Ara-ara-bitch - A Whore For Lore

THE TRANSITION AND CONTRAST OML DIDJDJSK 😩🙏🙏🛐🛐🛐

deliverance (ft. a little bird that didn’t make the cut)

AHHHH 💖 SUCH A CUTIE PIE😩‼️‼️

@justabitthirsty

Choso vs internet

:0 ...okay but like.. some higher power decides to be oh? u dont wanna feel no more? aight ✨bippity boppity ur emotions are poof✨ AND THEN ALBEDO DOES A 180 AND IT BECOMES SAME SITUATION BUT REVERSED ..im just comforting myself with scenarios.

A Love Not Meant to Be Pt. 2: Albedo

Notes: SUPER LONG parts so I broke them up into sections + paired music/songs :)

Summary: Some things in life just aren’t meant to be + angst tropes.

Warning/s: Heartbreak, one-sided relationship, angst

Theme/s: Angst, no comfort, heartbreak, emotional/naive reader

Characters: Albedo

Parts: Kaeya, Kazuha

Albedo: One Sided Affections

(Mr. Loverman by Ricky Montgomery)

You tried your best. You really did. In every relationship you had, it seemed that you always came off as ‘too strong’. They are always reasoning that ‘you felt too much’. You couldn’t help it- you were very emotional and tried your best to show your lovers how much you truly appreciated them. That’s what you do in a relationship, right? You were naive at that time- full of hope and passion for others that you were always so enthusiastic when an opportunity to love another person came at your doorstep. However, that was you before. Your passion burned out when you met the Chief Alchemist, Albedo.

Sometimes you think that relationships weren’t meant for you- that things you start just don’t last. When you met Albedo, you’d just gotten out of a pretty rough relationship and swore to yourself that you’ll never ever try to go into the dating scene again. That was until you needed some materials crafted from Sucrose, and you were met instead by Albedo who was more than happy to do it for you. You were enthralled by the Chief Alchemist; his beauty, his peculiarity, the way he moved and worked were ever so calculated and graceful. His voice was gentle and soft, his manner was something you’ve never seen before in a person. What got to you was the way he treated you. Albedo was kind, polite, and cordial. Professionalism aside, there was a certain charm he had when he would approach you for questions about the materials- the smile on his pretty lips and the glimmer in his sky-blue eyes. You’ve fallen again.

It wasn’t clear how Albedo reciprocated your feelings. You found yourself beginning to visit his lab more often for materials and alchemy advice until that turned into casual chats and then something more than friendly. It was until you brought up the prospect of dating that Albedo seemed to perk up and smile lightly to himself.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad of an idea.” was all he said and you had your answer. You jumped straight into the opportunity. If it meant that you had a chance at love- if it meant that you finally had something that’s yours and yours alone. What you didn’t know then was that Albedo was only answering your question. He didn’t think you’d ask him to be with you, nor did he get enough time to think it through; but when he saw your hopeful eyes, begging for a yes, he didn’t have the heart to say no.

Albedo knew you were the most expressive and passionate person in Mondstadt. He could see it from the way you bounded up to him and how your eyes shine when you see him. It seemed that you were always shining. You were so happy around him, always joyful when visiting his lab or even helping with watching Klee. Albedo, however, didn’t feel the same ardor you had for him. But he would be a monster if he ever thought of hurting your feelings and he couldn’t bear the thought of breaking your heart. You were too kind to be put through that again. And so, he stayed for you; trying his best as always and you did too. Little did Albedo know that you knew this- and you still held onto him. You felt guilty, but you couldn’t let this get away from you. You knew well that Albedo didn’t love you, but you haven't felt anything so strong in your life. You adored him and did your best to respect Albedo’s boundaries and constraints- no kisses, no cuddles, no surprise hugs. Maybe the lightest touch of the hand and eye contact. But that’s it. You bore through it, you couldn’t let him go.

It wasn’t like Albedo wasn’t capable of loving- he really did love you. Just not the type of love you had for him. It seems that he doesn’t yet understand the genuine feelings an individual has for someone else. Sure, he was more than aware of human emotions and whatnot but the notion of deeper connections as well as stronger feelings felt somewhat complicated for Albedo. He always thought that the only person he could love, and love him back, was his master. When you came into his life, he didn’t know if it would be betrayal for his creator, or that he couldn’t fathom why he had felt so many things about you. Albedo loved you, yes, but not in a way that you wanted him to. Where you were a spectrum of emotions, Albedo was a man with few feelings.

