#reblogging or donating are better than nothing!!

[guesswhojusttt]

I know it can feel like clicking once a day isn’t doing anything. I know it can feel like every call and email sent to your reps is falling on deaf ears. I know it can feel like boycotting is pointless when Israel is still getting dozens of billions from the US. I know donating can feel cruel when Palestinians get shot on their way to aid trucks.

But we have to do something. Every video by Bisan and other reporters shows us Palestinians getting food and clothes and something to get them through the day. Every protest is bringing attention to a genocide that so many choose to ignore. During the Holocaust, during every slave revolt, during South Africa’s apartheid that mirrors Israel’s, just voicing support for Jews or for abolition meant something.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. If your clicks and reblogging donation links means a little boy gets to smile and celebrate (below), if that’s all you can do right now, it’s always- always- better than nothing.

#apartheid #ceasefire now #end the occupation #free palestine #humanitarian crisis #i stand with palestine #israel is an apartheid state #israeli war crimes #stop the genocide #colonialism #Palestine #Israel #Gaza #Iran #human rights #fuck israel

[internetslice]

happy international womens day! remember that there are palestenian women in need of feminine hygiene products! you can donate here, and the cheapest tier is 5$!

if you can't donate, reblog! doing something is better than doing nothing! remember to keep talking, keep calling and keep donating! from the river to the sea, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE!! 🇵🇸

#toast txt #palestine #gaza #free palestine #free gaza #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #save palestine #save gaza #ceasefire now #ceasefire #international women's day

[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | better now

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 summary: 3.9k words, a snippet of a day in the life of husband! joel and his lovely housewife | no apocalypse au, no use of y/n warnings: 18+ MDNI! pre-established relationship/dynamic, unprotected piv, rough sex, free use kink, sub/dom relationship, cum play, spit kink, exhibition kink, dirty talk, pet names for reader, brief mention of alcohol, generally extremely submissive reader so if you're into that this is for you! a/n: not pretending this is anything other than some little fantasy i had that i needed to write out. i'm really excited about this one shot series for husband!joel though, i have some really fun (and depraved) ideas planned for these two for future blurbs so stayed tuned if you like this one! reblogs + comments are always loved and appreciated! ♡

i've decided to start a kofi in case anyone wants to consider a small donation to support my work! ♡

How’s my pretty little wife today?

The words you look forward to each day, falling from your husbands lips in some form or another, whether it’s rasped tenderly in your ear, from between your legs as he smirks up at you, or from over your shoulder as he slams his cock into you, sending you to heaven and back down as soon as he can after walking in the door after work.  

Joel asks the question today after walking up behind you in the backyard, his mouth already next to your ear, warm breath tickling along your skin there as he brushes your hair over your shoulder. The wiry texture of his beard nuzzles right into your neck, sending a thrill down your spine as his arms slide around your waist and hold you tightly to him, swaying you back and forth. The motion is soothing, reminding you that you’re right where you’re meant to be.  

You can smell the workday on him - sweat and dirt and the outdoors, and the lingering scent of the cologne you’d given him this past Christmas. He’d sprayed it on this morning, as he does every morning since you bought it for him. Makes me think of you all day, he’d remind you while you’d watched from your bed with a teasing smile, sheet disheveled and draped over your naked body.

You breathe all of it in, savoring this scent unique to your husband, before touching your hand to where his rests around your belly and stroking it gently.

“Better now,” you answer. More times than not, that’s your response to his routine question, knowing it drives him wild, makes a long day of work ache a little less when he hears you say it.

“S’what I like to hear,” he says, a kiss on your neck leading up to your lips - a long, deep, ravenous kiss that already leaves you breathless. He pulls away so suddenly you nearly have whiplash, your head falling slightly into nothing, missing his lips.

“Smells good out here,” Joel comments, turning his nose up in the air slightly. “Usin’ the new pizza oven already?” 

When you’d made a passing comment about wishing you could make wood fired pizzas at home, just like the ones a restaurant in town serves, Joel seemed to take it seriously, as he did with most things involving your wishes and desires. The next weekend, he’d hauled in bricks and began his work. You’d stepped out into the yard when you heard all the commotion, giving him a quizzical stare, and he’d simply grinned and shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he should be building his wife a pizza oven. You’d nearly teared up, feeling grateful and giddy with excitement at your new toy to experiment with. 

Within a few weekends, Joel had finished his new project, always seeming to need one to have around the house, wiping the sweat off his forehead and gleaming with pride at it as he showed you the final product. You’d practically jumped for joy but settled on flinging yourself into his arms to show your appreciation. When that had turned into him fucking you on top of the kitchen counter moments later after he went inside to fetch a cold drink, you hadn’t minded one bit.

“I couldn’t wait,” you say with a grin. When Joel nuzzles your neck again you start to lose your train of thought. His lips press a gentle kiss right on your pulse point, and you sigh into it. “T-trying out margherita today,” you manage to squeak out.

“Hmm,” Joel says, seemingly contemplating the flavor choice in between latching his lips on your neck and sucking, marking you over and over. You’re sure the ones from mere days ago haven’t faded all the way, a smattering of them going right down to your tits, but Joel always needs a fresh mark on you as soon as they start to fade, a way for you to always remember you’re his. He grinds his hard length into your back on the next touch of his lips, and you arch into it a little, your cunt starting to ache more needily for him. 

“F-fresh basil… from the… gar-” you gasp as he pulls you completely flush against his cock, letting out a little, devious laugh.

“Sounds fuckin’ delicious, baby,” he replies. His fingers reach down and toy with the front hem of your dress, delicately sliding his calloused fingers up your thighs, bunching the fabric as he goes. The warmth of his hands on your bare skin blazes a trail up to the apex of your thighs, finally cupping a hand around your warm heat. You instinctively grind into the heel of his hand, and can practically feel Joel smirking behind you. His fingers brush the outside of your panties, starting to rub circles on the wet fabric. He lets out a low growl, deep and needy in the back of his throat feeling the evidence of how much you’d anticipated him coming home. 

“So wet for me already, huh, doll? Couldn’t wait f’me to get home ‘n take care of ya, I bet,” Joel taunts in your ear before sucking on the lobe, and you’ve gone breathless now, nodding your head. His fingers tease the edge of your panties again, finally slipping one underneath the fabric, feeling the obscenity of your wetness directly, and he lets out an impressed tut, sucking in air between his teeth. You nearly moan out at the smallest touch he’s giving you, the way his rough, worn fingers gently brush over your clit for just a split second. 

“She’s so needy, ain’t she?” Joel coos in your ear, swiping a finger to your entrance and back to your clit. You can feel how slickness quickly gathers on Joel’s digits as he teases you. You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back into him, letting your head drop to his shoulder as pleasure wracks your body already.

“Mhm… needs you,” you murmur, turning your head towards his where he meets your lips, continuing steady strokes on your aching bundle of nerves. His lips are softer than you’d think, looking at the hardened grump behind them, but like so many parts of Joel, they are only soft for you.

“Needy, needy girl… good thing I’ve been thinkin’ about gettin’ my cock in that little cunt of yours all day.”

“A-all day?” you say with a little smirk, rutting your ass back into his throbbing length, and Joel groans with the friction.

“Second I pulled out of it this mornin’,” he replies, low voice drumming against your skin, and you shudder, desperate for what you know he’s about to do.

Another routine of yours - Joel comes home from work, and more days than not, he fucks you. And you enjoy every second of it, basking in the attention and his cock filling you up in the way nobody and nothing else can. You crave him night and day, never having gotten your fill, wondering if you ever could. His hunger for you in return only fuels the fire, a vicious circle the two of you seem to have no intention of breaking.

Your weakness lies completely in the man standing behind you, burying his fingers in between your legs and making you moan out wildly before he’s even had his way with you.

“Fuck, gotta get this cock in you, baby, split you open f’me so good, fuck you stupid,” Joel grunts suddenly, interrupting your swirling thoughts, withdrawing his fingers in a flash and leaving you whimpering. It’s not fair, the way he affects you. 

Nobody should have this power over you, but the minute you’d met Joel, you couldn’t deny the way he’d made you feel. Masculine and warm, rough hands and broad shoulders that you’d clung to that same night you’d met him in a bar, fucking mere hours later in the bathroom. Even in your drunken haze you’d submitted to him fully, Joel having no problem ordering and throwing you around the bathroom like you were just a toy to play with, his little doll. You’d found that you could never look back after that night, the safety he represented to you, the adoration he showered you with, the way he fucked you like it was his last time every time. When Joel saw how willing you were to be his in the way he craved from a woman, there was no stopping the insatiable beast he became, hellbent on never letting another man feel your touch again. Joel promised you a good life, an amazing life, even, and in the last few years, he had more than delivered for you. 

“Hush now, you’ll have what you want in a second,” he says, running a quick stroke of his fingers through your hair, giving it a tug. On principle, you let out a little mewl at the sensation, too many instances of your hair being tugged and pulled with Joel involved to not recall those memories with the pain of it. You hear the jangle of his belt as he frees himself from his jeans, the familiar sound of Joel’s thick, heavy cock slapping against his hand as he fists it. You’re already cock drunk without having seen the damn thing yet, and it’s nearly laughable how pliable you are when Joel’s involved. It’s always been that way - you’ve been happy to oblige his every desire, no matter when, where, how he wanted it, or the frequency. You were his to use, to pleasure, to fuck senseless, and you got off on the way all of it steadily built his need for you just as much as it did with your need for him.

“Please…” you whine, trying to slip out of his grasp and start for the sliding glass door to the house, making the assumption that he’d be taking you inside at any moment to take what he needed from you. 

Joel immediately tightens his hold on you, a dark tut in your ear that goes straight to your clit.

“Not so fast, little doll,” he croons, hand grabbing your cunt through your dress again to hold you to him. “Right here,” he adds on, turning your body towards the outdoor dining table in the backyard. 

“J-Joel… right here?” you question, knowing you shouldn’t. It won’t matter anyways. “The… t-the neighbors…” you whimper quietly as Joel crowds you against the table, tearing your dress up over your ass, revealing your lacy little thong to him. He groans at the sight of your bare ass ready for him to claim before roughly shimmying your underwear halfway down your thighs. He places a rough hand on your back, pressing you down into the table so that you’re completely bent over, your hands splaying out into the wood to support yourself. 

“Let them see…” Joel says quietly, a heady murmur as he slips his cock between your thighs and notches himself at your weeping entrance. “Let them see how much I love fuckin’ my wife.” He pushes in on the last sentence, and you gasp at the stretch and burn of his girth. Your vision goes white for a moment with the mix of pure pain and pleasure, and your mouth hangs open, panting in delight as he fills you inch by inch. 

“Mmm… such a sweet little pussy, honey…” Joel says quietly once he’s seated fully inside of you. He’s just as lost in the bliss of it as you are. “Know I’d fuckin’ live right here if I could.”

You give him a little moan of satisfaction, wiggling your hips to give yourself any sensation of movement from his cock. He places his hands on either side of your hips, squeezing his grip tightly enough to bruise before starting to thrust himself into you. You cry out in a yelp, the noise passing though your lips before you can even control it. 

“Yeah…” you whimper, face pressed against the table, trying to peek up as Joel looms above you, like some higher being that has the power to decide your fate, to decide the pleasure or pain you’ll have to endure in this moment. And truthfully, you do worship him. The way he moves inside of you, makes you crumble underneath even the lightest of his touches. The way he spoils you in every regard - you’ve never wanted for a single thing for as long as you’ve been Joel’s, him vowing to take care of everything you ever need, and in return, you take care of everything he needs. 

To some, it might seem like there’s a lack of balance in the way you do things, but fuck do you love it, you think as you desperately cling onto the table, manicured nails digging into the wood as Joel’s cock rams back into you, pressing so deep inside of you that you see stars.

