#kami writes

[1-800-kami]

R U MINE? feat. gojo satoru

gojo satoru has got to be the picture definition of a stereotypical college frat boy. he’s cocky, loaded with his daddy’s money, and dangerously handsome. it seems like common sense to stay away from him since you’ll never get more than a one-night stand out of it. 

that’s why you choose to turn a blind eye once you’ve come to the horrific realization: you’re in love with him. and you’re just itching to ask…

“are you mine tomorrow? or just mine tonight?”

IMPORTANT: part two is out! read here :)

content: 8k words, afab!reader, angst! fluff! heartbreak! n everything in between! implied smut, rich college frat boy gojo and hellcat driver geto 🤑, emotional rollercoaster, reader has a toxic ex, trust issues (?) gojo is absolutely insufferable, misunderstandings, use of words hoe, slut, etc., mutual pining, some jjk character cameos (wink wink) me writing very unfunny dialogue, no bc wtf is this, cheating implications, emo gojo (the worst warning of them all)

author's note: hello hello! my name is kami, i've been reblogging fics on tumblr for a while now but i've recently figured out how to work this hellsite, so i'm going to start posting fics that i write! thank you to those who enjoyed my nanami drabble <3 kisses 4 u all.

this fic IS split into two parts (update: part two is now out!! linked here 2 read) and there is smut in the second part. so just. prepare yourselves for that ig.

reblog and interact for a kiss ;)

“so… let me get this straight.”

“go ahead.”

shoko takes a deep breath, and you just somehow know that she’s pinching her nose in exasperation right now. “utahime dragged you out to a party in hopes that you would hit it off with somebody. you wander off on your own and later, she sees you and gojo–THE gojo satoru–giving you his number?!”

“uh, yeah. that’s exactly what happened.”

“do you even understand what you’re getting yourself into?! that man bags hoes like they’re pokemon!” you readjust the phone against your ear and sigh at shoko’s comment. 

“okay, first of all, never say that again. second, i rejected all of his advances. i didn’t even save his number.” you stare at the crinkled-up note in your hands, which proudly displays his number and a slick call me if you change your mind ;). you wonder if you could sell this paper to his fangirls–you’d surely make a little bit of cash out of it. “i’ve seen gojo around. i know that i shouldn’t mess with him. plus, he was drunk as hell at the party; i doubt he even remembers my name. to him, i’m just some chick that he’s frustrated at because she didn’t want to fuck him the second she saw him.”

“do you… do you share any classes with him?”

“i don’t think i do.. just, don’t worry about it, okay? i’ll throw away his number and we can put all of this behind us. here, i’ll do it right now.” you rip up the paper into a few pieces before tossing it in the garbage can. hopefully, you did it loud enough that shoko heard it through the phone. “i get that you’re worried for me. and i appreciate that, but i can handle myself.”

“just… no more mention of gojo anymore, okay? you’re right, y/n. let’s just put this all behind us.” shoko sighs, and you smile at that. problem solved. you threw away his number, and he’s most likely moved on to the next girl by now, so that was that. now, you just have to forget about satoru gojo.

all to never let yourself get hurt ever again.

it’s hard to forget about gojo.

not because of those dangerous blue eyes of his–getting anyone lost in them if they stare for too long. not because of his stupid silvery white hair, which makes him look like a mop, and sometimes like a paintbrush. not that stupid cocky grin of his, either…

...but because you’ve recently found out that he sits next to you for physics.

the revelation was truly disheartening. you thought you could avoid him for the rest of the year because as far as you knew, you shared no classes with him. however, you completely forgot about the fact that gojo never attends class in the first place, and you don’t even know what classes he’s in… because he’s never there. so finding out that the seat next to you in physics wasn’t just an empty seat, and it was gojo’s assigned one, was truly an experience.

“gojo.” the name alone makes your heart stop, and you drop your pen to look at the man your teacher was addressing. “finally choosing to attend class for once?”

speak of the devil.

there he was, in all his glory–the man you’d never thought you had to deal with ever again. the man who tried to butter you up with his corny sweet talk so that you would go home with him for the night. the man who persisted with talking to you, even though you were barely interested. the man, who, at the end of the night, insisted on writing down his number for you in case you changed your mind about him and gave him a chance.

you wanted to shrink into your seat and never resurface. 

“good morning, yaga!” he says rather loudly, with no regard to honorifics at all. a few giggles could be heard across the classroom–though geto suguru’s voice was prominent–satoru’s equally as infamous bestfriend. “and yeah! it’s surprising, isn’t it?”

what’s also surprising is how gojo took a seat next to you. you thought that there was a mistake, that your teacher would scold him for sitting somewhere he isn’t supposed to sit and relocate him elsewhere. however, yaga just grumbles and begins the lesson, leaving you helpless and unable to look at the man next to you.

you swear he’s burning holes at the back of your head.

pleasdon’tremembermeisweartogodpleasedon’trememberme-

“you’re that girl from the party, right?” he whispers, and you’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your life. you slowly nod your head, turning to look at him, and he pouts. “y/n l/n. you never saved my number. hmph, i was looking forward to a text from you, too.”

“i’m surprised you even remember me, 'cause you were fucking wasted that night.” you twiddle your pencil, averting your gaze from the man. “and i never saved your number cause i threw the paper in the trash. it’s probably at a landfill somewhere, y’know.”

your words catch him off guard, and you laugh at how surprised satoru looks. it seems that’s definitely not an emotion he shows often. despite his initial reaction, satoru swears he could feel butterflies with the way your laugh sounds.

“not a common problem for a womanizer, huh?”

“what did you just call me?!-”

“y/n and gojo, do either of you have something to share with the class?” a dark blush of embarrassment covers your face, and somewhere in the back, you could hear geto snickering. gojo just smirks at yaga, seeming completely uanffected. “then i’d suggest you stay quiet the rest of this lesson. don’t make me separate you two.”

“i’d prefer that, actually…” gojo huffs at your comment, thinking of this as a lost opportunity if the two of you get separated. he does a once over at your appearance. you’re cute, but definitely not the party kind. you’re playing hard to get, and gojo finds it adorable–not a lot of girls go that way with him. however, gojo thinks you’re not just like any girl. there’s something different about you that intrigues him.

“did no one ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?”

“how could i not? you’re so cute.” 

“i thought you already learned from the party, gojo. i’m not interested in you.” 

the light blush coating your cheeks says otherwise. he smiles cheekily at the way you tried to hide your reaction to his words. you’re an enigma to gojo… and he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame. he thinks he’s made his decision.

he’s gonna do whatever’s possible to get your number.

when the bell rings 30 minutes later, you shove your notebook into your bag, eager to finally leave the class that you had with that stupid paintbrush. that is, until he stops you with a question. “what class do you have next?”

he’s relentless. “why do you care?”

“i want to walk you to your next class,” he says, and smirks before saying his next words. “it doesn’t really matter if you tell me or not. i’ll just follow you anyways.”

you sigh, absolutely exasperated with him. he’s like a fly who keeps invading your personal space—always coming back no matter how many times you swat it away. he’s right, though. damn him for being stubborn. “i actually have this period free.”

“oh, sweet!” he chirps, walking with you out the door, making sure to greet geto before he leaves the classroom. “let’s go to the courtyard. i’ll buy you a drink from the vending machine-“

“i was gonna do that regardless if you were here or not.” you give him a look, and you can’t help but tug on your sleeves when you see people whisper to each other as you walk the halls with gojo. of course you’ve heard the rumors. the man next to you is the most popular guy on campus. girls glare daggers at you and the guys call his name, although he barely even acknowledges them. 

some common things that you’ve heard about gojo around the school are: “i heard he only talks to girls for sex,” “apparently his best friend geto is just as much of a player!” “i mean, who wouldn’t fuck a guy like gojo, though? he’s hot and loaded.” “that’s how he reels you in, though. he gets his hand in your pants and never calls you back again.” you know you should stay away from him, it’s common sense, but it’s hard to stay away from him when he’s the one who glues himself to your side. 

“well, now you’ll get a free drink and we’ll get to know each other! isn’t that great?” he smiles and you just grimace at his words. 

“i don’t need your money…”

“don’t care! can’t hear you!” he says, and you’ve seriously considered just making a run for it. at least you’ll lose him, and you’d finally be able to find peace for a bit. although, it would cause a scene, and gojo would probably end up finding you again somehow. 

“what can i do to get you to leave me alone?”

that piques his interest, even though he looks slightly hurt by your question. he thinks for a bit, and smirks. “i really do want to buy you something from the vending machine.. and i want you to spend your free period with me. i’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day if you do.”

“do you promise? like, actually?”

“mhm! pinky promise!” you feel like you’re talking to a prepubescent boy.

“then sure-“ you’re about to agree, but he cuts you off with one more condition.

“i also want your number.”

you feel like you’ve been cursed by a god, because having the most popular guy on campus be interested in you has got to be the most chaotic thing to ever happen in your life.

“what do you have me saved as?” 

the question comes from out of the blue, and you look up from the book you were completely absorbed in. you and satoru were at the school library, on a “study date” as he calls it, although it was more so just gojo inviting himself to wherever place you go, as per usual. this time, you have an exam to study for, and you explicitly told him not to bother you unless absolutely necessary.

you do have to say, though, he’s not annoying as you thought he was. he just nagged you way more the first day he sat next to you in physics so he could get your number. it’s been a few days since then, but still, you’d definitely be more efficient in your studies if you didn’t have him attached to your hip all the time.

“satoru, i told you not to bother me-“

“unless absolutely necessary. yeah, i heard you, and this question needs an absolutely necessary answer! contact names really say a lot about our relationship, y’know.”

“relationship? nobody ever said we were even friends-“

“don’t break my heart like that, babe. plus, you don’t call me gojo anymore! it’s satoru to you now,” his heart warms at that realization, and you scoff, especially at the pet name. “we are friends, unless you’d like to be something more...”

“if you say anything else i’m calling you by your government name. gojo satoru.” he looks especially wounded by that.

“ah! don’t do that, please. it feels like we’re a married couple and you’re really mad at me.” he cries and you can’t help but giggle at his words. you decide to entertain him a little bit, fishing through your pocket to find your phone. 

he almost passes out at what he sees on your screen.

“it’s just my number? you didn’t even save my contact?!-“

the shushes from your fellow students and the librarians aren’t even enough to calm gojo’s agony and despair. it also does nothing to stop your laughter, either.

from that day on, gojo’s contact was forcefully changed from his number to “satoru” (he initially added a heart, but you deleted it, much to his disappointment) and one of his many selfies from his stupid instagram account. how the hell can a college student even have thousands of followers?! you think. 

gojo just says that nobody can resist his shirtless post-workout selfies. you’re surprised that you didn’t slap him at his words.

you push him away.

everytime gojo buys your favorite drink, (it’s always on him, despite your genuine insistence in saying that you could pay for your drink just fine.) everytime he walks you to all of your classes each day, (he memorized your schedule just so he could do this) everytime he buys you your favorite foods on the rare instances that you let him take you out for lunch, (usually, this requires a lot of begging, and you mostly relent during class when you’re just exasperated and wanted to get some notes down.), and everytime he calls you by those stupid pet names of his, you think back to what the entire student body says about him, and you think back to your phone call with shoko, where she warns you to not associate with him so you don’t get hurt by anyone ever again, and you push him away.

you push him away even when you realize that if he just wanted you for sex, he would’ve stopped chasing after you when you didn’t text him after that night at the party.

and that thought alone scares you.

still, you’re not heartless. satoru’s been asking to take you out for a while, and you finally agreed to go today. he’s especially chipper about your agreement right now, walking with a slight pep in his step as he bit around his ice cream cone. 

the park boasts some beautiful scenery today, and little children are out and about. still, you underestimated the weather, and the cold uncomfortably nipped your arms as you internally cursed yourself out for wearing just a shirt. you crossed your arms as a subtle way to shield yourself from the cold.

“don’t play coy with me, y/n. are you cold?” satoru says with a cocky grin, and you huff at his question. surprisingly, he drops the teasing act and unzips his sweater, handing it to you. “here, take it.”

“satoru-“

“i’m not doing this to flirt or whatever you’re thinking right now. you’re shivering, and i’m just concerned for you, so please wear it.” he deadpans, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him be so… upfront? you kind of like it. it’s not him teasing you or him being flirty. it’s just him showing that he genuinely cares for you as a friend. you take the sweater with a nod and put it on, ignoring how your heart is thumping as you take in his signature smell. cedarwood with a little bit of musk. it’s not an overpowering scent, but it still envelopes your senses.

“nevermind. you look so cute with my hoodie on. i feel like we’re in a j-drama right now, y/n!”

you take back everything you just said.

a few minutes later, you two are near the kids playground when you decide to take a break from walking, sitting on a nearby bench with gojo. the chirping of the birds and the wind passing through the trees is quickly overpowered by loud crying. crying from the child right in front of you, in fact.

you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but satoru beats you to it. he kneels in front of the kid, and coos, “hey, buddy. what’s your name, hm?”

he stops crying for a moment to look at gojo and shakily responds, “gumi-um, megumi fushiguro..” 

“megumi, huh.” he clicks his tongue for a moment. “why are you crying, megumi?”

“i-i don’t know where my dad is!” he cries, and satoru looks to you for help. you just shrug, unsure of what to do with the lost kid, until gojo’s face lights up, assumingly with a great idea.

“he’s most likely just around here somewhere. you can wait with us, and we’ll help you find him! say, do you want an ice cream to help you feel better, megumi?” the boy hesitantly nods, and satoru gives him a thumbs up as he takes him to the nearby ice cream stand. you’re watching this entire scene unfold, absolutely enamored with gojo for the first time. you didn’t think he had a natural talent with kids—but the way he’s making megumi laugh while he happily snacks on his ice cream says otherwise. an outsider could look at you three and assume that you’re just a happy family. 

you try to ignore how that makes you feel.

and as you wave goodbye to megumi once he eventually is reunited with his father again, (an intimidating man who gave you two an appreciative nod as he walked away with his son.) you realize something as you tug on the sleeves of your-satoru’s sweater. 

you’re in love with gojo satoru.

and fuck, that revelation scares you more than anything. the last time you had given your heart to a man, he had crushed it repeatedly until you decided that you would never let yourself be vulnerable like that ever again. 

and now, you're in love with your school’s notorious playboy—and it feels like you’re setting yourself up to be heartbroken again. you want disregard those rumors and shoko’s words so badly, but they still eat at the back of your mind even though the real gojo satoru is right in front of you, and he doesn’t match the characteristics of the gojo satoru in those rumors at all.

you also remember that he has one real best friend, geto suguru. you like to think that this is also what geto sees in gojo. the reason why he’s stuck around.

the reason why you want to stick around too.

you’re so busy in your head that you’ve just noticed gojo frantically waving his hand in your face. “earth to y/n? oh, good! i thought you had, like, a shock reaction from seeing megumi’s father. he looked a little scary, no?” 

“he looks like if a muscle came to life and started talking.” you whisper, and he laughs in agreement. burying your hands into the pockets of his hoodie, you smile. you don’t want to think about your current revelation with gojo right now. instead, you’ll stick with the present. and right now, you like the present.

you just don’t want to think about what this means for your future.

it’s the weekend, and you’re doing some work at the local cafe, gojo-free for once. only god knows what the man is doing at three pm in the afternoon on a saturday. not like you should be thinking about him right now, though. his presence alone has caused you to be behind on your studies, and you need to make sure you catch up.

you have to admit, you were a little unused to the silence. usually, the silence would be filled with gojo’s endless banter with you, as well as his terrible, corny jokes that are so stupid you can’t help but laugh. his seemingly never-ending presence was annoying at first, but now, you’re starting to yearn for his company.

it further fuels the pit of uncertainty in your stomach, and you hate it.

shaking your head with a sigh, you take another bite of your pastry and continue typing up the report on your laptop. the looming thought of this report’s impact on your grade and the need to pass this class helps you forget about satoru for a while. once again, you get lost in your academics.

the ring of the cafe bell breaks you from your trance. it was a natural impulse of yours to glance at everyone who entered the cafe, but once you did this time, you felt your heart drop down to your knees.

it was your ex. 

your ex boyfriend who destroyed the notion of love for you, because he made you feel it for a short time, only to throw it all into a pit of fire and leave you scrambling to find nothing but ashes. 

if you had to find the true roots as to why you’re so afraid to pursue a new relationship–you always find your ex in the center of it. and now, he’s right in front of you. you have to face him again when you refuse to shamefully admit that you’ve barely even healed from the emotional scars that he’d left behind. 

you feel as if an invisible hand has wrapped itself around your throat, blocking your airways and your ability to speak.

out of all the days satoru wasn’t here with you, it had to be this one.

“y/n? is that you, sweetheart?” you wanted to vomit at the way he said your name. he had no right to say it so sweetly, when all he’s ever left behind is venom. 

“i don’t want to talk to you.” you cringe at the way your voice cracks, and you avert your gaze from him.

“please, just hear me out for a minute, baby..” he coos, and you hate the way he talks to you as if you were a child. “i know i fucked up, and i can’t change our past… but i can change our future together. if you take me back, i’ll show you how much i’ve changed-”

you don’t know how many times you’ve heard that stupid line before.

