#it just will not be what I want it to be no matter how hard I try?

[sleepincrow]

suggestive content.

what if he sex bans YOU. what if he threatens YOU with the lack of delicious sex?? what if he punishes YOU with no sex—to see what would happen to you, how pathetic you would become, hm? begging him to forgive you and for him to just relent and fuck you?

AND WHAT IF HE REGRETS IT, NOT A WEEK INTO THE MONTH-LONG SEX BAN HE PROMISED YOU. WHAT THEN???

"please, pretty baby~ 𖹭" he'd coo so fucking pathetically. it doesnt matter what position you could be in, in the end, he's the pathetic one. he would bat his eyelashes, trying to woo you over with his velvety words, all the while he tries to hide the tears that's gathered in his eyes from the soulful desperation of not being able to rut his hard cock on your thigh, let alone fuck you. "ive already forgiven you, so let's just stop this whole thing, yeah?"

oh stars, he's trying—trying to act as if he didnt put you in this situation.. as if he didnt put himself in this situation. you clicked your teeth. it's truly so cute how he thinks he still has the choice.

"but baby," you start, also batting your eyelash in false innocence. "you were right, i needed this punishment, so im taking full responsibility!" the slight growl and grunt thet came out of his irritated mouth was enough for you to know that your acting was perfect.

"don't act so mature now!" his grip on you tightens. underneath these calloused hands that hold onto you with a rough and wanting motive was the hidden sea of desperation. the hold youve got on his hips, keeping him from touching you, its pissing him off.

"come on, honey, you wanted this for me, right?" you mumbled under your breath, looking through him with those big eyes of yours. its taking everything in him to not just rut into you. anything'll do.

and he couldnt help it.. he was desperate!

"fuck.. come on, please? sh-shit i cant— i cant do this 'nymore. need- need to feel ya, baby, please?" he's fully given up at this point. he curses out his sex drive for giving up so early, and silently curses out to you. how could you endure this further than him? surely this is of your doing. somehow.

yes. it has to be you. youre too pretty doing whatever you want. its not like he can help it, youre too addicting. looking at you is a treat for him, a privilege to others, is it not? thats why. thats why he cant go much longer than a week without feeling you

he's deep into your neck, nose pressed against your soft skin, inhaling the scent of you. whatever he can get backfires cause his cock just becomes harder in the confines of his pants. strong arms envelope you, quivering in the need to fill you. look how you have him wrapped around your finger, clinging on to you as he pleads in your ear.

"im sorry, please, just fuck me."

he doesnt remember why he even punished you in the first place. all he wanted was to know how long it would be before you'd come crawling to him, begging to put his dick inside you. turns out he folded way before due. all he can think about is shaming his own hand for not being able to replicate how your pretty cunt squeezes him just perfectly. just enough to force his eyes into the back of his head. nothing could replicate you.

you feel too good. better. youre his ecstacy, dont you get it?

[swightops]

"in every dimension, Mark Grayson falls for you, but not this one."

Shit, you think. Between all the blood and smoke, you weren't sure if colors could be vibrant anymore. No matter how many people you got to safety or buildings you stopped from falling, there was always more.

More screams, more buildings falling, more dead bodies, more chaos.

"You know, all this blood and fire makes you look so much more pretty," a voice teases. You turn, and for a split second, relief floods you before it quickly replaces itself with apprehension. Mark floats there, but he's different; he's not Mark. His hair is parted into a mohawk, and there's something else. This Mark's eyes are rabid, obsessed, and watching you like you're some type of prize.

You try not to show your apprehension, but it's hard when Mark looks at you like that—like the way he looks at Eve. "Confused, huh?" Mark teases, and he softly lands on the ground, only a couple of feet away from you. "From what I've heard, you and I aren't together in this universe. Lameass me is with Eve. So stupid," Mark says, rolling his eyes at the end. "Can't be too surprised though! This world's me is so lame and weak."

Mark goes on and on about how your world's Mark is a sniveling, weak piece of shit, but you stopped listening. You and Mark are together in a different world.

A gust of wind makes you whip around as another Mark appears before you. But like the one with a mohawk, this one isn't your world's Mark. His suit is different, a mesh of white and gray, and no mask to be found. But like the other Mark, he's staring at you like that.

"Ugh! Couldn't give us a moment alone, could you, asshole!" Mohawk Mark complains, his eyebrows furrowed, and lips pulled into a sneer. The other Mark, the one in white and gray, doesn't acknowledge the complaints and insults thrown his way. Instead, his eyes lock onto yours, and you freeze up as he steps closer to you.

"You don't look any different," is all he says before his fingers hover over your cheek. It's wrong, it's so wrong, the way your heart beats a little faster, how your cheeks flush, and how desperately you want to lean into his warmth. Mark, this Mark in front of you, has killed countless people and caused so much damage that the aftercount might be in the hundreds of thousands.

You don't get a second to react before there's another gust of wind, and yet another Mark stands there. His suit colors are now yellow and black instead of black and dark blue. His yellow cape flows behind him, and a twisted grin pulls at his face.

"y/nnnnnn," Mark calls for you, and you hate how it sounds so right, so good. Mohawk Mark and the one right next to you turn to the other one, and a split silence passes before you're dragged up into the air.

Instinctively, you push away before arms are holding yours behind your back. "Let go!" you yell, your arms straining against Mark's.

"No wayyyy, babe," the Mark with a yellow cape says, coming closer to you, his fingers twirling a curl of your hair.

"Can we just get this over with?" Mohawk Mark says, and your heart drops to your stomach as fast as it's beating.

"We're not going to hurt you," the Mark holding you says, his voice deep and his hold tightening.

"Could have fooled me," you finally say, and the two Marks in front of you laugh. The one twirling your hair stops before squishing your cheeks together and laughing again as you struggle to pull your face out of his hold.

"Still a little firecracker like I remember," he says, and you freeze. Were you with this Mark in his universe as well? And the one behind? Was the universe so cruel that you and Mark were together in every other universe except this one? The one where you chickened out of telling you how you felt, and now he was with Eve.

"Don't worry, pretty. This world's Mark is stupid enough to not make you his, but we aren't."

[baepsays]

‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN)⸻ clan head Gojo

Chapter One: Lord Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, nsfw, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), internalized misogyny on reader's part, insecurities, dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, self deprecation on reader's behalf, angst, some fluff, condescending Gojo, they do stuff in bed idk how to explain, manhandling, love bites, hickeys and marks, teasing, so much teasing, very lowkey dirty talk, talk about virginity, mentions of breeding, there is reluctant consent, emotionally detached Gojo, Gojo is just a bit mean, sexual tension in the air or just need to runaway? reader in her early thirties, Gojo is in his mid thirties.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: hope you have fun reading <3 if you'd like to be added to the tag list, refer to the series masterlist<3

word count: 7.5k

The world of jujutsu was reformed drastically following the events of devastation that took place during the Shinjuku showdown. Many lives were lost, and many were left alive with the misfortune of living with the memories of the events. One such person happened to be the strongest himself, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru basically came back from touching death himself. 

The sheer surprise of his life being spared after all that he went through to have his students win a losing battle, and live a better life as a sorcerer—was enough to have rumors circulate that perhaps the now scarred up Gojo Satoru is just a shell of a man from who he used to be.

The intensity of his powers were apparently dulled, especially the six eyes. The great blessing and curse on Gojo Satoru’s name, his six eyes, were left intact, but rendered basically powerless. 

But it did not matter how much Gojo Satoru has weakened, how the current state of him could not compare to who he was. Because this was a man who has escaped death time and time, any fear that may have been there in those glowing eyes, was gone to say the least.

If one does think of it, Gojo Satoru is just as much of a changed man as everyone thinks of him to be, the nights he used to sleeplessly spent were now spent with a better sleep schedule. False pretenses were dropped. He was older, wiser, a man who has been struck with grief all through his life, and was now living a more predictable life. Now he just spent his days looking after his estate, staff, and helping his students as much as he could as a more powerful figure, in terms of not only his physical but also political capabilities.

The gruesome news of what took place in the room of the higher ups before the Shinjuku showdown was the first of such help. Just whispers were heard about the state of the room, if he was ever bravely asked of what exactly happened that day, the eerie smile was enough, on top of his now mostly left uncovered eyes.

The need for silence was more needed than boasting what he had done, with no remorse, as he never felt any for the vile people present in that room that day. As the jujutsu world was more or less at peace, the clan politics was still present, silently fuming away from everyone’s eyes. And as the head of the Gojo clan, he had to step up to his role more proficiently.

And with the newfound responsibilities and increasing age, the pressure to find a wife was becoming more and more vital. 

Hope was not something you relied on usually, or at all. As a person born with no actual cursed energy to wield them in a battlefield, other than being mildly able to see horrifying entities float around, it was hard. 

It was hard as it is to be a non-sorcerer born into a family of jujutsu sorcerers, it was probably harder as an unmarried woman, now in her thirties, surrounded by people who deem women nothing more than a womb on a pair of legs.

It was no concern to them if the world was burning down or if you were dying, your apparent reproductive clock was better understood by them than you. At least as a child it was a hush hush, and tease of sorts when the topic of your future husband was brought up, which was more often than not. This went on until you graduated university like any other normal human being, as the world of jujutsu did not seem to work out. 

You liked that life. The normal life that these people looked down upon, making normal friends, falling out with them over petty reasons than losing them to some blood hungry curse, going on trips them them, stressing about exams, pulling all nighters to submit a assignments, getting asked out on dates, growing plants, spending weekends by reading books and binge watching some show. 

There was nothing significant in the lifestyle these people aspired for and maintained.

And you did not want to end up in an unfamiliar house having to start from scratch, how to mind yourself and navigate the unprovoked stares of disgust. Especially by a man who was supposed to love you for better and for worse, til death does you apart—if it were up to you, you would not like to bind yourself to this man, to begin with. 

But then again, that was all wishful daydreaming. Especially when you are already sitting in a reserved private room at some fancy place, waiting to meet another prospective husband. At this point you have met at least over ten or hundred possible husbands, you have lost the count. To your parents and clan they were either too obnoxious, not as affluent as them, too egregious, not influential enough, or not as powerful as them. But this was no ordinary prospective meeting. After all this was the potential meeting that could tie your family to the Gojo clan.

He was everything they wanted to be, had all the qualities they were looking for in your future husband, and everything they despised. He was too egregious, too obnoxious, too condescending, righteous to a fault, and too giving. Yet, it did not waver their desire to have you tied down to this man. That was the effect of Gojo Satoru. It did not matter how much he had weakened in terms of physical strength compared to the new generation, it was how he boasted of that weakness and walked with his head higher than ever.

You did respect the man immensely. But you could not help but hold grudges against this man, whom you are yet to even meet. Grudges over how freely he lived. You have never in your life felt jealous of your peers’ powers, surely you have felt resentment. But that was over your own blood. But this man in particular you could not escape, probably even to the pits of hell he will follow you there to agonize your life.

The thought of possibly calling him your husband made your stomach fill with bile. 

Your silent thoughts ran wild as you waited silently, sitting opposite an empty chair, surrounded by people chattering anxiously about the absent man in question. Your parents, a few important members of your clan, and a few members of the Gojo clan started to become more and more weary about the clan head’s arrival. 

The clamour in the room stopped way before the doors to the room slid open. That was the sort of energy he exuded. Enigmatic and formidable. 

The man who walked in, adorned in the most finely made white haori, complementing his hair, with a scarf around his neck. He looked almost the part of the groom, with half the outfit already hanging off his shoulders. But it was not the careful stitching of the jacket, or his sculpted body peeking through the compressed shirt beneath his jacket, or the piercing blue orbs set on you, that made you static in your seat—breathless even. 

The three big scars that cut through his left cheek, under his right eye, and the one stretching from his chin down his jawline, accompanied by more scattered and faded out smaller scars, spread through every visible part of his body—that is what had your mind standing still in awe. 