“I don’t get those types of bonds,” Albedo said once out of the blue. “As much as I’ve seen, they’re all so… trivial.” You wanted to agree then, because it’s what you’ve experienced most of the time, but you wonder if he was talking about the both of you. And so, you stay silent and watch him continue to work on his studies.

If you were being truly honest with yourself- this was bad for you. Worse than it has ever been with those in the past. You tortured yourself with having to constantly keep up that happy-go-lucky attitude to not make Albedo feel bad, and he had to keep up his lovers persona to make you happy. It was a vicious cycle and it was more than clear that you two were unhappy. It came to a boiling point when the burning ache of emotions you kept back broke through when you watched Albedo perform his experiments while you sat at a distance. You cried into your knees and it took a while for Albedo to notice. When he did, he wasn’t surprised. You were known to be an emotional person. When he approached you and touched your head, you sobbed harder- wishing for this interaction so badly on days when you needed him. You look up and at Albedo through a blur of tears, an illusory sheen of adoration you still carry for him, desperate to know that what you had wasn’t one-sided. Albedo was surprised to see you look like this. He’s seen you cry before, but this was different. You looked broken, exhausted, and you were. You loved him but you were tired. Through the many days you’ve spent with him, you carried something more profound for Albedo than those relationships from before. You had a chance to get a glimpse into the deepest parts of someone and Albedo entrusted you with that. He showed you his past, his vulnerability and all the blemishes and imperfections in his beautiful nature. You fell for him hard- too bad he didn’t feel the same.

“Am I really that unlovable?” You ask, voice silent and breaking as you are. Albedo stands there unable to figure you out, but is nevertheless shocked by this revelation. The tone in your voice, the way you’re slumped within yourself, skin warm and heart racing fast. He couldn’t understand any of those. Albedo hasn't felt any of that before, nor has he seen you look so… defeated. So, he inches closer to you and lays your head on his chest, the only form of comfort he can give.

“You aren’t, don’t worry.” Was all he could say. You weren’t convinced, you knew Albedo had little way with things like this, but you could only hide away in the solace of his jacket, his fingers combing through your hair. You sob into him because you know how he looks; that blank expression on his beautiful face, unfeeling, unknowing to the type of emotions that now ran rampant in your veins.

“I just want to be loved,” You say against Albedo, gripping onto the fabric of his coat. He kneels down to face you, eye level with yours and you are surprised to see a look of pity on his features. He really was beautiful- you could fall in love with him all over again.

“And you will be,” Albedo said, taking your warmed face in his cold hands. “By someone better.” You cry more at his words while his fingers wipe away your tears. Choking on air, you grab Albedo’s hands and press them on your lips. He lets you.

“I don’t need better,” You think. “I just need you.” You wanted to tell him this. You wanted so badly to make it work, to salvage your relationship because you felt like you didn’t- couldn’t- want anyone else other than Albedo.

You wanted to tell him: I need you. I need you to be by my side as I wake up every morning, to be there when I make my terrible dinners and for you to smile through each bite. I need you to be the person I can turn to and I’ll do the same for you even if I've never seen you sad. I need you to be the only one I can hold, I can touch, I can kiss. I need you to be with me through the worst days, and you can be my best. I need you to tell me how it feels, how you feel, when you’re in love so I can tell you the same. I need you in my life, to be my life, for as long as it’ll take me. I need you, because I don’t have anything else.

You didn’t say that. As much as your heart thrummed achingly fast in your chest, you could only cry and whisper:

“I want you Albedo, I do, but I can understand if you don’t feel the same.” The guilt finally consumed you and it hurt. What hurt worse than the already impending heartbreak was his reply. Dry and forward, but genuine.

“I’m glad you understand, Y/N.” You feel it then, the mercy of your heart still beating in your chest- then the utter heartbreak that follows as you watch Albedo smile, his cold hands leaving your skin as he turns away and leaves. You didn't have the energy to try and beg for him to come back. Everything in your body ached with no sign of mercy. You thought you could die from the pain and you were somewhat grateful that Albedo was spared from the agony of heartbreak, the lack of understanding of deep and complicated human emotions. At that point, you wished that you were him- you wanted to sacrifice these damning emotions, so strong in the heat of everything that it made you jump from one opportunity of love to the next. You felt burdened by them, burdened by these human things Albedo was so gifted not to have. You wanted to be numb by then. If this was the type of ache you had to go through for the rest of your life- then you would trade anything to have it taken away.

