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#their relationship in the manga is so... intense
crehador · 3 months
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parting thoughts on ragna crimson (first cour)
i think it was... the first episode? that i didn't really vibe with. felt like a decent enough fantasy, but unremarkable in just about every way
THEN A WEIRD GUY APPEAR
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iirc it wasn't until the second week that we really met crimson, which is kind of a shame because imo the show doesn't really start to come together until then. i like ragna well enough, but it's really the combination of the two of them that compels me
always love a duo where they have the same goal, but drastically different personalities/values/modes of operation/etc
always extra love a duo that's like "team up with me, a dragon, to kill all dragons then once we've achieved our goal you'll kill me too"
(like vanoe but with dragons. i think. my memories of vnc are actually very hazy)
and always extra extra love when ayu gets to just do his thing, playing guys who are girls who are guys who are etc etc etc
it's certainly not the best of the season, and still overall fairly unremarkable imo, but also not really bad in any way. if there's one thing i find lackluster i guess it's that i feel like they don't lean enough into this... pseudo-past life thing that ragna has going on (with the powers and presumably memories of his 'older self' passed down to him)
like ragna is still more or less his 'normal' self in terms of personality, which is fine, he's got a fun enough personality, but if he had some like... old man tendencies mixed in there, or if we saw more of his memories with crimson maybe? i don't know, just feels like something more could have been done with that fusion of past and present (or rather future and present)
looking forward to the second cour but at the same time... hoping this series won't be too long lol
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aranarumei · 6 months
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god. what i'd give to read smthing like skip beat again...
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chadsuke · 4 months
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Comics Read in 2023:
Mr. Bride Vol. 1 by Natsumi Shiba (2020)
Mr. Bride Vol. 2 by Natsumi Shiba (2020)
Mr. Bride Vol. 3 by Natsumi Shiba (2021)
Mr. Bride Vol. 4 by Natsumi Shiba (2021)
Shadows House Vol. 1 by Somato (2019)
Shadows House Vol. 2 by Somato (2019)
Otherworldly Izakaya Nobu Vol. 4 by Natsuya Semikawa & Virginia Nitouhei (2017)
Otherworldly Izakaya Nobu Vol. 5 by Natsuya Semikawa & Virginia Nitouhei (2017)
Otherworldly Izakaya Nobu Vol. 6 by Natsuya Semikawa & Virginia Nitouhei (2018)
[ID: Covers of the aforementioned books. End ID.]
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oceanfossil · 21 days
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a sapphic ask game for ur sapphic ask game needs
are you beating the uhaul allegations? (be honest.)
do you identify as butch, femme, masc, and/or gnc? or none of the above?
how did you realize you were sapphic?
who is/was your most intense sapphic crush?
do you consider yourself a dyke?
are you good at picking up on when people are flirting with you, or do you tend to be more oblivious?
have you ever crushed on a straight girl?
what's your relationship status? are you happy about it?
do you have a "type"? if so, what is it?
did you do anything gay as a kid that makes sense when you look back on your childhood?
what are some good sapphic songs/music artists?
good sapphic books/poems/authors?
good sapphic movies/shows?
list five things you look for in a partner, or five things you love about your current partner(s).
are you the gay cousin?
do you consider being sapphic a big part of your identity?
how many people have you dated? talk about them if you want!
thoughts on e-dating or long distance? have you ever done it? how did it go?
describe your fashion sense. do you "dress gayly"?
do you consider yourself to be a good kisser?
are you generally "out" to people?
how do you feel about valentine's day?
do you like being referred to with masculine adjectives, feminine adjectives, both, or neither?
thoughts on marriage?
have you ever gone to a pride parade?
do you read yuri manga?
do you fit any sapphic stereotypes / other stereotypes related to your identity?
what's a canon sapphic ship you enjoy?
how about a non-canon sapphic ship?
who's your favorite sapphic character?
LEAST favorite sapphic character?
tell a funny story about something really gay you've done.
do you get crushes/fall in love easily?
who's a sapphic person you look up to? they can be someone in your life, a historical figure, a celebrity, etc!
if you could tell your younger sapphic self anything, what would it be?
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harmoonix · 6 months
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🚫 Slutty Astro - Observations 🚫
"I'm a bi*** and a boss, I'ma shine like gloss"
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🔞This post is dedicated to people who are over 18+ so minors are not accepted in this post due to vulgar talking and 18+ content. Thanks for understanding.
🚫 Asteroid Lisista (8064) - The most sensual side of your soul
Lisista in Fire Signs is intense and magnetic, they are very flirty and possibly can end up with a lot of people crushing for them (sometimes even without them knowing)
Lisista in Air Signs is full of charm and mystery, they have the most sexual voice heard by the human ear, and their eyes can just be very hypnotic
Lisista in Earth Signs is full of power and grace, they are like an goddess walking in a garden full of Diamonds. They have control over anything in their lives and often tend to give Dark Fairy vibes
Lisista in Water Signs is unexpected like ocean waves,you never know when they are gonna show their most horniest mood. They are secretive and come to you like a show waiting to know for more information
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🚫 Asteroid Astarte (672) - Your Divine Pleasure
Astarte in Air Signs full of lust in their voice and the way they express themselves to the world,their body movements are everything
Astarte in Water Signs have lust in their eyes. Especially when you make an eye contact with them will be like "Omg i wanna make out with that person they're so hot
Astarte in Earth Signs have lust in their personality and behavior. They usually cannot control themselves most of the time when they think about some things. They are pretty naughty
Astarte in Fire Signs are full of lust but they tend to show it only when they meet the right people who deserve to see that lusty side of them. They are like something you find rare and even rarer to keep it to yourself
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🚫 Asteroid Pan (4450) - Libido for life
Pan in Earth Signs like to create an intense connection with the people they love, they can be very kinky in a relationship and getting horny by little things, attractive at the first sight
Pan in Air Signs like to communicate before going into the action, they may start with a lovely conversation which could lead to an sexual scene, they might also like to make out listening to music
Pan in Fire Signs are the type of people of who can master a lot of kinks, or just having multiple kinks, they may like it rough and dominating their partners
Pan in Water Signs are the type of people who have hidden kinks, like they are also discovering themselves while they make out, they might be into making out and having a lot of eye contact
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🚫 This might be off topic but Saturn - Venus aspects aswell as having Capricorn Venus in your chart can mean that you tend to be attracted to people who can be older than you, and in some cases being attracted to teachers
🚫 Virgo Mars/Mars at Virgo Degrees (6°, 18°) are having such HOT body figures and appealing especially your waist
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Can we make it all night?
We don't stop, all up on my body, babe, ooh
Touch me like a summer night, you feel like a
holiday
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🚫 Scorpio and Sagittarius Mars can show an high libido in a man's chart while in a woman's chart can mean that she can be very horny
🚫 Aries and Taurus Venus in a man's chart can be an indicator that they may love to choke during the act
🚫 Someone with an Aries Venus might be the type of person to rip the clothes out of you and to throw you in the bed while trying to seduce you
🚫 Pluto aspecting Mercury loves to talk dirty during the act, they might also have an addition to moaning or rough moaning in some cases
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🚫 Neptune aspecting Mars can often dream that they make out with someone in their dreams, there are cases where it can happen to not see who you are making out with but you can wake up with a horny feeling
🚫 Virgo/Gemini and Libra/Aquarius Moons might have an addiction to read 18+ books or mangas, or any kind of book/comic that has 18+ content
🚫 Lilith in Cancer in a man's chart can indicate that he might have an breast addiction while Libra Lilith in a man's chart can indicate he might have butt addiction (And this can happen to people who are LGBT+ aswell)
🚫 Vertex aspecting Lilith might be an indicator of radiating an highly sexual energy. Sometimes even without you realizing it
🚫 Vertex in the 5th and 8th house are indicators for having good pleasure in this life. Something to not satisfy only your body but you soul aswell
🚫 Venus or Juno in the 2nd house might indicate an spouse who loves to spoil their partners, spoiling at day and breaking the bed at night
🚫 Leo Mars/Venus might love to walk naked around the house even around their partners, they just love to show their bodies
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🚫 Lilith aspecting Midhaven can be an indicator of people perceiving you as an very sexual/sensual person, someone who also might be very intimidating
🚫 Mars aspecting the Midheaven can be an indicator for being into sexual scandals, people perceive you as someone intense but also dangerously beautiful
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Boy, have I told ya?
