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[s4lv4tions]

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 :)

1.

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.

2.

"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.

3.

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.

4.

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.

5. 

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.

6.

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.

7.

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.

8.

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.

9.

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.)

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk angst #satosugu angst #satoru smut #geto x reader #geto angst #anime x reader #anime smut #anime angst #gojo fic #jjk fic #jjk x you #gojo x you #reading back over readers technique is suchhhhhh a trip #like blahblahblahblahblah yeah rock on little dude whatever u say #what was i on fr

[graybby]

The F1 driver's Streamer sister

Lando Norris X Twitch streamer Russell!reader

Part 1 - ongoing series ! 820 words

Hi ! this is my first time writing anything on tumblr - I used to make fics on wattpad like years ago so I'm a bit rusty, hopefully you guys will like my content enough for me to keep up with it - graybby <3

Faceclaim - Nihachu

She's his sister?!

The door cracks open as Max rushes into Lando’s room giggling to himself. 

“Mate guess what-” Lando’s head snaps up at the intrusion to what he was watching on his phone “what?” tilting his head questionably. 

“You know that twitch streamer you watch Y/N?” - he definitely had his full attention now. 

“SHE'S GEORGE'S SISTER!” Lando juts his lip out and tilts his head, confusion setting in. 

Max laughs “George... George freaking Russell -you know?” 

Lando’s face drops, jaw swinging open - “No fucking way… you-you’re lying to me, you have to be” 

Max shakes his head, deadpanned trying to stifle another laugh. “How did you even find out?” the brunette says - shock written all over his face. 

“George just posted on his private insta and it was a pic of them with HER private account tagged - last name RUSSELL”. Lando jumps to his feet running to snatch Max’s phone to see for himself still in disbelief. 

His eyes scan the page immediately acknowledging the familiar last name she appears to share with the fellow driver he shares his races with. 

“How the hell have they both kept this a secret? Does she even support him at the races? No one has ever spotted her at one " he remarks "Oh yeah - trust you to know that mate” Max pipes up earning a slap to the shoulder as Lando turns away grumbling. 

Max laughs again “Maybe she hides away in the Mercedes garage, at least you might have a chance to be introduced to her now” Lando reddens at the thought of meeting his internet crush “Please shut up Max” he pleads trying to hide his blush behind his hands. 

Max edges towards the door “Anyway, I’m going to bed - I’ll leave you to stalk her - night!”, “Whatever, night Max” he groans out as his friend shuts his bedroom door. He rolls over in his bed, reaching out he grabs his phone and wastes no time in searching for her account. Immediately finding said post on George’s page, he taps the tagged account - without a single thought he follows her. Turning his phone off his heart raced at the anticipation of whether she would even accept his request, him being an absolute stranger to her. 

Ding! 

He feels his stomach flip. She accepted! And followed me back! He feels his palms sweating. Rushing to his notifications he taps on her account and begins browsing through her posts, seeing a vast amount of aesthetic images - that give his .JPG account a run for its money- dating back a few years of her life, a sea of different hair colours and styles of clothing she has adorned over the years and still to his surprise a couple of candid shots of herself and George - a goofy smile worn on both their faces during a water fight on a beach holiday, his memeable pose in ski suits at a resort and most recently few shots from around the paddocks in Saudi Arabia from the last grand prix he had raced with George and the others only last week. Suddenly her change of streaming schedule and lack of main social media presence adds up - she’s been hiding in plain sight - supporting her brother while trying to maintain her distance from the Russell last name, probably knowing the craziness that would ensure if both the Formula 1 and her own twitch fanbase discovered who she was related to. He can’t help the smile gracing his face as he scrolls through her posts, staring at the smile that reaches her eyes in her pictures - capturing her beauty and personality oh so well. He wonders if she spent hours specially cultivating this flow of aesthetic images and if she had anyone in mind when she posted them as he ponders what else she might be hiding from her fanbase. Stop it Lando, he grunts to himself, a hundred thoughts clouding his mind she never mentioned in any stream that she had a boyfriend so calm down - but then again she literally hid her own brother and who he is. He continues doom scrolling her account much to his relief when he realises there's no evidence of a boyfriend in any of her posts - his thumb slips. Fuck! 

His heart drops to his stomach as he realises he's liked one of her pics from two years ago. He immediately closes the app, quick to chuck the phone to the end of his bed as if it were physically hurting him to hold it any longer. He sighs and brings a hand up to rub his temples and tired eyes, glancing at his bedside table at the clock that reads two thirty AM, he decides he needs to try and sleep - hopefully she won't even notice. 

As his eyes are fluttering shut he hears the dooming sound of an instagram notification. 

Ding ! 

Oh fuck. 

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Thank you for reading <3

#lando x reader #lando norris #ln4 #x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #george russel x reader #george russel imagine #charles leclerc x reader

[yngtort]

— puppy love

chan | lino | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin

NSFW ★

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Xfem!reader : In which both you and seungmin are too shy to talk about sex, but too horny to keep your hands off each other. (Cute lil birthday post for my dear friend @sydnerss love you squid!)

Sex isn’t the most important thing in a relationship.

No, it’s communication.

Which is something both you and seungmin had stressed since the moment you got together. So why— why couldn’t you two just communicate about sex?

It seems like every time either of you wanted to fuck, you can never voice it. The most you did was lay down silent hints.

You’d walk around in the tiniest little shorts that show off your fluffy ass and thick thighs. Meanwhile, he’s wearing his joggers as low as possible, subtle vline being showed off like the piece of art it is.

You both won’t say a thing tho.

It’s til he’s grabbing you by the waist and pulling down to his lap, when you know he’s painfully hard. Dick pressing up against your ass as he looks up at expectantly, hoping you’d also take the hint.

At first you blamed on the fact that your relationship was relatively new. You both are quite shy anyways, it took you a while to even confess your romantic feelings for each-other.

— so being upfront about the sexual ones would be even harder.

just wanted to be respectful, dispute the absolutely disrespectful things y’all wanted to do.

And that’s why you’re stuck on the phone with him, ache in your core, listening to him hang out with his friends.

It’s been hours since the call started, something about seungmin missing your voice led y’all into spend your whole day together virtually. It’s a cute sentiment until youre scrolling through tumblr, landing on a post that has one of your hands slapped over your mouth, while the other is digging into your shorts.

It didn’t help how attractive seungmin sounds right now. Joking around with his crew with an edge in his voice that you hadn’t heard before. Your AirPods were turned up to an embarrassingly high volume.

You bite back a desperate whimper as your fingers just barely brush the deepest part of you. That spot where only seungmin could reach.

It’s a bit scandalous to be doing this, you admit. But you can’t help it when it’s been so long since you’ve gotten your back blown out.

If only you had the courage to tell him about how badly you needed him to fuck you into your pillows. But you dont.

Instead you’ll just quietly slut yourself out his voice. pathetically rolling your thumb on your clit as you chase after orgasm that just keeps slipping away.

you’re close- so so close—

“Y/n? You still there?” Seungmin called making your movements stutter. “Y/n?”

Damn it.

“Mhm, still here.” You say quickly. But there’s a slight shake in your voice that makes your boyfriends ears perk.

“You okay? You sound like you’re crying.”

“ ‘mm not.” Oh but you’re about to. Your body was begging for some kind of relief and whatever you were doing was not enough. Fingers all cramped up inside of you as try to keep on pumping.

“You sure? Do you need me to come over?”

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“No, I’m fine.” you mentally punch yourself as you hear seungmin hum, telling you to let him know if anything changes. But it won’t, you’re sure of it.

He goes back to playing around with his friends and you do the same, but with yourself.

Fingers weren’t cutting it anymore though, You needed something stronger. your legs swung over the bed, heading over to your dresser.

Where did you put it?

You rummage through your clothes until you’re pulling out pink little vibrator, shaped to resemble a rose. It’s been so long since you used it, is it even charged?

But you don’t have time worry about that, you’re too busy trying rid yourself of the knot in your stomach.

When you’re back on your bed, you quickly mute your mic— not without making an excuse to seungmin that you’re gonna play some music and that you didn’t want to disturb him with it.

In reality, it was because of how loud the said toy was despite what the packaging said when you got it. The Rose made a shit eating wiring sound as you placed on your clit.

But damn, it’s effective.

Soft moans floated off your lips and into the cold air of your room. You imagined that it was your boyfriend between your legs, licking and sucking as he pinned your hips down to the mattress.

your legs would curl over his sharp shoulders, while your hands latched onto a tuft of his brown locks. in your mind, you can practically see the intense look he’d be giving you. Dick probably throbbing in his pants as he eats you up.

you were completely wrapped up in your own fantasy, eyes stung with tears as your orgasm started to creep in finally. With your free hand, you dip those fingers inside of you, pressing upwards and just can’t help but cry out.

“Minnie, please. Need you so bad..” You whined, legs shaking immensely.

“If you needed me so bad, you should’ve just asked.”

You paused. No, everything had paused.

The rose went dead. Your heart stop beating. and your orgasm never came.

“I thought-“ you grabbed your phone, wide eyed because the mute button was untouched. “Oh my gosh, your friends didn’t hear me did they??”

“And if they did?” He rasped, “it’s not like you cared. Acting like a mutt in heat.”

Little did you know, seungmin didn’t even give them the chance. as soon as he sensed something was up with you— he was out the door. by the time he was on your street, you were moaning into the phone. he had to try not to swerve and hit a trash can, it was a mess.

“Seungmin…”

“Just come open the door.”

-

Everything happens in flash after you open that door.

You’re swept off your feet and forced into a desperate kiss. Seungmins nipping, biting, and sucking on your lips as he navigates through the house and into your room.

“you’re such a tease.” he says against your mouth, “you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“No, seung. I didn’t mean to-“ your words are cut off, being dropped on the bed knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Fucking liar,” seungmin cursed, dark eyes glaring down at you. “You’re always doing this. putting yourself on display just to get my attention even though you already have it.”

He’s so right, you hate it— but it’s true. You had gotten so desperate and messy, when all you had to do was speak up.

“Did you have fun fucking on that weak toy of yours? Was it better than me? Hmm?” He asked, hovering over you. You gasp, feeling his fingers slide up your thighs and onto your core. His fingers pressed into the wet patch on your thin pajama shorts and seungmin has to hold back a scoff.

“I guess not.” He chuckled, rubbing you through the cloth until his fingers are drenched.

“s-seungmin,” you call and your boyfriend raised a brow.

“What? gonna beg like the needy lil pup you are?” He mocked, “go on then. Speak.”

A waterfall off of pleas leave your mouth in an instant. It was like seungmin a flipped a little switch in your mind, making you spill every dirty thought you had of him earlier.

You just wanted him buried between your thighs, helping your relieve the tightness in your gut after being edged all day. “Please, please, please Minnie. Needa’ cum so bad.”

a satisfied grin stretches across his face as he hear your demands.

“How could I possibly say no when you’re this cute?” He says before traveling down your body, leaving behind kisses until he’s face to face with your heat.

Without a thought, he slides your shorts to the side and latches his mouth onto your sore clit. Tongue lapping over the sensitive bud, making your back arch in pleasure.

Fuck, this was just what you needed. You’re rolling your hips against his face in such a shameless way— but did you care? No. All you cared about is getting your long awaited release.

it sneaks up on you, making you choke out a loud cry as your orgasm washes over you. seugmin has to dig his nails into your thighs, trying to keep your legs from closing up on him.

“Seungmin, s-stop.. t-that’s enough.” You sob, but your boyfriend doesn’t listen. He just continues to eat you out, amused as he watched you writhing in his hold from overstimulation.

a second wave of ecstasy hits, harder than the last and seungmin finally lets you free. “You’re so good for me, look how much you came.” He teased, wiping his face clean from your wetness.

“It’s your fault.” You huff, chest rising and falling.

“Guilty as charged” seungmin laughed, before leaning down and hauling you into another kiss. It’s a lazy and sloppy one, letting you get a taste of yourself.

your hands travel down to his torso, fingers tracing his soft features until you’re buried into the fabric of his boxers.

“Fuck, y/n. Just like that.” Seugmin hisses at your cold palm wrapping around his hard length. you pump him, hand moving with easy thanks to the precum that leaked from his shaft.

“Seung,” you breathe out, looking him in the eyes. “fuck me and Make it hurt.”

“Bossy lil pup.”

In a matter of second seungmin flips you over onto all fours, pressing your face into the comforter.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He says from behind, tip diving into your entrance. You whine out loudly as you suck up every inch.

His thrusts are mad and wild, nails sunk into your hips and dick hitting your gspot every. Single. Time. The room is flooded with the sound of his hips meeting yours and the bed screaming under you.

“Yes yes yes, fuck me like that.” you cry out, only fueling the man inside you more.

“you like my dick that much?” He asked, snapping his hips harder. “You’re clenching so hard like it’s yours.”

“Mine.. want it so bad.” you splutter out.

“Then take it, baby.”