・゜゜・． tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

◌ wc: 7.3k ◌ summary: you teach gojo how to love.  ◌ warnings: wrote this with f!reader in mind but idt i mentioned anything specific so it should be gn as well!, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues  ◌ a/n: this piece relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love? but isn’t necessarily a sequel to it! explores a lot on gojo internal struggles and beliefs (or at least the version of gojo i envision for this universe)! timeline is a bit ambiguous because it hops through a lot of in-betweens but it’s linear for the most part! also placed my own (optimistic and probably unrealistic) predictions of how things will pan out but i don’t go too much into it! i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!! ◌ part ii of conversations on love: i | ii

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signatures of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles a little. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 

And you’d think this a rejection if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the red blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

────────────

The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

────────────

When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 

It’s the last few leaves of fall and Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You follow, shaking your head but smiling; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child. 

You gasp, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see red, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Just as Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, like he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 

You catch his eyes widen briefly, just a little bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms, your own version of his infinity, just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon. 

────────────

You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. And the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through. 

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud. There are too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 

Gojo rolls his eyes; he isn’t wearing his blindfold today. 

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 

You hum in response. He does make a point. 

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around already to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 

────────────

The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 

────────────

You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you the way he always has.

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan, just to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 

And while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 

“Are you okay?” 

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. In the many years you’ve known Gojo, you notice that he always comes to places like this to think; you also know that he’s been here almost every single night since being unsealed. 

Sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his six eyes. 

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him and shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he’s everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 

“I’m okay,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 

────────────

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he can’t name, he’s never felt so afraid.  

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. Your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 

────────────

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does go, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. There are still people filing out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them before clearing his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he speaks louder, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie to you. 

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway. You intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his office; the mini living space still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking an index finger up. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 

You break the silence. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 

There’s a war in his head right now—a million thoughts and one. Why has he been avoiding you? 

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 

“You didn’t do anything, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all wrong. 

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. The part that hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, you still see eyes holding the sky. 

You think you want to cry. 

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward standstill of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, creating tingles on your knees.

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say; you want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 

“How to what?” you whisper like it’s fragile. 

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 

────────────

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 

────────────

The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen like he owns the place, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you (considering he’s never before). 

“Too sweet,” you say, your face scrunching at the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 

“Like me, right?” Gojo winks from beside you. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, taking a sip and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand goes over yours for a moment, still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he wraps a hand around yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down but his hand takes yours, interlacing your fingers together. 

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together—a recent evolution to your hand-holding. But this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. He hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 

────────────

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 

During the faculty New Year celebration, you hear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo, and you aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and he closes his eyes, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t know it, but he does the same. 

────────────

That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking of how to brush it off like it didn’t just happen. 

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 

“If it is?” you whisper, putting down your spoon. 

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s learned leaps and bounds to back out now. So he clears his throat and composes himself then says, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. So you wait. 

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

•

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pulling him in by the hand and lingering there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

It’s driving you crazy, this tension. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 

It’s insane, now that Gojo thinks about it, how he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 

•

It happens during an assignment to exorcise curses out of town. They aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group playing on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is actually pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby areas for other suspicious activity contributing to such a large curse, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam. Gathering your things, you head straight in. 

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind but you still don’t know what it is, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, almost like an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 

But it doesn’t come. 

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his cheeks so gently. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tries it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer till he does? 

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped in your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of something steamy in the air. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and red cheeks. 

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in god but you must be his prayer come true. 

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

ive come to the revelation that i do like casual manhandling🤭🤭

ummmmm so finnick and manhandling 😁😁 especially casual manhandling 😁😁 we have any thoughts abt that orrrr 😁😁😁

ummmm yes!!!!!! I absolutely have so many thoughts ….. (also I’m very sorry this took me the longest time to answer. it was stewing in my brain hehe)

finnick odair x fem!reader

finnick odair is constantly manhandling you. it’s so easy for him, and even if he wasn’t as strong as he is it’d still be anything but a challenge because you’re so compliant and practically putty in his hands, and you’d do anything he wanted, you’ve told him as much — so yeah, it’s a breeze.

you’re brushing your teeth at the sink when finnick comes into the bathroom. he wants his razor, which is in the cabinet in front of your thighs, but rather than asking you to move he just takes you by the hips and moves you to the side easily. it’s so casual, but that’s exactly why it unravels you so much. “sorry, honey,” he’ll murmur, bending at the waist to grab what he needs, a hand on your lower back to keep you in place. he kisses your shoulder as he straightens up and you melt.

