#Old Testament overcomers

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

After I had made an inspection, I stood up and said to the nobles, the officials, and the rest of the people, “Do not be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons and your daughters, your wives and your homes.” — Nehemiah 4:14 | Berean Study Bible (BSB) The Berean Study Bible (BSB) © 2016, 2018 by Bible Hub and Berean Bible. All rights Reserved. Cross References: Numbers 14:9; Deuteronomy 1:29-30; 2 Samuel 10:12; Nehemiah 1:5; Ecclesiastes 12:1

[cataboliac]

Hello Cata! So I don't know if you do requests but how bout a honeymoon fic? Would be nice to have some old school vanilla stuff every now and then. Irene would be nice but you can use anyone. 😁

Six Feet Under the Stars

2.7k words

Red Velvet's Bae Joohyun

You haven't been to this beach since you were a kid. It has been many years since you've been gone, but it's still the same as you remember it—from the dazzling white sand that sparkled in the golden sunlight, the azure waters that crashed along the shoreline, down to the smell of saltwater traveling up your nostrils. To feel the warm, coarse sand heating up your feet again adds to the extra feel of nostalgia, making you giddy with anticipation.  

I’m glad some things will always stay the same. 

“Hey, come on! The water feels great!”

You turn to her melodic voice, her arms beckoning for you to return to her embrace. 

But I’m glad things did change with her.

The gold ring around your finger is a testament to how the unimaginable can be tangible—how you were able to overcome the walls that were placed and sweep the goddess-like Bae Joohyun off her feet. Strong, confident, independent—Joohyun was her own person, and you understood why she wanted to do things her own way. 

But you could see right through the tiny cracks of her facade. 

Joohyun would often be too proud to ask for help; she would rather give it instead. So you made sure to stay by her side, trying to pick up the pieces without her knowing. Leaving small gifts while she practiced until late at night, waiting up with her and accompanying her home if she did finish late, listening to her vent out all her troubles and worries—you tried your best to support her from the sidelines.

But this was Joohyun, after all, and she saw through your act from the start. She allowed it, curious if you were really serious about her. As time went by, you’ve won her over with your sincerity, and she was amazed you never faltered with her, even after she confronted you.

And from there, Joohyun’s walls slowly opened up, allowing you to slip into her world and warm her heart.

“Hey, are you okay?” Joohyun’s voice anchors you back from your reverie as she wraps her arms around your neck. 

“Oh, sorry about that. I was just thinking about something,” you reply, in turn wrapping your arms around her waist, pulling her closer. 

Joohyun looked gorgeous in her red beach shirt, displaying her snow-white skin and toned midriff. It’s been ages since you’ve seen her in shorts, noticing they barely cover her luscious thighs and butt cheeks. To top it all off, she had an elegant flower perched on her ear, highlighting her raven black hair and ethereal facial features.

Joohyun’s hand cups your chin to make you look straight into her eyes.“And now you're staring,” she says playfully. “Mind sharing what’s on your mind?”

“I was thinking”—You kiss her on the cheek, before moving to kiss the side of her chin–“how lucky I am to be married”—You kiss her up and down her favorite parts on her neck, making her breath hitch a little until you reach her ear again–“to the most amazing and beautiful woman in the whole world.”

“H-hon, not here.” She sounds disapproving, but her actions say otherwise as she hugs you tighter.

Now that you have her distracted, you reach down to her legs and lift her up bridal style. All that Joohyun can do is laugh, holding on to your neck for dear life. “You ham! What do you think you’re doing?!” 

“Carrying my wife in my arms?” 

Her cheeks flush red. It is cute that Joohyun still blushes when you call her your wife, something you also need to get used to soon.

“You were wrong about one thing though,” she says.

“What do you mean?” you ask, perplexed by her words.

“I am the lucky one. To have married someone as caring and understanding as you.”  

Before you can retort, Irene quiets you by pulling you in and places her lips against yours. 

The sun was setting, its tangerine glaze melting into the horizon. As the sky swirled into a blend of colors, you and Joohyun sank into a loving embrace. Her lips always drew more passion from you every time they were set on yours. She always did bring the best out of you, but you wanted to grow even stronger with her. When you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it. And it brought Joohyun into your arms to ride the current of life together. 

——————————————————————————————————

Nothing beats a shower after a long day at the beach. You relish in the feeling of hot water splashing off your back and traveling down your body. As much as you enjoyed the seawater, the stickiness that stayed on your skin afterward was no fun. Joohyun wanted to enjoy the view from the balcony for a while, so you decided to take a shower first.

It still feels surreal how time flew so fast between you and Joohyun; you proposed to her last year, had a dreamy wedding with friends and family last week, and today it’s your first day on your honeymoon. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

The shower door suddenly rattles open. You smile, knowing who the intruder is, as her two arms snake around your torso. She leans her head onto you, her milky skin making contact with yours, her stiff buds poking your back. 

"Well, what a surprise. Miss me already?" you ask as you squeeze one of Joohyun’s arms. 

She kisses your back. “Can I join you?”

“Of course. Help wash me?” 

You pass the soap to Joohyun. She then lathers your chest and abs, feeling her soft hands caress your upper body. One hand reaches lower, grazing your thigh. Joohyun's touch almost makes you instantly hard. 

She suddenly starts to pepper kisses on your back. Her other hand also ends up dangerously close to your rod. Joohyun starts massaging your thighs, and you can’t help but hum to her touch. It seems she has ulterior motives other than actually getting clean. 

You were planning on getting a little dirty after showering anyways.

You quickly turn around and pin her against the shower wall. Joohyun sharply inhales as her back presses against the cold marble wall, contrasting the steaming water dousing the two of you. Your faces are now inches apart, feeling her breath on your lips. Her intense gaze sends shivers down your spine, the anticipation accelerating your heartbeat into overdrive.

“Aren’t you supposed to help me get clean?” you ask, a smirk slowly forming on your face. Your hand hovers above Joohyun's core, anticipating her next move. 

Joohyun wraps a hand around your shaft, making you exhale sharply in return. “I want to make the first night of our honeymoon special. We can clean up again later,” she replies, returning your smirk with her own.

She starts to pump you slowly, the lubrication from the soap making it easier for your length to slide in her hand. Following suit, you place your hand on her awaiting heat and rub her down, matching her tempo. Joohyun quivers to your touch, her breathing getting a bit ragged. She nods at you, mouthing “yes” over and over again.

Joohyun starts stroking you faster, making you buck your hips. You intend, however, to make her reach her peak first. Upping the ante, you insert two fingers inside her, making Joohyun moan as her tight walls envelop your digits. Her eyes slightly roll back up before focusing on you again. 

Your fingers piston in and out of her slit. Joohyun tries to keep up with the new tempo you set, but she's having difficulty concentrating due to your ministrations, her strokes losing momentum. She switches between squeezing and stroking you to try and distract herself from the pleasure. Joohyun is forced to breathe through her mouth, moaning loudly in between each breath, trying her best to stave off her inevitable climax. You start to feel her walls clench tightly around your fingers. 

And after one last swipe, Joohyun explodes from her bliss. 

Her juices coat your fingers and mix with the shower water as it drips down her legs. You press your lips against hers to stifle her moans, feeling her voice reverberate around your face. Your free arm catches Joohyun, who buckles from her intense orgasm. Her arms wrap around your neck, holding you tightly for dear life. You remove your fingers from her, rubbing her smoothly to ease her from her high.

She breaks the kiss for air. Joohyun’s face is flushed red, her glassy eyes regaining the steely gaze from earlier.

"Bed, now."

You two exit the shower in haste, quickly drying off. Joohyun pulls you into the bedroom and pushes you onto the bed. She wastes no time settling between your thighs. She licks your cock from the base to your tip before sucking hard on your head, disengaging with a loud pop. 

“Fuck—Joohyun,” you call out to her.

You watch as her tongue encircles your head, lapping up your pre-cum. Joohyun looks up to you with a lustful gaze that sends more shockwaves up your spine. She kisses the top of your head, cupping your balls in her free hand, before sucking down on it hard again. Your breath hitches at the sensation, your stomach flexing from her actions. 

Joohyun starts to take more of your length in her mouth. You can’t help but slightly thrust your hips with her every motion, hitting the back of your throat. The erotic sounds that come out of her gagging mouth almost overwhelm you. Joohyun was more controlled with her blow jobs, but you enjoyed it when she got sloppy, feeling her saliva drip down on your thighs and balls.

As she increases her speed, you bunch up her hair, holding the sides of her head to assist in her momentum. It gives you a clearer view of the erotic display between your legs as she bobs up and down your cock. The sight of Bae Joohyun giving you a very sloppy blow job could make you cum at that instant.

You didn’t want to finish early, so you softly held Joohyun’s head in place. She takes the hint, detaching her lips from your rod, a spit trail formed between your head and her lips. 

Joohyun slowly crawls on top, straddling you, and softly captures your lips. You pull her deeper into the embrace, breathing heavily as your lips smack together, tasting your shared breath and feeling the thud of your combined heartbeat. Joohyun mewls as your tongue lightly flicks hers. 

The two of you relish the slower tempo. Now that things are calmer for the moment, you take your time to admire your wife with your hands. Starting from the crook of her neck, you trace down to the curve of her back, mapping out every inch of her body. You know Joohyun like the back of your hand; what makes her tick, her weak spots, what she wants to hear from you.

How lucky you are to experience Joohyun like this. Your first time together was slow and nerve-wracking, but it was the most memorable; it was the day you confessed to her.

“I love you, Joohyun.”

Joohyun's look softens. She pecks you on the lips before hoisting herself up, reaching behind for your stiff member and lining it up her slit. You look into her eyes once more. 

“And I love you too. Make love to me.”

Then she slowly lowers herself onto you.

Things are different now. You're more confident now, wiser. But most importantly, you now are bound together; in more ways than one. 

As your tip penetrates her, a familiar tight sensation overwhelms your senses. Her eyes go wide as she reaches out for your shoulders. She barely manages to speak. “Fuck, you stretch me out so well.” 

It turns you on when the prim and proper Joohyun starts swearing, but you’re too engrossed in your pleasure to respond. All you can do is nod as she starts to lower herself even more. You moan as you penetrate deeper into her core, your toes curling into the mattress. Hands move to her butt, kneading her cheeks while guiding her down. You two sigh as your whole length finally ensheathes inside her, fitting perfectly like the final piece to the puzzle.  

After a moment of stillness, Joohyun starts to rock her hips. You fondle her breasts, watching them heave in your hands as she moves. Her mouth was slightly agape, barely containing the pleasure in her. You add to the tempo by thrusting upwards. She moans loudly, squeezing her breasts through your hands, increasing the momentum of her gyrations. The bed beneath you creaks to the beat of your slapping flesh.

You relinquish your hold on her breasts, moving onto her firm ass, giving it a light tap with your palm. Replacing your hands is your warm mouth, capturing a stiff nipple in your mouth, sucking hard as your tongue swirls the bud. 

"F-fuck I'm close!" she screams as Joohyun starts to shake. Her walls gradually tighten around you, signaling her impending climax. You hasten her peak by rubbing her clit, multiplying her pleasure. With one last thrust into her slit, Joohyun fervently captures your lips as you send her over the edge.

You stop thrusting into Joohyun, holding tightly onto her as she trembles in your arms. Her hips grind wildly on your cock. She mewls into your mouth, finding solace in sucking onto your lips as she comes down from her high. Eventually, she breaks the kiss and leans on your shoulder. Joohyun is still trying to lift her hips, hoping to bring you to your orgasm. Even if she’s tired, Joohyun still thinks of pleasing you.

“Honey, let me take over.”

With the remaining strength left, you switch positions with Joohyun, lifting her up and laying her softly onto the bed. The two of you moan, your length still deep in her while swapping places. You grab a pillow from the side and place it under her butt, making it easier to thrust into her from this angle.  

You pull back your hips until your length is halfway out, then slowly plunge yourself into her core. This position sends you deeper inside her. Joohyun can only whimper and moan incoherently, her eyes rolling up into her head. Her hand shoots out for yours, gripping tightly and making your knuckle turn white. Then her legs wrap around your butt and tighten your connection.

It's getting really tight around your abdomen, making it harder to breathe. You spread your legs and lean in closer for more powerful thrusts. Joohyun's arms shoot around you, pulling you in closer. You moan when you feel a sting as she nibbles into your skin, making you shiver from the unexpected love bite. Her walls contract around your rod once again. Your vision starts to tunnel in. Her tightness overwhelms you, and it takes a couple thrusts before hitting your limit.

You feel your cock pulsating, keeping yourself inside her as you send your warmth along her walls. Joohyun hums to the feeling of your warm seed spread inside of her. She peppers kisses around your face, attempting to coax you from your high. It takes a while before you get your breathing to a regular pace, the wave of your orgasm finally ending. You detach from Joohyun, rolling to the side. You feel the results of your tryst slightly drip onto your legs. 

The two of you are too tired to clean up the mess, opting just to enjoy the post-coital bliss. Joohyun rolls to your side and kisses you on your cheek. You kiss her forehead before closing your eyes to your fatigue.

——————————————————————————————————

Nighttime graces the sky with its deep dark hues, the pale crescent moon shining like a silvery claw in the night sky. After waking up from your afternoon delight, you found Joohyun on the balcony in your oversized shirt, gazing out to the vast open sky. 

“Hey, Love, you’re finally up,” she says as you wrap your arms around her.

There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment. You can’t remember the exact moment when you fell for Joohyun, but when you figured it out, it ignited that spark that sent you stumbling onto your path to her. 

The two of you bask in the warm, loving embrace, the stars witnessing the new chapter in your ever-growing love.

A.N.: Well, it's been a while! Got caught up with real life. Hopefully I've done justice to anon's request, it's been a while since I've written. So thank you Anon for the request! This is also self-edited, so I'm very sorry for the grammar errors. I'm currently going through the edits of this other one fic so let's hope I can post it soon!

Also, there's so much content out now. Can't wait to read the rest of my fellow writer's stuff! Till the next time! Also, whoever got the title reference, you're an OG

AN2: @vidroen , thank you for the request! You’re actually the first person ever to ask me for one. Till next time!

[vilevvords]

Change of Feelings — Miya Osamu

word count: 2,2k content note: childhood best friend!osamu, falling out of contact, you’re reuniting but its awkward, pining!osamu, alcohol, will they get back in touch???

Osamu was your first kiss. Although it doesn’t really count because you both were too young to even comprehend the meaning of two people kissing.

Driven by the kind of innocent curiosity only a child could possess, it was he who came up with the idea.

It had happened when Atsumu was home alone with a cold, leaving you and Osamu playing in the treehouse near their house alone. Living in the same neighborhood, spending time with the twins was a given. They were always around, dragging you outside and into the mud before you even had the chance to stem your little feet into the ground as a way of protest, and in any case, it was rather useless when they would sulk and whine, calling upon your guilty conscience by telling you it’s no fun without you.

You had been immersed stirring a wooden stick in the soup you cooked from leaves, dirt, little pebbles, and rainwater you scooped out of a puddle. Osamu sat cross-legged in one corner of the treehouse, his silence a testament to his scheming.

“Do you want to kiss me?” He had said completely out of the blue, taking you by surprise. You dropped your stick, the soup now long forgotten. In your 6-year-old wisdom, you already understood that kissing was something that held somewhat of a larger significance, only reserved for people you trust, who are dear to you. You did it with people you were close to, you enjoyed spending time with, and who you wanted to stay by your side. Osamu ticked all these boxes.

He stared at you with anticipation glistening in his eyes, oblivious to the confusion in your little head. It was an innocent question, really. One that fell from his tongue from the excitement bubbling up in his head and without much of a second thought.

You remember the sudden urge to curl up and run away overcoming you, heat rushing to your cheeks as you stared back at him dumbfoundedly. You became physically hot from blushing, realizing you weren’t able to muster a reason not to.

It was a wet peck on the lips, eyes open and noses bumping into each other, lasting no more than a second before Osamu shoved you away, screeching. “Ew!”

Later that day, laying in his bunk bed, he told Atsumu about it. Atsumu only giggled with boyish immaturity when he told him how it was “warm and wet” and that he wouldn’t want to do it again because “it’s gross.”

You figured out soon enough that Atsumu knew because he would poke fun at it constantly. Up until he was twelve years old, Atsumu, number one catalyst for immaturity, would jab his brother in the rib every time a scene of two people kissing came up on TV, causing him to make exaggerated gag sounds to which Atsumu would wholeheartedly snicker, flinging his limbs around like it was the most hilarious thing he could imagine.

In a way, it bothered you. Too young to fully understand your own feelings and unable put them into words, you only had the stinging sensation clawing at your chest and the involuntary sinking of your shoulders as a testimony that whatever this was, you didn’t like it. You put it off without a word, although the feeling never really changed the more they joked about it.

Eventually, the three of you grew older and more mature, starting high school and drowning in homework and assignments. Your focus slowly shifted, the seriousness of the future looming large and scary on the horizon. Your biggest concern was no longer how you would spend the weekend ahead but what it was you intended to do with your life.

You began seeing the twins less often, staying inside hunched over your desk and focusing on your work instead. It was a gradual process of falling out of contact, slowly progressing in a way that had you looking back after a while and discovering with horror how much had actually changed.

There’s been tears and anger when Osamu decided to stop pursuing volleyball after high school, but it was part of the inevitable realization that things were never meant to stay the same forever and each of you would continue on your own, chasing your own dreams. Being twins, Atsumu and Osamu had familial ties that would forever bond them, always be the bridge for them to find their way back to each other. You, however, lacked that kind of connection with them, so it drove you apart naturally.

Graduation was a changing point in your life, an end to a chapter that was grand and brimming with fond memories, but over nonetheless. A new city, new people, and the responsibilities of living alone for the first time in your life didn’t let you find the time to grieve what ended, for the world seemed to spin a bit faster now.

You didn’t think about Hyogo or your old friends a lot, only seldomly finding the time to sit down and let your mind wander enough to fall into a state of reminiscence. It was weird starting to see Atsumu on TV, although you couldn’t help but take an odd sense of pride in the fact that this is my childhood friend, wholly ignoring the fact that you hadn’t talked in what seemed to be half of an eternity. Nonetheless, you were glad to find out that things went well for the twins, that Osamu had found tranquility in his business, doing something he loved, even if that something wasn’t volleyball.