I swear you put the sun up in my sky
When it's cold, you pull me closer
So hot, it's like the middle of July
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🚫 Vesta (4) aspecting Chiron indicates that the native can heal through making love, like sex can heal you and bring you power
🚫 Mars aspecting Uranus can have an sex addiction, with them you literally you're making it 24/7 even at night, they be waking up at 3 am wanting to f**k
🚫 Eros in Libra/Taurus are the type of people to look at others butt or 🍆 size through the pants if they are attracted to that person. Because Eros in these 2 signs is extremely horny
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🚫 Aphrodite (1388) in Gemini or Virgo loves to hear their partners saying their name out loud, afterall they are ruled by Mercury and having an Aphrodisiac for hearing their partners out
🚫 Aphrodite (1388) combined with Aries Degrees (1°, 13°, or 25° degrees) makes the native irresistible for others and being wanted
🚫 Eros in Virgo or Gemini may be the type of people who want to hear how much you love them and how much they mean to you. They love words of affirmation but while you say that. You have to it mean it
🚫 Eros in Leo/Scorpio might love biting, they just love to bite the shit out of you. And when I mean BITING. And biting everything they see
🚫 Vesta (4) square/opposite/conjunct Venus might be prone to want more rounds of making out. Because they usually like the feeling of it
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🚫 Everytime the music starts playing someone with Sagittarius Moon or Moon in the 9th house will feel sensual/appealing, they just teleport into another world when they hear music and they're sensual asf
🚫 Cancer Degrees on your ascendant (4°, 16°, 28°) gives Innocent/submissive vibes, if you are attracted to men and have these degrees. They will be into you because of your eyes, literally bambie eyes
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One touch, need your love
Me and my baby, we up in the club
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🚫 Neptune aspecting Mercury will be the type of people who will think at the naughtiest things possible, even in their sleep girly be thinking at her imaginary bf 🍆 size
🚫 Pluto - Mars aspects= I already said this, everytime I see aspects between them I think of Twilight when Edward breaks the bed with Bella
🚫 Neptune - Venus aspects are horny enough to make out in the sea at night (Again another reference to Twilight 😌) unless they have an phobia related to ocean
🚫 Venus - Pluto aspects= These aspects are giving FIFTY SHADES OF GREY vibes. They are so horny. Their hormones go to ceiling and back when they are with their loved ones
🚫 Mars in the 11th house loves to communicate a lot during the act, if you don't communicate they will get bored and you won't like what they gonna say.. They have such an high stamina
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Now we're dancing in the club
And it's fire when we touch
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🔥 So hot is like the middle of July, 💅🏼💅🏼💅🏼. (I realized we are in september 😭)
Good day dear darlings 💋😍 today I'm coming with an such an hottie post for y'all 😍. And yes this post may contain photos with couples of all genders 😍🔥. Well I did some naughty posts in the past but this is something I didn't posted yet and time is out for it !!🔥 Tell me if you enjoyed the post and the observations 🔥
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✨🔥 Have an amazing day dear darlings ✨💋 full of good vibe and hood energy 🔥 ✨ May the nights be hot like the middle of July ✨
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- H a r m o o n i x
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seekingserenity333 · 8 months
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Astrology Observations - 1
Thank you everyone for the love on my first post! Please do let me know if things resonate with you, sending love! I'm still an amateur, so take what I say with a grain of salt. +18 parts are in red, you can ignore if you like!
(+18) 1- Venus in Scorpio natives might feel that love is like a slow burn poison, loving too much hurts as much. They are very intense when it comes to intimate relationships and even though they might try and satiate their sexual thirst with one night stands, they will try and find someone they can regularly see and form even a slight connection. They are also lucky in the genitals part- although they're prone to STDs and might feel a scare at some point, they should be careful.
(+18) 2- Uranus in the 1st house/Aquarius ascendants might be from a young age tech savvy, their parents might even ask for help figuring out new appliances. If Venus and Uranus make aspects, they might experience a long distance relationship with someone from a different culture. They might also like sexting/cyber sex
3- Sun in 12th House and/or Saturn in the 1st house might indicate an absent father. The natives might have to discipline themselves or they might have the other parent step up for them. This may also indicate their personality blooming late
4- Mercury sextile Venus might indicate a way with words, interest in literature and being a great communicator. They can calm down a heating argument just with their words, making both parties laugh even
5- Lilith in the 2nd house might indicate being underweight and problematic relationship with food. They might skip meals without even noticing and don't have much attachment to tasty food at all
6- Mars in Scorpio natives might feel a big rush of energy when they feel threatened, as if they can take down tens of people. If Mars aspects the ascendant or planets in the first house, it can give the native a strong build no matter the size/weight. They might gain muscles without noticing and have a triangle shaped body. (Though this depends a lot on other placements too)
7- Gemini placements can be chaotic and unstable. They might have different personalities with different people, and can feel strong mood shifts. In personal planets, the native might want to constantly keep themselves busy with all kinds of media like series, anime, books, manga, music etc. and they can't quite get enough. After being done with something, they'll go through social media and forums on the subject and engage in conversations until they find their next craving
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tteokdoroki · 11 months
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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— playing defence + yoichi isagi.
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૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — you bitch slap kaiser for talking smack about your boyfriend. perhaps isagi is rubbing off on you.
⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, crack, fluff, suggestive towards the end, violence, smack talk, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, established relationship, pro player!isagi, fem!reader - not beta read !
⭑ words — 2.2K.
⭑ notes — greetings all! isagi brain rot is so real rn, i swear i have like six wips for him... anyways this was a silly little idea that popped into my head lmao kinda cringe but i had fun with it !! enjoy ! - m.list ✩
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your boyfriend is somewhat of a conundrum.
the world knows yoichi isagi as the ruthless heart of blue lock’s success. a man that’s unrelenting on the field with his strategic mind and frightening air of dominance poured into his every play. every movement he makes is calculated meticulously, the greed for a goal simmering in his blood. isagi as a pro player is foul mouthed and messy — taunting his opponent until they crumble into nothing but dust before his very eyes.
the media thinks he’s cocky, but rightfully so. after all yoichi isagi is the catalyst for a new generation of japanese soccer. the girls love him, he’s charming in interviews without meaning to be — they like how he talks about you. as if you’re a gem that’s worth millions. precious.
the isagi that you know has a tender touch and his soul warm, he wears his heart right on his sleeve and never lets you go a moment without knowing you’re appreciated. the isagi that you know is encouraging, he’s always on your side. if he needs to, he’ll sweet talk you with honey glazed words and kiss you until your thoughts fizzle out into stardust.
isagi is good.
he’s good to his friends, his teammates, his parents — he’s almost too good to be true. as if he’s been peeled from the pages of a shoujo romance manga or ripped from the silver screen of a perfect Hollywood romcom. a literal walking green flag. you’d say that you were lucky to have him, and yoichi would spin it on you — using strings of sweet words to express just how deep and profound his love is for you, praising you just enough to melt you into a love sick puddle of goo. and he’d mean it, sincerity swirling in his whirlpooling blue eyes. he swears by it.
so when someone pisses your isagi off, when they hurt him — you can’t help but lose your shit.
it happens during a practise match with a few of the players that joined during the neo-egoist league. although it’s been years since then and the blue lock project has become a formidable team, it keeps the boys on their feet to play with those with other worldly styles of soccer. the match had been going well, isagi trailblazing across the pitch and leaving nothing but a trail of destruction and despair behind — you were proud of him, amazed by him and the talents he possesses. to see him in his element makes your heart swell.
you don’t know kaiser very well — just that he’s super big and plays for the german team that gave isagi his leg up in the soccer world. you’ve heard from others about how much of a dick he could be and the intense rivalry he had with your boyfriend back when the blue lock project first started. you don’t know kaiser well but that information alone was enough to get your back up whenever he was in close range of yoichi.
and rightfully so. because you see the way he prods and pokes at the beautiful, sensitive parts of your lover as they race across to the penalty area. you notice how it rattles isagi, gets him all up in his head. you hear kaiser say something along the lines of:
“what’s with your shitty plays, yoichi? surely if you’re the heart of blue lock then the future of soccer is bound to be doomed.” he skirts around your boyfriend, intercepting a pass he was meant to receive from nagi. “pathetic, to see how much this star has fallen. i should crush you.”
you’ve heard all the insults the blue lock boys throw at each other before but this is nothing like usual. rin itoshi has said much worse to isagi right in front of your face (and isagi right back, foul mouthed motherfucker) but you know that’s a defence mechanism to how rin truly thinks and feels.
michael kaiser is just an asshole, plain and simple.
and that kind of behaviour doesn’t fly with you when it comes to yoichi.
you storm onto the pitch from the sidelines before your mind can even catch up to your body. the other players working around your boyfriend and his rival stop their movements as you stroll past them, snapped out of their egoist state by the referee whistle that calls for you to stop.