or like, he’ll be sitting on the couch, watching you do something, maybe arranging a bunch of flowers in a vase. and you look so so pretty — finnick thinks he could watch you for hours. when you move past him to grab something you need, you don’t make it far because finnick sticks out a hand and pulls you in between his legs with ease. “finn,” you’ll say, all breathless and giggly. “what’re you doing?” finnick shrugs, squeezes your hips and presses his face to your abdomen. “dunno,” he’ll murmur into your top, nosing the space under your breasts. “jus’ wanted a hug.” and then you put your hands in his hair and finnick almost whines out loud. it turns out to be a veerrry long hug.

also let’s talk about how strong he is??? like he can move you around with just one arm if he wants to. if he wants you up on the counter to kiss you he’ll just wrap one arm around your waist and hoist you up in an instant, not even a breath spared for the effort it takes. if he wants you to stay in bed with him, you best believe you are staying put, because as soon as he gets his hands on you it’s over. all he has to do is get his arm around your waist and you’re stuck for as long as he wants. he’s just too strong and too lovesick to let you go!!!!! <3333

THE ENDING SENTENCE OH MY GOD IT ITS GENIUS

#the memory of you (chapter two)

—it all starts when you saw someone who looked like someone you know in a game, only to come to know that it was him all along 

—(or) scaramouche gets transported to Earth and you have become a part of his story 

CHARACTERS. self aware! Scaramouche; gn! gamer! Reader

THEMES. reversed isekai; self aware!scaramouche; fluff; crack; angst 

WARNINGS. mentions of his real name; may have curses from reader and scara

WORD COUNT. 2k words 

NOTES. actually, you may read this without reading chapter one but the two are connected! chapter three will be out either before the 29th or by august but either way, prepare tissues because it’s certainly gonna make u cry 

The Memory of You; Beginning / Mean / End 

“You are so bad at this.” 

“What did you say?” 

You laughed, repeating your words with a louder voice, “I said; you’re so bad at this!” 

You were not even looking at him, but you could tell that he was getting irritated by the second, more so at his phone, his screen showing the graphics of the same game you had been playing these past few months—oh yes, good old Genshin Impact. 

“Why is he even so weak? Is he really this useless?! What a joke!” 

You peaked on his mobile screen and inquired “Who are you even talking about?” you paused, peeking your eyes to his game, “The traveler?” 

Keep reading

oh this looks so fun holly!!! i would like to participate in rolling the dice please~

2 | genshin impact, zhongli (honestly are you even surprised lmao) | no genre, go crazy ;)

thank you and also congrats on 1k!! here's to many more bc you totally deserve it for all your amazing writing ✨💖🥂🍾💐

thank you so much dear!! ♡

i´m not surprised but still very much elated because i like writing zhongli i should do it more often; after all, i do quite enjoy the manner in which he chooses converse aka i like that he talks in fancy jsjshs

anyway, i hope you have as much fun reading as i had writing; without furtherado, let´s get the ball, or in this case the dice, rolling with...

IN VINO VERITAS

trope: drunken confession [space nr. 2]

pairing: zhongli x gn!reader

genre: crack, fluff

warnings: alcohol consumption

second constellation event masterlist

You overestimated your alcohol tolerance. Or underestimated Zhongli´s. Or both. Probably both.

Much to your delight, the consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor had asked you to accompany him to dinner this evening at ‘Third-Round-Knockout’. Seeing as you had been harbouring feelings for the man for quite some time now, you had been quick to agree.

You were well aware of the restaurant´s rather strong drinks, yet, as you listened to Zhongli´s melodic voice describing scenes from a time long past, your attention lay not with your glass but with the charming geo user right in front of you. Somewhere far back in your mind, a tiny voice wondered how he could know all of these ancient stories in such great detail but the more often your hand moved towards your beverage, the quieter it got.

And that was how you found yourself basically glued to his lips as your cheeks radiated a tingly warmth that slowly spread all throughout your body. Under normal circumstances, you´d stare much less obviously and would at least try to follow his explanations but right now you couldn´t really care.

“(Y/n)?” At the call of your name you merely hummed in reply. “(Y/n), I cannot help but observe a distinctive lack of attentiveness in you tonight. I wonder whether this is due to the lateness of the hour or whether there is something weighing heavy on your mind?”

