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#i haven't cried this much since i was like 1

dick-helmet-magneto · 2 months

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it's been decided i will work today like normal and message when i get home to quit. Maybe a dick move but i wouldn't put anything past these people and i am convinced if i quit to their face they'd make me have a panic attack and break down

#it wouldn't be the first time #i've almost got through a bottle of anxiety meds in the 3 weeks since i started #and most of the time a bottle will last me like 4 or 5 months #i haven't cried this much since i was like 1

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natsglorifiedsimp · 5 months

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Something Changed 2

A/N: You guys asked for it.

Taglist: @queen2234 @pipsipey17 @casquinhaa @natashajumpinoff @natsxwife @dark-hunter16 @i-lovescarlettjohansson @mrsrushman @tropicals-things @alianovnasposts @nova-kyle @jusnough @splzq @yellowthingsstuff

Part 1

Tasha's POV

"Hey, Maria!" Natasha called.

Natasha noticed the subtle eye rolling of Maria. She squinted her eyes. It was unusual for Maria to act like that especially cause she's been helping her get to date you.

"What do you want Natasha?" she grumbled.

Natasha was taken aback by this. "Jeez, I'm just asking about Y/n." another eye-roll was given to Natasha. "Have you seen her? I haven't seen her on campus."

"Glad you noticed, Natasha" she sarcastically said. Maria feigned a thinking posture and started to glare at Natasha, "Let's see hmm" Maria said with diction.

"How about the fact that you've been ignoring her since you and Wanda dated and now she's gone off to Los Angeles leaving us behind because of you!" Maria gritted her teeth trying to contain her anger because you were in the hallway where students were passing around thinking Natasha and Maria were doing a secret drug deal.

"W-what?" Natasha stuttered. "I-I haven't ignored her."

"Save me the drama, Natasha. All you think about is yourself." Maria said.

Natasha was so confused. She didn't know what she did to you. She hurriedly texted you, hoping you'd give her some explanation but all was left delivered. That's not usually you. You always reply as soon as you see the message pop.

Natasha back reads you guys' conversation. Seeing if there were any clues on when are you going to LA or something that would hint at anything.

But all she saw was how she neglected you. She could see in every message how much you needed her. She missed your rants, your rambles, and everything that you guys would do when you hang out.

She broke her promise.

Y/n's POV

LA was different. The school was fine so far. No one dumped milk on your hair yet. No one made fun of you yet. And you were hoping it would stay that way.

The new environment was hard for you. It is hard to start a conversation with people when you don't know who they are. Natasha always does the talking. But somehow in this world, you are the one who needs to adjust.

Even if the people were friendly, throwing a smile at you or saying hi, somehow you still felt timid and awkward. You were scared to make friends.

Cause you know they will leave again.

Natasha did. What could any of these peer's differences be?

You cried every night knowing you had no one cared. That even if you consider them your best friends they will never think of you the same way. You were an option. You are a pawn to someone's real agenda.

You cried because you knew how much you cherished friendships. You knew to yourself that you would care and love people and go out of your way just to be there for them.

But somehow with you, it was always the opposite.

You are left alone, and when you thought someone cared...

She never really was.

Natasha's POV

She tried calling you a million times, even called your parents just to have a chance to talk to you. To apologize. But you were too far gone.

She may have found the love of her life but she left you. She left you feeling like she didn't care. She disregarded your feelings and put herself first. She took advantage of you.

Natasha regretted everything that she did. Everything that she broke. She knew how much you value friendships and she also knew how to break it.

There were no more Y/n. The laughter you shared is now a glimpse of memories that she wished would last forever. Love may have come her way but she didn't have to run you over just to find it.

You were her person.

But i guess...

Loving involves losing right?

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s4lv4tions · 9 months

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numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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blackbirdi · 1 month

Text

One-Sided pt. II

If you haven't read the first part already, the link to part 1 is here

I'm so sorry this took so long, guys, I was struggling with ideas. Anyways, enjoy :)

Brief Description: Sirius begins to notice how suddenly you're around him a lot less than usual. What could he have done to make you want to avoid him at all costs? And why does your avoidance hurt him this much?

Point of View: 3rd Person

Word Count: 2181

Character: Sirius Black x Reader

House: Gryffindor

Year: Sixth Year

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Sirius has talked to Y/n last, and it's driving him up the wall. The only other time where he doesn't talk to her for that long is during the summer, but at least they owl back and forth non-stop, and now suddenly he hasn't heard her sweet voice in two damn weeks.

And it's not as though he hasn't tried to talk to her. Hell, he's been going out of his way to run into her just to ask what was up with her, but every time she sees him, she runs away. And now she's changed the time of her daily activities (going to the library to read/study, walk in the courtyard, visit Hagrid, etc.) – not that he knew the times she was going by heart before she changed them – so now he can't even run into her then.

Two weeks. Two damn weeks. And he's not going any longer without her.

It was Saturday and the Marauders were all hanging out in their dormitory, and Sirius was itching to find Y/n and beg ask her to forgive him for whatever he must have done to have her ignore him like this.

"Remus," Sirius calls, breaking the silence.

"Hm?" Remus hums, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading, which only caused Sirius to grow more frustrated.

He closes his eyes before he snaps at Remus, taking a deep breath to calm himself. The only thing that does is cause his eyes to well up with tears.

Godric, what was up with him? Was Y/n really causing him to get this upset?

When he speaks next, his voice breaks, which causes all the other Marauders to lift their heads and look at Sirius with concern.

"Why won't Y/n talk to me?"

The other three Marauders share a few glances at one another before looking back at Sirius. The pity in their eyes as they look at him causes Sirius to grow frustrated once again.

His eyes, which were previously filled with tears, harden as he wipes them away. His lips pull back into a thin line as he glares down at his own hands.

"She keeps avoiding me! I haven't said anything to her in weeks!" he cries angrily. "And even when I do say something to her, she just ignores me and runs off! Did I do something to make her mad at me?"

"I'm sure you didn't do anything, Padfoot," James tries to comfort him. "Maybe Y/n just needs space for a while."

"Space from what?" Sirius snaps. "What did I do that would've wanted her to space herself from me? And only me! I haven't seen her ignoring you three, or anyone else for that matter! What did I do!?"

“Pads –” Remus starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Why do you care so much anyway?” James asks. “It’s just Y/n.”

Sirius, Remus, and Peter all shoot James a glare, all three of them knowing that was not the right thing to ask.

“Yeah, Y/n, my friend,” Sirius sneers. “I care because Y/n is one of my closest friends and now suddenly she’s ignoring me! Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Because it does, a lot.”

“We know, Padfoot,” Peter replies, trying to make his voice sound comforting, although to Sirius it sounded more like pity. “I think James was trying to ask why you’re so … no quiet over dramatic about it … but more upset than you normally would be about something like this.”

“Yeah,” James agrees. “That’s exactly what I was trying to ask, thank you, Pete.”

Sirius glares at the both of them, his teeth gritting together as he tries to hold back from snapping at the two of them.

Why was he upset? Really? One of his best friends just straight up ditched him! Of course he was fucking upset!

“How do you twats not understand that I am upset my friend has fucking abandoned me!” Sirius snarls, his voice wavering as he tries to control his anger.

The others share another, worried glance, which drives Sirius even more insane.

Of course, Remus, James, and Peter quickly caught on that Y/n was avoiding Sirius, and were even quicker to catch on why. It wasn’t that hard to see that Y/n had finally had enough of her silly little crush on Sirius and was trying to stomp it out by avoiding him. And of course, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail knew that avoiding Sirius at all costs wasn’t going to get rid of Y/n’s feelings for Sirius. And of course, Lupin, Potter, and Pettigrew knew that Sirius’s own feelings towards Y/n were developing beyond friendship.

“I can talk to her if you want me to,” Remus offers.

The usual stormy grey of Sirius’s eyes had darkened considerably in anger, his eyes narrowing at Remus in a glare.

“You’ve done quite a lot of talking to her,” he hisses. “A lot more than I have in Merlin knows how long. Do you know how frustrating that is, Remus? To see that Y/n, who suddenly hates me, is still all buddy-buddy with the three of you? Do you know how shitty it makes me feel when I see her talking to you and then she immediately runs away whenever she sees me? Do you?”

“No,” Remus replies, his voice squeaky at the anger in Sirius’s tone.

"That's what I thought," Sirius snarls, standing up from his bed abruptly.

With quick strides Sirius finds himself at the dormitory door, the door opened an inch before Peter asks curiously, "Where are you going?"

"To fucking find her!" Sirius snaps, turning around and facing his friends. "I can't keep going like this, without her. I - I need her, okay? I need her because ... because I love her. I love her. Holy shit, I love Y/n. I'll be back guys, but I need to find Y/n, even if that means searching every nook and cranny of this godforsaken castle."

He's out the door in another split second, the door slamming closed behind him.

Silence settles over the other three as they share glances, confused evident on each of their faces.

"Well," Remus finally mutters, breaking the silence. "He handled that a lot better than Y/n did when she realized she was in love with Sirius."

–––––––––––

To Sirius's surprise it didn't take him that long to find her. She was sitting in the courtyard, leaning against the truck of a tree with a book on her lap.

Sirius was careful to approach her quietly, not wanting her to spot him and jump up and run away (like she had been doing for two weeks straight).

When Y/n finally looked up from her book, the first thing she saw was Sirius looming in front of her. Her eyes widened as they made eye contact, scrambling to pick up her book and getting to her feet.

"Y/n, wait," Sirius snaps, grabbing onto her wrist with a vice-like grip before she could run away. "Please, don't run again, please."

Y/n sighs, trying to tug her wrist out of Sirius’s grip before she turns and faces him for the first time since the Quidditch game. Her struggling ceases as she sees the pain behind Sirius’s eyes, the pain that she would’ve caused every single time she ignored him or ran away.

