#AUTUMN DOES NOT SPARE ANYONE

[theendofreason]

My brother participates in the closing of the kyokushenki competition

I ALSO GOT TO THE SEMIFINALS AND DAMN IT, HOW COLD AND COOL IT IS HERE!!

[monamipencil]

— on love and cats | j.ww

genre; fluff, established relationship, gn! reader | tw; mentions of cat food? |a/n; oh, life would be better if i had a jeon wonwoo 😔

a giggle, a meow and the soft breeze of the autumn air fills your vicinity. a soft smile graces your lips, watching your lover play with a kitten.

the sun is slowly descending, leaving way for the moon to rise. the soft yellow fades into a muted grey, cascading the world in a serene silence at its beauty. a lone breeze tousles and plays with wonwoo's hair.

a loud laugh rumbles from his throat. he squats down, playing with the kitten. you watch the interaction with a smile on your own. he looks up at you, grinning.

he takes the little furball in his hands and walks towards you. you lean down, and coo at it. he introduces the kitten to you, waving it's hand at you. you do the same, waving back.

“she's the cutest,” he sighs, admiring the little life in his hands. you hum, echoing a 'she is' back to him.

yes, the cat is cute but you can't take your eyes of your boyfriend. the little quirk of his lips, the mirth dancing in his irises, the scrunch of his nose, his wind-tousled hair and the list goes on.

you step closer to him. he stays still. you step closer again. he doesn't move. you lean your head on his shoulder, and rub the kitten's head. it meows and closes it's eyes, content with all the attention.

“i give her food most of the times. she only eats expensive-ass tin food.” he whispers the latter part as if not to upset the kitten.

“yeah, i can see it.”

it lays on it's back, showing it's chubby stomach. you giggle and rub it's tummy. you're unable to contain your coos and laughter. you let your mind wander for a few seconds, wondering if this is how it'd be to start a family with him.

the thought urges you to tuck yourself closer to him. the warmth of his body repels the harsh cold of the autumn air. you circle your hands around his waist, as he lets down the kitten. it gleefully waddles across the street to it's mother.

wonwoo encloses you in a side hug, his hand coming to rest on your back. you watch the mother cat grooms the kitten and soon, a few more kittens come in view.

“and incase you're wondering why i decided to not buy the latest game i like, it's 'cause of this.”

he gestures towards the little cat family. warmth blooms in your chest, and it slowly grows vines, spreading throughout your body. the air messes your hair and caresses your face harshly. you don't feel your face, and hands. the cold autumn does not spare anyone, even lovers.

but wonwoo warms his hands and holds your face, pressing his palms on your cheeks. you giggle, leaning towards him. you do the same and hold his face. he leans his forehead on yours and you close your eyes, trying to engrave this moment in your head. this feeling, this warmth, wonwoo.

and you decide that you can forgive the world as long as it has jeon wonwoo in it.

ditching the taglist cuz literally no one tagged interacts much. hope you understand <3

[woso-dreamzzz]

Foxes

Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader

Summary: You like foxes

Jenni watches as you unpack your bag.

It is with great certainty that you line up your toys. She'd tried to get you to cut down on the amount that you brought with you but it'd triggered a meltdown so big that the neighbours complained about the noise.

It was easier to let you bring them all, even if they were all exactly the same as each other.

It wasn't an exaggeration either.

They were the same exact fox toy. The same one over and over again.

You had a few different ones at home but there were about seven or eight of this one, staring at Jenni with blank black eyes.

You pet each of them on the head before getting off the bed. You've been fascinated with the carpet ever since you both got in, randomly stopping what you were doing to aimlessly stroke it with a little crinkle between your brows that shows you don't know why you like it either.

It's another one of those things that Jenni has come to love about you.

It's strange, she knows, to outsiders but it's you down to your very core and she loves that.

You occupy yourself so well, so independent in your playing. Or...independent in the way that you only played by yourself because people tended to not play the way you liked and that usually sent you into a meltdown.

Either way, with you investigating the carpet and your foxes lined up against your pillows, Jenni takes the time to unpack her own things.

It had been a bit of a risk bringing you to the World Cup but with her parents and Rafa both busy, there was nowhere else she could put you but here.

"There foxes here, Mami?" You ask, finally sitting up.

"In Australia?" Jenni asks," I think so, osita."

You hum and get to your feet.

Your obsession with foxes is a little over the top, Jenni can admit but it's not causing anyone any harm so she indulges it. Besides, it just means that she knows exactly what to get you.

You hum again, meandering over to rub your hands over her soft tracksuit bottoms.

Your hand does a big swipe down before going straight up to her hip to do it again.

"Do they feel nice?" Jenni asked with a little laugh and your head bobs up and down in agreement.

You jolt when there's a knock at the door though. You immediately clamp your hands over your ears and Jenni sympathetically smooths down your hair.

"Don't like it, Mami," You say.

"I know."

There's another round of knocks, more impatient than before.

"One second!" Jenni calls as she sets you up at the desk with your pencils and drawing pad.

Jenni pokes her head out of the door. "Hola?"

Irene, Laia, Mariona and Alexia wait there, each of them sporting large smiles.

"Can we come in?"

Jenni spares a look behind her. You seem content again, scrawling over the paper.

"Yeah, alright." She lets the others in. "Osita, we've got company."

"Hi," You say but don't tear your eyes away from the page.

Laia and Mario instantly make themselves comfortable on Jenni's bed while Irene goes to check out the view. Alexia wanders closer to you, crouching by the chair you're sitting in.

"Hola, osita," She says to you," It's nice to see you again. I missed you."

"Okay." You keep drawing.

"Osita," Jenni says," Tell Alexia you missed her too."

Your brows draw together but you do what you're told. "Alexia," You say," Missed you too."

Alexia smiles at you fondly, more than aware of your little quirks as she takes a peak at your drawing. "That's a nice fox," She says.

"Yes," You say," It's a red fox." You flip to the front of the book to show the exact same drawing. You keep flipping the pages to show Alexia the exact same drawing on all of them.

The same red fox on all the pages.

"Red fox," You say, suddenly regurgitating words Jenni's heard countless times before," Vulpes vulpes. Found in Europe, Asia, Africa and America. Most widely distributed animal naturally apart from people." You keep drawing, dragging your pencil across the page. "Give birth in dens. Babies stay with adults until autumn and then leave."

"You know a lot about foxes," Alexia says.

"Yes," You reply, switching your orange pencil for black.

"Do you have a favourite?"

"Swift fox," You say immediately," Vulpes velox. Small like housecat. Found in America." Somehow, you've opened up a little to Alexia, fully facing her now though your eyes are nowhere near her face. "I like foxes."

"I know," Alexia says. She dips her hand into her pocket. "I couldn't find a big one but here."

It's a keyring with a knitted fox attached to it.

You swipe your hand over the fabric and immediately pull it away, grabbing it by the silver ring instead. You want to pull a face but you know that's not okay.

Mami tells you that all the time so you keep your face blank.

You shuffle off the chair to give the keychain to Mami to look after, wiping the icky feeling off your hand while you're still there.

"Is this from Ale?" She asks and you nod," Did you say thank you?"

You turn back to face Alexia again. "Thank you."

You don't go back to your drawing, you just sit at Mami's feet and trace the pattern of the carpet with your finger.

"Hey, osita," Laia says to you," Are you enjoying Mexico?"

You don't look up from what you're doing. "No," You say," Roja is not in Mexico."

"Roja?"

"Fox that me and Mami fed in our garden," You continue, perking up a little bit," She is not in Mexico. We do not have a fox in Mexico."

"Roja wasn't ours," Mami reminds you," She only came back because we kept feeding her."

"Roja had babies," You say like Mami hasn't even said anything," That's why she was fat. Roja had babies and then we left her."

Mami sighs. "We didn't leave Roja. We-"

"Red foxes have between four to five babies," You plough on, sitting upright again and talking at Laia," Born blind and deaf. Mating happens in winter so babies are born in spring, raised in summer and leave in autumn. Babies-"

You cut yourself off as Alexia goes to move and you stand up.

"Why you going?"

"Osita," Mami says," What have I said about being polite?"

You blink at Mami a few times, trying to recall what she told you before. Mami has to give your reminders a lot. She says that you're not good socially but you don't think it's your fault that people are weird and don't make sense.

She understands you and Alexia understood you when you used to live in Spain and that's all that matters.

"Where you going?" You correct and Mami laughs a little in disbelief, though you don't really get why.

Alexia laughs. "Just the toilet, osita. I'll be back soon."

You nod at her, just once. "Okay."

You sit back down by Mami's feet and go back to tracing the carpet.

"Someone missed her tia Ale," Irene teases and that causes you to frown.

Actually, you don't think you did miss Alexia, not in the way Irene clearly thinks you do. Actually, you don't really think about Alexia when you're in Mexico. You don't really think about anyone that much unless you see a picture of them.

Maybe you do miss Alexia though. In the beginning you think you did but that's because she was a big part of your life and then she suddenly wasn't anymore and that's a big adjustment.

You miss Alexia now though, as she goes off to the toilet but you've never been all that consumed by missing people except for Mami and that's never really happened because you're always with her.

Feelings are weird and people are even weirder, you decide and you migrate a bit closer to Mami. You tug on her leg, looking at her with big wide eyes.

She seems to understand you though, throwing your favourite fox patterned blanket to you.

You make a little tent so you don't have to see anyone else.

You can't always interact with people well so you prefer being in your fox tent.

You take a big, deap breath that runs through your whole body before releasing it.

You smile.

You can feel Mami behind you.

You think this World Cup won't be as bad as you thought it would be.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #5: CADMIUM COLORS

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

Once again, welcome back to the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Last time, I wrote a whole diatribe about my OCs while talking about I Wish That I Could Fall, and today, we're eating paint! Cadmium Colors featuring Soneji of Project Mikan!

Consider this a content warning: this post will discuss the pandemic, struggles with mental health, and suicidal ideation/attempts. I'm hoping it'll ultimately be uplifting, but the discussions at hand are incredibly heavy, and it wouldn't do this song right to be vague. Please be warned.

---

Let's talk about COVID.

At the beginning of 2020, I was in the midst of a long-term break from making music. It wasn't completely cold turkey, and I might not have even called it a break if you'd asked me at the time, but things were dire. I was still dealing with the burnout I'd sustained from the making of Autumn Every Day; I'd had my ego bruised by a live performance at a house party that went so hilariously bad it'd hurt even the most stoic performers (imagine watching an entire packed room of people clear out in 5 minutes flat from the already hyper-exposed vantage point of being on stage in front of them and knowing you single-handedly caused that lol); I had just moved across the country, and was preoccupied with trying to make ends meet as a 22 year old dealing with pure adulthood for the first time.

I was working a shitty minimum wage job at a discount clothing store I will not be naming, slogging through late-night shifts that wouldn't get me home until 3 am some nights. I had friends and roommates, but they were all just as overworked and exhausted and dealing with their own shit as me. I was mentally ill and unmedicated. Suicidal ideation was rearing its ugly head at my lowest moments.

Then, as I turned 23, a global pandemic shut the world down, my grandpa died with me being unable to attend his funeral, and I had a catastrophic mental breakdown that suddenly turned the voices in my head into a deafening cacophony of self-inflicted malice.

In hindsight, I think being 23 kinda just does that to you

---

Fast forward to 2021. I was back at my retail job with the pandemic raging in full force, my sense of self was held together with duct tape, positive self-talk essentially didn't exist for me, and I was the loneliest and lowest I had ever been. I was working the fewest hours I could get away with, and still, almost all spare time I had was taken up either by work or by my recovery from it.

This was around the time I got an email from Crypton, of all places - the people that make Hatsune Miku, for anyone uninformed. They wanted a remix of the song Happy Synthesizer for a Digital Stars compilation. I could not for the life of me tell you how I lucked into this or why they reached out to me of all people, but they did, and I was deathly determined to prove myself worthy of it.

This was August of 2021. I was staring down the barrel, languishing in what felt like only half of a life, fantasizing about death and trying to twist my thoughts into something that could at least keep me blearily shuffling forward another couple days. It was untenable.

(I'd also recently been diagnosed with OSDD 1b - this is a whole can of worms I can't really open until we talk about Breeze Blows, but it's important to at least mention that coping with this was a significant part of this turnaround.)

It's melodramatic, but I had only two options - make things again, or die.

I finished that remix within 24 hours of getting the stems, and I will gladly toot my own horn about it - it's really fucking good, in my opinion. Bittersweet ended up coming together in a mad dash over the next couple months as well. I was making music again.

Even though I was exponentially busier, things paradoxically got easier. I made the creative process a priority in my life, and not only did it give me an outlet for everything that had otherwise been eating away at my soul, but it struck a chord with other people who had been struggling as well. Things just... started getting brighter.

So I kept making music and living and yadda yadda blah blah here I am. This is all a lot of words and very personal stories of mental health struggles to say this:

One: The line between being an artist and being one of countless people forced to work jobs that go nowhere, that put their life at risk, that force them to strip parts of themselves away - it is a faint and transparent line built on circumstances of class and privilege and luck. Making Art and being an Artist aren't magical elevated states of existence, but something anyone is capable of if given the space to nurture their creativity. I believe the world should be a place where any person can do this.

Two: It's easy to convince yourself that art is meaningless in the face of the world at large. And yes, revolutions aren't fought by poetry and paintings, and people aren't fed through songs. But art is a source and a medium for connection; Art is how we find beauty in a disorganized and entropic world; Art is what we come home to and what words we write and pictures we paint and songs we sing to remind us that people matter to us and love is real and life is worth fucking living. Maybe that's corny and stupid, but it's true.

Three: So help me God, I will never work retail again in my entire life.

---

This is another song that is heavily inspired by artists like Prefab Sprout, Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush, and other artists of that ilk - very 80s, very flowery and sentimental lyricism, focused on telling a story. I greatly admire songs that aren't afraid to paint otherwise banal or ordinary scenes in abstract reverence!! I wanted the verses to contrast heavily with each other in that way, with verse one's relentless poeticisms (prosaic practice of depravity) and idioms turned on their head (suspending innocents above their disbelief) against verse two's incredibly straightforward depiction of a factory worker's circumstances.

The flowery language might have worked against me somewhat, though! I've seen a lot of folks that thought the ending was darker or much more defeatist than I intended, and while some of that is just inevitable with a work of art, I want to be clear.

Translator's note: this means "don't kill yourself, you idiot"!!

As you may have picked up from the previous post in this series, this song does heavily feature a leitmotif or two predominantly performed under pudgy pretenses. I'm not going to go on that whole novella-length spiel again, but rest assured knowing that this song, too, is one that makes me think about my OCs. Since it's something many people missed, however, I will take a moment to point out that this song quotes none other than Autumn Every Day off of my album of the same name!

Painting and visual art have been something of a reoccurring obsession of mine in my own art. I grew up around visual artists, have always been friends with many visual artists, and generally have a really intense love of it as a medium and a mode of expression. However, there's also always been a sense of... well, I don't want to call it jealousy, but it's jealousy. I've tried many times to start making visual art of my own, and I have made some things, but it's been a struggle, and I worry sometimes that my eye has permanently outstripped my ability.

However, in my quest to toss out grand expectations and simply have fun making art, I did recently pick up a cheap little drawing tablet! I'm excited to be a beginner at something artistic again...

Finally, I want to thank a couple people: Soneji of Project Mikan for the gorgeous, soaring saxophone solo; friend_xp for the mindboggling MV editing; and especially my good friend Que for the GORGEOUS painterly art that goes along with this song! Que's style was just perfect for this, and really tied the whole thing together immaculately!! There's no joke or deeper lore or anything I just fucking love Que's art go follow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And with that, I think this post is complete!! If you have anything else you wanna know about, ask away in the replies! Tomorrow will be Breeze Blows with Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs!!!

MAKE ART AND BE GAY

[thestarlitmidnight]

✨ Rewrite the Stars ✨

Summary: Being mated to Feyre doesn’t stop Rhysand to seek comfort from his former lover Y/N. One more night, that became their mantra. Fandom: ACOTAr Pairing: Rhysand X Y/N Warnings: Mention of explicit content, be aware of that and consider being 15+ before reading this. Word Count: 3 902 Previous Chapter Master List

Chapter 3

The autumn sun was low and hidden behind a heavy cloud. The air was getting colder. 

Perfect weather for outside training. One does not need to sweat their ass out in leathers while the sun is frying you. When it's chilly outside, the fighting leathers are perfect, keeping you warm enough without the need to sweat and smell. 

Right now, I was fighting with Az, testing our sword skills. 

With Az, it was always so easy to train. He was focused on the training and did not talk a hole into your head. Not like Cass or others, who loved to add to the sound of colliding steel their comment and small talk. 

Truth be told, with sword fight, it was impossible to beat Az, he was way too strong, quick and skilled. When it comes to hand-to-hand combat, or even daggers, he gets his ass kicked, but not with swords. 

Another reason why I wanted to test my sword skills with him. I need to put my whole focus into the fight to have even a chance to keep up with him. This way my mind does not have any spare time to be bombarded with unwanted thoughts. 

And there were a lot of them. 

But Azriel decided to break the code today, out of all of the days, and he spoke up. 

"Y/n, I am worried," his hazel eyes were glued on my face, but he did place an attack on my right side. 

"About?" I gritted through my teeth and quickly blocked the attack with the sword, my wing needed to flex a little into the other side, to keep my balance.

"You," he effortlessly blocked my own attack on his thigh. 

I simply rolled my eyes at him and did not reply. My sword started to place attack after attack, trying to break through his defences.

"I know what is happening," he simply said in a low tone, still watching me with these cryptic eyes. 

"I have no idea what you are talking about," I swirled on the other side of him and tried to place a hit on his left side, but he blocked it once again. 

He and his shadows. They always cheat, I am sure of it.

"Y/n, don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you," his eyebrows crushed together with distaste. 

I did not reply, waiting for him to elaborate on what he indeed knew about. It can be quite a lot of things, and I prayed he would come up with anything else than the truly concerning thing. 

"Tell me, why do my shadows report to me that they spotted Rhysand visiting your house?" He went directly to the point, and I growled as my hands started to shake from the effort to block his now stronger attacks. 

"He is my friend; he comes to chat," I lied skillfully, swirling away from him to create a little space between us so I could catch my breath. 

"Liar," he said with an even voice, allowing me to get a little break. "Do you guys chat before or after he has you bend over the desk in his study?"

My eyes shot up to him, now full of warning. Those fucking shadows of his. 

"You are poking your shadows into things that are not your concern," I replied with a stern voice, dismissing any possibility to dive into this topic deeper with him. 

"He is mated, Y/n; this is not going to end well for anyone involved," his face was covered in concern, no distaste or judgment, no, Az would never judge me or Rhys; he was just worried. 

And that made me furious. I crossed the space between us and started to dance with our sword clinging once again.

"Do you think, Az, that I am not aware of  that?" I growled at him and went with way more force into the attacks than before. "I would love to see you act differently in my shoes." 

Azriel, without as much a breaking sweat, knocked the sword from my hands and had me pinned down, his own sword on my neck.

"I would not act differently, but it is not fair to you," he informed me with his eyes glued on mine and his sword still on my neck. "I want you to know that if things get out of hand and you need someone to talk to, I am here for you; you are my little sister, Y/n, you are not alone."

My eyes started to water at his words, and when he helped me back up on my feet, I wrapped my hands around his neck and hugged him, thankful for him. At least one brother still considered me as his sister. Cass was way too invested in his mating bond to still have space for me in his life, but Az was always there for me. When shit hit the fan, he was by my side through the hardest times as much as he was through the best. Just like Rhys and Amren. 

"Angel, tell me, why did you start to take your little experiment alongside you to train?" Rhys walked into the rooftop, in his arms my misplaced cat. 

"Patchy! What are you doing here, baby?" I let go of Az, but not before I placed a thankful kiss on his cheek and went to snatch the creature out of Rhysand's hands. 

"For the love of the Mother, what is this?" Azriel walked closer to us, his eyes taking in the ugly cat. 

"Cat maybe? Or something that wandered into Velaris down from the mountains. I am still trying to figure that out," I scratched the head of Patchy. "How did you get here, Patchy? "

"You did not take it up here with you?" Rhys raised his eyebrows, eying the cat with curiosity. 