“m-ma’am! you can’t be on the pitch!”
you walk right past ness, weave between kurona, bachira and hiori, and right up to the blonde haired perpetrator himself. you’re polite about it too, tapping him on the shoulder to interrupt the narcissistic monologue he’s giving to isagi and showing him your sweetest, kindest smile.
there’s a split second before the blunt force of your fist collides with michael kaiser’s cheek and he’s knocked to the ground from the weight of it.
“you better watch who the fuck you’re talking to, you clownish freak.”
“babe?” isagi jumps into action despite his shock and the sniggers from other players on the field. he wraps his strong arms around your middle and tugs you into his chest with a winded laugh. “precious, what are you doing here?”
“he can’t talk to you like that!”
“but baby, you can’t be here—“
“this isn’t good.” bachira sings from a safe distance.
“fuck! what the actual fuck?” kaiser swears, using the sleeve of his jersey to wipe the blood from his bruising nose. “who’s crazy groupie is this?”
another wave of anger crashes through your veins, your blood at its boiling point as his words register within you. “excuse me?” isagi snarls, clearly unimpressed, loosening his hold on you while you struggle against your boyfriend’s lean frame.
“so what? you get your girlfriend to play defence for you and then act like i’m in the wrong? i said, get this groupie away from me—!”
before anyone on the pitch can realise, you’re free from isagi’s hold and you’re on kaiser like white on rice — fisting his sweatshirt between the same pretty fingers that treat isagi like he’ll break with too much force. “you wanna say that again, shitstain?” you run your tongue over your teeth, the menacing glint to your eye making you look like you’re a predator about to hunt down her prey. the blonde shakes underneath you as you pin him to the grass — an insult rolling around on his tongue. “i wouldn’t waste my words. you should just lay down and die before you take another sucker punch from this groupie.”
“do you have any idea how much this face is worth? i should—“
“gimme a break michael kaiser,” to your left you can hear bachira chanting something about ‘no violence’, bouncing around excitedly and a wicked grin tugs on the corner of your lips. “you’re not worth shit to me. so keep fucking around and find out, pretty boy. you talk smack about yoichi again and i swear your face won’t be the only goods i damage.”
“jeez, you’re just as crazy as that wanna be protagonist over there—“ is all he can muster before he flinches back from your fists that raise a over your head.
isagi moves quicker this time, scooping you up from underneath your armpits despite how you huff, puff and protest. “alright, alright, you’re done here. let’s go, princess.” he says sheepishly. maybe he’s been rubbing off on you a little too much.
his comforting touch slides down to your hand, grabbing at it to drag you off the pitch for the sake of kaiser’s safety, keeping everyone else out of harms way. and isagi just about gets you off the green before you set your sights on your next victim — ness, who can’t help but make faces at you as you trudge after your boyfriend.
drawing a line over your throat with your thumb, you make direct eye contact with him. “you’re next, shitty little meat-rider—! ow! ‘ichi!” you bark, but isagi quickly scoops you up again like a cat holding her kitten by the nape.
you have no choice but to back down for now.
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“yanno, you really didn’t have to do that.”
isagi let’s you go once you’re back in the locker rooms to check on your hand. he crouches before you (where you sit just a level above him on the metal bench), holding an ice pack to your knuckles with the trace of a smile on his lips, only lifting it to see if the swelling has gone down. isagi reads you like an open book, he’s got you all figured out so he leaves you with the space to react and have your little tantrums.
besides, it’s cute that you get so pissed off when it comes to him. watching your nose scrunch up and your lips twist into a pout while you fight your own outburst just makes his heart beat for you a little faster.
“oh i fucking did! he was being so horrible to you and i couldn’t just let it slide!” you huff as your temper flares, shoulders sagging and arms crossing over your chest. he says nothing for a moment and lifts the compress from your hand to check the damage.
“look at you, precious girl. you’ve only gone and hurt yourself,” even when you’re throwing a fit like this, yoichi can only see the beauty in you — his cheeks flushing at how much you care for him. the dark haired striker flips through a first aid kit that rests at your feet, looking for disinfectant to clean up your split knuckles. “and, as for kaiser… well, he’s always like that.”
“well, i don’t like kaiser. i hope a bird shits on his head and both sides of his pillows are warm.”
“bird shit is supposed to be a sign of good luck, baby.”
“don’t test me yoichi isagi.”
he dabs at your wounds with a cotton pad and a brownish liquid that smells like the dettol your mom would keep in the cabinet under the kitchen sink for when you got yourself into similar situations like this as a kid. but instead of scolding you like she would, yoichi tends to your cuts and scrapes either upmost care. still smiling to himself. smiling at you. resisting the urge to burst with affection.
“you’re gonna have to apologise, precious.” he mutters absentmindedly, wincing when you do.
“i-i’m not going to, he deserved it!” that much is true, kaiser is clown who needs to be put in his place but it shouldn’t have been by you and at the expensive of your precious hands getting hurt.
you’re in more pain than you’re willing to show, and it bothers isagi just a little bit that you’re experiencing it because of him.
“well he did, but ego won’t be happy.”
“did ego make you apologise for all those times you beat the crap out of your teammates for even looking at me? for stealing your goals?” you roll your eyes, leaning away from your doting boyfriend in protest.
isagi grabs at your wrist firmly, tugging you back into place so he can start wrapping your hand up — ignoring the way his face and the tips of his ears start to burn up in embarrassment. “well no… but that’s different. friendly competition.”
“hardly! may i remind you that shidou literally couldn’t walk for a week straight after he commented on my ass? because of you?”
“i was defending your honour! and keep still!”
you give isagi a pointed look. hypocrite. “okay, but what about when rin said you couldn’t fuck for the life of you and then you proved your point. using me. in front of him. was that about honour or about your ego? mister egoist.” isagi’s big blue eyes instantly shoot up to meet yours and blushes a crimson that could rival the shade of the older itoshi brother’s hair. “itoshi couldn’t look at me for weeks!”
“point taken.” knowing that he won’t win this argument (if you could even call it that), isagi finishes up with bandaging your hand and takes a seat next to you, a comfortable silence settling over you both while he attempts to piece together why you love him this much. to play knight in shining armour to his damsel in distress.
“are you…really going to make me apologise yoichi?” you ask him sheepishly after some time, leaning into him for comfort.
“not if you don’t want to, precious.” he hums, fondly brushing a thumb over the back of your bandaged hand. a silent thank you. a hidden i love you.
“good,” you whine now that all of your adrenaline’s worn off and you can really feel the consequences of punching a world class striker in the face. “now kiss my knuckles. they hurt.” holding up your hand to isagi’s face, you shake it as if to rid yourself of the painful ebb to it.
“better?” isagi complies, his lips soft against your skin.
“much.”
“so spoilt,” he adds. your boyfriend’s voice stays low while he plays with your bruised fingers and checks them over, resting his head against your own affectionately. “next time you throw a punch in my name, tuck your thumb into your fist to minimise the damage. i don’t like seeing you get hurt.”
“so you did like seeing me punch kaiser.” you giggle, squirming when isagi drops your hand to pull you into his lap possessively. his loving grin spreads even further when your eyes widen at a certain…hardness poking your inner thigh.
“oh yeah, super hot. i love it when you get mad ‘n start talking shit for me.”
isagi doesn’t make it back to practice, too caught up in showing you just how much he loves it when you start fights over him.
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room-surprise · 1 month
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Analysis of Laios and how he hugs/interacts with people, pre and post-manga.
Reading body language in real life is basically pseudo-science most of the time, however, these aren't candid photographs of real people I'm analyzing, they are drawings purposefully made by Ryoko Kui to tell us something about Laios and his relationships with other characters.
These illustrations are designed on purpose to communicate information. So what do I think they say?
Here's the illustration of how things are at the start of the manga:
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NAMARI AND CHILCHUCK
They're both rough towards Laios, expressing displeasure with him, using violent physical touch to get his attention or punish him for something.
TOSHIRO
His reaction to Laios is totally passive. He isn't turned towards Laios, but he isn't turning away either. He's staring up into space with a look of discomfort, suggesting he wishes Laios would leave him alone... But that he is too polite to openly reject him.
We know this is partially a cultural issue: because Toshiro is Japanese, he considers it catastrophically rude to tell someone "no" in a blunt way. He is trying to communicate his discomfort and disinterest to Laios, but Laios isn't understanding Toshiro's signals.
Meanwhile, Laios is turning his whole body towards Toshiro, his eyes are wide open, he's smiling. He's very eager to interact, in a way that he isn't with any other character on this page except Falin.
