#but the boredom of it all. the inescapability��

[madewithsilk]

Ellie spanking you then making you get off on her thigh for roaming around the house without her permission after she kidnapped you (with her gentle validating after care of course)

— ᴀʙᴅᴜᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ; ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴏʀ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ᴄᴀᴘᴛɪᴠᴇ (ꜰ!) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ; ᴅᴜʙ ᴄᴏɴ, ꜱᴘᴀɴᴋɪɴɢ, ᴛʜɪɢʜ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ, ᴅᴀᴄʀʏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ

Ellie’s home had a lingering chill, a sense of eeriness that made it feel even more desolate. Being trapped there against your will, with a constant ache of homesickness gnawing at you, was daunting enough. Yet Ellie somehow managed to amplify that feeling. She was often absent and at work, leaving you alone in a space that felt like a hollow shell. The temptation to escape was strong, but deep down, you knew Ellie had taken every precaution to keep her house locked down tight. Despite her attempts to show a flicker of trust—leaving you untethered, without bindings—she still enforced a firm rule: you were not to step beyond the confines of her bedroom.

You followed these rules for the most part, too frightened to go against her will. She ensured to serve you a daily reminder her kindness had limits, and they wouldn’t be taken lightly.

Yet it was currently so late, boredom seeping through every fiber of your being, enough to beguile you further than usual. Ellie wasn’t home on time, the front door firmly shut, no sound of keys rattling as she walked in or a huff of relief to finally be home. Every day you developed an anticipation for her arrival because it meant you could leave your confines as long as she was haunting you.

You’d watch her shower, the steam mingling with the warmth of your thoughts. She’d make dinner, then pretend as if you were her willful and loving partner. It was all her fantasy and you were easily swept into it. You began to crave her presence and routine, so watching it break right before your eyes effortlessly got your hands trembling in apprehension.

You walked on the tip of your toes, feathers on your feet as you made your way to the door. Your shaky hand engrossed the doorknob, taking a deep breath of reluctance. You hesitated, all the possible consequences inescapable. The door creaked as it opened, a small gap yet big enough to go through. The lights were mostly off, a dark sense of depth overtaking you. Regret immediately flooded your body yet you already opened the door so you kept on going.

Your bruised form eased its way through the dim hallway, fingers brushing the wall until you found the light switch. As you flipped it, the dark receded, revealing the room’s contours and textures illuminated in warm light. A rush of possibilities flooded your mind—what stuff could you get into now that Ellie wasn’t around to supervise? Mostly guilt roamed your sentimens, but you hadn’t been granted freedom in oh so long.

You first made your way to the living room, wandering around the ample area. The place was silent, a lack of yelling or TV static noises. It started to bore you, unsure of where the remote controller was and therefore finding no purpose in there any longer.

You walked over to the kitchen instead, no sight of a mess. Ellie kept it tidy and straightened. You didn’t wish to ruin it in a million years, and she’d never even notice you were out here. You situated on the counter, cold marble flush against your thigh and forcing your face into a shocked wince. All you did there was stare at the cabinets, rearranging them, still believing Ellie would never notice.

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie was at the front door, just so excited to see her sweet girl. The highlight of her day was getting home to you, playing pretend, and happy couple. It would help her forget all about the day. Yet when she walked in and took off her shoes and coat, something was off. The lights were on. Her first thought wasn’t to blame you, instead worried someone had broken in. She trusted you incredibly, doubting you’d leave the room without approval.

That thought quickly left her mind when she noticed you perched on the counter, not a single care in the world. Her face dropped, eyebrows tensing and hands clenching. She didn’t waste time striding over to you and before you had time to notice, she fisted a large portion of your hair and tugged on it harshly. You squealed, eliciting a scoff from her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She didn’t shout, nor whisper. Her voice was neutral and levelheaded yet her tone was firm and angry.

You stumbled off the counter, whimpering at her harsh grip. Your hands scurried to her bicep, trying to get her off but she just held on tighter. “Are you fucking with me?” She continued, pressing your chest against hers and glaring at you. Her eyebrows furrowed, gesturing at you to respond instead of staying silent like a guilty, caught puppy.

Your breathing pattern was uneven, feeling as if a large weight was placed on your chest. A lump developed in your throat, parting your lips into an O shape and simply getting mocked by Ellie. You shook your head, tears welling at your eyes. Ellie groaned in annoyance, firmly tapping your cheek. She was trying to restrain herself from fully smacking you. “I didn’t mean to— Els-“ You mumbled, babbles spilling out your lips and becoming a crying mess. “Didn’t mean to open the door and do whatever you wanted? Seriously?” Her vision narrowed at you. She effortlessly dragged you to the living room, your wobbly figure standing between her spread legs, wrists in her hand.

She hiked up your skirt aggresively, using both hands to tear your panties off. The humiliation heated your body, yet slick pooled at your cunt. It was embarassing, shame visible on your rosy, tear-stained cheeks. She expected ultimate loyalty from you. “Gonna keep making fucking excuses for yourself or get your ass bent over my lap?” You shook your head, a choked out sobed leaving your swollen lips with inaudible rambles. “Sorry— M’so sorry,” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, pulling your tummy on her lap and splaying your ass out for her.

“Gonna say thank you every time, ‘kay?” Her faux sweet voice had you biting your lip to stop the sobs, nodding your head in compliance. “Thank you because I’m so fucking generous with you,” Her hand came down on your ass, watching it slightly recoil and redden. “Thank you,” You mumbled, voice cracking. “Thank you ‘cause I’m not hurting you right now.” She kept repeating reasons, a second smack on your other cheek. You simultaneously repeated thank you’s.

Your hips rutted against her lap needily after the tenth smack, trying to distract her from the punishment, squirming on her lap to get away. Ellie tuts and shakes her head, holding your hips tightly. “Where are you going?” She spoke, hand caressing the red spots. “Wanted to be a big girl so fucking bad, now you wanna be fucked like if you’re mine?” You huff with tears, stilling your movements while your lip was snugly placed between both lips. Either way, you nodded in agreement.

“Too fucking bad, gonna be treated like a big girl.” She got an intense hold on your nape, pulling you to sit upright on her lap. Your pussy was drooling onto Ellie’s clothed thigh, creating a damp spot. You wiggled around, hand palming at her crotch. “You know what I wanted to do tonight, babydoll?” She whispered, guiding your hips to gently rock against her thigh. You nodded, yet were hardly paying attention to the way her thigh pressed against your cunt. Your mouth was agape and moaning slightly.

“Wanted to share a nice dinner, bathe together, hold you so fucking close,” She began, hand tracing your every dip and curve. You nodded to gesture you were still listening, feeling negligibly apologetic. “Then fuck you to sleep jus’ how you like it, reward you for cooperating since I got you here.” She scoffed at the mere thought of it, shaking her head. You whimpered with your eyebrows knitting together. You wanted that, craved her validation and sweet words. “Now— Now what?” Your voice was shaky and high-pitched.

She gestured with her eyes at where your cunt and her thigh connected, “Gonna keep going till you cum and make a mess on me.” She lifted a brow while thinking. “Maybe let you sleep on the fucking floor so you can learn.” You whimpered, the pace increasing against her thigh. Ellie moved her hands to your thighs, simply wanting to observe. Your cunt was making nasty wet sounds against Ellie’s jeans, hoping it would please her, silently begging her to be nice again.

She hummed in approval, groaning while staring at the spot your pussy connected to her thighs, the way your brows knit together and lips parted with moans spilling out. “Poor baby,” She taunted, licking her lips. Staring at your fucked out expression just made her feel the slightest amount of pity, placing her hand between your legs and rubbing tiny, precise circles on your clit. “Fuck,” You whimpered, eyes now squeezing shut and leaning against Ellie.

“Language, babydoll.” She scolded, kissing down your neck. You were so close, reigning in the privilege of Ellie’s touch. Your hips stuttered, a knot forming in your tummy. She grabs your jaw hardly, “Open your mouth.” You oblige so quickly, mouth parted, tongue lolling out like a bitch in heat. Ellie spit into your mouth, her saliva dripping down your tongue before you swallowed.

Your orgasm crashed against you, hiding your face into Ellie’s neck desperately. She loved when you were broken down for her, knowing this lesson would stick with you. “Dirty fucking girl.” She whispered, holding your head against her neck snugly. Her hands ran over the red marks on your ass from her repetitive spanks. You wince, back arching away from her.

As you came down from your high, emotions colliding with reality, tears begin to spill endlessly. Was she truly mad at you? Would she really make you sleep on the ground? You clung to her as she whispered soft praises into your ears. "Why are you crying?" Ellie wondered, watching you tear your head away from her. Ellie frowned at the pathetic expression you had presented to her.

"I'm so sorry," You mumbled over and over again. “Don’t wanna be on the floor, need you!” Your exclaims were loud and slightly surprising, Elie holding you closer. She was amused by how attached you were. She had imagined it would take longer to turn you so dependent. “Poor babydoll, I’ll take care of you, in bed.” She clarified and you let out a relieved sob, growing fonder and fonder by the moment.

She takes you to the bathroom and makes the bath she was already thinking about. She needed to make you think she was so damn charitable and nice to you so you wouldn't pin the blame on her but rather you. And also, some deep-down affection as she scrutinized the state you were in. She places you in there and soon joins, keeping you skin to skin, rubbing the sore spots and perhaps getting you off once again with her hands this time.

[stinkythehutt]

also. something about palpatine being so adept at seeing into the future that all of his successes feel completely joyless by the time he achieves them because he’s just going through the motions… how fucked up and nihilistic and brutal that would make you…

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

Susannah smiled softly at the kiss before assuring him, "O-Oh no, not at all! I actually slept in this morning, which was a wonderful change of pace!"

It was unfortunately the conundrum that came with being a night owl: She could easily be up long into the night without issue, which gave her an opportunity to work on a project (sometimes for work, sometimes just something personal on the side), but it also meant she was exhausted come the wee hours of the morning, when she'd reluctantly rise from her bed to take a quick bath, get dressed, tame her hair, and fix herself a quick breakfast before she had to be out the door. Even on her days off, she couldn't bring herself to sleep in: It just felt like there was too much to do, that she couldn't afford to waste the day by sleeping in.

But today...she just didn't have that nagging worry she had on her weekends. She didn't have that little voice poking her in the back of her head, prodding her into getting out of bed that morning. She felt no great rush to jump out of the sheets and bathe and fetch herself some food to keep her fueled for a little while. Instead, she felt...leisurely. Months ago, she would've been scandalized at the notion of walking down a hotel hallway in just her nightdress and robe, but this morning, she had no issue with taking it easy: Sleeping in, and indulging in a rich, flavorful breakfast with the man she loved.

"I...I hope we have more mornings like this in the future," she admitted, leaning her head on Philippe's shoulder as she dug into her pancakes. "More quiet, easy mornings, where we can just...take our time."

[mononijikayu]

do i wanna know? — gojo satoru.

There was a part of you, a fearful, vulnerable part, that wondered if Satoru would one day say the words that would break you, words that would echo the hurt from years ago, words that would strip you of the security you thought you’d found in his arms. You wondered if he would one day grow tired of you, grow bored, and walk away for someone newer, someone more suited to his world. But every time you thought of pulling back, of protecting yourself from the potential hurt, something inside you reminded you that this was different. Satoru wasn’t just anyone, and you weren’t just anyone to him. He wasn’t a man who would easily be swayed by fleeting attractions or empty promises. He was your god, and in his world, there was no one who could take your place.

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: afab, age gap (satoru is 25, reader is in her late 30s), smut, fluff, romance, lovers, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, teasing, flirting, making out, oral sex (f! receiving), rough sex, p to v sex, clit stimulation, fingers in mouth, biting, multiple orgasm, breeding kink, humor, profanity, pet names (my love, my darling, etc), anxiety, slice of life, comfort, reassurances, light-hearted, prejudice, insults, misogynist insults, threats, anger, the gojo clan, gojo elders, gojo is a step parent, reader's has a child, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, explicit language used, mention of sexual euphemisms, mention of previous abusive relationship, mention of forced arrange marriage, depiction of romantic relationship, depiction of explicit sexual content;

WORD COUNT: 11k words.

NOTE: this won the poll for satoru's birthday and i am obedient to your commands. anyway, gege mentioned in a q&a before that in another life, satoru would have loved to be with an older woman who takes care of him. and i really wanted to put that into writing. clan leader gojo satoru met his paramour when he was 23 and she was in her 30s. and they got together a year later, after he caused her divorce (good, we hate her ex!) anyway, i hope you enjoy this. happy birthday satoru <3333

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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GOJO SATORU DOESN’T LIKE IT HERE, IF HE WAS BEING HONEST. But with his birth as the Gojo clan’s head nearly twenty-eight years ago, it was inevitable that duty would follow him like an unwelcome shadow.

And while Satoru Gojo might have been known for bending, well if not outright breaking the rules, some responsibilities were inescapable. The tedious rituals of these endless, mind-numbingly dull meetings were one such obligation.

The elders droned on, their voices blending into a monotonous hum as Satoru rested his chin in his palm, his trademark blindfold pushed up to reveal eyes that sparkled with a mix of boredom and mischief. If it were up to him, he’d be anywhere else. Well, preferably with you.

But then he thought of you.

You’d scold him lightly the last time he’d skipped a similar meeting, your hands on your hips and your voice tinged with exasperation. “Satoru, I get that these things are boring, but you’re the head of the clan. You can’t just skip out whenever you feel like it.”

The memory of your words made him smirk, even now. He’d teased you about sounding like one of the elders, only for you to roll your eyes and threaten to lock him out of the house next time.

But beneath the teasing, Satoru could tell you weren’t really angry. You just wanted him to live up to what you believed he could be—a leader, a protector, someone worthy of the respect that came with his position.

And Satoru, for all his arrogance and rebelliousness, cared deeply about what you thought of him. He liked making a good impression on you, liked seeing that spark of pride in your eyes when he actually tried. He liked being dominated by you in that way. In the way no one else could with strength or authority. And that will never change, even if he gets older. 

Because when you were happy, life was so much better.

Happy little paramour, happy Satoru.

Good things happened when you were pleased with him. Like the way you’d smiled at him that night, soft and warm, when he returned from a long day of clan business without a single complaint. Or the way you’d rewarded him, your touch gentle yet possessive, as you whispered just how proud you were of him.

That memory alone was enough to keep him seated in this stuffy room, enduring the endless stream of pointless debates.

His cerulean eyes flicked to the clock on the far wall, and he sighed internally. Maybe if he played nice for a little longer, he’d earn another one of your “rewards”. That thought made his lips twitch upward, turning his smirk into something softer, almost boyish.

For now, he’d comply. Not for the elders, not for tradition, and certainly not for the so-called dignity of the Gojo clan.

But for you?

Always.

The grand hall of the Gojo estate carried the weight of centuries, its towering wooden beams etched with intricate carvings of the clan’s history and power. Light filtered through paper windows, casting soft, golden hues onto the tatami floors. The faint scent of cedar and aged paper lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the tradition that permeated every corner of this space.

In the very center of the semicircle formed by the Gojo elders, Satoru Gojo sat with an air of effortless defiance. His long legs were crossed, the hem of his sleek black uniform brushing against the floor as he leaned back into the ornate chair that seemed too formal for his irreverent posture. One arm draped lazily over the chair’s armrest, the other resting against his knee.

His blindfold was pushed up just enough to reveal those striking cerulean eyes, glowing faintly under the dim light. They darted from one elder to the next, absorbing their stern expressions and stiff postures. Their disapproving glares didn’t faze him in the slightest. If anything, his smirk deepened, radiating a casual arrogance that seemed to say, Go ahead, bore me more.

The elders sat like statues, their somber robes pooling around them as they exchanged glances, each waiting for someone else to break the tense silence. It was a calculated move, a tactic they had used many times before—to let the room fill with the weight of unspoken expectations.

But Satoru? He was unbothered. The tension that might have crushed a lesser man seemed to amuse him. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest in a slow rhythm, a subtle show of impatience.

Finally, the eldest among them spoke, his voice gravelly with age and heavy with authority. “Satoru.”

The single word echoed through the hall, a summons and a reprimand all at once.

Satoru tilted his head slightly, his smirk shifting into a lopsided grin. “Yes, yes, I’m listening.” he said, his tone light, almost playful. “No need to sound so grim. What is it this time? Another lecture on duty? A new list of rules I’m supposed to follow but probably won’t?”

A ripple of disapproval passed through the elders, their expressions darkening. They had always known that Gojo Satoru was going to overwhelm them. He was the most powerful of all the Six Eyes ever to be born upon this earth. A god among men.

But they would have wished that he was someone that wasn’t this strong. They would have wished for a boy meek and obedient, observing the rules and traditions of piety and propriety, as they had taught him long ago.