Now, six years later and returning to your hometown, you found yourself at someone’s house catching up with friends from school. Talking about your careers, studies, and plans for the future, it was equally strange as it was fascinating that despite having spent years of your life huddled together in classrooms, each and every one of you ended up on different paths.

You spent most of the night doing what you already liked to do back in school - quietly observing as people came and went; talking, drinking, bickering, making out in a corner of the house they thought was private. Maybe some things never changed after all.

At some point shortly before midnight, you managed to make out the motion sensor lighting up the porch in your peripheral vision, your gaze immediately wandering towards the corridor as the host scurried to the door. Walking in came a group of people you recalled being in various sports clubs. You recognized some of them straight away, others triggered some sort of distant memory although you couldn’t quite put your finger on who they were. As they approached you felt the weight of a pair of eyes on you. Scanning the group, you found them belonging to a tall man dressed casually in a black shirt and dark grey jeans, in whom as he and the rest of the group drew level you recognized Osamu.

He had grown into a man now, put on mass in muscle, was taller and his features had become more distinct. Having seen Atsumu on TV and in the news, he always seemed a bit closer, a bit more palpable even in spite of the distance, but you had always wondered just how much Osamu had changed. His hair was back to its natural color, falling smoothly over his eyebrows and framing his face nicely, still styled in the same side-part. Looking at him now, you realized he was vastly different from his teenage self but at the same time still so unmistakably Osamu that you involuntarily found your eyes lingering for a moment longer.

He greeted the others first before his eyes landed on you once more, muttering something akin to “Good evening” although you weren’t able to properly discern his words over the music that suddenly seemed to have gotten a tad bit louder, relying solely on reading the movements of his lips.

All you managed to croak out in response was a strained “Hello” before he took a seat opposite of you, leaving your empty right side on the sofa a bit colder than it was before.

At that moment, the distance turned into something genuinely hurtful. Thoughts of “what if” and “if only” flooded your mind, and you internally scolded yourself because you weren’t usually one to indulge in hypothetical ideas. But your lives had progressed without each other and you had done nothing to prevent it. You wondered if he held it against you.

Some things seemed a lot more certain viewed from the eyes of a child who had all their life ahead of them. You couldn’t have imagined parting with the twins back then but now the bittersweet realization that yes, you can live without each other was a hard pill to swallow.

Cracking open a beer, Osamu started chatting with his friends and you hoped he didn’t notice the glances you stole at him. It felt weirdly intrusive to stare at him the way you did but your gaze kept wandering towards him almost in an autonomous fashion, like something that was entirely out of your control.

You got tipsy on alcohol the longer the night went on, easing into the conversation and finding some of your bad conscience lift with the vodka blurring your lines of thought.

As the clock neared 3 AM, you were one of the last people still there, sitting alone with Osamu as all the other people had scattered throughout the house. Being in his presence seemed to be a bit easier already, though admittedly there undeniably still was an air of uncertainty between you. It was odd how fast this feeling of comfort had returned, although it seemed to be logical considering the time you spent with each other. The alcohol also helped.

He told you about his business, the plentiful ideas he had for the menu, about world star Atsumu, who traveled the world and won a good number of titles, yet unsurprisingly still relied on his brother to not starve, and listened intently to you as you talked about your life. The conversation came easy to you, given that you had lots to tell each other.

Scanning the room in a moment of silence, your gaze fell on two people kissing - near devouring each other - in the backyard. You amusedly recognized one of them to be Osamu’s friend, so you not-so-gently nudged him in the rib with your left elbow, almost making him spill his beer all over himself. He was about to complain as he noticed you cocking your head, his eyes following yours.

“We should also kiss,” he said with underlying humor clear in his voice, the right corner of his mouth curling upwards. You suspected it was the alcohol talking.

“The last time you kissed me, you were utterly disgusted by it,” you replied with a laugh, twirling the little umbrella from your cocktail in between your thumb and index finger.

He turned to look at you, swallowing. “Ya’ really remember that.”

“You and Atsumu made it hard to forget.”

“I s’ppose so.” His words came out more like a mumble. “That was immature. I guess I should apologize.“

“It’s fine, I realize how silly that whole thing was thinking back on it now.”

Osamu's mood went sour. “You think it was silly?”

“You don’t? I mean, who kisses their childhood best friend?” You chuckled, raising your eyebrow at him.

Osamu felt his heart sink. More than anything, he wished he wouldn’t have ruined his chances by strictly assigning you the role of his friend. He wished he had let there be some space for feelings to bloom, room for thoughts to emerge that go beyond what you already had. He felt like he had ruined it before he was even capable of properly assessing his own feelings.

Silence flooded over you, the strange and oppressive kind that urged to be broken, and enveloped you in a room that was otherwise lively, bass-heavy music still blasting from the speakers. Osamu desperately fished for words but was met with a voided mind.

“It’s getting quite late. I think should go,” you broke in eventually, getting ready to gather your stuff. “It was nice seeing you again, Samu.”

“Yes, it was nice.” The smile he offered you was a genuine one, although it carried a kind of underlying sadness.

You smiled back, slowly rising from your seat and heading towards the door. Osamu had remained seated, but actually seeing you get up, a rush of adrenaline suddenly flooded through his veins.

He helplessly felt you slipping through his fingers once more, not sure if this might be the last chance he would be given. His mouth was dry, the words caught in his throat.

Rushing forward, he grabbed your arm with enough force to get you to halt, grey eyes boring into yours. He stared at you for a moment before he managed to string together a sequence of words that came bursting out rather quiet but rushed like you were going to dissipate into thin air if he wasted just another moment.

“Let’s keep in touch, alright?”

[eijishimas]

caught red handed.

18+ nsfw content. minors dni. all characters are aged up.

masterlist.

content warnings: f!reader, college!au, masturbation, mentions of alcohol, voyeurism, daddy kink, bit of a handjob, bit of oral (m!receiving), filming, slight degradation, creampie, one (1) instance of bakugou slapping your pussy.

notes: happy belated birthday to my bestie, @rekiri . you deserve the world and so much more, you’re sweet and hilarious and i fucking love talking to you, whether we’re joking or being more serious. i know you told me not to, but i really wanted to write something for you as a gift (because ya girl is a bit of a broke bitch). ik it’s not eren, kiri, or reki, but i hope you like this piece regardless. i love you, even if you annoy me to death, you whore /j. this one’s for you <3

wc: 2.6k | inspo (nsfw link): xxx

Everyone knew college was stressful. Deadlines nearly every single week, assignments and essays, not to mention attending classes brought a whole new wave of anxieties for students every single day. Sometimes that stress was either doubled or relieved by having a partner for a project or two. Luckily for you, you and your old high school classmate Katsuki Bakugou were paired up for a project for one of your Quirk Law classes. It was a research project, one that required a forty slide presentation. You were headed on your way to Katsuki’s dorm today to work on it at the time you agreed upon: 5pm. Then you two would study together for upcoming midterms. It was all planned out down to a tee. So at around 3:50pm, Katsuki knew he had time. He figured he needed a break from his Rescue Tactics Indoors II class, otherwise his brain would begin oozing from his ears.

Pushing aside his overpriced textbook, he rolled his shoulders back, hearing the cracks of his stiff muscles while he stretched at his desk. He let out a sigh, propping his chin up on the palm of his hand as he scrolled mindlessly through his socials. Mina had posted a Throwback Thursday post, an old one of him and you back in your freshman year of college. His nose twitched in annoyance as he recalled the parties, more specifically Denki Kaminari’s birthday party, where he had gotten so drunk that the walls melted and bent before him. Katsuki’s expression changed however, as he swiped through the collection of photos to stumble across an image of you and him. Have you always worn dresses that tight? You practically had your ass out from how short your garment had been cut, tits threatening to spill out of your low hanging neckline. Not only that, but Katsuki had an arm slung around your shoulder. His smile was stretched wide due in part to the alcohol in his system, but also because you were standing next to him. You were laughing at something Mina had said behind the camera, your hand tossed against the slightly unbuttoned shirt Katsuki had worn that night. Your fingers had brushed against his toned chest and he scoffed at the thought. Slowly but surely, memories of that party flooded back to Katsuki in waves.

They were mostly recounts from Kirishima and Mina, but apparently you two had made out in front of everyone that night. He swiped left again, swallowing dryly as he saw just that. Your manicured fingers were wrapped tight around his party shirt, tongues in a deadly dance of want and desperation for each other. Katsuki’s eyes grew as he noticed that the photo hadn’t cut out the part where he had been kneading your ass through that skimpy dress of yours. Immediately, Katsuki went to Mina’s dms demanding to take down the photo. And she did, thank god, but not without sending Katsuki more than ten photos of you and him making out at the party. He clenched his jaw, anger and a low desire plaguing his conscience. Glancing to the top left corner of his phone, he noted the time. 4:10pm.

He had time.

Saving the photos to his gallery, he pushed his chair away from his desk to have some fucking breathing room. His eyes flitted down to his sweats and as he expected, there was a tent forming. He groaned, wiping the sweat from his palms off on his pant leg before languidly beginning to palm himself through his clothes. His breaths quickened, chest stuttering as he looked to his phone displaying the photos of you and him. There’s a faint recollection in the back of his head of how you taste. Like cherries from your glossy lips, like vodka from the shots you took off of Denki earlier that evening, how you moaned into his mouth the night you had drunkenly kissed.

Katsuki tugged the waistband of his sweats down, allowing his previously constrained cock to breathe. It slapped against his stomach, heavy and leaking. Shit, he didn’t remember being this horny at the beginning of this. Spitting into his palm, he lubed up his dick as best as he could on short notice. His eyelids drooped as he swiped through the pictures like a filmstrip, a montage of all the best moments he had with you at that party. You grinding on his lap, you whispering dirty ideas you wanted to do with him later, you, you, you…

Katsuki squeezed his aching shaft, fisting his cock as precum dribbled down his slippery head. His face was an uncanny shade of crimson, a testament to how horny he was all for a few old pictures of the two of you. “Y/n.” He swore he barely recognized his voice from how breathless and needy it was. He continued to pump his cock, the only thoughts replaying in his mind were perverted fantasies of you bouncing on his dick hard enough to hear the slap of your ass cheeks against his abs.

Tapping the screen of his phone twice to zoom in, he admired your curves with pursed lips. Fuck, you really were gorgeous. Everything about you radiated a sinful nature he could never put his tongue on. You were tempting him, licking flames up his body with such intensity that made him shiver. He cursed, thumb drifting over his slit as he hissed. Fuck you for being as ravishing as you were that night, fuck you for making him feel so goddamn needy for your-

“Bakugou, I was about to text you but I remembered you were studying today, so I figured it would be okay if I came a bit...” your words trailed off. You blinked rapidly in an attempt to process the scene unfolding before you. Katsuki Bakugou, holding his dick in his hand, face on fire with a deep blush, his other free hand secure around his phone with- was that a picture of you from your freshman year of college? There was a beat of silence, Katsuki’s uneven breathing the only sound in the room aside from the low drawl of the ceiling fan over both of your heads. You gaped at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips upon realizing his hand hadn’t stopped moving. If anything, you saw his hand flex around his cock, further tightening his grip as you stood right in front of him.

“What the fuck-”

“What?” he beat you to the punch, his lips twitching into a devilish smile, “Don’t like what you see?” His confidence knocked the air out of you, your bewildered attitude showing true on your features. Your body feels warm, searing beneath his gaze. “Excuse me?” you squeaked out, overcome with both curiosity and a hint of lust for the ash blond.

“Are you gonna fucking help me or not?” His pride was refusing him to be flustered, not when he was this feverish for you. He needed the upper hand, he needed control over this situation. And it seemed by how you were shifting your weight from side to side, that it was happening just as he wanted. Who were you to refuse such an offer from Katsuki Bakugou?

And that’s how you ended up here, nestled between thick, muscled thighs with your hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. He had you spit over his dick, his entire shaft gleaming in all its glory as it stood to attention in your grasp. The flash of his camera burned your eyes as you suckled on his crown, hand continuously jerking his cock while he ravenously watched you through the screen. The guttural groan that escaped him was nothing short of music to your ears, your thighs tensing as the coils of heat continued to build and knot between your legs.

“Mm. Keep going like that, take it. All the way in now, like a good little slut,” Katsuki instructed, his voice slicing through the heavy atmosphere of desire. The words make you whimper, enveloping his sensitive head in vibrations while you lick around his slit. A large hand cupped your face, forcing you to make eye contact with the ash blond behind the camera. His black tank top truly had no confines over him, since it was tight enough to see the outlines of his pecs and ripped torso. Katsuki sure worked hard to maintain his appearance, but you knew he had the strength to back those muscles up. The thought of him completely dominating you, holding you with strong arms and pinning you down with his body made your pussy even more wet with your slick than it already was. Even from how you were on your knees, Katsuki possessed an unspoken will over you. You wanted to please him, make him feel good, make him have no good reason not to give you everything he had to offer.

You took your lips off of his head with a little ‘pop’, eyes wide and expectant as a string of drool connected your bottom lip to the tip of his cock. Bakugou’s smile grew, making sure your face was completely in frame and in focus. “Dirty girl,” he hummed, thumb tracing the apple of your cheek before guiding your lips toward his twitching cock. You slowly kissed the vein on the side of it, mumbling out four words:

“Your dirty girl, daddy.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Katsuki let out a low, gravelly moan. It was as if a switch inside him had flipped. Without warning, he’s pulling you off the floor and sitting you down in his desk chair instead. He’s a bit rough, his vision clouded by the sheer want to fuck you until you were screaming his name, until his name was the only word your pretty little brain could recall. He abandoned his phone and instead had his hands drop to the armrests of his desk chair, encasing your body as he towered over you. Your skirt was immediately shucked up your waist and Katsuki’s hands went to work on your panties. He ripped them off completely, tossing them aside without a care as to where they went. He gazed down at you with fervour, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping cunt.

“Who’s pussy is this?” he coaxes with a grin, teeth shining. His hand slipped between your thighs, his index and middle finger tracing up and down your slit. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your thighs instinctively closing around his hand. Your face bloomed with warmth, eyes darting away from his cocky demeanour, “Baku—”

Your body jolted as a firm smack was delivered to your sensitive pussy, a wet, lewd sound meeting your ears as he did. It made a high pitched, whiny moan be pulled out from your throat.

Fuck.

“Try again,” he ordered, tone demanding and almost condescending. His lips ghosted yours yet he never had any intention of moving close enough to seal the gap between the two of you. You whimpered, eyes meeting the dark red irises that were staring straight through you.

“‘S yours, daddy.”

“Now that’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

His lips found yours, teeth tugging at your bottom lip hard enough to make the warmth in your stomach double. The liquid heat had been building ever since you walked in, and you were fairly certain that you weren’t going to last much longer.

He hooked your knees over his elbows, biceps flexing as the muscles in his arms supported your full weight. He picked you up with such ease, your arms flying around his neck as you squeal, gasping at how little effort that took him. He was a pro-hero in training, of course he had practiced lifting people up no matter their body type or size. Either way, it didn’t matter to him. He thought you looked rather angelic clinging onto him regardless. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat with his hands spreading your cheeks, grunting as he adjusted you in his arms. He slid slowly into your slick cunt inch by suffocating inch, your walls fluttering and enclosing around his throbbing cock. Katsuki’s breathing was unsteady, eyes watching your expression intently in hopes that this new position would give you as much pleasure as it was giving him. His ego was running rapant from how you were holding onto him for dear life. You were practically shaking in his grasp, mouth open in an ‘o’ shape as all you could do was gape at how deep he reaches within you. You were keening, eyes hazed with lust and nails digging crescents into his shoulder blades hard enough to make him hiss.

When you finally catch your breath and adjust to his size, you give him a curt nod as an indication for him to start moving. Slowly, he lifted you up off his cock until his head kissed your entrance before allowing gravity to do most of the work. This position had his cock nudging your cervix and it made the knot in the pit of your stomach squeeze further, threatening to snap with every loud smack of his balls echoing through his dorm room. He pistoned into you like that, reaching deeper to rearrange your insides. It was like your entire body was being engulfed with pleasure and fire. He took in your face, how it scrunched in pleasure, hair sticking to your face as you mumble out how much you want to cum, how much you need to cum.

“Fuckin’ tight just for daddy, hah?” he cooed to you, “You wanna cum all over my cock like a little slut? You were watching me from the door jerking off for you. Dirty fuckin’ girl. Who’s making you feel good? Say it. Spit it out.”

“You!” you moaned, your head feeling light from the way the veins on the side of his cock rubbed your walls, “You, daddy. Please let me cum. I w- wanna cum!”

“I can’t hear you,” Katsuki rumbled, eyes steeled before you unmoving and unwilling to give you permission just yet. “Please!” you begged, “I’m a dirty girl. I’m your dirty girl, daddy! Please let me cum!” You were too engrossed in your pleasure to have any semblance of shame. Katsuki grinned. That’s what he wanted to hear. He let out a tiny ‘tch’ before uttering out, “Then cum, slut.”

Without another word, you let out a final wanton moan, gushing around him as the liquid heat finally expels from your body. Your orgasm hits you in waves, your body quivering with each new sensation as you hold Katsuki’s cock within your cunt. Your nails leave angry red marks along Katsuki’s shoulders, ultimately sending him hurtling towards his own release.

Cum dripped down his twitching cock, your chest heaving as your legs feel like jelly. Tingles shot down your spine as Katsuki pumped rope after rope of his sticky cum well enough to paint your inner walls white. He helped you ride out your high, delivering harsh bitemarks to your neck to leave a mural of hickeys claiming you as his. The smile he gives you is cocky, prideful, and arrogant. He placed you back down on his desk chair, your thighs still going through the aftershocks of your high. Reaching for his phone, he tapped the app icon for his camera. He knelt down, chuckling as your fingers slid between your legs to spread your lower lips for him. His cum seeped out past your slit, leaking down to your puckered asshole.

“There we go. Aren’t you daddy’s good girl, hm?”

Tiredly, you nodded.

“‘M daddy’s good girl.”

all works © eijishimas 2021. do not reuse, modify, or repost.

tags:

@lonleyweeb77 @cynthus-no @lonelyheart-cluband @smhhyung @stoopidnekobish @kiridarling @kirislilrock @baku-deku1 @hajisuu @damnitcrowley @foruthemoon @peaxhcringe @justanotheruselessextra @izukuuarchive @katsuki-kitten @shokoarashi sorry i couldn’t tag all of you!

want to be on the taglist? see here.

