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dandylovesturtles · 1 month

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Hello, I'm back again with another fic. This one is set right after the Hidden City episodes.

I got inspired by this pic of Leo, because I thought it was funny that they included the little hairs sticking out even while he's in the jail cell:

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Splinter's light is on. Which is odd, because he's certain he didn't leave it that way.

He'd fallen asleep in front of the big projector, and woke up to the sound of his sons playing one of those racing games they love. He'd told them not to stay up too late (something he was sure would be ignored) and then made his way back to the atrium to fall asleep in his room in front of his tube TV.

But light spilling out from under the door. When he gets closer, he can hear the sound of someone rummaging around inside.

Immediately, the worst case scenarios flood his head. One of their enemies has found them and is just inside, plotting some kind of attack against his life, or the lives of his children. They are just feet away, their shouts echoing down the corridor and into the atrium. Should he run and warn them? Or should he fight off the intruder?

In the end, he decides to go forward rather than back, creeping closer to the door. Silently he slides it open, just enough that he can look inside.

And there... is Blue, rummaging with intent through his nightstand drawer.

(Now that he thinks about it, there had been only three turtles in the TV room when he left. He'd just assumed Blue was in the bathroom, or getting a snack.)

He opens the door the rest of the way with much more sound, causing his son to jump a solid two feet in the air. "Blue! What are you doing?"

"GAH!" Blue whirls around, his hand held tight against his chest. "Holy crap, Dad! You gave me a heart attack!"

"Ninja should be more aware of their surroundings! Were you even watching the door?"

"I didn't think I would have to in my own house!"

"Well, let that be a lesson to you." Splinter folds his arms. "What are you looking for?"

Blue lowers his hands and shuffles back a step, grinning. "Looking for something? Whaaat makes you think I was looking for something?"

Splinter looks at the drawer Blue had been digging in when he arrived, its contents a mess. Blue glances at it as well, then back at Splinter.

"It was like that when I got here."

Splinter is not impressed. "Mm-hm."

"Heh, well... okay, I was looking for something, but I don't see it so I guess you don't have it." Blue eyes the atrium beyond Splinter, clearly trying to figure out how to slip past him. "Sooo I'll just be going now, haha!"

He tries to make his escape, but Splinter is quicker - he leaps up in the air, suspending himself in the doorframe, so that he is eye level with Blue just as he approaches.

"Blue. Tell me what you were looking for."

"Nothing important, seriously-"

"Leonardo-"

"A razor," he says quickly. "I was looking for a razor."

That... was not an answer he would have expected. Splinter can't keep the bafflement off his face. "A razor?"

"To shave with," Leo elaborates.

Splinter can't help but laugh at that, squinting at his son's smooth and hairless face. "Don't you feel like that is some wishful thinking, Blue?"

"Ugh!" Blue scowls at that, folding his arms. "I'm serious! Here, look at my head."

He bends his neck, and Splinter now sees what he's talking about: blonde hairs, scraggly and uneven, that dot his sons scalp in no discernable pattern. Splinter hadn't noticed it earlier, but his eyesight isn't what it used to be.

"What- where did those come from!?"

Blue straightens his head back up, looking both irritated and embarrassed. He doesn't seem eager to answer, but now that Splinter is thinking about it, this feels familiar...

Right! Yesterday, in the Hidden City! He'd gone to find Blue to borrow his odachi, and when he'd gotten there, Blue had a full head of blonde hair...

Ah.

Splinter lets himself drop to the ground. "Your hair yesterday... it was not a wig?"

Blue chews his lip for a moment before finally admitting, "It was some kind of... living hair yokai."

"Oh no... you let one of those on your head!? They are very dangerous! They sap your energy for themselves and take control of your sleeping body!"

"Yeah, that would have been great information to have a day ago." Blue rubs the top of his head self-consciously, then scowls. "Some of the hair stuck around, and... It just looks stupid, and it's kinda itchy, so..."

"Ah. Well, if I remember correctly, it will fall out on its own in a few days."

"Oh." Blue hesitates, then starts out the door again. "Okay. Well, uh... I'll get out of your hair, then."

He grins awkwardly as he slides past, and Splinter realizes just in time that he has not handled this correctly.

"Blue, wait," he says, and his son freezes just outside, glancing back over his shoulder. Splinter leaves him standing there, and goes to his dresser, pulling a thin black box out of one of the top drawers. There's an old shaving kit inside, complete with a razor that is still sharp. Splinter's not sure why he's kept it around, since he doesn't shave since becoming a rat (unless he's sick with the Rat Flu, of course, but for that he uses the electric trimmer), but he supposes it will come in handy tonight.

He walks back to Blue, holding the razor above his head. "Aha! Here we go."

"Oh! Thanks, daddio," Blue says with a grin, reaching out to take it - but Splinter does not hand it to him.

"Absolutely not. If you try to shave your own head you'll just carve yourself like a turkey." He lowers the razor and steps past Blue, into the atrium. "Grab a stool and meet me in the bathroom. I'll do it for you."

He doesn't hear Blue's footsteps moving. "Seriously? Come on, I can do it myself."

"No complaints!" He beckons Blue on with his tail. "Come on! I know exactly what I'm doing!"

"...Ough boy," Blue mutters, but he moves to do as Splinter's told him, and that's enough.

-----

They reconvene in the bathroom, as he instructed. He has Leo sit on the stool in front of the sink - it just works out that he can lean his neck against the basin, while Splinter perches in the sink itself for a good view.

"Now, I think we might have... Aha, here we go!"

He pulls shaving cream out of the medicine cabinet; again, he's not sure why they have this, since none of them shave, but he wouldn't be surprised if the boys use it to pull pranks on each other. Besides, it just feels like a normal thing to have in a home full of men, even if they don't strictly need it.

He squirts some into his hand, then layers it across Blue's scalp. Blue giggles like he's ticklish, and Splinter shooshes him, even though he can't keep a little grin off his face at that.

Then he carefully starts to shave across Blue's scalp, starting in the middle and working his way out. The hairs are pretty sparse, but some of them are too fine for him to see, so it's better to just do the whole scalp and be sure to catch them all.

"Why is it that you let the yokai on your head in the first place?" he asks a few strokes in. He's curious about it, after all.

"I didn't let it," Leo argues. "I got tricked. The guy who gave it to me told me it was just a potion to grow hair."

"Aaaah... And it was a scam. I'm guessing that's how you came to be in jail when we got there?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's alright." Splinter pats his shoulder. "Live and learn!"

Though, that didn't answer the question Splinter had actually been getting at. Blue says nothing else, so he tries again.

"But... why did you want to grow hair?" When Blue doesn't answer right away, he adds, "Do you wish you had hair?"

"No," says Blue. "...Yes. ...Maybe?"

Splinter has to bite back a chuckle. "I see."

Blue sighs, wringing his hands in his lap. "I mean, I guess I never really thought about it too much? It's fun to wear wigs sometimes, but I never really cared about being bald, before..."

He trails off. "Before?" Splinter prompts.

Blue is chewing on his lip again. "Have you ever heard of Hirsute? The fancy beach club?"

"Oh, of course!" Splinter grins at the recognizable name. Now that he remembers, wasn't that where he'd found Blue? "They have veeery strict requirements for membership, but of course I was always allowed in because Lou Jitsu had such perfect-"

He cuts himself off, looking down at Blue, the peeks of his bald scalp through the shaving cream. Finally, he has all the pieces.

