Gremlinsaurus - Crimson Mint.

𝐎𝐇 ?

꒰ your egg just hatched, @heresan ! ꒱ — sukuna \ teachers \ blind date.

꒰ 18+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱

sukuna may be the most hated teacher alive, but it doesn’t make him immune to a desire for love. or, two teachers walk into a poetry slam for a blind date.

⊹ f!reader ⊹ no curses, teacher au ⊹ fluff. tiny angst. humor.   kinda enemies to lovers ⊹ sukuna is a jerk as usual. everyone is a highschool teacher. yuuji x todo poetry bromance. satoru n sukuna are friends. i kinda just threw everyone in a role here, so i hope it fits ⊹ 4.3k lol ⊹ footnote. here it is, tina! thank you so much for attending my event! i wasn’t able to fit everything i wanted because the word count got brazy. i hope you enjoy!

ryomen sukuna may just be the most hated teacher on all of campus, absolutely loathed by students and teachers alike. in his mind, it matters not if others find him likeable or intolerable. the result of such a decision is personal; that’s not his concern nor is it his business. he’s intended to enrich the minds of his students, not become their friend. he’s supposed to prepare them for the mercilessness of reality, not coddle them.

sukuna is no gojo satoru; he has no desire to meet the youth where they stand in their childishness just to teach them. he doesn’t want to revel in all their senselessness with them. gojo satoru is the most liked, but he’s hardly the best teacher. sukuna is no nanami kento; he refuses to hold their hands and protect them from their mistakes. in his eyes, their stumbling is a means of development. it gives them individual depth; it helps them determine their own meaning and cultivate their own merit based on what values their subjective experience insists they prioritize. nanami kento is the most entrusted, but he’s still a step below the best teacher. and sukuna is no you, most certainly no you; he’d sooner perish than perform the sheer amount of mental gymnastics you do to ensure all your wording, teaching, and intent is coated in honey and well-received. you’re the most caring and the most cared for, but you don’t even begin to scratch the surface of being the best teacher. but sukuna, even for all his standoffish demeanor and strict boundaries, even for all his intolerance and impatience, even for all his frustration and his dismissal, he’s the best teacher here. you all know it; you all hate it. he knows it; he knew it before any of those standardized test results signaled it. his methods feel cruel and they aren’t ideal; no other teacher would dare implement his rigid grading system that leaves zero wiggle room for noncompliance but plenty for creativity ꒰ despite what you all think and say. ꒱

the results his students yield are an endless testament to sukuna’s success at equipping them with tools and allowing them to develop the skills to adequately use them. he’ll correct their inconsistencies, sure, but he’ll never lie to their faces about what he thinks of their capacity as it stands. he doesn’t care to have them daydreaming about where they could go. he wants them to acknowledge exactly where they’re at. his sole endeavor as a cultivator of minds is to instill the strength and willingness to critically observe literary material, which in turn gives them the capacity and ability to critically observe themselves and the way they’re present in every environment they encounter. contrary to popular belief, he wants his students to be better than him. and so, he can never go easy on them. he can only lead them to the cusps of their potential and shove them over with a borderline menacing smirk. and as he listens to the likes of itadori yuuji and aoi todo recite a joint poem for their reattempt at an assignment, he recalls exactly why he’ll never entertain their foolishness. “jennifer, o jennifer,” yuuji muses dramatically. “your eyes a dazzling reflection of my yearning…” todo’s eyes are squeezed shut as he recites, “jennifer, o jennifer! i see you parade around every corner of my daydreams.” “AND YET!” yuuji yells, slamming his fist onto the surface of the podium that stands at the head of the class. “YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THE LOVE MY HEART CAN HOLD FOR YOU.” in shock, sukuna’s lips part as he stares ahead at the two troublesome boys while they startle the classroom with yet another dramatic recital of a poem that will most assuredly become inappropriate. “jesus christ,” he hears kugisaki grumble. “JENNIFERRRRRRRR,” todo yells, stretching out the end of the name with a passionate fist held high as his voice descends down to a whisper. “my jennifer.” “your chest, your voluptuous bosso—” sukuna holds up a flat palm. “enough,”

confusion befalls yuuji. his head tilts to the side. “why’d you stop us? we were getting to the best part!” “considering you’ve failed for the third time in a row at this assignment, i assure you that you were not.” “WE FAILED?!” the two boys shout in unison. “AGAIN?! HOW?” an exasperated sigh leaves his lips. “not only is this poem the end result of a dumpster fire and highly inappropriate yet again, but you once again did not follow a single instruction.” “untrue!” todo protests. “you said it needed to be a poem about our greatest desire!” a roll of the eyes. “i did not. i said to write a poem that embodies the concept of an emotion; for example, a great desire. not only that, but the poem was to be a quatrain. this is a couplet, at best.” “well how am i supposed to know the difference?” yuuji says, his voice in a light panic. “i worked so hard on this poem.” sukuna evaluates the copy of the poem he holds in his hand. inwardly, he admits that yuuji’s ability to weave imagery and eloquent speech is present, but he doesn’t take his assignments seriously enough. “you earned points for creativity but none for anything else. this was your last chance to correct this, if i recall.” yuuji’s eyes become wide and sad, lips forming into a pout as he stares at his teacher with a silent plea in his eyes, a plea that sukuna will gladly ignore. sukuna firmly believes if these simple-minded brats would follow the very simple directions he lays out, they wouldn’t be struggling to pass his class and devoting all their free time to meaningless busy work that he routinely reminds them they can avoid if they set aside their need for instant gratification and concentrated on their academic efforts instead. todo looks frustrated, angry eyes glued down at his feet as he suffers through his third humiliation. “b-but!” yuuji tries, only to be met with the shake of sukuna’s head. “please, mr. ryomen! if i fail this class, my mom will take away all my games and manga!” a soft snort. “i imagine your grades will improve drastically should that occur. take your seats.” “sir, please!” hard eyes glare into innocence. “do you think i’m running some kind of circus for you to entertain us all in? if so, i should fail you for boring me. i have one hour to teach you something and lately, i spend a quarter of my time bickering with the two of you about using very basic levels of comprehension to execute a simple task. sit. down.” and they do, with all their grief and disillusion in tow. 

