God, I Can't Tell You How Much The "there's Not Enough Enrichment In My Enclosure" Joke Has Helped My

i hate this country more than myself but watching christian pulisic’s sexy ass put his whole soccerussy into trying to score against england’s astronomically better football team is making me feel vaguely patriotic

“Put him on his knees give him something to believe in” has the exact same energy and depth of meaning as anything Hozier puts out on the regular but since it’s sung by Megan Thee Stallion no one takes it seriously. In this essay I will-

ACCIDENTAL CONFESSIONS

smau ft eren jeager and armin arlert

- swearing, eren is a lil bitch-

EREN !

ARMIN !

- i’ve made levi as well, and i kinda wanna do jean. idk

Rich boy! gojo getting all pouty because some guy hits on you at an event he takes you to and now you have a 6 foot GIANT leaning all his weight over you as he whines about not getting attention

[ WOUNDED PRIDE ] GOJO SATORU.

“satoru, you’re still pouting,” you hum, poking his cheek as he huffs.

“‘m not,” gojo mumbles, bitterly turning his head away from you. you can hear geto’s amused chuckle from the distance, making your boyfriend growl out a shut up, suguru under his breath, and because you’re supportive, you hide your own laugh.

“baby, he’s gone,” you cup his cheeks, grinning as he stubbornly refuses to meet your eyes, “you don’t have to be jealous anymore.”

“jealous?” he pulls away from you like you’ve insulted him—like the idea is simply too crazy to hear out loud, “me? jealous? what gives you that idea?”

“toru,” you snort, “you couldn’t be anymore obvious.”

“neither could you,” he accuses, narrowing his eyes at you, “you were trying to make me mad.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say with faux innocence, making his arms cross.

and now his lips are even further jutted in a pout, though you know saying something will only make him more upset, so you choose to keep your mouth shut for now. but gojo can still sense your amusement, glaring at you before turning his head away with a petulant hmph.

“flirting with other men is considered cheating, you know.”

“i wasn’t flirting,” you giggle, “i was just making friends. like you told me to.”

“making friends doesn’t include zenin naoya,” gojo glares at you, prompting out a supportive yeah, he sucks from geto. gojo nods, pointing a thumb at geto in agreement, making you roll your eyes.

“you never told me you hated him,” you defend, “but i wasn’t trying to make you mad,” you add softly, cupping his cheeks again.

“yeah you were,” he mumbles bitterly. his cheeks are squeezed together by your palms, and his voice is slightly whiny—and suddenly, you think you fall in love all over again.

“i’m sorry, toru,” you smile gently, “i just thought you looked cute all pouty. i didn’t wanna make you mad.”

“i wasn’t pouting,” he grumbles, “i don’t pout. i’m a man.”

“you cry during movies,” geto points out—and you’re glad there’s no wine in your vicinity, otherwise you think gojo might splash it on his best friend’s crisp, white button down. and you don’t think his father would take kindly to the scene—which would only further complicate things.

“i’m a man with a heart,” gojo scowls, “that’s why i’m not single.”

“okay,” you break up the bickering, distracting gojo with a kiss to his cheek—he grins at the gesture, giving you one in return even though he’s still slightly upset with you (though he won’t admit it.)

satoru gojo is not a jealous man.

that’s what he’ll tell you, at least—but you know better. you can see it in the way his lips alternate back and forth from a tiny pout to an irritated scowl, in the way his eyebrows furrow with irritation, in the way he huffs and tries to act like he doesn’t care when suguru elbows him in amusement.

and it’s not as though you enjoy attention from…whoever it was you were talking to (apparently zenin naoya according to gojo), but there’s just a small part of you that’s lightly amused. gojo is like a magnet—the girls flock to him left and right like a slice of bread left out for the crows to fight for. you’re used to it by now, have learned to ignore the slight creep of doubt and simply ignore the jealous glares sent your way as you take his hand.

but that doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy the change of pace every once in a while—the rare turn of tables that have him irritated instead of you.

naoya is a little too entitled for your taste. there’s too much expensive cologne sprayed on and you’re sure if he could without seeming tacky, he’d have left the tag on his suit to show its brand new. that’s the case with all rich people, you think, too busy watering the roots to pull for the weeds.

you don’t particularly enjoy talking to him—but you amuse yourself all the same. he’s far too cocky when he asks are you an intern for the gojo’s? i haven’t seen you before—

and before you can answer, you hear a familiar voice spit: actually, they’re my date. you don’t even hear gojo come up behind you, and you know as soon as his arm wraps around your waist, your stuck to his side for the rest of the night whether you like it or not.