"...They wouldn't let you in, would they?" he asks, hands stilling in their task.

Blue chuckles dryly. "Even better. I got in but they threw me out."

"...Hmph." Splinter gives his foot a stomp against the porcelain. "Well, who needs their resort, anyway? Honestly, their drinks were overpriced and their steaks were always too dry."

"I already saw how nice it was, Dad, but thanks for trying to help."

"Mm, well, we will find an even nicer one! One that does not discriminate."

"Yeah, sure," says Blue, but he sounds downcast. And really, Splinter doesn't know what to tell him. He doesn't know how they would find this mythical tolerant beach club.

"You've... always told us to be careful, with humans," says Blue after a few moments of silence. His eyes are locked on the ceiling, hands still held tight in his lap. "About not letting them see us, and all that."

"...Yes," says Splinter sadly. He wishes it wasn't so, but it was for their safety. "I was worried... about how they would treat you boys."

"I know," says Blue. "And I get it. I know not everyone is April."

"Unfortunately not," Splinter agrees.

"But even most of the humans who've actually met us... They were cool with it, or at least, if they hate us, it's for non-turtle reasons. So it was like, I knew that there were humans who would be scared, or who might even try to hurt us, but they were always... You know." Blue waves his hand in the air. "Like... a concept, or whatever."

"Hmmm... Abstract?" Splinter suggests, and Blue snaps his fingers.

"Yeah! Abstract. I didn't have a face or a voice, just a vague idea that someone could be a jerk to me. And..." He lowers his hand and rubs it up and down his arm. "I thought since I knew that, I wouldn't be surprised when it finally happened? But... then an actual person was looking at me, a real person, and telling me that I wasn't good enough. Telling me that I wasn't allowed in just because of something I can't even help, just... the way my head is, and... and I don't know. It was just way worse than I thought it was going to be."

Splinter's hands still again, his heart clenching in his chest. Oh, his son. His sweet Baby Blue...

"And," Blue continues quickly, "I know it's dumb, it's just a snooty beach club, and it's just hair, and I just need to get over it-"

"Blue," Splinter cuts him off urgently. He nudges his shoulders, trying to get the boy to sit up. "Leo. Please look at me."

Blue sits up, slowly turning on the stool to face the sink. His eyes are suspiciously red-rimmed, and Splinter feels a rush of emotions so strong they nearly sweep him off his feet. Hurt, for his son who was made to feel bad over something so trivial, and fury, for the people who caused the injury.

He reaches out and cups his son's face, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his cheeks. His sons are more muscular than other children their age, but Blue still has baby fat on his cheeks. Splinter resists the urge to squish them.

"I wish they could all see what I see," he says softly. "A young man who is so handsome, strong, and clever."

Blue's lip trembles slightly. "But they won't."

"Some will," he promises. "Not everyone is April... but she is not the only one, either."

"Just wish I knew who was an April and who wasn't," Blue says. "Before I get kicked out on my butt."

"Mm. It is hard. Some people make it obvious, and so many more do not." Splinter sighs. "When I came to America, I was already a celebrity. And still, there were many who did not accept me, or who did not think they needed to listen to me, or who were cruel. And it was the same, when I was taken to the Hidden City."

Blue gives him a sad, crooked smile. "You felt like an outsider, too, huh?"

"Very much, yes. Human and yokai... there are prejudices everywhere."

"So how do you deal with it?"

"Mm... there is no easy answer." Splinter guides Blue to turn around and lean against the sink again, before rest of the shaving cream drips. "I wish I could tell you that this is the worst you will ever face, but I can't promise you that. But I do not wish for you boys to hide from the world forever, either. Even if it is only among the yokai... I want what all parents want for their children."

"For them to have grandchildren?" Blue asks.

"Yes!" Splinter chuckles. "Cute babies to play with and then give back." He finishes shaving the last of Blue's head, then grabs a wash cloth to wipe him clean. "But no. I meant that, for all the people who may be cruel to you... I want there to be many more who are kind. And who love you as I do."

Blue's voice is soft as he mutters, "Oh."

"And I also want you to remember," Splinter leans forward, and kisses Blue on his forehead "that you are accepted here no matter what." He snorts. "Even if you want to make that hairstyle permanent."

"Oh, come on!" Blue huffs and gets up from the stool, his deeper green blush visible even though he is trying to look annoyed. "It wasn't that bad!"

"I'm just saying, I think you can do better!"

"What do you know, old man?" Blue scowls, but it's playful.

"Old man!? Hmph, the disrespect..." He folds his arms, then nods at the door. "We're done, so I'm going to bed. Your brothers are having some kind of go-karting tournament in the TV room."

"Oh shoot, I'm missing it!" Blue turns to run out, then skids to a stop and spins on his heel, running back and scooping Splinter out of the sink and into a hug.

"Thanks, Dad," he says, and Splinter can't help but chuckle, giving his shell a pat.

"Of course, Blue."

Blue sets him down, then turns and runs off again. Splinter can hear him yell, "Dibs on next race!" from down the corridor.

Splinter rinses the razor clean, then puts it back in his box. He considers taking it back to his room, but in the end he changes his mind, slotting it into the medicine cabinet.

Who knows? Maybe someone will need it again, one day.

#rottmnt #rise leo #rise splinter #dandy fanfiction #I feel like you can feel the moment when I lost my mojo haha #OH WELL #I hope I conveyed what I was getting at well enough #this has minimal proofreading I'm sorry #hope you enjoyed!

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sciencebecameouraddiction · 3 months

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Hiii I have a request for the grumpy cat Husk! Can you write about him with a reader who resembles Lady from Disney's Lady and the Tramp? Both physically and personality wise! I'm a sucker for the Cat person x Dog person trope ;;

Also, if you haven't watched the movie, that's fine! Lady is basically this very lady-like puppy. Kinda innocent, sensitive and very sweet! (from what I remember, haha)

Thank you in advance! 🩷

omg yes! 100% of course!

and thank you so so much for putting in the request anon and for your patience on this too! I hope you enjoy! ☺️

rating: PG

genre: major fluff

pairing: Husk x Reader

warnings: none that i can think of

“Hiya Husk!” You greeted as you came down to the bar and greeted your favorite bartender. Well there was only one bartender for the hotel but he was your favorite regardless. Husk just hummed at your greeting as you sat down and Husk started making your drink. Tonight, you were determined to make Husk smile.

“You remember my drink?” You ask him as he sets it in front of you.

“You come here everyday and order the same damn thing, how could I not?” Husk asks, cleaning off the bar as you took a sip.

“Husk, this is so good! Damn!” The compliment rolls from your tongue easily, not noticing how it was affecting Husk.

“It’s the same thing as always. Nothin’ different ‘bout it.” The cat demon grumbled at you, not showing that he was secretly pleased you noticed that he had done something different and that you liked it.

“No. Nope. There’s something different… Did you put… lemon in it?” You ask, smacking your lips trying to taste all the flavors to discern what was different about your drink. Husk’s ears perked up, shocked you had gotten the addition.

“I did put a little lemon in there, ya.” Husk agreed and turned to you. You smiled.

“See?” You motion your glass to him. “I can tell Husk.” You laugh and watch him for a few moments. “How was your day?”