It’s not long before you’re both moaning mess, muscles tensing as you feel your high course through you. seungmin dips down, pressing his face into your nape as he milks himself. His load fills you until there’s a little bulge in your belly and it only deflates when he pulls out.

He slumps over to the side of you and wraps an arm around your waist, bringing you to his chest.

“Now, i think it’s time we have a little chat about our communication skills.”

“Seungmin…. I can’t even think right now.”

:)

#stray kids imagines #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #straykids x reader #seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x you #seungmin smut #seungmin stray kids #straykids smut

[thecynthh]

how about we try that one more time? M.S

synopsis - matt wouldn't stop biting his nails and y/n gotta do something about it

notes - fully matts pov, childhood best friends, just kissiing nothing too mild,

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Matt's pov

i recently became more active on tiktok like nick requested me to be, despite not really knowing how to use the app i started to post next to daily as well as chris and nick. tiktoks of us just jamming out to songs always goes well so i started a little series showing the fans a new song from my playlist every two days while in between those i post whatever im feeling. 

today was the song locked out of heaven by bruno mars

“can i just stay here?”

“spend the rest of my days here”

“cus’ you make me feel like i’ve been locked out of heaven”

i look into my bathroom mirror singing along with the song, doing a little dance when the drums kick in again hearing the crash of the symbols. i’d admit, i thought i looked pretty good, my fit was on point that day and i was really feeling myself. 

sturnl00v3 : matty poo lookin a little too good today 

heartzplusstarz : struggling as a chris girl over here 😔

bernardluvver : living for the slutty waist !!

the whole tiktok replays again for the third time, after hearing it again y/n props herself up on her elbows and says, “god how many times are you gonna watch yourself in that tiktok??” y/n was usually this mean to me but growing up together as neighbors and knowing her all these years made me forgive her for all of it, she was there with me and my brothers throughout everything and we were all used to her “can do” attitude.

her legs were draped over my thighs and her eyes watched my phone intensively. “do you still wanna get kane’s later or do you wanna complain?” I retorted, making her drop back down onto the couch and hold her hands up. “i surrender.” 

i go back to scrolling through the comments seeing a few more. 

sturnz : damnnnn mans looking fine asf 

bluesturniolo : ANYTHING FOR U MATT !!!!

sturnontop : yalls see the outline…..

      ╰┈➤ bluesturniolo : i just know what’s behind his cargos 🤤

lessasturniolo : F ME LIKE U MAD AT ME BABYYYYY 

oh. oh. 

is that really all that they think about me? a shiver rolls through my body and my hand comes up to my mouth as i chew on my nails. a foot hits my hand out of my mouth, i give y/n the nastiest side eye while she looks at me like she didn’t do anything. 

“what the fuck was that for?” i raise my voice slightly. 

“don’t bite your nails you stupid fuck,” she says as a come back, i was unphased when she matched my tone. i ultimately just let it go and continued looking through comments. 

sturnnw0rld : girlies on tumblr gna go insane for this one matt

user92380 : id hit that. 

likelystrniolo : fuck me! please! 

despite what y/n said to me i continue to bite my nails, i didnt enjoy biting them but i couldnt help it. especially with these comments, they make me nervous and uncomfortable. with seconds of actually contemplating, my finger hovers over the delete button. 

suddenly i feel y/n’s body move and she begins to straddle me, uh oh. i stare up at her not knowing what her next move is, she rips my nails out of my mouth and connects our lips. 

i go along with her antics and reciprocate the kiss, she bites down on my bottom lip requesting access to the inside of my mouth. her hands find my arms and wraps them around her body with her arms snaking around my neck, pulling us impossibly close together. 

i put my hands on her cheeks slightly pushing her off of my mouth, our needy mouths disconnected. she gives an exasperated sigh and starts to open her mouth, “nick told me to make sure you weren’t biting your nails cus u guys had a nail appointment, that was the only way i could think about stopping you.” an innocent smile paints her face. 

“if i knew biting my nails could make you wanna kiss me i would be doing it more.” i saw when the same stupid smile bloomed on my lips as well. “so, how about we try that one more time before i start biting my nails again yeah?” 

a/n - christmas/new years present for yalls 😘

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #syn speaks #matthew sturniolo

[justagalwhowrites]

New in Town - Ch. 6: First Make Up

You and Joel come to an understanding. A continuation of New in Town chapters 1-5 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Best Friend's Dad!Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Angst. Smut, alcoholism, child neglect (mentioned, not thoroughly described.) No use of Y/N. Age gap (reader is 35 Joel is 47, not a focus of the fic). Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 8k

AO3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Last Thursday

Shit. 

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. 

Shit. 

“It’s so good to see you!” His smile was broad and looked genuine, not that you really bought it. He hugged you and your arms hung limply at your sides for a moment before you lifted a hand and patted him lightly on the back. “Missed you like crazy!” 

He pulled back from you and looked you up and down. 

“Why don’t you look happy to see me?” 

Because you weren’t. 

“Just shocked,” you said. “What are you doing here?” 

“I can’t just stop by and see you when I’m in town?” He was damn near pouting. You tried not to roll your eyes. He was 53 goddamn years old and he was pouting. But that wasn’t a surprise, you were pretty sure he’d stopped maturing at 18. “You can come see me whenever you’d like, don’t need to call or anything, not that you ever do…” 

“Oh, that’s rich,” you snapped before the glint of the sun off the glass door of your office building caught your eye. The client you were taking to lunch was heading right for the reception desk. You closed your eyes for a second and sighed. “Look, I don’t have time for… whatever it is you’re showing up here about.” 

“I can’t just come to see my best girl?” 

He was all but pouting again. 

“We both know that’s not why you’re here,” you said. “Sit here, in the lobby, until I get back from this meeting. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t touch anything, we can talk about this when I’m done.” 

“You really think I’m going to make that big a mess in, what, an hour?” He raised his eyebrows at you. You glared back. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time. I mean it, Dad. Just… Don’t fuck something up. Please.” 

“Angel,” he took your shoulders in his hands. “It’s going to be different this time. I mean it. Go to your meeting, I’ll be here when you’re done.” 

Different this time. Sure. That was the chorus you’d heard again and again, every three years or so when he popped out of the woodwork and managed to track you down again. This time he had his shit together, this time he had a job he was just about to start, this time he was sober and going to stay that way. And every time he managed to blow at least part of your life up. 

You heard your name being called from reception and you pasted a smile on your face, heading to greet your client, trying not to think about the fact that your dad had managed track you down yet again. 

The lunch went surprisingly well, considering the fact that your brain was busy running through every damn scenario possible for why your dad had decided to show up and every way he could find to fuck your life up this time. 

To his credit, he was sitting on the couch in the lobby, scrolling through his phone when you got back. He didn’t even notice you come in. You went to reception and Norah, the woman working the desk that day, confirmed that he’d sat there quietly for the two hours you were gone. 

You sighed. Maybe he was going to make an effort this time. There was a first time for everything, you supposed. 

“Alright,” you said and he looked up from his phone and smiled. “I have a few more things to take care of today, think you can behave yourself while I work?” 

“You realize you’re the kid and I’m the parent, right?” He asked, getting up. 

“Don’t know why that should start now,” you muttered, leading the way to the elevator. 

He didn’t say anything back. Which you reluctantly gave him credit for. You’d been trying go goad him into it, antagonize him and push him into snapping so you could wash your hands of him. Apparently, he wasn’t going to let you.

You pulled out your phone when you got to your desk, your dad settling into a chair in the corner, pulling out his own phone and silently returning to it. You watched him for a moment. 

To say your relationship with your father was complicated was putting it pretty fucking mildly. He’d never been in your life in any meaningful way. He came and went like the seasons did, eventually even adopting a similar regularity. 

He cropped up every three years or so now and, since the last time you saw him had been before you moved to Seattle, you were due for him showing up and running roughshod over your life. 

In past visits, he’d emptied your bank account, invited some “old friends” over who ended up being random men he’d met at a bar who then trashed your apartment, showed up to an event at your office so drunk that he threw up on another guest. 

Every time, he claimed he wanted to see you. Spend time with his “best girl” (only girl - he had no other children and no woman would have him for longer than a few days), catch up on everything he’d missed when he was busy fucking around, moving from couch to couch until wore out his welcome, burning every bridge at every job he’d ever had. 

No, you didn’t trust your father as you could fucking throw him. And you sure as hell didn’t want him anywhere near Joel. 

That relationship was too new to bring him into the shit show that was your family, the stuff you tried so hard to hide that you all but lied about even having family to begin with. When talking to Joel about it, you’d just shrugged and said “No siblings, my parents have been gone for a while, no other family to speak of.” 

You knew what he’d assume with the word “gone.” The same thing everyone else did: that they were dead. They weren’t. They were very much alive, they were just dead to you. Your mother was in Wisconsin, your father was… wherever the fuck he happened to be at the time. Which, right now, was Austin. In your office. And you had the sickening feeling that, if he actually knew Joel existed, he’d find a way to ruin it. 

You sighed and texted Joel. 

“So sorry, something came up at work. Can’t see you tonight.” 

It technically wasn’t even a lie. Something had come up. And that something had come up at your work. 

It still felt like a lie, though, and it turned your stomach to lie to Joel. Even though you knew the best, safest option was to keep him far, far away from that part of your life. Your phone buzzed. 

“Shit happens. I’ll miss you. Tomorrow night?” 

Fuck, you wanted to be able to see him tomorrow night. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment. You wanted to be able to say “Yes, absolutely, I’m going to need you to fuck whatever is about to come up with my dad out of my head so I don’t go insane. Also, I think I’m falling in love with you but let’s talk about that later.” 

Instead, you set your phone down again. 

You answered a few emails, sent the details of the potential contract you’d secured with the client at lunch over to that department, reviewed some copy that your team was slated to present to clients early next week. Your dad sat in the chair, not saying a word, just as you asked. You stalled as long as you could before you turned in your desk chair to face him. You put your head in your hands for a moment, pressing your fingers into the hollows over your eyes before you sighed and folded your arms in front of you. 

“Alright,” you said. “What are you doing here.” 

He put his phone down on the small table and smiled a little at you. 

“Meant what I said before,” he said. “Missed you, Angel. Wanted to see you, spend some time with you…” 

“How did you even know where I was?” You cut him off. 

“I called your mom last week,” he said. “She said you’d moved here, that you had some fancy job down this way. She was real proud of you…” 

“So that’s why you’re here?” You asked, brows raised. “Think you can get something out of my ‘fancy job’?” 

“No, Angel, of course not,” he actually looked hurt by it. As though he hadn’t stolen thousands from you just six years ago. “Look, I know that I haven’t been the best father.”

“That’s an understatement.” 

He ignored your comment. 

“But I’m doing better now,” he said. “I really am. I was in prison for a bit…” 

“You what?” You demanded, sitting forward in your seat. “Jesus Christ, Dad, what did you do?” 

“Same shit I usually do,” he smiled a little, sheepishly. “Staying with a friend and I… uh… helped myself to some of the cash they had lying around. They weren’t thrilled with that so they called the cops.” 

“Shit,” you sat back in your chair and closed your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, before looking at him again. “So what happened, did you have a good attorney?” 

“Nah, just a public defender,” he waved you off. “She was a nice lady but didn’t exactly have much time for my case. I pled out, got myself two years…” 

“You could have called,” you said. “I could have helped you, I went to school with some people who became pretty fucking good attorneys…” 

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he said. 

“Never stopped you before.” 

He ignored that, too. 

“It ended up being good for me,” he said. “A blessing, really. Being inside forced me to actually sober up. For real this time. Haven’t had a drink in 27 months.” 

You raised your eyebrows.

“Good for you,” you said, not even sarcastically. 

“Got my GED too,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “I know it’s late in life but I want to try and do something right. Get a real job, actually do something with myself. Maybe pay you back, even though I know it won’t make up for all the shit I’ve put you through over… well, your whole life.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“So are you just out or are you on probation?” You asked. 

“Probation,” he said, wincing slightly. “Actually told my probation officer that I’d be staying with my kid…” 

And there it was.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered. “You can’t just…” 

“I know,” he said. You ignored him. 

“Remember that time, when I was 10 and Aunt Sue dropped me off at your place for what was supposed to be your weekend?” You snapped. “And you and all your buddies were so off your ass drunk and high that I ended up going to a neighbor’s house to see if they had food because I hadn’t eaten in two days? Because I sure fucking do, if you think I owe you something, that I’m going to baby sit you because you knocked my mom up…” 

“I don’t,” he said quickly. “I know that. I do.” 

“Do you?” You asked. “Because it sure seems like you think you can just come in here and fuck up my life on a whim and you think I’m just going to let you!” 

Your email dinged and you sighed, going back to your computer. One of your copywriters had a question about a client and you tried to focus on reviewing the creative brief before responding and going back to your dad. You took a deep, calming breath. 

“What is it you want.” 