[hotwings0203]

I love the angst from the fighter!Bakugo scenarios... but sometimes i need a little softness to even out the angst, so what if he catches on when y/n's spirit starts to break (i mean since he kills people in the ring, he's seen that spark of life go out in many people's eyes) and he gets scared, or finds his own ways of easing up on her?

Awww well this is a cute change of pace🥺🥺

When Bakugo approaches you hesistantly, fingers fiddling with each other and head bowed, you’re sure someone has died.

Apart from your own soul.

Bakugo doesn’t get nervous, he isn’t hesitant about anything. He’s a man of action, a man of act now and think later.

He’s never come forth so unsurely, one foot in front of the other and then stepping back as if retracing his steps. His gaze which is usually so intensely trained on your eyes and roaming over your body is now glued to the floor as if the lottery numbers were written on it.

“‘Suki…?” You can’t help but utter. Your broken spirit which was previously in a state of grey is now overcome with colors of curiosity and cursed concern. What’s he so cautious about?

“Y/N. You, uh…take a bath.” He grunts like a caveman and immediately cringes when you visibly recoil.

He stumbles over himself to correct the mishap and finally looks at you in panic, seizing the deafens of the comforters you sit on.

“Wait! Wait, that’s not what I meant.”

Your eyebrows scrunch and your lip curls in indignation. You didn’t think you smelled that bad, and even if you did it was because he never let you do anything anymore without begging.

Katsuki takes a deep breath. “Look, I-I just…I want to make you happy. You’re not you anymore.” He mumbled and studies his toes.

Yeah, you wonder why.

He takes your silence as encouragement to see this through and pull you out of your unresponsive state.

“I want you to-actually, can you please take a bath with me?”

Baths with him usually included a harsh fucking and an even more severe beating if you didn’t want to fuck. It’s natural that you mirror his uncertainty and curl into yourself even more.

But he’s not known to back down, in the ring and in his own house. Instead, he slowly raises both his palms to show no harm and walks on his knees towards you, a good two feet away to ensure your comfort.

He knows he fucked up. It’s unfortunate he’s just now realizing it when you respond to virtually nothing but it’s better late than never, in his warped opinion.

“If you start to feel uncomfortable in there, I’ll stop touching you. And if you still want to bail, I’ll let you out any time. I want you to, uh, be happy with me. That’s all.” He finishes lamely and winces at his lack of eloquence.

But amazingly, miraculously, you nod your head a little. You look so cute with your lashes lowered and your lip bitten in his acknowledgment of change, and he wants to eat you up right there.

He doesn’t though. His fingers twitch and his mouth waters, but he loves you too much to carry on like this anymore.

Bakugo doesn’t think he can stand looking at your face of fear and avoidance for one more day. He wants you, needs you back.

The mattress lifts up when his weight disappeared from it and transfers from foot to foot on the hard floor, his large hand outstretched to take yours.

You grant it to him, and he slowly encloses his fist around it, careful not to press too hard and irritate the old bruises.

He lets you take your time getting off of the bed, your sockets audibly popping and whirring as you move off the place you’ve been bedridden for almost weeks now. He takes your other hand gently and hobbles at a snails pace towards the bathroom.

You see the effort. Usually he takes in long strides and huffs impatiently when he can’t go at his own speed, but now he lets you set the pace.

One foot at a time. Left, right, left, right.

Eventually he sets you down on the bathtub edge and lets you observe the soft lavender color.

It smells like vanilla and the rest of your favorite scents, almost like he put a little too much of everything in hopes that you’d like it all.

But it’s nice. You won’t complain.

Little pink petals are dusted across the white froth and a sort of daze comes over you.

Your mind starts to soften like mush and your limbs begin melting in his grasp. Katsuki is having a premonition of his own, and almost in sync with yours he tightens his grip ever so slightly on your arms as your body begins to sway.

“You’re good. I got you.” He mutters and stroked the top of your head. You looked up at him blankly as he dips his fingers in the water and tests the temperature out for you.

Deeming it to be up to your standards, he reaches out towards the hem of your shirt and then stops suddenly.

“Can I, uh,” he clears his throat, “undress you?”

In response, your arms move slightly above your head, and he lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Your shirt rides up your body, and with a quick glance for confirmation at you your bra, panties and shorts come off as well.

Katsuki’s penis is erect but he wills it at a standstill, your love more important than his hormones.

But fuck, there’s moments when you’re slowly sliding in the tub with his guidance that your soft breasts brush against his hands, your ass glides across his dick when you sit with your back against his chest and he wants nothing more than to shove your head underwater and to fuck you like the cheap, teasing whore you are.

Which is what the past Katsuki might’ve said. But strangely enough, when all that goes through his head his dick deflates a little to his utter astonishment.

It looks like he really is just craving your attention and love more than your beautiful body, his physicality a testament to his real desires.

When you both sink into the warm water, a unison groan can be heard from the two of you, and it causes you to giggle.

The sound is so sweet and so much like you that he actually feels like his heart is swelling. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in seemingly years, like an old cut being reopened to release the sweet taste of ichor pouring from its bittersweet wound.

If he’s ever doubted his love for you, he’s sure as hell of it now.

You complete him.

You always will.

And when he’s pouring little handfuls of water over your torso that don’t clean as much as merely soothe your dozed off being, that love kept away in the confines of his fists and head unravel and spread across as a buzz to his heart and mouth in forms of cooes and quiet nonsense that means nothing to anyone else but you two.

And with his hands being the cause of a lovely flush for once instead of gruesome black and blues, with his mouth next to your ear telling you that he’s nothing without you instead of the usual sneers and insults , with his strong thighs locked around your side to protect rather than crush you, the resentment kept within your tears resurface and fall away, forgiving but not forgetting.

When your eyes get heavier and your breathing slows almost to a still, you can feel his chest start to shake behind you.

It lulls you further.

His sniffles and choked breaths lay a velvet blanket over your aching heart and his, tying the string that binds you both together tighter. Your hand distantly comes up and embeds itself in his scalp, fingers softly raking through his spiky hair.

He gasps for breath and buries his face into the crook of your drenched shoulder.

You can’t tell whose weaker-him or you.

You’ll suffice for the both of you for now though, granting him reprieve even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve you.

In his arms, you are not asleep right now.

But you can barely open your eyes.

[whattheheckmidoriya]

Quiet Chapter 4: Migraines

Description: Your first class with 1-A didn’t go as planned and the work never seems to end.

Pairing: Aizawa Shota x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of a migraine and painkillers (please let me know if there are more!)

Word Count: 3,453

Masterlist

<previous * next>

*

Your senses came alive as streams of chatter seeped into your ears, causing your eyes to snap up to the entrance to Ground Beta.

A wave of anticipation crashed over you as, one by one, class 1-A came running into the training grounds donning their new costumes. You smiled at their excitement, a sense of pride coming over you as you caught the glimmer of confidence that sparkled in their eyes. All Might looked down at you, his ever-present smile, making the corners of your lips turn slightly. "Today is a big day, Beholder! Ready to show these kids what it takes to be a pro?"

You huffed a breath of laughter at his enthusiasm. Watching the kids running towards you in their costumes, you couldn't help but smile widely in response.

"Yeah," you breathed. "Don't go scaring them off, though, okay? We have to make sure we still have a class to teach after this." All Might raised his hands in feigned surrender as you playfully elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ah, but fear is part of the job- don't you think, old friend? It's during these fearsome moments that the true nature of a hero shines through!" His voice rang out in your ears as your eyes went over the young faces of class 1-A. So much excitement. So much determination. So much power. So much anxiety.

He's right.

What is it to be a hero if not putting the lives of others over your fears?

These kids are so young; so green. Whatever adrenaline they have burning in their veins right now is nothing compared to what they'll face in the real world.

All you can do is be there for them. Help them on this dangerous path until they meet the day they won't have to look back for your help anymore. You'll make sure they become the best heroes this damn world has ever seen.

A sigh flew past your lips as you picked up your shoulders, quirking an eyebrow at the Symbol of Peace. He smiled at the look of determination that flashed behind your glasses.

"Let's give them a little scare, then."

*

"Call them off, All Might!" Bolting through the hallways inside of the training building, your ears rang with the distant sounds of yells and explosions. You could hear the walls cracking under the pressure of the powers unleashed by your students.

They're going to kill themselves.

No answer from All Might through your earpiece. You cursed wildly as your feet pounded over the floors, your nose burning as it caught onto the smell of burnt sugar.

Nitroglycerin.

Shit.

"All Might!" Your voice echoed through the hallway, your boots skidding over the floors as you pushed yourself into a sharp turn, racing closer to the explosions that shook the building. "What are you waiting for?!"

Another explosion rocked the building, making you stumble before sending your body crashing onto the cracked floors.

You could hear them more clearly now.

The hatred. The anger. The resentment. The determination. The hope. The overcoming.

"Are you ignoring me again? I'll get your attention,"

A chill shot through your spine as you scattered back to your feet, taking another turn as you followed the sound of his voice with something akin to fear burning your veins.

Bakugo.

People aren't born equal in this world. Quirks are a testament to that-- no two are exactly alike and not all are lucky enough to have one. But a quirk by itself is nothing, it's the person behind the quirk who gives it power-- who molds it into something more than a simple ability.

A quirk is only as dangerous as its wielder.

"Bakugo," All Might's voice boomed through every speaker in the building, only soothing your nerves just a fraction as you continued racing down towards your students. "Use that stored-up power again and I'll stop this fight. Your team will lose."

A part of you scoffed inwardly. This wasn't about the training exercise anymore in Bakugo's eyes; you knew this. The brash words that spilled from his mouth were enough to tell you that much. This was different. This was personal.

Finally rounding a corner, you were met with the sight of the two boys in the middle of a half-destroyed room, your senses quickly assessing the situation. The room had fallen victim to Bakugo's blasts, light streaming in from the gaping hole in the wall just behind Midoriya, rubble scattered over the floor. Smoke and dust swirled in the air, stinging your lungs as you gasped at the sight before you.

Bakugo glared at the ceiling with a scowl etched onto his face. "Huh?!"

All Might's voice once again filled the air. "To employ such a strong attack indoors is inviting the destruction of the stronghold you should be protecting. That's a poor strategy to apply whether you're a hero or a villain. The penalty would be a massive loss of points."

Bakugo's muscles twitched as the hero's words sank in, the fire in his eyes burning with more intensity now than before. A growl pushed past his gritted teeth, quickly followed by a yell of rage.

"All Might," your voice bit into the earpiece, your anger and frustration mixed with concern falling into your friend's apparent deaf ears. "Call them off."

You could step in-- you should step in-- but this is All Might's lesson for the class, you can't disregard his authority over this initial training session. To act without his greenlight would be against everything you agreed upon when accepting this job. You'd be disrespecting your friend's judgment if you stepped in.

Your jaw ticked as you watched from behind them. You better know what you're doing, All Might.

"The pillar by the window-- get there now!" Midoriya quickly commanded through his earpiece as Bakugo's hands crackled with bright sparks.

Before anyone could react, the blond shot himself forward with an explosion, the heat of it warming your skin as you turned your eyes away from the sudden flash of light. Blinking back into the scene, your legs shook with adrenaline as a yell ripped through Bakugo's throat as he went on the offensive.

The fight escalated at concerning rates as the seconds ticked by, a pit of dread settling at the bottom of your stomach as you watched it all unravel before your eyes. Bakugo's words are as explosive as his quirk, only confirming your initial conclusion: this was personal to him.

Which is what worried you the most.

Midoriya crawled away from Bakugo, getting himself backed into the wall as to put some distance between him and his opponent.

"All Might, please--"

"I must let it continue, Beholder," All Might's voice seeped into your ears, weight by the same concern that tightened itself around your chest. "For his sake, I have to let them go on."

You bit your tongue, clenching your jaw in an attempt to hold back the angered words that burned in your throat. What is this strain between Midoriya and Bakugo? The ferocity of it is unlike anything you've witnessed before. An enormous part of you wished to call the battle off yourself and save the kids from whatever could happen next. But you had to trust All Might. You had to trust that he had a reason behind allowing for this to continue unraveling.

"Come at me!"

And then you felt it.

The tight pull of air. The quick surge of power that hung over your heads. The push of a force invisible to you.

The hairs on your arms stood, eyes widening as your feet shot forward. Your senses tingled at the stimuli that surrounded the air around you.

"Midoriya, wait—!" Your words were cut off as the boy swung a fist towards his opponent, redirecting the hit at the very last second as he brought his arm up to the ceiling.

The building trembled as the blast broke through the ceiling, nearly collapsing the entire level with a single shot of pressurized air. Shards of glass rained over your bodies as rubble crumbled to the floors around you. You winced at the ringing in your ears, the shift in air pressure shooting a bolt of pain through your skull.

Gaping at the scene before you, you only had enough time to shoot yourself forward and slide down to your knees in time to catch Midoriya before his limp body crumpled to the ground. A ragged breath pushed past your lips as you cradled his head protectively, eyes softening at the sight of the boy's broken and bruised arm.

All Might's voice boomed through the remainder of the building, announcing the end of the first battle. A victory for the heroes.

The air was thick, full of unspoken tension that hung over your heads like a knife ready to drop. Your eyes settled on Midoriya, clicking your tongue at the sight of the pained furrow of his brow. Then your eyes traveled up to Bakugo, your heart dropping heavily at the fire in his crimson eyes.

His muscles twitched, his hands shaking as his lungs struggled to release the breath that had lodged itself in his throat. Flashes of fear and hatred burned in his gaze, his jaw ticking as if he were stuck in his mind.

"Bakugo, are you okay? Are you hurt?" His hands clenched into fists by his sides, his arms shaking with something similar to anxiety. "Hey, kid, are you—?" Your voice dropped in concern as the boy stiffly looked down at his fallen opponent. Hot flashes of fury burned in his eyes along with something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

It wasn't long until the assistant droids took Midoriya from you and escorted him to Recovery Girl's office, All Might now joining you and Bakugo in the middle of the war zone.

With ringing ears, your senses tingled as they surveyed what survived of your surroundings. The room wreaked of nitroglycerin and ash, smoke swirling thickly through the air as it rose from the rubble that littered the once pristine floors. Scorch marks painted the walls around you, a masterpiece of chaos and danger. The gaping hole in the wall allowed for sunlight to spill into the room, bathing it in a delicate glow that contrasted heavily with the brokenness of your surroundings.

Your jaw ticked, brows furrowing as you pushed yourself off of the ground tiredly.

You paid no mind to the words All Might tried to encourage Bakugo with. Instead, as the boy fell silent with the lowering of his head, you came to understand something.

The kid didn't need praise or encouragement— at least not now. He knew he was capable of anything he set his mind to. He needed a reality check. A lesson on how to pick and choose his battles.

A breath pushed past your lips, your shoulders dropping in exhaustion as you pinched the bridge of your nose. Bakugo turned to leave without a word, leaving you in the company of your friend.  "That kid," You slid your glasses further up your nose. "I'm worried about him."

*

A killer migraine was pounding at your skull by the end of the school day, and all you wished for was some quiet.

Midoriya was by your side, walking back to 1-A's classroom with a tired look in his eyes. You had gone to the infirmary to check up on the boy, a smile of relief settling on your lips at the sight of the boy sitting by the edge of his bed as Recovery Girl finished bandaging his arm. The boy accepted quite excitedly when you offered to escort him back to his classroom. Hopefully, his friends would be able to brighten his spirits.

"You're still a newbie with your quirk," your voice was low, soft, and meant for his ears only. "Aren't you, Midoriya?"

He choked on a breath, his eyes wide with panic. "I-I, uh, my body still doesn't know how to react to the power! It's—" Clamping his mouth shut, he looked at you with worry as you settled a comforting hand over his shoulder.

"Don't worry, kid," you chuckled. "I know of your little secret." Squeezing his shoulder reassuringly, you offered a smile. "And it's safe with me, okay?"

Relief washed over his features, a smile of his own adorning his face.

God, after what you saw today, it's hard to remember they're just kids.

"Thank you," Midoriya looked up at you with admiration and respect twinkling in his eyes. "I promise I'll do everything I can to control this power! I'll become a hero you and All Might can be proud of!"

A breath of amusement pulled from your lungs, your smile widening. You took the liberty of ruffling the boy's green hair, getting a soft laugh out of him.

"You're still green, Midoriya, still new to your power and what comes with it," you sighed, though you couldn't deny the sense of pride that grew near your heart. "But you've got a brilliant mind and a big heart on you. I have no doubt that you'll become a fine hero with time."

At that, the boy smiled. Determination flashed in his eyes; yours, with hope.

It didn't take long for you both to reach the door to 1-A's classroom, where Midoriya deeply thanked you for your company. Once the door closed behind him, you sighed, wincing as your migraine came to the front of your skull at full force. Against your better judgment, you concentrated on the ever-present buzzing of your senses, increasing the pounding on your head as you allowed yourself to listen.

School chatter and gossip.

Rhythmic footsteps falling over tiled floors.

Soft humming from the air conditioning systems.

Your senses mapped out every inch of the building. They buzzed at any sign of activity they could reach out to. You gritted your teeth in concentration.

At last, your shoulders sagged in exhaustion as you found what you were looking for. A tired smile reached your lips.

The teachers' lounge was empty.

*

A shot of pressure pounded behind your skull as you collapsed on the couch on the teachers' lounge. Squeezing your eyes shut, you ripped off your sunglasses, your fingers massaging your temples in an attempt to alleviate the incoming migraine your head was nursing.

Kids are exhausting.

Thankfully, All Might had decided to take care of the paperwork for the day, giving you the heaven-sent opportunity to release the tension that hung from your muscles.

The soft twist of the door nob caught your attention, but not enough for you to crack your eyes open. Quiet footsteps soon followed along with the other side of the couch dipping slightly under someone else's weight.

"I take it you had a rough day?"

A smile reached the corners of your lips as you huffed a breath, your brows quickly pulling together at the shot of pain that ran through your skull.

"Just taught my first class, and two students almost killed each other," you grunted. "So I'd say rough is a bit of an understatement."

Tiredly opening your eyes, your gaze traveled to meet that of the erasure hero. You smiled.

"I see you're still wearing my scrunchie." A low chuckle shook your chest with delight as his sore eyes widened a fraction, his fingers instinctively reaching for the hair tie.

"I meant to give it back this morning, but you were already in class when I sought you out." His fingers worked to loosen the tie from his hair, but you waved a dismissive hand at him, earning a questioning raise of his brow.