You let out a low, strangled sound, whining as Joel begins to press against your cervix, the front of your thighs bumping into the table with every new thrust from him. He grunts with the exertion, fucking into you hard, taking what he wants, leaving you both breathless with the need for more of each other. You let Joel take and take and take because of how much he gives in return - while he loves to use you, he always makes sure you get every bit of pleasure you deserve for being so good to him.

When you continuously moan louder as Joel fucks you towards your high, you glance around, the small sliver of your brain that’s still rational worried about you two getting caught by your neighbors. The thought is equally mortifying as it is thrilling, but you decide you’d rather not deal with the embarrassment today if you can help it.

“Still worried about the neighbors, hm, pretty girl? I’ve got an idea,” Joel says, responding to your sudden nervousness. Before you can even answer, his hands are wrapping around your shoulders, urging you up from the table. You follow along, breathless and dazed, letting him move you as he wishes, too deliriously starry eyed for him to care about anything else other than what Joel is gearing up to do to you next.

He accidentally slides out with the movement of your body, and immediately he’s grasping at your hips, practically clawing his way back to you as he pulls you tight to his body again. His throbbing, dripping cock slaps periodically against your ass as he shoves you forward, pushing your body towards the house. 

“Here,” he grits out, suddenly crowding your body from behind to press you against the sliding glass door. “That better?”

“I- yes,” you say, eyes wide from the way you’d been roughly handled by him the last few moments. Your cunt aches almost painfully, having been getting so close to your climax only to have it ripped away suddenly when Joel decided to move you.

“Good,” he snips quietly. “Couldn’t stand to keep this cock out of you much longer’n this.”

With his words he brings his lips to the back of your neck again, just his heavy breathing fanning across the skin there, making you wild as he repositions himself and nudges your legs apart with his knee. You feel the length of him tease between your legs, sliding up to your entrance again. He groans loudly, letting you know how badly he wants you, so you try to pop your hips up at just the right angle you know he’s looking for. 

He slides in effortlessly and with a renewed vigor, hips snapping into you, pressing you further into the sliding glass door with neither of you seeming to be worried about the way it’s suddenly shaking on the frame. It’s completely lewd, the way you imagine the two of you - your entire body against glass, tits being pressed out the top of your dress and bouncing, palms spread against the smooth surface, nails clawing and unable to grasp at anything.

Your body is shaking in his hold now, Joel’s cock hitting inside of you in all the right places. You can feel yourself tensing, almost like every cell is going taut, your core pooling heat deep inside of you with molten pleasure from Joel hitting the spongy bit inside of you. 

“Fuck, love it when you sound like that f’me, doll,” Joel punches out as he hears your moans becoming louder and more desperate the longer he continues to thrust against your g-spot. You can’t respond, only continue your lustful noises with a renewed vigor as you try to bounce your hips back into his thrusts, getting him deeper than what’s even possible, the length of him already burying up to the hilt each time he drives himself into you.

“Know you wanna come for me, baby,” he says right in your ear, voice hoarse with need, and you whimper in response as his hand snakes around your hips and in between your legs, circling a gentle pressure on your clit. 

You feel your hold on reality completely break, your eyes squeezing shut as you melt into the way your entire body is tingling with pleasure now, waves of it turning into spasms as you go practically limp with shaky knees. Joel’s hands hold you in place, his warm strength keeping you upright as you push down onto his cock, riding out your climax and screaming for him. 

When your movements start to slow and your body relaxes, Joel thrusts into you even harder, loving the way you’re so compliant and soft after climaxing, letting him move in you however he needs as you ride out the sensitive aftershocks with a few quiet yelps.

“This little pussy is all mine, y’know that, right?” Joel reminds you through clenched teeth, giving your ass a firm slap. You nod vigorously, eyes still half lidded and mind scrambled from the way he’d shattered you mere moments ago.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you say when he slaps your ass again, demanding an answer. Your breathy answer is enough to get him to his own climax, and he surprises you by pulling out suddenly, leaving your body lurching back into nothing, missing the fullness of him already. Before you can protest, say anything, Joel’s hands grip your shoulders and spin you around and push down, forcing you onto your knees in one fluid, swift motion. You watch, wide eyed, as he fists his throbbing cock, shiny and coated in your own slick arousal as he spreads it along his shaft in jerking motions.

“Be a good girl and open up,” he commands, and you submit to the words immediately, mouth hanging open, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. Joel smirks at that before giving himself another swift tug, and you watch in renewed wonder as he begins to spill himself all over your face, ropes of cum hitting your skin. You taste him on your tongue immediately, savoring it. Your eyes are glued up on Joel’s face, watching his glazed gaze taking in the scene below him as he groans in pleasure, trying not to tilt his head back and get lost in the moment so he doesn’t miss a beat of your beautiful surrender to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he watches the last bits of his release hit your tongue. “Don’t you dare swallow that, yet, doll,” he adds on quickly, eyes fluttering for a moment before he tucks himself back into his slacks. He continues to tower over you for a prolonged few seconds, looking down in satisfaction at the image of your glowing, angelic face coated in something so sinful, the milky substance starting to drip down your face, your tongue trembling slightly with the need to swallow.

“Hold still,” he says needlessly since as the words come out of his mouth he grabs your chin, tilting your head upwards and gathering spit, letting a long, tortuously slow drip of it fall into your open mouth. It lands on your tongue, combining with his cum and Joel smirks again, releasing your chin.

“Swallow, my little doll,” he says, voice starting to go soft, an indication that he’s feeling satisfied and finished with his enjoyment of you. You close your mouth, smile, and swallow obviously for him, licking your lips for good measure. 

Joel holds out a hand, helping you stand, your legs buckling slightly as you try to get your bearings. He carefully smooths your disheveled dress, flattening the bottom half and tugging the neckline back into place before fixing the straps to sit perfectly square on your shoulders, eyes roaming over quickly to examine his work with pride. His hands then move to your hair, brushing his fingers gently to put it back in its place, leaving every part of you like none of this had just happened besides your face, still dripping with his spill. Your smile widens, seeing him watch a particularly large spot of it sliding down your cheek. You see his composure fail for a moment before he strokes your cheek gently, avoiding any of the mess there, giving you soft, affectionate eyes.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Pizza’s probably ready,” he adds on, the casual tone taking you aback for only a moment before you blink yourself back to reality and nod dutifully.

“Of course,” you say, a genuine smile plastered on your face as you look at your handsome husband, admiring the way he’s looking at you with stars dancing across his eyes, the deepest love for you tucked away in his deep brown irises.

“After you get that, go clean yourself up, doll,” he says, and you nod again, the smile not leaving your face. You see out of the corner of your eye Joel settle onto one of the chairs at your outdoor table, leaning back casually as if he hadn’t just had you bent over that exact table, fucking you for the entire neighborhood to possibly see and hear.

You gather everything you need, serving utensils, plates, and two cold beers before bringing it to the table along with the pizza and a freshly tossed salad you’d made to accompany it. Each time you drop something off, the smirk on Joel’s face grows, watching the way you work with the evidence of his obsession with you still lingering on your flushed cheeks.

Once the table is set and your face cleaned off, you join Joel outside to enjoy the beautiful spring evening, and see he’s already served you two generous slices of the margherita pizza. 

He reaches a hand onto the table, taking yours delicately into his palm, dwarfing it with the size of his thick fingers as he absentmindedly runs his thumb along your knuckles, stopping to play with the large, gorgeous diamond on your ring finger. Another reminder to him that he has you all to himself, his pretty little wife.

“Thanks for dinner, baby” he says, eyes locked on yours as he uses a free hand to pick up the pizza and take a large bite, letting out a little noise in satisfaction at the flavor.

“Anytime.” You smile, genuine and tranquil, a fresh appreciation and love for the life you’ve found yourself so grateful to be living.

tysm to @jupiter-soups @huffle-punk @rensraptor for so much help with ideas and writing this fic! love u guys x

#PLS DON'T LET THIS FLOP i'm very proud of it #fic: pretty little wife #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #x reader #pedro pascal character x reader

[prettyboykatsuki]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in part two.

⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART TWO

⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.

There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too. 

Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear. 

More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands. 

The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago. 

Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.

(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)

Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that.  It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly. 

Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory. 

Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at. 

Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.

He’s very, very intrigued by that. 

The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man. 

The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too. 

He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.

He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling. 

You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony. 

He approaches slowly, quietly. 

When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you. 

“Oh, uhm. Hello?” 

The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile. 

“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.” 

“Surprised?” 

And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly. 

“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.” 

You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new. 

“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?” 

Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little. 

“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.” 

You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record. 

“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.” 

He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.

“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.” 

You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.

“You seem plenty friendly to me.” 

He pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”

“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip. 

The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins. 

“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?” 

“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little. 

“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle. 

“A little,” 

“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile. 

You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor. 

“And yours?” 

“Gojo Satoru.” 

__

You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor. 

Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly. 

There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk. 

He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall.  You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar 

And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly  romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him  by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking. 

He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening. 

(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously  feeling quite jealous about.) 

You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades. 

And you always put your best into everything, no matter what. 

This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite. 

But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same. 

He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere. 

For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.  

You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean. 

It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions. 

He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade. 

He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it. 

 By you in general.

It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.

It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk. 

It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground. 

What’s heaven to a man born there?

__ 

In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted. 

He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.  

(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return.  There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.

It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.) 

Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children. 

In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is. 

But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply. 

Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.

But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade. 

It had led him to a conclusion,  but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of. 

Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late. 

Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most. 

It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home. 

(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.) 

But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant -  there, all the same.  As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be

It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen. 

He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings,  notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.

The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone. 

You’ve never called him before. 

“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.

“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?” 

“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”

You laugh quietly. 

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.” 

“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet. 

“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?” 

He smiles to himself.

“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,” 

“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.” 

His first instinct is to disagree.

“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.” 

“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”

He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him. 

“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.” 

“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.” 

“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?” 

You wait a minute, hesitating with your words. 

“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.” 

“Shy, huh? Cute.”

“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.” 

“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.” 

“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?” 

“Don’t wanna.” He states outright. 

“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.

“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.” 

“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know? 

Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles. 

“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?” 

You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.

“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.” 

He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain. 

“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

__

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed. 

He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction. 

More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on. 

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.

Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it. 

Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester. 

There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late. 

He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality. 

That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet. 

He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.

It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him. 

When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried. 

You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there. 

It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it. 

He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear. 

(A small, small  part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)

“Can you see it…?” 

The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in. 

“....It?” 

Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him. 

“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths. 

When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least. 

No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is. 

He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.

“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.” 

He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most. 

Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least.  He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one. 

Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined. 

“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.

You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

“Yes,” 

Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward. 

When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly. 

He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap. 

“T-Thank you,”

He grins at you. 

“Of course,” He says  “Can I ask you something?” 

You nod your head and sip your tea. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

You look confused.

“...Are you a celebrity?” 

He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you. 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.” 

Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them. 

“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?” 

“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply. 

“I thought you were a high school teacher.” 

He smiles. 

“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”

“Oh.” 

You look befuddled. 

Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist. 

“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”

You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.

“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.” 

“You can’t use cursed techniques?” 

“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.” 

Vulnerable. 

“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words. 

“Is it that bad…?” 

Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.

“Do you carry anything with you?” 

“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.” 

“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.

“What other kind would there be?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?” 

“Everybody gets scared sometimes.” 

“Mm,”

His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.

“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look. 

“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?” 

He smiles. 

“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face. 

You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over. 

“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”

__ 

Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.

The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.

He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A  bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing. 

Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat. 

He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie. 

Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.

It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles. 

None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen. 

A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary. 

He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit. 

But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached. 

Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head. 

He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror. 

Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that. 

He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic. 

He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.

It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.

But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to. 

The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results. 