“Please, Y/n/n,” he begs in a whisper, pulling her closer to him. “Please, don’t leave me again. I miss you so much. And I am so, so sorry if I did something to hurt you, or did something that made you want to avoid me. I never meant to, I don’t think I have done anything, but if I did just say the word and I will hold myself responsible for it and I will do anything I can to get back in your good graces because I miss you. So, so much. I hate that I haven’t seen you in two weeks, I hate that I haven’t talked to you in two weeks, I hate that I haven’t heard your voice in two weeks, and I hate that you’ve been avoiding me. I’m not blaming you because obviously it must have been something I did, but please Y/n, please, please, please stop avoiding me. I miss you.”

A wave of guilt washes over Y/n as she listens to Sirius, watching tears well in his eyes as it gets increasingly harder for him to talk without choking on his words. However, she can't help the little flutter her heart gives at his words.

Sirius takes a breath, trying to collect himself as he finally says everything he was feeling.

"And-and I hate how much it hurts that you've been doing this. I shouldn't care, I really shouldn't, but I do. I care so goddamn much, Y/n. It's been two weeks, two fucking weeks! I shouldn't be this effected, but I am. I've missed you more in two weeks more than I've missed anything else in my life, more than I miss the Marauders during the holidays, more than I miss Hogwarts during the summer, more than I miss the heat of the summer during the winter, more than I miss the sun in a rainstorm. I missed you, Y/n, and it's only been two weeks. So please, please, please, please, tell me what I did wrong so I can right it and we can go back to how we were before whatever I did."

A pause, a heartbeat before Sirius adds in a trembling voice, "Please."

Y/n takes a shaky breath, trying to stop the heat from rising in her cheeks and giving her away.

"Sirius," she says slowly.

"Please," he interrupts her, his voice breaking. "Please, Y/n. I don't know what I did, but whatever it must have been, I am so sorry. Please, please, please forgive me."

"Sirius," Y/n repeats, "you didn't do anything. I just... I realized something and I shut myself away from you. If anything, I should be saying sorry to you. I never meant to hurt you like this."

Sirius stares at her, confusion bubbling up within him as he listens to her explain.

"I-I don't understand," he admits in a quiet voice. Her stares up at her helplessly. "Why would you avoid me like you have if I didn't do anything? You haven't avoided the others, just me."

Y/n sighs, her heart thudding in her chest as she looks away from Sirius and finally admits in a small voice, "I'm in love with you."

The world stops, for the both of them.

Y/n can't breathe, why would she admit that!? Everything, everything, has been ruined. She ruined their friendship! Why would she do that!?

Sirius can't breathe, did she mean it!? Everything, everything, is going to change, for the better. She felt the same! But why did she avoid him if she loved him?

After what felt like hours of silence, Sirius responds, "I love you, too."

Sirius's heart pounds against his ribcage. Even though she said it first, it's still so hard to admit it.

Y/n's heart pounds against her ribcage. There is no way in hell that he actually feels the same.

"I – w-what?” she stutters, mouth dry.

“I love you too,” Sirius repeats, dropping her wrist. His hands come up to cup her jaw, holding her face in his hands as he smiles down at her. “I-I was thinking about how much I missed you, everything about you – not just your presence – and I guess that led me to realize that I would never feel this way about someone I thought of as my friend. Y/n/n, I realized that I’m in love with you.”

Y/n mirrors Sirius’s smile, relief flooding through her body as her cheeks flush with pink.

“I-I’m glad,” she whispers. “I was scared that you didn’t feel the same; that’s why I started avoiding you. I thought that if I was around you less my feelings would go away, which obviously didn’t work. But I was scared to say something in case I made things awkward between us.”

Sirius chuckles, pressing his forehead against hers, asking in a soft voice, “How could I not be in love with you? You, Y/n L/n, are the most kind, thoughtful, caring, smart, funny, beautiful woman in the whole world; I don’t know how I didn’t realize my feelings for you sooner. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sirius,” Y/n murmurs back. She closes her eyes, relishing in the feeling of Sirius being this close to her.

A comfortable silence fell over the two as they soak in each other’s presence, two hearts beating as one.

Two minutes. It has been two minutes since Sirius has admitted his feelings for Y/n, and it’s making him feel like he’s on top of the world.

Taglist: @littleshadow17 (who asked for a part 2 a month ago. I hope it was up to your standards lol). And @rosieandthethorns (who didn't asked to be tagged but I figured I should let you know so you can stop foaming at the mouth and writhing on the floor lmao)

#i'm sorry i took so long in getting this out guys #my writing brain wasn't writing #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black imagine #marauders era #padfoot #requited love

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sunny44 · 7 months

Text

All these years (Part 9)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex girlfriend Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Separated by a disagreement, Charles and Y/n meet again after years apart and all the feelings they had repressed come flooding back.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Ten months after the last chapter

This was the first night I managed to sleep properly.

Today, our baby turns 1 month old.

Matilda Leclerc was as smiley as Charles, and the dimples were identical.

I carried her for 9 months, felt every pain for her to be born, just like him.

And speaking of Charles, I could hear his baby voice speaking softly to her as I lay in bed with my eyes closed.

"Do you know you're daddy's love? And that I'll take care of you forever?" she made some noises with her mouth. "Your mom is jealous that you look like me, but I honestly love that. I love you, you know, love your little eyes, chubby feet, and your baby smell. I love you even when you're all messy."

"Good to know." I say, looking at him. "You'll be in charge of the messy diapers now."

"I can do that." we hear a little fart, and he laughs.

"I think you'll have to start now."

"Well then." he gets up and leaves the room, and I brush my teeth and decide to go to her room. "Babe, come here."

"Problems?"

"I don't know if I'm doing it right." I see that the diaper is all crooked, making me laugh. "Don't laugh at me."

"Sorry, love. But you're doing a great job. Don't worry."

"Guide me."

"Okay, she's already clean, and the diaper is already positioned on her bum, so now you grab the front flap and pull it up." he does. "Now, open the tabs and fasten them in the front."

He does it slowly and fastens the last tab, then strokes her little tummy, and she giggles, making Charles's eyes fill with tears.

"Did you see that she laughed at me?"

"I saw, love." I hugged him from the side.

He finished putting on the onesie that said "I'm daddy's baby," which Charles had bought the day after we found out I was pregnant.

"Okay, I'll finish packing their bags so we can go to Arthur's."

Arthur and Megan are living in Milan for a few months to help us with the baby and we were going to visit them. It would be the first time everyone would meet her. Our parents followed the pregnancy, but during the delivery, there was a snowstorm here, so they couldn't catch the flights to come. And since today is her first month, we're all going to meet to celebrate.

In the first month, we didn't go out much with her. I think the fear that something might happen was greater, and I think all first-time parents have that fear.

"I'll take a shower, and then we can go."

I took a shower, did a quick makeup, and put on warm clothes since it was winter in Monaco.

"Look at this." he appears excited with Matilda dressed in a mini Ferrari uniform. "Look at how my baby is."

"She looks just like you on race weekends." he laughs. "Can we go?"

"We can." he hands her to me and takes the bags.

I locked the apartment door, and we went to the car, and obviously, Charles went straight to the Ferrari, a track that I started to hate since we had it.

"Let's not go in this death machine." he looks at me offended.

"My baby is not a death machine."

"Your baby is here on my lap, and I'm not going to put her in that car, which besides not having a back seat, is not safe."

"Okay." he gives up, and we go to my Range Rover."

My car and his two cars have a car seat for her since it was good for emergencies, and in fact, I haven't bought any since my parents, his parents, and Arthur and Carla gave them.

Matilda was the most spoiled child in the world, I think.

"Well strapped." he kisses her forehead and sits in the driver's seat. "Let's go."

The journey was composed of Matilda's cries and children's songs on the playlist that Charles had made for her on his Spotify account.

We arrived at Arthur's apartment and took all the luggage and went to the door. Charles had put her securely in the baby carrier on his chest so we could carry everything. She had fallen asleep and was covered with a blanket, her little face leaning against his chest.

When I tried to put her to sleep, it only worked when Charles wasn't home, but when he was, she only slept in his arms.

"We're here, family." he says somewhat loudly, and everyone comes running. "We know this rush is not for us."

"Yeah." I laughed, and we greeted everyone who went straight to Charles and Matilda.

"She's so beautiful." says stroking her thin hair. "She looks just like Charles."

"Don't say that near Y/n, or she'll ask for a divorce." I rolled my eyes, and they laughed.

Speaking of which, we got married. A few months after I found out I was pregnant.

We decided we didn't want a very big party, so we got married at the courthouse and had a little party for the family later, where we announced that we would be parents.

"She's a copy of Charles, literally." they look at me. "From the noises when they're sleeping to the stubbornness."

"I'm not stubborn, you liar."

"Yes, you are."

Soon, she started crying, and Charles took her out of the carrier and handed her to me. She hadn't breastfed before leaving home, so she woke up because of that.

"Someone is hungry." my mom says, and I sat on the couch.

The boys went to the kitchen to get something to drink, and I started breastfeeding Matilda while the girls sat around.

"How's it been? I mean, being a mother."

"It's great, to be honest. It's tiring at first, especially since none of us had experience with this, but we're doing well. She's very calm."

"That's great. Charles was the calmest of the three."

"Y/n was calm too and hardly caused any trouble."

"The only trouble she gives is when it's time to sleep. When Charles is away, she even sleeps with me, but as soon as she senses when he gets home, she wakes up. And when we're together, she only sleeps in his arms." they look, dying of love. "She'll finish here, and even though she's sleepy, Charles will have to take her."

"She's very attached to him, apparently."

"Yes, a clingy one." Matilda finishes, and I hand her over to Pescale, who said she wanted to fix her.

This was another funny topic. She always vomited on Charles, who surprisingly started laughing, and Matilda giggled along with him.

"Is she done already?"

"She's with your mom." I point, and Charles goes to his mom and takes her.

