Hey, i love your writing! Could you please write for
M!reader, a seemingly innocent guy, though appearances can be deceiving. Then there's Geto, who initially dropped subtle hints about having feelings for Reader. But frustration mounts as Geto's attempts go unnoticed, with Reader simply viewing their interactions as friendly. Eventually, Geto's patience wears thin, especially since Gojo and reader have been getting along well. As jealousy and frustration brew within Geto, he unknowingly directs it at reader through snarky and bratty comments. Reader, though patient, can only take so much. They finally snap, (Geto is surprised because reader is always so soft spoken and sweet) giving Geto a piece of their mind and putting him in his place.
Can i please be 👁️ anon?
welcome 👁️ anon! i forgot to actually write smut in this! so have a really long build-up and hopefully a part two in the future, holy shit. i am so sorry.
(suguru's characterisation is also a bit weird here . i can't put a finger on it but my brain is not clicking rn. i am so sorry, 👁️ anon. i'll do better next time. please forgive me for this failure just this once.)
geto suguru was not an impatient man but you were an entirely different matter. you always had been.
there was something about you that drove your existence apart from all of the others— a steadiness in your presence, a constance in your friendship with him. you kept him grounded, an anchor and a light in the darkness that came with being a jujutsu sorcerer. had it not been for you, suguru thought he might have gone rogue so many times ago in the past.
"suguru."
ah, speak of the angel (yes, he knew that wasn't how the saying went, but you weren't the devil. how could you be, with your smile and your careful hands? you were an angel, sent from above to keep him from drowning), you slid into the seat next to him. as usual, you smiled at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you did, before you dug into your meal.
suguru let his gaze linger on you for a few short seconds before he turned his face to eat his meal, too.
lunch was a contented affair, filled with small talk and the occasional sound of your laughter. there was something domestic, suguru would like to think, about the way you stole his chicken and he snatched your meatballs in compensation. suguru could hardly think of a time he had ever been this comfortable with anyone but you. you had him lowering his guards without ever having to ask him at all, an inane talent he doubted you even noticed. but it was there, and you were a miracle worker that never failed to hold him through his worst and his best.
so, really, it shouldn't come as a surprise that suguru would have to share you with others, too.
specifically, one fucking annoying gojo satoru.
don't misunderstand him, he loved satoru. satoru was his best friend, his one and only, his steady companion. they had been through hell and back together, shoving each other to further heights and hauling one another out of the deepest pits. he cared for satoru, loved him in every way a man could love his best friend. suguru loved his friend.
but jesus christ, could satoru get on his nerves sometimes.
because the thing is. the thing is that satoru knew—he knew the way suguru looked at you, he knew the way suguru spoke about you, he knew the way suguru's heart beat and ached for you. satoru knew all about the depths of his affections for you, every single beautiful and ugly thing, because that was what you do with your best friend, right? you trust them.
backstabber, suguru thought bitterly, shoving a now-acrid tasting meatball into his mouth.
because there satoru was, his arms thrown around you in ways that suguru could never touch you, his jokes making you laugh in a way that left suguru feeling ripped between wanting to watch your smile and punch satoru in the face hard enough that he'd be bleeding for days for stealing that sight from you and leaving suguru nothing but the left-overs to pick after.
in spite of everything, suguru was hardly ever really envious of his best friend. yes, there were moments where he wished satoru would get off his high-horse and someone would knock some sense into him (and that responsibility, more often than not, fell on suguru's shoulders), but he was never really jealous of satoru. there was never a need for it, not when he knew the worst and the lows of being gojo satoru.
however, in that moment, watching satoru cling onto you and make you grin, suguru understood what it meant to truly be seething with jealousy. that should be me.
the rest of the day passed by in a hazy blur after that. suguru vaguely recollected leaving lunch early, reciting robotically that he had somewhere to be urgently and ignoring the knowing grin satoru shot his way or the downwards curl of your lips. he thought he might have given you the cold shoulder at some point or another, the words leaving his lips a little sharp and a little cruel, but he didn’t remember what he said. you might have recoiled, you might have not. suguru couldn’t remember.