“don’t talk to naoya he sucks,” gojo mutters. you nod, agreeing with him to console the bitterly wounded pride he seems to be sporting.

“he’s the worst,” you agree, “and his cologne smells gross.”

“i have that cologne,” he gasps, “it’s my favorite. you hate it?”

“no,” you say quickly, “it smells nice on you. everything smells nice on you.” geto snorts, and you shoot him a warning glance before he can make the situation worse.

gojo doesn’t look convinced—eyes narrowed and lips curled in that soft pout of his when he doesn’t get his way. it’s a bit spoiled, just a little bratty in its own right, but makes you melt all the same, pinching his cheek gently as you chuckle.

“if i were you,” geto turns to you, “i’d talk to naoya more. it might humble satoru just a little—”

“if i were you, i’d shut up before getting punched—”

“you wouldn’t land a punch on me if you tried—”

“you don’t know that—”

“actually i do because you can’t fight for shit—”

“i’m an excellent fighter—”

“alright,” you hiss, glancing at the few heads that have turned to watch the bickering between gojo and geto, making you glare at them in slight embarrassment.

“baby,” gojo whines, “tell him i can fight.”

and because his ego has been wounded one too many times tonight, you let him slump onto you, ignoring the heavy weight as you sigh and wrap your arms around him. you’re sure quite a few people are staring by now—but you suppose people always stare when you date someone like gojo.

“you could totally fight naoya,” you agree. you think you’ve finally said something right—because he seems to brighten at your words.

“i could, couldn’t i?”

“yes,” you nod, “and you smell better. and you have better hair.”

“and i’m cuter.”

“of course,” you sigh, eyeing geto for help. but he grins, sends you a small wave with mischief in his expression as he wanders off—leaving you all alone to nurse gojo’s ego back to full health.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

A HOUSE THAT SMELLS LIKE HOME. | gojo x reader. | 2k words

He was a hard working man. 

Keep reading

“you’re the only one that makes me Powerless tonight”

“and you can devastate my personal space i never liked it anyway.”

synopsis// alone and lonely were two very different things. gojo was never alone but he was tired of being lonely, at least that was until you showed up.

pairing// satoru gojo x gn!reader

word count// 1.4k

contents// angsty gojo?, gojo never turns off his infinity and never lets people touch him in any context!, ooc gojo probably, angst in general if u squint

notes// yep you guessed it! a waterparks song did in fact inspire this! todays inspiration is powerless!!! wooooooo!!!

Gojo Satoru was by no means alone. Whether he was with the higher-ups or other sorcerers or with his students, he was always with someone, around someone. Gojo Satoru was by no means alone, but he was by every means lonely. There was always a wall between him and everyone, metaphorically and quite literally, considering his infinity. only one person had ever been able to get past it, and that was when he was in jujutsu high himself, only one person until you. 

Yaga had called Gojo in one day for what he thought was a meeting, but upon arriving, he was met with you, standing there in all your glory, hands clasped together as you smiled sweetly at Gojo, who could now actively feel his pulse quickening the longer he stared at you. 

“Gojo, meet L/N; they're a new teacher here. In fact, they'll be working with you and your first years," Yaga catches Gojo up as he begins walking toward you two.

“Hi! Nice to meet you,” you say happily as you offer your hand out to him for a handshake. 

Gojo catches himself about to shake your hand but stops himself before he can do so. That’s not Gojo; Gojo doesn't shake hands, and Gojo doesn’t turn off his infinity, so why was he about to? just for you? He clears his throat and smiles smugly. “Sorry, pretty. I don't shake hands.”

Your mouth forms a slight “o” shape as you retract your hand and go back to clasping it together with your other. “Sorry!” you apologize sincerely. 

Yaga quirks up an eyebrow at Gojo in question, having witnessed the whole interaction, and the only thing Gojo can do is flash his signature smile. 

Yaga sighs. “Right well, that’s all. They start tomorrow with you, Gojo. Get them informed on your class, yeah?” He says this before walking out of the room. 