“This is not a matter to be taken lightly, Satoru–sama.” another elder intoned, his voice sharp. “As the head of the Gojo clan, you bear responsibilities that extend beyond yourself. You carry the legacy of our bloodline.”

“Mm, I’ve heard that one before, y’know?” Satoru replied, his grin widening. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “Let me guess. You’ve got some brilliant plan for my life that I’m supposed to nod along to?”

One of the other elders cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Satoru–sama, we convened today to discuss matters of critical importance to the Gojo clan’s future. Your leadership is unmatched, your strength unparalleled. As it always will be. But, Satoru–sama, strength alone does not secure our lineage.”

Satoru leaned back, his head tilting slightly. “Let me guess, old man.” he said, dragging out the words. “This is once again about me settling down and having kids to ‘secure the lineage.’ Right?”

The female elder hesitated before nodding. “Precisely, Satoru–sama. It is time you began considering suitable candidates for marriage. The Gojo name—”

“Not interested.” Satoru cut her off, waving a dismissive hand. His tone was light, but the sharp edge behind it was impossible to miss. She frowns at him. He smiles at her. “Granny, seriously. Don’t look at me like that. I’m seriously not interested!”

Another elder leaned forward, his voice laced with frustration. “This isn’t a suggestion, Satoru–sama. As the head of the clan, it is your duty to—”

Satoru chuckled, his smirk widening. “Duty? That’s rich. You’re asking me to chain myself to someone I don’t care about for some outdated notion of duty? Hard pass.”

“You’re being too eager and  reckless!” another elderly clan woman’s voice snapped. The eldest of the group, her tone carried the authority of someone used to being obeyed. “This is not just about you, Satoru–sama. The Gojo clan must remain strong, its bloodline untainted. That harlot—”

“Untainted? Harlot?” Satoru’s smirk vanished, and his voice dropped, cold and deliberate. His cerulean eyes grew brighter. “My, my. Granny. You ought to know your words are irritating to the ear. It’s really making it itchy.”

“Thinking about the future is not a joke!”

“You sound like one of those sorcerer supremacists I spend my days cleaning up after. Careful, you’re starting to sound like the bad guys.” He touts, leaning against the back of his chair. “And I have no interest in joining you in that, sorry.”

The elder stiffened but pressed on. “We are not supremacists, Satoru–sama. We are protectors of tradition. And this so-called ‘companion’ of yours—this filthy harlot—is beneath the dignity of the Gojo clan.”

The elders grew quiet as they looked at the elderly woman. Everything stilled in the room as the words hung in the air. No one would have dared say anything. Nothing at all. Not ever. Not when they knew that they had no right to. He doesn’t like hearing those words about you. He hates it. He absolutely hates it. 

Gojo Satoru’s posture straightened, and for the first time in the meeting, his full attention was on them. The air grew heavy, crackling with a faint but unmistakable aura of cursed energy. His piercing cerulean eyes grew ever so bright that it made them feel blinded by the sheer power that echoes through. 

“I told you already. Those words aren’t acceptable to me, granny.” Satoru said, his voice deadly quiet. The elder faltered, but Satoru didn’t give him a chance to recover. “You think you can talk about her like that? Like she’s nothing? You don’t get to decide her worth. Not to me.”

“She is not suitable for someone of your status!” another elder argued, his voice sharp and rising with indignation. Her old weathered hands gripped the edges of the low table before him as if clutching at the weight of tradition itself. 

He stares at her coldly. “Is that so?”

“She has no ties to the clan, no exceptional lineage, and what remains is disgrace—a widow with a child? You bring shame to—”

“She has me.”

The words cut through the elder’s tirade like a blade, cold and unyielding. Satoru’s voice was firm, carrying a finality that made the elders freeze. He rose from his seat abruptly, the chair scraping against the tatami with a low, ominous groan. 

His towering frame seemed even more imposing in the dim light, and the smirk that had danced on his lips moments ago was gone, replaced by a hard, unflinching glare.The shift in his demeanor was palpable. 

The temperature of the room seemed to plummet as raw power rippled through the air, emanating from Satoru in waves. His cursed energy was no longer contained, no longer the effortless hum of control they were used to. Instead, it rolled off him in a suffocating wave, filling the grand hall like an invisible storm.

The flickering light through the paper windows dimmed as if the very room recoiled from the intensity of his presence. The shadows danced wildly across the deep wooden walls, twisted and distorted, as if reflecting the raw emotion crackling beneath his calm façade.

“That’s more than enough, don’t you think?” Satoru’s voice was low, almost a growl, yet it carried across the room with a weight that settled deep in the chest of everyone present.

The elder who had spoken faltered, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for a retort, but no words came. None of them dared speak. Not now. Not when the sheer magnitude of the Six Eyes’s power was on full display before them. And with Gojo Satoru at its helm, of course there was the right to stay silent. 

Everything about him was terrifying. They had always known that. The moment he was born, he was a god. Everyone knew that. And yet, they kept poking him. They kept viewing him as one of their own when they were below him. They always have been.

The room felt like a scene from a horror film, the oppressive energy pressing down on the elders like unseen hands. Even the most seasoned among them, a highly respected female elder who had faced countless curses in her youth than Satoru could ever have couldn’t suppress the faint tremor in her fingers as she stared at the walking god among them, their clan head.

Gojo Satoru’s expression remained unwavering as his piercing blue eyes swept across the room, daring anyone to challenge him further. He was not fazed by any of them, never. Why should a god be bothered with these mortals who think they can get away with irritating him? 

“She is mine, do you hear me?” he continued, his voice steady and dangerously calm. “And that’s all that matters. Her value isn’t something you get to decide, and it sure as hell isn’t tied to your outdated notions of status and bloodlines. You got that, granny?”

The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint creak of wood as one of the elders shifted uneasily.

“You’re letting your arrogance blind you.” the elder woman pressed, though her voice wavered. “Your attachment to this woman will weaken the clan. It will make us a laughingstock.”

Satoru stepped closer, his presence suffocating. “Weak? Do I look weak to you? Does the Six Eyes look weak? The only thing making this clan a laughingstock is your obsession with control.” 

He paused, his tone softening into something more dangerous. “You don’t like her because she’s not one of you. Fine. But understand this: she stays. And if you have a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”

The elders exchanged uneasy glances, their authority shrinking under Satoru’s gaze. The silence stretched until one of the younger members tried a different approach. “Satoru–sama,” he said cautiously. “Perhaps this isn’t about approval. It’s about legacy. You could have her and still—”

“Enough.” Satoru’s voice was final. He turned his back on them, striding toward the door. “I don’t need your permission, and I’m not asking for it. Marry someone ‘suitable’ to have a perfect Gojo heir? Sounds boring as hell.” 

He stopped at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder. “If you want to waste your time scheming, knock yourselves out. But don’t expect me to care.”

“Satoru–sama—”

Satoru’s smirk returned, this time sharper, colder, as he leaned forward slightly. He looked at the elderly woman, once more. She started to feel frigid, her palms were sweating. The more he looked at her, the more his stare intensified against him.

“If you can’t accept that, maybe it’s time for you to consider if you’re suitable to serve me or this clan, don’t you think? I’m sure retirement is good for you, granny. After all, the old need to take their time and have something else, don’t you think?”

The entire room seemed to hold its bated breath, the weight of his threateningly blunt words pressing down like a stone. All of the elders exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado crumbling in the face of Satoru’s unrelenting presence. 

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the oppressive energy dissipated. The shadows stilled, the room brightened, and the suffocating tension eased. But the impression it left lingered—a stark reminder of who they were dealing with.

Satoru once more straightened, his posture relaxed once more, but the fire in his cerulean eyes hadn’t dimmed. He’d rather stop now. He doesn’t want you to be angry at him when you find out about the things he’s done here. A warning is much better. It’s better to keep them in line.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the hall’s exit, leaving the elders to stew in silence. At the doorway, he paused, glancing over his shoulder with a final smirk. “Oh, and one more thing—if you ever insult her again, we won’t be having a polite conversation next time. You are all replaceable, you know?”

With that, Gojo Satoru left, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving the elders to sit in stunned, chastened silence. The grand doors slammed shut behind him, leaving the elders in stunned silence. 

One of the older members sighed heavily, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s as stubborn as his old brute of a father.”

“No.” the eldest woman corrected, her eyes narrowing. “He’s worse. And we’ve let him believe he’s untouchable.”

The other elder narrows his eyes and looks at them. “But he is. He is…he is a god.”

No one spoke another breath.

They all looked away from one another.

They knew the elder was too correct.

And that god, he will do as he pleases, no matter what.

Meanwhile, Gojo Satoru walked down the estate’s long corridors, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He had no patience for their games, but the thought of returning you, you who was waiting for him, was more than enough to wash away the bitterness of the meeting. He pulled his phone from his pockets and started calling you. 

Gojo Satoru’s name flashed across your phone screen, and a small smile tugged at your lips as you answered. You haven't heard from him since yesterday. He had a mission and now he had a meeting with his clan elders, so he has been busy. 

You missed his voice, you missed having him in your arms. But you can’t get in the way of his day to day. If anything, you were just happy that he chose you, out of everyone else in the world. He loves you. 

“Hello, my love.” you greeted, your voice light but with a hint of warmth. “What’s up?”

There was a brief pause on the other end. You wonder why he was staying silent. But Gojo Satoru knows he doesn’t see you as often as he would have liked. He liked taking the time to enjoy the warmth that comes in your voice when you call him endearments. When your voice warmly calls to him. He doesn’t like taking it for granted.

But before long, Satoru’s voice came through, low and a little teasing.  “I’m coming over.” 

His tone held that playful, confident edge, the one that made it clear he was already on his way and didn’t care whether you were ready or not. When you first met Satoru, you had always known him to be head–strong and powerful. It was something you could tell with the way his voice reverberates. 

But the more you got to know him over the years, you were quite certain that there was always a warmth that echoes through his voice whenever he talks to you. And you loved every bit of it. You always want to hear that over and over again, to feel it over and over again. Even if it was playful teasing.

A soft chuckle escaped you. “Well, I guess I’ll get ready then. You never give me much notice, do you?”

Satoru’s laugh was almost smug. “Why would I? You’ll always be ready for me, won’t you?”

You could almost picture the smirk on his face, the same one that always made your heart race in the best way. You could feel your entire body turn flustered scarlet at his words. He always knew how to make you feel like this. And you knew only he could do this so well to you.

“I’m not a mind reader, Satoru.” you teased back, but there was a warmth in your voice that betrayed how much you adored him.

“I’ll be there soon, darling.” he said, his tone turning a little softer now, like it always did when it was just the two of you. “I missed you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the sincerity in his words making you pause for a moment. “I missed you too. Hurry up.”

Satoru didn’t respond immediately, but the sound of his light chuckle on the other end was all you needed to know he was already half-smiling at the phone. He was happy to always be in your presence. Today was not an exemption.

“You know I’ll always be there when you need me, darling.” he said finally. “Give me a few minutes.”

Before you could reply, he hung up, and you found yourself smiling to yourself as you placed your phone down. The wait would be worth it. You sighed and walked out the room, seeing your own little young one play with their toys on the living room floor. Your child is at least distracted for a little while longer. So, you’ll use some of that time and get beautiful for your lover.

══════════════════

THIS WAS A PLACE THAT WAS JUST FOR YOU AND YOU ONLY. Satoru had intended it to be that way. He had always known you’d like something that was under your name.

And you had always said that you would have wanted your own home, your own place. One to reflect yourself and your person. You’d never had that before. Not even as a girl in your father’s minor clan. 

So when you had gotten your divorce, this was his little present to you. You had been stunned, of course. You could only wonder how much money your lover had poured into such a place like this. Yet each time you asked to compensate him, he would shut you down. He would say that you being with him was enough, that was more than enough for him.

Gojo Satoru, if he was being honest, did not care for that. Money didn't matter to him. He had too much of it. This house was like a lunch packet to him from the convenient store. He wouldn’t have his pockets broken by this purchase. If anything, he had wanted to give you more. 

But when he had shown you all the other houses, you felt intimidated by its magnanimity. You had lived in a clan manor all your life. And it was a lonely place. A painful place. And so he granted your wish, as he always will. An intimate home, big enough to feel spacious, small enough to feel homely. 

And of course, you didn’t want him to think you were just with him for his money. You never were. You never wanted his money. Or any of his riches. You shunned them. Each and every time. Even a small gold necklace would horrify you. 

But Satoru wants to show you that you deserve it. You deserved being lavished like this. And more than ever, he’d always liked spoiling you, making you feel good, making you feel important. Making you feel wanted. But not even your ex–husband had done this for you before. But Satoru has. He always will, he swore that to you. And he will never make you feel any other way. He wants you. Only you. 

The house stood a fair bit away from the sprawling Gojo estate, nestled in a quiet grove of cherry blossom trees. There was a bright blossoming garden, full of blossoming sweet lilies facing the house’s massive gate. There was a small pond on the front of the garden, where koi swim with great abundance.

It wasn’t extravagant by any stretch—certainly not what one might expect from the limitless wealth and influence of Gojo Satoru. But that was the point. This house was a sanctuary, a world of its own, far removed from the suffocating expectations and politics of the Gojo clan. 

And it was where he could be with you. Where you would always welcome him with adoration. Where you both could just be the lovers you were. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. This was perfect. This was home. His home.

You stood on the porch, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of blossoms as your child played in the yard. The soft laughter of your little one rang out, and you couldn’t help but smile. The sound was a salve to your heart, a reminder of the joy you’d rebuilt after your loss. Life had been cruel, but it had also been kind enough to lead you here. To him.

Gojo Satoru appeared from the path that wound through the grove, his white hair catching the sunlight like in the awakening dawn. He wasn’t wearing his blindfold—he rarely did around you. And those impossibly bright eyes locked onto you the moment he saw you. His lips curled into a grin, and the weight you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying lifted in an instant.

“Hey!” he called, his voice teasing as he reached the steps. “You weren’t waiting too long for me, were you?”

“You? On time?” you shot back, laughing softly. “I wouldn’t dream of expecting it.”

He feigned a wounded expression, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Ouch. And here I was, rushing back because I missed you.”

You shook your head, your smile softening as he stepped onto the porch. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, his hand lingering on your waist, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you. You allowed the warmth of his kiss to linger on your cheek for a little while longer as you closed your eyes.

“I mean it, you know.” he murmured, his tone quieter now. “I missed you, my love.”

Your gaze met his, and for all his confidence, all his bravado, there was something achingly sincere in his eyes. You touched his cheek, brushing your thumb lightly against his skin. You hummed right back at him. 

“I missed you too. Very much so, my dearest.”

Satoru’s eyes flicked toward your child, who was now chasing a butterfly near the garden. His grin returned, brighter but no less genuine. They had become ever so playful, perhaps even more playful to the point he was almost like a child. 

“How’s the little one today? Still convinced they can outrun nature?”

“They’re determined.” you replied with a laugh. “Like someone else I know.”

“Hey, I don’t chase butterflies. Butterflies chase me.” he quipped, stepping into the yard. Your child spotted him and squealed with delight, abandoning the butterfly to run toward him.

“Uncle Satoru!”

He caught the child mid-run, lifting them high into the air as they giggled uncontrollably. “What’s up, champ? You keep your mom on her toes?”

“Uh-huh!” they exclaimed, wrapping their arms around his neck. “I helped with the garden!”

“Did you now?” Satoru asked, his tone conspiratorial. “Well, you’re officially better at gardening than me. Guess I should just let you take over.”

You watched the two of them, your heart full as you observed Satoru with your child, his laughter ringing through the air as he effortlessly entertained with some playful trick.

Your little one’s giggles echoed in the room, their bright eyes alight with the wonder that only Satoru seemed to inspire. You couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned back, letting the moment settle in.

Satoru had slipped into your life so effortlessly, as if he’d always been meant to be here. There was never any doubt in his mind that he belonged. And despite the differences that had initially made you hesitate—your age, the fact that you were a widow with a child, the baggage of a past life you had long left behind—he had never wavered. He’d never made you feel as if your history, your experience, your flaws, were anything but part of who you were.

The memory of how it all began flickered in your mind.

It had been at a gathering—a formal affair, the kind that your circle insisted on holding, where old friends and acquaintances came together to exchange pleasantries. You hadn’t expected much. But there, across the room, amidst the sea of people, stood Satoru.

He had been just another guest at the event, but there was something in the way he carried himself that immediately drew your attention. His presence was magnetic, unapologetically confident yet somehow effortlessly disarming.

The way his eyes scanned the room as if he had the power to bend the world to his will, the slight curve of his lips that suggested he knew exactly what was on everyone’s mind—he exuded an energy that you hadn’t realized you missed in your life.

At first, you had told yourself that you were imagining things. You were older, you had been burned by love before. And Satoru? He was younger, practically a child in comparison, and someone who could undoubtedly have anyone he wanted. It wasn’t just that, of course. 