"Charles." she scolds him when he takes her.

"She's my baby, not yours." he says and leaves, making me laugh.

"Is he always like this?"

"Yes, even with me, but then I say that I carried and gave birth, and then he pouts and hands her over to me." they laugh. "He's very attached to her and doesn't leave her side. She grumbles to cry, and he runs to wherever she is."

"He's adorable."

We talked a little more, and I decided to go to the guest room, where I saw Charles passing with her a few minutes ago. I stopped at the door and watched them.

Charles swayed her slowly and murmured something. I approached him, and he smiled, then gently put her in the middle of several pillows, gave her a little kiss on the head, and hugged me from behind as we watched her sleep.

"I love you. And thank you for giving me her." he whispers in my ear, and I smile, snuggling more into his embrace.

"And thank you for not giving up on me."

He kissed my forehead, and we stayed there, watching our baby sleep.

Bonus scene!

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@yourusername this past year has been the best of my life.

I’ve married the love of my life, gave birth to our beautiful baby girl and I feel like I’ve never been happier.

Thank you @carlesleclerc for being the best hubby for me and the best daddy for our daughter.

@charlesleclerc I’m the lucky one to have you in my life and thank you for giving me our baby girl

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blue-sadie · 11 months

Text

Fuck Me Boy

Fuck-Boy Lo'ak Sully x Nerd Reader

Series Masterlist

Prt 1 of the Fucking The Nerd Series

Summary: being paired with the fboy of the school what can go wrong

Warning: slut shaming, desk sex, aged up characters

Yn/3rd person pov

Being the invisible and quiet nerd that everyone looks over has its benefits and downfalls like hearing the latest drama from the popular girls who think no one is in the bathroom stall.

One of the biggest things that is happening right now is lo'ak sully the schools best football player and one of the biggest fuck boys in school following his older brothers footsteps.

His recent 'toy' was narri one of my close friends who hasn't been to school since the incident because of the photos he shared of her giving him a bj in the boys locker room.

I haven't had much incounters with him but one being one of the 'smart' people I was paired with him for a project which got me into this current situation.

I knocked lightly on the wooden door gently fiddling with my hands as I waited for reply 'come on I'm freezing' I internally rolled my eyes as I waited rocking on my heels.

"Hello" I quickly straightened up as Mrs sully opened the door looking tired with a little girl on her hip "hi sorry I'm here for lo'ak" I murmured adjusting my bag on my shoulder she quickly opened up the door letting me in.

"Second door to your right darling" she smiled pointing up the stairs "thank you" I murmured slowly walking up the stairs dreading each step as I reached the last step I stood in the hallway 'why couldn't he come to my house' I huffed.

"Aren't you a cute thing" I gasped feeling a sting on my ass glaring up at the culprit which neteyam in nothing but sweatpants "like what you see princess" he teased.

He moved in closer till he was only inches apart and opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by lo'ak clearing his throat "leave her alone" he grumbled glaring at neteyam as I looked at him.

"Come on" he muttered retreating back into his dimly lit room "bye princess" neteyam murmured biting his lip as I went into the room "close the door" lo'ak murmured sitting down at his desk picking up his gaming controller.

"Nope not happening" I muttered setting me books onto his bed "and why the fuck not" lo'ak laughed dryly turning to me in his chair "because I know you lo'ak I know as soon as I close that door your gonna try something so not gonna happen" I growled getting my supplies out.

He grumbled to himself as he got up and slammed the door "whatever your whore friend told you it's not gonna happen to you so you don't have to worry about it" he said through greeted teeth.

"She is not a whore" I muttered defending my friend "no she just ended up on her knees in the boys locker room for nothing" he rolled his eyes "she is not a whore" I muttered again "well if your so sure look on my phone" he grumbled pointing to the untouched device next to me.

I shakily picked it up and turned it on and my eyes widened in shock as a video started to play I watched in horror as my friend was sucking someone's dick as others around her jerked off "press the unmute bottom" lo'ak murmured.

I did so and my heart sunk "please cum in my mouth" she begged "suck a slut" a boy yelled out and she only agreed I quickly threw the phone down my breathing became uneven "she is a whore" lo'ak laughed sitting on the bed infront of me.

"She begged me to take photos and I just obliged" he smirked but gasped as I slapped him "that isn’t her" I whimpered as tears started to slip out my eyes "it can't be" I looked down at my lap letting the tears leave little wet patches on my jeans "cry baby" lo'ak muttered getting up and back to his spot at his desk.

I sat silently for a few moments before starting to pack up in a hurry "where do you think your going" lo'ak muttered looking at me "anywhere away from you" I cried shoving stuff into my bag and getting up "what about the project" he said standing up as well "forget it".

I tried walking out the door but was yanked into his arms my hands landing on his chest "listen to me, look at me" he growled forcing me to look up at him and for the first actual time I saw something other then lust and hunger it was filled with care.

"Like I said before nothing that happened to her will happen to you I won't try anything" he let go of me and put his hands up "now can we please just focus on our project" he murmured stepping aside, I sucked in a shakey breathe "fine but turn off the games" I stated.

He nodded moving to the desk and switching off his console and watched as I neared the bed "come sit here" he said pulling out a stool from under the desk "come on I don't bite" he laughed, I rolled my eyes in annoyance and hesitantly sat next to him and watched as he cleared a space for me.

"Ok let's get started" I whispered taking out my supplies and laying them out neatly and grabbed all our information and books laying them out in order "dam your ocd".

-A Few Hours Later-

"Finally" I yawned stretching out my arms "dam" I looked at lo'ak as he licked his lips looking at me breasts my face tinted a light purple "hey" I yelled smacking his chest "what I'm a guy it's in my genes to stare at boobs" he laughed "I'm just surprised you have any" he smiled.

"And why's that smartass" I tilted my head looking at him "I just mean if other girls had your boobs they'd flaunt them infront of guys faces" he chuckled "well I'm not like the cheerleaders" I shook my head in disgust "your not like any girl you mean".

I gave him a look of confusion "come I watch you in class your always reading I never see you without tights under your uniform you hate showing off unless it's for some nerd competition and you always spend break in the library" blush spread across my cheeks as he talked "you watch me" I asked making him shut his mouth and scratch the back of his head.

"I may be a bad person but I still have taste" he chuckled making my blush brighten even more I looked down at my lap and nervously started to play with my fingers "don't go all shy on me now" he said using his two fingers to tilt my head back up "I won't bite.... well unless you want me to".

I was about to speak when he leaned forward crashing his lips to mine my heart flattered and i closed my eyes leaning into the kiss his hands wondered to my hips pulling me onto his lap "fuck I wanted to do this for a long time" I muttered moving his lips to my neck.

My brain is telling me to stop and leave but my body and heart is telling me to do this "what's wrong" he asked pulling away staring into my eyes "it-it's nothing" I murmured looking down at me lap "come on I won't do anything your not comfortable with" he whispered laying soft pecks on my face.

He gently lifted me up and put me on his desk and stood between my legs and his hand caressed my cheek guiding my face to his "can i" he asked moving his other hand to my skirt "please" I whispered, he smirked standing back and pulling his shirt over his head leaving his toned chest exposed.

I ran my hands down his chest to his pants undoing the knot "wow look who is impatient" he chuckled darkly and his hands went to undo my blouse but got impatient and ripped it off "i never knew you were a lace girl" he smirked biting his lip, I was wearing a simple black lace set of underwear.

"Now let's see you without this skirt" he murmured pulling off my skirt and taking off his pants "fuck your gorgeous" he growled grazing his hands up and down my thighs.

"Please lo'ak" I whined as he finally raised his hands to my underwear slipping two of his fingers into my panties running them up and down my slight before plunging in "fuck" I whimpered throwing my head back as he curled them and used his thumb to rub my clit.

He licked his fingers clean and groaned at the taste "so fucking sweet" he cursed "now since you handled my fingers do you think you can handle this" he grinned pushing off his boxers letting his cock spring loose.

I started at him with lustfulled eyes and watched carefully as he entered me "shit your tight" he growled and gave me a few moments to adjust before he started moving our moans and groans started to fill the room as his hands wondered all over my body my breasts being one of his favorites.

"fuck their like hentai boobs I can't believe you hide these things" I would've have laughed at him my mind was started to go blank and my eyes becoming half lidded the pleasure was amazing, his thrusts began to speed up and his desk began to shake "fuck I love to see your boobs bounce every time I thrust into you" he groaned throwing his head back.

His hands slowly started to grab and scratch at my skin and his cock began to pulse "are you gonna cum with me slut" he muttered and started to rub my clit again I bit my lip holding back a chocked scream "I'll take that as a yes" he growled going faster, my eyes began to flatter as I felt my climax nearing again.

"Lo'ak" I whimpered out as the knot in my stomach began to tighten "cum for me again baby" he cooed I squealed out as I cam around him and he quickly pulled out and cam on my stomach "fuck we have to that again" he huffed out and leaned his hands beside me.

"How was that baby" he grinned and laughed as I only whined in response "I'll get something to clean you up" he murmured going over to his cardboard and grabbing a few things "here" he smirked handing me a white shirt before wiping my stomach, thighs and pussy

"there all cleaned up now put on that shirt I don't think I can control myself if those things are out any longer" he growled playfully, he helped me put my clothes back on before bringing me over to the bed to watch some TV shows on his laptop.

After a while I packed up our finished project and my other supplies and he walked me down stairs and out the door and gave me a peck on the cheek.

"See you monday"

Tag.List

@avatar4eva

@sweetirilly

@greekgods15

#avatar #avatar pandora #avatar x reader #avatar way of water #avatar x reader smut #avatar smut #lo'ak #lo'ak sully #lo'ak x reader #modern au #avatar modern au #fboy au #fboy lo'ak x reader #lo'ak x nerd reader #fanfic series #avatar fanfic

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brbsoulnomming · 7 months

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 24

Rating: mature

-----

The next morning, he and Robin drape themselves over a pair of pool chairs to get their lounge on while Steve works on getting the pool in good enough shape for their upcoming party.