“Nice to meet you!” You call out to Yaga, who is long gone at this point. “So Gojo, what’s our class like?”

Gojo catches himself smiling like an idiot at your use of “our.” He likes the sound of that; he likes it a lot, a little too much, actually.

“Just call me Satoru.”

Everything after that was history. Gojo and you had quickly taken to each other like no other, catching everyone by surprise. Mostly because Gojo hadn't let himself take to anyone since he was in Jujutsu High, so why should you be any different? Nobody knew why, and he certainly didn't know why either, which is what scared him; it’s what’s made him keep you at arm's length; it’s what’s made him keep the quite literal invisible wall between you two.

But none of that stopped you; you were still just as enticed by Gojo as was everybody else, but you were different. You didn't fall for him because he was Gojo, the strongest sorcerer; you fell for him because he was just Satoru to you; you saw him when he was see-through, and maybe that's exactly why he keeps you at arms length. Because being truly known scares Gojo, allowing someone to truly know him again is what keeps Gojo up at night, even if deep down that's all he really wants. 

It’s been about a year at this point of you and Gojo being friends that aren't just friends but also aren't together but also aren't not together. In simpler terms, it's been about a year at this point of you and Gojo being together without actually being together. This isn’t to say you haven't tried; you have, kind of. You’ve never wanted to push too hard, afraid that it would do more harm than good. You would try and plan dates with Gojo, telling him you’d make time for him and that you were waiting on his greenlight, but apparently his light was always red, occasionally yellow, but never green. never.

But now you’re sick of waiting for the right time. You're sick of not being pushy; you're sick of being whatever it is you are with Gojo; you’re either together or you're not. You need answers; you need to know if he needs you like you need him, which is how you found yourself at his front door at midnight. You find yourself hesitating to knock on his door but end up knocking anyway; you didn't come out all this way in the cold only to end up not knocking. After a few moments, you're still out in the cold, so you knock harder, only to end up knocking on Gojo, well—you would have had his infinity been off.

“Y/n?” he asks grogily. 

“Gojo,” you reply back flatly, nodding as a form of greeting.

Gojo’s face scrunches up in confusion and slight disgust at his last name coming from you as he moves out of the way to allow you in. 

“Did I do something?” he asks curiously as he watches you walk into his living room. 

“yes.. no! .. maybe? ugh, I don't know,” you respond vaguely as you stand in front of his couch and turn to look at him. 

Gojo now finds himself a few feet in front of you, every part of him aching to just hold you. “You don't know?” he asks quietly. 

you groan. “What are we, Gojo?”

Gojo winces at you using his last name again. “Can you stop calling me Gojo?”

You frown. “okay fine. What are we, Satoru?” You purposely draw out his first name as if to mock him. 

He matches your frown, his eyebrows scrunching together as he questions, “Where is this coming from?”

You scoff. “You can't even tell me!”

"Y/n no, I'm just confused," Gojo responds sheepishly. 

You sigh. “Satoru, I'm in love with you.”

Gojo goes wide-eyed; he had pretty much already known, but hearing you say it outright still takes him by surprise, and suddenly, with the way his pulse is quickening, he's taken back to the first time he met you. “Y/n-“

You don't give him a chance to speak, raising your finger at him as if telling him to shut up, and he does. “I am so in love with you, but I can’t keep doing whatever we’re doing, Satoru.”

“What are we doing?” he asks with a frown. 

“I don't know!” you exclaim. “That's the problem, Satoru! I need to know if you’re in because I have been in since the moment I met you, Satoru, so now it’s your turn. Do you love me, Satoru?”

Gojo bites the inside of his cheek, and his eyes are stinging; he might just actually cry. He inhales and exhales deeply. “Y/n, I love you so much that it scares me,” he whispers back because he thinks if he talks any louder, his voice will crack. 

Now it's your turn for your eyes to sting, along with your lips starting to tremble. Scratch that—every part of you is beginning to tremble as you watch him step closer to you. “Then prove it,” you reply meekly yet sternly. 