“What I’d like,” he said slowly. “Is to stay with you for a little bit while I find a job. It’s OK if you don’t want that, Angel, it really is. But I’d like to get to know you. Actually get to know you. But I’ll call my probation officer and tell him right now that I’m going to need another place to go, it’s OK. He’ll help me figure it out, he’s a good guy. I’m not trying to be your responsibility. It’s a little late to try to be your dad. But I’d like to be something to you.” 

You just looked at him for a moment. He seemed so… genuine. Actually sincere. And he didn’t smell like liquor or look strung out. 

You sighed. 

“Alright,” you said. “You can stay with me for a bit. Just through the weekend to start, no promises after that.” 

He smiled. 

“I’d really like that.” 

You took your dad home with you that night, picking up tacos on the way to your apartment. You’d gotten a two bedroom place, at least. Not because you ever had guests - you never had guests - but because you worked from home sometimes and you wanted the office space. At least the couch you’d bought for that room was a sleeper sofa. 

You texted Joel again while your dad was in the shower, hating that you weren’t going to see him tomorrow, either. But if your dad was actually doing well, actually going to try and be a functional adult you could have a real relationship with, you owed it to him to try. 

Still. 

You didn’t trust him. Not yet. Especially not with something like Joel. 

 It was kind of surreal, having him in your apartment, doing anything but looking for a way to fuck you over. Consciously, you knew that’s not what it had always been. He’d often started with good intentions. You knew he didn’t set out trying to steal from you or embarrass you in front of your coworkers. He just didn’t know how to function in the life you lived. No one from your childhood did. He’d try, for a few days, and then he’d fall back into old habits. 

But this time was different. Or seemed different, at least. You hoped it was different. 

You watched a movie with him - Spaceballs, something he loved to watch with you on the rare occasions he was around enough to do things like watch movies with you when you were a kid - and he told you a bit about everything that had happened in the three years since you’d last seen him. 

For a change, he seemed genuinely interested in what you’d been doing since then, too. He’d never even known that you were in Seattle - something that you found oddly comforting but strange all at once. Strange that this person who made up half of who you were was so distant that he didn’t know where you’d lived two years of your life. That if something had happened to you, he wouldn’t have known. Something had happened to him. You hadn’t known that, either. You weren’t sure if you regretted that or not. 

“I do have to work tomorrow,” you said as you wound down for the evening. “Do you have a plan or anything you need?” 

“Just wanted to look for some jobs,” he said. “If I could use a computer? The phone makes it hard to fill out applications. Don’t think I’ll need to go anywhere.” 

“Sure,” you said, trying not to look surprised. “You can use my laptop, no problem.” 

You set up a profile for him on your computer and made sure yours was password protected. And you reset the password so it couldn’t be something he would know - Joel0926. Just in case. 

Joel texted you before you woke up - “Good morning, Beautiful. Hope your day isn’t too rough and that you’re taking care of yourself.” - and you wanted to tell him everything. All of it, all about your dad, all about where you came from, all about what you’d gone through to make it this far. 

But he liked the person you’d made him think you were. What if he didn’t like this other version of you? What if your dad just took off in a few days and you risked blowing up everything with Joel for nothing? 

 “Thanks,” you wrote back, with a heart emoji. You sighed. He deserved better than this. But you weren’t sure how to give that to him, not right now. 

All day at work, part of you was worried that you’d come home to find your apartment trashed or everything with any value gone with your father nowhere to be found. 

Instead, he was in your kitchen, cursing quietly. You frowned and followed the sound, a slightly burned smell on the air. 

“Dad?” You frowned, setting your tote bag on the counter as he bent over the oven. He jumped a little before straightening. He smiled sheepishly. 

“Hey Angel. How was your day?” 

“Fine,” you said. “What are you doing?” 

“I… well…” he looked down at a glass baking dish that was more blackened than anything else. “I figured you’d probably had a long day and since you’re letting me stay here, thought I’d try to cook and I found a recipe online but I haven’t really cooked before…” 

You went over and looked down into the pan with an almost amused frown. 

“What even is it?” 

“Well… I was gonna try and make a deep dish pizza,” he said. “You like that, I think, right? You went to school in Chicago, right?”

You smiled a little. 

“How about I just order us pizza?” You said, having to swallow past a knot in your throat.  

He looked relieved. 

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Probably smart.” 

You helped him apply for jobs through the weekend and were almost surprised to be settling into a pattern with him early into the next week. It was an odd role reversal, teaching your dad how to function in the real world. The one where people had jobs and bills and didn’t hop from friend’s place to friend’s place instead of having an actual home address. 

But you weren’t confident enough to actually tell Joel any of it. You were still dodging him. Telling him about your dad opened the door to telling him about everything else from your younger years, things you’d worked hard to not have to share with anyone. Next week. If your dad was still around, still keeping his shit together, still trying to be in your life, then you would tell Joel. And, if he still liked you, you’d tell your dad about him. 

Though that seemed like a big if. 

Wednesday, you started questioning things. 

Joel wasn’t texting as much. Not that you blamed him, you’d barely responded to him at all, not sure what to say but not wanting to lie to him. But you missed the texts. They were the bright spot in your day. You missed him. You wanted to go to his house and drag him to his bed and ride him until you were both sweaty and exhausted. You wanted to kiss him in a noisy bar that smelled like stale beer while you were tipsy. You wanted to call him on your way home from work so you could vent to each other and, by the time you came home to him, just hold each other until you had to move to figure out food. 

You missed him because he was the first person you’d been close enough to that you might need to tell them about all of it and that terrified you. So maybe you were looking for problems when you got home after work and found your dad on the couch, watching sports. 

“Hey Angel,” he smiled. 

“Hey,” you sighed, dropping your bag by the door and stepping out of your heels before you flopped on the couch next to him. He hugged you and kissed your check. You frowned. “Have you been drinking?” 

“What?” He laughed, looking at you like you were crazy. 

“You smell like alcohol.” 

“Angel,” he laughed. “It’s 5:30.” 

“So?” 

“No,” he said. “I haven’t been drinking. I did use some Listerine a little while ago, ate some sour cream and onion chips, didn’t want to knock you out with my breath.” 

“OK,” you said, still skeptical. “How was your day?” 

“Good,” he said. “I think I have an interview for next week, can you help me respond to the recruiter? I’m shit at writing things and not sounding like an idiot.” 

“Sure,” you laughed a little. “Do you have job interview clothes?” 

“What d’you mean?” He frowned, looking over at you. 

“I mean you can’t show up to a job interview in jeans and a t-shirt, Dad,” you said. “Do you have like… a button down and khakis at least?” 

“Don’t exactly got much,” he laughed a little. “Sure it’s fine, just a factory job…” 

“We’ll go shopping when I get off work Friday,” you said. “I’ve got a late call with the west coast team tomorrow, I’ll be at the office late.” 

“Honey, I can’t afford…” he began but you cut him off. 

“I can,” you said. “Don’t worry about it.” 

There was a knot of guilt in your stomach after accusing him of drinking, after he was making such an effort. But you checked the levels on your liquor bottles before you went to bed all the same. 

But by Friday, you were feeling good about how things were going. There was a routine in your life, one that involved your father for the first time ever. It looked like he was serious about settling down in the area, applying for jobs and setting up interviews. Besides Wednesday’s blip, things seemed stable and you couldn’t stay away from Joel any more. 

When he texted you Friday morning asking how things were going and if you’d be free again sometime soon, you took a deep breath and texted back. 

“Hoping by Sunday,” you said. 

By Sunday, you’d feel like telling him about your dad and everything else was worth the risk. Unless everything blew up. In which case, who cares. 

You just hoped he’d still be interested, especially after you’d all but blown him off all week.

You took your dad to the mall that night, him modeling the dress pants and button downs for you, coming out of the fitting room looking a little unsure but a small smile on his face all the same. 

“Feel like we should be doing the reverse of this,” he said, putting an arm around your shoulders. “If I’d done what I shoulda done years ago, I could have taken you shopping when you were a teenager and you could have showed me shit like prom dresses and I could buy you something you needed, not the other way around.” 

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged and smiled a little. “I’m just glad we get to do this now.” 

He smiled and kissed your temple. 

“Me too, Angel,” he gave you a squeeze. “Me too.” 

You went by H-E-B on the way home to get a few things for the weekend and started to go grab a bottle of wine and a six pack when you stopped yourself. Your dad laughed a little. 

“Just because I’m not drinking doesn’t mean you can’t drink,” he said. “It’s fine. I can handle it.” 

“You’re sure?” You frowned. 

“I’m sure.” 

So you got the beer and a bottle of red wine - one from the winery Joel had taken you to on your first date, something that made you smile - and got steaks. Getting to see Joel again soon, your dad lining up a job interview, things actually going well between the two of you for the first time in your life. It felt like a reason to make something nice. 

Your dad went to put his new clothes and shoes away while you started dinner and you decided to make yourself a cocktail. It was going to be a good weekend. You could feel it. 

You made a Tom Collins and had just melted butter in your skillet to baste the steaks when you took your first sip. 

It was watery. 

So watery it didn’t taste like there was liquor in it at all. 

Your hand shook as you set the glass down and you went to the liquor cupboard and took out the gin. You sniffed the bottle and smelled almost nothing. No familiar burn or hint of pine. You took a sip straight from the bottle to test it. It didn’t matter that you were putting your lips on it. You knew you wouldn’t need to save it. 

It was water. Straight water. 

You clenched your jaw and swallowed past the burning tightness in your throat. You weren’t about to cry. Not in front of him. 

“Hey Angel,” he said, coming out from his room in sweats. He froze when he saw what was in your hands. “Oh, shit, I…” 

“Thought you were sober,” your voice shook. “Thought you wanted me in your life.” 

“I do, Honey, I really do, but…” 

“But you just couldn’t keep yourself from getting fucked up every day?” You were going to cry. You were going to cry in front of this fucking asshole because you cared. He’d made you actually care, you’d fallen for his bullshit yet again and it was your own goddamn fault. “Jesus Christ, were you really going to go get a job working with heavy equipment and show up every day drunk off your ass until you killed someone?” 

“I know my limits,” he was defensive. “I know what I can handle and sometimes I just work better with a little alcohol in my system, that’s all I’ve been doing, that’s…” 

“This was damn near full when you got here,” you slammed the bottle on your counter. “You’ve been here a week. A fucking week and you drank through an entire fifth of gin, that’s not a little alcohol, Dad, that’s getting hammered every goddamn day.” 

You pulled the pan off the stove and threw it in your sink with too much force before turning off the burner. You leaned against the counter for a moment, your fingers pressed so hard into the granite it seemed like they should be denting it. 

“I want you gone,” you said. 

“Angel…” 

“I mean it,” you spun to face him. “I want you out. I don’t care where you go, I don’t care if you end up back in fucking prison because you lied to your parole officer, I don’t care if you drop dead. I want you gone, I never want to see you again, I want you to get the fuck out of my life.” 

You shoved past him and went to your room, locking the door behind you. You curled up on your bed and let yourself cry. 

You wished your father had never found you here. You wished you’d been smart enough to not fall for his shit this time around, You wished you didn’t want a connection with him, want just a shadow of what Sarah had with Joel because being on your own in the world with no ties to anything hurt almost as much as suffering your family’s bullshit did. 

But, most of all, you wished Joel was here. You wished you could curl up against him and that he would hold you while you cried. You wished he’d tell you that you weren’t fucking stupid, that it made sense that you wanted a relationship with the man who’d done nothing but fuck you over your entire life, that everything was going to be OK and that he cared about you in spite of it all. 

You heard your front door close and you stayed on the bed, hoping that he’d actually listen to you and not come back. You’d need to get the locks changed, check the browser history on your laptop to see if he’d gotten into any of your bank accounts or credit cards, look through your apartment and make sure he hadn’t stashed drugs somewhere and forgotten about them. Fuck, why had you been so stupid? 

The sound of the crash outside jerked you out of your head. It was loud enough that the building shook a little, the endless horn after the crash impossible to ignore, and you got up, going for your front door. 

Outside, outlined by the setting sun, was your car wrapped around a lamp post. 

“Dad!” You yelled, running for the smoking heap of metal. He was slumped over the steering wheel and you ripped the door open, checking his pulse. His eyes fluttered open as you did, looking confused. 

“What…” 

“You decided to steal my car this time,” you said. 

“Oh, shit, I…” 

“Save it,” you snapped as a neighbor ran outside, cell phone pressed to her ear. 

You ended up at the hospital with him most of the night. By the time the police were able to test him for alcohol, it was all out of his system. He hadn’t had a drink since you’d picked him up to go to the mall that evening. You weren’t sure if you should be grateful or if you wished he’d failed the test so he’d end up back in prison and far away from you. 

He was mostly fine, just a little banged up and a broken nose from the airbag. Your car was totaled. 

In the back of the Uber to your place after hours in the ER, you looked at him. 

“You’re gone,” you said. “By noon. Otherwise, I call the cops and you can deal with them.” 

He just nodded down at his hands. 

The next morning, you ordered him an Uber to the bus station. He tried to talk to you but you just sat on the couch, holding your coffee cup, pretending you were alone. 