“god, you sound like a broken record with how many times you’ve pulled that bullshit on me.” you spat, loud enough to draw commotion in the cafe. your ex has surprise written all over his face–most likely due to your non-compliance to his words. “what, do you say that shit to all your hoes?”

your ex looks around, shrinking a little when he sees all eyes are on him. “now, now, y/n, no need to be like that-”

“be like that… be like that?! you’re telling me to be civil when you’re the one coming in here wanting me back, spouting some bullshit saying that you’ve changed, when i told you to leave me alone already!” you scream, and you could feel the tears bubble up in your eyes. you look down, so you aren’t able to see how everyone’s staring at you with pity. god, you hate pity. it makes you feel weak and vulnerable. the two emotions you absolutely loathe. “i just want you to leave me alone, god. i hate you, why won’t you just-”

“you fucking bitch-” he makes a move to lunge at you, and you instinctively take a step back, pure fear enveloping your senses.

you never feel the impact, though, as you see your ex being restrained by the cafe worker.

you remember him. the man who took your order earlier. he was an older man with a warm smile on his face, although you noticed how his cheekbones were slightly sunken, and he looked a little overworked. you jokingly quipped earlier that he should get some sleep before thanking him for making your order. he just replied, i get that quite a lot.

the size difference between your ex and the man is enough to discourage him from fighting back. he makes quick work your ex, dragging him out the door while he hysterically screams profanities to you on the way out. you assumed the worker threatened to call the police, because your ex scrambled up from the ground and ran away. you hoped this was the last time you would ever see him again.

“are you okay, ma’am? he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

you didn’t even realize that the worker was back inside the cafe. everyone was gradually returning to their own businesses, with the eerie silence being replaced by casual chatter once more. you also didn’t realize how much your hands were shaking, and you huff out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “y-yeah, i’m alright, and he didn’t hit me. i just… need a minute,”

you decide that you aren’t gonna get anymore work done like this, so you pack your laptop into your bag and slump onto the seat with a sigh. you bury your face into your hands. “is it a long story?”

“oh, don’t even get me started.”

he laughs at that, and you ease up a little. “i told him i’d call the police if i ever see him around here again.”

“that’s good to hear. though i’d prefer if i never see him in my life ever again.”

he hums at your words, and he turns to look out the window. “it’s getting dark out. do you want me to call you a cab?”

“no need, i’ll call my boyf–my friend. i’ll call my friend. he’ll uh, pick me up.” you’re still so shaken up you barely even register what you said to him. your eyes are frantic as you turn your phone on and look for gojo’s name in your contacts. you don’t know why you want him to pick you up out of everybody. you could ask utahime or shoko right now, but you just wanted nothing more but to see gojo.

the bell rings again, and you flinch at the sound. thankfully, it was just another customer. the worker sighs. “well, these orders aren’t going to be done themselves. just wave me over if there are any other problems, okay?” 

you nod absentmindedly, and he turns to leave, but you stop him. “wait, sir, what’s your name?”

“kento nanami.”

“thank you so much, nanami. i appreciate it.” 

“i’m just doing my job.”

“your job is restraining crazy exes of college girls and kicking them out?”

“‘it comes with the job description.” he teases, and you laugh lightheartedly. “and your name is?”

“y/n l/n.”

“anytime, miss l/n. again, just please… call me over if anything happens.”

“will do…” you say, pressing the “call” button on gojo’s contact. the anxiety is hitting you again, and you take a shaky inhale. you’re surprised at how he picks up almost instantly. “hey… satoru? yeah, can you come pick me up, please? i know i don’t normally ask you to do something like this but-”

“did something happen?”

“a lot happened, actually… i’ll text you the address. please, just come soon.”

“of course, y/n.” you could already hear him running out the door, hearing the roar of his car engine coming to life. “i’ll be there as soon as possible.”

he gets to the cafe in five.

you wave goodbye to nanami, thanking him once more as you get in the passenger seat of gojo’s car. 

it’s not your first time inside here, but you still can’t help but admire how… expensive everything looks. or maybe you’re just looking around because you’re stalling, and you have no idea where to begin with satoru. 

however, you notice that he’s not asking you what happened, and he’s not forcing you to explain anything to him. instead, he switches the gear shift out of parking and says, “do you want me to take you home?”

your eyes widen at his words, and you shake your head no profusely. the last thing you want to be is home alone right now, mainly because your ex knows where you live. you know he most likely won’t go that far with you, especially since nanami knocked some sense into him… but the possibilities still scare you. you take a deep breath before saying your next words.

“...can you take me to your house? i-i’m sorry for asking, i just don’t want to be alone right now cause i’m terrified and-” 

“y-yeah. i’ll take you to my house.” he says, and you’ve never seen him so nervous in your life. it almost makes you laugh.

“i’ll explain everything later. i just… wanna be somewhere safe first.” somewhere safe. you find his house as a safe place. gojo doesn’t know how to react. his heart is thumping wildly out of his chest, but he makes sure to put your own comfort before his feelings.

“you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” he says, maintaining his cool by keeping his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift.

“but i want to, satoru…” you say. you can’t believe you’re doing this again. you’re crossing so many territories that you were so afraid to cross because of your ex. now, you think you aren’t that afraid anymore. not if you have satoru by your side. 

you place one of your cold hands on the gear stick, interlocking it with his. is he… shaking? “thank you for this.”

still. there are so many things you can’t say to him yet. you don’t know when you’ll be able to… or if you’ll ever be able to.

i love you. i love you but i’m too afraid to say it. i just hope that you’ll be able to wait for me.

“god, you’re killin’ me here, y/n.” 

that pit of uncertainty in your stomach has grown so large you feel it's about to consume you whole. you don’t think you mind much, though.

the two of you are lounging at his couch after satoru insisted on telling you to make yourself at home. there’s a movie playing, with neither of you paying attention at all, takeout on the coffee table, two glasses and a bottle of wine after gojo didn’t know what drinks to serve, and freaked out by pulling the first expensive drink out from his parents’ alcohol closet. has he never properly invited someone to his home before?

“so in short, you had a crazy ex who saw you at the coffee shop… and he was begging for you to take him back, and when you went off on him he called you a bitch and tried to hit you…” he recalls, a huge grimace on his face. “tch. the cafe worker shouldn’t have let him go like that.”

“i’m sure he learned not to mess with me after getting humiliated in public.. and nanami did more than enough for me.” you retorted, and he gave you a sour look. 

“oh, so you know the worker’s name now?” he says, and you could feel the tension build up in the air. oh. so he wants to do this with you? “what, is he your knight in shining armor?”

“he looks like he’s in his late thirties, satoru. i’m not into older guys,” you roll your eyes at his absurd questions and add, “what’s it to you anyway?”

“what’s it to me, y/n?” he repeats your words, and you could feel an argument coming, like you already didn’t have an exhaustive one with your ex. “you know how i feel about you-“

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” your voice is getting louder, all to hide your fear behind the implication of his words. you distance yourself from him on the couch.. much like how you distance yourself from letting satoru get too close to how you truly feel. “we’re not even together, satoru. you don’t get to control the guys that i talk to- hell, have you even seen yourself?”

you’re rambling, and all you want to do is shut up, but you can’t bring yourself to. “i’ve heard what our school says about you. y-you’re a playboy, right? and you only ever talk to girls because you wanna fuck them. i’m not stupid, satoru. i’m not different from any of them, right? you only chase after me because i’m playing hard to get and that pisses you off-“

“what… what are you even saying, y/n?” he asks, and it stops your rambling for a moment. you don’t know what you’re saying. you’re pouring out all the reasons why you’ve tried to push him away, the reasons why you were so afraid to give your heart to him. but now that you say them out loud, they sound outright stupid. 

“i started coming to class just to talk to you, i memorized your schedule just so i can walk you to class every morning. i buy you all your favorite food and drinks… i had to memorize your favorites too, by the way. and i have shit memory.” he’s screaming at this point, and you’ve never had satoru scream at you. there are unshed tears in his eyes, and it’s all overwhelming to watch this unfold. “and when you called me, i drove as fast as i could to you because you never call like that and i was fuckin’ worried!”

“so let me ask you a question, y/n… would i do all these things for you just because i want you in my bed?! i’d do anything for you, and you know that!” he’s crying. the gojo satoru is crying, and it’s all for a girl. if you told this to someone in your school, they’d call you a shit-faced liar. gojo satoru doesn’t cry for a girl. he makes them cry.

“i’m sorry for being skeptical, satoru! i just can’t help it when there’s so many rumors about you wanting to fuck girls just for the shit of it – and i’m conflicted on whether or not i should believe them because i want you so bad and i’m scared you’ll end up just breaking my heart and i don’t want that to happen again-”

he cuts you off. “you… what?”

you’re confused at why he looks so surprised, but then you backtrack on your words and you gasp. fuck. why did i say that? you cover your mouth and look away from him, refusing to meet his eyes.

those stupid blue eyes that you know you can’t get enough of.

“y/n… can you please say that again? i don’t want to do anything if i didn’t hear you right.” his voice is soft now, and you swear that you’re dreaming. this isn’t real. right? i’m gonna wake up soon. you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, leaving half-moon marks in their wake. it doesn’t work, and you don’t wake up, and you know you have to accept the fact that this is very real and it’s happening.

this is the worst leap of faith you think you’ve ever had to take in your life.

“i want you so fucking bad, satoru. and i’m realizing that you’re not just the stereotypical rich playboy that everyone talks about on campus—you’re a really great guy, and i guess i’m just scared to face that-” you don’t even realize that satoru’s got you cornered on the couch, and you can’t finish your words as he slots his lips against yours. hard. it’s the most passionate kiss you think you’ve ever had in your life, and it’s got your breath taken away in seconds. holy shit.

you quietly moan against his lips as you kiss back, cupping his face with your hands and wiping his tears away. you wish this moment would last forever, but you pull away so you can breathe. you meet gojo’s eyes, and they’re clouded with lust and desire, but you could tell he’s still a little uncertain. “we’ll talk later… just take me to the bedroom already,”

gojo doesn’t need another confirmation from you, and he lifts you up to carry you to his bedroom, practically tripping on his feet the way there.

a few hours later and a noise complaint from the neighbors, it’s safe to say that gojo satoru was the best one you’ve ever had.

“god, i’m never letting you go, baby.”

he’s tracing hearts onto your bare back. it’s littered with bruises and red scratch marks just from a few minutes ago, but you’ve never felt better in your life. you stare at the man who invited himself into your life just from an encounter at a party, and you thank your lucky stars that you agreed to go with utahime that night. “is something wrong? you’re starin’ again.”

“i’m sorry it took me so long to trust you. i’ve just been scared to open up my heart again, especially after him.” you don’t have to name “him” for satoru to understand. 

“i’m sorry too. i just got angry about the rumors and i also disregarded the fact that you’re scared to love again after your ex did all of that shit and-” he pauses, and sighs. “sorry. i’m rambling again.” 

he pulls you into another kiss, and this time, it’s sweeter, lighter, and full of love. “i’m going to show you what it looks like to really be loved, because it’s definitely not the shitty picture that your ex painted in your head. there’s way more to it than that.”

“i love you, y/n.”

“thank you, toru.” you whisper. maybe, one day, you’ll be able to find the courage to say it back. and it’s okay, because gojo is willing to wait an eternity for you. 

he’ll wait an eternity for you to teach you how to love again.

“look at how beautiful you are…” gojo says, appearing out of nowhere as he wraps an arm around your waist. you yelp, staring at your boyfriend through the mirror. he’s wearing a classic black tuxedo, with no doubt it being very expensive. it compliments the glimmering rolex on his wrist, and the thoughts running through your head about him and his outfit sets fire to your stomach.

“look at yourself first, toru… god, we should just stay home,” you tease, turning around to pull him into a deep kiss. it’s a friday, and gojo’s taking you out to attend geto’s party tonight. the two of you are going for several reasons. he wants to introduce you to his bestfriend, since you realized that you’ve never actually formally met geto before. it’ll also be your first formal “couple appearance”, as if gojo being attached to your side all the time doesn’t say enough about the two of you already. 

gojo pulls away, which surprises you. you pout at the expression on his face. “as much as i want to, suguru’s been bugging about you all week. i really do think it’s time for you to meet him,”

“hmph. alright.” 

“i’m tearing that dress off of you the second we get home, though.”

“satoru!”

“what?! not my fault my girl looks so damn hot all the time!”

this night is going amazing.

when satoru walks with you through the front doors, arm wrapped around your waist and the dress you picked out for tonight glimmering, you feel a little shy. the guys all whistle at the two of you, and the girls whisper amongst each other, but you and gojo don’t care. in his eyes, you’re the only girl he sees. the only girl worth being with here. 

“wanna go get drinks?” he asks you, cerulean eyes showing underneath his sunglasses. you nod, walking to the kitchen with him. you’re getting severe deja vu… you can’t believe you met gojo at the last party you were at. and now you’re at another party, with gojo as your date. you scan the crowd for utahime or shoko, wondering what you would say to them if they saw you with the man they specifically told you not to mess with.

it’s alright, though. shoko was wrong about those rumors, and gojo’s proving it to you.

“satoru!” the playful voice greets your boyfriend, and you turn to see geto suguru. you’ve seen him around campus, and he sits somewhere in the back of your chem class. you haven’t really had the opportunity to talk to him, though… and he looks a little intimidating.

“you must be y/n,” he says, offering you a freshly opened smirnoff from the drinks on the countertop. you thank him and grab the drink, taking a swig.

“yup! my lovely girlfriend,” gojo lets go of his arm around your waist to grab a drink. 

“you probably don’t know this, but i’ve been his wingman.” he smiles at gojo, who’s pouting, like he’s preparing himself for what suguru is about to say. “he’s batshit crazy for you, its insane.”

“oh? do tell.”

“when the two of you got together, he left me a voicemail at like… four in the morning? anyway, he was screaming about how he was the happiest guy in the world… or something.”

“that’s because i was!” you’re laughing at how unashamed satoru is about this.

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” geto clicks his tongue, pulling out his phone. “and he’s reposted you on insta to like, every drake song-”

“alright, me and y/n are gonna go dance.” he interrupts suguru, and drags you away from his best friend with a yelp. “nice talkin’ to you, suguru!”

“hey, i wanted to know more!-”

“shh, you don’t need to know about all of that.” the two of you are in the living room, in the midst of all the bodies dancing and grinding against each other. he pulls you close to him, and you feel his hot breath against your neck. “you look so beautiful tonight, y/n.”

“same for you, handsome. let’s dance, shall we?” you wrap your arms around him and just sway to the beat. you’ve never been much of a dancer, but everything feels natural as long as gojo’s with you. 

suddenly, the music changes, and one dance starts playing. you two look at each other, and you both burst out laughing at the same time. “have you reposted me to this song?”

“duh. it’s a classic.”

“can’t disagree with that.” you say, finding yourself grinding against satoru while wizkid’s part plays in the background. it feels like such a perfect night–you’re pulling satoru into a deep kiss, and he shoves his tongue down your throat while he’s leading you to a nearby couch. you’re seated on his lap, mimicking practically every couple in this party tonight. 

suddenly, you pull away, and you whisper, “i need to use the bathroom.” 

satoru smirks at your words, thinking that it’s a hint for something else, and you give him a sour face. “want me to join you-”

you hit his chest playfully. “that’s not code for anything, you perv. i actually need to piss.” 

he’s pouting at your words, but he lets you off his lap anyway, and holds your drink for the time being. “it’s at the second door in the hall to your right. be quick, please.”

“no duh. i’ve got a cute date to come back to,” you say, walking away and traversing all of the bodies that smell like sweat and alcohol. you’re a little unused to this environment, but it’s alright. you fix up your makeup in the bathroom and freshen up a little, walking back to the living room to find satoru again. 

you wish you never did.

you were gone for four minutes. five minutes max. you come back to satoru, and your breath hitches at the sight.

on his lap was a random chick that looked like every other girl at this party. she was practically naked, since her outfit didn’t do much to cover her skin at all.

fuck.

you remember the first time you saw gojo at the last party you went to. the sight wasn’t that different compared to the one now. there were girls all over him, all fighting for his attention. and yet, it seemed that night, his attention was focused solely on you.

what bullshit that was.

your eyes are blurry, and the music is muffled in your ears. white noise fills your senses, and all you want to do right now is run.

so you do.

you run, not caring if gojo saw you at all or not. you run out of the party, eternally grateful that you didn’t pick out heels for tonight and settled for much simpler shoes. you run, despite the fact that you drew geto’s attention. you were already out the door before he could ask what was wrong. you run, just wanting to get away from everyone and everything. you run with no particular destination in mind. you stop running when you almost get run over on a red light, the car honking at you–screaming profanities as it drives by. it breaks you from your trance, and you sit on the curb of the sidewalk, letting all of your tears out on what was supposed to be a perfect night.

of course gojo didn’t think that you were different. you were just like every other girl to him.

stupid. stupid. stupid. you’ve never felt so stupid in your life.

when geto sees you running out the door with unshed tears in your eyes, he immediately panics. what the hell happened?

he goes through every room of the house, trying to find gojo, when he hears a bunch of commotion in the living room. he runs there, pushing past everyone, only to find a total disaster inside.

he sees gojo screaming at a girl dressed like a stripper, who was on the ground with tears in her eyes. satoru looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel with how pissed he looks. there’s a crowd forming at this point, and geto knows he needs to intervene, so he drags his bestfriend away, who looks so distraught that geto could just wonder what the fuck happened.

they’re outside now, and its significantly a lot more quiet out here compared to all of the chaos inside. all the noise is coming from gojo—who won’t stop crying, and geto has no idea what to do or where to even begin. “fuck!”