There were still remnants of your scandalous and brutish marriage to contend with, your abusive ex–husband was still alive, as much as his own terrible brute of relatives. And it does not help that your own family does not wish to see you ever again, after you have divorced your husband. 

Then there were your own fears, your insecurities. You weren’t someone that would catch his eye. You were a weak woman with little to no cursed energy, destitute and without anything to her name or her person that could qualify such worth to a man like him. And how could such a person like you ever be enough for such a spectacularly beloved, god-like man such as him? 

But despite all of it, when your own bright eyes met his own cerulean eyes across the crowded room, there was an undeniable pull, as if the universe itself had quietly decided that you and he were meant to meet. 

There was no turning back now. Not when you had already captured his attention. Gojo Satoru had approached you with that same easy confidence, that casual smirk, as if he already knew you—knew exactly who you were. 

"I've seen you around, madam." he’d said, his voice warm and smooth. “But I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.”

The way he looked at you made you feel seen, as if he understood more about you than anyone could. It was disarming, but it also felt strangely comforting. You had expected to be distant, guarded, perhaps even cold. But instead, you found yourself drawn in, eager to know more, to hear more from this man who seemed to be everywhere at once, yet made you feel like the only person in the room.

“It's a big world, my lord.” you had responded with a soft laugh, trying to play it off, but something in his eyes made you stop.

“I don’t think it’s that big.” he’d said, voice light yet sure. “Not when you’re with the right person.”

That was the moment everything had changed. His words, his certainty, settled deep within you. Those words had almost certainly stirred you awake. You hadn’t been expecting it, hadn't even known you were looking for it but there it was, a spark. A spark that only both of you could ever feel for one another. No one else.

From that day forward, Satoru had been a constant presence in your life, never once giving you the chance to second-guess his intentions. He didn’t care that you were older, that you had a child, that you came with emotional baggage, that you came from nothing. His focus was always on the future, on the here and now. On you. Only ever you.

And despite the fears that still lingered deep within you, the concerns about what others might think, Satoru was always there, unwavering, convincing you slowly but surely that what mattered wasn’t age, or circumstance. It was a connection. It was love, pure and simple. And he had said it time and time again, no love was purer than his. 

Now, seeing him with your child, the way he so effortlessly blended into your world, you knew that all your doubts, your hesitations, had been nothing but noise. The bond you shared with Satoru had grown far beyond anything you had imagined when you first met him. 

And as you watched him laugh with your little one, you knew in your heart that this life—this beautiful, imperfect life was everything you had ever wanted. Gojo Satoru had never wavered, not even once. And as long as he was by your side, neither would you.

He’d brushed aside your concerns with that infuriatingly charming smile of his. “You’re beautiful, my love.” he’d said. “You’re kind. You take care of me in ways no one else ever has. Why should I care about anything else?”

And he didn’t. Not the whispers from the Gojo clan elders, not the disapproving stares from those who clung to tradition. None of it mattered to him. You were his. And he would be damned if anyone else tried to take you away from him. He wouldn’t allow it. Not ever, not now.

When Satoru finally returned to the porch, your child perched happily on his shoulders, he gave you a grin so full of mischief and warmth that it made your chest ache and your stomach echo with the string of butterflies dancing with joy.

“You know, my love.” he said, crouching to let the child climb down, “I think I might stick around tonight. Someone’s gotta keep you company while the kiddo’s sleeping.”

“You’re terrible at subtlety, don’t you think?” you teased, though your smile betrayed you.

“Subtlety is well overrated.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “But loving you? That’s never gonna be.”

And in that moment, with the sunset painting the grove in hues of gold and the sound of your child’s laughter still lingering in the air, you believed him. Satoru Gojo didn’t care about what the world thought. He cared about you. And that was more than enough.

That evening, the house was filled with the kind of quiet warmth that only came when everything was just as it should be. The three of you had dinner together, as you always do when he was around. You were carefully eating the curry you made while your Satoru kept your child entertained with exaggerated stories of his latest exorcisms at work. 

“And then, you’re gonna enjoy this!” Satoru declared, balancing a piece of rice precariously on his chopsticks for dramatic effect. “This cursed spirit thought it could outsmart me. Me!” He tapped his temple. “But I hit it with my Infinity Combo—that’s what I’m calling it for now, by the way—and boom! Game over. I won! Of course, I would.”

“Yay! You’re so cool, uncle Satoru!” Your child clapped their hands, eyes wide. “Did it explode?”

“Obviously, kiddo.” Satoru said, leaning closer with a conspiratorial grin. “But I made sure it wasn’t messy. I mean, your mom wouldn’t be happy if I came home with guts all over me, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “You’d better not. I’m not washing that out like last time.”

“See?” Satoru said, ruffling the child’s hair. “That’s why we have to stay clean. Gotta keep your mom happy. Like always, hm?”

After that satisfying dinner, your child begged for one more story before bed, and Satoru, someone who was always indulging to spoil your child, quickly obliged with a smile. Your child quickly cheered and ran to bed, calling your lover by his side.

You watched from the doorway as he sat on the floor beside their bed, weaving a fantastical tale you couldn’t tell where the truth ended and his imagination began. Satoru was a born storyteller, you could tell that much.

He’d told you that he’d done the same for Tsumiki and Megumi when he was younger. And you could tell, they both enjoyed it as much as your child was.

“And that’s when the hero—who totally wasn’t me, by the way—saved the day and got ice cream as a reward!” Satoru finished with a flourish. “The end.”

Your child giggled sleepily, their eyelids growing heavy. “Uncle Satoru… you’re the best.”

Satoru leaned down, looking at your child ever so tenderly. As though he loved them as his own. He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to their forehead. “Nah. That’s you, champ. Sweet dreams.”

As he stood and turned, he caught your gaze. Something unspoken passed between you, and in that moment, the depth of his love for both you and your child was as clear as the night sky. And that had only made you fall in love with him even more deeper than before. 

You both left the room quietly, the soft sound of your child’s even breathing following you down the hall. Once in the living room, you turned to Satoru, your arms crossing playfully towards him. He raises a brow at you with intrigue.

“You spoil them, you know.”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I, my love?” he said, plopping onto the couch and stretching out. “It’s in the job description. Best unofficial stepdad ever.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting down beside him. “Oh? Is that what you are now?”

“Mm-hmm.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “And let me tell you, I’m killing it. They adore me.”

“They do, they always will.” you admitted, resting your head against his chest. “And so do I.”

Satoru stilled for a moment, his arms tightening around you. He lets his lips quiver into a satisfied smile. His bright eyes gleamed at you with the warmth that only others can hope for when he looks. This was only for you. Only ever you.

��Good.” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. Got that?”

“Hm, I got it.”

You closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchor you. Life hasn't been easy. You don’t think it ever will be. it had been messy and unpredictable and, at times, unbearably painful. But with Satoru, it felt whole again. You felt like you actually had a shot at life. And that was more than enough.

He tilted his head to press a kiss to your hair, and when he spoke again, his voice was lighter, teasing. “You know, I think I deserve some kind of reward for all this family-man stuff. Maybe a kiss? Or two? Just to keep me motivated.”

You laughed, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You’re impossible, Satoru.”

“And you love me for it.” He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was equal parts playful and tender.

And he was right. You did.

══════════════════

YOUR LOVER WAS INSATIABLE WHEN THE QUIET COMES. When the quiet settled over the house like a soft blanket, you knew what would happen. It was always like that when Satoru was around. Nothing can change that. Not when he missed you.

You started to prepare your child’s clothes for tomorrow’s school day. You could feel their breathing steadily echo through the walls as you put away the clothes on the table. You smiled at your child and tucked the covers over their body. 

They’d kicked it off again, as they shifted positions. You lingered for a moment longer, brushing a hand over their hair and kissing their forehead, before stepping out of the room with careful precision.

The second you closed the door behind you, you felt it—Gojo Satoru’s presence. He was waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall at the end of the hallway, his arms crossed and that signature smirk already in place. And those bright cerulean eyes gazed at you with never– ending mischief. He almost looked like a sly little fox as he stood there.

“You’ve been avoiding me, darling.” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of accusation.

“I haven’t, my love.” you replied, though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck.

“Mm-hmm.” he murmured, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few long strides. “You’ve been too busy being the perfect mom. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already there, his hands finding your waist as he leaned in closer. His voice dropped to a low, teasing murmur. “But now that the little one’s asleep… I get to be selfish now.”

Your breath hitched, and you barely managed to say, “Satoru—” before he scooped you up effortlessly.

“Bedroom. Now, my darling.” he said simply, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

You didn’t bother protesting, you can’t. This was Gojo Satoru—stubborn, insatiable, and completely unapologetic when it came to what he wanted. And tonight, what he wanted was you. He wanted you too much. And you folded to him, each and every time.

Once in the room, he set you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. His bright blue eyes drank you in, and the intensity of his gaze made your skin flush with warmth.

“Satoru, my love.” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he interrupted, his tone soft but firm as he guided you to lie back. He climbed over you, his weight pinning you down just enough to remind you of how completely he had you. “Can’t tell me no? Or can’t look at me because you’re too embarrassed?”

You tried to cover your face, the heat in your cheeks unbearable, but Satoru wasn’t having it. He caught your wrists, pinning them above your head as he chuckled. “No hiding, my darling. I want to see you. All of you. Come on now.”

Your body quickly betrayed you, warmth pooling low in your belly as his bright eyes roamed over you, drinking in every little movement, every tremble. A sound echoes out your lips, feeling yourself needy for his touch. 

At times, it felt like Schrödinger’s cat. There were moments when you were filled with uncertainty, wondering if you could ever truly be enough for someone like the beloved, the strongest Gojo Satoru. You knew he was everything—a god, untouchable in his power, his influence, his confidence.

And so, you couldn’t help but question whether a mere mortal like you could ever measure up to someone who had it all. You found yourself wondering if he truly wanted you, all of you, in the deepest sense. If the love you felt for him, the depth of your connection, was something that could flow both ways, something that he felt with the same intensity.

It was a constant battle between insecurity and trust. You had known love before, had felt it burn and then fade to ashes. Your past marriage, the pain, the heartbreak—it still lingered, a shadow that stretched across your memories. 

There was a part of you, a fearful, vulnerable part, that wondered if Satoru would one day say the words that would break you, words that would echo the hurt from years ago, words that would strip you of the security you thought you’d found in his arms. You wondered if he would one day grow tired of you, grow bored, and walk away for someone newer, someone more suited to his world.

But every time you thought of pulling back, of protecting yourself from the potential hurt, something inside you reminded you that this was different. Satoru wasn’t just anyone, and you weren’t just anyone to him. He wasn’t a man who would easily be swayed by fleeting attractions or empty promises. He was your god, and in his world, there was no one who could take your place.

Still, the doubts lingered. And just when you thought they might overtake you, he would remind you, remind both of you, of the undeniable connection between you. That there can only be this, this love that drowns you both or nothing else. 

Satoru was always there, his presence suffocatingly constant, yet somehow comforting. He would show up at your door unannounced, as if he had no other place to be but with you. He would strip away the physical distance between you, his hands on your skin with the same ferocity, the same hunger, as if you were the only thing he needed at this moment.

Each time his hands moved over your body, each kiss he placed upon your lips, his desire wasn’t just physical. He was not like those men, he never will be. Because he wanted everything. He wanted to corrupt you, he wanted to own you, he wanted to love and embrace you. 

Everything about it was deep, rooted in something raw, something primal. And he’ll never deny it. He’ll never deny his pleasure when it comes to you. Nothing about you should be denied. Only loved. Only cared for. As much as you care and love him too.  

He would kiss you until your lips were bruised, until you couldn’t breathe without feeling his taste on your tongue. His hands would roam, making you moan, making you beg for more, each round of love-making leaving you gasping, crying out his name.

Your body would tremble with each wave of pleasure. And in the midst of all this, you couldn’t deny the feeling of belonging. He didn’t just take from you—he gave back in ways that made you feel cherished, wanted, desired beyond measure.

There were times, after each passionate encounter, when you’d lie in his arms, your heart still pounding in your chest, your breath still heavy. The doubts would still flicker in the back of your mind, but in his embrace, in his whispered words of reassurance, those doubts would fade, replaced by a warmth that told you he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going to leave you. Not now, not ever.

“I’m yours, darling.” he would whisper against your skin, his voice thick with emotion, his hands gently tracing the curve of your body. “I’ll always be yours, no matter what. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

And in those moments, when his love for you was as undeniable as the air you breathed, you believed him. You had to. Because when you crawled back to him, just as he always crawled back to you, there was no room for doubt. He was yours, and you were his. And that was enough.

“Satoru, my love.” you whispered again, your voice trembling with both anticipation and shyness.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he hummed, “I missed you, darling. Every inch of you. And now, I’m not waiting another second.”

Before you could respond back to him, you felt his lips occupy your neck, trailing soft, deliberate kisses down to your collarbone. He took his time, savoring every shiver and sigh, until your body felt like it was a house on fire. 

You could feel him bite against your neck, and then he nibbles, leaving you gasping for air as his body covers yours. And when he finally moved lower, his hands sliding down to hold your hips firmly in place, you knew what was coming.

“Satoru—” you started, but his smirk stopped you in your tracks.

“No hesitations.” he murmured, his voice rich with anticipation. “You’re mine, and I’ll remind you exactly what that means.”

And as he selfishly found your most sensitive place with the vigor of his tongue, as he drew out every moan and cry from you with expert ease and a smirk, you realized once again just how utterly wanton and utterly irresistible Satoru Gojo could be.

The world outside ceased to exist as Satoru poured all his pent-up longing into you. His finger’s touch the blossoming of your clit was purposeful yet teasing, drawing the most beautiful sounds from you that you couldn’t hold back no matter how much you tried. 

You could feel your hips buck against his mouth, eagerly wishing for him to devour you over and over again with that tongue of his. It overwhelms you even more as he overwhelms your clit with wilder motions, watching you come undone and shake in front of him.

“Satoru. Fuckkkkkkk.” you whimpered, your hands clutching at the sheets above your head. “Gugh….”

“Stay still now, darling.” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, commanding hum. “Let me continue to take care of you.”

The heat of his breath against your sensitive skin was maddening, and you squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all. But Satoru wasn’t having that. He liked how beautiful your eyes were, how close they were to tears when he eats you out like he was a man hungry for survival.

Your mind was a haze of sensation, every nerve in your body alive and attuned to him. He didn’t let up—not even when your legs quivered beneath his steady hands or when you tried to shy away from the overwhelming pleasure. 

He lets himself have a feast, over and over again, faster and then slower and then deeper and deeper. He never lets you have a guess when and where he would stop and go. As you feel your pleasure drive through his tongue and your clit surrenders to the movement of his expert fingers, you quiver against his hold. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the pillows suffocate you as he raises himself, licking his lips of what remains of your pleasure. He smiles at you, almost too proudly, as he makes haste in tasting the pleasure that awashed from you to his fingers. You weren’t one to be brazen, and as eagerly wanton as him. But that sight could make you come even more.

You were trying to stand up, but he stopped you. You blinked at him. You wanted to do the same thing for him. You wanted to have him in your mouth and fill the whole of him. You wanted to feel him throb and then moan and then hold your head tight as he pushes over and over again in the depths of your throat.

“Look at me, my darling.” he said, his tone soft but insistent. 

When you hesitated, his hands slid up to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he shifted, his face coming into view. Those brilliant blue eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that left you breathless. He was too impatient at times. Sometimes he just wanted to fill you, feel the depths of you to the brim. And you wanted him to.

“I said, look at me.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. The sheer adoration in his expression caught you off guard. This wasn’t just about his selfishness or his need to claim you—it was about love, about devotion, unadulteratedly raw and unfiltered, expressed in a way only Gojo Satoru could manage.

“That’s better, don’t you think?” he said, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You tried to turn your face away, too flustered to respond, but he leaned up, catching your lips in a kiss that was both tender and consuming. You could almost certainly taste yourself on the tip of his tongue, the tongue he was forcing against your own in a passionate dance in your mouth.

“You drive me crazy, darling.” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “Every damn day, I think about you. About us. And no matter how busy I get, no matter how far I have to go, you’re always in my head.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words. “Satoru…”

“I mean it, my darling.” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you fully. His hand reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, sweat glistening against your skin. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Don’t you ever forget that.”

His lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, as if he wanted to pour every ounce of his devotion into you. And when his hands began to wander once more, reigniting the fire he’d so expertly stoked, you gave in completely, letting him drown you in his love, his selfishness, and his unyielding desire.

Satoru’s gaze was molten, a slow-burning fire that spread warmth through your very core. His fingers brushed over your stomach, a feather-light touch that sent electricity dancing across your skin. He leaned closer, his lips barely a breath away from your ear, his voice a husky whisper steeped in unfiltered desire.