It means watching Steve in nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of cut off shorts, so Eddie's very on board.

Robin scoffs next to him. "I am so glad you got your shit together so I don't have to tiptoe around you drooling right now."

"I'm not drooling!" Eddie insists, though he does wipe his hand over his mouth just to check.

No drool.

"Metaphorically," Robin clarifies, grinning at him. "By all means, oogle away. Just know Steve's probably showing off a little on purpose."

Eddie squints at him, and sure enough - there's probably no need for Steve to be lifting things that often.

"I hate that it's working," Eddie grumbles.

"Of course it's working." Robin rolls her eyes.

Right, of course it is. Eddie's always known that Steve was very attractive - it used to irritate the hell out of him, that he was susceptible to the same allure as the rest of the masses of Hawkins High. The fact that he thought Steve was a douche used to counter it, but, well.

Now he's pretty much in love with the guy.

Eddie leans forward a little, fiddling with some blades of grass by his chair. "Steve's, uh. It's true, right, that he's had a lot of sex with a lot of girls?"

Robin nods. "It's true. He was in a slump when I first met him, but before - well, before you, he was complaining about all his meaningless relationships that were just about sex when he wanted a real connection."

That's… Eddie doesn't know exactly what that is, actually, or how he feels about it. He thinks it should be weird, talking about this when they're both dating Steve, but - it doesn't feel weird, not really. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Does it bother me that he's been with more girls than I can count before I even got my first kiss? Not really. I mean, sure, I guess a little, in an ugh why is it so easy for him and so hard for me, but, you know. We both had our different ways of finding our other soulmate. Apparently neither of them were successful, since the Upside Down brought you to Steve, and I'm still striking out." She pauses, then adds, "Plus he's like really good at eating girls out, so I'm not going to complain about getting to benefit from him demonstrating his technique."

He takes it back, it's weird and uncomfortable and that was way too much information about their sex life.

Whatever face he's making gets her to laugh at him, eyes crinkling.

"Don't worry, it probably translates over decently well. Besides, I've seen him practically deep throat a banana so you're probably good. Oh, has he gotten to do that thing with his tongue yet?"

Eddie squeaks. He's pretty sure his face is bright red, considering how much it's burning, and Robin's laughter turns into a cackle.

Steve overhears the laughter and turns towards them, hip cocked as he squints at them.

"What's so funny?" he calls.

"Just asking Eddie if he's gotten to experience your tongue skills yet!" she calls back.

"Robin!" Steve yelps, dropping the pool net to come over to them.

"What?" she asks. "Weren't you the one who was whining at me about how you wanted to choke on his dick and then eat him out until he cried?"

The blood that had been flooding his cheeks immediately rushes south, and Eddie has to lean over to adjust his pants and try to make that less obvious.

Yes, please, sign him up for all of that.

"In confidence! I told you that in confidence!" Steve sputters.

Eddie leans back, tipping his head up at Steve with a slow smirk. "I'm feeling a little hurt, here, Harrington, how come I haven't gotten a fruit demonstration?"

Steve gapes at him for a moment, just long enough for Eddie to start to regain his footing.

Then Steve's eyes narrow.

"If I was demonstrating for you, Munson, it wouldn't be on fruit," he replies.

Steve turns his back on them and returns to the pool, leaving Eddie to make a protesting noise - that is not a whine, no matter how much he can read that in Robin's eyes while she laughs at him.

"Do I need to shove you in the pool to cool you off?" she teases.

"Shut up," he mutters, adjusting himself again.

Then he tips his head back and closes his eyes, because if he looks at Steve again in the next fifteen minutes or so, he might need to take Robin up on that.

—

They eat lunch all jammed together on the couch, plates balanced on their laps. Steve's eating with his left hand, because his right hand is holding Eddie's left. Their fingers are laced together, and Steve refuses to let go, and Eddie's pretty sure his cheeks are flushed red, but he's really not going to complain about it.

There's a little bit of sauce on the corner of Steve's lip, and ridiculously, it makes Eddie want to lean in to lick it off.

Fuck, he really wants to kiss him. Is he allowed to kiss him, is that weird? Steve and Robin haven't kissed in front of him, but Eddie kind of figures that's because they knew he had hang ups about the sharing thing.

Ugh, if he wants kissing Steve when they're like this to be on the table, it's probably going to be on him to talk about it.

Eddie clears his throat. "Hey, uh," he starts, but has no idea where to go after that.

Robin makes a little encouraging noise.

"I appreciate you guys holding back on the PDA around me while I figured all this out, but you don't have to anymore," he says.

Steve's eyebrows raise. He looks down, where Robin's toes are shoved under his thigh and he'd been in the middle of eating the olives off of her plate. "I hate to break it to you, Eds, but we haven't been holding back all that much."

"Well, yeah, not for that, but-" Eddie pauses, switching to come at this from another angle. "Not a lot of people know about me. And I'm guessing - not a lot know about Steve?"

Steve nods when Eddie looks at him for confirmation. "Just Robin and you, and Max and Lucas."

Eddie smiles a little. "Same, but Uncle Wayne knows about me."

"Just you and Steve, Max and Lucas for me," Robin adds, which -

Eddie hadn't known that, actually, but it makes him smile brightly at her. It makes it even better, knowing that Robin's in the same boat as him and Steve - that she gets it. "You're the only one who knows about me and Steve, and me and Steve. I don't know how you feel about telling the others who know?"

Steve considers that. "I feel okay," he says finally. "But if we tell Lucas and Max, we have to tell the rest of the party. It's not fair to have them keep that secret."

Eddie doesn't disagree, but - "Table that for now, then. So yeah, just you. And I'd really, really like to just kiss Steve without thinking about it when it's just the three of us, so it'd be really shitty of me if I told you not to."

There's a moment of silence as Robin and Steve look at each other with near identical expressions of confusion.

"Eddie," Robin says after a moment. "I like girls."

Eddie frowns. He thought they just covered that. "Yeah?"

"Only girls," she clarifies.

What.

"But Steve-" he starts.

"Is not a girl," Robin finishes.

"Definitely not a girl," Steve adds.

"Wait, so you - so you're not -" Eddie stammers.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Oh my God, Eddie, have you thought we were dating this whole time?" Robin shrieks.

"Yes! Of course I did! Look at you!" Eddie gestures at them.

"You said you told him!" Steve hisses at Robin.

"I did!" Robin protests.

"I think I would have remembered that!" Eddie counters.

"We were sitting in the kitchen! I told you that Steve has two soulmates, a platonic," she gestures at herself, the motion just as exaggerated as the word. "And a romantic!" She gestures at Eddie this time.

Eddie closes his eyes, fights the urge to just keep repeating Jesus Christ, and opens them again. "Buckley. I wasn't looking at you while we were talking."

"You weren't - well that's just rude, Munson! What were you so busy staring at that you couldn't pay attention to me in the very important discussion we were having?" Robin demands.

Eddie's eyes cut to Steve.

Her gaze must follow his, because she groans. "Of course you were looking at Steve. See, look at that, another person ignoring me because they're obsessed with you."

Eddie squawks. "I wasn't obsessed with-"

His jaw snaps shut as he realizes that might not be a lie.

Shit.

Steve grins at him, looking just a little bit too smug. "It's okay," he says. "I'm kind of obsessed with you, too."

Robin groans, face planting onto Steve's shoulder. "How did we miss this?"

"I thought we were being so mature," Steve agrees. "So open and communicative."

"In my defense, you two did shower together," Eddie points out.

"Not like that!" Robin says.

"How do you shower together but not like that?" Eddie demands.

Steve shrugs. "The same way you wash someone's hair but not like that?"

Eddie makes a face at him. "Yeah, that doesn't count, I wanted to jump you the whole time."

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again. "Yeah, okay, me too," he admits. "You kept making these little sounds, I just-"

Eddie waggles his eyebrows. "Keep going, Stevie, you just what?"

"Get sidetracked later," Robin cuts in. "The point is - technically, Steve showered while I was brushing my teeth, and I showered while he was doing his hair care routine. We're soulmates, it's not like it matters what we see."

"But - there was giggling, and smacking, and - other noises," Eddie protests, but it's a weak one now.

Steve shrugs. "My back was all fucked up, man, you know that. Rob was helping me with the bandages."

"And Steve was doing his stupid shower characters," Robin adds, rolling her eyes. "He makes himself a dumb beard out of shaving cream or a stupid hairstyle out of shampoo and does terrible voices, and it's awful and I don't hate it at all."

Eddie - Eddie can imagine that perfectly, actually, and fuck, something so stupid shouldn't make him want so badly, but there it is.

"Stop," he whines. "I'm already in love with you, stop making it worse."

Both Steve and Robin freeze, but it still takes him a moment to realize what he just said.

Oh shit.

Eddie swallows, building up his courage for a moment before he sneaks a look at Steve.

Steve's looking back, just a little bit awestruck. "You love me?"

Eddie can't pull his hand free to fidget with his wrist brace, so he plays with Steve's fingers instead. "Well, yeah. I kind of thought that was obvious."

Then again, apparently some things all three of them thought were obvious were very much not obvious, and he grimaces.

"Yeah," he says. "I really do."

Robin kicks Steve in the thigh, leaning over and snatching their plates out of their laps. "Upstairs, now," she informs them. "I know that look, Steve, and if you're going to make out with him you're not doing it sitting next to me on the couch."

"Upstairs?" Steve asks, and who the hell is Eddie to say no to that?

"Just remember you're supposed to pick Dustin up for patrol in half an hour!" Robin yells up after them. "And I will not be stalling if he walkies asking what's taking you so long!"

"Guess we shouldn't waste any time." Eddie turns to Steve with a smirk, one eyebrow raised, only to find himself pinned to the wall in the upstairs hallway.