“dude, what the fuck happened!?” satoru looks like he’s feeling every emotion at once. he looks pissed, pissed enough to punch a wall, and geto’s a little afraid that gojo might actually do that–or worst-case scenario, punch him. he’s crying, and geto hasn’t seen gojo cry ever since he fell off a swing in pre-k, so what happened must be really fucking serious.

“i don’t KNOW what happened, goddamnit! y/n went to use the bathroom and some slu- some girl came up to me and threw herself on my fucking lap! i was gonna tell her to fuck off but y/n saw before i was able to and now she’s gone and she probably thinks that i’m just some cheater when i’ve worked so hard to get her to trust me and-FUCK!”

he stops, trying to calm down a little, and gojo takes the shakiest breath he thinks he’s ever taken in his life. the red in his vision starts to fade, but he still feels helpless. “i just don’t know what to fucking do, suguru.” 

“i just saw y/n run out of my house a few minutes ago.” he says with a grimace, and he’s trying to figure out what to tell his bestfriend. “i’ve never seen you like this over a girl before. holy shit, you really love her, do you?”

geto thinks that gojo’s bloodshot eyes, the brutal names that he called that girl at the party, and the tears he’s shed for you are already an answer.

“this is your last chance to prove it to her, satoru.” geto fumbles through his pockets and hands him the keys to his challenger. gojo snatches them, hearing the car engine rumbling itself to life. the white-haired man thanks his best friend as he steps into the drivers’ side, with geto reassuring him, ‘ill deal with the chaos inside, you go ahead and explain yourself to your girlfriend’.

gojo swears that he’s never driven so fast in his whole life.

part 2 ;)

#kami writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru comfort #gojo x reader angst #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x y/n

[etherealepiphany]

Currently playing....

POV: You and your favourite have broken up for good </3

GO - Cat Burns

   2:09 ─────●── 3:25                

↺ |◁ || ▷| ♡

It hurt. It did,truly. So why weren't you crying? Hysterical screams with a violent rage to paint over the hurt and destroy his things like he broke you. Where was it? It was over. Maybe thats why you were so calm it had always been there and you knew. You did. You should have listened to your friends they always know best. It was empty now. His toothbrush gone and your favourite mug set from the carnival you went on your third anniversary. Huh he took both. He took a bit of you with him didn't he. Something you won't get back. The time, memories packed into neat boxes with a cold signed paper on the shared table where you had experienced it all. The end of him and you. Your friends were always right. But you tried and he fucked this up, there was no way out of this one.

"Goodbye to us. Don't call this number anymore. Pack up your shit and go"You told him and there he was gone.

Guess I'm back lol

Never proof reading ngl

#kami writes #mha x black reader #tokyorev x black reader #shigaraki imagine #tokyo revengers kazutora #tokyo revengers x reader #rindou haitani #ran haitani #haikyuu x black reader #hq x reader #anime imagines #bnha x reader #x black!reader #bakugo x black reader #moriarty x reader #jjk x black reader #jujusu kaisen imagines #marvel imagine #aot x black reader #demon slayer x black reader #demon slayer x reader #aot x reader #knb x black reader #knb x reader #angst #hurt

[arcadiii]

Like the gentle warmth of a morning’s sunrise, Marcy greets her on the horizon. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected to see Marcy anytime soon or, if she was completely honest, ever again. Of course, there’d been a sliver of hope that their paths would cross once more – it’s a small world after all – but after staying together in the mountain shelter for what felt like days, their bubbled moment of time alone had shattered. A sharp pop of stark reality with the world rushing back in, whisking them away, back into their own lives as though nothing had ever happened in the first place. --- Whilst working her job at the mountain park, Anne meets Marcy again after the storm and this time, she's the one who falls. Ranger AU.

so I maybe finished a fic for the amazing @goodartitude based on this incredible artwork as part of Ranger AU. if you like soft, silly marcanne moments, you'll love this one. enjoy!

#sorry it took so long but its here now! #it ties into kami's own fic so don't forget to check out hers as well! #ranger au #amphibia #marcy wu #anne boonchuy #marcanne #sashas technically there but shes the voice of reason in annes head lol #arcadi writes

[breannasfluff]

The First & The Fierce

Prologue

“Link…Link!”

“Your imprisonment was willed by the heavens. It was meant to make you strong. Like a sword hammered and honed so that it would never break…

“But because of this, your life has been full of suffering. I will ensure your gentle, heroic spirit will live on eternally.”

-Hylia, Skyward Sword Manga

He has no name, but he is the god of justice. A counterpart to his sister, the one they call Hylia. He is shaped by the beliefs of the hylians. Gods are slow to change, but the world is still young.

A war breaks out as demons try to invade the surface. Prayers–belief changes. And so, the god of justice changes as well. The world is still young, remember. Justice alone is no longer his domain. Now war joins the ranks.

And it is this change of godhood that allows him to interfere. 

The hero Link is dead. Blessed, yet doomed as soon as he lifted the blade. Hylians were his sister’s interest. Yet the god could not stand idly by as justice swung out of balance. Hylia could have her spirit. She could join those she loved to stand beside a future hero.

None of that would save this current one. 

When the god steps onto the surface, Hylia still holds the fallen hero. She’s beautiful when she cries, yet he is not swayed. His sister is young and still naive. She believes tears and pleading will change the will of the Golden Three. 

The god knows better because he is just. 

Hylia looks up at him, perfect eyebrows crinkling in confusion. “Brother. You come to the surface?”

“I am the god of war.” He turns to scan the surroundings; razed beyond use. Dead litter the field. “But first, I am the god of justice.” He returns his gaze to the fallen hero.

His sister wipes away a shining tear. “He was so brave. Yet still, he fell.”

“They are fragile creatures.”

Hylia nods and lowers the hero to the ground. Her dress is stained red; she smoothes it away. Pure as always. 

“I know the path you have chosen,” he says. 

“Do you agree?”

“It is not my place to agree or disagree.”

She snorts; a boorish sound from a slender throat. “You are ever the god of justice, treading a path down the center.”

“That I am.” 

“What does a god of war do with no war?”

“As you say, I am the god of justice.” Will he miss this? Perhaps. Still, he should get on with it. Hylia made her choice. He will make his.

Stepping forward, he crouches by the fallen hero. In death, the lines of agony on his face have smoothed away. He is still so young. 

“Sister, just as you have made a choice to join the mortals, so have I.”

“What?” Her voice is sharp. “You want to join them? Give up your divine form? You’ve shown little interest in them in the past.”

Is she…defensive? Ah, well, she is still young. The god meets her gaze and nods once. “My purpose may be changing but this? This is not justice. Not for him. I will return that balance.”

Hylia lets her gaze fall on the hero. “I cannot save him.”

“And that is why I will.” 

Read the rest here!

#The First & The Fierce #TF&TF #fierce deity #hylia #hylia's chosen hero #lu fierce deity #lu first #Kami TF&TF #Leo TF&TF #breannasfluff #my writing #new blorbos just dropped #get them while they are hot

[shroudkeeper]

もう少しだけわがままいいですか？

#ffxiv #ffxiv screeenshot #ff14 screenshot #ff14 #hancock fitzgerald #kikyo takahashi #this man is soak and wet #asking the kami to just help him forget #the kami will not listen this day #ffxiv writing

[garadinervi]

Y.Z. Kami, Endless Prayer XIII, mixed media on paper), 2008 [The British Museum, London. © The Trustees of the British Museum. © Y.Z. Kami]

#art #mixed media #geometry #pattern #structure #calligraphy #visual writing #y.z. kami #british museum #2000s

[crybaby-bkg]

you and Bakugou do the ick challenge but it’s a flop bc he doesn’t have any icks for you, but your ick for him is that he wants to tongue kiss you after eating a shit load of spicy/gross food without brushing his teeth first

#I’m so sleepy but I had to get this out #pls tell me other icks you think he has #and other people too #I think eiji’s would be that he sweats an alarmingly amount when you two fugg #like it takes you out the moment bc it’s just so much #kami’s would be that he baby talks you #like seriously not even in a joking attempt LOL #okay gn my eyes keep crossing #is this writing or just me talking help how should I tag this #—new treat in the streets! 🍫 #idk

[makapatag]

Our eyes fall upon the Five: petals trapped in a sunbeam, a square shaped flower with a single star in the middle. The Five Great Mandalas are the most expansive cultures of Gubat Banwa. At 100k, we will be able to explore these Mahamandalas with premium art and writing.

Each of them will have NEW Disciplines, NEW Professions, Folk, a slew of new modular Rules and Mechanics, cultures and folkways, deep dives into their societies, and Oracles!

First will be the Rajanate of Gatusan zine, known as SPLIT THE SEAS AND SWALLOW THE SUN: a zine that expands on Gatusanon homelands, Mambabarangs, Professions, Folk, expanded Raiding Rules, Sea Battles, and Duels!

Then will be the Confederation zine, known as WALKERS OF THE THREE BILLION BLADES, expanding on Apumbukid cultures, Kamuton polities, Geomantic Horoscopes, the War For Harmony, Folk, Saint Shields, and rules for cultivating homes--Animal Crossing Stardew Valley style

THE MOON CLEAVING INTO THE EARTH will expand on the grand net of cultures of the Footsteps of the Gods, the clashing ideals of Agma Damlag, new Disciplines, Professions, warrior cultures, War Rules, Exorcists, Rituals, and grand Faction Rules!

STARS SET AFLAME BY VIRTUE will cover rebellion stories, steeped in anti-imperialist rhetoric and class struggle, exalting armed struggles on the countryside, rules for urban games and urban activities, city community rules, Foldwitches, overland travel rules

Finally, ONE THOUSAND ARMS TO GRASP THE WORLD will cover the grand kingdom: the various trading partners they have outside of the Sword Isles, alchemists, rules for crafting great artifices, Court Politics, Vocabularies, Merchant Routes, Astrologians, Sword Singers, and more!

That's just a taste of what we have upcoming. So if we you want a premium version of these products, with illustrious art and layout going above and beyond, help us reach our stretch goal!

#parang awa mo na #maykapal #batala #tulungan nyo kami #nawa'y iyong yaring alipin #ay naghihinagpis sa iyong harap #at sa hinaharap #tulungan mo ang iyong yaring bihag #na kawala-walang pinagkaiba sa isang damo #at tulungan mo kaming #abutin ang hangganan #wag mo kami iadya upang makaranas ng ligaya #at mahanap namin na walang malay na nasa kaluwalhatian na #gubat banwa #writing #fantasy #rpg #gamedev #ttrpg #filipino #dnd #southeast asia #web serial #d&d

[danafeelingsick]

i have one kinda old art of a.yato puking into his boba tea cup, which sadly i didn't think of including in this fic :/ but here it is

BAD MILK

In which Kamisato Ayato accidentally has spoiled milk while out with Thoma.

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ nausea, food poisoning, mentions of social anxiety, fear of crowds, descriptions of food, vomiting, fever, stomach noises

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ 3,6k~

A deep scowl formed on Ayato's face as he took another sip of his boba tea. He hadn't noticed the taste at first. The drink had been gentle on his stomach, and cold most importantly.

He bitterly regretted leaving the Kamisato estate at the height of summer, wearing his coat over the kimono. It was far too hot, too bright for a man who rarely showed himself to the public. But given recent events and the efforts to build good public relations, he was out of options. It was a feeling he truly detested.

The streets of Hanamizaka were packed full of onlookers, people who wanted to see the Tenryou commissioner in person, and some even wanted to confirm he was who he said to be. Ayato hid a great deal of secrets behind that calming, almost cynical smile. Today he didn't have the patience to wear it. He continued to scowl as he passed by the crowd, deep in thought, his lips around the straw of his drink.

The milk must've been sour. That should've been a worry in his mind in the first place, given the fact he had just picked it off some street vendor. But given how little he had for breakfast, his poor decision was at least justified.

The odd aftertaste had his mouth watering in a less-than-appetizing way, making him need another sip to wash it off in a cycle that took two-thirds of the drink to break.

Ayato held up the half-empty cup before his eyes and shook it. There were plenty of pearls left, although he remembered swallowing enough of them. While its color and consistency were off, it would be a shame to simply throw it off.

“Thoma”, the commissioner called, eyeing the blonde young man walking alongside him.

“Yes, my Lord?” Thoma replied promptly, peeking at him with an expectant look that quickly morphed into curiosity. He could tell something was out of place just from his unassuming tone. Ayato dangled his cup in front of him and gave it another shake, sending the milky tea inside into a spiral. “Do you want me to throw it out for you?”

”I want you to try it for me”, Ayato clarified, his expression held a strange air of contempt? Thoma could never quite describe it, but he recognized it from the several times he had been assigned to taste test. “I'd like to confirm something.”

Sighing, he stirred the tea with the straw, wondering what was so wrong with it for Ayato to need a second opinion. The ice had completely melted and the milk tea was now lukewarm and thin, with mushy bubbles covering the bottom of the cup.

Thoma held his breath and took a careful sip, noticing the watery consistency right away. The taste was almost salty, or rather, sour. He couldn’t quite place it, the few times he had this beverage it was sweet and smooth, nothing like it.

Still uneasy, especially with Ayato’s gaze glued to him, he took another long sip and froze as he felt something solid slide to his tongue. Instinctively he tried to chew, thinking it was a tapioca pearl, but the much stronger sour taste threw him off. He stopped walking and held a trembling fist to his mouth.

“What’s wrong with it?” Ayato tilted his head to the side in feigned confusion, tightening his smile.

Against his better judgment, Thoma gulped down the lumpy milk tea and immediately covered his mouth, trying not to gag.

“I-I think… it’s spoiled”, he mumbled behind his fingers, swallowing again in an attempt to clear the acidic taste. Looking at Ayato, he realized he was frowning, his face pinched in disgust. “My lord, don't tell me you drank all of it…”

Ayato nodded slowly, giving Thoma an apologetic smile that quickly died out. It didn't come as a surprise, but he still couldn't help losing more of his color when he saw his assistant squirm. He looked over his shoulder, meeting several pairs of eyes watching him closely, and shuddered.

“I-I'll be fine”, he grimaced, his lips pressed thin as he tried to hide his disgust. “It's nothing serious…”

He was lying, of course, the thought of getting sick was already an unpleasant one. Just the thought of leaving his home had left him without appetite, now being sick away from it… Crowds were always a point of concern for Ayato, they made him feel lightheaded, which was why his public appearances were few and far between.

A shuddering sigh left his mouth and he swallowed, suspecting the knot on his stomach was made out of anxiety rather than nausea.

“Come, let us find a quiet place to rest”, Ayato said finally and resumed walking quickly, not even waiting for Thoma. Part of him wanted to jog until he was sure he was out of view, but that would only draw more suspicion.

“M'lord, please wait”, Thoma joined him on the brisk walk, throwing away the empty cup at the first garbage bin he found.

He looked at Ayato, noticing that the commissioner's light purple eyes were affixed to the street in front of them, darting around in an almost frantic state. Thoma opened his mouth to speak, his name halfway through his lips when Ayato turned a corner.

He stopped at the entrance, hesitant at what he was going to find. Ayato had taken a seat at the small bench, looking out into the scenery beyond the wooden railing that separated Inazuma city from the flowing canal. It would've been a calming visual if the commissioner wasn't slumped forward, his shoulders locked into a tense position while one arm wrapped around his middle.

“M'lord…”

Thoma walked up to him, trying to think of something that could calm him down. Ayato lifted his eyes and strengthened his pose, trying to look collected even though his face was pale and glistening. He couldn't tell if it was from the heat, or the start of a fever.

“My lord… What are you feeling exactly? Could you tell me?” Thoma asked, his tone was gentle, and it was clear he was only trying to help, but part of him still didn't want to pry.

“I'll be fine, I just… needed to sit down”, he repeated stubbornly, trying to wave him off. Ayato knew he couldn't keep denying it, his gaze fell to the ground, and pressed his lips tight. “My apologies, I'm just… ugh, how could I have been so careless?”

Thoma carefully took a seat beside him, offering a sympathetic smile. No matter how much he wanted to pull the commissioner into a warm hug and comfort him, he kept his hands to himself.

“It was my fault, I should've tried it before you”, he shook his head, following Ayato's gaze to the floor.