“I know I fucked it all up,” he said, standing in your doorway “But I really did like spending time with you this week. I…” 

Your phone dinged, saying the driver had arrived. 

“Your ride is here,” you said, not bothering to look at him. 

“OK.” 

He stood there and you felt his eyes on you for another moment before he turned and left. You sank back into your couch and rested your forehead in your hand for a moment, trying not to cry. Again. Because fuck, this man did not deserve it. 

And then there was the knock on your door. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you set your mug down so hard that coffee sloshed over the side and onto the table. You stalked toward the door, cell phone in your hand. You were going to call the cops on him this time, you really fucking were. “I swear to God if you forgot something you’re not coming back in…”

But it wasn’t your dad standing there. 

“Joel,” you fought the urge to throw your arms around his neck and cry against him. He didn’t really look like himself, he looked upset. Hurt, angry, something. You frowned. “What are you…” 

“Can I come in?” His voice was strained. You just nodded. “Think we need to talk.” 

*** 

Your place looked the same. 

It was strange, almost. Like there should be some indication of this other man here, something different about it but it was the same. 

“Can I get you anything?” You asked. Your voice was thick. “I have coffee…” 

“No thanks,” he said. “Don’t know how long I’ll be stayin’.” 

“Oh,” you deflated a little. “Alright… What did you want to talk about? Because…” 

“I thought we were on the same page,” he said, cutting you off again. He felt like a dick doing it but he had to get this out, if he didn’t it felt like he was going to burst with it and if he stood here too close to you for too long he wouldn’t do it. He’d just kiss you and wind up in your bed and be stuck in this sickening limbo he’d been trapped in for a week now. “I really did. We never talked about it, not really, but I thought…” 

“I thought we were, too,” you frowned, looking confused. “I don’t…” 

“You said you deleted your dating apps,” Joel said, his voice becoming a little heated. He took a breath. “You said you weren’t fucking anyone else, sure made it sound like you weren’t lookin’ for anything else, like you wanted to actually see where this would go, what this could be and… fuck, I believed that! 

“You made me think it was OK to feel something for you,” he pressed on, standing in your living room with you in front of him, your arms crossed over your body and you looked so small, curving in on yourself like you were trying to disappear. And so much of him wanted to just grab you and hold you and tell you that everything was going to be OK but how could he promise that if you couldn’t even fucking agree on what you were to each other. “So I let myself feel it, I let myself start to fall in love with you and then you go fuckin’ silent on me. You don’t text me first and what you do send is basically nothin’, you never call and then I see you at the mall after you tell me you’re too busy to see me with some guy wrapped around you and that same fuckin’ guy is leavin’ your apartment this morning! I mean, fuck, if I was just some damn fling for you that’s fine but could you at least tell me? Not act like I meant somethin’ to ya?” 

Joel was out of breath, his hands on his hips. He couldn’t look at you, not when you looked so sad it was like someone had hit you and he was still so mad, anyway. 

“That was my dad,” you said softly. 

Joel looked at you. 

“What?” 

“The man,” you closed your eyes for a second before you took a deep breath and opened them again. “At the mall, last night. Leaving my place this morning. That was my dad.” 

“You said your parents were dead.” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I said they were gone and they are, from my life. Except when my dad pulls this stunt where he crawls out of the woodwork every few years.” 

He just stood there, staring at you for a moment. 

“Want to sit down?” 

He nodded and followed you to the couch. He sat down first and you sat on the opposite end of it, as far away from him as you could be. 

“You knew I thought they were dead,” he said slowly. You nodded. “Why.” 

“Joel…” 

“You have to help me understand this, Beautiful,” his voice was calmer now. “Why would you let me believe a lie, I don’t…” 

“Because I’m trash, OK? I’m trash, Joel, that’s why,” you snapped. 

He frowned, shaking his head. 

“You’re not…” 

“Yes, I am,” you said, voice calmer. “Trailer trash, if you want to get technical about it, since I grew up in one. My dad knocked my mom up when she was 15 and he was 17, they were 15 and 18 when I was born. He took off right away and I grew up with my mom and one of her sisters because she was the only person in the family who didn’t disown my mother for getting pregnant at 15 and letting the dad run off. 

“They were shit parents. It’s not really their fault, they were kids, they didn’t know what they were doing but they were really bad at it. I started taking care of myself before I can really remember, I couldn’t rely on anybody. My dad was in and out of my life even then, he decided real quick that his fucking friends and alcohol and drugs were way more important than I ever was. I tried, for a long time, to matter to him. To both of them, really. But I couldn’t so… 

“I figured out that the only hope I had for not ending up like them was school. So I buckled down and did everything I could to be the best fucking student I could be. I took every AP class I could so I could get all the college credit I could manage before leaving high school, I got As in everything and I managed to get into a really good school.” 

You squared your jaw, determined, and kept going. 

“But good schools aren’t cheap and I had scholarships but they didn’t cover everything and it’s not like my parents were good for any of it. I didn’t want to take out loans. So I did the only thing I could find that would pay for the rest of school and pay the rent while letting me be free for classes during the day and I danced all four fucking years I was in school.” 

“Danced?” Joel frowned. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I was a stripper, Joel,” you said. “I’m not ashamed of it, it kept me fed and out of debt, but I’m not about to put it on my fucking LinkedIn. And it’s because they were there for none of it, they didn’t do a damn thing to help me or support me or anything but every few years my dad shows up and finds new ways to fuck me over. He wiped out my savings account once, trashed my apartment with his buddies another time. This visit he had a pretty good con going, showed up to my office acting like he had his shit together when, really, he was doing the same fucking thing he always does, which is drink and fuck his life up. And when I found out, he stole my fucking car and wrapped it around a lamp post. Because he’s trash and I am, too…” 

“No, you’re not,” Joel said firmly. 

“Joel…” 

“You’re not,” he said. You were looking at him like you were about to cry. It made his chest hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Why didn’t I know any of this?” 

“Because everything that I am now?” You said. “Everything that you know and like about me? That’s all invented, I made it all up. I had to build myself from the ground up after I got away from that life. You liked the me that I built, Joel. The me who reads classic books and has an understanding of film theory and went to Northwestern. Why on Earth would you like the version of me who knew how to make ramen when she was four because that’s what she could reach in the cupboard or the me who took her clothes off to pay for college?” 

“Because I like you,” he said gently. “Don’t really care which version, so long as you’ll let me spend time with you.” 

All the hurt and the anger that had been swallowing him was gone now. In its place was this need to take care of you, to be something constant in your life in a way no one had been for you before, in a way you so desperately deserved. 

You shook your head. 

“That’s sweet, Joel,” you were choked up, eyes watery. “Really, it is, but you don’t mean that.” 

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean,” he moved to the middle cushion of the couch. “The person you are now? The one who laughs at crappy movies with me and doesn’t know shit about wine and finds the best restaurants in town? She wouldn’t exist without the girl who had to figure out how to feed herself or the young woman who was so determined to get an education she worked her ass off to make it happen.

“I wasn’t jokin’ when I said I was falling in love with you, baby, and that means all of you. Even the parts you don’t like, even the parts I don’t know yet. I’m fallin’ for the whole package and I’m fallin’ pretty hard so I’m really hoping we’re on the same page on that.” 

You nodded quickly, tears actually falling now. 

“Yeah,” you said, still nodding. “Yeah, we are. We really fucking are.” 

You threw your arms around his neck and he pulled you against him, your face going into his chest as you cried against him. 

“I’m so sorry,” your voice was muffled by his shirt. “I should have just called you and talked to you, I was so scared of losing this, losing you, I just hid it all and I almost let him ruin the best thing that’s happened to me in so long and…” 

He shushed you.

“Don’t apologize,” his hand made a slow, gentle pattern from the crown of your head down your back, smoothing your hair down, tracing over your spine. “I’m sorry for assuming the worst, I’m sorry for making you think that anything about you would make me want to leave. I’m sorry for not just tellin’ you what you mean to me.” 

“Yeah?” You sniffed a little, pressed yourself closer to him. 

He kissed the top of your head. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Because if I’d just told you how I felt about you, you wouldn’t have been dealing with all this on your own. I could have helped. I want to help. So please, Beautiful. Let me help.” 

You looked up at him from your place against his chest. 

“Can you just hold me for a while?” You asked quietly. “I really missed you.” 

He kissed your forehead. 

“Of course, baby,” he said quietly. “I really missed you, too. So damn much.” 

You shifted so that you were all but on his lap and he held you close, just feeling you against him. It hurt to think about you so many years ago, having to go through shit on your own because none of the adults in your life stepped up to take care of you. It was hard to not picture Sarah as a little girl, what she would have looked like trying to fend for herself when she was four or five.  

It hurt, too, to realize that you’d been so alone this past week. That he’d been thinking about you and wanting to see you but hadn’t been someone safe for you to come to. He kissed the top of your head again, making a silent promise to himself that he’d never let you feel that way again. That he’d always be the person you came to first, with anything, even if all he could do was hold you through it. He wasn’t going to let you do it all alone, not anymore, not again. 

Your tears eased and you adjusted, nuzzling against him, your nose trailing over his throat. 

“Feeling better?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah,” you nodded against him and pressed a long, gentle kiss to his neck. “Yeah, I am…” 

You kissed his neck again, your lips against his skin for a few seconds, your breath warm and soft. He groaned a little. 

“Don’t know if that’s such a great idea, Beautiful,” he pulled you back from him slightly and you frowned, your brows knitting together. 

“Why not?” 

“Just…” he adjusted himself so you wouldn’t see him starting to harden in his jeans. “Sounds like you’ve had a hell of a week and…” 

“But I want to,” you separated from him enough to pull your top up and over your head, casting it aside on the floor and leaving you in a lace bralette. “Please, Joel…” 

He wasn’t about to argue too much. He nudged you back on the couch so he could pull your pants and underwear off before he pulled his own down. Before he could even get them fully off you were on his lap, straddling him and pulling at his shirt until it was over his head and on the floor. 

Joel slipped his hands to your waist and slid them slowly, gently over your skin, exploring you, feeling you, until he reached the bralette. He pulled that up and over your head before tossing it to the ground and leaving you bare before him. 

“Fuck, beautiful,” he breathed, looking you over before kissing you deeply, his tongue teasing into your lips. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you started grinding slowly against his lap, your wet slit brushing against his cock and making him shudder with desire. “Fuck, I wanted to talk with you so bad this week, Joel. You were all I really wanted and…” 

“You’ve got me,” he said quietly, kissing you again. “Don’t have to do it all alone ever again, Beautiful. Promise you don’t.” 

You nodded and squeezed your eyes shut for a moment before you rose up enough to notch his head against your dripping, grasping entrance. You dropped your forehead to his and your eyes met his own as you slowly, surely, sank onto his cock. 

He moaned as you took him completely, fighting to take deep, steady breaths. You felt so damn good around him and he couldn’t help but look down to see where the two of you were joined, his cock disappearing into you. The sight of you taking him into yourself, the way your body made room for him, how you felt around him made him acutely aware of just how close he was to you. He was a part of you like this and it felt like this was how it was supposed to be, you and him together. 

His hands ranged over you, up your back to pull you tightly to him and you gave a ragged, desperate little gasp. 

“I’ve got you, Beautiful,” he held you tightly to him as you held him inside yourself. “I’ve always got you.” 

You started to move over him then, every thrust of your hips delicious and slow, like you were savoring how he felt. You started to tighten around him and he groaned a little. 

“Missed you, Joel,” you breathed, your pace increasing. “So, so much.” 

You rode him and he was so lost in you he wasn’t sure how long he was clutching you to him, he was too far gone to notice. All he knew in the world was that you were his, that he could feel you so close it almost hurt, that he always wanted to be able to be with you like this. 

“I’m gonna come,” you panted, pressing yourself flush against him, dropping your head to his shoulder. “Fuck, Joel, you feel… I’m gonna come I can’t…” 

“Come on, baby,” he pressed his fingers into your flesh. “I’ve got you, I’ve always got you, want you to come for me. Come on my cock, baby, want to feel you, let me feel you.” 

You came with a strangled cry and stilled as your pussy fluttered around him. He fucked you through it, thrusting up into you three more times before the force of your orgasm was too much and he pushed himself in deep, moaning as he filled you. 

He held you like that, your bodies joined and aligned, for a while. Eventually, he relaxed his hold on you and you sat up a little, his cock softening within you. He reached a hand up and threaded his fingers in your hair, his palm against your cheek. 

“Next time somethin’ happens, how about we just talk it out,” he smiled a little. “Like this a whole lot more than not seeing you.” 

You laughed a little. 

“Yeah, Joel,” you smiled. “Next time, we’ll talk.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Soooooooooo

I felt kinda bad leaving that cliffhanger out there two weeks in a row BUT now we have them on the same page :D and stuff is out there :D :D and they can move on to figuring out whether or not to tell Sarah :D :D :D

Don't forget that you can follow me and subscribe on my updates blog where I'll only reblog each new chapter once so you're not spammed.

I hope you all enjoyed this angsty little interlude in this story. I know I did! Thanks for being here <3 Love you!