"No, and before you come up with some wildly ridiculous theory, she probably just hide in my training bag," I gave Rhys a pointed look, stopping any wild theories about my cat being able to winnow or something equally stupid. 

"It looks all weird," Az poked the bigger ear of the cat with his finger.

"I know, but it gives her a charisma," I laughed at the stunned expression of the shadowsinger; it takes a lot to surprise someone like him. 

"It is a mentally unstable thing, which loves to interrupt when it should not," Rhys grumbled, eying the cat like his enemy. 

That made me laugh. Patchy indeed had a terrible habit of interrupting us during sex. She would come and go after Rhys' feet, or straight out jump into the bed and slap him across his face. There was an occurrence where Rhys was fucking me over the counter in my kitchen just before the diner, and Patchy, with all the limping, managed to climb up to the shelves and push a glass bowl down on his head. 

Safe to say, that Patchy developed a way to make Rhys mighty fate her.

I looked up at Rhys, then at Az, back to Rhys, raising my eyebrows up. This was a kind of comment that I did not expect to hear from Rhys in front of a member of our family. 

"Az came to me first," Rhys sighed, brushing his hand over his jaw, where I just noticed a bruise that was fading quickly. 

Illyrian males and their inability to talk things out without using their fists. 

"Was it necessary to beat him, Az?" I raised my hand and tilted Rhys' head to the side, taking a better look at his jaw. "You know his pretty face is what I like about him the most." 

"Y/n, angel, that is a lie," Rhys charmed a cheeky smile, and he greatly enjoyed my fingers brushing across his jaw. 

Az just shook his head and laughed. "I forgot how annoying you two can be."

"Don't pretend that you did not miss it," I called after Az, who walked to the weapon rag, placing the sword back into its place and letting Rhys take me into his arms. 

"I did not say that," Az looked over his shoulder, giving both of us a warm, pleased smile. 

"Does anyone else know or suspect, or is it only you?" I asked Az, while tilting my head to the side because Rhys decided to sneak a few kisses on my neck. 

"Amren knows," Rhys replied before Az could open his mouth, his lisp brushed over my neck as he spoke. 

That did not surprise me. I knew that Amren at least suspected something. 

"Others have no clue," Az added, resting against the wall, his hands came to rest over his chest. 

"And it will remain this way till it is handled," Rhys placed a quick kiss on top of my wing and took Patchy from my hands, who shortly after disappeared into thin air. "She is waiting for you back at home; we have things to tend to."

"Rhys! She will be moody! That cat hates winnowing!" I scolded him and stepped on his feet, pissed that I would need to deal with a broody cat once I was back home. 

"That cat is not that often present; if you will be lucky, she will be broody on one of her endless adventures and come back home only hungry," Rhys dismissed my scolding and winked, leading me to the kitchen with his hand around my waist, that had tendencies to fall way too low to be considered polite. 

That was true. Patchy loved to explore. She spent more time out than indoors. No matter how misplaced and strangely shaped she was, that weird cat was exploring the world all the time. 

"I need you and Az to look into something; there are whispers that someone is wielding unknown magic in the Autumn Court," Rhys let go of me and went to sit behind the high table.

"Perfect," I sighed and looked at Az with poorly hidden despair. 

I hated the residents of Autumn Court. They were pompous, arrogant idiots with a god complex, always thinking they were better than others. 

What was worse, they rarely lent a helping hand, which meant whoever was cursed to tend to a mission there was always on their own accord, with no outside help. 

Az had trouble keeping his spy network there, and it is no secret that most of the expenses on the spies were pouring into the pockets of poorly willing people in the Autumn Court, who provided us back with half-truths, twisted information, and unreliable intel. But still, it's better than nothing. 

The only person in the whole damn Autumn Court who cared enough to provide us with useful intel was Eris, who might be an ass, but he had his highlight moments sometimes. 

In fact, I have seen Rhys in him sometimes. They both had similar qualities. Few differences were there, for example, that Eris did not have a good circle of his trusted friends and family. He was alone in a pretty tight system his father set, and he needed to orient through it all without any backup or outside help. 

Feyre walked into the kitchen then, looking over the three of us with something unreadable in her eyes. She carried herself with tension in her shoulders and a way too straight spine. Then her eyes ended on Rhysand, and she went right to him, placing a kiss on his lips. 

I fought a need to roll my eyes and chose to look at Az, who provided the two with privacy as well, looking back at me with those knowing eyes. I turned my back to them and crunched my nose at Az, making a face to shake the irritation out of my system. 

"What are you three doing?" Feyre asked with a way too light voice. 

I did turn only when Az made an effort to discreetly nod for me to turn around, and with a suppressed sigh, I did.

That viper was sitting way too close to Rhys for my liking. A mighty furry raised in my chest at the sight of his arm resting on his thigh.

What did not help me at all was the fact that his hand was wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close to himself. The same fucking way he held me a little ago. 

I felt sick. 

It took all of my self-control to not walk to that damn thief and not throw her off the cliff. It would do nothing. She can summon wings. I kept reminding myself of this fact. It would only piss everyone off and make this whole situation a lot worse and complicated. 

"Az and Y/n will need to go into the Autumn Court. There are whispers about an unknown magic being wielded there, and we need to investigate," Rhys replied, his voice even. 

I fought the urge to have my eyes glued to his hand resting around her shoulders. To stop myself from willing it not to move. To not caress her skin.

"Eris will be happy to see Y/n," Az said, his shadows moving around him in calm manners. 

I raised my eyebrow at him, a smug smirk landing immediately on my lips. I knew where he was going with this and I loved every fucking second of that. 

"He will, won't he? Last time we saw each other, he was promising me the title of the Lady of the Autumn Court," I mused back to him, purposely ignoring the burning stare from our High Lord. 

A little fact about Eris. He loved fierce, independent females. Those, he knew he couldn't  have. It was like a hunt for him. A challenge that he very gladly accepted and bathed in the thrill of it. He loved hunting, his favourite pastime, so it should not come as a surprise to anyone that he enjoyed hunting his females as well.

"I will bet ten golden marks that he will bring another priceless gift; my guesses are on another dagger," Az noted to me, looking all innocent as he did so. 

I always knew that Az would have my back. He must have seen how off track the sight of Rhys and Feyre set me, so he found effortlessly a way to turn this into torture of Rhys instead of me. 

"Make it twenty and that he will straight out propose to her at least once," Cassian walked into the kitchen as well. 

He came back from Illyria, where he was training with his soldiers, and he looked like that. Sweaty and with messy hair, which stuck out of his bun. 

"Not the proposal, please; it was enough the last time!" I rolled my eyes and smiled at Cassian. 

"Did I miss something? Since when does Eris fancy Y/n?" Feyre looked between us, her face confused, while her damn fingers darted to Rhys' hair with her eyes ending on me while she brushed them. 

"Let me guess..." Cassian made a thinking face. "Az, care to help me? You remember the dates better."

"Since the day she kicked his ass on one of the meetings, I would say at least a hundred years," Az replied right away, a light smile crossing his lips. 

"You did what?" Feyre's eyes went wider.

I only raised my eyebrows at her, but did not reply; if I did, only cursed words would fall from my lips at her direction. 

"He was ass, talking shit about Rhys, it was only natural she kicked his ass, Rhys would get into trouble for doing that, but nobody would dare to talk shit about Y/n for defending her-," Cass waved with his hand, walking to the sink to pour himself some water. 

"Cass, did you forget that it was you, who did not hesitated to push me away and finish him yourself?" I smoothly interrupted him, he and his big mouth can sometimes get tricky to control. 

"And you are surprised? Nobody will talk like this about my brother and little sister," he gave me a duh face, completely unaware that he was speaking about things that are not to be spoken of in front of the little viper. 

"What did he said about them?" Feyre was now looking between me and Rhys with curiosity. 

"Nothing that is your concern," Rhys replied to her, his voice firmer. "I was not aware that it was necessary to meet with Eris at the mission you will have."

Rhys looked tense. His jaw was tightly set and those violet eyes of his were holding frustration that was contained only be the sheer will of his. 

"It is certainly necessary. Eris is the only one who has the best intel, if someone is wielding strange magic in his court, he will know it," I said with a light smirk on my lips. "And it will be  nice to see him again. Do you think Az, that he practiced those dagger skills?" 

"He? Yeah, for sure, he is probably eager to show them off to you," Az smiled fully in return, his eyes shining now with mischief. 

"Will you reward him if he did?" Cassian chimed, wiggling his eyebrows. "I always knew you were made for greatness,Y/n, now that the air is clear for him, who knows, maybe you will indeed become Lady of the Autumn." 

That made me chuckle. 

It was a solid possibility to take and get out of here. My social standing will only benefit and I will get rid of the sight of Feyre clinging to Rhys at any opportunity she gets. 

"We will see how things play out," I replied with light voice, my eyes finding the violet gaze. 

He got the message. I am sure of it. And I am sure as hell that there will be a nasty fight over this. 

"Y/n, Autumn, really? Come one, you yourself know how stupid of idea that would be," Rhys cannot hold this remark to himself and it stirred satisfaction in me, soothed the painful ache in my chest a little. 

"Why would it be? If Y/n thinks it will make her happy, she has a free will to decide and do not need to ask for permission from you all," Feyre proclaimed eagerly, surprising me with this. 

Is she by any means eager to get rid of me? 

"Feyre darling, Y/n hates Autumn, it would be concerning if she would ever choose to permanently reside there, especially with someone like Eris, who doesn't have the slightest idea about how to handle someone like our angel," Rhys' voice was clipped, tightly controlled as he spoke, his eyes now glued permanently on me, ignoring his precious mate wholly. 

A thing Feyre noticed and did not liked at all, judging by the shift of her body language. She moved her fingers from his hair down to his neck, stroking the sensitive skin there, hoping to get his attention back. 

"Maybe, but did you forget that it is not only Eris, who decided to court our little sister?" Cassian send Rhys a cheeky grin, his chest puffing with pride. 

It was kind of endearing. Cass truly thought that me and Rhys split up and it was done. That I accepted the fact he is mated and he probably believed that I will start moving on with my life as well. He was willing to see me go and settle anywhere as long as I will be happy. 

"He is not?" Feyre's eyes once again widen and her voice was coloured by poorly controlled irritation mixed with hope. 

"Y/n is a hot stuff you know. Last time I spoke with Helion, he was dreaming out loud about finally having opportunity to court her," Cassian's eyes practically shined with excitement. "In my opinion, Helion is better choice than Eris, but who is also in game is Tarquin, but considering how much you hate the sun, he will have little to none chance to get you reside in his shiny palace."

I cannot help and laugh a little. 

It was ridiculous. Truly. Once the news that I am no longer with Rhys got out, they all loose it. Males can be sometimes truly precious. 

"If they all are so interested in her, why they did not courted her already?" Feyre demanded, her face coloured with strange emotions, ones I cannot put together what they meant. 

What? Was she pissed that she is not the one, who is seek out by them? Is she jealous that she is not the one, who stirs this kind of desire from those powerful males? 

A little reality check for her I guess. It will serve her well.

"Very obviously because Rhysie would cut theirs dicks if they did?" Cass shoot back, without any hesitation, leaving us no opportunity to stop him from finishing this dman sentence. 

"And why would he care?" She straightened her spine and she looked at Cassian with demanding look. 

"Are you kidding me? Why would he care? Feyre, he -" Cassian opened that big mouth of his once again, but Rhys stopped him.

"We are getting away from the point of this conversation," Rhys snapped, his voice tight. "Azriel and Y/n are going to Autumn today, I will see you both before you go, we need to clear some things up." 

When he said meet you both, his eyes were glued on me. It was clear message that he will have things to discuss with me. 

Cauldron, I do not have any desire to argue with him before I will be leaving for a mission. It always brought bad amens with it. 

"Well, I don't think any heads up are needed, we can get going right away, right Az?" I turned to look at the shadowsinger, my back turning once again to the pair sitting way too close together. 

I cannot have a fight with him before the mission. There will be no time to make it alright again and I know that once I am away, he will be spending time with Feyre. It would keep eating me alive. The whole damn time when I am supposed to focus, he will be all I could think about and that means trouble. 

Distraction during mission equal problems. Always. 

I would see them together, just like in my nightmares, where he holds her so close to himself, the way he used to hold me. He would whisper sweet words into her ear, while tracing his hands across her body, making her giggle. He would promise her a future, that once was supposed to be ours. He would tell her about his dreams to have family of his own. How he dreamed for centuries about starting a family with his girl after the world will calm down a bit. 

No. I cannot do this and so I gave Azriel a pleading look, hoping he will once again back me up. 

"Of course, we will report once we know something," Az replied right away, walking towards me, gently taking my elbow into his arms. "Do not worry, I will make sure Eris does not misbehave way too much." 

With that, he let his shadows swipe us away from the kitchen. It was a good thing that his little secret of being about to trespass the wards set upon the House of Winds, blew up a few months ago. It allowed him to simply take us away without leaving any space for more pointless chatting and arguing from Rhys.

Tag-List: @sillyfreakfanparty @zou-rs @sttvrdustt @daughterofthemoons-stuff @stonerpersona @j-pendragonx @barb00235 @booksbypisces @thelov3lybookworm @darkbloodsly

[lilac-5ky]

i wanna tie the knot (Satoru xFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Forget me not

Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Plot: Your boyfriend takes you on a romantic getaway that will potentially change the rest of your lives.

Themes: MDNI, Established Relationship, Vacation, Teasing, Bickering, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Comedy, Onsen Smut, Sensory Deprivation (bondage and blindfolds), Breeding Kink, Oral (f. receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Yukatas, Snarky!Fem!Reader who is done with Gojo's Shenanigans but loves him regardless, Soft!Dom Gojo, Unsolicited Digimon References, and Bucketloads of Pet Names (baby, princess, bunny, honeypie, sugarplum, and every other food nickname you can think of)

Word Count: 13.3k (i was inspired, sue me. rest of it will be smaller. i think.)

check a/n at the bottom

“Last one up the hill is a loser!” Those were the parting words you left your boyfriend with before you shot in the direction of the fields, wind in your hair and pollen in the air, Satoru’s voice barely audible over the light chuckle you shed behind.

You sprint across a sea of flowers in every shape, hue, and kind—from exuberant red poppies to bashful pink asters—spanning as far as the eye can see. You want nothing more than to spare a moment and halt; breathe into the combined aroma of the autumn blossoms before winter hushes them for good, but you can’t. The faster you run, the smaller his head becomes, until it’s a mere blotch of white on the faraway horizon.

You rest assured in your victory, a breathless smile forming on your lips as you reach the top. You glance over your shoulder, confident that the man who minutes ago (literally) flew you to Ikoma on another of his spontaneous 2-day trips is still there, lamenting ever giving you a headstart. However, no matter how hard you squint, you cannot seem to find him.

“What are we looking at?” A low-pitched voice scares the wits out of you, hummed near the shell of your ear in a way that’s exclusive to the cheeky tone it carries.

“S-Satoru!” You yelp, almost throwing yourself down the stiff slope.

“Satoru?” The man in question repeats his own name, cocking his head to the side with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What are you—”

“I only know of a winner,” he points at his chest, successfully diverting your attention from the hand that rises to flick your forehead with such force that you stagger backward.

Both your fall and his punchline are postponed, one awaiting the other while you’re left floating mid-air, the infinity between your head and his boot serving as a safety net.

“And a loser.” Satoru concludes, his grin as bright as day, when he retracts his foot and lets you plummet into the fluffy flowerbed.

In the time it takes for you to blow a tuft of hair from your eyes and prop yourself onto your elbows, Satoru’s already taken his phone out and snapped as many pictures as humanely possible. You aren’t fazed. You’re used to his constant leg-pulling, as well as his 8895-picture collection of funny faces you’ve made over the course of your 7-year relationship.

Definitely in the 9000s now.

“Most guys would help their girlfriend up instead of calling her a loser.” You frown.

“Most guys wouldn’t date a slowpoke.” He gleefully chimes, zooming in on your face. “Come on. Smiiile.”

You poke your tongue out, and he snaps what is hopefully the last embarrassing frame of the day. Your frown resumes, downturned mouth and eyes narrowed at the wonderful azure sky.

“Good enough. Here, here.” He offers you his hand. “Don’t go crying on me.”

You accept only to give him a taste of his own medicine as you lock fingers and drag him down. He shouldn’t fall, but he does so anyway, collapsing beside you in a bundle of ridiculously long limbs he either sorts behind his head or splays on the grass surrounding him.

“Can’t believe you actually got me.” Satoru says in a pouty voice that goes against the complacent smile sitting on his lips. Idiot. “Woah, the view is much prettier from down here!” He marvels at the drifting clouds, pointing at one that resembles a duck. “Is this what it feels like to be you?”

You could do without his unnecessary comments spoiling the mood, but you’re willing to overlook them for the sake of your trip. With how hectic these past three weeks were—orchestrated curse attacks ping-ponging both him and his students across Tokyo—you doubted you’d have a moment to yourselves for the remainder of the year.

But keeping him on his toes is too much fun to pass up.

“You’d be more likeable if you weren’t such a showoff, Satoru.” You scoff, no malice whatsoever.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I thought you liked me sooo much when you were going all oh, Satoru! Love it so much, Satoru! You’re the best, Satoru! Deeper, Satoru! Y-yes, just like that, ‘Toru last night.”

“Shut up!”

You plug his mouth with both hands, though that doesn’t discourage him from blabbing his version of last night’s events, perfectly replicating the breathy tone of your voice and the soft little moans you let out in between his frantic thrusts.

Your palms relocate to cover your ears, the bright color of your cheeks soon becoming a focal point for his mockery. Satoru plucks a crimson cosmos flower and holds it to your face, twirling it around until you rip it from his grasp. Regret washes over you as soon as you unfold your fingers and see the now-crumpled petals, a little piece of the universe laying lifeless in your palm.

“I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing.” You point at the dark fabric that conceals his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You wave your hand in his face, constantly alternating between the number of fingers you flex.

Satoru catches your wrist and decisively intertwines your fingers. “I see enough to know you look the cutest when you’re annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed.” You declare.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deliberately sultry as he inches closer.

Flakes of color adorn his icy strands like confetti, a stark contrast to the murky blue of his two-piece uniform. You can feel his eyes—those lovely crystal orbs of his—burning holes through the blindfold to meet yours, and in this instant, when his minty breath ghosts over your lips and promises a kiss, you’re absolutely enamored by him.

That is, until he begins poking into your cheeks like a woodpecker, and your desire to strangle the life out of him overtakes the urge to give in.

“Okay! You did it! I’m—”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips crash into yours, a stolen peck that lasts no longer than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, a soft fumble that leaves you craving for more. “Definitely annoyed.” Satoru flashes a boyish smile as he ruffles your hair and pulls you to your feet with him, his hand carrying you through a path of marigolds.

“Can you… just… slow… down?” You pant out, struggling to follow after his long strides.

But he doesn’t falter.

“Better get moving before you evolve into a Slowbro.” He sing-songs.

“Knock it off! I’m at least Jigglypuff tier.”

“Hmm,” he considers out loud. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you useless, but—”

“Satoru!” You protest. “And I thought you liked Digimon.”

“Doesn’t hurt to know about the cheaper rip-off.”

“Pretty sure that’d be Digimon.”

“And I’m pretty sure even a regular Greymon beats your mascot into a pulp.” He beams.

Sigh.

You roll your eyes, letting him argue with himself about Digimon’s supremacy, until you reach a pool of flowers—myriad befallen fragments of the sky reflecting the vibrant blue of his eyes. You break free from his grasp and kneel among the blossoms, your fingertips skimming across the pointed petals with great care.

“Oh my God, Satoru! You know what this is?”

“Flowers…?” He changes his answer to pretty flowers upon your glaring.

“It’s forget-me-nots!”

The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell. He looks at you with the stupefied expression of a cattle who only knows how to moo and eat grass, invisible question marks spawning around his head.

“Their blooming period ends in May,” you explain. “Can’t believe we’d find some in October, and these—” You chop one of the stems and extend it to him. “These are so beautiful.”

Satoru glances between the flowers and your impressionable eyes, in which tiny stars seem to twinkle, his tone serious as he points out, “You must really love me.”