He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays. 

__

Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.

Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.

Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction. 

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it. 

Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next. 

Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident. 

The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control. 

The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing  heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure. 

These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. 

Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.

He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same. 

Then, he’s inside. 

The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate. 

All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that. 

Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything. 

He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do. 

Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you. 

They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for? 

It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything. 

It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line. 

“Showing signs of anxiety.” 

Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting. 

He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do. 

“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,” 

He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy,  but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.

He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling  of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. 

He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.

But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump. 

Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty. 

Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns. 

His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. 

Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with… 

He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms. 

The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.

Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious. 

He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job. 

Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question. 

“Why’re you still here?” 

“I knew I was going to get caught soon.” 

An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs. 

“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.” 

“What a weird kid. What led you to that?” 

There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking,  but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying. 

When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient. 

“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”

“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.” 

“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.” 

“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?” 

She gives Gojo a pointed look. 

“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.” 

“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head. 

“No. Your aura.” 

Gojo stares ahead. 

“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.” 

“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.” 

“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?” 

“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.” 

“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.” 

This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.

She thinks for a minute longer before sighing. 

“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”

Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input. 

“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.” 

The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare. 

“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.” 

Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened.  He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently. 

“I’m sorry you went through that.”  Gojo replies. 

He’s being sincere. 

“Should you be sympathizing with me?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”

Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand.  She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone. 

“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“

“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.” 

“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is:  “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.” 

Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too. 

“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”

Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.

“I can tell you're like me.  That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and  malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“ 

Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react. 

“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”

“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away. 

“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.” 

“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head. 

“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.” 

Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.

The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.” 

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”  Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread. 

“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”

She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath. 

“…Yeah. I’ll do that.” 

__

The case ends anti-climatically. 

Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken. 

The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.

On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser. 

Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene. 

He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.

Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now

So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves. 

He’s been seeing you again regularly, too. 

He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.

He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him. 

(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too. 

Above all, the offer is tempting.) 

In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little. 

He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire. 

He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees. 

He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body. 

He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen. 

He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most. 

As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles. 

(sent 11:15am) Ready ~ 

He laughs to himself. 

(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion. 

(sent 11:16am) For coffee? 

(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡

You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up. 

He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing. 

The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you. 

He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate. 

You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so. 

“Hey,” 

“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush. 

“They’re an important friend,” 

He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend. 

“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?” 

This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush

“Not at all,” 

He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.

“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good. 

It’s a pleasant sort of day. 

Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time. 

Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together

There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.

After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too. 

(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for. 

There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.

The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story. 

“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes. 

You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do. 

“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.” 

Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you.  Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.

It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light. 

It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.

“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him. 

“Are you complimenting yourself right now?” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,” 

He gasps in offense.

“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh. 

“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.” 

Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs. 

Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully. 

“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater. 

“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?” 

Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.” 

Your frown deepens. 

“I don’t care for your tone, mister.” 

“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?” 

“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute. 

“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims,  soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours.  The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you. 

“What do you want?” 

“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully. 

“Heard,” 

Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him. 

“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums. 

“Mm, there’s always next time?” 

“You say that every time!” 

“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.” 

You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout. 

“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums. 

“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?” 

You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now. 

In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly. 

“Then, I’m glad you asked me.” 

There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy. 

The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag. 

You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo. 

“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?” 

“Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?” 

You nod enthusiastically.

__ 

You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while. 

He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go. 

There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school. 

(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task) 

So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out. 

That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon. 

Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that. 

He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him. 

It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend. 

Time passes  comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned. 

But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember? 

“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―” 

So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind. 

It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.

He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you. 

“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?” 

Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye. 

Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time. 

“Hey. Hey, look at me?” 

When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar. 

He doesn’t like it. 

You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.

“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.” 

“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” 

Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails. 

You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft.  You become helpless in front of his eyes. 

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest. 

“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”

You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously. 

It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.

“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling. 

Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant. 

“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?” 

Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it. 

It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed. 

Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading. 

Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved. 

He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying. 

“Who are you?” He asks. 

“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―” 

“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,” 

He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”

“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,” 

Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.

“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.” 

Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts. 

He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you. 

So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.

Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself. 

He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice. 

“About time to get out of here, huh?” 

You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together. 

The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless. 

Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?” 

You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?” 

You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day. 

You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time. 

The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close. 

He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter. 

“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away. 

“Okay,” 

He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything. 

And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you. 

You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.

“Let’s go sit,” 

You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying. 

Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe. 

“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,” 

The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth. 

“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.” 

“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You….knew?” 

“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?” 

The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge. 

“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.” 

“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?” 

You nod softly. 

“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.” 

Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk. 

“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,” 

“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh. 

“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly.  Gojo squeezes where his hand rests. 

“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,” 

There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own. 

And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes. 

In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does. 

But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.

It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t. 

Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you. 

“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,” 

You cry and cry and cry. 

And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound. 

__

In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him. 

It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation. 

“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,” 

So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger. 

In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it. 

He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.

When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him. 

Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan.  He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law. 

(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)

 He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation  especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run. 

(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.) 

He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets. 

He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses.  It’s a lot like killing a curse. 

It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide. 

The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.

His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell. 

He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets. 

It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret. 

His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair. 

If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him. 

Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all. 

He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best. 

Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.

Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job. 

He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job. 

There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them. 

After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time. 

It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it. 

You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind. 

Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.

If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them. 

He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7. 

When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet. 

He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark. 

Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out. 

“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around. 

When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body. 

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins. 

“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up. 

“Who the…what the fuck is going on?” 

“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?” 

“W-w-what…how did you…” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.” 

For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must. 

Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish. 

It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic. 

It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys. 

Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.

He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too. 

“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs. 

“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?” 

No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice? 

“P-please, I have—” 

“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,” 

He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent. 

“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.

Gojo hums.

“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly. 

Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen. 

“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,” 

Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms. 

It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even. 

When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders. 

He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would. 

His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.

 With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving. 

Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back. 

A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone. 

__

The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed. 

(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)

At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself. 

It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs. 

“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…” 

The rest of the report  Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.

“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,” 

“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod. 

“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,” 

Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence. 

“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?” 

You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor. 

“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,” 

Gojo pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement . 

“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”

Gojo hums.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,” 

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #manipulation cw #writing tag #dark content cw #yandere cw #noncon cw #murder cw #yandere!gojo #stalking cw #i tried to add the most major tags #lmk if you need more #ok. gn #part two will be out whenever ame has read lol

[thetriumphantpanda]

i'll be needing stitches | din djarin

Summary | The Mandalorian has never had someone else tend to his wounds.

Pairing | Din Djarin x F!Reader 

Word Count | 2.1k

Warnings | Future chapters will include smut, but this one involves mentions of injuries, a dead bounty, explicit descriptions of an untrained professional stitching someone up, blood, some explicit thoughts and some yearning.

Authors Note | My favourite tin can man is back and ready for business. I am having such a wonderful time imagining all the things Din has never experienced before and the idea that he has only ever been the one to patch himself up was more than I could cope with. As always, comments, reblogs and freaking out in my ask box are all welcome and if you enjoyed this, please consider supporting me with a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists - please follow @thetriumpantpandanotifs and turn on notifications to know when I upload fics. 

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’d been gone a few days. That was nothing new. Off hunting his next bounty, leaving you in charge of child. You didn’t mind it, once you’d gotten used to the fact that you couldn’t really reason with him, and that you’d be tired from constantly keeping an eye on him, he was actually pretty decent company. 

You’re fussing with him, trying to get him to go down for some rest when the Crest doors open and there’s the sound of a body hitting the floor. That’s nothing out of the ordinary, so you don’t rush to see what’s happening. What is out of the ordinary is the sound of metal crashing to the floor right after it. 

You whip around, looking at the scene before you. There’s a dead bounty on the ground, being kept company by Mando, who is crumpled on the floor in his armour, a pool of blood seeping out from underneath his left leg as he struggles to push himself up. 

“Bloody hell,” you exclaim, immediately dropping all worry of the child to drop to your knees next to him, “What the hell happened?!” 

He doesn’t respond, just grips at the injured leg, trying to get the bleeding to subside. His trousers are torn and there’s a nasty gash to the skin of his thigh that is about to cause a whole world of problems if you can’t fix it. 

With your hand on his shoulder, placed there to let him know you’re near, you whip your head around trying to remember where he keeps the healing equipment. He’s needed it before, but only for minor injuries, and has never needed your help before, but with the way the blood is spreading across the floor, he’s going to need you now. 

He feebly lifts a hand, pointing in the direction of his bunk, “Left it…. There.” He struggles to spit out. 

“Okay, I’ll fetch it,” your voice is laced with panic, like if you leave him now, he’s going to pass out, or worse, “You’ve gotta promise me you’ll stay with me, okay?” There’s no response, “Mando? You hear me? No sleeping!” 

He mumbles something unintelligible under his helmet but at least he’s talking. You let your hand drop, guiding him down to lie on the floor whilst you rush to his bunk, pulling at the haphazard sheets until the first aid box appears at the foot of the bed. You’re back on your knees next to him in no time, and he’s still moving about and groaning as you put your hand on his thigh to get a better look at his wound. 

Your fingers tear at the edges of the material, wanting to allow him to keep his modesty but see the extent of the damage. The gash is angry, blood seeping from it with red edges. You tip the top of the box open and root through it. There’s a single bottle of bacta spray, which you pull out, give a little shake and go to take the top off, when his wide palm circles around your wrist to stop you. 

“No.” 

You let a frustrated growl leave your throat, “Then what, Mando?!” You exclaim, “You’re bleeding out, what am I meant to do?!”

“The thread,” He chokes out, “Just stitch it up.” 

You look him straight in the visor, hoping your disapproving look is landing through his beskar. You are not a nurse, if you try and stitch him up you’re only going to make it worse. 

“I’m going to make it worse like that,” You insist, “I’ve never stitched anything in my life.” 

“Y-yes you have,” he squeezes your wrist, to reassure you, “Y-your tunic.” 

“Mando, this is your fucking leg we’re talking about, not my clothes, it’s completely different.” 

He pulls on your arm now, dragging your attention to him, craning his helmet as much as he can to look at you, “Do not waste that spray.” He demands, and even when he’s bleeding out on the floor, he commands you, knows that no matter what, he calls the shots - he lets your arm go, pushing you away gently but towards his leg. 

You could argue with him that saving him from certain death is not wasting it, but the longer you bicker, the less time you have, so with shaking hands, you put the bacta spray back, and instead find the needle and surgical thread. With shaking hands, you do your best to thread the needle and tie it off at one end, before your hands are grasping at his thigh. 

“This is going to suck,” You mutter, because it is, it would suck at the hands of a trained professional, so it’s definitely going to suck at the hands of someone who could barely sew their own clothes together, “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t give him enough time to respond, or yourself much time to consider what you’re actually doing, you just push the needle through the skin closest to you and over to the other side, trying not to look up or focus too hard on the sounds he’s making as you drag the needle back and forward through his skin, watching as the skin closes together the further along the wound you pull. Your hands are shaking, and you’re holding your breath, but you don’t seem to be making it worse, which is something you’ll take. 

You’re trying your best to concentrate on making the line of stitches as neat and tidy as you can, but all you can really focus on are the sounds that are coming from underneath that helmet of his. Low groans and grunts of pain as you work the needle through his skin, groans and grunts that you can’t help thinking about in another context, like if you weren’t currently trying to stitch him up and instead he had you pinned down and was- okay, no absolutely not. 

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the now incredibly distracting train of thought. Sure, there have been moments when you’d thought about it, though about what kind of lover he would be, mainly only out of curiosity than your own desires. But ever since he took that damn helmet off in the rain and touched your face, you can’t help but wonder what kind of lover he’d be for you.