“Then you'd be the one sick to your stomach”, the commissioner gave a humorless laugh. “Well, I suppose you do have a stronger constitution than me… You've been able to just walk it off without—”

He suddenly went quiet, pressing his lips shut and swallowing again. Thoma was about to say something when the sound of a muffled wet gurgle cut him off, his eyes drifting to Ayato's belly hidden behind his tightly wrapped arms. He leaned forward, his expression pinched with disgust.

”I'm sorry. Just the thought of… ugh”, he trailed off into a groan and brought a hand to his mouth. He was trembling too, Thoma noticed, and the palms of his gloves were humid. “I'd like to avoid it… if I can.”

Thoma nodded slowly, aware of what he was asking, and he also wouldn't say it. Ayato vomited quite often for someone who ate so poorly, the times Thoma had to witness were rough on both of them, although he'd always manage to keep his composure. Among poisoning attempts and frequent migraines, he surely had seen the worst of him already, but at least it taught him how to deal with these situations as cleanly as possible.

“My lord, I think we should return home”, he suggested after a moment, looking around the empty area. Now he realized why Ayato had come here, the sound of the running river must've been soothing to him.

“I would love to”, Ayato responded with a hint of cynicism, the thought brought him a sense of urgency he had to shake away. “But, if anyone were to see me…”

Thoma knew exactly what he meant, the possibility of Ayato being stopped by a swarm of people was a very real possibility, and not one they could afford while he looked that sick. Still, just the idea of having to give into nausea away from the safety of his home sent Ayato further spiraling.

“My lord, you are sweating quite a lot”, Thoma pointed out, which prompted Ayato to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, like he hadn't noticed himself. Thoma dug through the pockets of his jacket until he found a folded handkerchief and handed it to him. “Here.”

Ayato took it and held the piece of fabric up to his mouth. The light scent of Thoma's perfume was a pleasant one, he closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath, trying to calm his stomach.

He mumbled a weak thank you and patted his forehead with the cloth, it did little to refresh him, however. The heat was starting to weigh on his senses, even as they sat in the shade, Ayato felt like he was being cooked alive.

“Is there anything else I can do?”, Thoma asked, and by the tone of his voice, Ayato could tell his own panic was rubbing off on him. “Would you like some water to drink?”

“I suppose it would help…”, Ayato agreed, although he spoke as if it was a desperate measure. He raised his head to look at Thoma, immediately regretting it when his expression was struck with pity. “Will you be long? I would rather not be alone…”

Thoma frowned, taking in the commissioner's watery eyes and his trembling lips like he was trying to hold in tears.

“I promise it will only be a minute”, he responded, reaching over to put a hand on his back out of instinct, but stopping midway as he realized he might not appreciate it.

“If you must”, Ayato responded dryly, not making any mention of Thoma's attempt at comforting him.

“I'll be back before you know it, my lord”, the blonde man said, and waited for a confirmation, but Ayato remained in silence, trembling. He finally stood up and walked out of the alley, making sure to glance over his shoulder once or twice until Ayato was completely out of his vision. Then he could hurry.

He didn't like this, leaving him all by himself while at his most vulnerable, it was asking to be attacked. Both of them knew it, that was why the commissioner seemed on the verge of panic. Thoma picked up the speed when the thought crossed his mind, nearly stumbling over himself as he made his way to the shopping district.

A slurred groan left Ayato's lips, preceding the drawn-out burble his stomach produced. With nothing else to focus his attention on, he had become adept at telling when the noises would come up, and the nauseating pull they brought along.

He braced for it this time, managing to lock his throat before the acidic bile had the chance to reach his tongue. Once it was over, he swallowed, trying to kill that awful burning lingering in the back of his throat. He wasn't sure for how long he could keep this up if Thoma would take any longer.

Ayato hated this. He was a capable warrior, a vision bearer, and still, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was going to pounce at him at any moment. If it happened, he wouldn't even have the time to draw his blade or call upon his element. All of his energy was going into holding himself from heaving.

Thoma's voice was what brought him out of it. He bothered to raise his head, acknowledging the young housekeeper with a weak nod. Aside from his messy hair and the crooked headband, his presence alone was enough for Ayato to relax, even if just for a moment.

However, he tensed back again when his stomach decided to make itself heard, a soft moan escaping his lips as that familiar ache sprouted in his gut. Thoma was by his side almost instantly, both hands hovering over his shoulders, ready to catch him if he were to fall.

“My lord, a-are you in pain? Is your stomach hurting now?”, he asked, his voice faintly airy from the surprise.

Ayato hummed weakly, tempted to just lean forward and let Thoma hold him until it was over. He hadn't moved since he left, his arms were still tightly wrapped around his middle, trying to muffle the noises from his stomach.

“I don't know when it started–”, Ayato mumbled, opening his mouth for the first time after a while, he didn't account for the overflow of saliva. A syrup-like trickle fell from his lips, and he hurriedly wiped it off using the handkerchief Thoma had given him. “Excuse me…”

“How, how is the pain? Should we go—”

“Thoma…”, Ayato's voice was thick with nausea as he cut him off. He curled further into himself, pressing his chin to his chest and swallowing audibly. It was evident he was nearing his limit, even if he didn't want to admit it, vomiting now could make things better. ”I don't think I can keep holding it for much longer.”

Thoma nodded slowly, glancing at the bottle of water he had left on the bench. It was already too late to just try and walk it off, that seemed like the best course of action.

“A-Alright”, he replied, looking around for somewhere he could take him, his eyes landed on the wooden fence separating the ledge from the cannel below. The idea didn't please him, but it seemed like their only option. “Come on, I'll help you up.”

It took a few seconds of preparation, but eventually Ayato rose to his feet, his legs were shaking. Thoma laced his arm around his neck and guided him a few steps ahead, only letting go of the man when he was safely clinging to the fence for support.

Ayato stared at the flowing water below, grimacing as he realized what he was about to do. His uncut bangs fell on his eyes as he leaned over, clumps of pale blue hair gluing to his sweaty skin. He held a strand behind his ear and turned to Thoma:

“Could you hold my hair for me?”, he asked timidly.

“Of course”, Thoma didn't hesitate this time, and positioned himself behind the commissioner, delicately arranging the strands into a short ponytail. Ayato was overdue for a cut, that length was too little for him to need a hair tie, but just enough to be a bother. Carefully, he landed the other hand on his back, feeling him tense even more under his touch. “Try to breathe, okay?”

Ayato nodded, his eyes locked on the cannel below, the thought of anyone seeing him kept coming to the front of his mind, he could only hope no one would pass by there. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, swallowing a bit of saliva that felt too thick on his tongue. His stomach groaned, urging him to just give in and get it over with.

He leaned even further and parted his lips, letting the saliva string out of his mouth. It didn't take that long for him to start gagging, his stomach hadn’t stopped churning for even a moment, letting him know it wasn’t taking well to the spoiled food he had forced down. He heaved a shuddering sigh and gagged again, graphically this time, he could practically hear the liquid rising in his throat.

“Here it comes…”, he said to Thoma as a warning, concerned for the poor housekeeper who had to be there yet again to see it.

Ayato’s shoulders heaved and his stomach followed, he felt it lunge upwards, sending boiling bile up his throat. He nearly choked as his throat convulsed, producing a few short gurgles before he was able to let out a thin trickle of milky bile.

For such a warning, Thoma thought the spell would be more violent, but he knew well it wasn’t over yet. Gently, he rubbed Ayato’s back in small circles, noticing the sweat dampening his clothes, the way it outlined his muscles and the way they moved as he continued to gag. Even in the shade, Thoma was starting to feel hot as well, despite the light fabrics of his clothes, he could only imagine how uncomfortable the Yashiro commissioner must’ve been feeling.

“Ughhh… guh”, Ayato let out a miserable groan and muffled a burp behind his lips, scorching the inside of his mouth with the taste of hot acid. It was revolting, the sickly sweet taste of the tea lingered on his tongue, completely overtaken by rotten milk.

He couldn’t be feeling worse if he tried, now that he had started vomiting, his stomach was writhing, making every breath turn into a heave. He could feel the contents tossing inside, the boiling acid swimming in the back of his throat.

“It’s going to be alright”, Thoma tried to reassure him, although his voice didn’t convey any confidence.

Ayato shook his head, not at the notion, but at the pathetic attempt at comforting. He appreciated it, internally, but now what he needed was silence, and maybe something to help speed things along.

“Thoma… could you hand me that water you brought?”

“Uh, yes, of course”, he quickly replied, carefully letting go of Ayato’s hair and picking up the bottle he left on the bench. He opened it before handing it to the commissioner, his fingers lingered on his for a moment, afraid his shaky hands were going to drop it.

Ayato took a deep breath followed by a quick swig, it looked like it pained him to swallow it, but soon he was drinking more. Thoma wasn’t sure what he was trying to achieve, to help with the nausea he would have to drink it slowly, but Ayato was quickly downing the bottle in big gulps. Suddenly, he pulled back, shoving the half-empty bottle into his hand before turning to the ledge.

“M’lord!” Thoma shouted, watching Ayato lunge for the railing and opening his mouth, letting out a long wet burp. “You should tell me when you’re going to do these things!”

Ayato paid no mind to his reprimand, and focused on the added pressure building in his upper stomach, suddenly reaching its tipping point as he tried to burp again. A surge of murky water gurgled out of his mouth, nearly the same lukewarm temperature as it had been when he drank it, now tasting like acidic milk.

Thoma was calling him again, hurriedly pulling his hair away from the corners of his mouth, and sliding the other hand to Ayato’s chest. The man was heaving so violently he wasn’t sure if he would be able to hold himself up.

What a horrible idea that was. Ayato’s stomach purged itself over the ledge once again, forcing up a rush of white murky water out of him, he could tell the taste was becoming more concentrated, the texture thicker as it flew past his tongue. He gagged as it tapered off, coughing harshly to try and rid his throat of the lumps of tapioca and milk curdles. Thoma patted his back with more force, trying to help him.

Ayato started to retch, the sounds scratched his throat, more violent than the gags, but now he couldn’t stop. His ears were ringing with his racing thoughts, the threat of someone walking in, someone hearing him, seeing him. Ayato pressed himself further over the ledge, the railing digging into his stomach, forcing a wet acidic belch out of him.

“Try to breathe, m’lord, try to—”, Ayato wasn’t listening to him.

He barely had the chance to open his mouth before he was vomiting again, a gush of white liquid spraying out of him like a hose. It came up so forcefully it sprayed out of his nose, leaving Ayato gasping for air when it finally stopped.

“My archons…”, Thoma whispered, holding Ayato close as the man seemingly deflated over the ledge, small burps and hiccups still shaking him against his chest.

Ayato groaned weakly, and clutched his stomach, trying to breath slowly and finally calm himself down.

“I need to… go home”, he huffed and spat, looking wide eye at the mess he had made down at the cannel. Somehow he had managed to miss the flowing water, and most of his vomit, the lumpy puddles of spoiled milk and chewed tapioca, ended up staining the walls around it.

“Here, rinse your mouth out”, Thoma offered him the rest of the bottle, and the handkerchief he had left on the bench.

Ayato took the water and thought of drinking more of it, but the thought had him fighting another gag. He swished a mouthful of it and spat, going to return the bottle to Thoma, but the young man simply reached out, wiping the vomit off his chin with the handkerchief.

“How do you feel now, my lord?” Thoma asked, his voice was so gentle it didn’t even sound like he had just witnessed the commissioner puke up a storm.

“I… I think I’m fine now”, he replied, laying a shaky hand on his belly, still gurgling under his fingertips. “We should call a doctor as soon as we get home. I cannot afford to be sick at a time like this.”

“Understood... Do you think you can walk?”

“Of course Thoma”, he shrugged, and slowly let go of him, standing up on his own. He would make it, it would be fine. Ayato was sure at this point, he was in for a long night.

#emeto #emetophilia #emeto kink #emeto art #emeto tw #vomiting #tw vomit #gen/shin imp/act #genshin emeto #sickfic prompts #k.amisato a.yato #kami/sato aya/to #requested #dana//emeto fic #my writing

[1-800-kami]

R U MINE? feat gojo satoru (II)

gojo satoru has got to be the picture definition of a stereotypical college frat boy. he’s cocky, loaded with his daddy’s money, and dangerously handsome. it seems like common sense to stay away from him since you’ll never get more than a one-night stand out of it. 

that’s why you choose to turn a blind eye once you’ve come to the horrific realization: you’re in love with him. and you’re just itching to ask…

“are you mine tomorrow? or just mine tonight?”

IMPORTANT: this is part TWO (and the final part) of the r u mine? mini series. make sure to read part one of this fic before proceeding! :)

content: 5.4k words, afab!reader, rich college frat boy gojo, SMUT (fingering & unprotected sex.. wrap it before u tap it kids!) ANGST, (i listened to deftones while writing the breakup era LMAOO i was in my feels 😔) gojo "everything reminds me of her" satoru is really going thru it, idk how to feel about the ending tbh, cheating implications, kinda proofread ig, more emo gojo (u luv to see it)

author's note: guys. where do i even start?? first of all, thank u for all the support on the first part of this mini series!! we also hit 100 followers on this blog so tysm for supporting me n my writing <3 here's the long awaited part two (n also the finale) as i promised that i would get it out over the weekend! just a quick announcement that i may be a little bit more inactive from here on out.. mainly because classes r starting again nd im starting to get busier. i do have more fic plans though, (and a geto smut in my drafts? 👀) so i'll make time to write when i can! happy reading and thank u for all the support on this silly little series :)

tags: @soley613 @feariteriu @bear-likes-mushrooms @96jnie @keilaq1 @whydohumansss @luftyluft @fatbootymuncher (bold = i'm unable to tag u)

reblog and interact for a kiss ;)

everything’s been hazy.

you don’t really remember how you got home– you either waved down a cab or walked until you somehow found your house. either way, the alcohol is worsening the pounding in your ears. the straps of your dress are clinging terribly against your skin–you want to take it off, you want to wear something more comfortable, you want to just go to sleep, preferably forever… but you can’t bring yourself to.

you can’t even bring yourself to move.

so the rumors really were true? but why did gojo pursue so far just for you? why did gojo say those words to you when you spent the night together? why did gojo try so hard to convince you that night that he wanted to have sex with you because he loved you–and not solely because he wanted to have sex?

why did gojo lie to you?

another series of pings sound throughout the room, and you finally move to silence your phone. the noise is all so overwhelming. why the hell is your phone blowing up?

you check your notifications–mostly dms from people you don’t know, either asking if you and satoru were dating, or questioning you about what the hell happened at the party. you know that you’re gonna be the subject of gossip once you’re back at campus, and you hate it.

you were surprised at the numbers once you scrolled down your notification list a little further. ten missed calls from satoru, accompanied by a series of fifteen panicked messages. you open it, and you stare sadly at his contact photo and name, remembering the fond memory behind it. once you two actually started dating, you were merciful enough to add a heart next to his name, and even updated it to “toru”. he was elated at that.

you think you can barely even call him gojo now.

the most recent message was barely sent a minute ago. like it was on cue, you see the bright headlights pull up outside of your door. you wanted to sink into your couch and never resurface ever again.

you hear suguru’s car door open and close, and then frantic knocking outside. you walk to the door while sniffling, looking through the peephole just to confirm your suspicions. it was satoru.

“i can hear you crying through the door, y/n. i know you’re there.” he takes a deep inhale, and the tears start rolling down your cheeks again once you hear the complete and utter vulnerability in his voice. you just don’t know what to believe anymore. “shit, i’m crying too. well, i’m gonna explain myself even if you don’t care enough to listen to me. uhm, believe it or not, what happened at the party wasn’t my doing… at all. when you went to use the bathroom, this girl went up to me and started flirting with me, like she was waiting for you to leave or somethin’. i was g’na tell her to go fuck off but she pushed herself on my lap and before i could do anything about it you walked in and it was just all horrible timing and- god. i know it sounds unbelievable, right? you must think i’m terrible right now.”

“you don’t have to believe me. if i were in your shoes i wouldn’t know what to think either. i’m just… explaining what happened.”

there’s a long period of silence between you and satoru, aside from the occasional sniffling on both ends. you don’t know what to say. you want to believe him. you want to do nothing more than to open the door and let him hold you in his arms again, but you just don’t know what to think anymore. you poured your entire heart out to a man who you knew you shouldn’t be messing with, and now you don’t know who or what to believe. you feel like a fool, and you’re just tired. so damn tired. the silence feels asphyxiating, like it's tearing your relationship with satoru further and further apart the longer it draws on.

satoru is the first one to break the silence. “i’m guessing from the silent treatment that you don’t believe me. it’s okay, y/n. i’ll wait an eternity for you to forgive me because i’ll always choose you- fuck… over anything, and i hope you know that.”

your mind is a mess, and satoru’s words make it even messier.

i’ll wait an eternity for you

i’ll always choose you over anything

you put your head in your hands and sob. it hurts.

a minute passes–gojo hears you get up from where you’re sitting behind the door, and his heart fills with hope.

