#← not sure if its actually Called something but im using that for my own tagging system for now because its funny

[allisluv]

COMING CLEAN

pairing: finnick odair x fem!oc

content warnings: concussions, disassociation, teasing, sexual jokes and innuendos, sweet finn and dahlia moments!!, nicknames and pet names, gore, blood, angst, death, burning, miscommunication (?), not being able to tell what's real, mercy kill (im sorry in advance yall).

word count: 4.8k

previous chapter -- next chapter.

Dahlia always finds it harder to keep a grip on reality in the evenings and tonight is no exception. Her concussion isn't helping matters and it takes every ounce of willpower she possesses to stop herself from falling asleep.

Mags has curled up in a ball like a cat, her chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths, and both Peeta and Wyatt are snoring like trucks. Katniss is as alert as be damned, refusing to do so much as to even close her eyes.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Finnick asks, knocking his shoulder into Dahlia's. He frowns when she recoils away from his touch. She's never done that before, and it makes him wonder if he's done something wrong. "You okay, honey?" She nods her head, eyes unfocused as she stares off into the distance. "Dahlia."

Her head snaps to the side so fast he thinks she gave herself whiplash. "Huh?"

"I asked if you were okay," Finnick says slowly, brows knitting together and causing the skin on his forehead to criss-cross with worry lines. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?" He asks, itching to reach out and tilt her head towards him, but knowing that she probably won't appreciate it given her previous reaction. "Talk to me."

Dahlia worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "Just... thinking," she says, lifting her shoulders up into a shrug.

"Anything you wanna share?" Finnick teases, tilting his head to one side in an effort to catch her attention. She doesn't blink, and he starts to worry that it's a side effect of her concussion. "I'm serious, honey, are you okay? Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine," Dahlia insists. "You worry too much, Finn," she says, turning to look at him. He smirks, and she glares at him. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He chuckles under his breath. "You called me Finn," he sings, watching as her face crumbles and the blood rushes to her cheeks. "In all the time I've known you, honey, you've never gave me the privilege of a nickname."

She ducks her head to hide the colour in her face. "I call you an asshole," she supplies, trying to sway him into a different conversation altogether. "Surely that counts for something."

"You're deflecting!" He points an accusing finger at her and breathes out a laugh. "Oh my God, you're blushing! You're embarrassed!" He wears a shit-eating grin and before Dahlia has time to catch the thought and question it, she wonders if kissing him would make his ego inflate more or less. "Don't worry, honey. Personally, I think you should start calling me it more often. I mean, its really doing something for me here."

She snorts indignantly. "You're an animal. An actual animal."

Panem's national anthem sounds throughout speakers hidden around the arena and the fallen eight tributes are shown on a hologram high in the sky. Mags and the others stir from their sleep, tossing and turning as they push themselves up onto their elbows to peer up at the night sky. The anthem ends, and the hologram fizzles out.

"There's sixteen of us left," Peeta announces, voice quiet and laced with tiredness. He rests his head on Katniss' shoulder, eyes fluttering shut once more before the steady sound of beeping brings him back to reality. He groans, and stands to his feet, dragging his prosthetic leg behind him as they all move to crowd around the small parachute that has landed on the mossy jungle floor.

No one moves to open it, so Katniss takes matters into her own hands. She hastily rips open the  packaging and reads the paper note aloud. "Drink up? It's from Haymitch."

"What is it?" Finnick wonders aloud, cocking his head to one side as he tries to study the small, metal object in Katniss' hands. "You can't fish with it, anyway. I've never seen that before in my life and trust me, being from four, I would have seen it if it had anything to do with catching fish for food."

"I think it's a spile," Katniss practically trips over her own two feet as she rushes to a nearby tree, throwing an explanation over her shoulder as she uses the jagged edge of a rock to dig the spile into the trunk. "It's kind of like a faucet. You put it in a tree and sap comes out."

"Sap?" Wyatt sounds bewildered. They don't have many trees in District Nine, and the few they do have wouldn't be the same ones that Katniss is referring to. "What the fuck is sap?"

"It's kind of like honey," Peeta answers as they crouch down beside Katniss and the tree. "You use it to make syrup. There must be water inside of these trees." He says excitedly. "Come on," he mutters under his breath, hoping to anybody who's listening that they haven't gotten their hopes up for nothing.

Just as they are starting to wonder if they've made a mistake and gotten this completely wrong, a trickle of water pours out of the spile, soaking the moss beneath their feet.

Dahlia could quiet literally sob her heart out at the sight of fresh water. She paces as she waits her turn, letting the others drink their fill before stepping near it herself. Ducking her head, she gulps back the water, feeling it soothe her scratchy throat.

It's warmer than any of them would have liked but beggars can't be choosers, and right now, the group of them would drain a bottle of damn bleach if it meant having something to drink. Mags is too fragile and old to bend, so Finnick instructs her to sit down and pours some water into a large leaf, using it as a bowl for her to drink out of.

Without their thirst to distract them, exhaustion takes over. Peeta is the first to fall asleep and both Mags and Wyatt follow soon after. Katniss reluctantly dozes off after an hour, head resting against Peeta's shoulder, and within a matter of minutes, they are tangled together like koalas, clinging to each other.

Everyone sleeps through a bell tolling twelve times and then a lightning storm on the far side of the arena and Dahlia can't help but wonder if they would sleep through a tornado, too.

Dahlia keeps her sickles firmly grasped in her hands as she and Finnick sit silently side by side, using a tall tree with long leaves to protect them from the weather, because despite it being the night time and the sun having gone away long ago, the air is still stuffy and humid.

Finnick convinces Dahlia to play twenty questions with him, but he's yawning after ten minutes. "Go to sleep," she instructs, coaxing him into resting his head in her lap. He resists, and she fixes him with a glare. "Don't be stubborn. You're clearly tired."

"And you have a concussion," Finnick retorts, cracking his knuckles one by one. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Dahlia says, refusing to give up. "Just lie down on my lap. I'm not going to bite."

"What if I'm into that kind of thing?" Finnick grins, trying to play it off with humour to hide how afraid he is of being vulnerable with someone. Even though it's something as simple as laying in someone's lap, it sends him into panic mode.

Dahlia cocks her head to one side, studying his face. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Finn. I'm not going to hurt you," she coaxes, watching as his shoulders sag ever so slightly, the tension his muscles hold dissipating. She sucks in a deep breath before taking a big step out of her comfort zone. "Baby, just lie down. I'm not gonna stop irritating you until you get some sleep."

His expression softens and Dahlia steels herself for his resistance. It never comes. Instead, he lies his head in her lap, using her thighs as pillows, and tucks his hands under his head. "Wake me up when you get tired, yeah?"

Dahlia's so taken aback by his willingness to trust her that all she can do is nod her head like a damn fool, and mutter a quiet, "Okay."

His body is taught with tension, clearly feeling out of his comfort zone as much as she's feeling out of hers. She smooths his golden curls out of his eyes, and he melts into her touch, allowing himself to take that leap of faith and place his trust in someone for the first time in his life. Blunt fingernails scratch at his scalp and he sighs contentedly, letting his eyes flutter shut.

A tiny smile pulls at the corners of Dahlia's lips. "I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear her over the sound of the wildlife in the jungle. "You can go to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up."

It seems that her reassurance is all he needs to hear, because he drifts off quickly, his chest rising and falling with soft breaths. She continues to smooth his hair back out of his face and comb her fingers through his golden locks.

She can't help but think how nice it would be for him to lie in her lap more often, but then her mind involuntarily takes her back to nights spent with Capitol men, and she shakes the idea out of her head. Sure, Finnick might be nice, but some of those men were nice, too, and it didn't turn out well in the long run.

A situation like this could only end one way and that was with Dahlia hurt and alone.

She refused to put herself through that agony again. She wouldn't let herself grow fond of him, even if deep down, she wanted to. It wasn't an option. It wasn't in the rules she had set out for herself. It was the one protocol she refused to break; falling in love.

Her head runs at a million miles a minute. She thinks of all the things that could go wrong if she let herself get attached to him. She could let him in, and he could break her heart, or worse, use her secrets against her. Her breathing grows fast and she has to consciously remind herself that she's catastrophising.

Bloom would tell her that she doesn't have a magic wand and can't see the future. Malaki would make her a cup of chamomile tea and sit her down in front of the roaring fire. Juniper would tell her she can't miss out on the opportunity of falling in love because she's scared, and in her head she tells Juniper to leave her alone, only because she knows she's telling the truth.

Minutes stretch into hours and there's no sound apart from the occasional gasp of air as Katniss wakes up and panics, only relaxing when her eyes lock onto Peeta snoring peacefully next to her. Dahlia watches this happen three or four times, and each time Katniss wakes, she whispers that it's okay. Katniss glares at her, but there's no malice behind her gaze, just distrust, which she can not be blamed for.

Dahlia narrows her eyes when she catches sight of a fog rolling in, and Katniss follows her line of sight. It's quick, much too quick to be caused by the weather, and Dahlia doesn't trust it. It's not natural, and it looks too thick, almost like the clouds have fallen from the sky.

Katniss outstretches her hand warily. Her fingertips barely graze the fog, but it's enough. With a guttural scream, she pulls her hand back, writhing on the floor and yelling out in pain. Although Dahlia is a few inches away, she can hear the sizzling of Katniss' skin as it blisters and boils.

Katniss starts to shake Peeta awake, shouting a warning over her shoulder to the others. "Run! The fog is poison! Run!" 

Dahlia shakes Finnick awake and he shoots up iron-rod straight as if he's been poked in the back with a hot poker. "What's going on?" His eyes latch onto hers as he snatches his trident up, ready for battle.

"Run!" Dahlia screams as Wyatt helps him with Mags. She runs towards the fog, looping her arm through Peeta's, who's not able to run as fast as the others; he's still only getting adjusted to his prosthetic leg and the aftereffects of hitting the forcefield are showing. Katniss accepts her help gratefully for once, and between the two of them, they propel him through the jungle.

He trips over vines and branches, and the two girls are practically carrying him as the wall of fog gains ground on them. The mist extends further than the fog and latches onto their skin, burning like tiny flames. Peeta falls once more and stays down as the fog causes boils to show up all over the side of his face.

Dahlia slips, grabbing him by the hand and yelping when her skin touches the fog. Katniss failed to mention just how badly it stings, and she wants to wring Plutarch's neck for putting them into this situation. Finnick and Wyatt scream in the distance and despite all of her instincts telling her to move for them, she can't leave Katniss and Peeta alone. "C'mon. You can do it. Just follow our steps," she says, dragging him to his feet and not giving him much of a choice in the matter.

The blisters seem to have weighed him down some more and they're moving at a slower, stickier pace than before, which is definitely saying something. They trip once more and Dahlia's head is so sore that she stays down, hoping the fog will just take her, hoping that it won't be painful.

Wyatt slows to a stop beside them, skidding and slipping in the mud with Finnick and Mags right behind him. He gently taps Dahlia on the side of the face until her eyes open. "Don't think about it," he warns, hoisting her onto her feet and watching as she slips and falls again. He turns to the others. "She can't walk on her own. She's not even meant to be exerting herself."

"I can't carry Peeta," Katniss says, eyes prickling with tears. "I can't do it."

Finnick looks between Katniss and Peeta, at a loss. Mags hauls herself up, pats Finnick on the shoulder and plants a kiss on his cheek. "Mags?" He shouts as she heads straight for the fog. It takes both Katniss and Wyatt to hold him back from going after her. The canon sounds as he lets out another desperate plea of her name. "Mags!"

"We have to go," Katniss begs. "We have got to get out of here."

"She's right, Finnick," Wyatt says, lifting Dahlia over his shoulder like she weighs nothing. "I'm so sorry, but we have to keep moving. You understand that?"

Finnick sucks in a deep breath and loops one arm around Peeta's waist, while Katniss does the same to his other side. Time loses all sense of purpose as they bolt through the jungle, losing their balance and falling down an embankment.

Wyatt cradles Dahlia's head in his hands, using himself as a human shield to stop her getting a worse concussion than the one she already has. He takes the brunt of the fall, gasping when he makes contact with the solid ground, winded but thankful that he's spared his district partner. 

None of them move as they wait for their imminent deaths to arrive--- but it never does.

Dahlia eventually crawls off Wyatt, lying flat on her back in the moss. She tilts her head to one side and watches as the fog condenses, pressing up against what looks like an invisible wall that pushes it back the way it came. "It's stopped," she croaks, head pounding with pain as she rolls onto her back once more.

Every bone in her body aches and the boils on the back of her neck sizzle and burn. All she wants to do is retreat into her head where it's safe and warm and nothing bad can happen, but right now, she knows she can't afford that luxury. So, instead, she stays as still as she can, and counts the number of stars in the sky to stay tied to the real world, no matter how awful the real world may be.

Katniss screams but she hasn't got the energy to turn her head and see what's happening. She closes her eyes, unable to stop her brain from shutting off. It's okay, her head tells her, just rest now.

One minute she's baking cookies with her mother and the next, Finnick's hovering over her with that worried crease between his brows. She swims in the lake with Ivy, only to find that someone is holding her underneath the water.

She immediately interprets it as a threat, thrashing about, and when she opens her mouth to scream, it achieves nothing; all she does is inhale a massive amount of saltwater. She vaguely makes out the sound of muffled shouting before she's yanked from the water, where she begins to cough up a lung.

Blindly, she reaches out and grabs hold of what feels like a rock, using it to haul herself up onto dry soil. Someone's hands are firm on her face and she lashes out, kicking and flailing about as she tries to wriggle her way out of their grasp.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," Finnick argues, voice firm but gentle as he blocks all of her attacks without breaking a sweat. "I don't want to touch you but if you keep writhing about, I'll have to."

Dahlia pries her eyes open and carefully looks up at the sound of his voice. Finnick frowns down at her, hands held out like he's approaching a frightened animal. His golden curls are flat on the top of his head from being wet and the corners of his eyes are crinkled with concern. "Stay--- just stay where you are," she warns, feeling around in the moss for her sickles and grabbing hold of them.

Hurt flashes across Finnick's face before he recovers. "Come on, now, honey, don't be stupid. I'm not going to hurt you. You know that." He takes a tentative step forward, only to find out that she is in fact, not, bluffing. She swipes with her sickles and he narrowly hops out of the way. "Honey. Calm down. You're fine."

"I don't want to do this," she pleads. "So just stay there for a minute."

Finnick nods his head reluctantly. "Alright. I won't come any closer. Just clam down, yeah?" He says, sitting on a nearby rock. "Take a breath. You're okay."

Dahlia glares at him, but there's no real heat behind her gaze. Finnick doesn't take it personally, anyway; he knows that she is just putting her walls back up because she's scared, and that's the only way she knows how to protect herself. "You tried to kill me," she snarls.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Finnick laughs incredulously. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Well, why else were you holding me under the water?" she snaps, holding out her sickle. "You better start explaining."

