderer is with you and Aaliya, he’s whole. He’s happy. Free. He’s turned a new leaf. There are still so many apertures and questions—so much he’s missing from a puzzle not yet pictured to completion—but he isn’t worried. Equipped with this new information, he finds himself at peace with the present situation.
“I don’t know if we’ll ever have the chance to meet again in this timeline, but if we do let’s not dwell on the past.”
Scaramouche can feel his consciousness slipping from this realm, every sense pouring in like light through the gaps in trees. Just before he can make sense of it all, he notices the pendant glowing just above Wanderer’s chest.
Impossible… Is that what I think it is?
“You have a lot to look forward to, so next time let’s talk about the future.”
Suddenly, he’s not so sure he wants to leave. Scaramouche steps towards his other self, hand splayed, and wants to say something. Anything. A million words and phrases stick to the roof of his mouth.
I’d like that, he thinks just as the rest of his corporeal form vanishes in a blip.
Scaramouche comes to in the infirmary. He lifts his arm towards the ceiling, observing shattered fingers and broken joints. Thin cracks run along his arm—surface injuries as far as he’s concerned. They’ll be gone within the day, a testament to his self-sufficiency.
You’re very resilient and so strong. Someone once told him that. But who? And why does it warm him so?
“Oh, you’re up!”
He gazes sidelong at Lesser Lord Kusanali, the God of Wisdom, past the wellness bouquet on the bedside desk, and his features harden with antipathy. “Buer.”
“Did you have a nice dream?”
“Dream?” He scoffs. “I don’t dream. Not anymore.”
But it feels like I’ve been asleep for ages… Just what have I been doing all this time?
“Everyone dreams—even when they’re awake. Dreams are what give us hope.”
“Not me.” He turns on his side and shuts his eyes to block her out. “I have no need for childish dreams and misguided hope.”
What does it matter? I have nothing. I am nothing. There’s nothing for me in this rotten world.
Her hum of acknowledgment reaches his ears. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Scaramouche scowls. Stop poking around in my head. You have no authority over my thoughts, Buer. Get lost.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m here to give you a second chance.”
“I don’t want it. It’s pointless to put me on the path to redemption. Inane, even.”
“Redemption starts with recognition. If you realize that what you’ve done is wrong and are willing to change, redemption will find its way to you.”
He inhales a long, weary breath. “What more is left for me?”
Scaramouche, despite his grandiose title, feels small lying here and contemplating the worth of his existence.
“Plenty of things—good and bad—that you’ve yet to experience.”
He tries to envision what these things could be and turns up blank.
Strange. I was so certain… He sits up in bed, clutching the space where his heart would be if he was human. I could have sworn there was something…
He gazes at his palms next. What happened while I was unconscious?
Surely he witnessed a joyous scene. Otherwise why would he wake feeling so…hopeful?
Inhaling a resolute breath, Scaramouche decides it doesn’t matter.
“Why don’t you take some time to think about it? I may not know the full extent of the turbulence in your mind, but I do know it’s not something to treat lightly.”
The void is both loud and quiet when she departs, and now he’s forced to come to terms with his reality. He lost. Even as a manufactured deity, he was still unfit for godhood. It was a moment so short-lived it was practically a blink—insignificant in the colossal tapestry of time.
“What a joke,” he spits, glaring at the wall ahead. “All of that for nothing…”
He sits back against the cushions and drowns in the silence. It doesn’t comfort him.
Don’t be so hard on yourself. Where has he heard that line before?
Perhaps it was just another delusion.
Scaramouche’s gaze is drawn to the bouquet next. The flowers are fresh and vibrant, each blossom a representation of good health and happiness. Someone placed these here. Someone went out of their way to assemble a bouquet in his honor and then send it over. He wonders if this is the work of Lesser Lord Kusanali.
Who else could muster the empathy for a sorry creature like him?
Will knowing put you at ease?
He thinks it might. At the very least, it would soothe a restless part of his being—the part that craves a connection and yearns to be wanted despite everything he’s done. He wants a heart and a home. He wants to feel the rays of the sun stinging his skin and bathe in the exhilaration of being alive and in the moment. He wants to finally know all of the sweetness he was deprived of in life. The sweetness that comes from love in all its many shapes and forms.
Scaramouche reaches for the bouquet and pauses. He could swipe it off the table and watch rumpled petals scatter amidst shattered glass in a puddle. He could ignore it and pretend it’s not worth his time or attention.
He wants to act like it doesn’t matter, but something’s nagging at him.
For once, the feeling isn’t terrible. For once, he has something to look forward to—an anchor to cling to in this vast, wild sea.
And he isn’t going to let go.
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I’ve encountered a few on AO3 but I too am desperate for more Gojo fics anywhere 😭 if you have any recommendations too please I beg give some to meee 😭😭
Ohhh yesss ive got quite a few! Also, please look out for the content warnings!
Series
Sincerely not by saintobios (arranged marriage, modern au) (read this yrs ago so i cant remember much but i do remember crying at 10 pm in the kitchen while reading this)
Sundered by tojikai (baby daddy gojo, modern au)( made me sob )
Kintsugi by NoahLaval (arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, gojo x oc) (I love this! made me cry a lot, like really..)
No Cure by Tawus (enemies to lovers, reader is a curse user)
Exposure therapy by seoafin (angst, reader is in the same year as sashisu, au where toji became a teacher, also a geto/reader, but shoko is the endgame)(you should check out their other works too!)
Monster Hospital by mushmoon12 (enemies/rivals to lovers, lots of smut)
intrinsic warmth by thatdesklamp (angst, childhood friends to lovers)(yeah...)
Cursed Love by maespaces (angst, reader is a not a jujutsu sorcerer )(i forgot to add this!😭😭😭 but srsly tho rllylove this one, vry well written! im still reading it but u can tell ure in for a bumpy ride🥹)
Oneshots
Grey Cashmere by vagabond-umlaut (angst with a happy end, set during hidden inventory, reader is in the same year as sashisu)(one of my all time faves!!! its also part of a series but can be read as a standalone!)
an unwanted letter by piichuu (angst, post ch 236?ig?)(i read this during class... i just hope my classmates didnt see me cry)
Others. (I have not read this yet but ive been keeping an eye on it! Thought i might share as well)
Infidelity by tawus (angst, gojo and reader are married)
one day, three autumns by vagabond-umlaut (arranged marriage)
Minazuki by quirklessidiot (enemies to lovers, arranged marriage)
Devoted by aerinth (angst, friends to lovers)(also a geto/reader)
the color yellow by rhydonium (angst, hanahaki disease)(also a geto/reader)
Bonus!