Whilst he’s led there on the floor, all his trust put in you to patch him up and make him better, make sure he lives, and all you can is wonder what those sounds would be like for you. What the press of his thighs would do to your own when he put himself between your body, or what this specific thigh, gripped in your hand, clenched as you push the needle through once more, would feel like between your legs. Would he guide you through it, with those big hands on your hips, or would he lean back and let you take what you needed? Would he snake that hand down the front of your trousers and help you along, or would he let you do it all yourself? 

He’s agitated, and understandably so, it’s been a slow patch up, with you making sure that the scar your sutures will leave is as neat as it possibly can be. As you bend your head to look closely as you tie another knot in the end of the stitches, you realise he will have this for the rest of his life. A permanent mark on his skin, made by someone else sure, but patched up by you. The Mandalorian will always have this reminder of you etched into his skin, even if, for some reason, you cease to exist in his life. It’s primal, the way is makes you feel, that one day, if you’re gone, he’ll have to explain your existence to someone when they ask how he got that scar. You will forever be a piece of him. 

He’s gone suspiciously quiet, the pain you were causing him by driving a needle through his damn skin has made way to a dull throb. You reach into the first aid box, pulling out some gauze and tissue. You use the tissue and what little disinfectant there is to clean the sutures and the blood from his skin,  before haphazardly taping the gauze over it to try and keep it clean and free from infection. 

He pushes himself up on his elbows once you’re done, watching as you clean away your mess. He wants to reach out to you, he wants to touch you, to anchor himself to you and never let go, to thank you, but instead he simply tries to push himself up whilst trying to keep the stitches you just put in him intact. He lets out a pained groan, you whip your head around.

“Maker, help me,” You grumble, dropping the things you were attempting to clean up to rush back to his side, “I just sewed you up and you’re trying to move on your own?” You’re trying to speak in a tone that is authoritative but it doesn’t seem to come out that way, “Can’t you just sit still for a minute?” 

“Need to get us out of here,” He mumbles, taking hold of your hand that you’ve offered him, using your body to steady himself as he pulls himself up off the floor, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” You ask, letting him lean on you slightly for support as he hobbled toward the ladder to the cockpit, despite him weighing considerably more than you. 

He doesn’t actually respond to your question, once he’s at the cockpit ladder, he seems to not need your help anymore – struggling up the steps, grunting with each movement of his injured leg, so you let him go, turning around to finish cleaning up. As you’re cleaning the blood from the floor, you’re face-to-face with the body of the bounty he’d dropped on the floor. You’d seen him deal with these bounties more than once – normally when they’re talking back and fighting – so this will prove easier than anticipated. The bounty is slight, so dragging it into the carbonite chamber is easy enough. You flip some switches and press a few buttons and in no time the bounty is stuck there, waiting to be handed off whenever Mando gets you back to Nevarro. 

It’s not until much later that he reappears. You’ve fed the child, fed yourself, left a ration pack for him, and you’re just killing time, waiting for the child to wear himself out so you can finally let the exhaustion take over your body and sleep. Mando leans himself against the wall, watching you as you fuss over the child. 

“Thank you,” His modulated voice hits your ears, “I’ve never had someone to help me like that.” 

You look at him – this one doesn’t surprise you, the lone warrior who hasn’t allowed anyone but you to travel with him, of course he’s only ever had himself to stitch up his wounds. 

“Well, I don’t know how to drive this damn thing,” You speak, knocking your knuckles against the wall next to you, “So it was pretty important for you not to die,” you wait for him to laugh but he doesn’t, “You’re welcome,” you speak quietly then, “Sorry it was a horrible sewing job.” 

He walks towards you now, visible limp but better than you imagine anyone else with a similar injury would walk, sitting down on the bench next to you. He’s so close that you can feel the heat emanating from his body. He sets a gloved hand on your own thigh, squeezing it slightly, making your pulse jump. He has to know, right? He has to know that he has this effect on you? That whenever he touches you, though that isn’t often, it makes your blood boil with want. Does he know that as your hands worked to close his wound earlier all you could think about was what his perfect, meaty thigh would feel like wedged between your own? 

He doesn’t move his hand, just lets it rest there, thumb rubbing across the material of your trousers, comforting you, because he’d scared you earlier, he knows he did, and he needs you to know he’s never going to leave you, even if he’s not quite ready to verbalise that to you yet. You let your head drop to his shoulder, closing your eyes as he stays there for you, his body offering you’re the comfort you so desperately need. 

“I’m always going to fix you Mando,” you speak quietly, “You’ll never have to stitch yourself up ever again.” 

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

[cowboysandpilots]

About four years before Bradley gets accepted into the Navy for real, no meddling from Mav, he gets into a bad car accident. One of those car accidents where the car flips eight times before it finally settles upside down, and the damage is irreparable.

Bradley wakes up days later in the hospital with permanent scars on his face, with Ice by his bedside and Mav hovering near the door like he knows that this isn't going to alleviate any of Bradley's anger toward him— they don't talk.

Whatever medication they have him on is doing its job; Bradley can barely stay awake to hear what the doctors have to say; he's fazing in and out, and when he does talk, all his words come out like slurred gibberish. It doesn't matter— the doctor talks to Ice instead of him. He picks up a few words here and there about a long recovery, possible brain damage and relearning things, but the worst part turns out to be hearing that his best friend and the driver of that car didn't make it. Unfortunately, that seems to be the only thing he remembers from waking up the first time. He remembers the tears stinging his eyes as he croaked out, "Charlie?" and watched as Ice shook his head slowly. The older man holds him while he collapses in tears until the drugs kick in again.

Just as the doctor predicted, Bradley's recovery is long. He's stuck in a halo for months, barely allowed to move while also being expected to manage his pain and relearn how to walk— relearn how to do everything, including living without one of his best friends, not to mention having a permanently scarred face and neck. It's hard, and his lingering resentment toward Maverick made things harder, but how could he let it go? If Maverick hadn't pulled his papers, none of this would've happened.

As soon as Bradley can actually focus on what people are saying, Iceman continually gives him a soft lecture about how much better he would feel if he just forgave Maverick, but he can't. He's nothing if not stubborn, and even then, he's more stubborn than most.

"Not forgiving him hurts you worse than it hurts him," Ice reminds gently as he cards his fingers through Bradley's tangled curls.

Bradley lets out a bitter chuckle even though the pain radiates through his body. "How much more hurt could I be?"

——

Please consider donating to my food/medicine fund through my coffee link HERE. :) Also, I'm sorry, but if you just like and don't reblog, I'm going to have to block you.

#bradley bradshaw headcanon #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #tgm drabble #tgm fanfiction #top gun: maverick #top gun #top gun fanfiction #icemav #top gun maverick fanfiction #tgm ficlet #top gun maverick #tgm #tgm fic #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster top gun #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #my writing

[sheepgirlmaidtummy]

fucking thank you for mentioning that black and brown and indigenous bloggers (esp trans women) on this website have been nuked since 2016 and nobody gave a shit. this website has been racist and transmisogynistic for years and 99% of the ""community"" on here didn't give a fuck until now.

an indigenous child is dead. transfem bloggers are harassed. nobody cares about that. the white trans community on this site cares about funny jokes and infighting instead of protecting us. avery deserves better. nex deserved better. children are being murdered and people have decided to strip every ounce of racial and transmisogynistic intent from the current wave of violence in favor of jokes.

when do we get to be a part of our own communities? when do we get the support and protection and righteous anger from other trans people? im so fucking tired.

honestly? ive been talking about this stuff for years, and the only reason it got attention is because of what happened to rita being so public, those posts never got the attention they should've and that doesnt surprise me in the slightest.

we arent a part of this "community", we wouldnt be trampled on and forgotten if we were actually important. and whenever we make our own spaces they take that over too. it doesnt matter what happens to us in the process. i hate the performative bullshit i hate the jokes i hate the ignorance i hate that theres nothing left for us.

the only times we're fucking noticed is when somebody murders us and EVEN THEN thats giving too much credit. white people get to joke about this shit while we have to live every day accepting that we'll be left behind. with no way of finding others like us to even feel just a smidgen of comfort. you look at the tag for black trans women before this photomatt bs and theres nothing but our murders. you cant even find shit about all the poc getting banned from this site because nobody cared to document anything let alone Help us.

im really fucking tired of seeing the 'support black trans women!' posts around here. you dont support us when we look you in the eye and Beg. when i got kicked out last year and made a post about it NOBODY batted an eye until rita and afew other popular white transfems reblogged it. and im the lucky one. people would rather be upset at the hammer car than us dying in the streets. i dont even know how to type this all out, just thinking about this makes me furious. i spent the early years of my transition hearing nothing but black trans girls getting murdered in their cars for $100. thats how worth our lives are in this "community". we cant even get that much in donations.

im tired too hun, im really fucking tired

#transgender #predstrogen #transmisogyny #transmisogynoir #trans #i feel like im gonna fucking puke lol i hate how fake you people are #for the people that actually care. that story about a black trans woman being murdered in her car is Real. #she was 17yrs old. i saw that story when i was 16. ive seen more like it before that and since #i cant even find her name because trying to look it up only pulls up more murders. one 2hrs away from me too! awesome!

[junkissed]

sounds of the season

day four of junkissed’s svt season’s greetings event

member — radio host!junhui x reader genre — fluff, college au word count — 1.7k synopsis — when your university’s radio show hosts a matchmaking event to raise money, you figure, what have you got to lose? the question you should be asking is, what have you got to gain? warnings — jun is so awkward but we love him, this is pretty dialogue-heavy sorry notes — lowercase intended. also i know nothing about how radio works so if i’m wrong just ignore it lol

this is part of @svthub's snowventeen winter collab! be sure to check out the collab masterlist here and support our talented writers! this collab contains both sfw and nsfw fics; minors dni with nsfw fics.

edit 12/27: i have added a part 2 on my nsfw blog @onlyhuis! it is smut so minors dni. you can read it here!

one reblog = one holiday song on the radio

“that’s the end of today’s program, everyone, thanks for tuning in. remember to sign up for our ‘matchmaking for charity’ event while you still can! for every successful match, we’re donating $20 to toys for tots, so be sure to get your application in so we can find you a special someone this december. link is on our instagram, and our website, sdu.caratsradio.org, go check it out.”

a different voice follows. “we’ve been sounds of the season on 111.7 fm, hosted by our very own communications undergrads. have a great weekend, sdu students! we’ll see you back here monday at six for more holiday tunes.”

jazz study music from the next hour’s program begins to play as you sigh, closing the tab on your computer open to the school’s website.

for the last few weeks you’ve been listening to shining diamond university’s student radio station; more specifically, you’ve been listening to the duo that hosts the holiday music hour every monday and friday at 6pm. the festive music puts you in a better mood, but what you’re really there for is the hosts’ voices. their tone is so calming, most days you like to turn on the station in the background while you do your homework. something about the way they speak helps you focus. whoever they are, you could listen to them talk for hours.

there’s probably pictures of the hosts somewhere on the website, but you haven’t gone looking for them. you’re a little afraid that realizing that they’re not just pretty voices on your laptop, and knowing that there’s real-life faces connected to them would ruin the experience. so for now, you’re content to just imagine their voices and let your brain fill in the blanks.

you’ve been tossing around the idea of signing up for their event back and forth in your mind for a while now. being matched with a stranger at school just sounds nerve wracking, but at this point, you haven’t got much to lose. the worst that could come out of it is another bad date. plus, it’s for charity. you don’t know exactly what the parameters of the event are, but even if it doesn’t work out with whoever you’re matched with, you figure you could always just act like it did so the charity still gets the money.

what the heck, you figure. maybe it’ll be fun.

a week after signing up you get an email with info about your match and instructions on when and where to meet him. on saturday at noon he’ll be at the far corner of the café in the campus dining hall wearing a white hat, and you’re told to wear something blue so you can recognize each other.

when you get to the dining hall, the guy sitting at the table in the far corner is… attractive, to say the least. you would even call him your type, if you knew anything about him besides the fact that you’re on a blind date with a randomly paired listener of the program.