“You don’t know what you do to me, don’t you?” he murmured, his hand splaying possessively over your abdomen. “I can already see it, my darling. Your body, glowing and full, carrying my child. Ours. You’d be so beautiful, so perfect. I want that. I want you like that.”

He paused, his lips brushing against the sensitive shell of your ear as he exhaled, his breath hot against your skin. “I want to fill you with me, make you mine in every way possible. No one else. Just you. Always you.”

The weight of his words, the sheer intensity in his voice, made your knees weak. His need wasn’t just physical. No, there was more than that. It was that closeness, that desire for that primal chaos, that deep devotion and passionate, unrelenting hunger that only you could sate. 

It was an unspoken promise, one that bound you to him, body and soul. Marriage wasn’t needed. He was always going to be yours. You were only ever his. You were bound forever in that way. You don’t need anyone to tell you otherwise.

His hips snapped forward with a relentless precision, each gut-wrenching stroke tearing a gasp from your lips. He was mean, deliberate, his movements calculated to drive you to the brink and pull you back just to make you beg for more. His eager tip kissed your cervix with every thrust, a devastating mixture of pain and pleasure that left you trembling beneath him.

Satoru loved this too much, perhaps even more than you did. But perhaps, he adored it even more than you. He felt you too good, how much you clung to his cock. How much you eagerly wanted him to stay there forever. It felt delicious. It felt like a full meal, a meal that would satisfy him more than anything. 

“You can take it, darling.” he growled, his voice a low, rough whisper against your ear, as if daring you to prove him wrong. “No matter how big, no matter how hungry, you always take me so good.”

The intensity in his god–like cerulean eyes bore into yours, the sick and cruel twist of his smirk telling you he enjoyed watching you unravel under his unyielding pace. You couldn’t hold enough to keep yourself from being shaken by how powerful every entrance and departure was from inside of you. 

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” he muttered, his tone dripping with a wicked edge that made your heart race. “You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

“I do.” You cry out to him, voice shaky from pleasure. Drool is falling from your lips, eyes shadowed with the despondence of the rising tension inside you. “Fuckkkkkkk. S–satoru! You’re…Oh—”

Every thrust felt like it carved his claim into your very being, leaving no doubt that he owned every inch of you in that moment—mind, body, and soul. No one else can ever know how good you feel. No one else could ever deserve to know that they could even pleasure you. Only him. Only he could do that.

His movements were merciless, each thrust a deliberate act of dominance as he pushed you to your limits. The stretch, the depth. All of it was overwhelming, almost too much, and yet your body betrayed you, arching into him as if begging for more.

The drag of his length was slow at first, almost teasing, before he snapped his hips forward again with a devastating force. His tip kissed your cervix repeatedly, a relentless rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain rippling through you. The sensation made your vision blur, a broken cry escaping your lips, only to be swallowed by his growl of satisfaction.

“You’re so good for me, darling.” he hissed against your ear, his voice a mix of rough desire and cruel amusement. 

Each and every thrust, his closeness let  his breath bleed hot against your sweaty, flushed skin. One hand gripped the edges of your waist, anchoring you in place as if to ensure you took every punishing inch. 

And for a moment, he lets his eyes look down. He smirks, and then laughs. His bulge echoes against the flesh of your stomach as you moan, his cock pushing in and out at that moment. It felt addicting, to want to see that imprint on your belly.

“So perfect, taking me like this. You don’t even know how good you look, falling apart for me.”

There was no gentleness in him now, not when he wanted you even more, not when you taste so good. There was only a raw, primal need that left no room for tenderness. He was mean, unforgiving, every stroke designed to leave you trembling and desperate beneath him. 

“You like it, don’t you?” he muttered, his smirk pressing against the curve of your neck. His words were both a statement and a challenge, daring you to deny the way your body responded to his cruelty. “Don’t lie to me. I feel how much you love it—how much you love me like this.”

And he was right. Every devastating thrust, every rough word, only pulled you deeper into the intoxicating haze of him, where nothing else mattered except the way he claimed you, completely and utterly his.

Tears fully blurred your vision, spilling over as the overwhelming sensation consumed you. The stretch, the depth, the unrelenting rhythm of his hips. It was too much and not enough all at once. You sobbed his name, your voice shaky and broken, and Satoru stilled for just a moment, his sharp gaze softening as he took you in.

“Crying for me already, sweetheart? We’re not even done with the first round.” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, yet tinged with something tender. 

His thumb brushed away the tear slipping down your cheek, though his hips rolled forward again, slower now but no less devastating. He presses a kiss upon your cheek, letting you take a moment to breathe. HIs eyes meet yours. 

“You’re so perfect like this, you know that? So good for me.”

“Ffffff…..Sa…Satoru.” You moaned against him, your glossy eyes zoned out as you clung to him and pulled him closer. “Faster. Please. Please. I’m close.”

His smirk deepened when another whimper escaped you, the tears still streaking down your face as you clung to him. He laughs as he takes his cock out and then pushes deeply once again, causing you to cry out loud and feel him move faster than ever before. 

“Your wish is my command.” He says to you, leaning against your body closer. “I’ll always make it come true.”

Slowly, he starts caving into your neck and bite it once again, earning another whimper as he pushed deeper into you in a thunderstrike. He lifts his head and looks at your fucked up face, smiling. 

He pushes his free hand upwards, and lets his fingers push into your mouth, thrusting it to the speed of his cock. You gag as he pushes in, and then start bobbing your head. He smiles at you. He cleans your mucus on his fingers with his tongue with ease. 

“God, you’re beautiful, darling.” he breathed, his lips brushing against your temple. “It tastes good everywhere too.”

His fingers pushing through deeper and deeper on your throat before he lets it out, your mucus coating every bit of his long fingers. He presses a kiss against the corner of your lips. Your tears poured from your face once again, moaning even more as he pushed deeper inside of you. 

“You know what drives me crazy, though? Thinking about how you could be mine forever. My pretty darling wife, carrying my baby, your belly is round and glowing just for me.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through your already burning body, and he chuckled darkly, his hips snapping forward again, earning another gasp from you. In that moment, it felt tighter inside of you too, even hotter than before.

“You like that, huh?” he cooed, his voice dropping to a sinful whisper. “Thinking about being full of me, about me giving you everything. You’d look so damn good, carrying my child, showing everyone you’re mine. ”

His hand slid to rest over your abdomen, pressing gently as he thrust deeper, his pace quickening as his control began to fray. “Crying, begging, and falling apart for me... just like this. You’re perfect, baby. Made for me. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

Your body tensed as the pleasure peaked, the overwhelming sensation ripping through you in waves. A choked cry left your lips, your vision going white as your release shattered you. Your body trembled, clenching around him as aftershocks coursed through you, leaving you gasping and utterly undone beneath him.

“Inside.” You cried to him, keeping him closer as you came, sweat and tears mixing against your face. Your eyes begged his own blue. “Neeeeeeddddd…… you to come i-inside, ‘toru. P-please, Ohhhhhhhhh.”

Satoru groaned, the sound deep and raw, his control slipping as he chased his own end. He lowers his head, trying to concentrate. It all felt too good. Too damn good. And he wanted nothing more than this. Only this, for the rest of his life. 

“Fuck, just like that.” he growled to you, placing his lips on your own, drowning you as his balls slapped against the edges of your skin. 

His thrusts grow ever more erratic, slamming into you harder as your body milked him. His fingers gripped your hips tighter, marking them red. He pushes and pushes, feeling his head falling forward to rest against yours as he buried himself deep one final time.

A guttural moan escaped him, his body stilling as he came, warmth spilling into you and filling you completely. You gasped so loudly that it echoed in the room, almost broken by pleasure, scratching his back. He held you there, locked in place, his chest heaving against yours as he caught his breath. 

It takes a while before you come down from your high, as much as he did. He pushes in and out, trying to force what he had left behind locked into the crevices of your caverns. When you came to, you managed to get your breath together.

“You’re insatiable.” You say, almost haggard sounding. He did a number on you, with his fingers. You press a kiss on his shoulders. “You’re lucky we’d have this room sound–proof.”

“You’re more unbelievable, you’re too loud.” he murmured, his voice breathless and laced with reverence. You smack his arm lightly. He laughs. “What? It’s true. You screamed so loudly. Multiple times, might I add.”

You sighed, smiling at him and kissed his arm. He smiles back at you, his eyes full of stars. Satoru didn’t pull away, instead wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. His lips pressed against your damp forehead, a soft kiss that contrasted the intensity of moments before. 

“Do you wanna know?”

“Do I wanna know, what?”

“You’re everything to me, you know that?” he whispered, his tone softer now, tinged with the kind of affection that made your heart ache. “You’re all that I want.”

“I know.” You whispered back to him, looking at him with love in the eyes. “You’re all I want too.”

“Hm, I’m glad to know that.” He says, with a boyish smile.

“Me too.” You retorted.

You looked at each other for longer and laughed together. He nozzles his head against your neck and lays on top of you. He makes no effort to pull out or get off you. You make no effort to pull him away either. You were happy with having him like this.

As you both lay there, tangled together and basking in the afterglow, his fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin. You brush your fingers against his hair, playing with it with the tenderness that could only come from the purest of touches, the purest of loves. 

“One day, darling,” he murmured again, almost as if trying to convince himself as much as you. “This’ll be more than just a thought. You won’t have to wait for me all the time. I’ll bring you to my home. And I’ll marry you. And your child will be mine too. And I’ll give you more children.”

Satoru's words hung in the air like a promise, heavy with meaning. His voice was soft, almost distant, as if he was letting his own thoughts slip out into the space between you, unsure of how they would land. 

The casual way he spoke of the future, of a life where you weren’t just a fleeting part of his world, but a permanent fixture. It felt almost surreal. He didn’t look up at you when he said it, his eyes lost in some distant horizon of his own creation, but it didn’t matter. The sincerity in his voice was enough to fill the silence that followed.

Each word was a brick, building a future with you, a future that felt distant and yet so close. The idea of you, of your life together, expanding in ways you never imagined. His words were not just a promise but an affirmation of everything you had felt quietly—hope, desire, security.

For the first time in a long while, it felt like he wasn’t just a man in your life; he was weaving you into his, into his plans, into his future. He wasn’t some fleeting lover, nor was this an infatuation to be dismissed with time.

This was something deeper. You weren’t just a part of his life for the moment; you were meant to be with him in every possible way, in the long run, in the future he envisioned.

His voice faded for a moment as if the weight of what he had said caught up with him. Then, when he looked at you, finally meeting your gaze, there was something even more powerful in his eyes than before. It was as if the gravity of his own words had settled in, and with it, the weight of his promise.

And just as quickly, he smiled, that mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his lips, his hand brushing against yours in that familiar, intimate way. "You'll see, darling. I won’t make you wait forever."

Those words, spoken so simply, were a promise that neither of you could deny. The future you feared would never come, the one that would leave you longing and waiting, now seemed irrelevant. Satoru’s presence, his plan, his love—they would be enough. You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at the thought. 

"You know, I’ll be old when our children come of age, Satoru." you said, the quiet weight of reality creeping into your voice. 

The thought of raising more children together was something you had never truly entertained, but now it felt like an inevitable future. You were older, yes, and you couldn’t ignore the time that had passed. Satoru’s laughter broke the moment, rich and easy, as if your words didn’t even touch the confidence that surrounded him. 

“That doesn’t matter, darling.” he replied, his voice as warm as it was reassuring. “I’ll just be a growing old man with his older wife he loves most in the world.”

His teasing tone eased the tension in your chest, though there was an underlying sincerity to his words that made you pause. When he spoke like that, so effortlessly confident in the love he had for you, the past, and all the doubts you had once held seemed insignificant. It was as though, in his eyes, you were already everything he wanted.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you muttered, your heart fluttering a little as you reached for his hand, unable to stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “But I guess I’ll let you get away with it.”

Satoru chuckled, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “You know I’ll always get away with it, darling.” he teased. 

His voice softened, the playful edge disappearing as he leaned closer, his gaze growing more intense. “And as for the rest, I’ll spend every day making sure you don’t regret it. You and our family... that’s all that matters to me. I’ll make sure of it.”

There was such fierce determination in his words, so much love, that you couldn’t help but feel reassured. In this moment, you realized that no matter how much time passed, no matter what challenges might come, Satoru was right. You didn’t need to worry about the future, about the things that might separate you. Because in the end, you would always have him.

You squeezed his hand, the laughter fading into something more meaningful. "You always know how to make me feel like I’m the only one who matters."

Satoru smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Because you are, darling. You always will be."

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ a/n: i pretty much wrote this bcs of boredom, then put on queaue, then i wanted to rewrite it lmao. so i'm just posting it now ~

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: well, cannibalism????? gn!reader as always

"How does it taste?"

You asked, watching the blood staining his lips. Like a river, the red, metallic liquid trickled down the sides of his mouth with each bite of raw flesh that Jade savored so passionately. Hungry like a predator, his eyes carried a promise of death for anyone who dared to interrupt him at that hour when he suddenly turned.

You, however, were used to receiving that look and didn’t mind it.

On the ground before you lay dozens of enemy bodies. The foul stench of death spread in intense waves. You wouldn’t be able to describe it if someone asked, but it was horrendous. And yet, Jade found pleasure in devouring that flesh and blood. You wondered what it tasted like. Would it be similar to beef, pork, or chicken? Or something entirely different?

He smiled, bits of flesh stuck in his teeth as he adjusted his suit and walked toward you. Blood dripped from his sharp, grinning teeth. His eyes sparkled with a wild gleam as he savored every bite.

"Raw flesh has a peculiar taste, an indulgence that few understand," he mused, running his tongue across his lips to clean the remnants of blood.

"That’s technically cannibalism," you retorted, uncertain.

Nothing in his posture suggested Jade would harm you, yet it was better not to push your luck while you were still on his good side. It would be safer to do what Floyd had asked — borrow a pair of Jade’s shoes — and leave, but Jade was already too close, staring at you with gleaming eyes and a smile that made you want to vomit from the overwhelming stench of death emanating from him.

"Cannibalism? Don’t be so mundane, my dear. It’s part of my diet. In the ocean, everyone eats such things all the time. Please, don’t apply human laws to me in the same way." Breathing in that warm breath was difficult, but you maintained your composure to avoid offending the eel. You never knew when you might be next on his list.

"Is that how it works?" You murmured, trying to look away, but Jade’s eyes were like an abyss. Hypnotic. Inescapable. He always had that effect on you, a mix of fascination and fear. Despite his refined and polished appearance, you knew he was dangerous. Deadly, even.

Jade tilted his head, as if savoring the tension in the air between you. The smile never left his bloodstained lips.

"Oh, it works quite well, actually." His voice was a seductive whisper, dancing between calmness and something... predatory. "Each bite... every drop... is an experience. Something that few have the privilege to appreciate."

You swallowed hard, feeling cold sweat trickling down your neck. Fresh blood dripped from his pale fingers, staining the already soaked ground around you. He made no effort to clean his hands, and the sight only made him seem more savage, a refined predator who had just hunted.

"Do you... enjoy it?" The question slipped out before you could stop it. Your voice sounded shakier than you’d have liked, but it was hard to feign indifference in the face of such grotesque scenery.

Jade chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound, like the echo of an underwater current. He took a step forward, and you felt the space around you shrink. He was too close now.

"Enjoy?" He repeated, his eyes gleaming with malice. "I would say it’s more than that. It’s a matter of necessity... of survival. And you, Yuu?" He raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on yours. "Have you never wondered what it would be like? The taste? The texture? The feeling of completely dominating something or someone?"

Your stomach churned. Jade always had a way of wrapping you in his words, as if trying to drag you into the same dark world he inhabited. And the worst part? A small part of you wanted to know. Wanted to understand.

"No... I..." You began, but the words died in your throat when he raised his bloodied hand and ran it across his lips, licking his index finger with disturbing calm.

"I could show you, if you wish," he whispered, his voice like a cold current snaking toward you. "Just a small bite... nothing too dangerous. Just enough for you... to experience it."

Your heart raced. It was an invitation, but also a threat. A test. Jade enjoyed playing with your limits, pushing them just to see how far you could go before breaking. And now, he watched you with that intense gaze, waiting for your answer.

"I... think I’ll pass," you managed to say, trying to smile, though fear burned inside you. "Floyd sent me to get the shoes. Nothing more."

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, Jade stepped back, the smile still present but now with something almost disappointed.

"Ah, Floyd." He murmured, adjusting his suit with a graceful gesture. "Always so practical. So straightforward. Very well, Yuu. I won’t be rude. Not today."

You took a deep breath, feeling relief fill your lungs. He was letting you go. For now. Jade retrieved a pair of shoes from a nearby corner, clean, as if they hadn’t witnessed the macabre scene around them. He extended them to you with a refined gesture, as if offering a gift.

"Take them." His eyes gleamed again with that familiar malice. "But remember, Yuu... the door between you and me is never fully closed. Perhaps, one day, your curiosity will win."