Abalone on the shore by unolvrs (I dont rlly read much toji fics but this one made me sob on a morning! You'll need tissues for this one ig...😞)
#i wrote this one at 4 am so if theres anything wrong with the links pls do tell!#theres actually a lot more but i forgot some of the tittle.... :(#can u tell that i love arranged marriage with gojo? lmaooo#writing this instead of writing my essay...#fic recs#gojo x reader#yuna.incs#angst lots of angst#only listed enemies/rivals/lovers and angsts here
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FAVORITES
Want fics that don't just revolve around smut? Read these!
Fandoms include: jjk, bnha, haikyuu, aot, marvel, tvd
GOJO SATORU
Intrinsic Warmth — thatdesklamp (ao3)
Summary: “So stay with me. Forever.”
You make a weak stab at a joke. “For Infinity, you mean?”
“Yeah.” Satoru turns to look at you and your heart jumps at the clear expression on his face. There’s not a hint of humour: for once, he’s fully and completely serious. “For the rest of my life, and for all the lives after.”
-
You meet Satoru on 7th September, 1996.
Some time later, you realise you love him.
Notes: HOLY FUCK I LOVED THIS SO MUCH!?!?!??! THE ANGST?!?!? THE PINING?!?!?!? I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS!!!!!!!! THE AUTHOR WASN'T FUCKING AROUND WHEN SHE WROTE THIS!!!
gods, monsters, monkeys — yuzudrops (ao3)
Summary: A grossly under-qualified graduate of Jujutsu High is hired to teach a class of Special Grades. They learn there is more to strength than power. It doesn't end well.
Notes: chefs kisses, literally one of THE best gojo fics out there
Keep a Place For Me — alkhale (ao3)
Summary: A quiet story that takes place a little before Gojo Satoru was born to be the greatest shaman of this era, his youth, triumphs, losses, and his inherent rise to a place unknown by anyone else.
And the one person who bore witness to it all.
Notes: IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THIS YET, YOU ARE SERIOUSLY MISSING OUT
take me down (to the depths of your depravity) — Innka (ao3)
Summary: The story starts with you standing in the pouring rain. All you remember are your orders.
Gojo Satoru. Look for the white hair and the baby blues.
"This will be easy," they said. "White hair and baby blues, eyes like the sky. Pull him in, fatten him up and send him to the devil. In and out, one and done."
"You can do this with your eyes closed," they said.
"This will be easy," they said.
They were wrong.
Notes: Read trigger warnings first
watermelon sugar why — Innka (ao3)
Summary: You had marched into his office, looking like your life was in his hands. You held out an excursion request. For a beach trip, of all things. By the time Gojo finished reading it, he had wanted to do exactly three things: sign the paper, laugh in your face, and bend you over on his desk to fuck you until you were screaming his name.
Not necessarily in that order.
Notes: this is a one shot but i live for pining satoru so
all that is solid melts into air — GrilledTandooriSmoke (ao3)
Summary: Curse user.
The words weigh heavy like lead on your tongue. Something that needs to be swished around before it's spat back out like the black gunk it is. Evil and vile jujutsu sorcerers who would dare turn on humanity in the never-ending war against curses.
And it just so happens you come from a family of them.
Alternatively: political machinations have you attending Jujutsu Tech at the same time as Gojo Satoru.
Notes: in love with this
among dawn flowers (the face of god) — unolvrs (ao3)
Summary: Your grandmother calls the young master of the Gojō Clan a boy-god, and you, his destined bride who will further the cause of the All-Seeing Eyes.
—or, you are raised to be Satoru’s bride and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. (Everything is.)
Notes: i love angst
the witches' brew — orphan_account (ao3)
Summary: You are the co-owner of a small café in a small, eccentric district in Tokyo that is notorious for bizarre murders and supernatural occurrences.
You think you’ve seen it all, but it turns out that nothing comes close to the man wearing a bad Kakashi cosplay who terrorizes you with his increasingly complicated and awful drink orders.
Notes: im devastated i didn't get to see who actually wrote this
5 + 1 — script_nef (orphan_account) (ao3)
Summary: 5 times Gojou had a date with you and 1 time you realised it was a date.
Alt title: Watch Gojou be really obvious about his crush but it goes completely over your head every time. Well, nearly every time.
Notes: kicked my feet a couple times while reading this
Ripverse — seoafin (ao3)
Summary: “You don't need to worry about anything like dying. I won't let anything happen to you," he says quietly, and it sounds like a promise.
You wait for the punchline. The part where he laughs it off as a joke, and then tells you to snap yourself out of it in a way you would’ve expected from him in the past. But he’s dead serious.
Notes: This is a series of one shots in the same univ with the same character, i just used the summary for the very first part
FUSHIGURO TOJI
(and your love is) standing next to me — shidouryusei (ao3)
Summary: “I wanna meet your son.”
You regret what you’ve said the second the words leave your lips.
“Why the hell do you wanna meet my kid?”
Notes: holy hell is this one of the best toji fics out there
BAKUGO KATSUKI
what heroes do — sugiwa (ao3)
Summary: Shouto didn't know much about his twin sister. She was an Edgeshot fan, had a raging collection of manga, and liked Natsuo the best.
She also wasn't supposed to be at U.A., but he sure as hell wasn't telling their father about it.
Notes: i am not kidding when i say that even tho this thing has almost 600k words (it's a monster!!), i have reread this so many times it's not even funny anymore
MIYA ATSUMU
WHITE NOISE — 1keshi (ao3)
Summary: you’ve always loved atsumu— that was the problem.
(alternatively, you force a therapist to listen to the story of how you fell in love with your childhood friend, because what else are you supposed to do?)
Notes: lovelovelove
You Found Me — Amy_Stark117 (ao3)
Summary: Miya Atsumu had his life goals set - volleyball, fame, and success. Nothing could stand in his way.
You threw all that out the window, simply by sitting next to him in class.
Life is really funny like that, isn't it?
Notes: 10/10
USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI
premonition of love — peacchy (ao3)
Summary: A day after the freak quick duo sneaks into Shiratorizawa campus grounds, Ushijima gets summoned by his school’s student disciplinary committee.
Rule breached?
Assisted Trespassing.
While he steps out of the office with more than just a case under his name, you (unknowingly) step into the affluent stratum of Miyagi’s controlled elite.
In a world of either-or’s, you’re caught in between.
And possibly something more.