Gojo doesn’t say a word. The way he wants to prove it doesn't involve him speaking; it involves him wrapping you in his embrace, which is exactly what he does, and you go stiff at feeling him touch you for the first time. You blink a few times in disbelief before grabbing whatever part of him you can get your hands on—his back, shoulders, arms, neck, hair, face—everything and anything. You’re trying to memorize his body whole in case this is the first and only chance you’ll get to ever touch him.

He stifles a laugh at how your hands won't stay still on him, and he kisses your forehead, and the two of you stay like that for a few moments, his lips against your forehead, while you try to memorize Gojo whole. Eventually, you finally stop and wrap your arms around him just like his are around you; your heart is about to practically jump out of your chest with how hard it’s beating. 

Gojo is the first to break the silence. “So, I was thinking maybe we could get away? call it a date?” He mumbles against your forehead. 

“Is this real?” you ask breathlessly.

Gojo laughs as he pulls away slightly, arms still around you, in order to look at you face-to-face. “Of course this is real. Am I just that amazing that you can't believe I'm real?” he asks as a smirk tugs at his lips. 

Despite the grin on your face, you roll your eyes at him. "Oh, shut up! It's just... does this mean you're in?" You ask nervously. 

Gojo hums before he leans in and kisses you passionately, yet keeps it short and sweet by breaking the kiss just to mumble.

                                   “Yeah, i'm in.”

© LITTLEXBIMBO

another example of the news trying to use certain parts of the full message to move audience in their favor though

Well, Fire fighter dude certainly didn’t hold back on his thoughts.

𝟓:𝟒𝟕 𝐀𝐌 | 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔.

you’re not too sure what time it is, but you know it’s early when osamu lays himself over you, head digging into your chest as he steals your warmth. you groan, wrapping your arms around him as you pull the blanket higher over your bodies.

“what time is it?”

“almost six,” he hums. it’s quiet for a moment, you seem to be drifting back to sleep, and osamu grins in victory against your shirt that all’s gone according to plan as he drifts off himself.

until you speak up.

“wait a second. aren’t you supposed to be on the couch?” his body freezes for a moment before he’s clutching onto you tightly while you’re trying to shove him off. “samu! get off!”

“no!”

“i’m serious, i’m still mad at you,” you huff. he frowns (though it’s more of a pout) and simply shakes his head.

“‘m not lettin’ go. ma back hurts. i’m cold too.”

“miya osamu—”

and before you can finish your sentence, there’s a soft bite at your chin that makes you stop.

“don’t call me by ma full name,” he grumbles, settling back down into your chest. “‘s rude.” he has the audacity to grab your hand and plop it into his hair too, gesturing at you to play with the dark brown strands.

“did you just bite me?”

“and what if i did?” comes his quiet mumble, voice muffled by your shirt.

last night wasn’t exactly a big fight, it was a petty one if the both of you were being honest, but osamu should’ve admitted he was wrong, and his attitude was what landed him a spot on the couch. and to his dismay, you seem to fall asleep much easier without his embrace than he does without yours.

“what do you—you bit me,” you repeat incredulously. you smack his shoulder when he snickers quietly at your shock.

“didn’t even hurt, ya drama queen.” and you want to keep your facade of being mad, you want to tell him to go back to the couch until you’ve deemed he’s earned his spot back, but something about the way he nuzzles into you and kisses your collarbone before trying to fall asleep makes you give in.

he’s stubborn, you’ve come to know this a tad bit too well, but he’s also gentle. he plants one more spoonful of dinner to your plate when you tell him to stop, he pulls the sun visor down for you when the light shines in your face as he drives, he wakes up and puts socks on your feet when they feel like icicles against his calves, and he’s the only person who easily forgives you for your own stubbornness too—every time, without fail.

so you wrap your arm tightly around him, stroking through his locks as you mumble “you’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“well, ‘s just the way i am, deal with it,” he mumbles back. and then you giggle, he laughs, you kiss his forehead, and he kisses your jaw—and you’re back to your usual routine, last night all forgotten.

“i love you,” you whisper.

“love ya too. and i also love yer cheeks, ‘m bitin’ them next.”

still firmly believe osamu’s love language is biting

most nights, katsuki will sit under the covers with his debriefing file and a blank, uninterested stare—flipping through the documents as you prance around the room getting ready for bed.

he’s seen you do this an endless amount of times, and has even been dragged into the commotion on numerous occasions—ending the night with a green face mask and a faux frown.

still, he doesn’t really get it.

of course, brushing your teeth is a given, and he won’t fuss about you washing your face—but the line has to be drawn somewhere, right?

pillow mist—the latest villain.