MARCILLE
They are having a neutral interaction. Neither of them seems excited or interested in each other, but they are talking seriously. Marcille is gesturing at Laios in a way that seems scolding, they are standing at a polite distance, and Laios is standing at his full height, perhaps even leaning/straining away from Marcille slightly. There is a physical object (Marcille's staff) acting as a barrier, and it's physically pushing Laios away from her.
But it is worth noting that he has his hand on the staff, suggesting that he's not letting himself be pushed away any further, that he's having a reciprocal interaction with Marcille, not a passive one where he just stands there and gets lectured. Laios is participating and engaged.
FALIN AND SENSHI
The only people having unambiguously positive interactions with Laios on this page, which makes sense since they are the two people who are the most friendly towards him at the start of the manga.
Laios and Falin are touching hands, smiling and their bodies are turned towards each other, showing enthusiasm and a mutual interest. This is less intense than the hug in the post-manga illustrations, which maybe suggests that there's something distant and unresolved between them here, like resentment and guilt.
Laios and Senshi are closer to each other than Laios and Marcille. Laios is sitting or crouched down to get closer to Senshi's height, and they are both smiling and turned towards each other. Senshi may even be laughing!
Here's the "post-manga" image...
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What a huge difference!
All of these interactions are basically positive, so I'll just go left to right, top to bottom. Also for some of these, we can't see Laios' friends full reactions, so I'll focus on what we can see, and how Laios is behaving.
SENSHI
They share a gentle hug. They both have their arms wrapped around each other, so the desire to touch is mutual. Laios bends to reach Senshi, and has a calm, content smile on his face while they hug. Laios rests his head on top of Senshi's head, showing trust and intimacy and a desire to be physically even closer to Senshi than just hugging. Senshi isn't pulling away, so I think that's a good indicator that he doesn't mind it, and possibly even likes it!
Which is a big change from how he felt violated by Laios touching his chest earlier in the manga, even though Laios was trying to heal him... I think Senshi isn't someone that easily lets others touch him, so this is a big improvement.
CHILCHUCK
The size difference makes this hug awkward, but that's not the only reason! Laios has both hands on Chilchuck and he is bending down in order to reach him, suggesting that he wants to embrace his friend, however Chilchuck is not straining to reach Laios, and he is only using one hand to touch him, suggesting that Chilchuck doesn't want to embrace too closely. Chilchuck is willing to allow a hug, and he is willing to touch Laios back, but he doesn't want it as much as Laios does.
I think Laios is aware of this, because he isn't trying to push the hug to a higher level of intensity. He's holding back to the level he thinks Chilchuck is comfortable with.
MARCILLE
They share a happy, but not overly intimate hug. Their chests and bodies are pressed together, but they are turning their heads away from each other.
Laios' hands are resting side by side on Marcille's back, and it seems like she is hugging him back in a similarly loose way. His arms are not overlapping, and they aren't squeezing or grabbing each other, just holding on lightly while pressing their chests together.
TOSHIRO
What a fascinating set of drawings!
I'm going to assume that the color drawing is what happens first, and the black and white line drawing is what happens afterwards, solely because if the black and white drawing is meant to just be Laios' fantasy of hugging Toshiro, then surely he would imagine Toshiro hugging him back enthusiastically, and not a more passive reaction like Kui drew.
Kui wrote a note here to remind readers that hugging is not considered normal in "the East", where Toshiro is from, to give context to why the character seems so uncomfortable.
Laios is approaching Toshiro at high speed, arms open and reaching for Toshiro, eyes wide, with a happy expression. He clearly wants to wrap Toshiro up in a big, enthusiastic hug.
Toshiro is sweating with discomfort, and he has a hand pressed against Laios' chest, attempting to stop him… However, the arm is not extended and his elbow is bent at an acute angle, and it looks as if no force is being applied. Toshiro perhaps feels a need to offer a token protest, but he isn't really trying to stop Laios.
In the black and white hug drawing, Laios has both arms wrapped tight around Toshiro, much tighter than Senshi, Chilchuck or Marcille, and he's pressing their bodies together and resting his head on Toshiro's shoulder. He's turning his face towards Toshiro's neck, and smiling serenely.
Toshiro's body is stiff, he's sweating, and his arm is held at a rigid 90 degree angle… But he isn't using it to push Laios away, just holding it uselessly at his side. Perhaps he is half-way towards returning the hug, thinking about lifting his arm a little higher and resting his hand on Laios' back, but he isn't sure if he wants to do that yet.
Toshiro is bending his body towards Laios, and allowing himself to be pressed against the other man. He's staring out into space with a neutral expression that suggests either discomfort or surprise. I think we're meant to understand that he has given up fighting against the foreign, offensive hug, realizing that it isn't offensive for Laios, and therefore it might be okay to allow it...and it might actually be more offensive if he rejected the hug.
FALIN
Falin has thrown herself at Laios with considerable force, and Laios has his arms overlapping across Falin's back. They are both squeezing each other tightly with their arms, and even Laios' hands are gripping Falin tightly. There is an overjoyed look on Laios' face, and I think this embrace shows how Laios has healed through the course of the story.
KABRU
Since Kabru is one of Laios' newest friends, it makes sense that the hug would be the least intimate.
The two of them have a complicated relationship in the manga, but the complete world bible shows that Laios has finally accepted that Kabru is genuinely his friend and not just trying to use or manipulate him. He's made an effort in the post-canon to reach out and try to be Kabru's friend in return, and Kabru has forgiven Laios for not listening to him in the past.
Kabru is turning his body away from Laios, which puts his shoulder towards Laios' shoulder at a perpendicular angle, forcing distance between them. Laios is fully facing Kabru, and has one arm behind his back, a hand resting on Kabru's shoulder, and another hand resting on his chest. The hand on the chest is attached to an arm that is bent at an obtuse angle, holding Kabru at a distance, with no indication that he is trying to pull Kabru in. Both hands are relaxed, like in the Marcille hug, indicating that Laios' grasp is loose.
This arm position is pretty unusual for an embrace. It allows Laios to keep Kabru at a distance where he can see him, and control where he moves, and how close he's able to get to Laios… and Kabru isn't returning the hug in any way, instead allowing himself to be touched and held in place.
Their bodies aren't pressed together, and Kabru's arm is down at his side, neither encouraging Laios nor pushing him away.
Laios has a big smile on his face, and he looks enthusiastic. Kabru on the other hand has a calm smile. In my opinion his expression is less enthusiastic than Marcille's.
I think Laios can't tell how Kabru feels about the hug, and so he's holding himself back. He's not blinded by emotion like he is with Toshiro, so he's not flinging himself at Kabru… And because Kabru is such a new friend, Laios is also probably hesitant to get too close to him.
There may also be some lingering trust issues, if Laios still isn't completely certain if Kabru genuinely likes him or not. Laios has often had trouble telling if people really like him, or if they are just being polite (Toshiro), or using him (former party members), so it makes sense that it would take awhile for him and Kabru to become truly comfortable with each other..
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intexda · 1 month
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Watching Netflix avatar episode 1 was like reading a book and skipping to the good bits but the good bits didn't have any impact because there was no build up or development.
The journey is not filler. This is not Naruto where it had anime padding episodes to keep running while the manga caught up. Even then Naruto had nonfiller journey episodes as well. Without them it's just fight scenes. Those are cool but they have a lot more impact when you see the characters develop over the journey.
The fights between Sasuke and Naruto are cool as fuck but they are so much more intense when you see the rise and falls of their relationship as the series develops. It goes from cool fight scenes to something full of emotion and heartbreak as Naruto has to fight someone who he considered a beloved friend and rival.
But that all gets lost when you skip the journey and call it filler. The same is true for Avatar. Just skipping to the part where Aang has a breakdown in the air temple ruins doesn't give it any impact. It needs build up.
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s4lv4tions · 6 months
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numerology; nsfw
pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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12.
Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless. 
He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—
"I'm in love with you," you announce. 
Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?
He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—
"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."
Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.
Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier. 
“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”
Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"
"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."
"You… dreaded me?"
You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."
You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release. 
Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…
"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”
Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes. 
"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"
At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever. 
Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness. 
He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more. 
He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.
There is no curse more twisted than love.
Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful. 
Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—
Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far. 
He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.
"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."
"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."
And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.
“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.
Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "
"I'll never forget you, either."
The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.
"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."
It should be the other way around, he thinks.
(12.5.
It's the first time he makes love in years.
Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.
If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.
Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again. 
You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you. 
He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others. 
"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"
You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.
He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.
Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:
"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"
You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"
And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."
"You're terrible."
"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips— 
When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—
His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"
It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk. 