“My day?” Husk asks, looking at you incredulously. “I mean I’ve been at this shit hole all day and been workin’ so, not great.” You hum a bit and nod your head, feeling a little hurt.

Husk turns a glass over when you gasp. He whips around to you, thinking something is wrong when he sees you holding your hand out for… his hand?

“Oh my goodness. You have little hearts on your hand? Can I see?” You ask excitedly, leaning over the counter. Husk takes his hand and places it on your head and pushes you back down in the seat.

“No chance.” He says, turning away.

“Oh, c’mon Husk! Please? Pretty please?” You start begging and annoying the feline demon with continuous chants of his name. Finally he rounds on you.

“STOP.” He yells, your chants quieting. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I let you look will you be quiet?” You nod quietly but very excited, your tail wagging back and forth. Husk sighs again and lays his hand palm side up to you. You squeal and poke his palm. Then take his hand and lift it, gently holding his hand in between your hands, your thumbs pressing down on the meaty parts of his palm. Watching as you did that his fingers and nails extended ever so slightly. You giggle and poke the heart that was in the middle before pressing a quick kiss to it and laying his hand back on the bar.

“Thanks Husk! It’s really cute you have those markings!” You say, taking another sip of your drink. All the while watching Husk’s eyes widen and his other hand covering the small smile he had on his face. You remain looking oblivious but see how his ears twitch, telling he was happy as his tail swished around a few times and then stopped. When he came back to the bar he was back to his grumpy self, but you saw his little smile.

“Victory!” You thought to yourself as you finished your drink for the night and asked Husk if he could make you another one.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin husk x reader #husk x reader #husker x reader #husker hazbin hotel #husker x you #hazbin husker #hazbin hotel husker #x reader

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trulyonlygrapejuice · 8 months

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hii not sure if you’re open to request but! could you do something about the reader playing with harry’s fingers/rings to calm them down?

A/N: This was so fun to write! I really hope I did this justice, but what you asked for doesn't feature as much as I would like :( The story took on a life of its own, but I hope you still like it!

Also, I'd love to get more suggestions/requests, it's a lot easier to write for them, than to write my own ideas haha

Warnings: Pretty fluffy, but a bit of angst. Anxious reader, with fidgeting coping mechanisms, a tiny bit of sad reader/Harry

Word count: 1331

Rings and Nervous Things

Why did you feel so trapped? The dinner wasn’t some rowdy party, but your heart was still racing like you were tangled in the middle of a raging nightclub. You stared down at your plate as you tried to focus on whatever story Harry was telling beside you, hands clammy and twitchy in your lap. Fuck. The table laughed suddenly and you glanced up, faking a giggle when you saw Harry giving you a concerned look out of the corner of your eye. You didn't want to worry him, not when you both only saw each other when you had time off from work to join the tour. It would be a shame for one of the last dinners you had together for a little while to be spoilt by you for no good reason. Because there wasn't a good reason… right?

The dinner was a semi-regular one you did while on tour, a chance for the band, crew and Harry’s team to all sit together and have a ‘family’ dinner. It was bonding and normally enjoyable, but today… all you felt was a tight feeling of anxiety between your ribs. Anxiety was not a new feeling for you. It often felt like an annoying dog following you constantly, sometimes choosing to nip at your heels and make you uneasy. But it was a little unusual that you were feeling it now, with no discernible trigger around. But anxiety wasn't always logical or something you could control, so there was nothing you could do but try to focus on what was happening around you.

Your fingers picked at the threads of your lavender sweater almost hypnotically, the action soothing you as your ears tried to concentrate on the muddled drone of conversation around the table. Usually, you would feel a little more centred and stable when your nervous energy had an outlet, something to make you relax, even just a tiny bit. Pick one thread, move on, pick one thread, move on… Over and over, your picking reducing the bottom part of your sweater to look like it was half finished, threads loose and sticking out at all angles.

The fabric was beginning to completely fall apart when a large, warm hand slipped discreetly into your lap. It gently nudged your fingers away from your poor sweater, before resting palm down in the cradle of your hands, fingers splayed out across your skin. It was fairly easy to identify as your boyfriend's right hand, three rings gleaming softly under the lights as your brow creased in confusion. It took you a beat to realise what he was doing, and you gently shifted your hands out from under his, wrapping shaky fingers around his wrist while the others began twisting the golden lion ring in rhythmic, calming turns. The warmth of his palm was grounding on your thigh and it took everything in you not to melt into his side when his thumb started grazing soft circles across your jeans. You let your eyes drift back up to the table in front of you, suddenly feeling more settled than you had in ages. Back and forth… back and forth…

“You feeling better, sweetheart?” You hummed a quiet agreement, nestling into Harry’s side as he leaned a little bit closer. He made a happy noise before pressing a kiss to your temple, pausing for a beat with his nose in your hair, seemingly breathing you in for his own comfort. “Tell me if you’re feeling anxious again, okay? Don’t need to pretend for me” His words sounded muffled against you and he pressed another chaste kiss to your skin before pulling away with a soft smile. You smiled back, his words warming you from the inside out and chasing the tightness from your chest for a little while. “I will.” You glanced back down at your lap, frowning at the mess that was your sweater. “My poor sweater…” Harry chuckled lowly, hand twisting in your lap to hold your fidgety fingers. “We can get you a new one, baby. Don’t fret.”

By now, hours had passed and you were really starting to feel it, eyes drooping and stinging. The muted murmur of conversation only made you sleepier, your head dropping to Harry’s shoulder with a dull thump. Your fingers went limp around his hand, a tender kiss being pressed to the top of your head as the room went quiet.

You could feel Harry’s solid warmth holding you first, a soft groan leaving your throat as you squirmed, strong arms tightening around you in surprise. “Don’t- Don’t wiggle around, sweetheart. I don’t want you to fall.” You just whined quietly as his chest rumbled against you in a barely muffled laugh. “I didn't mean to wake you, darling. Swear I didn’t.” Another whine was the only response as you tucked your face into the crook of Harry’s neck, eyes squeezed tightly as he began to climb the stairs. “Whiny little thing, aren't you?” He only got an indignant grunt in response as he giggled his way back to your shared room.

It didn't take long for him to set you down and help you get changed, your limbs feeling gooey and useless from the sleep clawing at your brain. He just smiled when you grumbled in frustration at your uncooperative limbs, gently guiding your arms through the right holes of your sleep shirt. It was times like this you’d miss, domestic moments that made your heart flutter. Maybe that was why you were anxious… anxious that you had to leave and go back to work. Leave him behind. That made you pause, frowning at your reflection in the mirror, your toothbrush hanging uselessly in your hand.