“babe, seriously?” he coughs, sitting up a bit as he sticks his tongue out and holds a hand over his throat. maybe, you went a little trigger happy with the black chamomile, but he’s being dramatic. “it’s in my fuckin’ mouth!”

“there’s an easy fix for that, y’know,” you smile, running your thumb and index finger across your lips in a zipping motion.

his eyes grow wide—not out of anger, or shock, but amusement. your smug comments are never ending and supremely annoying, but he fucking loves them—they’re cute. you’re cute.

he watches, tonguing at his cheek as you plop down in front of the large floor length mirror like a heathen—skincare splayed out in front of you.

you would do this in the bathroom, but you’ve been told not to by your boyfriend—who’s just looking to maximize his precious time with you, even if it means choking back the polluted air.

though he’d still argue that you are the only one who should be choking on anything while in the bedroom—not him.

“katsuki, stop that,” you laugh, catching his gaze through the reflection as your fingers run along your cheeks, working in your moisturizer.

“huh?”

stop what? existing? he’s just sitting there, hasn’t moved a muscle or opened his mouth in almost two whole minutes, and you’re telling him to stop? what the hell do you want from—

“you’re staring.”

oh, well—you’re wearing his shirt, the black long sleeve that hangs off your shoulder just a tad and drowns your hands in excess fabric. he gave you this shirt after your first night together, and while it’s no more than a piece of cotton—it’s special.

it reminds him of that morning, when you padded into the kitchen and asked what he was doing. he was making breakfast, obviously, but you insisted he come back to bed.

you were annoying, selfish—he had no more than an hour before he had to be at the agency, and you were asking him to skip the most important meal of the day to cuddle with you. unbelievable.

nevertheless, it was then that katsuki knew he was in love—with you passed out on his chest, in his shirt, just ten minutes before he had to leave.

so yes, he’s staring.

“am not,” he scoffs, keeping his eyes glued to you as you dab yet another cream onto your fingers. what the hell are you concocting over there? “i’m makin’ sure you don’t kill us with all that shit.”

if anyone were going to kill us—it would be you. the sentence pops into your head, but dies before it ever has a shot at tumbling out of your mouth.

maybe, that would’ve been something you said to the katsuki you first met years ago—but never to the one sitting in your bed right now. if you told the public what you did on that morning, you’re almost certain that half the population would be wondering how you lived to tell the tale—because no way in hell would the dynamight let that slide, right? everyone and their mother knows that his job as a pro hero is incredibly important to him.

but, not once in your relationship have you ever felt an ounce of unease, anxiety, anything, that’d make you doubt your safety for a single second—because you are more important to katsuki.

“you still with me?” he interrupts your selfish train of thought, pushing himself off the headboard to get a better look at your face. you’re a little zoned out. “fuckin’ fumes are gettin’ to you, huh?”

“i’m fine kats,” you grin, stepping back into reality as you screw the lid back onto your eye cream. you turn, sharing your smile with him.

“c’mere,” he rasps, leaning back onto his freshly scented pillow and discarding his papers onto the nightstand.

“or what?” you challenge, looking to rile him up a little before you inevitably go over there.

“you wanna find out?” he smirks, mind flooding with a tidal wave of lewd thoughts that he’s most definitely going to share with you later.

the voice in your mind screams yes, and you rise to your feet—shuffling over there in your slippers a little too eagerly, you’re sure.

you climb atop the covers and sit beside him—milliseconds away from opening your mouth to say something that would’ve gotten you into even more trouble—but he pulls you down for a kiss.

maybe he knew what was coming and saved you, or maybe this is you finding out. reason aside—he’s kissing you. slowly, his mouth moves against yours, and subtly, he tugs on the collar of your shirt—pulling you impossibly close.

“katsuki,” you sigh, running a thumb over his cheek as you lean your forehead against his. he’s pretty—strong, sharp features contrasting the softness behind his eyes. you know this look, it’s the same one he gave you that morning. gosh, how did you get so damn—

“hey,” he barks, grinning wide as he wraps a hand around your wrist. “you starin’ at me?”