when class ends, sukuna revels in the silence of his free period before his next group arrives. he sighs, reading over yuuji’s poem again. a problem child most certainly, but a creative one who excels in writing but fails to pay attention to what it is he’s intended to write. sukuna aims to help him understand the importance of discipline and execute it. sure, he’s disappointed now, but with this failure under his belt, sukuna believes his next assignment will be much closer to what he’s been asked to do. if he knows yuuji, and he does, the boy will still fail to follow a very specific direction, but he’ll get closer, and sukuna will acknowledge the improvement but yuuji won’t receive the reflection of his efforts in points. sukuna is adamant about the boundary of only distributing the points when he executes the task correctly, not for his efforts of doing such a thing. he doesn’t offer participation trophies. a gentle knock at his classroom door pulls him out of his thoughts. sukuna peers up from the top of his glasses noticing you standing in the doorway holding up a pink slip of paper that he’s quite familiar with.

so he’s requesting to be removed. insolent brat.

“and what do i owe the displeasure of seeing you?” he asks, looking back down at the papers he intends to grade. “can i help you?” with a sigh, you enter the room fully and pull up a chair to sit beside his desk. “my classroom is full and it’s breaking my heart to keep turning away all the students who don’t see a future while having you as their teacher.” this is precisely why sukuna can’t stand you. you’re hardly a rival, teaching in the only alternative class for first years to take english, but each time he has the misfortune of making conversation with you, you speak to him as if you are. “get stronger at rejecting them then.” he counters with ease. “it’s character building.” your voice gets quieter. “itadori yuuji came to me crying. your class is giving him a level of anxiety he’s quite literally unable to manage. he’s a child, sukuna.” “mr. ryomen is fine, thank you.” he grumbles. “yuuji’s inability to turn in his assignments on time and follow my very simple directions has little to do with me and everything to do with him. he’s not a child. he’s a teenage boy who we’re expected to prepare for the harsh realities of the real world. do you think his behavior will be accepted in any workplace? no, it won’t. he’ll be terminated. and do you think they’ll care if he comes into their office crying about the consequences of his own shortcomings? they won’t. an average employee is a dime a dozen. he’s not great enough to afford his slacking.” for a moment, you sit there in silence and despite not looking your way even once, not even sparing you a single glance, he can feel the disappointment rolling off of you in thick waves that crash into him. “his grandfather just died. it’s already hard enough for him to come to school, mister unreasonable.”

and my wife left me yet here i am each day, dragging my feet into this rundown building without making excuses for not meeting the mark.

sukuna doesn’t speak it aloud, of course. he has enough empathy to keep some of his hatefulness at bay. “and my condolences are with him and his family. i already suggested to his mother that she withdraw him for the time being but yuuji made the decision to return. if he can exercise the autonomy to choose to stay, then he can exercise the autonomy to do his work adequately. i will not hold him to separate expectations because of his circumstances. i would have to do it for all of my students, and where would that leave those who do not have a soul-crushing event that warrants them room to frolic?” “have you considered that, perhaps, all your students deserve a little room to make mistakes and correct them?” you inquire through gritted teeth. “i swear you have no heart.” he winces, the words slicing through him just as sharply as the memory of his ex-wife uttering identical words as she rallied her loved ones to assist her in leaving him behind with the future they were supposed to share in love. “if having a heart were enough to teach these students in a way that matters, i imagine your test scores would be higher. and yet, they’re one of the lowest. i appreciate your concern for my student, but he will simply have to make peace with his failures and let the shame he feels fuel him into accomplishment.” without another word, you slam the pink slip down onto his desk and huff harshly as you stomp out of the room. he doesn’t understand why you bother time and time again.

you hold their hands and soothe them when they cry. it’s no wonder they have poor self-regulation.

