Susxiao - Bsd 122…

also ruined my birthday but we don't talk about that

Oikawa 🤝 Atsumu

Interpreted by fandom as huge whiny assholes who cant do anything without their calm collected bf's

Haikyuu fandom... Please stop hating strong characters.

i cherish you, halcyon days (gojou satoru x reader)

“you’re gonna die, kid. in the worst way possible. but because i like you so much, i’ll let you ask three questions about it.” you’re 15 years old when you’re told you’re going to die. you’re 17 when you realize who your killer will be. and you’re a day away from turning 18 when you make peace with the fact you wouldn’t want it any other way.

tags: gn!reader, annoyance to friends to lovers, you and gojou share a birthday month and you're not amused, it's canon that jujutsu school curriculum last 4 years so don't say nothin' when i mention 4th year students

[2004. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 1st year]

Do you like Gojou Satoru?

If someone were to ask you that, you would have to answer ‘no’. You’d answer ‘no’ even if no one asked. Gojou Satoru is impossible for you to like from his stupid sunglasses to his shit-eating grins. Even worse is his arrogance. It’s only an additional sprinkle of salt in the wound when you found out later in the year that he was rich, part of some big name clan in the world of jujutsu you yourself were only scouted into.

I don’t like him at all.

You’re the odd man out in your class, though. Despite your less than stellar review of the boy, your classmates, Suguru and Shoko, got along just fine with him.

To spite you even further, it seemed the universe enjoyed pinning the two of you together as well.

It wasn’t enough for the universe to have you both in the same school, year and class. No, you even shared a birthday month.

Gojou’s December 7th to your December 9th.

The week of your shared births, Gojou was especially intolerable. “You’re the baby of the class,” he’d taunt gleefully like he wasn’t only two days older than you. 

To cut on time and effort, your teacher and classmates decided that from 1st year on, December 8th would be the day both of your birthdays were celebrated. And thus, December 8th was 'Satoru and [First] Day'. Your cake was his cake and present unwrapping was a joint activity.

By the gods, I wanna punch him so much.

At the very least, you can rest easy in knowing the fact that the feelings of dislike are mutual.

Gojou Satoru is strong, it’s an irrefutable fact no matter how much you’d like to deny it. He’s strong and in turn, the strong are the only ones Gojou respects. You apparently don’t make the cut.

And that’s fine. Strength came in all sorts of ways. You disliked Gojou Satoru but you could live with the fact that, at the very least, you were going to be stuck together for four years. Because even if he was strong, life sometimes paid you back with small moments of grace where someone put the golden boy of the Gojou Clan in his place.

You thought it was one of those days when you met Takamatsu Akira. It was a week before your birthday when he told you were going to die.

You raise an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name, “who?” It’s lunch at Jujutsu Tech and you’re eating with your classmates when Shoko name dropped a person you never heard of. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“He’s a sorcerer that can see glimpses of a person’s future when he looks at them,” Suguru answers in her stead over a sip of his oi ocha. “He’s apparently at the school today for some sort of meeting.

"Hands off the goods," your eyes widen in amazement as you quickly smack away Gojou’s hand from your lunch. “Really? And it’s all accurate too?”

“He’s a major asshole, though,” the white-haired boy hisses with a pout. You roll your eyes. I’m not sure how reliable your words are if you of all people are calling someone an asshole. Your incredulousness must show on your face because Gojou’s next words are, “seriously! He only tells people he thinks have interesting futures anything about it.”

“And?”

“Satoru’s just mad because apparently his future isn’t interesting,” Suguru smirks, smugly welcoming his best friend’s unamused side eye. “He told me about mine though.”

You bite back a snort when your curiosity to know Suguru's fortune wins. “What did he say about it?”

Suguru touched his chin thoughtfully, recalling back the day he met the seer. “He said that one day I’ll be stuck at a crossroads between two paths and make a life changing decision,” he pauses dramatically and you lean forward in anticipation. “That’s all he told me though.”

Damn it.

The brown-eyed boy chuckles but he shoots you a look of amused sympathy, “he never really tells you too much about it apparently. I was disappointed too.”

“Did he ever tell you anything about your future, Shoko?” You ask your class’ resident slacker.

Shoko shook her head, bob gently moving with her. “I’m one of the boring ones too,” she says with a lazy wave of her hand. “Like Gojou.”

“Don’t worry, my friends,” Suguru places a hand over his chest and bows with far too much grace and humility. “I alone will shoulder the burden of having an interesting future. Unlike Satoru.”

You choke, unable to stop yourself from chortling this time. Whatever Gojou sputters in his self-defense, you don’t hear it over the sound of your own laughter. “Maybe he’ll tell me about my future too,” you sigh when your giggles subside. You sincerely doubt it, but it’s fun to think about the possibilities. I want an interesting life plot twist, like the reveal I’m actually a long-lost member of some royal family he just won’t tell me which one.

“He’ll probably stop by because you’re here,” Shoko rests her chin on her palm. You were the newest in your class, starting a month later than the rest. “He likes seeing if new students will have interesting futures ahead of them.”

“Don’t get too excited, [First],” Gojou quickly rains on your parade with a lot of arrogance for someone whose future is apparently so boring a seer won’t even talk to him about it. “I’m the most interesting person in this place and he won’t even talk to me. So who knows what sort of reaction you’ll get.”

“Oh quit being bitter that your future is gonna be boring, asshole,” before any other quips and gripes can be exchanged, the class door slides open abruptly. You look over with a start, wondering if it’s your teacher when you see it isn’t. The man is a bit younger than Yaga but his hair is already graying and his eyes are a deep green reminiscent of pine trees. You have a feeling you already know who it is and grin. “You wouldn’t happen to be Takamatsu Akira, would you? Gojou here was telling me about his boring future soー” you stop yourself with a shudder when you blinked and realized that man was in front of your face and much too close for comfort.

“Now that is something,” the man blinks owlishly, eyes almost glowing in his amazement.

Your discomfort flies away faster than a seagull with someone else’s lunch, “really?”

The man leans back with a grin and a snap of his fingers, “really, really.”

With that you look at Gojou and stick out your tongue and he sticks his tongue in return. 

[First] 1, Gojou 0. 

Suguru chuckles and Shoko grins and all the while, Gojou Satoru flicks your forehead too quickly for you to react. “Look, hater, it isn’t my fault that your future’s boring, quit trying to rain on my parade,” you snicker, batting your eyelashes. “Mr. Takamatsu, I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me about my future if you don’t mind. Before the naysayers get more butthurt than they already are.”

“You’re gonna die, kid.” 

With four words, your blood freezes and you find yourself blinking once, twice slowly. It’s the matching looks of shock and surprise on your classmates' faces that tells you you heard Takamatsu correctly. Stiffly, you look back at the seer hoping for that revelation to be nothing but a joke, but instead you find yourself looking at a maniacal grin. That grin feels more like a knife in your gut. “In the worst way possible.”

The knife sinks deeper into your flesh, twisting.

“Hey,” out of the four of you, Gojou is the one who finds his voice first.

Takamatsu ignores the boy with snow white hair as if he’s nothing but a minor breeze, “But,” he beams like he’s only told you that he found a discount at the convenience store. “Because I like you so much, I’ll let you ask three questions about it.”

“O-okay,” you stammer almost instinctively. Like a zombie, you find yourself stumbling onto your feet and Takamatsu nods at the door. These answers will be for you and you alone. You aren’t sure what expression you wear on your face as you exit, nor the expressions of your peers. You can't bring yourself to look at them as you follow the future-seeing sorcerer into the halls of your school.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to die.