Notes: yall listen before this, i was NOT an ushijima girlie. now, i am ;)) this ff also has a love triangle in it (ushijima x reader x sakusa) with alternative endings (though it's not completed yet)
Shoot the Ball — alkhale (ao3)
Summary: As captain of the dying Shiratorizawa Kyudo Club, you're sick and tired of the biased favoritism that goes to the showier sports. Especially the worst of them all—the boy's volleyball team.
You're determined to show the entire school how great archery is, get the funding your club deserves, and by the end of it all, make the entire school a fan of your archery.
You just didn't know you already had a fan from the start.
And he may or may not be captain of the one team on campus you have a personal vendetta against.
Notes: i love alkhale so much
LEVI ACKERMAN
1,000 Steps — BaddieCurlsXo (ao3)
Summary: You're being torn away to another world every new moon, unable to connect the dots or find any real meaning in your travels. That is, until one night you stumble upon a man with grey eyes and a green cape, who asks you, rather suspiciously, "what are you doing outside the walls?"
Notes: lovette
Death's Door — SongsOfApollo (ao3)
Summary: You spent years of your life under the guidance of Dr. Helfen, the greatest physician inside Wall Sina. Now a physician yourself, you work alongside him with pride: stitching up wounds, nursing the sick, and helping to save the lives of many. But after the Battle of Trost, rapid changes begin to take place, starting with an inquiry from none other than Commander Erwin Smith and Captain Levi of the Survey Corps.
You have heard many tales from surviving Survey Corps soldiers on what it’s like on the outside: to face a Titan, to feel overwhelming dread, to watch your fellow man perish in such an insulting, gruesome way. You’ve witnessed the effects of Titans on the people you’ve doctored. Now you are to experience the horror firsthand.
You are to join the Scout Regiment as their field surgeon, and you will do so under the direct command of Captain Levi.
Notes: one of my fav fics of levi
BUCKY BARNES
Vacant Mirrors — pilotisms (ao3)
Summary: Dr. Hart shares an office with Dr. Raynor.
You share a waiting room with Bucky Barnes.
Notes: felt like crying even tho the ending wasn't angsty
Safe with me — bitsandbobsandstuff (ao3)
Summary: When an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. As Bucky Barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realise falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected.
Notes: Holy freaking heck was this beautiful. The plot? Chefs kisses. The writing? Chefs kisses. Reader's personality? Chefs kisses. The romance between reader and bucky? CHEFS FUCKING KISSESSSSS.
In The Shadow Of Your Wings — emmagnetised (ao3)
Summary: Margaret Stark is five years old when the Winter Soldier comes for her and her parents. But she survives the attack and is returned to her brother, though she's left broken and traumatised. She grows with a promise she made to herself on the night of the car crash. A mission.
This is the story of Maggie forging herself into her own hero, into something that no one expects: The Wyvern.
Notes: if you're a delulu marvel stan and haven't read anything by emmagnetised yet, are you even a delulu marvel stan?? p.s there is also an alternative for this story, go check it out on the author's acc on ao3 if you're interested!
STEVE ROGERS
The Siren — emmagnetised (ao3)
Summary: Austrian-born Alice Moser is new to Brooklyn when she meets and befriends a small blonde kid called Steve Rogers. Years later tragedy puts an ocean between them. When they meet again everything is different - Steve is about to go to war, and Alice is going to make the SSR an offer they can't refuse: her services as an undercover agent within the very heart of Nazi Germany.
The path is already written. The whole world knows the stories of Captain America and the Siren. Or do they?
Notes: ISTG IF U DON'T GO READ THIS MASTERPIECE RN
LOKI
A Twist of Marvel — GeneralofLoki (wattpad)
Summary: Naomi Swanson is fresh out of college, working as an assistant in a small paper supply company and inhaling coffee by the gallons. When an accident knocked her out, Naomi woke up in a world she had only seen through screens.
Armed only with her phone and a questionable data plan, Naomi attempts not to be killed as she comes face-to-face with the Avengers, and so much more.
Notes: do not and i repeat do NOT underestimate this just because it's a wattpad story ;)) it's literally the best girl goes to alternative dimension story in the mcu universe out there!!
KLAUS MIKAELSON
descent — tothelakes (wattpad)
Summary (since the summary on this one is a little long I'll be giving a brief description instead): Rory, the twin sister of Elena, unknowingly dates Klaus, the terrifying hybrid determined to sacrifice her sister. When the Mystic Falls events start, cue the beginning of their tumultuous journey as secrets are revealed and feelings come to light.
Notes: this is probably the best klaus fic to ever grace the world of fanfictions.
#jjk#gojou satoru x reader#gojo saturo#jujutsu kaisen#bnha#bakugou katsuki#bakugo katuski x reader#haikyuu!!#miya atsumu#miya atsumu x reader#ushijima x reader#ushijima wakatoshi#attack on titan#aot#levi ackerman x reader#marvel#avengers#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#steve rogers x reader#bucky barnes x oc#steve rogers x oc#loki x oc#klaus mikaelson x oc#tvd#the vampire diaries#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x oc#bakugo katsuki x oc#ao3fic
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gojo gang i need help
ive been lucky to read AMAZING gojo/reader fanfics lately and im afraid to never find something as good as these, could you guys gimme some recs? it must be well written and I have preference with this kind of plot:
- friends to lovers/haters to lovers
- childhood friends
- slow burn
- angst with a happy ending
- smut and fluff if possible
these are my fav gojo/reader fics for reference sincerely not/sincerely yours, intrinsic warmth and bound through time
please and it must be a long fic (don't need to be finished) Tumblr or AO3 it doesn't matter
tyty
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An Enchanting White Day
Character(s) : Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, Gepard, March 7th
Genre : Fluff
a/n : Starting to get a hang on writing multiple charas and hsr! This fic was inspired by the official white day fanfic hyv posted, I added march just because :3 But also, this is the first time I've written for a female chara! so feel free to give me a feedback!
Jing Yuan, A Handmade Connection on White Day
It was that time of year again, a month after the sweet chaos of Valentine's Day had settled down, leaving behind a lingering air of anticipation and excitement. The city of Xianzhou was bustling with preparation for White Day, a day when people would reciprocate the tokens of affection they had received just a month prior. Among the many hearts that fluttered with excitement, yours beat with a particular rhythm, for you had a special connection with none other than Jing Yuan, the revered general of the Cloud Knights within the Xianzhou Alliance.