ryomen sukuna has one friend, and it’s the man that he has the least amount of tolerance for: gojo satoru. even after being told repeatedly that he’s disinterested in being friends, disinterested in having him involved in his personal affairs, disinterested in any level of personal connection outside of the work environment they both share, satoru insists. he insisted upon himself until the frightful day came that ryomen sukuna lost the only person he had ever brought himself to love, and in response called satoru to sit beside him at a bar in total silence while he drank. he didn’t need to do anything. sukuna just needed to convince himself that there was another being in this world ꒰ besides the one that walked out on him ꒱ who had a shred of care in their hearts for him. satoru came without question, came without speaking, came without apologizing for his loss when sukuna uttered the words ‘she left me’. satoru offered him a soft ‘oh shit’ and ordered another drink for him when his glass emptied out. since then, at the very least, they’re on a first-name basis but hardly a friendly one, despite what satoru continues to believe. “so guess what i got for my loving best friend who adores me so very much.” satoru sings as he enters the teacher’s lounge and throws an arm haphazardly over his shoulder. sukuna shakes his arm off of him and proceeds to sneer. “don’t touch me.” “well someone’s a grumpy cat today.” satoru mumbles. “so what’s got your panties in a wedgie?” a disgusted scoff and a demand that comes through gritted teeth. “don’t be lewd.” “but it’s part of my charm.” satoru says with an exaggerated pout. sukuna sighs. “what do you want, satoru?” “well,” he sings, sitting in a chair adjacent to where sukuna stands at the coffee machine, legs sprawled out wide. “you have a blind date tonight.” an immediate response. sukuna spins to face him, nostrils flaring. “no, i don’t.” “oh, come on!” satoru groans. “you can’t seriously spend the rest of your life hung up on your ex.” “i don’t plan to.” he seethes. “but i don’t plan to date, either.” satoru shrugs carelessly. “okay, so just show up and give her even a little charm so you can bust a nut before you bust a blood vessel.” “not only am i uninterested in dating, but i would never date anyone you suggested for me.” of course, the snow-haired man is offended, a palm flat against his chest. “excuse me, i have great taste in women. you’re just a prude.” “you don’t have taste in anything, especially women.” sukuna grumbles. satoru ignores him at first, instead redirecting his attention to his phone before mumbling, “i didn’t want to resort to this, but you leave me no choice.” after he speaks, he turns the screen of the phone in sukuna’s direction to which he’s met with a post on facebook of all places where the words ‘ryomen yuki is in a relationship with fushiguro toji’ are in bold letters across the screen with two identical photos side-by-side, both a sporting a matching picture of them together. for a moment, his mouth goes dry. the grip he has on his empty mug tightens until he hears and feels the ceramic starting to crack in his grasp.

she’s already moving on. she’s already found someone to replace me. her love was everything to me and mine was nothing to her, a gift that came with proof of purchase so she could return it at will.

unable to continue staring at his greatest loss to date, he turns his back to satoru, the mug slamming down into pieces on the counter.

so it’s really over then. six months of half-expecting you to return because you never bothered to change your name back. another thing you took from me and ran off with. shamelessly. with no remorse. another display of my fragility that you keep attached to you like a badge of honor. your trophy for murdering a deathless man.

“i’m sorry to spring this on you like this.” satoru says, the sadness evident in his voice. “but i think it’d do you some good to get back out there.” he’s been trying for months to get sukuna to test the waters with someone new, but he admittedly held out for his ex-wife. now, all the rumination and theorizing of returns seems pointless. silly. a wasted effort. his patience becomes another labor of love that she won’t reciprocate or return back to him, either. it’s at that moment that he decides enough is enough and he can’t leave his heart in layover, waiting to be carried to a destination he’ll never see again. with a heavy heart, sukuna mumbles, “fine, i’ll go.” “atta boy,” satoru says, pleased with his results as he stands and grips sukuna’s shoulders. “and i don’t mean this in a kind of way, but don’t scare the poor girl away, okay?” sukuna’s eyes narrow as he tilts his head to gaze at him. “and just what is that supposed to mean?” “it means…” his voice trails as he hums thoughtfully. “be anything but yourself.”

great, another woman to court with only the idea of me and the potential of the man i could become. not the man i already am.

“i can hear the emo engine revving.” satoru sings. “i don’t mean there’s anything wrong with you, but you’re harsh and you know it. actually attempt pleasantries. chivalry. niceties, you know? women like that. they don’t want an unreasonable brute.” a roll of his eyes. “whatever, where am i to meet her? what’s her name? what does she…like?” “i’m not telling you anything about her, but i did suggest a date at that bar you like that does poetry slams on fridays. so, at the very least, you both have that in common. you like to wallow over useless things.” sukuna hums, not entirely opposed to a poetry slam attendance as a first date, a blind meeting. as a man quite passionate about literature in general, this sounds like a safe option. he can speak less and listen intently. that should be enough to conceal what satoru won’t openly call his awful demanor.

sukuna will never trust satoru again, will never let him set a nosy foot into his life’s affairs. he never should have. he should have known he was toying with him, should have known that he wouldn’t set him up on a date without going so far out of his way to make a fool of him. he arrives at the bar with a single, long stem black rose in hand, a gentle symbol of the potential beginning he has to offer, dressed in his favorite deep olive sweater-vest, a white button-up underneath with an elegant black tie tucked into a deep v neckline, and casual but suitable black slacks. for the first time in a long time, he parts his hair and gels it specifically, nanami kento in mind as he does so, a testament to what he believes is the way a respectable man would present himself to a woman he may want to sincerely court, should things go well. he waits outside the establishment, unusually nervous but still simmering in a hushed excitement at the possibility of finally laying the death of his first love to rest. he’s grown sick of being a man made into a mausoleum. he stands right where he tells satoru he’ll be. it doesn’t take long to cling to the notion that all his diligence is a waste of time because now you stand before him staring at him in utter shock and it infuriates him. what’s even worse is how undoubtedly gorgeous you look in the sleeveless white dress clinging to the shape of your body, the semi-deep neckline showing off the prettiness of your smooth skin and highlighting your assets while not blatantly displaying them. it’s alluring modesty that colors him in the most vibrant shade of surprise. he’s never seen you outside of class, never seen you outside of oversized, fuzzy cardigans and dress pants. he’s never seen your ankles outside of black, cotton socks and penny loafers, but now he knows exactly what fiber looks like flowing around the shape of your thighs. if you were to inquire with him regarding the subject of you, he’s never spared you more than passing glances because he finds the weakness in your general demeanor and over-indulgence in decorum to be particularly disgusting. to him, critically evaluating your level of attractiveness would be a truly pointless endeavor, especially considering he only observes you in a work environment. naturally, he keeps all of his curiosities centered around responsibilities that just so happen to involve you both. but now, as you stand before him with widened eyes, shock gazing over shock, sukuna can’t help but memorize you from head to toe. it isn’t to say that you intrigue him; it is simply to consider why on earth satoru would organize a date with you or have the audacity to believe he would want this.

i should surely kill him for this.