“Ah! Greetings Gojo-sama. Such an honor to be in your presence, finally.” Your father’s voice brought you out of the blue pupils assessing every single cell on your body. The realization that you had dared to hold gaze with Gojo Satoru of all people, that too on your first meeting, ran your throat dry. Quickly training your eyes on the table in front of you, as if it was the most interesting piece of furniture, you reached for the glass of water served to you. Hoping, praying, begging that you did not just offend him. 

“Why? I made everyone wait too long.” The tone of his voice suggested anything but a polite question. Maybe steadiness and jest, but no place for ease. 

“No! Of course not, in fact you are right on time!” One of the Gojo clan members quipped beside him. Looking ever so slightly from the edge of your eyelashes, you presumed this was the usual. 

“Really? Then do you mind telling me if I'm actually on time or not? ” The question was directed to no one in the room but you. 

“Gojo-sama, how can she-” Satoru cuts off your mother before she could finish the poor excuse she was about to make, “I was clearly not speaking to you, was I? Now, are you able to answer my simple question or simply too fascinated by the table?” A calculative smile stretched across his face. 

“It is made out of cedar wood if you are wondering about that.”

The tone of his voice and that smile irritated something in you. All your life you have been a compliant decorative doll made out of unmoving porcelain, yet the sheer change in the inconspicuous inflection of this man’s words, pissed you off beyond everything. 

“You are 24 minutes late.” The words came out unusually harsher than your usual voice. “Gojo-sama.”

The last bit of that respect came from the instant realization of what you did, followed by your mother’s eyes almost popping out of its sockets and your father’s disappointed sigh. They were as sure as you were, that this meeting is not going to work out in their favor. You were, on one hand ecstatic to have ensured that you were never going to be called this man’s wife, on the other hand the anticipation of what was to follow this meeting once you get home, made your stomach drop.

The members of either clan were already engaged in a dispute of words. “How dare a woman born with no cursed energy speak in such a tone with the head of the Gojo clan!” one of the members of his clan spoke with displeasure, slightly sitting up in his seat.

“Please excuse her insolence, she does not know any better. Apologize. Right this instance.” Your father urged you with his teeth pressed together. 

You should’ve noticed the anger in his tone, but you were too busy observing the man sitting in front of you, from the curtains of your eyelashes as you held your head low. He sat with his grinning face held in his hand, the elbow of the said hand rested on the table, as he took a big sip of his tea. All the while boring his gaze in your, already itching with discomfort, skin. 

The sound of the cup of tea pressed between his shining lips, being set down on the cedar table made everyone stop their sharp words thrown your way. It was definitely not the sound that the cup made, but rather whose cup it was, that made them halt their charges.

“I see. Then I must apologize to my wife to be, for making her wait that long for me.”

Weddings are difficult.

It takes a lot of preparation. Mentally and physically, it is extremely straining and of course the preparation, just organizing a lot of things all at once, drives one insane. The venue, the guests, the font for the wedding invitation, gifts for the guests, flowers, color of the silverware etc. meticulous things. And it takes a lot of people to have two people unite, in the name of the law and society, with God as the witness. But it is particularly harder to realize the significance of the act of being wed to a person, when you have no idea who that person is beyond the whispering gossips and scars of battle adorning his pretty face.

When you had no contribution to the choices made for the wedding preparation, or the person you are to be wed, it all feels less magical and more of a fever dream. The days before the wedding, you spent them holed up in your room, not really doing anything more than what you were required to do. So you solemnly spent those swift days contemplating things over and over again. 

You thought you might not want to see your husband to be, before the wedding itself. But when the week before the wedding your father informed you that Gojo Satoru himself seeked out to have dinner at your house, you could not help but anticipate the sight of him. Wondering if he might show up in more casual clothing than his formal getups, wondering if the scar under his eye is still the same or did it somehow morph its shape, even if it has only been three weeks since you have seen him.

So you could not help but feel disappointment when he never showed up. All the food that was decorated on the dinner table was already cold, when an informant came to tell that, ‘Gojo-sama has sent the word that he cannot make it, and he is deeply apologetic to his fiance.’ 

Your shoulders sagged down as quickly as your father just asked everyone to start their meal. You did not understand the loss of appetite when everything before you was so delicious. It was all very confusing, maybe you just wanted to see him one last time before the wedding to reassure yourself. But then again, you cannot get rid of the doubt that did not stem from worry, but is fostered by fear.

“Are you ready?” your mother's voice made you look away from the reflection of yourself and instead your eyes focused on her. Because at least the harshness in her voice was more familiar than your own reflection.

“Time for you to enter. Everyone is waiting.”

The idea of being a married woman, to the strongest, at that—made the weight of the ceremonial kimono feel heavier than any piece of clothing you have ever dawned. The hood of the wataboshi  partially covering your face felt like a shield, because while walking down the aisle it hid your eyes from peeking a glimpse of your groom. As much as it felt like you were dying, with the way your throat was constricting, making it harder for any air to pass—you could not help but take a peek at your groom, from below your hood, who was already standing there waiting for you.

His back was facing the shrine’s altar, and his eyes were trained on you. He looked like no other groom. Probably because no other groom has ever welcomed his bride with such a huge grin, while showing his back to the altar. It was Gojo Satoru after all. When has he done anything the usual way?

“Goodness, felt like you took forever sweetheart.” 

His extended hand reached for yours, to pull you up to the podium, to have you stand beside him. The sight of his palms practically swallowing your entire hand, felt foreign. But the coldness emitting off his touch was worse. It was weird that he was touching you, but at the same time, it felt as if he was far away from your grasp. The distance and the coldness was far too sharp for you to keep holding his hand. And he probably understood that as well, as he loosened his grip to let you slip your hands out of his as soon as you could.

How the entire thing happened was beyond you. Your head was too occupied with how gorgeous he looked in his groom’s wear. Or maybe his blinding hair, or the scars scattered all over him, making him look more commanding than terrifying. It was all just very swift, if you had to describe it.

One moment you are contemplating whether you should make a run for it, not that it would help you. And then in another few seconds you two are already on your third cup of sake, completing the san-san-kudo ceremony, uniting yourself to him and joining your name to his.

“Still want to make a run for it sweets?”

You just looked at him, slightly horrified. “Anyone with two eyes can tell what you are thinking if they can catch a glimpse behind that hood, and I have six of them.” There was a tone of jest in his voice and the grin on his face.

“No. I, am just not feeling that well since this morning.”

“Then we must do something about that.” In one quick second, you were suspended in the air in his arms, your body was held close to his chest with the help of his arms. 

The yelp that left your lips sounded louder than it should have, because that room full of relatives and influential people fell silent to the ordeal in front of them. But your astonishment was not due to the fact that your newly officialized husband has decided to embarrass you in a shrine where god witnessed your union—it was rather how contrary to the earlier, he felt warm.

“You feel warmer.” you could not help but let your thoughts slip out in a murmur. “Surprised?” you nod hesitantly realizing how that slipped out in a murmur.

“My infinity was up earlier, I noticed how you got startled. And how dare I make Lady Gojo flinch. ” There was a sense of tease in his tone, but also laced with pride and maybe some joy? He never fails to leave you perplexed. You had nothing to answer to that. Lady Gojo. That is who you were. The weight of your title made your head spin as Gojo walked you two out of the shrine, with you still in his arms.

The reception went as smoothly as it could have. Honestly coming to the reception was harder than the reception itself. Being in an enclosed space with Gojo was really more scary than marrying him in front of thousands of people. Now you just have to do exactly that for the rest of your life, or until your services are required. 

He did not say or do anything much for the better part of the car ride to the location, other than handing you a water bottle and some packed riceballs, which were kept in the car before you two got there, with his instructions you presumed. You took it without any reluctance.

“Eat well. Who knows how much you might be able to eat there.” He was not wrong, you were expected to look and act as the perfect newly wed bride to the Gojo clan head, and that meant sitting there pretty and smiling at everyone. So you silently ate what you were given, unperceptive to those blue eyes staring at you with the intention of noting down every little detail about you, as a grin involuntarily stretched across his face, unbeknownst to either of you. Just Ichiji saw that in the rear view mirror and felt some relief for his employer. 

With congratulations coming left and right, the title of Lady Gojo, being thrown at you at the end of every sentence, you could only think that your husband was right. Even the people of your previous clan were more respectful to you than they ever have been. As nice as they all have been, the pressure still hung suffocatingly high in the air. And you understood it had everything to do with the Gojo name being attached to you now. Or maybe it was Gojo Satoru himself, attached to you at every step, who made them hold their tongue. Your groom made it his mission to follow you around wherever you went, and loomed over every conversation you had with every familiar or unfamiliar individual. 

“Will you let her breathe in peace?” “You really thought he was not going to be too much at his own wedding?” Two people chimed, with another man following them closely with solemn eyes.

“Sure, make my wife hate me . Some friends you guys are.” Never in your life you thought you would see Gojo Satoru pout. He was formidable, smug, maybe petty, and condescending, but the only thing you could think for a second was, cute.

Upon introduction you acquainted yourself with Geto Suguru, Irie Shoko, and Nanami Kento. Few of Gojo Satoru’s friends and comrades. They were probably the only people you had a sound and relaxed conversation with. Satoru seemed more at ease around them as well. They were in fact, the first bunch of people you felt were nice to you without any incentive hanging over them. The individual dynamic they have with your husband, and just all four of them together made you feel jealous of their bond. But again, that is something one only gains by growing up together or almost dying beside each other. And they have all of it.

The night ended soon after with everyone taking their leave, and the hall slowly becoming desolate. Satoru was ready to retire for the day as well. As he went to have the car fetched for you two to take your leave, your mother took advantage of that chance to catch you in the hallway, before you could leave after your goodbyes. 

“You do know what you have to do tonight. Yes?”

The grip she had on your arm became increasingly tighter as each second passed without an affirmative answer from you. “Yes.”

“Do as you are instructed. And just let him take it.” Those were the last words you heard from your mother. Any sane person would gag at such interaction, but it was no more a  surprise to you. Seeing your mother put on a faux smile as she entered the main hall, with one last glance at your way, ‘take it’ , that is all that you heard. You have been taught to just take it, all your life. If your male cousin likes your things, they can just take it. Your father is scolding you for speaking an octave too high, you just have to take that. You have to simply take all the snide comments and slimy suggestions, they are for your own good. When people made fun of your lack of powers, you were told to just take it as a lesser being. And now as you sit beside your newly wed husband, while being driven to his estate, you have to mentally prepare yourself to just let him take it.

After all that is all you were made for, that is all you are worth.

“Still not feeling well?”

The sudden question made you look at the source of the voice sitting beside you on the plush leather seats. “Yes?”

“Yes, you are not feeling well? Or yes, you were not listening to me?”

“Oh. I am sorry.” “Was that either of the options? Hmm?” The smile on his face was oddly comforting, and genuine. But that made it all more sickening.

“I did not hear you, I was just distracted.” “I guessed as much.” He did not say anything more, he looked away and went back to facing his side of the window, as did you. Or so you thought.

Satoru has been observing you since he came back from getting Ichiji to get the car up in front of the hotel, where the reception was held. He followed you closely from behind sensing the cloud of distress making its way back above your head. He somehow managed to get rid of them during the reception, and something or someone ruined all his hard work. And he did not appreciate that. 

Right now he was trying to get a glimpse of your reflection on his side of the window. It was not slick. Nor was it very effective. Trying to find your eyes in the dark tinted glass was making him annoyed. He just wanted to hold your face in both his hands and stare down in your irises to draw out all the unspoken answers from the depths of your soul.

But that would effectively scare you off more than you already were.

So the next best thing was showing concern through more subtle actions. Like running out of the car just as it stopped on the stone driveway, in front of the huge doors of the main entrance. He made his way over to your side before you could even open your door. And in a blink of eye you were back in his arms. Now without the Haori, his skin was much warmer through the fabric of his Montsuki.