Your mouth hangs while you mull over your own words. Nope. Nothing you said remotely hints at the conclusion he alone reached.

“About time you showed me some respect.” Satoru huffs. “Don’t know about the royalty part, but—ah, it really can’t be helped. I’ll accept them if you insist.”

“Hold on a second.” His fingers close around a fistful of nothing as you retract your hand. “What respect, what royalty are you talking about?”

“Hm? You really don’t know?” You shake your head, and he brings out his phone, trading it for the flowers. “Says it all riiiight here.” He taps at the wall of text that lights up his screen.

Forget-me-not, also known as Myosotis flower, represents true love and respect and is an indisputable symbol of royalty. To King Henry IV—

“Tsk, these don’t even smell.” Satoru exclaims once he presses them to his nose.

“Not all flowers smell.” You turn off the screen and hand his phone back to him. “Your ability to google stuff and sell it as common trivia never ceases to amaze me.”

He lowers the stem to his lap and looks at you. Or so you think. You really can’t tell when he’s wearing that thing. “And? What do you make of it?”

“You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?” Your hands slide across his shoulders, fingers knitting behind his neck. “I love you, you silly, goofy, pervert specimen of a man.” You smile softly. “And I do respect you—sometimes—but best case scenario, you become prime minister. Better get that royalty idea out of your brain.”

“Not even if a mysterious big-scale accident takes all royalty on this planet out?” Satoru quips.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

The sharp edges of his grin dissolve as he tilts his head enough for your lips to meet, tentative flicks of his tongue granting him access to your mouth. You feel the hard press of his chest once his arm wraps around your waist, nullifying the barriers that stand between you and the resounding beating of his heart.

There’s no innate technique in the way he touches; no immense amount of cursed energy in the way he kisses. None of the things that make him Gojo Satoru, the sorcerer who is hailed by all—and even himself—as the strongest are there. Only the raw vulnerability of a boy who’s used to carrying the order of the world on his shoulders and on a whim lets it crush him, because when he holds you, none of it seems to matter; because when he’s with you, he’s free to be Gojo Satoru and no more than that.

You watch through heavy eyelashes as he breaks a small stalk and brings it to your hair, securely tucking the flowers behind your ear. Warmth spreads from his slender fingers to your already feverish complexion. His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping along your jawline with a soft expression perched on his lips, and you find yourself falling in love with him all over again.

“You deserve some love too, my…” Satoru ponders for a second, eventually snapping his fingers, “little MegaDarknessBagramon.”

A chuckle gets caught in your nostrils. “Your what now?”

“MegaDarknessBagramon.” He repeats without stuttering. “Way better than your fairy balloon cat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you made this one up?”

“Did not! MegaDarknessBagramon is—hmph.”

You cut him off with a fond kiss on his agape lips. That’s the only way to truly shut him up. At least in public.

“We should get going. I wanna go sightseeing before nightfall.”

You wander through the city for hours upon hours, losing yourselves among the countless maple-strewn paths and quaint religious sites of the countryside. Ikoma is a quiet place. No matter how many pebbles you lift or castle ruins you peek under, you won’t find a speck of evil lurking beneath. It’s as if the land is at peace with itself, and the people who tend to it do so without any curse tainting their souls. For once, Satoru’s presence feels redundant.

His hand stays on you the entire time you stroll through the temples and marketplaces, be it as fingers that childishly swing your palm up and down—left and right—or as an arm draped over both your shoulders, stirring you in a different direction whenever his phone rings. And it does ring. A lot. So much that you actively consider flinging it at the bottom of the Sunoura River.

The conversations are rather one-sided. Satoru mhms and uh-uhs his way out of everything the voices on the other line suggest, his expression contorting all the while he mocks Nanami’s grave tone, Yaga’s dismay, and Ijichi’s apprehension. He tries his best to keep you involved—putting Megumi on speaker while the boy informs him of how Nobara gave Yuji a concussion when she mistook him for a pickpocket—and presses playful kisses on your cheek when you unwittingly pout at his neglect.

This is the one drawback of dating such a sought-after man. You have to share him with the rest of the world, and even though you know exactly how many livelihoods depend on him, you selfishly want your boyfriend to yourself.

After his sixth answered call, something inside you snaps. You shake his hand off—he barely pays mind—and fish your phone out of your jacket, dialing the first number in your contact list. My Noodle Man. With a heart emoticon, he, himself, input. Still better than the long array of toothachingly sweet nicknames he’s come up with for you over the years.

Drawing the device away from his ear, Satoru glances at the incoming caller ID and shoots you what ought to be a perplexed look.

“Pick it up!” You mouth the words without voicing them.

The world comes to a standstill while you (presumably) stare into each other’s eyes. Star-shaped leaves rain down from the trees, a minor contribution to the red and gold garb that dresses the once pebbled pathway. It’s all too scenic—if one ignores the busy tone from his phone’s speaker, which echoes wide across the hollow forest, gracelessly interrupting Utahime’s incoherent squeaks.

Are you even listening? Gojo?

“Mhm!” He breaks into an awkward chuckle. “Sounds good to me.”

What? What are you on about, you white-haired swine?

“Hey, how ‘bout you hold onto that, and we talk about it when I return?”

You seriously doubt he knows what that and it are.

Satoru doesn’t leave Utahime the chance to reply, rushing through his words at the speed of light. “Okay, great! Gotta go now. Laterrr, bye, ciao, adieu!”

Don’t you dare hang—

“Too late for that.” He comments, an afterthought that doesn’t reach its target audience before fading into his next received call.

“Baby! How are you?” The grin on his lips is so blinding, you swear it accompanies a halo.

You draw a deep breath, fingernails digging sharply at the tender flesh on the inside of your palm. “Satoru.”

“What is it, baby?” He dares ask as if you haven’t been shooting daggers at him the entire time, arms folded over your chest and eyebrow trembling above your narrowed eye.

“Satoru, the fact that I can only speak to you through the phone is insane!” Your voice climbs up a whole octave over the final word, annoyance interlaced within your tone.

“Huh?” He smiles sheepishly, head drooping to his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’m standing right in front of you, begging you for an ounce of attention, and you haven’t put the phone down for ten goddamn seconds since we left the shrine, which, by the way, happened two hours ago!”

His smile dwindles, and you worry you might’ve been too harsh. It’s not like he has a choice. Regular people get to dictate their own fate, filling up their plates with however many or few obligations and freedoms they can stomach. Not Satoru. His share of responsibility was assigned to him at birth, and as aloof as he can be, he’s not the type to let all hell break loose just yet.

“Hey, um—look. If you were busy, we could’ve just taken a rain check and stayed in town. You know I wouldn’t mind holing up at my place, ordering some Chinese, and frying our retinas with another movie marathon. No need to string each other along for—what are you doing?”

Without evidence of anyone or anything approaching, Satoru twists his neck in every direction possible, searching far and wide among the tree foliage and the water streaming on the sides of the walkway, going as far as to check the gap between his own legs. Instinctively, you repeat his routine, glancing over your shoulder when you realize he’s got his eyes on you—not on you, but through you.

“Are you sure you are here? Can’t see you.” Satoru brings the phone to his lips, executing an amateur’s set of jumping jacks while waving his hands around and shouting your name at the top of his lungs, doing his absolute best to appear clueless when he passes you by and uses your head like an armrest. “Don’t tell me you got out-heighted by the trees.”

Are you sure you want to permanently delete the contact My Noodle Man <;3?

Cancel

“I’m leaving.”

You manage exactly two steps before you are halted by two arms whose length smothers you—a proper vice that closes around your shoulders and immobilizes you against what feels like a colossal tree trunk but is your (occasionally) loving boyfriend’s chest.

“Let go, Satoru!” You try to shake him off, but your conviction is about as strong as the frail set of bones he aspires to crush.

“C’mon, you just got here!” Satoru begs, his mouth so close to your ear that you feel his voice shooting straight into your heart, goosebumps erupting down your spine. “Don’t leave, mm? Mm? Pleaaase?”

You groan, dragging your feet forward, but it’s impossible to progress when a well-over-six-foot boulder weighs you down. He’s viciously clinging onto you, nuzzling to your cheeks one at a time, and humming at every kiss he prints on your grimace. His frosty spikes tickle, softer than silk and fluffier than the clouds above.

Couldn’t he have been like this five minutes ago?

“Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” Bitterness pools in your mouth from where your teeth bite into your gums. Your voice faint. “You’ll be on your stupid phone, anyway.”

“Is that why you’re acting all upset? You want my attention?” The lack of answer prompts him to continue, a low chuckle setting the mood for what comes next.

“If you want my attention, then… all you have to do is ask for it.”

It’s at this point that you realize more than your upper bodies are touching, his knees slightly bent for his hips to press against your ass—and with them, you feel something else pressing too. Something that oughtn’t be there when all you’ve been doing is bickering and fooling around with each other.

You gulp hard, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. His head rests fully upon the elbow on your shoulder, covered eyes definitely taking in the blush that’s become somewhat of a second nature since you got together. He’s effortlessly seductive, and you’re thankful for both his typically childish demeanor and the blindfold around his forehead, or else you’d be in big trouble denying him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” Satoru coos in a condescending tone.

You try to look away, but he won’t let you, jaw tilting atop his other arm. There’s no hiding from him, and the stupidly smug smile that begs you to erase it.

“…yes.”

“Yes what? Cheating won’t do. You need to say it.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who won by teleporting to the finish line,” you mumble.

He doesn’t yield, and you know you’re going to be stuck there for a long time unless you stroke his ego. “Fine. Please gimme your undivided attention, oh grand sorcerer, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He croons contentedly. “Now, how much do you want it?”

“I changed my mind. I want a divorce.”

“We need to first be married in order to divorce.” He points out, rubbing salt in your wound like your next reply won’t be “You’re the one who refuses to settle down,” but it’s not. Just this once, you bite back your tongue.

Your restraints loosen as Satoru shakes his phone into your face, demonstrating how the device turns off with a click of his thumb. An airy laughter rings in your ears, and just like that, he reverts to the kind of man who giggles at knock-knock jokes and thinks it’s peak comedy when he mixes gummy worms in your cereal.

“No more calls!” He declares. “For a limited time only, strongest sorcerer Gojo Satoru is at your service.”

You snort, fighting back a smile that ends up crinkling around your eyes. “You make it sound like you’re a genie.”

“Hmm, you could always try rubbing me and see what happens. Might grant you a wish or two.”

You laugh at his attempt to flirt, trying and mostly failing to distract yourself from what was previously pushing against your body. It should embarrass you that two of your two wishes are sexual in nature, but that’s entirely on him, his innuendos, and the raw lust you’ve missed seeing transform his eyes from the sparkling color of the sea to one found a thousand meters under the surface.

Maybe three.

“Where’s the catch?”

“What catch?” He chirps.

“I know you, ‘Toru. With you, there’s always a catch.”

One moment you feel his breath on your skin, and the other you see him standing before you, his arms flexing behind his torso while he tips forward—a toothy grin stretching on his lips.

“Well, a fee is always due where there are services involved.” He takes a page from Mei’s book.

“The Gojo family vault running out of cash, so you lookin’ to extort your girlfriend?” You quip. “Go on. Name your price.”

“Oh, y’know.” His shoe traces a circle on the ground. “Just you saying what an amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome boyfriend you have for the world to hear.”

You browse the acres of trees surrounding you; there is not a soul to be seen or heard within a close radius. What world?

“You said handsome twice.”

“Intentionally.” He deadpans.

You return his playfulness by saying he forgot to add infuriating to the list, even though you’ve already decided to humor him. Cute is more like it.

“My boyfriend is the most—”

“Does your boyfriend have no name? Take it from the top.”

You sigh, “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, wonderful—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Satoru intervenes, raising his forefinger in objection. “Forgot charming!”

Your teeth clatter, gritting a growl.

“Only one life left. Better get it right this time or,” he draws an imaginary line across his neck, faking a choking sound as he’s supposedly decapitated.

With both hands around your mouth, you shape a cone and shout so loudly that countless birds betray their hiding spots between the tree branches as they pour out into the sky. “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome again, boyfriend in existence who totally didn’t put me up to this!” In a quiet voice, “Happy now?”

“Full marks!” He gleefully shoves a thumbs up in your face. “Now I’m all yours and will be for the rest of the night. Feel free to make the best of me while you can.”

“Then, can I get my first wish granted now, Mr. Genie?”

“What is it?”

He stands still as you bring your hands to his face and cup his cheeks, fingers teasing the seams of his blindfold. “Lemme see your eyes.”

“Hmm? You wanna see them? Why—you missed them?”

A nod. “Don’t put me through that same speech again. They are pretty, and yes, I miss them. We haven’t been seeing each other as often, so. C’mon. Lemme see them.”

You try to lower the fabric, but the harder you pull, the more it seems to resist. “Satoru…?”

“Mm?” He licks his lips. “What is it, sugarplum?”

Your eyes roll so far back into your skull that you’re afraid they’ll slip down your esophagus. “I said, I wanna see your eyes. May I?”

He cocks his head in consideration, entertaining an affectionate smile before he denies you with a cheeky little nope!

“Why not?”

This is the first time he denies you.

“For a multitude of reasons.” He states wryly. Uncharacteristically for him.

You wait for an explanation—a slight opening between his lips. His tongue lays flat against his teeth, darting upward as if he’ll finally say something, but he doesn’t. This happens about four times before he sternly announces, “The sun.”

“The sun…?” You glance at the sky, a veil of darkness slowly descending upon the peachy gradients of the melting clouds. “You mean the one that just set?”

“I wasn’t done talking. My other reason is…” He motions for you to get closer. You lean in as instructed, patiently hanging on his lips as if he is about to open the envelope and reveal the name of a talent show winner, yet his answer isn’t any more satisfying than the previous one is. “The people.”

“Satoru, we haven’t seen a live human in over an hour. What are you talking about? And since when were others an issue?”

“You don’t know what it feels like to be me!” Satoru exclaims in an exaggerated tone as he shakes your hands off and turns in the opposite direction. “Having everyone stare at you wherever you go, people asking, Sensei, please! We need to see your wonderful eyes! and getting called Six Eyes like you’re a piece of meat. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be any better than them, Y/N.”

You blink a number of times, “stunned” being too little of a word to describe your surprise at his sudden burst. He always had a knack for the dramatic, but with the way the back of his palm is pressed against his forehead, he’s closer to an Academy Award than ever.

“Satoru.” Your hand moves to his shoulder without ever closing the distance. Damn infinity. “What is up with you today?” You ask half-jokingly, half-concerned. “Acting insecure; you are the one who doesn’t miss the chance to show your eyes off to everyone, and when I ask you to show them, you pull this—why?”

“It’s because I only have eyes for you.” He smirks full of confidence, roughing up your hair and then bringing his thumb below your chin, holding it up for a kiss. You don’t even stop him. Hell, you don’t even close your eyes. You are too baffled to.

You regain agency over your words only after he starts parading away from you, his feet spending more time in the air than they do on land. “Hey, wait! What was that? What does you having eyes only for me have to do with anything?”

His chuckle precedes his answer. “You’ll see when we reach the inn. Last down the foothills is a double loser!”

“Ahhh, that was soooo good! I feel—ugh, reborn!”

Satoru’s joints click as he stretches both arms behind his back and over his head, the striped sleeves of his gray-colored yukata rolling down his elbows. He doesn’t mind that he’s blocking the doorway or that the long face you’ve been sporting since you parted at the lobby threatens to hit the floor at his theatrics.

Your onsen experiences differed by miles. While he was off soaking and splashing by himself at the vacant men’s baths, you were forced to endure 45 excruciating minutes in the company of a group of bachelorettes who wouldn’t shut up about the “dreamy masked man” who booked the single most expensive suite in the compound, rewriting his life story with lewd fantasies that—for as long as you could help it—would remain as such. Unrealized.

“The temperature was just perfect, the right amount of hot without scorching, and the minerals already circulate through my bloodstr—ouch!”

You shove past him and his impromptu review of the hot springs, temporarily giving up on the blockbuster that your mind crafts—Blood Bath: Revenge of the Hot Spring Killer 2—in favor of a spot where you can drop off your toiletries.

The room, or rather, the rooms, are vast in space and rich in furnishing. Opaque sliding doors separate the main area from the wardrobe and the bathroom, drawn to provide a direct view of the ryokan’s rock garden. Tatami mat flooring is indiscriminately strewn, replaced by granite tiles around the indoor hot tub. Raised alcoves host colorful ikebana vases; a couple of ukiyo-e scrolls depicting Mount Yoshino hang from opposing sides on the walls. Lastly, futons are neatly spread in the far back, with a short-legged table spanning at the center of the sitting space.

Bingo.

You settle beside it, laying your belongings on the floor while scrutinizing the couple’s gift box on top, regional specialties packed beside a ceremonial tea set that bears the inn’s logo. You flip the box on its back and attempt to decipher the cursive letters just as Satoru steals it from your hands, wasting no time ripping through the luxurious wrapping paper and tossing a block of brown-colored kuzumochi in his mouth.

“Gotta mmph hring Hahami ‘n’ Meghumi ‘ere.” He refuses to keep his remarks (or food) in his mouth, flour dusting the corners of his lips. “That oughta brighten ‘em up.” He says once he swallows, bringing his cup of welcoming tea to his teeth and cringing away at the sheer bitterness of the matcha. “Bleugh, this tastes like poison!”

You break into a quiet chuckle as you scrub his chin, sleeve curled over your fist, and thumb running stray along his frown. Cute. No, beyond cute. Adorable.

“Don’t blame the tea when your blood type is caster sugar, Satoru.”

“But that’s the secret to my sweetness.” He quips, returning to his previous floured-lip state as he flings a second kuzumochi into his mouth, supposedly to wash the bitterness away. “Think they sell more of these in the gift shop?”

You roll your eyes, humoring him with a teasing sure.

Making it back to your spot, you down your share of matcha in one go, savoring the delightful tartness the beverage leaves on your tongue. “‘Tis not even that bad.” You comment, pouring yourself a refill.

A certain form of silence prevails over the space, during which words aren’t spoken but expressed through various hums of content, with Satoru loudly nibbling on his loot and you quietly sipping on your tea. Moonlight filters the atmosphere through the semi-transparent shoji doors, casting playful shadows that dance along the subtle movements of his fingers.

He’s the puppeteer, and you his devoted audience, easily convinced that there’s genuine mastery in the way he handles his instruments and earnestly keen on trying them out before their numbers are further decimated. A pinch is at the ready, your thumb and forefinger making strategic advances towards the box of delicacies when a counter-offering presents itself to your lips.

“Say ahhhh!” Satoru waves the kuzumochi in your face, your teeth losing to the speed of his fingers as he retracts his hand at the last minute. “C’mon, c’mon!” He giggles, again dangling the bait. “Open wider. Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Your nose scrunches up. You don’t trust his intentions, and you have every right not to, considering he makes you chase after the confectionery with an open mouth, utilizing his infinity to keep you at bay whenever you get remotely close to succeeding.

“Satoru!” You yelp unamused.

“Sorry, sorry!” His apology sounds the opposite of truthful. “Promise, that was the last time. One big ahhh f’me! Ahhh—c’mon, it’s really good! You won’t regret it.”

And it’s no surprise you come to immediately regret it, your tongue hanging loose from your mouth, barely connecting with the dessert before your aghast eyes witness it being devoured by him, so quickly that you lose the opportunity to protest.

There’s no one to blame but yourself, though that doesn’t stop you from pouncing and tackling him to the floor. Two fists grab at the lapels of his yukata, fingers curling around the fabric, while you violently shake him like an unresponsive vending machine, urging him to spit out your eaten cash.

Satoru snorts, and he chuckles, and he laughs, a boisterous symphony of sounds pitted against one another as he, himself, refuses to fight back, merely showcasing the empty contents of his mouth and baring his teeth into a haughty grin that agitates you even more.

“You need to step up your game, munchkin. Or else you’ll never get your prize.”

“And you need to stop tricking me every chance you get!” You hiss, a sigh casting your head backward as you swipe the hair from your forehead. “If you played a fair game, then maybe—just maybe—I would actually win!”

“Aww, baby.” A lofty purr makes you awfully aware of the fact that you’re still straddling him, knees planted on both sides of his hips and thighs squeezing tightly around his crotch. “That’s so cute! Thinking you could ever stand a chance against me.”