You smiled tiredly at the hero. "Keep it."

Aizawa tilted his head at you, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. "What?"

You snickered at his confusion. "Keep it," Turning your head in his direction, you gave a short, reassuring nod. "I trust you'll keep it safe— I barely use it anyway. Maybe you'll put it to good use."

A few beats passed, his eyes lingering on your own before his fingers uncurled from around the hair tie. "Thank you." He mumbled softly, prompting another nod from you.

"No problem," you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut with a wince. "It looks better on you anyway."

Comfortable silence filled the air, and you couldn't help but let your body sink further into the couch as a newfound wave of comfort washed over you. Even with the back of your skull pounding mercilessly, your short interaction with the erasure hero had managed to loosen some of the tension that stiffened your muscles heavily.

"Are you running away from the noise outside, too?" you breathed, running a tired hand over your eyes.

"It's usually quiet in here at this time of day," Aizawa replied lowly, keeping his voice as soft and quiet as possible as he took note of the uncomfortable furrow of your brow. "I mostly come to catch up on some sleep if I have the chance to."

Your eyes met his slowly, a smile gracing your lips. "Don't let me get in the way of your naptime, Aizawa, I think it's safe to say we might be the only ones here for a bit."

He tilts his head at you. "How do you know?"

A snicker clicks at your tongue before you offer an answer. "The other teachers are still cleaning up their classrooms." When his eyes flashed in questioning, you let your own flutter before closing them again. "I can hear them."

"All of them?"

You nodded slowly, further sinking into the cushions. "All of them. All the time."

Suddenly, something gently thudded on the surface of the small coffee table in front of you. Peaking through one of your eyes, you caught sight of what looked like a pill bottle.

"What are those?" Your voice came softly, laced with curiosity.

Mimicking your positioning, Aizawa let his back sink into the cushions. "Painkillers," He turned to look at you through dark lashes. "You seem to need them more than I do."

You stared at the bottle for a few seconds, a lazy, tired smile slowly reaching your lips as you tilted your head toward Aizawa. "Are you sure we're not friends? Because this seems really friendly of you—"

"Don't push your luck," He huffed, a flash of amusement glimmering in his eyes. "Just don't need our new combat teacher getting taken out by a migraine."

You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes as you caught sight of the slight curl of his lips. "We will be friends, Aizawa," you breathed as you grabbed the pill bottle, popping it open and tossing two pills into your mouth. "Mark my words."

He hummed softly, giving a short nod of his head before sheltering the bottom half of his face behind his scarf. "Maybe someday."

"Soon?"

"Possibly."

"We'll be great friends," A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a glint of hope and sincerity twinkling in your eyes. "I know we will."

"You sound so sure," Aizawa noted, the ghostly remnants of a smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

You shrugged. "Only because you don't seem to deny any of it."

His dark eyes narrowed as you sent him a knowing look, which got a low scoff from him. You came to realize that he had a look. A way of meeting your eyes that said far more than his words were capable of. It wasn't too different from how he usually looked-- it was a subtle flash in those tired, dark eyes of his. The slight softening of his usually sharp gaze. The barely noticeable slip of his deadpan stare that melted into something kinder for just a second.

His eyes are beautiful, you smiled.  

Just as you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, your phone went off. A colorful string of curses slipped past your lips as you grumbled angrily, patting your pockets until you fished out your phone. You flashed Aizawa an apologetic look, to which he responded with a short nod.

Pushing yourself off the couch and out of the teachers' lounge, you pressed the phone to your ear. "What do you have for me, Tsukauchi?"

"I see you're ready for business, Beholder," he chuckled through the line. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

You pulled your brows together. "You have a lead or something?"

"Or something." A few beats passed before he continued, "We may just be going off of a hunch right now, but no one can do a recon mission like you. So, are you free tomorrow night?"

"Give me a time and place, Tsukauchi. I'll be there."

And with that, you hung up the phone

🏷 Quiet taglist:

@onebigfangirl @dreamyyghost @could-be-gayer21

[terrence-silver]

Okay but how about Terry in different eras with a Jealous!beloved . They at a gala he hosted and he's mingling with the guests, keeping everything going and suddenly beloved drags him out into some secluded place and shoves him onto the wall. She's mad at all the girls that's been flinging their selves at him all night.

Your work is awesome !!

― This could be...Twig's...or rather Terry's, first major social engagement post-war. Maybe even a homecoming celebration involving lavish, important guests from his parent's own chosen circle and Terry is both oddly flustered and surprised at how much attention he's getting from people seeing as how he hasn't exactly got it before, especially not in a positive light, and being equally in his element over it precisely because it is a testament that he will one day, not today, not tomorrow, but soon perhaps, grow into his power and his own authority and maybe overcome all his failures stemming from Vietnam (he hopes, most profusely, that this is the beginning of a normal life and a fresh chapter for him) as he clings unto beloved's arm like a beaming, eager, happy puppy, even more so when it is beloved showcasing their own jealousy towards him when it was usually the other way around so far. He? He being the subject of jealousy? Of fearfulness? Of protective feelings? Of desire and someone's want? He shouldn't like it, but my god, does he ever, to the point it is addicting and he wants more and more. Once he's shoved into a wall by beloved in some private hallway somewhere, away from prying eyes, he can't help but flutter his lashes suggestively and smile a little too broadly for comfort.

― Terry Silver in the 80's would undoubtedly shamelessly provoke beloved on purpose, easing himself into his infamous and reclusive Billionaire playboy image. He'd gleefully egg on individuals hitting on him and acting flirtatious with him. He'd tactically encourage their advances and interest in him through small-talk, body language, schmoozing and smiles. If need be, even though it isn't required because people naturally gravitate him all on their own because he is impossible to ignore in any room he enters, but if push came to shove, yes, he'd specifically instruct certain old friends to come unto him and make beloved jealous for him precisely so he could have them snapping and showing him their ire and resentment and all those bad emotions he wants to see and enjoy, because they too belong to him, harvested like a fine golden Fabergé egg for his pleasure. He wants to corrupt them into envy. By the end of the evening, he allows himself to be pushed into a wall (maybe even goads beloved into slapping him --- daring them to do it and show him some teeth) and he laughs and laughs because it is all very wickedly funny to him and kind of a game at the end of the day. Half of that gala hears the odd grunting sounds coming from somewhere in the hallway as beloved and Terry fuck hard.

― Old man Terry is confident, but old --- one doesn't cancel out the other and one can coexist with the other but thing is in some mean, petty, dark, malicious way, old man Terry likes to remind beloved that he's still very much wanted and desired if that wasn't blatantly obvious and in the off chance he feels threatened in certain ways, because if beloved saw themselves through his eyes, they'd understand how he views them and furthermore, how everyone else does as well. They're young and beautiful and they are looked at more than they know and can even care to comprehend, but Terry notices, because he notices everything and maybe while he's there, say, socializing with Amanda to charm her and get her to lash out at Daniel at home and drive a wedge between the Larusso's marriage, he gets to kill two birds with one stone when he induces jealousy in beloved onlooking as well. He could, if he wanted to, pull a mature, experienced, successful businesswoman who's married and has three children, no less, but that's not what he wants. What he wants is the passion of beloved's reaction when they lounge at him and he responds with a resounding, mocking "Whoo!' as he again, allows his back pushed into a wall. Now they get to know how he feels all the time.

[formashimataichi]

As someone who follows your blog and admires your meta to the bone and also advocates the tchyrt nobody-gets-left-behind trio friendship together together agenda til my dying day, i honestly am looking forward to reading your reaction once the full final chapter is released 🥲🥲🥲🥲😭😭😭

It’s going to be a while before proper translations are out, but I think my main mindset with regards to the trio is this: I believe what Suetsugu has endeavored to do throughout the entire narrative is build a friendship between three people that can stand the tests of time, or distance, or rivalry, or whatever else obstacle can possibly come their way. In that sense, the ending is unexpected for me in the way it’s executed, but ultimately I believe it’s emblematic of the themes I always felt were most important for Suetsugu to espouse. From the beginning, she’s repeatedly emphasized, As long as we have karuta we'll see each other again, won't we? As long as we keep playing, we'll see each other again. To me, what’s being perceived by some readers as a devaluation of the trio’s friendship is in fact a testament to it. They’re by this point in time so completely secure in their relationships with each other that nothing can cow them or break them apart. The distance is no longer an intimidating obstacle to overcome—it’s a fact of life, but a bearable one, because karuta ultimately acts as their lifeline to each other. Regardless of whatever they’re doing in their individual lives, they will always come back to each other because karuta will bring them back together. That prior experience of urgency and desperation and dread is no longer there; they’re completely at peace with each other because they’re at peace with themselves. Solo matches are team matches, team matches are solo matches. You have to be able to trust the people around you to fight their own battles so you can fight your own battles, and vice versa. Suetsugu has done a really masterful job of building up this self-sufficiency and endurance in each of her characters while nonetheless maintaining a message that people need people in order to survive. It’s clear that she values community, but she also understands that it’s important to be sure of ourselves because that’s when we can be most appreciative of the community that exists around us and supports us. The fact that there’s still physical distance between the trio in the conclusion doesn’t at all feel like a source of concern to me. I was initially in the camp of readers who wanted for all three characters to go to college in Tokyo and be best friends forever who hung out every other day, utterly inseparable, but in retrospect, I think this ending is far more realistic and cathartic because it acknowledges the presence of distance but doesn’t bow down to it as an overseer. You can continue to maintain deep, important relationships with people even while you’re each leading your own lives that contain an entire world within them separate of those relationships. The relationships aren’t less important for that fact nor are they suddenly fragile.

Even the final conversation between the trio with regards to the romantic conclusion feels emblematic of that to me. The trio of old may have been threatened to break apart because of those warring emotions, but the trio of present is secure and liberated of antagonism so that they may fully, wholeheartedly enjoy the present. I don’t think it’s supposed to be a bad thing that Arata expresses he wants to be with Chihaya when he’s older. I don’t think it’s a bad thing that Taichi is with Chihaya after having come to terms with his own demons. I don’t think it’s a bad thing that this is how Chihaya feels now, but how she feels could also change. Youth comes many times. You can experience it many, many times, so make sure you work hard each of those times, okay? This is where each of them are at now. They’re comfortable with that. They’re young adults moving into a new world of trials and tribulations. They don’t have to dread the future the way they may have in years past. They can look to it with hope and comfort that the present shifts and changes, but so long as we put our best foot forward, it’s worth it to experience it to the fullest. Our experiences are not lesser for when we experience them—what’s important is how we experience them. Youth is impermanent, but it’s also beautiful, and we can value that. That’s what makes the ending really special to me.

[fishstyx]

featuring. college au!gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru

wc. 9.2k

genre. dark/taboo, smut, angst

tw. 18+ nsfw, non/dubcon, toxic/abusive relationships, manipulation, victim blaming, dry humping, penetration, masturbation, irresponsible practice of bdsm, hair pulling, mild exhibitionism, size kink (both 6’3”, gojo can lift you), implied corruption kink, degradation, creampie, intoxication/alcohol, incel behavior, misogyny, dacryphilia

synopsis.

“Parading around as my personal fucktoy get you that excited?” he starts with a smirk, wide eyes drinking up your sharp inhale as if it were his own, inspiring pinpricks of heat to rise to your cheeks.

He hooks the hem of your skirt with his thumbs when he’s met with silence, pulls you from the doorframe just far away that he can release the elastic with a snap, silent snigger on his lips when it elicits a small sound of surprise from you. You nod in response, frantic bob of your head drawing a low growl from his chest and a “that’s right, I know what’s best for my pet,” as he lifts you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.

notes. title inspo: love the way you lie (eminem, rihanna). you’re dating gojo, a charming, manipulative, self-entitled bastard. geto is, of course, his best friend, written as an aloof, self-righteous, bitter incel. please stay safe, read all the warnings, and enjoy. this is the most personal fic i have to offer. it draws from not-so-savory past relationships... i hope it remains the only testament to them. <3

links. broken toys. (sequel)

You were stunned into silence when he first suggested it.

And how couldn’t you be? Any sane person would, or at least should, have recoiled at the proposition. Isn’t that right?

But he makes it seem so harmless, so innocent, somehow. Like it’s no big deal, far from uncharacteristic for either of you—just a walk around campus, nothing new there. He tells you this like you’re overreacting, slow on the uptake, taking far too long to reach a final decision. The rational part of your mind says it’s out of the option. But the irrational part is louder, all-consuming, domineering.

The irrational part says, out of all your options, it’s the only viable one.

“Come on, babygirl. What’s the harm of trying it out once?”

It’s always this way, always has been. He takes your hands in his with a dramatic swell, the sparkle in his eyes big and bright and gleaming, and you bite back the urge to pull away. You would break your gaze if you could, if he didn’t look so determined, if that twinkling blue galaxy wasn’t sweltering with hope and adoration. But you can’t, and he does, and it just about swallows you whole. 

The fact of the matter is, Gojo Satoru wants to take you out on a leash today.

Never mind today; he wanted this yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that, never one to shy away from his desires as you deliberated the entire time. By now he’s asked you to do this one, single thing for him far more times than you can count—initially playing it off as a joke, slowly feeling you out, gradually seeing how far he could push and pull until you explicitly told him no.

Except it’s never just one, single thing with him, and you—with the way you dance around the topic, hoping to give him the illusion that you might give in, or perhaps yourself the illusion of control—you never say no.

A simple line of defense, yes. Even you agree with that. But its execution? Around Gojo, it seems anything but.

Geto would beg to differ.

Geto.

The only other person privy to your latest concerns. The only other person you can bear knowing. And he’d be disappointed if only he could see you now.

Who are you kidding? He’s already disappointed.

A vague outline was all you gave him. A vague outline, you knew, not-so-deep down in your heart, was all you dare tell him—or anyone at all, really.

Because, sure, you’ve adopted a rather experimental lifestyle around Gojo, but that was supposed to be private. Reserved for behind closed doors, you thought, until now.

You were right in that the brooding brunette didn’t need every last grueling detail of Gojo’s newest request. He’s his best friend; he’s seen you at every single step of your whirlwind relationship together. The fervid beginnings, when the two of you couldn’t be physically separated, let alone in different rooms from each other. The ups and the downs, each one more intense than the last, each one blowing up in your faces before you ran back into each other’s arms and kissed and made up. You knew that much.

What you didn’t foresee, however, even as you recounted your latest grievance to him, was that nothing you were saying was new. To Geto it was regurgitated rhetoric, distorted and distressed, yesterday’s news—whereas you saw it as a unique conquest, a new hurdle to overcome.

“It almost amazes me how you can come up with so many new ways to say the same old thing,” he said, slanted eyes dull with apathy as they panned away from yours. “Almost.”

You could only choke on your words in response.

What Geto told you next is now a hushed murmur in the back of your head. It reverberates against your skull, pinballing against the walls of all that empty space and showing no signs of slowing down. It tells you to just say the magic word and it’ll be over, every last bit of Gojo’s borderline demands, washing away all of that white noise if only you’d breathe some life into it. That one word, the one that plagues your mind night and day, it begins to materialize upon your lips, poised and ready to spring into action, flexing on the tip of your tongue as if it were a wind-up toy. 

Just say it already.

Just say no.

But you’re always holding your tongue around the both of them, together or alone, whether on the bony roof of your mouth or its flexible, fleshy floor, biting your words back for an eternity and more. Perhaps you were only faking yourself out, simply going through—no, barely feinting at the motions so you can come back to this chapter of your life and say that you tried. The moment passes, the pause your boyfriend gave at the sight of your mouth ajar long over, his words beginning to bleed into your reality once more.

And he’s saying, “I bought such a cute collar for you, too,” voice rising and falling with lovelorn disappointment. You can’t help but wince at his gentle timbre, all too painfully aware that such a small investment is far from the root of Gojo’s displeasure. You can hear it in his tone, too, how his carefree singsong runs steely as his thoughts begin to wander, settling on a resigned indifference.

So you wander, too. Tear your eyes from his in search of something, anything that might lend a reason to divert your gaze. Your fingers encircle white leather before you realize it, turning the thin strip over in absentminded idle, silver o-ring jingling in place. The metallic clank doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You should at least try it on before I return it, don’t you think?” 

And you can’t find it in your heart to disagree, stiff choker tightening around your neck as he fumbles with the clasp. You trace the sanded edges before latching a finger—two fingers—beneath the leather material. 

Perfect. 

Perfectly irritating. Irritatingly perfect. It sits in the center of your neck without slipping, just snug enough that you can still breathe easy, comfortable and almost disturbingly so. 

“Well?”

White lashes flutter idly as he considers your reflection as if studying it. And with the hint of a smile behind you, large hands on your waist in the mirror’s image, you start to think for the first time that the collar really is a pretty number, and a shame and a waste to throw away. 

Because he looks so pleased now, creased cheeks and crinkled eyelids as he smooths his palms over your hips, like maybe you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever held. Because instead of the pouting you’ve come to expect, the declarations that you’re “no fun,” or that you’re “overreacting,” or that you need to “relax” you’ve come to accept, he simply brushes your hair to the side and rests his cheek against yours, warm breath just about tickling your chin.

It begs the question.

“Will you love me more if I do this for you?”

And it sends his eyes into a frenzied state, hungry void for pupils swallowing crystal irises with unabating greed, all frisky lashes and overeager ridges. 

Ideally, he’d take your hands in his, tell you that that wasn’t his intention at all and beg for your forgiveness. Ideally, he’d hold you close, say that he loves you no matter what and promise to never push you this far again. You know all of these self-evident truths and more, yet you still can’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when he tells you, voice hushed in awe, triumph washing over you in spite of yourself:

“Of course I will.”

It’s different when you actually go through with it.

You try not to regret your decision immediately when you’re chained to Gojo’s hand in public, dog leash swinging in the wind as you round the campus loop. What a waste of a beautiful day for you to be hanging your head low, tips of your ears burning with shame. You don’t even believe that you’ve agreed to this yourself as you search the faces ahead of you for a trace of anyone you might know, pushing down the urge to cross your fingers behind your back.

But Gojo himself? He loves the lingering stares to tiny little pieces, practically basks in the attention as he pushes his sunglasses back so they rest above his hairline. Airy tufts of white spill over the tinted lenses, billowy strands coming to rest upon his forehead. When you think of it as your gorgeous boyfriend showing you off, it makes it all a little more bearable, has you standing up a little straighter. But your heart nearly stops every time you think you recognize the passerby, and eventually you dread the sight of absolutely anyone in the distance, for fear they will finally be a person who knows and calls you by name.