“Don't want you to tire yourself out more." He mumbled, way too close to your face than you would appreciate, his eyes were focused on the stairs leading into the entrance of your new house. 

“Who am I if not your most obedient servant, Lady Gojo.” 

Now it felt like he was trying his best to embarrass you. Was he trying to patronize you? 

“You should not say something like that Gojo-sama, what if someone heard you?”

“If someone dared to eavesdrop on words meant for my wife, in the privacy of my arms— they know better than gambling with their lives.” The chuckle that left him was anything but humorous. The threat was very real behind those words, probably more present in his voice than his words.

The walk to the bedroom was long, it took many turns at long hallways to reach what seemed like the opposite end of the entryway. Where stood two sliding doors proud and all alone in that entire hallway. And every step he took to get closer to them felt like a sigh of breath leaving your throat to never return. And he probably felt that with the gripping dent of your nails in the back of neck, but he welcomed that. He felt nothing but contentment in you losing your composure in his arms. And he wished for nothing, but a lifetime of you letting yourself express your most hidden self in his arms, and have you leave your mark on him.

The bedroom was huge. And it was decorated with more than hundred candles, to perceptive eyes. All the expensive decoration, furniture, painting and scroll went invisible to your eyes—because there was only one thing in that room that caught your interest.

The bed. It stood on all its strong legs, near the huge windows overlooking the outside. It was surrounded by more candles, scented ones. And it smelled like the ocean and sweet tropical fruits. There were bouquets of roses and Lilies on each side of the bed, on the bedside tables. As Satoru placed you down on the fluffy and soft covers, the mattress almost engulfed you in itself. And it all became too real.

You might be Lady Gojo now. But the man hovering above you was Lord Gojo.

He can joke about being at your beck and call all he wants, but he was not the one married off to serve you. It was you who was instructed to just be a good wife and take it. You were here, on his bed, to serve him. To let him take you, take your virginity, and claim you as one of his many conquests. All you were good for, was to lie there and take his seed, to give him an heir and silently sit in a corner unless you are spoken to.

So why was he walking away from you? 

“You are not- going to?” the hand you used to hold onto his wrist, to prevent him from walking away from you, was shaking. 

“What do you mean?” The scrunch of his eyebrows made you think for a second he might be genuinely confused about what you might be referring to.

“You should know what I mean.” He truly is such a cruel man.

“If you don't speak to me clearly, I am afraid, I am too dumb to understand.” The smirk on his face said otherwise. “You are so mean.”

“How am i being mean to my own wife, if i don’t even understand what she is implying, hmm?” 

“How will it be any more helpful if I say it out loud?” “I don’t know? You might have to find out for yourself.” He was annoying you now.

“I am trying to perform our duties and get over this, Gojo-sama.” Hopefully your stern voice camouflaged your nervousness and fear.

“Do you want to consummate our marriage that bad, Gojo-sama?”

The incredulous look on your face upon being addressed by the same title as him, by Gojo Satoru himself, was the last thing you expected out of this conversation. 

“You- you, just- cannot address me like that!” “Why not? You are also a Gojo now. In fact, you are the lady of the clan now.” His argument was making more sound sense to you than your own head.

“I would have to argue your position is much more important than mine. From this day forward you are also Gojo-sama whether you like it or not. I hope you get used to it. And I don’t want to be called out by some title by my own wife.”

“You keep saying ‘my wife, my wife’, yet you are acting oblivious about our marital duties!” Suddenly the air was much heavier than how lightly it was circulating through the huge room. “You might get away with putting up a front, but my position in this marriage has been set in stone. So please spare me the questions and put an heir in me as soon as you can.”

You anticipated an array of reactions after such audacious proclamations. You guessed as much, the very second your tongue stopped speaking, the emotions on his face might be anything but that humorous and kind softness he has, oh so graciously, offered you up to this moment so far. And that made you look away from his face, which looked more halted than stoic, and in your experiences, surprises are almost always followed by anger or joy. And you were definitely not expecting him to clap his hand and offer you a big smile.

Your hand on his hand felt more foreign than before, so you pulled it off him. And it allowed him the satisfaction of at least not feeling your miserably shaking and soaking palm. And there it was, the anger. 

Just as you let go of him, his own hand grabbed a mean grip on your wrist. It was confusing to understand what exactly happened in the moments after that. One second he is pulling you off the bed towards himself, next he is bending down to reach you half way across and pushing you on the bed with the weight of his body. You were essentially pinned onto your new marital bed. Both hands pinned on either side of your head, with a mean grip on your wrists by his huge calloused hands, and you were sure that you were done for.

“Since you have already cooked up these false ideas about what this relationship might look like, how about I show you a little glimpse into these imaginations?” 

His face was probably close to yours by no more than half of one centimeter, you could feel his eyes searching for something in your own eyes, and you had no confidence to fake it. So you just shut your eyes real tight and waited for what was to come.

Satoru’s right hand glided itself from your wrist, to your forearm, under the sleeves of your kimono, until it reached up to your arms, where the bunched up clothing did not allow him any more access over your skin. The loud gulp you took, out of some sort of relief, was gone in a second.

Satoru was not a man to give up on the first hindrance, and people learn that usually the hard way. His eyes were more concerned with how your eyebrows were scrunched up, how tightly your eyes were closed and how your eyelashes were looking longer like that, or how you might end up making your lips bleed if you keep on biting down on them that hard. And how beautiful your neck looked, with the little knot in your throat going up and down with nervous gulps. 

His right hand started working to get rid of the belts on your kimono, and his hand was slipping past every layer of clothing to reach your body. While his mouth made itself useful on your neck, peppering the most delicate kisses from the base of your neck, collar bones, along the column of your neck, up to your chin. And with several little scattered kisses on your jaw, Satoru’s eyes found your mouth open in a small gasp. Thankfully your lips did not bleed. But your eyes remained closed, too afraid to see what was going on, in the dim light of the candles illuminating the room in an orange hue, you were too scared. 

You did not want to think about how his hand felt so cold and soothing on your burning skin or how his lips felt so warm and comforting. You did not want to see those blue eyes, or those scars spread all across his skin, particularly the one under his eye—it made you train your eyes back into those dilating pupils every time.

Satoru's hand was just below your breasts, it just stayed there. Sometimes moving an inch too close and then just going back to drawing circles around your torso, squeezing your waist at times—all while his teeth and lips worked all over your decolletage. Little bites and long intervals of his lips sucking marks around your neck, drew out hisses of pleasure out of you.

Who knew that being under your husband could make one feel this much pleasure?

His left hand never left its grip on your right hand. The platinum ring on his finger became warm over time, just like his cold hand, as it remained intertwined with your fingers. While his right hand found its way down your stomach, on the waistband of your panties. It was nothing impressive, not the sort of underwear one expects a newly wed bride to wear. It was a simple cotton panty, the bare minimum. Your family forgot that detail probably.

But Satoru absolutely did not mind. He liked the slightly loose elastic, it felt like any moment he could slip it off you, or slip his own hand inside. And it felt worn in, soft and malleable. He could tear it off you in a millisecond. 

“Get it off already.”

“Ordering me around already, Gojo-sama? Hmm?” You were losing your patience. Who could’ve predicted that? 

“Stop that.” “Stop what?” “You know what.” 

“Again, Gojo-sama, if you do not tell me how will I know? Your poor, poor husband is not that sharp.” His patronizing voice vibrated in the crook of your neck. 

“Stop. C-calling m. Me. Gojo-sama.” 

“I don't know? Should I?

“Yes! You sound ridiculous!” Your eyes finally shit open and you rose up to now lean on your elbows, to get a better look at him. The unfastened kimono slipping off you and pooling under you in the process. 

His eyes remained trained on you, hooded and shadowed by storms and turmoil in the blue sea, as he found refuge between your open legs. He was practically lying on your breast, with your bra on the verge of slipping off and giving him easy access to them, to mark them all over in pink and purple. Because clearly the plethora of lovebites on you, were not enough.

He did not say anything. Just the hand which was previously on your waistband, glided downward until it reached the back of your knees. His fingers worked with stealth while his eyes distracted you, like a predator. He grabbed onto your knee and pushed you back down on the bed, as both his hands found their place back on your wrists. While he cozied himself between your legs, and sat back on his knees.

He leaned in close enough to hover his own set of lips just above your own, just as they barely made contact—he moved his neck to glide those lips across your cheek, to your ear. 

“I am glad we agree.”

“Then I can count on you, to not call me by that title again, right sweetheart?” 

You did not have to see his eyes or his face to nod an instant yes.

“Use your words. Lady Gojo.” His voice came out harsher than ever.

“I won't call you that again.”

“Ah. What an obedient wife you are. Hmm? Your parents will be proud.”

With those last words dripping with nothing but sarcasm, he got off you. He silently fixed your kimono, tucked you in, and kissed your forehead with a whisper of goodnight. Right before he left you there to contemplate what just happened, and locked himself in the bathroom attached to your bedroom, for what felt like more than an hour. You did not really know if you were supposed to wait for him or not, what was he going to do when he came back? 

All sorts of thoughts raced through your head, as you drifted into sweet slumber, on the most soft and comfortable bed you've ever come across in your life.

While Gojo Satoru hunched over the sink, looking like a freshly ripened tomato. He stared at himself into the mirror, with nothing but disbelief at his own audacity. 

The morning came faster than it should have. It felt particularly premature to you when you spent the rest of your night, after the events that took place on your marital bed, by watching the ceiling above you with a blank stare. You did pass out for a brief while, but that was out of being overwhelmed to the point of losing consciousness. You were not sure if this was ok, to sleep in this huge room by yourself. But you could not, or maybe did not want to stop Satoru from storming out of the bathroom, and then speeding out of the room without sparing you a single glance. You wanted to enjoy one night peacefully in this bed, to compensate for many tumultuous ones to inevitably follow. 

Even when getting off your bed to pace around the room, to maybe tire yourself out, sleep did not come. But if getting married was not tiresome enough to knock you out, then maybe walking around the room won’t do you any good as well. So you decided to take a walk in that huge garden sitting outside the floor to ceiling windows nearby your bed. 

You did not make it much far into the huge garden. After the neatly arranged traditional garden, laid vast lands of grass and wild flowers, and bushes, and an arrangement of trees, including two cherry blossom trees sitting across each other, along the edge of a lake. It was lit with the reflection of the moonlight, falling on the surface of its water, scattering everywhere in a chaotic rhythm, because of the busy fishes moving around in it, probably enjoying the serene night.  You would have liked to go take a seat near the lake, on one of those benches placed around it. But when you approached the nearest bench, under one of the cherry blossom trees, you found your husband already occupying it. 

Maybe in another world, you went up to it and sat down beside him silently, maybe you spoke with him and tried to start a conversation. Maybe you two just sat together in silence, or maybe he saw you and walked away. But in this world, you could not even cross the five feet of distance that laid between you and that bench. Instead you walked back to your room, as silently as you could. You spent the rest of the night trying to get some sleep, as you laid on your side, and stared out of those huge windows by your bed, until the dark sky became blue.

Who knows what the outcome could have been if you walked up to that bench last night. Who knows what could have happened if only Satoru turned around and asked you to sit down instead of patiently waiting for you to come up to him. I mean, you should know better, five feet of distance is not that much for their presence to go unnoticed by him or his six eyes. Especially when it is you. 

The morning itself was more uneventful, compared to last night. The shower was particularly soothing. ESpecially where he touched you last night. Maybe it has something to do with his powers you told yourself, but you knew better. Why it was burning everywhere he touched or why those marks of his teeth and lips stung so sweet—was not something you really wanted to think about, as it made you go weak in  the knees.

It was all very uneventful, until you came out of the bathroom after your shower, to find Satoru sitting at the end of the bed. He was still in the black kimono from the wedding. He looked like he did not get any sleep either, or so it seemed, because this time around his eyes were covered with his blindfold. It was eerie, for most people to see Gojo Satoru without his black blindfold, but for you it was probably the other way around. It was weird to see him with it for once. And that person felt like an entirely different person, than the one you married yesterday. 