“i just… i just don’t know how to believe you, gojo.”

his heart breaks when he hears the door–presumably to your bedroom–open and close, leaving him alone with his shattered heart. his heart breaks when he takes in your voice, noticing how weak and exhausted you sounded. he wonders how much you’ve cried just from this past hour alone. his heart breaks once he realizes that he’s alone with his thoughts again, alone with the voice in his head that was berating him for not being able to prevent all of this if he hadn’t frozen up and just pushed her away the second that girl started flirting with him. finally, his heart breaks once it registers that you called him gojo–the last name that he shares with his corrupt and money-crazy family… the family he tries so hard to get away from. it was also the name you called him during the days that you barely trusted him.

now, he’s back to square one, and he has none of your trust again. this time, satoru swears that he’ll do anything in his power to get it back once more.

you didn’t come to school today.

there’s been nothing but radio silence on your end. gojo has sent you countless messages over the weekend asking how you’ve been, with the occasional desperate voicemail where he tells you that he loves and misses you. you’ve turned off your read receipts, so gojo doesn’t even know if you’ve seen his texts or listened to his voicemails. he’s concerned for you, even though he knows that he’s the reason behind all of this. he was hoping to talk things out with you today.. but you weren’t even here.

one thing gojo knew about you is that you cared deeply about your academics, and you wouldn’t miss attendance even if you were sick. it pains him to know that he was the reason that you weren’t here today. you were avoiding him, and he felt helpless.

he’s talked to geto—and the best advice that his best friend could offer was to “find proof that you didn’t cheat on her.” he’s right, though. the last thing you had said to gojo was that you don’t know how to believe if he’s telling the truth or not. gojo has absolutely no idea how to prove his fidelity to you, since words clearly weren’t enough. it frustrates him to no end.

gojo now knows that he feels absolutely lost. all when he’s not with you.

it feels nerve-wracking to walk the halls. 

he remembers telling you the night that you slept together that he’d learned over time to drown out the rumors about him. he learned not to care about what other people thought about him, and he eventually became unaffected by the school’s gossip. 

however, this time was different.

this time, he finds it difficult to drown out the rumors when he hears your name in them. he flinches every time someone whispers your name and his as he walks the halls, feeling that all eyes are on him. “i heard y/n and gojo broke up…” “they were dating?!” “yeah.. i didn’t believe it at first, either! apparently he…”

he doesn’t want to hear it, so he walks a little faster. it hasn’t felt this suffocating to be on campus in a while.

maybe that’s partially why you didn’t show up. rumors are hard to ignore if you don’t know how to shun them out. 

gojo lets out a sigh. he decides that he’s going to ditch the rest of class. you weren’t here, he couldn’t talk to you, and he felt he was gonna go mad if he heard your name spoken by someone again, so he turns to leave, but flinches as he feels a hand lightly tap his shoulder.

“gojo-san?”

he turns around, with a girl that he’s never seen before standing in front of him… not that he pays attention to them in the first place, though. he raises his eyebrow in question, and the girl looks so nervous she might pass out. “i have to tell you something-“

“if it’s a love confession or whatever, i don’t want to hear it-“

“-no!” she flushes a deep shade of red, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. she coughs awkwardly at his expression. “um, no.. it’s not that. please, just give me two minutes in the library. i have something to tell you.”

he decides to entertain this girl for a bit. he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t curious about what she had to talk to him for. gojo sighs and says, “two minutes. that’s all you’re getting.”

“this is about the party last friday, no?” he says while taking a seat near one of the tables. he feels sick just being here. he’d never gone to the library before meeting you–as he had no reason to go here at all. then, he started accompanying you everywhere as he tried to win your heart. “study dates” were frequent here, and he even remembers forcefully changing his contact name and number on your phone during one of your dates.

gosh, everything literally reminds him of you. he can barely live like this.

she takes a seat across from him, and she shamefully nods at his words. “i went to the party on friday, and i just want to say i’m sorry-”

gojo gets up to leave. he can’t do this. he doesn’t need anyone’s pity. pity can’t change the fact that you still won’t talk to him. she panics as gojo is about to walk away. “wait!”

the librarian tells her to quiet down, and she mutters an apology. still, she persists. “please, just wait for two minutes… i need two minutes to explain myself. you promised you’d give me that.”

she stares at gojo, who hasn’t left yet, and takes that as her opportunity to speak. “i was a friend of… her,” he doesn’t need an explanation to know who she was talking about. “the reason why she came up to you was because of a dare i told her to do. she’s had a crush on you for a while now, so of course she was willing to flirt with you.”

“um, that was the dare, by the way. my friend told me to record it, because we were all drunk, and we thought it would be funny. just another memory to laugh at in the future, right? we didn’t know you were dating the girl you were with at the party. sorry but, we assumed she was just a fling… or something… we didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

“yeah, i was dating the girl at the party.” gojo scoffs, and he feels his anger bubbling up again. “then your friend had to do that stupid dare, and she won’t fuckin’ talk to me now.”

“i’m sorry-”

“i don’t need your apologies. is that why you came up to me? to apologize so you don’t feel guilty about what happened anymore?” gojo sneers. he was right, though. guilt is ridden all over her face, and she can’t even meet his eyes. he’s about to leave, thinking that this entire conversation was useless, but gojo thinks back on what she said earlier.

“...my friend told me to record it…”

he turns back to look at her, which surprises her, to say the least. “hey, you said you recorded the dare, right?”

“uhm, yes.”

“so you still have the video?”

“it should be in my camera roll somewhere-”

“if you came here to apologize to me, then you should send me that video.” she looked a little horrified at his words, and gojo could almost laugh. “what? i’m not gonna do anything bad with it, god.”

she thinks about what gojo’s intentions could be with that video, and her eyes light up in recognition as she connects the dots from what he said beforehand. i was dating the girl at the party… then your friend had to do that stupid dare… and she won’t fuckin’ talk to me now.

she nods in understanding. this is the least she could do for him. she pulls out her phone, looking for the video, and says, “i hope you two make up soon, gojo-san.”

gojo satoru walks- no, runs out of that library with determination. determination as he finally has the video evidence of what happened at the party–his saving grace so he could finally get you to forgive him.

you miss him.

you miss him like hell, actually, and you blink at the messages he just sent you in complete disbelief.

you didn’t show up to class today because you were afraid. you were afraid to see satoru again, yes, but you were also afraid of what everyone else would say about you. the party was one thing, but the after-effects and the rumors were something completely different. you didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with that, unlike satoru, so you stayed home. all because you were afraid of what would happen on campus.

you just wish things would go back to how they were before… all of this happened. you didn’t want to admit it, but you’ve read all of satoru’s messages, and you’ve listened to all of his voicemails. you’ve cried to them. and it hurts because you’re still torn apart in the midst of your own feelings. and now, satoru wants to talk to you, because he’s been wanting to do nothing but fix everything between the two of you.

the doorbell rings, and you almost jump out of your skin. 

you didn’t even know if you would open the door or not. despite that, you felt your body moving on its own, like you were relying on your own instincts. you washed your face to get rid of the dried tears on your cheeks, brushed the tangles out of your hair, and dressed into something more presentable. the next thing you know, you’re leaning against the wall next to the front entrance. your shadow is visible underneath the door, so satoru knows that you’re here.

“hi, y/n..” he sounded so nervous that you almost laughed, but you felt equally as terrified as him. “i have something to show you… uh, on my phone. if you don’t want to see me, it’s fine, i’ll just send it to you, but i’d really prefer if you open the door and we’ll talk about this inside-”

your hand is already reaching the door knob before you can even think about it. it’s such an impulse decision that you look at him in surprise once you open the door. it’s the first time you’ve seen him ever since you were at the party. it’s only been three days, but you can’t help but notice how his eyebags are more prominent, his eyes are a little redder, and he looks nothing short of exhausted.

“hey,” he manages to breathe out, his eyes meeting yours. “can i come in? please?”

you nod, too stunned to say anything, and he exhales in relief as he walks in. the two of you sit on the couch, and gojo notices how you’re keeping your distance from him. it breaks his heart a little.

he looks for the video on his phone and gets ready to show it to you. this is it. his last ditch effort for your forgiveness. he’s really fuckin’ hoping that this works. “i got this video from a girl who came to the party. it’s a recording of, um, what happened.”

he hands the phone over to you, and you take it skeptically, still choosing to keep silent. you press play, and you watch the recording. a shaky hand holds the camera, and the person behind it says, “holy shit, she’s actually doing it!” they're presumably talking to their friend, and the camera focuses on a girl walking over to gojo. your heart is pounding, eyes widening in recognition as you stare at her... the one who caused all of this in the first place.

the all too familiar girl comes up to him, saying something out of earshot. when gojo looks at her, completely uninterested, she pulls that move. the scene you saw at the party before you ran out. tears fill your eyes again, and you almost want to stop the video, but your interest is piqued at the next part.

..this… this part was something that you didn’t see. gojo angrily reacts at the girl’s move, with her falling on the floor as she looks at him, stunned at how furious he looks. the person behind the camera gasps, continuing to record out of shock as a crowd of people turn to stare at the two. geto eventually comes into the frame and takes gojo away from all the chaos. the video ends there, and you grip gojo’s phone shakily.

holy shit.

tears roll down your face, but this time, they’re tears of relief. you waste no time in hugging satoru, crying your heart out as you bury your face in his neck. you’re happy. you’re so fucking happy, and so relieved knowing that he didn’t lie to you. of course he didn’t.

“m’sorry-” you sniffle into his shoulder. gojo is so shocked at what was happening that it takes him a second to hug you back, but when he does, he starts crying. “m’so fucking sorry i didn’t believe you-”

“shh, it’s okay, it’s okay…” he says, and you only hug him tighter. “m’so tired, you know that? these past three days fucking sucked. i’m just so glad you’re in my arms again, fuck-”

“-i love you, i love you, i love you so fucking much, toru.” you repeat, laughing as you kiss him all over his face. it’s been a while since you said that to someone. you wipe his never-ending tears away, still in disbelief, and whisper, “you’re real. right? you’re actually here with me right now ‘nd i’m not dreaming, right?

“i’m very much real, baby.” he says, putting his forehead against yours as you take in his features again. “god, i missed that pretty face so much.”

he finally closes the gap between you two, pulling you into a much needed kiss. it’s a kiss filled with so many emotions–desperation, happiness, relief. satoru thinks his heart is finally whole again. he’s missed you. he’s missed you so fucking much, and you’ve missed him too. 

you’re like an anchor to satoru. the light of his life that keeps him grounded. and god, he’s been apart from you for too long. 

you reposition yourself as you’re deepening the kiss. you’re on his lap now, and you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging on his hair in desperation. “oh yeah? ‘y gonna do anything about it?"

“of course i am,” he says, hands roaming underneath your shirt as he caresses your bare waist. fuck. he needs you. right now. especially after thinking that he was about to lose you forever–for something that he didn’t even do. “i’m gonna show you just how much i missed you, baby.”

gojo can’t let you go.

you’re in your bedroom, and both of you waste no time undressing each other. he takes you in–all of you, in awe of every crevice of your body as he trails his hands further down your waist.

god, you’re so beautiful. “i can’t believe i almost lost you.”

his words are shaky, like he’s still uncertain that you’re real and you’re in his arms again. he can’t seem to break himself away from you, almost like you’ll disappear if he lets you go. “but i’m here now, toru.”

“i’m here to stay, and i’ll never let you go again… ‘m yours,” you whisper, and your words set a fire in him, fueling his body with nothing but desperation. desperation to have you right here, and right now. 

he wastes no time in plunging two of his fingers in your cunt, and he groans at just how wet you are. “satoru-”

“fuck, you’re so wet… and it’s all for me,” he mutters, spreading your legs effortlessly when you try to close them, thighs shaking in pure pleasure. he adds another finger, and you already feel stretched to the brim, and you haven’t even taken him in yet. the thought of his cock inside of you makes you even wetter than you already are, and you look up at satoru with eyes full of lust and desire. “missed you so much, baby. missed you and your pretty little cunny,”

his fingers are long, and you whine at how full you feel right now. you’re so loud, and you don’t even care. right now, it’s just you and satoru finally feeling each other again. it’s only been three days, but it feels like you’ve been apart for years.

everything about this was filthy. from your erotic moans and the way your cunt squelched against his fingers… not to mention the vice grip you had on them- fuck, satoru thinks he can cum untouched just from watching you like this.

“haa-” you whimper when his fingers curl and hit that spot in your cunt that you can barely seem to reach on your own. it’s exhilarating, and only fuels the growing heat in your stomach. “toru- don’t stop- please, i’m close-”

“really?” he taunts, and it feels so fucking good–your head is numb, and the only thoughts filling your head are thoughts of satoru. the pleasure is too much, and you try to get away from him, but he keeps you in place, curling his fingers faster as punishment. “don’t run away from me, baby… be a good girl and just take it, yeah?”

“toru- fuck- i’m gonna cum, please-” you’re on the brink of release, but suddenly, he stops, ruining your orgasm. “no- wait-”

he pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the loss of stimulation. you were so close–why did he take that away from you? you try and swat at his hands, but he just takes his fingers and puts them in his mouth, locking his eyes with yours with a sly smile. “you taste so sweet, i can’t help it,”

“aww, is my baby mad ‘cause she didn’t get to cum?” he coos sarcastically, caging you in between his arms as he tilts your face up with his finger. “too bad… the only thing you’re cumming on tonight is on my cock.”

and with that, he eases his painfully hard member into your walls. your insides hugged him perfectly–it was like you were made just for him. you gasp once he’s fully sheathed himself inside of you. his fingers were already a lot to take in, but his cock was something completely different. he moans your name, barely keeping his cool. “fuck- you’re squeezing me so tight,”

“missed everything about you, baby. i need to hold you, please,” he pleads desperately, clasping your small hands against his. the size difference alone between the two of you almost makes him cum, but he holds himself back, choosing to bask in this intimate moment. he’s missed every part about this. “you ready f’me?-”

“-just fuck me, satoru, please-” he doesn’t need another confirmation from you.

he can’t bring himself to hold back. next thing you know, he’s fucking you into the mattress, and you feel the headboard shake at how fast satoru is going. fuck–you feel every part of him, every part of his cock as it slams against your tight hole. he’s so big, you feel yourself gasping for breath, and you moan out loud as you notice the prominent bulge forming in your stomach. it’s him, it’s all him, and it’s driving you mad.

satoru follows your eyes in the midst of all of this, and he watches everything in fascination. he decides to be a little mean, and presses his free hand against your stomach–it feels so good, you could almost scream at the pleasure. “you feel that, baby? that’s all me inside of you, hmm?”

“please-” the onset of pleasure feels so overwhelming, and tears fill your eyes. you feel an oncoming orgasm coming, and you know your release will hit you like a tidal wave. your heart is pounding, but satoru only grips your hand tighter and fucks you even harder. “oh, fuck!”

“m close, baby. are you g’na cum too?” he manages to say between pants, and you somehow nod, mind hazy and your release only coming closer. you feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “cum inside of me, toru- please- i need to feel you-”

gojo groans at your words, and you both cum together. you ride out your high, screaming as you spasm around his cock, the pleasure overfilling your senses until you’re trembling from it. he fills you up, staying inside of you as the two of you catch your breath. everything’s hazy, and you’re barely aware of your surroundings… it takes you a few minutes to recover. 

“angel, are you with me?”

“yeah, fuck, just… give me a second.” you say, and gojo thinks that he would gladly give you all the time in the world if you needed it. he pulls out of you with a hiss, and his warm seed drips out of your cunny. it makes his cock twitch, but he knows that you’re probably not considering a round two right now.

when you come to your senses, you notice satoru–who put his clothes back on already, wiping your legs down with a rag. his touch is so soft, like he’s afraid to break you, unlike how he handled you just a moment ago. you look down and notice the bruises starting to form on your legs and waist. satoru looks guilty as he stares. “i didn’t go too rough with you, did i?”

“not at all,” you reassure him, and you see him soften up a little. “it felt really good, actually… thank you, toru.”

“s nothing. you know my girl only gets the best,” he teases, and you laugh. “i’m gonna go get you some new clothes and some water… i’ll be back, okay?”

you nod, closing your eyes again as satoru leaves the room. he’s back in two minutes, and he’s gently changing you into new clothes that he found in your drawer. you’re so tired that you can hardly move, so you let satoru do all the work. he caresses all of your bruises, apologizing again even if you already said that it was okay. he’s so gentle, a swift juxtaposition to what just happened beforehand, and so soft with you. once you’re clothed again, he brings a glass of water against your lips, and you greedily gulp it down as he keeps a hand on your back. he places it on the nightstand once you’re finished, and you grab his wrist after, tugging him back to the bed. “lay with me for a bit, toru.”

satoru doesn’t hesitate, laying down next to you on the bed and placing your head against his chest. your breathing is back to normal, and you feel his heart thumping against your ear. you wrap your arms around him, and satoru thinks that this moment is so domestic that he can’t help but daydream. he looks at your face, memorizing every feature about you with a lovesick look in his eyes. you’re so beautiful, so perfect, and he’s just so fucking glad that he didn’t lose you. 

satoru thinks he could wake up to this everyday.

“you’re starin.” you say with an amused look on your face. gojo doesn’t even try to play it off. “what’s on your mind?”