Gojo takes quick notice, realizes you hardly want to take another step in this undignified manner, and thinks to himself that there must be a better way to go about the arrangement.

His solution is to turn your walk of shame into a crawl of shame.

“On your fours,” he says, delighted when you actually crouch to the pavement, thankful for an excuse to hide your face. He ruffles your hair and slaps your hand away when you try to pull your skirt down, enamored by the way it rides up and reveals the lacy material below. You suppose it’s a trade-off you’ll just have to take, and in a confession that gets caught up your throat, you don’t wholly mind it: the pairs of eyes you can feel burning through you, though real or imagined you can’t be entirely sure. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were Gojo. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were you.

In the corner of your eye, you think you see someone sneaking a picture, but you don’t dare lift your head for a closer look. Instead you track the ground for rubble, hoping you’ll get away without scraping your knees, shaky line for a pair of lips as micro cuts come to crisscross your legs.

The rest of the walk is spent with you crawling the ground, light breeze tickling your backside, every part of you flaunted as if you’re Gojo’s most prized possession. You had better be, you think to yourself as you circle back to his building, and luckily enough, he’s about to make good on that expectation. 

Maybe it’s the collar around your neck, or maybe it’s the surge of relief you get from returning, but by the time you meet the first glass door, you’re aching for whatever Gojo’s planned next.

He’s moving on predatory instinct the second you’ve set foot in his apartment, flushed lips curling around your own as soon as he pulls you up from all fours. A hollow knock sounds behind you as your heels strike the door, lower lip traced with a wet warmth until you’re gracious enough to grant him full access. He easily cages you with his entire frame, pressing that cute pink muscle in your mouth flat before writhing his own to the rhythm of his heartbeat, booming and ricocheting and alive.

It’s not nearly enough for either of you, of course, his hands beginning to roam all over your pliable form, all over his property, skirting along your outline and creeping closer still to the innermost curves of your contour cutout. Flitting fingers brush against your navel, dancing lower as you suck your tummy in by reflex, stopping right before the tingling bundle of nerves that just might explode as soon as he touches them. 

But he takes pause instead, presses his forehead flush against yours, jewel colored eyes waiting on you with intent. You swear they can see right through you, even sheathed behind a cluster of wild white lashes, gauge everything there is to know about you faster than you can say “blue.” The moment freezes over, two bodies still and unmoving until you suddenly remember your need for air, gasping when you realize you’ve been holding your breath. 

“Parading around as my personal fucktoy get you that excited?” he starts with a smirk, wide eyes drinking up your sharp inhale as if it were his own, inspiring pinpricks of heat to rise to your cheeks.

He hooks the hem of your skirt with his thumbs when he’s met with silence, pulls you from the doorframe just far away that he can release the elastic with a snap, silent snigger on his lips when it elicits a small sound of surprise from you. You nod in response, frantic bob of your head drawing a low growl from his chest and a “that’s right, I know what’s best for my pet,” as he lifts you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.

Your body bounces back from the force with which he tosses you into the mattress, giggles erupting from your throat when he climbs atop of you, tugging at your leash. A thin stripe of saliva trails up and down the column of your neck, laving intermittently over the leather that encases your flesh. A coppery taste, of earth and salt and smoke, dances on his tongue as his front teeth sink into the stretch of your collarbone, nipping and sucking at the delicate flesh. You sink into the bed as you ease into his touch, but he doesn’t give you much time to get comfortable.

“Touch yourself, then,” he says, “if you like to be watched that much.” 

It almost sounds like a suggestion, especially with the way in which he uses the lightest touch to brush the stray hairs from your forehead, but you know better than that. Your fingers fly to the wet patch on your panties, thin material almost see-through with your slick, working the fiber flat against dampened skin. An echo of a chuckle reverberates throughout the room as he watches you, undoubtedly pleased by the way in which the fabric clings to your already dripping folds. 

Large hands have your legs spread wide open by the time you’ve traced the outline of your clit, your little show put on full display for him. They stay pressed against your thighs as you venture loose, round motions around your sensitive nub. Too timid. You tighten the circles into a coiled spiral, mustering the courage to go harder, faster, the friction of cotton against delicate skin drawing small mewls and sputters out of your trembling form. The delayed relief is sweet, your arousal crying into the pads of your fingers as you pick up the speed. The image burns itself into his brain, watchful eye unfaltering as you play yourself to your heart’s content.

The very air itself seems to buzz as you hold the other end of his gaze, thick fingers running along your sides as you start to roll your hips into the palm of your hand. He’s bent over you with the twitch of his pants, too worked up to remain a bystander any longer as he blows and sucks up your neck. The open-mouthed kisses only hasten the buildup, sensation shotgunning down your body from the surface of your nape.

But the coil in your core knots itself far too early for your taste, and you reel your hand back right before you can realize your peak. You opt to drag a lone finger down your slit instead, afraid that with too much pressure, you’ll come undone before Gojo has the chance to get his fill. 

Too late, too slow; he takes notice of your negligence immediately, eyes darkening at the pitiful way your hand skitters with abashment. He pulls away from the crook of your neck to get a good look at your dwindling handiwork, smirking to himself when you shrink in response.

“Having a little trouble there?” 

His voice is deceptively singsong as he takes your sluggish hand in his, guiding your knuckles back to that aching button that has you arching your back and curling your toes. He repeats the motion, half a mind to force an orgasm out of you right then and there when suddenly, a whimper—yours—sends his eyes darting back towards your own.

“No, not like this,” you say with strained breath, and he quirks an eyebrow in response, working your fingers into the fabric despite the interruption. “I want more, I need…” your voice trails off, a sorry attempt at stalling.

“Need what?” he asks as he catches on, shit-eating grin somehow audible without you even looking. You don’t know how he does it, how he locks his desires up as you squirm underneath him, waiting ever so innocently for a proper response.

“Need, need you,” you say under your breath, and he cocks an eyebrow, a clear sign of an underwhelming response. 

“Oh? I couldn’t quite catch that, princess.”

As if.

“I need you inside of me. Please, claim this filthy cunt,” you whine, determined to play, determined to win. Your hips buck into your interlaced fingers, searching desperately for the one word that’ll send him over the edge and finding it as the leather accessory rides up your neck—as if to remind you of its existence—“Master.”

And it does, it sends a jolt of heat to his groin, has him kicking his pants off and pinning your wrists into the sheets. It’s got him surging with primal need, tugging the pathetic mess of your soaked panties to the side with limitless hunger.

Because even though he’s drawn many names from your lips before, they’ve always been ones he’s insisted on, ones he’s downright pestered you about. Even the simplest “Satoru” was, admittedly, a struggle to pry out of you the very first time you got tangled in his sheets; you shielded your eyes then, cheeks burning and voice low as you whispered it in his ear. And look at you now, sprawled out beneath him as you edge yourself with a hand steeped in your own concoction, begging for his cock with that delicious nickname of your own admission, and it rings throughout his head like an addictive melody.

Master.

Master.

Master.

You can hardly recognize the noises he fucks out of you for the remainder of the night. He showers you with an unsavory slew of awful names, phrases you’ve never even heard aloud before, tells you that you’re his “freaky cocksleeve” and a “bitch in heat” as he jerks your leash without warning. And that’s exactly what you are, twitching for him like an animal as he screws you senseless, the most guttural of responses rising from your throat as he asks:

“Who do you belong to?”

And of course you respond, between labored pants, “You, master,” muscles taut as you fight for air, fingernails scrambling for purchase on his back but finding absolutely none.

It’s not until you’re entangled in a breathless mass that he pulls your head into his lap, strokes your cheeks and coos that you’ve been a good fucking girl, a thick mixture of his seed seeping from your gaping hole.

Morning always comes when you least expect it, sneaking up on you and peeking through the blinds before you’re ready to get going.

Gojo’s still passed out cold when you creep out of bed, only the most languid of movements used to pry yourself out of the mattress as your arms and legs ache for need of rest. The dull pain humbles you, delayed post-nut clarity finally hitting as you rub into your bleary eyes.

It feels like you’ve been struck by a train.

Your gait is but a tiptoe as you stalk towards his dresser, trembling hands slowly rummaging for something, anything that can provide you some cover. Your classes are starting soon, and whether his are, too, or whether he’s simply skipping out today, you know better than to rouse him from his toil-induced slumber. 

It’s nearly inaudible, the sound of the door closing behind you, clank of metal but a whisper as the soles of your shoes kiss up carpeted floor. You’ve left it unlocked, just the way your boyfriend likes it, a small assembly of what you hope he’ll recognize as breakfast perched upon the kitchen table—the last traces of your visit left behind in a neat and tidy little package.

Your eyes find Geto’s once you turn down the hallway, small black beads peering into yours before taking a lap around the block to assess the damage. He must not like what he sees, this tousled morning-after apparition, faint patches of indigo and violet creeping out from under your—no, Gojo’s—oversized sweatshirt, because it’s a solemn sigh that hits your ears next and not a “good morning” or even a simple “hey” that acknowledges you. 

Because he knows your average person wouldn’t notice the marks, too sheltered by all that thick cotton riding up your neck, purposefully pulled up just far enough that you wouldn’t see them unless you were looking. He knows your average person couldn’t have the slightest idea how you really scratched up your knees, pointillistic constellations of reddish purple threatening, however empty that threat is, to inch up your thighs. He scoffs.

“What do you even see in him?”

The words cloud the air before he’s completely aware of them, surprising the both of you as they surface.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water: for starters he’s charming, engaging, lively and free-spirited. He’s beautiful and he adores you, you want to say, but even though you have all the correct phrases picked out, all strung together in the same time and place, they don’t seem to roll off your tongue quite right.

You seem so tired, forced laugh falling short where it should flutter out of your mouth, the usual cotton candy you spout crystallizing before it can materialize.

“I could ask the same of you.”

It traipses out of your mouth before you can give it permission, easing itself into the atmosphere before sinking like a stone. Truthfully you don’t care to hear an answer, if only to avoid giving your own. You usher yourself out, pushing yourself past the towering wall of a human and stalking down the nearest stairwell. 

Gojo knows just how to toy with your pride. But Geto? Geto knows how to slash it down to shreds. 

The silence is deafening.

Geto sighs once you’re out of earshot, turning his heel to continue his trajectory. If anything, he didn’t want to run into you today, either. He cringes at the small collection you’ve no doubt assembled yourself, of iced matcha and a granola bar, staring him in the face as he stalks into the apartment. For some reason it only feeds into his mounting dread, the rising unease of what he might find waiting for him in the bedroom. 

So he raps the bedroom door with his knuckles instead of barging in like he normally does, hoping in vain that he can get its sole inhabitant to lumber out himself. But of course Gojo doesn’t make it easy, letting out an obnoxiously loud yawn before stretching his lanky limbs with an equally obnoxious groan.

“You said to swing by this morning,” Geto half-yells, half says to himself, already prepared to turn tail and leave. He’s honestly surprised when he gets a legible response instead of the hungover mumbles he’s grown used to.

“Oh, that? Come in, it’s unlocked,” Gojo calls out, each syllable punctuated with tardiness. So Geto braces himself, puffing his chest out before giving the doorknob a firm handshake, stepping deeper into the belly of the beast. 

Geto was prepared to see many things when he walked through that door. Something like lipstick stains and flavored condoms, S&M paddles and ribbed dildos. Instead he’s met with something completely other, the evidence already cleared away. Whatever late-night exploits you enjoyed are long gone, not a trace left behind by now, privy only to a grown man slumped over the edge of his mattress, grabbing around under the bedframe. 

“Ahh, got it!”

With sleepy eyes Gojo lifts his head and presents to Geto the chrome colored box he’s fished out. It’s small and compact and ridiculously outdated, a conspicuous red button jutting out of its interface. He holds it up to his friend’s face, and the device finally registers.

A voice recorder.

“What, they still make those things?”

Geto schools his features easily, wiping the shock off his face before it can even materialize. It’s not exactly a lie; he knows he shouldn’t be surprised at all that Gojo has kept such an antiquated device for the occasion. 

“You act as if you’ve never seen one before.”

It’s a smirk that’s plastered all over their faces now, one that nearly matches the one across from the other, and knowingly so. The two burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, Gojo slapping his knee and Geto clutching onto his sides. They’re not sure who starts it, but one of them high fives the other.

Girls like you are oh so naïve.

Your wish is granted for about a week total.

Gojo keeps his promise, of loving you more and loving you better, throughout the remaining weekdays. 

He takes you out for brunch, picks you up after class, and best of all, doesn’t ask anything more of you, doesn’t ask for anything better.

He opts to shower you with gifts instead, of stuffed animals and chocolates and bite-sized amenities, insisting that you take them all, no strings attached. Your nightstand overflows with his presents, mismatched tokens that remind you of his affection even when you’re not together. And although neither of you explicitly verbalize it, it seems like his way of apologizing. Silently.

You whole-heartedly accept.

This is the Satoru I fell in love with, you think to yourself as he pets your head one sunlit afternoon, grogginess setting in after a particularly big meal. You nuzzle into his lap and relish in the soft filtered light, sprawled out on your side on the living room sofa. He has you gazing upwards at a tap of the shoulder, all softened eyes and unkempt locks of hair, the smell of sandalwood and fresh dry cleaning enveloping you entirely as he leans in for a faint forehead kiss.

“What’s up?” you half ask, half mumble, eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Just wanted to see my princess’s face,” he says, a fleeting grin on his rosy lips. A hollow thud sounds as you play-punch him in the chest, but you roll over from your side to look up at him anyway.

“You happy now?”

“Overjoyed.” 

The two of you lock eyes, slivers of white hair undoing themselves from behind his ear as your breath syncs up slowly, gradually. He stares at you with such longing that you would think you weren’t laying right atop of him, and you struggle to hold your ground. 

“Are you—”

“Yup.”

You groan, eyes overcome with on demand prickling. “No thank you,” you proclaim as you squeeze them shut, uninterested in indulging him a staring contest. Moments pass and your eyes stay closed, a tide of tiredness washing over you. You loosen up, head rolling back as you allow yourself to relax. 

Big mistake. He takes it as an invitation for his hands to descend upon you, attacking your sides in an attempt to tickle, and you jerk away instantly.

“What the—Sato, cut it out!” You bat his arms away, one eye open as uproarious laughter fills your ears.

“If you’re gonna fall asleep then at least let me lay down too,” he says, drawing out the last word as he props your upper half up. He takes your place on the sofa before pulling you on top, and you huff as you fall into a pile.

“Jerk.”

“Your favorite jerk, though.”

Oh, he definitely feels it when you smile into his chest.

The weekend arrives without issue.

Wednesday night you’re watching the sunset over melon sodas.

Thursday night you’re falling asleep on Facetime.

Friday night you’re in the midst of downtown Tokyo, multicolored lights casting your faces in ethereal glow as you work against the hustle and bustle of regulars and tourists. Karaoke songs eat up the most of your visit, Gojo’s voice slowly going scratchy until the crowd finally works the nerve to drag him offstage. You spend the remaining time hopping restaurants, ordering exactly one dish at each location, slowly working your way through a full course meal. The waitress who serves you nothing more than a plate of gyoza gets an especially generous tip.

Dessert is by far his favorite dish: a deluxe parfait, served in a tall, American-style glass and filled to the brim with sorbet. You can still taste the fruit toppings, fresh and fragrant and honeyed on your tongues as you swap saliva in the back of his car. He cups your face with one hand and holds the small of your back with the other, pressing dangerously close against your body. When you finally have the chance to breathe, a thread of spit trails between your lips, in memory of your union. It glistens in the color of the muted city lights, persevering through the window tint in all of their electric might. A mischievous glint reaches his eyes, and all of a sudden he’s pulling you on top of his lap.

“We can get away with this much, can’t we, princess?”

And you oblige, patch of wetness already creeping through your panties as he starts to move, clothed cockhead grinding against the curve of your ass. He’s louder than usual, quivering groans crumbling as they reach your ears, his hips rolling in stuttering motions. You feel as if you’re aflame, pulsating with need, decadent sweetness enveloping your senses every time he pulls in for a kiss, every time he grazes you with his pubic bone. Your clit sings with praises as he pushes you down by the hips, whispering how good you’re being for him, how gorgeous you look in the dress he bought you, and you make a silent wish in the faint moonlight that the moment will never end.

But it seems that good things always meet their end, and come Saturday night, the monster rears its ugly head again.

Because on Saturday night, Gojo’s got you hanging on his arm, the two of you ascending concrete steps to the usual place. Same group of people, different game every week. The two of you are greeted with sweet sighs and boozy smiles, clink of bottles surrounding you as they prepare this week’s drinking game. Gojo’s a lightweight and Geto sticks to designated-driver duty, so it usually works out just fine.

Just not this week.

If Gojo was the sun, then Geto was the moon.

It always seemed to Geto that his best friend had everything in the world he could possibly need: looks, charisma, and status, all readily available to him without much effort of his own. And honestly? He loathed him for that.

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, Geto knows there’s absolutely no way he’s making it to the party. Instead he opts to spend Saturday night alone in the comfort, or perhaps the prison, of his own room.

Because the sun is a star that births brilliance, instilling vitality and inspiring vigor wherever it goes. Whereas the moon only picks up in the after hours, left to guide the lost and the wandering in the nighttime. He feels like he’s always scraping the bottom of the barrel, the pool of women he can choose from limited to the gaggle of bumbling stragglers who lament, still, the absence of the blinding sun. And for the past twenty or so years of his life, those bumbling stragglers have not so much as glanced back at him, too enchanted by the liveliness of day.

Worst of all is that softheaded people, scatterbrains just like you, they think they can fix Gojo, super-fucking-nova Gojo who burns it all up, destroying everything in his course of direction. Part of Geto thinks it’s absolutely deplorable, the way in which pea-brained whores throw themselves at him, hankering for his attention and jumping through all the hoops necessary to get just that. But part of Geto also wants to have his own stake in the fun, and Gojo—pretty boy, genetic-lottery winner Gojo knows this all too well.

The glint of the moonlight taunts Geto as it reflects off the silver-toned box in his hand, bold “STOP,” “REC,” and “PLAY” lettering practically chanting his name in the dim illumination. He was told that the handheld device was safer with him, well out of your reach in the confines of his single dorm, and he supposes that’s the truth, what with the lack of foot traffic in this cramped room that lacks of fresh air and sunlight.