Finnick sighs. "The water helps with the burns from the fog."

"What fog?" Dahlia asks, mind still hazy from swapping and changing from the world in her head and the one that's real. Finnick's brows dip and it takes a minute for her to piece together what's going on. "The poison fog?"

He nods slowly, and answers with, "Yeah. Did you not notice the burns are gone?"

She looks away for a moment, making sure to keep him in her peripheral vision as her hand flies up to touch the skin of her neck. It's still sensitive and warm to touch, but there's no more lumps or boils. "I don't understand. This can't be real. This is just something I made up in my head."

"No, honey, it's real," Finnick soothes, wanting nothing more than to just reach out and wrap her in his arms. He can see the doubt in her eyes, and he sighs. "Do you remember when I promised I would tell you the truth, hm?" She hums suspiciously. "Well, I don't break my promises. This-- all of this-- is real. I swear it."

Dahlia shakily pushes herself to her feet and says, "I believe you." She can feel the others staring at her as she sits in the small creek of water. Wyatt and Peeta go to find some fresh water from a nearby tree using the spile and Katniss gathers their weapons together, leaving her and Finnick on their own.

She soaks her feet and slowly lowers herself in until she's floating on her back. It's something that Wyatt taught her to do years ago. A grounding technique, he had called it. She still doesn't really know what's that's supposed to mean, but for some reason, it works.

Finnick scoots closer to her, inch by inch, until he's sitting in the water only a few feet away from her. "You okay now?"

Dahlia stares at the sky to stop herself from having to look at him. "I'm sorry. I just.. get confused sometimes."

His tongue darts out to wet the corners of his lips. "Can I ask... why?"

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

"I don't know how to explain it," she answers honestly. "I can't put it into words."

Finnick hums his acknowledgement. "That sounds hard to deal with. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Dahlia frowns. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No one's ever asked me that before," she admits.

"Ever?"

"Ever." She pauses, the words lingering on her lips as she sits up in the water. "I'm sorry about Mags. I know how much she meant to you."

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows the lump in his throat. "She was never going to make it."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less," she says gently. "I'm here, you know that, right? If you need to talk to me, I'm here. I can't promise I'll always have the answers, but I'm a good listener. Or so I've been told, anyway."

Finnick opens his mouth to thank her, but the words get caught in the back of his throat as his gaze catches on something over her shoulder. She stills, too afraid to move in fear of what he's looking at. Neither of them speak as they reach for their weapons at the side of the creek, and that's when Dahlia sees it.

Heavy creatures balance on branches in the trees, tufts of orange fur sticking up in all directions as if they've been electrocuted.

"Monkeys," Dahlia mutters under her breath. Finnick looks at her as if to ask how she knows. "Ivy asked for one for her birthday, but they didn't look like these ones."

Katniss quietly sneaks up on them, pressing her back against theirs to provide coverage from all angles. Her bow is loaded with two arrows, as she tells them, "They're mutts." She calls for Peeta and Wyatt, who turn around at the sound of their names, faces dropping as they see the animals surrounding them. "Walk over here slowly," Katniss instructs.

Peeta grabs the spile and his sword while Wyatt pulls a couple of daggers out of his back pocket. It's hard for Peeta to keep his steps quiet with the loud thump of his metal leg hitting against the moss, but he manages it, little by little.

"We need to get to the beach," Wyatt mutters to the others, spinning on his heel as the monkeys start to crowd in on them. One lunges for him and Dahlia rips it's head off with one swift swipe of her sickle.

The mutts are relentless with their attacks, and nobody holds back as they fight off the animals. Katniss is pushed underwater by one and Wyatt spears his dagger into it's chest, helping her up as the monkey's body goes limp. "Go! Get to the beach!"

Despite the beach growing closer and closer the further they run, the mutts are gaining ground on them, and fast. Dahlia screams in pain when one sinks it's claws into her leg and kicks it full force in the face. She hobbles towards the beach, swiping and hitting out with her sickles, letting out all of the rage she's kept bottled up for years on end.

They are mere metres from the beach when it happens; a mutt has Peeta pinned against a tree, ready to make one final blow, when a camouflaged morphling from Six jumps out of her hiding spot in the treeline, allowing the monkey to sink it's claws into her chest.

Peeta gasps and sinks his sword into the monkey's back, tossing it off the morphling. Between him and Katniss, they manage to carry her to the oceanfront, while Dahlia, Finnick and Wyatt try to hold off their attackers.

As they reach the beach, Dahlia turns her back for a split second to make sure they haven't left anyone behind.

A split second is all it takes.

Wyatt starts to scream bloody murder, and then it dies out into nothing but a dull whimper.

She turns back around.

Three monkeys have pounced on him, pinning him to the ground, sinking their claws into him over and over and over and over again.

A scream tears out of Dahlia's throat as she rushes to his side, using her sickles to slash at the monkeys and pushing them off of him like they weigh nothing. The monkeys snarl at her as she grabs Wyatt under the arms and starts dragging him across the sand, leaving a streak of crimson in his wake.

Dahlia sets him down gently on his back, trying her hardest not to panic when she catches sight of the blood seeping from his stomach and neck. "Oh God," she cries, hands tremoring violently as she tries to stem the bleeding.

Wyatt tries to speak, but only a gurgled sound comes out, followed by a trickle of red. "It hurts," he manages to choke out.

Dahlia starts to sob as she grabs his hand. "I know. I know, but you'll be fine. You hear me, it's going to be okay."

"Kill me."

Dahlia's blood runs cold. "What?"

"Kill me. Put me out of my misery."

Her voice shakes. "No." Finnick's at her side, a reassuring hand on her back. She can barely feel it. "No. I can't-- I won't!"

"If you don't do it, I'll do it myself," Wyatt reaches for a dagger and Dahlia tosses it into the sea. He grabs hold of the front of her wetsuit. "I'm begging you."

"You can't ask me to do that," she sobs, chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. "You can't ask me to do that. It's not fair! I won't. I won't!"

Wyatt frowns, tears trickling down his face. "Please, Dahlia. Please. I'm scared."

Dahlia hunches over, screaming and crying as Finnick tries to coax her into his arms.  "Close your eyes." She begs.

"What?"

"I can't do it if you're looking at me. I can't."

"I don't want to see the dark," Wyatt gasps. "I don't want the last thing I see to be darkness."

Dahlia wants to be sick. But she has to stay strong. If not for herself, for Wyatt. "It's okay. I'm gonna be right here with you, holding your hand." She intertwines their fingers together and he lets his eyes flutter shut. A tear rolls down his cheeks. "You see that light? You see it?"

"I see it," Wyatt whispers. "I see it."

"You're gonna follow it for me, okay?" She muffles a sob into her hand as she raises her sickle and presses the sharp end into his throat. He breathes out a sigh of relief and she nearly keels over at the sound. "I need you to follow the light, yeah? It'll be okay. The light will take care of you."

"Okay," Wyatt murmurs, brows knitted together as if he really can see the light.

"It's going to be okay." Dahlia repeats. "Okay?"

"Okay."

The canon sounds, he goes limp in her arms, and Dahlia bolts up the beach.

[mothwithapencil]

Alright gang what do we think about The Decepticule

[dawnthefluffyduck]

New game interest unlocked

(crow in bottom right belongs to @patchwork-crow-writes)

[bsotted]

ok well. unfortunate news: sometimes ur niche is so niche u've already niched the niche. this is exactly the same as the feeling of hitting the end of ur ship tag in ao3 🥲

*edit: sorry i accidentally named like every character ever in the tags so ppl are Seeing this post who dont have the benefit of so much as a single crumb of context. if i accidentally namedropped ur blorbo its bc of this post:

anyway. i was excited for recs bc i also enjoy this genre of fictional character. unfortunately as above the niche is niched, it turns out. at least for me, content enjoyer georg, who has apparently already seen or read everything anyone else has already seen or read except for a small handful of specific media properties that i do not wish to see or read for various personal reasons and also not literally everything ever... just the same things as everyone else has already seen and read... u get the idea. ok thnks 👍🏻

[the0ther-side0f-dawn]

just a little personal anecdote/ thought dump in the tags..

[pears-trinkets]

.

[norikuna]

GREEDY — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → pretty, prodigal, and teasing. how far can you push your former teacher before he snaps? gojo's about this 🤏 close from releasing a hollow purple on the world.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. màstúrbation (m.) and rough sèx, creaḿpie. some angst/doubt. angsty love confession before gojo póunds reader into the mattress. incorrect use of reversed curse technique. arguments and stuff. description of injuries. def mean!gojo a bit and he's got vampire tendencies.

reader is of legal age (implied to be 19-20) and gojo is 28 so age gap!romance. obsessed!gojo and popular girl!reader trope. gojo is absolutely a mess in this, and reader is described as wearing short skirts, and wearing makeup.

rather questionable ethics and dynamics (teacher/former student) but rest assured its clear that his feelings are pretty recent. reader has him twirled and whipped around her fingers. reader is also def a baddie and ambiguously bi.

word count. 8.7k words im mad actually. this was meant to be headcanons song inspiration. greedy — tate mcrae

a/n. this is was gonna be from reader's pov but i thought it would be more fun from gojo's 🙂‍↔️

mp3. i see you eyeing me down, but you'll never know much past my name. or how i'm running this room, but i'm still half your age. yeah, you're looking at me like i'm some sweet escape 😛

gojo satoru was not a weak man, no. he knew that he was an anomaly of nature, an unstoppable power that could reduce enemies to dust and make entire clans crumble with nothing more than a flick of his wrists.

so how was it, that when it came to you, his resolve was paper-thin?

every time your open gaze met his, every time you brushed past him, every time your presence filled the space around his infinity, gojo felt something inside him unravel. his breath would be caught in his chest, leaving his pulse to quicken and suddenly, all that strength and control would slip through his fingers.

gojo cursed himself for this, you see. he had never been one to lose control, but he was not quite sure when his entire body has started to betray him.

but no, fuck that, and he did his utter best to run his focus back onto the lesson at hand. unfortunately, the lesson at hand was with you. standing in front of him, arms slightly raised, palms out, and raising your brow as boredom passed over your face.

gojo cleared his throat, "your stance is good, but your cursed energy is all over the place. focus, breathe. centre yourself is what i'm saying," he instructed, but the words felt hollow as they passed through his lips.

unfairly, you're weren't the problem. he was. and now this was getting ridiculous. you had graduated not two, three years past? it would have been a disservice to still call you his student, but even as a mentee, you were still under his tutelage. and as recent as this immature infatuation was, this felt wrong.

but now you were frowning, starting to waver and the sharp, staccato tap of your heeled boot punctuated the wooden floor, click, click!

gojo looked to the sky, briefly, if to pray for patience and a calm of some sorts. he stepped forwards towards you, placing a hand on your waist to guide you into a better stance, and trying to ignore the way your skin felt warm underneath his fingers.

focus.

"don't let your body twist like that when you utilise your own cursed energy. keep it straight, balanced," he muttered, adjusting your posture slightly, hand on your spine — the heel of his palm pressing into a dent. a deity from the sky must have struck him with a cursed arrow, for his whole body was on fire.

because there you were, standing right in front of him, so close that gojo could feel the soft heat of your breath, the faint scent of a sweet perfume wafting off your skin, vanilla?

"you're not focused," gojo grimaced, though he wasn't sure if the rebuke was at himself, or at you — whose eyes widened briefly, and gojo tried not to recognise the curiosity and challenge that flashed across your face.

look at how she's staring at me. and gojo felt utterly ridiculous, and exposed, she knows. but instead of pulling away, you shifted ever so slightly towards him, your body arching as the barest brush of your breasts against his forearm had heat pulling through his body.

would you taste as sweet as you smelt? would you lean more into him if he asked?

he cleared his throat, "okay. relax, not every stance or position works for an individual. perhaps, you'll be able to focus better like this," and with his hand still on your waist, he pulled you into a swift spin. one that left your back pressed against the hard planes of the chest, and you facing the other wall.

you hummed, this time not in the way he wanted. your lips were lightly parted, and there was that soft sheen of gloss catching the light, making your lips look impossibly soft. gojo caught himself staring, wandering what it would be like to press his own mouth to yours, and whether you would squeal or moan.

still, if there was anything that gojo was good at, it was deflecting like a champ, "i think you're distracted," he laughed, low and amused, "is something making you lose focus?"

you tilted your head, and gojo didn't miss (nor did his heart or groin) that your gaze flickered to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his eyes again, feigning innocence, "don't tell me you're underestimating me, sensei. because i'd hate to think you can't keep up?"

gojo bit back a grin at the obvious bait, "careful," brushing strands of white hair that had fallen into his face away, "if you get too cocky, you tend to miss danger. you start to ignore things that should be noticed."

your voice dropped to a droll whisper, eyes glinting, "you think i don't notice things? i'm aware of plenty."

gojo forced himself to focus, to ignore the way that your lashes flutter with unshakable composure. trying to regain control, or some semblance of mind, he started counting each individual lash painted dark with mascara, lingering on the outermost curls that framed your sharp eyes.

after a beat, he forced himself to break eye contact, "alright," he said, stepping back with a casual shrug that he hoped conveyed just how nonchalant he was, "we’ll call it a day here and continue training tomorrow."

"backing out already?" you teased, leaning in just a little, making him tense at the closeness.

gojo chuckled, feigning nonchalance. "for your sake. you may be powerful, but you have to pace yourself."

you shrugged, nodding, "i'm going out anyway this evening," you said, hopping back a step before bending down to gather your things. gojo politely averted his gaze, his heart hammering from your previous proximity, and desperately hoping to avoid a...reaction, that would be quite inconvenient, as wide and loose as his martial pants were. like a fuckin' school boy with a crush. gross.

but as you slung your pastel bag over your shoulder and straightened up, he couldn't help a quick glance, catching the small, coy glimmer in your eyes as you turned to leave.

gojo sighed, pulling up his blindfold once more, "have fun," he half-heartedly offered, but you were already out the door.

the corridors were now empty, the clang of metal and chatter now silent, replaced with a quiet hum of the air conditioning. gojo wiped his face with the towel wrapped around his neck, the damp fabric clinging to his skin and the muscles in his arms and chest still warm from the intensity of training. his arms and chest glistened, the muscles warm and taut as he stretched, rolling his shoulders back with a low groan. exhaustion settled into him like a weight, each movement of his tired, bare torso slow and deliberate.