“you’re my blind date?” you ask incredulously. sukuna sighs, frustration causing his head to lull back and briefly glance at the clarity of the evening sky. “it appears so.” “why the fuck would shoko think i want to go out with the likes of you?” you ask, an air of offense littering your tone. the expression contorting your features aimed at him causes a dull pang in his chest. not because he cares, but because even sukuna isn’t immune to the consequences of harsh rejection in the face of his own anticipation. the disgust for him is not only evident in the look on your face ꒰ brows raised, eyes full of disdain, nose scrunched, and your lips curved downward ꒱ but it’s indisputable in the tone of your voice. of course, he doesn’t care for you to find him attractive, but the blatant distaste aimed at him when he showed up all the same as you, expecting to engage with someone who could haply lessen the severity of his pain, if even only for a moment, is admittedly disappointing. “gee, thanks,” he grumbles. you whine, a groan ascending into a saddened pout as your foot stomps lightly against concrete. “i wore my best dress for you?” “are you a child?” sukuna snaps at you, taking in your actions with his own observable revulsion. “contain yourself. you act as if we aren’t in public.” your lips tighten into a straight line, eyes dying as you look at him. “don’t act like you’re not disappointed, too.” he snorts. “disappointed is an abysmal understatement. do you think i’m thrilled to see you? i came here under the impression i might end up liking the person i met.” your arms fold over your chest as you grumble, “i highly doubt they’d end up liking you.” “and i highly doubt they’d end up liking you.” he retorts with ease. “it appears this is a fruitless exertion of energy.” as if you don’t hear a single word he says, your eyes fixate on his hand which clutches the stem of a rose now fallen haphazardly at his side. “was that for me?” you ask softly, gesturing to it. a grunt as he realizes he still holds the physical marker of yet another romantic failure. “i guess. here.” he thrusts it towards you spitefully, sneering. he expects you to reject it, to which he plans to let it fall to the ground, abandoned as he makes his way back home to sip his weight in roscato, but you become a peculiar creature before him and reach to take it out of his hand, twirling the stem between your thumb and index finger as the softest smile takes your lips. you don’t look at him as you speak. “a black rose seems like an unorthodox flower to gift for a first date.” sighing, he parts his lips to speak, but he doesn’t get the chance, as you continue on. “but really, it symbolizes tragedy and rebirth.” surprisingly, you’re correct. his intensely irritated expression, unbeknownst to him, subdues and softens then. “yes,” he murmurs. “it was supposed to, at least.” you stay still for a moment, observing the rose carefully before you look up at him again. sukuna’s eyes subtly widen as he notices a tiny shimmer in yours, the littlest spark of curiosity twinkling as you gaze at him. “i spent a lot of time getting ready.” you state tenderly. “i’d…i’d rather not go home empty-handed, you know? and i admit, i was looking forward to this poetry slam.” for the first time in all of the time he’s known you, sukuna’s voice doesn’t carry an undertone of detest when he replies. “as was i. my favorite poet confirmed they’d be performing this evening.” “so is mine.” you admit sheepishly with a wispy sigh. “kenjaku, he’s one of the greatest poets of our time.” now, sukuna’s eyes enlarge with palpable shock. “kenjaku is also your favorite? i thought he was an undiscovered gem, but i wholeheartedly agree. truly one of the best poets of our time. he said he’d be revealing a new work on stage this evening.”

silence passes between the two of you, sukuna’s hands stuffing into the pockets of his slacks as he begins to rock on his heels. he would never admit it, but that shared preference is enough to cultivate his willingness to linger, enough to craft an ache to endure the evening despite his preconceived notions. you eye the entrance, peeking at him from your peripheral vision. “should we…just enjoy the evening? i mean, we’re already here. and there’s a bar, too.” “there is.” “which means i can drink away the extent of how insufferable you are.” a playful grin on your lips as you hold out your hand to him. “shall we?” he stares at your hand before scoffing and leaving it resting without being touched, moving towards the entrance to hold the door open for you as he avoids your gaze. “after you,”

© 2023 elusivemoon. all rights reserved.

Levi x Reader

Angst | Modern - Soulmate AU | 7k words

Summary : being dead since the 19th century, your 200-year-old house in the countryside had been sold to Levi Ackerman. He stumbles upon your old diary and reads it, only to slowly fall in love with you as he continues to read the pages.

Who would have known love could exist between two people separated, not only by centuries, but also by death itself ?

“ —in the next life, where there is no marriage, but where souls find each other through intimacy, may I attain true love. ”

Keep reading

𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘪 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮

summary: you see him a handful of times down by the river, washing off the bloodstains from his clothing and hands. you wonder to yourself how he could look so human in such a monstrous act. once he sees you he can’t get you rid of his mind.

paring: sukuna x f!reader

genre: angst, soft love, little bits of fluff, angst with no happy ending

warnings: blood, gruesome death, talks of sex and taking virginity, character death

word count: 7k+

jjk masterlist

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“Do you intend on staring the entire time?”