“nothing. i just… love you so much, y/n.” he says, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead. satoru would trade anything if it meant that this moment wouldn’t end. “m so glad you chose me.”

“i think it’s the other way around,” you tease. “you chose me. ever since you saw me at the party, you’ve done nothing but try to win my heart.”

“how could i not? there was just something different about you compared to everyone else.” he reminisces about that night at the party, and how far he’s come with his relationship with you. he remembers that night like it just happened yesterday.

you sigh, almost like you were thinking about that night too. you pull him into a kiss, finally finding the courage within you to say a proper “i love you.” to the man who meant the world to you.

“i love you too, angel.” he says, and you snuggle into him tighter. “you know i’ll always choose you…”

“..from this life and into the next. i’m so glad you gave me a chance, y/n. i’ll forever be grateful to now be called your husband. i’m the luckiest man ever knowing that you let me into your life, and i’m the one who gets to read these vows to marry you. i cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. i love you so much, y/n gojo.” he’s crying. gojo satoru is crying, and he’s hardly ever cried before. though, that changed after he met you.

the last time he cried was during pre-k, and now he’s done it time and time again… all because of you. he cried once during your first argument with him, another during the night he thought he’d lost you forever, and then another when he finally had you in his arms again once he proved his innocence… and now, during his wedding, when he finally gets to call you his wife.

and when you share your kiss at the end of the ceremony to symbolize your togetherness, you hear all your friends cheering. mainly shoko, utahime, and geto. if you showed this very scene to shoko during your university years, she’d call you crazy, saying this would never happen. gojo satoru was once a man who’d never willingly committed in a relationship before, but you came into his life and you changed everything about him. it was like magic.

you pull away from the kiss, wiping his tears away and whispering against his lips, drowning out the crowd, “thank you.”

for memorizing all my favorite foods so you could buy them for me. for walking me to class every day. for making me fall in love with you that one day at the park. for waiting for me to slowly love you even when i was scared to love. for waiting for me even if i didn’t trust you. for loving me. for proving those rumors wrong. for proving that satoru gojo is actually capable of falling in love and pouring his heart out to the one he loves the most.

for everything that you have done to love me.

it was like gojo could hear all of your unspoken words. he smiles, letting one more tear roll down his cheek, and says, “it’s all worth it if it’s for you.”

thanks for reading <3 -kami.

#kami writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru comfort #gojo x reader angst #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo smut #gojo x you smut

[etherealepiphany]

Tokyorev incorrect quotes

Kazutora :Have you ever been snaked by a friend and just for the clout they'll do it again?

Baji : No but free my man though

Mikey :......

Kazutora :.....Spare me it was Mikey's fault

Chifuyu: Locked up!!!

#incorrect quotes #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev mikey #tokyorev baji #tokyorev kazutora #its mikeys fault #tokyorev incorrect quotes #spare me #kami writes #kami waffles #incorrect anime quotes

[bcbdrums]

Event Horizon

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

A/N: Monthly OTP prompt fills from this list for Spirit and Stein, because I cannot stop writing about them. I’m happy to hear recommendations each month for which prompt to write next. February’s chosen prompt is: 2. Fear Gas I had ideas for most of February's prompts in my head, but, this one grabbed my attention the most after chatting with some people and mulling over ideas. I took some extreme liberties on how it's interpreted, but gotta follow the muse. And, this fic is late because the muse has been drained. Too much has happened in the last month for me. But! Writing this story is seeming to revive me, so, we shall see what the future holds. Sometimes...the OTP goes through some...tough times... Spirit is 18 years old. Stein is 15. Maka is not yet one. Manga or anime canon, leaning heavily into my headcanons regardless. Also, this lovely art is referenced. And lastly, this is a gift for @cannibal-nightmares, whose art, kindness, and cleverness inspire me...constantly. Do check out their art! Uh...sorry for this one? I guess. Enjoy.

Event Horizon

Spirit stopped short as the book atop the stack in his arms began to slide away. He lifted his shoulder to adjust the balance of the stack, using gravity to shift the heavy volume back into position.

"Hurry up, Death Scythe."

"Y-Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir," Spirit said as he hefted the stack higher and hurried after Lord Death. He realized he probably could have checked out fewer books—especially with his propensity to speed through them—but every topic had him practically salivating with curiosity. From the history of demon weapon kind to the very first death scythe, Spirit's mind was alight with thoughts of battle and honing his skills.

They left the library and turned the first corner, Spirit still trailing a few paces behind as he bore the burden of too many books. But as academy students passed in the other direction Spirit held his head higher. He still felt a swelling of pride each time people paused to stare or whisper about him, the newest personal weapon of the Grim Reaper.

To that end, a couple of younger girls caught his attention by their giggling, and he wished he had a hand free to wave or make some other gesture of acknowledgement besides his million-dollar smile. But it wasn't needed as the two took a few hesitant steps in his direction, hands shyly lifted to wave.

"Hi Mr. Death Scythe!" one said too-loudly, and Spirit felt a flush of pride rise under his collar.

It would be too much to toss his hair, not to mention the risk in dropping the books, which would negate any air of prestige he was trying to effect. He merely met their eyes in response, held their gaze as he maintained his smile while he passed, and another thrill rose from somewhere in the pit of his belly as he listened to their giggles all the way around the corner.

"Spirit Albarn."

Spirit startled at Lord Death's address; he'd only called him by his title ever since becoming his weapon.

The reaper had stopped and turned slightly, and Spirit hurried to catch up. Lord Death didn't move again until Spirit had reached his side and then matched his pace as they continued down the hall. He felt rather than saw Lord Death's slight turn, the white mask looking down at him in a way that dampened Spirit's former rush of pride.

"You're a married man."

The last of the pride shriveled up until his throat felt tight, and his cheeks were flushing in embarrassment now. The reaper's discreet reprimand had been unexpected and brought every thought in Spirit's mind to a halt as he mechanically followed his newest meister through the twists and turns of the academy's halls.

He hadn't been thinking of his wife...which, was apparently the problem. He hadn't really been flirting with those girls...students...had he?

Spirit frowned as a gloom started to sink over him while he trailed after the reaper, through another set of heavy doors and down some stairs. Those girls were students. He was their superior. And he'd been thinking of them like classmates.

He was Death Scythe. He needed to get the real meaning of that into his oblivious skull, and not be worried about the attention he might get from girls.

That had been the start of his problems in the first place.

"Death Scythe, are you listening?"

"Wha? Oh... Sorry, Sir."

Spirit blinked into sudden awareness as he realized they had left the brightly painted academy halls and descended into a place more broad, dark, and foreboding. Lord Death had stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and Spirit continued his descent more slowly as he took better stock of his surroundings.

A chill in the air told him they had gone underground, and the architecture was similar to that above but looked as if it had been constructed in a past age. There was also stonework among the wood, and an eerie painting of an inverted trio of eyes on the floor at Lord Death's feet. The gloom he had been feeling turned to a sickness as he arrived at the landing and looked up to the black holes in the white mask that were studying him.

"Oh well. I suppose you can read about it in all of those books and then ask me questions later," the Grim Reaper stated, and shifted his gaze toward a door ahead of them.

Spirit looked at the door where the inverted eyes were painted again, just visible on the dark wood framed by a square of red stone. Two gray statues stood on each side the door, oddly shapen and with their arms raised as if holding up the ceiling. They each had one large eye, oriented properly this time, taking up the whole of their misshapen heads.

As Spirit stared at the strange artwork, he felt a sudden pressing of darkness against his soul. The sick feeling rose from his stomach up to his mind and swirled into fear that froze him in place as solidly as if he had fallen helpless in his weapon form. Blackness filled his vision, and with it came a sudden onslaught of thoughts, all crashing over his mind at once and twisting and overlapping and confusing him such that he was barely aware of his feet on the ground.

Who was this old deity telling him what to do anyway? He had never seen the masked figure so much as leave Death City let alone fight, so why should he feel guilt for whatever he might do that displeases him?

And why shouldn't he flirt with those girls, or anyone he wanted to? He was Death Scythe after all and could do anything he wanted. It wasn't like his wife ever stayed home at nights when he finally clocked out anyway.

They were supposed to be a happy family but she never acted like it. He should teach her a lesson for her taking off at every opportunity when they had a daughter to raise. Leaving him all alone to deal with bottle feeding and diapers and the crying and what had he wanted that baby for anyway?

Spirit gasped.

Shuddering breaths racked his frame as his eyes pierced the darkness swirling through his mind, fixing on the door in front of him as he tried to will away the sickness that had his legs shaking.

Was he standing still? Or was he moving? He couldn't tell for the way the room seemed to rise and fall on waves and his body with it. He was certain he would fall at any moment and that if he did he would never be able to get up again.

"Spirit."

A great hand, heavy on his shoulder, was turning him around carefully to face the stairs again. Spirit blinked repeatedly as the spinning of the room slowly began to subside. The darkness started to move away, touching only the corners of his eyes.

He sucked in air and fell to his hands and knees, and the impact of an elbow on stone stairs jarred him further into the present and out of the evil place his mind had been fast going.

"Spirit," Lord Death repeated gently, and the young weapon let the familiarity of the voice be an anchor, hearing it again and again in his mind until the darkness had faded from his vision and before his eyes was only dust-covered stone.

"M-Maka..."

He shivered as tears fell from his eyes and mingled with the dust.

He didn't mean it. He would never mean anything like that. Maka was the most important person in his life. He didn't want to breathe if her perfect face wasn't the first thing he saw each morning and the last thing he saw each night. He would do anything and everything for his daughter.

So where had that horrid thought come from?

He shivered again, more from the anxiety than the chill around him, and slowly started to right himself. Never-mind the books scattered on the floor behind him. He needed to get home to his daughter.

"Spirit?"

"Maka..." he repeated, his breaths quick.

He felt the hand squeeze his shoulder and he looked up. Worry exuded from the Grim Reaper, and it was a further anchor to reality bringing Spirit back from... From...?

"What...what was that?" he asked, his voice sounding small to his ears. As if Lord Death could somehow know what had happened that caused his mind to flood with more disturbing thoughts and feelings than he had ever experienced in his life.

"That...was the kishin's madness," Lord Death said gravely.

Spirit's eyes widened and he whirled around to face the door again. The trio of inverted eyes, a mere painting, seemed to stare through him, and he felt a fresh wave of fear penetrate him like daggers.

"Asura?"

Lord Death bent down to gather the dropped books.

"Yes. Through those doors is the path to where the kishin is imprisoned."

Spirit shuddered again as the sensations lingered in his mind and left his wavelength feeling ill and out of balance. Lord Death offered him the stack of books, and Spirit swallowed nervously as he took them, and then turned to follow the reaper back up the stairs.

"After you read about it in detail, we'll talk," Lord Death said.

Spirit looked down, and it took several attempts before his eyes would focus on the title of the book at the top of the stack. Kishin it read simply, with no author listed like a great many of the books on the fourth level of the library, and Spirit wondered if Lord Death himself had penned it.

"Ah... Lord Death, Sir?" Spirit ventured cautiously as they reached the landing.

"Yes?"

"Can...can I go home?"

Lord Death paused, but Spirit slowly released the breath he'd been holding as he felt the understanding and almost-warmth coming off of his new meister.

"Yes."

Spirit felt unsteady on his feet again despite the relief in his soul as he strode forward with single-minded purpose, hefting the books higher in his arms. He knew any fear was irrational, but he couldn't rest until he saw for himself that Maka was okay.

"See you tomorrow, Death Scythe," Lord Death called after him, and Spirit paused to turn and nod acknowledgement even as he sighed silently. He would make sure Maka was fine, but...he still had his new job to do.

---------------

Spirit opened his eyes to a blinding light that obscured his surroundings. When he tried to lift his hand to block it out, it wouldn't move, and testing each limb one at a time revealed the same immobility for each. His head felt as heavy as lead when he peered down to try to find the source of whatever was restricting him, but he was only able to move just enough to see a gray strap tight on his wrist, restraining him where he lie.

"Awake, I see," a familiar voice intoned flatly, and a shock of fear ran across Spirit's nervous system like electricity.

"S...Stein?" he said weakly, his mouth sluggish in response to his brain's command to speak. "What's...happening?"

"It's time for your punishment," the voice said from a distance. Spirit tried to look around for its source, but he was still being blinded by the overhead light.

"Punishment? Stein, what... What are you talking about? Where are we?"

Spirit pulled against the strap at one wrist, but it had no give whatsoever. He lifted his head to look around again and discovered he was without his shirt, wherever he was, and a large gray strap was around his waist as well as his ankles and wrists.

"For entertaining madness. It's the ultimate crime."

"What? But I... I didn't—"

"Evil desires entered your mind. And you...a death weapon. There's no coming back from that."

Stein's voice was growing nearer, but Spirit still couldn't see the teen. Cold fear swept him at the harsh edge of judgment in his former meister's voice, and he pulled at his wrists and ankles again but found the effort as futile as before.

"It wasn't my fault! I would never...I wouldn't act on those things!"

"But you've already flirted with other women," Stein reminded him.

Spirit choked, his next protest dying on his lips. It was true... And that had been before the encounter with the madness below the academy.

"But I... I didn't mean..."

"What you intended doesn't matter. Idle thoughts and mindless errors are as criminal as deliberate intent."

Spirit shook his head violently as finally, the familiar form of Stein appeared above him, blocking out some of the light.

"But that's not true! You don't believe that anymore than...than Lord Death does!"

Spirit ceased his useless thrashing when Stein didn't respond, and he blinked the dark silhouette above him into focus. The young eyes, so familiar to him, were now distant—sad and cold as he gazed down at the weapon with his mouth fixed into a frown.

"What matters is that you believe it," Stein said.

Something prickled at the back of Spirit's mind as he turned over the strange words. He had never believed any such thing. Stein had to know that. And why was he looking at him that way?

"So, it's time to cut out your soul."

A hoarse cry left Spirit's throat as Stein slowly lifted a massive cleaver, its sharp edge gleaming in the bright light.

"What!? No, what are you thinking!? Stein, stop!"

"Goodbye, Senpai."

The blade came down.

---------------

"Stein!"

Spirit sat up so fast his vision swam, the nightmare still vivid in his mind as the brightness of the laboratory contrasted the dark of his bedroom. He blinked repeatedly until the texture of the blanket came into focus in front of him, the way it sagged between his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

Finally, he groaned and fell back against sweat-stained sheets, letting the blanket fall away. He could hear the rapid pounding of his heart in the silence of his bedroom as he let the cool night air tend to the moisture on his chest, slowly wicking it away and soothing the tension that had coiled in his body.

After a moment he let his arm stretch out and feel in the empty space at his side, the sheets dry and crisp for their lack of any recent occupancy.

Spirit sighed through his nose and shifted to squint at his alarm clock. Nearly two-thirty in the morning and his wife wasn't home.

She'd not been home that afternoon either when he'd arrived back early from work. Finding his home empty had only increased his residual horror from the experience underground, and he was grateful that his first call to the academy had located his daughter, safe in their daycare. What had surprised Spirit was to learn that she had been there all day, and was there most days.

This had been the catalyst for the argument when his wife had arrived home that evening, already spitting fire due to Spirit's discovery of her ongoing deception. It wasn't fair, she had seethed, that she stayed at home all day every day with dirty diapers as her only company, unable to live her life, while he lived out his dream.

Spirit only grew more bewildered at these claims, as his dream was two honey-haired girls in the cheap apartment they shared together.

Perhaps due to the terrifying experience he'd had that afternoon he wasn't as discerning or eloquent in his choice of words as he could have been. Fear was speaking for him when he ordered his wife to stay at home where she belonged, caring for their daughter and not leaving her in the hands of academy students while she went gallivanting off to Death knows where.

Her response had been another departure. But at least this time...Spirit had Maka.

He slowly turned his silver wedding ring around his finger as he rolled over in the bed to face the crib. He could see Maka's sleeping form within, still snuggled beneath her blanket and with her stuffed puppy tucked in next to her.

He wanted to get up, gather her in his arms and hold her until every memory of madness left him. But it wouldn't be right to disturb her precious sleep. So instead he simply watched her. How her tiny, delicate eyelashes rested upon her face. How her impossibly soft hair fell over her forehead and atop her ears. How even at less than a year of age, she was starting to look like his wife.

He turned the ring one last time before moving his hand up under his pillow to be more comfortable. The day had taken a greater toll on him than he realized, for the way his eyes kept dropping closed. His breathing had calmed, and the fear of the nightmare had faded. But the images returned as he let himself attempt to return to sleep, and his brow pinched together as he tried to analyze them.

The bright light, the restraints, and even the cleaver were no doubt due to the horrors his wife had verbally painted for him so many months ago with the discovery of an unremembered scar as they lie in bed. But the look in Stein's eyes... That sadness wasn't anything Spirit ever remembered seeing from the meister in their five years as partners.

And, why had he dreamed of Stein at all?

Spirit's eyes opened as he tried to recall the last time he'd spoken with Stein, and he could feel an ache with the further creasing of his brow when he couldn't place a date.

He slowly sat back up as realization struck... When had he last seen Stein?