“I could!”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Satoru’s palms glide along your curves, taking full advantage of the position to rub circles that spread over your ass and close around your thighs; slender fingers tantalizing as they ghost over your exposed skin. “I’m quite strong, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He makes you a living example of his words, giddily watching your self-control crumble when he forces you down against his body. A complacent smirk rises on his lips, countering the soft gasp that evades yours.

“See?” He chuckles. “Unmatched.”

“You’re quite annoying too.” You huff, biting your lips into a straight line while you deviate from staring at his face—a grave mistake.

All the wrestling has caused the lapels of his yukata to recede, the fabric so loose it barely counts as hiding a thing. Delicate collarbones pave the path toward his toned chest, rosy claw marks littering his creamy complexion (and it swells you with pride to know you’re the only one to have ever blemished his spotless body) down to the few unruly frosty hairs that span over his sculpted abdomen, and lead lower—much lower than your eyes can currently follow.

Goddamn it, Satoru.

“Is that why you’re grinding against me? Because I’m annoying you?”

His accusation makes your heart sink inside your chest as you are found guilty of a crime you unwittingly committed. Your hips were swaying back and forth against his hardened cock, guided by a firm grasp that failed to emulate the typically lazy manner with which he’d keep you anchored whenever you rode him.

(Aww, bunny. Keep bouncing like that, and you’ll hit your head. Me? Help? Don’t be silly. How you gonna grow stronger if I put in all the work, mm? Better be satisfied with what you have throbbing in ya already. Now, where were we? Right—Ijichi and his…)

Except you were in the middle of a fight, and you’re supposed to be holding a grudge that seems to matter less by the minute.

“Hey, baby?” His thumb harbors softness when he cups your cheek, candied voice flowing from pretty, pink lips that glisten under the pale moonlight. “Think you can be annoyed with your clothes off?”

You almost succumb to his will, the lines between vexation and lust becoming increasingly blurred as you try to get your point across a final time.

“Y’know, I too like sweets!” Your declaration practically melts into his touch. “Just because I let you do the honors doesn’t mean I don’t want to try some. It means I’m a better girlfriend than you.”

“No arguing here.” Satoru beams. “Don’t think I could be a better girlfriend if I tried.”

“Satoru!” You exclaim for the millionth time that day.

“Too early to be screaming my name.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I’m not?” He gasps, hand moving to his chest as if your words actually damaged his impenetrable ego. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. My girlie is such a meanie.”

Your eyes perform a semi-circle, knowing better than to venture beyond his neck. His face is cute, in that boyish way everyone swoons over, but his body is another story. The kind you read with the blinds lowered and the lights dim, colored cheeks, and giddy chuckles muffled by your bedding.

Sigh.

“How can I take you seriously when you say such things?”

“Never said you have to do it seriously. Just takin’ me is good enough.”

“Stop that!”

Swatting his hand from your face, you feel it join its twin behind your ass. You don’t want him to catch on to how affected you are simply by mounting him, but as your hips are forcibly rocked into his crotch, the wet patch your slick paints on his yukata reveals all that your tongue struggled to keep hidden.

“Jerk!”

Satoru grins, holding you tight against his lap as he sits the both of you up. Your noses are suddenly found brushing, and his lips expel a heavy breath your lips eagerly inhale, the proximity dizzying. “Maybe if I gave my girl some sugar, she’d turn sweeter.”

“Ugh, this is exactly what I meant!” You growl in frustration. “Satoru, I swear, if you use one more lame line on me, I’ll—”

Whatever was supposed to come next is drowned out by his tongue as it presses against your mouth, enticing your lips into an all-consuming kiss that threatens to eat you alive. Warm palms hook below your legs, turning scorching as they roll your yukata above your thighs and help secure your knees around his torso, caressing every inch of supple flesh they unveil.

You’re overcome by need in an instant, and judging from how ardently your boyfriend’s cupping your cheeks, as if he’s either trying to breathe life into you or suck it out of your lungs, it’s safe to say it goes both ways.

His cock rubs against your clit through his clothes. He’s so hard, and you are so wet that one thrust would be enough to sheathe him fully into your cunt and meld you into one. But that won’t do. If there’s one thing Satoru doesn’t rush, that’s the way he fucks. He wants to savor everything—every kiss, every touch, every whimper, every moan, every last drop of your essence that dribbles onto his fingers and drenches his tongue like the finest, most delectable nectar meant solely for him—before indulging the twitching sensation in his balls.

There’s no reason for today to be any different.

A string of saliva is cut in the middle as Satoru pulls away, your half drooling down your jaw and his collected by his tongue.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, baby! You were saying?” He coos in an awfully smug tone that barely registers over your incessant panting.

“Hm? Nothing? Thought so.” He deduces after turning his ear to your mouth, and for a second, you’re tempted to bite his earlobe right off.

But somehow you don’t, and in his book, that counts as obedience, which in turn qualifies for a reward.

He plants a kiss on your nose, tender enough to distract you from the no-good smirk plastered on his lips. “How about I do that other thing you asked for?”

Your mind traverses a foggy terrain. You’ve asked him for a lot of things in the recent past. Not overloading Aiko’s bowl with cat food the minute he sees it empty. Not surprise-hugging you when you’re walking alone at night and are unaware of his presence. Not rapping your morning routine to the tune of the hemorrhoid cream commercial. Not calling you munchkin or dwarf when it’s him who’s the long-lost descendant of the legendary tree people.

The list goes on and on with plenty of whimsical examples, and you realize, there are more things you’ve explicitly asked him not to do than do, with your one recurrent request being that he get you a ring made from neither fried dough nor grass blades.

“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told, thinking you’re oh-so-clever when you try to peer at him through downcast eyelashes, only to be shot down by his technique. “Uh-uh! No peeking!” The last thing your eyes see before they’re covered by his left palm are two fingers that hook under his blindfold and tug it upward.

“Why the secrecy?” You ask impatiently. “Afraid I’ll be blinded by your beauty? Must I remind you I’ve seen you sleeping with your mouth open? The magic is gone.”

“Is it?” His chuckle louder than the elusive sound of his blindfold coming undone. “And here my eyes were thinking you’ve turned even more beautiful than the last time they saw you. How unfortunate.”

There’s a certain humility that comes with someone as ethereal as Gojo Satoru calling you beautiful to your face, but right now, your mind remains fixated on one word and one word only. Eyes. My eyes. His eyes.

“You took it off?” Excitement colors your tone. “Lemme see!”

“Baby, baby, baby.” Satoru playfully chides. “When will you learn to be patient, mm? Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

Seven years is an awful long time to be waiting around.

Eventually, you feel his hand be drawn away, but before light can enter your eyelids, darkness engulfs them again. Cold satin now covers your brow, the kind of silky material you’ve previously only been able to experience via your fingertips as they yanked and hurled it across your bedroom walls.

“Tada!” The unmistakable sound of palms clasping. “You can open them now.”

“Satoru, what—what is this?” You mutter, tight-lipped, as if your ability to speak was also impaired. “I asked to see your eyes, not play suikawari.”

“Aw, shoot. Should I go ask for a watermelon?”

You sigh, fingers withdrawing into fists atop your thighs. You wonder how many years of jail time killing your boyfriend warrants, but then again, you doubt you’d possibly achieve what countless others have failed at.

“You wanted a rematch, didn’t you?” His hands move against your own, soft thumbs rolling reassuring circles around your wrists. He brings them to his lips, printing a kiss on each knuckle set. “Better strike while the iron’s hot. Besides, this game’s so easy, even you got a chance at winning,” he scoffs a laugh at how quick you’re to escape, pulling your hands back as if you were struck by an electric current. “All you hafta do is sit back and answer a few questions. Pretty easy, right?”

His voice rings close to your ear. You realize he’s in fact closer when he takes his affections to your cheeks, shamelessly bribing you with the sweetest kisses he can muster.

It’s working.

“I didn’t agree to this.” You state as his jaw perches on your shoulder, strong biceps caging your body while he reaches around your waist to undo the bow of your yukata.

“Really?” His breath travels south, hot steam depriving you of the opportunity to feel any real cold as you’re slowly stripped of your garments—and yet you still shudder when his lips close below your throat and suck onto your sweet spot. “‘Cause you seemed pretty agreeable when you were all ready to jump my bones a minute ago.”

“Th-that’s because—”

The fabric slides down your shoulders like butter, melting into the soft curves and pebbled peaks of your tits before it pools around your hips. His thighs tense up, blood rushing straight to his swollen cock head while he cradles you, eating you up with the eyes you so fondly reminisce.

“Aw, pumpkin! Won’t you look at that!” Your cheek is captured between his fingers, lightly pinched. “You’re blushing through the blindfold.”

You feel so vulnerable, and you aren’t sure whether that’s because you’re straddling your fully clothed boyfriend while being fully naked yourself or because everything around you is amplified, from the way his finger pads dance around your nipples, to the fruity shampoo remnants lingering in his tousled hair.

“‘Toru, I—”

You cut yourself off. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who has to beg her own boyfriend for dick.

“Will you still be blushing as I fuck your cute face?”

But you’re about to be.

“Hey, I was just joking!” Your hands are seized without accomplishing their goal of removing the blindfold. “Don’t want you losing before the game begins, do we?”

“‘Toru, just—I don’t care about any stupid games, okay?” You whine, voice purposely pathetic in case he feels generous enough to cave in. “I just want you. I need you. Please?”

“And you will have me, baby.” Satoru soothes, shifting both your hands to a single grip while he digs into the pile of clothes at your side. “A promise is a promise. I’ll pamper my precious girl to her heart’s content if that’s what she wants.” A string too thin to be a rope wraps around your wrists, piecing them together. “Love her all night long; teach her all the things she misses when her eyes are wide open. My sweet honeypie, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d also like it if you quit it with all those corny nicknames.” You answer, having absolutely no idea as to how the floor is replaced with the futon when you haven’t budged an inch. At least you think you haven’t.

“You love them.” The grin strong in his voice as he lays you down and climbs on top of you, pinning your bound wrists above your head. “Like you love me, my little sugarboo.”

“I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Wow, this early? Have barely touched you.”

“I’m rolling my eyes again!” You repeat at a higher volume.

“Of course you are. This isn’t too tight, is it?” A finger curls between your binds. You shake your head, and he pecks it, gently caressing your hair while situating his knee between your thighs, bouncing it against your pussy. “You’ll see, you’re gonna love every minute of this,” Satoru continues, his hand playful as his fingers toy with yours.

You have little to no agency over your body when Satoru lifts your leg and folds it onto your stomach, his lips held against yours and his tongue slotted in between. He kisses you slowly, like he has all the time to unravel you, and in a way, he does. He could stretch this moment to infinity, savoring your lips until they’re all swollen and coated with spit, his name replacing every word in your vocabulary while he wanders lower, dragging his warm mouth against your skin and smearing wet kisses down your tits.

“The mochi weren’t half as sweet as you,” he murmurs, soft lips clamping over your nipple, the suspicion of sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud. “I’ll buy you some in the morning.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you huff, your chest heaving with one heavy breath after another as he takes hold of your other nipple, alternating between pinching and rolling it around with his thumb, repeating the same ritual of licking and sucking as the nipple in his mouth changes.

“Mm, but I want to.” He insists. “I want to spoil my baby and give her everything she wants. I’d give her the world if I could.”

And yet, you won’t marry her.

His smile ghosts over your flesh, gradually fading as he approaches your navel. “But first, I need to fuck her pretty pussy, mm? That’s what my princess wants, doesn’t she?”

Reluctantly, you nod, a lump forming in your throat when his fingers find purchase beneath your thighs and spread them apart. His biceps curl around your calves as he mounts your knees on his shoulders, peppering your inner thighs with more featherlight kisses that continuously inch closer to your entrance.

He is so attentive when he wants to be, but in his core, Satoru is a selfish lover. He gives, and he gives, and he gives more than you can take, his satisfaction lying in your cute little moans and the tiny arch of your back whenever he pushes you to your limits.

“Thank you for the food!” He croons, and you swear to hate yourself for almost chuckling at his distasteful joke.

He was always like that, to the point where suggesting he bewitched you into falling for him isn’t an exaggeration so much as an undeniable reality. Him, who with his cheeky smiles, exaggerated gestures, and mirthful snickering, conquered your thoughts and claimed the mushy land of your brain as if it were the moon. Him, whose dimples crease around his lips every time you kiss and whose bright blue irises bloom behind your shut eyelids. Him, who’d remain the most extraordinarily beautiful person, even if your eyes never opened again.

Him, whose plump lips round around your clit as he finally takes it in his mouth, suckling on the small bundle of nerves as if he expects it to dissolve into liquid sugar.

“F-fuck!”

Your hips buck into his face, lifting from the covers while your hands maintain their position. If it weren’t for his stupid infinity, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him as far into you as humanely possible, but for now, you can only chant his name, feeling his shoulders tense up while his hungry tongue runs laps between your slick folds.

“I’m so lucky you aren’t bound to a region. I’d have to stockpile on you every single day.” Satoru hums against your clit, the vibrations from his mellifluous tone translating into pleasurable tingles up your spine. “My favorite specialty,” he chuckles, sounding so lovable that you can’t hold it against him.

He doesn’t kid about you being like a dessert to him, his tongue greedily soaking up all the juices that gush from your hole right down his chin. He moans in pure delight, perhaps more than you do, the uninterrupted flow of compliments making you feel at least worthy of a Michelin star. So pretty. So sweet. So perfect. The same combination of words he’s been repeating since you first got together, as if his fascination never truly ran out.

The sounds get more salacious while he fucks his tongue into your entrance, and you throw your head back, feeling so unbelievably light that if it weren’t for his hold on your thighs, you would be floating straight to the ceiling. His thumbs stretch out your lips for him to reach deeper, pointy nose rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit while he persistently works your body to its high, making out with your nether lips like he’s kissing your actual mouth.

“Feels s-so good, ‘Toru,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs from closing around his head.

“Yeah? Like that?” Satoru chuckles, and it would’ve pushed you over the edge if his tempo wasn’t disrupted. “I like it too. Love eating your little pussy. I can tell she loves me too, doesn’t she?”

You can’t believe that the man who’s making all the stars of the night sky appear in the confinement of your tied eyes is the very same man who’s addressing your pussy as a she.

“Hm? You’re hurting my feelings here.” He sounds pouty, though you can picture the sadistic glint in his eyes as his teeth sink into your clit, softly enough to not induce any pain, but hard enough to bring your hips to a stutter.

“Y-yes, she does—fuck, my pussy loves you, S-satoru!” You cry out.

“Hah, that’s more like it.”

Your voice shatters into a million broken sobs which only motivate Satoru to keep going. He nibbles on the sensitive nub, darted tongue inflicting short and rapid flicks that cut right through the coiling tension in your guts with precision that’s exclusive to him and the countless times he’s had you fall apart with his mouth alone.

Your fingers clench while your toes curl, thighs trembling as succulent juices spurt all over him, and, God—how you wish you could see his pretty face ruined like that.

“Mm, baby, you always cum so much for me.”

Without letting a drop go to waste, Satoru licks a luscious stripe between your slit, rolling your essence in his mouth to relish the taste.

“Y’know, I could just make time freeze and eat you out for hours. Days,” he lays a kiss on top of your mound. “Weeks,” one for every thigh. “Months,” his lips on your clit making you wince from pleasure. “Years.” He snickers, marveling at how easily you respond to his touch. “You’d want that, sweets? All that pleasure, just for you. Think you could take it?”

Not knowing better, you nod, and he laughs. You aren’t familiar enough with Jujutsu to be horrified by the prospect of reliving the same moment over and over again, literally getting fucked dumb in a way his technique has never achieved on another.

“Alright, time to turn off the cheats.” He announces after you manage to regain your breath, and it isn’t until his question that you’re reminded of the whole “game” ordeal.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What?” Your voice scratches its way out of your throat, coarse and laden with desire.

“You asked me the same question earlier, remember?” His fingertips tickle as they drum against your stomach. “At the plateau?”

I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing. How many fingers am I holding up?

“The one you didn’t answer?”

“Four, five, two, four, one.” The number of fingers he presses on your skin changes depending on the number he calls. You’d be impressed if you’d actually kept track of the digits you’d shown him, and they weren’t picked at random.

“So, how many?”

You try to pull yourself together, calmly considering your options. He wouldn’t start with five or four. The first three numbers are more likely, and taking a leap of faith—

“One.” You lock in your answer, with an excitable cheer following suit.

“Wow, my girl is so smart!” Satoru praises. “Got it on her first try!”

“Quit treating me like I’m one of your students.”

“Oh, trust me.” He runs his middle finger down your abdomen, emphasizing his point with a tap on your clit. “I’d never treat any of my students the way I treat you. Or anyone else for that matter,” he trails off, gathering some of the slick that’s trickled out of your slit, and brings it into his mouth, finger coated with spit the next time he touches you.

“All of my special treatment is reserved for my special girl.”

His finger prods lazily into your cunt, thick enough for every ridge to be lusciously dragged against your velvety walls, and long enough to delve straight into your pulsing core.

To his disappointment, there isn’t much of a reaction—save for the occasional hitched breath. You can take it. For seven years now, you’ve been trained on his deft fingers and the many tricks they play, but when his thumb begins circling your clit in tandem with his thrusts, your facade cracks.

“Aw, you didn’t think it’d be this easy, did you, bunny?” Satoru coos in fake sympathy, as his thumb zigzags feverishly about your clit, the finger in your cunt curving in a repetitive come-hither motion.

“‘T-toru, please—ngh!” You whine, your lower half squirming on its own accord. “You said you’d let me win!”

“Let you?” A complacent smile takes shape on his face, and although you cannot see it, you can hear it chiming in his tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Y-you evil man!”

He giggles at your supposed insult, one moment asking if that’s the best you can do, and the next cheering you on by saying he’s rooting for you.

Asshole.

Heat runs rampant between the lowest pit in your stomach and the apex of your flushed cheeks, the blindfold soaking sweat off your forehead like a headband. You are close; pressure steadily building only to wither away once Satoru retracts his hand.

Asshole!

“Sorry, pretty. Got a little carried away, but no hard feelings, hm?” Your tormentor asks, rubbing your clit at a pace far too slow to be soothing. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“T-two.” You answer, your sanity chipping the longer your hole remains puckering around nothing.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”

You kiss your teeth as Satoru angles his wrist with your pussy and shoves two of his fingers in, curling them against the spongy spot that swells with each pump, and when that isn’t enough to muffle your cries, you bite down onto your lip, choking on every sob you’ve been withholding. Last thing you want is to give your next-room neighbors another reason to fantasize about your boyfriend.

“It’s fine. You can let it all out.” Satoru reads your mind. “Room’s soundproof, though there isn’t much you can say, right?”

Your walls flutter around his fingers in utter bliss. You hate (love) how his words get to your body before your brain can process them; every remark you’d typically deflect, seeping under your skin and igniting as fire in your loins.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, maintaining a steady rhythm even with his thumb swiping at your clit. “I’ll be the one doing all the talking from now on.”

“Sh-shut up!” You manage to say before returning to your three-word prayer of little oh-my-god’s and ah-ah-ah’s.

“But you love my mouth.” Satoru argues back. “And now you love my fingers. How long they feel stretching you out, how deep they can go.”

He’s buried to his knuckles, slowing down for the sake of plunging his digits further into your wet cunt, the lewd squelching bouncing across the walls along with the obscene sounds you let out.

“You’re practically fucking yourself on them.”

Your boyfriend’s words cloud your brain, your body acting purely on instinct as you begin to hump his hand. Satoru doesn’t stand in the way; rather, he assists with a sturdy hold that has your hips slamming against his fingers, repeating the motion until your creamy essence comes pouring down warmly over his palm.

You aren’t sure whether the white speckles in your vision stem from the gates of heaven welcoming you to the other side or the light fixtures on the ceiling, becoming certain only after the outline of a halo brushes against your forehead. It’s hard to call the man slumped above you an angel when his one hand is cupping your cunt, the fingers of the other tasked with undoing the knot around your wrists.

You are free to move—or about as free as one can be when every joint in their body begs to drag them down, your limbs strewn over the sheets like those of a tattered rag doll. The blindfold is still on, albeit slightly lowered over your nose. A little more wriggling and you can take it off, yet that too requires effort you lack.