The hair on your neck rose, your breath catching in your throat as you hear him call out.

Surely he couldn’t have seen you. You had tried to hide decently well into the background of the forest.

“Your act of concealment is rather pitiful, you know.” His voice disparaged you once more, and from the sliver of opening the bushes allowed you saw him look over his shoulder, staring directly at you as he raised an eyebrow.

“Come out, human.” You, for the first time, hear the real command in his voice, the one that terrified the men in your village, the ones who came back from battle and laid awake at night with it echoing in the solitude of their minds.

You gave it a couple seconds, and when you saw him vanish from the spot he had been near the river bank you panicked, looking around everywhere to see where he had gone.

You felt a rush of air wisp behind you, and you whipped your head around to see a large hand circle around your throat, long, claw-like nails digging into your skin as he effortlessly raised you from the ground.

You felt the voice in your head mock you for your stupidity, the idea alone of spying on the curse everybody feared an idiotic idea. But you were curious, too curious for your own good, and the first time you saw him you were fascinated.

Here he seemed like the monster everybody made him out to be. Blood from his previous victims splattered across his face, red eyes boring into yours as he assessed the person in front of him, large muscles flexing as he turned you around, gawking at you like an animal in a cage.

But the first time you saw him, he drew you in, and perhaps that would be the sole reason for your demise. The sun shone shined splendidly that day, reflecting off the water beneath him, his skin shining bright as he delicately cleaned his dirtied clothes in peace.

You hadn’t meant to run into him that day, but you couldn’t rest seeing him act so human, so normally, after every rumor, you had heard.

You now wish you had listened to them.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” He cocked his head to the side, eyebrow perched as you meekly grabbed at his hand, begging him to loosen his grip.

His eyes trailed down to your gaping mouth, eyes widening with the lack of air, and his grip loosed, dropping you roughly to the ground, giving you a couple of seconds to failingly come up on your arms, coughing as you rubbed weakly at your neck, trying to ease to soreness away.

He dropped down to his knees, crouching down at your side as he waited for you to recover, in no rush as you hacked away.

“I asked you a question.” He reminded you and you fearfully looked up, eyes filled with tears as you weakly nodded, your chapped lips trembling in dread.

“Is that a yes?” His lips upturned in a small and taunting smile, his sharpened teeth gleaming back at you as you gulped, clearing your throat as you tried your best to respond.

“Yes, yes,” You looked at the grass beneath you, anything but the figure of death in front of you, “I have been here before, my lord.“

He kept his eyes locked on yours, his look never shifting from one to the other, keeping natural as if to frighten you even more.

Would anybody care if you had been killed out in the woods today? Would anybody come looking if you went missing?

"Is it you who’s been watching me these past weeks?” He asked, and even on the ground sitting in front of you he shadowed your crumpled form, and you wiped some of the slobber from your lips before you spoke again.

“I apologize, my lord.” Your fingers shook far too much, could he tell? Could he see that your blood was freezing under your skin?

“May I ask what’s intrigued you so much to return?” You feel this breath on your cheeks, his nose close to yours as he leaned in, the air in your lungs seizing as you held it all to yourself.

Your fingers itched to grab the small bundle you had brought with you, the one you had failed to give these past weeks.

He watched the movement, his eyes quickly darting over to the small package concealed in a piece of dirtied cloth.

“Is this yours?” He reached over and grabbed it, examining its shabby shape as you meekly nodded once more, your mouth too dry to give him a proper response.

He glanced back over to you, truly studying you. Your clothes were dirty, mud and dirt clinging to your skin, holes littering the soles of your shoes. Your hair was clumped together and nails were outgrown from their beds.

He had been familiarized with the nearby village, having ransacked it multiple times. He knew the women well, their appearances were far more important than anything else. If you were from there it was obvious you were one of their outcasts, if the skin clinging to your bones would say anything.

He kept an eye on you as you coughed again, blood specking the palm of your hand as you wiped it on your pants, embarrassed and more honestly terrified to look at him, opting to gape at the ground.

He turned the lump of fabric around in his hand, weighing it and sniffing it as if to sense what was inside. A foul smell flew under his nose, and he winced as he quickly went to open it, his inquisitiveness taking over.

The fabric was flimsy and wasn’t tied hard enough, falling away as he peeled it back.

Small tomatoes and pieces of lettuce tumbled out, some parts of them molded as they fell to his feet.

“I apologize, my lord, they are not of the best quality.” You explained and he scoffed, taking the small vegetables and squishing it between his fingers, turning back to you as he took you by the collar, lifting it up so that you would be face to face with him.

“Were those for me?” His head tilted again, a small pout overtaking his smile as he watched you struggle to come up with words to say.

“Have you been watching me these past few weeks just to give me rotten vegetables?”

He watched in clear amusement as you sniffled, your eyes squeezed shut as you nodded, hands quivering as you kept them balled by your side.

“Did that really sound like a good idea to you?” His grip on your collar tightened, and you gasp as he lifted you once more, your feet dangling as you tried to get back down.

Sukuna looked at you, the tears welling in your eyes, the tomatoes, and lettuce as his feet looking back up at him as he strangled you, your fingers weakling attempting to grab at his clenching fists.