"oh, you're still here, sensei?"

gojo's eyes snapped open, drawn to the sound of your inquisitive voice. you stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light from the hallway, and he immediately felt a rush of heat flood his chest.

well, fuck, now his mouth was dry. clearly, your previous iteration of 'going out' was a bit more glamorous than you had led on, and he was certain his wandering eyes betrayed him as it flickered over your figure. it took a titan's strength to keep his eyes from trailing down your long legs, the way your dress hugged the swell of your chest, or over your glistening neck. there was a faint shimmer, a glitter of some sort? it coated your skin, and gojo wanted to lick it off with his tongue.

what? no. who said that?

he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his composure.

you scowled at his reaction, clearly mistaking his silence for distaste. "what? i did say i was going somewhere," you retorted, your tone sharp but amused. "i’m more than allowed to leave the campus grounds.”

"of course,” he replied, voice outstandingly steady but his mind still trailing after every curve, every detail that made you look...well...dangerous in the best way, "don't let me stop you. who's the lucky guy?"

you arched a brow, folding your arms over your chest, and now, gojo really did have to look away and pretend that he was busy with retying a dark piece of cloth over his eyes, "who said it was a guy?"

gojo thickly swallowed, wondering if he'd just made a colossal blunder with no return, "that's not what i meant." the words 'my bad' stuck in his throat as you laughed and sighed.

"joking, sorry. it's a guy, this time." now you were fiddling with your long nails, with a satisfying clack as they ran across each other.

"i hope he shows you a great time then," he offered, half-hearted, blasé.

you took a step into the room, and gojo didn't even need six eyes to know that your eyes were raking over his chest, "i'm sure he will," all sweetness and sugar, "i've been training so hard, i deserve it, don't i?"

the words hit him harder than he expected, and he had to remind himself — she's not yours, satoru. but that didn't stop the gruff irritation bubbling up.

"a real man should be taking you out on a date like this,” he said, his voice a bit too rough for his liking. "not some guy who’s probably just looking for a good time."

you scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. "are you saying that there's someone else out there who can do a better job?" your tone was playful, but there was a challenge in it — an edge that made his heart skip once more, "sadly, there just aren't many who've handled me well."

he ignored your immature, faux pout, and ran a hand through damp, icy hair — ignoring how his temper flared, rearing its ugly head.

was this all on purpose? to toy with him?

"you want to be handled, sweetheart?" gojo's voice dropped a little lower, indulging your teasing, "i've seen you lose focus easily, you could easily break."

your lips creased up, painted a tempting shade of dried-blood red (what the fuck was wrong with him? was he now just a horny vampire?) as you purred, "i'd need some help testing out that theory." your expression was open just enough for him to see the tiniest flicker of something in your eyes — something that told him you were enjoying this far more than you should.

an invitation of sorts, he wondered. did you want him to move? to make a move? it wasn’t a secret that you had always been a popular student practically a legend, rumours swirling around you like wildfire — whispers of broken hearts and sweetened smiles that could captivate anyone in your path. he had never paid attention of course, gossip always ran wild among students and he discouraged such whispers of who-did-what, for a grade 1 curse would never indulge such behaviour before they would get torn to shreds.

and even now, long after graduation as you worked around your old alma mater, men and women — everyone swooned at the chance to speak with you, and yet, here you were, playing this dangerous game with him.

gojo scowled, trying to push past the desire building inside him, the urge to have you underneath him, right on this mat in the training room. "well, don’t hang around too long," he said, his tone sharp as a blade. "i’m sure your date is waiting. go have a good time."

invitation declined. the morally right thing to do. right?

he didn’t need to look to see the small sneer that curled at the corner of your lips, or the way it turned into a fleeting expression of annoyance. he could hear the click of your heels echo down the hallway as you sashayed out.

what the everlasting fuck was wrong with him?

lo and behold, the great gojo satoru often found himself alone in his own private rooms. for 'the strongest' rarely had time to accommodate some other forms of company.

and frankly, he had no desire to do so now regardless. not when the echoes of your clicking heels still reverberated in his mind. the silence that echoed around him was heavy, suffocating and he was sure he looked erratic.

gojo ran a hand over his face, trying to shake the thought of you. but it was useless. his body was still on fire, the heat of jealousy smouldering in his chest, coiling in his gut like something alive, something dangerous. he had walked to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, his legs splayed wide apart as his shoulders slumped under the soft, amber glow of the setting sun that streamed through the windows. the sorcerer let his head fall back against the chair, eyes closed.

how absolutely ridiculous, he thought, running his fingers through his tousled hair. no, he just couldn't stop it. couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted you. wanted you to want him too. and now, with the way you’d left, with that knowing smile on your lips, all he could imagine was the man you were with now, the man who’d be holding the door open for you, who’d be pulling out your chair, whoever the hell he was.

maybe even a casual, non-sorcerer. some random guy that you had indulged because he was no threat. but he wouldn't be able to touch you, not in the way that you demanded. the man would laugh at your jokes, brush his hand against yours, but wouldn't be able to let a real smile bubble from your lips like satoru could.

and what would that man do next?

would he try to take you back to his place? some small poorly-lit apartment where he'd try to kiss you, to claim your lips without even pulling away for air. would you kiss him back, curling into his frame?

before gojo's even registered what he's doing, his own hand has found his hard cock. despite the tattle of assistance, and dreamy-eyed mongers, pleasure is rare for him. relief, even less so. his schedule just doesn't allow it, and so he oft find himself chasing some distant contentment like this, alone in his rooms.

but he squeezes at the wide hilt, at his base, pulling his hands up, upwards as his brows furrow under blindfold, and he tugs the offending fabric off, away from him, as laden balls smack against his wrist.

maybe the man would then trail his lips down your neck, maybe he'd try to slowly sink his teeth into delicate flesh, leaving blooming purple marks that wouldn't fade, not when gojo saw you tomorrow.

he's running his curled hand up towards the fat mushroom tip, almost glowing pink with heat and pre-cum that's leaving his hand slicked with faint moisture, "shit, that's it."

then what? he can imagine your teasing smile as you decide to take your pleasure as you see fit. how you'd suddenly push this faceless man off, and move so you're straddling him, letting his hands wander around the curve of your hips, digging into plush flesh.

now he's starting to pant, open-mouthed, "ah - fuck! wish i had you here, right here." gojo must be a madman, breathing out to the empty, open air.

but in his mind's eye, you're reaching behind your back to undo the zipper on your outstandingly tight dress, giving the faceless man a coy smile as you push the fabric of your dress down, letting your plentiful tits spill out and against the man's chest.

his wrist is moving faster now, and there's a cramp starting to build up as he pistons his hand over his stretched shaft, and one arm is thrown over his face — the soft hairs on his thick forearm tickling his face as he tries not to gasp or whine too loudly, but he's bucking his ups now, pretending that it's not his hand that he's spilling into, but your tight cunt. and later, he shudders and tenses up, with apologies whispered into the air, "look, look - shit, i'm sorry - i'm sorry. couldn't help it, fuck." and gojo's bitten his lips so hard that he's certain he's drawn blood, vibrant red blooming on pale, creamy skin.

and a lamp had exploded as he came. damn, he'd have to replace that.

you don't deserve someone like him, no. not when he's sitting here, absolutely filthy with thick, white seed entirely over his tense abdominal muscles and stiff hand. not when he's trying to catch his breath after imagining how snug your pussy would feel around him, and how you'd beg for him to give it to you harder.

you didn't deserve someone so messed up with guilt, with mistakes, with the kind of weight that made him too much for anyone, let alone someone like you. didn't you deserve better than a tortured man who couldn't control himself, better than an overzealous mentor who was supposed to keep his distance, to do what was right.

but that didn’t stop his thoughts from swirling, as he separated damp, thick thighs from the smooth surface of the chair, reaching for a tissue. he couldn’t help it. and it made him feel like a damn fool.

the meeting room buzzed with tension, voices rising in sharp, clipped exchanges — some angry, some demanding and others clueless and questioning. gojo had woken up in a foul mood that morning, with some ill-gotten storm brewing beneath his chest. perhaps it was the thoughts of you that lingered from the night before, a gnawing jealously that left him feeling too tight in the stiffness of the uniform dress pants.

but he had forced himself to be dragged through this meeting, plastering a snarky light-hearted grin over his face as he leaned against the wall, letting the higher-ups argue themselves into oblivion.

amidst the storm of words, gojo's focus was nowhere near the mission being discussed. no, his attention was fixated entirely on you. you stood at the far end of the table, eyes flashing with ire as you tore into some pompous old fool who’d dared question your power. the others in the room shifted uncomfortably, deferring to you, as they often did, despite your youth. you had that rare combination of presence and bite that made people recoil back when you sunk your teeth into them, and this was not a knot gojo was interested in unraveling.

kojiro, one of the bumbling administrators, had turned his babbling attention to gojo, "you're still planning to face that curse head-on, gojo-san?" the poor man is wringing his hands at gojo's flat look (made all the more unreadable through a blindfold, satoru would wager), "don't you think it would be well - unwise? instead of expending your time and energy on one cursed spirit, you could handle five lesser ones. efficiency, you see."

gojo's gaze briefly flickers back to you, standing with your arms crossed as one hand fiddles with the end of your braid as your petal-pink lips scowl at some other official with words that don't fit his stature. your other hands keeps reaching around your neck, adjusting a plaid scarf over and over, like you're desparate to hide something under the fabric . well, fuck that.

"i'm aware of the risks," gojo turns his attention back to the matter, "but no one here has time for hesitation. if the curse is special grade, don't you at least think that delaying with lead to more destruction?"

"is it really the cursed spirit you’re worried about, takumi-san?" you asked, your voice low, the kind of voice that could make someone forget their own name.

gojo's gaze snapped to you from under the blindfold, but you weren’t looking at him, not even speaking at him. instead, you were locking eyes with one of the other sorcerers — takumi, a grade two with a shaggy mop of golden hair, one who had been a student alongside you and hardly subtle in his admiration for you.

gojo tries to hide a scoff at how takumi's eyes are wandering over you, ignoring the newpapers that have been flattened on the meeting table, with bold inked letters reading doom-portents such as 'unexplained explosion, 4 dead and 12 injured."

time and place, man.

"you don't think i can handle this mission. if you're worried about me, just say so," takumi's now leaning into you, even as gojo tries to train his ear on kojiro's economic-obsessed babble instead.

gojo can see your eyes flicker to the dastardly newspapers as well, clearly curling your lips at the dour news and takami's disastrous attempt at getting his hands under your skirt. but he also knows that sharp glint in your eyes, the one when you toy with those around you, to pull them in without ever committing to anything. clearly, you've decided to indulge this game.

"takumi," and you draw out the younger man's name, "shouldn't you bring more strength to the table? of course, i'm worried about a friend getting hurt. but even if you were stronger, or the strongest, a special grade curse could do some real damage."

and your eyes have flicked right towards gojo, raking over his frame leaning against the pale cream walls. he's glad for the blindfold, so you can't see how he scowls and furrows his thin brows at you, at your blatant hopes for a reaction from him. were you so unobservant that you did not know how much you bothered him?

the pointed sharpness in your words made takumi pause, and for just a moment, gojo could see the man’s grin falter. it was clear that you weren’t impressed by his attention, you had no need for his slimy attempts.

there was no mistake about it — this wasn’t just a flirtation. this was a game you played, and gojo was not only aware of it; he was caught in it. he tries not to feel irrationally angry, fuck, so much of his life revolves around his work, his job and now he can't even do that properly without feeling like you're using your long nails to dangle something in front of him, wanting to snap his teeth out and snatch it.

so you wanted him to see this. you wanted to claim that you could unravel the strongest sorcerer from the heavens to the earth below, to make him lose his composure. gojo feels as if there is crackling ozone in the air, and wonders dimly if the weather forecast predicted a rain storm for later today.

takumi, sensing the shift, finally backed off with a huff, but not before giving all around him a lingering look, as if it was their fault that you weren't interested.

"enough distractions," kojiro's interjected, raking a finger through a beard streaked with gray, and he's shooting a pointed look at you, snapping rose-pink gum, and takumi, shuffling with his hands in his pockets. "we're here to discuss the mission, not flirt." and then, he's off mumbling something about how this was why he hated having younger sorcerers join the meeting rooms.

his ire only grew. gojo stood with his back against the wall, outside the meeting room, once everyone had left with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. you stood in front of him, your eyes flashing with anger, your chest rising and falling with each sharp breath.

"absolutely not," gojo stood his ground firmly, "no-one will let you go on this mission."

you stomped on the floor, once as your heels snapped an echo, "they will if you say so."

gojo stuffs his hands in his pockets, "who said that i would also allow you?"

you scoffed, folding your arms across your chest, mimicking his previous stance but with a clear defiance in your posture. "and why the hell not? i'm more than capable of handling it. it's my fucking choice, and how can extra help hurt?"

"enough!" gojo snapped, feeling a tense pain in between his eyes, "it's too dangerous. and you're too young -"

"too young!" you've interrupted him, "i'm not some helpless child, sensei. i'm a grade 1 sorcerer! one of the best, i don't need to be treated like i can't handle a mission."

"grade 1. not special-grade."

his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. gojo could see the fury in your eyes, but there was something else there, something deeper, a vulnerability that he had seen before in students, some desire to prove themselves and be heaped with praise. he knew you were good, better than most — hell, better than many of the adults he’d seen. but this cursed spirit was unlike anything you’d faced before. and yet, here you were, challenging him, pushing him, daring him to stop you.

"you don’t get it," he muttered, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. "you think you’re invincible, but you’re not. you're too reckless."

"reckless!" now you had taken a step towards him, narrowing the space between you both. your eyes were fierce now, but there was something else in them — a spark of hurt that made his chest tighten, and gojo began to wander where this would start spiral. "i’m not reckless. i know exactly what i’m doing. the only reckless thing here is you thinking you have the right to control my every move."

"i'm the one in charge here," he said, his voice hoarse, the words coming out sharper than he intended. "and i'm telling you now, you’re not going. you’re not ready for this. don't involve the higher-ups in this."

you were so close now, just inches apart. his eyes flicked to your lips, with the arch of a blooming flower kissed by the sun, for a brief moment, and then back up to your face, where anger and frustration mixed with something else — a challenge.

"maybe that’s the problem," you said, your voice quieter now, but still holding an edge. "you think i'm still some child who needs you to tell me what to do. maybe you just don’t want me to outshine you."

the words are ridiculous, and he can see by the mild quiver as your throat bobs that you don't mean what you say. it takes a rare type of courage to tell the first person in four hundred years to be born with limitless and six eyes, that he could be outshined. but satoru doesn't say a word to rebuke your obvious and false bait.

your body is so close now that gojo could feel the heat of your skin, your breath brushing against his. he could smell the faint sweetness of vanilla again in the air mingled with fresh, crisp apples, could see the subtle shine of your lip gloss catching the light. it was a testament to his spirit, he thinks, that he did not lean in straight away and touch his mouth to yours in this scenario that certainly did not warrant it.