It’d be doubly safer if he’d just tuck the abomination away, stick it deep in the corner of his sock drawer or perhaps somewhere underneath the bed frame, but he’s kept it well in sight ever since he first laid hands on it. He clutches it tightly as if it just might disappear when he lets go; chances like these are rare for him, to be so close in proximity to the wanton whines of someone he knows and sees almost daily. And if it’s anyone’s fault that you’re still fucking an immature bastard, a privileged manchild who gets pretty much everything he wants, it most certainly isn’t his own.

It’s just so exhilarating, to be able to cradle the cool metal in one hand, throbbing cock in the other, drawstring sweats already halfway down as he thumbs at his flushed, pink head. He’s kicking his pants off as he leans into bed, flat of his slicked-up fingers laving over the sopping tip that cries and weep for release. He’s already imagining it, the kinds of o-shaped faces you make with a leash dangling from your neck, bubbling with excitement and intoxication and jealousy at the mere thought. But he doesn’t start the audio yet, fumbling for his stash of lotion before moving to fist his cock in its entirety, twitching creature red with excitement as he jerks it up and down.

It feels so intimate to him, the fact that you’re so close yet so far away, musical mewls available on demand whenever he so pleases. He quickens the pace, palm of his hand practically flattening the vein on the underside of his cock as he starts to buck his hips into his tightening fingers. He’d just love to ram his dick down your throat one day, but for now he’ll have to make do with his hands.

He hits “PLAY” with bitter determination.

The very first sound of crumpling bedsheets has him curling into a full-body tingle. He’s close, so close he can almost taste it, but he keeps his concentration on the audio speaker, waiting for something, anything to heighten his arousal. He sucks in the cold air between his teeth, curses threatening to pour from his lips at how right, how wrong it all feels. The anticipation is short-lived, however, broken by the sound of Gojo’s voice, just barely recognizable in the speaker’s tinny, superficial quality.

“My, my,” the silver-haired deviant says, corners of his mouth undoubtedly upturned as he leans into the microphone.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Geto?”

The voice recorder hits the floor at the sound of his own name, blood pressure rising as his arms and legs tense up in disbelief. His own orgasm slips away and out of reach in an instant, petering out in wretchedly slow motion as his stiff cock throbs with pitiful languor. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry, wants to curse the world for ever thinking you were actually within his reach, wants to chuck the accursed gadget across the room and watch it scatter across the floor in glittering smithereens. Or maybe he just wants to cradle his head and sink into the ground, face his back to the despicable device for the rest of the night as the cold seeps into his sides, but he’s not even sure where the damn thing skittered off to and his head is spinning and his eyelids clench shut and the world just grinds to a halt.

Gojo doesn’t take the news well.

Gojo doesn’t want to take it at all.

You’re chatting up the party’s host, a premed student in the same year as him, when you first notice him glancing at his phone.

“So how are things? Between you two, I mean,” Shoko asks as she follows your gaze. 

“Couldn’t be better” is your absentminded answer, and she stifles a laugh—a perfect relationship with the Gojo Satoru? But you’re only half listening as she expresses her disbelief, eyes never quite leaving Gojo’s back as he shifts away from the mass of people and shuffles towards the windows, cell phone in balled-up hand.

The first call is inconspicuous enough—Geto has a habit of running late, after all. But when you excuse yourself to the bathroom and come back find to Gojo still holding the phone to his ear, half crouched with his lips screwed up in a pout, you know something’s off. Part of you doesn’t want to take your place beside him, but he pulls you down by the wrist, grip strong enough to leave dime-sized bruises.

They’re explaining the game of the night before you can ask him what’s up: a  pitcher of beer will round the group of players, all sat in a circle on the carpeted floor, each and every one taking turns trying to steal the last drop. It’s a familiar setting, the music but a hum in the background as the participants buzz with idle chatter, but the person beside you feels alien somehow. The woolen material pills underneath your toes as you curl them into little balls, eyeing him with a sideways glance. You know better than to raise the issue when his foot’s tapping the floor with such force, rapid rhythm almost matching the incessant pace with which he thumbs at his phone. He’s calling Geto three, four, five times before changing tack, demanding an explanation through text.

Shallow breaths are all that fill your lungs as you keep as still as possible, trying your best to get a good read on the screen. If the slump in his shoulders is any indicator, you’re sure he’s seething at the words that light it up. But before you can make out a single phrase, he’s slamming the phone down with one hand, clenching the pitcher of freshly poured beer with the other.

His turn to take the first swig.

He ends up gulping until you’re sure he’s out of breath.

“Whoa there, Satoru,” the person next to him says when he sets the pitcher down, nearly emptied. “What the fuck was that?” 

His wrist rises to wipe the corner of his mouth and he exhales sharply, as if his simple reply requires strenuous effort.

“DD bailed on us,” he announces, “fucking flake.”

“Maybe we should have you sober up, then,” someone else, likely Shoko, calls out from across the room.

The change in his demeanor is instant.

“Ah, we’ll make it back in one piece, won’t we?” Gojo’s glance darts sideways, playful lilt betraying the ice he has for eyes.

The room hushes, waiting for an answer, and you sit up straight when you realize who he’s asking. You quirk an eyebrow, amused. With his cheeks already flushed, what seems to be a pointed gaze unfocused and glassy, you can’t help but beg to differ. You know the answer he wants to hear with every bone in your body. But every fiber in your being knows the truth.

“Bullshit.”

The entire room erupts and it’s decided, against his will, that you’ll be spending the night.

Everything falls apart from there.

Shoko shows you to a guest room once the others begin to clear out, dark circles carved out by cool white fluorescents that cast shadows behind her puffy eye bags.

“Sorry it’s so small,” she says, gesturing at the lone mattress, creeping moonlight like a spotlight on its linen-lined surface.

“It’s everything we could ask for,” you say as Gojo falls into bed, sprawling out against the twin sized sheets. “Thanks for letting us crash.” She shoots him a tight lipped smile before placing a deft hand on your shoulder, brown locks cascading as she leans into your ear.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

The night is long and never-ending. 

Teeny tiny bits of skylight taunt you from above as Gojo proceeds to keep you awake well past twilight. He’s tossing and turning in the guest bed, kicking the blanket off the both of you with spiteful purpose, inviting in the cool night breeze. It nips you from your face to your toes, colder still even as he tightens his hold on you, and you decide to finally break the silence.

“You still mad about that one thing I said?”

He scoffs, huff of breath like a shot to your neck.

“You seriously have to ask?”

You tense up immediately, spine straightening flat against his chest as he continues, edge to his voice swelling as it looms behind you. “Honestly, who do you think you think you are? Always acting like you’re better than me.” Razor thin needles lodge themselves into your scalp as he pulls your hair back, your chin meeting chilled air as you offer up a whimper. 

“It’s not like that.” 

He only tightens his grip on your hair, pulling it back harder still.

“Think I need to remind you of your fucking place,” he mumbles as he presses into you, something stiff rocking against the fat of your thighs.

“Not here,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize his intent, the alcohol in your system seeming to swirl in your head. He staggers his hips in response.

“Wasn’t a problem in the car.” 

“Satoru, they might hear us,” you say, the steel in your voice cracking as his free arm snakes around your side, searching for the hem of your pants. “Mercy,” you try again, the familiar, agreed upon safe word sounding foreign and unfamiliar when it comes out but a croak. It hurtles from the shelter of your lips, forever lost as the strain in his pants only grows, breath going ragged as he ruts into your hips.

“Just let me have this.”

And he revels in the way in which he easily overpowers you, enamored in how his towering frame nearly swallows you whole. When a particularly loud groan—one you’re sure anyone in a neighboring room can overhear—escapes his lips, you blister with shame, burying your face in the pillow, limbs aching for need of sleep.

And then his breath hitches as he chases after fireworks and explosions, captivated by the way that you squirm in vain. His palms claim your hips as his own, cockhead grinding behind you, servicing himself with feverish concentration. He presses your side into the mattress, ass cheeks squeezing together like a homemade fleshlight, and you arch your back in a sorry attempt at evasion. 

He groans in response, knees buckling together as he brushes up against the makeshift curve, and you stop struggling altogether. Your body buzzes from the touch, head swelling like a balloon, skin crawling from the jerky movements as you go limp as a ragdoll.

“God, you’re so good to me,” he says, praise anything but endearing when it hits your ears. It’s the same kind of acclaim he gave up just the night before, but it cheapens as he repeats it, banal phrase playing over and over in your head. He’s still humping your butt when he cums, shaky and delirious as he rides out the high, profanities rolling off his tongue until he’s shuddering himself to sleep. All is still once he’s blacked out from the stimulation, pitter patter of salted frustration the only movement left over as it soaks the pillowcase through and through.

You lay awake, caged by his toned muscle, trapped by his carbon curses, praying for sleep until the birds begin to chirp. They sing a song that they borrowed from the night, a harrowing lullaby that has you in a panic, slipping out of his grasp as you crawl out of bed. 

By the crack of dawn you’ve tiptoed into a cab, belongings clutched tight to your chest, apartment complex shrinking in the distance, but it never seems to get further away.

Geto hasn’t breathed a word about the voice recorder.

Geto doesn’t want to think about it all.

He’s paying for it now with a barrage of daily phone calls from none other than Gojo himself, who dials him day and night and morning, no regard for moderation. Geto regards the fallout as both of their instant karma, still miffed by the prank he’d just fallen for, but unwilling to reveal his folly. He fills the role of trusty confidant nonetheless, his betrayal as M.I.A driver long forgotten. It’s a spectacle, the frenzy Gojo is bound in, and he might as well watch from a front row seat.

But he hasn’t made a full recovery yet, forever irked at the pretty privilege Gojo takes for granted, the privilege he downright hoards for himself, barking into the speaker when he feels his blood begin to boil.

“Seriously, what did you do this time?” He wants to tear his hair out at Gojo’s stupidity, his utter lack of tact, wants to pull out his front teeth and pulverize the dental tissue into a fine powder when he’s met with momentary silence. 

It’s been a few days since you left the guest bedroom alone in the wee hours of morning, and Gojo hasn’t been able to get ahold of you since. You haven’t been answering his texts, his calls, Christ, he even tried your personal email, and now Geto finds himself shouldering the brunt of his correspondence, trying everything in his power to get him to calm the fuck down, albeit fruitlessly.

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” Gojo insists once he’s found his choice of words, spitting them out one by one, raking stiff fingers through colorless locks. “I got a little handsy, but it was seriously nothing.” Geto shakes his head and rubs his temples; nothing isn’t enough to make you walk out on him. 

“If you’re telling the truth, then stop worrying already.” A stray section of his bangs fall forward, sweeping over his eye as he slumps over in his chair. “But if you’re lying—” he starts, cut off by the sound of chaste knocks, an unassuming 1-2-3 kissing up at his door before he can finish. 

Saved by the mystery visitor.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d sigh relief, eager to break away from the droning and moaning of the spoiled brat on the other line. Instead he gives pause, as if weighing the cost of answering the door against the merit of staying put on the phone, moment’s hesitation only giving way to a guaranteed getaway.

“Hold on, I need to get this,” is all Geto says as he hangs up the phone, equal parts appreciative and skeptical of the person at his door. He isn’t exactly friendly with anyone on his floor, and few would show up here without asking first, so he peers through the peephole, curiosity getting the better of him.

And lo and behold, speak of the devil, it’s Gojo’s missing girlfriend, standing alone with her hands twisted together.

Amazing. You’re quite literally the very last person he wanted to see right now.

“Do you have any idea how worried he is?” Geto snaps when he answers the door. You have no idea what kind of mess he has on his hands. “Go and make up with your boyfriend already.” He moves to close the door but you react quickly, wedging yourself before the doorframe, eyes wide and pleading.

“I’m in trouble, so please...” You scramble for something half believable. “I can’t turn to anyone else.” He laughs in your face, eyebrows quirked with mirth at how genuine it almost sounds.

Almost.

“Don’t give me that.”

“No, I mean it,” you press on, unwilling to admit that anyone else who’d listen to your cries for help, from trusted family to doe-eyed friends, would undoubtedly have you in a beeline for the authorities. “You—you’re the only other person who can put up with Gojo.”

That gets him stopping in his tracks.

“Barely,” he scoffs, but the pressure on the door lets up. He hates that you have a point there. Hates that he can’t look away from Gojo and his silly antics and his daring ploys and especially hates that he has that in common with you. He wants to turn you away but you look so hopeful, ignoring the dulling pain of the door trying to crush your foot flat.

He bites the bullet.

“You know he’ll be pissed if he finds out you came to me first, right?” You screw your lips together when he cracks the door slightly.

“Well, he doesn’t really have the right at the moment,” you sniff, barging in when he lets go of the door completely.

The room is impossibly smaller than you ever imagined, in direct contrast to all the empty space in Gojo’s rental. It’s a wonder how all his necessities fit in the cramped shelves and tiny drawers, and you almost marvel at the scale of it until the sound of wood on vinyl tiling snaps you back to focus. A few stray articles of clothing are plucked from the ground and chucked to the corner before he’s pulling two chairs up, one for you and one for him. Once he’s sitting, you have his full, unadulterated attention.

Not that you know what to do with it.

It takes a while to find your voice, fiddling with your fingers as you try, unsuccessfully, to hold his gaze. There’s no clock but you swear you can hear the second hand ticking. The curtain’s closed but you’re sure you can feel the heat of the sun disappearing. You’re certain that it ebbs below the curve of the horizon as you watch, timidly, the tap of Geto’s wooden sandal. It remind you of the clack of Gojo’s dress boots, impatience slowly exceeding its carefully drawn bounds.

You time out a moment of silence.

And then another.

And then another, until Geto is staring you down expectantly, pinpricks for eyes. You take the hint.

“I said it.” You look down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I said no.”

His eyes soften immediately, struck by the raw edge of your voice, your inability to look him in the eye.

“And he didn’t respect that?”

“He touched me. When I asked him to stop.” The words have to force themselves out your throat, the little bit of courage you have all that keeps the walls from collapsing in completely. You take as deep of a breath as you can manage when the memory flickers through your mind, clear as yesterday. “He—he fucked me through his clothes.” Your head’s buried in your hands as you fold into yourself completely, rocking in place, and something rages inside of Geto.

“Wait, what?” Geto looks at you incredulously, disbelief scrawled all over his face, eyes narrowing when you keep your head down. “Through his clothes?”

You nod slowly, knowingly, and he feels as though the world is spinning all over again. The ground seems to shift beneath him as your face contorts in pain, saltwater already beading up along your lower lashes. That’s it? That’s what this entire circus is on about? He cards his hands through his hair as he tries to process it, shaking his head when you fail to respond. That’s all it takes for your whole body to quake, hard lumps bubbling up your throat at the bite of his words, breath stuttering irregularly as your windpipe starts to clench up. 

And then you’re crying, body wracked with hiccups as you try to quell the chills crawling up your skin. Your chest heaves in a sorry attempt to keep up with the lurch of your lungs, sputtering as you try to suppress your voice.

“God, you’re all so fucking annoying.”

He watches you bubble over, feeling his own emotions swell as they hit a critical mass, stomach churning at the sight. You couldn’t manage a comeback if you wanted to, a blubbering mess as you try to wipe your eyes dry. The small bit of composure that’s kept him whole these past few days finally snaps when the tears trail down your hands, no end in sight in the onslaught of waterworks.

“I bet you wanted it,” he continues, unfazed by the fattening tears, fingertips digging into his thighs as he spots the yellowed bruises he jacks off to at night. He leers at the fading brown and imagines them overlaid with fresh, new marks, gleaming blush and fiery crimson. “I bet sluts like you don’t care what happens as long as they get dicked down in the end.” A quiet sob tumbles out of you and your cheeks tingle with hurt, like you’ve been backhanded once, then twice.

“It’s n-not like that,” you finally manage to say, gasping through choked noises as he creeps closer, cloaking you in shadow. He stares vacantly from his vantage point, as if looking at an ant on the tiles.

“Then why don’t you walk away for real?” 

And that’s exactly what you should be doing right now, cornered by a large man in his dark, dingy room, but by the time you think to stand up he’s grabbing you by the wrists. He sends you barreling into the desk, spinning you around so your hands clutch the edge, chest pressing up against the surface. He pins an arm behind you with ease, kicking your legs wide open, and you flail the other in no particular direction.

“You secretly enjoy all of it, don’t you? You secretly get off on the idea of being raped by your boyfriend.” He sneers as you buckle underneath him, grazing his growing erection. “All worked up over a little dry humping? Get over yourself already. You females want to be hurt so bad.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between muffled sobs, chest feeling as if it’s about to break in half. “You’re j-just like Gojo.”

“Just like Gojo?” Geto echoes, free hand coming to snake between your thighs, voice catching as he speaks. “You’re sorely mistaken.”

You fall limp as he draws a single finger under your panties, tracing your hipbone as he muses. He imagines their contents, imagines how easy it would be to take you by force, sighing aloud at the prospect of doing it without.

“I can never be him.”

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

To the Overcomer, A Psalm of David.

1 Let the LORD hear thee in the day of trouble; let the name of the God of Jacob lift thee up

2 and send thee help from the sanctuary and strengthen thee out of Zion

3 and remember all thy offerings and reduce thy burnt sacrifice to the ashes of burnt fat, Selah.

4 Grant thee according to thine heart and fulfil all thy counsel.

5 We will rejoice in thy saving health, and in the name of our God we will be standard-bearers: let the LORD fulfil all thy petitions.

6 Now know I that the LORD has kept his anointed; he will hear him from the heavens of his holiness with the saving valour of his right hand.

7 Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we will remember the name of the LORD our God.

8 They are brought down and fallen, but we are risen and stand upright.

9 The LORD saves the king; let him hear us on the day when we call. — Psalm 20 | Jubilee Bible 2000 (JUB) Jubilee Bible 2000 Copyright © 2013, 2020 by Ransom Press International. Cross References: Deuteronomy 17:16; Deuteronomy 20:1; 1 Samuel 1:17; 1 Chronicles 5:20; Psalm 3:4; Psalm 3:7; Psalm 9:14; Psalm 17:6-7; Psalm 21:2; Psalm 21:5; Psalm 28:8; Psalm 37:24; Psalm 46:7; Psalm 46:11; Psalm 110:2; Psalm 145:19; Acts 10:4

[blzzrdstryr]

Chrysalis

Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount:2115

CW:Yandere themes

Working for Albedo isn’t that bad - the payment is good, the knowledge he provides is even better - a chance to delve into exclusive alchemical research with a widely acknowledged genius is a far more valuable award than any amount of mora or jewels could ever be. Said prodigy isn’t an awful person to work with either - he’s polite and well mannered, careful not to offend anyone even if his words can be cold and cutting sometimes. Most of the time Albedo is a pleasant company to be around, if one would turn a blind eye to his quirks.