“I’m s-sorry,” You choked out, “It’s all I h-had.” Some bloodied spit landed on his face and he grimaced, dropping you immediately to wipe it off.

You couldn’t muster up a groan as you felt your ankle crack from the pressure, only having enough strength to try to crawl away.

This isn’t how you wanted to die, not alone and at the hands of the curse of death himself. Not when you wanted to see the countryside, to sail in those things they called ships. Not on the ground of a forest, you stumbled upon one day, your kind heart killing you eventually.

And all Sukuna did was watch the pitiful scene, eyebrows drawing together as he saw your crumpled form sit at the stump of a tree, your ankle bent the wrong way, your eyes barely open as you went in and out of consciences.

Who were you? Surely not a girl of any importance. He would have already bedded you had you been one. You were poor, perhaps worse than that, yet you managed to bring him portions of your food.

Even in the coldest of winters, he had watched the village chief struggle to give up a third of his meals to honor him, yet an insignificant girl like you who obviously needed the wasted vegetables more than anything was offering it to him.

Should he kill you here? Make it painless? It seemed that your health was already declining, your bloody coughs enough proof for him. He’d be putting you out of your misery if he did it now.

But walking towards you, his nails turned into the claws he was so used to, kneeling down once more to your slumped form, he couldn’t seem to do it.

You couldn’t even lift your head to beg for your life, but you tried to bring up your fist that paled in size to his, curling it around one of his fingers as you tried to push him away.

And his nails were right there, right at the base of your throat, ready to slit, but he felt the little bit of heat as you sickly gripped him, the little tear droplets wetting his skin as he retracted his hand.

He stared at the top of your head, watching as your hand fell to your side, your body too weak to keep it up anymore.

And he grumbled to himself, saying things such that he wasn’t fucking enough people and his mind was going crazy, cupping your knees as he lifted you gently up, supporting your head with the palm of his hand as he brought you back to the village.

He could have killed you even then as he was entering the gates, but you had held onto his shirt so tightly that he could barely lift his finger to do such a thing.

—

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Are you an atheist?

When I see a delicious cake on the kitchen table, it's only natural for me to believe that the Baker exists. It seems unimaginable that all the ingredients would come together in the exact quantities needed, then somehow bake themselves at the precise temperature for the exact amount of time.

(# >o<) mikey layouts . . . 🍶

☆ › like / reblog if u save ๑ バカ !!

❝ i can’t express how proud and reassured i feel to have 8 members who shared unforgettable memories. i wonder if you guys remember everything like i do. nowadays, i keep being reminded of old days when we (exo) were together wherever i went. the real happiness, i believe, is something that we can laugh and talk about even for a long time. let’s be the ones that can hug each other as always. minseok, suho, lay, baekhyun, jongdae, kyungsoo, jongin, sehun. love you guys a lot. ❞ ( insp )

to our happy virus that has given us countless reasons to smile for eight whole years already. just like you can’t forget the amazing things you’ve experienced, we neither will ever forget what you have done for us exo-ls. lifting us up, loving us and making us feel like a friend to you. let’s go on together for a really long time, okay? #8YEARSWITHCHANYEOL

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff drabble no3. gojo as a cat dad

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ drabble summary. gojo tried to give you a little kitten as an apology, but you weren’t able to take it in, so he ends up becoming a cat dad. (note: for new readers, this is in continuation of my long fic gojo x reader series “kickoff”!! masterlist is linked below)

ᰔ main storyline summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. drabble #3

ᰔ words. 2.3k

a/n. hellooo!! this is such a silly little drabble lol, basically just gojo falling in love w a kitty. kickoff reader does make an appearance tho haha. this will be the last drabble before we move on to ch11 :) hope u enjoy!! <3

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☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

“Wait what? He’s gotta get his balls chopped off someday?”

Gojo holds the tuxedo kitten, which as of two seconds ago is now officially his and shall be named mr. grand theft auto (mr gta for short) up into the air as he examines him like he’s some novel beast.

“Yes,” Nanami affirms on the other line before releasing a deep exhale, “at around ten weeks old, you’ll have to get him neutered.”

“How do I know how old he is?” Gojo asks, twiddling his thumb back and forth to give mr gta something to chase with his paws in an attempt to distract.

“You’ll have to take the kitten to the vet,” Nanami tells him. “They’ll need to check for fleas, parasites, and give any relevant vaccinations.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head and sets mr gta down on his desk, which the Soot Sprite runs to the edge of and almost knocks over Gojo’s half-finished can of Red Bull. Gojo picks him up again, and he hears a tiny little mew squeak out.

“Did you check with Suguru or Hide or Sota if they would be fine with keeping a cat in the house?” Nanami asks.

“No.”

“That’s the first thing you should do.”

“Ehhh I’m sure they’d be fine with it,” Gojo replies before settling mr. gta into the nook of his elbow and then grabbing his keys. He pets his pocket for his wallet, and then heads out of his room, down the stairs, and outside to the driveway to get inside his car. He plops Fluff Ball onto his dashboard, and then realizes he’s still got Nanami on the line.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he brings his phone back up to his ear, “did you say something.”

A long pause. “I’ve been giving you instructions this entire time.”

Nanami apparently had three cats growing up, it was one of the first things Gojo learned about him during some Icebreakers for Rush. But his knowledge is wasted on Gojo, who’s more keen on winging most things in life.

“Where did you find this kitten?” Nanami asks.

“In the bushes,” Gojo says as he pulls out of the driveway, “over on Main street. Took the scenic route on my run this morning.”