"you want me to stop you that badly?" he hissed, his voice a mix of frustration and something darker, that had not yet snapped. "is that what this is? a game? a way for you to get my attention? to see how far you can push me before i do snap?"

now he's got your tongue, and your expression has flickered for a brief moment before schooling into an impassive mask, and gojo briefly wanders if he's crossed an awful line and misinterpreted everything. if they're gonna stick a white dunce hat on his head and parade him through the streets of outer tokyo for being an assuming fool.

but then you've stepped even closer, your breath coming faster, the weight of your chest almost pressed against his, and gojo doesn't move and he's briefly aware that he's let his infinity down.

"partly, you know it's not just about you though. i do want to go on this mission, but -" you tilt your head and look right up at him, and the older man's head starts to reel from the fact that he was right all along, "i do want to see how far you can go before you snap."

his heart pounded, and for a moment, everything went still. all the tension, all the heat, the anger, and the desire — everything seemed to converge in the space between you. gojo's hand twitched, aching to touch you, but he held himself back, his muscles straining with the effort.

"stop,” he rasped, barely able to get the word out. "you don’t know what you’re doing, or what you're asking for."

he's never felt quite like this before, breathless as if the air has been punched out of his lungs. all gojo could think was how much he wanted to pull you closer, to kiss you until there was nothing left between you.

but he couldn’t.

he puts his hands on your shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of your top, and gently pushes you away.

"my decision is final. don't make this harder than this, you're forbidden from the mission."

how sick and twisted, that you've fled with embarrassed tears pricking at your eyes, and he's stuck with a raging erection.

well, he had seen worse. but it didn't make this curse any less vicious. it was ancient, he could presume, and maddening. its cursed energy was warping the night air like a violent storm. but again, not the worst thing that he had encountered in his twenty-eight years, and with the right timing, he'd been able to calculate every strike and counter.

but then he saw you.

at first, he thought it was a blur — a trick of the light. but then, there you were, standing at the edge of the pavement, your figure framed by the chaotic crackle of cursed energy. fuck your stubborn nature.

this is not what is meant to happen. gojo's heart has skipped a beat, and he's not sure what he's more furious with. you, for defying his concern for your safety. or himself, for getting so distracted in. a battle.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?"

yes, he knows you're good. good enough to move with precision against a special-grade curse, your stance instantly and suspiciously better than the other day in the training rooms. it's only through his six eyes that gojo has been able to keep a track of your movements as your jujutsu is able to dodge the creature's brutal force.

impressive. but reckless.

and that never lasts.

you had moved to cast your own cursed technique, but the curse was intelligent enough to anticipate it. with a sudden lash of its tail, the creature swung its power straight at you, knocking you off balance. you stumbled, your footing lost, and before you could react, a flash of dark energy slicing across your shoulder.

a scream had torn from your lips as you fell to the ground, blood spurting from the deep cut.

and briefly, just for a flicker of time, gojo sees a dark-haired man in violet robes leaning against a brick wall, with his shoulder torn off, 'at least curse me one last time.'

blood rushing in his ears, before he even realised it, he was on top of you, his body hovering over yours, his jujutsu flaring as he shoved the cursed spirit back with a brutal force that made the earth tremble, an exorcism that will not take long. he kneeled beside you, his breath ragged, eyes locked on the wound on your shoulder. the blood was already soaking your clothes, darkening the fabric as you winced, your breath shallow and unsteady.

"you —” gojo isn't sure if his hand isn't shaking from how irate he is, "what the hell were you thinking? fuck, don't move."

your eyes were unfocused for a moment, but when they snapped to him, there was defiance there — even in this moment (get a grip!), as you gritted your teeth against the pain.

"save it, it's fine," you spat, your voice weak but vexed, "that bitch is still there."

"what did i tell you! what did i say would happen?" he cursed under his breath, focusing his reversed cursed technique as he tried to heal you, but the moment felt like an eternity as bright red blood moved too fast for him to seize it.

an assassin's blade in his throat, his arteries giving way and bubbling out and up.

now you don't answer, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. gojo's gaze darted to the cursed spirit, which was now advancing again, enraged by the interruption.

it won’t touch you again.

he stood, pulling you away from him, your body slumping slightly out of his arms. he could feel the heat of your blood soaking through his sleeve, but he had no time to dwell on it. the curse roared in fury, and gojo's infinity flared up around him again, a shield of pure energy blocking its path.

"stay down,” he growled, and all he received was a weak, "fuck, you think that's funny?"

it's only later when he's pulling you back up, that he realises that his reversed cursed energy has done enough to stem the bleeding, but not enough to leave you unharmed as your breath is shallow, your face taking on a more sickly pallor.

"don’t you ever — ever —do that again," he snarled, his voice raw and he wonders when something (or someone) has ever undone him so much. but the anger in his voice doesn't carry to his touch as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, tracing the lines of your jaw.

the sterile walls of your room did nothing to soften the tension in gojo's chest as he stood by your bed, his eyes tracing the curve of your sullen form beneath the sheets. your shoulder was bandaged, with red seeping slowly through the white strips.

"you really are unbelievable," he snapped, his voice sharp as he paced around the room, every step heavy with frustration. "i told you it was too dangerous. i told you not to fucking go."

you lay there, your eyes half-closed, as though you weren’t even listening, but the twitching frown on your lips is sign enough that you're not as sorry. his fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do something — anything — to release the tension building in him.

"are you even listening to me?" he know he sounds bitter, over-reactionary, angry as he moved towards the edge of your bed.

you blinked slowly, your gaze still infuriatingly calm, "i'm fine, now. save the lecture."

he doesn't want to start sputtering so he settles for crossing his arms over his chest, but your voice breaks the silence again.

"you know i want to be a special grade sorcerer, right?"

gojo only looks down, not wanting to indulge an excuse and he studies the tight grip of his knuckles on his slender fingers, "well, i don't know why. the pay isn't that good." it's a weak attempt at a joke, but you're smiling.

"i was told i could only become one if i was the one to exorcise that special grade."

"by who? the higher-ups?" and you nod, wincing as you do.

what a fucking surprise. the way that the jujutsu world works is no surprise to gojo by now, having been surrounded by it his entire life. but the harshness of their reality still shocks him, old and doddering officials who cling to their silk robes are prone to sending out younger sorcerers (those who are still green, barely out of school) to do their dirty work for them, and the cemetery outside of jujutsu tech is ever growing.

he ground his teeth together, his chest tightening as he stared down at you. the bandages, the damp skin, the stillness of your body — it made him want to tear something apart. "fine! if they were giving you a hard time, why didn't you just come to me then?" he repeated harshly.

"would you go ask someone to help you, for something like this? if you were asked to prove yourself?"

gojo runs his tongue behind his teeth, "i'm the strongest, princess. i don't need to ask for help."

you groan, turning your head away from him, but a faint smile dances upon your lips.

he inhales sharply, his fingers digging into the edge of the bed. "you think this is a joke?"

"all four limbs are attached and i'm living and breathing. okay, so fine. my bad. i won't do it again. will you stop snapping at me now, at everything -" and gojo wonders if there's really some hurt colouring your voice, "what's going on?"

the words slip out, rough and unrestrained. "what’s going on is that you’re driving me insane. you act like this doesn’t matter, like i can just stand by and let you throw yourself into danger like it’s nothing — like you don’t matter — but you do. you do matter."

his chest was heaving now, his hands shaking as he reached out and grabbed your wrist. his thumb brushed over your pulse, the tiny fluttering beneath your skin driving him wild. "i can’t — i can’t just stand there and watch you get hurt," he continued, his voice hoarse. "you don’t get to do whatever you want without consequences, damn it. you don’t get to make me feel this way, and then pretend like it doesn’t matter."

for a moment, there was silence. gojo's pulse was hammering in his ears, his body coiled with the intensity of everything he was trying to say. everything he was trying not to say. everything he wanted to act upon.

and then, with a slow, almost lazy smile, you turned towards him, "i didn't know the great gojo satoru was like this. who would have thought?"

his breath hitched in his throat. gojo wanted to say something, to snap at you again, to maintain that distance — but the truth was that the distance between the two of you had disappeared these past few weeks. his chest tightened, his hands trembling as they slid to your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, and he relished how your facade almost cracked and you lightly shivered.

at least, he hoped you were shivering because of his touch. and not, like, a fever building up from your injuries.

fuck it.

and then, before he could stop himself, gojo was leaning down, his lips crashing into yours with all the force he could muster, desparate and hungry and that frustration and fear that he had been holding onto. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you towards him with a force that made your breath catch, as you responded with a soft gasp.

had he misstepped? no, for you kissed him back, tentatively at first, as if you were testing the waters, but then building up to a sudden urgency that mirrored his own. your hands slid to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pushed yourself closer to him, before crying out.

"ah! fuck, my shoulder."

small beads of blood surfaced where your collarbone met your shoulder, each one glistening like tiny rubies against your warm skin. they gathered slowly, delicate droplets that clung to you before tracing faint, uneven lines downward. the red stood out, vivid and fresh, dotting your skin in a stark, almost mesmorising gojo as they welled up and began to trick in thin, crimson trails.

"stay still," gojo rasped, his voice low and rough as he leaned in, pressing closer. his mouth met the fresh blood pooling on your skin, tongue tracing over the small rivulets that had seeped from beneath the bandage.

he lingered, almost savouring the taste, his eyes darkening as the sharp tang of iron lingered on his tongue, smacking his lips slightly as he drew back, gaze fixed intently on you, on your heavy breathing as he stole away another kiss from you.

gojo's lips left yours briefly, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his eyes wild underneath the blindfold, gasping as your nails reached up to hook the fabric down so his hair loosened, falling around his face.

you were staring back at him, breathless and wide-eyed, and in that moment, gojo knew — he couldn’t stay away from you. no matter how much he tried.

your lips were soft, so soft, but there was fire behind the way you kissed him back, your hands landing on his chest, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. he groaned, deep in his throat, and his fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer.

his mouth moved urgently over yours as he shifted to stand beside the bed, his body hovering over you, every muscle tense, straining with the desire that he had tried so hard to ignore. gojo just couldn't think about anything else.

and your lips broke apart only briefly, and you let out a soft laugh, that damn, dangerous laugh of yours. "you're greedy, you know that."

his chest heaved, and his heart pounded in his ears, and blood was now pounding to his nether regions. he wasn’t sure if it was the previous anger or the ache between his ribs, but he couldn’t stop himself as he threaded his fingers through your soft hair, "i am greedy. greedy for you. only you - mmph! shit!"

you had run your long, painted nails (with the little painted charms on the end) down his neck before pressing them, hard enough to cause a sharp sting.

"you wanted to put me through hell," he whispered harshly, and his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, "until i realised i liked it. until i realised i wanted you, all of you."

his hands moved down to your waist, squeezing gently as his lips found the tender spot beneath your ear, trailing kisses there, letting his teeth sink in, to see small bruises appear. gojo's breath was ragged as he fought to keep control, and something deeper inside of him roared with the need to claim you completely.

"you’re mine," he growled against your skin, the words hot and possessive. "i don't care what happens. you’re mine now."

you tilted your head, still smiling, but this time there was something different in your eyes — something that burned with the same intensity. "if i'm yours, what are you going to do about it? hmm, satoru?"

and that final thread, that last remnant of honour that he had been nurturing and holding onto, snapped.

"is this what you want, princess?" he draws out the nickname, letting it roll off his tongue, as you suddenly inhale sharply. his hands are all over you now, large hands exploring and kneading at your torso, and before he can even let you blink, they're under your top.

he's pressing his hot mouth to your sternum, wet and open-mouthed, and he wonders what sort of effect you have on him. what force in the world leave him panting like this, desparate as his hands find their way behind your back, to unclip whatever's holding your tits in place — just so he can reach back and run his palms over your hard nipples, flicking them and rolling them in between his fingers.

and faintly, in the back of his mind, he's aware that his reversed cursed technique must be working overtime, because suddenly you're rolling forward into him with no care in the world for your previously injured shoulder, as your own hands trail down the front of body, right over his bulge.

but he slaps your hand away, pressing you flat against the mattress, "fuck, not yet. you think i'm just going to let you get away with all this," and as you mewl a soft yes, followed by a please, he rolls his eyes, "wait. behave and i'll give you what you want."

and then, softer, "need to make sure you're ready first."

his arms are caging both sides of your head, and he's got one hand on the headboard (although, you will marvel at the burnt imprint that he's left, later) and the other is tearing your top off, just so he can lean down and let his canines press into the soft fat of your chest, so he can slip a pointed nipple into his mouth and tug it, ever so gently.

but gojo needs to continue lower, and his hand squeezes at the waistband of your short skirt, snapping the elastic twice as you heave your bare chest, "please, please, satoru!"

it's heaven down here for him, and gojo's dizzy at how outstandingly wet you are, with just a single swipe of his fingers in the soft, damp fabric of your underwear.

your clear, sticky arousal clung to his fingers, stretching in thin, glistening threads as he spread your thighs apart, knocking your knees to either side so he could slot himself in between them. your slick shimmered slightly under the light, translucent and tacky and he just couldn't help himself, bringing them up to his mouth to slowly taste.

"shit, princess. you taste so good, can't believe this is what i've been missing out on."

he's playing an instrument, he thinks. gliding his fingers along sodden folds, twirling his index finger past a thick wad of skin and pressing right over your clit in hot, tight circles that have you bucking your hips, "hnngh, right - ah, right there 'toru!"

'toru.

as a reward, he plunges his middle finger straight into your gaping heat, your tight wall of ringed muscles that had been fluttering in light pulses for his attention. fuck, he almost reaches his own climax by feeling how you squirm and writhe, moan and mewl as he starts pushing his finger in, and then out.

in, and then out. in, once more. and out, again. and then, another finger.

his fingers sank into your soft, damp pussy — which yielded easily enough with a soft pssh! as the digits pressed in. gojo pulled his hand back out from your thighs, enjoying the tight resistance and suction as your cunt has resisted being empty once more, leaving a cool moistness on his skin.

but now your hands gently cup his face, and he isn't sure how to not crumble with how you look at him, eyes wide and glossy, "wan' more, want your cock, 'toru."

now, gojo feels as though he's truly ascended, gone onto some higher plane of existence. because how can he resist when your hands are weakly pawing at his belt, at his waistband and he's letting you pull his thick shaft out.

it's hot, and already weeping angry tears of pre-cum, and he just loves how your eyes widen at the sheer size and girth.