Between the busy hours of learning the ropes as Lord Death's personal weapon, the sleepless nights when Maka wouldn't keep a schedule, and the growing number of unresolved arguments with his wife... He simply hadn't had time.

In fact, the last time he could remember seeing Stein, the meister had come there to his apartment, and he'd fallen asleep with Maka on his chest after a round of complaints about his life. He couldn't remember what, if anything, the two of them had talked about. And Stein had been gone when he'd woken up.

Spirit rose from the bed and glanced in the crib once more before moving to his closet. Despite his wife's protests, next to his blazer hung a long white coat that had been cut apart and reassembled with stitches to match an aesthetic that Stein had started adopting heavily in their last year as partners.

That day when Spirit had woken with the sunset in his eyes and Stein gone, the coat remained, draped over he and Maka to keep them warm while they slept.

Spirit pulled the coat from the hanger that had been its home for months, remembering the repeated insistence to his wife that he was just keeping it for Stein and would give it back the next time he saw him.

That had been months ago.

Whether it was residual madness or something else, a sudden urgency had Spirit pulling his clothes from the day back over his limbs, moving quickly but quietly lest Maka wake.

He had been Stein's weapon partner for five years. Even after his sins caught up to him and his life started to shift drastically off the course the two of them had planned, they had still been inseparable.

How could he go months without speaking to him and not realize it?

Once his shoes were tied, he folded the white coat carefully and then stepped up to the large standing mirror on his wife's side of the bed, and with his finger, drew the familiar number into the glass.

"Death Scythe," was Lord Death's unsurprised greeting, but absent his usual flurry of cheerful pleasantries. "Any residual effects of the kishin's madness?"

Spirit blinked in surprise at the reaper's cutting right to the chase, but he supposed he shouldn't have. He knew that he had only been touched by the mere edge of that wavelength, but the impact it had had was profound. He was certain it was the ultimate cause of his nightmare too, even if the subject had been a surprise.

"Ah...about that. I was wondering if...you could send someone to watch Maka for me? For just...just an hour, maybe less. I need to do something."

"Shouldn't your wife watch her?"

Spirit looked down at the coat in his hands, tightened his fists into the fabric.

"I...don't know where she is right now."

Spirit was still looking down when he felt a sudden wave of power and then his bedroom was filled with the imposing presence of the Grim Reaper.

"L-Lord Death! Sir!" he stammered as he moved back until his legs hit the bed, and he fell back to sit on the pile of tangled blankets.

"I'll watch her for you," Lord Death said, and Spirit's eyes widened as the imposing form of the reaper glided over to the crib and reached a huge hand down inside. Spirit's breath caught as one massive fingertip that dwarfed Maka's tiny body tickled lightly at her shoulder. "Oochie-coochie coo!"

"Uhh..."

Lord Death turned back to peer at him through the dark of the room. "It's the least I can do, after exposing you to that. Although, you would have been more prepared had you been listening."

Spirit blushed, and then quickly rose to his feet and tried to throw the bed into a semblance of order. He was glad there was no dirty laundry lying around and that he had taken out the trash bag of dirty diapers earlier that evening.

"Madness is nothing to take lightly," Lord Death continued. Spirit finished arranging the blankets and looked up to see Lord Death nod at the folded white coat. "Just consider your former partner."

Spirit swallowed slowly as he picked up the coat again. He thought of the fear he'd felt, the invasion of thoughts not his own and yet that had seemed to come from someplace within his soul.

Was that what Stein struggled with every day?

He considered the times he had touched the madness in Stein's wavelength when they resonated, the fear and violent desires that while objectively worse than what he had experienced, hadn't remotely carried the terror or dark lust that the wavelength underground had momentarily instilled in him.

Stein had been shielding him all along, he realized, even when he couldn't hold it back entirely. He hadn't wanted Spirit to know the depths of what he battled against. Who would, after all?

And...this was what Stein went through all the time?

Spirit's heart had begun racing again. He clutched the white coat tight to his chest as he began backing toward the door.

"Thank you, Sir, for watching Maka. I, ah... I shouldn't be gone long. The apartment is close. And..."

"Spirit."

Spirit stopped mid-step and looked up at the impassive mask of the Grim Reaper.

"He isn't at your old apartment anymore."

"...What?"

---------------

Spirit's pace had been hurried the entire journey to the city's outskirts, but he slowed when he approached the old, abandoned warehouse that he had passed so many times before without taking any notice. It was the same as always from the outside, but knowing his former meister was within made it feel different somehow; no longer part of the scenery, but something living. And yet for some reason, Spirit felt a heavy foreboding as he approached.

Stein had asked for and been given the building as a home months ago, according to Lord Death, and had hardly been heard from since except to request and take missions. He only showed his face in classes to take tests, which he passed, and would then vanish again.

When Spirit asked why Lord Death had accommodated these eccentricities, the Grim Reaper had been silent. He also hadn't answered any of Spirit's questions about the missions Stein took, except to say that he had recently taken their friend Marie Mjolnir as his new weapon.

Spirit had bristled at the designation, even though he knew he shouldn't. He had left Stein, after all. How could the meister be expected to continue his studies without a weapon partner? And yet for some reason, Spirit had never conceived of Stein working with anyone but him.

This and other thoughts had his head swimming as he propelled his feet down the sidewalk toward the warehouse, his heart rate seeming to increase with each step. He clutched the folded coat tightly to his chest and tried to will away the strange dread that had arrested his mind ever since the realization he'd not seen Stein in months.

He tried to tell himself it was just a product of the residual madness, or something brought on by the bizarre nightmare. It would all go away once he saw Stein again. He would knock on the door, and Stein would answer because the younger teen kept atypical hours. Spirit would apologize for not having seen him in so long and plan a day, maybe two, for them to catch up very soon. Then everything could go back to the strange, evolving normal his life had become ever since the day he'd learned of the pregnancy.

He held his breath when he knocked on the large double doors and then fidgeted with the fabric of the folded coat as he waited. Stein would be glad to see him, surely? But, Spirit suddenly wondered... Why hadn't he come around in months?

Spirit knocked a second time, louder. Perhaps Stein really was asleep, if he was even there.

Spirit counted the seconds until another two minutes had passed, and then with a shaky breath fit his hand to the doorknob. It turned without resistance, and he paused. Perhaps he could just quietly leave the coat and a note for Stein to stop by or perhaps call him when he could.

He pushed the door open slowly, wincing at the way it creaked on its hinges, and stepped into a broad, dark hallway. The walls on either side of him were gray and nondescript, just like the building's exterior, and all was silent as he cautiously started forward.

His brow rose when he heard what sounded like a voice muttering somewhere ahead of him, beyond another set of doors. He strained to listen and soon felt the tension drain from his body when he recognized the voice. Stein was awake after all, probably busy with some experiment, and simply hadn't heard his knock.

A smile was on Spirit's face when he pulled open the next door and passed into a large room lit dimly from a single standing lamp and the light of a computer monitor. Then, he saw Stein. And his expression dropped into horror.

Stein was seated on a rolling chair pushed back from the computer desk, and the whole of his shirt that Spirit could see was stained with layered drippings of what could only be blood. On the desk on either side of the computer were two large mirrors, propped against stacks of books and angled to the forty-five, and atop the monitor was a cracked mirror that appeared to have been bolted to the monitor's plastic frame.

All around Stein on the desk and floor were scattered papers and open books, and the computer screen was displaying some lines of text too small for Spirit to read. But his attention was fixed on the blood, his gaze rising up past where it clung to Stein's neck and soaked his silver hair. Both of Stein's hands were raised and fidgeting with something just as bloody at the sides of his head, fingers slick with the bright red substance, and the cuffs of his sleeves were stained as well.

Spirit's eyes narrowed as he continued to stare, unable to process the sight before him. And that's when he saw the screw.

"S...Stein!?" Spirit gasped in disbelief, his voice shrill. He looked past what Stein was fidgeting with to his countenance reflected darkly in the mirrors. His pupils were mere pinpricks in his wide eyes, and his skin was paler than usual under the streams of blood that ran down his face, even over his lips and staining his teeth where he was smiling broadly between incoherent mutters and soft, manic laughter.

"Stein!" Spirit repeated, taking an instinctive step forward. The folded coat fell from shaking hands as he looked around, searching for some enemy or any explanation for the horror that sat before him other than his ex-partner's own nimble hands.

The second cry seemed to get the teen's attention, and his laughter halted abruptly as he looked in one angled mirror first, seeming to stare in confusion at something in the corner of the room before shifting his eyes to the mirror atop the monitor until his gaze rested upon Spirit.

"Spirit."

Spirit glanced at the corner that Stein had focused on and found it bare, and then took another hesitant step forward. The blood dripping from Stein's stilled hands had his heart racing in a panic, but not more than the long object with which Stein appeared to have just impaled his skull.

"Stein, what... What... What's going on? What are you doing!?"

Stein slowly spun around in the chair and stared blankly at Spirit until his brow knitted very slightly.

"Hm. There's not usually two of you. Are you going to play the angel on my other shoulder?"

"I... I don't... Stein," Spirit stammered breathlessly. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, harder than it even had when he and his wife had battled the witch.

The faint look of scorn slowly left Stein's face to be replaced by the glassy-eyed expression and toothy smile he'd worn when Spirit first entered. His bloody hands had fallen to his lap when he turned, but he slowly raised one again to left side of his head where the larger end of the object protruded from Stein's head just above his ear.

Spirit's initial, instinctive assessment of the object as a screw seemed to be confirmed as Stein set his fingers around the flat, round end of it, gripped firmly, and twisted it backwards. A ratcheting sound came from the object and Spirit flinched away at the same time he took another step forward, the desire to stop Stein, to help him, and to just understand what was happening at war with the horror that had him nearly paralyzed.

"Stop!" he cried. "What...what is that? What did you do!?"

Stein adjusted his grip and turned the object again rapidly. His face contorted in pain as the ratcheting sound echoed through the large room, and the young meister began to laugh. The sound started low in his chest and then rose higher than the usual timbre of his voice as he doubled over and turned the screw a third time.

Spirit didn't know when he'd started crying, but tears streamed down his face as he forced himself forward on legs that felt as stable as jelly. He fell to his knees in front of Stein and reached up, set trembling hands on his shoulders and gripped the blood-soaked shirt.

"Stein."

The action arrested Stein's attention, his laughter ending as suddenly as if a switch had been flipped. He looked down at Spirit as if seeing him for the first time, hand frozen on the screw. Then he looked over to the corner that had stolen his focus before. Spirit glanced over his shoulder; the corner was still bare.

"I don't know if it's working."

It was the closest to sane Stein had sounded since Spirit had entered, but the meister's eyes were still glazed and didn't seem to see him. Spirit watched his face as he continued staring at the corner, could almost see the calculations working behind his eyes.

"This... Stein... Can you fix this?" Spirit said desperately, finally daring to look at the screw that Stein still held onto almost protectively. He leaned left to peer at where the smaller end of the object was protruding above Stein's other ear. He couldn't tell if it was truly impaled through his friend's head, or if some other mechanism was at work; it was impossible to tell through the matted, bloody hair that fell over the dark metal.

Stein blinked, and Spirit's breath caught as the meister's gaze suddenly narrowed on him.

"Don't you see? I am. Fixing this," he hissed cruelly.

Spirit shook his head. "Stein."

"If this doesn't work..."

Spirit listened to the frightened words, low and hoarse as Stein adjusted his grip, turned his hand, and the ratcheting sound echoed through the room again.

"Why would you do this?" Spirit pleaded, still not believing what he was seeing. If it wasn't for his fingers digging tight into Stein's shoulders he would think it was another delusion of madness.

Suddenly, Stein's eyes truly focused on his for the first time, and his face fell into a terrifying frown. It was just enough warning, and Spirit was able to lean back fractionally as Stein's free arm swept up harshly into both of his, knocking him away and barely missing hitting his face.

Spirit fell back onto his rear, caught himself harshly on his already-sore elbow, and gazed up at Stein in disbelief. The action seemed to startle the meister as well, his anger fading as rapidly as it had come. He stared at Spirit with something of confusion, and then looked up at the corner again. A sound of surprise fell from his lips, and Spirit watched as his eyes darted around the room rapidly as if searching for something, until finally settling on Spirit with another frown.

Spirit was frozen by the bitter look of betrayal that suddenly filled his friends eyes, and all he could do was watch as Stein started to shift his hand upward again. But then, apparently catching sight of the blood on his hand, the meister refocused his attention and a placid smile replaced everything else that had been twisting his features into something beyond recognition.

Spirit's tears fell freely as he stared at his friend and the massive object protruding from his head, blood still dripping down the sides of his neck. His thoughts were finally catching up to his horror, and he knew he should probably call someone for help, get Stein medical attention before he lost too much blood, and see if anything could be done about the metal rod that was apparently set straight through his brain. It shouldn't even be possible, Spirit thought, as he felt he would choke for how his heart pounded in his throat. That he had found Stein alive after his self-mutilation was nothing short of miraculous.

"Stein," he began carefully, his voice broken apart for his fear. "You... We need to..."

Stein stared at him with an unsettling calm, and Spirit's mind recalled every time he had had seen that expression before—all the times he'd had to hold Stein back, either physically or mentally, from some terrible desire borne of madness.

Spirit bit down on his words as he felt bile begin to rise in his throat. He shifted to sit upright, but his muscles felt useless under the weight of guilt that was suddenly bearing down on him as heavily as had the darkness underground.

Who had Stein had, to help him fight his madness...in all those months Spirit had forgotten him?

"Stein..." he tried again. He reached up to his eyes, closed them as he wiped away tears that kept flowing. Stein lifted an eyebrow, and Spirit realized his face was likely now streaked with Stein's blood from his fingertips. "Please, I... I should have... I don't... Stein, why?"

He blinked in attempt to clear his vision, gazed pleadingly up at the meister who sat so calmly, as if half his body wasn't stained in red and the air around them didn't taste of iron.

"Senpai," Stein said, his voice finally something familiar. Spirit watched his friend's hand slowly fall, rest limply upon his knee. But the calm ended once more as a wild, toothy smile bisected the meister's face, and something like the distant sadness from the nightmare filled his eyes. "You know better than anyone that I have a screw loose."

Spirit choked on a sob, shook his head as Stein began to laugh. It started low as it had before, but rapidly rose into uncontrolled shrieks that tore from his throat and racked Stein's body in the chair, rolling it back and forth through the drippings of blood on the cement beneath.

Spirit wept.

It was his fault. If only he hadn't forgotten Stein... No, if he hadn't left him to begin with. Then he wouldn't be seated at his friend's feet, watching him possibly bleed to death and collapse fully into the madness he'd fought so hard for years to protect him from.

He let his tears fall freely as memories raced across his mind, questions and possibilities and denials he had replayed countless times before, and conclusions drawn from the voice he had chosen to believe. It was too much happening too fast, all over again. And as over a year's worth of confusion and fear joined with the present and tangled into an unsalvageable mess in his mind, two words slowly formed and found their way to Spirit's tongue.

"I'm sorry."

It was time to rise out of his denial. He needed to ask Stein... To hear everything from his lips, find out what was true and what wasn't... Learn his side of the story. And no matter what, Spirit realized he didn't care; that in his soul the decision had already been made, and all that was left was to come back. To offer to fix what he had broken. It was all his fault, and couldn't they just erase the past, and please...wouldn't Stein forgive him?

"Stein, I... I..."

The shifting of plastic wheels on the floor stopped, and the laughter faded to hiccuped chuckling. Spirit wiped his tears again with the sides of his thumbs, brushed his hair from his face, and looked up.

Stein appeared frozen above him, grin still manic and eyes not quite seeing him even as he stared straight at him.

Stein's shoes pushed on the floor and the chair slowly rolled back and hit the edge of the desk. His gaze remained on Spirit, unblinking. A bloody hand reached back, felt blindly on the desk and knocked a few previously unseen surgical instruments to the floor. And then Stein's hand returned, rose up between them, his fingers delicately holding a scalpel.

"It's about time I gave you some new parts as well."

Spirit's breath hitched. Stein's shoes pushed down, and the chair started rolling forward.

Spirit let out an involuntary cry as instinct had him roll backward and away, far out of Stein's reach, and then he was on his feet and backing toward the door.

"No! Stein, no, listen to me!"

"Hm, but Senpai... Don't you think you could do with a new liver? I have one in my freezer," Stein said, jerking his head toward another door that Spirit hadn't noticed.

The simple movement of his head seemed to cause him pain, and Spirit watched as Stein winced, his fingers tightening on the scalpel even as both his hands quickly raised to grip the ends of the screw.

"Stein, I... Don't... Stay here. I'm going to get help. I'll get..." he stammered as he continued backing toward the door.

Stein's face settled back into the mad grin, the hand holding the scalpel lowering as the other turned the screw.

Spirit flinched at the sound it made, at the tiny laughs that seemed to slip involuntarily from his friend's lips. He shook his head in terrified disbelief as he felt behind him blindly until he found the doorknob.

"I'll get help. Stay here! I... I'm so sorry, Stein."

Spirit turned, away from the horror and the sight and scent of blood, and the echoing crank of metal mixed with laughter as he fled the warehouse and ran as fast as he could ever remember moving. Maybe...maybe if only he could reach some help...there was still time.