Taglist: @fanficismydrug

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #joel miller x oc #new in town

[gin-juice-tonic]

can i ask how youre able to make so many comics or if you have any tips for aspiring internet funny comic makers? your gag comics are always so creative and funny and well-executed, and your longer form stuff is just a delight to read, i would love to know if u have any advice/insight into yr process

I'm not good at advice so you will have to bear with me here. Also I'm putting it under a readmore cause images make it into a long post. The like first 3/4th of this I talk about specific comics I did, but if you scroll to the end I tried to give some general advice.

My stuff is unfortunately very inspiration-based as opposed to planning-based. So my process might not be helpful if you're looking for something structured... The first thing I should say is I write down basically anything that pops into my head ever. I have a bunch of nonsensical tumblr drafts,

I have stuff in my phones notes app,

I have pages and pages of papers and post-it notes littering my apartment (if you want to know the extent, my sister asked me how I could live with my apartment being so "messy". The only messy thing in it is my papers scattered about). I find the paper stuff the best, because I can draw instead of just writing down concepts.

This is the page I did for the comic about Stan "comforting" Dipper over his unrequited crush on Wendy. (The tumblr version being here)

You will notice aside from the order on the page being strange and some scratched out dialogue, there's not really evidence of a 'plan' here. That's because I was just drawing this as I was thinking it. You will also notice there are two random unrelated Ford drawings in the middle of the page. That's because I was drawing ANYTHING that I was thinking of.

And when I say write down anything, I do mean it. Write down something you did that week, something you remember from when you were 8, something you said out loud and laughed at, things you thought about in the shower, a fact you learned, what your friend had for dinner. See if you can apply it to something. I've mentioned before that this comic only exists because I ran out of toilet paper and went to buy a large bulk pack of it...

When I already have a base idea and just want to expand on it, I usually draw first ask questions later, and things seem to just snowball into being a story. As an example, for the comic I did about Dipper's swimsuit, the base idea was just "Dipper and Stan both wear fully covering swimwear - because they're trans and its what they're comfortable with." But when I went to look up what Dipper wore to the pool, i noticed mabel had a Star one piece suit

Dipper has a star hat in the first episode that he loses, right? SO why don't we give him a matching star one piece that he abandons.

Of course then that single drawing CREATES the story, because we have to explain how he eventually ends up in what he's wearing in the episode. And then I just draw and draw and draw until either the comic ends or I can't continue for whatever reason. The outline for the full thing usually forms while I'm drawing. If I'm worried about forgetting, I'll write down what comes next.

Some of this stuff I didn't stick to, or greatly expanded upon. It's good to be flexible with what you're doing. If something you originally intended only to be a throwaway bit inspires you, roll with it and keep going. (If it ends up being nothing, you can always discard it or turn it into something else later anyway)

I did the swimsuit one basically fully on my computer, but if you want to see another paper based one, a lot of the comic with the kid stans and crampelter I'm doing currently is down on paper.

If you can make out my writing, you can see it says "Crampelter has found out about Stan and Ford's boxing identities" at the top there, which was the general main idea of this part of the comic. This one was a lot more planned than the dipper swimsuit one. There's multiple pages of this sort of stuff, and I knew the idea I wanted was "If Ford and Stan are trans, why would they still be called those names as kids?" (So I guess the takeaway from this one is if you're wanting a structured comic, write down the main idea on the top of a page and brainstorm dialogue and drawings on it?)

There's a lot of sort of floating heads with dialogue, all that matters is I get the emotions or general idea drawn. They're important for me to draw out because being able to "see" the scene (even if I'm seeing it heavily unfinished) is what usually inspires the next bit of the comic.

And I know I talked like a lot already but some general other advice:

Draw, ask questions about what you've drawn, draw more to answer the questions, see if those new drawings ask any new questions, continue this process till you come to a satisfying resolution.

It's fine to not draw something immediately after you've thought of it. I have a lot of things I've just squirreled away for later. And in the same vein its okay to drag something old up that you've never used and try to work with it.

I almost always put on music while I'm trying to think of things. Something I feel fits the mood of what I'm doing tonally. And then I usually just put the same song on repeat, though some people im sure would feel like that is psychological torture. But its helpful to me.

This might sound silly if you're someone who leaves the house a societally normal amount, but I try to go out into the world and do things so I get new ideas and experiences I can build on. Sometimes those things are literally just "go to the park", but sometimes it's venturing out somewhere several hours away or doing an activity i'd never care to do normally... I try to take note of anything that stood out to me and write down thoughts or feelings I had during.

When it comes to trying to be "funny", you should try to make yourself laugh first. Not only because you want your comics to bring yourself joy, but also because its just hard to make stuff you don't care about (And harder to be consistent about it). Though if you think of something and you don't really think its funny, you don't have to throw it away! You might be surprised what other people end up liking. So don't kill yourself to write jokes you yourself don't really get, but if your brain spits out something on its own you dont care much for, it still may be gold to someone else.

It's okay to make comics about simple and relatable things. People love relating. And depending on what you're writing about, that relatability may be really needed!

Everyone has something of value to say. Even if you yourself don't feel like the things you're saying matter, or that they're too silly or un-serious to matter. They matter.

#ask stuff #sorry its so long and probably largely unhelpful

[bonesandthebees]

Okay fuck it. I think scrolling for hours today is enough DJFKGKFK I'll just log back out. I wanna focus my energy on more positive things

Im so gonna log back in the minute my friend sends me another tweet but HDKGKGKD no. I will do my best. He's not worth our time man.

Okay one more tiny rant about him and then I promise I'll stop I just OOOHHMYGODHFJGKG HE JUST. I had so much hope. That. He would reply and it wouldn't fix things, I wouldn't go back to watching him or anything but at the very least I could get closure that like? Maybe his closer friends would be able to heal and move on? Idk if that's parasocial or whatever but he was such a big role model for me the past few years I really had hope that at least some parts of it were real, you know? And instead we just find out that he not only did these shitty things but didn't fucking learn and did it to other people too and??? It's really really upsetting that he created this safe space, this community of people who were all so lovely while just being. Fake. The whole time. And he doesn't even have the gull to properly apologise and I just??#?# idk what to do with my emotions LMFAO I'd finally started to feel better and like move on but now today I'm just angry again grgrgfhfjdkdk and I totally get that like him being a complete dickhead is easier in a lot of ways bc there's no. Doubting it. Or anything. Like there's no redeeming him. And we can get closure from that. But fuckkk it hurts so badly and the tl is a mess of ppl being like "well this person would never do me wrong" and then ppl being like "fuck every YouTuber ever actually. We can't ever be sure we know them" and LIKE!$?_?$?

Dude I am so conflicted on so many levels rn I feel like my entire world has just been yeeted into the sun LMFAODKFKFKFK

Anyways. Anyways. Thank you bee. Ur tumblr is the only account w a brain rn fr lmfaodjfkfkfks

I get it, I'm fucking furious at him. he had a chance to at least own up to what he did. I wouldn't have gone back to consuming his content, but I could be somewhat at peace knowing he was taking steps towards being better.

I don't want to think it was all a lie, because abusers aren't all completely evil people. the thing is, wilbur is human. a very shitty human, but human nonetheless. and we can't know for sure how healthy or unhealthy every relationship in his life has ever been and I think overanalyzing that or trying to figure out what was fake and what was real isn't really our business or worth our time. wilbur is a guy who has hurt a lot of people, but also refuses to recognize the hurt he's caused. that's it.

I do hate the dichotomy I'm seeing between people trying to prop up their own favorite white boys on a pedestal because apparently people never learn, but also going out and saying every content creator is inherently evil and we shouldn't trust any of them. these people are human. they're all going to fuck up at some point, some worse than others. and sometimes they'll fuck up in a way that they can move past and we can forgive them for, and other times they'll fuck up in a way that shows they shouldn't have the platform they have. they're not all terrible, and they're not all perfect. that's what we should be keeping in mind for the future.

#ask #icyfox17 #wilbur situation

[ladykailitha]

Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 2

LOL! I love how much you guys are loving this. I took the idea for the names at the bar from a fantasy novel called The Lark and the Wren (I’m pretty sure) by Mercedes Lackey (only in that case it was a brothel).

Also guys: If I have you on my list but you didn’t get the notification for the tag it means one of two things: it’s a side or secondary blog and tumblr doesn’t tag those. Or and this far more likely you have it set that you’re undiscoverable through tumblr. Under settings go to your blog then scroll all the way down to visibility and make sure both are grey. (Or secret third thing that your blog is set to 18+ because tumblr hates porn.)

Part 1

*

Steve was trembling when he got to the apartment he shared with Robin. So badly that he was struggling to put the key in the lock. After the third failed attempt, he let out a sharp cry and sunk to the floor, his back pressed against the door.

He knew that he wasn’t the best person in high school. He did. But he had changed his senior year. Stopped hanging out with Tommy and Carol. Started focusing on his art. Meeting Robin.

Hell, as far as Steve could remember they hadn’t even gone after Eddie and his friends. He would like to say that it was because he had a crush on the guy. But no, it was just they ran in different circles and were just outside their purview.

He held his hands up and while they still shook, they weren’t as bad. He got up and tried again. With some effort he managed to get the key in the lock. He sighed in relief as the tumbler slid and allowed him to open the door.

As badly as Steve wanted to grab the six pack out of the fridge and down the whole thing, wallowing in self-pity. He couldn’t because he actually had work.

He had to train his replacement. He worked at an upscale bar close to campus, bar-tending. It was good money and he was able to work nights and go to school during the day. But if everything went according to plan, at the end of summer Steve would be starting his student teaching position. So the bar needed a new bartender.

He pulled on the black slacks and white button up that his uniform and his white sneakers. He rolled up his sleeves and checked his hair really quick in the mirror.

It would have to do.

He splashed water on his face to wash away the tears and clear his mind of cobwebs. He didn’t have the liberty of fucking up.

Steve grabbed his car keys and jumped into his BMW. The last remnant of his father’s hospitality. He had gotten the car when he was sixteen and the car was nearing its first decade. He kept his fingers crossed that it would last until he got his first full time teaching job.

When he pulled up the bar, he could see her waiting for him by the door. She was pretty blonde with bright eyes and a cheerful expression. She was wearing a short black skirt and high heeled shoes.

Steve shook his head. She was in for a rough time tonight if that’s what she was going to be wearing.

He trotted up to her. “Hey, you must be the new girl.”

“Yeah I’m C–”

Steve held up his hand. “If you’re going to tell me your real name, don’t. The boss doesn’t like us knowing each other’s real names, says it distracts from the ambient feel. I’m Garnet.”  

She blushed. “Right, right. He said. I’m Opal.”

Steve nodded. “Or at least at first hopefully by the time I leave you’ll be upgraded to a nicer gem.”

Opal fell instep with him as he led the way through the bar. “Have you always been Garnet, then?”

Steve licked his lips. “Yeah. It’s something of a running joke now. I’m the best bartender this bar has ever had and I’ve never been upgraded to Ruby or whatever.”

She nodded.

“Truth is Diamond respects me, but he sure the hell doesn’t like me,” he explained.

“You think Diamond is his real name?” Opal asked eagerly.

Steve shrugged. “Could be.” He grabbed two aprons from their hooks and tossed one at her. “This will help prevent you going home smelling like the bar.”

She nodded, tying it deftly around her waist.

“Diamond said you’ve done this before?” Steve asked, pulling out two white towels and tossing her one.

Opal nodded. “At my last job. It closed up because the owners retired.”

Steve nodded. “So then this won’t be too difficult. This will just be me showing you were everything is and showing you how to make the house specials.”

“Pretty much,” she said cheerfully.

Steve looked down at her shoes. “Your last place make you wear heels to tend in?”

She looked down at her feet. “Yeah, said I was too short to see over the bar otherwise.”

He cocked his head to side. “But you aren’t that short...”

Opal laughed, clear as a bell. “Oh I know. He was just a misogynist pig. I do have flats with me since I take the bus.”

“Put them on,” Steve instructed. “We move way too fast for you to be in heels. I don’t want you breaking your ankle or have blisters by the end of the night.”

She nodded and pulled out a pair of black flats and slipped them on, shoving the heels back in the purse.

“You’ll want tennis shoes or any other comfortable shoe from now on,” Steve explained. “You’re also allowed to wear slacks if you want. The patrons aren’t going to see below your waist and the apron covers your chest. Your tips will come from you being fast and good.”

Opal saluted. “Aye, aye Captain!”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I think you’ll fit in just fine.”

“Garnet!” a uncoordinated blur shouted and jumped into his arms. Steve caught her deftly and shook his head.

“Hey, Pearl,” he said with a grin. He set her down. “Say hi to the new girl.”

Pearl turned slowly to see that yes, someone was with Steve.

“Uh, hi,” she said, shyly. “Garnet’s my best friend.”

Steve gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Yes, you are. Pearl, this is Opal. She’s my replacement come August. Opal, this gangly giraffe is one of the best waitresses the Queen’s Crown has to offer.”