“Goodmorning, Goj- Satoru-san.” His given name did not roll off your tongue the smoothest. But he appreciated that you listened to him. 

“You can drop the honorifics as well.” There was an appreciative smile on his face as he spoke, but even with his blindfold on, you could tell that smile did not reach his face. “I do not know if I can.”

Satoru did not push you. One step at a time, right? Even if these steps did not come out of your own volition, but his petty threats, he still welcomed them with a humorous smile. 

“I wanted to apologize about yesterday.” He did not suit humility, that is what you thought when a grin stretched along your face. Seeing him squirm and look so uncomfortable was new, even when his eyes were covered, you imagined them to look more sorry than body language. Satoru really was just not familiar with saying sorry, but he never backed away from apologizing when he needed to.

“I really crossed a line there, just to prove a point.” you did not say anything back but just stood in front of him with your freshly out of shower wet hair dripped droplets of water on the carpet. “I would understand if you do not want to forgive me, I would like to make it up to you however.” He was trying his best. His best to not stare at you blatantly in that silken baby blue robe clinging to your body, that he personally picked out for you. Or the peeking marks he left on you, that made him go dizzy. It was all him.

“It is alright.” you went to sit beside him, but instead of sitting just by him, you sat on one of the corners of the bed, keeping the distance between you two. “Really?”

“Yes. I do not think I would have minded if you went all the way. I do not really have any say in that.” 

“What?” He genuinely looked confused for a few first seconds. Then something else creeped up on him, something close to pity or disgust. 

“I was wedded off to you to serve you and your bloodline. It is my purpose.”

Satoru felt disgusted. By everyone and anyone who has ever made you think about yourself like this. But he was mostly disgusted by himself.

“I do not know how much more plainly I can put it, and it is not just some opinion of mine, it’s just the truth. But you are wrong to think that.” He got off the bed, to stand in front of you. At an arms length he looked further away than he actually was. His shoulders looked stiff and his jaw was tight. You have somehow managed to piss him off by saying things you were instructed to say all your life, to not piss off your husband.

“You are wrong.” 

That was all he said before he stormed out of the room without a second glance. Exuding the sort of energy that said he might erupt like an angry volcano any minute.

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIEW . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from jjk manga, and watashitachi wa douka shiteiru adaptation

honestly i have been cooking this for almost a month and i am so indecisive about what i wanted to do with him i do not want to make an angsty story where the angst if because of Gojo being an ass, lol i think there are plenty of those, done far better than wtv i can do. so this guy is still very canon adjacent, emotionally unavailable in a way you know the people you think you have all figured but then suddenly you are like wtf??? i do not know anything about you. so lol i am using my own emotional constipation as heavy reference. he has many many layers, i want to explore his death in the shinjuku fight, his powers which i have left intact mostly but in a more weakened state than his students and what not. i want to explore his thoughts on that. reader's insecurities i wanted to make them as real as possible so if i make anyone sad, it was the goal, also i am sorry. it will get sadder just saying. even though i will make them have so many suffocating with tension scenes. it will be happy eventually!!! and i hope you gusy likeee itttt

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @naomigojo @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @fariylixie0915 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

i hate mischaracterizing characters, so for anyone who wants these, here are some facts/implied info about characters:

isagi is a loner and often skips out on parties and social events. this is because of how shy and awkward he is around other people and loud environments. (light novel, implied in the manga)

it’s impossible for nagi to hate anyone. even if someone is constantly making him work hard or taking his phone and games away, he is always calm and a pacifist. (egoist bible, implied in the manga)

rin is extremely kind and emotional under his stoic and emo exterior. he gives foreign tourists extremely detailed directions and is implied to be a good captain. (light novel, implied in the manga)

rin is also academically stupid in everything other than english. this is because he’s dead set on being a soccer player and therefore sees no point in any class other than english. (light novel)

karasu loves anything he finds special. he thinks that even rin and isagi are mediocre even though their blue lock’s number one, but he had a childhood crush on the only person he found special, a girl named marissa. (egoist bible)

sae doesn’t realize that he’s rude or has any malicious intent when he’s being an asshole. he just says what’s on his mind, no matter how mean or blunt. it’s confirmed that he does have friends, so he’s probably not always like this. (egoist bible, manga)

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ

fluff, childhood friends to lovers, pet-names, awkwardness, flirting, unresolved feelings, nostalgia, "pretty princess", cute, awkward boy energy, 12 years of teasing

based off this request by @throatgoat4u !!!

word count - 1k

She was a princess. That much was obvious.

Matt decided it the moment he saw her that day, twirling in one of those shiny, puffy dresses, the kind with too many layers and a scratchy tulle skirt. The kind that came with a matching plastic tiara and sparkles that would end up clinging to his skin for weeks. It was just for dress up day in first grade, but none of that really mattered—because to six year old Matt, she was a real princess.

“You look like a real princess,” he told her, because it was the truth. She beamed at him, cheeks warm, hands smoothing over the puffy skirt like she wanted to believe it too.

From that moment on, he stuck to it.

“Princesses don’t have to carry their own backpacks,” he announced, puffing out his chest as he wrestled it off her shoulders and threw it onto his own.

She stared at him, confused. “What?”

“Princesses get the last cookie too.” He handed it over without hesitation, completely serious about it.

Her fingers tightened around the snack, but she didn’t take a bite. “Why are you being weird?”

Matt blinked at her, as if she was the one who didn’t understand. “Because you’re a princess. That’s just how it works.”

And that was that.

He took the title very seriously.

“Princesses shouldn’t have to run,” he said another time, grabbing her wrist and pulling her along when the school bell rang, like some noble knight leading her to safety.

“Princesses get to pick the game,” he told their friends when she hesitated on the playground.

“Princesses don’t open doors by themselves,” he added, dramatically pulling open the classroom door and bowing like the boys did in the books his mom read him and his brothers.

And worst of all—worst of all—he kept saying it.

“Here you go, princess.”

“Need help, your highness?”

“Be careful, pretty princess.”

Because his mom told him that’s what you call a princess, and Matt always listened to his mom.

She didn’t know why, but she hated it. And she loved it. But she still didn’t know what it meant.

One day, Matt stopped her while she was playing with her friends, looking at her like he was thinking really hard about something.

“Your hair’s all pretty, like a princess’s,” he said, his face turning pink. “Like, it’s all shiny, and it looks soft, like the princesses in the movies. You know, the ones with the crowns.”

She blinked at him, confused. “Huh?”

Matt scratched his head. “I just mean, your hair’s pretty. Like a princess.” He seemed kind of nervous, but he kept staring at her like he wanted to say more.

She looked away quickly, but she felt all warm inside. “It’s just hair,” she mumbled.

Matt pouted. “No, it’s princess hair.”

She didn’t know how to say it, but that made her feel kind of good. Weird, but good.

The next day at recess, Matt sprinted at her from across the playground, her legs dangling from the swing.

“Princess!” he said like he just figured something out. “You look pretty even when you don’t have your dress on.”

She tilted her head. “What?”

“You’re always so careful,” Matt said, swinging his feet back and forth. “Like, you’re looking at everything, even the clouds and the flowers and stuff. Princesses do that. They look at everything and think it’s all special.”

She didn’t really get it, but it made her feel funny in a nice way. She started to walk away from the strange boy.

“And you’ve got a princess face,” Matt added quickly, like he didn’t want to forget. “Your eyes are warm, and your cheeks are blushing!”

She didn’t get it. Every time he said it, something squirmy and warm settled in her stomach, and she didn’t know why. She folded her arms tight against her chest and scowled, but Matt only grinned like he was proud of himself.

“You don’t have to call me that,” she mumbled, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk.

Matt blinked at her, genuinely confused. “But you are a princess.”

She stomped her foot. “I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

She hated it. She loved it. And she had no idea what it meant.

She turned and looked back at him once more, before running off to play in the sandpit.

The princess thing had faded, buried under years of growing up and forgotten playground games.

Now, they’re just good friends who have grown up together. Having a normal night, him dropping her off after a group movie night at his house. 

But as Matt pulls into her driveway, she doesn’t expect it. The way he glances at her, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he says, almost casually—

“You always were pretty, princess.”

It’s like a wave crashing over her, and for a moment, she can’t breathe. She blinks, trying to catch her composure. “What?”

Matt shrugs like it’s nothing. “What?”

Her stomach twists, and she glares at him. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Matt.”

“Like what?” His lips twitch. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “I’m just saying. You do look like a pretty princess. Six year old me knew what he was talking about.”

And now she’s thinking about it. Thinking about everything he said back then. For a second, she tries to brush it off. Tries to convince herself it’s just the same old teasing, just the same old nickname. But it’s not. Not anymore. Her heart’s racing, and she can’t make it stop.

All of a sudden, he jumps out of the car, speeding quickly around to her side. 

Matt opens the door with a grin, leaning against it, slightly out of breath, like he’s done this a million times.

“Go ahead, princess.”

She hates him.

She hates him.

And her hands are shaking when she unbuckles her seatbelt.

creds to rose for the dividers !! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: i hope u like it nini this one was a struggle but she's cute. also semi-inspired by this blurb by @snoopychris

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @hazedsturns @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz

till next time !!

[paucubarsisimp]

smitten

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which lando norris is absolutely smitten by you

warnings: none

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

the paddock was busy, as always. the usual hustle and bustle of drivers, engineers, and media people filled the air, but despite the noise and chaos, lando’s focus was entirely on one thing. or rather, one person.

you.

he tried to be professional as he moved between interviews, signing autographs, and chatting with his team. but every now and then, his gaze would shift to the side, and there you were, standing just out of the way, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watched him.

there was something about the way you looked at him that made everything else fade away. you weren’t the type to scream his name or chase after him. you were calm, composed, and just… there. supporting him without words, with nothing but a glance that made his heart skip a beat every time.

today was no different.

he was in the middle of an interview, answering questions about the race weekend when his eyes, almost instinctively, drifted toward the spot where you were leaning against a barrier. your arms were crossed casually, but it was your smile that took his breath away. you weren’t even looking at him directly, but the small, knowing grin you gave him made him feel like the entire world had stopped moving. it was one of those smiles that spoke volumes—one that said, “i’m proud of you.”

“lando?” the interviewer’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“huh? sorry, what?” he stuttered, blinking quickly.

the interviewer chuckled lightly, clearly aware of what had happened. “i asked if you’re feeling confident going into tomorrow’s race?”

lando quickly cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “yeah, uh… i’m feeling good. the team’s done a great job, and i’m just focused on putting everything together tomorrow. should be fun.” he smiled, but it was a little distracted.

“you sure? you seem a little… out of it.” the interviewer raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

lando glanced back at you, and that was it—he couldn’t help it. he just couldn’t stop looking at you. the way your eyes met his for a split second, the slight tilt of your head as you gave him a small wave, just a flicker of movement—but it was enough to send his heart racing. he could feel his cheeks heating up, and no matter how hard he tried to focus, all he could think about was you.

“uh, i’m fine,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding a little more high-pitched than usual. “just… uh, i guess i’m just really excited about the weekend, you know?” he laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

the interviewer didn’t buy it. “mmhmm, sure. well, we can let you get back to it, lando. good luck tomorrow!”

lando mumbled a thank you, barely registering the words as he hurriedly walked away from the interview area. his heart was still racing, but not from the pressure of the race or the interviews—it was because of you.

as he neared where you were standing, he couldn’t stop the goofy grin that spread across his face. you raised an eyebrow, noticing how he was practically bouncing on his heels, trying to suppress the excitement bubbling up inside him.

“you good there, baby?” you teased, your voice light and playful, yet filled with warmth.

lando didn’t even try to hide it. “yeah. just… you. you looked so cute back there.” he couldn’t help the blush that crept up his neck.

you laughed softly, the sound so genuine and effortless that it only made him fall even harder for you. “i just smiled at you. i didn’t do anything that special.”