For instance, he has a weird and frankly unnerving habit of staring at you - his teal eyes track your littlest movements as you set up an alchemical apparatus and prepare needed solutions. At first you thought he was overseeing you, checking if you had made any mistake as a fledgling alchemist, yet this hypothesis was quickly disproved when you caught him gazing off working hours. You never voiced your complaints - you wanted to keep your job and study, and maybe he is too socially blind to see how his behavior could be received by others.

Today would also be a great example of an alchemist's lack of tact - he requested you accompany him everywhere for the last few weeks, taking you from the cold heights of Dragonspine to sunny and bustling streets of Mondstadt. You two are sitting in the corner of his laboratory designed for rest and food and share a meal: two portions of his favorite fish, despite being nothing more than the employer and employee or teacher and student.

Albedo doesn’t seem to get or mind what kind of rumours he causes with this seemingly blatant favouritism before you, no he looks as calm as usual as he plunges into the dish with fork and knife.

“[First]”, he says, after the first bite: “Have the aches stopped bothering you?”, a hint of concern and something else. Two or three weeks ago you developed a strange soreness in the different parts of your body - wrists, neck, heart, legs - it would appear suddenly, burning and throbbing and making you gasp, leaving you tired and nauseous afterwards. No one could find the source of the problem, not even Albedo, yet after some time these far from pleasant sensations got subdued, easier to bear and endure.

His hand reaches for your left wrist, thumb caressing the skin, and he pulls it closer to his face, eyes examining the sore spot. You don’t protest, stunned by his sudden action.

“Hm, that’s”, he mumbles, more to himself than you: “that’s good”, he concludes, letting go of your limb.

“What’s good? Did something change?” you inquire, instantly forgetting to take offense at his grabbing.

“You could say that”, Albedo ambiguously says and returns to his fish. You ask the alchemist what he meant, but all you get are even vaguer answers and long silence in the end, as he finishes his meal and nudges you to start your own sunshine sprat.

In the end your questions remain unacknowledged, as Albedo leaves displaying you to accompany him. Surprisingly he heads for the gardens instead of the library, his step light and fast. “Master Albedo” you start, seeing that alchemist is in his creative mood again: “shouldn’t you bring an easel or sketchbook with you?”

“No, [First], I don’t intend to draw, not now. This walk is for me to get some inspiration”, Albedo quickly replies, still walking ahead: “In this time of year the environment changes so rapidly, it provides a mind with a lot of good ideas. You should come with me too, alchemy is a science of change, creation and destruction and nature is better at these three aspects than any of us”. He adds, seemingly sensing the next question you would ask.

He walks near the bushes, teal eyes focused on the blooming fragrant flowers, before he squats, pushing some of the wigs back.

“[First]”, he turns his head in your direction: “you should come and see”. You comply, curious what has caught Albedo’s attention, squatting near him and looking at one of the inner branches usually hidden by others.

It’s an ordinary dark cocoon. You almost turn your head again, before the slightest of movements catches your attention - it’s an insect trying to break out. Chrysalis cracks and deforms as a fledgling butterfly makes way past it’s confines. One second and it stretches its wings, revealing a vibrant blue coloration, the next it leaves it’s former cell entirely, elegantly soaring into the air, it’s azure wings lazily flapping, as it makes its way to the other bush.

“Fascinating”, Albedo breathes out, eyes still on the disappearing figure of the insect: “It transformed to such a great extent”.

You hear a hint of excitement in his voice - he wants to share his thoughts or knowledge then - and nod, prompting him to continue.

“Did you know that a larva needs to literally dissolve itself to reach the next stage of its life? After caterpillar finishes its cocoon, it produces enzymes that turn most of its tissue into a liquid matter and only after that does it rebuilds into an entirely new form”, he turns his gaze back to you, usually cold and thoughtful eyes now warm and dreamy: “Sometimes, I think humans are meant to metamorphose too”.

“How so?” you ask, tilting the head.

“Humans, despite all complexity and intelligence, are still fragile creatures. They’re prone to sickness and ailments and in the end old age ends those who managed to evade death before. Wouldn't it be better if one could go through metamorphosis, be reborn free from pain and hunger and constant threat of passing away? Those humans could live on forever and dedicate themselves to the higher cause without having to worry about dying and suffering".

You raise eyebrows, surprised by the sudden “outburst” - Albedo, despite his partially philosophical nature, has never shared his inner thoughts so freely, not to you at least. He, either out of embarrassment or deep contemplation, shifts his eyes somewhere behind you, and you turn back, following his eyes. He looks at the statue of Barbatos.

Tall and proud, it looks magnificent in the day’s sunlight, golden rays making it glow and shine with the fairness of the marble. Looking at this epitome of unchanging vision, you suddenly get an answer to Albedo’s thoughts and you voice it out the same second:

“Wouldn’t it negate the meaning of life then? Nature breeds diversity - the reason why we have so many flowers is because some kinds aren't adapted to particular conditions and so they change, producing entirely new types of plants. Eternal and undying beings, unconcerned with the earthly matters would have no need to reproduce and pass on its features to the next generation, depriving the world of thousand possible combinations. No new life would be created if the old one could be perfectly sustained".

"That's how you see it", Albedo replies, placing a now empty husk of the cocoon inside your palm - the testament of the nature’s miracle, the testament of one's ability to change: “I’ve witnessed many wonderful sights for today”, he adds, still looking at you, surrounded by flowers and flying butterflies, light breeze playing with your hair and sun illuminating your whole figure with a gentle golden glow.

You part with Albedo shortly after - he closes himself in the lab, before checking up on your sore spots again, quietly mumbling something to himself the whole time. You head for your house and open the alchemical textbook, studying it until late night. That place on the wrist slightly throbs at every movement.

Only when your eyelids fill up with lead and thoughts slow down from the general fatigue you allow yourself to head for the bed, falling asleep the second your head touches the pillow. You see phantasmagorical dreams - of you being a bulging and large larva, spending days simply eating green leaves, until a strange urge overcomes your entire being and you start to build something - a cocoon. Now, surrounded by pitch black darkness you feel a burning sensation - enzymes, enzymes that will dissolve your tissue. Pain quickly escalates and you want to scream and cry, but you can’t - you’re an insect you don’t have vocal glands or tear ducts to do so. Who could have known that butterflies suffer so much?

You writhe and squirm, caged by your liquifying body and hard chrysalis around you and you are in so much agony you want to die.

And then you wake up. All sweaty and distressed you grab at your wrist - it hurts so much, your entire body is on fire, it seems that you have another episode of that strange soreness. You quickly rise to your feet, snatching the painkillers from the nightstand and downing them with a gulp of water. As medicine begins it’s work you lay in the bed again, ready to fall asleep and forget the midnight pains, as you see something that makes your breath hitch and heartbeat fasten from fear.

A strange greyish white discoloration on your wrist in the same place that used to throb this evening. You touch it and it leaves a dry white imprint on your fingers, it also doesn’t have any strange smell.

You rise and quickly dress up, barely suppressed panic and anxiety dispelling the last remains of sleep. The walk towards the Favonius HQ’s is short, especially when you break into a sprint on the way. He is here, he is working into the night today. Quickly passing sleepy knights you climb on the second floor and almost run to one particular door, loudly knocking at it.

Just as you expected, there’s a sound of footsteps and soon a familiar voice asks: “Who is here?”.

“It’s me, master Albedo”, you say, feeling how the pain returns despite the painkillers taken: “you said to report if something changes, with my aches. It changed”.

The words you say and desperation accompanying them prompts alchemist to open the door, as he gestures you to come in, and shut the door as you do so:

“Strip”, he says, mind back to the analytical mode, you comply, feeling ashamed with every second Albedo continues to observe you: “Wait, there’s something on your neck”.

A cool touch to your skin, a short yelp, another burst of pain. You fall on your knees, blinded and deafened by sheer agony. Alchemist produces a distressed noise, walking up to your collapsed figure and carrying you to the nearby table.

He pushes alchemical apparatus away, turning the table into a makeshift bed, and gently lowers you down. “[First]”, his hand card through your hair, while the other nudges a mug with some brew to your lips: “There’s nothing to worry about, your metamorphosis progresses as it should be”.

“Metamorphosis.. What are you talking about?”, you ask, panic creeping into the question. Alchemist looks you straight into the eyes, an eerie smile blooming on his face as he hears it: "Isn’t it obvious? You're going to change and I will help you with that".

“Change?! Change into what?”

“Into a better version of human of course. Do you think I would let you get old or sick and die? You’re too dear to me to do that, you should live and experience a life free from human limitations”, for the first time in your life you’re terrified of him. Albedo always seemed so knowledgeable and calm to you, like a wise wizard from the childhood fairytales, yet now he looks mad and devoid of any humanity:“You shouldn’t worry about these stains, they will disappear once your transformation is complete. Those are just chalk you see, a side effect of your tissues changing over the weeks”.

“When did.. When did you start it?”, you croak out, sensing the agony returning and growing again. It hurts so much I can barely think.

“Dragonspine. You were eating with me”.

You want to insult and accuse him, yet another wave of pain renders you speechless, short huffs and whimpers escaping you as tears start to stream down your face.

“I understand it can be very stressful to you, given how change of this scale is always carrying a great risk”, his voice adopts the same philosophical tone: “The purpose of cocoon is protection of the soon-to-be butterfly from the external harm and influence that could lead to other complications and we don’t want any of that”.

He cards his hand through your hair again, a mockery of a concern dyeing his next words: “You shouldn’t worry, I will be a good chrysalis to your metamorphosis”.

You black out from pain.

[the-daisy-path]

Greek Goddess Sophia: Goddess of Wisdom

Goddess of:

Spirituality in mature women

the Divine Feminine

Wisdom

Spirituality and Return to it's roots

Greek Goddess

Holy spirit of the Trinity

Holy Wisdom of Hagia Sophia

Sophia usually appears as:

A red winged woman

crowned with seven stars

at Her feet lies the World

She carries a golden cup

She is also often shown wearing a red gown

pregnant.

In Western (Latin) tradition, she appears as a crowned virginIn Russian Orthodox tradition, she has a more supernatural aspect of a crowned woman with wings in a glowing red color.

Sophia's traits include:

righteous, wise, loving, communicative, knowledgeable, creative, protective, giving, and truthful.

Colors associated with Sophia:

Red (some say also pink) symbolizing the Rose

Radiant White White symbolizing the Dove

Purple for Wisdom.

Key Points of Sophia:

Ancient Christian

Wife of God

referred to as wisdom in the Bible

Referred to as Fallen Angel

HOLY DAYS: November 28th is the Day of Sophia.

RELATIVES:

Yahway - AKA God - some believe she is God's wife  

Adam, Eve, Lilith, - Most know the story of Adam and Eve but Lilith is believed to be Adams first wife.

Angels (children) - considered to be Children of God,

Jesus Christ (step-son) - Virgin Mary was Jesus' mother making Sophia his step-mom by default, since God is Jesus Father.

Definition of Yahway: The meaning of the name `Yahweh' has been interpreted as “He Who Makes That Which Has Been Made” or “He Brings into Existence Whatever Exists”, though other interpretations have been offered by many scholars.

Sophia's identity is hidden in the Old Testament by references to her in the lower case word “wisdom.”She was a part of the Judeo-Christian heritage of the west, but forgotten within a monotheistic, patriarchal religion that denies feminine divinity.

Hagia Sophia is the lovely, domed church in Constantinople which made her name familiar. This church was built to honor the divine mother in the sixth century CE by Eastern Christians. Roman Christians claim it was dedicated to a minor virgin martyr, Saint Sophia, rather than in honor of any Divine

 Feminine.Hagia means “holy” in Greek, and was once a title of respect for wise and protected older women, but sadly the meaning has been bastardized so these wise women are referred to as “hags”.

Sophia’s archetype of wisdom causes a pressing need to find meaning and reconcile one’s beliefs through gnosis. When women are on a spiritual quest, they are finding and developing their “inner” Sophia wisdom. Since solitude is usually the developmental ground for contemplation, prayer, and meditation, a conflict may arise between the needs of relationships in the secular world, and the needs for the time for inspired religious study.

Symbols for Sophia:

the Dove of Aphrodite, which later became the dove representing the Holy Spirit

A cup

the crescent moon

a tree

Rose - Sophia, as spiritual whole, forms earth and heaven. Represented in visual form as a flower -- like the scent of a blossom, her spirit always remains attached to the earthly foundation of reality. Her luminous aspect overcomes darkness. In Dante's poem, she is the sacred white rose belonging to the Madonna, the ultimate flower of light revealed above the starry night sky.

World disc - She gathers the arts around her, teaches the philosophers, inspires the poets. She bears the world disc, the zodiac, planets, sun and moon.

Chalice - She represents the cup of the Last Supper, the mythical Holy Grail, baptism, the return to the Mother -- the spring of life

Apple - that Sophia offers is the fruit of the Tree of Wisdom instead of Eve's apple from the Tree of Knowledge. The Tree of Sophia (Wisdom) is identical to the Tree of Life, for it is known that "She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her." (Proverbs 3: 18) The apple from this tree contains Sophia's five seeds of wisdom, and she instructs one to eat these seeds, thus taking her wisdom within and assimilating it in one's deepest being. This is an organic process by which wisdom is the fruit which grows from a "new perception." As we are instructed to "Acquire Sophia, acquire perception" (Proverbs 4: 5), it is apparent that Sophia (Wisdom) is identified with perception. This "new perception" that Sophia brings is precisely the wholeness of her apple which integrates the dichotomies of existence. It is the perception of the interconnectedness of all life and the wisdom that comes from that awareness; it is the perception of creation as a blessing and the joy that comes from that recognition. Eating the seeds of the apple of wisdom leads to an "ecosophianic perspective of nature"(6) as we recognize Sophia's presence in all things. Truly it is the apple of joyful wisdom that she blesses us with!

Serpent - tempted Eve, and has subsequently become a symbol of evil, is transformed by Sophia into the serpent of feminine power and wisdom.

 The two serpents, one light and one dark, which entwine around the staff are symbols of Sophia. Thus she connects us with an earlier time in human history when the serpent as a primal symbol of the Divine Feminine was honored for its wisdom of the Earth and its power of healing and immortality. As the patriarchal world view gained dominance, this ancient symbol of the Goddess became hated and feared and its true meaning was banished along with the Divine Feminine. Sophia's call to us today is to reclaim the Feminine in all of her aspects from the patriarchal world view, and to once again honor the wisdom of the Earth and the wisdom of the body as symbolized by the serpent.

The serpent and staff also symbolize the process of transformative growth which cannot be understood by rational thought. As Erich Neumann says, "This phenomenon dominates the symbolism of the 'fall from grace' that leads to consciousness…" While the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil represents the staff with its one serpent, the Tree of Life is often depicted with two serpents. Thus Sophia's tree, like the serpent staff with its two entwining snakes, symbolizes the uniting of the opposites in a balanced equilibrium. As the serpents on the staff metamorphose into two circulating bands of light and dark energy, so the transformation of consciousness takes place through Sophia's wisdom. The fertility of the Goddess which is also symbolized by entwining snakes results from this transformation. Today this "fertility" may be viewed as the transformative creative power which must emerge in order to bring healing to our world.

[thequeenofsastiel]

Not Me Episode 12 Review

I largely REALLY enjoyed this episode.

All of the scenes between Black and White were a thing of beauty. If Gun doesn't win any awards for this show it'll be a goddamn crime.

Aside from how well acted the scenes were, I think the relationship between Black and White is actually really sweet. Black isn't trying to keep White away from his friends out of any kind of possessiveness. The only thing it stems from is a desire to protect White, and not, I think, because White's fate is tied to his. Simply because he loves his little brother. And you can really see that in his eyes. They were so hard every time he was around anyone else(except Eugene). But with White they softened considerably. It's really a testament to Gun's acting that he can make Black's soft look still be entirely different from White's(I swear I'll stop gushing about his acting at some point).

Question: Why is it that Black reacted so strongly when White was just holding his breath under water? And did White feel it when Sean was strangling Black?

I like that both Sean and White chased each other at different points. They're so in love and it's so beautiful to watch.

I wish Dan hadn't told Sean, but it's realistic. He's a fundamentally decent person, and it ate at him to be around the son of the man he killed. It was a selfish choice, but I get it.

I found Gram's speech about laws and the Code of Hammurabi confusing, but I think that's due to my own ignorance more than anything else, so I'll let it go(at least until I thoroughly read the Wikipedia page on it). I'm just glad that Sean was able to overcome his anger.

It was SUCH a terrible idea to hang out in the warehouse like that, but Sean has demonstrated that he doesn't always make the best choices, so it tracked.

It made me giggle so much that Sean kept dragging White around by the hand so that White couldn't get away like that was still a thing White wanted to do. I have so many fics involving leashes brimming.

I LOVED that Yok pointed out the silliness of "White" and "Black" as names. I honestly loved the whole confession scene. Gram, Yok, and Gumpa were so much more relaxed around White knowing that he wasn't Black. I also thought it was super cute that they teased White and Sean about their relationship. I love their group dynamic.

Does anyone else think that maybe Sean was asking about White using all of his old stuff because he was into White's glasses?

Pretty much the only part I didn't care for was the Gram and Eugene bits. It felt very weird because there seemed to be a setup for Gramblack that was just dropped.

Also she deserves better.

9/10

[fantasyinvader]

I think in theory Sothis works in Hopes. She recognizes Shez as a descendant of Agarthan, people who slaughtered their neighbours to the point Sothis unleashed a flood to try and wipe them out, all while Shez is trying to kill their avatar. Then we see Sothis getting pissed when Shez kills Jeralt, a family member of their avatar and by extension her, and begins seeking retribution. But if Shez overcomes their Agarthan heritage and works with Byleth instead, fighting to prevent Byleth from being killed, the A support with Byleth implies that she’s come to like Shez herself. If you chose to fight her, helping out her enemies without realizing it, she goes old testament on your ass.

In theory, that works.