Pearl smacked Steve’s arm. “Pay no attention to him.”

Opal laughed. “Kinda hafta because he’s training me.”

“Well besides that,” Pearl said. “He’s just a big dingus with a bigger heart.”

Steve blushed.

“Aww...” Opal said, “you two are cute together.”

Pearl made a fake vomiting noise. “We’re just best friends. Platonic with a capital P.”

Steve shook his head. “Ignore her.”

Opal laughed. “Five minutes in and I’m already ignoring everyone. This must be quite the friendly place.”

Just then a large man came out of the back and threw his arms wide open.

“Opal, my pet!” he boomed. “You made it. These two haven’t been giving you a hard time, have they?”

Opal shook her head. “They’ve been sweet.”

“Good, good,” Diamond said with a grin. “The bar opens in an hour. Garnet will show you everything you need to do to get stared.”

He gave them a wink and lumbered back into office.

Steve cleared his throat. “Right. So everyone pitches into to step and take down everything. Take down will include wiping everything down and sweeping and mopping the floors. Even Diamond comes out and helps wash glasses.”

Opal’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

Pearl nodded. “He’s kinda a if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself kind of guy. Not always, he does trust us to do our jobs, but he’s  very hands on.”

“But he doesn’t help set up?” Opal asked,

Steve looked back behind him and then back at her. “He gets the drawers ready for the day. He counts it all before hand and then we count our drawers with him after. He also counts the tip jar in front of everyone and gives everyone their percentages.”

Opal’s jaw dropped and she stared at them in shock. A man came out of the back dressed similarly to Pearl in a black button up and black slacks. While Pearl had black boots, this guy had white sneakers.

“This is Topaz, one of the other waiters,” Pearl said as the guy came up to shake her hand. “This is Opal, Garnet’s replacement.”

The guy lifted an eyebrow. “That’s some pretty big shoes to fill.”

Opal blushed. “I’m just surprised you guys are hiring six months out for that.”

Topaz shook his head. “That’s Diamond being a worry-wart again. If you don’t work out, he wants time to hire someone else.”

“You know,” Opal said, putting her hands on her hips, “for someone who insists everyone go by gem nicknames Diamond is sounding more and more like the perfect boss.”

The other three laughed.

“Pretty much,” Pearl said, “He may be an annoying hipster, but he’s good boss and he’ll take care of you.”

Topaz hip checked Steve. “Unless you’re Garnet, here.”

Steve pushed him playfully. “Shut it, man.”

Topaz laughed. “This idiot accidentally hit on Diamond’s daughter.”  

Pearl grinned. “In front of her fiance no less.”

Steve threw his arms in the air. “No one told me who they were. I had been here for like a week. And every signal she was sending me was that she was interested.”

Topaz patted him on the back. “You keep telling yourself that, man.”

Steve shook his head. “Let’s get to work before Diamond comes out and starts yelling at us.”

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7 Part 8 Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12 Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16 Part 17 Epilogue

Tag List: @artiststarme @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @spectrum-spectre estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @itsall-taken @m-owo-n @zerokrox-blog @runyousillydetective @grimmfitzz @wonderland-girl143-blog @sapphirecobalt-1@scheodingers-muppet @victor-thee-corvid @apricottree @bookbinderbitch @sleepyboosstuff @biatcgh @pixiefallingupthestairs @grtwdsmwhr @thepainisspicy @carlyv @eboyawstenn @bisexualdisastersworld @bidisastersworld @abstractnaturaldisaster

#ladykailtiha writes

[ghouljams]

scrolling through tumblr instead of doing my college paperwork (why do they need my immunization records? weirdos. thanks for accepting my application in like three days though) and sinking my teeth into fallout ghost bro (also you wouldn’t happen to have dorm advice would you im desperate)

i love seeing writers i follow taking these boys and pushing them that nice apocalyptic dark.. there’s something that itches my brain about fallout in particular and it’s feeding the worms bc truly anything can go with narrative depending on where you stick em. all that to say loooooooooove ur fallout stuff it’s living in my head forever now and you can’t get rid of me <3333 :3c

Fallout is such a great mix of post-apocalyptic but also there is a society to play with. It's fun writing darker fic with the boys, I like when they're a little fucked up. There are different morals out in the wasteland, you gotta draw your own lines in the sand, decide where you stand and where you aren't going. Ghost's prerogative is survival and revenge, we're just unlucky enough to owe him a debt and get carted along for the ride.

As for Dorm advice... Get flipflops for the showers if you have communal bathrooms. Leave your door open when you can the first week or so, that way people can say hi and you'll know when people are going for food; it's way easier to make friends over lunch/dinner. Don't worry if your roommate isn't your best friend, just try to be cordial with them. My freshman roommate fucking hated me, I ended up spending most of my time in my friend's room since they lived down the hall and my room was just where I slept and studied, it was fine.

Having a roommate agreement sounds silly but is really helpful if you're having any sort of dispute, you can point to the paper you both agreed on and say "look you said you wouldn't bring people back here without giving me a heads up" or whatever. On the other end of that, if your agreement says you'll alternate taking out the trash and your roommate hasn't taken it out, just take it out. It's easier to just do things yourself most of the time. Maybe it's because I'm an oldest child but I tend to just fix things myself when they bother me, trying to get other people to do shit is pointless 75% of the time.

Honestly most people treat the dorms as just a place to sleep and study. It's your home, but it's also not. Which always feels weird to say but you'll get used to it fast. Don't sweat too much about it.

#ghoul speaks

[skylarbee]

I just saw your recent post on AM stans hating on Milex stans… I need a catching up please. What about LV and Amanda (?) and Matt too? I rarely ever dive deep into bands and their members, I just like to appreciate their music.

Thank you ♡

! long post incoming and i want to point out that i don't plan on using this blog to discuss any of these people (only maybe very rarely) - i don't like them, i don't think they're good people, i don't want to argue with people who think otherwise, and i usually ignore whatever they're up to - my main focus will always be on milex/miles !

hi anon! <3 i have no idea how much you know already, or if you basically don't know anything related to these three, or any of them. i will say that i have no screenshots concerning the things that i mention, but searching their names up on tumblr and/or scrolling through blogs like @/shit-talk-turner and @/alexstorm will make things more clear.

this whole thing started when louise posted a screenshot yesterday of an am fan saying some dumb shit about her in the comments and bringing up alexa (i still can't believe she posted this). she posted this with some equally stupid words (i don't have the screenshot - you can find it on twitter/tumblr/ig/tiktok/wherever), and matt then reposted her story, jumping to protect her (maybe amanda did too, i don't know). then she managed to screenshot some nice comments and posted those too, saying that 'love always wins' or something similar, and that haters can kiss her ass (this definitely didn't come across as her craving and asking for some compliments; she definitely doesn't need people babying her in order for her to feel good about herself) - which reminded me of something similar that amanda said like a year ago, that they don't pay attention to the haters anyways, of course after posting a long paragraph paying attention to them (makes me laugh just to think about it).

there are so many other hysterical and foolish things she does, like posting pictures of a messy bed (look, i'm fucking alex turner!), selfies with suspicious rings, other pics hinting at alex's presence, calling paparazzis to take pictures of them on the beach, pretending to be jane birkin and alex to be serge gainsbourg, going off about how independent she is while living off of alex's money, somehow managing to make matt's and amanda's marriage about her (with amanda encouraging her), 'accidentally' always doing these when miles has important things going on, etc etc (the fact that her and miles never interacted in real life is also deeply concerning. alex, dear, you should always trust your best friend when they don't like your partner, they always end up being right - especially knowing that miles was always on really good terms with alex's exs). it's clear that she's deeply insecure and adores when the attention is on her and when people are talking about her, and if she goes for a long period without this, she just has to pull something that will get fans talking. she's trying so hard to fit in and be the sexy rockstar girlfriend that she just ends up looking stupid.

if you don't know the real reasons why some people don't like louise, i'm just gonna post some links about her that pretty much sum it all up:

https://www.tumblr.com/snarcticmonkeys/685972106927882240/can-you-recap-the-problematic-things-frencies?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/snarcticmonkeys/685366553489866753/everybodys-got-something-to-hide-except-me-and-my?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/snarcticmonkeys/685366736118235136/everybodys-got-something-to-hide-except-me-and-my?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/snarcticmonkeys/685155230049075200/louise-the-fangirl?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/snarcticmonkeys/685155226833059841/lyon-july-2018?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/snarcticmonkeys/685095240693170176/deleted-posts?source=share

about amanda... now, if i remember correctly, amanda had a blog dedicated to her music, and people dug up some screenshots in which she replies to someone and uses the n-word, and then another post where she's being racist. these screenshots are somewhere in the depths of my phone and it would be impossible to find them, and regardless, these screenshots are so old that she could've well changed for the better since then.

the problem with her is the fact that she's having arguments in the comments with young fans (asking stuff like did they have brain tumours for breakfast and other ridiculous things...or was that louise?) and posts even more ridiculous stories in response to people bullying louise, and protecting her like she's a toddler who can't take care of herself. the pure arrogance and self-importance with which she communicates her ideas is just mental, she thinks that she's on the top of the world, and encourages louise to act the same way. it's baffling that two 40-ish women think that bullying 14 year olds will achieve anything other than encouraging other 'fans' to act the same way.

the thing about matt is just basically the fact that ever since he's been with amanda, he acts the same way as her. now, i know there's been some issue about some idiots commenting about his daughter, which made him deactivate his ig account, and i have absolutely no words for the people who dared to say anything about that poor, innocent, completely blameless child. but even before this, he turned to the same kind of arrogance as amanda and reposted all her stories concering louise. the way that they need to say over and over again what a good person louise is, how much alex loves her, how great their relationship is, how beautiful and kind and caring she is... makes you really question if she really is indeed all those things (especially if you opened those links i posted). more importantly, what exactly do they plan to achieve arguing with teenage girls? it's so childish, my god, they are only adding fuel to the fire. god knows what they're telling alex and also god knows what he thinks about it all.

there's something that i'm not 100% sure about, but i'm gonna say it in the hopes that someone will see this and will tell me if this is wrong or not: matt cheated on breana when both her parents died (this one is definitely true), and left her with 1 year old amelia, and fucked off to live with another woman (amanda denies being the woman in question, i have no idea). she was solo parenting for a while (breana said all these in a podcast), then matt woke up and decided that he wants something to do with his daughter after all, and ever since then he takes care of her too - good job love, you're still horrible though.

in short, l&a's insanely childish antics dragged matt into the whole thing too. they're constantly throwing hissy fits, in hopes to achieve god knows what, and then they feel proud of themselves for telling teenage girls off. which makes you think, what would happen if am would be 10 times more popular than they are know, and louise would get 10 times the hate she gets now? or even better, what would happen if louise would get the same amount of hate miles gets on the daily? she said in her screenshot that she knows that it's only a minority of the fandom that leave such mean comments - then what's the point of paying attention to it? all this just shows another reason why these two definitely don't like each other - miles has brains, the other one... well, i'm sorry. i tried my best to like them and look past their mistakes,but i just can't do it.

#lord have mercy #alex turner #arctic monkeys #amanda blank #louise verneuil #matt helders #anon

[bo0tleg]

MY FRIENDS REACTION TO THE TOP GUN (1986) REACTION POST

In case you don't know what I'm talking about: I made a post a while ago of gems my friend said whilst watching Top Gun (1986) for the first time. I showed her the post, and she created even more gems about Top Gun derived from what she said originally! I'd suggest you read the other post, because some are references to prior gems. Enjoy!

"TOM CRUISE IS OLD, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE?"

"I said that? Jesus, I have the memory of a fish." (About: "Did he really need to be in his underwear for this conversation?")

"I DID COMMENT ON THE VOLLEYBALL SCENE!" "I distinctly remember laughing about you not saying anything." "I said 'Ah yes, the hetero scene that actually looks really gay.' Because it does. How the fuck are you gonna play sports looking like a hot piece of ass without looking gay? You're not supposed to be hot! Especially in volleyball. Why did they choose volleyball to make them look hot? You're supposed to slap that fucking ball, not be like 'hahaha look at me, I'm so dainty and pretty.' THAT'S GAY!"

"I'm only stating the obvious, these people should already know this."

"Iceman is the gayest in the entire movie."

"No! Actually, it's his plane buddy. His plane buddy is the gayest." "... Mind telling me why?" "He always says that he has a hard on."

"OH MY GOD THEY COULD BE EXES! It's not possible he always has a hard on. I KNOW IT'S AN EXPRESSION IN THE UNITED STATES BUT IT'S NOT POSSIBLE. They've definitely hooked up. Not in the movie, I think it was before he met Maverick, but there's no doubt."

"You wouldn't say that you have a hard on to just anyone."

"And I didn't even look anything up, I just watched the movie."

"I don't think it's possible to surpass the gayness in Top Gun."

(Upon being informed that Slider was not, in fact, the one with the hard on) "HE'S NOT? Oh, then it has nothing to do with Iceman. But I still think that they (Hollywolf) had something, that's the dynamic that I got the gay vibe from."