Jing Yuan, an enigmatic figure known for his strength, wisdom, and grace, was a man who had captured not only the respect of his subordinates but also the hearts of countless admirers.His tall and commanding presence, paired with his striking white hair and golden eyes, made him a beacon of attraction. Among the many admirers he had, you stood out as someone who held a unique connection with him.
Valentine's Day had come and gone, leaving behind a trail of gifts and sweet tokens from his countless admirers. You, having a special bond with Jing Yuan, were no exception. Among the sea of presents that had been sent his way, yours stood out not only because of its intrinsic value but also because of the genuine connection you shared.
As White Day dawned, the atmosphere within the Cloud Knights' headquarters was charged with activity. Soldiers and aides bustled around, arranging gifts to be distributed to those who had showered Jing Yuan with tokens of their affection. It was a tradition that he appreciated and understood, the significance of reciprocating the feelings that had been expressed.
But amidst the orchestrated chaos, Jing Yuan's focus remained unwaveringly fixed on you. He knew that amidst the throng of admirers, it was your connection that was most precious. As the flurry of activity settled, he made his way to you, a small smile gracing his lips.
Amidst the bustling Cloud Knights' headquarters, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you turned to find Jing Yuan standing there, his presence commanding even amidst the commotion. His long white hair was elegantly tied into a ponytail with a red ribbon, and his golden eyes held a warmth that was reserved for you alone.
"Happy White Day," he greeted in his characteristic composed tone, the words carrying a deeper meaning as he handed you a carefully wrapped box. His fingers brushed against yours for a brief moment, sending a subtle jolt of warmth through your veins.
"Thank you," you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of surprise and gratitude as you accepted the gift.
Jing Yuan's smile widened slightly, as if he had predicted your response. "I made this especially for you. I thought it would be a fitting gift."
With his words, your curiosity grew, and you carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a small, exquisitely crafted bracelet. Its design was delicate, yet its intricate patterns spoke of the effort that had gone into its creation. It was a testament to the precision and care that Jing Yuan put into everything he did.
"It's beautiful," you breathed, your fingers brushing over the beads and threads, marveling at the craftsmanship.
Jing Yuan's expression held a mix of pride and satisfaction as he watched your reaction. "I'm glad you like it. I thought you might appreciate something handmade, something that carries a piece of my own efforts."
As you held the bracelet in your hands, you couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading within you. It was as if the bracelet carried a piece of Jing Yuan's essence, a tangible reminder of the bond you shared. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in a moment that felt like a private exchange amidst the bustling surroundings.
"Jing Yuan, I…" you began, searching for the right words to convey the depth of your feelings.
He held up a hand, his smile tender. "No need for words. Our connection speaks for itself. Every connection I've made here is important," Jing Yuan confessed softly, his voice carrying an unspoken depth of emotion. "But ours... it's unique."
In that instant, the world around you seemed to blur, and it was just you and Jing Yuan, bound by an understanding that went beyond words. As White Day continued around you, the exchange of gifts and expressions of affection unfolding, your heart remained tethered to the general's presence, to the handmade bracelet adorning your wrist.
Dan Heng, Unveiling Affections on White Day
You never really thought much about romance when it came to Dan Heng. He always carried himself with an air of quiet mystery, a stoic guardian of the Astral Express. But beneath that cool exterior, there was something more, something you were fortunate enough to witness. You knew the real Dan Heng, the one who was unexpectedly sweet and sentimental when no one else was around.
Valentine's Day had been a pleasant surprise. You had gifted Dan Heng a carefully chosen dark bitter chocolate and a quill pen that he could use during his quiet moments. He might not have been a fan of sweets, but his appreciation for the thoughtful gesture was evident in the way his eyes softened as he accepted the gifts. He had thanked you in his usual reserved manner, and you had both continued with your routines on the Astral Express.
Little did you know, Dan Heng had been researching the concept of White Day. He wasn't one to be caught unprepared, especially when it came to showing his gratitude and reciprocating your kindness. The idea of making homemade sweets had been discarded quickly, knowing his culinary skills were far from impressive. Instead, he delved into the databank that held information about you, hoping to find a suitable gift.
However, delving into the databank wasn't as simple as he thought. Sure, there were records of your preferences, hobbies, and favorite things, but Dan Heng realized that there was so much more to you than just the data. He recalled all the times you had shared stories during your hangout sessions—your dreams, your fears, your adventures aboard the Astral Express. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he wanted to give you something that reflected the depth of your connection.
Days turned into nights as Dan Heng immersed himself in his research. He began to notice the small things about you that others might overlook—the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about your favorite books, the times when you helped crew members with their tasks without expecting anything in return. Slowly, a plan began to take shape in his mind, one that would require more effort and time than he had initially anticipated.
As White Day drew nearer, Dan Heng found himself working in secret whenever he had a spare moment. He reached out to crew members who possessed certain skills, and he even sought assistance from the conductor themself, Pom Pom. The crew members were surprised by his uncharacteristic requests, but they could see the determination in his eyes, and they agreed to help.
On the morning of White Day, Dan Heng's room had transformed into a makeshift workshop. Various materials were strewn across the table, and he meticulously put the finishing touches on a project he had been working on for days. A knock on the door interrupted his concentration, and he quickly arranged everything to appear as inconspicuous as possible.
When you entered his room, he greeted you with a calm smile, his usual demeanor in place. You exchanged greetings, and then he gestured toward a modest-looking box on the table. "I have something for you," he said, his tone composed.
Curiosity piqued, you approached the box and opened it to find a beautifully crafted journal. Its cover was adorned with intricate designs reminiscent of the Astral Express's elegant interior. Inside, the pages were thick and high-quality, inviting you to fill them with your thoughts, memories, and adventures.
"It's a journal," Dan Heng explained, his gaze steady. "I know you enjoy recording your experiences and thoughts. I asked for help from our crew members to create this. Each page is handcrafted, and I thought it might be a fitting way for you to continue documenting your journey aboard the Astral Express."
You were touched beyond words. The effort he had put into this gift was evident, and it spoke volumes about his feelings. With a smile that held a mixture of gratitude and warmth, you looked up at him. "Dan Heng, this is incredible. Thank you so much."
He nodded, his eyes softening for a moment before he regained his composure. "I'm glad you like it."
As you held the journal in your hands, you realized that this wasn't just a gift—it was a testament to the depth of your connection with Dan Heng. He might have seemed reserved and distant to others, but you had seen the effort he had put into understanding you, appreciating you, and finding a way to express his feelings in a language that he wasn't accustomed to.