“hey! you’re my match, right? i’m junhui.” he stands up, greeting you with a shy smile. he’s deceptively taller than he looks sitting down, and you take him in for a moment.

“yeah, that’s me! nice to meet you!”

“can i buy you coffee?” he asks eagerly. “um, or whatever they have at the coffee shop.”

“oh– sure!” you say. you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but you hadn’t been expecting him to be so polite. “thank you.”

“of course,” he smiles.

you stand in line together at the register, and you order a cheap drink off the menu. but as he’s telling the barista his order, something clicks.

“hold on, you sound… really familiar.” you squint, tilting your head. he takes the two cups from the barista and looks over at you, confused. all of a sudden the realization hits you, and your eyes widen. you’d know that voice anywhere. “wait, aren’t you–”

he nods sheepishly, handing you your drink. “yeah, i’m one of the radio hosts.”

holy shit. “that’s cool that you signed up for this too, though. did one of the comm professors match people, or was it random, or…?” you ask, trailing off to let him answer.

“no, me and jeonghan put the matches together. so it was on purpose.” his fingers toy with the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “would you hate me if i told you i matched us because i’ve had a crush on you since we had com101 together?”

“really?” you laugh. blush creeps into his cheeks. “honestly, i barely paid attention in that class, i only took it for the credits.” you stop, realizing how that must sound to him. “i mean, no offense! i wasn’t trying to be rude, i just–”

he shakes his head quickly. “i get what you meant. and, it was a pretty big class, so. easy to not know everyone.”

“why didn’t you say anything? i know i probably looked grumpy in that class, but i promise i’m not,” you say, adding a smile that you hope looks encouraging.

“no! it’s not you,” he rushes to explain. “i’m just not that great at talking to people.”

“but… you host a radio show?”

“it’s not the same. i’m not truly talking to anybody but jeonghan. there’s a monitor that shows us how many people are listening, but i ignore it.” he leans back in his chair. “i have to do it as part of one of my classes, but i actually really enjoy it now.”

you smile. “that’s good that you found something you like.”

he clears his throat, taking a small sip of his drink. “so, do you, um, listen often? you don’t have to say you do if you don’t, by the way, i won’t be offended. just curious.”

you debate lying to not expose yourself, but he looks so excited to hear that you can’t honestly tell him no. “actually, yeah. i listen almost every program. you have a really nice voice.”

the tips of his ears turn bright red, and immediately you feel awkward again. “sorry, is that weird to say?”

“that’s—no, not at all!” he stammers. “i think it’s a really big compliment. thank you.”

“yeah,” you add, not sure how to respond without making things weirder. you’re both silent for a second, the busy sounds of the dining hall’s café filling the room in the absence of words.

after an almost uncomfortable amount of silence passes, you laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “so, uh, what do we need to do for this to be considered successful?”

“huh?”

“for the charity thing. how do you decide what gets donated and what doesn’t?”

his focus snaps back to you. “oh! we’re donating for all the matches, even if they don’t work. we just said that as, like, an incentive so people would sign up.”

“oh.” you nod, thinking.

“did– did you want to leave?” he asks shyly. “i don’t wanna keep you here if you’re not enjoying it.”

“did you want to leave?” you counter.

“well… no,” he says. “but i don’t wanna force you.”

“you’re not, don’t worry,” you say, shaking your head. it’s awkward, for sure, but it’s far from the worst date you’ve ever been on. the least you could do is stick it out for another half hour or so.

“sorry this is so weird,” he laughs. “i don’t go out a lot.”

“it’s fine.” you smile at him, hoping he’ll relax a little. “is that why you signed up for this?”

“well, kinda,” he nods. “i was hoping i’d recognize somebody’s name and maybe make a new friend. but this is good, too.”

you fight the urge to frown, since it’s obvious he’s trying his best, but you’re confused at his statement. “what do you mean, ‘this’?”

“i… don’t know. what do you think this is?”

“a date,” you say simply. 

“oh!” he says, fiddling with his cup again.

“is that what you want this to be?” you ask gently.

“i– yeah, that would be really cool,” he grins, nodding. “a date.”

you smile at his enthusiasm. he’s cute, and his personality is, too.

“so, what’s working at a radio station like?” you pry. having finally been able to meet the man behind the voice you’ve heard so much of, you can’t say you’re not more than a little curious about who he is.

“oh, yeah, you like hearing me talk, sorry,” he says. your face heats in embarrassment, but before you can defend yourself, he continues on. “um, it’s pretty fun. the machinery’s pretty cool, the microphones and stuff. makes me feel like a professional singer or something. even though it’s more just choosing music to play than me actually talking.”

he looks up. “you can come by while we’re live sometime, if you want,” he says. “the studio’s really nice, they have beanbag chairs and somebody always brings snacks.”

“is that allowed?”

“sure! you can be my special guest,” he grins. “only if you want,” he adds a second later, as if he’s just thought of something.

you smile warmly. “it sounds fun. i’d love to.”

his face lights up. “great! can you come monday? we’re announcing the results of the matchmaking thing then.”

“i’ll be there.”

he pauses. “is this… a second date?” he asks tentatively. god, he’s adorable.

“yes, this is a second date,” you giggle. 

he stands up. “should i walk you to your car? or is that too much?”

he holds the door open for you as you step outside.

you laugh. “no, my apartment’s on campus, i just walked here. but thank you for the offer, you’re really sweet. and thanks for the coffee, too.”

it might be because of the chilly december weather, but his cheeks seem a little pinker than before. “no problem,” he grins. “i’ll see you monday, i guess? for another date?”

“i’ll see you monday,” you confirm with a smile.

he waves, still grinning, and pulls out his phone. as you start to walk away, you hear his voice from behind you, “hannie, dude, you won’t believe what just happened!!”

you giggle to yourself. you can’t wait til monday.

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thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed! if you liked this, reblog or leave an ask or a comment, it shows me you enjoyed this so i know to write more like this in the future!

#svthub #seventeenweeklyarticle #k-labels #🌃 : june.writes #❄ june's winter wonderland! ❄ #jun fluff #junhui fluff #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #svt imagines #junhui imagines #jun imagines #svt scenarios #jun scenarios #junhui scenarios #jun x reader #junhui x reader #junhui x you #junhui x y/n #wen junhui #svt junhui #svt jun #moon junhui #svt oneshot #seventeen oneshot #junhui fanfic #junhui seventeen #m: junhui #g: seventeen #c: fluff

[millionsvash]

I would like to ask for headcanons on post-canon domestic Vash because I just finished trimax and need some good brainrot right about now (he deserves to be a tax paying citizen with a littol house and a happy spouse)

Vash deserves nothing less than happiness. Simplicity is healthy for the soul. I hope you enjoy these, anon!

TW: None! Happiness and joy ahead

Reblogs >>> Likes

Even though it’s finally time for Vash to settle down, the last thing he wants to do is "settle down."

One thing Vash loved during his travels was watching people go about their jobs. It took a little begging, but he was able to convince you to purchase a small home/shop combo. You two were able to buy it on discount since it was a rather rundown place. Vash was confident you two could fix it up.

He had gone shopping around the entire day and came back holding every building material he could get his hands on. Some of it wasn’t even something you needed, but he didn’t know any better.

The two of you didn’t know a thing about home repair. You stocked up on books and read through them together while sitting in the empty storefront.

Oftentimes, one of you would work on fixing something while the other stood behind and read instructions and passages from the book. Most of the time, it was you reading because Vash’s tall height allowed him to reach a lot of the construction inside the walls.

Meryl and Milly were also willing to lend their help when they had a second. Instead of doing the tasks for you, Milly would pick you up and hold you in the air while you worked on something. You’d catch Vash smiling and staring at you when this happened. He thought it was super cute.

The girls even put together a little money to help the two of you get some furniture.

You took note of Vash’s over-the-top reactions to receiving items like this. You were thankful, of course, but having lived a normal life before meeting Vash, you were accustomed to receiving housewarming gifts. However, this was entirely new to Vash.

Vash never expected to be able to settle down like this. His eyes would light up like a star when you two got something new. In fact, on the first sofa you two had gotten, he threw himself onto it and rolled around in excitement. He had even pulled you down with him and held you tightly with the brightest smile on his face.

Even the smallest of items, like a pot and pan set, had him absolutely elated. You watched him spend 2 hours trying to find the perfect location to store them, trying not to cry at the sight the entire time. You knew he deserved this simple happiness.

It took you a couple of months, but you were able to turn that run-down building into your combination home and bakery! It was all thanks to the insurance girls as well as small donations from the locals, who couldn’t help but admire Vash’s enthusiasm.

On the first day you two opened your little bakery, there was a line out the door waiting to buy your things. It was probably the hardest you had ever worked in your life. Every time you thought you were losing steam, you saw Vash with the brightest smile talking to the locals, and all your energy would come rushing back.

Your little store even became a local hangout for the kids, who loved to talk to Vash. You’d bake them all treats while they sat around him, listening to him tell stories about his travels in dramatic fashion. Of course, he made all his stories more child-friendly, but the kids were just as captivated.

When business was slow, you’d always see him outside playing games with them. You’d always giggle when you’d see him get dog-piled by 10 kids. He knew every single kid by name.

You couldn’t help but think Vash would make a great father one day.

#trigun #trimax #tri98 #Vash x Reader #Vash the Stampede x Reader #Trigun x Reader #trigun headcanons #breakfast is served!

[pbscoreart]

Hey y’all! So, long story short: things feel through with my teaching job in Japan and I decided to come back home to the U.S. to continue my teaching career at the school I’ve previously worked at. They’re great people and have a supportive staff there and they have welcomed me back! The only issue is that I literally don’t have enough money to pay off some bills that I currently have. I have a lot of debt to pay off since I unfortunately did not have enough money to stay in Japan or anywhere else.

Anyways, I’m doing some emergency commissions so I can pay off two really important bills that need to be dealt with by the end of this week! My goal is to try to make at least $80 just to cover the bills until I am able to start working again (I’m supposed to start in the next two weeks but I’m not sure which day exactly yet). I’m opening up my commissions once again and I would like some help with my current situation.

I will be offering flat-colored pfp/icon commissions for $10!! There are some limits: I’ll only have time to draw one character at a time so if you want me to draw more than one character in your drawing, it will cost an extra $5.

Here are some examples of my work:

Depending on what you’d like me to do, I can easily go between a more cartoon-y style or a more ‘realistic’ style! Below are my basic rules and such:

What I will draw:

- Original characters

- Popular characters from books/tv shows/movies

- Animals/pets

- Monsters/cryptids/mythological creatures

- Backgrounds/settings/liminal spaces

- Robots

- Spooky themes (nothing with too much gore or explicit violence)

What I will NOT draw:

- NSFW art (I have nothing against it, I just don’t have an interest in drawing it)

- Complicated architecture (look at my art style…LOOK AT IT lol)

- No bigotry of any kind

- Realistically rendered art (again, look at my art style homie lol)

- No themes containing abuse or assault (especially, in regards to children)

- No HEAVY gore or violence

All commission requests can either be sent to me directly here on tumblr by message or sent to my art email [email protected]!