As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)
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kookiyu · 7 days
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I love being pandered to but this difference between the manga and anime is why I sort of regard the anime as just being supplemental fanservice/a commercial for the manga rather than an adequate alternative for enjoying dungeon meshi.
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There's this sense of awe and stunned surprise to Marcille's expression in the manga, like it doesn't feel real what's happening... and that is how she reacts! She pulls away from Falin because it takes her a moment to process what she's doing and the intensity of the moment gives her such a fright she can only recoil in shock. But anime Marcille is so expectant and hopeful in a like. "I can't believe this is finally happening" way that it kind of misses the point...
In the context of the series this moment is fundamentally tragic. The erotics of it are tied into the dread and anxiety surrounding it... Marcille has done something really dark and scary out of her love for Falin, and there's this mildly overbearing sense of unease hanging over everything even in reprieve. When Falin looms over her and half-shadows her face, it's a really strong visual metaphor and piece of foreshadowing for her role in the story. Falin is this larger than life figure and person of worship for Marcille, she thrives in memories and stories, and when we finally see her interact with the cast tangibly and in the present she's shown to also be physically and emotionally overwhelming to be around. The lengths Marcille has already gone to to save her are pretty extreme, but it's only a fraction of what she'll inevitably resort to.
Smarter people than me have pointed it out, but love is a value-neutral emotion in Dungeon Meshi. There's no inherent goodness to love; it's the reason Thistle created the dungeon, it's the reason the demon grants wishes for humanity. This isn't the only instance of sexuality in Dungeon Meshi, but it's probably the most overt example of it barring the succubi chapter (which is largely played for laughs but is also a great chapter for characterization, because Ryoko Kui loves character writing so much.) The eroticism is employed really deliberately here in contrast to everything that comes before or after because Kui wants us to feel, along with Marcille, just how intensely Falin makes her feel. The totally unbarred physical intimacy and vulnerability is extremely potent! It's unlike any other relationship in the entire series! And it's just another seed Falin plants in Marcille that compels an intense response from her. The manga is (by nature of the medium) extremely intentional in its visuals, and that's why this scene hits so hard... But the anime forgoes a lot of that added visual meaning in exchange for a softer, warmer moment that doesn't carry nearly the same weight or nuance.
Another episode that should have hit like a truck but just sort of fell flat when it mattered
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Hi! If requests are still open, can I request for a Reader who like prince charming in manga or manhwa? Like the reader is such a gentleman(or gentlewoman), treat the TWST guy like a princess, and even when the TWST guys fall the reader just caught them and say "are you ok, princess?"or something similar? For self-aware!Au and Leona/Malleus/Vil if possible? Thank you! Please take time to rest and feel free to delete it if it broke the rule or you are not comfortable making it! 😊
Self-aware au
I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!
WARNING: Yandere themes, neglect, family problems, stalking, taking photos without consent, invasion of privacy, violence, unhealthy relationships
Leona Kingscholar/Vil Schoenheit/Malleus Draconia-Player is like prince charming
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Imagine this: Leona tripping over air, a most heinous thing hiding in plain sight, and then suddenly something catches him
If it weren't for your face being so famous he would have thought you were a student from RSA
“Are you alright?” Yeah, I think he is. Other than the fact that he stares at you like the red dot of a laser pointer is on your forehead, he is fine
What he didn't know though was how everyone else in the hallway was just staring at the two of you. Could be the stars and flowers surrounding you two but what do I know?
If Leona wasn't such a loner then he would have started a fan club or something like that
But since he can't he is more on the “silent screeching teenager on the inside” trip
Like, my man is hiding behind corners, snapping pics, trying to smell the slightest bit of your perfume
Ok, maybe he is a bit more intense than an entire fan club usually is but he is just trying to figure out more about his prince char- *ahem* you
And we wouldn't be talking about Leona if there wouldn't be the tiniest bit of that, you know, manipulating others
Ruggie once more gets a chance to make others have “accidents” but if it would be too obvious why he orders him to do that then he can also take care of it himself
You know, roughing up a few students who came too close to you. That kind of stuff
But oh, how much he wishes that you would pay most of your attention on him
Leoan might not seem like it but all the years of neglect back home had made him crave it
So he gifts you a lot of things
From simple things for everyday use to luxurious accessories
But why won't you accept them? Do you dislike him that much? What else does he need to do? Tell him. Tell him!
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Dramatic violin chorus, Vil falling backwards from the stairs, heels caught in the carpet, one last desperate look into the air before a chorus of opera singers screams in despair to add even more dramatic flair to the situation
And then, nothing. A soft cello plays a soft tune as arms close around his waist, stars sparkling in Vils eyes as his gaze falls upon his savior
Birds are singing and warm sunlight falls upon the duo... until the two Pomefiore students who carried a mirror start to move again making the reflecting light which fell on the two of you break away once more
Five meters away Epel just stares at you two with an expression that can only be described as “Ugh”
Rook stops the music which played in the background, the piece surprisingly supportive of the situation
As if the moment needed even the slightest bit more to seem like an abridged version of a Disney film you even asked Vil if he was alright
One second later and Epel asked himself what the heck Disney is
But congrats, you have now what Vil would call “a troublesome fan”
Oh no, Vil wouldn't buy merch of you or something like that. He has an even better collection
If you were to push his clothing in his closet to the side you would see its wooden back littered with photos of you
Some are a few selfies the two of you had snapped together (it was just a nice memory. He totally didn't mean to use it in any creepy means) and other photos you were not aware of
Some of them are taken disturbingly in private moments like when you were cooking and somewhere buried even deeper is even one when you were starting to change your clothing...
Vil also starts to hog all your time
No more eating lunch with a group of students you deemed your friends. Oh no, now it's Vil, Epel and ,if our local harassments of overgrown house cats has behaved well, even Rook
Although Vil doesn't trust Rook 100% when something is about you. The queen knows after all that the hunter has his own sights on you and is more than ready to snatch you up at any moment
Should you try to distance yourself though I recommend wearing long sleeves, otherwise the desperate clawing of nails that are way too sharp will rip your skin to shreds, a desperate fan of yours hanging just as desperate as the fairest Queen was on her beauty on your arm
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Do you hear that too? What you don't? Did I imagine the wedding bells just now?
When Malleus fell from his broom, most ungraceful, he was surprised when you suddenly caught him (although this tiny bit of hight wouldn't be able to harm him)
Even after he reassured you that he was more than just alright you still insisted to bring him to the school nurse just to be sure and even then you still treated him like he was something easily broken
Is... Is this how normal people feel when someone takes care of them?
The poor school nurse was almost screeching in fear when Malleus suddenly made a sound akin to purring
The situation is kinda as if the prince who fought against Maleficent suddenly apologized after striking her, making sure that she got better and then proposing to her
Ok, maybe he imagined the last part but he is just a lovesick fire spewing lizard in human form. Let him have his fantasies!
Malleus isn't your ordinary Fae though. Oh no. You are courted by royalty here but given his rather... unhealthy interest in you I am not sure if you could consider this a win or a loss
Gold, rubies, diamonds and much, much more is at your disposal. Don't tell anybody. Otherwise there will be break-ins
At this point it's a normal occurrence to see a scene from those clichè romance novels acted out in the hallways of NRC
But since Malleus has “Fae-prince-who-can-end-your-life-with-the-snap-of-a-finger” privileges no one dares to say anything
Malleus wouldn't be a good dragon if he weren't even the lighter bit hoarding
Only that it isn't just “a bit” but rather “hoards all the time” when something concerns you
And suddenly eh invites you to visit the Valley of Thorns
“Visit” haha, funny
Have you heard? There are rumors of Briar Valley soon having a second future ruler. Huh? Who? I don't know? But aren't you close to Malleus? Maybe he knows something
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ryukenzz · 1 year
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Muzan Kibutsuji - SFW & NSFW Headcanons
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[Note: Relationship Headcanons of Muzan Kibutsuji from Demon Slayer. Reader will be human and a regular citizen for this scenario. Will contain NSFW and slight manga spoilers (just one) so minors/anime-onlys, please do not interact.]
SFW:
Oooooo wee. Mr. Grumpy for a Living himself. Being in a relationship with Muzan can be.... interesting. It can be a lot of things. He can act "generous" and spoil you like a princess or just outright mean as hell. Either way, you'll be treated more as a pet/prized possession than an actual partner.
Muzan, or Tsukihiko, first met you while he was on a stroll with his beloved "wife and daughter." You were minding your business, and the demon just couldn't keep his eyes off you. Of course, the demon chastised himself for even looking at anyone like that, much less a mere human. But, longer he had his eyes on you, the more he wanted to know about you. So, he began planning your move into his castle and his life. This Demon King wanted his Queen. Well... to be more accurate....