Steve crowds in against him, kissing him in short little bursts, like he keeps trying to pull back to say something but can't make himself stop for long.

Eddie doesn't make it easy for him to pull away, chasing him every time he does to kiss him again. He drags his teeth along Steve's bottom lip the next time he pulls back, but this time, Steve actually does stop long enough to speak.

"I love you, too," he pants out against Eddie's lips, the words muffled by how close they are together.

And Eddie - yeah, part of him had known. Like he told Uncle Wayne, it was obvious that Steve cared about him, and it was just as obvious that Steve was really into him.

But mostly knowing about it and hearing it confirmed are two different things, and Eddie surges forward to kiss him again.

Steve presses him back against the wall, one thigh wedged between Eddie's legs - still in those cut off shorts, and if Eddie could bring himself to break the kiss long enough to look down, he's pretty sure he'd get more than a flash of hairy skin. Eddie groans, rolling his hips up so he can at least grind against his thigh.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, before his tongue slides into his mouth at the same time his thigh presses up and up, giving Eddie more friction to rut against.

Which he immediately takes advantage of, grabbing Steve's ass with both hands and holding on as they rock together.

"Wanna make you feel good," Steve says, dropping little biting kisses along the line of Eddie's jaw. "Want you to tell me everything you like."

Eddie huffs out a shaky little laugh. "I, uh. I've never done this before, Stevie."

Steve tips his head back to look at him, brows furrowed for a moment before he seems to get that Eddie means, like, ever.

Despite the fact that he's mostly sure Steve isn't going to make fun of him, his stomach still drops when Steve groans and drops his head down into Eddie's shoulder.

"Steve?" Eddie asks.

"We gotta stop," Steve replies, muffled. "We've only got like twenty minutes left now, and that's really not enough for everything I want to do with you."

Eddie's dick throbs where it's still pressed against Steve's thigh. "It's enough for something, though, come on."

Steve pulls back to look at him. "Eds, your first time is not going to be a quickie in our hallway with Robin downstairs and Dustin waiting on me."

Eddie considers that, then rolls his hips up again, grinning smugly when it makes Steve inhale sharply. "Yeah, I'm pretty okay with that for my first mutual orgasm experience."

Steve makes a face at him, the impact of which is a little ruined by his slightly glazed eyes. "I'm not."

Eddie grunts. "I'm not a girl," he manages to growl out.

Steve looks down between them, where Eddie's still very hard and very pressed into him. "I noticed."

"Then don't treat me like some delicate little virgin," Eddie snaps.

Steve huffs. "It's not like that, it's - fine, why did you tell me, then?"

"What?" Eddie asks, thrown.

"If it's not a big deal, why did you say anything?"

"I… I don't know," Eddie admits. "I just - thought you should be aware, I guess, in case you were expecting something else."

Someone who knew what they were doing.

"Eds," Steve breathes out, tipping his head in to kiss him again. "I'm not expecting anything but you, I promise. Just you, that's all I want."

"That's all?" Eddie asks, and he means it to be teasing, but it comes out a little shaky.

"I want - look, I know it's crap about virginity being special and your first time being perfect and all that, but… it's also not crap."

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

"It's - it should be good, Eddie. You deserve to have something go right. I want to take my time with you, not be thinking about how we have to rush."

Well when Steve puts it like that.

"You're such a romantic," Eddie teases.

Steve's ears go a little pink, but he shrugs. "Yeah, I guess I kind of am."

Eddie pulls him back in for another kiss. "I love you," he whispers against his lips, part because he does and part just to see if he can get Steve all riled up again.

"Not fair," Steve mutters back.

Eddie can't help but laugh a little. "It work?"

"Yes." Steve kisses him again. "But it didn't change my mind."

He steps back, though Eddie's pleased to note that he looks both rumpled and reluctant. Eddie sighs, then reaches out to fix Steve's collar, run his fingers through his hair. Steve does the same for him, and it feels -

Well, pretty fucking good, actually.

They head back downstairs. Robin cheers for them, shouting, "Three minutes to spare!"

Steve rolls his eyes, leans over to kiss the top of her head.

Then he drags Eddie to the front door with him so they can kiss again, long and lingering, before Steve finally heads back out.

Eddie drifts back into the living room to sit down next to Robin again, trying not to look too dazed.

She huffs at him, and it's only then that he realizes this is the first time they've been alone since she told him she was coming back for him.

"You still pissed at me?"

Robin rolls her eyes. "No, you fixed that last night. For the record - it wasn't at you, not really. Steve was miserable, which gets my hackles up. I know, he said he was happy no matter what, but I know him. He would have been hung up on you for ages. Plus, the boy likes sex," she adds matter-of-factly. "It would have been awful dealing with him pining and all pent up from not getting laid."

Eddie snorts.

"What?" Robin asks.

"Nothing," Eddie replies. "Just - I'm really glad we don't have to work out a schedule for both of us having sex with him."

Robin lets out a sound that's some unholy mix between a giggle and a shriek. "Okay, first, thanks for putting that mental image in my brain, I need at least three shots later tonight to get that out. Second - oh my god we would run him ragged, he's pretty insatiable but I'm not sure even he could keep up with the two of us."

Eddie cackles, head tipping back in a laughter there's no way he can contain. "I really love you, Robbie," he says quietly when he's managed to calm down.

Her eyes are soft as she looks at him. "Yeah," she says. "I do, too."

"I can't promise that I won't ever hurt him," he says. "Because, you know, sometimes I get up in my head about stuff, and sometimes I miss things. But I love him. It's always going to be him. I won't - I won't ever leave him, or give up on us."

Robin's quiet for a long time. "You and I aren't really soulmates, you know. I can't tell if you just lied to me."

Eddie knows what his knee-jerk reaction to that is. But he sits with it for a moment, breathes in and breathes out, and then decides knee-jerk was the right reaction. "Yeah, you can."

Robin smiles at him, reaching out to tug on a lock of his hair. "Yeah, I can," she agrees.

He opens his arms, and she hugs him, then shoves him off.

"Come on, Steve left us to do the lunch dishes."

—

Steve brings home pizza for dinner when he gets done with patrolling.

"Hey, I was thinking - do you want to head out to Forest Hills when we're done?" Steve asks while they eat. "There's not really anyone there anymore, we could see if there's anything left of yours you want to get."

Eddie considers that. Part of him isn't sure he wants to go back there, ever, but the other part kind of feels like he needs to see it. To make it real again, and not just a thing in his nightmares.

So he agrees, and they head out after they clean up dinner - Robin refuses to get stuck with it this time.

It still feels strange, driving around in the front seat of Steve's Bimmer, but mostly a nice strange. They don't pass many cars on the way out there, and Steve's got Trooper's Thick as Thieves album playing quietly, and Eddie can just lean back and alternate looking out the window with looking at the beautiful boy in the driver's seat.

Steve pulls a couple of empty boxes out of the trunk when they get there, and Eddie sees him hesitate over the nail bat that's still in there from his patrol earlier.

"Here," Eddie says, taking the boxes so Steve can grab the bat.

There hasn't been any sign of Vecna or the Upside Down on their patrols yet, but Eddie's pretty sure they'll both feel better if Steve's carrying it.

The trailer is barely holding together, a huge chunk ripped out of the living room, and Eddie swallows back a surge of tears.

He knows they have insurance, knows what Uncle Wayne said about the stuff in the trailer, but - it was the first place that ever really felt like home to Eddie. Even though the home was more about Uncle Wayne himself than the physical trailer, it hurts seeing it like this.

"Hey," Steve says softly. "We don't have to do this tonight, we can wait."

We.

Like it's just a guarantee that whenever Eddie does decide to look through the shattered remains of his life, Steve will be right there with him. No question.

It shouldn't be, but it's still a little bit of a surprise to realize that Eddie believes it.

"No," he says, though he does lean in for a kiss. "I want to get this over with. Come on, let's look in my room."

His room isn't as bad as the living room, but it's still pretty trashed. He gets to work rifling through the debris while Steve hangs out in the doorway, nailbat on one shoulder and keeping an eye on the dormant but still not closed gate in the living room.

Eventually, Eddie manages to find about a couple of boxes worth of clothes, most of his jewelry, some D&D things, a few other odds and ends. It's not a lot, but it's more than Eddie thought he might have, which lifts his spirits a little.

"I can stop borrowing your clothes all the time," Eddie tells Steve.

Steve makes a face like he's trying not to say anything.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"…I kind of like you in my clothes," Steve admits.

Eddie barks out a little laugh, then sets down his box so he can sidle into Steve's space. "Oh yeah?" he asks, cocking one eyebrow. "You want me to wear your letterman jacket?"

Steve tips his head, which Eddie is pretty damn sure means yes, but I don't want to say it.

"Steve Harrington," Eddie teases as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Steve's jeans and gives it a tug. "You wanna be my boyfriend?"

"I'm your soulmate," Steve replies, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't stop himself from being reeled in.

"You wanna be my boyfriend," Eddie repeats, voice sing song, and steals another kiss.

"You were the one who said you wanted the full Steve Harrington experience," Steve teases back.

"I was joking!" Eddie replies, but he realized the moment he says it that - well, no, he kind of wasn't.

Steve grins widely at him. "No, you weren't," he retorts, with all the confidence of someone who's just felt a new lie being written on them.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. "So what are you going to do about it, then?"

Steve leans in to kiss him one more time. "Come on. Let's get out of here first."

And, well, all right, Eddie can't exactly protest that.

He picks up two boxes, leaving Steve to grab the third and his bat, then the two of them head back out of the trailer.

They're not too far from what's left of the front door when the sound of footsteps crunches on the gravel nearby.

It's probably just one of the handful of folks too stubborn to leave Forest Hills, but - it's dark, and Eddie can't see anyone, and he can't help the rush of panic that he feels. It must hit Steve the same way, because when he turns back to look at him, he sees that Steve has gone still, head tilted like he's listening.