Here’s where I can take payment (or donations if you’re able to) from, just make sure you add a note about what you commissioned:

P4yp4al: @paranormalprairie

C4sh4pp: $jacksonjoycore

V3nmo: @lemonjack

If you can’t commission me, that’s a-okay! I would just appreciate y’all reblogging this as much as possible to spread it around. I’d really appreciate it!! Thank y’all for the endless support of my art. It’s been such a long road for me as a once traditional artist making such a big change to digital but I want to continue to get better and create even more amazing things to share with y’all! 💛🦁🌻

#pbscore #ok to reblog #my art #illustration #digital #digital art #digital drawing #digital commisions #drawing commisions #commision info #drawing commissions open #commissions #procreate art #procreate app #weirdcore #nostalgia #artists on tumblr #recoverycore #kidcore #nostalgiacore #artist support #artist commisions #digital illustration #furry artist #artists of color #latino artist #trans artist #black artist #cartoons #comics

[yooniesim]

this as a prime example of what is wrong with simblr (and tumblr in general). this ask was sent to me within like less than a day of that post about cf going up, while I was away for the weekend and not at pc for days. I did not even see the post until right before I got this ask. yall are so damn terminally online that you lost the gd plot and cannot comprehend someone not keeping their finger on the dying pulse of the performative activism headquarters of the internet. and you definitely can't comprehend waiting for complete info or maybe just a full day before starting some reactionary bs. just peeking in here since yesterday i see that simblr is yet again so hyped up on smelling its own farts that it's turned an issue of genocide into yet another dick measuring contest of who can reblog more posts than one another the fastest so they can look more empathetic and better than anyone else. and call themselves "real activists" for being able to click the reblog button. not to mention the usual spamming anons to random people minding their own business. yall are weird as fuck and need to get a firm grip on some grass. stop making the horrific suffering of others about yourselves for once.

that being said, let me get serious for the people on here that are actually normal. for those that don't know by now, this anon seems to be referencing this post about cf, which talks about overwolf (the company that owns curseforge) donating to the IDF. But I also found this tweet by OOP made after that post that explains they have since received DMs from Overwolf stating that they have shifted their relief efforts to aiding victims that have lost their homes from the Hamas terrorist attacks exclusively and do not fund the IDF. this is a much better cause as the victims of terrorism definitely deserve to be helped, and it makes sense they would do this as an Israeli company. The DMs also clarify that it is donation based and nothing uploaded to cf (cc/mods) contributes to this effort whatsoever. As well as Overwolf/Curseforge revenue in general. So simply using curseforge does not mean that you fund or endorse genocide. OOP calls their new efforts commendable in that tweet but I am still looking into and keeping an eye on this matter since, as we know, more information could come out later that contradicts this. And since I have been away im still catching up on everything that has been posted relating to cf.

here are the pics for those that may not have Twitter. do I still support a boycott for those that want to? oh, absolutely. I know that many will still want to boycott regardless, and I'll be working to add alt links to my cc uploads as soon as possible (the ones that don't already have them) for those that don't want to use it. However, everyone I've seen wanting to boycott seems to want to do it because a) they believe overwolf is funding the IDF (apparently is not true) b) they believe having their uploads on cf or downloading from there will fund the IDF (apparently is not true) or c) overwolf itself is an Israeli company (is definitely true). therefore based on the new info we now have some may decide not to boycott after all or will still do so, it is a personal decision. will I be deleting my account there? for now, no.

to be completely honest, I'm in a really bad place financially right now, and while it isn't much, the little bit I get from cf downloads has been exclusively going towards my meds and dr appointment bills. I don't have the option right now to turn down the small amount of added income when I am currently living day to day, especially with the updated knowledge that simply having cc uploaded there does not contribute to their donation efforts in any way. I do not paywall my cc and never will and I do not ask for donations myself, so my options are somewhat limited. although I do not make cc with the aim of getting paid, I ultimately wouldn't be able to justify the sheer amount of time I spend on it if it wasn't helping me with my medical bills currently, as I am already caregiving with the majority of my time. I'm not reliant on cc making or cf to live, and I never want that to be the case god forbid, but in full transparency it is helping me with my healthcare expenses atm and I cannot afford to neglect my health anymore than I have. especially since, as established earlier, using cf does not contribute to the IDF in the first place. so I personally do not judge anyone that continues to use cf for this reason.

also, for the record so there is no confusion on my personal views, I fully support the freedom of Palestine and condemn genocide first and foremost, as well as terrorism and antisemitism. The current situation in Gaza is abhorrent and I encourage all my followers to not only reblog posts, but educate yourselves on the situation and bring it irl as you are able. Speak with the people you love as well as those you are acquainted with and bring this to this to their attention (if you feel safe to). Attend protests if you can. If you cannot, make the calls and emails to your representatives, sign petitions, and donate as you are able. I have been seeing that even spreading Palestinian culture among your loved ones and peers is helpful. So even if you are in a bad place mentally, that may be an option to spread the positive message of the Palestinian people in your everyday life. I'll be reblogging the posts I already did earlier and some new ones too so you can find those updated links. I will be tagging it with palestine so that it can be found easily on my page.

In addition, be kind. To others and yourself. Try to see the full damn picture instead of a snapshot. What someone posts on tumblr of all places does not reflect an entire person's being, or their efforts, or their heart. Yelling your head off on this dying website does not equal activism, and running your mental health into the ground taking on the weight of the world doesn't give you any more control over the issues we face- I learned that the hard fucking way, believe me. By all means share as much as you like, every bit helps (especially if you have a lot of followers), but keep in mind that it certainly doesn't make you better than anyone else. I know it's extremely difficult to feel helpless and you want to feel like you're doing something, but just make sure you're doing the right things for the right reasons. Please do not fucking attack random people for not responding within one business day of the latest info coming out. And take time away from all this shit to breathe. You can't help anyone if you're fucked up yourself. especially for those of us that already face discrimination and bigotry every day irl, I know it is exhausting. Remember to also care for yourselves through all this.

#ceci speaks #nonsims #asks #anonymous

[thetriumphantpanda]

where have all the good men gone? | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Three

Chapter Summary | A date, supposed to get your mind of Javier, goes terribly, and he's the only person you can think to call that will make anything better.

Chapter Warnings | Mutual pining, slow burn, sexual tension, flirting, alcohol consumption, protective!Javi, misogynistic comments (not from Javi), (1) man being a pushy douchebag (also not Javi), swearing, mentions of the drug trade - nothing else I can think of.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3k

Authors Note | I am truly having the most fun with these two and I hope you're enjoying their story so far! Things are definitely going to be heating up soon, so please hang in there, it'll be spectacular when they finally do get spicy with each other! If you're enjoying this then comments, asks and reblogs are my lifeblood and if you'd like to support me further, please consider a donation to my  Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

“I promise he’s good fun,” Liv’s voice speaks through the phone, cradled to your ear by your shoulder as you skim through your wardrobe, “Nice, and age appropriate.” She teases. 

“Shut up,” You grumble, still annoyed that you’ve allowed her to talk you into this at all, “This is still a terrible idea.” 

“You were the one complaining about Javier Peña being a bad idea,” She defends herself, “And you also could have said no, too late now.” 

You sigh because she’s right. You’ve been trying for the past week to convince yourself that finding someone else might make wanting Javier go away, even just a little bit. Someone your age, not entangled in your family dynamics, or at least you’re hoping anyway. Liv had suggested someone she knew from work, a nice boy, two years older than you, his head screwed on, a managerial position at work. Sensible. 

“I have no idea what to wear.” You groan down the phone, there are plenty of dresses you could choose, but somehow, it feels like this person you don’t know doesn’t deserve that of you. 

“Put those jeans on,” Liv speaks, crunching coming down the phone line, clearly she’s snacking like she always does, “The tight ones, makes your ass look phenomenal, and the lowest cut top you own.” 

“Liv,” You chastise, “I’ve never met him before, I’m not fucking him tonight.” 

“I didn’t suggest you did,” She chuckles, “Just give him a taste of what’s to come.” 

“Unbelievable,” You mutter, but follow her advice anyway, pulling out a shirt that cuts low, scooping out your jeans from the drawer, “Right, I gotta go and get ready, but if this is awful, you’re entirely to blame, okay?” 

“Hearing you loud and clear girl,” She chuckles, “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Goodbye!” You chuckle, hanging up. 

It’s still light out, so you opt to walk to the bar in town. It’s not all that far, and the air has cooled enough by the time you leave that it doesn’t feel too stiflingly hot. The bar is not one you would have chosen, one of the more upmarket establishments in town. You wish you could go back to your normal dive bar, with its slightly sticky floor and the smell of fried food. You give him the benefit of the doubt though, maybe he’s just trying to impress you and you can’t fault him for that, can you? 

Liv told you he’d be sat at the bar in a blue shirt, and there’s only one person it can be when you get close enough, “Victor?” You ask, stood next to him. 

“The one and only,” He smiles at you, standing from the barstool to give you a hug, which you allow, “You look hot.” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, sitting down on the stool next him, noticing a drink already there for you, it’s a cocktail, bright pink, and you know you’ll already hate it, and you do when you take a sip, wincing as the fruity blend moves down your throat, “Oh, it’s very sweet.” 

“I thought it was a safe option, most girls love this drink.” 

You’re tempted to make a comment about this clearly being his favourite place to bring his dates but you bite your tongue, working through the necessary small talk as you try and drink it as fast as you can so you can choose something you might actually enjoy. 

“So, Liv told me you’re a journalist,” He comments, sipping his glass of whiskey, “What kind of things do you write?” 

“I mainly cover news about the drug trade and how that affects the town.” You explain, taking the last sip of your drink, flagging the bartender down. 

“Pretty morbid,” He shrugs, ordering himself another whiskey as you opt for a margarita, “Surely a girl like you should be writing about fashion or something.” 

You scoff, “So I can’t write about things that are important to our town because I’m a woman?” 

“No, I don’t mean it like that,” He tries to backtrack, “Just that it’s intimidating, is all, might put people off,” He chuckles then, “Although not me, like my girls with a bit of personality.” 

You roll your eyes and don’t even try and hide it as you sip at your margarita, much better, you think. It carries on like that for another hour, Victor and his thinly veiled misogyny and his boring, surface level conversation. He tries at some point to put his hand on your knee, but you jerk away, moving so he can’t touch you. 

“You want another?” He asks when you finish your third drink, “The night is still young.”

“No thank you,” You say, trying to be as polite as possible, “I have work tomorrow so probably best to head home.” 

You try and insist that you pay for your part of the bill, but to his only credit, he insists on covering the tab but does then try and wrap his arm around your waist to walk you outside, which makes you want to hit him more than anything. 

You stand next to him on the pavement outside the bar as the doors close behind you. You can still hear everyone else talking inside, but you have no idea what to do. You want to go home, but it’s dark, and you know you’d told your dad that Victor would walk you home, but you don’t want to spend another minute in his company. 

“So, am I gonna get my goodnight kiss?” He asks, trying to take hold of your wrist to pull you into him. 

He’s stronger than you, so he does sort of succeed in pulling you into his body, but you manage to put your palm against his chest to push him back. 

“I don’t think so.” You cringe a little, trying to lean back as far as you can with his hand pulling your wrist. 

“You’re joking right?” He scoffs, “I paid for your drinks, try and be interested in what you said and you’re going to refuse me?” 

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” You speak, trying to talk the situation down, “I just don’t think this is gonna work.” 

“Don’t need to tell me,” He snaps, “Such a fucking tease turning up dressed like this, but you’re really just a prude.” 

“Oh fuck off man!” You try and push him again, succeeding in doing it enough for him to let go of your wrist so you can put some distance between you, “I don’t owe you shit.” 

“Forget it,” He turns around and walks away, leaving you on your own, “Probably would have been a shit lay anyway.” 

You’re tempted to call back but realise it’s not worth it, so you let him wander off, leaving you on the sidewalk on your own with no idea what to do now. You would walk home, but if your dad see’s you on your own, he’s going to kill you for being silly enough to walk home alone after dark, and then find Victor and kill him too for being a jerk. 