“no, no,” he protested, stepping closer to you, “it was everything. just… everything. i can’t focus on anything when you do that.”

your smile widened as you gently reached up to fix the collar of his team shirt, fingers brushing against his skin. “you’re so sweet,” you murmured, your eyes soft with affection.

he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “i don’t know how you do it,” he confessed, almost embarrassed by how easily he became a flustered mess around you. “you just… you just look at me, and i forget how to function.”

“i think that’s kind of the point,” you whispered, your smile turning into something more intimate. “i want you to focus on me, lando.”

he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “you’ve got my full attention,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

before you could say anything else, a call from his engineer broke the moment. “lando! we need you to get to the car for the setup check!”

he groaned but couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “guess i’ll have to go. but i’ll be thinking about you. as always.”

you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before he turned away. “go win, baby.”

“for you,” he said with a wink, before jogging off toward the car, still floating on the cloud of your smile.

the race weekend was in full swing, and the tension in the paddock was palpable. cars zoomed by, engines roared, and mechanics scrambled to get everything in place. but in the midst of all the chaos, lando couldn’t help but feel like he was living in his own little bubble whenever you were around.

it wasn’t that he didn’t love the racing, the adrenaline, or the buzz of the weekend—he did. but when you were nearby, it all just faded into the background. your presence was like this soft, warm light that made everything else feel insignificant in comparison.

today, however, was proving a bit more challenging than usual. lando had just finished a long meeting with the team and was walking down the paddock toward the garage when he spotted you again, standing by the side of the track. your phone was in your hand, and you were reading something, your brow furrowed in concentration.

he tried to focus on the conversation he was having with oscar, but every word, every sentence was drowned out by the overwhelming urge to walk over to you and kiss you right then and there. you weren’t doing anything special—just standing there, looking effortlessly beautiful as always—but to lando, it was enough to send his heart into a complete frenzy.

“lando, mate, you okay?” oscar asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

“what?” lando blinked, snapping back to reality. he had been staring at you the whole time, hadn’t he?

“you’ve been zoning out, mate. what’s going on?” oscar grinned, clearly noticing the direction of his attention.

lando felt his cheeks flush, but he wasn’t even embarrassed anymore. he was used to being this way with you. “uh, nothing,” he mumbled, trying to brush it off. “just thinking about the setup for the car.” he hoped oscar would buy it, but judging by the raised eyebrow he got in response, he knew that wasn’t convincing.

“right… thinking about the setup,” oscar said, clearly not buying it but choosing not to press. “anyway, good luck with everything. we’ll be cheering for you.”

“thanks,” lando said quickly, before giving one last glance toward you. and there it was again—your smile. it was small, but it was directed straight at him, and it had the same effect on him as it always did. his heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he thought he might just lose it and walk over to you right then and there.

but he didn’t. instead, he turned and walked toward the garage, telling himself he needed to focus. focus, lando. it’s only a few more hours. you can do this.

except, every time he turned a corner or passed by a team member, all he could think about was you. how you looked at him like he was the only person in the room. how your presence seemed to ground him, to remind him of what was important, even in the middle of a race weekend.

the final practice session was coming up soon, and lando knew he had to give it his all. but as he walked into the garage to put on his helmet and get in the car, his mind wandered again. his eyes darted to the small set of bleachers just outside the paddock area. he knew you’d be there, watching, waiting.

he grabbed a towel to wipe off some sweat and caught sight of your figure through the glass window. there you were again, standing with your arms crossed, your lips curved into a soft smile as you chatted with a few other team members. he couldn’t stop himself from staring at you, his chest tightening in that way it always did when he saw you.

he was so distracted by the sight of you, so lost in the way you made him feel like the luckiest guy in the world, that he didn’t notice oscar approach until the man cleared his throat.

“lando? we’re ready to go,” oscar said, giving him a look that was both impatient and understanding.

“oh, yeah, right,” lando stammered, snapping out of his daze. he could feel his cheeks burning, but it didn’t matter. not when you were still in the back of his mind, your smile still echoing in his thoughts.

“you’re not even listening, are you?” oscar asked, half amused, half exasperated.

lando grinned sheepishly. “sorry, mate. i’m just a little… distracted.”

oscar raised an eyebrow. “yeah, i can tell. just focus on the track, alright? no more daydreaming.”

lando nodded, though he didn’t really hear him. his eyes were already searching for you again, and when he caught sight of you walking toward the pit wall, he felt that familiar surge of warmth.

“got it,” he mumbled, giving oscar a quick nod before pulling on his helmet and heading toward the car.

the session went smoothly, but lando couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was still thinking about you. every turn he took, every lap he pushed, he had a feeling you were watching him, rooting for him. you always did, but somehow, today, it felt different.

when the practice session finally came to an end, he pulled the car into the pit and stepped out, immediately scanning the crowd for you. and there you were, standing by the barriers again, waiting for him. your eyes locked with his as you flashed that signature, soft smile. just the sight of it made his heart flutter, and he couldn’t help but grin back at you, unable to control it.

oscar came over to him as he unbuckled his helmet, patting him on the back with a wide grin. “you were a little out of it today, huh?”

lando laughed, his heart still racing from the sight of you. “yeah, maybe. but i think it went okay.”

oscar raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing. “yeah? or maybe you were just thinking about your girlfriend again?”

lando shot him a knowing grin. “you know me too well.”

“mate, you’re obvious,” oscar said, shaking his head with a smile. “it’s cute, but you really need to focus more when you’re out there.”

lando couldn’t argue with that. “yeah, i know. i’ll try to focus more. but seriously, when she smiles at me like that…” he trailed off, his thoughts wandering again.

oscar chuckled, clearly entertained by how whipped lando was. “just don’t crash, alright? we need you in one piece.”

lando grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. “don’t worry, i got it.”

as he scanned the crowd for you again, he noticed that you were already making your way over toward the pit wall. he couldn’t help but make his way toward you, ignoring the rest of the paddock around him. as soon as he was close enough, he reached out, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you toward him.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer now, a little more serious, “you were amazing today.”

you looked up at him, an amused glint in your eyes. “me? i didn’t even do anything.”

he chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “yeah, you did. you looked at me. that’s all it takes.”

your eyes softened as you reached up to touch his cheek, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen loose from his helmet. “you’re such a sap,” you teased, but there was affection in your voice.

lando grinned, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “maybe, but it’s because of you. you always get me like this.”

you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “i love you, you know that?”

his arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you close. “i love you more than anything,” he murmured. “you’re the reason i can’t focus on anything else, even when i’m out there racing.”

you pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his. “then promise me something.”

“anything.”

“promise me you’ll stop getting so distracted. i don’t want you to crash because you’re thinking about me.”

he laughed, a light sound, and kissed your forehead again. “i promise,” he said. “but honestly, i don’t think i could ever stop thinking about you. you’re always with me, whether i want it or not.”

and in that moment, as the world buzzed around them, lando couldn’t care less about anything else. because with you by his side, everything else just seemed… right.

don’t forget to leave a request!

[nymphaura777]

Why are u still not in the void?

No seriously ask yourself that you’ve been trying every method, listening to subliminals every night, doing breathing exercises, following this and that method, and yet...nothing? You see all these people saying "i entered effortlessly" and it’s like why not me? :(( so let’s actually talk about it.

First thing? You are thinking too much. every night you lie down, overthinking every feeling, wondering if you’re "doing it right?" You keep telling yourself "okay, tonight is the night" and then after 10 minutes, "wait, why am i still here? am i close? am i about to enter? should i move? should i start over?" and just like that, you’ve already lost. The void is about letting go, not controlling. You keep waiting for some crazy shift in feeling, some magical pull into nothingness, but the truth is? It’s not that deep. people have entered the void while just closing their eyes for a second or even just thinking abt it casually. Yes it is that simple.

And let’s talk about the whole "method addiction" thing. Why do u think u need 50 different techniques just to do something that is natural?? like, be real. some of you are cycling through methods like ur life depends on it, sats, affirm till u pass out, starfish, visualization, state of kinesthesia, lucid dreaming, awake methods, asleep methods... and every night, you try a new one bc "maybe this is the one!!" the problem isn’t the method, the problem is you don’t trust yourself. If you truly believed you could enter whenever, you wouldn’t be desperately searching for the "best" way. I'm not completely denying that you shouldn't use methods but some people use methods as some magic stick, nahhh, you have to believe it, no doubts then only you are using methods in the best way, imagine trying "distraction method" and in mind thinking "would I get into void or not by using this?" So your brain automatically puts you into the thinking mode, so how would you relax, because that's all what you need for void, honestly this how I use method : ik I always get into void easily, I don't need to worry about it, this is only just a fun thing, that's it, no overthinking and no worries.

Now let’s talk abt self-concept, because some of you are your own worst enemy. You keep saying "I can’t enter" and then wondering why you can’t enter. You keep saying "the void is hard" and then getting mad when it feels hard, like...do you hear yourself? You are literally manifesting failure. The void isn’t keeping you out, your own doubts are. You wanna know the real difference between someone who enters easily and someone who doesn’t? mindset. The ppl who enter effortlessly aren’t special, they just don’t overthink. they decide they can enter, and so they do and please stop thinking the void = being dead. You don’t need to lie still for hours. You don’t need to "feel" your body disappear. You don’t need sleep paralysis. You don’t need some weird floating sensation. You can enter while walking, while blinking, while mid-conversation if you wanted to. You can enter with eyes open, eyes closed, lying down, sitting up, doesn’t matter. You don’t have to follow a script, u just have to decide.

But the biggest issue? Y’all are obsessed. like, I get it, you wanna shift, you wanna manifest your dream life instantly, but the more you obsess, the harder it gets. the people who enter easily don’t sit there thinking about the void 24/7. They go about their day, do their thing, and when they decide to enter, they just do. The less importance you give the void, the easier it is. Because at the end of the day, it’s not something u have to "work" for, it’s just a state of awareness, honestly when I was putting the void on pedestal, and was searching 1000 methods, thinking about it whole day, I didn't get into void, but once I put off the void from the pedestal, I got into void effortlessly.

So stop overcomplicating it. stop making it a struggle, the void is not running away from you, it’s literally right there, waiting for you to stop doubting and just step in.

[cometconmain]

Good addition. We need to come at this from a minimum of TWO angles: A) don't give them easy accolades which is what AI use is about; wanting the praise without having to do a minimum of thousands of hours of work to get there, but also B) WE NEED TO ACTUALLY ENCOURAGE PEOPLE TO DO THAT WORK.

Getting better at creativity is HARD WORK. A lot of people don't know how to cope with and push through the hundreds of walls you run into trying to reach any level of skill in any kind of artistry. Until we break apart some of the toxic ideas and attitudes we have within these fields - especially at fandom level where most people get their start when they're at their most vulnerable and have the lowest self esteem - AI and its false promises of an easier path to the same rewards will always be an irresistible siren call to all artists, but especially budding ones with no experience coming from the layperson world of "photographic accuracy = good artist"/"everyone should write exactly like my favourite author or they're objectively bad" and, most egregious and damaging of all "being bad now means you aren't worth encouraging and appreciating for what you're doing well because being good is something you just are and being bad is immediate elimination from any chance at being a good creator no matter what you do."

Which of course is a load of fucking bulllcrap. But I missed out on extremely valuable time I could have been learning and practcing the fundamentals because of that idea being so deeply entrenched in my brain, rotting my self-esteem to the core and eating away any genuine belief I could ever become what I needed to be to tell stories well. I'm now accepting of course that you can start a skill at any age; I just wish I hadn't been held back by the belief that I didn't deserve to get better because I wasn't good immediately.

And sure, I've slipped into talking mostly about visual art here out of habit, but for many people (me too sometimes) this absolutely applies to writing too.