As the two of you spent the day together, you shared stories, laughter, and newfound closeness. The handcrafted journal became symbols of the bond that continued to grow stronger between you. White Day had not only been a celebration of reciprocated gifts, but a celebration of the unique and heartfelt connection that existed between you and Dan Heng—the guardian of secrets who had chosen to reveal his most precious secret of all: his affection for you.
Gepard Landau, A Blooming Bond on White Day
As the month of White Day drew closer, Gepard found himself in a rather peculiar predicament. It had been two weeks since you had presented him with a homemade sweet for Valentine's Day, and despite his reputation as an outstanding warrior of Belobog and the captain of the Silvermane Guards, he was utterly flustered. What could he possibly give you in return that would match the sincerity of your gift?
He had sought advice from his sisters, Serval and Lynx, who had teased him mercilessly about his predicament. They'd seen their usually stalwart and composed brother turn into a bundle of nerves, all because of a heartfelt gesture from you. After all, Gepard was meticulous and vigilant by nature, and his straightforward honesty was as much his strength as his weakness.
Gepard's hobbies included a somewhat unsuccessful attempt at growing flowers. It was a less-known fact about him, as most people only saw the warrior in him. He pondered the idea of gifting you a bouquet of flowers he had cultivated himself, but his first attempt had gone awry, leaving him without enough time to grow another suitable arrangement.
Though there was a reputable flower shop in Belobog's town, Gepard hesitated to resort to a simple purchase. He yearned to offer you something that would reflect the depth of his emotions, something that transcended mere material exchange.
The day of White Day arrived, and Gepard positioned himself near the city district during his off-duty hours. His heart raced as he anticipated your arrival, hoping he had made the right choice. When he finally saw you approaching, a warm blush spread across his fair cheeks, and he greeted you with a mixture of eagerness and shyness.
With a soft yet nervous smile, he presented you with a neatly wrapped box. His blue eyes held a sincere intensity as he explained his dilemma. He admitted that he had agonized over what to give you, unsure if he could match the sweetness of your Valentine's Day gift. His voice held an endearing touch of vulnerability as he confessed his feelings.
You accepted the box with curiosity and began to unwrap it carefully. Inside, nestled within delicate tissue paper, was a dried flower delicately preserved. Its petals held an array of soft pastel colors, and it exuded a faint but pleasant fragrance. Gepard's voice trembled slightly as he explained that it was a flower he had cultivated himself, albeit through a process of trial and error.
"This flower... it's not as vibrant as the ones in the shop, but it's a symbol of my feelings for you," he admitted, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "I wanted to give you something that would last, just like my feelings for you."
Your heart swelled with emotion as you listened to Gepard's heartfelt words. The sincerity in his eyes and the vulnerable honesty in his voice touched you in a way that words couldn't fully describe. The dried flower, though delicate and seemingly fragile, felt like a tangible representation of his affection, enduring through time just like the sentiment he held for you.
You reached out, your fingers grazing his hand gently as you met his gaze with a soft smile. "Gepard, this is more beautiful and meaningful than any bouquet could ever be. It's a testament to your care and dedication, and that means more to me than you can imagine."
A mixture of relief and joy flickered in Gepard's eyes, his worry dissipating like morning mist. He was not one to easily express his emotions, but in that moment, his gratitude and happiness radiated from him. His lips curved into a genuine smile, and the vulnerability he had shown earlier only added to his charm.
"I'm glad you like it," he said, his voice steady but warm. "I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, even if I struggle with all these... romantic things."
Your laughter bubbled up at his self-deprecating tone. "Gepard, your sincerity speaks louder than any grand gesture. And the fact that you tried, despite your worries, means the world to me."
As you continued to chat, your conversation flowed easily, both of you sharing stories and insights that brought you closer together. Gepard's guard seemed to lower further, revealing the endearing dorkiness that only a few were privileged to witness. You discovered shared interests and teased each other playfully, enjoying the easy camaraderie that had developed between you.
With the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, Gepard checked the time and reluctantly admitted, "I have duty tomorrow morning, so I should probably head back soon."
Your heart sank slightly at the thought of parting, but you nodded, understanding his responsibilities. "Of course. Duty calls, after all."
Gepard's blue eyes held a hint of regret, but he mustered a determined smile. "I promise we'll have more time together soon. Maybe we can even work on my flower-growing skills together."
You chuckled, appreciating his enthusiasm even in the face of his admitted lack of expertise. "I'd be honored to help you nurture flowers, Gepard. Who knows, we might end up with a garden full of stories."
As you said your goodbyes and watched Gepard walk away, the dried flower brooch glinted in the fading light, a constant reminder of the connection you had forged. White Day might have been about reciprocating gifts, but what you and Gepard had shared was something far more precious—an exchange of hearts, vulnerabilities, and the promise of a blooming future together.
March 7th, Captured Moments of White Day
It was a crisp March morning, and the anticipation in the air was almost palpable. March had been planning something special for you. White Day was here, and while the exchange of Valentine's Day gifts had left a warmth in your heart, March was determined to make this day just as unforgettable.
March had put so much thought into this day, carefully considering what would make you smile. She was a spirited and quirky young woman, known for her love of photography and her penchant for all things adorable. She had a reputation for being creative, and today was no exception.
As you stood there, March approached you with a playful twinkle in her pink and blue eyes. "Are you ready for your White Day surprise?" she asked, her voice a mixture of excitement and nerves. She gently tied a blindfold around your eyes and took your hand, leading you through a series of twists and turns until you reached her room.
With a flourish, March removed the blindfold, revealing her meticulously planned surprise. The room appeared the same, yet different – there was a box waiting for you, its presence a tantalizing mystery. With curiosity piqued, you reached out and slowly lifted the lid.
The sides of the box gracefully fell away, revealing layers upon layers of polaroid photos. Each image captured a moment, frozen in time – a candid shot of you laughing, a snapshot of a shared meal, a stolen glance that spoke volumes. You couldn't help but be touched by the effort March had put into preserving these memories.
But the surprises didn't end there. Delicate, hand-crafted butterflies in shades of pink and blue fluttered out of the box, a testament to March's creativity and attention to detail. These butterflies carried her signature colors, a symbol of her thoughtfulness and care. They danced around the room before settling near you, as if inviting you to partake in the magic of the moment.
Turning to face March, you were met with her beaming smile. She held out a bouquet of your favorite snacks, an array of treats that she had carefully selected just for you. "Happy White Day!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm contagious.
You accepted the bouquet with a grateful smile, marveling at the variety of treats she had chosen. From savory to sweet, it was as if March had compiled a treasure trove of your most cherished indulgences. "This is amazing, March," you said, genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness.