Satoru says something that fails to register in your trance. He’s mocking you. He’s praising you. He’s mocking you while praising you, and praising you while mocking you, because those two go hand in hand in his brain—a proper carrot and stick. You think you should be thanking him or cursing him, but your words turn out a jumbled mess—nothing worth writing home about.

“Ready for the final round?” His voice finally conquers the ambient—heavy, almost as though his own ministrations have worn him out, and distorted by every prolonged inhale and sharp exhale he takes.

“Do I have a choice?” You provoke.

“Sure you do. Just—hah, not when it comes to this.”

A low fuck evades him, and you are oblivious to the way he’s been fisting his cock this entire time, smearing your slick over his length and squeezing the reddened tip in the ring shaped by his thumb and index, biting onto his tongue whenever your name comes remotely close to spilling from his lips. Only he knows the endurance he’s shown keeping himself from busting in his hand at the sight of your fucked-out form, trembling thighs calling to him in a carnal manner your lips could never muster.

You look ravishing, and ravishing you is all he aches to do.

“How many—” Satoru begins, only to be cut off with a croaked three that jumps an octave the moment his fat tip prods into your folds. “Three?” His fingers burrow into the supple flesh of your thighs as he splays your legs over his bare chest. “Could’ve sworn it was at least eight. Guess I need to make it go a bit deeper, huh?”

His lips lay soft against your ankle, trailing honeyed kisses down the expanse of skin that lose finesse once they near the crevice of your knee. An idea blinks in his brain as he grabs your thigh and presses it down against your stomach, repeating the same pattern of tenderness on the other until you are folded in half.

He stares down at you, and for a moment, that’s all he does. His eyes—the prized six eyes that are the very synonym for quintessence—well with adoration over the point where your bodies connect, the tight fit of your cunt prompting him to lose control and fuck an entire generation of sorcerers into you.

All in good time.

A quiet whisper reminds Satoru of his promise, hips drawing back before they snap right into you, the crude sound of his balls slapping against your ass reverberating across the room. You moan in unison, your fists thudding against the floor as his thrusts send you flying past the covers.

It’s too much. It’s too little. You want less. You want more. Your desires bend and twist around one another like indecisive vines, settling on a direction only after he leans forward and fixes the cushions behind your head.

“Congratulations.” The gentle action of his hand combing through your hair contradicts the cock throbbing inside your pussy. “To think my baby would make me eat my own words—well; I can get behind dating a winner. Especially when they’re as beautiful as you.”

“S-satoru!”

You look away—if resting your flushed cheek on the significantly colder pillow and fixing your gaze at whatever lies beyond the blindfold counts as looking—the sincerity in his words moving you more than it should.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are embarrassed.” Satoru chuckles, punctuating his own question with a sensual roll of his hips that drags against your clit, coaxing the tiniest of moans to slip from your pursed lips.

“Hmm, is it because I called you beautiful?” He leans onto his elbow, relying on the weight of his chest to keep you pinned down. “Nah, can’t be it. I call you beautiful on a daily basis, don’t I? Then—hmm—is it ‘cause I’m so nice to you? Because I’m the best boyfriend you could ask for?”

“Q-quit it with all that self affirm—oh my god!”

Tears prickle your eyelash line at the familiar way his cock glides between your walls. He’s in so deep, relaxed thrusts pushing against your abdomen from the inside, with your cervix serving as the last line of defense for your merge, gallantly bearing every kiss his tip prints on your core.

“C’mooon, you gotta help me out. I’m all outta guesses here.” Satoru whines in your ear, his voice a pitch too high. “Is it because you can’t see me? Because this feels so good? Or because,” his hand sneaks between your bodies to work languid circles around your clit, “you just love me that much?”

“Aw, so that’s what it was?” He interprets the clenching of your pussy as he wills. For once he isn’t off the mark. “Okay, look at me.”

Even when you weren’t embarrassed before, you are about to be as heat pools in your stomach anew, threatening to make your score three to zero. You feel yourself turning liquid, dissolving between ripples of pleasure, drowning in you and drowning in him, and he’s both the riptide pulling you in as he’s the lifeline washing you ashore, the salty tang of the sea clinging to the fingers fumbling about your chin.

“I said, look at me.” His tone serious this time.

Every sense of yours is held captive as Satoru’s lips finally smash into yours, the taste of your essence refusing to die out no matter how many times your tongues swirl around each other. Your breathy moans are traded for his needy grunts, compiling into a broken record that plays sinfully in your ears, the whiff of sex lingering potent in the thick air between you.

He doesn’t fuck into you so much as he grinds against you, allowing you to grab at his biceps when your legs start to shake, the white clouds in your peripheral dispersing behind the sky blue of his eyes, placid orbs electrified by lust.

“Hi,” Satoru greets with an amiable smile, the blindfold dangling from around his forefinger.

“H-hi,” you return, your palms creeping up his face as if to appraise it, soft thumbs pushing the dampened strands away from his forehead, a thirst within you at last quenched.

“It’s-a me.” He says stupidly, basking in the affectionate way you cradle him.

“If you crack a Mario joke I’ll kick you in the nuts.” You warn.

“Oh no! How dare you genocide my children?” He gasps, and you can’t help but chuckle, eliciting a moan from him as your walls tighten around his cock. “M-minus one Gojo junior.”

Another laugh. Another moan. Another kiss.

“Would you put a baby into me if I didn’t?” You trace against his lips, uncertain of the answer you want to hear.

There’s no reason to be discussing having kids when you haven’t even tied the knot, let alone when more qualified candidates exist to continue his clan’s lineage. Maybe Shoko—she and Satoru have always been close, and a healing technique sounds like a valuable inheritance. Utahime—you aren’t sure what her abilities are, but they too go back. Even Mei, her family have a sizable fortune, and their genes combined would—

Mischief sparks in his eyes, tugging at the corners of his mouth and spreading to your lips as he kisses you—not his close friend, not his self-declared nemesis, and certainly not his senior. Just plain old you.

“If that’s what the future Mrs. Gojo wants, then—”

“What do you—”

Before your questions can manifest, Satoru picks up a tempo that knocks the air out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your mind. Big palms wrap your knees around his torso, sculpted pecs smothering your plushy tits while he vigorously drills his cock into your sopping cunt, having the nerve to laugh at your whimpers in between strangled noises of his own.

“You feel so good f’me, baby. S-so fucking good, aren’t you? My good—nah, my perfect girl. Our kids will be perfect too. G-gonna have lots of ‘em, mm? Gonna-fuck, gimme a whole class to teach, right?” He blabs deliriously, broad shoulders flexing as your nails rake them.

You want that. Everything he’s willing to offer, a future where his last name precedes your first, and chubby babies that bear his disposition, his ideals, and his smiles follow on your trail like little disoriented ducklings; one where he’s your husband, and you’re his wife, and you’re tied to each other for life.

Satoru’s lips drift toward your neck, biting sloppy marks that have you writhing below him. And when his cock hits that one spot inside of you, the one he’s been abusing all night long like a kid with a brand new toy on Christmas Eve, “Oh my God—G-god, p-please j-just like that, shit shit f-fuck!”

“Why bring religion into this?” He mumbles, voice inadvertently sultry and cumbered with every bit of self-restraint he showed before entering this frenzy where his climax is the only thing that matters. “Just—hah, say my name. Let the heavens know who helped you ascend them.”

The next time your eyes meet, he’s grinning, pink lips bitten cherry red, and he’s pretty; so pretty; too pretty.

“C-can’t say th-things like that!” You struggle to maintain control over your bobbing head.

“Why not? Your little heart can’t handle it?”

“Sh-shut up, dumbass!”

His eyebrows unite amid his forehead, even his frown attractive.

“That’s not my name.”

“S-stupid!” You yelp, mainly addressing the myriad stupid butterflies that chose to swarm your stupid stomach at his stupid commentary.

“Mmm, I think you’re the one getting fucked stupid here, sugarplum.”

Satoru zooms on into your lips, playfully swiping his tongue in between. You can’t cum any more; it’s physically impossible. You think. But “impossible” isn’t a word in his vocabulary; every snap of his hips causes you to ride on a rollercoaster with no end-destination, only a consistent state of newer highs.

“S-satoru.” His name rolling off your tongue works like a charm, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down as he presses your foreheads together.

“Again?” He pleads. Quietly. A pin capable of overshadowing his tone.

“‘Toru.” Two smiles turn into one. “My ‘Toru.”

“More.”

There’s not a single gap between your bodies; every piece of him fits into every piece of you like a puzzle, but somehow he seems to get closer, squeezing into your hips a little tighter and kissing your lips a little rougher.

His heart beats wildly against his chest, red leaking onto his cheeks and blue spilling from the ocean in his eyes. He looks at you with love—so much love that it’s seared into your very being and becomes your own identity as the only woman Gojo Satoru ever truly, madly, deeply loved.

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

It’s the combination of those four little words that pushes Satoru over the edge, his hips jerking violently while his cock pumps ropes upon ropes of creamy cum inside your spent pussy, filling you up until you can’t be filled any more.

He collapses on top of you, head reduced into a fluffy snowball that takes refuge in the crook of your neck, and that’s your cue to hold him close, pampering him with all the affection you’re otherwise so frugal about. He’s touch-starved to the point of shaking in your embrace, nearly purring as your arms loop behind his back and your lips touch his shoulders, peppering incomplete kisses across his hot skin.

Your hands relocate to his cheeks as he regains enough composure to face you, an idiotically bright smile stretching from one ear to the other. He nuzzles your palms, pressing kisses at the center of each and then rubbing his nose against them like a content kitten who just received the world’s greatest belly rub.

Aiko should learn from him.

“I love you more, hunny bunny.” Satoru beams, soft rays of sunshine pouring from the cracks in his dimples. “Non-negotiable.”

You bask in the afterglow together, locking toes as if you’re trying to hold hands and making out like two teenagers in heat. Correction: two idiots in love.

Your so-called honeymoon period never ended, probably because you never ran out of things to love about each other. Right now, you’re loving how Satoru’s dick remains plugged inside your pussy despite its painful twitching, for the simple reason you asked him to stay like that a little longer.

You love how Satoru tries to keep his eyes open when you kiss just so you can appreciate them a while longer, and you love the light giggle that tickles your lips as you remind him that only sociopaths kiss with their eyes open.

You love the way Satoru buries his head between your tits and squeezes them against his cheeks, apologizing to his “girls” for not giving them the proper attention and promising expensive lingerie and whipped cream treatments when you get back to Tokyo.

You also love how when Satoru pulls out and sees the mess he made out of your hole, his seed rolling between your thighs in an endless stream, his first reaction is to grin, and his second is to teleport across the room, cleaning you up before you can realize he ever left. You love that the answer to the question “how?” is a cocky “because I’m Gojo Satoru,” which seems to be the answer to most things concerning him.

The list of things you love about your boyfriend grows exponentially after Satoru puts the two of you in bed and pulls you into his arms. You love his hugs. How you drown in them, how he engulfs you better than any dress, shirt, or skirt can. You love the comforting scent his pores exude and the temperature of his naked skin on yours.

You love the narrow hugs that date back to lazy mornings in your student one-bedroom apartment, splayed in a bed that could barely fit his enormous legs, and the wide, almost too comfortable ones you share in his king-sized bed. You love the silly, whiny tone that typically begs you to miss work and try to outlast eternity with him, now declaring it’s “sleepy time.”

You love the Satoru that chased after you until you loved him back, and the Satoru who patiently waits until your eyelids close first so you don’t go a minute without him.

“‘Toru?” You mumble into his chest, seconds before the last semblance of conscience fades away. “Did you turn it off? Your technique, I mean.”

“Did I?” Snowy lashes flutter slowly above his tired eyes. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to see in nine months.” Satoru kisses your forehead. “Goodnight, my little cuddle muffin.”

On second thought, there is one thing you hate about him.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

“G-Gojo?! Hey, what happened to ‘Toru? Baby? I know you’re not sleeping—hey, wake up, I was just joking! Come on!”

43 Missed Calls—Principal Nanimon

You have 9 new voicemails.

Press play.

“Satoru!” The phone rattles in his grasp, nearly falling into the wooden plate splayed on his lap. “I think I told you to keep your phone on at all times! You are a sorcerer; show some responsib—”

“What is he going on about?” Satoru yawns, scratching the back of his head, and then scrolls to the next voicemail in line.

“Satoru! This is your final chance to answer before I—”

“Final my ass, there’s like—what, seven more of ‘ese?” He comments with a mouth full of fruit that the room service so kindly delivered a few minutes ago. Delicious. Another reason for him to drop a five-star review.

It’s no surprise when the third voicemail starts with the exact same enraged pronunciation of his name and continues with empty threats that want him scrubbing the entire school grounds. Yaga seems to have forgotten their teacher-student relationship ended a decade ago.

Neeeeeext.

“Satoru, I saw what Nanimon is, and I am not happy.”

“Oh? So he outgrew Windows XP?” He chuckles inaudibly.

Licking the sticky nectar off his fingers, Satoru pads toward the window, standing guard between the vicious sun rays and your sleeping form. You appear immune to Yaga’s ear-shattering voice, eyelids shut, and sheets kicked off your nude body, with your hair coiled around your head like a hornet’s nest.

Muffling the speaker with one hand, Satoru leans to untangle the hair from your open mouth. He thinks he might be partial to your charms, because even when he’s holding onto your spit-laced locks, he can only smile at how cute you are drooling in your sleep.

“Satoru? Satoru!” A voice far too guttural to be yours calls out to him, until he realizes Yaga’s voice has broken out of the voicemails.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru greets once he puts some distance between himself and the bedding. “Good morn—”

“Satoru! What do you think you are doing not answering my calls?” The man fumes.

“Eating persimmons while watching my adorable girlfriend sleep,” he answers earnestly, switching apps and snapping a quick picture of your face. “She’s so pretty—ahhhh, I feel so lucky! Want me to show you? Do you even remember what a real woman looks like?” He taunts.

“She’s still your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” The phone changes ears. “Man, your memory is really failing you. How about I pay for you and Principal Gakuganji to go on a little vacation? I know this amazing resort for senior citizens; their cognitive enhancement therapy did wonders for my great-great-great uncle. Just say my name; they’ll treat you—”

“Satoru, this is important!” Yaga cuts him off. “You’ve been off the map an entire day,” fourteen hours, he corrects, “and haven’t popped the question? What are you waiting for?”

His gaze rakes over your exposed body, trailing the necklace of mauve lovebites around your neck. Smiling, “We’ve been busy.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget the ring.”

“Nah, it’s right here.”

Satoru reaches inside his yukata’s sleeve and examines the small jewelry box, tempted to ruin the surprise by grabbing the blue diamond ring and placing it around your finger—right here, right now. It will look so much prettier on you than it does gathering dust in its confinement.

“What about you?” He stores it away and resumes his call. “Did you do what I asked you to?”

A sigh. “It’s all ready on our side. Are you sure she’ll say yes? You sound confident, but a woman’s heart isn’t the same as jujutsu, Satoru. When it comes to love, the mouth is the source of disaster, and when it comes to you, it’s better to just give her the damn ring and say nothing.”

“And Sugiyama Kiyotaka says it’s fine as long as we understand each other. I get your point. Don’t need love advice from an old man with a doll fetish. I know what I’m doing. Besides, she’s the only one for me. She will say yes.”

A low roar reverberates from the speaker like a faulty engine that’s about to combust, and when it does combust, the entire room shakes. “Satoru! You’re gonna be a married man soon. Better shape up or—”

“Blah blah blah,” Satoru mocks. “Don’t you have anyone else to nag? I think Ijichi forgot to file that—”

“‘Toru?”

The sweet sound of your voice gives him all the reason he needs to hang up the phone after a hasty, “Don’t call me if you don’t need me, and if you do, then don’t.”

“Babyyyyyyyyyy!” He drags out the syllable as much as possible, an invisible cloud of dust appearing around his body when he falls on the empty space beside you, open arms wrapping your shoulders in an excruciatingly tight embrace. Kisses—lots of kisses slobbered all over your face while you are too drowsy to repel him.

“‘T-Toru! S-stop!” You chuckle hoarsely, reciprocating the sentiment however you can. “Who was that on the phone?”

“No one important,” Satoru grins, balancing his chin against your chest. “Ready for today? I got a very fun day planned ahead of us.”

A/N: If you made it this far, then congratulations! You finished reading my first Gojo fic (that made me fall in love with him jsjsjs)

As I mentioned above, chapter 1 is a flashforward to the main storyline that will start kicking chapter 2 onward. Expect laughable misunderstandings, questionable comedic moments, cat rescuings, college tutorings, and the angst behind Gojo's refusal to get married.

Hope you'll stick with! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments, are always appreciated 💙

[shamachan]

Can you do romantic mcxqiu?

Qiu Lin x gn!MC romantic headcanonsꔛ

step 2.

amount of symbols: 3275± symbols

A/N below.

enjoy!

— Actually, it was obvious - their favouritism for you even when they were younger wasn't without any specific reason. You were their childhood crush and it's still present.

— They know that they closed themselves from the others, expect for some of their friends, oh yes they know they're still very well-known. But honestly? It doesn't seem to matter to them now.

— Autumn liked you so much. You'd never know how much they are thinking of you.

— Like, hey, you've been there for them as someone very close for 4 years, not giving any reason to untrust you or doubt you. But that wasn't the main thing.

— You looked out for them! C'mon, you visit their backyard just to talk to them practically everyday! You truly cared and thought about them, they know for sure. And they did it in return in their own way.

— And all of that made Qiu's heart flatter with emotions. They could barely contain them. Their mind was full of all kinds of things - even his notepad didn't help them out. But part of their thoughts become quieter whenever you're with them.

— I think relationship with Qiu is at the same time light, like summer evening breeze, as they definitely know what to do in practically any situation with you and how to communicate properly.

— But it can be as tough as winter cold nights too, when they again go into heavy thoughts about their “I am” and do not want to communicate with anyone at all. They are just become closed to everyone for this period of time, but they'll try and talk to you anyway.

— If someone else will try to get on your way when they're with you, Qiu will act the coldest with this poor person. They don't want this stranger just to be around now. Though if this person is someone who is at least a tiny bit close to Autumn, then they'll spare them.

— So it can be a little hard to be with them, but you know that it worth it and they don't do that on purpose.

— Sometimes they still come to the porch of your house, knock at the door and invite you to walk with them or ride a bike. They want to spend time with you.

— "...Wanna bet that I'd reach the end of the Golden Grove park faster than you?" Autumn would say in the park, already on their bike, smirking confidently at you.

— ...And this way they won't let you go home until the very late evening. But, of course, they won't do it too often.

— Rarely, but still Qiu would let you try to ride on their bike or use their notepad. It matters to them a lot, but you matter so much more.

— It doesn't seem like this, but they really are a soft kid. If you're up for some affection, they're up for it too. They aren't a fan of PDA, but they wouldn't mind if you like it. But if you're affectionate when you're alone with them, Autumn will melt more.

— They wouldn't show physical affection a lot, but they'll certainly support it. You want a hug? Oh, you may hug them all, they're all yours. You want to hold hands? Alright, here you are!

—They won't say many love you's. Qiu totally won't always express their feelings like this! But they would absolutely let you know that you're a "significant other" for them. 100% sure they wouldn't slip it.

— For example, they'll always have your back in any situation, caring and trying to help you, give you some wild flowers from the nearby forest or hand you his special notes.

— Believe me or not, but despite them being popular they have their eyes stay only on you. And that would never change.

— After all, Qiu does loves you. They'll never let you doubt this! Autumn will be there for you. Always.

A/N: Qiu Lin is one of my comfort characters and while writing this i felt how my love for them grows ahhh

BTW SORRY THAT TOOK A LIL LONG.. I'm a little busy these days so yeah!

but I'll definitely write other requests that i have^^

[clairewritesjjkxreader]

Sukuna's Wife and Yuuji's Onee-chan (Sukuna x Reincarnated!Y/N) Part 2

Part 1

Several hundred years ago…

You adored autumn more than any other season. Leaves drying, flowers falling to the ground–you felt most alive surrounded by death.

“The leaves remind me of your hair,” you said to him, holding up a red maple leaf. 