"yeah, princess was sooo brave earlier, wasn't she? wanted my cock, ah! shit - did she?" and he's letting the wide tip lay heavy against your clit, knocking it once, and then twice, through your heavenly folds.

you've reached a leg up, and around his waist, pulling him closer and gojo has to pierce his lip with his teeth to not let out a gutteral groan from his cock sliding through the your folds, "i don't - don't care, i really don't fucking care if it's too big. just put it in now, m' so wet, i'm wet enough."

your babble is endearing, and he marvels at how easily he has you cock-drunk without even being in you right now. he jostles further, until the tip is right at your flittering entrance, pressing forward and slipping through the heated, slick gummy texture in a way that has the strongest's head spinning.

"easy, princess. oh fuck, you're too tight. way too tight, i'm gonna -" and gojo inhales, steadying himself, as the wet heat enveloped him as he moved, each slide through the soft walls of your pussy leaving him acutely aware of every inch, the warmth coating him further until your slick was dampening the white, stray hairs of his groin.

he pulls your lips close again, one hand coming up to gently cradle your head, and his fingers weaving slowly through your hair.

"you're so deep in me, 'toru! so - hnngh," and your words are cut off by a staccato thrust of his hips, and your teeth clack around a moan that gojo gladly swallows.

"hey, i'm right here. i've got you, yeah? got you so good, just hold onto me."

and he keeps a steady pace, plunging into molten silk, with a sensation so intense and so enveloping that it left him breathless, with a rush of heat that made his head spin.

he's toying with your tits, pressing his face into the shadow that lies between your mounds, and gojo's certain that he could die a happy man like this, exactly like this.

he realises that the faint laugh is coming from him, so distant is he in his pussy-drunk reverie, that he realises he must look and sound like a madman, "pretty pussy is so tight, so fucking tight. haah, i think i'm gonna have to fill you up, gorgeous?" and he must be blathering, "want me to fill you up? shit- want me to stuff... ah! stuff you so full of cum that we just hafta stay in this bed all day then?"

he had his fingers now moving in circles over your throbbing clit, exerting a gentle pressure that had you so beautifully keening and bucking your hips up, jolting right into his pelvis. and gojo bit back as a groan as his heavy balls started to smack, and smack! over and over again, right onto your dampened skin.

"she must be close right, pretty little pussy must be almost tired now," and gojo's now slapping your clit, lifting three fingers up and bringing them down with enough force to not harm you, but make you jolt, "she. must. be. so. close." and each word is punctuated by the slippery spank of his fingers bouncing right off your mound.

"makes me want to have you - you and her," and gojo's revelling in the slick of your pussy, now throwing his head back without shame.

and when your walls start to flutter, when you start writhing in his grasp, pressed right against his chest with your legs knocked back as far as they reach on other side of his broad frame, he feels himself unravel. feels the rhythmic quake of your tight cunt literally milk him dry, letting pools of thick, white seed plug within you, and he almost shakes and tears up himself, at the idea of claiming you like this.

later, he has you resting against his chest and the knot in his chest, that nasty plague that sent him afoul has disappeared, and gojo feels as though he's about to start purring, from the feeling of your nails trailing little shapes over his skin (little hearts, perhaps?) and how soft your hair feels under his own hands. he can't resist himself from pressing his lips softly to your forehead, "happy?"

you laugh, a genuine, soft sound that erupts from your chest as you press your bare body into him, "you have no idea."

[genderkoolaid]

expand on ur "mental asylum Marxism shit" thing about children & grief?? from what you've said im pretty sure i will relate from my own experiences as a grieving child. also it sounds interesting!!

so i was thinking about how weird it is that, when a child has to deal with the death of a loved one, they say something like "no child should have to go through this! no child should have to even think about death!" which strikes me as weird because i was a child who dealt with the deaths of multiple close family members, very close together. the first was my great-grandmother, who i lived with and who was my best friend. death was never foreign to me (my mom has always been very death-positive on top of all that). grief was just part of my life like everything else was.

but i realized that its because people think childhood should not have any flaws. you should be 100% happy and fulfilled all the time. any time a child experiences anything painful, its bad. not "children should have access to love and support," but "children should not have basic life experiences because the idea of childhood being anything other than fluffy purity scares me."

because children in society are fundamentally not people. especially in a society structured around christian beliefs in natural law theory, that what is natural = what is good, healthy, and Divinely commanded. so on top of children being the property of adults, they are also forced to be the symbols of Nature. whatever is the most useful to whoever needs them. which means we built up this idea of children as tabula rasas, pureness incarnate. like a magic mirror where if we look into it, we'll be able to catch a glimpse of the true face of humanity. every single thing children do can be scrutinized for some grand truth about humans as a whole. and then, the ways children are treated also reflect how we think humanity should interact with its own nature.

example: the idea of humanity as inherently sinful and wicked, with that urge needing to be suppressed through state violence (hello hobbes) = the idea that children are annoying and shitty on purpose and need to be forced via punishment into being Good Citizens.

this is also why children cannot be trans, even though all trans people must prove that we were trans children. being queer must be unnatural; and even if not, its inherently sexual, and sexuality is dirty and bad. so children can't be trans, and they also can't read books on puberty until their parents decide when and what exactly they are allowed to learn. child victims of sexual assault only matter to the extent that they can be used as a symbol of a cultural threat; calling Jewish or trans people pedophiles means saying that they are foreigners attacking basic human nature, and indirectly, Divine command. if you aren't the right kind of victim, or when you inevitably reveal yourself to be A Person with complicated experiences and opinions, you are no longer of use to the agenda.

it sucks that bad things happen to anyone. aspects of youth can exacerbate the pain sometimes, but sometimes it does the reverse: I wish I could have spent more time with the family members I lost, but I know other people who are glad they loss family members young, because they weren't really hurt by it. I think the main thing is that, even sometimes when we talk about our past selves, we project this cultural idea of Child As Purity and ignore the actual person having the experience. when we "empathize" with children by projecting Purity onto them, we aren't actually connecting with them.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

the woobification of the lords is something ill never be able to wrap my head around 😭 its insane to me how people can have such a horrible interpretation of events and characters based off of what we have in the actual game

let me start off by saying that ALL FOUR LORDS DID HORRIBLE THINGS (INCLUDING THE DIMITRESCU DAUGHTERS) !

lady dimitrescu isnt some gentle giant who only hates men and loves women and treats them like queens and she just loves living a quiet life with her daughters, she kills and tortures people 😭😭 she like actively killed her maids and drank their blood 😭 they have a basement that has so much blood in it that it goes up to ethans THIGHS

they are muderous and SADISTIC, including the daughters

the woobfication of the dimitrescu daughters is always the most confusing to me. their faces are literally covered in BLOOD 😭😭 they chase ethan around and stab him will laughing and giggling, cassandra literally calls it a HUNT, it is fun to them and they enjoy it

people always try to frame it as ethan breaking into their homes while they are scared and afraid 😭 i can assure you that nobody is afraid of him at first 😭 they dont think hes an actual threat, thats why they toy with him. and dont act like they were unaware of what he wanted. they were all present at the family meeting with miranda, they were all present when they JARRED rosemary 😭 they know what ethan wants, they know who ethan is, to frame them as "minding their own business" is the most absurd interpreation you could make of them

they were all involved, they all knew what he wanted, and they all HAD what he wanted

you can feel sympathy for lady D, when she cries for her daughters with tears in her eyes, she loved them, they were her family, but you cannot deny the hypocrisy. "how can you kill my daughters for your own!" you have his daughters head in a pickle jar! her daughters werent innocent defenless babies who were scared of big ol ethan stomping around in their house, they have weapons! they wanted to hurt him, and they did, and when he fought back he won

i cannot stress enough that in every single fight, ethan is not the first to strike. he is either backed into a corner where its either his life or theirs, or he is literally being tortured/ chased around, what do you want him to do? these people have pieces of his baby, should he have lied down and died?? 😭

whenever ethan is in a situation where the other person isnt stabbing him in the abdomen 100 times he tries to HELP them 😭 he tries to help absoulute strangers of a village he doesnt even know while he knows his own daughter is missing, even when the stranger is also a jerk to him 😭 he wants allies, he isnt actively trying to make enemys, and before you cry "karl heisenberg!" im getting there...

the thing that bothers me with how people treat donna is that although she isnt the WORST she gets woobfied the MOST imo, like she is the ONLY lord (other than karl but hes a outlier because he wanted ethan to come over so they could make out on his bed) who actively lures ethan in, miss dimitrescus, yeah sure u could say that he trespassed, same with moreau, but donna literally LURES HIM IN with hallucinations of his DEAD WIFE, then OPENS THE DOOR for him and TAKES HIM DOWN THE ELEVATOR

she is literally one of the people who ACTIVELY leads him to where she is

she also uses psychological puzzles , like making ethan perform surgery on a wooden doll of his wife and making him run away from a monster that cries like a baby and calls him "dada" 😭 she did not need to do any of that... like at all 😭 she did it because she wanted to 😭 she is by no means innocent at all

she toyed with him for literally no reason other than her own desire and then ethan doesnt even intentionally kill her. he is in a situation where is his trapped in the house and has to find angie, the doll, to avoid being attacked by dolls with like 100 knives stapled onto them

its only when he defeats angie its revealed that he had actually stabbed DONNA. he didnt even intentionally kill her 😭

then moreau... poor moreau... 😭

moreau in my opinion is one of the more sympathetic lords. whoever he was in his life pre cadou has no influence or impact on his life post cadou, the cadou just wrecked his brain functions

all he is is just mirandas minion at this point, he only wants to please her and doesnt really think about anything else for himself 😭

i dont have much to say about moreau because theres not really many people who woobfiy him or pay him any attention really 😭 though i will say he was very unabashedly evil 😭 he did horrible things, such as eating the fishermen and his experiments with the cadou on the villagers, he did it for mirandas approval but its not a excuse for it, hes still a villian 😭 now we are onto karl.... this guy... the woobification of him is insane 😭 first of all, something i dont see people acknowledge is that he actually HAS killed villagers! no he doesnt just use dead bodies (which btw isnt really a step up 😭 some of u set the bar too low man) the lycan gauntlet that he made ethan run through? yeah, he used that before! he has an entire PA system set up in it! he has lights and huge spikey metal death traps! he did not make all of that just for ethan just to "play appearances" for miranda. there were other people who went through that. and they DIED!

their deceased bodies are still in there! karl is messed up and eccentric 😭 it makes him fun, let him be messed up and evil 😭 and yes, karl used DEAD bodies instead of killing people who were alive, so surely that makes him far less evil right?

WRONG! 😭

HE CONSIDERED USING LIVE BODIES FOR THE SOLDATS 😭

karl really isnt a good person, he has reasons for the things he does, he wants to take down miranda and i dont think hed be creating undead zombies in the first place if it werent for her ruining his life but that isnt justification, its just an explanation for why he does what he does. he has a sympathetic back story and motives but you cant erase what he did, hes a villain! he tries to use a baby as a weapon!!! all 4 of the lords are villains, and instead of making other characters worse to uplift your favorite character that did something bad, you can just accept that the character you like did bad things 😭 they are all fictional, if i like moreau it does not mean i endorse eating fishermen 😭 you can like a character that is flawed, or evil, or did insanely messed up things because its RESIDENT EVIL. they are EVIL! they do bad things! like im sorry! but if your fave has a villains wiki it probably means they did some bad things! 😭

i wish people would be able to enjoy a character without entirely dismissing the bad things they did. its okay to like a character that does bad things, its ok to find them interesting and fun! but you cant deny what actually happens in games to try and make them appear as innocent. you dont have to justify every little thing that they do, just accept them as a whole!

of course this doesnt apply to AUs or just posting for fun. you can change media to be what you want to make it more fun. im going to draw lady dimitrescu treating ethan like a unwanted family pet. does that mean that i think she would really do that in canon? no! she would bite him and then tie him up like a pinata and give her daughters blindfolds and bats!

but people need to be able to recognize that fanon is NOT canon.

this post is about canon interpretations,

this is just addressing people who genuinely believe that those kinds of portrayals of the character is an ACCURATE portrayal, because its not.

[creptolli]

Pet names from the entire CoD ensemble (TF141, Los vaqueros, Graves, Alex & Farah, Hadir, Valeria..)

because it’s actually painful when I see someone use one that I could not imagine hearing from them (no hate it’s my problem not anyone else’s 😭🙏)

A/N: y’all I’m not from any of the character’s countries meaning idk standard terms of endearment in their countries/languages (о´∀`о) - especially the Arabic ones

Also, I may do another one with Makarov, Nolan, König (ew), Horangi and anyone else y’all want!

@medic--main for you :33

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

MY BABY (anywho)

- definitely uses ‘Love, Lovey, Babe, Baby’

- could hear him possibly saying ‘Darling’

- maybe ‘Sweetheart’

- honestly probably wouldn’t use his lover’s name as much to their face. More while referring to them.

- If you ever got married, he would 100% jokingly yell “HUSBAND/WIFE!!” Whenever someone wanted to speak to you.

Rodolfo ‘Rudy’ Parra

- y’all idk Spanish but if you have any ideas for pet names in Spanish then yes.

- ‘Amor, Corazón, Cariño’ [Love, Heart, Darling]

- ‘Darling’ is something that could be heard at points in time but likely not when dating, more married.

- would interchange between ‘Amor/Love’ in conversations.

- Would use your first name a lot, especially when other people are around. It’s not that he’s insecure or anything, he just prefers using your name.

Phillip Graves

- ‘Sweetheart’ violent screaming

- ‘Darling’ more violent screaming

- Could at times use ‘Baby, Love’

- rarely says ‘Babe’ instead of ‘Baby’

- ‘Honey’ <33

- ‘Doll’ or ‘Dolly’

RHAJGDISHDUAUDHSB IM GOING INSANE

- honestly wouldn’t use your name a lot, sure sometimes when he’s in conversation with others, but even then he just says ‘the missus/mister’ or ‘my sweetheart’

- would sometimes tease you when you’re dating by using your last name rather than your first name when wanting your attention. Idk it’s an authority thing. 😏

John Price

- ‘Darling, Love, Sweetheart’ melts

- again, before you took his last name (or he takes yours), he would call you by your last name.

- ‘Lovey’ when he wants to be a pain tease

- in marriage he would often say ‘Sweetie’

- sometimes uses ‘Honey’ or ‘Hon’

- sometimes he would use your first name.

Alex Keller

RAHHH MY LOVE <333

- ‘Babe, Baby’ an insane amount.

- Sometimes, but not often, ‘Love’

- probably uses stupid names or inside jokes that no one else understands.

- if you speak another language, he 100% try’s to learn it and use names from it (he’s absolutely terrible to the point of it being painful, but he’s adorable in trying nonetheless).

- used your first name a lot, sometimes used your last name as a joke.