She beamed with pride, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I'm so glad you like it! I wanted to make sure you had a little bit of everything you love."
As you both settled into the room, surrounded by the fluttering butterflies and the scattered polaroid memories, March gestured to the photos that adorned the space. "Each of those photos holds a special moment," she explained, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "I wanted to capture the moments that make us, well, us."
You found yourself drawn to the images, each one telling a story of your time together. There was a candid snapshot of you helping March pick flowers in the park, a mischievous grin on both your faces. Another photo showed the two of you caught in a fit of laughter during a movie night, a shared bowl of popcorn between you.
"Remember this one?" March pointed to a photo where you were both attempting to bake a cake, flour smudges on your faces and the kitchen a delightful mess.
You chuckled, the memory coming back to you in a rush. "How could I forget? We turned the kitchen into a battlefield that day."
March laughed wholeheartedly, the sound filling the room with warmth. "Yeah, but we had so much fun, didn't we?"
It was moments like these that made your connection with March so special. The ability to share laughter, create memories, and embrace each other's quirks was a testament to the bond you had built.
As you sat down together, the snacks spread out before you, March suddenly spoke up "I hope White Day feels as wonderful for you as it does for me," she admitted, her gaze meeting yours.
"It's more wonderful than I could have imagined," you replied, sincerity lacing your words. "And that's all thanks to you, March."
The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon sharing stories, indulging in the treats, and relishing in the comfort of each other's company. With each passing moment, you realized that March had managed to create a White Day that was uniquely tailored to your connection, one that celebrated your journey together.
As the day drew to a close, the room was bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun. March looked at you with a mixture of contentment and affection. "I'm so glad I could make this day special for you," she confessed, her voice filled with genuine emotion.
"You did more than that," you assured her, your heart swelling with gratitude. "You made this day unforgettable."
March leaned in, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. In that moment, it felt as though the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of shared emotions.
With a gentle touch, March's lips met yours, a sweet and tender kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss filled with gratitude, love, and the promise of many more moments to come. When you finally pulled away, you could see the affection in March's eyes, a reflection of the connection that had blossomed between you.
"Happy White Day," she whispered, her voice a soft melody that resonated in your heart.
"Happy White Day, March," you replied, your voice equally tender.You knew that this White Day would forever remain etched in your memory as a celebration of love, shared moments, and the beautiful journey you were embarking on together.
#˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ mai writes#honkai star rail#hsr#jing yuan#dan heng#gepard#march 7th#hsr jing yuan#jing yuan x reader#hsr dan heng#dan heng x reader#gepard landau#gepard landau x reader#hsr x gender neutral reader#hsr x reader#star rail#hsr gepard#gepard x reader#march 7 hsr#march 7 x reader#hsr march 7th
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Can you pls link the fics that you said changed your life? Or tell us where to find them pretty please?
side note: plugging my side blog @smrecs where I have more organized reblogs of fics lol. tho I haven't updated the tags in a while. I think a lot of the links there are broken... I'll fix it eventually...
anyway
here I will link some of my favorite fics ive read over the years. some of these I mention only by name because they have been deleted/or the person who wrote it deactivated... all of these are fics that I have read more than once/fics that have gutted me/fics that made me cry/had me in a puddle of cum/ etc etc etc
some of these are series that are abandoned but it doesnt matter to me, they are works of art even if unfinished <3
Eren x reader:
lights camera action
the secrets between us
cross your heart hope to die
one day the only butterflies left
poems for driftwood
reason & responsibility
thumb bites and pocket knives (LEGENDARY FIC TO ME. I cannot stress enough)
irresistible
mode of survival
endure
the swords legacy (I cannot. cannot exaggerate to you. the work that went into this fic. truly it deserves to be a novel. kriza you are amazing)
killshot
what lies underneath
home in your hands
eternity
the last song
armin x reader:
honeymoon by eremikan (RIP legend)
malware by eremikan (also RIP legend)
multi aot x reader:
angel standing in the sun
Yuuta x reader:
phantom hunt
dimanche
seven days at granny orimoto's flower shop
また君に恋してる
serial bereavements
business or pleasure
the ocean grew hands to hold me
blood in the water
pomegranate ink
Gojo x reader:
how to be a dog
the white rabbit
intrinsic warmth (I have only read a couple of chapters but the ones I read were great)
megumi x reader:
Those Nights
toji x reader:
hidden inventory: the lost tapes
multiple JJK x reader:
final girl
JJK ship fic:
yuuta x hikari x kirara: symbiosis
yuuta x toge: illicit affairs
Nanami x yuuta: crawl for your love in my life
sukuna x yuuta: hide and seek
bnha x reader:
genesis by eremikan (RIP) that fic was so legendary. if Mari ever reposts it I highly highly highly recommend reading it.
sunflowers don't grow in the city by eremikan
I don't remember the title of the fic but eremikan also posted a cannibal keigo fic... that one was so good...
aki hayakawa x reader:
menthol
bluebird
hsr:
Mao's translation fic was so good
#being very brave by telling u some of those ship fics lkjahsdlas but alas those fics have stuck in my memory...#I don't necessarily ship those ships more like I will read anything if yuuta's in it. lol#fic#ϟ asking aleksandria#if u read any of the fics on this list come gush about them in my inbox <3
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Someone should make IW fanart but just draw hebi in the style of the main character from mystic messenger
#WILD REFERENCE#GOD I FIND MYSELF FUNNY#JESUS#I AM LAUGHING OUT LOUD RN I GOOD LORD#nobody even dare to give her eyes or I abandon the fic#intrinsic warmth
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any Gojo fic recommendations that have a different plot and concept than the general ones available ?
i'm not exactly positive what the general plots and concepts are, but here are a few of my personal writers and fics.
@ponderingmoonlight
If you're looking for diverse reader representation, or fics in a variety of genres, this is the way to go. On top of that, her plots are all wildly different and entertaining, so I'm sure you'll find something to your liking :)
@sitarawrites
Badass desi reader. That's it. That's all I'm going to say.
@irisintheafterglow
Her Gojo fics are always on point, so I highly recommend checking them out!
@romantichomicide95
Bee's fics are great if you're looking for fluff or smut!
Snapshots by @stsgluver-archive
This was so good, the idea was amazing and I loved watching the first years react to the videos
Intrinsic Warmth by @thatdesklamp
You can blame @mitsies for this one. Go read it. Read it now. It's on AO3.
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. . mitzi's recs: gojo satoru !