“You did not just compare me to a dead leaf.” He watched with crossed arms as you fiddled with the leaf before letting go. 

“It’s a compliment. Though…I guess the maple is prettier,” you teased him. The rubiness of autumn maple was rich and with a charm incomparable to any flower.

He huffed.

You laughed a bit, though your giggles were covered up with coughing.

He strolled closer, wrapping a scarf around your neck, his large hands careful not to pull on your hair. “You love autumn but can barely stand the cold.”

You snuggled closer to his side, placing your ear close to his heart. “Then it’s a good thing I married you.”

***

Present day.

Yuuji was the single most precious person to you. He and old man Wasuke were more your family than the actual people who made you. When the toddler first grasped your finger, tightly and warmly, you swore that nothing else mattered in the world.

As the days passed and that little crybaby grew up into a taller crybaby, your sentiments only got stronger.

No one cared, no one mattered, not even yourself.

If anyone deserved to live a long, happy life, it was your sweet, salt of the earth Yuuji. 

That’s why, after the man called Gojo explained everything: from curses and cursed energy to Yuuji’s fate after eating one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers, you found yourself getting down on both knees and laying your nose on the ground.

“Please,” you begged, “please spare Yuuji. If you need another host, then transfer Sukuna inside me and take me instead, but leave my brother alone.”

All three men were stunned.

Fushiguro reluctantly opened his mouth, “H-hey–”

“Nee-chan, get up.” Yuuji went to grab your shoulders, but he was taken aback when Gojo knelt down in front of you. 

He hummed, before asking, “You sure are a good sister. You realize that you’re basically asking us to kill you?”

You said nothing as you kept your forehead on the ground.

“So that’s your answer.” Gojo crossed his arms and pretended to think.

“Darling.” Sukuna appeared on Yuuji’s cheek. He growled, “Get up. You shouldn’t be prostrating yourself in front of these scum.” 

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Leave it to me, Y/N-chan!”

“Hey!” “Oy!”

Fushiguro and Sukuna chorused, “You’re not really dragging her into this, are you?” “You damn sorcerer, don’t you dare call her so intimately. Only I can–”

“Raise your head, Y/N-chan.” Gojo chuckled. “I’ll take care of you and Yuuji.”

Despite everything, Gojo needed to be sure of Itadori’s potential as a vessel, so he knocked the boy out and did the same to you before you could try to hit him. 

“You’re not really thinking of using that woman as a vessel, right?” Megumi watched as his teacher held you in his arms. “And how do you even plan on transferring Sukuna into her?”

“Tell me, Megumi, do you want Itadori-kun to live?”

“Of course, I do.”

“How about his darling nee-chan?”

“Yes, but–”

“Sukuna cannot be trusted, but if he really does care for this girl then we can use that to our advantage, don’t you agree?”

Megumi couldn’t protest. He didn’t like the idea of getting civilians involved, but if he had to choose between two people and the rest of the world, then the answer was obvious.

The day Old Man Wasuke was hospitalized, you already took a leave of absence from college. Quitting your part time jobs and packing up your belongings took less than a day, and cutting ties with the rest of the world you knew was easy. You had no warmth for your colleagues, or your classmates, or the lonely old house you grew up in. 

Sukuna was surprisingly quiet the whole ride to the high school, but when Satoru Gojo started flirting with you, an eye and mouth would open up on Yuuji’s cheek and demand he stay away from you. 

“How dare you lay your filthy hand on my beloved–”

“You mad? What’re you gonna do from waaaay over there?” (You seriously started to worry about your brother’s safety while being protected by this moron.)

Yuuji was placed next to Megumi Fushiguro (a polite but reserved boy, you noted) while you were put in the girl’s dormitory, which was practically empty. Sukuna was vocal about “being left behind,” but Gojo was adamant about separating the boys from the girls like the rules state. 

Lies, Megumi thought to himself. He just wants to piss off Sukuna. That and it was for your own safety. Though the King of Curses seemed attached to you, he was still a curse, and his attitude could’ve been a mask. 

You were used to being alone so living without a roommate or “friends” in a large building was no big deal. Once you were settled in, you returned to Yuuji’s dormitory, but when you found him unconscious and tied to a chair by talismans, you threw a shoe at Gojo without thinking.

“Why are you so violent?” Gojo complained as your shoe bounced off his infinity. 

“You said you would protect him!”

“Calm down,” Fushiguro said from behind you. “Please, Gojo-sensei may look and act like that–”

“–oi, what do you mean by ‘that’–”

“–but I promise you, he’s doing this for everybody’s benefit.”

“...You’re lying.” 

Fushiguro’s blood froze as you gazed into his eyes. He has never felt such intense blood lust from a single human before.

“You’re not doing this for my baby’s sake… you’re lying… you’re tricking us…” Your voice dripped with ice, your stare glazed over. 

Fushiguro was speechless. Something told him you weren’t talking about just Yuuji right now. 

“Give him back to me.” You gripped Fushiguro’s arms. “GIVE MY CHILD BACK!”

Fushiguro was at a loss, though your nails dug into him, he couldn’t bring himself to summon his familiars or push you away. You were a bit violent, but he saw Tsumiki in you. 

Wait, did she just say child?

@laurcad123 @aidanstan @deepinballs

Part 3

A/N:

I'm getting way too lazy to write full fledged prose.

Anyway, I love soft sukuna.

Also, med school is murder T.T

[missisjoker]

Cannibal!Cregan

When Cregan Stark mixes his northern blood with the fiery blood of Jacaerys Velarion, the magic stirs beneath the roots of the weirwood tree and bursts free, like the fire of the Fourteen Flames.

Soon after the southern prince leaves for Dragonstone, Lord Stark starts having dreams. He's had similar dreams before- tracing the autumn forest with soft steps of a wild cat, watching Winterfell from above through the eagle's eyes, hunting elk in the skin of a dire wolf.

But it was never... this. He felt wild and untamed and beastly before, but now? He feels like his veins are like molten metal burning from within, a deep-rooted fire churning with every heartbeat. His dreams are filled with ash and smoke, and he soon realizes he must be dreaming of being a dragon.

So, he writes to Jace to ask for advice. But he can't say it outright, or else his prince - and naturally, the Queen- would think he's lost his wits. So, he tries to be a little more cryptic, hoping Jace would understand since the prince's family is no stranger to magic or dragons.

Jace, in his eagerness of youth, misses the meaning completely and instead thinks Cregan is trying to confess his love for him (and Cregan does love him deeply, but he would tell that face to face, not betray it to a piece of parchment). He writes back, confessing his own feelings.

That almost wrecks Cregan- because he wishes to have his prince next to him, to kiss him eagerly, to mate him... All while his dragon dreams become more fierce, and more real.

It takes him a few nights to make peace with the thought that he is warging into a dragon- an untamed and wild dragon at that. It takes him a few more weeks of excruciating battle of wills to bind the dragon to his mind. He doesn't want to, but he is a practical man. If using this gift fulfills his promise to Jace and stops the war, and if it spares the lives of his men- then so be it. The dragon is unrelenting, so Cregan sends more letters to Jace explaining his predicament, his fear that he will lose his mind to the beast, and, if that's the case- his final loving farewell to his prince.

Then he prepares himself, wrestles full control from the dragon, and flies to King's Landing. He perches on the Red Keep's tower, watching as the guards scramble below, waiting. Then, when he sees a man with targaryen white hair and a crown, he eats him. When another blond man with an eye patch comes running out of the gate, he eats him too. And then he leaves.

Cregan comes back to his senses drenched in sweat, shivering and aching. He marched after the greybeards south, but didn't make much progress because dragon dreams left him almost crippled. He only manages to finish a bath and dress up when he hears in the back of his scull Vermax screech and roar in the skies above; and then he sees his prince land into the yard.

Jace throws himself on Cregan, worried sick and horrified to lose him, but also incredibly grateful and amazed... because only a few hours before he was told that a wild, riderless dragon has eaten the usurper and Aemong and thus ended the war.

Cregan drinks up Jace's kisses and tears like a drowning man gulps for air, but has to stop because he feels - deep in his bones- that the dragon he warged into, the Cannibal, is furious and coming for his vengeance. Dragon is no slave, and he will have to pay the price.

He tells Jace to leave, that he will face the beast alone, but Jace cups his face in his princely hands and tells him no. They will face whatever the gods send their way together. Besides, Jace might just be able to deal with the dragon.

(Everybody lives. Jace proves he can charm anyone- including a wild, angry, untamed dragon out for blood. Cannibal gets a herd of 50 sheep for devouring and another 10 sheep weekly doordashed to his lair on Dragonstone. Vermax gets a new grumpy friend. Cregan gets a rider.)

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 6

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Chapter 6 Summary: Nearly half a year has gone by and Reader is no closer to finding a way home. Reader has set her sights on finally going outside of the Night Court to find answer on how to return home. However, Rhysand is a prick.

Word Count: 5.6K

Warnings: Slight spoilers for CC3 (HOFAS).

A/N: Screw it, I'm adding a ship to this damn thing. The more I write, the more I realize that Ruhn and Reader have a thing I can't ignore (#writerproblems). Just know in advanced that they will NOT be endgame. I was debating on not splitting this part up, but I figured that this already had a lot going on so it was probably best. Its still at 5.6K words. That and I really didn't want to delay posting an update any longer. This does have some time skips, but nothing too crazy.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 5

***********************************************************************

Lucien entered the town house and immediately headed for the stairs that lead to the upper floor. He had winnowed clear across Prythian from the Spring Court upon receiving Rhysand’s note informing him that (Y/N) had an accident. Mother spare him, but despite their argument he still worried over the woman’s safety while he was away. He wanted to stay mad, he truly did however…He didn’t trust the males in this court enough to give her the space she would need to feel safe. He had debated on asking Feyre to allow (Y/N) to accompany him to the mortal lands. There she would at least have been safe with Jurian and Vassa. More so, she would have been safe with him. She likely would have been more comfortable with her own kind too. Then again, Jurian and Vassa weren’t exactly typical humans. He also didn’t know the individuals from Midgard well enough to trust them. The one male that held an unsettling resemblance to Rhysand, the way he had looked at her was like he’d seen a ghost. Lucien didn’t quite know what to make of that. No, his ability to trust anyone with caring for her was thin and needed to be earned. The fact that something happened and she’s been injured while he was away was proof enough. Trust was a precious commodity in his life.

When Bryce had first arrived, Lucien had been kept in the dark. He only became aware of everything after Rhysand had asked him for assistance in creating and securing the portal that they established near the River House. The idea was to have a secure location to monitor anyone else coming and going. Especially after they had all agreed to assist in the rescue of her mate and brother. It had honestly surprised the male that the High Lord had trusted him enough with this task. But after seeing Bryce for himself, her crimson hair almost a near match for his own. Well, he could certainly hazard a guess as to why his blood may be useful. Especially, if that message from one of the High Queen’s daughters was accurate. It was likely that inhabitants of the areas that had become the Autumn Court traveled to the new world as well all those millennia ago. As an emissary of the Night Court it wouldn’t surprise Lucien if Rhysand ultimately asked he go on a diplomatic mission to Midgard at some point.

Lucien took the stairs two steps at a time. The woman’s soft vanilla scent filled his senses as he approached the room she occupied. The one that had been his when he first arrived to the Night Court. The fire in his veins calmed as her scent washed over him. He hadn’t even realized that the magic was poised to be unleashed, tensed from his worry. He didn’t bother to knock on the door before he opened it. The human woman sat on the bed, her back against the dark walnut headboard, a leg propped up on a pillow. He barely registered the dangerously short emerald green silk nightdress she wore. His eyes immediately traveled down the bare expanse of her exposed leg to the white linin wrappings around her ankle. Relief fully washed over him. He didn’t know why he had expected something worse, but he was glad that it wasn’t. His golden eye whirred as it focused on her ankle and he took a few steps into the room. He sat on the end of the bed, his hands gingerly lifted her leg and placed it on his lap so he could examine it for himself. The wrapping was tight and kept her foot in as much of a neutral position as it possible to allow the healing magic to run its course. Once satisfied that it had been treated properly, his gaze turned towards hers. Surprise filled her expression. It suddenly dawned on him that he had rushed into her room without so much as a word. On top of that he had immediately started to inspect her condition as if she were…he stopped that line of thinking immediately. ‘She is my friend. I am allowed to be worried about my friends.’  Lucien stared as her expression went from surprise to confusion to relief.

“You came back,” Her low and warm voice was soft as the almost question passed her lips. Suddenly she tossed the book that had been in her lap to the side. She swung her legs underneath her plump frame before she launched herself towards Lucien. “You came back.” He barely had time to brace himself when she slammed against him, her arms wrapping around his torso. His own arms followed suit, holding her close. He had missed her warmth.  

“Of course, I came back. I didn’t plan to stay away long.” He chuckled.

“I’m so sorry Lu,” She whispered against his neck, her breath caused the skin on the back of his neck to pleasantly rise. “I-I should have let you explain yourself.”

“It’s alright sweet girl,” He rubbed his palm along her back. “You had every right to be upset. I apologize as well. I should have talked to you about what to share with the others before doing so.”

“Still, I didn’t need to say those things,” She pulled back slightly to look at him. “I know that you were trying to help. I know that you care. You have no obligation to me, but you are an amazing friend. I’m really sorry for the way that I treated you when I was upset.”

“I appreciate that,” His throat tightened ever so slightly. He continued to hold her, the two of them sharing a comfortable silence.

“Do you have to go back soon?” She asked.

“No,” He smiled down at her, (e/c) orbs alight with that fire he was growing too accustomed to. “I’m yours until you’re healed.”

“Oh? Aren’t I special then,” Her returning grin caused the flames to dance. He couldn’t help but laugh. She pulled away and carefully maneuvered herself back towards the headboard of the bed. She reached for the book and patted against the space next to her.

“Want me to read aloud?” She shook the book in her hand. Lucien stood and removed his shoes before crawling up the bed to join her.  

“Is this one of Nesta’s?” He asked, wrapping an arm over her shoulders and plucking the novel from her hands.

“Yes, but it’s one of the…tamer romances.”

“No smut?” He laughed.

“I wouldn’t have offered to read aloud if there was,” She settled into his side, her injured leg back on its pillow. He opened the book and she directed him to the page where she left off. After she quickly summarized the preceding events in the book, Lucien began to read.

Your fingers traced along the endless row of leather encased book spines. Every now and then the smooth texture was interrupted by the cold bite of metal hinges or raised and pressed lettering. The gold and bronze titles, those that were still visible anyway, blurred as your eyes scanned over them. Pausing your search, you tilted your head back into an upright position and rubbed your eyes trying to bring them back into focus. In the opposite row, Nesta was re-shelving one of the many tombs that Gwyn had picked out. The Priestess currently sat at a table between the rows, scanning over another book. Elegantly long fingers gloved in white gently turned the oversized pages. Every afternoon for the past six months the pair had assisted you with searching the large library underneath the House of Wind for any information that could result in your ticket back home.

It was difficult to believe that you had been in the Night Court for so long already, damn near 8 months. Each morning you opened your eyes you were greeted with the sight of the pale walls of your room in the town house. The familiar sight of pictures of friends and family that covered your bedroom back home where nowhere to been seen. Their absence reminding you of the life you would lose if you failed to return. The scrapes of your hope for returning home were slowly slipping away. Yet you remained determined to find some way back. If not for yourself, then for those that loved and relied on you.

With the hundreds of thousands of books within the library there had to be at least one that could shed some light onto your situation. There had to be some documentation, anything at all, regarding the Fae that had gone missing from the continent all those millennia ago. You had come to the conclusion that this group must have traveled to your world. Or at least traveled somewhere that could then lead you to your world. There was no other reasonable explanation for how you could have found yourself in this one. Especially if Ruhn’s suggestion of your distant relation to them was true. If you had to be honest, you weren’t sure you would ever believe that, not without some type of blood test anyway. A groan from Gwyn brought you out of your rumination.

“That’s it!” She declared while slamming the ancient text shut. “We’ve looked at nearly every book in this damned place and found nothing.” You stared at the stack of books laid out next to the female.

“If we had a better idea of what we were even looking for…” Nesta’s voice trailed off. Sun lit dust particles danced around her finger tips as they strummed against the table. You sucked in a breath.

“At this rate anything regarding the history of Prythian could be useful,” You couldn’t afford to lose hope. “ So, what options do we have?” Nesta returned to the table and exchanged a look with her friend.

“There are other libraries,” Gwyn stated simply. “But…the High Lord will need to make the request for an emissary to visit.” Nesta scoffed.

“Which he won’t do without some serious convincing,” She crossed her arms and looked up at the ceiling.

“Then I’ll convince him,” You had to remain hopeful, “He’ll have to agree that looking outside the Night Court is necessary if we’ve exhausted the resources here. Where are these libraries?”

“Each of the Courts have their own set of libraries,” Gwyn offered. “If you are to start looking into the general history of Prythian then the Day Court would be the best starting point. There are near 1000 in that Court alone, and…” She trailed off at the look Nesta gave the two of you.

“No.” Her voice was stern.

“What do you mean, ‘No’?” You challenged. “Rhysand has to understand-”

“It’s not just him. It’s highly unlikely that the other High Lords would allow free reign of their resources to anyone from the Night Court,” She explained, “Not without giving them a reason as to why it would be of benefit to them. Rhys still believes that knowledge of your and Bryce’s existence does not benefit anyone and would only place the Night Court at risk.” You rolled your eyes.

“Of course, how could I forget?” It was no secret that Rhysand still didn’t trust you. It didn’t matter that everyone else in his precious inner circle could see that you were of no threat. You and Feyre surly thought that he would have come around when Amren surprisingly gave her seal of approval. It took two months before the petite female had even been willing to give you the time of day. Once she realized that you truly were stuck here she insisted on her own set of tests for magical abilities or reactions. When you couldn’t produce any of the results she suspected you should have been capable of, if you were indeed a spy or other type of threat, she finally backed off. Mor had liked you almost instantly after watching your interactions with Nyx.

“I admit that I can see how the knowledge of me being from another world is the equivalent of opening Pandora’s box,” You laughed. “But the other courts don’t have to know that little tidbit, right? We can just come up with some other reasoning. You know, some bullshit about building relations with mortals. I’m certain that Rhys and Lucien could spin something like that.”   

“There’s really only one way to find out,” Gwyn mused. Nesta let out a long breath.

“Absolutely not,” Rhysand didn’t even bother to look up at either you or Nesta.

“Why not?” You asked incredulously. “We’ve exhausted the resources available in the Night Court. You won’t let me go to the Prison or the tunnels with Bryce to see what I might be able to decipher from the images. So, if you’re going to continue to insist that I find a way home, I need access to more information. Information that is now beyond your borders.”

“Then consider yourself relieved of the task,” His eyes still didn’t look up from the parchment he was scribbling on.

“What?”

“You’re done with research,” He finally looked up, eyes cold. “You can go now.” Rhysand gestured towards the office door and resumed his scribbling. You blinked several times trying to process what just happened. To say you were baffled by his decision to just have you give up was an understatement. It made no sense. He had insisted for months that you do everything in your power to find a way home. He made you dedicate hours every afternoon while Nyx slept to the task. He didn’t want you here. He didn’t trust you. Was it really so hard for him to let go of that fucking need to control you that he’d rather you remain stranded on this planet than let you leave the court to find a way home? Clearly it was.

“No.” You felt Nesta tense at your side. The male sitting before you glanced up through thick lashes. An eyebrow raised as he paused his work yet again. You didn’t care that he could easily over power you. Easily kill you with a mere thought. You weren’t about to continue being this weak and timid thing. He may be used to the other females in his life buckling under the weight of that stare, but it would be a cold day in Hell before you gave him that satisfaction. You wanted to go home just as much as he wanted you gone.

“I don’t see a reason as to why I can’t continue searching for a way home,” You took a steadying breath. “The High Lord of the Day Court doesn’t need to know who I really am or where I’m from. He doesn’t need to know the true purpose of what I am looking for. Honestly at this point I might get more insight into travel between worlds by looking into the history of this one.” The High Lord remained silent, so you took that as a cue to continue pleading your case.

“That’s the story we tell him. I’m merely looking into the history of the various courts to compile a comprehensive history of Prythian. If that hasn’t already been done that is. I can dress up like a Priestess, or Lucien can glamor me so I don’t look human. And I know that he will go with me if I ask.”