You slump against the brick wall of the bar, rooting through your bag, there’s enough cash to go back in and get a drink and try and calm down a little, then, your fingers brush against the card you’d slipped in there a few days ago. The name and the number, and the few coins in the bottom of your bag, draw you to the phone box at the end of the street. You’re putting the money in and dialing before you can convince yourself it’s a silly idea. 

He picks up on the third ring. 

“Peña.” It’s so formal. 

“Javi?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level, but ultimately failing. 

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing he asks, and he sounds frantic. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, I just-” God this seems so stupid now, mainly because you don’t want to admit you were on a date, you don’t want to make yourself seem unavailable to him, “I was on a date and it didn’t go well, he was meant to walk me home and well, I don’t want him to, but I don’t wanna call my dad.” 

“He hurt you?” He seems cross, protective even, which makes your tummy flutter. 

“N-no,” You sigh, “He got pushy when I wouldn’t kiss him but I’m fine.” 

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the phone, can hear the jangle of keys, “Where are you?” 

“I’m at the phone box at the end of Grant Street.” You say, you’re about to speak again when Javi beats you to it. 

“Stay there, go inside a store or something and wait for me, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” 

“Okay,” You nod, like he can see you, “Javi?” 

“Yeah, querida?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare,” He scoffs, “Never apologise for needing my help, okay?” You can hear the sound of his truck engine in the background, “I gotta hang up to drive, but I’ll be there soon, promise.” 

“Okay,” You sniff, “Thank you.” 

You can hear the dial tone before he can reply, so you hang the receiver back up and head into the liquor store on the other side of the road. You smile at the clerk, who asks if you need anything, you shake your head, tell him you’re just waiting for someone and then spend the rest of the time looking out of the window. 

He’s parking up in a worryingly short amount of time, and as you walk from the store you worry that he put himself in danger driving so fast to get you. He’s opening his door and climbing down from the truck. As soon as you’re close enough, he’s got his hands on your shoulders, searching your face to make sure you’re alright. 

“I’m fine Javi, I promise,” You insist, holding gently to his arms, giving him a smile, “I’ve probably overreacted.” 

He lets his arm drops and signals for you to get into the truck, following swiftly, “If he made you uncomfortable it’s not an overreaction,” He speaks, turning the truck back on and pulling away, “He still around?” 

You shake your head, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” 

It makes you wonder if he means good because he won’t bother you anymore, or good because it means he won’t be tempted to do something about his blatant disrespect. You decide not to probe that one, but file it away for later. You’re driving down the street when your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you’ve not eaten since lunch. 

“You hungry?” 

“I could eat,” You mumble sheepishly, “I’m sure there’s something at home.” 

Javi nods, but drives straight past the turning he would need to take you home, driving straight on instead and turning off a little later. You’re about to ask where he’s taking you when he pulls into the parking lot at McDonalds. He parks up and tells you to stay where you are. 

You watch him as he walks away, perfectly broad back, shirt tucked into his jeans. He really is a vision in every way when you look at him. He’s striding back out a little while later, brown paper bag in one hand and a soda cup in the other. He passes them both to you as he climbs back into his seat. 

“What’s this?” You ask, taking a sip of the cold soda. 

“Cheeseburger, extra pickles and a Sprite with extra ice.” 

Yet again, he’s managed to amaze you with his observation skills. There was a time where he’d taken a trip with you and your parents, just a day out of town somewhere, and you’d stopped to get food on the way home, you’d made this exact order, turned to him and told him it was your favourite, and somehow he’d filed that away for right now, when you needed it the most. 

“Thank you.” You speak simply, reaching in for the burger, unwrapping it carefully before taking a bite. 

Javi can’t help but watch out of the side of his eye as you eat. God, you looked beautiful. Jeans that looked like they’d been painted onto your skin, showing off all those perfect parts of you. A shirt that was enticing without being too much. Fuck, he wanted to reach over, use his thumb to wipe away the tiny bit of sauce that had gathered in the corner of your mouth, push it into your mouth and let you lick it off his thumb. 

You ball up the wrapper your burger had come in once you’ve finished, dropping it into the paper bag, picking up the cup of soda to suck the Sprite through the straw, “You alright now?” He asks. 

You look at him, small, sad smile on your lips, “Just can’t help feeling there’s something wrong with me.” You shrug, offering him a sip of your drink which he declines. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, wanting to reach over to you, put a comforting hand on you, but deciding against it for now. 

You shrug a little, leaning your head back against the seat, “No-one ever looks at me in that way, I suppose,” You answer honestly, and he wants to tell you it isn’t true, that he thinks of you exactly like that, no matter how much he shouldn’t, “I’ve been with one guy in my whole life and I don’t think he ever really liked me, was only with me because I was the only one left out of my friends.” 

“Did he say that?” 

“He didn’t have to,” You shrug again, “He never really made an effort, never took me out, never really wanted to sleep with me much either, I guess I was just easy for him,” You say, “Convenient.” Is what you finish on. 

“It isn’t you,” Javi speaks, turning his head to look at you, resting it against his seat in much the same way you are, “First of all, college boys are always idiots, don’t let that be your base line,” You snort and turn your head to look at him now, “What did tonight’s idiot do?” 

You shake your head at him, “He was just a misogynistic asshole,” You add a shrug, “Apparently because I’m a woman I should write about fashion and not anything that actually matters.” 

Javi scoffs, because in his experience, women make the best journalists, quiet, unassuming but they always knew how to pull strings and get what they wanted and he doesn’t doubt you’re the same, “Take it as a compliment,” He offers, “Sometimes it’s best to intimidate boys, and the ones that you don’t?” He asks as a rhetorical question, “Those will be the men worth your time.”

You chuckle a bit, rolling your head on the headrest behind you to look back out of the front of the car, “You’re just saying this to make me feel better.” 

Javi reaches over, takes hold of your hand and gives it a slight squeeze before he’s letting it drop again, almost like he’s been burnt, like he knows he shouldn’t have done it, “I am saying it to make you feel better, that’s the whole point, but it’s true,” He shrugs a little in his seat, “Don’t feel like you’ve got to rush into that side of life either, you’re still young, there’s plenty of time for you.” 

You hum in agreement because you know he’s right, it’s what everyone always says to you in these circumstances, but somehow, coming from him, it means more. He’s older than you and although you’ve no doubt that he’s known plenty of women in his time, he’s in just the same predicament as you are. 

“Will you take me home?” You ask softly, “I’m tired.” 

He nods, starting up his car, pulling out of the parking lot and finally driving you back home. 

He pulls his truck up just down the street from your house, far enough away that your dad won’t be able to see, but close enough that he knows he’ll be able to sit and wait to watch you get in safely. He cuts the engine and turns to you, giving you a soft smile, trying to tell you that it’ll all be okay. 

“Thanks,” You speak softly, “For all this, made a shitty night not so bad in the end.” 

“Always,” He smiles back, “I mean it when I say you don’t ever need to worry about calling me.” 

“I know,” You smile, and he feels his heart swell at the sight, “Well, goodnight Javi.” 

He doesn’t really register what’s happening until it’s too late. You drag your body across the truck instead of moving to the door to open it and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It would be innocent enough if it wasn’t for the fact your lips press into the skin just far enough away from his mouth so as not to cross a line, but not right in the middle of his cheek either. It’s the softest way he’s been touched in a long time, and he can feel himself wanting to grip onto you, smash his mouth to your own and finally scratch the itch that’s sitting under his skin. 

You pull away, but before you can open the door, he’s taking hold of your wrist and moving closer, pressing his own kiss to your cheek right back, further up your skin than you had done to him, but it’s a kiss to your skin none-the-less, one that floods his chest with hope, a feeling he hasn’t really felt in years. He keeps his mouth there probably for a little longer than he should, committing the feel of your skin on his mouth because he knows this is as far as he should push things, but he also knows that he now needs to know what the rest of your skin feels like under his mouth. 

He pulls away and when he looks at your eyes, all full of hope and want, the same look he’d seen countless times in Colombia, whether he was promising a visa or led next to someone in bed, and he knows he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged these kinds of feelings, but he’s done it now, he can’t take it back, wouldn’t want to if he could either. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, querida,” He says softly, “Nothing wrong with you at all.” 

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña smut #Javier Peña fluff #Javier Peña angst #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x female reader #Javier Peña x f!reader #Narcos #Narcos fic #Narcos fanfic #Narcos Fanfiction #Narcos smut #javi pena #jaiver pena #Javier Pena smut #javier pena fluff #javier pena angst #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena narcos #Javier Peña narcos

[ayusaurus]

Look, I get it, what’s going on in Palestine is a lot.

But I can’t be quiet when thousands upon thousands of Palestinians have lost their lives in the span of a month. With the blackout that happened in Gaza in the past day, it’s hard to say how many more have been lost. Israel has not only cut off power and telecommunications in Palestine but has continued air raids and also used Phosphorous weapons that is a powdered substance that ignites upon contact with air, clothing, and skin and will not stop burning till it reaches bone and can only be stopped by surgical removal.

Regardless of what came before that lead up to this, the moment Israel chose to intensify and double down further on their genocidal efforts that have been going on since 1948 is the moment that any prior justification became a moot point. Genocide isn’t and should NEVER be the answer.

Many of us on here were not alive during WW2 and we’ve only learned about the Holocaust through history books, and it can be so easy to ask how it got to that point. The fact that the narrative has been so heavily skewed in favor of Israel has not helped, but only made it worse. The lack of proper coverage of the Palestinian side of what is currently happening by major news outlets also sways the narrative to make it easier to believe that it’s “justified” for Israel to carry out its genocide - exactly what the holocaust was.

This is a time to be speaking out and raise more awareness. Contact your representatives (especially since the US, among 13 other nations voted against a call for ceasefire at the UN General Assembly yesterday 10/27), email them, fax them, attend protests if you’re able, donate to verified organizations such as MAP (Medical Aid for Palestinians) to help send aide to Palestine, and educate yourself on what’s happening in regards to Palestine . They don’t deserve to die without letting their voices and their truth be heard.

Even if all you can manage is to reblog and share posts, it’s better than doing nothing.

This is not war. Call it what it is - a genocide.

#free palestine #palestine #palestine genocide

[runnning-outof-time]

More than Material | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N) tries to get Tommy to understand that she doesn't need so many material things, and that instead she needs him. Tommy doesn't quite know how to take that.

Warnings: smoking, language, sexual situations (PG-13 rated)

Word Count: 3126

A/N: this was a fun one to write. I hope it doesn’t feel rushed to y’all. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this!

To say that (Y/N)'s life did a complete 180 is an understatement. How does a young woman go from barely having any money to her name and working tireless hours as a schoolteacher in the dirty city of Small Heath to living a lavish lifestyle in an estate with an entire staff ready to wait on her? The short answer: Tommy Shelby.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Tommy Shelby first met when the blue-eyed businessman came to her school with the intention of making a charitable donation. The headmaster tasked (Y/N) with giving him a tour of the grounds and allowing him to get a better idea of what their school did for the community.

She thought it would just be a one and done deal, but she arrived at her classroom the next day to find a Shelby Company Ltd. business card sitting on her desk. Written on the back of it was: meet me here @ 6.

'Here' meant the address of the Shelby's home base for their operations; the betting shop on Watery Lane. (Y/N) had heard about their company before. She knew who the Peaky Blinders were and what they did amongst the community. And she was intrigued. So she accepted his invitation and went where he told her to. Upon arriving, she found him waiting outside for her.

They went to the Garrison, where they shared a dinner. To her surprise, Tommy was a rather interesting man to talk to. He promised her that if she was interested, their next dinner would be somewhere more classy, and he didn't disappoint. The following weekend, they wined and dined at The Ritz in London, and from then on, (Y/N) was hooked.