You took the shoes, your hands slightly trembling, and stepped back.

"Maybe..." You replied softly, trying to sound firm, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

With one last smile, Jade turned back to the bodies on the ground, as if you were no longer there. You didn’t look back as you left—because you knew that if you did, you would find those predatory eyes watching your every move.

And somehow, you knew he was right.

[viviennevermillion]

My boyo. He's so adorable but SOOOO deranged it's not even funny. Like how do you work for human traffickers to make up for your inescapable poverty, use your magic to turn people into puppets to sell, enchant them to participate in a whimsical musical number for no reason but your own personal amusement, tell the terrified victims over loudspeaker how shit you think they are, let yourself be enraged by a bunch of sassy high schoolers and then decide by the end of the day, to quote my dear friend Azul Ashengrotto, I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!!! How does one go from trafficking children to wanting to found a school for magicless children in the span of 24 hours. How do you manage to escape a probably exploitative work contract AND steal your bosses' property in the span of 24 hours with nothing but 1 madol and a dream? How's he going to fund this school? He apparently has to be worried about getting enough to eat. How do you just go "you're right, no more trafficking children, from now on I'm gonna commit to the good of humanity :)"

His lesson from the whole thing was "actually schools are good!" rather than "wow I feel so bad for all the people I probably sold :/"

There is not a sane bone in his body and no rational thought in his brain. His thoughts probably contain so much cursing that the sentences are unintelligible when you censor them. Everytime he speaks to a person he doesn't like, he internally adds "you mediocre little fuckshit pissbabies" or similar to the end of the statements. He has the most deranged evil laugh ever. Even when he likes you and you tell him a funny joke he goes "hehehahahaaAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAH" like he's about to kill someone. He likes having his little ears scratched. He bites though.

He's like the biggest asshole cat you can mentally picture. He doesn't just push stuff off your shelves, he takes the vases and chucks them at unsuspecting pedestrians. He's mad at you and you ask him for a glass of milk and he takes the milk carton out of the fridge and pours the entire thing all over the floor and kitchen counters without breaking eye contact. There's a collection of knives on his bedroom wall.

He's my special little guy. They want to study him to update the DSM-5. He eats the rich. He needs some money to found his little school so he gotta work in retail, scanning the customers' products at checkout and muttering "fucking bourgeoisie cockroach" under his breath. Shamelessly lists "amusement park manager" and "salesman" in his CV as if he worked at a legitimate business. He once had a mental breakdown at the grocery store after closing hour and downed a bottle of whiskey straight from the shelf and then danced through the snack aisle stabbing his cane into the chips bags out of boredom while singing "you're never fully dressed without a smile". Gidel being mute is the only reason this kid does not curse like an uncensored Rapper version of Ebenezer Scrooge.

He's clinically insane. He's the most wondrous attraction at Playful Land. He hopes the afterlife is a musical. He's Fellow Honest. This is a fake name.

[yourheartandmind]

Know You Don't

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Knowing didn't always translate to understanding, and loving Wednesday meant learning that the hard way.

The reality of dating someone rarely goes exactly as expected. Sometimes, this is for the better. Sometimes, the love transforms into a waltz of teaching and learning; a journey beyond yearning and into accepting and understanding. Sadly, however, most of the time it's not.

When it came to loving Wednesday Addams, you knew from the start that loving her would be unlike anything else.

How could it be?

From the beginning, the girl had been reserved and unaffectionate, more likely to commit murders for you than hold you through spouts of tears. And though you had always known better than to expect anything more than that, it would still prove to be your greatest oversight.

Because knowing did not always mean understanding, and for all that you might have tried to ignore this fact, it was the inescapable difference that doomed your relationship. 

Watching the girl now, you held back your sigh of frustration as she rolled her eyes at you. The action made you bristle, and if it had been from anyone else, you might've snapped. Yet, because it was the girl you loved, you fought against the urge to let your irritation show.

Even as the lines around Wednesday's lips deepened, conveying her displeasure and etching it onto her face, you made every effort to remain composed. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice how her expression still bore traces of the stoic stare you had become accustomed to - once wonderfully intriguing. But now, those traces served only as a painful reminder of just how little Wednesday seemed to care, sometimes.

"I don't think I'm asking for too much," you pleaded, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation as you searched for any glimmer of understanding in her darkened eyes, "Just a little more affection, Wednesday, a small gesture here and there to let me know you're there for me when I need it." Your mind wandered to the countless sleepless nights, of the loneliness that always followed. It was during those times that Wednesday seemed to disappear, leaving you to confront your thoughts and solitude alone.

"In what ways, Y/N?" She pressed, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, as if erecting an imaginary wall between the two of you.

Not that it seemed to really matter either way. Even when she was physically present, like she was now, it still felt like Wednesday was a world away. Her physical proximity held no comfort. Her gaze had no empathy. It felt as if your struggles were inconsequential to her; as if you were inconsequential to her. 

“Affection?” There was the beginning of mockery in her voice, causing a pang of defensiveness to course through you, “As in physical gestures? You want me to embrace you?” Her words felt demeaning, as if your deepest desires were being reduced to childish wants. But just as likely was the possibility that it was simply your imagination playing a cruel trick on you. 

"Yes, physical gestures, Wednesday," you replied, your voice attempting to stay calm despite how you might have been feeling inside. 

It was as if your plea was falling on deaf ears, though, Wednesday's expression remaining unchanged - as if she couldn't even fathom what you were saying. You were just stopping short of practically begging the girl to show you love, yet the only emotion you found within her gaze was something akin to boredom. And when the raven hair girl finally spoke again, her words were measured and deliberate, only fueling your frustration further.

"I simply don't see the point in such trivial things," she replied, voice carrying a cold detachment, "Are my options for affection really limited only to meaningless, physical touch? Can I not express my love in any other way?"

Her words struck you uncomfortably, causing a knot of confusion to tighten in your chest. You had hoped for even a glimmer of understanding, any willingness to find common ground. Instead, Wednesday was challenging the very essence of your request, leaving you questioning your own needs and desire for affection.

"It's not about triviality or limitations!" You explained, a mix of frustration and yearning in your voice, "I know that you express your love in your own unique way, and I love that about you. But sometimes I just need tangible reassurance. Sometimes, I just need to know you're there when I get lost in my own doubts and worries."

But, in reality, the last sentence remained unspoken; the words that exposed your vulnerability lodged in your throat. Your hesitation was tangible as you found yourself unable to admit your need for reassurance any further, as if exposing your deepest desires would be an admission of weakness.

“I just…” You attempted again, but once more finding the right words escaping you. The unfinished sentence dangled in the silence, leaving the conversation unresolved.

Despite everything, you allowed yourself to silently hope that Wednesday would grasp the depth of the situation without your explicit pleas; that she would understand the importance small gestures of affection could have on the chains around your heart. But as the silence stretched on, it became clear that the unspoken plea would remain unheard; the usually acute and observant Wednesday somehow missing all the signs you were desperately trying to convey.

"You're not understanding," she exhaled, voice carrying a weariness that matched the heaviness you felt.

Suppressing the retort that it was her who failed to understand, you locked your jaw. The words teetered on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed in a moment of frustration and pent-up energy. But as you looked into Wednesday's eyes, vacant and unbothered, you felt all the fight drain out of you. The startling realization of your situation suddenly dawned onto you.

"I'm sorry, you're right," you admitted, the words slipping out with a sigh, carrying with it resignation and the bitter taste of defeat. The apology was empty, devoid of genuine remorse. It was like nothing more than an obligatory olive branch in your attempt to reconcile.

Wednesday, however, nodded, as if your admission was something she had expected all along, accepting your apology with an air of anticipated detachment. A silent scoff almost escaped your lips in response, a bitter reaction to her lack of acknowledgment.

But eventually, resignation seeped into your bones, and acceptance settled heavily onto your shoulders, weighing you down with the realization that your battle for understanding had been a solitary one - waged against an opponent who hadn't recognized the fight in the first place.

Wednesday turned away without a second glance, effortlessly resuming her day as if nothing had transpired, rubbing salt into your wound as you were left to wallow in the futility of your efforts.

Perhaps this time, it was she who had missed all the signs you had desperately tried to convey, consumed by her own world. But, you couldn't help but feel like the eternal fool, allowing her to emerge victorious once again, surrendering your own world to be lost in hers.

---

Unofficial Previous Part: Imposition

[seijorhi]

What kind of yanderes do you think Togame and Ume would be?

umemiya's a walking red flag of pushy, overbearing behaviour, the problem is that even ithough you see it coming, there's not much you can do to stop it.

no one blinks an eye when he plucks your phone out of your hand to see who you're messaging, or 'mysteriously' keeps bumping into you time and time again while you're out with friends, always inserting himself with a bright, friendly grin, an arm slung possessively over your shoulders.

he'll dote on you, smother you in (annoying) affection, ignore every boundary you try to put in place, slowly but surely snuffing out every relationship he doesn't like – if you want friends that badly, you can come hang with his.

he's everywhere, it's suffocating, it's inescapable, and none of his friends – no one with the power to actually try and stop him – sees anything wrong with it.

now togame, togame's different.

togame's willing to be the worst version of himself if it means you stay his. it's a bone deep surety that no one else can give you what he can, love you as deeply as he does, none of it. if he has to play the villain – scare off your friends, beat up some asshole who's causing trouble for you at work, even threaten you when you start to get a bit unruly, it's no skin off his back.

he doesn't even care all that much if you fight against it. you can kick and scream all you like, togame knows what's best for the both of you in the long run and this is it. Ultimately of course he wants you happy and willing, but in the short term he'll settle for you being within arm's reach.

and i do mean that quite literally. you don't have to play nice, but you will sit pretty on his lap (endure his lazy, wandering touch) when they're at ori or out doing business. he doesn't much trust you out on your own, and if you try and weasel your way out of it, it's easy enough for him to send a few of his underlings to... convince you to rethink that decision.

from the outside, people think you're togame's latest amusement, a toy he'll fuck around with for a while before boredom sets in and he casts you aside to move onto the next. he doesn't do much to dissuade that notion, either. he's more affectionate in private, more willing to let that mask slip.

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter eleven

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: I'd like to say week was crazy and that's the reason the update took a little longer than usual, but actually I had the week off and I was just taking a break! Anyways, things are starting to get a little crazy now...oops

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.3k

How many more women would die? 

And how much time did that buy her before she was next?

Two nights after the second murder–another woman who eerily resembled y/n–she finally got a text from that same unknown number. 

11 tonight, same place. 

She was almost giddy. She had been hiding in her room for two days like a good girl, trying not to bug Gordon or even Martinez as they investigated the second murder. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going crazy again already. 

The news was calling it a potential serial killer, but she knew better. They all knew better. 

It was the Gallo family hunting her down. 

She dressed in warm, dark clothes again and texted Alfred where she was going. She wanted to leave early, but knew it was a bad idea. She waited until a couple of minutes after eleven to go downstairs, just to be sure the Batman was out there. As she stepped into the elevator his one word text came through. Outside. 

She was excited to see him. She finally had something to look forward to, and it was talking to a vigilante, of all things. 

And there he was, leaning against the motorcycle without a care in the world. She let her eyes trail from his legs crossed at the ankle to his crossed arms to his masked face. Despite the fact he was literally covered head to toe, a thrill went through her. 

“Hi,” she said lamely when she was close enough. 

He simply handed her the helmet and got back on the bike. 

Some of the excitement went out of her like a balloon deflating. “No hello?” she said, her voice light and teasing.

“Hello. Ready?” he asked when her arms were around his waist. She rolled her eyes. 

“Ready.” 

They sped off into the night. She let her eyes close. She was almost at peace for the first time in weeks, and it was in the wake of another murder and on the back of a motorcycle with a vigilante she barely knew. 

But she had not been made to be idle. Sitting at home, hiding from mobsters, was doing her in. Add to that not only boredom, but grief and painful memories from all sides, and she was surprised she really hadn’t jumped out of a window yet. It was the reason she and Bruce were constantly sneaking out as kids, the reason she had taken extra classes for fun in college, the reason she did things that were objectively stupid. The reason she was an investigative reporter and not in a more steady, safe job. 

The motorcycle jolted to a stop. 

She opened her eyes and slid off, tucking the helmet under her arm. 

Even though she knew what to expect, the fear still stole her breath. She really, really hated heights, and yet she was willingly going up onto rooftops. Stupid. She muttered to herself as the soft noise of the grappling hook split the quiet air. 

Y/n tried really hard not to embarrass herself by clinging to Batman, but it didn’t work. At least this time, she let go quickly and didn’t fall on her ass. 

She cleared her throat as she stepped away and murmured a thanks. She inched carefully towards the center of the rooftop to get her bearings. It was a different roof this time, next door to the one they’d been on that first night. 

“Thanks for doing this,” she said quietly as she set up her camera. The pub below was twice as busy now that it was the weekend. 

“Is it so bad at home?” he asked after she had taken several pictures, startling her. She glanced over at him, but he was busy studying the street below. His gloved fingers tapped an idle rhythm on his leg. 

“Yes,” she said without thinking. She looked through the camera’s viewfinder and adjusted another setting for the low light and the distance. “I mean–sort of. It’s complicated.” 

“Complicated?” 

The camera shutter was the only sound between them for a minute. “I told you my grandmother and my mother died.” A soft noise of assent. “And to start with, Wayne Tower, as nice as it is, is full of memories of my grandmother. She raised me. Every time I walk around a corner I–” The words stuck in her throat as the grief rose unbidden within her. “–I have no idea if something is going to remind me of her and then I have to remember that she’s gone. It’s like getting punched every time. Or having the breath knocked out of you.” 

“I understand,” he said softly, and she knew that he had lost someone too. 

She blinked back tears and nodded. She focused on the pictures to distract herself. “On top of that–” She couldn’t admit it. Because how pitiful would it sound? How stupid, how childish, would it sound to say, On top of that, I told Bruce Wayne that I loved him three years ago and he broke my heart and I still can’t stand to be around him. “It’s complicated,” she finally said again. “Someone broke my heart, and I haven’t gotten over it. I’m not sure I ever will.” Her voice lowered until the last words were almost a whisper, choking her until she could barely speak. 

There was a sharp intake of breath next to her. 

She faced him but he was staring below.

She frowned and tried to see what she had missed that made him make that noise, but she couldn’t see anything. 

They lapsed into silence. 

“Got any snacks in that fun belt of yours?” she asked a while later. Her voice was falsely light to her own ears. But what else was she supposed to do? She had basically trauma dumped on a virtual stranger. It was awkward, too awkward. She grit her teeth and silently cursed her mouth for running away from her, like usual. 

A huff that might have been a laugh. “No. No snacks.” 

She faced him fully this time, one hand on her hip while the other still held the camera. “No snacks? What kind of vigilante are you if you aren’t prepared for everything?” 

He shrugged but he was smiling. “A bad one, I guess.” 

“I’m making my own belt for next time and filling it with snacks,” she muttered. 

Things were a little easier after that. Batman still didn’t talk much, but she did come to learn that he made most of his gadgets too–like the gauntlets that held a grappling hook–and most of those things he had added after bad experiences. 

“One time I fell in the sewer because I didn’t have a flashlight,” he said in a low voice. She had to smother her laugh so as not to draw attention. “Now I have two.” 

She was also able to elicit an answer about his favorite snacks, learning that he had a surprising sweet tooth. She asked if he ate healthy in order to stay in shape for being a vigilante, and he answered that his diet focused on strength and stamina. She made a joke about protein shakes that had him turning a cough into a laugh. 

It was nearly one in the morning when she saw him. 

They had been chatting quietly, the music coming from the perpetually open pub door drowning most of it out, when a man stepped outside. 

Y/n almost dropped the camera. 

“He’s here,” she said in a whisper. She quickly snapped pictures. 

She hadn’t expected to recognize the man who had escaped. 

But there he was, standing below her, talking to one of the women smoking as she leaned against the bricks by the front door. 

“You’re sure?” Batman asked. 

She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat. Her hands shook so badly she had to fight to steady them so as to get a good picture. 

He had been closest to her that night. His face in the most light. 

He had been holding the gun. 

It played in her mind again, the noise drawing their attention, the almost slow-motion turn of four heads. 

“Fuck,” she whispered. 

And, somehow, it was like the man heard her.

He looked up, across the street and to the roof, and met her eyes.

Y/n scrambled back away from the edge. 

“He saw me,” she whispered. “He saw me.” 

Batman was crouched next to her, hidden by the low wall that ran around the entire edge of the building. 

“You’re sure?” he said again, but his eyes were on her face this time. It was too dark to tell what color they were. Probably not brown–they were too light. 

She mentally shook herself to focus. “I’m positive.” 

It was his turn to curse. “Fuck,” he muttered. He grabbed his phone and texted something quickly. He was actually good at texting–she had expected him to text like an old man with just his pointer finger. 