“And why decide to keep it?”

Gojo pulls his phone from his ear to check the directions on his phone for a brief second, a little too lazy to connect BlueTooth to his car for a seven minute drive. “Uh. Well, I tried to give it to y/n, but she didn’t want it. Er, she couldn’t have it, so, I figured I’d keep it.” He glances between his rearview mirror and mr. gta as he turns onto the street. “The little thing’s homeless and cute, so why not. Also kinda ugly, though. His fur looks like he’s been struck by lightning.”

Nanami sighs, then catches his breath briefly. “You found a dirty flea-covered kitten in the bushes and then tried to abandon it with y/n when she can’t even have it, and then abruptly decided you’ll take care of it? I would encourage some self reflection.”

Gojo gets to the closest veterinarian office he could find, mr gta in hand when he walks through the door with the jingle of a bell at the top, which his kitten becomes instantly intrigued with as it tilts its head up to the noise.

“Hi,” Gojo says as he approaches the receptionist desk, where he sees a girl probably around his age wearing bright blue scrubs sitting there at a catastrophically messy desk cluttered with pens and clipboards and certainly not enough space for the gigantic keyboard underneath the computer.

She looks up from her computer at Gojo, and blinks a few times in surprise before addressing him. Gojo wonders if she’s new to the job. “Hello! Name for the appointment?”

“Oh, I don’t have an appointment,” Gojo says, setting mr gta up on the high raised counter, and he feels the fur of his tiny tail brush against his hand before a tiny rough tongue starts to lick at his knuckle. “I found this kitten in the bushes, so I just wanted someone to take a look at him. Or her? I’m, like, 90% sure it’s a boy, but you guys are the experts.”

Crescents form under her eyes in amusement before she flutters her eyes back to the computer screen. “Sorry, we don’t take walk-ins,” she says as she busies herself with clicking sporadically across pixels that he can’t see.

“Can’t make an exception?” Gojo asks, setting his elbow up on the counter and mr gta instantly starts scratching at his skin. He watches her expression change from business to something else before pushing away from the desk, chair springing when she gets up from it.

“I can check with the doctor for you!” she chirps and disappears into the hallway. Gojo looks down at mr gta, who’s staring off in the direction she went before he starts licking his paw.

The vet makes an exception, but not without a twenty minute wait. Gojo briefly wonders what being a veterinarian would be like, getting to hold tiny cute kittens like mr gta—who, by the way, is indeed a mister—all day. But, he figures there’s probably downsides to it too, since not all their patients are probably as sweet as mr gta is when he gets his shots. Cute thing just winces a little from the needle then chirps a drawled meow before shaking his head and wobbling right back into Gojo’s hands at the edge of the metal table. God, Gojo was attached. It hasn’t even been three hours, and he’d already jump in front of an active shooter just to protect the little Black Ball with Mittens.

Well, some of the love diminishes when he realizes just how damn expensive the vet visit cost as the receptionist from earlier adds up services on her dated calculator with punches of her index finger on worn out buttons. Gojo pulls his wallet out of his pocket and hands her his credit card, and even though it’s just the plastic equivalent of cash, he still feels like it’s much lighter somehow when she hands it back to him. She prints out the receipt, licking her thumb to separate the customer copy from the office’s copy and hands the latter to him to sign. The puff ball tied at the end of the pen intrigues mr gta who swats his paw at it while Gojo makes quick work of his signature and hands it over the counter. He’s about to turn on his heel to head out the door in no need of the customer copy, when the receptionist squeaks out a wait and scribbles something onto it before handing it to him. He glances down at the ballpoint blue ink. The total that he paid in written out words, a large circle drawn around a free future check-up coupon, and beneath it, a phone number with a heart next to it. He finally clocks in on the flirting.

His now healthy kitten is captivated by the noise of the bell above the door again when Gojo makes his way through it, and then captivated by the sound of plastic paper crumpling in his hand when he tosses the receipt into a trash can outside of receptionist desk view. It’s not like he needed it, he can’t return vaccines.

“So you’re cool with it?’ Gojo asks, Suguru on the other line since he wasn’t home and he was the last one of his housemates he had to check with if keeping mr gta was alright or not. Not that Gojo would drop the little guy off at a shelter if one of the guys did say they didn’t want a cat in the house. He’d sooner drop one of his housemates off at the shelter than get rid of mr gta.

Suguru sighs through the receiver. “I guess it’s fine as long as you take care of it…but it’s weird, you’ve never cared much for cats?”

Gojo’s eyes flicker across the ceiling of his room as he lays on his bed, swinging his knee back and forth before adjusting his hand under his neck to get more comfortable. His gaze then flits down to mr gta, who is roaming the expanse of his chest and plucking at the fabric of Gojo’s shirt with every step he takes across it. Purring like a maniac where the sound is probably loud enough to interrupt Nanami’s wim hof breathing meditation exercises three houses down from here.

Gojo pulls the phone away from his ear and tucks his chin to look mr gta straight in the eye. “Dude. Could you keep it down? I’m on the phone.”

Electrocuted Puff Ball just stares at him and mews in defiance before using its hind leg to scratch behind its ear, then settles its head down on the center of Gojo’s chest, the rumble of purrs felt on his sternum.

Gojo brings the phone back to his ear. He considers how to answer Suguru, thinking can’t let the gang know I fw cute cats all of a sudden so instead he says— “I don’t know. It’s probably the cat parasite.”

“The what?” Suguru asks.