The problem is that outside of the rivalry subplot, she doesn’t work. She recognizes the relics as her her children, but she doesn’t appear upset over seeing the mutialted corpses and hearts being used as weapons. You’d think she’d be curious over what happened to them. Likewise, Byleth can join in killing her daughter. This is a Sothis with her memories intact, and the only reason why Sothis doesn’t react is that the Shez plot doesn’t change the ending except in SB.

You’d expect maybe having her as a secret final boss fight if you recruited Byleth to SB/GW or something, but we get nothing.

[xu-ren]

Genshin gods and their connection to demonology and mythology

I’m no expert on demonology nor mythology, simply someone that enjoys both and the connection between them and Genshin Impact. I think that Mihoyo did a splendid job on the choices they made when deciding which demons in The Lesser Key of Solomon to use. Anyways, I hope that you enjoy. 

Barbatos

Barbatos in demonology is one of the earls of hell, ruling thirty legions of demons and has four kings as his companions to command his legions. His name seems to derive from Latin 'barbatus', bearded, old man, philosopher. He is the 8th demon in The Lesser Key of Solomon, while Pseudomonarchia Daemonum listed him as the 6th demon.

So far it does not really have anything to do with Genshin, except maybe the fact that Barbatos refers to Morax as old man when his name means old man, so that’s a little ironic.

Barbatos is very known for his command over archery, which is why Barbatos in Genshin uses a bow.

Alright, here is the fun part, Barbatos, unlike some of the other demons in The Lesser Key of Solomon, doesn’t have anything to do with foreign gods. Foreign gods in this case refers to gods not belonging to the Abrahamic religions.

In fact, Barbatos is a fallen angel and was once of the order of the virtues of heaven. This is a delicious piece of irony, given that Barbatos’ godly form greatly resembles an angel.

Barbatos takes upon the name ‘Venti’ as a mortal. The name Venti is most likely Latin instead of Italian. Venti in Latin means wind, and can either refer to the entirety of the four wind gods that serve Aiolos, the Roman Lord of the Winds, whose Greek counterpart is Aeolus or a specific type of wind spirit in Roman mythology, whose Greek counterpart is known as Anemoi Thuellai. The wind spirits are violent storm winds, sons of the monstrous hurricane-giant Typhoeus and were kept locked up in Aiolos’ floating fortress. 

The four wind gods that served Aiolos are Aquilo, the north wind, Favonius, the west wind, Notus, the south wind, and Vulturnus, the east wind. Their greek counterparts are Boreas, Zephyrus, Notus and Eurus respectively. I brought this up because of the Knights of Favonius. 

Another of the four winds gods appear in Genshin, although this time with a Greek name. Andrius, the Wolf of the North, is also known as Lupus Boreas. Lupus is the Latin term for wolf while Boreas, as stated above, is the Greek god of the north wind. In conclusion, the name Lupus Boreas itself more or less means Wolf of the North. 

Morax

Morax in demonology is one of the presidents of hell, ruling thirty legions of demons. His name seems to come from Latin 'morax', that delays, that stops. He is the 21st demon in The Lesser Key of Solomon.

So far, similarly to Barbatos, the only thing that has anything to do with Genshin is his name, mostly because rock is the most likely to be able to endure time.

Morax appears as a great bull with the face of a man, which is interesting in a Chinese context, as Liyue is based on Ancient China. In the Chinese zodiac, an ox has a fixed element, which is earth. The Chinese zodiac sign Ox is disciplined and orderly in his or her thoughts and actions. They are known for the strength of body, mind, and character, and tend to be very conservative. They do well in business, not because of ingenious inventions or clever self-promotion, but by hard work and long hours. Sometimes considered old-fashioned, Chinese Oxen are well-known for their moral fiber. They live by a code that may no longer be popular, but they have a clear sense of what is right and wrong. While others may see them as slow and plodding, inside, they are romantics who want to look at the world as it once was (or at least how they know it was).

This makes the ox a very fitting animal for the Morax we know in Genshin.

Furthermore, another belief for his name is the Egyptian goddess Maat, the goddess of truth, balance, order, harmony, law, morality, and justice. This makes it fitting for the Morax in Genshin in my opinion.

Alright, back to demonology, Morax teaches Astronomy and all other liberal sciences, and gives good and wise familiars that know the virtues of all herbs and precious stones. The precious stones part is fitting for the Morax in Genshin but also the fact that Morax in demonology likes to teach, just like the Morax in Genshin.

Morax descends upon Liyue as a dragon. Dragons in East Asian mythology is commonly associated with good luck, propitiousness, power, and nobleness. In ancient times, only emperors were allowed to use a dragon as a symbol. This is probably used to further reaffirm Morax’s position as the highest of the adepti. The colours used in Morax’s dragon form are simple, brown for the earth and gold for the gold that flows in his veins. Even if he did not create Mora, it is typically said that immortals bleed gold, which is commonly known as ichor.

“The Dragon is believed by the Chinese to present power and valiancy, excellence and determination, dignity and divinity. A dragon is believed to have the powers to overcome obstacles to see success. He is spirited, confident, enthusiastic, intelligent and determined.”

As a mortal, Morax takes the name ‘Zhongli’. Chinese names are a bit more difficult to decipher, compared to Latin names since they depend more of the characters used to make up the name as compared to just the sound of the name. Different characters in Chinese could make the exact same sound but mean very different things. Zhongli’s name in Chinese characters is 钟离, the Zhong in his name means clock while the Li in his name means leave. A interpretation of his name would be off the clock, symbolising his retirement. 

His name is likely from a figure in Chinese mythology, 锺离权, Zhongli Quan, one of  the Baxian, the Eight Immortals of Daoism. Zhongli Quan is also sometimes known as , 汉锺离, Han Zhongli because he is said to have lived during the Han dynasty. In legend, he wields a large fan which can resurrect the dead and transform stones into silver or gold. The Zhong in his name is actually the same Zhong used in Genshin’s Zhong but in traditional Chinese as opposed to the simplified Chinese used in Genshin. 

Baal

Baal in demonology is a Duke of Hell, with 66 legions of demons under his command. His name comes from a Canaan and Mesopotamian god, specifically the god of fertility and storms. The Semitic word Baal means lord or master, and the ancient people believed he was in charge of all of nature and humans. He is the 1st demon in The Lesser Key of Solomon.

Baal in Genshin forms herself as a ruler or lord and master of Inazuma. Unlike Barbatos, who is mostly absent or Morax, who descends once a year, Baal seems to be a god that rules with an iron fist, appropriate for someone whose name means lord or master.

Baal in Genshin claims that her ideal is "nearest unto Heaven," calls her body the "noblest and most eminent of all in this world," and sees her reign as eternal which is again, fitting for someone whose name means lord and master.

Baal in demonology is also commonly associated with Satan or at least as his primary assistant. The arrogance shown in Baal in Genshin is therefore fitting, given that Satan was once Lucifer, the most perfect of angels before he rebelled against God and fell to heaven. He too believed that his ideal was the nearest unto Heaven and that his body is the noblest and most eminent of all in this world. Another interesting factor is that Baal in Genshin believes that humans are not deserving of visions, similar to Satan’s reason for his rebellion against God, for he believed that humans did not deserve God’s love or protection.

Baal as a god was believed to be the "giver of life" and mankind was dependent upon him for providing what was necessary to sustain the farms, flocks and herds. Baal was the god of fertility and storms, it is fitting as storms meant lighting and therefore electricity. In Ugaritic and Hebrew, Baal’s epithet as the storm god was He Who Rides on the Clouds.

The question on how a powerful ruling god, similar to Zeus in Greek mythology, became known as a demon is fairly simple.

“According to the Old Testament, after the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years, they arrived in the fruitful land of Canaan where the prime deity was Baal. Before they entered the Promised Land, the Hebrew people were warned not to worship the pagan gods of Canaan. However, after wandering in the desert for all that time, they weren’t quite sure that their god was the right choice since the Canaanites were living it up on the fertile soil. Many split their allegiance and decided to worship both their god and Baal.”

Many pagan gods were demonised by the Abrahamic religions as the Abrahamic religions did not allow worship of gods that weren't their God. They called it idolatry and deemed it a sin.

Baal’s primary prophet was Jezebel, if you are not familiar with the Abrahamic religions, she is symbolically associated with false prophets. The original Jezebel instituted the worship of Baal and Asherah on a national scale and violently purged the prophets of Yahweh from Israel. Through the centuries, the name Jezebel came to be associated with false prophets. By the early 20th century, it was also associated with fallen or abandoned women. In Christian lore, a comparison to Jezebel suggested that a person was a pagan or an apostate masquerading as a servant of God. By manipulation and seduction, she misled the saints of God into sins of idolatry and sexual immorality. In particular, Christians associated Jezebel with promiscuity. The cosmetics which Jezebel applied before her death also led some Christians to associate makeup with vice.

Personally, given that the records of Jezebel are mostly from Abrahamic religions, I would advise that it be taken with a spoonful of salt. I mentioned Jezebel because she was said to have violently purged the prophets of Yahweh from Israel, similar to how Baal in Genshin purged the vision holders in Inazuma.

[s5anyu]

he is a terrible man. and yet amongst men, he is the most beautiful of characters.

Character Analysis for Askeladd of Vinland saga

On the surface, Askeladd is nothing more than a self-serving man. He is cunning, charming, and intelligent, qualities that no matter the disdain people have for his abrasive personality, have earned him respect amongst the Vikings, and beyond. Floki respects his intelligence enough to approach him to request the killing of a man who is regarded to be the strongest amongst all warriors. This being his first appearance is a solid testament to his ability to overcome any predicament – the basis of his development as a character throughout the Vinland Saga prologue. His men trust in all of his decisions, no matter how rash. They believe him to be as lucky as he is intelligent. His intelligence, wisdom and kindness complements the air of arrogance with which he carries himself. When hosted by his uncle Gorm, he laughs at him, before imparting wisdom on a young man who tells him that he would sooner die than live without pride. He says:

“Look. It’s terrible. The guy who’s a slave to money holds a whip and pretends to be the master of the slave he bought with his money. He just doesn’t realise it himself. Everyone is a slave to something.”

Such a sense of wisdom places Askeladd as a tool for Yukimura to present and explore the status of elders in Norse society. As an elder to Thorfinn, he guides him through different trials and encourages him to push his limits as a warrior, and become a better combatant. Regardless of whether or not life at war is the best option for Thorfinn, Askeladd always believes in him and his ability, and though he never expresses verbally his concern for Thorfinn’s wellbeing, he always shows an interest in Thorfinn’s safety and is always waiting for his return where the rest of his band do not care. To the other Vikings, Thorfinn is just another one of their men. Bjorn says of Thorfinn, “You trusted in his [Thorfinn’s] luck too much this time. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t lose anything.” This statement also reflects the stark individualism displayed by Vikings – although they may work together in bands of warriors or mercenaries or otherwise, they do so to serve their own interests – honour, valour, wealth, among many things. But to Askeladd, he is someone important - someone he cares for. When one considers the question of whether life at war is the best for Thorfinn the answer to this question evidences Askeladd’s selfishness. Despite knowing that life as a warrior is not the best for Thorfinn, he still uses him as a tool to further his own goals. In his own words, “It’s just easy to make use of an idiot who is not afraid of anything.”

There are, however, multiple occasions on which Askeladd appears to be straying from the typical Viking individualism of the era. The first example of this, is his kindness towards Thorfinn, as introduced in the previous paragraph. Amongst Vikings, such ideas of care and brotherhood are ultimately trumped by ideas of valour in battle and honour in death. One would not be greatly concerned with the death of one’s companions as long as they are assured that the departed are well on their way to the esteemed Valhalla – however the concern that Askeladd shows towards Thorfinn is evidence of his holding of attitudes that were unconventional for his time. This ties into the subtle revelation towards the end of the prologue that Askeladd does not believe that life at war is honourable, and does not hold the Viking people in esteem because of this; going so far as to disdain his own Norse heritage in favour of his Welsh heritage. His final actions and his final words reflect his sentiment from episode 10, Ragnarok, in which he declares:

"This is the age of twilight, Bjorn. Let’s go out with a bang."

In his final moments, he kills King Sweyn to protect both his motherland of Wales and the young Prince Canute. In this, he sacrifices himself to protect what is dear to him – and to protect King Canute who he grows to respect as a man with potential to be great in their short period of companionship. This is him leaving his mark on the age of twilight; this is him going out with a bang. He tells Thorfinn:

“In the future, after I die, how do you plan to live your life, Thorfinn? You haven’t thought about it, right? Move forward already. Don’t stay stuck in a boring place like this forever. Go far ahead, go beyond the world where Thors went. You’re Thors’ son. Go. That’s your real fight. Become a true warrior son of Thors.”

These last words reflect multiple things that are introduced at the beginning of the prologue and explored throughout it, the first being Askeladd’s feelings towards Thors. At the beginning of the prologue, Askeladd shows great respect to Thors throughout the duration of their battle. He outwardly expresses an appreciation for his strength, saying that he “could lead a whole army”. This statement shows that Thors is a man who is both physically strong and strong in character, and that Askeladd recognises this. He then asks of him, “why don’t you become our leader?” which shocks his men – as mentioned before they trust in him absolutely and are already surprised to see a man who can best him in hand-to-hand combat. However, none of them express dissent to this; whether this is out of shock or acceptance is open to interpretation. When he backtracks on this statement and says he’s only joking, one of the young men from the village try to attack Askeladd, to which he responds

“Damn kid. You should start valuing your life. You should be grateful to Thors. He was a man who was worth more than a hundred bratty kids like you.”

Askeladd greatly respects Thors and despite his decision, holds him in high esteem. The first part of this statement also reflects on his belief in – or at the very least respect for – Thors and his philosophy. He calls him a man of great value and he scolds the young man who he perceives as disrespecting the sacrifice that Thors made to keep him alive. “Don’t stay in a boring place like this” refers generally to the life of a warrior as opposed to their physical location of the king’s court. As detailed briefly above, Askeladd disdains the life of a warrior, and disdains the Vikings for it. Therefore, when he reminds Thorfinn “You’re Thors’ son”, he believes that Thorfinn Karlsefni has the potential to be as great as his father, if not more so. He believes that he can grow to become something greater than a warrior.

The second idea that this quote reflects is that of Askeladd’s care and concern for Thorfinn. He asks, “You haven’t thought about it, right?”. Askeladd has thought about how Thorfinn has been mentally since the passing of his father. Thorfinn has a stark hatred of battle and engages in it purely because of the hatred he has for Askeladd, and the proximity it gives him to his goal of killing him. Askeladd is aware of this. In his last moments, he could have been unkind and goading towards Thorfinn as he had been in the past – but instead he pushes him to seek something better. He knows that Thorfinn has been suffering emotionally and hasn’t known happiness from the day they met. Askeladd doesn’t appear as a man who wants to seek redemption – he wants Thorfinn to find happiness now that he has nowhere to direct the anger that has been his only motivator for the greater part of his childhood. From this, one could argue that Askeladd’s selfishness trumped his desire for Thorfinn to be happy. However, very early on in the prologue, Askeladd hints at his acceptance of defeat at Thorfinn’s hand.

"You’ve grown a lot. Well, time is on your side. You’re going to grow, and I’m going to get old. Someday, I’m going to lose to you. It’s only natural. Even the strongest dies someday."

Askeladd doesn’t attempt to dissuade Thorfinn from his desire for vengeance. Rather he tries to guide him towards the idea that vengeance is empty, and that any defeat he faces at Thorfinn’s hand is meaningless in the face of the natural order of the world. He knows that it is pointless to try and calm the resentment that Thorfinn harbours towards him; he knows the gravity of his sin and can’t tell Thorfinn not to hate him for it. From this, we can begin to explore the idea that Askeladd is similar to Thorfinn and sees himself in the younger man. Askeladd is just as full of hatred as Thorfinn is – as much as he is to a father figure to Thorfinn as a man, as a character, he serves as both a parallel and a foil to Thorfinn.

Askeladd is just as full of hatred as Thorfinn. His mother, Lydia, was taken from her homeland of Wales as a concubine to Olaf, and when she grew sick, she was of no value to him. She and her son were discarded and Askeladd grew to despise his father, and by extension his people. Askeladd, like Thorfinn, learned from the man he hated the most and sought revenge against him. Askeladd was successful in killing his father but his disdain for the Viking way of life and his bloodline led him to harbour resentment even into his old age. He is therefore a parallel to Thorfinn in that they both resent battle and war but tolerate it as a means to satisfying their own end. Askeladd, however, has seen and experienced first-hand the effects of Viking conquest on the innocent. Thorfinn has only seen it from the eyes of the oppressor.

Despite this, both continue to kill.

Askeladd’s ability to relate to Thorfinn’s anger is what makes him such a good father figure to him. He knows what it means to be so consumed by anger that you see nothing else, that you live for nothing else – to endure something you despise for the sake of vengeance. He knows that Thorfinn is miserable, and hurting, and lonely, because he is too. Such a sense of relatability is what puts him in a position to understand and take care of Thorfinn. It is because he understands how Thorfinn feels that he does not attempt to dissuade him from following him around in the hopes of killing him. He knows that Thorfinn cannot let go of the anger he has until he sees the recipient of that anger gone, because he too suffers from the same affliction. Therefore, it is not selfishness that drives Askeladd to keep Thorfinn around in his suffering – it is resignation; the same resignation he displays when he says that he will someday lose to Thorfinn.

Askeladd proves himself throughout his life to be ahead of his time. He is wise, caring, and understanding; but he is also cold, cunning, and ruthless. Man is not absolute, and Askeladd is no exception. But from those of his time, he is far above men – even with each and every of his nuances and flaws. he comes close to attaining the status of a true warrior as Thors was – and maybe if he had had more time, he could’ve seen his mother’s dream come true. The world is never that simple.

word from the writer:

When Askeladd was first introduced to me, he appeared to me as a terrible man. His intelligence and his strength is terrifying. A man who can kill for his own gain, without remorse. Such a terrible man. But amongst men he is the most beautiful of characters.

When I was writing this I wanted it to be a prelude to my upcoming essay on his relationship with Thorfinn. To some degree I’ve covered that here, so the next piece will most likely be on how Thorfinn views him and I would also like to talk about his relationship with prince Canute. Askeladd, despite not seeming like it, is a very fatherly man and I love looking at how he interacts with the other members of the cast. I hope you enjoyed this, and I’d love to hear what you guys have to say about this. my asks are always open.

Please look forward to the next piece in my Vinland Saga series.