Let's do more than just ignore them. Let's nurture them into learning the joy of their own creativity again.

ai does not belong in creative spaces. period.

[hoonquette]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ (´ ▽｀) ㅤㅤ NOW YOU GOT ME𓈒

IN WHICH ❕️ㅤ you're forced to spend time with him alone — listen.

ㅤ❔️ ㅤ LEE HEESEUNG — fem ! r ㅤ✶ㅤ fluff high school au academic rivals 【 957 】

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤREBLOGS★FEEDBACK

“you two have to stay after school and fix..” jules, the class president, vaguely gestures at the mess behind you, “this issue you caused. homecoming is on friday and we cannot have your rivalry messing it up.”

heeseung speaks up before you do, “she’s the one who–”

“no.” jules holds her hand up, glaring at him, “you’re both to blame. just stop arguing with each other and fix the banner.”

heeseung nods, grumbling out a reluctant okay. you, however, stay silent, ignoring his eyes burning into the side of your face. you might seem awful, but there’s no way that you’re going to help heeseung fix the mess that he created. if he hadn’t been bothering you about your recent test score, then he wouldn’t have tripped and spilled paint over the student council’s hard work.

jules says your name—a warning—and you groan, “fine. we’ll fix it, even though it’s entirely his fault.”

“get it done, please.” she sigh is resignation, deciding not to argue with you anymore. everyone knows once you and heeseung start, you’ll never stop. she leaves you with the art supplies, a picture of the previous banner, and heeseung.

lee heeseung is single-handedly the most annoying man you have ever met. you haven’t liked him since fourth grade, when he beat you in the spelling bee. he made fun of you for weeks because you accidentally misspelled ‘consistent’.

there’s absolutely no chance that you could like him after that—you hold grudges—no matter how attractive he got every year, or how flustered his smug smile made you feel. he’s always tried to one-up you and you refuse to lose.. most of the time, anyways.

“are you just going to stand there or?”

scoffing, “i shouldn’t even be helping you.”

“it’s your fault this happened.” heeseung steps closer to you and you instinctively take a step back, making sure to keep your distance.

“literally how? you’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

“you were ignoring me.”

you pause, gaping at him. he looks and sounds so.. upset, indignant. is he actually serious? going off of the frown on his face, you assume that he’s definitely not joking. the only thing is why the hell does it matter if you were paying attention to him or not? it’s not like your conversations with each other were enjoyable.

when you don’t answer, he speaks again, “whatever, let’s just get this over with, i have plans later.”

you don’t really want to comply with his subtle demand, but you know that if you don’t help jules will completely freak out on you (understandably so). dragging your feet in annoyance, you grab a few supplies, rolling up your sleeves, and sitting on the floor in front of the paper jules had given you.

you pretend to not notice heeseung sitting beside you, staying completely still when his shoulder brushes against yours.

the two of you work in silence for at least an hour, somehow knowing what you each want. maybe it’s because you have a reference photo, but you work in harmony, with no arguments or snide remarks about your work. it’s not uncomfortable, but it isn’t entirely comfortable either. you feel a heavy weight on your shoulders, curiosity about his earlier statement making it hard for you to concentrate.

“hey, um, sorry for ignoring you earlier.” you mumble, laser-focused on the star that you’re painting, “i didn’t think it’d make you upset or anything.”

you can feel heeseung tense up next to you, his head turning in your direction, no doubt confused. he’s silent for a beat, “are you sorry for ignoring me for the past hour too?”

“huh?” you look up at him, “our silence was a mutual thing, heeseung.”

“okay, fine. but you were ignoring me to be rude, i was ignoring you because i’m nervous.”

your heart skips a beat.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you make me nervous.” he stares at you, his eyes drifting down to your lips for the briefest of seconds before they move back up to your eyes. you would have missed it if you weren’t paying such close attention to the boy in front of you.

“you—nervous how? sorry, i’m confused.”

he shifts, turning so that his body is facing you, “nervous as in i don’t know how to talk to you. you make me nervous, i get, like, awkward and weird and i cannot talk to you like a normal fucking person.”

“um, oh.” you say eloquently.

“sorry, this is weird.” he turns back to his previous position, picking up his paint brush, “just forget it, okay?”

“i don’t want to forget it, though. i want.. i don’t know what i want, but this is so confusing, heeseung.”

he laughs awkwardly, “yeah, you’ve said.”

“because it’s true! i don’t know how i’m supposed to take that information—am i supposed to be happy or offended or what?”

“you’d be happy?”

you tense up. would you be happy? do you actually want him to be interested in you that way?

“depends on what you mean.” you mumble, saying the most neutral thing you could think of.

“what if i take you on a date to make you less confused? would that make you happy?"

it would. 

you nod, trying your hardest to push away the butterflies in your stomach. there’s no way this is happening right now. literally an hour ago you wanted nothing more than to get away from him and now you’re going on a date? yujin was going to have a field day with this information—she’s always been adamant on the fact that your strained relationship was the result of really bad flirting.

maybe she was right.

you internally curse, you owe her twenty dollars now.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ADRiANNA𓈒 happy birthday to angel girl dani @flwrstqr ily baby sorry i had no idea how to end this + the song has nothing to do w this i was js listening to it on repeat

[rafes-slut]

hi hi can u write something with rafe who doesnt know how to comfort sad reader so he just… fucks her to make her stop crying 🙏🏽

Shut You Up

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: Smut (18+), unprotected sex, slight dub-con (Rafe doesn’t ask for permission, but you don’t stop him), rough sex, mild choking, overstimulation, toxic dynamics, emotional manipulation, possessive Rafe, Rafe being bad at emotional comfort, crying, angst, slight aftercare.

Rafe had never been good at comforting people.

He knew how to start fights, how to finish them. He knew how to win, how to manipulate, how to force things to go his way. But when it came to soft things—handling emotions, talking through problems, wiping away tears—he was fucking useless.

That’s why your crying was driving him insane.

He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, watching you as you curled up on his mattress, sobbing into his pillow. He had tried, for all of two minutes, to awkwardly tell you that “it’s not that bad” and “you’ll be fine.” But none of it worked. You kept crying. And it made his skin crawl. Not because he didn’t care, but because he had no idea how to make it stop.

And Rafe hated feeling powerless.

So, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

Without a word, he got up, gripping your wrist and pulling you onto your back. You gasped, startled, looking up at him with wet, swollen eyes. His expression was hard—frustrated, intense.

“Rafe—”

“Shut up.” His voice was firm, low. His hands were already pushing up your shirt, his rough fingers grazing your ribs. “You’re crying over some bullshit that doesn’t matter, and I can’t fucking listen to it anymore.”

You sniffled, confusion flickering across your face, but you didn’t stop him as he pulled your shirt over your head. Maybe you knew what was coming. Maybe you wanted it.

“I-I just…”

His fingers hooked into your shorts, tugging them down your thighs in one smooth movement.

“Did I tell you to talk?” His voice was sharp, impatient.

You shivered.

Your panties were soaked, and Rafe smirked when he noticed. “Oh, so you like this?” He let his fingers trail between your legs, pressing against the damp fabric. “You like crying in my bed and then letting me fuck it out of you?”

You whimpered, and he took that as a yes.

Rafe wasn’t gentle. He never was. He shoved his own clothes off, not bothering to take his time. His cock was already hard, leaking against his stomach as he spread your thighs wider, settling between them.

He didn’t prep you. He didn’t ask if you were ready. He just pushed inside, groaning at the way your walls clenched around him. You gasped, your fingers gripping at his arms.

“Rafe—”

He grabbed your jaw, squeezing your cheeks until your lips parted. “I told you to shut the fuck up.” His thrusts were deep, rough, each one pressing the breath from your lungs. “You wanna cry? I’ll give you something to cry about.”

You didn’t stop crying—but now it was for an entirely different reason.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as pleasure mixed with the remnants of your sadness, your body trembling beneath him. Rafe leaned down, his mouth brushing over your damp skin, his teeth scraping against your throat.

“Fucking take it,” he growled.

You did. You took everything he gave you. His cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur, his hands gripping your body like he owned it, his pace relentless.

Your orgasm crashed over you before you could even think to fight it, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as your back arched. Rafe didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. If anything, he went harder, chasing his own high.

You whimpered as overstimulation settled in, but he didn’t let up. “You can handle it,” he muttered. “You can take it. You’re a big girl, right?”

You didn’t answer, too lost in the pleasure, too lost in him.

Rafe groaned, his thrusts growing sloppy as he reached his limit. He buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a strangled curse. For a moment, he stayed there, catching his breath, his weight heavy on top of you.

Then, finally, he pulled out, his release dripping from your swollen cunt. He looked down at you, still wrecked, still trembling. His brows furrowed.

“…Feel better?”

You let out a shaky breath.

Yeah. You did.

[leyavo]

🐞Bug x TF141 previous parts here: [one] & [two] (I just keep thinking of this)

Bugs get crushed, so mind where you go. Wouldn’t want to step on you.

It had been drilled into your head since you’d earned the call-sign, Bug. Sure the names were never something nice, but yours was given you to remind you of your place. That no matter how good you were, there was always someone bigger trying to crush you.

So you tried your best to stay under the radar, never going above and beyond what ever orders were sent your way.

After one particular training session though, Captain Price pulled you aside. The guys winding down on the opposite side of the training ground, stretching their aching limbs. Roach, however trails close by as if he’s trying to listen in.

“Are you a dog or a bug?” Price said, his hands raising to cross over his chest.

You tense, bracing for his knuckles to drive into your shoulder, but nothing.

“What am I, Captain?” You don’t even bother picking from the lot, knowing that he’ll tell you exactly what you are either way.

Is this the question he’ll ask each time you do something he’s not fond of? Or whenever you mess up. Just like your previous captain asked you, what are you? Are you to say you’re a dog now? Someone made just to follow orders no matter the task.

Anything to make your life a little easier. You’re tired of trying to dodge your superiors anger and let them have at it.

The Captain sighs, dabbing the sweat dripping down his brow with the cuff of his fleece. “I don’t want ya to be a dog, there’s more to this task force than following my orders, Bug.”

You’re not sure if this is some kinda test, something for you to slip up on. So you remain silent, waiting for him to tell you what he really thinks. Used to the verbal lashings from anyone superior to you.

“Why do you think I put you with Roach?”

He’s hard to kill. Hard to kill, that’s why you’re with him. Someone to drag you out if you ever fuck up. Your gaze wanders to Roach and he looks away as soon as your eyes connect with his. Turning his attention the dirt beside his boot, toeing the gravel beneath it.

“He’s good at thinking on his feet, adapting and bending the rules in his favour to get the job done. He listens to his orders, but is also in tune with the variables around the situation.” The Captain’s voice lowered, he’d never outright compliment Roach as he gets a mixed bag of emotions. Doesn’t want to add to the weight he already carries, so Price leans in for just you to hear.

He knows his team, knows who needs encouragement or praise, but also knows that sometimes it’s not always practical.

A pat on the back and a nod of the head from the Captain is enough for Roach.

“You want me to ignore a direct order, Captain?”

“No,” he scoffs, “I want you to embellish them, think of them as a guideline. The nitty gritty details are down to you, Bug.” The captain lifts his hand, but drops it deciding not to give you a reassuring pat on the arm. He balls his fist and shakes it, a symbol for strength.

“Yes, Captain.” You watch him walk across the training ground, falling in line with Ghost as they make their way back to the main building. Soap and Gaz have disappeared, just a lone Roach kicking the gravel a couple feet away from you.

Your legs tremble, the last few training drills settling in your aching muscles. The sun burns your scalp and coats a thin layer of sweat all over you. You don’t care how you look though, your knees crashing to the ground. The shuddering rise and fall of your chest, faltered breaths easing as a flask wiggles in front of your face.

Roach’s gloved hand grasping the neck of the flask. “Tougher than we seem us bugs,” he said, crouching down in front of you and poking your t-shirt. He lifts his finger, showing a red little lady bug perched there before it flies off.