. . ao3 & tumblr
⋆ on ao3
˒ intrinsic warmth / thatdesklamp
. . this list is in no particular order, but this fic is at the top for a reason. ive been pushing the iw agenda since chapter 3. beautiful writing and a unique, interesting plot; canon-typical violence/angst, eventual smut, poignant emotions, such a wonderful read!
. . 19/23 chapters, 175k wc, bonus pieces on @/thatdesklamp's tumblr!
˒ ripverse / seoafin
. . a compilation of related fics. again, this author is so talented, and the writing never falls short. stsg, not just gojo. please be mindful of the tags; if i remember correctly, there is a fair amount of mature content.
. . 8 works, 55k wc, also found on tumblr under @/seoafin!
˒ the witches' brew / orphan account
. . a classic café au. such a fun read; not only is it sweet, it's funny! enjoyed every second of this.
. . 2/2 chapters, 11k wc
˒ all that is solid melts into air / grilledtandoorismoke
. . an arranged marriage trope! personally, i have no read this, but from my friends: this reader has a very unique personality, making it a particularly interesting read.
. . 1/1 chapters, 7k wc, also has a few other pieces on their acct
˒ among dawn flowers (the face of god) / unolvrs
. . beautifully written, basically pure angst. referenced mythology makes this especially interesting. reading this was truly painful in the best way conceivable.
. . 8/8 chapters, 39k wc
˒ exposure therapy / seoafin
. . another compilation of fics by the same author. this is much less angsty than ripverse (god bless), and considers a scenario in which fushiguro toji becomes a teacher. more stsg than just gojo but who gaf the more the merrier
. . 3 works, 30k wc
˒ cake batter / uzuisus
. . established relationship w/ dad!gojo & megumi. not much to say, just short n sweet, i am such a sucker for dad gojo so its no surprise there's one of these on the list
. . 1/1 chapter, 2k wc
˒ afternoon tea(se) / flintstrike
. . gojo torturing megumi. u can't go wrong! so so cute love the banter, a very short and sweet read!
. . 1/1 chapter, 1k wc
˒ my apologies, gordon ramsay / innka
. . reader is a teacher and a functional human being; gojo is not. loved! a very fun piece to read, n so so cute.
. . 1/1 chapter, 8k wc
˒ a name known only to paper / yeeternity
. . platonic, very much only angst- beautifully written, such a unique idea. leaves you wishing for more insight into this relationship. reader is gojo's older sibling
. . 1 chapter, 3k wc
˒ heart beats / reinerispretty
. . another collection! i looove gojo in this so so cute i also adore bff nanami in the last one
. . 3 works, 11k wc
˒ the sanctity of a name / celestiales
. . SO SENTIMENTAL !! what an adorable work that rly goes into the psychology and significance of his technique + upbringing. so real and raw and very him
. . 1/1 chapter, 2k wc
˒ assumptions / tomodachi
. . jealous gojo. he's so cute in this!! you guys are married and it's almost his birthday, but while you're planning his surprise party he suspects something else..
. . 1/1 chapter, 6k wc
˒ even with the lights off / frethunine
. . another fic that has me floored and pushing the #saveijichi agenda at the same time
. . 1/1 chapters, 8k wc
⋆ on tumblr
˒ muscle memory / hyomagiri
. . ofc ellie fic first. this is so so precious! ellie's characterisation is, as always, perfection; hes such a loser in this it makes me want to cry
˒ made with love / missmeinyourbones
. . dad!gojo fluff and god knows u can never have enough of that. lovely writing, so so heartwarming :,)
˒ family photo / naosaki
. . a very long, but very worth it read. art never fails to impress and this is no different; beautiful symbolism and even better writing, such a sweet plot. also dad gojo!
˒ 10:15 am / naosaki
. . as opposed to the previous fic, this one is very short, very stupid, and still so so sweet. maybe i'm a little biased though considering it was written for me!
˒ formation b / earthtooz
. . a take on that one scene where nobara, yuuji, and gojo think megumi is being hit on. this one always makes me smile.
˒ no good, very bad date / sixosix
. . six strikes again with the fluffiest fluff ever. nauseating fluff, even, in the best way possible! he's obsessed w u in this
˒ all mine / jleiji
. . drunk gojo. ei's writing is always so so good (even if she's never watched jjk...) he's such a clingy loser in this you're gonna love it as much as i did!
˒ obsessed / ode2rin
. . just as the title says, another hit from my future best friend! an absolute gem from mimi! the humour is unmatched, he's such a stupid idiot u will wind up giggling before u know it. also ur married
˒ undercover florist / selarina
. . rina is so talented, and i have adored everything she's written, but this will always be my fav :,) flowershop aus are my fav, and UGH this makes me so happy! so in character bc YEAH he would have the audacity
˒ by expensive tiles and elite gym pools / shotorus
. . who would i be if sel wasn't on this list! established relationship, satoru is a swimmer, this is absolutely precious :,)
˒ first kiss / saetoru
. . exactly as the title says; your & satoru's first kiss. so adorable, makes u miss warm weather. he's such a loser boy in this (common theme in my favs)
˒ clean linen / pupkashi
. . such an adorable piece! so fluffy, perfectly encapsulates the feeling of coming home after a long day :,)
˒ everything in twos / alaboadoa
. . soph does it again! so sweet with an edge of melancholy (because it's soph and this is jjk), a longing kinda sweetness that makes u want more!!
˒ crazy / saerins
. . another piece that's all beautiful and a little sad in a nostalgic, gentle way. so beautifully done, i could read aeri's dialogue forever!
˒ ringing in the new year / itadores
. . contains some drinking and, unsurprisingly, a new year's kiss. adorable no matter the season; this author's work feels like a warm hug!
˒ the colour yellow / kashimos-hajime
. . angst in a poignant, emotional way. so beautiful. another long read, the longest on this post thus far, but worth everything. usually, i avoid hanahaki, but this is stunning in every way!
˒ first kisses & falling in love / augustinewrites
. . i love all of augustine's works, but i find myself coming back to this one the most :,) fluff w megumi & tsumiki & gojo, and confessions!
⋆this writing does not belong to me; they're the products of incredibly talented writers and their wonderful minds! please be respectful whilst interacting with them, and tell them how awesome they are! remember, they do this for free :D
[ back to pinned ! ] [ back to rec mlist ! ]
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wip wednesday
tagged by my beloved @lovesgalores <3 from the 4x18 coda/honeymoon fic that i’m hoping to finish over my days off!