“Helion would be able to see through any ruse, which is exactly why I will not grant you permission to leave,” The calmness with which this discussion had started was quickly fading. His arrogance and lack of confidence in you made your blood boil.

“You cannot keep me locked away in this city!” You squared your shoulders.

“Yes, I can!” Rhysand bellowed. “I will remind you that your ability to remain in Velaris is due to the love that my son has for you.”

“Believe me, I am perfectly aware of the fact that my freedom is an illusion,” You seethed. “And it isn’t right. What kind of example are you setting for your son? He will pick up on the way that you treat me, as well as the other females in his life, and that will be his template for how he will treat them in turn. Tell me, do you want him to grow and be known as male that has genuine respect for females? To be known for treating them well beyond just common decency? Do you want him to build this court up as a safe place for women to live the lives they choose? To carry on a legacy of Velaris being a city that all can aspire to? Or do you want him to continue this farce of what you spout as being a progressive court but continue to belittle, undermine, and covertly fuel misogyny?” You felt a power ripple through the air. The edges of the High Lord’s figure darkened. You definitely hit a nerve and had to fight back the triumphant smirk.

“You despise me, so why are you so fucking hell bent on keeping me here? Wouldn’t you and everyone else be happier if I was gone?” The power that had been growing sputtered. The silence that replaced it filled the office, setting your already frayed nerves on edge. Nesta placed her hand in yours and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“I do not despise you (Y/N),” Rhysand let out a heavy sigh. “And given the fact you believed that to be true, I must apologize. Genuinely apologize.” You stood in front of the High Lord, not quite sure if what he had to say next would truly be as genuine as was merited. The male stood from his chair, walking around his desk to stand in front of you.

“While it is really no excuse, I have let my fear of the unknown dictate my interactions with you,” He explained. You bit back the sarcastic remark that threated that danced on your tongue. His unequal treatment towards you was obvious to anyone present when you and Rhysand occupied the same room.  

“However, you-”

“Ah! Do not turn this around and make your actions and reactions my responsibility,” You warned. The male simply smirked and nodded.

“The mistrust goes both ways, and yours is highly understandable given how I treated you upon your arrival,” He leaned against the desk, “Give me time and let me make it up to you. I will make more of an effort to get to know who you are. From there we can discuss if, or when and how, to move forward with you leaving the borders of the Night Court.” You held his gaze, weighing his words. You didn’t miss the fact that there was no promise that he would ever actually allow you to leave. Nor did he give any indication of timeframe for when this future discussion would take place. But for now, this concession would have to suffice.

“So, with the research on a temporary hold,” You needed some direction, “What else will you have me do exactly? Feyre has a solid early morning routine with Nyx and-”

“You will start early morning training with the Valkyries,” The High Lord smiled as your eyes went wide, “Feyre will be taking on more responsibilities as High Lady. Primarily she will become responsible for ensure that Velaris operates smoothly so that I can focus on finally enacting the overdue changes in Illyria and the Hewn City. After all, this is a progressive court. With both of us busy, you will need to learn how to not only defend yourself as a human in the Fae lands, but also how to protect my son. Afterall, you will be with him more often than anyone else.” You groaned internally. You were not a morning nor an exercise person, and combining the two…gross. You turned towards Nesta, who appeared to be just as surprised as you with the High Lord’s declaration. However, she quickly schooled her features into an unreadable expression. Rhysand then retreated to his chair, a clear dismissal and one that you were more willing to accept. You had just made it to the doorframe when he called out.

“Oh, in the spirit of building trust, Azriel will be the one to fly you to and from the House of Wind for your training.” You stumbled at his second declaration and glanced over your shoulder, however, you stayed silent. While there had been tension from the mutual distrust between yourself and Rhys, you struggled significantly whenever the Shadowsinger was present. Therefore, it made sense to give this task to Azriel.

“You don’t have to talk to him, but being near him is a necessary step in your healing,” He continued. “Even you have to admit that.” You hated that he wasn’t wrong.  

You trudged down the steps from the top floor of the town house as you did each morning for the past four months. Each morning was just as much of a struggle as the day before. You really were not a morning person. Just like every morning, Lucien had left the simple breakfast he prepared for you both in the oven to keep warm. He was an early riser, which worked in his favor as it meant that he could avoid the male that was the bane of your existence. Although, you had to admit that that line of thinking was a bit harsh regarding Azriel. Your interactions with the hazel eyed male had been slowly, albeit excruciatingly, improving. You didn’t share more words than was absolutely necessary, but you also didn’t leave the room or run away whenever he entered.

You took the scrambled eggs out of the oven, not even bothering to get a clean plate or even move to the table. Instead you just slowly shoveled them into your mouth as you leaned against the counter top. An unpleasant shiver ran up your leg. You didn’t have to look to confirm that the sensation was brought on by one of Azriel’s shadows. A silent “hurry up”. With tensed muscles you finished your eggs and placed the skillet in the wash basin. Plucking an apple from the bowl on the center island, you headed for the front door.

“You’re late,” Azriel stated, yet there was no real irritation to his voice. You tossed the apple into the air trying to shake away the unease that his shadows still elicited whenever they touched you. The sun was just peaking up over the eastern horizon, the early rays of dawn told you that you were right on time.

“Yet it’s the same time as every other morning amigo,” You took a bite of the apple, juice dribbling on to your chin. Rotating the apple in your palm you offered the opposite side for the male to take a bite. You had been prepared for his usual refusal; however, your regular morning routine was about to take an unexpected turn. You watched in slow motion as Azriel’s scarred hand gently covered yours before he brought the apple closer to his lips. You held your breath as his eyes bore into yours, his teeth sinking into the bright red flesh of the fruit. After taking a sizable chunk he released your hand and the world sped back up. It took an additional 30 seconds for your brain to catch up.

“Az!” You tried to fight the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Did you have to make it that creepy?” The male merely shrugged in response and took a step closer before wrapping his arms around you. You stepped into the embrace, bringing your own arms around the top of his shoulders. You were always mindful of his wings, making sure as to not brush against them while still maintaining a secure grip. Not that his hold on you ever faltered. Honestly, it was a miracle-in your opinion-that he was able to fly while carrying you at all. He had assured you early on that your weight was a non-issue, but that didn’t prevent the thoughts from springing to your mind every time you had to do this.

“Come on Koala, you know the drill,” He smiled as he tapped your thigh. You rolled your eyes. Jumping as instructed you allowed him to wrap your legs around his waist, just as you had that very first day of flying. You hadn’t meant to cling to him so fiercely at that time, yet it was the only position in which you felt secure. With his arms supporting your lower back, he shot up into the sky.

Barely even 10 minutes later and you were set down in the training ring at the House of Wind.

“I’ll be back in couple hours,” and with that your personal jetpack flew back towards the expanse of mountains along the northern edge of the city. You took another bite of the apple that you thankfully managed to hold on to before it was plucked from your hands. You spun around to face the asshole of a General that had taken it from you.

“You’re late,” He smirked.

“Like Hell I am,” You glanced around the training area. So far it was just you and Cassian. Not even Lucien was present. You scowled to yourself as he claimed he would be. However, you didn’t have time to wonder where he was when a set of arms wrapped around your shoulders, pining your arms to your sides. Your newly ingrained instincts kicked in. Planting your feet as best you could you reared your head back, hoping to make contact with the face behind you. Whoever it was ducked and grabbed the high pony tail that held your hair out of your eyes. The grip was tight and you immediately regretted your actions.

“Fuck!” You hissed, reaching up to try and pry the fingers away. You found the assailants wrist and dug your nails along the tendon, effectively forcing them to loosen their grip. Ruhn howled.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” You punched his chest as he danced away from you. “Are we five-year-old’s on a playground again? When did you get back from Midgard?” The asshole just laughed.

“A few hours ago, Bryce and Hunt are still sleeping. And I would say I’m sorry, but I was instructed to not be gentle with you today,” His smile was near feral. You ignored him and grumbled to yourself as you pulled the elastic hair band out. Bending over you let your now long hair cascade towards the ground. Concentrating on gathering the (h/c) strands at the crown of your head, you didn’t see the male shamelessly staring at your ass in the training leathers you were provided.

“Ruhn’s going to be to be your sparing partner today,” Cassian informed. “Let’s get you warmed up.” You flipped your hair up and secured it back in place in a messy bun.

“Your ass is grass Danaan,” You threatened, a playful smile on your own lips. “You fucked with my hair.”

“Baby, I could have sworn you enjoyed it before,” His blue eyes sparkled with mirth in the early morning sun.

“What?! No!” You looked over at Cassian, his eye brows raised. “No! Shut up asshole.” You hadn’t even started your training and you already knew this was going to be a long morning.

“Save it for the ring,” the General motioned for you to approach him so he could assist you with the warm up. As you completed your warm up routine you heard Lucien’s rough morning voice strike up a conversation with Ruhn.

“I hear your already causing trouble,” He nagged.

“Oh no, no no no,” You waggled your index finger, marching over the redhead. “These two motherfuckers started it.” You pointed at each of the males as they tried, Ruhn failing, to suppress their laughter. Yes, it was definitely going to be one of those mornings were the males all ganged up on you before the other females arrived. And not in the fun way. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop that train of thought. The last you needed was for one of them to smell that on you. Lucien just joined in on the laughter.

“Okay settle down now,” Cassian tried to regain some semblance of control. “Square up.” You walked towards the center of the training ring and planted your feet, flexing your toes to grip the ground as best you could through your shoes. The match with Ruhn started off simple enough. You had managed to dodge his attempts to get a hold of you, and he blocked all of your attempts to strike him with your fist. It was when you miscalculated the distance between your shin and his torso that was your undoing. You swung your leg up and towards his side, but he caught it and used the momentum to pull you towards him. As soon as your chests collided you shrieked.

“No!” You couldn’t suppress the giggle. Grabbing the large hands that had danced over your ribs, you easily pushed yourself away from Ruhn.

“Aw you’re ticklish,” Ruhn teased. You increased the distance between the two of you by several paces.

“If you tickle me, I will kill you,” You knew that was a lie made from false bravado. You’d never be able to get the best of any of the males here, not while you were human. It didn’t help that you could barely keep the laugh out of your voice.

“Alright tough girl,” He smiled and resumed his stance, “Come and get me.” Before you could react, the male had darted across the training ring and picked you up as if you still didn’t weigh more than him. You had to give yourself some credit though; after all you had lost a bit of weight since your arrival over a year ago. Most of it was within the last 4 months when you started this damn training. While your current performance was not a good indicator, the training had been useful. Not only had you picked up many skills with hand to hand self-defense, you were also learning how to properly use the dagger that Lucien had gifted you.

Ruhn hauled you over his shoulder like a giant sack causing you to scream again. You tried to push yourself up so you weren’t staring at his ass that was perfectly outlined in the damn leathers he wore. Unfortunately, there was nowhere except his ass for you to put your hands to get any leverage.

“Behind the knees!” You heard Lucien encourage Ruhn.

“TRAITOR!” You shouted, voice only slightly strained as you attempted to break free from Ruhn’s grip on your calves and hips.

“Thanks for the tip,” You felt his fingers lightly brush the back part of your thigh, just above the bend at your knee. You squealed and tried to squirm away with no luck.

“What about here,” Without warning, his hand traveled up the length of your thigh before giving a playful and quick squeeze to the spot just below the curve of your ass. A ridiculously comical high-pitched squeak escaped your throat. You clamped a hand over your mouth in embarrassment over sounding just like a damn dog toy.

“Was that her?” Cassian’s laughter filled the training area. Ruhn squeezed the spot again, and again you squeaked. All three males fell into a fit of boisterous laughter. You could feel the blood rushing to your head as you continued to hang over Ruhn’s shoulder. In a last-ditch effort to free yourself, you decided that you would just start attacking what you could reach. You balled your fist and reeled your arm back before slamming it down right on his own ass check.

“Hey!” Ruhn continued to laugh. You repeated the action, but it didn’t cause him to loosen his grip in the slightest. The other males just continued to laugh. Ruhn started to spin and you could see Cassian hunched over, bracing himself on his knees.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Nesta’s voice cut through the laughter, however, it didn’t die down.

“Would you look at that,” Bryce now beside her. “Ruhn’s finally getting his ass beat…literally.” You laughed at the comment, but seeing as how the male continued to tickle and tease, you decided to up your game. You raised your arm as before, but instead of your fist, your flattened out your hand. The loud smack reverberated off the stone surrounding the arena.

“Woah now!” Ruhn attempted to jump away. You smacked him again, pleased with yourself at his reaction. Using his hips for leverage you pushed yourself up to get a better look at those around you.

“Save it for the bedroom you two!” Bryce teased. Nesta scoffed.

“What!” You screeched. Ruhn and his sister just laughed harder. Cassian was in near hysterics. You couldn’t recall if you’d ever seen him laugh so hard. However, Lucien’s laughter had died down.

“Put her down, she’s not a toy,” Nesta instructed. “We need to borrow her before she has to meet my sister.” Ruhn slowly complied, strong calloused hands gripping your waist as he set you on your feet. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before allowing you to saunter over to Nesta and Bryce.

“So whatcha need me for?” You pulled your hair free of the elastic band for a second time, the bun having already loosened. You carded your fingers through your hair before hastily pulling it back into a high pony tail. Bryce waggled her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“An experiment.”

Next: Chapter 7

Tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower @iimichie @fightmedraco @nikkitch0703 @eerievixen @ang-taylorsversion @randomness-it-is @thehighlordishere @rachelnicolee @hardcoremarvelfan @awkardnerd @sundayysunshine

Crossed out names wouldn't let me tag you

[spoiler-alert-andabunchofnumbers]

Okay I read unofficial translations but of course I bought the official translation of Thousand Autumns and I just gotta say - does anyone else think Yan Wushi’s entire battle with Hulugu was a setup?

No, not like he was faking the duel and set something up with Hulugu. I mean he KNEW he could defeat Hulugu and the only question was how badly he’d be hurt in the process. Like if he’d be walking it off or if he’d actually collapse. Even that, he had a pretty good idea of how it would end.

Because rereading the whole series, once he becomes determined to win over Shen Qiao, Yan Wushi’s already confusing personality becomes even more misleading now that he knows he’s teasing Shen Qiao into the inevitable. We’re stuck primarily in Shen Qiao’s mind, and whenever we get a glimpse of Yan Wushi’s mind, it’s almost always to say "He was saying this, but actually he felt this and was having so much fun seeing Shen Qiao be so easily tricked." Once you’ve reread his actions multiple times over, you realize...like, he knew.

He knew he would beat Hulugu. Whether it was because of the power of love or just because of his own arrogance, he never went into the battle thinking he might lose. Any and all of his suggestions that he might actually die were for Shen Qiao’s sake, to taunt the man into realizing that he was worried about Yan Wushi - to actually admit he didn’t want Yan Wushi to die.

He joked about making bets only when he didn’t know the outcome because that was the only way things were fun, which may have had some truth to it, but then he also set up the massive betting pool to not be in his favor so that when he DID win, he ended up getting a massive payout. Like we call that illegal in our modern day, like manipulating the stock market.

Yan Wushi has been a terrible pessimist and misanthrope since he was very young. He has never trusted anyone (until Shen Qiao) to ever do something honorable or noble when they thought they could control him. Therefore, Yan Wushi very rarely EVER goes into anything without knowing his odds and his escape plan even when if he does fail (see the epilogue story "The Past" for an example). I think the only time he really bet his life was the 5-1 fight where he genuinely didn’t think Shen Qiao would survive his betrayal, let alone rush to his side to save his life.

Compared to that, even against Hulugu? Pfft, it sounds like he's just playing with Shen Qiao from the very beginning.

He announced his challenge when Shen Qiao went to Xuandu Mountain - implying it's for Shen Qiao’s sake, tugging at his heartstrings.

He tells or lies to Bian Yanmei to convince Shen Qiao that the flaws in his demonic core haven’t healed and his battle against Xueting weakened him. Oh no! Now Shen Qiao is even more worried! (Shen Qiao can’t tell just by taking his pulse alone, mystery, is he really okay???)

This also makes us all completely gloss over the fact that both Yan Wushi and Shen Qiao had gained access to the final volume of the Zhuyang Strategy thanks to Xueting’s defeat - if we count them battling one another as exchanging the volumes they never see in person. The Zhuyang Strategy. You remember that thing? That thing whose true qi kept Shen Qiao alive after getting poisoned and beaten to near-death on numerous occasions? Just that thing, no biggie.

Yan Wushi denies both of the former points and says "No I challenged him for my own amusement actually, it has nothing to do with you, and also Bian Yanmei doesn’t know what he’s ralking about I’m fiiiine see?", but Shen Qiao thinks he’s downplaying or lying to spare his feelings - something Shen Qiao would believe he’d do only if he believed for a second that Yan Wushi DOES in fact care about him.

He takes Shen Qiao out gambling to further emphasize that he enjoys leaving things to fate (making us *Shen Qiao* forget the fact that he’s a meticulous planner and intelligent strategist who puts the odds in his favor and always gets what he wants even when he loses). Funny detail that Shen Qiao was (unintentionally or not) rigging the game so that he won, because his natural personality likes having control over things even if his entire journey losing his power demonstrated that he’s very competent at just dealing with misfortune without overreacting. Though they believe different things, the two really are cut from the same stubborn cloth.

Yan Wushi also makes Shen Qiao see the gambling dens where people are betting against Yan Wushi, thanks in part to a certain Yi Pichen’s comments on the matter. Shen Qiao is NOT having feelings or anything, what are you talking about, he’s not worried about this guy he absolutely does not feel attracted to, but uh...those people don’t know you well enough to place their bets correctly, am I right?

Yan Wushi KOs Shen Qiao to make him miss most of the fight to terrify Shen Qiao into thinking he might MISS Yan Wushi’s potential death match, oh no! Come on, I don’t believe Yan Wushi wasn’t skilled enough to have precisely sealed his sleep accupoint or whatever so that Shen Qiao has JUST enough time to catch him near the end of the duel.

Yan Wushi was definitely injured by Hulugu, there’s no denying it. Even when he fights other powerful characters, he’s not a Mary Sue, he still does take damage and admits that he has to push himself to actually kill other grandmasters like Yuan Xiuxiu. However, after the battle with the 5 guys, Yan Wushi absolutely knew his odds and how much it actually takes to crack his skull open. He also knows that Shen Qiao has seen him nearly dead before and will absolutely be using that to freak him out further and convince Shen Qiao he might actually be dead.

He probably DID need Shen Qiao’s medicinal pills to help him, but Yan Wushi was basically guaranteed to have survived and just waiting for Shen Qiao to say he’d "Do anything" before he woke up again. Like does that not sound like a Yan Wushi thing to do? I’m half convinced he stopped his own heart and breathing with a technique (there’s a turtle-breathing technique in the Donghua, something like that to fake it for JUST long enough for Shen Qiao to freak out) or was planning to do so if Hulugu didn’t manage to fuck him up enough for it to be convincing.

The fact that he’s still able to joke around kissing Shen Qiao then loudly complaining about how much pain he’s in automatically tells us he’s not doing as bad as when his head got cracked open. He’s fiiiine.

Then we get the gambling reveal where Huanyue Sect made a few casinos go bankrupt and he sends a fifth of it to Yi Pichen and the Chunyang Monastery as a thanks for essentially rigging the bets.

Yan Wushi tells Yu Shengyan that Shen Qiao already loves him, he’s just too prideful to admit it, and then later sets up the whole scenario in the epilogues - YES IT'S ALL A SET UP - just to get Shen Qiao to have the courage to confess.

In conclusion, Yan Wushi knew what the fuck he was doing, he fought Hulugu primarily to fuck with Shen Qiao and just also happening to get some other things out of it too on the side. Ya boi wanted to force Shen Qiao to realize how much he cares about Yan Wushi in return. And kill a bitch while earning some street cred, but that’s beside the point.

I had no pictures to add for this rant, maybe I’ll add them later, it’s 2am thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[iguessitsjustme]

I don't think any of y'all watch The Circle but I am absolutely DYING at the episodes that dropped today. And the only people I know that watch it are coworkers so I gotta wait until tomorrow to really talk about it but oh my god. I gotta say this or I will explode. Under the cut to spare y'all:

Mad, mad respect for Caress for making the right move and sacrificing herself. She knew where she stood and she truly went out in the best possible way. I hope she finds nothing but blessings in her life.