"I bet both of the actors are blond, or whatever." (shakes head) "I don't give a shit."

"It's not my fault the NPC's look like the protagonist!"

(Scrolling through the Icemav tag on tumblr) "There's a lot of fanart. A lot of fanart of them making out."

"Only the superiors aren't gay in this movie."

"Making out in a corner, having a fling with the best friend, there's definitely one of those somewhere in the middle."

"Oh look! More fanart of them making out."

"Even the handsome guy that seems like a protagonist but is actually an NPC looks gay! He has that gay vibe, I don't know." (Reminder: This a reference to the phrase "He's to handsome to be a rando!" This man had like 2 minutes of screen time on the Enterprise at the start of the movie, and a little at the end during the Layton Rescue. 2 min might be an exaggeration.)

BONUS: Reaction to Quentin Tarantino discussing Top Gun in "Sleep With Me" (1994)

(Silence for 30 seconds) "I... agree with everything he said... but I'm in shock."

I never... thought a straight man would say so much gay shit in three minutes.... but he's right."

"That part where he says about the girl, Maverick's chick, dressing up like a guy, I hadn't noticed. He's a genius."

"When he says 'STARFIGHT! STARFIGHT!' I don't know if he was crazy, high or hallucinating."

"Them screaming 'STARFIGHT! STARFIGHT!' looked like they were on crack. And they were just talking about a movie."

"If a military movie ever happens to be openly gay, it'll become a whore house."

"And the worst part is that he convinced the dude! My guy just watched Top Gun for fun..."

EXTRAS (The original language all of the phrases were said in was Portuguese. I had to translate all of them. You're welcome.):

"How am I going to translate 'Puteiro'?" "Aren't there any prostitutes in the United States?" (I went with "Whore House")

"How am I going to translate 'se pegaram'?" "There's a word for it in English, I forgot it.... eeeehhhh" "Hooked up?" "I meant to say that they fucked, but sure." "'Hooked up' can mean sex." "It can? Great, use that then!"

"How many phrases are there? I'm scared. I don't remember the atrocities I said."

My friend, who fueled this entire post: @annonimouslesbian

#she has yet to watch top gun maverick #I guarantee it's coming #stay tunned for top gun maverick #shes pumped to do it now with the incentives #stop fueling her ego #I already have a list of out of pocket things my friend group has said #help me #iceman x maverick #icemav #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #tg86 #tg:m #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick #top gun iceman #tom cruise #gay pilots #ron slider kerner #rick hollywood neven #leonard wolfman wolfe #hollywolf #quentin tarantino #quentin tarantino top gun commentary #sleep with me #ice #this entire thing was created between 11PM and 1AM on a fucking monday

[lighthouseas]

hi all! i know that i haven’t posted for a while, but since the end of the year is fast approaching, i thought i’d make a post detailing my appreciation for my lovely mutuals . (if you saw this post earlier because tumblr was being a bitch, no you didn’t <3333)

anyway, without further ado- and in no particular order-

bee’s end-of-the-year MUTUAL APPRECIATION POST!!!

@hazmatazz - OHHH MAN. SILLY GUY ALERT. starting off strong with the lovely the amazing the fantabulous HAZ HAZMATAZZ. haz, being your friend and fellow Silly Squad member has been such an honor. you’re so funny and sweet and smart and make the best posts that make me giggle. and even though i don’t talk in it much, seeing so many Shenanigans go down in the discord server is seriously the funniest thing. I could just. squish you. you make me so happy and it’s an honor to be your friend. seriously hope 2024 treats you amazingly bc you deserve all of it <3333

@cannibalismyuri - SARA!!!! sara my lovely ohhh you are. the funniest. seriously. i have been reduced to Tears of laughter from posts on your blog. you have such an energy about you that is completely unmatched. even with Fandom Weirdness and the like, you’ve still pulled through and kept being your silliest self (and let me be silly with you which is awesome), and i commend you for that. aaaand not to get sappy or whatever but i really do look up to and admire you. you inspire me a lot. also, i love your new url. i want to eat it. pun intended. HAVE THE BEST 2024 EVER <3333

@qulizalfos - LIZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. everyone listen up okay. liza is the loml IF ANYONE EVEN CARESSS. liza oh my god i adore you and your endless enthusiasm. seriously your comments on tsad are comments that i look back on when i need motivation because they’re just. so sweet. you are so sweet. we’ve only been mutuals since this SUMMER and yet it feels like we’ve known each other forever. i love screaming about things with you and i love the fact that my FIC is in your BIO??? HELLOOOO??? also okay. can we talk about your writing and art. liza i cannot say ENOUGH how talented you are. if i could staple your fics and art to the entire st fandom’s forehead so they would have to look at it forever then i would. your brain is so ginormous and the way you describe things and think about things is something i could only dream of doing. literally adore everything about you and wish i could hang out with you and wayli so we could all be a little insane together <33333 love you. LOVE YOUUUU I hope 2024 is awesomesauce for you <33333333

@wayward-sherlock - SPEAKING of wayli. oh wayli. if i had time to write a 10 page essay detailing how much of an impact you have had on me i would. seriously though you are just the sweetest, kindest, and most positive person ever. seeing you blow up my notes makes me grin So Hard because like oh man. wayli likes my blog. THEEE wayli thinks i’m cool. wtfff….anyway. you are so smart and it shows in your literally breathtaking writing and analysis (ANALYSIS FIRM!!!) you’re so perceptive and it honestly blows me away. reading your writing is so mesmerizing and just. sends me on an adventure. actually just scrolling through your BLOG sends me on an adventure because you always have the best stuff on there. honestly, I just wanna give you the biggest hug and tell you how awesome you are because rambling in a tumblr post simply is not enough. all’s that to say, i’m really looking forward to this coming year that will hopefully include more screaming about fanfiction in our discord messages and more of us being friends. because i love being your friend and it’d be so awesome if one day we could hang out together and be a tad Insane. doopel dopple gang STICKS TOGETHER AMIRITE?? anyway. i love you so much and wish you all the best in 2024 <333333

@antibyler - spencer HIII i know it’s been a minute since we last talked but can i just say that it has been an HONOR being your mutual this year. you’re so cool and fun and easy to talk to and also are a Fellow NHIE Fan which makes you even cooler. don’t think i’ve ever seen a bad opinion on your blog, which i know is saying a lot but it’s true To Me okay. seriously could never ever imagine Not following spencer basiltonpitch antibyler because like. that’s some essential dash content right there. THEEE blog to ever. makes the tumblr experience about 2034549650 times better. hope 2024 treats you wonderfully, my triple b mutual WOO <3

@versa-vices - FINNIEEEE!!!!!! you are my sunshine my special sunshine you make me happyyyyyyyy when skies are grayyyy….like actually though you are such a sunshine. seeing your comments on my posts never fails to make me giggle. a Silly Squad member that’s for sure. but like. being your tumblr bestie this past year has been so much fun. hanging out on the dash together and being Slightly Unhinged in the discord messages has been one of the highlights of my year. you’re so sweet and lovely and i don’t think it would be tumblr without you (those 10 minutes where you deactivated were HARD man okay. what am i supposed to do without u :(() okay anyhoo. thank you for being the bestest ever and hope 2024 treats you well <333

@light-lanterne - angel hiii! it’s been a bit since we’ve interacted but i needed to talk about how kind and patient you’ve been throughout literally everything because tumblr can be a little much sometimes. your kindness and determination to make so many beautiful graphics is absolutely incredible. i still look back on the graphics you’ve made for my fics sometimes, and it’s just…amazing. you’re so talented both in your art and your writing. when times got tough in the Fandom, i could always count on your blog to be a cozy and warm retreat from the craziness. it’s an honor to be your mutual, and i hope 2024 treats you kindly, because you seriously deserve it <33

@booksandpaperss - ELLI HIII!! holy shit one of my oldest mutuals. here when the ancient scrolls were written. elli , you have made my fandom experience so much more enjoyable. what with your huge brain and amazing takes, you always keep things real and i admire that about you. you’re also just. so easy to talk to. both because you’re ridiculously funny and also because you’re so nice to me like what. i love Discussing things with you, especially when it felt like we were sitting in a corner sipping tea and having a grand old time while the entire fandom went batshit. uscore fr. also, your comments on tsad…dude…they made me and STILL make me tear up. you read everything with such an attentive eye and then give the sweetest compliments on it. it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. you’re just. so awesome okay. never forget that. hope u have a wonderful 2024 <3333

@karenchildress - hi jo!!!!!!!!!! i know we don’t interact as much but like. you’re such a joy to see on the dash i’m being so fr right now. how are you so funny like some of your posts still make me laugh to this day. you also keep things Real which i appreciate a lot, people tend not to do that nowadays T-T. we need more jo karenchildresses in the st fandom i think. things would improve marginally. anyway. keep being cool and fun and hope 2024 brings you much joy <3

@homohabu - oh man you’re just. you’re so nice. your blog is so inviting and has the loveliest colors all over it that make me very happy. you’ve always been so lovely to me and it makes me smile. you’re also another one of my oldest mutuals…and you’ve still stuck around through everything. thank you for having an awesome blog and being an awesome person! hope 2024 is good for you!!!!!!!!

@kuntniss - sierra!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hiiiii it’s been a minute but can i just say that your blog makes me so so so super happy whenever i look at it. both your reblogs and original posts are just. great vibes. great vibes all around. you’ve been so nice to me this past year and it’s seriously been so wonderful interacting with you and looking forward to seeing your posts. being your mutual is so fun. i hope 2024 brings you so many good things, you deserve all of them <33333333

@weirdo09  - cade! i know you haven’t been online in a while but i just wanted to say that you’ve been such a wonderful friend to me this past year. you’re so creative and i loved hearing your ideas in my inbox and getting tagged in your wonderful. i hope you’re doing okay now, because you were honestly such a joy to see on the dash and in my notes. also, your ever changing themes were always a nice surprise to come across when i opened your blog, lol. hope 2024 treats you well :)

@holyvirgilscriptures - virgil !!!! oh my god i adore your blog so badddd like. i could seriously scroll through it forever it’s just banger after banger after banger. you always have the best takes on like. Everything. also FELLOW TAWOG BROTHER IN ARMS HELLOOOO !!!! BEST TASTE IN MEDIA AWARD GOES TO YOU MY FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway. you have made this year so so so enjoyable just with the Existence of your blog. this coming year i hope we can interact a bit more because you’re super awesome <333 may 2024 bring you many good things! 

@ollsonline - oliver <3333 my lovely. since we became mutuals you have been nothing but the sweetest, kindest, friendliest person to me. you’re so welcoming to everyone and it absolutely warms my heart. you’ve been such an amazing friend to me this year and we should totally talk more because you’re super cool and awesome also!!! thank you for being the best and i hope 2024 treats you kindly <3

okay that’s all i’ve got! to any mutuals i did not get to mention: i love you so much. you have made The Tumblr Experience that much more bearable with your endless kindness. i love all of you so much, and am wishing you a happy new year through the screen! MWAH!!!!!!!

#if we are mutuals and i did not mention you here I PROMISE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH #i just have like. 40 mutuals and could not feasibly mention All Of Them but please know that i love and appreciate all of you and the #-interactions we have <3 #okay. if tumblr deletes this one im going to maul someone #bee.txt #mutuals 💫 #<- throwback tag #also pretend noah pimplepogue is here. okay. hes deactivated but he is here too in Spirit

[originalaccountname]

nawy you're out here taking one for the team with what you said about odazai (I agree and have gotten myself into situations that would put the "impropriety" of this to shame)

Starting off by saying I have some relationship horror stories I could tell (I will not). I am VERY aware of the potential dangers. Notable age gap relationships with teenagers are not something I would encourage at all (and if I can tell all of you one thing, it's to never let yourself be isolated from your safe circles by a partner. keep yourself safe.)

But I know a couple who started dating at 16 and 20 respectively. Years later, they are both adults with a kid. I have a friend whose parents are 10 years apart in age, and another friend whose mother started dating a guy who could almost be her son, with something like a ~20 years age gap. They currently are raising a kid together.

And just for a last kick: you know Céline Dion? the singer? My Heart Will Go On? Her. She fell in love with her manager at 16. He was 26 years older than her. She met him when she was 12. She made a move on him at 20. They married when she was 26 and were married for 22 years, until his death, and had 3 children together. Céline Dion still talks about him as her one and only.

But most importantly... Dazai and Oda are characters. They're fake people. Dolls. They only do what you make them do. You control their feelings and intentions. Not only is their age gap only 4 years and with time, that gap would come to be meaningless, but YOU decide if/when they act on it, if they are conflicted, if it's one-sided, etc. Others shipping them are doing the same. Fiction is an exploration. Not an argument for validity.

Sometimes people meet and the relationship changes over time. Sometimes someone has a crush on someone they shouldn't. Sometimes someone develops feelings that go unrequited. Sometimes relationships have concerning but ultimately fine age gaps.