“Sweetheart, what's wrong?” He looked so concerned in the reflection that it made your already upset heart crack. Your face crumbled. “I don’t want to leave.” A sudden sob broke the uncertain silence, the toothbrush clattering in the sink as you tried to wipe away the tears. “Sweetheart-” You sniffed loudly enough for him to pause and you barrelled on. “I-I think that's why I was so anxious at dinner. I’ve o-only got a few days left with you and then I fly a-away, leaving you alo-” Your anxious, sob-strewn rant was cut short by Harry hugging you tightly to his chest, pressing soothing kisses to your hair, your shoulders shaking. “Shh, shh… Oh, darling. I don’t want you to leave either, but you have a job to get back to. I’ll be okay, I’ll have Jeff and everyone else to stop me from sulking too much.” That made you laugh wetly, pulling back from his embrace enough for your hands to slip up and cup his jaw. “I-I’ll just miss you. Like I always do. I think it’s just hitting me harder than usual.” Harry’s eyes softened at that, one of his hands beginning to rub up and down your back, in an attempt to comfort you. “Oh darling…” His own eyes started to glaze over and you giggled weakly, rubbing gentle thumbs under his eyes as a tear fell. “Oh look at the pair of us, crying in the bathroom in the middle of the night.” He huffed faintly, pulling you close again, your hands falling to grasp at his t-shirt, eyes fluttering shut at the calming thrum of Harry’s heartbeat. “We’ll be alright. You’ll be alright.” You smiled into his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, we will be. I will be.”

Harry hardly let you move away from him as you finished brushing your teeth, braiding your hair and pampering your skin. His arms stayed curled around your waist, his forehead settled in the nape of your neck as you shuffled about, the skin-to-skin contact causing a warm comforting feeling to bubble in your gut. And as you both slid into bed, immediately curling around each other, an arm over a waist, a leg over a thigh, the feeling grew, and you knew… you’d be alright.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles headcanons #harry styles fic #x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles writing

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mari-writes · 3 months

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💕

At summer training camp in her second year, Yachi Hitoka notices a small, heart-shaped Pride pin on Akaashi Keiji’s sports bag.

She spends the first two days of camp agonizing if she should say something. Is it appropriate? Would Akaashi be weirded out? How does one casually initiate a conversation with a fellow gay?

So far Yachi has only told two people: a cousin, and her former crush/mentor, the incomparable Kiyoko Shimizu. She’s chatted with people online, but always anonymously.

The thought of coming out to someone new is terrifying.

But Akaashi, and really the entire Fukurodani Volleyball Club, have always been approachable. Yachi recalls running into Akaashi and his ace, Bokuto Koutarou at Nationals. They were so kind, easing her worries and doubts during an intense match. Despite being just as tall and intense as the other athletes Yachi regularly met, she never felt intimidated by the pair.

And so, she now finds herself peering nervously around the corner of the Ubugawa gymnasium to where Akaashi, now captain of Fukurodani, stands. He’s staring down at his phone, his bag casually slung over one shoulder. The rainbow pin gleams under the midday sun.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Yachi approaches. As she does, she sees that Akaashi is smiling. It’s subtle, just a slight twitch at the sides of his mouth, but it’s noticeable. She wonders vaguely what he’s looking at on his phone.

She chides herself for being nosey.

Akaashi hears her shuffling and looks up. “Ah, Yacchan.” He politely tucks the phone away. “Good evening.”

“Hello, um, hi, Akaashi-san!” Yachi stammers. “H-how are you?” She winces at her own awkwardness.

“Doing well, thank you.” He nods politely. “And you? Are you staying cool? Hydrated?”

“I’m okay!” Yachi bows back. “But yeah, it’s so hot out today!”

“You’re not a summer person, then?”

“Not at all!” She groans. “I feel like I’m melting!”

Akaashi chuckles. “You sound like Bokuto. He abhors the heat, especially when it’s humid as well.”

Yachi grins. “How is Bokuto-san doing? He’s at Central Sports University, right?” She assumes Bokuto keeps in touch with his old teammates.

Akaashi hums. “Moving from home was a big change, but he’s happy. His new team is a good fit.”

“I’m glad.” Yachi reaches down to fiddle with the hem of her t-shirt, unsure. She feels like she’s about to dive off a cliff, not knowing if there will be a net to catch her. Her anxious gaze shifts, and now the pin is in direct line of sight, as if taunting her. How can she bring it up?

“Yacchan?”

Yachi flinches, realizing she had been staring at the pin for a few beats too long. When she meets Akaashi’s gaze, he looks uncertain. Oh no! Does he think she has a problem with it? “Sorry!” She cries, arms waving frantically. “I didn’t know what to say, because… um, I saw it and I just…”

“This?” Akaashi’s fingers wander across the bag’s canvas and to the pin’s enamel surface. He taps it with one of his perfectly filed nails, lifting an eyebrow curiously.

Yachi swallows down her fear. “Yeah! It’s nice! Um, I’d like to find one for my book bag!”

Akaashi looks mildly surprised, but his face softens quickly. “I see.”

“Haha, yeah…”

“So.” Akaashi clears his throat. “You’re…”

“Yeah!” Yachi says again hands tighten into fists excitedly. “I’m gay!” Her ears burn in embarrassment as her companion bites his bottom lip, trying not to laugh at her outburst.

“Well, thank you for sharing that with me, Yacchan.”

Yachi releases a shaky breath, grinning back nervously. For a while they are silent. Cicadas buzz above, gym shoes squeak on hardwood nearby. She wonders if Akaashi is feeling the same sort of content relief at finding another queer person to confide in.

“When did you know?”

“Huh?” It takes a moment for her to discern Akaashi’s question. “Oh! Um, well. Back in first year, I had a crush on someone, but at first I didn’t know it was a crush!” She recounts the clarity she experienced, when she finally understood her feelings. It was like everything suddenly shifted into focus.

It had been hard, accepting that Kiyoko couldn’t return her feelings. But she is forever grateful for the older girl—for her influence, kindness, her support when she came out.

“How are you doing now?” Akaashi asks kindly, causing Yachi to relax further.

“Well, I’m glad I know who I am! But now I basically fall in love with every pretty, nice girl I meet!” She sighs. “It’s tiring!”

Akaashi chuckles. “I suppose I can’t relate exactly. I’ve only ever had feelings for one person.”

Yachi leans in curiously, waiting for her companion to continue on his own. She doesn’t want to pry.

“I always found guys attractive,” he says finally. “But when I came out in middle school, my parents told me to keep it to myself. They said I’d ‘grow out of it,’ so it wasn’t worth acting on.”

Yachi frowns. “I’m so sorry, Akaashi-san! I, um, think my mom will be supportive when I tell her. I’ve heard her talk positively about the marriage equality movement…”

Akaashi’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I’m glad to hear. But remember, even if she doesn’t, you will find people who support and love you. I found that at Fukurodani. In fact,” he reaches into his pocket. “Let’s exchange numbers. If you ever want to talk, contact me. Bokuto, too. Anytime.”

A surge of affection hits Yachi. It’s overwhelming, how it wells up inside her, through her heart and into her throat. Not since Kiyoko had she felt so seen by another person. “Thank you,” she croaks, blinking furiously. (She is not crying. She’s not!) “Wait,” she says, realizing what Akaashi had said. “Bokuto… I mean, is he also…”

Shyly, Akaashi nods. “I’m sure he’d be okay with me telling you. Bokuto is bisexual. And, well…” His voice lowers slightly. “He and I… we’re together.”

Yachi feels like she might fall over at the news. Akaashi and Bokuto, two of her favorite people in the entire world, are dating? Incredible!

“That’s wonderful!” She cries, hands pulling into fists in excitement. He chuckles, sharp cheekbones going pink.

“Thank you. I… have to agree...”

From then on, Yachi and Akaashi grow closer. They spend time together at training camps, keeping in touch in between. They end up at the same university and often meet up to study together.

Yachi confides in Akaashi and Bokuto, who give her advice before she comes out to her mom. They encourage her to ask out a girl in one of her classes, celebrating when she gets her first date.