I think the way the show is being edited is indicating that Kyle is gonna win it. I hope he does. He has been nothing but loyal and honest to everyone (aside from the fact he's married but that's no problem because Liv isn't exactly honest either)

I HATE Jordan. First of all, get your shoes off the bed wtf. You sleep there. I also get that he's good for tv or whatever because he's brings the drama but that is literally not what anyone likes about the circle. We like the genuine connections that people build in there. We like when the show is wholesome. And he came in and just decided Myles sucked and was manipulating everyone? Because what? People liked him? When he was going around lying about everything? That boy still has insecurities he hasn't fully worked through and is projecting that onto Myles.

I will be so sad if QT goes because she is genuinely such a good player. She's kind but also realistic and she keeps it real with her people that they're playing a game. I'm glad she left that influencer chat with Jordan because she was right. If she blocked anyone he wanted to block, she would look like she can't be trusted. She would be the next one gone. Because Jordan would have been safe since he was the secret influencer, he had no issues gunning for her people. And trying to tell her that her strategy is bad because she doesn't want to break every alliance she has in one fell swoop? He's dumb.

I hope Liv gets rid of Jordan but the smart move would be blocking QT and I honestly think QT would respect her for it. I don't know if QT would throw shade at Liv being a catfish or not though. That is if they make Liv block face to face which is what they've always done in the past so I don't see why they would stop now.

I am happy to see Liv makes it to the finals. I've been up and down with Liv but I do like her and think she deserves to be in the finals. Or he deserves it I guess. Go Brandon.

I want Kyle to win. Out of everyone left, I want him to win. Myles is my favorite but I think Kyle winning would be the sweetest moment.

Jordan can kiss my ass.

I do want Lauren to make it to the finals. I wish she had been in any other season cause I think the AI twist hurt her a lot and she would have been able to build actual connections with actual people which is what I watch the show for.

No seriously. Jordan makes me so mad. All he had to do was literally none of what he did. Why did he come in so nasty? Has he seen the show? Those people never win. Never.

I do feel bad for Autumn and I think if she had come in earlier and had a chance to talk to Myles they could have been friends. I do not know why I think this but I think they would have been friends.

[emeralddoeadeer]

trick or treat?

A little October 31st palate cleanser excerpt from Everlong Jily, thanks for the suggestion, Anon.

Lily doesn’t bother changing her clothes, simply envelopes herself in a warm coat and locks the door behind her, walking to the house around the corner.

The sound of children laughing catches her attention, a ladybird and a ninja zoom past her, a harried parent apologising as they follow diligently, a tote bag filled with treats rustling.

Leaves crunch underfoot, red, yellow, and brown, bringing a smile to her face; autumn is her favourite season.

Lily rings the bell, surprised when the bespectacled face that appears is forty years younger than she was expecting, “Trick or treat?”

James leans against the door frame, “You are always a treat Lil, you coming in?”

She follows him inside, the smell of wood burning draws her into the snug where she kicks off her shoes and removes her outer layer, before standing in front of the flames, replacing heat for heat, much to James’ amusement.

He loves that she makes herself at home here, a warmth spreading through him that has more to do with her than the fire in the grate.

“Where are your folks?”

“They went to Dotty’s, her grandkids are visiting, going round the doors here instead of their neighbourhood, Mum and Dad were invited along.”

She nods her head, the thought hadn’t even occurred to her to check, “I uh, got new locks and wanted to drop off a spare key, that’s why I’m here.”

He smiles at her sudden bashfulness, “You don’t need an excuse, I was dropping the car back… but I’m staying for dinner, and I reckon since you don’t have a functioning kitchen yet, you should too, but you’ll have to hang about until they’re back.”

Lily stands with her back to the fire, hands clasped behind her to gather warmth, she bites down on her lip looking back at him, the reflection in his glasses of flames dancing across the lenses.

He takes a step forward and then another, holding his hand out to her, “Come, we can shoot some pool while we wait, the doorbell is pretty loud so if anyone comes, we’ll hear it.”

She slips her hand in his, fingers threading together allowing him to lead her to the games room.

She bumps her shoulder against his, the table already has balls scattered, clear it’s been abandoned mid-match, “Yes, ok, I was playing myself, but it’s more fun to beat someone else so—”

Cut off by her swat, he retrieves the triangle and starts stacking the balls while Lily collects her preferred cue and chalks the tip.

“What are we playing for?” She asks, noticing the soft vocals over electronic music playing from the sound system, a song she hasn’t heard in years, ambient background music.

“How about, old school rules… winner gets a dare.”

Lily accepts his terms but insists she goes first potting two reds and a yellow and progressing around the board to pot another two reds, before narrowly missing the pocket.

Aside from the brief walk to her flat, runs shared in the park and the time together when she was poorly, this is the first real alone time James and she have had together in years.

Lily feels a current run through her, not from apprehension or discomfort but anticipation.

She watches as James lines up his shot, the sleeves of his grey Henley pushed up, tanned forearms already on show, muscles contracting as he arches his hand, altering the angle of the bridge.

“This is nice—” his voice cuts through her reverie, “—us… hanging out.”

Lily looks up to see him watching her, looking for a reaction to his words, tentatively taking his shot and moving to the next set-up.

This boy, this man, he has no idea what he does to her.

The yellow is potted but followed swiftly into the pocket by the white, James collects the cue ball and lays it in the semi-circle for Lily to take her shot, she stands in place, seemingly appraising the table for the best angle.

James walks back around to her side, pausing to see things from her perspective, see what she has planned.

She turns, her back against the long rail, hardly a gap between them, he smiles down at her, his dimple appearing, enjoying this dance, this game.

...

If you want the rest of the scene, click here for chapter 20. It's the one everyone waited a long time for.

xDoe

[remcocoa]

i'll build a fire, you fetch the water

@cycleprompttuesday: "extra"

also on ao3

bring a pot of water to boil.

the window above the sink looks out across the lake toward the mountains, and you watch them as you wait for the pot to fill. there’s no snow, not yet, but already the air is cooler. already you keep your jacket on for your whole training ride, instead of shedding it as the sun rises high in the sky. tadej always laughs at you, when you come back with your nose turned pink from the cold. and they say you are made of ice, he jokes, before finding plenty of inventive ways to warm you up again.

it’s strange, perhaps unnerving, how easily you get used to it, to him. you think of your house in denmark, empty now in the winter. how did you ever survive the cold, before?

here, in your kitchen in switzerland, tadej hums along to the italian song that’s coming out of his phone as he tosses the salad. to set the mood, he says. you wonder how many glasses of wine it will take, to get him to start singing. you have the time tonight, to find out.

cook the pasta until al dente.

there is more pasta in the pot than the two of you can feasibly eat. there is bread on the counter, waiting to be sliced, and a whole bottle of wine that tadej picked out earlier in the afternoon. there is a pastry box, in the pantry. you remind yourself: the season is over. there are no dieticians here, no precise calculations of calories or kilograms or power outputs. when you ride, tomorrow, it will be a different kind of race. tadej will fly away from you, or you from him, but you will both laugh. he will try to kiss you, at the summit, and you will let him, but after you will glance around, mindful of anyone watching. you wonder, often, what it would be like to live the way he does, never afraid of anything at all.

here, as you wait for the pasta to cook, you can make it up to him. you are a good kisser, he makes that very clear. what is this for? he asks when you part for air. he is giggling, and you think it is the most glorious sound in the world.

peel and slice the garlic.

you watch tadej at work, deft fingers stripping away papery thin layers and making a mess all over your pristine counter. it is new, this thing where you cook together, train together, exist in each other's space together. half the drawers in your dresser have his clothes in them, and your spare toothbrush lives in his bathroom in monaco. at first, you had tried to hide from him how much it scares you - not the commitment, not him, but the potential disaster that comes with it. you can flirt with danger while speeding down a descent, but there are other hazards in the shadows that you cannot control with your bike, your legs, your own strength of will. he sees, of course, because he knows you. don’t hide from me, please? he had begged, and your fears aren’t so heavy, when you share them with someone else.

here, in the haze of steam coming up from the pasta pot, he flicks a bit of garlic peel in your direction as you wash your hands. you fling water back at him, and he shakes it off with a wide smile. it’s easy, in autumn, to remind yourself that this is something you can have.

sauté the garlic in olive oil.

tadej looks at the bottle. extra virgin, he says, and you can see the joke on his tongue before he tells it. he is good at making you blush, you have learned, but still you laugh in spite of yourself. he wiggles his eyebrow, tries to look sultry and alluring but only succeeds in looking ridiculous. you kiss him anyway, pulling him in by the front of his hoodie. the garlic crackles in the pan, and his hand trails up your back, under your tshirt. the knobs of your spine are less pronounced, now that the demands of the season are behind you, but his fingers trace them anyway, remembering each one. in madrid he had kissed each of your vertebrae in turn, after sneaking into your hotel room late at night, right under the nose of your team.

here, in the radiant heat of the stovetop, he dances his lips under your jaw and down your neck until you swat at him with the spatula. later, you say, half admonishment and half promise, unable to keep the fondness from your voice. he just laughs, and shakes his hips exaggeratedly as he turns away to set the table.

stir the pasta and cooking water into the garlic and olive oil.

the cashier at the grocery store had not blinked twice, when the two of you walked through. the other riders out on the roads recognize you, but they let you have your privacy, content with a wave and a smile. you like the quiet, and the time it allows you to take, away from the demands of the team and the sponsors and the races. you give the pasta a final stir as he refills the wine glasses. it is a sight just for you: tadej, outlined by the setting sun, preparing the table for a meal you will share together. during the season, you try not to look at him too much, all too aware of your feelings writ so obviously across your face. emotionless, they call you, but you are afraid every time that someone will see it in your eyes.

here, in the fading light of the sunset and the glow of the candles, you can look all you want. he smiles at you and you think: surely you must be struck down, for having dared to gaze on so much beauty. his foot tangles with yours under the table, then runs teasingly up your leg. a promise, for later.

you have the time, after all.

note: let the pasta rest before serving.

[sxilor-1010]

I promised I'd show off my beeg Halloween oc family, so that's what this post is about. All the art was done by my buddy @InfernalJade on Twitter and Newgrounds, please go check her out.

Other than that, here is my biggest group of OCs I have. Update (4-8-23): Added their respective voice claims! Please check for the latest reblog to watch. Update (8-6-23): Renovated the sypnosis and character descriptions so they're better written! Please take your time rereading :) Update (9-4-23): Made an Introduction video for the blog, please watch that first here before reading about each characters!

Within our world lies many tales, and in those tales lay legends told throughout history. Tales of trolls and true love, cautionary tales for children and the childish, and stories of the supernatural and superstitious. All of these fables were recorded over the years by many different people over many decades.

But that’s only to the people of Earth and the Dead. Beyond both planes lies a third realm, one where the Autumn Equinox rules forever. The days and nights are never too cool or hot, and a place full of humans and creatures of myth. This realm is Samhvilia, and it is the home of a wealthy family known as The Orthos Family.

The Orthos Family has been around for generations, and have been seen as high royalty to many in Samhvilia. It is here that The Orthos Family are keepers of deep knowledge. Books of lost history and much more from Earth are found and polished for Samhvilia to read. Whatever kind of book you wish to find, The Orthos Family will have it somewhere within their library filled walls. Not only that, but they’re the family that holds the Power of the Autumn Haunt (Halloween). Without it, Halloween would’ve been lost to time long ago.

But… even if they hold much knowledge from past decades, there is one story that remains untouched, untold by time. There is more to The Orthos Family than what everyone sees, and when two of the youngest sons in the family find a piece of an unsolved puzzle, they discover there is more to the Family and Samhvilia than anyone would ever thought.  Join the children of The Orthos Family, as they embark on a journey of mystery. To understand a rabbit hole of untold history, and the true powers of the Autumn Haunt and those after it.

THE CHARACTERS

Founded by the Patriarch Samhe (Saw-way) Orthos, The old turnip has lived through much history and hell that he's grown tired over these last generations. He's often reserved to himself, but his cold and what feels like emotionless attitude can make the hairs of anyone who sees him stand up instantly.

He's not used to the world and how much it's changed, even outside of Samhvilia. His personality is that of a strict father, a tough and cold attitude to show he means business. In his spare time, Samhe likes writing in his room or reading a gothic book to himself.

Following Samhe is the Matriarch of the clan, Willo Orthos, A rutabaga headed nature spirit. She's somewhat similar to Samhe in terms of a strict parent, but she doesn't come off as cold or emotionless like he does. In fact, she's quite the opposite. Willo takes happiness in ger role as a matriarch and mother, teaching her children lessons for them to use as they grow older, and even offer a helping hand to those in need.

She has a few degrees in spell making, culinary alchemy, and party arrangements. Other than that, Willo is loved by her family and even by some other children. A kind mother despite being uncanny.

Moving from Samhe and Willo now comes the children. The first son of the family, Crane Orthos is the eldest of The Orthos Family children. He was raised by Samhe under a golden child influence, which developed his personality into that of pride an arrogance.

There are days where he's selfish, yet this doesn't mean Crane is completely heartless. He cares deep down for those close to him, whether it'd be his family or close friends (assuming he even has any friends). In his spare time, Crane likes to practice his sword fighting skills alongside writing down stuff in his private journal.

The next child of the Orthos Family is Hallows Orthos, the second oldest son in the family. Hallows' personality is described as charming and energetic, an optimistic go getter who loves playing tricks and pranks and having fun. He is also close to Crane, despite Crane having slight jealousy towards Hallows for being the Spirit of Halloween.

He doesn't care too much for his family's history archiving tradition, but rather he embraces the Autumn Haunt every single day. He is the Spirit of Halloween afterall, so to keep such a title and power is important. Otherwise Halloween as a holiday would've been nonexistent long ago. When he's not playing tricks or gobbling down bowls full of candy, Hallows loves playing around with his younger brothers and visiting Earth from time to time.

Next is the adopted daughter of the Orthos Family, Batile orthos is a vampire bat fairy who hailed from a different part of Samhvilia before she became a foster child. In the family, she's the older sister. It's unknown whatever happened to her previous family, but Batile doesn't remember. She's quiet, sassy, and a reserved bookworm who, like an actual bat, spends time hanging from ceilings reading or sleeping.

She's often the medium between Hallows and Crane whenever they argue, the older sister to keep Ignus and Scorch from making bad decisions, and her relationship with Willo by learning magic and feeling like she's a part of the family. In her free time, Batile likes to read magic books to help furbish and even improve her magic skills.

Finally, we have Ignus and Scorch Orthos, the younger twin brothers of the Orthos Family. Ignus is the one in the orange sweater vest, while Scorch is the one in black. Ignus and Scorch's behavior and age are equivalent to that of tweens, ones who love to play tricks and find new adventures wherever they go. They can be a bit dumbfounded, and even comedic, but both twins stick together even when things get dark.

Ignus is described as adventurous and mischievous, while Scorch is smart and cautious. Together, these two like to cause hijinks wherever they are, and they also have a great relationship with Hallows.

Binded by flesh and soul; We, The Orthos Clan, dedicate to the archives of this world.

[thedragonagelesbian]

Cyrus Hawke Playlist ~ Top 5 + 3 Ship Songs

I started drafting this post in fucking July, but now I'm awake at 7am with a sore throat and need the serotonin boost SO here we go!!

Also I made most of this playlist with DA2!Cyrus in mind, but many of its core themes hold across the (/counts on my fingers real quick/) five(?) distinct iterations of this character (why am i like this...).

1. It Keeps Us Dancing - The Family Crest

You know those blorbo songs that come with incredibly detailed line-by-line, shot-by-shot AMVs? I could describe in overwrought detail the images and moments that play in my mind when I listen to this, but I'll spare y'all that.

Big picture is that this is a song about not merely surviving but thriving through the bonds you form with others. I first encountered it in a Mighty Nein AMV, and unsurprisingly it maps beautifully onto another group of tragedy-stricken misfits. As much as it's a Cyrus song, then, it's also a Kirkwall Crew song. It's about the levity and respite he finds with them-- the strength to keep on moving, to keep dancing, despite everything the world subjects him to.

2. One Foot in Front of the Other - Emilie Autumn

A lot of Cyrus' song hit on survival, actually. The ability to endure--and the profound price of that resilience--are fundamental parts of his character and story. If for nothing else, this song gets a mention for the line if ive no one to fight, how do i know who i am? Who is Cyrus if not the Champion, if not his oath, his shield, his sword, if not the knight in shining armor come to save everyone but himself? What is he good for if not bleeding so someone else doesn't have to?

Also the last verse is a huge end of Act 3 mood: we've won the final round, but how to enjoy the win / when we've been broken down and we'll never know what could have been / heaven help us where do we begin? Allying with the mages at the end of DA2, as we all know, produces an immensely fucking hollow victory: you can't save anyone or anything, you only just barely save yourself and your family, and it's only at the mercy of Cullen fucking Rutherford.

And the line we'll never know what could have been hits particularly hard for Cyrus killing Anders-- or maybe it just hits hard for me because I do know what could've been between them. What is between them in a timeline where Cyrus doesn't make that choice, even if Anders still asks for it.

But in the canon timeline, where Cyrus is dragging all the dead weight of Kirkwall and Anders around his neck, how does he continue on after losing everything? By putting one foot in front of the other.

3. Simmer - Hayley Williams

What are you gonna do with that big bat? Gonna hit me? Better make it count. Better make it hurt. Better kill me in one shot

4. Into the West - Return of the King Soundtrack

Cyrus' victories are few and far between and fiercely fought and dearly paid for. Such is the nature of the tragedy he finds himself written into-- such is his propensity for self-sacrifice and inclinations toward martyrdom.

But somehow, miraculously, he makes it out of Kirkwall alive. And whatever that may have cost him, he's earned his sense of respite and safety. Peace, in whatever small measure he and his loved ones can manage.

5. Francesca

I cannot emphasize enough: this is it. This is the whole character. The intense, cosmologically defiant love, the endurance, the insistence that I would do it again. I'd go through it again. All the loss and suffering, all the ways his body has been harmed and changed, to love and to be loved in return matters more.

Even the verses are so delightfully appropriate for him-- my life was a storm since i was born / how could i fear any hurricane? My boy is sooooooo storm coded, all that strength and willingness to stand in the face of anything...

And then the second verse, losing parts of himself and his body to the trials life subjects him to, be it his asymptotic approach to Tranquility and Kirkwall's jaw clenched around his lifeblood or having his grief preyed on and stolen to forge him into a weapon of pure misery.............................. but if i could hold you for a minute!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And, of course, some songs for some loves that heaven is not fit to house:

1. CyrusXVarric: Anything For You - Ludo

This is just such a universal VarricXHawke song. I mean, it's about a grandstanding storyteller whose highest, most singular devotion is to the person he loves! Come on!!

Then again, even my happier song picks aren't without their touch of angst-- the best story that Varric could ever tell (the one where am i growing old with you) isn't one he gets to experience. Not, at least, in the main timeline where Cyrus becomes Inquisitor and Varric sacrifices himself to save him in the final fight against Corypheus.

2. CyrusXAnders: Unknown/Nth - Hozier

I told myself I could only put one other Hozier song in this post, and while I was sorely tempted by some for Cyrus & Karlach, the honor really had to go to Unknown/Nth and the most disastrous ship of the fleet.

What is there to say other than that the bridge of this song permanently rewired my brain? 'the injury of finally knowing you' was the title of their WIP for a while-- the agony of learning and experiencing each other as intimately as they do only for everything to come crashing down around the very next day, as their own intractable issues and flaws begin to grind together again? Ugh......

And of course there's the weight of the goodness Anders still carries for Cyrus into Act 3. All the deceit, all the manipulation, all the hurt... it's because of that goodness, right? It's to protect him. It's all for love.

At least, that's what Anders tells himself.

3. CyrusXKarlach: Inkpot Gods - The Amazing Devil

and i can hear her sing / and i know she's giving up / and i don't know what to do, how to help her / how to bring her home

and i can hear him break / and he doesn't understand / and i wish that i could take his hand / but where i'm going is for me and me alone