In the worst way possible.

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that the seer halts his walking in the middle of the hall to look at you. “Feel free to ask your questions,” he tells you. “Your classmates shouldn’t be able to hear, even if they keep looking out the door. So ask away,” he reassures you, waving his hand nonchalantly.

You glance to your left and sure enough there are three heads leaning out of the door, staring straight at you both. You can’t bring yourself to smile reassuringly before you return your gaze to the sorcerer in front of you.

Three questions.

Your first question can only be so obvious. “Howー how do I die?”

Takamatsu’s amusement is sapped from his face at that question. “Really?” He yawns with a shake of his head. “That’s what you’re going to ask? That’s quite boring.”

Boring? Boring?! It’s my life! “Yeah but-”

“You know what, fine,” Takamatsu sighs, crossing his arms. He recalls his vision in his mind for a moment before he opens his lips. “You’re going to be killed by someone precious to you. Ask me something more… riveting this time.”

You blink slowly.

You’re going to be killed by someone you care about.

When do I die?

Was it an accident?

On purpose?

Why would they want to kill me?

You don’t think those are questions Takamatsu will find intriguing in the slightest. In a panic, you ask the most original question that enters your brain. “Do I die… angry at them?” No. Fucking. Shit, me. “Wait, that was dumb don’t answer th-”

“Nope, it counts,” Takamatsu clicks his tongue. Maybe it’s payback for your first question being so predictable and unoriginal. “And my answer for that is no. Your heart will surprisingly bear no anger towards the person who kills you.” A revelation that shakes you to the core. “Well, one question left to go, kid. No more mess ups, I’ll take it even if it’s something as a dumb as a repeat question.”

“Okay, okay,” you exhale nervously, biting your lip. I need to think.

You know yourself.

You’re selfish at times, who isn’t? If it really came down to it though, you know you’d always put someone else’s life over your own. You can talk big, you can snort when you watch a movie and say ‘yeah sorry, they’d be stuck on their own. I’m not dying in a situation like that, I’d wanna go home’. But you know yourself enough to know that despite thinking it, your feet would inevitably turn towards the other person. Maybe you’d die in the end but you know you’d try your damnedest to get them out.

Why else would you put yourself on the line fighting curses?

But I’d like to think that in a life or death fight where it’s me or them, I’d choose me. You shake your head pushing the thought to the side. You almost forgot the most important detail. Your killer will be someone who matters to you. But I won’t be mad about it. If it was life or death, I’d choose me. I know that. Stranger on the street or a lifelong sworn enemy. And I know if I was killed by someone, I’d definitely be bitter about it. I’m not that forgiving.

Future you isn’t in agreement. Your eyes turn to the ground.

Is it a life or death fight situation or an accident? You open your mouth briefly before closing it again.

They’re precious to me.

They’re someone I care about.

But I won’t be angry.

I mustn’t have been trying that hard then, you wet your lips as a light bulb flickers deeply in the recesses of your mind. You couldn’t have been. How else could your future self’s lack of anger be justified? One day, there will be someone you care for so greatly that even in a life or death battle, you’d still choose them.

You raise your head to look into dark green eyes dancing with amusement, a grin accompanying them. The grin morphs from clear to distorted at the welling of tears in your eyes. I wasn’t trying. “I must really love this person, don’t I?”

Takamatsu's grin grows even wider, eyes flashing in pleasant surprise. “Yeah,” he leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “It seems like you do.”

Tears roll down your cheeks like streams into a river yet your arms hang loosely at your side. “That’s three questions then,” you murmur, throat constricting. You inhale slowly, hold your breath and release before wiping your eyes. “Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Takamatsu. Lunch is gonna be over soon, so I’m gonna go finish eating now.”

You bow before turning on your heel back to your class, your classmates are still there. You don’t really care to receive their pity or empathy.

“I’m gonna die, it’s gonna suck and that’s all he really told me,” you say before anyone can ask. You bite into your egg harshly.

.

It’s hours after classes have ended for the day and you’re cooking in the communal kitchen when you see Gojou again. 

“Hey,” Gojou says and his tone is so serious it startles you. You set your knife down on the cutting board before looking at him. His face doesn’t seem right to you and it dawns on you a second later it’s because he’s frowning and it’s not the usual childish frown you’re used to seeing. “Don’t take what that guy said seriously. Like I said, he’s an asshole. He was probably saying all of that to freak you out.” There’s a pause and Gojou scratches the back of his head, looking uncomfortable in his skin. “So don’t, like, cry about it. Takamatsu’s a prick.”

“Are you,” you squint, looking Gojou over suspiciously. “Trying to make me feel better or something in your own weird Gojou way?”

“Someone has to make sure the class baby isn’t drowning in their sorrows,” Gojou returns to his usual brand of cocky, with a grin. His sunglasses slide down, revealing playful eyes.

“I don’t want the comfort then,” you roll your eyes and return to chopping your vegetables. “Besides, I don’t need it anyways, I’m strong”

“Eeeeh.”

Asshole.

“There’s different kinds of strong, you jackass,” you argue for argument’s sake. You vaguely notice that in spite of your annoyance, your shoulders aren’t stiff and your jaw is loose. Apparently Gojou is good for something, after all. “Strong looks different for different people. A kid is strong when they act tough after tripping. A grown man crying and being open with his emotions is strong,” you recount some of the ways you’ve seen people be strong in your life. You’ve witnessed strength in various ways in your 15 years of living. “... Even just living despite how hard it can be is strong.”

Save for the sound of you cutting green celery and the light simmer of the pan, silence falls over the two of you.

“What did you guys talk about when he said you could ask him questions?”

“... nothing important.”

[2005. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 2nd year]

You’re 16 and you’re still alive and kicking.

You’re an upperclassman now, not that it means anything when there are still two whole grades of jujutsu schooling ahead of you. Still, you welcome the newfound responsibilities and admiration you receive in going up a level. At least, one of your underclassmen seems to admire you. Haibara Yuu does, though you’re pretty sure he adores Suguru even more. Nanami Kento is nice though, albeit a bit reserved.

The three of them are like you, individuals scouted into the world of curses and sorcerers rather than born into it. It’s nice to know you’re not alone in that sense.

Even if they weren’t, however, you’re sure that Gojou’s presence would find a way to override any sort of 'being alone'. You can’t be alone when he’s around even if you want to.

Gojou is just as annoying as he was when you were first years, but he’s surprisingly more tolerable.

He still bothers you whenever he has the chance and he still refers to you as the ‘class baby’. You’d also be lying to yourself if you said his hubris has gone down since you first met. He’s just as smug as he’s always been but it’s a bit easier seeing the charm in it in your second year compared to your first.

So maybe ー in the absolute loosest sense of the word ー the two of you have become friends. Something like it at least.

This is why you don’t mind it when the boy plops his ass on your desk when you’re trying to read the recent volume of Fruits Basket to tell you about his newest feats he accomplished on his most recent mission. Nor do you mind it much when he follows you to the dorms to continue telling you what feels like an exaggerated tale, but you know Gojou’s abilities enough to know that 99% percent of it is true.

“So yeah,” he finishes with an air of satisfaction, nose pointing towards the sky with pride. “You could say that Suguru really didn’t even need to come, I pretty much crushed it by myself.”