Farah Karim

- ‘My Love’ is her go to <33

- never ‘Babe’ but sometimes (rarely) ‘Baby’

- ‘Honey’ or ‘Hon’ especially.

the next ones I got straight off of Google so I apologise in advance if they’re wrong (´；Д；`)

- ‘habib albi’ This term of affection means “love of my heart” - حبيب/حبيبة قلبي

- ‘ya hayati’ “my life” - يا حياتي

I would put more but that fucked up my keyboard and took about 10 minutes (copy and paste was a pain in the ass)

Hadir Karim

- said ‘Babe’ once and immediately regretted it, he thought it sounded stupid. It did

- never ‘Baby’

- sometimes he says ‘Love’ or ‘My Love’

- Has a lot of inside jokes that he uses to make fun of you (he means it in good fun).

- Any of the Arabic words from Farah’s list (I’m aware that Uzikstan has its own language.. because I searched it up.. but they also speak Arabic - it’s just not as well spoken)

- sometimes try’s out ‘Sweetie’ or ‘My Sweet’

More Arabic below ⬇️ (again I’m so sorry if it’s wrong it’s from Google I know absolutely nothing about the language, please correct anything if you do know🧍‍♂️)

- ‘ya helo’ “my beautiful” - يا حلو/حلوة

- ‘ya amar’ “my moon” - يا قمر

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish

- ‘Hen’ & ‘Honey’ for sure

- Often also uses ‘Sweetheart’ and ‘Sweetie’

- probably uses ‘Bonnie’ if he’s with a femme partner (idk much about Scottish slang)

- loves to yell ‘WIFE/HUSBAND’ if y’all ever get married.

- Would probably jokingly say ‘Dear’ or ‘Darling’ to sound fancy (it sounds so weird with his accent that it always makes you giggle)

- ‘Doll’ and ‘Dolly’ while dating, not as much during marriage.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

- ‘Dear’ when married, also uses ‘Darling’ a lot when married but plays (teases) when dating.

- he sometimes, but it’s usually rarely, ‘Sweetie’ or ‘Sweetheart’

- apparently ‘Duck’ is a British term of endearment? Idk it says older gentlemen use it and he seems like he would say it. Old man soul

- sometimes says ‘Love’ or ‘Lovey’ when he’s sleepy.

- uses your first name a lot, not as much your last name.

- unless you get married, in which he uses your last name all the time (whether you take his last name or he takes yours)

Alejandro Vargas

- He uses a lot more English than Spanish around you unless your first language is also Spanish.

- He loves to tease you with inside jokes and all sorts of complicated Spanish compliments if you don’t speak the language.

- ‘Cariño’ & ‘Amor’ a lot.

- Doesn’t usually use ‘Corazón’ but it will rarely slip.

- ‘Cielo’ [Sky] sometimes, but again, not so much.

- sometimes says ‘Babe’ or ‘Baby’

Valeria Garza

Gods there aren’t enough women

- lovesss calling you ‘Corazón’ and ‘Cielo’ especially right next to your ear while holding you from behind, pushing her body weight onto you.

- ‘Mi Vida’ [My Life] sometimes

- ‘Mi Rey/Reina’ [My King/Queen] a lot, especially if she’s treating you to dinner/luxury.

- Doesn’t often use English pet names, but when she does she favours ‘Love’ or ‘My Heart’ (she often translates Spanish names directly into English)

Nikolai

- I honestly could imagine him saying ‘baby’ or ‘babygirl’ and I don’t know if it would be as a joke or not.. that’s up for interpretation.

- When you two just started dating, he jokingly called you ‘comrade’ to his and your friends to confuse the shit out of people.

- ‘котёнок “kotyonok” [kitten] also as a joke (maybe not.. up for interpretation again…

- ‘Жизнь моя’ “zhizn moya” [my life] as an actual name he uses for you.

- he doesn’t use a lot of pet names in public, mostly when it’s just you two.

- Солнце (solntsye) / солнышко (solnishka) - [sunshine].

@pillowwarzone I added Nikolai ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Here’s the website I used (for mainly Arabic) ⬇️

[quintinh43]

Heavy Heads and Heavy Hearts | Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn gets injured as a game. His girlfriend takes him and cares for him.

Pairings: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, Head injury, food, angst, mentions of vomiting (no actual vomiting)

Notes: Hi guyss! Hope everyone is doing ok! Injured Quinn got the most votes, so here we are! This one is the longest one ive done so far, I definitely did not mean for it to be as long as it is but here we are. Also, im not a professionl in any way, so i cant say this is concussion accurate. I just went off of my experience in dealing with athletes that have Concussions, and my own Concussions lol. Anywaysss I hope yall enjoy. Love Soph.

---

There was something so gut-wrenching about watching the man you love get injured. One second, Quinn was cutting quickly around the back of the net, and the next, he was getting slammed into the boards hard. It was nothing. You get hit, you get up, and you keep going. It was simply a part of hockey.

Except this time, Quinn wasn't getting up. He wasn't moving at all. You stand up, heart in your throat. The room feels like it's tilting. The sharp shrill of the refs whistle cut through the air, stopping the play as the refs skate over to where Quinn is lying motionless on the ice.

They are calling for medics. Your head is spinning with the worst possible scenarios as you excuse yourself from your seat and practically sprint to the locker room. One of the security members holds out a hand to stop you.

"Ma'am, you can't be here, please exit this area"

Great. Just fucking great. This is exactly what you need right now. The overwhelming need that aches in your bones demanding to know that Quinn is ok makes you want to cry. Because now this fucker won't let you through. And you're nearly too panicked to do anything about it.

The logical route would be pulling out Quinns wallet, that has his ID in it, and explaining that you are his girlfriend. But with your anxiety high, and your heart in your throat logic is not the first thing on your mind.

"Listen buddy," you start, ready to absolutely rip this guy a new one. Thankfully for him, one of the trainers who knows you happens to be exiting the locker room.

"Let her through, Jace, that's Hughes' girl" he says, waving you forward. The security guard- Jace apparently, lets you pass with a grumble.

By the time you get rink side, Quinn is (half) conscious- thank God, and being half carried off the ice by Petey and Boeser. He's transfered to the care of two medics, who sit him on a bench and begin to check him over.

One of them is asking him questions gently, both to keep him awake and assess the damage to his head. While the other stabilizes his neck. "Can you tell me your full name and today's date?" One of the medics asks.

"Quintin Jerome Hughes," he slurs, eyes fluttering, "its Feb'uary... twenty-second, twenty-twenty-four"

Your breath hitches. He got the date wrong. You can't help the panic that rushes through you. "Good job Quinn, do you know where you are?"

"Van, Roger's arena," he mumbles, "playing hockey"

"Good," the medic hums. "we need to take off your equipment to make sure you aren't injured anywhere else. Is that ok?"

"Y/n" he mumbles, eyes closing and head tilting forward, his head snapped back up a moment later, and if the other medic hadn't had his head stabilized he would probably have mild whiplash.

"Stay awake for us, Quinn. Is Y/n someone you'd like us to call?"

You spring forward at the mention of your name, "I'm here," you say, pushing past a couple of people who are standing around, ready to assist if the situation gets worse.

"My girl" Quinn slurs, his lips tilting into a small smile. Your heart flutters at that. In the midst of his delirium, he still cares about you dearly.

"Hello Y/n, I'm Sam," the guy who's been asking him questions, "and that's Kieran," he says, nudging his head towards Kieran, who gives a small smile.

"Do you think you could help us remove his equipment?"

"Yes absolutely, just tell me what to do" you say, glad that you can help.

"Can you remove his jersey and shoulder pads? Kieran needs to keep his neck stable, and I need to check for any other possible injuries. And keep him talking"

"Yeah, of course," you start by bending his elbow to slide it out of the sleeve of his jersey.

"Hey Quinny" you say softly, sliding his other arm out of his jersey "you played really really good today, I'm so proud of you"

"Thanks baby," he murmers, "glad you're here." He tries to lean his head against your chest, he huffs when Kieran doesn't let him, and you can't help but let out a breathy laugh, patting his head lovingly.

Kieran tilts his head to one side, allowing you to pull the jersey over his head. You deposit it in his cubby behind him and make quick work undoing his shoulder pads and pulling them off gently.

"I'm glad I'm here too. What do you wanna eat when we get home?"

Sam gently asks you to move out of the way so he can check Quinns upper body for injuries. The second you aren't doing something, the anxiety rises back to your chest. You take a deep breath and begin to unlace his skates. You pull them off, slipping a pair of slides on his feet so his socks don't get wet.

"Hmm" he hums in thought "potatos...?"

You laugh, "Alright Quinny. We'll have potatos"

Finally after palpating his whole body to make sure he doesn't have any other major injuries, testing his reflexes, and asking him a bunch more questions. They diagnose him with a minor concussion, and give you a list of things to look out for.

They deem it safe enough to leave you alone with him for a little bit and tell you to change him into something more comfortable. It takes a bit of work to take off his hockey pants and shinguards and get him into a pair of sweats and a hoodie.

By the time you're done, the equipment manager and the medics have collected the rest of his equipment. After making sure his hockey bag is fully packed with everything, you grab his keys from your purse, while the EM helps you bring his bag to his car, and the medic helps you half carry him down.

He can mostly walk on his own, but better safe than sorry. On the ride home he keeps his head resting against the window, a cool compress is wrapped around his neck, and he's holding one over his eyes with one hand, while the other holds yours tightly.

You trace your thumb over the backs of his knuckles soothingly and keep him talking the whole way home. "What kind of potatoes do you want when we get home, Hon?"

"Can I change my mind?" He asks sheepishly. He's still talking very quietly and slurring his words a little, but the medics said that was nothing to worry about unless he started getting worse. So far, it was nothing to worry about.

"Of course my love, anything you want" you bring your intertwined hands to rest on your chest. It's a comforting weight over your heart, that you didn't know you needed until it was there.

Your phone lights up from the cup holder, it's a text from Petey, saying that the Canucks won the game. There are a few other texts, from his parents and brothers. You make a mental note to reply to them as soon as you get Quinn settled at home.

"Can we have noodles?" He mumbles.

"Yes, of course, love." You can't help but kiss the back of his knuckles. Watching Quinn get injured to the point of losing consciousness was not something you ever wanted to experience ever again.

"Your boys won, by the way," you say softly.

"The did?!" Quinns head shoots up front the window, and he is filled with instant regret as a sharp twinge shoots down his neck and to his shoulder.

"Ow fuck" he mumbles, laying his head back against the cool window.

"Careful love," you gasp, squeezing his hand.

"I know, I'm sorry," he mumbles, squeezing your hand back. You sigh, you have been on edge since he got injured, and it didn't look like the anxiety would dissipate for a while. You would just have to deal with it and try not to be an over bearing worry wart.

"You guys won 5-2" you smile, finally pulling into your apartment parking lot.

"I didn't do much except get my brains knocked around" he grumbles. "Some captain I am"

You scoff, flicking him in the nose lightly. "Don't sell yourself short, Quinny. Three of those points are yours."

Quinn wrinkles his nose and leans forward to bite your finger. You yelp, snatching it away with a glare. He sticks his tongue out at you, and you laugh, your chest feeling a little lighter than before.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs. " You say, undoing your seat belt and getting out of the car. You run around to his passenger side and open the door for him, and help him step out of the car. He throws an arm over your shoulder, and you wrap one around his waist. He's not as wobbly on his feet as he was earlier, but he still isn't at full strength.

Quinn squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his face against your hair. The florescent elevator lights were not pleasant in his state. "Can we keep the apartment lights off?" He mumbles against your hair.

"Sure love," you said rubbing your hand up and down his back soothingly, "we're almost home," you fish the keys out of your purse and unlock it. You toe your shoes off at the door while Quinn slips his off easily and you guide him to the couch.

"What do you want first, baby? Food or a shower?"

"I'm not really hungry" Quinn mumbles, laying on the couch and adjusting the ice pack under his neck. You sit on the couch handle, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "I know honey, but we should try to get something light in your system, if you're feeling upto it."

Quinn sighs. He knows you're right. "I can make you toast? Or a sandwich or something?" You offer, smoothing your thumb over his hairline.

"Do we have bagles?" He asks

"Yeah, we have bagles, I'll make you one of those?"

"Yes please," he mumbles, you plant a kiss on his forehead and go pop a bagle into the toaster, "can you do it with cream cheese and jam?" He asks, chewing on his lip nervously.

"Sure, Hon, I'm gonna make myself some tea. Do you want a cup?" You ask as you pull the cream cheese and jam out of the fridge.

"No thanks, I'm ok" he mumbles. After his bagle is done being made, you help ease him into sitting position, and sit next to him with your cup of tea. He eats a bit more than half the bagle, and you finish off the rest before deeming it time to shower.

You remember all the messages from his family, and quickly shoot them texts, saying that he's ok and you just got home and you'll talk more when he gets settled.

"I'm gonna put these back in the freezer while we shower, yeah?"

Quinn nods, handing the ice packs to you to put in the freezer. You help him up slowly and lead him to the bathroom. You keep the lights off and leave the door open so you have a little bit of light from the bedroom.

While the shower warms up, you grab a clean change  of clothes for both you and Quinn and set them on the counter before helping Quinn strip. He has to brace an arm against the wall while you hold him steady with one hand and maneuver his clothes off with the other.

"I'm sorry," he murmers against your hair as you help him step into the shower.

"Oh Quinn, there's nothing to be sorry for," you say, sitting him on the shower seat.

"I'm sorry you have to take care of me like this." He huffs, resting his head against the cool Ike of the shower wall, "I feel so pathetic, " his voice cracks, and your heart nearly breaks.

"Quinn, my love, taking care of you is not a burden. It's a pleasure. I love you to the ends of the earth, and I would do anything for you, my sweets. " You kiss him on the forehead sweetly as if to prove your point.

He doesn't say much about it after that, but you can tell he still feels bad. You make quick work of washing his hair, being very careful of where a small bump has formed on his head. You scrub him down and rinse him off before shutting off the water.

You wrap a towel around yourself and then dry Quinn off gently before helping him change into his pajamas. "Let me change and then dry your hair a little bit before we have to put an ice pack on your head, ok?"

Quinn nods. He sits on the counter, leaning against the wall while you change into your pajamas. You plug in the hair dryer and dry his hair, keeping his head steady with one hand. As soon as his hair is no longer soaking wet, you help him off the bathroom counter and into bed. You grab the ice packs from the freezer and help him position them on his head and neck until he's comfortable.

"I'll be back in less than ten minutes, baby. I'm just going to grab your stuff from the car, ok?" You say pulling on a pair of sweats and a hoodie over your pajamas.

"Ok" Quinn mumbles, "I'll call if anything" he says patting his nightstand to make sure his phone is there.

You kiss him on the forehead and pull the bedroom door halfway closed so the light from the hall isn't too bright. Grabbing his car keys and your phone from the counter, you hit the call button on Ellen's contact as you slip out the door.