He was in need of you.
From your point of view, you noticed Muzan's intense gaze on you that night. To say you weren't fazed by it would be a bold-faced lie. You tried to shake off his glare, but something within you made your eyes turn towards his. The shivers that enveloped your spine, the slight hitch in your breath and body language, none of it went unnoticed by him. Those ruby red eyes of his.... it's like they put you in a trance. One that made you want to know more about him.
The next time you saw Muzan was during a local event in your village. As you went to approach him, the alarm bells in the back of your mind began to ring. Your logic was telling you to stay away from this man at all cost. Deciding to put those thoughts behind, you approach the demon and introduce yourself. Muzan was a bit surprised that you made the first move, but all it did was make his plan of having you that much easier. Giving you a warm smile, he returned your gesture and bowed politely.
“It's a pleasure to meet you as well, (Last Name). I'm Tsukihiko. I apologize for my staring the other night.”
Such a suave liar.
From that day on, a steady friendship ensued between the two of you. Friendly trips to the market, hangouts at local events, night walks in the village. All of it made you come to like Muzan even more. To the point that those feelings became rather.... loving. Initially, you felt guilty for even developing them. The thought of being with a married father made you feel icky. But, being the oh so attentive person that he is, Muzan took note of your inner dilemma and immediately knew how to dissolve those worthless worries. All it took was a fake smile and gentle reassurance.
“(Name), I've come to sense that you're worried about Rei. Well, I can say that it is not necessary. We got a divorce as of recent, and she took our daughter with her. A factor of why is due to what I am.”
Muzan then told you about him being a demon. How he had to consume flesh to survive. This new information made you feel highly conflicted, to say the least. Before you could even process his confession, you heard a twang and found yourself surrounded by a multitude of buildings. You go to question him, but what you saw made your body freeze. Those ruby red eyes you fell for were now a harsh, blood red with slits. The caring Tsukihiko was really the ever atrocious Muzan Kibutsuji, the King of all Demons.
The devilish man stood in front of you, caressing your cheek gently, despite the look of possessiveness in his eyes. It was at this moment that you knew what you were dealing with. It terrified you, but.... it also intrigued you. It only made you fall deeper in love with him. Which is exactly what he wanted. “From this day on, you are mine, and mine only. No demon or man is allowed to be in your prescence, much less look at you. Such filth shall not matter to you. Ever. Do you understand.”
As most people say, Muzan has achieved the rich status and will pretty much spoil you. Anything you want, he's already at the place, cash in hand. That kimono you were eyeing? Already in the closet. A piece of jewelry you talked about getting? He's already putting it around your neck. This man has bought you so much stuff that you feel like a spoiled princess rather than his s/o.
Affection is very rare with him. He's not exactly the romantic type, but when he's in the mood for your touches, he'll just stop you from whatever you were doing and sit you in his lap. He'd caress your thighs and deliver small kisses to your neck. He would hold you tight, almost clingy, but these moments always made your heart flutter.
NSFW:
Now, you know this man is experienced. He's lived for over a thousand years, plus he had five wives in the past (though he treated them like complete shit). Muzan has the knowledge and skills to make the human body experience the ultimate pleasure.
If it weren't for Muzan's ability to hold himself back, he would've jumped on you then and there. The site of the soft ropes decorating the canvas that was your body made him aroused. He decided to heighten the experience by blindfolding you. The demon began to circle you, using the tips of his fingers to stroke the skin of your tummy, goosebumps appearing in their trail. He then moved them to your lips, letting them invade your mouth. You happily sucked on them, a soft moan emitting from you. An amused smirk formed on Muzan's lips.
“Such greed you have. Are you so reluctant to suck on my fingers? Perhaps my cock would be a better option for you then? Hm?”
It seemed his statement went straight to your core. As he stood in front of you and adjusted the rope to spread your legs, Muzan chuckled at the sight of your pussy drooling. Kneeling down, he delivered a series of kisses to your clit while sliding his middle and ring fingers in. To say you were a whimpering mess was an understatement. A combination of not knowing when or what he'd do, plus the feeling of his slender fingers, your cunt sang a song of joy for him.
Muzan is definitely big. He's definitely a good 9 inches and would increase its size to a 10. His cock has veins on both sides, and a pretty pink tip. You didn't know how you were gonna make it with a monster like that, but no worries. Muzan will make it fit. It's why this activity is done with you and you only. Your pussy is the only thing that's capable to handling him.
Your heart jumped a bit when you felt your body being suspended a couple inches off the bed. Was this man really about to fuck you stupid like this? Taking off his clothes, Muzan stood on the bed and used the tip of his dick to tease your entrance. You whined at him to stop the tease and get on with the show. A slap to your clit and the rough pace of his thrusts made you pause your complaint, your loud mewls ringing in the air.
“Cease your complaining. I'm the only one who gives instructions here. Are you that hungry for my cock that you decide to be a brat? To be so desperate as to beg me for it? So filthy. But nonetheless, I will gladly show you just how much I can offer this pussy.”
Muzan's favorite position is definitely between missionary and doggy. Missionary allows him to see you fall apart and mark your neck with his lovebites. Doggy, on the other hand, gives him access to smack your ass to his heart's content. He also loves to push your head into the mattress and fuck you harder. But, his number one will always be you on your knees, sucking him for everything's he's got.
Ya'll have more than likely fucked while he was in his female form. You never knew that tribbing could feel so good. And boy, was Muzan a master at the art. Crossed missionary, cowgirl, you did it all. Of course, she fucked you with dildos of all sizes. Some days, Muzan would overstimulate you with a vibrator attached to your clit.
“You can't handle anymore? How disappointing. You've only had four orgasms so far. Surely you can take more, my naughty girl.”
The overall lesson here? Muzan Kibutsuji is a god at sex, and you will always be left a drooling mess.
[Here's Muzan! Ngl, I went a bit wild with NSFW jdndnrnr💀. Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs will be greatly appreciated 💕.]
[Tagging: @sailewhoremoon @frxxst]
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ohkkotsuu · 8 months
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𝐈𝐁𝐓 — 𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆! choso kamo.
ৎ୭ PAIRING: choso kamo x gender neutral reader (they/them pronouns used, unspecified anatomy)
ৎ୭ ABOUT: your boyfriend never experienced many things from the normal human world, as a half-curse. he's fully convinced that he needs to be a better boyfriend. so, he'll do his best to be the best for you. he sets some rules to be a boyfriend, a good one.
ৎ୭ CW/TW: SFW. choso is just so sweet i wanna bite him, overprotective behavior (a bit), choso is a simp and he wants to marry you, this is really just him being head over heels for you, choso calls you some petnames, itadori and nobara are mentioned (not as a couple)! fluff. straight up fluff. i just wrote a lot of him being silly about you lololol maybe this will become a series?? with other characters maybe. also, please, if you enjoy it, tell me about it! i would love to interact more with reblogs and comments from you all.
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CHOSO never knew what to expect from the future, always being surprised by the violent turns in his life. lose two of his brothers, find a new brother — and certainly, he hadn't expected to have his heart so deeply won by you. nor win yours back. a sweetness of fate after so much sourness, which he hoped to make it last.
so choso became your partner (apparently, a modern term is boyfriend, so that works too). however, he has no idea how to be a good boyfriend. that makes choso resort to the best wingman he knows, an expert in people and relationships — his brother, yuuji itadori.
and it's from there that choso actively engages in what yuuji called “intensive boyfriend training”.
said training consists in watching hours of romantic movies, flipping through cliché books with good male leads, even retorting to reading shojo manga to know how to act romantic. yuuji even enlisted the help of a friend, nobara, so they only have quality content for training. no toxic male leads, no weird unconsensual stuff. only the best examples so he could become the best boyfriend. choso wants to know everything about how a guy should act to be a good boyfriend. after all, you're his world, and you deserve the best and the best only.
curses acquire information from the brain of the vessel they inhabit, but choso himself has no relationship experience. Centuries of his life were focused solely on protecting his siblings, and that is still one of his priorities — but, another priority is also you. he sets down some personal rules to himself, just so he can guide his heart through this whole “being a good boyfriend” thing.
his number one rule is never lie to you. never. doesn't matter the circumstances, choso will absolutely always be truthful and honest with you. relationships are based on trust, love and sharing. you are the person who showed him that there are ways to love someone beyond platonic — and, in return, you'll have his heart and he'll have yours. you are a partner for life in his eyes, and he would trust you with everything.
he's always truthful about things: where he's been, who he's been with, how he's feeling, he doesn't hide anything. choso even overshares every now and then. in his eyes, there is not even a single reason to lie to you. originally, he hesitated at the question of “how are you?” if he wasn't doing alright. choso wanted to be your white knight, the one who could protect you and his brothers without having to be weak. he slowly opened up as he realized it wasn't wrong to be weak. another valuable lesson you taught him.
if he is not feeling well, he will be sincere and say that he is not feeling well. choso will usually asks for what he wants — hold your hand, cuddle, kisses, anything really. he is also very honest when you ask for outfit opinions, for example — he admires how different colors suit you, how different types of fabrics of many different looks adorn your body. you usually need to call him more than once.