(and he didn’t want to remember— he didn’t want to remember the way he had turned his face away when he heard the sound of your voice calling out his name. he didn’t want to remember the way his shoulders had knocked against yours a little too hard as you passed each other by in the hallways. he didn’t want to remember the way your face dropped when he took a seat on a table across the room from your usual one. he didn’t want to remember because if he did, then he would have to remember all the tiny ways he hurt you. papercuts still stung like a bitch, after all.)
then, one day became another, and another became a week, and a week became a month—
and the end of the month brought you.
a beautiful, brilliant, furious apparition of you—one that stormed up to him and, without warning or another word, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him bodily after you. his feet dragged against the floor, his toes catching onto the heels of his own choes before he could struggle to right himself.
“what are you—” he began.
“shut up,” you interrupted him.
cleverly, suguru did.
he didn’t say a damn thing even as you slammed the door to your dormroom open, shoving him inside without another word. his lips parted in confusion when you began to lock the door behind you, but he still said nothing as you grabbed him by the wrist to direct him further into your room. he didn’t say a single word until you shoved him onto your bed, his back flat on the mattress.
“what?” he tried again.
“you’ll shut up and listen to me when i talk,” you said, your voice leaving no room for arguments. suddenly, you were looming over him, straddling his waist as your open palm pressed over his chest; right above his pounding heart. “do you understand?”
suguru swallowed thickly as he nodded. this was a side of you he hadn’t even known existed; rough and unafraid, your hands on him meant to firmly rule rather than to guide gently as you usually would. even in your anger, you had never been anything else but firm—steady and stubborn.
fuck, he thought wisely to himself. i'm in deep trouble.
but when your hand found the collar of his shirt, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, he finds that he didn't mind it. not in the slightest.
because you had always been beautiful, but you were damningly ephemereal now, peering down at him with something burning carved into your irises; bold and brilliant, striking and inescapable. suguru had never felt so wonderfully trapped before, caught in your stare and unable to look away.
"satoru told me everything," you began, your assessing gaze never once leaving him. "i'm disappointed, suguru."
static clogged his head immediately, all thoughts clearing from his head into an unbearable haze. dirty little traitor. his throat felt tight, his heart stopping in his chest. excuses climbed up the back of his mouth, tasting like bile and the curses that he swallows, and every single little ugly thing that had ever crossed his mind. explanations defining his inner-most thoughts, apologies creasing into the space between his teeth. nothing came out, nothing but a strangled sound; caught between a whimper and a whine. weak, pathetic.
your head tilted at the noise, your gaze sharpening into something vicious. "you should have told me yourself," you said. "i never took you for a coward, suguru."
suguru couldn't help the weak, strangled thing that escaped his throat. he thought that it might have been a piece of his heart. "i'm sorry," he whispered, before he could think better of it.
the sigh that you let out was low, almost vicious in its nature. suguru hid his wince by turning his head, the side of his face half-buried into the sheets. before he could succeed, however, your hand caught his chin, forcing him to turn his gaze to meet your eyes once again.
"look at me when i'm talking to you, suguru." your voice sent a series of goosebumps rippling up his skin. he shuddered, trying to shake it off, but he couldn't when your grip on his face was firm. he still tried to nod a bit, wanting to appease you.
"i'm sorry," suguru rasped out once again.
"stop apologising."
all of a sudden, his forehead was flicked. the motion was so familiar in the face of such an unfamiliar circumstance that suguru couldn't help but blink, startled. for a moment, suguru couldn't think, couldn't do anything—much less suppress the faint smile that appeared on his lips. perhaps not much had changed after all. perhaps you could still have him as your friend, still care for him the way you cared for him before.
"so," he started slowly, "you're not angry at me?"
"i'm pissed at you," you told him bluntly.
before he could wilt, though, your grip on his chin became a gentle caress to his jaw, and suguru felt his whole world tilting upside down once again. your face was close to his, too close, and suguru felt like he couldn't breathe at the proximity.