You’re pretty sure if Suguru was here, Gojou would be in a headlock. “Better not let your bestie catch you saying that,” you warn playfully.

“Come on, [First],” Gojou beams broadly with no care in the world. “Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to praise me?”

You shake your head in bemusement, smiling lightly. “I can admit it, I’m impressed,” your words are genuine. With all the blessings he has in the world, being strong is the standard for your classmate. He’s a natural talent to boot. Yet for all his nonchalance, you can give credit where credit is due. The guy works hard to perfect his techniques and he’s a perpetual motion machine when it comes to improvement. “Good job, Gojou, you’ve worked really hard. I’m happy you’re seeing the payoff.”

It takes you a second to realize that you’re walking by yourself and you turn around, eyebrow quirked. “What’s up?” Gojou doesn’t respond immediately and you have no idea what his eyes look like beneath the sunglasses. “Hey are you alright?”

The boy comes to at your prodding, sauntering after you lazily, “nothing, nothing,” Gojou replies smoothly with a grin. “I am pretty great, huh?”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Gojou,” you give him a light shove that barely moves him an inch. Geez he’s a giant, you won’t be surprised if in the future he’s taller than even Yaga.

“Since I’m working so hard, do you think you could make me a congratulatory lunch tomorrow?” You’re pretty sure he isn’t serious. Or at the very least you’re sure Gojou expects your answer to be negative. You never cook for him, the closest he ever gets is pilfering samples of it before you chase him out of the kitchen. “Just ki-”

“Sure, what do you want?”

With near comedic timing, Gojou’s shades slide down the bridge of his nose and his eyes are wide in astonishment. “Seriously?”

Your grin widens, “I can change my mind if you-”

“No, no, no! No take backs allowed, [First]!” Gojou covers your mouth with a large palm. “I’m putting in my special requests!”

You move his hand from your mouth with a sage nod, “then please make your requests, young pupil, I’ll prepare you a feast of feasts!” Gojou opens his mouth promptly, giddy. “Within reason.”

You snicker when he whines about the unfairness of your new stipulations.

It takes a week before lunch becomes dinner too.

Gojou’s nice sometimes, you can admit.

And maybe you can also admit that you are ー in more than the loosest sense of the word ー actually friends. A friend whose status as a special grade sorcerer is something  you can be proud of rather than annoyed by. He’s reckless and sometimes that recklessness gets him in trouble, but still you enjoy his company when you have it. Even if sometimes he gets you in trouble because of his shenanigans. Or even when he is annoying Utahime whom he is presently taunting in favor of saying her partner for this mission is stronger than she is.

“Mei Mei,” you wave your fingers daintily at the strong partner in question. “Finally gonna let me take you out some time?” You’re mostly joking. 5% at least. Beautiful as she is, Mei Mei isn’t really your type.

The blue-haired sorcerer laughs lightly, crossing her arms, “I’ll have to warn you that my dinners aren’t cheap.”

“Worry not, I’m an amazing cook,” you’re barely able to wink in the money-loving sorcerer’s direction when Gojou’s lanky arm is thrown over your shoulder and he saunters over to a distressed Utahime. “What the heck!”

“Check out how the path Utahime walked on is falling apart,” Gojou snickers.

“Oh shut up,” Suguru looks far too pleased to actually mean his words though.

For Utahime’s sake, you fight back the urge to giggle at their tomfoolery. You like Utahime, you bonded in your first year over finding Gojou Satoru’s presence an annoyance. You’ve sadly, however, become a bit of a traitor to your Hating Gojou Alliance, much to her dismay when you confessed months prior that you and Gojou had become chill.

“By the way,” Mei Mei brings the conversation back to a reasonable plane. “Where’s the veil?”

Gojou’s nice sometimes, you can admit. And maybe you can also admit that you are ー in more than the loosest sense of the word ー actually friends. A friend you can be proud of. A friend whose company you enjoy even if sometimes he gets you in trouble because of his shenanigans.

Like the fact you somehow forgot to put up the veil?! How the hell do you forget to put up the veil?! Nevermind the fact you technically forgot too, Gojou was the one who said he’d put it up. That’s why you have no problem pointing in his direction when Yaga sternly asks who was the Forget Futaba in your band.

“Is a veil that necessary in the first place,” Gojou whines in the gym later in the afternoon. “It’s not like it matters if normies see or not, right? They can’t see cursed spirits or cursed techniques anyway.”

“Pretty sure it’s for the best that normal people don’t start seeing spontaneously exploding buildings on the regular, Gojou,” you watch with an impressed whistle at how your classmate tosses a basketball effortlessly to a hoop. You’re sure if Suguru hadn’t stopped it, the ball would have been a perfect three pointer.

“Of course it’s not good for them to see,” Suguru affirms your words resolutely. “The strongest deterrent against the outbreak of cursed spirits is the mental calm of the populace.” It becomes a battle of the philosophies when Gojou steals the ball back with finesse.

“Looking out for the weak is so exhausting, honestly,” Gojou sighs and Suguru shoots back with narrowed eyes 'Survival of the Weakest'. “Assigning reasons and responsibility to strength is what those who are weak do.”

Should we…? You glance at Shoko.

Yeah, we probably should. The brunette glances back.

“Time to dip,” Shoko sprints out of the gymnasium faster than you’ve ever seen her.

“I’ve got a pretty wild date with Battle Royale right now,” you skip after her in a hurry right as Suguru summons one of his cursed spirits like it's a pokemon.

The next time you see Gojou, he knocks and enters your room when you go ‘huh?’ “Yo, I’ve got a mission.”

“Already?” You raise an eyebrow. “We just got back from the Mei Mei and Utahime thing.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “ Teach says we have to protect the star plasma vessel.”

“That information got leaked?”

“Wait, you know what the star plasma vessel is?”

“Tengen stuff is, like, the bare minimum of stuff we should have learned about in first year, Gojou.”

“... anyways, Suguru and I are heading out early tomorrow,” he says, like what you told him moments prior wasn’t anything important.

You smile with pride, “well, that’s a pretty big mission for a couple of students to have,” it really is, honestly. If anything, that’s something you think the adults should have. It’s pretty cool that two of your classmates were chosen for it. “That’s cool. You should be really proud of yourself, Gojou.”

Your words get his lips to morph into a smile a bit more authentic and veritable than his usual smug grins and confident jeers. “I am pretty cool, huh?”

You roll your eyes in good fun before looking at your book again. Your favorite character's dead but you at least wanna see who gets off this shitty island. “Y’all not still fighting about earlier are you?”

“Nah, we’re over it,” Gojou sits at a chair by your bedside desk, swirling in it. “It’s whatever in the end. Suguru can believe whatever he wants.” A silence somewhere between comfortable but hesitant falls over you briefly before Gojou asks, “you believe that stuff he was saying too?”

“Dunno, you’re probably asking the wrong person,” you turn the page with a shrug. It’s been nearly a year since you met Takamatsu Akira. Nearly a year since you were told someone you loved would kill you in the worst way possible and yet you’d have no anger in your heart about it. The future is technically always changing. It’s never stagnant. If you wanted, you could take what the seer said to heart and run with your tail between your legs. Yet here you were, laid on your stomach reading Battle Royale in your room located in Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College instead of elsewhere; living in perpetual paranoia about any relationship you have. “The weak’s the majority, they need protection. It should be the duty of the strong to protect them. But… I can also get the exhaustion. If you’re the strongest, who’s gonna protect you then?”