He put the phone away and crept closer to the edge of the building. He peeked his head over the wall, barely clearing it, but it was enough. He ducked back down as a shout rang out. 

“Oh God,” y/n said. The fear threatened to overwhelm her. If the pub was a hangout for the Gallo family–and at this point, she was certain it was–that meant a lot of armed men and maybe women were right there. 

They were trapped there, the motorcycle hidden next to a dumpster down below. 

Next to a very convenient fire escape that led straight to where the two of them were currently crouched. 

“Listen to me,” Batman said, drawing her focus. He was crouched over her where she was still splayed in a half-crouch from her mad dash to get out of sight. He touched her chin. “Do exactly as I say. We’re going to have to move fast. The priority is getting you and that camera out of here and not leading them home, do you understand?” 

She nodded frantically. “Yes,” she said on a breath. “What do we do? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” 

“It’s not your fault.” He was grabbing something off of his belt and texting at the same time. “Gordon’s on the way but it’ll be too late. If they’re smart, they’re going to surround the building. Someone will be sent to the roof from inside, someone up the fire escape.” He held three small flat disks in his hand and pocketed the phone again. “When they’re distracted, we’re going to make a break for it. Can you drive the motorcycle if you have to?” 

She stared at him, openmouthed. “Yes,” she said after a second. “Bruce taught me, years ago. I can figure it out.” 

“Good. I’ll stay to fight if–” 

“No!” she said, the word too loud in the darkness. Below, it had gone quiet. Too quiet. 

Batman seemed to realize it at the same time, his head tilted. “The music’s off,” he murmured. “We’re going to have to move.” 

He crept to the edge of the wall and peered over.

A gunshot echoed through the night. A chunk of brick exploded close to Batman’s head. She squeaked and covered her mouth to hide the sound. Her eyes were wide as he came back to her side. 

“Hold on tight. Run if I say run. Do you understand?” 

She nodded. She had never been so afraid, even that first night she had met him. She hadn’t been surrounded then. She hadn’t had to do anything but run and now–now there was so much more on the line. 

“If you have to leave me behind, do not go straight home. Ride around as much as you can, as randomly as you can, and try to meet Gordon somewhere. Got it?” 

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her, still crouched, to the spot closest to where the motorcycle was. 

He was giving her so many instructions she could barely keep up. Run, stay alive, get to Gordon. Leave him behind if she had to. 

She didn’t want to leave him behind. She didn’t know if she could. 

He let go of her long enough to throw each of the three flat disks in a separate direction. Two landed in the alley below, one at each end. 

“Ready?” he asked, an echo of the start of their night. He held something out to her. The motorcycle key. 

She shook her head but he was grabbing her anyway. There were three small explosions. Smoke poured out of the ground. There was shouting, gunfire. 

She realized her face was wet with terrified tears. 

Batman leapt. 

The ground rushed up at them fast, too fast, and she fought against the instinct to hold on tighter, to close her eyes. She needed them wide open, needed to be ready to run. 

With a yank, he pulled up right before they hit the pavement, and landed impossibly softly on his feet. 

There was smoke everywhere now. She could barely make out the dumpster the motorcycle was hidden behind. 

“Go,” he whispered in her ear and gave her a shove. 

She ran. 

There was more gunfire behind her and she ducked on instinct. Her hands smacked against the side of the dumpster as she lost her balance. 

“Over here!” she heard from somewhere in the smoke. There was a loud grunt and more gunshots. Her heart was pounding so loud it echoed the gunfire in her ears. 

She sobbed through her teeth as she ran the last few feet to the motorcycle. She could see nothing in the smoke other than shadows and the vaguest outlines of the streetlights at either end of the alley. 

She almost dropped the key but managed to slide it into the ignition. She waited to start it, waiting for one shadow in particular to materialize into a familiar form. Where was he? He hadn’t told her to leave without him, but what if–

She screamed as hands grabbed her and yanked her off of the motorcycle. 

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet

[thefandomenchantress]

Secret (Acevid)

(This is a David mastermind AU! So if he seems a little out of character, that's on purpose! He's more of a douche than usual now, haha)

---

Ace was currently stomping down the steps of a spiral staircase. The metal beneath his feet was loud and echoed through the dim chamber with each step. He always made this much noise when he visited David, or at least he usually did. There wasn’t much point in being quiet.

…No, wait. There was. Being quiet always made David happy. He claimed that not knowing when Ace would finally descend was exciting. Ace didn’t really understand it, but sometimes he’d indulge the man. And since he was feeling nice today, he quieted his steps as much as possible when he was about half way down the steps. He then silently crept forward down them.

David was always complaining about that. Boredom. He claimed it was almost always an inescapable feeling to him. Something that would always strike at him just when he thought he’d made it leave. Or at least that had been the case before the killing game. He never elaborated after he explained that, just stared off at the wall and presumably imagined their classmates’ gruesome deaths.

Ace suddenly stopped his descent down the stairs for a moment. Last time Ace had visited, David had complained his arrival had become too easy to predict, since he always took the same amount of time to climb down the staircase. Ace had told him that was too fucking bad, and he wouldn’t stand on the stairs doing nothing just to please him. And at the time, he’d meant it. But his resolve didn’t hold when he thought about David’s delighted smile, so now here he was, crouching on the stairs like an idiot.

In order to entertain himself, Ace decided to reflect on how he’d even gotten here in the first place. Since when had pleasing David been a priority? Or David in general? He supposed it all started the day he’d overheard his secret.

David and Arei had been loudly talking in the Relaxation Room. The name of said room had gotten more and more ironic as time went on, since it was more well-known for arguments than it was for actual relaxing.

Now, if Ace was a kind individual who respected others’ privacy, he would’ve covered his ears or exited the floor so he couldn’t overhear, or maybe go tell them how loudly they were talking and that they should go somewhere else if they didn’t want him listening. But alas, Ace was not a kind individual. He was a nosy bitch who wanted to know what Arei was fussing about. So instead, he had exited the gym as quietly as possible and stood outside the Relaxation Room, eavesdropping on their entire conversation. Even if his hearing hadn’t been as great as it was, it wouldn’t have mattered because he doubted that he wouldn’t have heard them even from the other end of the hallway.

He supposed it made sense that Arei wasn’t putting too much effort into being discreet, since it wasn’t her secret she was exposing. David, on the other hand, seemed to be panicking too much to actually consider the fact he shouldn’t be talking as loud as he was.

After their conversation had ended, Ace had slipped back into the gym and waited for the two of them to leave. And in the trial the next day, he’d shared what he had overheard.

It was hard to describe the expression David had stared at him with at that moment. Complete surprise, at first. But then came something more unexpected. He’d tilted his head slightly, and stared at him with something resembling fascination. It didn’t last long, and soon after he saw it Ace decided that maybe that hadn’t been what he was seeing at all. He’d never been good at reading faces, so it made sense that he could’ve misread David calculating his next move as intrigue directed at him.

Teruko, unsurprisingly, uncovered David’s lies about being the culprit. It really wasn’t too hard, since he couldn’t seem to explain what half the items at the crime scene were even used for. And after that whole fiasco, which was admittedly partially Ace’s fault for even throwing blame onto David in the first place, Teruko had reanalysed the evidence and found the true culprit. Then came an execution that Ace did not wish to mentally revisit any time soon.

The unexpected part came after the trial, when Ace had been walking back to his room. That was when David had called out to him. “Hey.” David said, his voice not being forced into its usual chipper tone. Good, that voice had driven Ace insane. “Wait.” David ordered, taking a step closer.

Ace was, admittedly, nervous when the encounter began. Everyone else had entered their dorm rooms already, and given David’s attempt to get them all killed earlier with no regards for his own well-being, Ace wasn’t completely certain David wouldn’t murder him right then and there, uncaring about the prospect of being caught. But David didn’t seem to be interested in that as he asked, “Can we go somewhere else to talk?”

Ace had blinked a few times, completely silent. Why the fuck would he ever consider doing that—

“If you don’t, you’ll regret it.” David said. His tone had shifted from monotone to vaguely threatening, and Ace got the feeling that if he didn’t listen, he’d definitely end up with a knife stabbed into somewhere he didn’t want it to be.

So Ace had given him a shaky nod, agreeing to go with him. David turned and walked towards the infirmary. “This place has the walls that are the most sound-proof.” David told him as he closed the door behind him. “Which isn’t very sound-proof, but enough that you’d have to have be very close to the door in order to hear anything. And no one followed us, so we don’t need to worry about that.” David was saying all this as though it should somehow lessen Ace’s worries about the situation, not heighten them.

“Why the fuck is that a good thing for me?” He asked without thinking. He wondered afterwards if maybe he should’ve been more polite to the person who was likely planning to murder him. The chances of him being spared probably dropped with every word he said.

David raised an eyebrow as he turned back to face him. “Oh, trust me. You don’t want anyone overhearing this just as much as I do.”

“I’m sure my corpse will appreciate the solitude that comes with no one finding my body until morning.” Ace shot back, then once again internally berated himself for speaking without thinking.

To Ace’s surprise, David barked out a laugh. “What? Do you think I’m going to murder you? Of course not. You’re no use to me if you’re dead.”

“No…Use to you…?” Ace repeated, confused.

“Mhm.” David took a step closer. “I didn’t hear you listening to me and Arei. You’re good at sneaking around.”

“...Okay?” Ace was now very confused. He had no idea where this was going.

“Which means you could be useful.” David leaned forward slightly and looked him up and down. Then he smiled. Not one of his idol smiles. This one was crooked and imperfect. “It seems I’ve found my traitor.”

“I–What?” Ace asked, squirming slightly as David gaze drifted over his small frame, seemingly analyzing everything he could.

“I’ve decided that you’re going to be my traitor.” David answered, as though that explained literally anything. When he saw Ace was still confused, he groaned at the prospect of having to explain further, before seemingly reconsidering his disappointment and deciding a dramatic reveal was more fun anyway.

“Alright, I’ll start with the basics. Ace, you’re staring at the mastermind behind this killing game.” David said. He gleefully watched Ace’s reaction. The jockey immediately stepped back from him, his expression panicked and for good reason. His hasty step backwards, however, made him trip, causing him to crash to the ground. David sighed as Ace pressed his back against the wall, shaking.

“Don’t worry. Nothing bad will happen to you as long as you do as I say.” David assured him. “In fact, I’d say you’re far safer now than you were before, since I’m protecting you.”

While Ace was aware that this situation wasn’t looking good, he couldn’t help but perk up at the mention of safety. “...What do I have to do?” He asked hesitantly.

“Mostly just what you were already doing. Causing as much chaos and as many disagreements as possible. Just try to target people other than Nico sometimes. All that tension really helps create the perfect atmosphere for a murder. And that knack for sneaking around you seem to have will allow you to sneak off to find me pretty easily, so communicating in private shouldn’t be too hard.”

“How do I know that you’re actually the mastermind?” Ace asked, wondering if this was all some  elaborate ploy to murder him. Or maybe David was just trying to get him to do what he said in order to get him to assist in murdering someone else.

David pondered his question for a moment. “Hmm…Well, I need to show you where we’ll meet to talk anyway. If I show you a room only the mastermind would know about, would you believe me?” David reached out a hand towards him. Ace stared at it for a moment, aware that taking it would both be an agreement to follow him, as well as one to take on his new role. Not that he’d had much of a choice to begin with.

He took David’s hand, and David smiled that crooked smile again. “Yes? Alright, let’s go.” He pulled Ace up off the ground and they headed off towards the storage room. David brought him to the back of the room, and moved one of the boxes on the shelves, which contained a few useless items. Behind it there was a piece of wall that he pressed down, and as a result a doorway opened up, the wall covering it slid to the side. The beginning of a spiral staircase could be seen.

“Now do you believe me?” David asked. Ace nodded numbly, wondering what terrible luck they all must’ve had to never find this even after relentless searching.

“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll meet down there.” David decided. The door automatically closed after a few more seconds, and they headed back to their dorms.

After that, Ace had continued to sow chaos among his classmates. Since to them this was only a minor downgrade from his usual behavior, it passed by unnoticed. David seemed happy with that outcome. He also seemed happy that Ace was indeed just as skilled as he thought he was at sneaking around, never being caught once while coming to meet with him.

It appeared that David really had picked out the perfect traitor.

---

This little one-shot was supposed to be posted on ao3 and added to my acevid one-shot collection, but I'm not sure I'll ever end up doing that. I actually wrote more, but I couldn't figure out how to end it nicely and since this piece is under my usual goal of 2000 words if I end it here, I decided to post it on Tumblr instead. Maybe I'll post an updated version to ao3 one day (or this version if I decide I like it enough).

All this is to say, if you're wondering why this included very minimal acevid-y stuff, that's because all the toxic yaoi is in the ending that I refuse to post (I never thought I'd use the phrase 'toxic yaoi' but here we are haha).

I decided to try giving them a more toxic dynamic this go around by making David a despair-obsessed mastermind, but soon discovered while I was writing the ending that I'm bad at making toxic relationship stuff and I feel like it ended up looking like me romanticizing a toxic dynamic so. It stays in the drafts for now. But all this is the part that I was decently proud of.

[goopiferart]

Classpect analysis notes under the cut!

Spent the last 2-3 weeks classpecting with the Book Club and here's what we largely came to agree on for MY classpects. I came to the discussion thinking "Thief of Doom" but I guess things just change! Most of us went into this with "which classpect would present the biggest challenge for me" so most of my notes take on... challenging qualities.

I'll try to post everyone else's final classpects + notes in this blog eventually (soon).

🩸 PRINCE OF BLOOD 👑

Princes are individuals who either lack their Aspect or outright reject their Aspect and are defined by their struggle to come to terms with it

The Prince of Blood may start out as an individual who struggles with relationships

They would have difficulties forging new friendships, maintaining bonds, and finding meaning within the company of others

They resent the ties that bind them to people, most likely due to their overwhelming need to honor obligations at any cost

Their highly competent nature is sought out by others but is rarely rewarded, putting this Prince at risk of being exploited if they are not discriminating in the company they keep (like Pages)

The Prince’s mean independence streak can border on the extreme if they don’t have social anchors to ground them

They have a fetishistic need to burn bridges at the slightest inconvenience, selfishly preferring to indulge in their maladapted coping instinct over rationally working things through with others

They are equally avoidant and combative, lacking the meekness of Rogues but also their knack for charm and levity

The Prince of Blood’s natural instinct is to avoid confrontation not out of fear of others but of themselves

“Nobody makes me bleed my own blood. Especially me!”

What little people they manage to keep around them are at risk of being put on a gilded pedestal

The Prince’s loyalty to those that they deem worthy is all-consuming and dangerous, to both themselves and others

To step outside The Prince’s idealized version of you would be to betray their trust and one-sided devotion, something they will never be able to forgive

Princes naturally gravitate towards embodying their opposite Aspect, at least outwardly

The Prince’s independence is sacred and is something they will never willingly compromise with, much to the chagrin of those around them

CAUTION: Do not tell this Prince what to do

They chafe against tradition and the status quo but lack the drive (and charisma) to rally others to their cause

They seek out novelty over the tried and true, often having difficulties completing long-term projects out of boredom or due to needing to experiment

The Prince wants nothing more than to escape the “heaviness” of Blood for the airy pursuits of Breath but will always be doomed to be tethered by their undeniable need to love and to be loved by others

Princes destroy Blood or destroys through Blood for themselves

Aside from being effective solo killers (blows up all your blood), the Prince would be able to utilize their bonds to destroy other bonds

They could form alliances or force others into contracts to help eliminate other inconvenient alliances

Obligations become weaponized as the Prince can call upon irrevocable (and inescapable) favors to their team’s benefit

The inverse classpect manifests when Players are at their worst or are emotionally compromised

The Prince of Blood’s inverse is the Sylph of Breath

At their worst, the Prince could take a dogmatic approach to prescribing their variety of independence as the one-and-only solution, forcing their brand of “living” as the panacea for all of life’s injustices

Their forced and misguided aid would make them appear to be tyrants to others despite the Prince’s initial good intentions

They could also become wholly irresponsible individuals, shirking the demands of Blood completely for a life of carefree self-destruction

🖕 SEER OF RAGE 🔮

Seers receive knowledge of their Aspects externally, not being innately versed in their Aspect early in their journey

The Seer of Rage could initially have trouble understanding anger and fear, both theirs and others, as they’re either suffering from chronic indifference or are in deep denial about their own inhibitions

They could appear to be carefree and upbeat individuals while being deeply conflicted and troubled on the inside, completely loath to let their struggles be perceived by others

The Seer will never admit to feeling powerless over their lack of agency over their base instincts, shamefully resorting to relying on the voice of more authoritative figures to guide them instead

They want others to see them as arbiters of self-control, infallible beings who keep a short leash on any unbecoming instinct that betrays their lack of mastery of the self

The Seer is oft indecisive, afflicted by the restrictions they place on themselves by being unable to look past their own fears and discomforts

The Seer comes into their own when they start allowing themselves to question their beliefs, confronting uncomfortable revelations, and allowing themselves to dabble in the mess that is “human emotion”

The catalyst needed to put the Seer on the right path in pursuing their own truths will usually be explosive, a sudden and dramatic event that would change their relationship with their Aspect forever

The Seer of Rage may be one of the more “introspective” Seers in that the prerequisite to being of any use to their team and session is to understand themselves first rather than blindly trusting external sources

They can also run the risk of becoming mouthpieces for misguided causes and manipulative forces

These Seers tend to be natural pacifists who rarely enjoy involving themselves directly in conflicts

This does not mean that they are shy about letting their own Rage loose on occasion

Seers examine (understand) their Aspect or examine (understand) through their Aspect for others

The Seer of Rage can literally see (smell?) fear

They know exactly what people are afraid of and what needs to be done to mitigate, avoid, or enhance it in others

They can be incredible strategists, capable of seeing through illusions and identifying enemies’ psychological weaknesses

The Seer is capable of identifying all the possible missteps stemming from the “human element” in plans and will work around them accordingly

The inverse classpect manifests when Players are at their worst or are emotionally compromised

The Seer of Rage’s inverse is the Witch Hope

At their worst, the Seer shirks their responsibility as the messenger of hard truths, using their extensive knowledge of fear and anger to transform “unpalatable” emotions into more pleasant experiences for others

Allows unhealthy delusions to cloud their ability to discern the truth from fantasy

Focuses too much on helping others avoid reality than on confronting it

[yellowcry]

All eyes are on you

Fifty years ago, Alma and Pedro lost their lives, protecting their children. That's how Casita was born. A pure wish for the babies to be safe away from danger.