"i am so, so angry at you, suguru. you should have told me everything sooner. i can't believe you made me wait so long just for this. all your attitude as of late, all your snark and sass, that was just a defence mechanism, wasn't it?" your voice was cutting as you picked apart his brain, dissecting all of his secret truths with all the precision of a surgeon's knife. "you got jealous—and instead of talking to me, you decided to push me away."
your voice was a low murmur, not meant to be anything seductive but still sending a sharp thrill up to suguru's monkey brain all the same. all he could think of was the curl of your smile—secretive, knowing, like you were in on some secret joke that he wasn't—and the way you were looking at him now—like a predator who had his hunt cornered—and how suguru couldn't do anything but take anything that you doled out.
fuck, that's so hot.
"i'm sorry," he said again, dutiful and polite.
and for a moment, simply a nanosecond, he caught a fissure in your exterior; that softness bleeding out for a moment before the cracks smoothened itself out. even so, that split-second was enough for suguru to realise oh. he's not actually angry at me. because all of this, he knew now, was part of the game that you were playing with him; a theatrical dramatic act to compensate for the weeks of silence you got from his end.
your head tilted slowly, dangerously, as if you're assessing him, and the newfound knowledge that you like were made a shiver run down his spine. because you wanted this, you wanted him too, even if you haven't said those words out loud. you craved him, and that single piece of knowledge was enough for suguru to feel like he was going to break himself apart and meld himself together until he fit all and every single one of your wishes; until he became perfect just for you.
suguru's smile was small, placating in the way he knew you hated it. "forgive me?" he asked, practically simpering.
you caught onto what he was trying to do—of course, you did, you always did—and you threw your head back in a sharp laugh. "i don't know, suguru." your smile was mean, dangerous, and suguru almost fainted on the spot. fuck. "do you think you deserve my forgiveness?"
all of suguru's bravado melted in that moment as he felt like a miserably delighted pile of limbs and bones and a beating heart that thumped and echoed and lived just for youyouyou. "no," he said, his voice coarse, rough with his own admission. his hand moved to rest on your knees, not reaching higher because he knew better than to touch you more at a time like this. he didn't deserve it yet. "but let me show you." let me deserve the taste of you, let me deserve to feel what it means to worship you.
your lips curled into a smirk, and suguru felt as if he was going to die right then and there. miraculously, he managed to stay alive just long enough to watch you crawl off of him, standing by the edge of the bed, your gaze still following him like you were going to eat him alive.
"hands and knees, suguru," you said. "you better earn it."
geto suguru was not an impatient man but in order to satisfy you, no time in the world was ever enough.
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First of all, let me start by saying, Geshtu is absolutely, completely, and irrevocably insane.
Of the three, he is the least sane. Now this isn’t me saying “HAHA HES COOKOO HAHA WOW WHAT A MANIAC” No it’s not like that at all. You see, the thing about Geshtu is that he doesn’t seem “insane” at all, in fact, compared to Nergal and Dumuzi he comes across as perfectly put together.
The thing about Geshtu is that he is completely convinced by his own delusions. And he has convinced himself so fully of these delusions that he has not only sold them to himself but also to others. The voices he hears, to him, are completely real. He believes so wholeheartedly that he is a vessel for Theias voice that he puts on this complete and divine demeanor. He seems more sane than the others because he carries himself that way.
Dumuzi knows she has problems and she hides from them. Nergal definitely knows he has some screws loose but he embraces it. Geshtu, meanwhile, instead of pushing down his insanity like Dumuzi or embracing it like Nergal, he strides side by side with his.
Now let’s go back to the late Cretaceous where Geshtu grew up. Small groups of family camps were common throughout the Mesozoic, even moreso than villages such as where Cro, Dumuzi, and Nergal were raised. These groups would travel to trade with other family camps, exchanging information, intermingling, ect. But afterwards they’d return to their own family burrow to live their lives. They were foragers and hunters. Geshtus family in particular specialized in fishing and insect hunting.