--------------

In the warehouse, Stein blinked at the metal door until it drifted shut, closing into position with a soft click. Then, all was quiet.

He blinked, slowly turning and glancing all around the room, into every corner and next to every haphazard stack of books, seeking any movement or sign of life.

"Spirit?"

Stein waited. But silence was the only reply he received.

He slowly turned back toward the computer, the feeling of moving his feet foreign as if he hadn't walked in an age. He was going to attempt to analyze that sensation, and why his body suddenly felt as though it wasn't his, when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirrors.

He took a few steps forward, not quite believing he was looking at himself. He noted the blood, both the dried and the wet still seeping from his flesh. And then he studied the screw, tilting his head slowly to each side and evaluating its appearance and placement.

Then he glanced around the room again.

"Huh. I guess it works."

Stein reached up to the screw, turned it once. Hissed at the excruciating pain it caused. And then he laughed.

---------------

Spirit was breathless and his limbs ached as he sprinted down the sidewalk to his first-floor apartment. He was so panicked and intent on his goal that he didn't notice his wife approaching the door at the same time until he nearly crashed into her.

"Spirit?" she said in surprise. He stopped, doubled over to his knees for a moment, and then stood again as his entire frame shook from exertion. His wife had looked confused and deeply annoyed at first, but she must have noted the blood on his face, he realized, as her expression dropped to fear. "What's going on? Where's Maka? Where have you been?"

Spirit ignored her questions as he wrenched the doorknob open and darted through the familiar halls to his bedroom.

"Lord Death!" he gasped upon entering, and the Grim Reaper turned from his faithful vigil next to Maka's sleeping form and tilted his great, curious masked expression down to the weapon and took in his appearance.

"Oh, my. What's happened?"

Spirit sucked in air and looked over his shoulder as his wife followed him into the room. She looked properly shocked by the presence of the Grim Reaper in her home and quickly schooled her appearance into something of respect as she dropped her purse on the dresser, glanced at Maka in the crib, and then turned her wide eyes to Spirit and waited.

Spirit took a few more breaths, looked back to Lord Death, and wiped his eyes again. He forced his tears into compliance before launching into a hurried explanation of what he'd found at the warehouse—of the screw, of Stein's mad behavior, and of the supposed threat at the last when he'd made to leave. He stole glances at his wife throughout, noted her astonishment, suspicion, and ultimately, anger.

"Oh, my," Lord Death repeated when Spirit had finished, his words slow and grave. "You stay here and look after yourself. I'll see to Stein."

"Yes... Yes, Sir," Spirit breathed, his lungs still aching in pain for the sprint back through town.

With that, the reaper vanished, using his mirror as a portal in the same way he had entered, and left Spirit alone with Maka and his wife.

With the promise of the best help for his meister possible, Spirit collapsed. He sank heavily to the floor between the bed and crib and let his head fall back against the edge of the mattress, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to slow his breathing and bring his body back to some semblance of normalcy. But unbeckoned, the horrors from the warehouse flooded his vision behind his eyelids, and he blinked repeatedly to banish the experience worse than any nightmare he had ever had.

He lifted a shaking hand and tried to wipe the salt from his cheeks, feeling the flaky, dried residue of the blood that he knew he would need to wash before Maka woke up. And then he suddenly realized how overheated and sticky with sweat he was from the run, and achingly peeled himself out of his jacket.

"You...went to see Stein?" his wife's voice broke through his thoughts.

He rolled his head sideways on the edge of the mattress until her scowling face filled his vision.

"After everything he did to you!? I thought you were smarter than this!"

Spirit's brow furrowed. "I don't think—"

"You told Lord Death yourself, he threatened to cut you up again tonight! And he's gone totally mad! How could you do this to me? To Maka?"

Spirit shifted, started to push himself to his knees. "Angel, I—"

"Don't 'angel' me anything! What if he'd killed you? Your stupidity would have left me a widow and Maka fatherless!"

Spirit stared dumbly up into his wife's furious face. He wanted to argue that she'd hardly been a mother or wife, with her lying almost every day about where she was and leaving Maka in daycare, and then heading off again at nights when Spirit got home. But he was too exhausted, too overwhelmed by the horrors he'd experienced, and too worried about Stein to even begin to put any of those thoughts into useful words.

"He's my meister," was what finally escaped Spirit's lips, though he knew the argument was already lost. Even when he held the higher position, somehow with his wife, he always wrong.

Her eyes widened. "What?" she seethed.

Spirit realized his error as her face reddened further in anger, even though technically she couldn't claim to be his meister anymore either. Lord Death was the only one who would wield him now.

He was expecting an explosion, like usual. Words of censure and revulsion, to remind him that he was a dreadful husband and only Death's weapon because of her, and what thanks did she ever get for it?

But none of that came, as her feet padded softly between he and the crib, and then Spirit stumbled to his feet as he heard Maka's soft whimpers of distress as she was lifted out of her bed and into her mother's arms.

"What are you doing?" he said anxiously, a panic that was becoming too familiar racing across his nervous system.

"I'm going to Azusa's. Have your head on straight by tomorrow night, Death Scythe," she fairly spat, tucking Maka against her chest as she turned on her heel to leave.

"But... Kami!" he cried, stepping after her. But the door had already slammed shut.

He stumbled back against the bed, fell seated to the mattress as he heard Maka begin to cry from the sudden and startling sound. He listened to the second slam of the front door and Maka's cries growing distant as she was carried away from him, away from the home that suddenly didn't feel like it deserved the name.

Spirit's bloodied fingers found his wedding ring and twisted it slowly around his finger.

How, in just one day, had everything fallen apart so completely?

Spirit took a few breaths and then pushed himself to his feet. He walked on shaking legs into the bathroom, turned on the light and blinked against its harshness. His stomach turned as he stared at the red streaks on his face and that had matted some of his hair. He felt the prickling of tears in his eyes again, but with effort he swallowed them down.

His wife was right about at least one thing. He was Death Scythe. And he needed to be prepared for whatever he may need to face.

Maka would be fine, if they were going to be at Azusa's. Marie was still her roommate, unless something had changed, and often all the young weapon would talk about was the day she too had the privilege of being a wife and a mother. Maka was in good hands. And tomorrow, after some rest, he would deal with the issue of his wife's deception and leaving their daughter at daycare all the time.

That left the more urgent issue of Stein.

Spirit wanted to go back. He wanted to find out just what Lord Death would do to help his friend, to see for himself that Stein was going to survive the horrible self-mutilation, and could it even be undone? And, what of his madness?

Spirit thought again of what he'd experienced underground, the terror of those invasive thoughts, and how real and demanding they had been. Was that truly what it was like in Stein's mind? All those years that Spirit had felt the bristling, violent edge of his thoughts whenever he and Stein resonated... How Stein must have been holding it back, protecting him from the worst of it...preventing him from seeing the true depths of the madness.

Spirit took a slow, deep breath to hold the tears at bay again.

How could he have believed his wife? When she insisted Stein had been conducting illicit experiments on him, convinced him that the younger teen couldn't be trusted. Stein's refusal to offer either affirmation or denial was all the proof she had needed, and it had seemed the easiest way to ease hostilities to simply accept her word.

To abandon his partner.

And now, Stein may die because of him.

What kind of death weapon was he?

Spirit splashed water on his face and ran it through his hair, scrubbed at the blood until his skin felt raw and his scalp ached. Fresh tears mingled hot on his cheeks with the cool of the water, and when the only red left on his cheeks was the flush he felt from humiliation, he turned off the light and stumbled back into the bedroom.

He was no one anybody should be looking up to, or offering flirty waves in the academy's halls. He was an idiot and a failure, and everything his wife always accused him of being. He was probably a bad father, too.

He sniffled as his gaze locked onto the empty crib while he stumbled across the carpet, hoping that his wife would bring Maka back to him soon the next day. So focused was he, that his foot caught on something just under the bed and he tripped, falling so that his knee grazed the hard item when he hit the floor, and he hissed against the pain.

He felt in the dark for the offending object and soon pulled out a small, forgotten lock-box. His eyes widened on the sight, and familiar warnings rose in the back of his mind with too many words to form into coherent thought as he looked at the small, combination lock, the number sequence easily called into memory.

His thumb began turning the dials.

He had promised to stop drinking the day he found out about the pregnancy, and he had been true to his word. The box of expensive liquors was just for very special occasions, like the night after he and his wife had defeated the witch, and the day that Maka was born. And just a single shot those times, he had insisted, because it wasn't worth the risk to have more. Not when he was Death Scythe. Not when he was a father.

Stein's expression had been bittersweet when he told Spirit he was proud of him. Spirit had never understood that look.

He flipped the lid of the box open and lifted out one of the bottles, and his brow furrowed in confusion. It was nearly empty.

He considered for a moment, and then his eyes widened in understanding.

So, his wife had other secrets she had been keeping from him besides her daily excursions.

Spirit slowly turned the bottle over in his hand. He felt the warnings prickling all the way up his spine. He heard the echoes of his promises. He heard Stein's kind but melancholy praise.

And then he thought of his wife's lies. And the blood dripping down the sides of his friend's head. And the mad, defeated laughter as Stein had looked at him like he was a stranger.

Spirit replaced the nearly empty bottle, and then lifted a full one out of the box. He took a long, slow breath as he leaned back against the side of the bed. Felt every one of his nerve endings tingle in fierce opposition. And then he twisted open the cap.

He could keep some secrets, too.

#soul eater #soul eater fanfiction #franken stein #spirit albarn #lord death #maka albarn #maka's mother #kami albarn #CrossStitch #death scythe #stein #spirit #year of the otp #writing prompt #yotp

[breannasfluff]

10 minutes after stepping through the portal, the former god of justice starts to doubt the merit of his actions. Link is lying to the side in the grass, still asleep, and likely will be for a while.

There was no Hylia waiting on the other side of the portal. In fact, there’s no one. Just an empty house and an overgrown yard. The path away from it is scant more than an animal trail. Whoever lived here hasn’t in a long time.

The god circles the house, casting a critical eye over the structure and surroundings. The foundation is solid, as is the roof as far as he can see. There’s a large clearing in the backyard with what might have once been a garden plot. Or…some sort of monster tribute made of dead greenery.

He takes too long to consider the strangeness before giving up and heading back to the front of the house. The door squeaks on rusty hinges but opens. Inside, the house is bare. A cracked dining table; not worth the effort of moving. A few tipped-over stools. A bucket, with no flaws outside a few spiders living inside. The thick layer of dust is only broken by the odd animal print.

The house is empty. It’s a means of shelter. Until his sister deigns to grace them with her presence, the god is going to use it.

Only…how does one use a house?

Link wakes, which is a novelty. Last he was aware, he was dying on the ruined surface. The pain faded away as he watched his people ascend into the sky. He’s been in tough situations before, but this one held a finality. He’s not going to survive.

There’s a piece of grass tickling his nose. Overhead, the sky is blue and scattered with faint clouds. The earth smells sweet and rich beneath him. Alive or dead, Link closes his eyes and fills his lungs with the scent.

It brings back memories of his childhood; helping his mother in the garden. Playing by the brook with the other children. Digging his hands into the soil and not caring as it stuck under his nails.

He’s looked over the memories during his imprisonment so often that they are faded and crinkled. They lack the crispness of true memory and instead hold the sheen of remembering the actual thing.

Now, the wealth of greenery and the heat of the sun revitalize those memories. It’s easy to compare the smell of the soil to the past and identify the differences. If he twitches his fingers, the grass has a different texture than the fields he once played in.

Link opens his eyes again. The sky is still blue. Grass still tickles his nose.

What if Hylia saved him so he could be of further use to her? His only worth has ever been what he could do for others. Being denied death is…disappointing, but not wholly unexpected.

The chances of being left to lie in the grass and enjoy a nap are non-existent. It’s time to get up.

Moving is strange. His limbs feel like jelly; wobbly and new. His chest doesn’t hurt where he was bleeding, but it does itch. Link’s ears flick constantly as he tries to categorize the sounds around him. His wrists and fingers throb and he shakes them absently, trying to push it away.

He’s lying in the grass next to a house. Judging by the surroundings, abandoned. The rich color of the world is nearly overwhelming. Link’s gotten used to the miserable, ashy land his home was reduced to by the Demon King.

Birds flit through the air, chasing bugs. In the trees, a doe freezes and looks at him, ears flicking. Then she continues deeper into the greenery. Inside the house, there’s a tremendous crash.

Link reaches for a sword before he registers the movement. The goddess sword may be gone, but he has his own as backup. He’s on his feet, swaying, as he yanks the sword from the sheath on his back. His cape rips and…oh, it’s a mess. The end is burnt and stained.

None of that matters because Link spins to face the house and potential enemy, sword out.

His hand and wrist spasm and his grip goes slack. The sword drops to the grass. He’s still staring at it when the house door creaks open.

“You are awake.”

Yanking his gaze away from the sword and the worrying tremble of his hand, Link looks up at the voice. Then he goes stock still. “You are a god.”

Read the rest here!

#The First & The Fierce #TF&TF #fierce deity #hylia's chosen hero #lu fierce deity #lu first #Kami TF&TF #Leo TF&TF #breannasfluff #my writing

[homelesstravelerssp]

Okay so. Typical au where kami is a thing.

Yoichi was originally Quirkless. At all. And when Afo gave him the quirk, it worked exactly the way Afo wanted it. But the Shinnigami saw and knew that Afo was going to avoid them, and this angered the kami. Shinnigami couldn't just take people's lives, but they could influence it from afar. So they made it so that the quirk given to Yoichi mutated and became One For All.

And then All Might lost the battle with All For One and died.

Shinnigami were furious. No one has neglected them so much for a long time! And they promised anyone who could defeat Afo to help fulfill their desire. (To help, not to just fulfill).

Everyone knew this. Many have tried. But everyone failed. And Japan slowly but surely plunged into darkness and confusion

...

Izuku was quirkless. Heroes weren't such a big thing anymore. Just an ordinary boring profession, and also dangerous, and everyone treats them with disdain. But in Midoriya’s soul there is still a smoldering love for quirks and a desire to help. As a result, he gets a job either as a consultant or doing quirk analysis at the police station.

...

More and more often he sees a certain Eraserhead. At some point, the hero catches Izuku muttering like a fan and a friendship begins.

They see each other more often at work, then slowly begin to see each other outside of work. Walking, talking until you lose your voice, funny little adventures, local jokes, and uncovering past traumas.

Izuku begins to fall in love with Eraserhead, who has already become Aizawa. But he does not dare to spoil the friendship, and silently looks with loving eyes.

...

And then his mother dies.

Just some stupid accident. Maybe the cat from the multi-story building dropped the remote from the window and the remote fell right on top of Inko. Something that is impossible to predict and influence. And it hits Midoriya. And it opens his eyes.

He plans to confess his love to Aizawa next month.

...

And then Aizawa dies on a mission, with one last request to take care of his daughter Eri.

...

Izuku stands over Afo's lifeless body. The heart no longer flutters in the chest, the brain no longer gives signals, the chest does not rise. And they stand next to each other. Kami, the Shinnigami themselves. Afo's soul is in their hands. They look at Izuku and ask what his request is.

Izuku, wiping tears from his cheek with his hand, the remnants of vomit and blood from the corners of his lips, looks at Shinnigami with a gaze full of steel and answers:

“I want to bring Aizawa Shouta back to the world of the living.”

...

And the only thing that Shinnigami will do in response is to promise to let Midoriya Izuku get into the world of the gods and on the other side into the world of youkai, and also not to interfere with the return of Aizawa Shouta’s soul.

But nothing more. Because this request also defiles death itself. And the only reason why Shinnigami did not refuse is that the kami cannot fail to fulfill the promises made once, and that, in comparison, this does not defile him as much as Afo.

However, you will have to fight for your soul yourself. Against youkai and deities, and against life itself. Midoriya Izuku will have to walk this path alone.

#one day I'll draw or write it #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero acedamia #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #deku #izuku midoriya #au kami #aideku #eraserdeku #mha au idea

[sir-libearian]

Extremely niche story idea that I'll probably never write a fic of: There's a manga&anime called "The World God Only Knows", with the main character Keima Katsuragi "the god of dating sims". He supposedly can beat any game, for example there was an arc about him beating a game so badly glitched no one had ever finished it in order to "free" the heroine.

I want to see this guy go up against an unbeatable/horror dating sim like Doki Doki literature club. The only ways that could end would be him breaking/winning the game, or the game breaking him, either of which would be interesting.

#ddlc #ddlc monika #twgok #the world god only knows #kami nomi zo shiru sekai #keima katsuragi #It's been several years since I read/watched it so my summary may be a bit off. but the idea remains #and if I post the idea like this I can delete it from my to write list since I probably will never get to it

[garadinervi]

Y.Z. Kami, Endless Prayers IV, (mixed media on paper), 2015 [Leila Heller Gallery, New York, NY. © Y.Z. Kami]

#art #mixed media #geometry #pattern #structure #calligraphy #visual writing #y.z. kami #leila heller gallery #2010s