The sound of a gun cocking rings out far louder than it should.

"Don't move," Jason Carver says.

-----

Tag list (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

At least all three of them are finally on the same page?

Part 25

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #steddie fic #steddie soulmate au #platonic soulmates stobin

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stomach-bugg09 · 1 year

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hello! I love your writing and i have an request, a quiet, kind, caring, loving, sully girl who would do anything to protect her family, takes the bullet instead of neteyam? (1 year younger then lo'ak) <33

a/n: omg hey !! can you guys believe that i wrote another one ?? although this isn't fali and [y/n], but that's alright. i think my plan for all of this is just to write when i wanna write -- no stress, just a fun hobby. requests are technically closed, but i wrote this one because i'm a kind soul. basically, if you send in a request and i like it, i might write it if i feel like it. ALSO i know this isn't accurate to how the scene went, but i haven't watched this movie since i saw it in theaters in december so... if any of you guys know how to watch it for free, let a girl know. anyway, feedback, reblogs, yada yada are all appreciated !!

tags: @rafeslovergirl @wxnderingthoughts @liyahsocorro @bonnibuckets @hjkshshjkhklhkl @itssiaaax @grierpilots @23victoria @nyotamalfoy @gcldtom @calypixi @eywas-heir @historygeekqueen @missroro @sweetheart-bo

tw: death, angst, blood, major injury, sad :(

insurmountable love

[y/n] had always known about her importance to the sully family. she knew it when she was young, when she was just a toddler that managed to lift spirits when she waddled into the room. she knew it when each of her siblings fought for her attention with different games. she knew it when neteyam always seemed to come searching for her when he got sick of their father. she knew it when kiri shared her secrets with her. she knew it when lo’ak always invited her to join her in his rebellious shenanigans. she knew it when she held her baby sister for the first time.

she’d always known.

[y/n] felt her love for her family more than she’d felt anything in her life. no amount of anger, sadness, disappointment… none of it could top the amount of adoration she held for her mother, for her father, for her sisters and brothers.

but, [y/n] was starting to think, as she lay bleeding out on top of a rock in the middle of the ocean — in the middle of a home that wasn’t her’s — that maybe there was a reason she felt for much love.

“[y/n],” her brother’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. she stared into his eyes, although she kept fighting to urge to doze off. she was so tired. “[y/n], stay with me. okay, sis?” neteyam swallowed, fighting his tears. “lo’ak flagged mom and dad down. they are almost here, baby sis. they are almost here.”

“neteyam,” the younger sully whimpered. “neteyam, it hurts.”

“i know.” a glossy layer of liquid pooled in his eyes. “i know, but you are strong. you are strong, so just keep your eyes right on me."

his hand was warm against [y/n]’s cheek. her cupped her face softly, as if any rough movement might disintegrate her. but, he also couldn’t afford to let her go, for as soon as he let go… he feared she would be gone.

lo’ak watched beside them, hands pressing against [y/n]’s wound. tears flowed down his cheeks freely. it was his fault, it was his fault, it was all his fault. he couldn’t get it out of his head. if she dies, then he killed his baby sister.

lo’ak wanted so badly to talk to her, to offer support, to be the same brother that neteyam was, but lo’ak could never do that. he was scared, and he was a fraud. he acted high and mighty, he acted brave… and if he truly thought back to the history of his life, he only truly started pretending to be so courageous so that [y/n] would be impressed with him. so that his big sister would look up to him.

how ironic was it that, the moment she needed his strength, he couldn’t pretend anymore. he was a coward.

so, instead, lo’ak pushed against the bullet hole, blood staining his hands. the muffled sobs of tsireya were nearly drowned out by the chaotic scene around them, but lo’ak didn’t think he could ignore her cries in the same way that his heart panged at every pained noise that left [y/n].

it was only the sound of his parents’ arrival that either brother even dared to look up, but once they recognized their mother and father, eyes were set back on their baby sister.

tears fell from [y/n] eyes as she caught sight of jake. “dad,” she cried, nearly choking on her words. “dad, please.” she was begging, but she wasn’t sure what she was asking for. what could he do?

“hey, baby,” he whispered, kneeling next to her. “it’s okay. it’s okay, i’m here.” as jake attempted words of comfort, he picked up her feeble frame to check the exit wound, and his heart instantly dropped. his baby girl.

“dad, i’m scared,” she confessed. “i—i saw them. they were aiming at ‘teyam.” her words were growing thicker, voice stuck in her throat. lo’ak noticed [y/n] pulled her knees up at times, the pain causing her lower half to writhe.

“it’s okay, baby girl,” jake hushed. “it’s okay, you did everything right.”

“i didn’t want him hurt. i didn’t want him hurt, dad!” her pained sobs wavered. for some reason, she couldn’t be convinced — not in her delirious state — that she hadn’t made a terrible decision. she didn’t want to die with her father’s disappointment. disappointment that she put herself in danger. but she did it for her big brother.

in the chaos, none of them — tsireya and spider included, who also attempted to be helpful even though there wasn’t much that they could do — noticed the arrival of neytiri. not until her hushed voice of shock began mumbling, “no, oh no. not my sweet daughter.”

the na’vi mother rushed over, taking a spot between her two sons as she gauged the scene. her second youngest, hurt by the sky-people. her beautiful daughter, fighting death because of them.

[y/n] had faded to a silence at that point, the only noise being her whimpers of pain as she writhed. tears paved their way across the surface of her blue skin, and neytiri’s heart shattered.

but, despite all of it, despite the pain, the shock, the terrifying inevitability ( although they all denied it ) of her death… the worst part was when she opened her eyes wide and said, “i’m so scared.”

a beat of stunned, painful silence.

“i’m so scared. i don’t wanna die!” she whispered, looking into her father’s eyes. “please.”

and through his tears, jake gripped the hand of his second youngest and told her a kind lie. “i’m right here with you. you will be okay, baby girl. just hold on to us, okay?”

and to her credit, she did. through the pain, one hand held jake’s and the other held neytiri’s. the two brothers couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly, hands resting on her upper arms in an attempt to give her some form of strength.

and they stayed that way until the light left her eyes. the same light she’d carried since she was born, gone just like that.

maybe there was a reason she was full of so much love for her family. her theory… she was only destined to live so long, so eywa blessed her with an exuberant amount to enjoy for the thirteen years she was gifted.

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #loak sully #sully family x reader #sully family x y/n #tuk sully #tuktirey #sully family #kiri sully #sully siblings x reader #sully siblings #jake x daughter!reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader

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qrevo · 3 months

Text

Was tagged by @humanaaa and @hholandies!! Thanks for the tags ^^

1. Are you named after anyone?

Kinda?? My first and second names are supposed to come from angels of the bible (or as so i was told), but istg the one from my first name DOES NOT exist. I searched everywhere and came up empty-handed lol

2. When was the last time you cried?

Last week when i replayed Adastra. The catharsis was so strong it disintegrated my core being into dust fr fr

3. Do you have kids?

Nope!! And i don't plan to!!

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

I practiced judo when i was very very tiny, but i was too scrawny and clumsy for it. Left before even making it out of the white belt LMAO

Also a little before high school i used to play basketball and swim!!

Now i just bike regularly if that somehow counts SKDJFDKF

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Very very rarely

6. What's the first thing you notice about someone?

Their outfit!!

7. Eye color?

Brown!!

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

C-Can i have both 🥺👉👈

But if i had to choose between them i think i'd go with a scary movie

9. Any talents?

Being good at math counts?? SKJSJSJD

10. Where were you born?

BRASIL NÚMERO 1 CAMPEÃO DO MUNDO 🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷

11. Hobbies?

Since the start of the year i picked up drawing again!! I sometimes play videogames, but i haven't been doing it that much lately. I take walks a few days of the week. I also like watching/reading stuff but that one's a given

12. Any pets?

We have two dogs!! Fiona, the bigger one we adopted, and Moana, the smaller one that adopted us!! (i also wanted a cat but everyone here's allergic and hates them to death for some reason)

13. Height?

I must be between 1.70m ~ 1.72m?? I haven't measured my height in quite some time lol

14. Favorite school subject?

Unsurprisingly, math!!

15. Dream job?

I used to dream of becoming a programmer or a game developer, but i've become quite disillusioned with the industry. Now i really have no idea LMAO

Tagging @not-too-many-eyes @rainbowghostcat @candckirby @seariii @gunsli-01 @roseofcards90 and anyone else that feels like it!!

edit: enough reblogs on this one continue the tag game on your own posts 💥💥💥💥💥

#qrevo.txt #hehe obrigado pelas tags ^^#''i don't dream of labor'' is also so true aretha fr fr

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starberry-cupcake · 2 months

Text

Hello, I haven't had time to read as much as I would want but I'm here with an update regardless, because if I don't keep these constant, I'm gonna forget things and this, so far, seems like a book in which I don't wanna forget things.

previously, in harrowbean the ninth:

this happened

currently, after "parodos" and ch. 1:

so I'm making up a timeline in my head with the information at hand

which is never straightforward

that'd be too easy, here in tlt we like to be kept on our toes

we like to be punched in the gut when we least expect it

so get ready for bad math

this would probably make our good friend palmolive atreides weep

I'm sorry palomilve's force ghost, I'm doing my best

the first entry was the night of the emperor being terminated

the "parodos" bit (we'll get to that) is 14 months before the emperor is snuffed out

ch. 1 is nine months before the emperor kicks the bucket

I believe act 1 is going to be happening around that time, since ch. 2 seems to be following without another indication

because of what happens in "parodos" aka flashback, aka prologue 2: elecric bogaloo, we can attempt to estimate when the events of gideon happened

harrowbean tells ortus in the flashback that he's gonna train with aiglamene for 12 weeks

let's assume that's kind of the amount of time gideon trained, plus the time it took harrow to plot how to girlsplain, gatekeep and gaslight gideon into it

the only one girlbossing here is camilla, I don't make the rules

so, if gideon and harrow were ready to leave the ninth somewhere around 2-3 months after the flashback, it'd be circa 11 months before the events in the prologue

and ch. 1 starts 9 months before the events in the prologue

so gideon might have happened somewhere around 11-10 months before the prologue

I can't tell how long they were in canaan house (it felt like 12 years and 5 minutes at the same time) but I think about a month is mostly right, given that once bodies start dropping, things are all happening together

all of this is relative, since time in space is ????

but I need to do this for my own peace of mind

if you give me time measurements I'm gonna measure, ok?