You close your mouth and purse your lips thoughtfully and vaguely you find it a bit amazing that Gojou hasn’t made any sort of quip yet.

“But… I guess I probably align myself more with Suguru’s line of thinking,” you decide after a heartbeat. “I’m the one who’s gonna die in the most horrible way possible, remember? But here I am, still kickin’ it here with you guys. I should probably run while I have the chance, huh?”

“I already told you not to listen to that crap,” you look away from your book, surprised at the harshness in Gojou’s tone. Your eyes look into angry azure and you glance away just as quickly. “That guy’s a prick. There’s no point in listening to him. So quit worrying your pretty little head about that. You’re supposed to be strong, right?”

Your eyes skim over your book, not sure what else to settle your eyes on. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m pretty strong, I guess.”

That appears to be the right answer. “Exactly, so stop giving that stuff he said the time of day.”

You chuckle, “yeah you’re right, sorry,” ‘I’m always right’ Gojou says flippantly and you find your head shaking with a warmth settling in your chest. “Grab me a souvenir or two while you’re gone, Mr. Special Grade.”

“I’m not leaving Tokyo, you know,” Gojou tosses a crumpled piece of paper at your head. 

“So?” You toss the paper back, watching as it bounced off his infinity. Cheater. “Grab me something extra nice anyways! I deserve it as payback for cooking for you all the time, you eat like a horse.”

The mission goes horribly wrong.

Shoko tells you over a phone call that the mission went horribly wrong in all the worst ways. Suguru was injured. Gojou was dead.

Parts of campus look like it was hit by a tornado when you get there, out of breath, lungs screaming but you still push through it to get Suguru’s room banging on the door. “Su-”

“Satoru’s okay,” is the first thing out of his mouth when he opens the door and your knees almost buckle in your relief. “He’s alive. He was injured but he’s alive. He’s in his room, right now.”

He’s okay.

He’s okay.

Your breath is shaky as you let your friend’s words permeate through your entire being. “That,” you lick your lips, holding yourself. “That’s good.” It’s all you can say although it doesn’t encompass even a tenth of the emotion you feel. “I’m glad you’re both alright.” The quiet is almost deafening; what do you say to ease the hurt when the mission went wrong in every way it could have? “I’m gonna start cooking in an hour or two. I’ll bring you something to eat later, any requests?”

“It’s okay,” Suguru’s smile is small but polite. “I’m not that hungry. Maybe Satoru’ll eat something.” The door closes promptly before you can ask if your friend is sure he doesn’t want anything. I’ll check on you again later, I promise.

Your nerves are frazzled when your eyes sweep over to the door that leads to Gojou’s room, hardly able to make yourself move towards it.

“He was injured but he’s alive.”

How injured is injured?

Has he gone to see Shoko?

“Gojou?” Your knock is barely audible.

You knock once more with a soft confidence.

“Satoru?” Your voice falters, just above being a whisper. “Hey, it’s me. I know you probably don’t want to talk right now but I just want you to know I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. If you wanna talk, I’m just down the hall, okay?” You pause, ears straining to hear anything on the other side of the door. You’re met with silence. “Get some rest. I’ll bring you dinner later, alright?”

With a sigh, you turn around to go to your room only for your heart to leap out of your chest when you realize someone is already in it. You jump, clutching your chest when you realize it’s Satoru, sitting on your bed with his back slumped against the wall.

He looks like hell and impossibly small wrapped in your blanket. Russet stains his white locks that are even messier than usual and his eyes have a chilling emptiness to them. He doesn’t meet your eyes, you aren’t sure if he has the will to. You don’t have the will to say anything despite the thoughts running through your head.

Wordlessly, Satoru raises the blanket in an invitation. Like he’s welcoming you through a barrier.

So wordlessly, you sit on your bed and nestle beside him. You don’t mind the scent of sweat, blood and dirt. Nor do you mind when the tall and lanky teen slumps against your side, resting his head atop yours. You simply find his hand and brush your fingers together, feeling the roughness of his callouses, before twining your fingers with his.

You clutch each other’s hands almost painfully.

[2006. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 3rd year]

It’s you, isn’t it?

You realize that one day Satoru is going to kill you on a rainy night in December in your room laying on your bed. The two of you had taken to sharing a space on nights you felt lonely since you were 16 and the star plasma vessel mission went wrong in every way possible. Last week, you both turned 17.

Another year has past and you're still alive and kicking.

You’re facing each other, your head resting on your hand with your elbow angled to keep your head up.

“You won’t leave too, right?” Satoru asks softly, fingers messing with a stray string on your shirt.

Suguru’s gone. So is Haibara.

Both are gone in different ways.

Death is what took Haibara, leaving Nanami Jujutsu Tech’s sole second year.

Suguru was swallowed in madness and disillusionment, defecting to accomplish a new goal of creating a world with only jujutsu sorcerers.

It stings, but you know Satoru is hurt the most.

“It’s unfortunate to tell you but you’re pretty much stuck with me, Satoru,” you give him a weak nudge with your free hand.

“Even though Takamatsu said you’re going to die?”

“We’re all gonna die someday,” you tell him easily. It’s you. You aren’t sure how you’re able to smile like you aren’t having the worst realization in the world but you smile. “Besides, you’re the one who said not to worry about that, right? Because I’m strong.”

“Yeah,” Satoru whispers. “You’re strong.”

“And you’re the strongest sorcerer in the world,” you remind him unnecessarily. It is an inherent fact of the world. Gojou Satoru, born only two days before you came into this world, shook the entire world when he was born.

“And because you’re the strongest, that’s why I have to stay with you,” you run your fingers through his hair gently. When is he going to do it? When is everything going to go wrong? You want to remember every feature he has before you one day have no choice but to leave them behind. “Who’s going to protect you otherwise?”

Satoru smiles for the first time that night, looking up at you almost dreamily from where he lays. “You’re gonna protect me?”

“Yeah,” you vow sincerely.

[2007. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 4th year]

“Happy birthday to us, happy birthday to us,” Satoru sings crudely while you roll your eyes. It’s technically neither of your birthdays. It’s the 8th, the one day mid-point between your birthdays. The Official ‘Satoru-[First]’ Birthday Bash Celebration. Contrast to your first year as a student at Jujutsu Tech, you find yourself in a more pleasant mood about it. “Happy birthday to the both of us, happy birthday to us!”

“Isn’t it a bit too early to sing,” you shake your head with a chuckle. 

“Early shmurly,” Satoru shrugs off your nonchalant concern like water off a duck’s back. You can’t bring yourself to scold him. “They throw us a surprise party every year. It’s not even a surprise if we know it’s coming. They always make us wait all day in class or tell us to leave campus though.”

“It’s part of the atmosphere, Satoru. Tradition!” You grin, giving his leg a light flick as he plops his ass right on top of your desk. “We gotta wait and act completely oblivious to everything until someone tells us to head to the dorms.”

It’s nice to see him smiling. It’s his second birthday without his best friend. A fact that will always resonate through your reality like ripples through the water.

“You’ll like my gift the best by the way,” you tell him with a self-assured confidence. 

“Funny, I was about to say that to you,” Satoru winks, leg swinging lazily. He’s not wearing his sunglasses for onceー they’re off to the side resting on the teacher’s podium. “Of course, my gifts are always the best.”

A comfortable silence fills the room and you close your eyes.

Tomorrow you turn 18 and you’re still alive and kicking.