“Or perhaps,” he studied your glass and then your complexion, bringing a gloved hand up to cup your cheek, “tonight´s beverages are affecting you more than they do affect me. My apologies, I should have been more considerate towards your tolerance when choosing. Please do believe me, it was not my intention to leave you inebriated by the time we part ways, it's just that I usually find myself in the company of those who can never seem to drink enough.”

“No, no, I´m fine! That´s not it!” Zhongli slightly cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow as you hurriedly waved your hands in front of you. “It´s really not the alcohol! It´s actually your fault!”

“Oh?” It was impressive how quickly you went from moving a mile a minute to being completely frozen in place. When Zhongli, however, seemed more amused than offended, you remembered how to breathe again. “Would you please care to enlighten me as to how it is my fault you´re so distracted?”

“It´s because of your stupidly distracting face of course! I mean seriously, how is it fair for someone to be this handsome? Like hello?? Normal people exist, you know,” you grumbled, your head supported by your hand now. Breathing out a heavy sigh, you continued with a dismissive wave of your hand. “You´re always so nice and gentlemanly, too. Like, you´re beautiful and well-mannered and also, like, really smart and that's just not fair. And then every time you talk to me, my heart does that stupid fluttery thing and it´s just ugh– Like, you´re you and I ´m me and I just really don´t know how to tell you that I like you more than a friend.”

For a moment, both of you just stared at each other, Zhongli with his brows drawn in surprise and you with a slightly annoyed pout. Then, realisation struck.

“Oh my archons! It´s– I didn´t–” After not being able to come up with any kind of sentence whatsoever, you buried your face in your hands, the embarrassment heating you up more than any kind of liquor ever could. “Oh Rex Lapis, please let the ground swallow me whole.”

“There will be no need for that.” Zhongli´s deep chuckle made you peek out from between your fingers and seconds later any sort of shield was taken from you as firm hands gently grasped your wrists and pulled your hands down between you two. You almost missed how his thumbs drew deliberately slow circles onto the palms of your hands as you lost yourself in intense pools of molten gold and amber. “I must say, even in a situation such as this, you´re so very precious.”

“Huh?” was a rather intelligent remark on your end.

“You mentioned previously your heart does, may I directly quote you, ‘that stupid fluttery thing’ whenever you talk to me. And although I might have expressed myself a little differently were I in your shoes, I can assure you the sentiment is the very same.” Gifting you a rare smile as he watched your mouth part in an awed ‘o’ shape, he continued. “Without wanting to sound too forward, I would like to invite you to spend the night at my humble residence, mainly because I wish to see you taken care of properly. But I also cannot deny wanting to keep you close now that our feelings lay bare before one another. What say you?”

“That sounds very nice,” you yawned. 

“Then so shall it be.” Draping his long coat over your shoulders, Zhongli held out his hand for you to take as you left the restaurant and began your walk through the tranquillity of Liyue Harbor´s night. “By tomorrow I´d like you to repeat yourself again. I must be sure it is you and not the drink talking. You´ll do that for me, right, dearest?”

You hummed and nodded as you drew the shoulders of his coat more snugly against you, practically melting into the cosy fabric. The man next to you couldn´t help but chuckle at your actions.

“Perhaps,” he mused, “you could also take that chance to tell me more about my… what was it? Ah yes, my ‘stupidly distracting face’, to make use of your phrasing.”

“Only if you promise to stop teasing me about this.”

“Ah, you see, a promise is not unlike a contract. One should not give one´s word when one is not certain to also keep it.”

“Zhongli!”

tag list: @mccnstruck

50 WORDS TO USE INSTEAD OF “SAID”

Do you ever find yourself over-using the word “said” in your writing? Try using these words/phrases instead:

stated

commented

declared

spoke

responded

voiced

noted

uttered

iterated

explained

remarked

acknowledged

mentioned

announced

shouted

expressed

articulated

exclaimed

proclaimed

whispered

babbled

observed

deadpanned

joked

hinted

informed

coaxed

offered

cried

affirmed

vocalized

laughed

ordered

suggested

admitted

verbalized

indicated

confirmed

apologized

muttered

proposed

chatted

lied

rambled

talked

pointed out

blurted out

chimed in

brought up

wondered aloud

(NOTE: Keep in mind that all of these words have slightly different meanings and are associated with different emotions/scenarios.)

I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can’t remember

felt that😭😭