Geshtu was still Geshtu. He was always a little more quiet and methodical than his other siblings, traits he’s kept with him.
So I’ve mentioned on the backstory posts before how most mammals during the Mesozoic lived nocturnally for their own safety. The large reptilian predators at the time were mostly diurnal so there was less risk of being ripped apart and eaten at night. But there are always exceptions.
One night, as the family was waking to begin their evening routines, there was a scratching above the burrow. And then the ceiling fell through.
A pack of stenonychosaurus, a species of Troodontid, had dug their way into the burrow. They had been invaded. The Stenonychosaurus pack flooded into the burrow and made short work of maiming and devouring the entire family.
Geshtu got hurt, not horribly but enough to cause him to fall and become temporarily disoriented. He would be next if he did not find a place to hide. As he frantically looked around, he noticed a beam of moonlight breaking through the torn overhead of his families burrow. The light washed over a bundle of rocks and debris that had fallen from the ceiling and there was a small gap between them. Small enough for him to fit.
While the troodons were preoccupied with their current meals, Geshtu managed to crawl over to the small opening and discreetly push himself inside it undetected. And he hid there, unable to do anything but watch and wait as his family was torn apart in front of him.
Eventually the troodons finished feeding, were filled, and left. Not much was left behind, save for a few bodies still intact. Geshtu cautiously creeped out of his hiding spot after the coast was clear and went to check on what bodies he could, hoping to find survivors. He found one body that seemed fairly intact, he dragged it out of the pile of death and tried to lift it up into a sitting position. It fell back over with a heavy thud. Blood was everywhere, his tail dragged in it, it coated his hands. No one but him was left alive among the wreckage.
Realizing the hopelessness of his endeavor he backed up against the burrow wall. He covered his eyes with his hands, hoping that by not being able to see the wreckage anymore, it would disappear. Maybe when he removed his hands it would have turned out to all be a nightmare. But when he did, everything was still as it had been.
The moonlight shone down on him from the burrows exit. Its guidance had saved him from the slaughter, so he decided to follow it again. He limped out of the burrow into the open night and made his way to the family creek that sat just outside to wash the blood off his hands. It was then that he caught his reflection in the water. The blood from his hands had marked his face and he could see it now. And, reflected above his head in the water, he saw the moon. Full and bright and comforting. He took this as a sign that the moon had marked him, and he was reborn under it. So he ceased washing it away, stood up, stared at the moon, and began to follow it.
And so Geshtu walked. And walked. And walked. Staring up at the moon the entire time. He needed to understand. He needed to know why this happened and why it had saved him. He walked for a long time. And when the moon dipped below the atmosphere and the sun rose, he’d slink into whatever shelter he could find to rest. But when the moon arose again, he’d come out, and continue his pilgrimage, always staring directly at the moon, resulting in him moonblinking himself.
The more he walked, the more the pain faded. He grew more at peace the longer he walked and stared. Like the moon herself was taking away all the hurt for him. His circumstance began to feel less like a tragedy and more like fate. Eventually, he could hear her singing. First just a light humming, but eventually he began to hear words along with it. Crisp and clear and ringing throughout him. She spoke her name, Theia.
He walked for a very long time. Probably a few years. Just him and the moon. He traveled far, restaining his markings whenever he had the opportunity. He was born in blood and would be forever stained by it. On his journey, he’d occasionally run into passerby’s and other burrows, but these meetings were short and fleeting.
One night though, the moon led him into a small village. And when Geshtu entered, he knew he heard Theia say, “Here.”
At first the villagers were unsure of him but helping other mammals traveling through was not unheard of for him. And Geshtu looked rough. He was a strange foreign vagabond with even stranger markings. But he showed them no hostility and they took him in and fed him. He was quiet but otherwise was grateful and polite.
Eventually he started murmuring prophesies to the people there. Little ones like “theia says the ridge to the west has the best seed gatherings” or “Theia warns not to go near the badlands on this night, there’s something malicious there…” and, by complete chance, almost all of these ended up true.