Moments like this make it hard to believe that one day you won’t be. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you told Satoru the truth of everything Takamatsu told you that day. You consider telling him this very moment, eyes resting on his face. He's smiling gently to himself, thinking about something unknown to you.

He’s so beautiful it makes you want to cry.

“Hey,” you can barely hear yourself.

“Hmm?” Satoru looks at you, lips upturned in a mellow, peaceful expression.

“We should get married.”

One second passes,

two seconds.

“Yeah, we should,” Satoru nods, seemingly enchanted.

You blink dumbly, “what?”

“Let’s do it,” Satoru repeats himself purposefully. “Let’s get married.”

“... Satoru, I was 60% joking when I said that,” you don’t even know why that’s what came out of your mouth.

In spite of your attempt to brush him off, Satoru stands to his feet all the more determined. His large hands cup yours gently as he pulls you into standing with him. “And I’m being 100% serious,” he means it, you can see it in his eyes. They’re more clear than any lake you’ve seen. “Let’s get married. We can go after your birthday.”

“Satoru, we’re high schoolers,” you try reasoning.

“We’re old enough to get married in this country.”

Despite that fact, you shake your head again, “we’re not getting married in high school.”

“Then we can tie the knot after we graduate,” Satoru decides like that’s the only issue at present.

“Fresh out of high school?”

“Fresh out of high school,” he affirms. “We can have a big wedding just like in the movies. Whatever you want. We’ve already got the headstart on the kids with that Zenin kid and his sister.”

You find yourself laughing unexpectedly at the absurdity, at the certainty. “Satoru.”

“[First].”

“Your clan is not gonna be happy with you marrying some jujutsu nobody,” you tell him.

“Like I care what a bunch of old farts think.”

“I’m pretty sure your parents aren’t gonna like me.”

“I’ll love you enough to make up for it,” Satoru rests his forehead on yours. That motion alone damn near breaks your heart. “I wanna marry you, [First].”

“Yeah,” you sniff. This boy who is quickly becoming a man in front of your very eyes is beautiful enough to make you cry. “Let’s get married.”

For a smile so small, it beams like a thousand suns, “Right after we graduate?”

“Right after we graduate.”

“Even if you think my parents aren’t gonna like you?”

“Screw ‘em. I’ll love you more than enough to make up for it.”

One day Gojou Satoru is going to kill you.

You don’t know what will lead you down the path of finding yourself on the opposing side of the boy you’ve grown to love. You don’t know whether it will be a death that’s accidental or as intentional as Suguru’s defection from your organization.

So many unknowns, yet the fact remains the sameー one day you’re going to die and it’s going to be Satoru that sends you to the other side. You let him kiss you despite that fact.

It’s you.

You know it in your heart.

Because if someone were to ask you if Gojou Satoru was precious enough to you that you wouldn’t bear any anger towards him for killing you, you knew what your answer would be in a heartbeat.

Yes, you kiss him tenderly, holding his face in your hands while your heart cupped the precious memories you shared. Memories you would never allow yourself to forget. The halcyon days of past, present and future. He is.

[20xx. kuzuivencdcsusahduvtaydr ー ???? oayn]

It’s snowing in Tokyo, a lot of it.

That’s not common for the area of Japan you live in.

Maybe Tokyo will see one or two days of light snowfall, but it’s almost never enough to cloak the city like this. That’s why it’s a perfect day for a snowball fight and it is perfect, save for the fact that Satoru is definitely cheating.

His tosses may be light but the jerk still has on his infinity, your snow dissipating in powdery puffs whenever it hits the barrier keeping him perpetually safe.

You can’t stop yourself from giggling though, even as he pelts you with an unfair barrage of snow.

The laugh is barreling from your form even more when Satoru rushes you out of nowhere, the largest snowball you’ve ever seen in his hands laughing like he’s five. Your fall is softened by the snow underneath you, barely even much of a drop, and Satoru’s on top of you with his legs on either side of your torso.

He’s merciful enough not to slam dunk his snowball of fury into your face though.

“Okay, okay, you win!” You laugh good naturedly. “Please, Gojou Satoru, I yield!” Despite your words, your hand is working quickly on the side to form a snowball. He’s touching you, you can feel the warmth of his legs on either side of you. His infinity’s down then. You open your eyes mischievously, bracing yourself for a toss when you feel something warm fall onto your face.

One drop,

two drops.

Your breath falters.

“Why are you crying, Satoru?” 

It occurs to you then in all your years of knowing him, you’ve never seen Satoru cry. Yet there he is, right atop you, holding the world’s largest snowball in his trembling arms. All the while, tears are running down his face, flowing from those beautiful eyes of his. Those eyes filled with a greater sadness than you’ve ever seen as he looks at you.

The snowball you were clutching drops from your hand immediately in your concern, “hey what’s wrong?”

Satoru doesn’t answer you. Instead, the strongest sorcerer in the world drapes himself over you with body-wracking sobs. The snowball he was holding has disappeared to who knows where, his hands now clutching the front of your jacket tightly. Satoru’s only response is his body-wracking sobs, his knuckles painfully white. He sobs, sobs and sobs like you’ve never seen before.

Slowly, you bring your arms up to hug him and nuzzle the top of his hair that matches the snow around you. “It’s okay,” you whisper to the boy crying in your arms. You smile softly and you close your eyes once more. “It’s okay,” you tell him again. “I'll protect you.”

i was inspired by chainsaw man with the idea of a future devil sorcerer and a reader who shares the same fate as aki

*bonus note: also in japan, the legal age marrying age for women is 16 and men is 18, i heard from a prof they're working on changing that but at least during the setting the time of the fic that is still the same so hence why you'd both be of marrying age despite still being students

*final note: i am a huge final fantasy nerd and the final chapter is written in al bhed, a language from final fantasy x. feel free to use this translator

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER TEN: NEVER WOUND WHAT YOU CAN'T KILL

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ Man, what kind of asshole robs a cafe? There's that familiar poking feeling in your gums. Your body leaps over the counter, tackling the man to the floor. Your fangs fully unsheathe and you make sure that the struggle blocks what you're doing from view. You yank his arm to the side, grabbing the gun out of hand as your teeth sink into his wrist. Your venom pumps into his body. The robber yelps at the pain, before his body gradually stops struggling, slumping. Paralyzing venom, Miguel had deduced, like his.  pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: gunshot wounds, mentions of being paralyzed (its not permanent) wc: 4.1k

While all your other classmates are nervous, you sit and hum to yourself as the final preparations commence. The back of the stage is dimly lit. The large red curtain hides you from the view of the audience. Your ballet shoes are tied snugly, the satin ribbons crisscrossing your ankles in perfect symmetry. You glance around at your fellow dancers, some of them stretching, others whispering last-minute encouragements to each other.

“Well, you seem fine,” says Victoria, coming to your side.

You smile at Victoria, her presence a welcome comfort in the dimly lit backstage area. She looks like the pinnacle of elegance, with her off shoulder ruffles and her sparkly romantic tutu. Her hair is pinned up with flowers. “I don’t really get nervous. Not for this, at least,” you say.

Victoria laughs softly, her eyes twinkling with a mix of excitement and nerves. "I wish I had your calm. Any tips for a nervous wreck?"

You think for a moment, then reply, "Just focus on the music and the movements. Everything else will fall into place."

She nods thoughtfully. "I'll try that. Thanks."

The stage manager's voice breaks through the hushed whispers, calling everyone to their positions. Victoria gives you a quick nod before heading to her spot. You take one last look around, feeling the energy and anticipation building among your fellow dancers.