He feels alive as he moves with TK, with his husband, their matching gold bands and lovesick smiles linking them intrinsically together. TK’s brighter than he’s ever been, singing along and curling one arm tight around Carlos’ neck. They bump into bodies around them on the dance floor but nothing matters but this, the two of them together under the lights. Carlos’ only focus is TK until the song shifts, and the familiar intro strikes him with a memory: him at thirteen, watching as Ana and her friends sing loudly and off-key in the basement covered with half-made pillow forts, dancing along with remote controls in their hands as makeshift microphones. Their father had gone on shift, a long overnight that would unknowingly fade into three long days of him tracking down a trafficking ring, and Carlos already missed him. A recurring theme, he’d already realized, and it hits him again.
Carlos blinks and he’s five, he’s eight, he’s twelve, slowly aging out of being able to run to his father in the middle of the night, slowly growing too big, too gangly, for the pajamas printed with footballs and dinosaurs and trucks. Carlos blinks and he’s sixteen, scrubbing the dirt from his knuckles after helping his cousins at their family ranch, listening to their deep voices as they shared stories and jokes he forced himself to laugh at; he’s seventeen and feeling too big and too small all at the same time, towering over his parents as he brings their world crashing down around them. He’s too old for his father to hold him, to promise him the monsters will never get close enough to touch him, to be gently rocked as he cries after a nightmare. Part of him is angry that so much of his time was lingering in a shadow, knowing of a pair of shoes he felt he could never fill, and yet Carlos, at his core, just wants his dad.
He misses him. He misses him like he misses air when he pushes himself that half a mile too hard too fast and his lungs constrict. He feels like that little version of himself in that grainy video that’s been replaying in his mind, caught in time, left in free fall without his papa there to catch him. Carlos’ breath catches in his throat and he squeezes once, twice at TK’s waist, fingers dragging over the enticing warmth of his skin as he slips his hands out from under his shirt and murmurs something about needing some air. The music is loud, the voices singing the familiar chorus are loud, and yet the flash of concern across TK’s face is somehow louder. He lets him go, but TK’s eyes follow him as he slips out of the bar, as he inhales the salty fresh air, as he’s greeted with the calming silence of the tide crashing against the beach.
no pressure tagging @carlos-in-glasses @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @safeashousespdf @paperstorm @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @marjansmarwani @tailoredshirt <3
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ari help me i binged intrinsic warmth last night and now i hate gojo HOW DO I RECOVER FROM THIS BC I STILL HABE TO WRITE MY CHRISTMAS FOJO FIC BUT I DESPISE HIS GUTS RN
LMAOOO i had to google intrinsic warmth to know what it is ….. its on on my tbr list but now im thinking i might just. Not PHSHDHF
I SUPER GET U THOUGHHH im v easily affected by fics too 😭😭 …. for me it goes away if i just block everything out and go back to the source material :’3 one time i read gojo fic where he was toxic so i just binged jjk s1 and went ”he would NOT say that” and BOOM existensial crisis averted <3
but riko … pls tell me abt the fic ….. what made u hate him im so curious
#ive heard that intrinsic warmth is super good so i wanna read it at some point for sure !!! but im v picky w how ppl characterize gojo 😭#DONT GIVW IN RIKO ….. 😥😥😥 dont hate him hes such a cutie patootie .#he just wants his students to be happy </333#i will forever be gojo satorus whiteknight im sorry pshfjdjfj#i need ur christmas gojo to survive pls riko <///3#ask tag ✩
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for made up fic title: rough night
My first thoughts were crack fic ones, but I’ve been on such a dark fic kick when it comes to my own writing lately that I think I’d have to go with something angstier.
Um okay so I just spent almost an hour writing this ficlet???
Sam is past the point of feeling tired. His eyes just hurt, that gritty feeling that people describe as sandpaper, and sure, that’s not wrong, but it doesn’t feel strong enough in Sam’s opinion. Gravel, maybe. Not sandpaper. The feeling that used to be “tired” is now just a state of dissociation, a numbness that makes the world around him a little blurrier but that doesn’t really impact his ability to interact with it. He knows he wouldn’t be able to sleep right now if he tried - he’s had nights like this his whole life. High school - staying up late to finish home after training drills all afternoon he would start out angry and lose all ability to feel by midnight, and when he got that way he knew sleep would be impossible - even if his homework wasn’t either. College - all-nighters that he hadn’t meant to be all-nighters. He’d tried to go to sleep but his heart kept racing and his brain would convince him that the rattling AC was a ghost on instinct every time he’d almost drifted off. So he knew well enough by now that he could keep reading the lore book in front of him and in fact he really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. This wasn’t a problem, really. His body sometimes went into a panic mode where it would stay awake and this had surely saved his life more than once; what it meant now was really just that he could get more done.
Under normal circumstances, Dean’s hand on his shoulder would have made him jump. He fully registered the touch, but right now he just barely turned his head, the dissociative numbness itself seeming to have calculated that Dean was not a threat.
“Hey,” Dean said, voice scratchy with disuse - they’d been reading for hours without saying a word. “Put that down for a moment.”
Sam turned more fully to look at Dean. He tried to speak and his voice caught on the first word. He cleared his throat.
“What time is it?”
“2:00 AM.”
Dean tugged Sam out of his chair to sit on the floor and followed him down, communicating with his touch rather than words. For things like this they barely needed words - they each knew when they other was having a rough night, among a million other things that were so intrinsic there wasn’t even a need to think about them - and right now neither of them felt all that much like talking.
Dean sat behind Sam, Dean’s back against the table leg - uncomfortable but it’s not like either of them have been paying attention to their own discomfort for the last several hours anyway - Sam in the V of Dean’s legs, and his own bent, hands clasped between them and head down, thumbs pressing into the bridge of his nose.
Dean’s hands stroked over Sam’s hair, gentle and soothing and familiar. Just the right balance of new sensation and not so foreign as to be immediately filtered out by the dissociation. Something Dean had done for him since they were kids. Dean’s big, calloused, strong hands that were so a part of his grown-up body doing this simple gesture from childhood. Something in Sam started to wake up. Dean was here with him. Dean had always been with him and he was here with him now. A glow of warmth started in his chest and a smile started to tug at his lips. He sat up from where he had been hunched over and then leaned back so that he was resting against Dean’s chest. He knocked his head against Dean’s jaw and Dean rubbed his face into Sam’s hair.
They sat there like that for a moment before Dean grunted and pulled them both so they were lying on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable but it was better than the table leg. They fell asleep like that, curled loosely around each other.
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