I need to organize things

I know I will end up making a graphic at some point I just know it

this is what I get for calling palmolive a turbonerd

ANYWAY, MOVING ON

or, moving back, since we're in prologue 2: electric bogaloo aka flashback time

here we have ortus (the one we knew, not the one we will get to know, according to the characters list) telling harrow he doesn't wanna go to the field trip

this is ortus

if you're wondering why I don't nickname ortus, I'll repeat myself but "orto" means "ass" where I'm from, so that's enough to remember him by

harrow is like "I know you're underqualified but we're understaffed, so it is what it is"

the important part is that harrowbean says she sees the barbie in the freezer walking about

like a ghost or whatnot

she refers to her as "the body" and I assume that's barbie in the ice cube because someone reblogged my recap where I mentioned her and tagged

ever since then I've been wondering why she was referred to as The Body and now I'm gonna assume this is it

so harrow tells ortus he needs to hide the fact that she's mentally unstable

[non funny side note: masking is unbearable and it's awful we live in a social and cultural environment where we feel pressured to do it, especially when you're an adult having to fulfill expectations of supposedly "age-specific" activities and responsibilities, it's exhausting and I cried about that in therapy a mere week ago so, hitting hard, this bit

don't let people make you feel "less than" because the way in which you navigate the world and your experiences is different from what's expected in some theoretical socially constructed category

and fuck everyone who, in order to put people down in arguments online, ever make fun of those who aren't mentally, economically or socially as independent as what the category of an adult is supposed to be to them

argue with concepts, argue with opinions and facts, don't tear people down in the name of "moral upper hand" by telling people they're losers for needing help

side note done]

so, harrow entered the whole canaan thing not only carrying the weight of her house, her family and her entire people

she also came into it believing she's not mentally sound and seeing The Body walking around unnoticed by other people

whether or not her visions are mentally unsettled or something that actually happens because she opened the tomb, just the whole situation of her birth is enough to make anyone collapse, so we got you, harrowbean

we're here for you

and all that without mentioning what it'd be like seeing your girlfriend cavalier impale herself in front of you

I'm taking liberties with the 'girlfriend' bit but idk

so, next we know, 5 months have passed from that and harrowcita is struggling in her new environment of the clown emperor's ship

she is made to carry gideon's sword and she can't

she can't seem to know what to do or to communicate with said knowledge and she's throwing up a lot

WHICH IS GREAT!!!!!

I mean, it's not great that she's suffering

but it's GREAT because if she can't communicate with gideon's slurped soul, maybe it means gideon's soul has not been slurped AT ALL

more fuel for my wishful thinking of gideon's soul returning to her and getting regenerated and saved and being alive

I also like very much this situation in which harrow sees the sword as personified and they hate each other without gideon

it's like prim's cat in the hunger games with katniss

but with an inanimate object

I'm really liking that dynamic

is like they both miss her and can't relate to each other

ALSO barbie body ice cube is still there

just chillin' and being silently supportive, I think

not sure what her deal is but what if she's not the bad one here? because this emperor kind of sucks tbh

not in a 'he's evil' way but in a 'idk if he know what he's doing' way

I don't know about this guy tbh

so we're leaving off with harrow being mentally and physically struggling, ghost barbie roamin' the rooms, voices of people organizing stock and gideon in my head like this, walking in limbo to get back to us

also, another day without camilla

I thought I wasn't gonna have much to say and this is so long, I'm so sorry...

#luly reacts to tlt #harrow the ninth #tlt #harrow the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb #long post #gif cw

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fshigur0 · 7 months

Text

ripped threads — suguru geto x fem!reader

ᯤ part two of heartburn; you have to read part one to understand the situation in this one.

pairings: suguru geto x fem!reader, platonic!satoru gojo x reader (only mentioned)

synopsys: "... you have definitely lost your mind and you wonder if there ever is a turning back from this — if you will ever find a way to cut the thread that has inevitably tangled itself around your heart."

warnings: spoilers if you've only watched season 1 of jjk! also i don't really mention the lore in its entirety! pure angst (tinies amount of fluff), slight mentions of death (major character!), dark & suggestive themes !!

a/n: i cried while writing this. i love him so much it hurtss, i decided not to add smut just because i want to hurt them further. pls enjoy and let me know!!<3<3

word count: 2k reading time: 8 minutes

It has been a few weeks since you have last seen him, and you can still reminisce how his lips felt on yours — not too rough, warm to the touch and with a sweetness you had never expected.

You thought he would taste of tears, ashes or alcohol. You vividly remember how as teenagers the sharp aftertaste of nicotine on your tongue would make you wrinkle your nose. Yet, his lips were a delicacy you wish you could savour every day.

You realize how much you love being held by him, inebriating yourself with his scent drenched in incense with just a hint of conditioner. You love it, but not quite: his perfume is suffocating, flooding your lungs until it washes over your brain with a wave of past memories you only wish you could forget. It reminds you of your lost youth, reminds you of his former self. It reminds you of your Suguru.

"Y/N." Satoru utters — he knows, how could he not? You have changed and the bags under your eyes are more prominent. You haven't been sleeping well, or maybe you haven't been sleeping at all.

"Have you seen him?"

"No."

"Have you been sleeping?"

"Yeah."

Your eyes stare at the ceiling as you lay on your best friend's bed. It's enough and he doesn't investigate further — although he notices how your thigh trembles and how you nibble your nails. He doesn't want to force it out of you even if he wishes he could just tell you to drop the act. And you know he's aware of what happened, yet it's easier for the both of you to act like you don't.

Your friendship with Satoru is one full of yets and what-ifs, but this doesn't seem to bother either one of you. He sometimes texts you out of nowhere and asks you to hang out, or calls you simply to know whether you got home safe. You appreciate it, but what you're feeling is nothing the Six-Eyed can fix.

There's nothing left to fix.

For the past few weeks, you've been waiting in front of your doorstep. It's December, and the frost has covered everything in a thin line of white — it's really cold, but a few more minutes won't do you much harm. The wait has become your nourishment.

You hope for just a glimpse of him, yet your eyes are always met with nothing but the tiny flakes of snow falling down the sky. You hope for him to visit you back even if it's to hurt you even more. You're so desperate for him, you accept the twisted fate of his presence only bringing mysery upon you.

But if it's him, you would welcome even Death.

You sigh and a small cloud of vapour disperses into the air. You have definitely lost your mind and you wonder if there ever is a turning back from this — if you will ever find a way to cut the thread that has inevitably tangled itself around your heart.

"You will catch a cold in this weather."

The phrase is enough to make your heart skip a beat. You turn your head and your gaze softens at the sight of him: if only you had enough strength, you would push him away, you would shut your door and forget about him. Yet, the only thing you yearn for is for him to hold you in his arms.

"Suguru." You murmur, his name a reminder of the absurdity of your situation. "You're here."

He doesn't respond. He's standing at the entrance of your garden, hands in the pockets of his coat and long strands of hair covering his face. There's something extremely beautiful about his figure standing out in the whiteness of the snow; it's almost as if he's an apparition, some sort of miracle.

"I shouldn't be."

You bite the inside of your cheek — the few meters separating you feeling like a valley of unsaid words.

"But you are."

A low chuckle. "Yeah, I am."

An awkward silence follows and it almost feels like the world has frozen as the two of you stand in front of each other, eyes observing and analyzing every detail of your bodies.

"I came to say goodbye." He states, his attention fully on you. You look extremely fragile while playing with your fingertips, your skin exposed to the cold. He would take your hands and kiss them until they stop trembling. He would, but he does not.

"Where are you going?"

The innocence in your inquiry inflames his heart with a warmth he hasn't experienced in years.

"Nowhere," he takes some steps forward, his boots leaving footprints in the snow, "But I think it's better this way."

"You think?" You scoff and that doesn't surprise him. "So you came here just to abandon me again?"

"I'm not abandoning you... I'm setting you free."

You're taken aback. You see how his expression softens for a moment, his body merely a few centimetres from yours. He stretches out his arms and puts his hands on your shoulders, tightening the grip on them.

"Please let me do that, Y/N. Allow me to do that for you."

What he's asking of you is impossible — actually, it's extremely selfish. You've craved his touch for years, you've wished to know where he was or if he was okay, and now that you've finally got him back he wants to slip out of your life again. It's cruel.

Sorrow does not take long to mingle with resentment. You push him back, although he does not flinch much. He expects this from you, it's only natural.

"Have you ever cared about what I think? About what I want?"

"Caring about what you think or what you want won't change anything, Y/N. What do you want me to do?"

You turn around and head to open the front door, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, unwilling to reveal that he has succeeded in his intent to destroy you once again.

You try to slam the door behind you, though this does not happen. His hand holds it firmly, you lift your gaze and meet his eyes: there is no understanding, but you decipher an undertone of desperation hidden in the intensity of his expression.

"Do you want me to erase the things I have done? The people I have killed?" There's urgency in his tone as he furrows his brows, "I can't fix the irreparable, Y/N, there's nothing left to fix anymore."

Your lips tremble, reality catches you off guard and nearly takes your breath away; you are still struggling against his strength, in a mere attempt to close the door. But by now he is inside your house and there is nothing more you can do except listen to him. If you could get at least one sound out of your mouth right now, you would.