As you step into your place, the familiar strains of the opening music begin to play. The curtain starts to rise, and the bright stage lights flood the stage, momentarily blinding you. You blink and adjust, finding your mark on the floor.

With a final deep breath, you lift your arms gracefully, your body responding to the music with practiced ease. The audience is out there, but your focus is on the dance, each movement a tribute to the countless hours of preparation and passion that brought you to this moment.

It’s been very long since you participated in a proper performance. You stopped taking classes shortly after you got bit. Occasionally you threw on a youtube video and practiced in your room, just to make sure you still had it. The stage lights feel different now, more intense, more real, yet there’s a comfort in the familiarity of the movements.

As you move into the first steps of the routine, you feel the warmth of the spotlight on your face. The audience fades into the background, and all that exists is the dance. You and Victoria move in perfect harmony, the countless hours of practice evident in your synchronized movements. Your hands find her waist, lifting her into the air with practiced ease. As you lift Victoria into the air, her form light and graceful, the audience gasps in awe. The spotlight glimmers off her sparkly tutu, casting shimmering reflections across the stage. The energy of your fellow dancers surrounds you, creating a powerful synergy that fills the stage.

With each leap, you feel like you’re flying, the exhilaration of the performance pushing you to new heights. Victoria matches your intensity, her face a picture of concentration and grace. The audience is captivated, their eyes following your every move, their applause growing louder with each passing moment.

As the final notes of the music play, you and Victoria come together for the concluding pose. You lift her once more, her body arching gracefully in the air before you set her down gently. You both hold the final position, breathing heavily but smiling, the audience’s applause roaring in your ears.

Your eyes trace the audience as you're held in your final pose. You take in the awed faces of the crowd, their clapping hands and their cheers. Then, you finally see it.

Damian and Jon, sitting among the crowd. Damian you get, but damn, when did you tell Jon about the show? Did Damian tell him? Damian sits comfortably in his chair, eyes half lidded with his hand over his mouth. Jon is leaning forward, eyes wide and sparkling, mouth agape. You chuckle.

With a final bow, the curtain falls, shadowing you and your fellow dancers. Applause follows you as you’re ushered backstage. Your fellow dancers surround you, their faces flushed with joy and accomplishment.

Victoria rushes over, grinning widely. “We did it!” she squeals, gripping your arms.

You laugh. “Thanks to you!”

The backstage is a flurry of activity, dancers congratulating each other, stagehands bustling about, and the stage manager giving everyone a thumbs-up. You take a moment to catch your breath, leaning against the wall.

Victoria comes to lean next to you. “I saw your friends in the crowd,” she says. “Damian and the blue-eyed boy.”

You nod. “Yeah, I didn’t know they were gonna come.”

She raises a brow, making you furrow yours. “What?” you question. She hums and shakes her head. Fine, she can keep her secrets. 

You glance towards the side entrance where you know Damian and Jon will be waiting. The thought of their presence in the audience fills you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Damian's cool composure and Jon's wide-eyed enthusiasm are a perfect contrast, and you can't help but smile at the thought of them sitting there, watching you perform.

The bustle backstage starts to calm down as everyone begins to change out of their costumes and pack up their things. You take a moment to stretch and unwind, the adrenaline from the performance still coursing through your veins.

When you finally step out into the lobby, Damian and Jon are waiting for you. Damian is leaning casually against the wall, his usual smirk in place, while Jon is practically bouncing on his heels, excitement radiating from him.

"That was incredible!" Jon exclaims, rushing over to hug you. "I had no idea you were so talented!"

“ I had no idea you were coming!” you explain, arms coming up to wrap around him.

“Of course I had to come,” he leans back and looks at you as if you just insulted his mother. “Damian said he’d gut me if I didn’t, anyway.”

You raise a brow, looking at Damian smugly. Surprisingly, he doesn’t shy away. He steps forward, holding your gaze with twinkling eyes. “You were impressive.” It isn’t much, but it means a lot coming from him. Even more so he said it to your face.

"Thanks, Damian," you say, feeling your face warm. "I'm really glad you both came."

Jon's enthusiasm is infectious, and he starts animatedly recounting his favorite parts of the performance, his eyes wide with admiration. Damian listens with a small smile, occasionally adding his own observations. Jon gasps suddenly, an idea having come to him.

“Let’s go get dinner!” he suggests, his excitement palpable. You and Damian share a look before you nod, making Damian nod.

“First, I have to say go say bye to everyone, take pictures, you know how it is,” you say. They nod and hold your stuff as you scurry back to everyone else. Hugs are shared and pictures are taken. You make sure to get in a couple of selfies with Victoria. Hurrying back to your boys, you find them waiting by the exit.

Cold air encompasses your trio. Damian and Jon seem unfazed, their excitement warming them against the chill. You start walking down the street, the city lights casting a warm glow on the pavement.

“So, where to?” you ask, turning to Damian.

“You ask me?”

“Well, you’re paying aren’t you?” you grin. “So you should choose.”

Jon chuckles as Damian scoffs, but doesn’t refute. 

“Why not go to Batburger?” Jon asks, smirking at Damian over your shoulder. You laugh as a look of offense crawls onto Damian’s face. “It’s a classic.”

Damian sighs dramatically, then his expression shifts to a more serious one. “I was thinking we could try that new Italian place that just opened up downtown. I hear they have an excellent menu."

Jon shrugs, a mischievous glint still in his eye. "Fine, but next time, it's Batburger."

"Deal," you laugh.

You’re driven to the restaurant, courtesy of Alfred. The energy from the performance still buzzes inside you, and the presence of your friends makes the night feel even more special. As you approach the restaurant, you can see the warm glow of the lights inside, casting a cozy ambiance. The hostess greets you with a smile and leads you to a table near the window, where you can watch the bustling city outside.

Settling into your seats, you glance around at the elegant decor. The restaurant is filled with soft music and the murmur of conversation, creating a relaxing atmosphere. The menu is impressive, filled with a variety of mouth-watering dishes.

“Really fancy,” you comment. “I feel out of place.” Jon nods in agreement, while Damian scoffs.

“Please, this is subpar.” You and Jon share a fond look over Damian’s antics.

As you peruse the menu, Jon begins to gush about the performance again. "Seriously, you were amazing! I can't believe you kept this talent hidden from us."

You laugh, feeling a bit shy from all the praise. "It wasn't really hidden. I just haven't performed in a while."

Damian looks at you thoughtfully. "It's a shame. You should do it more often."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you smile, feeling a warm glow inside. "Maybe I will."

The waiter arrives, and you all place your orders. The conversation flows easily as you wait for your food, the excitement of the evening keeping the energy high. 

“What got you into ballet?” asks Jon.

You can’t say that Aunt May and Uncle Ben enrolled you as a distraction from your parent’s death and to provide an outlet for your grief. “My dad enrolled me in some classes when I was a kid. He saw me getting… restless and said it was a good outlet for me. After that I also did a bunch of stuff on the side, like gymnastics and sports.”

Jon nods, his eyes wide with interest. "That makes sense. You really looked like you were born to dance."

Damian adds, "It's clear you have a natural talent. And you put in the work. That's a powerful combination." You smile, appreciating their words.

Then, Jon surprises you by saying, “I really like your smile.”

You blink, caught off guard by his bluntness. Sparing a look at Damian, you see that he’s staring at Jon. “Thank you,” you say, for lack of anything better to say.