You’re a bug, not a dog.

Bug’s still trying to figure out what type of Captain John Price is and doesn’t have a past superior who was good to compare him to. So she’s thinking the worse (which is what she’s used to).

[verdancy-hime]

This is why they hate social services.

This is why they demonize child support and free school breakfast.

This is why they demonize women getting an education.

This is why they perpetuate the myth that there is no wage gap despite a male and female named resume get job offers at a different rate of pay and women who are interviewed for certain jobs are less likely to get the offer if it's a male dominated field.

W I've thought about this a lot.

Like literally thought "what if I got a job and told people I was married?"

I've had female employers try to set me up with random men. I've had them change their mind about how to treat me when I broke things off in a relationship and they just casually asked how things were going.

Tons of weird little incidents added up.

I think about that a lot.

All the times companies wouldn't give me more hours but my female boss tried to set me up with a man when I had a boyfriend.

Like that's not the same as giving me more hours at work.

I shouldn't need to say that.

I love seeing how much better it's gotten since I was a kid for women to work and have jobs!

I love seeing how many smart cool people are working hard and thriving.

I just rarely see it with working class women in my community.

Single moms and single women are broke. Single men and married couples have money. Single moms have jobs which is good. But it's pretty normal in general for working class men to be... normal men and working class women to have lost their sparkle.

I don't mean her nails aren't done or whatever. Her skincare. I mean like when you talk to her she seems kinda sad. Resigned. She's more likely to be grinding harder or missing sleep. Extra jobs. No hobbies. depressed or anxious.

I don't want anyone to be depressed.

But when working class dudes are depressed it's usually depressed with a good job and they own a shiny car and they have money for lots of alcohol and stuff. When working class women are depressed it doesn't happen like that.

I know it shouldn't matter. I don't want men to be depressed. But I only see men in actual poverty when they are non white men in big cities or recently divorced or alcoholics. In my town, most of the men who live here have good jobs. I only know one guy on disability. Most of the poor people I've met are elderly alcoholics and women.

And this is why.

They are admitting it and saying it in words now.

That keeping women poor to keep them in relationships is important to them.

I hate that.

But it's important to know they use this against you.

"Maybe you can talk me out of being a bigot"

"Maybe I'll become worse and radicalized if you leave."

i think the hill i'm going to die on here is that lasting anti-fascist activism begins and ends with unrestricted social services.

protests are great. kind of indispensable right now. but in times when we can be less reactive, you want to know what you're protesting *for*, not just against.

today i saw a post elseweb saying "why aren't white women fleeing maga? they have to know by now that tradwife means sex slave". and like... it's very simple. they can't leave because they would end up like me.

they're, we're, deliberately made unemployable so that we'll have to marry whatever mediocre white man picks us out. as it happened, i was unappealingly intersex, fat, butch, and autistic, so none of the mediocre white boys of my generation ever took a second look at me, but that didn't give me job skills or career connections.

i knew multiple women whose husbands divorced them and took the house as part of their midlife crises. they had to send the kids to live with relatives and take dead-end jobs like bagging groceries because they were in their forties with zero job experience. if they'd rejected the worldview, if they'd alienated their families and what few friends didn't victim-blame them for the divorces, they'd have had nowhere to turn.

it's been over twelve years since i got out. psychologically, medically, i'm healthier. but i've chased a fresh start through half a dozen states. i spent my inheritance getting a degree. none of it helped. there are no supports for abandoning (or being abandoned by) your support network.

you won't defeat fascism until my people are free to leave the cult if they realize they want out. until we can access free housing to get away from financial abuse, free comprehensive job training and placement services to help us start careers, national healthcare so we can flee across state lines if necessary without losing any medical care we're lucky enough to have access to, protections for children and teens so they can flee without needing a parent's help... universal basic income would be really good but there are smaller steps that could help with financial independence.

and it all has to be available to everybody, including people you think are "unworthy". people who hold the wrong opinions. drug addicts. people whose husbands or parents make too much money. people who aren't from around here. unrepentant bigots. if they want out, you have to give them a path out. minds can change later, once people are less scared and less pressured.

(i'm ex-catholic. do you want to hear about what happens when you force people to profess certain beliefs in order to access basic assistance? i have two thousand years of examples.)

"but if they really wanted out they'd do the Right Thing and leave without support!" Better to be one man's sex slave than turning tricks on the street. "staying just proves they're actually evil and there for the bigotry!" Live in your car for six months in 100°F heat, twice, and then talk to me again. There's no virtue in cutting yourself off from society just to prove some kind of moral point. All that does is get you dead or worse.

("JT, you're not dead" I'm a fucking cockroach. Most people would be dead by now. Survival bias goes both ways; we're not all the same model of airplane.)

[kenyummy]

guysssssgyuysss ok i never thought id post about neglevtful batfam ever but im lit rotting so hard

spidey reader who gets transported to an alternate dimension where you replace a different you—a you that's the "forgotten" child of the waynes. in this universe, you're bitter, quiet, not the wise-cracking hero your universe adores—most of all, you're not spidey here. spidey doesn't even exist.

(alfred is the uncle ben esque figure??? perhaps???)

you don't even know who your supposed family even is—you only find out through diary entries and searching through this other you's phone—so you barely give them the time of day.

you're too busy now to fret about their vigilantism—to annoy them—you have your own problems as spidey to try and form a bond. you just want to go home.

the fam on the other handdddd — they are confused. a new spider hero pops up out of nowhere—and you're suddenly as cold as ice. you don't bother to cook meals with Alfred anymore, nor bring them first aid kits and give them sad eyes when they shoo you away.

the house lacks the presence of normality you used to bring—now you're up till 3am doing God knows what (spidey stuff) and you're too busy to even try and start a conversation (not that it ever went anywhere, but still).

theyre all so confused and freaked out by your sudden change overnight that they start to miss you and how normal you were—not knowing how it grounded them all until you started to ice them out </3

you have far more pressing matters to attend to, like the strange influx of people from your world either already existing or being transported here—on top of keeping your secret identity safe from your suddenly overbearing and worrysome family members.

(you don't even want to know what they'd do if they found out you're the reckless spider hero that stopped a train from going off its tracks just last monday).

at some point (probably after they find out you're spidey) you tell them about how this isn't actually their you, and that you're from another universe—but they're so far gone they don't even care at that point—they love u and just want u back already!!!

they don't care you're not technically their [name], they love you more than anything and you're their sibling!! no way youll be going "back home" now. this is your home, silly!

give up that whole hero thing—they got it covered. you just need to go back to normal and they'll protect you (even though you need protecting the least out of all of them—but they don't see that)!!! they miss their slice of normal in their hectic life, you can't take that away from them!

im lit geekinggggvggg stop guys i

lowkey im thinking of love interests being some of my guilty pleasure spidey ships ahgaseHhhh but like it'll acc play a part in the plot trust

spideytorch and parksborne my lovesloves harry and johnny so badddd but i also love kon GAHHHN fml

but I could see them HATINGGGG johnny like they would want him GONE. esp if they see him (before ur reveal) kissing you on a rooftop as spidey, then walking around arm in arm with you at school—convinced that he's cheating on their baby sibling (you're the same age as tim, but okay) !!!! every time they hear you're going out w him they try their hardest to keep you away—you have no business going out w a guy like that 😒

they wouldn't want a womaniser player like him anywhere NEAR you!!! you may trust him, but they do notttt

theyd probably be a little more okay with harry... hes one of those gotham elites—but he chose to go to the "poorer" school with you for years because he just wanted to be w you and mj. he's a little snobby, but isn't every nepo baby? hes lowkey your damsel in distress like you end up saving him in all kinds of situations by princess style carrying him out of a burning building heheheer

(also his dad isn't crazy and green goblin... yet)

obviously the fam already has a lil beef with kon... being... kon (even tim wouldnt want his bestest buddy to go after his spider sibling). not as bad as johnny... but you shouldn't be dating guys, period. aren't they all you need?

anywayssss yes. this has been rotting me so bad I lowkey need to spill this b4 I go crazy stfhhhgrsgghh

SHOULD I WRITE THIS BC I HAVE SUCH BAD BRAINROTTT

[luvether]

STAR-SHAPED BRUISES ✦ he who once felt the cold touch of death before, so why did it matter if he risked it again? Only that it did matter, to you, and your yearnings for him felt so warm it almost made him want to be selfish.

anaxagoras x gn!reader. angst? & fluff! content. hurt with comfort (?) tensions and arguments. yearning and hidden pining. cerces playing matchmaker. might be ooc + anaxa character study. written before 3.2 and spoilers for the 3.1 story! [2.4k wc]

tagging @rainswept @eterjie @kazucee !!

“You seem troubled today, more than usual.”

The thin-layer of soundlessness is quickly replaced by the tamed billow of Anaxa’s tone, one that seems like he’s questioning for the sake of curiosity and not because of empathy. Looking up at how busy he looked, his eyes maintained upon his alembic that bubbled a violent cyan-gold hue, any second and you’re sure it’s gonna fulminate from the vessel.

You shift from your seat, feigning skittish. “Did my morose pique the curiosity of the grand performer? Or are you simply worried?”

“Neither.”

“What a benumbed reaction, Anaxa—“

“—goras.” He finishes for you. Usually, whenever he’d add on your behalf, you’d combat it with a snide but today, he’s left with nothing but silence. This made him look up from his instruments and papers, your lack of reactions made him forgo his current experiment.

It made him almost worry, almost.

He sighs instead. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re quick to lie to me,” Anaxagoras is now facing you, laying a hand on his hip. “That seems like something.”

The way he conducts his questions is making you want to be defensive with your petulant behavior. “Even if something is on my mind, I don’t see why I should be telling you about it.”

“Maybe you should, because if I can find some way to help, your mood would lift, no?”

“Since when have you cared about my moods?”

Silence then.

“Are you aware of what the principle of correspondence is?” Anaxa mutters out and you have the urge to exhale.

“Please spare me a lecture…”

“As above, so below, as within so without.” The professor starts nonetheless. “Everything around us is a mirror that reflects a projection on both our inner and outer manners, think of the relationships as interconnected roots of trees or simply dendrites. It’s the simple work of magic tricks—human behaviors more so than divinity at play.” Anaxagoras approaches you, the chains of his eyepatch filling the slowness of the room.

He levels his face with yours and from your position, you can clearly anatomize the fullness of his eye from here—the hollow of mint with a cut of boysenberry in the center, glowing beneath long lashes.

He continues, “even if I’m half-dead as what that titan said, I can still feel your vibrations and stress, an internal conflict, it’s making shoddy trembles of my glass flasks on that desk.”

“How does that even—“

“Your feet.” Anaxa finally says. “You were unconsciously tapping your feet.”

Oh.

You lay your palms flat on your knees, an unconscious manner.

“I apologize.”

“So you have the decency to apologize and yet not speak your mind further?”

The silence is indefinite yet present. It shallows over at every retort that spills in between both your stubborn tongues.

You shake your head. “You’re difficult.”

His eyes narrow. “You are the one being difficult, actually. I offered help, you refused, I asked about your well-being, you dismissed me.”

“You should consider how your candidness makes it exceptionally hard for me to be open to you, maybe think about that.” You bite back at him, the tension threatening to spill over. “You’re the last person I’d want to go to whenever I have worries, so just simply drop it for today. I’d have to apologize for my lackings, I'll provide you with better companionship and arguments when I’m feeling well.”

“…Truly, I didn’t mean to come off as heartless—“ but you’d already brush past his shoulder before he can fully explain himself like he’d always have, leaving Anaxa to his bubbling vessels, untidy scrolls and a heavy sigh.

Much to his dismay instead of the privacy that he wishes after that argument, Cerces appears just as you vanish from his sight, a liquidy chuckle slipping past their lips. “Sometimes, I even wonder if your heart died along with you, child of humanity.”