Gojo scratches the top of mr gta’s head as he puts Suguru on speaker then peruses a WikiHow article on his phone on how to care for babies. Apparently, skin to skin contact is very important, so he shoves mr gta underneath the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah, something about a parasite from cats that can infect humans and basically make us fall in love with them as some sort of survival strategy. I read about it on the mews—er, news. Mews? What the fuck. I just said mews instead of news. See?? It’s the fuckin’ cat parasite.”

He hears Suguru sigh. “Aight. Whatever floats your boat, dude.”

Gojo’s phone pings with a text notification, and when he sees your name flash across his screen, his eyes widen. “Uh, gotta go. See ya at home. Don’t forget the cat food.” And then he hangs up. Because he can’t talk to you and concentrate on anything else at the same time.

He sits up, catching mr gta when he falls towards his lap in the motion, and then he perches himself up on an elbow to read your texts.

|| 10:24am You: hi, sorry for kicking you out earlier today

|| 10:24am You: i was just a little sad about the kitty :(

He sees you typing, before the bubble disappears. He holds his breath. And then he sees you typing again.

|| 10:26am You: i’m on my period, so im’ a little emotional

Gojo blinks at his screen. Then his thumbs move to type.

|| 10:28am Gojo Satoru: Oh

He scans his brain for the right thing to say.

|| 10:29am Gojo Satoru: Are you doing okay? Do you need Ibuprofen

He feels mr gta’s warm little body press against his torso.

|| 10:30 Gojo Satoru: Or a heating pad?

Nailed it.

|| 10:32am You: aw no i’m ok!! thanks though :))

|| 10:32am You: did you keep the kitty?

His eyes flicker down to mr gta, who has fully fallen asleep in his lap. Dumb little thing. Doesn’t even know pythagoras’s theorum, or anything about the Roman Empire. Only knows warmth and whiskers. But if anything bad ever happened to mr gta, Gojo would probably end up in jail for the revenge he wreaks havoc on the perpetrators.

|| 10:24am Gojo Satoru: I did, yeah. Victim of the cat parasite

|| 10:26am You: cat parasite??

|| 10:26am You: what’s that

|| 10:28am Gojo Satoru: Some parasite that makes people like cats

|| 10:29am Gojo Satoru: [sent an article]

|| 10:29am Gojo Satoru: Saw it on the news

|| 10:31am You: don’t you mean

|| 10:31am You: the mews

|| 10:31am You: haha get it

|| 10:31am You: because of mew

He blinks at his phone screen, and then his lips purse. The cuteness aggression he has felt today is enough to kill a grown man, and he has to set his phone down to deal with the wide grin that spreads across his face from your messages. He rubs a hand across his mouth and over his jaw, to ease the sore to the cheeks of his muscles from the way he can’t help the stupid way he’s cheesing over you, and it’s almost embarrassing if it didn’t make his heart beat fast in his chest in the same flush way he feels at the end of a good run or an exciting soccer match.

And while he tries to contain his face despite the lack of any witnesses, except for the kitten curled up in his lap, he realizes it’s been minutes since he responded to you.

He falls back onto the bed, head hitting the pillow while he sets his hand holding his phone down on his chest to read your message. Mr gta crawls up from his lap to sit in front of his phone screen, and Gojo has to tilt his head to look past the obstructing view of his wispy floofy tail.

|| 10:35am you: sorry. was that lame :(

Mr gta meows incessantly at the phone as if in response to you. “Yeahhh I know. She’s really cute, isn’t she.” And then Gojo scratches behind his pointy little ear with his index finger. Mr gta entirely leans into the sensation, purring loudly almost on command before he’s meowing again in a tiny voice.

Mr gta reaches his paw out, pressing it against the bright screen of Gojo’s phone, typing nonsensical letters because he doesn’t know the English lexicon, or any lexicon for that matter other than purr and meow and hiss.

Gojo thinks nothing of it, until his paw accidentally presses the blue send button.

|| 10:37am Gojo Satoru: sjhdfhh

|| 10:38am You: huh?

|| 10:39am Gojo Satoru: Sorry

|| 10:39am Gojo Satoru: That was the cat

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyeeddd lol gojo as a cat dad was not in my plans for kickoff at all but this was fun to write alskdjdh i want a lil kitty so baaaaad </3 anywho, like i mentioned, this will be the last drabble from ch10 haha we shall move on to ch11 now 😼 but there will def be more mr gta appearances in kickoff bc that’s gojo’s lil baby now :”) thanks sm for reading!! love u guys

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Things that take time & many tries to get right:

learning to be a good friend/partner

healing from depression, failures or heartbreak

becoming amazing at an art or skill

overcoming anxiety, insecurities and low body image

overcoming the need to isolate yourself

changing self-hating thoughts to kinder ones

making a real connection with someone

overcoming self-defeating and self-sabotaging thoughts

learning how to study effectively

finding a sense of stability and calmness at your core

quitting habits or addictions

leaving people and behaviours that turn you into the worst version of yourself

getting used to healthier coping mechanisms & mindsets that feel fake

treating yourself like you truly care about yourself

becoming the person you always wanted to be

tenderness is in the hands ― Carolyn Forché, L’Avventura (1960), Ocean Vuong, The White Ribbon (2009), Hart Crane, Gelatin Silver, Love (2009), Ingeborg Bachmann, Les amants du Pont-Neuf (1991), Sylvia Plath, Psycho (1960), Rod McKuen (stills by @forhandsthatsuffer)