Jon leans forward, his eyes earnest. "No, really. It's infectious. Every time you smile, it lights up the room."

You feel your cheeks warm, surprised yet flattered by Jon's compliment. Damian clears his throat, a subtle hint of amusement in his expression. "Jon's right," he says, his tone casual yet sincere. "Your smile is... captivating." Geez, where is all this coming from?

You chuckle softly, feeling a mix of amusement and warmth at their compliments. "Thanks, both of you. I appreciate that."

Jon grins broadly, clearly pleased with himself for flustering you. "It's true! You should smile more often."

The conversation shifts as your food arrives, and you all dig into your meals, enjoying the delicious flavors and the lively banter. The restaurant buzzes with activity around you, but your table feels like its own little bubble of warmth. Jon tries to recreate one of your dance moves from his seat, almost knocking over his drink, which sends you into a fit of laughter.

Dinner passes, and you all part ways as you head home. You smile at the picture you took at the diner, turning off your phone and changing into your suit for patrol.

On the last Friday before winter break, you and Damian stand before the class, ready to deliver your "Hot Takes" presentation. The room buzzes with anticipation as Ms. Varley introduces you both, her gaze sharp and expectant.

You take a deep breath, feeling Damian's steady presence beside you. Together, you launch into a compelling exploration of Batman's motivations, ethics, and impact on Gotham City. You start by outlining Batman's complex actions. Damian chimes in seamlessly, adding insights into Batman's methods and how they reflect a darker, more pragmatic view of crime-fighting.

The class listens intently, some nodding in agreement while others raise thoughtful questions. You and Damian feed off each other's energy, seamlessly transitioning between points and elaborating on each other's ideas. Your presentation is well-received, eliciting nods of approval and engaged murmurs from your classmates. As you near the conclusion, Damian takes the lead in summarizing your arguments, weaving together the threads of your discussion into a cohesive whole.

By the end of your presentation, you feel a sense of accomplishment wash over you. As you pack up your things and prepare to leave for winter break, Ms. Varley offers a nod of approval, clearly impressed by your thorough analysis and presentation skills. You and Damian exchange a satisfied glance, a silent acknowledgment of a job well done. The two of you walk out, meeting the snow falling on your cheeks outside.

"Well done," Damian says, his voice low but genuine. "You held your ground well."

"Thanks," you reply, feeling a surge of pride at his compliment. "You were great too.”

Damian nods, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "It's a topic I'm familiar with."

"So, any big plans for winter break?" you ask as you walk through the snow-dusted grounds.

Damian shrugs. “I plan to refine my art skills. Nothing much.”

“Sounds like you,” you hum. “Well, I’ll be working. Unless, of course…” you pause, looking at Damian, “...you want to marry me and be my rich husband?”

Damian stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing slightly as he looks at you, processing your playful remark. His lips twitch, almost imperceptibly, hinting at amusement. “Are you proposing?”

You lock your hands behind you back, rocking on your feet cheekily. “And if I am?”

Damian's expression shifts, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he considers your playful challenge. His gaze meets yours, intense and calculating as always, yet softened by a glimmer of something warmer beneath the surface.

"Well," he begins, his voice steady, "marriage is a serious commitment, not to be taken lightly."

You roll your eyes playfully. "Of course, Damian. I'm sure you've thought deeply about it."

His lips twitch again, a bit more pronounced this time. "Indeed. And what would I gain from such a union?"

You shrug nonchalantly, trying to maintain your composure despite the hint of nerves creeping in. "Well, my sparkling wit, unparalleled charm, and the pleasure of my company, obviously."

Damian lets out a quiet chuckle, the sound surprising yet strangely pleasing to your ears. "And in return?"

You pause for a moment, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eye. "Well your money is all I care about, but…” your finger traces his jaw, feeling it twitch under your touch, “...I guess your looks are a nice bonus.”

Damian's eyebrow quirks up at your teasing response, a mix of amusement and something else flickering in his eyes. His gaze holds yours, a silent challenge echoing in the air between you. You feel a thrill of exhilaration mingled with nerves, unsure of where this playful banter might lead.

"You certainly have a way with words," he finally says, his voice low and measured. "But I'm afraid flattery alone won't sway me."

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with a playful smile. "Oh? What will then?"

He steps closer, his presence commanding and strangely inviting. "Actions speak louder than words," he murmurs, his breath brushing against your cheek.

"I believe in thorough consideration," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But some decisions are best made in the moment."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to maintain a playful tone despite the flutter in your chest. "And what kind of action are you looking for?"

Damian's eyes never leave yours, his pupils dilating slightly as he takes another step closer. "Perhaps a demonstration of your commitment," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You breathe, smile twitching as you look down. Huffing a laugh out, you pat his cheek. “You’re good, Dami.”

His brow twitches, looking at you as you distance yourself. You spare him a glance over your shoulder. “No need to give me a ride, It’ll do me good to stretch my legs.”

As you walk through the snow-covered grounds, you can't help but think about Damian's words. "Actions speak louder than words." What did he mean by that? Was he hinting at something more?

You shake your head, chuckling to yourself. You're getting ahead of yourself. It was just a playful conversation, nothing more. You should remember your task.

Gar greets you as you step into the cafe. He’s been doing a lot better. He’s got a new apartment and picked up a second job. Things seem to be looking up for him. Carrie says the cafe always looks good in the winter. You think any cafe looks better in the winter, really. Something about the snow gives the place a cozy, aesthetic vibe.

The cafe looks busy today. Several people are stretched across the area, each of them in their own world. You make your way to the back, seeing Sam organizing some shelves.

“How’d it go?” they grunt, balancing some trays.

You help steady their load. “Good.”

“Just good?”

“Yeah. I think the teacher was impressed,” you say.

“I know that’s right,” they grin, poking your forehead. “You’re the smarted person I know.”

You shrug modestly. “Damian helped.” Sam scoffs, but says nothing further.

As the afternoon rolls on, the cafe fills with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods. You move through your tasks, enjoying the rhythm of work. The holiday season has brought a cheerful energy to the place, with twinkling lights and festive decorations adding to the cozy atmosphere.

During a brief lull in customers, you take a moment to sip on a hot chocolate, savoring the warmth. A man walks in, shrouded in a thick jacket. His head is down, his face covered by his hoodie and cap.

danger

Your fingers tense. “Sam? Can you go get my phone from the back? I think I left it on one of the shelves.” Carrie and Gar are back there too. As long as you're the only one the guy will threaten, it’s fine. Sam nods and goes to the back without questions. Good.

You put on your best smile as the guy approaches the counter. “Hello, sir. How can I–”

You don’t even get a chance to finish your greeting before the guy raises his arm, gun in hand, and shoots two bullets at the ceiling.

The sound of the gunshots reverberates through the cafe, sending a jolt of fear through the air. The customers scream and duck under tables, seeking cover. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you keep your composure, knowing you need to stay calm and think clearly.

The man's face remains obscured by his hoodie and cap, but you can see the glint of determination in his eyes. His gun is pointed at you now, and you raise your hands slowly, trying to appear non-threatening.

"Empty the register," he demands, his voice rough and desperate.

“A cafe, sir? I’m sure you’ll find a better score somewhere else?” you ease.

“I’ve alerted the authorities of the situation. I’ve also sent an anonymous tip to the Batcomputer.” Thank you, Karen.