Over the years, Yachi meets many other queer people who become incredibly important to her. But she never loses touch with Akaashi. The connection they made that one summer day in high school remains a defining moment in her life.

She’ll forever be grateful.

Thanks for reading! I wanted to expand this for A03 but as usual these days, I lost the motivation. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Please REBLOG and/or REPLY if you did. 🥰❤️ Thanks for your continued support!

#yachi hitoka #akaashi keiji #bokuaka #haikyuu!!#my writing #fanfic #drabble #ficlet #bkak #akaboku #hq fanfic #haikyuu

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thewertsearch · 26 days

Text

Kanaya <3

This is the first troll we've seen who's not a newborn grub or thirteenish-year-old Player. I guess they pupate directly into a scaled-down version of their adult body.

She looks barely larger than a grub, so it can't have been long since the trials, assuming the Sburb trolls did them at all. The comic has never elaborated on what these trials entail, but I think this is the first aspect of Homestuck's universe that I don't want a loredrop on.

GA: I Dont Mean Hes The Universe You Are From GA: We Engineered That Incarnation GA: He Is The Universe That You Are Trying To Create

GA: That Statement Was As Literal As You Can Possibly Make Words Be GA: I Know Your Species Is Frequently Insincere For A Variety Of Reasons GG: but your species is too! […] GA: Thats True But When We Do It Its Usually Just Because We Are Trying To Be Jerks

And when you're trying not to be jerks, too. Alternia is just kind of.... like that.

GG: i try to say what i mean as much as i can GA: Yeah I Think Ive Been Discerning That GA: Its A Nice Change Of Pace […] GG: haha, you mean from rose?

Jade knows what the fuck is up. Maybe it's her turn to wingman for Rose.

GA: I Wont Be Speaking To Her Anymore Though GG: why? GG: oh yeah, because you said she is blacked out? GG: what the heck does that mean! GA: It Just Means In A Few Moments From Your Perspective I Wont Be Able To See Her Through My Viewport Or Talk To Her

The blackout occurred while these two girls were in conversation, meaning Rose is about to message Jade right as it kicks in.

This message is obviously important - but what could it be? Is Rose trying to warn Jade about the circumstances that cause the blackout, in order to protect her from its effects?

GA: She Has Been Relying On The Powers And Counsel Of Dark Gods And Other Sources Of Ambiguous Intent GA: And She Has Consequently Devised A Plan Which Sounds Very Dangerous To Me GG: yeah, i didnt like the sound of her plan either! GA: You Are More Sensible GA: Its Probably The Influence Skaia Has Had On You GA: Having Spent Much Of Your Life Awake On Prospit GA: Like Me

We've talked before about what Dream Moon affinity really means for a Player. The theory I liked the most was that Prospit kids are predisposed to follow their fate, whereas Derse kids are inclined to defy their destiny.

This seems like more fuel for that fire, as Rose's acts of desperation and defiance clash with Jade's more levelheaded, 'sensible' attitude. rose, you're going to break something! :o

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #3320 #s118 #my spellcheck kept correcting jerks to jerma. your name is JEREMY ANDIEE #also: yes i see him. we'll get to him.

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obsessedwithstarwars · 9 months

Text

A series of murders have been taking place in Blüdhaven. (Is that how you spell it?)

BPD are at their limits. They call in a specialist. An unregistered meta??? woman who has very specific demands that the police department must follow to the letter.

She is somewhat a ghost story (haha) throughout the states. When a department needs help, her services are found in a letter on the chief’s desk, along with specific criteria for her offer of help. If they don’t meet her demands, she vanishes, leaving chaos and destruction in her wake. She has been considered dead many times due to the damages. But she’s always appeared a few weeks later, helping another department in a different state and leaving the solved case of the one she abruptly left.

Her demands are this: All windows closed and blindfolds down.

No electronics. If they can’t be moved, then they must be disabled. If that can’t happen, then the police department must leave a green flag on their station.

She will only visit under cover of night.

They will know her by the DP insignia on the black armor she wears. Her red and blue hair (that almost looks like it’s floating?!) will be the only defining feature aside from glowing green eyes. The rest of her face will be covered. If anyone asks, they did not see anything discernable about her.

There is only one police officer she will share information to. He or she will be standing outside.

This officer will wear a belt she brings and it will remain as part of his or her uniform.

No questions.

They will take all of the credit and never mention her or her description to anyone in white.

Her help will not be put in the case files. There must be no evidence that she was there.

After she leaves, they will discover a letter for an Agent O. He comes within two days. He’s always furious after reading it and practically interrogates the officer who stood outside the door. She recommends that this officer immediately go on vacation for a week.

The police departments she has worked with (that have cooperated with her demands) all claim she was a godsend. Her methods were unconventional but effective. Ignore the one sided conversations she has at the crime scene and she’s the perfect specialist. Their only issue is that she will not work with the same department twice so they’ve had to get creative and send the officer she worked with to another department (small rural town) to solve another cold case for them.

She can somehow figure out exactly what happened to each victim without seeing the body or the case file and tell the police departments the exact description of the suspect just by having a one sided conversation at the scene of the crime. It’s almost like someone is answering her, but no one ever does. If no body was discovered, she can tell you exactly where it is.

AKA Jazz figured out she can communicate with weak ghosts. As a liminal, she has been able to solve many cold cases just by speaking to the victims.

Dick Grayson is assigned as her designated officer. Chaos ensues because of course it does.

Extra thought: What if the GIW use a liminal serial killer (could be in Blüdhaven or Gotham) to draw Jazz out? Are they paying the killer? Forcing someone to kill? SO MANY HORRIBLE POSSIBILITIES!

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom #jazz fenton #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp au #jasmine fenton #danny fenton #phantom helps when he can #Tucker and Technus for sure help with any tech issues #they want to remain anonymous #leaving the belts is Team Phantom’s way of ensuring at least one officer won’t be overshadowed in case of an ecto-attack #the GIW shows up if the police departments don’t follow directions #jazz can usually handle herself #but Danny likes to be a little shit #I mean help #Danny likes to help #Dani LOVES causing chaos for the GIW #It’s her passion #oooh what if Dan’s the one who helps #Dick is about to have an interesting week #same with Nightwing #Jazz definitely goes to Gotham next #Dick follows #Red Hood has fun times investigating and attempting to stop his brother’s matchmaking #if someone writes this i will love you forever

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banquetwriter · 1 month

Note

CAN YOU DO some johnnie smut with morning sex PLEASE

that would be so hot

୨୧ glory filled mornings ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ SMUT, unedited, wrote this when i had a fever so it doesn’t make sense lol

summary: ʚ johnnie wakes up with an embarrassing situation ɞ

Words: idk lol

An: i’m so sorry u have been absent i’ve genuinely been going through the ringer and i promise i’m making my way through these requests!! also i will rewrite this at some point haha

It wasn't often that Johnnie indulged in hookups. Sure every so once in a while a pretty girl and him would leave a bar together. Nothing was ever that serious with him. He has been on a few dates but nothing ever went anywhere.

This was different. He had to admit you had piqued his interest since he met you at a party. Then again the next week he saw you again. You were one of Corry and Jake’s friends from their traphouse days.