You don't have to ship it, like it, or want to see it. You can have personal reasons to hate it, it can squick you for no real reason, or you can have an OTP that makes you dislike other pairings. You don't even have to tolerate the ship: block it, filter it, close your eyes and scroll by, whatever. Like with any other ship you don't want to see!

click here for tumblr's documentation on how to filter text and tags

Life is full of weird things. Fictional characters having a slightly eyebrow-raising age gap upon their first meeting for an ~eventual~ romantic relationship is nothing.

#look at this: #odazai #now if you don't want to see or hear about that very fictional not real relationship for any reason at all #you will filter or already have filtered out that tag #i don't like dazai/at.sushi and therefore i have the tag filtered on tumblr and ao3. boom. i never see it. the end. #works for self in.sert fics / the fandoms your mutuals are in you don't want to see / your squicks / your trig.gers / etc. #stop making trig.ger lists and d.ni lists just filter out the tags and block people accordingly #take care of yourselves #ask answered

[bil-daddy]

hi mr bildad um im just gonna dump this here since i have no one else to talk to

as someone who has always praised in their ability to be friends with anyone (i also need human interaction to survive btw) ive been feeling very lonely, especially since now are the school holidays.

my best friend (who is one year older than me) is barely online and doesn't take me seriously enough. and when i ask my friend group (with 2 other people my age) if they want to go out nothing happens. ive asked so many times but it's like they just don't want to hang out. and i keep seeing them post everywhere of them having fun with their OTHER friends (i don't know them bc they're from their primary schools; we are in secondary school now). and the obvious solution is to hang out with my primary school friends, right? well awesome news I DONT HAVE ANY.

and like ive just been feeling really really lonely especially today. i don't even text anyone except for my best friend, and even then she doesnt really respond properly because its like i dump a lot of messages and 4 hours later she skims through them, rinse and repeat.

(also side note i used to have another best friend but he ended up having a crush on me and didn't give me space so i kinda ended the friendship bc i wasn't comfortable with it)

during my entire TWO MONTH school holiday i haven't gone out with friends. not even once. while i see everyone else my age having so much fun and enjoying life while i just rot at home scrolling through tumblr.

so yeah im not really having a great time. hopefully when i get back to school in january things will be better

sorry for the long rant

Hey, kid (human). No need to apologize for the long rant. Actually, I've got a lot to say about this topic, too, so take a toilet break, grab a beverage and a snack, then sit down with your deal old Bildaddy (platonic, metaphorical) for a chat.

First off, sorry you're going through this. It hurts a lot when friends start fading away, and you realize they no longer consider you as close and you consider them. Feeling left out and like you don't have any real friends seriously sucks.

But it's actually something every single person goes through at some time or another--though most of us aren't brave enough to admit it like you have, because it feels embarrassing and shameful. Like there's something wrong with you.

There isn't.

There is nothing wrong with you.

Friends come and go, and 99% of the time it has nothing to do with you, or anything you've said or done. It isn't your fault. That doesn't mean it hurts any less, but it isn't your fault.

But that being said, I promise you, for every person you see pictures of having so much fun and enjoying life, there are twenty--probably even more--at home like you, scrolling tumblr, or tiktok, or reddit, or whatever the kids are scrolling these days.

And even those people you see posting pictures, that isn't their everyday life. They post pics of the good times, not the bad ones (well not usually) or the boring ones. Especially not the boring ones. I bet they do more sitting at home and scrolling than you think. They're just not advertising that for all their followers to see.

But that's not the point. The point is (dolphins! goats!) your current friends aren't fulfilling your need for socialization. And that means you need to find some new friends, anon.

You can still stay friends with your best friend and that old friend group. As in, don't send them a message officially ending the friendship, and don't delete and/or block them everywhere. You can still talk to them in school when you see them.

(Do unfollow them on social media if seeing them hang without you is upsetting--or better yet, pause on using social media entirely--except for tumblr, of course--until you're in a better place, mentally and emotionally. Bildaddy deleted instagram five years ago and never went back.)

But starting today, back off on asking these friends to hang out, and sending long text messages to your best friend that she only skims through. They're not matching your energy, so you need to start matching theirs. Either they'll notice the difference and start making more of an effort (no, not that kind), or they won't and they won't. But either way, you'll stop wasting your time.

Next, you take all the energy you were spending on your old friend group and start looking for new friends.

While you're still on winter break, there might not be as many opportunities, but there are some possibilities. Do you have any cousins around your age who might wanna hang out? Or maybe there are local events aimed at teenagers you can attend? Check libraries and community centers. Or on New Year's Eve, there might be some sort of Parents Night Out event you can volunteer for and help babysit a group of little kids, along with other teenagers that you could befriend?

Then, when winter break ends, look around your school for other students who might be in your same situation--and trust me there are others in your same situation. Is there someone who always sits alone at lunch? Or what about that kid in class who's too shy to speak up? Is there someone getting bullied or ostracized? Someone new to the school who hasn't made any friends yet? Look for the ones who might need a friend as much--or even more--than you do and try to befriend them.

It won't always work, no, cause nothing always works. But it will work sometimes. And you only need it to work enough times to make a couple friends. And if you make the right friend, they might have a friend group that you can join.

I know it's really scary to put yourself out there and make the first move. But you'd be surprised how receptive people are, especially the shy ones who are too scared to say 'hi' first, and rely on the braver ones, like you, for the human connection they need. Because we all need it. (Even me. Because I'm totally 100% human.)

Other ways to make friends are clubs, in school and out of school, which is probably what adults will suggest if you ask them, so I'm not going to spend much time on this. But they're right. If you're not already in clubs--academic, sports, art, books, music, anime, whatever your interest(s) is--join some! If there's nothing of interesting at your schools, churches and other local organizations might also have youth clubs and activities, too.

Shared interests in a sure way to make friends. I see it happening all the time on Tumblr. Those mutuals you wish didn't live so far away? Well, you can find mutuals just like them IRL! (Especially if you start or join a book club that reads Good Omens, or a tv show club that watches Good Omens)

Another option is getting a part-time job at a place other teenagers work. If this is something you can do without disrupting your schoolwork, try it. Fast food restaurants, cinemas, places like that.

You say you're someone who has the ability to be friends with anyone? Well, prove it! This isn't a threat, by the way. This is encouragement. I'm encouraging you.

Now go out there and make some friends, kid! I know you can do it! I believe in you, and everybody here is rooting for you.

And, as always, have an ox rib (platonic)

#bildaddy answers #life advice from bildaddy (results may vary) #have an ox rib (platonic) #bildaddy #bildad brainrot #bildad nation #bildad the shuhite army #oh bildad we're really in it now #oh bildad the shuhite we're really in it now #bildad my beloved #shutanic temple #bildad the shuite #bildad #bildad the shuhite #bilday #obstetrician thursday

[azulas-lightning-bolt]

I’m gonna preface this by saying (as most mako enjoyers can sympathize with) I have scrolled the ENTIRE mako tag on tumblr. more than once. I have seen everything.

which is including those character x reader/original character posts. and no hate to them at all, but one that stuck with me (because I, the sucker I am, read the entire thing without realizing the romantic undertones until it got overtly,, romantic) seemed SO ooc I actually wilted a little.

again, no hate at all to these people who make these—they enjoy what they enjoy and display their passions how they want and that’s great—but since I’m not naming names I’m going to make my own friendly criticisms and comments.

basically, it was set as mako and the ofc being pro-benders. ofc threatened to hand mako’s ass to him in the next match and is trying to hold true to that. she’s strong enough, fight is cool, whatever. I didn’t read it as romantic at all—the commentary for the match made a reference to fan theories that ofc and mako had something going on, but I still thought it was chill rivalry between friends who thought the rumors were dumb.

but what happens? mako lets ofc win. LETS HER. just gets distracted by her beauty or whatever and lets her knock him.

what.

this guy was three seconds from booting the goddamn avatar to ensure a win because he was POOR and this was his LIVELIHOOD. he would NOT let some girl win lying down.

the other thing I hated was that mako likes a girl that is 1. way out of his league and 2. able to beat his ass without breaking a sweat. source: makorra and masami. this girl did not fit two. he wouldn’t have let her win, he would’ve gotten a crush on her as she strong armed his head into the floor.

anyway. he wants a girl he should under no circumstances be able to get who can beat him up or a man. bi mako agenda is real.

thank you all for coming to my Ted talk I’m losing my mind over dumb awkward pretty boy #43875

#mako lok #legend of korra #mako #makorra #masami #also mako is THE pretty boy idc #my personal hc is that he’s called pretty like 80% more than he’s called handsome #bolin makes fun of him for it. I know it in my heart. #mako calls him champ in retaliation #(bolin got called champ on his first date. by his gf.) #ITS CANON TRUST

[fetishfairytales2]

Happy Birthday Sissy! Pt. 3

Heather and Brandon are original characters created by @wittlesissyb4by in his fantastic series “Besties”, which this blog expands on. Please support him through his Tumblr and his SubscribeStar. ——————————————

I had finished most of Brandi’s makeup while she was cuffed to the chair in front of the vanity. “Just a few more touches girly,” I said into the mirror giggling. I pulled the paci gag from Brandi’s quivering lips and slicked on the bold red lipstick on. "This shade is called 'Fuck Me Red', how perfect!" I sneered, After a few hard slaps and some threatening to let Daddy handle her temper tantrum, the fight had drained out of her and she stopped resisting me.  "Oh, and make sure you don't ruin that mascara with your sad little tears, Sissy. Or whatever else will be dripping down your face later!" I teased.

"Oh Brandi, honey. I can see the excitement in your eyes for your special celebration!” I cooed, staring into her eyes; “Everyone is just dying to see the sissy birthday girl! But before we go over the guest list, I have to give you a little heads up." I crawled into her lap, getting cozy and teasingly rubbing my ass against her caged and diapered cock. I pulled her face close to mine, looking stern and deathly serious. "Just remember, sweetie, if you mess up AT ALL today, don’t do exactly what I ask or don’t behave like the perfect little sissy, I promise I'll make your life even more miserable than it already is. And trust me, I have some creative ways to do that…"

I flashed my sweet Mommy smile and spoke in my sing-song voice again. "Now, let's think about all the friends coming to see Sissy Brandi today, shall we?" I raised all ten fingers in front of her and continued, "Mommy and Daddy Conner will be there, of course." I lowered one finger. "And let's not forget about my sister Maddie,” I put down another finger. “Oh, and Kylie, she just loves seeing Sissy Brandi." I dropped yet another finger. "And her handsome boyfriend, Brad, will probably be joining us too." I pinched her cheeks and cooed. "There's also Ms. Lyndsey, and she's bringing her boyfriend Marcus. Remember him?" I booped Brandi's nose as I lowered another finger. "You weren't very nice to him last time when you got drunk and screamed all those mean things at him. But that was old Brandon, not my sweet mincing Brandi."

"Oh, and how could I forget to mention my girlfriends Rachel and Kelsey?" I cooed, taking out my phone and showing Sissy a photo of the three of us on my Instagram. "They'll be joining us for your little party, too! And don't worry, they know all about your new lifestyle. I made sure to invite their boyfriends as well." 

I scrolled through my phone again, finding a shirtless photo of a man with a sculpted body. "Guess who it is?” I laughed; “I promise, you're going to hate this," I giggled with delight. Without waiting for a response, I zoomed out on the photo. "Remember Mark? The one you were oh so jealous of when he was my personal trainer? Oh, the silly sissy thought I would cheat on him! No I would never...until you were in diapers, of course. Then I fucked Jermaine and every other man I could! So yeah, he’ll be here too!"

“And him of course,” I smiled wickedly, watching Brandi struggle against the cuffs as I held up my phone in front of her face. "Shh, shh,” I teased. “Don't worry, it was twice…in one night. Oh, and then another two nights after that! He's just too hot, isn't he?" I giggled while scrolling through naked photos of my coworker Grant and I in the same bed I used to share with my cuckold. I reminded her of how jealous she was when she met him at my job’s Christmas party, saying, "I told you not to worry about him then. Nothing would of happened! But no, you just had to go and cheat on me with that slut Sophie..."

I paused, giving a flirty wink and revealing a screenshot I took from someone else's Instagram. "This is her, right?" I teased, showing a picture of the attractive young blonde who worked as Brandi's intern and her colleague, Chloe. The sissy was practically knocked over with shock. "Oooh! Surprised that I found her? I did some digging sweetie. Of course I found the woman you thought was worth throwing our whole relationship away for! And want to know something even more fun? She's coming too! And so is Chloe! But shhh, they think it's just a regular old birthday party. Oh, the fun surprise they're in for! I bet work is going to be interesting on Monday, huh?”

"Oh and sweets? That's not all of the invites for today," I whispered into her ear, removing her handcuffs and helping her up from the chair. "But don't worry, that's a surprise for later!" I grabbed her hand and spun her toward the door, causing her comically short skirt to puff out even more. "Now let's go say hello to our guests," I giggled, giving her a playful spank.

#humili sissi