So now people were convinced that he really could hear the moon speaking to him and that the Theia was their friend. She was looking out for the little creatures of the night, who lived hiding in fear of the monsters of the daylight. And so Geshtu became trusted as the Villages Shaman, sent by Theia herself. He was the one people went to for divine advice
And that’s how he found his place there. He was convinced that his family HAD to die for this greater purpose. It was all supposed to happen. He was meant to come here and he was meant to save these people. The voices guide him to protect these creatures of the night, he is simply an agent of Theia. He believes wholeheartedly in everything Theia tells him. And…they say if you believe something hard enough the energy can manifest itself into reality. And so they eventually would. He, Dumuzi, and Nergal would eventually will themselves into godhood and bring forth a horror unlike any other.
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every time i start to feel like i'm deluding myself about byler happening, i give myself a reality check using the classic 'if they were all straight' scenario, and then i stop doubting. if everything remained the same--same relationships, same dynamics with friends--with the only difference in the show being that Will was a girl, it's almost painfully obvious. And because all a m/f couple has to do is be in the vicinity of each other to get shipped, byler probably would have been more popular even in the earlier seasons.
Mike spending an entire season right by his girl best friend's side, desperate to help and fighting to stay near her as she slowly gets possessed. Then at the end of it all he gives her a whole speech crying and saying that choosing to be friends with her was the best thing he's ever done? I guarantee you even with milkvan developing a bunch of people would have jumped on the byler train, and more others would be thinking that Mike and Willow or whatever would eventually get together later on, with warring opinions on who the better ship is.
Mike neglecting his girl best friend who is now hinted to have a crush on him in s3 while trying to get over being kidnapped and everything she went through? Spending all his time with Eleven even though byler had just been so close the season prior. There's no way at least some ppl wouldn't be thinking romance. The whole 'Mike's probably repressing his feelings and pushing Will away because he's scared' idea that a lot of bylers believe suddenly wouldn't be a reach anymore if it was a straight pairing.
Sectioning the two of them off to have their little cali romance all the while hinting at serious relationship troubles and conflicting character arcs for Mike and Eleven. Meanwhile the shrouded love confession from 'Willow', the obvious flirting. You can't look me in the eyes and tell me that people wouldn't be losing their shit during the entire apology scene if Will was a girl. The flirty smiles, the "I didn't say it." "You didn't have to.", the intimacy of his apology to 'Willow' in comparison to the apology from Mike to Lucas in s1. Along with all of the other scenes where Mike is clearly different with 'Willow' compared to the rest of his friends, he's always near her, etc.
Atp I feel like the general consensus would be that they're setting up a Melvin breakup and Byler endgame. Mike putting his hand on Willow's shoulder and promising they'll get through this together while literally showing Midleven crashing and burning in the same scene? In one of the final scenes? You're gonna tell me that people wouldn't be thinking along the lines of romance, with the love triangle pointing in byler's favor?
Mike's 'love' confession would come across as the lie that it was and a lot of people would probably be saying that Mike is not confronting his true feelings. They would be drawing the same comaprisons we are--that it didn't even work and the gates opened, that his (girl) best friend had to tell him and guide him to confess to Eleven, with them finally as close as they were around s2 again and Melvin not even really getting back together, with clear issues still present in the finale.
The direction they are going to take things in s5 would become obvious without the straight goggles blinding people to some of the most obvious character and relationship arcs that have been done a million times.
The only difference would be the lack of struggle due to homophobia and would probably be more centered on Mike's inability to confront his feelings due to a fear of messing things up between himself and Will, along with losing el because he doesn't love her the way she wants him to, keeping to the core of his character in either scenario
You're gonna tell me that if people saw this and it was mike's girl best friend sitting next to him, they wouldn't be jumping at a romance arc between the two of them?
or his reaction to them being friends again, a smile and voice we've never seen used with any other character, noticably different?
the physical proximity, the fact that they seem equally flirtatious and affected by the other despite Will being the only one with confirmed feelings atp it's too obvious--if it were a girl sitting next to mike people would definitely be drawing some conclusions
Anyway, byler endgame
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