She picks up on the first ring "Hows he doing?" She asks immediately. She sounds distressed, maybe like she's been crying. You don't blame her. They probably haven't heard anything unless someone on the team contacted them, and you have no idea how bad it looked on TV.

"He's ok, Mrs. H, it's a mild concussion. His symptoms aren't worsening at all, and they said with some rest he'll be significantly better by tomorrow"

Her sigh of relief was unmatched. "He'll be out of play for a couple of weeks, but they just want to make sure he's back to 100% before he's playing again." The elevator finally opens, and you hit the button for the parking garage.

"Thank you so much, Y/n, im glad you're there with him. I know he's in good hands. I'll leave you be love, Jack and luke are super super anxious and would appreciate a call from you. Text me if anything happens."

"I will, Mrs. H, tell Mr. H I say hi"

"I will dear, thanks for taking care of our boy"

"Of course El, he's my boy too," you smile.

You swear you can hear Ellen smile over the phone. "We love you dear, I'll talk to you tomorrow ok. Don't forget to take care of yourself too"

"I will, I love you guys too. I'll text you updates"

"Alright, bye dear."

"Bye," you sigh, pressing the end call button, just as the elevator opens to the parking garage. As you press the button to open the trunk, you call Jack.

"Y/n,"  he huffs out, not even after a full ring. "How's Quinn? If he ok? What happened?"  Before you can answer any of Jacks questions, Luke's voice cuts him off, "is Quinn ok? Are you guys at the hospital? It looked really bad -"

Before their panicked tangents can get worse, you interrupt them both. "Take a breath, you two," you say calmly, breathing exaggeratedly so they can copy you "in and out, relax. Quinn is ok. He's ok"

"He's ok?"

"He's ok" you repeat. You feel the tears start to build, and your voice cracks "He's ok"

"Oh Y/n." Jack says softly.

"It's ok, I'm ok" you say, more to yourself than to Jack as you wipe the tears away. "Hold on, gimme one sec." You say, setting down your phone as you pull Quinn's hockey bag out the car. You close the trunk, make sure the car is locked and head back to the elevator.

"Hi, sorry I'm back. I was just grabbing Quinn's stuff out the car."

"Can you tell us what happened?"  Luke asks softly.

"He's got a concussion, and he's a bit bruised up, but other than that he's alright"

"Fuck, how bad is it?" Jack asks, the fear is evident in his voice, and you can't blame him. Concussions can be really bad sometimes.

"They said its a mild concussion, he's not throwing up at all, his memory is ok, he didn't injure his spine or anything, he'll be ok after a few days of rest. He probably wont be playing for a few weeks, but better safe than sorry."

"Oh thank God"  both Jack and Luke huffed "isn't he not supposed to sleep for 24 hours after or something?" Luke asks.

You shake your head with a small smile "Thats a myth, Lukey. As long as I check on him every few hours its ok for him to sleep."

"Ohh, ok. Well that's good" Luke says.

"We are glad he has you Y/n, thank you for taking care of our brother."

"Always" you say softly.

"We'll let you go now, keep us updated?"

"I will, Jackie. You two get some rest, you have a big game tomorrow, love you guys"

"We love you too Y/n/n" both boys say, hanging up.

You sigh, leaving his bag at the door. "Y/n?" Quinns weak voice calls out from the bedroom. You rush to him immediately, scared that something is wrong.

"Yes, Quinny, I'm right here" you say kneeling beside the bed, and stroking his hair.

"You took long," he mumbles, pressing his lips against your wrist.

"I'm sorry love, I'm here now," you stand, stripping the hoodie and sweats off and climbing into bed next to him. You stay a little distance away, not wanting to hurt Quinn. But he grumbles at you, tugging on your shirt to get you to come closer. Normally, he would just grab you and pull you closer, but he's still weak.

"I don't wanna hurt you" you mumble, scooting closer so that you are tucked against his side. He tangles your legs together and rests his head against yours.

"Never" he says, pressing his lips to the side of your head. You rest one of your hands on his hip, under his shirt, stroking your thumb over his hip bone.

"How you feeling?" You ask softly.

"Beat" he mumbles "thanks for taking care of me"

"I'll take care of you for as long as you let me love" you say, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"Forever?"

"Forever."

---

Wc: 3.1k

[for-ests]

Hi! This is a request for sukuna x concubine! reader, sorry if it's a bit all over the place - it's just a silly idea jdjsjajsk

Sukuna calls a shy concubine for the first time. She's nervous, but upon entering his chambers, a book about astronomy catches her eye (since he has many books and scrolls). He notices her interest and is intrigued, perhaps because his concubines are raised to have no interests other than pleasing Sukuna

tysm for the request ^^ im not sure if u wanted this to be NSFW or not, but I wanted to attempt Sukuna fluff. (never thought I would say that) but, I hope you enjoy! (I am so not used to writing a shy reader or something this short so bear with me) <3 requests are still open! wc: 1.5k warnings: none!

The first time Sukuna called you to his chambers should have excited you beyond belief, but instead, it made you incredibly nervous. 

You were adorned in your best Kimono, perfectly painted makeup, and hair styled to accentuate your alluring features. You felt beautiful, and you knew you looked the part. Hours had been spent on your appearance the second your servant caught wind of Sukuna’s request. 

And now that you were standing at his door, your heart was pounding. You knew your purpose; you knew your place. But what if you failed to please your master? Instinctively, you shied away from his advances, opting to serve him in other ways. Surprisingly, there were many tasks and chores to complete daily as a concubine, which you weren’t aware of before Sukuna selected you among the other noble women from your faction. 

This was the first time you would be utterly alone with the King of Curses, and it made your stomach twist into knots. 

“You requested me, Sukuna-Sama?” you squeaked, already blushing from the intensity of his gaze. 

A long silence stretched between you, but all he did was stare, taking in all you had to offer. 

“I realized I still have yet to spend a night alone with you, “ he finally replied. 

Sukuna loathed the meek. You seemed to be the only woman he bothered to tolerate, and he didn’t know why. If anything, it just made you cute because he knew you weren’t dumb. You followed your orders, you served him with grace, and the way you danced was unlike the rest. On the stage, you were a completely different woman. 

But off the stage, you were as shy as they came. 

His eyes were ravenous as he watched you approach his bookshelf. Despite his own desires and your intended purpose, something about you intrigued him—notably, that curious glint in your eyes with the desperation to discover more. 

“I was not aware you kept so many records." Your voice was almost a whisper, partly out of respect and awe.

“Taken from my conquests.” 

“As expected,” you replied somewhat meekly, eyes drifting back to the wall of books and scrolls. One in particular caught your eyes, the binding resembling a constellation you were familiar with. 

Hesitantly, you glanced at him, waiting for permission to tug the book from its rightful place amongst the rest. 

Sukuna nodded, sighing deeply before leaning back into the corner of his room, legs, and arms crossed as he watched you explore. 

The intended cushion for you still remained empty. You could feel it, and Sukuna's bloodlust calling for you to at least join him. With the book in your hand, flipping the first page, you gave in and sat across from him, knees perfectly tucked in like you were taught from a young age. 

The book lay halfway open on the floor between the two of you. And finally, you gained the courage to meet his eyes, pleading for permission. 

“Astrology?” The King of Curses bemused, reaching for a sip of his sake. If that’s what you wanted, he would grant it. There was no harm in having his concubines be somewhat knowledgable about something, despite what other kings and lords agreed, despite what they claimed about him. 

There was a reason why he had so many women flocking to him despite his appearance and dominance. They actually enjoyed his protection and offerings. It was the best place in the country for a curious woman like you to explore and indulge. As long as you excited him, of course. But, he enjoyed the variety, and you undoubtedly provided him with that. 

“Can you read?” he asked from your silence and timid glances. You were so incredibly meek it astonished him, so much so he couldn’t tell if you were waiting for permission or for him to explain the words to you. 

“Yes, my Lord.” You bowed your head slightly, managing to peek at him through your eyelashes. 

“Finish it,” he paused as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “And it’s yours.” 

There was no way to stop the way your mouth dropped open. The surprise was evident in how your eyes widened, your loss for words, and the sudden bashfulness that etched into your expression. 

“Do wish for my body in exchan—”

“No,” Sukuna interrupted, exhaling as if he anticipated your question. “Despite any rumors you may have heard, I’m not fond of forcing a woman to be with me.” 

You could not hide your astonishment. It was like you could feel your timidity fading away into the nighttime breeze that wafted through the door to his private garden. 

“It bores me," he sighed. “If you’re not ready, that is fine.” 

“My Lord,” you rushed, the honorific rolling off your tongue with a hint of approval and submission you didn’t expect to find tonight. The surprise of it all made you lose your train of thought and all your responses to it. 

“Out with it,” he rolled his eyes. 

You chose your words carefully this time, unable to look at him until after your sentence was finished. “Are you claiming that aquiring knowledge is more important than sex?” 

“I never said that,” he replied quickly but smirked. “If you wish, you can visit me to read instead, until you are ready for more.” 

Sukuna didn’t need to dominate his concubines every single night. A companion would be appreciated for the days he wished for peace and quiet—which was rare but still happened occasionally. The way you danced was enough to entertain him. And there were plenty of other women who could satiate his hunger differently. 

For your own comfort, along with his amusement, he felt an introductory offer was needed. Of course, he wanted you; he wanted everything about you and your submission. But what Sukuna learned over the years was very important—it wasn’t just about his pleasure. He could easily kill you, and he knew it, but the human part of him also wanted you to crave him in the same way. 

And if that took granting you access to his literature, so be it.

Biting your lip, you reached for the sake bottle and filled his empty glass as a thank you. You were there to serve him, and it was comical how miserably you failed to provide him the requested service. But there was no use in denying how excited you were. The last thing you expected was this. It wasn’t just permission he gave you; it was respect. Even in its slightest form, it was enough. 

“Once you learn about the stars, you must teach them to me.” 

Once he took his first satisfactory sip, you replied, “Do you not know the stars, Sukuna-Sama?” 

His boisterous chuckle surprised you and made you flinch in surprise. You couldn’t recall a moment where he had ever laughed, let alone smirk devilishly so. But perhaps he reserved this side of him for late-night discussions. The thought of him teasing you hardly mattered; what mattered was that he was listening to you. 

“Of course I do, concubine.” Sukuna took another sip. “But I wouldn’t mind testing you for my enjoyment.” 

“That only makes me want to study more.” 

“Good. For every question you get wrong, I get to claim a piece of you.” 

The most vigorous flush of emotions you’d ever felt rushed through you, appearing on your cheeks despite how your face was painted with makeup. Any attempt to mask was futile. It may be beneficial to just be yourself, as he already seemed tolerant enough. 

“I would appreciate that.” 

Sukuna laughed again, watching as your body relaxed. Shifting your legs to emerge from your Kimono and onto your side, you flipped back to the first page, scanning over the first page of documentation. It was exhilarating, and you didn’t want to stop. 

Sukuna’s hands reached out, guiding yours to the first page of information, scribbles, and many mystifying illustrations. “Start here, woman.” 

“My apologies.” 

Rolling his eyes once again, Sukuna took another swing of his liquor and leaned back to a more comfortable position. “Eventually, you will let me have you,” he started, relishing in the sake burning down his throat. Undoubtedly, he would need bottles of it to keep his hands off of you. “You’re too interesting to waste.” 

“That was never out of the question, my Lord.” 

Appreciative of your constant honorifics, he nodded at you. “Now, sit there and read to me. I’m too tired for anything else.”  

And that was what you did until he moved to rest his head in your lap, eyes finally closing in response to your lullaby, the softness of your voice beckoning him to tranquility. Eventually, uneven breaths filled your ears, and his head slacked entierly against you.

Did you make the King of Curses fall asleep from your voice alone?

Technically, you were trapped under his weight but didn't mind. Not when he was this peaceful, this handsome. And when your curiosity got the best of you, he only sighed in admission to the faint touch of your fingers tracing over his facial tattoos.  

A cycle that repeated itself for months until it became your secret tradition.

[metanarrates]

Hello. Sorry if this a stupid question u can ignore if u want.

How can someone get better at media analysis? Besides obviously reading a lot.

Im asking this bc im in a point where im aware of my own lack of tools to analyze stories, but i don't know where to get them or how to get better in general. How did you learn to analyze media? There's any specific book, essay, author, etc that you recommend? Somewhere to start?

I'm asking you because you are genuinely the person who has the best takes on this site. Thank you for you work!

it sounds like a cop-out answer but it's always felt like a skill I acquired mostly thru reading a ton, and by paying a lot of attention in high school literature classes. because of that I can't promise that I'm necessarily equipped to be a good teacher or that i know good resources. HOWEVER! let me run some potential advice to you based on the shit i get a lot of mileage out of

first off, a lot of literary analysis is about pattern recognition! not just pattern recognition in-text, but out-of-text as well. how does this work relate to its genre? real-world history? does it have parallels between real-life situations? that kind of thing.

which is a big concept to just describe off the bat, so let me break it down further!

in literature, there is the concept of something called literary devices - they are some of the basic building blocks in how a story is delivered mechanically and via subtext. have you ever heard of a motif? that is a literary device. it's a pattern established in the text in order to further the storytelling! and here is a list of a ton of common literary devices - I'd recommend reading the article. it breaks down a lot of commonly used ones in prose and poetry and explains their usage.

personally, I don't find all the literary devices I've learned about in school to be the most useful to my analytical hobbies online. motifs, themes, and metaphors are useful and dissecting them can bring a lot to the table, but a lot of other devices are mostly like fun bonus trivia for me to notice when reading. however, memorizing those terms and trying to notice them in the things you read does have a distinct benefit - it encourages you to start noticing patterns, and to start thinking of the mechanical way a story is built. sure, thinking about how the prose is constructed might not help you understand the story much more, but it does make you start thinking about how things like prose contribute to the greater feeling of a piece, or how the formatting of a piece contributes to its overall narrative. you'll start developing this habit of picking out little things about a text, which is useful.

other forms of in-text pattern recognition can be about things like characterization! how does a character react to a certain situation? is it consistent with how they usually behave? what might that tell you about how they think? do they have tells that show when they're not being trustworthy? does their viewpoint always match what is happening on screen? what ideas do they have about how the world works? how are they influenced by other people in their lives? by social contexts that might exist? by situations that have affected them? (on that note, how do situations affect other situations?)

another one is just straight-up noticing themes in a work. is there a certain idea that keeps getting brought up? what is the work trying to say about that idea? if it's being brought up often, it's probably worth paying attention to!

that goes for any pattern, actually. if you notice something, it's worth thinking about why it might be there. try considering things like potential subtext, or what a technique might be trying to convey to a reader. even if you can't explain why every element of a text is there, you'll often gain something by trying to think about why something exists in a story.