Casita will make sure in it.

TW: Eating disorders

Mirabel groaned, stretching inside her bed. Ahh, another morning. For a moment, Mirabel concindered just turning over for another minute of sleep. Before realization hit her through the dreamy fog, smapping her mind open. Antonío's birthday! OH, OH! Mirabel junped off the bed faster than ever before. She's better go get ready to help the family. Anything is better than sit in one place doing nothing. Pull on the daily outfit, decorated by fine enbroidery. Mirabel made it herself. Sometimes planned, sometimes just because she was dying of boredom.

She was about to go out, check if anything needed her help. Before Casita pushed her back in the middle of the room. Oh, right. Casita doesn't like when Mirabel (or anyone else) is going anywhere without its knowledge. The house was alive, always moving. Clicking tiles, watching them. Every movement was strictly defined by Casita itself.

"¡Oh, buenos días, Casita!" Mirabel knocked on the edge of the bed. "I just want to check if the preparation for the birthday has started. Maybe wash the dishes?" She knew there was no reason to. She did it yesterday after the dinner. Several times.

The house pushed Mirabel to the door, accepting her reason. Okay.... She wasn't punished. She didn't fail completely. The bringht light blinded her vision, morning is just beginning. Quiet. Mirabel was always one of the first to wake up. Just at the morning with the first signs of the sun. The portrait of Abuelo Pedro and Abuela Alma swayed at the middle of the staircase. Always young. Sometimes Mirabel finds herself wondering what would her grandparents be like if they didn't die that night many years ago. Nobody really knows Abuelos at all. Not even Casita, and it knows everything about everyone.

Arrange the plates. Put the coffee boiling. The usual routine. Never changing. Mirabel isn't sure if Casita had changed even a little since the day she was born.

"Awake, Corazon?" Julieta croaked, she wasn't very good in talking out loud. None of the triplets was. Mirabel assumed it came with the fact that for years, until Tío Félix and Papá broke in, their only companion was Casita abd eachother.

Mamá smiled at her, crouching for a cheek kiss. Eww, gross. Mirabel rubs away the wetness. "Antonío's birthday is coming!" Of course, she knew she wouldn't be able to leave the house. Casita didn't like, didn't want them out of it's control.

Part of Mirabel felt bad for Antonío. He had a way too big age gap from everyone else. Dolores and Isabela were born like twins, Mirabel and Camilo did too, even if he was annoying, seeing someone abd know you aren't the only one with those changes was helpful. And while Luisa didn't have anyone the same age as her, she was only two years apart from the older girls, which wasn't a big age gap. Antonío was ten years younger than Mirabel. This put him on a completely different stage of development. Leave him alone like an outcaster out of their family.

Papá said there were a lot of kids if their age outside to play with. Which had caused enough arguments where Camilo begged Casita to let him out to meet other kids. The only thing he got was being locked in a small room as punishment. Mirabel wasn't sure if she should believe it. She knew Papa and Tío Félix broke into Casita one day when they were teenagers from the outside. As well Mirabel knew Casita didn't let them out. No matter what they were doing, Casita's control was inescapable. House is always here, an all-knowing observer. Make one wrong move and Casita will know. A little mistake and everyone will hate Mirabel because she failed because she can't be as good as everyone else. And she couldn't hide and the whole family would know.

Patío was the only way Mirabel could see the outside world. A cold blue sky rising above them. Sometimes a naughty sun would show up. Or black ink patching it at night. With the dots of starts breathing hight above Casita.

"Hey, sis?" Luisa once asked, back when they were kids. The middle child loved to stargaze and knew so much about these cosmo-aliens. "Do you wonder what it's like to be free like these?"

Casita clicked its tiles, threatening. It didn't like the family speaking of an idea of being out of this.

Luisa's eye twitched. Mirabel shook her hands. "Casita, Luisa didn't mean it like this! Just a possibility!"

Luisa groaned, pulling the cupboard against the brick tiles of the patio. Casita had allowed to make a little permutation and swap some of the room in their places. Which Luisa was busy doing at the time. Of course, she had technically did it with every combination several times already. There was no real need to draw furniture from one corner to another. But it kept Luisa busy. And becides she loved to be helpful. (Even if she knew that from objective view it was not helpful to anybody.)

Just keep herself distracted. Busy. Anything would be better than spend her time doing nothing at all. And she was the strongest out of her family, so moving furniture would be easier for her. Just make sure to ask Casita first. It didn't like them moving without its knowledge. Much less moving anything that belonged to it. (Tho, maybe the family also counts into this category. Luisa isn't sure if Casita actually counts any of them as living beings who can have their own opinions and wishes).

"Luisa?" Agustín called out, making Luisa wince. What's else? Did he need her help? "What are you doing? Do you need some help?" She placed his palm on Luisa's tricep, looking up at her.

"Ah, nothing!" She waved her hand. "Just some moving!"

Dad blinked at this explanation, fixing his glasses. "Didn't you move this cupboard less than a week ago?"

Maybe? Luisa didn't really count. "Well, now I'm moving it back!" She announced, rubbing her palms, chafing the cold sweat.

Becides, Luisa loved working out. So why wouldn't she treat this as one big exercise. And for a proper work out you have to lift heavy things. Which she was doing right now. What would be wrong with that?

Well, maybe Luisa kept feeling this inescapable agony in her muscles, the pain like her bones would just snap from the pressure. Maybe she collapsed from exhaustion once she entered her room. Because her muscles were all strained, unable to hold herself. But it was distraction. And as long as Casita didn't have any problems with it, a house couldn't fully understand the concept of biology, Luisa would be fine.

Antonío's birthday would give her a lot of moving for today. Place the table in the patio, set the dance zone. More work than in any normal day. It's not like she had anything better to do anyway.

Isabela flipped another page of the plant encyclopedia. She didn't actually read it, but the pictures were facinating. Yellowish from time, telling about what would be beyong Casita. At least to Papí's explanation.

"Do you think it's real?" Isabela turned her head. Luiza looked up from whatever she read at the time, something about mythology that she found a few days ago. A demand of their parents to read a book. "Like, the world beyong Casita?"

Casita questioned with the slide of a book. Luisa clentched her fists. Of course, a daddy girl she is would argue to defend their papá. "Papí wouldn't lie!" She pouted. And Isabela wanted to believe it. But, sometimes it was hard.. Casita didn't let them out. It had never let them out. No matter what. Which was stupid! Sure, Isabela loved Casita, and she loved her bestie cousin. Maybe even her annoying sisters on a good day. But it's not like Isabela could actually say it out loud.

Isabela pushed the plate away from her. Hot breakfast steaming with wonderfull aromas. So appetizing that she can feel her mouth watering.

"Bela, you haven't eat anything?" Her mamá asked, concerned.

Isabela smiled, her gace didn't twitch. "Sorry, ma, I just don't have appetite." She tucked a staggler back behind her ear.

Now that was a lie. Her stomach wretched. Nothing new. Isabela was used to it anyway. Her head feels a bit dizzy. Alright, the last time she ate was was.... she didn't really remember.

Isabela didn't know at which point she stopped eating. She just... needed control. She couldn't control where she was, what she was doing. Casita was always here, always watching. Controlling every aspect. And Isabela grew sick from it. This constant feeling when she couldn't say a word without a painful ring of the furniture. Without a fear of being locked in a small dark room all by herself.

So she grabbed onto the only thing she felt was possible to control. How hungry she was. How much she ate. (She couldn't really choose what to eat too.) And so she did. Of course, Casita tried to interfere. It was trying for years probably. But it couldn't really shove a spoon into Isabela's mouth. And asking her parents to do it instead would mean a defeat.

Casita was solid. Never changing. Isabela could swear she learnt the house up to every millimeter. It never changed. Every moment, every second was the same. Sure, Luisa did rearrange rooms sometimes. (why? Isabela didn't really know) But with time it became just as normal part of routine. You can move an orchid into new pots all you want, but it won't become a cactus. (And Isabela would die to see both)

Isabela hated this lack of control. She felt like a caged animal, confined in a small place. Going round from isolation. Ahe wanted to escape. To have her own life. One that wasn't defined by Casita. Where she could do something without asking first. Where she could take a step out of her room without asking if she's allowed to.

She knew better than assume it would happen.

[forgottenedmund]

edmund & rosie: i can't believe you talked me into this

"One of my brother's many excellent qualities," Cassandra cut in, looping one arm round Rosie and the other around Edmund's, "is his power of persuasion."

"And as my sister is never wrong," Edmund drawled, the sarcasm in his voice going unnoticed by Cassandra, "I suppose then that it must be so."

"It certainly is," Rose agreed.

"I suppose you would have had no interest in seeing a play that is four hours long if I hadn't twisted your arm?" Edmund asked, arching a brow.

"Do not let him bully you, Rose," Cassandra interjected, "He means to trap you and I will not have it." She lowered her voice, "Edmund knows, as well as I do, that this play isn't as terribly as exciting as it ought to be, but he'd go and scold you for being unpatriotic if you said as much. Although, you'd really only be saving yourself from inescapable boredom if you'd not agreed to come."

Rose laughed, "Well, I never like to leave my friends to suffer alone."

Cassandra was soon distracted by the arrival of Arthur and Sebastian -- although Edmund suspected it was also a calculated move on her part to allow him some time alone with Roisin. She wasn't always as subtle with her attempts at matchmaking as she thought she was, but he was willing to forgive her meddling this evening for he had invited Rose with the hope of having her to himself.

"Is it really so terrible as all that?" Rose asked, after Cassandra had gone.

"Worse. It's one of the most boring plays you'll ever see, but the heavy religious symbolism makes it one of my father's favorites and we've been subjected to it every year during the season of his name day." He groaned at the memories, "If I have made you doubt your decision to come, there is still time to escape -- "

"Oh, no. I am quite determined to witness it all now. After such an endorsement, how can I not? Only now you have subjected yourself to my constant commentary which, as witty as charming as it promises to be, may prove even more tedious than the play itself."

Edmund laughed, "Then you have gravely underestimated the ability this great piece of artistic achievement has to bore one to tears."

[clarepreed]

Micro-Story: Larissa's Decision

Story Content and Summary - 2,007 words. A depressed Larissa realizes how easy it would be to slip away while Mitchell sleeps. Symptoms, asthma, vague resuscitation descriptions.

Previous installment: Hurt/Comfort.

--

Mitchell slept deeply beside her, lost in an unusually carefree slumber. She could hear him gently breathing, occasionally punctuated by a soft snore. His body radiated warmth, and the blanket over them was soft and plush.

Despite this, Larissa felt cold. Cold and inescapably sad. Her brain lied to her, whispering to her soul that she was miserable, isolated inside herself, and unworthy of her generous lot in life. Her toes, nose, and fingertips burned with this knowledge. The depression nearly stopped her breath in her lungs. Literally, her breathing shallow and labored as she stared up at the ceiling.

I’m so tired. I just want to rest.

A miserly finger of warmth swept across her eyes. Tears brimmed against her lashes. More weight sank into her chest, making her wheeze. The burden of breathing plagued her. 

Burden.

Insecurity welled up; this was a word to which she was sensitive, even if she was the only one wielding it. A burden. How different Mitchell’s life was now that he dealt with her poor health. Going from the CEO of the company he built to carer for his fragile wife. How stressed her parents were, worrying about her when they should focus on themselves and Poppy. The drawn looks she’d seen on Mark and Samuel’s faces the last time she was in the hospital. Her friend Kieran crying on the phone with her, having had a dream about Larissa nearly dying after her wedding. The weight dragged down everyone who cared for her. 

So much angst, because of me.

Add to all of that her own growing sense of discontent and boredom. She didn’t have a job. Her friends lived scattered across the globe. Sometimes, she was well enough to run, but at other times, she couldn’t even go for a walk. Even simple pleasures had been taken from her. Bathing without fear of drowning. Eating a meal without fear of choking. 

She loved Mitchell. She couldn’t put into words how much she loved him; hadn’t known that was even possible. And yet…

It’s not enough.

Sick and in love. Not enough.

I’m so sorry, honey. It’s not enough.

Her heart, instead of pounding in her ears as dread and depression pressed her into the mattress, beat slowly. 

Thump.

She felt dizzy, the dark room canting around her.

Thump.

Thump.

I could let go.

The realization dawned slowly. She could let go.

Feels like it would be easy.

 She would stop breathing first. Lay there as her heart fluttered. Then her heart would stop completely. And it would just be over. No pain, no panic. Just this inexorable pressure, then nothing. She didn’t know how she knew this, she just did.

Her thoughts turned back to Mitchell. There was a chance he would sense something, would know somehow that she was in grave danger. He would awaken and find her still and lifeless beside him. He would shake her, gently at first. Then hard, making her head sway side to side. He would turn on a light, take in her staring gaze. He would shout and listen for breath and take her pulse. 

He would call 9-1-1 and throw back the covers. Haul her bodily from the bed, her skull thunking on the floor in his desperation. His hands would stack on her chest and pump her heart. She could feel it, the relentless pressure focused on her sternum, making the bone sink toward her heart before letting it recoil. Her blood would move incrementally, rhythmically, through her veins. 

Thump.

Then he would crank open her airway, pinch her nostrils, and cover her mouth with his. She could feel the ghost of his touch on her lips. His warm breath forced into her lungs. The dampness of saliva passing between them. Then another round of chest compressions as he counted and moved almost like a professional, efficient from all his practice.

I’m sorry, honey.

Thump.

He would do this for two minutes, then he’d leave her, sprinting for the linen closet they’d converted into a first aid cabinet, wired for outlets and well-illuminated. He would return with an AED. There would be another round of compressions. Then he’d fit a pocket mask over her face. She could feel him cradling her head with a shaking hand, settling the mask over her nose and mouth. The air flowed into her, disconnected from him. 

Rustling sounds, accompanied by Mitchell verbally encouraging her to pull through. His voice heavy with heartbreak. Cool sensations up her midline as he cut through her shirt. More compressions, her chest sinking and her stomach bulging. Her feet rocking. Breaths. Sticky pads applied to her chest.

Her heartbeat continued to slow, though in her reverie, it was already still. She knew the AED would not advise any shocks, but Mitchell’s agonized begging was still a shock to her stagnant system.

Thump.

Thump.

More likely, he would wake in the morning, when she was well and truly gone. He would stretch and reach for her like he always did. And he would know immediately, as his arm slid across her stomach. She would be still and cool to the touch. Eyes dull when he lurched up to look at her face. Fingers pressed desperately into her carotid would tell him what he already knew. He’d had enough nightmares to this effect that he would spend a few minutes insisting this was a terrible dream and trying to wake himself up. And when he realized the truth…

Her mind sent her a horrifying approximation of the mourning sound he would make, and she pulled back mentally from it so hard that her hands, curled limp on the mattress, flinched.

He would surely never sleep deeply again.

I’m sorry, honey.

Thump.

Thump.

Still, not enough.

Thump.

Thump.

What would be enough?