“choso.”
“hm? yes, baby?”
his heart skips a beat when he sees your smile. “you're staring. did you like this one?”
unfortunately, his opinion for visuals isn't exactly helpful, per say. he thinks everything look pretty in you, and he'll be very straightforward about it, because it's never about the attires you wear for him, no — you are insanely perfect. you're what makes this clothes pretty, not the opposite. you are what makes his world more worth living.
“I love everything you wear. you look amazing in everything.” the corners of his mouth lift up a bit as he give you the usual lovey-dovey stare.
you giggle a bit, unable to stop yourself from thinking that he's just so cute, staring at you like that. as if you were the moon and the stars. or even more than that.
“thanks, choso, but we've been here for half an hour. I need help to pick an outfit.”
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the second rule he sets for himself is to protect you and care for you. he's absolutely never taking you anywhere risky. he'll do anything to be sure you're safe — anything he can. choso is always off guard for you, you make him feel safer than ever. but he's not relaxing about other things.
he would never forgive himself if you were hurt because he's too relaxed. he doesn't always have to be perfect, he knows, but he will still give every last drop of his own blood for your safety and your smile.
he's always keeping an eye out for suspicious people or cursed energy. if any signs of danger appear, he is ready to catch you on his arms, bridal style, and just run away to get you somewhere safe — which has already created some situations that are as embarrassing as they are amusing. another option is him entering on this intimidating mode, if not the immediate fight response.
he also doesn't like curses, even weak ones, around you. he acquired the habit of killing them immediately, being careful not to splash the purple blood of the spirits on you. he also carries around a tissue, either to wipe his face if a drop or two has spilled or to wipe his hand — he would never hold your hand while his is dirty like that. this is his version of “boyfriend who kills bugs for you” (to be fair, he would kill bugs too, if they're bothering you). choso was surprised when he learned that this is something boyfriends do for their partners, watching it on a romance series where a guy kills a bug when his love interest was too scared to do the same.
he's protective, but he's trying to be careful not to scare you or be creepy. he pulls you by your waist, always so gentle, staring daggers at a guy at the mall, scaring him away.
“choso.” he turns his head to you, and his eyes soften immediately. “what are you doing?”
“that man was staring at you.” he says, a bit grumpy. you only giggle and lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek — something that makes his face pink and a soft smile creeps it's way into his expression.
“thank you. but you didn't had to scare him, I know that guy. he's an acquaintance of mine.”
“oh. should I get rid of him?” he asks.
“choso, no, that's not what I meant—”
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the third rule is something he made up seeing romantic movies: be a gentleman. he was doing that already, by taking care of you, showing his love, but according to yuuji and nobara, people love when their boyfriend is kind and does stuff for them. which made choso really confused.
“people get..impressed, when their loved ones show affection and minimum care or respect?” he can't really understand it, but if it's what will make him a better boyfriend, he'll become the most cliche of a gentleman.
(he's totally unaware that he is one already, and that no one was expecting him to do more).
so he looks for all kinds of opportunities to do something for you. place your orders in stores if you are too shy to do so, carry your shopping bags for you, put his coat over your shoulders when it's cold.
the “problem” is that it becomes something on a medium-large scale. you don't carry anything around choso, he carries everything for you. even small bags. the only thing with you should be a purse or backpack (if you wear any of those), and even with that he offers to carry it for you.
then there comes a day when you two are walking and choso stops. before you can ask him what's wrong, he picks you up on his arms. you cling to his shoulders with a surprised yelp. one of his arms is under your legs and the other supporting your back like a groom carrying his bride — as he hopes that one day, he will be that to you. and much more.
he just carries you for a few moments more without even complaining. he never complains. he loves carrying you, doing things for you, and you weight nothing to him.
“choso, what are you doing? what was that for?” he looks down at you.
“there was a mud puddle in the way, dear. if you crossed it, you would get your shoes dirty.” he explains nonchalantly, with you still on his arms. he seems ready to put you down, if you ask for it.
you both know he would have you bridal-style on his arms for a whole day if you let him.
hearing your giggle makes his heart flutter. although, one of his eyebrows raise softly.
“choso, we could have just skirted around the puddle.”
“oh.” he hadn't thought of that.
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the fourth and final rule is never forget. he should never forget anything about you or involving you. dating anniversary, your birthday, this man has it engraved on his memory. he understands that these are special days not only for human customs, but for him personally — after all, your dating anniversary is a celebration of one of the happiest days of his life. the day you and him became a couple.
he certainly thinks that day would only be surpassed by your future wedding anniversary. but these things can wait. the wedding can wait. he's happy just by being with you.
it memorizes all your preferences, from the simplest to the most complicated. he knows what kind of movies you like, which series you hate, which food you prefer for every situation. he has your favorite brands decorated so he can get those for you. choso memorized all your orders in coffee shops or diners so he can order for you, too. it also learns if you have allergies.
sometimes he can't really believe that humans have such organisms. resist some diseases, but if you eat a tomato being allergic, something like this kill a human? impressive.
if you are in a situation where another person is hanging out with you and they ask for something “wrong”, choso will politely correct them.
“no, actually, they're allergic to those.”
“my partner asked for this, actually.”
people may think he's being arrogant, by correcting everyone about what you want — but what surprises everyone, even you, is that he always get it right. he knows your gift preference: what items you like the most, or, if you like it, handmade gifts. he learns how to do those for you.
with a lot of help from the internet, yuuji and some moral support from nobara, choso sucefully made you a bracelet. he hands it to you carefully, a bit scared that you won't like it. it's one of those bracelets with letters on it, it reads:
“cho loves you”. you look at him, and he seems shy. this is the first time he actually made something instead of buying something.
“ran out of letters, so there was no way to have another S and O.” his tone is a bit apologetical, and his cheeks are pink. “I made it for you.”
before he can say anything else, you pull him for a gentle, sweet kiss. even such lovely action knocks the breath out of his lungs and makes his head spin. your smile when you lean back makes choso think he's in heaven.
“thank you, choso. I loved it, I loved it so much! help me put it on?” you ask with those cute puppy dog eyes.
and of course you could put the bracelet on for yourself, you both know it. but he accepts any excuse to touch you, and you want to see him do it. while he helps you with your new jewelry, it reminds you of the day he slipped a dating ring on your finger.
“done, baby.” he says softly, eyes laying on the bracelet and moving to your hand, where a ring that matches his adorn one of your fingers. his fingertips touches it softly and he smiles, whispering: “I'll marry you someday.”
“what was that, choso?”
“nothing.” he looks away, embarrassed. but in a way, you both know it: it's a promise.
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©OHKKOTSUU on tumblr.
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amethysttribble · 10 months
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For as much as I love Yor and Lois’s budding romantic relationship, the way the fandom has talked about them since the anime came out has irked me some. Mostly because I feel like the majority of people are skipping the really enjoyable slow burn portions of their relationship to go straight to ‘SUPER INTENSE MUTUAL PINING’, and I just don’t see them that way
Especially where the anime is and to an extent in the manga, they’re two people still getting to know one another in an odd situation who have a great deal of respect for one another and growing fondness. They’ve gone from strangers to friends and that’s amazing! And the unique nature of their fake marriage and double lives at once forces them to view each other way more intimately than they would otherwise AND forces a kind of barrier to intimacy that might otherwise have grown- they maintain a respectable distance so as to not cross lines, but so many lines have already been crossed
The tension is slowly rising really well, and I hate seeing that undercut for the sake ‘uwu kissy romance NOW!!’ We’re getting there, but we’re not there yet. And that’s not a bad thing!
All that being said, Twilight hesitating to shoot Yuri who is gunning to kill him because it would upset Yor is the single most romantic gesture ever made
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yulin-pop · 9 months
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⤷ ✧ 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝!!
order 82 | one-shot | Jade | Gender Neutral
❀ NOTE: Initially it was going to be headcanons but this works fine too.
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You were in your own world. You happily kicked your feet and quietly giggled as you read your little book. No one else was around to judge you for it! You never liked to admit it but those awfully corny romance shojou mangas are just too good. Call it a guilty pleasure.