^ sometimes the answer to that question is not always "because it's intentional" or even "because it was a good choice for the storytelling." authors frequently make choices that suck shit (I am a known complainer about choices that suck shit.) that's also worth thinking about. english classes won't encourage this line of thinking, because they're trying to get you to approach texts with intentional thought instead of writing them off. I appreciate that goal, genuinely, but I do think it hampers people's enthusiasm for analysis if they're not also being encouraged to analyze why they think something doesn't work well in a story. sometimes something sucks and it makes new students mad if they're not allowed to talk about it sucking! I'll get into that later - knowing how and why something doesn't work is also a valuable skill. being an informed and analytical hater will get you far in life.

so that's in-work literary analysis. id also recommend annotating your pages/pdfs or keeping a notebook if you want to close-read a work. keeping track of your thoughts while reading even if they're not "clever" or whatever encourages you to pay attention to a text and to draw patterns. it's very useful!

now, for out-of-work literary analysis! it's worth synthesizing something within its context. what social settings did this work come from? was it commenting on something in real life? is it responding to some aspects of history or current events? how does it relate to its genre? does it deviate from genre trends, commentate on them, or overall conform to its genre? where did the literary techniques it's using come from - does it have any big stylistic influences? is it referencing any other texts?

and if you don't know the answer to a bunch of these questions and want to know, RESEARCH IS YOUR FRIEND! look up historical events and social movements if you're reading a work from a place or time you're not familiar with. if you don't know much about a genre, look into what are considered common genre elements! see if you can find anyone talking about artistic movements, or read the texts that a work might be referencing! all of these things will give you a far more holistic view of a work.

as for your own personal reaction to & understanding of a work... so I've given the advice before that it's good to think about your own personal reactions to a story, and what you enjoy or dislike about it. while this is true that a lot of this is a baseline jumping-off point on how I personally conduct analysis, it's incomplete advice. you should not just be thinking about what you enjoy or dislike - you should also be thinking about why it works or doesn't work for you. if you've gotten a better grasp on story mechanics by practicing the types of pattern recognition i recognized above, you can start digging into how those storytelling techniques have affected you. did you enjoy this part of a story? what made it work well? what techniques built tension, or delivered well on conflict? what about if you thought it sucked? what aspects of storytelling might have failed?

sometimes the answer to this is highly subjective and personal. I'm slightly romance-averse because I am aromantic, so a lot of romance plots will simply bore me or actively annoy me. I try not to let that personal taste factor too much into serious critiques, though of course I will talk about why I find something boring and lament it wasn't done better lol. we're only human. just be aware of those personal taste quirks and factor them into analysis because it will help you be a bit more objective lol

but if it's not fully influenced by personal taste, you should get in the habit of building little theses about why a story affected you in a certain way. for example, "I felt bored and tired at this point in a plot, which may be due to poor pacing & handling of conflict." or "I felt excited at this point in the plot, because established tensions continued to get more complex and captured my interest." or "I liked this plot point because it iterated on an established theme in a way that brought interesting angles to how the story handled the theme." again, it's just a good way to think about how and why storytelling functions.

uh let's see what else. analysis is a collaborative activity! you can learn a lot from seeing how other people analyze! if you enjoy something a lot, try looking into scholarly articles on it, or youtube videos, or essays online! develop opinions also about how THOSE articles and essays etc conduct analysis, and why you might think those analyses are correct or incorrect! sometimes analyses suck shit and developing a counterargument will help you think harder about the topic in question! think about audience reactions and how those are created by the text! talk to friends! send asks to meta blogs you really like maybe sometimes

find angles of analysis that interest and excite you! if you're interested in feminist lenses on a work, or racial lenses, or philosophical lenses, look into how people conduct those sort of analyses on other works. (eg. search feminist analysis of hamlet, or something similar so you can learn how that style of analysis generally functions) and then try applying those lenses to the story you're looking at. a lot of analysts have a toolkit of lenses they tend to cycle through when approaching a new text - it might not be a bad idea to acquire a few favored lenses of your own.

also, most of my advice is literary advice, since you can broadly apply many skills you learn in literary analysis to any other form of storytelling, but if you're looking at another medium, like a game or cartoon, maybe look up some stuff about things like ludonarrative storytelling or visual storytelling! familiarizing yourself with the specific techniques common to a certain medium will only help you get better at understanding what you're seeing.

above all else, approach everything with intellectual curiosity and sincerity. even if you're sincerely curious about why something sucks, letting yourself gain information and potentially learning something new or being humbled in the process will help you grow. it's okay to not have all the answers, or to just be flat-out wrong sometimes. continuing to practice is a valuable intellectual pursuit even if it can mean feeling a tad stupid sometimes. don't be scared to ask questions. get comfortable sometimes with the fact that the answer you'll arrive at after a lot of thought and effort will be "I don't fully know." sometimes you don't know and that can be valuable in its own right!

thank you for the ask, and I hope you find this helpful!

[coriphallus]

The Dark Urge thoughts (and prayers)

anyone whos been following me knows im absolutely not normal about durge and i wanna share some tidbits that are implied, but not necessarily canonised, from their story;

I already made a post about it but it seems like bhaal has a degree of control over whether they live or die. he can deny them death, if they fail the duel with orin.

bhaal can command the slayer. he forces orin to transform if you talk to her about sarevok and the scene makes it clear that its against her will.

bhaal manipulates his kin in a subtler way. in the colony you can find a letter from old durge thats apologising to his father for 'liking' gortash. you can interpret their relationship as something deeper but even if it wasnt, this reads to me as terrified and desperate.

the reason being, if you have a LI in act 2 you get the famous bondage scene. coupled up with the letter above makes me think this is a pattern. bhaal can use their feelings against them. he did it with sarevok and orin's mother, orin's mother and orin, etc... it's not as straightforward as 'if you disobey ill kill the one you love'. you will. durge will.

bhaal is testing them in act 2, he revels in chaos, sure, but in the grand scheme of things he doesn't care about isobel. even if you tell scel that you'll kill her you're told that youre too late, you ignored your urges. from durge, bhaal doesn't expect calm calculated murder, he expects blind obedience. failing to receive that his first punishment is to take away something they cherish. there are no half measures, theres no bargaining with a god.

we get so many snippets of information that this has happened before, their foster family being their first victims. theyre made to kill their support system with their own hands, with no one to blame but themselves. they are actually apologising to their father for being fond of gortash because (in my humble opinion) theyre genuinely afraid.

how many times could this have happened, how many nights durge couldve woken up covered in the blood of someone they love until they gave in, became daddys obedient puppet?

durge is groomed for murder. scel says 'you always failed to conduct yourself without me' and given who he is i dont think hes talking about table manners when he says 'conduct'. durge needs 24/7 oversight to set themselves right lest they get tempted by softer things. lest they dare to step away from bhaals grand plan.

durge do have a choice. just as shadowheart had a choice, just as wyll or astarion had a choice. its a choice only in name.

theres no ending besides refusing bhaal that their friends and LI wont die by their hands. the entire lore of bhaalspawn is that theyre meant to conquer the world in his name and slit their own throat a top the mountain of corpses. as cazador aptly put, 'theyre made to be consumed.'

you can pray to bhaal and the narrator says he won't accept [any offering] but the entire world.

durge (and bhaalspawn) do get some sort of euphoria from murder. they crave it like an addict, but bhaalspawn (on prev games) don't constantly have to grapple with these urges as durge does.

now durge is a slightly special case but not in a good way. its implied that theyre not like a regular bhaalspawn, that theyre made by bhaal directly -so to speak-. which is to say, if youre playing a drow, they are bhaals closest approximation of a drow rather than a drow flesh and blood.

thats why theyre fighting tooth and nail against these urges every step of the way, they are literally bhaal himself(in essence). the personality they develop, the person who calls themselves 'tainted' and 'wretched', the character thats making choices throughout the game, theyre the tumour.

theirs is the story of cycle of abuse cranked up to 1000 and it is in parallel to all other origin companions.

[girlboypersonthingy]

Would it be ok to request Vox with an affectionate s/o?

More than okay, nonnie! I’ve been getting so many requests bro, literally every time I post one, I get like 2 more in its place. IM LIVING FOR IT, KEEP IT COMING YALL! But also plz be patient with me 🥺 been waiting for a request for my flat-faced prince. Tbh the first time I watched Hazbin, my immediate reaction to Vox was ‘OH NO HES HOT!!!’ So, enjoy these headcanons 😘

Notes: gn!reader, maybe a little ooc Vox?

Vox x reader- Affection 💋

Also oh my fucking godddddd the vest, him in a vest. I need more Vox in a vest PRONTO…🥵

Okay so like…bro is more dirty minded.

He’s genuinely confused when you kiss his cheek or hold his hand like ???

Oh….you’re not just trying to fuck him and get famous?

Cuteee~

Sure, he’s fucked and made out with ppl and probably done some other crazy shit but his experience with sappy romance and affection like you show him is very limited.

He’s pretty dense, he’s got a tough shell and doesn’t really understand love languages and stuff like that.

His love language is most definitely gift giving and I just know he’s terrible at actually showing his feeling through words or romantic gestures or physical affection.

It’s usually just like “Hey! I love ya! I got you this.” *insert item you’d flip your lid over*

At least he’s a good gift giver! He really does try to give you cool stuff he knows you’ll like but he’s still learning how to actually speak about his feelings and show it physically.

He tries to match your energy the best he can

Get him gifts!!! Plz he loves homemade gifts too- gift him art, sing him an original song, sew him something, whatever your skills or talents may be, use them and he’ll adore it and also praise tf out of you

You took time to make this just for him? ‘Marry me’

Besides fucking around with Val, Vox doesn’t get much affection so he very quickly falls in love with all the sweet affectionate touches you frequently show him.

It’s all so different than Val, so sensitive and genuine. It really makes him swoon~

Melts when you kiss the corners of his screen- there’s something about non mouth kisses that really gets to him

He gets a huge dorky love stuck grin when you sit in his lap and hug him close, also hugs you back super tight

Absolutely loves kissing you and then noticing the lingering smudges/lipstick marks on his screen later

Fix his bow tie while giving him a sneaky wink in front of his crew and he’ll huff and look away while trying to hold back a smile

Invites you on his nightly broadcast as a guest one time and quickly learned how embarrassed he becomes when you flirt and call him pet names on live TV in front of tons of viewers

After only 10 minutes of talking, giggling and giving him bedroom eyes, Vox was struggling to maintain his composure- you’re so fucking cute.

All you had to do was laugh loudly at one of his crude jokes about Alastor and call him your “honey bunny” and suddenly the entire V tower lost power.

Poor man literally short circuits over your darling voice calling him such soft names- he’s so down bad for you he can’t even hide it

Val and Velvette have that specific episode downloaded and saved to every device they own bc there’s no way they are letting this go, he’s never living this down

If you pause the video right before it cuts out, just before the power goes out, Vox has literal hearts for eyes and his entire screen briefly becomes this bright blushy pink color- that’s a color no one has ever seen on him

Just keep doing your thing, you little hopeless romantic, and you’ll see that color more often.

But Vox might have to leave you at home when filming bc he can’t control himself around you sometimes and you obviously can’t either 🖤

[moneymartin]

okau i know u already did these but can u do more nsfw hcs for nika???

✧.* - smutty nika hcs

warnings: this whole thing is literally smut sooo… 18+

afab!r

a/n: im havin fun with these ngl… if anything is repeated from the og hcs im sorry!!!! got carried away and some of my thoughts r sprinkled around here

MUNCHHHHHH

she gets off on eating you out i swear

nika got a pussy eater jaw too

i think its because you squeeze your thighs around her head

she likes it

i said this the last time but your pleasure matters more to her than her own

100% a titty girl like i can see it

LOVE LOVE LOVESSS THEM

like during sex she’ll cup them any chance she gets

an ass girl too

stares at em in public w no shame and grabs at your butt when she can 😭

veryyy vocal

lots of huffing and puffing when it comes to her

whiner and whimperer when she hears you getting more comfortable abt the noises you’re making

loves when you moan her name don’t even get me started

grunts too fosho

i think she’d talk in croatian too and it turns you AWNNNNNNNN

“ljubavi” “moj anđele” “dušo” “dobra cura”

dirty talks in croatian too but idk how to translate that.

she’d dom half of the time but if you wanna dom she’ll gladly oblige

strap game is crazy

totally does that thing where she teases you really slowly then js plunges into you

😩😩😩😫

never rough unless asked but if she’s angry or upset she’ll go WILLDDDDD

call me crazy but she’d def like it if you bit…

i think she’d be the hardest teaser ever

esp in public.

if you’re really feeling it when you two are out she can tell

its like her superpower

uses it against you too cs she doesn’t wanna let you get it easy

her fingers are running up and down your thighs and shes always getting sooo close it fucks you up every time

she gets you WET w one touch its actually crazy

if you were touch deprived it’d be even worse too like if she brushed her lips up against you and breathed on your skin js a lil you’d FREEAK

freak as in you’d be SOOOOAKKED

please tell me you guys think she’d wanna film sex tapes

JUST FOR YOU TWO ONLY THO

she a secret freak for those

i think arguments would lead into rlly fucking hot angry sex

but she initiates the intimacy first after bc she knows you’re def not gonna be in the mood to do so

honestly it starts w really small touches to the arm while you two yell back and forth

the next thing you know you two are fucking on the kitchen counter 😭

or she has to literally manhandle you onto the bed and fucks you there instead 🥸

uses the strap durin that too u can’t tell me otherwise

i think if you got really horny in public out of nowhere she’d take care of it for you IMMEDIATELYYYY

the family restrooms.

or the car

CAR SEX IS HER THINGGGGG ALSO

you guys could be in the car while on a roadtrip and she’ll find a way to sneak a hand onto you to make you feel good 🤫

def eats you out in the backseat too

say its your first time

definitely takes it as slowwww as you need her to be

offers to just use her hands or something first so that you get used to it

but if you wanna like go rlly far for the first time she’ll do it for sure as long as you’re comfy

she loves when you touch her abs it turns her on 😫

makes you ride em for sure cs she fucking loves when they’re glistening in your cum

makes you lick it up CLEAN after too w your tongue

WOW WHATS WRONG WITH ME OMG

she’s a switch

power bottom and soft dom

super slow when she tops you

but she lovesss when you’re riding her strap too its her fav thing next to the ab riding

ouhhhh she loves eye contact

her eyes r so beautiful like

they get all predatory when she’s fucking you its so sexy

also when she gives you the fuck me eyes i think she means it in the opposite way

meaning she wants to fuck you

cowgirl is her fav position don’tttt play

again shes a titty girl

she loves looking at them bounce.

she doesn’t bother to get fully undressed cause it shows she cares more about you

okay im done thanks.