You were so fucking pretty. The way you laughed at almost all of his jokes, even if they weren't funny. When you would lean in to make sure you heard everything he wanted to say. The way you would trace his tattoos whenever he would show you one of them. That's what led the two of you to cuddle in an Uber home.

The two of you drunkenly cuddled on your couch before you kicked him to your bed. Refusing to let a guest sleep on the couch. That's how he woke up to his head pounding and an unfortunate boner.

He felt the familiar feeling and looked down, revealing a small tent in his boxers. Probably from sleeping in a pretty girl's bed all night. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

He rubs his face with his hands as you suddenly enter the room. He quickly covers his body back up with your duvet. “Heyy good morning sleepy head,” you said smiling. You had a medicine bottle and a glass of water in your hands. “H-hey,” he said, feeling his heart beating out of his chest.

“Ugh god my head hurts so bad, I took some Tylenol and I hope that helps.” you absentmindedly said setting the bottle and water down on your bedside table. The pressure of the blanket pressing on his core was definitely not helping his boner, the sight of your short Beetlejuice sleep shorts was also not helping.

Your skin looked so damn soft, the pudge of your thighs spilling out as you sat down on the bed next to him. You were on your phone not even looking at him. It was truly embarrassing just how much his damn brain was fixated on you.

You hugged your knees to your chest scrolling around on your phone. Softly chewing on your nails, you notice that Johnnie has been staring at you for a prolonged amount of time. You lifted your head from your Doordash app to look at him.

He looked flushed, he had ripped his shirt off in the middle of the night so you could see how red his chest was. You quirked your head at him “Dude Johnnie you ok?” you ask, trying not to laugh a little.

“Um yeah I'm fine-” he muttered, scratching his head, his rings and necklaces clinking together. “Dude, tell me what's going on. You didn't blow chunks in my room did you?” you say with a disgusted face.

“No! No- I swear I didn't-” he said sitting up more. Unfortunately, he was cut off by your eyes dropping to his waist. When he sat up the blanket got just a little too low. Johnnie’s raging boner peeking through his skinny jeans was now in full view.

His eyes shoot up back at your face. He couldn't discern your facial expression at all. Your eyes were slightly wide but you didn't look disgusted or horrified or even mildly embarrassed.

Johnnie sure did. He felt like he was gonna die. Right there, right then, with a fat boner in a pretty girl's bedroom. His brain was slowly shutting down from anxiety. Unable to form an apology. Or any thoughts for that matter.

You felt a rush of confidence surge through your body as you stared at the raven-haired boy. “Oh?” you asked, turning your phone off, leaning forward getting closer to Johnnie.

He was surely having an aneurysm. Or maybe he was still drunk and this was just a bad dream. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of your skin. It was going to set him on fire. His head was pounding and he was tired, but at the same time, he hadn't ever felt more awake than he does now.

“I-I'm so sorry. I'm not trying to be some fucking creep. It just happens sometimes I promise it has nothing to do with you.” he stuttered putting his hand in between you and himself.

That was half true. Sometimes morning wood just happens for no reason, the untrue half was that it had NOTHING to do with you. Maybe Johnnie dreamt of you last night, maybe he didn't. All he knows is the scent of you was enough to drive him up the fucking walls.

“Awww really?” you asked in a fiend sad voice. You placed your right hand on one side of his body moving you closer to him. He felt like squealing or squirming or maybe both. This was a horrible situation to be in.

“Yes, I'm so sorry I will leave.” he prefaced trying to pin his body down onto the mattress as you moved closer to him. “There's no need for that, you said it yourself it's perfectly natural. You don't need to be embarrassed.” you purred out. Johnnie's skin was on fire, he could have cried from how hard he was in his jeans.

“I promise it's not about you,” he whispers, trying to save face. “It's not? You don't think I'm pretty Johnnie?” you ask with a pout. You continued to climb up the bed. Your body was so close to his now. Your arms were on either side of his head.

“No! It's not that I think you are beautiful-” he almost shouted at you. “Oh, you think I'm beautiful?” you whispered as you hovered over his neck. He let out a shaky breath as he watched your head dip down to his neck.

He felt like could explode as you slowly started to kiss up his neck. “This ok?” you murmured against his skin, your voice tickling his flesh. “Mhm!” he borderline whimpered out feeling your tongue and teeth grazing his hot skin.

You moved your legs to mimic your arms moving on either side of his body. Your body was on top of his, feeling his boner through his pants. It sends waves of heat to your core. Pressing your clothes clit on his hard-on slowly starting to rub up and down.

It was painful how hard he was. “Fuck please, let me take my pants off.” he moaned out his hands slinking up to your waist and under his shirt. You were quick to take his hands off of you and hold them above next to his head.

He whined out as your display of dominance, bucked his hips up into you. “Keep your hands there,” you whispered while sitting up. All of your weight was now on his crotch. The pressure sent him spinning. You slowly slid your hands on your body taking your shirt off.

He gasped looking at you. He never went after looks always personality but fuck you were so perfect for him. It was hard listening to your instructions. He wanted to grip your sides as you bounced up and down on him.

But he stayed put. You slowly pulled your shorts off as well, it's not like they left much to the imagination. Your dark panties found their way to his body again grinding down on him. His mound pressing into you. “Let me take my fucking pants off,” he whined, lifting his head a little bit.

“God, you are so impatient,” you murmur moving your head down, he sucked in with clenched teeth as you slowly started to pepper kisses along his chest. “Ah fuck.” he whined bucking his hips against you.

“Shush,” you whispered, you continued to suck and pull at his chest skin adorning his body with hickies that matched the ones on his neck. He threw his head back trying to feel any sort of release or pressure.

“Mm, fuck.” He whimpered again he squirmed more under you, his slim waist flexing beautifully. “Johnnie?” you asked moving up above him leaving his marked chest alone for now.

“Yeah?” He panted out, his head still feeling like a jackhammer was bouncing around his brain. “Take your pants off,” you whispered. Your voice was so quiet he didn't hear you at first. A pause between the two of you capturing desperation.

Once the words finally filled his brain he scooted away from you and off the bed hastily ripping the belt he had been wearing off. You flipped on your back, head hitting the pillow.

You hooked your fingers around your panties to pull them down. “No! Don't, I want to.” Johnnie said, holding his hand out. You smirked at him feeling your panties sticking to your body.

He fiddled with his jean button before finally being able to undo it. He yanked his pants and boxers down, his cock springing up and hitting his chest. He crawled up the bed, staring down at you.

You were breathing deeply, gazing into his eyes. Johnnie grabs the blanket, dropping it over himself. His hands find their way to your sides slowly caressing up and down. His head ducked down to your neck.

He returns the favor of the hickies nipping at your skin. Your nails find their way to his hair, scraping his scalp and encouraging him to continue. You moaned out slightly at the contact.

His arms moved to either side of your head, his back flexing to reach every part of you. This time your hips moved up to meet him. “Who is the impatient one now? Huh?” he asked, you could feel the smirk on his lips.

“It's still you.” you teased him, slowly grabbing a fistful of his hair. He whined slightly as you pulled him away from your neck. His dick was resting on top of your stomach. “Johnnie, I need you,” you stated slowly. “I need you to fuck me,” you said, your voice dripping dominance.

Johnnie couldn't help but obey. “Fuck yeah, ok,” he muttered sitting on his knees and moving his hands towards your sides. Finally pulling your panties from your dripping cunt. You spread your legs open for him, his hands pressing against your thigh to stabilize himself.