Suguru runs a hand through his black locks — they look extremely silky and soft. He exhales sharply, and you do too: you realize you have been holding your breath.

"You said you didn't care," your voice only a whisper, "When I said that I didn't love you. You said you didn't care."

"I do care, I never stopped." He confesses as he lifts your chin with his index. "That's why I have to do this, I can't be selfish anymore, not if it's you."

You want to believe him, you wish you could. You really want him to care as much as you have cared for the past decade. Yet, despite his words of sweetness akin to honey, you can't help but notice their bitter aftertaste.

But you find yourself to be inescapably addicted to that bitterness only he can serve you. You want your heart to be broken, if it's him who's tearing it piece to piece.

Your breaths are the only sound heard, if you could hear the pounding of your hearts, then you would probably understand the effect you have on each other. Suguru hesitates before his hand caresses your cheek, the tenderness makes you quiver.

"Please, hate me. I need you to hate me, to forget me."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, the sincerity in his voice alarms you.

"I can't. I never did, I never would."

As you say that, he places one hand on the small of your back, pushing you toward him before his arms encircle your figure. He presses you against his chest, holding you close as if it were the last time, as if uniting in one hug all the years you have been apart. Your hands shyly find his back, until your fingers clutch the fabric of his coat.

That familiar scent of incense relaxes the muscles in your limbs.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, but I don't want you to forgive me. There is no need for you to do that."

His voice is hoarse in your ear, his warm breath makes your heart sink into an ocean of memories.

"There really is no space for us in this world, isn't it?" A wobbling smile manifests on your lips, undaunted tears carve your face.

You're still clinging onto hope, still clinging onto the ghost of him.

"If only I could have saved you," You run your hands through his hair, "if only I could have prevented what you've become. Do you think– do you think there could have been a world where we are happy?"

"There..." He hesitates trying to find the right words, but soon realizes there is no right way to say that, "There is no world where we are happy, but there is also no world where I don't love you."

He pulls his bust away to look at your face, his lips come close to your forehead where he places a kiss. He keeps talking, relishing every remnant of you in your sweet scent.

"My soul will always ache for yours, no matter where you are."

Suguru cups your cheeks and selfishly decides to kiss you one last time, breaths synchronizing and bodies longing for each other's warmth. This is the irony of your love: you are like the Sun and the Moon up in the same sky but never to meet, like two galaxies that are destined to increasingly stray away from one another.

"Promise me that as soon as I walk out this door, you won't think of me no more." He pleads, and you subconsciously shake your head but he holds you firmly. "You won't look for me, you will forget me — promise me that."

If only you understood that he never wanted that. He never wanted to abandon you, to disappear out of your life, to hurt you; Suguru Geto only wants to be by your side, to live a happily ever after he knows will never exist.

He only wants to be yours. Yet, he has to sacrifice that to save you from drowning along with him. He has done that ten years ago, and he has to do that again. Just for you, only for you, always for you.

You slightly nod, not finding enough strength to speak. Maybe not even finding the words anymore.

"You were always this stubborn." He pats your head and chuckles, the corners of his lips curving into a genuine smile.

The warmth of him is suddenly replaced by the coldness of his absence; you don't even hear the door close, but you know he is gone.

. . .

December 24th. Christmas Eve of 2017.

You realize from the look of him that Satoru did not come to you without a reason. There is always a reason, only this time it is different: he is standing in the doorway and his eyes seem lost on the details of your room rather than on you. He cannot look you in the face, how could he?

Your ears start ringing as he speaks, his words becoming muffled. Your legs become extremely mushy and your knees give out — you try to hold on to something that is not there, while a hand clutches at the height of your heart.

The thread entangling your heart coming loose. Somewhere, in another world, Suguru Geto smiles.

©fshigur0

#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #suguru geto smut #suguru smut #suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #suguru x you #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #suguru geto angst #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto angst

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akq96618 · 3 months

Text

[ 💜💛🖤❤🤍💙]

(this is just my rambles , pls scroll if u dont want to read jdakjsa ;-;)

ok i'm not good at it, but i'll try to be more serious.

King Ohger is my first sentai after about…10? 11? years since i watch toku as a kid (for sentai, i used to watch shinkenger and power rangers dino force). I start to watch toku again last year because of KR Den-O, simply just bcs i want to rewatch one of my fav childhood tv program. And i cried a lot, not just because of den-o's story but also I remember that I still love toku as much as little me back then

after finished den-o, i crave for more toku to watch, then my older sister told me there's this super sentai that all of the sentai is leaders/kings ((SHE HAVEN'T WATCH KINGOH UNTIL THIS VERY DAY DESPITE BEING ONE OF MY REASON TO WATCH KINGOH, I HATE HER////jk i love u sis)). I didn't watch kingoh while it's ongoing, i binge watch it from ep 1 while it's around eps 20-25. And i regret nothing, i feel a lot of emotions, be it's the good one or even the bad one. I laugh and I cry. I didn't live for 2000 years like jeramie, but i relate to him about dealing with grief and keep everything to yourself bcs you don't want others to worry about you. And the happiness of finally found someone you can rely on, someone that won't say anything but will pat your shoulder and reminds you that they will be on your side no matter what.

I learn a lot of thing from other king too, i learn to be kind from gira and himeno, i learn that it's okay to not care about what people say and be myself the way i am from rita, i learn to stands for what's wrong and didn't back down like yanma, and kaguragi uhm…* shake hands with kagu * yes ur my buddy bro (i swear i have one thing i relate to kagu, i just don't want to tell what it is-)

people can call it 'childish show' (my friend said that when i tell them abt kingoh and kr ;-; that's why i stopped telling abt toku to others and just keep my excitement to myself) and they're still right, but still, kingoh is special to me.

I was ready to be alone on this (I always be), i draw fanarts because i want and i like them so much, and didn't expect at all that i'll found other people that excited about the same thing like me. thank you to everyone who liked, reblog, comment, send asks, i can't always answer everything, but pls know that i appreciate every single of you,

artist, writers, gif maker, friends, everyone.

one day will come the day that my interest maybe will fade away. Until that day come, I'll enjoy my time here and drawing what i want. (((actually this applied to my other fandom too ;-;))))

for you who read this so far, thank u again <3

+ pls have this happy spiders, they're my favorites from all of the finale moments ;-;

#ohsama sentai kingohger #king ohger #gira hastie #yanma gust #jeramie brasieri #kaguragi dybowski #rita kaniska #himeno ran #nephila idmonarak ne #my art #this actually the art i submitted for the ko thankyou card :">#i don't have the energy to draw a lot of people again.. maybe later

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idoodlestuffsometimes · 8 months

Text

Story Post 14 (Part 2)

AU MASTER POST

BEGINNING | PREVIOUS | NEXT

[Image ID under the cut]

[IMAGE ID: Two pages of a black and white comic.

PAGE ONE PANEL 1: Gwen glances nervously over her shoulder at Dell. He beckons for her to continue. "It's not that. It's - ah--" PANEL 2: She turns back to the crow phone with a forced grin. "I hear you have a student now!" Dell's face drops in annoyance. PANEL 3: "A human one! How intriguing. I haven't heard of a human on the Isles since the one my great grandmother mentioned." Luz lies on her belly on her sleeping bag, happily reading in her room with King asleep next to her. Behind her, the window is open, revealing a scout brandishing a spear. PANEL 4: "And even that one disappeared, apparently," Gwen continues. Eda appears in the window, casting a spell that blasts the scout out of view. PANEL 5: Luz turns and looks out the window, puzzled, but there is nothing there. PANEL 6: "My human isn't going to disappear," says Eda. She looks over her shoulder at Luz's oblivious back through the window, determined. "Oh no, of course not!" says Gwen. "I'm sure you're doing a wonderful job looking after her and teaching her all sorts of things." PANEL 7: A close up of one side of Gwen's face, her eye looking to the side, knowing that Dell is behind her, concerned and waiting. "Like--," she says. PANEL 8: She leans in towards the phone, gritting her teeth. "--Palisman carving, maybe?" PANEL 9: Eda and Lilith clash. Eda blocks with her staff as Lilith comes at her with her own. "Mom, I'm busy!" Eda cries. "Just spit it out!" "Okay, okay!" says Gwen.

PAGE TWO PANEL 1: "It's about the family business." "What about it?" "Well," Gwen admits. "Palisman carving isn't exactly as easy as it used to be." A close-up of Dell in profile. His head is lowered, expression sad. PANEL 2: A view of an old, hanging wooden shop sign for a shop named "Clawthorne Palismen". It was once a mark of a well-cared for business. It has hand-carved wings, fancy lettering, and a second, smaller sign below it, declaring, "Established 16--" something. But the rest is broken off. The sign is in disrepair, with a, "CLOSED," sign plastered on top. PANEL 3: "A lot of people associate palismen with wild magic these days," Gwen continues. What was once a small, quaint shop sits boarded up and falling apart. It's covered in graffiti, reading, "REMEMBER METANOY," and "WILD." In the foreground, people avoid it, whispering. PANEL 4: A large, desolate field of clear-cut tree stumps. "And with the deforestation of the palistrom forests," Gwen says, "sometimes I worry it won't be feasible much longer." PANEL 5: "But your father can't do it anymore…" A close-up of Dell's hand. It shakes and is covered in scars. PANEL 6: A close up of Eda, guilty and distraught. "...And you--," PANEL 7: A flashback. Eda's cursed form looms over her frightened father, snarling. PANEL 8: A close up of Dell, younger and terrified, one hand towards the viewer, trying to ward off his attacker, the other clutching the side of his face. /END ID]

#the owl house #eda clawthorne #gwen clawthorne #dell clawthorne #luz noceda #king clawthorne #brother's keeper au #in which i started using dip pens halfway through ignore the look changing shhhh #sorry for the abrupt cut offs between parts. i was originally going to post all of this story beat at once but. uh #it's 6 pages and I have NOT been fast. better to get it out #one more part for this section after this

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