You stared intensely at every line and every word on every page. Their relationship is perfect. The book must’ve casted a spell on you because you can’t stop reading.
“I’m sorry, did you hit your head, love?” Aoi asked with deep concern.
“You… what are you doing?!” Dia shook her head in annoyance. Dia tried to slip away only for Aoi to block her with his arm.
“Before that, I need to ask why you want to see him so badly. You won’t even look me in the eye and you’re running away… to see him?” He has tears in his eyes as he said that.
Without you realizing, a shadow loomed over you. The new presence was dangerous yet you kept on reading each page. It wasn’t until you felt a large hand on your shoulder. You froze, you didn’t even scream or move, you just froze in fear of who it was behind you.
“What’s this ya got here?” It was Floyd— the worst person ever! Out of all people that caught you reading corny romance manga— it was him?!
“Floyd, so why are you here out of all places?” You went to the most empty spot you could find which was the forest near the botanical gardens. No one ever goes there even for educational purposes.
Floyd brushed off the question and pointed to the book in your hand. “You came here to read comics? I thought you’d read history books or 18th century novels or something.” He smiled politely.
You shyly close it and slide it under your leg. You tried to think of something to distract from the fact you were caught red handed.
“You’re an eel right? You don’t belong in a forest.” You scoffed while crossing your arms. With that attitude, Floyd knew he caught you doing something that was supposed to be a secret.
“You’re so rude… Don’t discriminate against me because I’m from the ocean. I just wanted to play…” He sniffled and frowned. He kneeled down in front of you to make proper eye contact with you.
You shook your head, “Okay but what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be helping out at Mostro?”
“My whole life doesn’t revolve around that place. It was too boring and empty so I went searching elsewhere.”
You half heartedly smiled at him as he grinned back at you. But he began asking questions again. You sighed, grabbing your bag and standing up quickly. You gave a small careless excuse and apology before leaving with haste.
I guess I’ll just have to read another time.
Floyd stood up to chase after you but looked down underneath where you were sitting. You must’ve been rushing to get away if you forgot your book. Not thinking much of it, he let you go but picked up your book for a quick read.
Floyd sat down on his bed, taking off his school blazer. Jade walked in and smiled at his brother. “You finally came back.”
Floyd shrugged, “I wasn’t gone for that long.” It seemed he was still bored, maybe even more bored than before he left. Jade took off his hat and placed it on his desk, though he noticed he may have placed it on top of something else.
He picked up the colorful manga and looked at the front then back. “Is this yours?” Floyd looked over and shook his head.
“Nope, that’s Shrimpy’s. I found them reading that book but they ran away. That book is nothing like I’ve ever seen!”
“Did you steal this from them?”
“Actually no, when they ran away they left it there. I was gonna give it back to them tomorrow.”
Jade turned to the backside of the book and read the summary out loud. “Dia is an over achieving honor student, top of her class her first year of high school. But she pushes away anyone who attempts to get too close, making her a loner. Her life takes a turn when her old childhood best friend, who had moved away nine years ago, moves back into town. Aoi attempts to reach out and reconnect with Dia only for her to refuse. And the pursuit continues.”
Floyd laughs and lays down on his back, staring over at Jade. “I never would’ve guess MC would’ve read this sort of literature…”
“That’s what I’m sayin! They were really into it too.” He laughed.
Jade flipped back to the front, with an intrigued look. “Floyd, do you mind if I give this a read?”
“I don’t care. Actually, how about you give it back to them tomorrow?” He flipped on his side. Jade gave his brother a stare, though he was staring in the other direction, he could sense his twin’s displeasure. “You’re the one who touched it last!”
You had been a mess all day. Everyone could tell just by the way you stared at the floor with a melancholy expression that you were not okay. Despite nearly everyone asking, “What happened?” “Are you alright?” “Cheer up!”
You could feel no better.
After all, you were left on a major cliffhanger. Then again maybe it was your fault since you lost the book. You swear you had put it back in your bag!
You went back to the tree after realizing it was gone, but it wasn’t there.
Maybe Floyd took it… You thought with a scowl on your face.
“Damn, what did the floor do to you?” Ace laughed, but he didn’t have a smile.
“You’ve been glaring at the ground for almost the entire lunch.” Deuce said in concern.
Epel pressed a cold drink against your cheek.
“Ah, thank you.” You thanked out of obligation. You took it into your hands but didn’t move to open it.
“Ya better be. Now, are ya finally ready to tell us why yer all glum like a plum.”
The three of them sat besides you. You raised your head and glanced at the three of them. Though you only smiled at Epel’s words. “Glum like a plum? What does that even mean..?” You looked at your drink and he had even gotten you something plum flavored.
Epel held back his words only because he knew you were upset.
There’s no way you could tell them why you were so depressed. “I’m really sad because I was reading this really good manga but I was left on a cliffhanger because I stupidly lost the book and cannot find it”— They’d most likely get mad for worrying them that much over something so minor.
Deuce took the drink from your hands and opened it up for you, handing it back. “Drink something. Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”
You thanked him and took a sip, still wondering if Floyd stole it. That thought was killing you. At that point it was all you could think about. The cliffhanger wasn’t your biggest concern. FLOYD HAS THE BOOK? What if he destroys it? Or maybe he read it and now your image as a sophisticated, mature student is ruined in his eyes?! Or what if he tells other people and your reputation is ruined?
Before you knew it, you had found yourself stomping into Mostro Lounge. Though it was surprisingly empty. There was only one person as far as you saw. You got closer and it turned out to be Jade Leech. Not quite the one you needed to see.
Nonetheless you approached him with a slightly nervous smile. “Hello Jade, do you happen to know where Floyd is?”
He gave you an unreadable stare, “Why are you here? Today is a maintenance day for Mostro Lounge.”
“Is that so…? Well pardon the intrusion but I must know where Floyd is.”
As expected of the Vice Housewarden of Octavinelle, he accommodated your needs. In fact he offered to escort you there.
God bless him! He walked beside you, having a small conversation, just idle chit chat.
“How come you need to see Floyd so badly?”
“It’s just… something’s between us and I think he took something he wasn’t supposed to. Which is why I must go see him!”
You sped up and walked ahead of him. Which was the moment Jade chose to strike. His hand grabbed your wrist and swung you backwards into the wall. It was all very fast, you nearly hit your head.
You blinked as Jade stared down at you. You wanted to ask him what he’s doing but the words just wouldn’t come out.
“I’m sorry. Did you hit your head, love?”
What? Did he just… You must’ve misheard him. But that look on his face. He never looked at you that way before…
“No I didn’t…” You said under your breath. You realized how close he was when he got closer.
“What was that? I didn’t hear you, speak up.” He took his hand that was holding to wrist and moved it to you chin.
“I didn’t hit my head thankfully! Will you take me to Floyd now please?!” You began to slip to the side slowly, trying to get away.
Your heart jumped out of your chest, your eyes widened and you looked to the side to where Jade slammed his hand. You felt the wall shake. You looked back at him slowly but only one word inside your head.
Kaebedon!!
“Before that, I need to ask why you want to see Floyd so badly. You won’t even look me in the eye and you’re running away… to see him?” Jade has that same smile and hint of mischief in his voice. as always.
“I believe he has something that belongs to me so I was going to ask him if it’s whereabouts…!” Your voice strained trying to keep composure.
“Oh my, did he trouble you? I deeply apologize on his behalf. But I think I have what you’re looking for.”
You softened your gaze and mouth opening to explain himself. But soon he reached into his coat with his other hand that was not against the wall.
“Deep into the Heart by Nana F. Hopefully this is what you’ve been searching for.”
You stared blankly at the book, your hands reached out and snatched it from his grasp, which he let you do. You really didn’t have any words for him, mostly out of confusion and intimidation.
“Floyd told me that you left it behind when you ran away from him. He brought it back with him to our dorm after reading it through himself. The premise piqued my interest so I also read it. Hopefully it all makes sense now.”
You understood what he was doing when he did all of that. He was just teasing you. He smiled as he stepped away from you. “Also, Floyd stormed out 30 minutes ago. I’m sure he’s found somebody to amuse himself with by now.”
Now you were just embarrassed, you held the book up to your face to avoid eye contact. You were concerned about Jade and Floyd knowing your taste in literature. The unpredictable nature of the two intimidated you. Surely they wouldn’t tell anyone…
“Thank you Jade. I’m going to head back now.” You turned around and lowered the book.
“Allow me to escort you—“ he cut himself off as you sprinted away.
“No thank you!”
“No running in the lounge!”
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