Hu pumped his cock a few times before lining himself in your entrance. He slowly pushed into you, whimpering feeling your tight walls around him. He leaned down, capturing your lips. He slowly pulled out of you and snapped his hips back in. You whimpered against him.

Your nails found his back, he slowly started to pump faster and faster inside you. You moaned against his mouth scratching down his back. Your long acrylic nails surely leave him bleeding.

He moans into your mouth as he starts to approach his climax. “Fuck fuck I can't hold on for much longer,” he whines. “Keep going, I'm so close,” you whine back to him. He grips the pillows behind your head as his hips snap against yours.

The coil snaps as your walls flutter around his member. Your eyes roll back as you mewl out for him. Your orgasm washes over you like a powerful wave, you squeezed him so tight you pulled his orgasm out of him.

His hips stuttered for a second before continuing to pump in and out of you as white ropes shot to your core. After a few seconds, he stood still before removing himself from you.

You feel him drop to your chest bringing the blanket up over himself and holding you. He snuggled his head into your chest not wanting this moment to be over.

Eventually, it had to be. So to Johnnie’s dismay, he rolled over on the other side of your bed. You giggle as he lets out a dramatic huff. “Mmm fuck.” he mumbles his headache returning. You rolled over as well smiling down at him.

“We should go shower now,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. “Mm later,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you.

The two of you sat with one another for a while. Just resting, tracing his tattoos. Eventually you moved to the bathroom, turning the warm water on. You stepped in letting the water heat your body.

The shower door opened and you turned around to see Johnnie stepping in after you.

#jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie x you #johnnie guilbert smut

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yuri-is-online · 1 month

Note

Head up this ask is kinda weird.

So do you think people wear perfume in omegaverse AUs 😀? Because the fact that everyone already has scents, perfume has to kind if clash with it right? Maybe some people use light perfumes to enhance their scents, and then those "Alpha Male" (omg that just gets a whole other meaning) podcast bros call it catfishing.

Would perfume even exist in the first place? I don't really see a purpose for perfume if everyone already has a scent... but bro imagine Yuu (who isn't from an a/b/o world and is getting really confused as to what the fuck an omega is and cringes every time of the guys calls themselves an alpha. Meanwhile everyone else is trying to figure out why this weirdo doesn't even have the slightest sent. Especially jade becuase I'm on that JadeYuu shit rn) that wears perfume or cologne trying to get more. And when they can't find any at Sam's they just try to fucking make it. I mean it's a little weak smelling and some of the notes don't exactly go with the others but hey! They have something to spritz now! :)

And now their friends are doing double takes because bro you did not smell like that last night. Also it smells artificial and it's weirding them out

Anyways I sincerely apologize for making you read that.

oh no you don't go apologizing for this confused, a/b/o is a guilty pleasure of mine (also i am doing concept drawings for asmodeaus rn. the timing of this ask made me laugh real hard) This isn't a smutty ask, but just so all of you know, I am good with those since I need the practice with suggestive stuff. I just won't be very good at it for a bit.

Anyway. I have never actually thought about this, but I have always sort of thought of scents in abo worlds to be a very instinctual thing that no amount of perfume can cover up. I don't know if you've ever encountered a scent you can taste but I have, a light in the room of a pool I was swimming in went out and let out a smoke so foul you could still feel it on your tongue and in your lungs when you pinched your nose. It was beyond overwhelming. That doesn't mean there's any less of a reason for perfumes to exist though, as I talked about in that post about Rollo's handkerchief in the past disease was thought to have been spread through foul smelling odors and bad air. If anything I could see that being an even bigger superstition in an abo world where scent is already super important. I could see people trying to make scents that complimented their natural one, maybe it could even be a courting ritual for an Alpha to give an Omega they are interested in a perfume they've made that compliments their smell and has notes of their own... Oh! Or working in notes of their scent to their own perfume to indicate interest!

a-twistedheartslonging mentioned in their tags on that post about Jade's scent that Morays use scents to attract a mate, so if you take that idea about perfume being a courting step I could see Jade just being so distraught that his beloved pearl has no discernible scent. And what's worse they keep changing what little scent they do have! What's he supposed to do with that huh? I think he'd be the only one excited by Yuu making their own perfume because it gives him an excuse to talk about the scents that Yuu likes and what perfumes are like in their world. Maybe they could make a perfume together next time (⚈_⚈)? Oh haha he's just thinking out loud he knows you aren't close enough for that ye- Oh you... you would like that? You think he smells nice and you want to know what sort of perfume or cologne he uses?

(he'd get so delulu so fast if you said that. sure Yuu you can smell just like him c: just let him dim the lights a bit first he hears that's important c: just remember to be gentle with him ok???)

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jadeyuu #jade leech x reader #suggestive #i might #haveabitofabreed1ngk1nksouh #ilikeabostuff #shootmepls #a/b/o dynamics

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sorcerersseestars · 5 months

Text

LIMERENCE (II)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

part i here

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

word count: 6.7k

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

genre: hanahaki disease au, hurt/comfort, lowkey mystery?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowns. Not exactly the reaction he anticipated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweating just from their name? How pathetic…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo sighs. Fuck, ‘messed up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have some questions,” She says seriously.

“Questions? About what?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

No. They can’t still believe that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo lets himself sigh this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs, “Geto Suguru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(Y/N)? You called me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” You answer softly. “How do–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGLIST: @certainduckanchor @kawaiivillainess98 @arehzhera @starrylibras @mandysfanfics @rain-and-a-nice-nap @csillana @sup-hoes-its-me @llliissuu @hawkdaddy1111 @unoriginalidea

@dcvilxswish @angel-kyo @eliz-lovesgojo @5268r @wooasecret @timetobegone @ceronnica @torusblindfold @mo0nforme @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @dasztasha

@soapysofi @qualitygiantshoepsychic

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

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo behavior #jjk fanfic #gn!reader #Gojo is kinda smart but also an idiot at the same time #gojo hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #angst

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wolfythewitch · 10 months

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Hey i dont know if this makes sense but i love your bibleposting because it actually humanizes the bible and the people in it? I was raised in a fundamentalist christian church where everything was untouchable and there was no room for interpretation and ive been trying to deconstruct and idk after being told youre nothing because youre just human its so nice to see interpretations of the bible that are about people as much as they are about god

I guess im trying to say thank you for doing that and thank you for being cool lol also your art fucking rocks

Ahh thank you <3 I'm about to go on a slight rant, but I think that's where me and my parents fundamentally disagree about it haha. While it is a sacred text, it's also a historical/ancient book that's been cowritten by many different authors in a language I -- and I can probably guarantee my pastor-- don't speak. It's been translated and rewritten several different times, and has been cherrypicked through by men who are now probably dead to determine what's canon and not. It's fine to regard it as a holy text, but it isn't above discernment or interpretation. The pastor tells us his interpretation of it, and suddenly every other reading is wrong? That isn't a discussion at all. It's a Bible study not a Bible lecture. The bible and its scripture should not be untouchable, to claim it so is to speak for god

Okay rant over. I love humanizing characters! If the authors of the bible were so touched by their encounter with god that they wrote down pages and pages of it, then I find it fascinating to explore their experience. Not to bring up good omens but I just finished watching it so I will, but when they bring up that job loved his children, they were right. Did Job not love his former children? Did Isaac want to die? Didn't Moses feel anxious having to return to Egypt? Elijah was afraid. Jesus didn't want to die. Jesus was afraid. Exploring the humanity in these stuff is so interesting because in reducing a man to a myth, you make it so they are no longer a man. We can't live up to myths. We're human

#wolfy tedtalks #anon #this is a bit all over the place sorry #its like 3am #wolfy religious tedtalks #i have sooo many thoughts about jesus actually #and how erasing his humanity would be erasing him fundamentally as a messiah #but that's for another time

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scarletwritesshit · 5 months

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❤️Aventurine x Reader ❤️ Ace of Stonehearts

It felt sort of strange to see Aventurine without a handful of playing cards or smugly bossing around lowly IPC members. He had quite the reputation for playing games of questionable merit, on the table or within the organization. His old habits carried over to his casual ways, and it still felt as if untold secrets still lay behind those peacock-feather eyes of his. He had the gaze of a prize hunter and the smile of a trickster, though you wondered why he would keep up such an act when there would be no chips to wager.