Her breath hitched, and her vision exploded into a kaleidoscope of gem-colored imagery. A 5k race finish line. Mitchell looking up from a book and offering her an easy smile. Kieran’s first child cradled in her arms. Sitting in a room of students with a box of freshly sharpened drawing pencils, listening to an instructor. Holding Momma’s hand at Poppy’s funeral. Filing LLC paperwork for a consulting business. Stepping off a plane in a far-off land. Calling Mark’s sister, Angie, just to tell her something funny she’d read. Sitting with Mitchell at a concert, grinning as the bass tickled her sternum. Petting one of the neighbor’s white, fluffy cats. Moving her parents into the Ohana. Watching Mark and Samuel renew their vows. Driving on a closed course. Mitchell in bed, coming apart beneath her with his heart pounding under her hand. Standing in the sunlight with her eyes closed, the breeze caressing her skin.

I don’t want to die.

Thump.

I don’t want to die.

Thump.

Is this a dream? When did I close my eyes?

No!

“Mitchell,” she whispered out loud, peeling her eyes open with difficulty. He didn’t stir; she hadn’t spoken loudly enough to wake him.

Larissa tensed her legs and arms, then released them.

Thump. Thump.

Her breath wheezed in and out of her. She needed her inhaler, but she was still being dragged along by the inertia of sleep.

Or death.

 Larissa licked her lips and forced her hand to slide across the fitted sheet until she bumped Mitchell in the back.

“Mitchell,” she croaked, then coughed.

He stirred. It always fascinated her how quickly his mind cleared when he woke up. She probably wouldn’t have to say his name again.

Thump. Thump.

A few seconds passed, and he bolted upright. Another few seconds, and she heard the click of the manual button on his smart lamp. 

“Larissa?” He leaned over her, his eyes quickly scanning her face. He looked concerned, but not yet panicked. “Asthma?”

She nodded, though it took a lot of effort and she saw his eyebrows quirk. Mitchell pulled back the covers, and she shivered.

“I’m sorry. I just want to help you sit up, baby.” He did more than that; he wedged his hands under her arms and hauled her up, then held her close to his chest with one arm while he dragged the pillows up behind her. He leaned her back against them, frowning when her head lolled. Mitchell moved quickly, straddling her legs and leaning over to open her nightstand drawer. “Hey, Google. Turn on Larissa’s bedside lamp.”

The light flicked on. Then he had her inhaler, shaking it before he held it to her lips. “Ready, baby? I can help you.”

She struggled to raise her arm, so Mitchell said: “Okay. I’m going to count to three and then I’ll give you a pump. One, two, three—”

Larissa gave it her best effort, inhaling as he depressed the canister. Then she held her breath, letting the medicine move through her lungs before exhaling.

Thump.

Thump.

“Okay, one more.” He held the inhaler close to her face, and she wrapped her lips around the mouthpiece again. “One, two, three! Good, good job, baby.”

The inhaler went back into the drawer; Mitchell was very good about putting things away so he could find them later. He wasn’t the sort to leave his underwear in the bathroom, or things on the stairs for her to trip over.

I’m thinking about too many things when I should think about breathing. 

It was harder than she thought, and she concentrated on breathing in and out, hoping Mitchell wouldn’t have to call an ambulance.

Thump. Thump.

Thump.

Mitchell cradled her wrist in his hand and pressed two fingers to the inside. He made a sympathetic sound when he touched her. “Geez. Your hands are so cold!”

Larissa reclined against the pillows, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. Keeping them open seemed like it was taking a lot of her energy. She could hear herself wheezing; it would take the Albuterol a few minutes to work.

Thump.

“Larissa.” Mitchell’s tone was sharp, so she cracked her eyes open. “Is anything else wrong?”

“I was—” A coughing fit took her, and she was vaguely aware of Mitchell moving around; when she could draw breath again, he had her phone in his hand. She didn’t want to try speaking yet, so she offered him a thumbs up and the OK sign.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I’m going to be OK.

Now.

Mitchell made a face at her, something between frustration and worry. She shivered in response, and he let go of the phone so he could reach out and rub her arms. “Soon as I’m sure you can breathe, I’ll get you some things to warm you up, baby.”

“Sorry,” she croaked, coughing again.

“Don’t apologize, Larissa. Thank you for waking me up. I don’t like to think about you struggling in the dark alone.” Mitchell reached up and cupped her cheek. “You’d help me if I needed it. You have before.”

She nodded and took a few careful breaths. She felt a little stronger now; holding her head up didn’t take quite so much effort. More importantly, she no longer felt like she might leave the mortal realm at any moment. Relief that she was apparently going to live filtered through her, leaving her confused as to whether or not she’d been having a nightmare or if everything she’d felt had been real. Guilt prickled across her cheekbones; she had no intention of telling Mitchell any of it. Especially not when he was looking at her like that, like she was a precious thing, easy to lose. 

Mitchell leaned forward and kissed her forehead before climbing off her legs. His lips felt warm on her skin. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He winked at her, dispelling some of the worry on his face, and she offered him what smile she could muster.

He returned soon, with fluffy socks, a knit hat, gloves, and a blanket. As he was pulling the hat down over her head, each movement deliberate and gentle, she whispered: “I love you.”

It’s enough… for now.

--

The story continues with Neighborly.

[yoshiyakiryu-archive]

Some fresh nonsense about joshneku losing over at @homoeroticbetrayal

"Fancy seeing you here," Joshua chimes from his perch on the cafe seat as Neku approaches the table. It's not Wildkat, but this side-street shop feels unnaturally empty, and all the more unreal for the presence of the smiling Composer, casually seated by the window.

He could be the most powerful entity in the city, but Neku's urge to roll his eyes and tell him to go fuck himself has the budding inescapability of an oncoming sneeze. Only four words in, Neku's already reminded that no matter how much he misses the asshole when he's gone, he's a pain in the ass to have a straightforward conversation with.

"You invited me," Neku gripes, unable to resist giving the eye roll. He slides onto the seat across from Joshua, feeling another one coming on already.

"Hmm, did I? I suppose I must have. Hee hee." Joshua slides one of the two cups in front of him towards Neku. "The coffee here is decent, you should give it a try."

"…Thanks."

He continues being suspicious for a moment, but ultimately trusts Joshua, and the knowledge that poisoning wasn't really his style. If he wants Neku back in the UG, there's nothing stopping Joshua from rattling another bullet through his poor, pre-punctured brain matter. The old one must still be in there, making him think humoring this conversation was a rational idea that won't just end in a headache.

Joshua smiles, two hands on his own paper coffee cup, fingers striking it in sequence, a steady expectant rhythm. As he watches Neku, the motions change. Taking a sip, the scales shift to an energetic tempo, striking keys he cannot see in time with music he cannot hear. Weirdo.

"What did you want, anyway?" Neku asks, setting the coffee down. There's little point in wasting time on pleasantries when Joshua deemed something catastrophic enough to take the risk of actually talking to him.

"Nothing to say about the coffee?"

"Not really." It's pretty average, as far as coffee goes, and it's not a surprise Joshua knows his order.

Joshua hums, digging his phone out of his pocket and adding to what seems to be, from Neku's view of the phone upside down across the table, a personal review log of local restaurants. "That's hardly a riveting opinion, but I'll include it. We wouldn't want to find Players erased of sheer boredom, would we?"

Whatever UG bullshit Joshua was pursuing, Neku wasn't making it his problem to know. He could guess, but he won't. He won't even think about it. Nope, no dead people business here.

Joshua frowns at him through the silence, bordering on a pout, and sets his phone down. 

Neku tilts his head, gesturing with his free hand.

"Well? Did something happen? Why are we here, Josh? Is reality about to collapse in on itself? Did someone important die? Double die?"

"No, no no no, nothing like that," Joshua says waving off his tone. "Well, people die of course, every day. But that's not my concern." He cuts Neku off before he can reply that yeah, it kind of is, by snatching his phone back off the table and waving it in Neku's face. "I'm here about this."

Oh.

That.

The homoerotic betrayal thing. He'd heard about it after the fact when three of his friends texted him their condolences on losing to Brutus and Caesar. He needed to ask for context, and to be frank, didn't know what to make of the whole thing. He could have gone without knowing that "iconic homoerotic betrayal" was a tournament he'd been nominated in, and privately thinks Joshua has got to find more normal ways of hitting on him. Ways that don't involve firearms.

"Isn't that over?" he asks, with little else to say. If it was over, they shouldn't have to worry about it. Problem solved. Neku out. The arcane and meta machinations of the multiverse can remain not his problem.

"Yes," Joshua says, all business, "but we lost."

"So?"

"So, we lost! After all our fans put in such heartwarming work about us too."

Neku mulls over the word "fans" for a long moment, and decides he doesn't want to consider the implications of that either. He shrugs. "Okay."

"Neku," Joshua says, placing the phone between them and folding his hands loosely over his drink, "I don't think you're taking this very seriously."

"No shit, Sherlock," Neku snaps, indulging that eye roll. "You're not telling me why I should."

"Because we lost," Joshua says, forced patience, as sincere as he ever gets, "and because I have reason to suspect there was UG involvement." He picks up his phone again, opening an app before handing it over. "Take a look. Do any words stand out to you?"

Neku takes the phone, and scrolls slowly, taking his time to make sure there was nothing obvious for Joshua to scold him about missing, and to make him squirm, until he sees a familiar word. "Memes?"

"An astute observation Neku! I knew I'd chosen you for a reason."

He's insufferable. Neku hands the phone back and sinks down in his seat. Unbelievable.

"Memes, yes." Joshua twirls a lock of hair around his index finger, and Neku takes a sip of coffee to disguise how closely he followed the movement.

"You think that we lost because everyone was Imprinted to vote against us?"

"In short, yes again," Joshua says, smiling once more. "Someone put on their thinking cap today."

Asshole. Bastard. Little snot.

Neku takes a deep breath and swallows the growl climbing his throat.

"Explain."

Joshua hums, then shrugs, palms up and put upon. "I believe there was a site-wide Imprinting campaign leading up to the bracket. Disguised as a celebration of the death of Julius Caesar. You of all people know how easily folks can be swayed by a trend." He slumps down onto his elbows, resting his chin in his hands. "Then we lost," he continues, annoyed. "And I don't like losing."

"Obviously. Isn't it kind of far-fetched to Imprint memes on a whole website?"

"You'd be surprised what some of the Higher Plane get up to in their spare time.

"…Right, don't tell me." He doesn't want to hear about angel hobbies. He doesn't want to think about angel hobbies. "I still don't get why you submitted us to that thing in the first place."

"I didn't."

Eye rolls must come in threes. Joshua has the audacity to look affronted.

"Okay. Sure. I'll believe that. Then why is this so important?"

"I can't tell you," Joshua says, gazing meaningfully into the middle distance fingers tangled in a stray lock of hair.

He is so full of shit. There is not one iota of Joshua that isn't composed of compacted, steaming, fresh shit. This is what happens when you cross the guy's competitive streak with a crush. He should confiscate Joshua's phone. Joshua should talk to him more often.

"But! We could get a second chance," Joshua says, affected wistfulness gone. "I know how big a fan you are of second chances. We'll win the revival match." Joshua leans in, devious and conniving across from him, and Neku knows what's coming even before Joshua does a fingergun in his direction. "You will win us the revival match. By any means necessary."

"And how am I going to do that?" Neku crosses his arms.

Another shrug. "Start Imprinting memes on people yourself. Find the culprit rigging things from before. I'm not fussed about the strategy, as long as we win."

Neku closes his eyes. "I don't get a choice here, do I?"

"It's a homoerotic betrayal tournament, Neku. That's against the spirit of it, wouldn't you say?"

"Fair enough." It isn't. Not really. But Neku's learned to pick his battles. He's learned to pick them very well. "But I set the terms."

"Oh?" Joshua's pitch rises in surprise. "Intriguing. Go on."

Neku lifts up a finger. "One. No penalties for losing." Joshua grumbles against his palm. "Two, if we win, you're showing up for group outings. No excuses or leaving early. Spend time with us."

There's unmatched satisfaction in the way Joshua looks like he's swallowed something far too sour. "These aren't very nice terms, Neku."

"Take them or leave them. And no funny business."

"…Fiiiiiiine. I guess you'll just owe me."

Joshua pulls himself from the table and stands, all drawn-out, fluid movements and exaggerated resignation. His coffee sits abandoned on the table, half finished.

"Owe you!?"

"Hee hee. For being so generous, of course. I'll pick you up when the polls open." Joshua touches his sole fingergun to Neku's temple before leaving the cafe and an exasperated, incredulous Neku. "Toodles."

[grokebaby]

One night, Siru isn't quite feeling it. This one night she didn't sleep well enough, before Pesticinger summoned her from her home, flew her out to the distant woods, and had her vivisect a bird. She was going along with it - what else would she do.

But really.

She does these gross out rituals for it. She finds and brings her items. She trains her voice sore during their little band practice.

I know I got into this basically out of boredom and an inescapable need to numb the pain - Siru thinks. But really, what's in it for me. What is the follower of the plague supposed to get from this.

"When are you giving me something?" she asks, bluntly. The bird perks, tilting her head stupidly. "What am I doing this all For? What should I be getting out of this? What are you supposed to give me in return?" Siru elaborates, giving Pesticinger a bunch more words than the first sentence. It coos thoughtfully, not really saying much.

The knife Siru always uses is still in her hand.

Her black patterns start spreading, turning her a night-dark color, as a pulse of rage flows through her. She yells at Pesticinger. She curses out her life. It's alot of anger and not alot of blame that Pesticinger really deserves. Siru knows this, but fuck if she isn't good at keeping everything in until she explodes at her loved ones.

Not counting the plague as a loved one, of course, but the point still stands. The bird tries to give her words in return for hers - Siru rarely talks this much at once! Pesticinger feels it fair to give her many words in exchange. But Siru doesn't listen to it, for once. Now she's the one talking.

Unfortunately so, because whenever she says too much, she ends up regretting alot of it. That's why she doesn't talk much. She either says bad things, or worthless things.

Siru growls, and tosses the knife at Pesticinger, scaring it off. The plague takes flight, and in a heavy gust of air, she disappears into the night.

.. Great. Another interpersonal relationship wasted. She already feels guilty.

Is she really mad at Pesticinger, or is she just tired? Does she really want something out of the plague, or does she just wish she was better. Wish she didn't need the company of a monster. Wish she felt like remotely good company to said monster.

She walks home. It's very early when she gets there, and her mother is leaving for work. She's worried, and Siru says nothing to her. Nan dutifully helps her to bed. Knowing her concerns won't be answered. Siru hates herself for it. But she'd ruin even more things by telling her mother everything.

I can't believe it - she thinks. Did I really scare off A Plague? What kind of monster must I be?

Well. At least I won't have to spend nights up doing horrors anymore..

She sleeps until the next midnight.

She wakes up abruptly to the sound of something on her window. She jolts up, praying to the mistress her mom doesn't hear it. She follows the sound outside, all the way to the edges of the village. Pesticinger stands there with a bag in her beak. Siru is.. A bit shocked, to see her again.

"Listen, I'm.. I'm sorry, I just.. I feel like nobody really.. Nevermind.." Siru starts, but draws back. Pesticinger drops the bag, and with vigorous head bobs, urges her to speak more. "I listen, yes! I'm listening. Listening now!" she sings, taking a few hops towards Siru. She's.. Taken aback by this. "You feel like nobody listens to you? Do they only take never give? Is that why you're angered like this? You feel so worthless I know, this is what you said to me, but now you should say more. Say say! I listen. I don't hear you speak much. Speak more!" it continues, it's tone urgent and cautious - and maybe, just maybe.. Apologetic?

"What's.. In that bag?" Siru asks, instead.

Pesticinger blinks. "For you! Bag for you! It's givings to you, things for you, for you!" it repeats and blabbers, nudging the bag towards Siru with it's beak vigorously. It jostles to her feet, and Siru.. Still, taken aback, picks it up.

She looks inside, firstly finding the knife she threw earlier - realizing she left it there in the woods. She looks more, finding scarves. They're of fancy material and knit, with patterns, and tussles on some of them.

Oh.. Because she knows I.. Wear head scarfs.

She finds more. There's bones unclear in origin. There's instruments. Mostly flutes and other carriables. There's claws and talons. More sharp weapons. She can easily extrapolate why Pesticinger, a little bird fond of pillaging humans, would pick all these out for her.

Except...

The tie.

"Is this.. Like.. For me to wear? Dressing business casual?" Siru asks the plague. Really, it doesn't look like anything the humans from this realm would wear. It looks.. Futuristic to her. It's beyond fancy too, and made with materials she doesn't immediately recognise her villagers to have.

"If you want, you can wear it! Very stylish, Siru always stylish!" Pesticinger currs in flatteration. But it's not an explanation.

"Where.. Did you get this? Did it.. Belong to someone?"

"Sparrow's other chickling!"

Siru freezes.

"You.. Took this from.. Lassi?"

Pesticinger nods.