Things between them quickly moved from sharing a dinner table to sharing a bed, and within a month of the couple seeing each other, (Y/N) agreed to move in with him in Arrow House. Now she lived in the mansion on the beautiful grounds alongside Tommy and his three year old son, Charlie, who was a polite, young boy. She still decided to keep her job though, she just had to transfer to a school that was closer to her new home.

As time went on, (Y/N) learned more about the Shelby family and the business that it had been tied into. She quickly realized that all of its members, save for Ada, who was in Boston, and Finn, who stayed in Small Heath, had just recently been released from prison and essentially wanted nothing to do with Tommy. She didn't know the exact reason as to why this was the case, but she was able to see the tension rise within him whenever someone spoke about them, so she decided not to bring the topic up. Tommy seemed to be ok with it just being the three of them living at Arrow House. She figured that the relationships would be repaired in due time.

Another thing she noticed pretty quickly with Tommy was that he enjoyed buying her things. Whether it was bringing something home with him from his business trips, or having things custom-made and delivered to the house, the train of gifts seemed to be endless.

(Y/N) still remembered the first time that Tommy bought her something. She was sitting in the front room of the house when his car pulled up outside. She waited to hear Mary greet him, and a smile formed on her face as she heard his footsteps approaching the room she was in.

"Welcome home, Tommy," she greeted him with a smile as he walked through the doorway.

"Hi, love," he smiled back at her as he walked over to where she was sitting. She twisted her neck and craned it upwards so that she could meet him in the middle and accept the kiss that he gave her before she allowed him to sit on the section of couch that was open next to her. "How've you been?" he asked her once he was sitting.

"I've been well. I missed you, but I managed. There's just so much to do around here; getting the property ready for spring and whatnot," she told him about what she'd busied herself with while he was away.

"Sounds like you had your hands full," he mused as he glanced over at her.

(Y/N) laughed slightly at his statement, "I'm sure it was nothing compared to what you were faced with on your trip," she brushed off his words.

"The trip was only business," he shook his head, his way of waving off her statement.

"Polly called while you were away..." (Y/N) trailed off, switching the topic hesitantly.

"Hmm?" Tommy hummed, now focused on lighting the cigarette that he'd just placed between his lips.

"She wanted to hear how Charles was doing. I offered for her to come over and see him, but she declined," she gave him more information on the call that had happened.

"She only calls when she knows I'm away," Tommy commented, an indiscernible emotion laced into his words. (Y/N) sent him a knowing look. A few beats of silence passed before Tommy cleared his throat and moved in his seat so that he was turned and slightly facing (Y/N). "I've got something to show you," he started, talking with the cigarette between his lips as he fished something out of his suit jacket's pocket.

(Y/N) was intrigued by his statement. She turned herself so that she was completely facing Tommy, a smile on her face as she waited intently for what he had to show her. It took him a few moments, but eventually he had what looked to be a thin, rectangular box in his hands. "What is it?" she asked, the anticipation getting to be too much.

"Open it," he instructed her, a lazy grin on his lips as he held the box out in her direction.

(Y/N) did as she was told, opening the box to show a diamond line bracelet that shimmered from the lights in the room. "Oh wow, this is beautiful, Tommy," she commented with a slight gasp, "Polly's really gonna like it."

Tommy gave her a bit of a confused look, "'s not for Polly, love. It's for you," he corrected her, making her look up at him with a wide-eyed expression that made him chuckle. She didn't know why she mentioned his aunt; it must've been the first thing on her mind.

"For me?" she asked, in shock now.

"Yes," Tommy nodded, taking the bracelet out of its confines then, "give me your hand," he said with a grin and she did. She laughed at her now shaking hand as she held it out in the space between them so that he'd be able to hook the bracelet around her wrist.

"Wow, Tommy," she said in awe once it was hooked on. It fit perfectly and was really sparkling now. "This must've cost a fortune. You really didn't need to buy it for me," she continued as she then looked up at him.

"You deserve it...for putting up with my shit and all," he brushed her statement off, a grin forming on his lips. "You like it?" he asked her then.

"Like it?" she looked at him incredulously as her smile widened, "I absolutely love it," she said, then leaning in to kiss his lips. He caught her chin with his hand and kept her there, kissing her once more before they pulled away and he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"I'm happy to hear that," he grinned at her, his eyes hooked onto hers from where they were inches away.

"Thank you, Tommy," she whispered, "I don't know how I could repay you."

"There's no need," he told her, stroking her chin once more.

A bit of a grin started to form on her face then, "surely there must be some way that I can," she said, and Tommy caught her tone change. It made him chuckle as he allowed her to move over so that she was now sitting on his lap. "Can you think of anything?" she asked him in a sultry whisper as she then lowered her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

The gifts didn't end there though. After the bracelet came matching earrings and a necklace; all for the reason of her just being there and putting up with him. Then the gifts started getting bigger.

(Y/N) was in the process of changing from her day's clothes to her nightgown when the door to the bedroom opened. She jumped slightly but then relaxed when she noticed that it was Tommy. "Close your eyes, love," he instructed as he moved closer to her.

"Why am I doing this?" she asked him with a smile as she did what she was told. She was able to feel him stop in front of her.

"Gimme your hands," he gave her another instruction and she listened, holding her hands out in front of her. Immediately, there was something that held weight resting against her arms. "Open your eyes," he told her and she did, her gaze dropping to see that a garment bag was now resting against her forearms.

"What's this?" she questioned curiously as she looked between him and the bag.

"Open it," he told her, a grin forming on his face as she moved over to the bed so that she could lay it there and move the zipper from the top to the bottom.

A beautiful, emerald colored gown was revealed when she pulled the folds of the bag back. The sight of it nearly took her breath away. "What is this for, Tommy?" she asked, her mouth gaped slightly as she turned to look at him.

"Take it out," he ignored her question, nodding his head to the garment. (Y/N) turned again and pulled the piece from the confines of the bag.

"My goodness..." she breathed in awe as she took in the entirety of the floor-length ball gown that was made of the most regal material she'd seen in her life.

"You like it?" Tommy asked from behind her, making her turn to look at him with the dress still in her hands.

"It's beautiful, Tommy," she agreed with him, glancing between him and the dress once more. "Why did you buy it?" she couldn't help but ask.

"I bought it because I thought you'd look fucking gorgeous in it," he answered her with a grin, her cheeks heating up just at his words.

"Should I go try it on?" she queried, looking at him with excited eyes.

"Go on," Tommy nodded his head and she quickly made her way over to the dressing screen in the corner of the room.

Soon enough, she had the garment on and came out to show him. "How does it look?" she asked as she did a twirl while looking in the mirror. She felt like a princess with it on.

"Fucking perfect," Tommy answered, a grin on his face as he drank her in. She then stopped her twirling and locked her eyes with his before moving slowly over to where he was standing. "Just like I thought you would," he finished his previous statement in a softer voice as he hooked his hands around the small of her back and held her close to him.

"Thanks for this, Tommy," she said, her hands settling on his shoulders as he swayed her gently to imaginary music, "even though I don't think I deserve it."

"Of course you deserve it," Tommy dispelled her doubts, shaking his head before he dropped his lips onto hers.

As the months went on, the amount of gifts that (Y/N) received from Tommy stayed steady. The only thing that changed was how he'd present them to her. It went from him making a big spectacle about the newest thing he'd gotten her to him mentioning that he'd bought it for her as he placed whatever it was into her hands or lap. He'd be leaving the room before she could even thank him for the present.

She was sitting at her vanity in the master bedroom when Tommy entered. She glanced up and saw him walking over in the mirror, so she decided to stay quiet until he reached her.

"I got this for you," he said, his hand coming around in front of her to show a red velvet, rectangular box. She opened it without a reaction, moving through the motions of opening it like clockwork to show a golden necklace with a diamond pendant in the middle. "Thought you'd look good in it," he continued, his voice rather monotoned in nature.

He was still holding the box, and before he could move to set it on the vanity and walk away, (Y/N) grabbed onto his forearm. "Why do you buy me all of these gifts, Tommy?" she questioned as she turned and looked up at him.

"Cuz I thought you'd like them," he answered, his voice still flat.

"You need to stop."

"What?" his brows were furrowed now because he hadn't expected such a statement to come from her.

"You need to stop buying me these gifts just to buy them for me; just because you think I'd like them," (Y/N) explained herself more in depth as she kept her eyes hooked onto his, her hand still holding a slight pressure on his forearm.

"Why? I thought you like them?" he questioned, still taken back by her statement.

"Because it's too much, Tom. All of these gifts are getting to be too much for me," she told him, taking a deep breath as she stood from the bench seat so that she was now standing in front of him. "They're too much and I don't need them...I already have everything I need in you," she spoke in a sincere voice, her hand slipping down his forearm so that she could link her fingers with his.

Tommy didn't say anything at first. He stood with his brows furrowed as he tried to wrap his head around what she'd just told him. "You...you don't like the gifts I've been giving you?" he finally asked, making his confusion evident now.

(Y/N) shook her head slightly. "No, I didn't mean it in that sense. I appreciate everything that you give me, it's just....I don't need them to be happy," she tried to stress her point, "all I need to be happy is you, Tommy."

"I...I don't think that giving myself would be enough for you, love," he told her, his words sounding unsure. (Y/N) frowned slightly as she heard what he had to say.

"You are enough. My love for you is more than material...I fell in love with the person I met and came to know before you started giving me all those fancy things," she spoke with sincerity as she kept her eyes hooked onto his, "and I'll stay here with you if you stop giving me those material things, because what I enjoy the most about this; about us, is the things only you can give me. Like the way you hold me," she paused, taking hold of his hands and manually hooking them around her waist. Tommy took the hint and kept them fastened there after she released her grip from him. "The way you look at me," she continued, her hands now moving up to take hold of his cheeks so that their gaze could be locked on each other. "And the way that you kiss me..." she trailed off again, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips. She pulled away just enough so that she could look him in the eyes again. "Kiss me, Tommy," she whispered, and that was enough for him to make his move. His lips pressed to hers in a passionate kiss that just about swept her off of her feet.

She let a satisfied moan vibrate against his lips, the sound of it egging Tommy on as he moved his hands up from the swell of her hips to the top of her back. There, he fumbled with the buttons of her dress for a moment before undoing them so that the garment now hung slack on her shoulders. His deft hands wasted no time in sliding the material down her arms, and she dropped her hands from his face so that she could let it drop completely; the dress now only hugging onto her hips. "I love when you do this to me," she breathed against his lips, "...so much better than any gift you could give me."

Her words only spurred him on more, and he wasted no time in blindly moving her over to their bed, allowing her to fall back onto it before he hovered over her. "You love this?" he questioned her, his eyebrows raised slightly as a grin teetered on his lips.

"Yes," she breathed in between the kisses he was giving her, "god, yes." She then reached up to undo his waistcoat, and he shrugged it off his shoulders and sat it on the side of the bed before she quickly continued with pulling the suspenders off of his shoulders so that she could get to work on unbuttoning and taking the dress shirt off of his body. She'd just finished with the last button and was about to take the material off of his broad shoulders when he leaned down and pressed his lips to the valley of her neck.

“You’d rather this?” he asked in between his kisses.

"Yes, Tommy," she whined, wanting nothing more than to feel his bare skin against her. He hummed against her neck, which only served her to become more antsy for what was to come. "Take your fucking shirt off, Tommy," she finally ordered him, making him chuckle against her skin before he pulled away and did what she asked him to.

Quickly, the button down and undershirt came off of his torso, and (Y/N) happily reached up and grabbed hold of his neck, bringing his chest flush against hers. Their lips met again, and their kisses became fervent as they scrambled to rid themselves of the last pieces of clothings separating one body from the other.

And sure, the gifts didn’t stop after that day, but they became more scarce in nature, which (Y/N) really appreciated. Instead of the material items, Tommy made sure to spend his time loving on his woman, because (Y/N) found that to be the greatest gift of all.

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @easilyobessedbutflighty @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole

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