Laying down beside him, however, you felt as if you were seeing a completely different side of him. He wasn’t eyeing up his competition, relishing the moment he would reveal his hand to claim his prize from the poor souls who thought they had a chance against him. The only thing he took control of were the few strands of your hair that he toyed with in his fingers.

It still felt as if there was something that Aventurine was aiming for. Whatever that may be, he had yet to make an allusion to it, as he remained rather silent the majority of the evening. For a man who had a way with words, it felt almost uncanny to not hear his frequent snide remarks. It was refreshing to allow him to drop his act and reveal some of his hidden softness, even if it was ever so slightly showing through the cracks in his act.

“It seems like there’s something you want to tell me,” you said to him.

Aventurine laughed a little and rolled onto his back, strands of your hair still intertwined with his fingers.

“Haha, why do you think that, dear?” he said, readjusting his glasses. “I’m not always aiming for a prize, you know.”

“You have that look. And I know that look,” you said, referring to that glint of desire still present in him.

“Ah, you really do know me all too well. There is perhaps, one thing that I could ask for just a little more of.”

“A little more of?”

“You,” he said, turning his head to look at you and no longer twirling your hair in his fingers. “I want more of you.”

“More of…me? As in- ”

Before you could finish your thought, Aventurine sat himself up on the bed for a brief moment, before turning his body around to plant his hands on the pillow beside both sides of your head and loom over you. His rose-tinted glasses were awkwardly hanging onto his face, but he could care less about them as he was now fiercely fixated upon you. He smiled at you, with a certain desire to be discerned, though a sense of yearning was not so well hidden beneath his pride.

“As in you. All of you.”

He glared at you with a passion you had not seen in him prior. You were the entirety of his focus, the greatest of his spoils, and he had absolutely no intention of forfeiting these “winnings” of his any time soon.

It was not a look of pure possession, however. Behind those dastardly eyes was a man truly happy to have someone he could call his own. No amount of chips or cards could score him a lover as genuine as you, but he had a bit of trouble communicating his feelings as being on the hunt for a win was all that he was truly familiar with. You were his, in a sense that he didn’t claim your entire being, but rather, in the fact that you see him as a beloved partner of yours, and not some manipulator with deep pockets.

You were open to accepting what Aventurine had to show for his love, but before he could utter another word, you reached your hand up and began stroking the side of his face. For a brief moment, he held his stands, but the gentleness of your touch threw him off guard, and not a trace of smugness could be seen on his face.

“You’re more beautiful than your namesake, Aventurine,” you said, gently stroking the side of his face with your thumb.

At this moment, his arrogant guise seemingly crumbled before your very eyes, as his head gently relaxed into the palm of your hand. He was reluctant to be so easily accepting of such tender care from someone he suddenly pinned to the bed moments prior, but your insistence eventually led to him surrendering completely. His hands still remained planted firmly on the pillow, but he was no longer filled with desires akin to a wild animal. Aventurine became weaker by the moment, almost struggling to retain his position above.

He was embarrassed by his vulnerability, and seemed to be attempting to remain his composure despite how at ease he was now feeling with your touch. To free him of his struggles, you laid your free hand on top of his back and pushed him down on you ever so gently. He resisted a little, perhaps out of a hidden guilt, or simply not knowing how to react, but Aventurine eventually succumbed to your hold. His head was laying awkwardly on your chest, but you slid his glasses off to allow him to find a more comfortable position.

His heart rate felt fast, and he was taking deep breaths to keep himself relaxed. Aventurine was nervous, as he wasn’t quite sure what to make of your affection, but you wanted to reassure him that he could let down his guard and relax. He turned his head a little to look at you with confused, questioning eyes, blinking softly. Perhaps this is what he had craved the entire time, yet had trouble finding the words to express his innermost feelings.

You wrapped your arms around his back and held him even closer. Now, you could feel his body finally starting to relax on top of yours. The tension dissipated from his muscles, his breathing became regular, and the beating of his heart slowed to match yours.

It was a surprisingly tranquil side of Aventurine that you did not exactly expect from him. The flirtatious, sly bastard you were well acquainted with had a hidden side desiring nothing but genuine love. All it took to expose this secret of his was nothing more than treating him like a person so dear to your heart, and not as a hunter seeking his prize.

Eventually, he drifted off into a peaceful slumber, comfortably resting on top of your body. Shortly after, you succumbed to the comfort of his presence, falling asleep with Aventurine still at peace on top of you.

After some time, perhaps many hours, you finally woke, though Aventurine was still sleeping. While still half asleep, you played with his soft, blond hair, careful as to not wake him. Eventually, he began to rise himself, and so you steadied him so that he would not accidentally tumble off of your body. Once he had a moment to process his surroundings, he slid to what would’ve been his side of the bed and grabbed his glasses. Still half asleep, he adjusted him very lazily before he stood up.

“Y’know,” he said, still standing by the bed, “I thought I blew the one chance I had with ya.”

“Blew your chance? That doesn’t sound like the Aventurine I know,” you said as you sat up on the bed.

“Hey, gimmie a break!” he said, flustered and frantically attempting to put his hat back on straight. “This is just…a bit outside of my skill area.”

“I thought you were good at playing all sorts of games.”

“I am! Just…not games of the heart.”

“Oh, I wasn’t playing a game with you, Aventurine. There was absolutely nothing to be lost.”

“Eh?” he said, confused by your words.

“My love for you isn’t a game I’m playing just to pass the time. I mean it, every single thing I’ve done for you is because I care.”

“Ah…” Aventurine said, with his face once again turning red, “I still think I’m the loser in this after all.”

“How so?”

“You didn’t even let me use my trump card,” he said, sliding a playing card down from his sleeve. He held the card up by his face and turned it around to reveal the ace of hearts.

“You had the key to victory with you all along, Aventurine. I’m not sure why you still claim to be the loser.”

“Never once did I play the ace around you, though.”

“I wasn’t talking about the card, you idiot,” you said, getting up from the bed. You pushed his arm aside to wrap yours around him, resting your head on his shoulders. Aventurine was taken aback at first, but he did return your gesture of affection, wrapping his arms around you with the ace of hearts still in hand.

“I was talking about you. I want you more than any silly card tricks that you have to offer.”

“I guess I can say the same in return,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder.

#honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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