The man's grip on the gun tightens, and his eyes narrow as he registers your calm demeanor. "Just do it. I don't have time for this."

You nod slowly, moving towards the register with deliberate, unhurried steps. "Alright, I'm opening it now," you say, keeping your tone even and composed. The register dings as it opens, and you start pulling out the bills, placing them on the counter.

As you work, you discreetly glance around, assessing the situation. The customers are still hiding, some peeking out cautiously. You catch a glimpse of movement from the corner of your eye. Sam, Gar, and Carrie are peeking from the back, their eyes wide with fear and concern (except for Gar, he just looks pissed). You subtly shake your head, signaling them to stay hidden and safe.

“Nobody better fucking move or call anybody!” the robber yells, whipping his gun around. People whimper and cower, shaking.

You move methodically, placing the bills on the counter one by one, keeping the robber's attention focused on you. Your mind races, calculating the distance between you and him, and the timing required to make your move.

"Please, just stay calm," you say, your voice steady despite the tension in the air. "I'm almost done."

As you place the last bill on the counter, you see an opportunity. The robber's attention shifts momentarily to the pile of cash, his grip on the gun loosening slightly.

With a swift, practiced motion, you lunge forward, aiming to disarm him. The robber reacts quickly, pulling the trigger just as you reach him.

 gun gungungun MOVE

 The gunshot echoes in the confined space, and you feel a sharp, searing pain in your side.

You hiss in pain. FUCK. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten seriously hurt. Your senses couldn’t move you out of the way, you were too close. Your senses are going haywire, they aren’t sure what to do at the moment. There's that familiar poking feeling in your gums. Your body leaps over the counter, tackling the man to the floor. Your fangs fully unsheath and you make sure that the struggle blocks what you're doing from view.

You yank his arm to the side, grabbing the gun out of hand as your teeth sink into his wrist. Your venom pumps into his body. The robber yelps at the pain, before his body gradually stops struggling, slumping.

Paralyzing venom, Miguel had deduced, like his. 

You push him away, standing up, wiping away the blood and hot pink liquid around your mouth. You clutch your side where the bullet hit. The pain is intense, but you force yourself to stay focused. The robber lies on the floor, paralyzed and unable to move (not permanently, of course).

You take deep breaths, trying to slow down your heart in order to slow down the blood. The cafe is in chaos, with customers wailing and crying. You look down at the gun in your hands, unloading it and throwing the mag somewhere. Sam, Garrett, and Carrie rush out from the back, their faces filled with shock.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Sam asks, rushing to your side.

“Shit, kid. That was stupid,” scolds Garrent, putting pressure on the wound. Carrie quickly takes charge, calling the police and trying to calm down the customers. There’s a sudden rush of wind, sending napkins flying and causing yelps from customers.

Jon, no, Superboy is in the entryway of the cafe. He’s hovering slightly, cape billowing in the wind. His eyes are wide, looking straight at you. There’s an arm wrapped around his shoulder. Is that… Robin? Robin, hanging off of Superboy's shoulder. Wait, no, he’s hopped off of him, now he’s walking… oh, he’s right in front of you.

“I’ll take it from here.” His voice leaves no room for argument. He crowds you into his arms, leaning you against him. His hand presses into your wound, eliciting a grunt from you. He shushes you softly.

Police cars skirt to a stop outside. Officers rush inside, quickly getting the robber in cuffs. The hustle and bustle distract you from the pain momentarily. Superboy rushes over to you two.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he mutters, hands finding your face.

“No,” you and Robin say at the same time. You blink at him.

“What?” Superboy growled.

“I don’t trust them to deal with this,” is all Robin says. The reason you didn’t want to go to a hospital was because one, you have no type of insurance whatsoever and two, your physiology is not exactly normal. Ah shit, your vision is getting spotty.

You take a deep breath, trying to stay focused despite the pain and the spotty vision. "I can handle it," you say, trying to sound confident.

“No, you can’t,” scold Robin and Superboy in sync. Superboy scoops you up in his arms, looking at Robin. “Your choice,” he says.

Robin looks at you, snuggled in Superboy's arms. You're blinking slowly, vision getting blurry. He looks down at gloves, covered with your blood. It’s quiet while he thinks, the loud chatter of the scene fading away. Then, he nods.

“The cave.”

It’s the last thing you hear before your vision fades completely.

notes: man what is it with my readers and getting shot by an asshole robbing a cafe of all places LOL

This is the only day this year you will be able to reblog this post!

NONSENSE

an oikawa tooru social media au

pairing. celebrity!oikawa tooru x f!reader

synopsis. you were oikawa tooru’s #1 fan, until you became his #1 hater. you hated him so much you went viral on twitter (accidentally) and literally became known as “the oikawa tooru hater”, doesn’t help that he keeps fueling the fire by subtweeting you. everyone is all in for this new drama. what isn’t known to the public, is that this particular drama’s been on hold for three years (him being your ex and all).

tags. social media au, celebrity smau, college au, exes to lovers, second chance romance, idiots in love, crack, humor (hopefully), fluff, and perhaps a little angst? ehe (groveling !!)

warnings. time stamps dont really matter unless i say so, cursing, some drinking alcohol n stuff and sometimes suggestive but nothing graphic

status. completed (01/15/23 - 02/11/24)

— playlist.

teasers

teaser 1—teaser 1.5—teaser 2

profiles

[name]’s pe(s)ts|in need of medical attention

episodes !

(⚘) — has narrative parts

ACT I

01. rid me of my despair

02. murder is ethically wrong

03. he’s literally everywhere

04. i’m NOT petty (⚘)

05. i think i’ve seen this film before

06. he’s back !

07. baby girl of all baby girls

08. the famous friend

09. forget me not

10. why are you running!? (⚘)

ACT II

11. blast from the past

12. i despise you (⚘)

13. villains are hot (⚘)

14. adulting and other important stuff (⚘)

15. what we look forward to

16. a nightmare dressed like a daydream

17. antithetical girlie

18. this is the tactic (⚘)

19. honey it hurts (⚘)

20. exes and ohs

21. takoyaki cravings

22. kill me with kindness

23. tell me, tell me (⚘)

24. do you think about me?

25. wish u were sober (⚘)

ACT III

26. you look like shit (⚘)

27. a taste of fame

28. reminds me of

29. helpless, breathless (⚘)

30. oh how you woo me

31. all over again

32. disconnected

33. this love is so illogical

34. don’t care if you ruin me (⚘)

35. hate clingy men

36. need you like oxygen (⚘)

37. media craze

38. hard to love (⚘)

39. coming home

40. only your love

EPILOGUE

41. new friends

42. love languages

43. utterly nonsensical

end

✦

bonus content

post break-up [name]

don’t you know that i’m intoxicated !

you said you liked the way i spoke

unsent letter #1

one of the boys

kuroo being a menace for 12 panels straight

kodzuken mayhem

taglist is CLOSED !

to be REMOVED from the taglist you can just send an ask or comment :)

notes. hey so i’m starting my first smau series?!!? *squeals and kicks feet in excitement* i hope i get to finish it lmao i plan to not make it that long prolly around only like 30 chaps! hope u’ll enjoy reading it as much as i’ll enjoy making it! also thank you everyone for 200 followers! i rlly appreciate it <3

icons used as pfps are not mine but the content of this smau is. please do not repost this on any other platform. © idlerin 2023

Crime and Punishment

recovery (this is gojo lives au)

People who think Shane isn’t a demon: 🤡🤡🤡