“I’d rather you keep silent while I work.” Anaxagoras distastefully returns back to his apparatuses, more quiet and solemn than before.

“You should give chase.” Cerces suggested instead. “That child was simply worried.”

“Worried?” He finds the titan’s words as credulous. “Did you not see the flush of anger directed at me? Besides, I’m preoccupied right now.”

“You say you’re preoccupied and yet it’s you who seem quite distracted. Are you curious about their source of trouble?”

“It’s nothing new, arguments like that. We’ve known each other long before you ever knew me on my deathbed so back off.”

When he’d state his intentions clear, the Titan of Reason—unfazed in their countenance—leaves the professor to his own bearings and he finally has room to breathe.

Your relationship with him has always been rocky. Arguments and walking outs weren’t new, you used to debate about claims and theories a multitude of times back in the Grove, it was part of your dynamic, but every time he realizes belatedly how his string of words had cut you deep beyond the usual shallow jabs thrown on a daily, Anaxagoras cannot help but feel like his hollow chest is being twisted upside down.

In some way, maybe it mattered because despite the clashes and quarrels, you’d stay. You’ve stayed by him for years even after he was ridiculed as a blasphemous fool or a heretic—you’d stay even longer, waiting for him to finish lectern speeches or classes without so much as an ounce of complaint. A simple gesture that he’d been grateful of and even he admits to himself that seeing you being upset with him and his words were the least satisfying things to behold.

It did bother him but admitting that aloud to that titan was the last thing he’d want.

So after an hour or two after he knew you’d calm down, the professor drops his vials and walks down the distasteful and boisterous streets of Okhema in search of you—or more specifically, cruising over to Hyacine and asking for your whereabouts to save him the trouble of turning the Holy City upside down.

It was tempting, for the sake of bringing an irate reaction out of that woman and her golden threads, but his sick body and rational mind stopped him so.

“You are here.”

Anaxagoras has finally found you in some remote corner of the city, you were sitting shiftless above limestone, carving names upon ordinary stones. There was a spare moment in which his dull eyes sought down to you—he’d noticed how your hair is wind-swept and how strands of it stick to your forehead and the skin of your neck. The leaves of your collar are strewn as well, showing the barest hint of collarbones and almost immediately Anaxa shifts his eyes away, he’d asked what you were doing to distract himself from his own keen observations.

“Nobody will remember each scholar that perished fighting the Black tide. I’m merely writing companions I remember that I used to do thesis with, those that don’t have families here in Okhema to remember them…”

Anaxa observes you again, then after a long silence you feel him approaching closer, his shadow stretching before you. Your mind stirs in alertness, noticing what he’s up to—but Anaxa is always two steps ahead of you, before you can cease the pen laid by your side, he has already swiped it. You tried your best to wrestle it from him but Anaxa held it out of reach from you, causing you to sneer.

“Give that back. I forbid you to write your own epitaph!”

“And why not? I’ve done it once in the Grove—“

“Well, this isn’t the Grove—!“ You've paused quickly, noticing that you interrupted him. You waited for an ire to come throttling down at you but when you gaze back at him, Anaxagoras merely raises a brow at you, a faint sheet of amusement in his expression.

“Give me a stone.” He’d ask.

“No—“

“Stone.”

Your shoulders deflate at his tight tone, accepting defeat with petulance and a huff.

Stubborn man, you curse in your head. Stubborn and hard-headed and mean…You digress, ending up giving him one, laying the stone harsher onto his open palm than you intended but his expression remained amused.

When a balance of tamed silence settles, Anaxagoras is the first to speak again after writing an elegy onto the stone, changing the subject with ease.

“It's getting late, you should retire for today.”

And in response, you turn away with a quiet huff of breath. “I‘m…still not used to the Holy City's constant daylights, and I should be saying that to you, the moment you were given apparatuses to quell your complaints, you’ve been doing nothing but your experiments since you’ve arrived from your fight in Castrum Kremnos.”

“Well, thanks to your concern this ill-stricken body has been recovering. Besides, I have nothing much to do, especially when that woman’s threads are all over the place.”

“You almost died.” Your statement held more bite than necessary. For you it showed him your true feelings and for Anaxa—the answer to today’s dismay.

A laugh breaks from his lips.

“Is this why you’re upset?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone. “You’re upset that I got hurt back at the Grove.”

You rise from your seat, meeting him tooth for tooth, jab for jab. “Is it truly hard for you to comprehend that there are people that care whether or not you’re doing well—?”

Despite your anger, Anaxa is distracted for a moment, watching the sneer on your lips shaping vowels and long consonants, almost as if you're baring his teeth at him. The sudden urge to lean down, kiss you quiet and taste those angry syllables on his teeth stirs in his mind.

The Nousporist sage is anything but a romantic, but temptation truly is a humanistic sin, what is he to be shameful for such selfishness?

“It’s not that.” He answers your spite with dullness. “My field of study has made it easy to forget about one's well-being. You of all people know that very well.”

“Anaxagoras, you could’ve died again and—“

He never wanted for you to concern yourself with him like this. Anaxagoras knew he was risking himself, the nuances of alchemy and the splitting of his soul. So how come—observing the way your expression creases with a certain type of pain that makes it seem like you were the one that felt it, not him.

“If you continue like this, I would go through the same grief of losing you like I did the first time around.”

“Don’t say that, as a Chrysos heir it’s bound to—“ Anaxa is surprised when you reach out to touch him, to dare touch him so freely and yet rebuttals fall flat on his heavy tongue. The warmth of your fingertips that brush over the coolness of his own palm, you bring his hand up to cradle your cheek with utter delicacy like you’re holding glass, it makes his mind go numb.

He is aware of the way his skin dances with the plush warmth of your cheek, strands of your hair he wishes to tangle between his long fingers—to give into temptation and drag his hand slowly down your jaw, the expanse of your neck, down your arms…

“You really should start taking care of yourself more.” Your lips murmur onto his open palm. “Maybe not for yourself, but for me and Hyacine.”

He swallows. ”…I cannot keep promises.”

And you’d feel a faint tug on his end—and that fissures the tension. You let go and he quickly lets his own arm fall back to his side immediately. There’s a part of you that was terrified at the thought of offending him, you never got into Anaxagoras’ bubble without permission, your relationship stayed at a mere arm’s length. Only quirked lips with tongues of appraisals and maybe the occasional longing stares from across large rooms were exchanged between the two of you, no shoulder brushing, hand-holding, breaths upon goosebumped necks—this was your first time ever touching him, his numbed, cold skin against your own.

Maybe your sudden approach shocked him from his nonchalance and arrogance, you’d know because for the first time since you’ve known him, Anaxagoras’ frown is an inch too deep and there’s a concerned fold on his brow.

He clears his throat, his eye looking anywhere but at you. “I need to go, I have to meet with the other Chrysos heirs at the baths today.”

Anaxa looked quite adamant to join the meeting, despite his distaste of the baths and Chrysos heir meetings.

He spares you one last look, “after you’re done with your business, you really should try to rest.”

You frown at his dismissive behavior, nodding your head nonetheless. “Alright, best of luck then.”

He’d merely nod stiffly at your reply and quickly turn on his heel. You would have let out a heavy exhale and scold yourself for touching him without prior permission—if it weren't for a certain titan that appeared before you, their brown curls turning gold under Kephale’s dawn.

“He’s quite provocative, that Nousporist sage, don't you think so too?” Cerces spares you conversation, their voice honeyed with light teasing.

“Anaxagoras’ probably born to be spiteful, so I cannot fault him for such a character flaw, we all have one.”

“You’re fond of him, aren’t you?” Cerces states and heat furnaces upon your cheek at their bold claim. Before you can find some excuse to defend yourself, they spoke again.

“So is he to you. I’ve noticed that whenever you’re around, he’s reduced to a passive child. His tongue is barely glib when you try to put him in his place and the way those sharp eyes soften, oh it reminds me of my lover all too much. It’s an endearing exchange.”

Cerces spoke their affections and you could do nothing but listen to them with a credulous expression. Anaxagoras being endeared by you? You’d try to wrack your mind of instances where you capture such a manner, but all you can remember of him was his sassiness, his dullness, his casual dismissiveness. There was no softness, endearments, fondness.

Despite being called the Titan of reason, you find their reasoning hard to comprehend.

You wouldn’t have believed them, that is until you gaze back at Anaxagoras’ retreating form in the distance and watch him closely, and closely you watch when you catch him moving his hand that you held so closely,

Observing how he flexes his fingers by his side.

[chamomiletealeaf]

Not sure if your requests are open (if they aren’t, ignore this ✨) but could I please request a (nsfw) of the reader just practically silent during it, but trembles and clings onto anything in reach? 😔🙏sorry if it ain’t specific enough

With how cod boys react to it (whoever you want)

LOVE THISSS and yes my requests are always open :)) might take some time for me to respond but always feel free to send a message!

Simon wouldn't think much of it at first. He's not the loudest either, but he can't lie and say he doesn't enjoy a little whimper from you every now and then. So when you don't talk or make much noise but start gripping at anything around you he can't help but smile at how cute you are.

He'd be pounding into you and your hands are gripping at his shoulders and hair and the nape of his neck and the bed sheets and it's so cute watching you trying to find something to grip on to.

He doesn't need you to make noise to know that he's fucking you good. Your legs shaking and the way you white knuckle the sheets tell him all he needs to know.

Price knows you don't make a lot of noise but he tries to make you break every time by whispering sweet things into your ears to try and get you to moan. He loves to fuck you in his gear while you have nothing on and loves how you bite your lip and grip at his belt loops for leverage when he does. He'll fuck you on his desk whispering things like "Aww don't hold back darling. Let me hear my little kitty purr huh?"

Or he'll fuck you nice and sweet and slow in your shared bed while whispering into your ear how perfect and pretty you are while you grab at his biceps.

He's a fucking eater for sure. Would spend hours in between your legs if you let him. It's his favorite past time because he loves how you grip his hair so hard and squeeze your thighs around his head all while staying so quiet. He'd mumble into your pussy about how pretty your pussy is and how wet you are for someone who keeps so quiet.

Gaz would make you speechless fucking you or not. You could be typing on your computer or something and he'd come up to you leaning over your shoulder a little too close to your ear making you blush. And he knows what he's doing the whole time too. He's so smug. Asking things like "What's the matter love? Cat got your tongue?" When he's got you up against a wall or when he's knuckle deep inside of you when you're on his lap.

He adores how quiet you get. He thinks it's so cute when all you can do is stare at him like a deer in headlights whenever he makes you flustered or how cute it is when he's fucking you from behind and forcing you to watch in a mirror because if he can't hear you, he's for sure gonna make sure he sees you. And of course he's gonna tease you and whisper in your ear how pretty you look and how he bets he could make you moan for him.

Johnny at first would wonder why you weren't so verbal or loud during sex. He thought it was him at first and got really self conscious and tried everything he could to get you to moan. He was too stubborn at first to ask why you weren't moaning and instead tried trial and error to see what would get you moaning his name over and over. He would always get confused anyway though because you came every time.

So one night when he was really giving it to you, your face down in the pillows with your ass up, you still wouldn't make any noise. So he yanks your hair back to look at your face and he nearly cums immediately from the sight. You're drooling, eyes crossed, with tears spilling down your face. You were in complete bliss gripping the pillow for dear life while your brain practically went to mush from how fucking good Johnny was making you feel.

"Fuckin' hell bonnie this whole time I thought I wasn't fuckin ya good enough but turns out you're so quiet cuz you're too fucked out to make a sound."

[screamingatanemptyroom]

“Marriage?”

Phoenix glared with disbelief at the glowing order in her hand. Written on gossamer thin sheets of gold, the living words from the king of the gods shined with power and authority. Not that she cared about his authority…but no matter how hard she stared at the message, the offending words did not change.

“Timos must have finally gone insane.”  Bushel, a large squirrel sat on Phoenix’s shoulder, reading a long with her. His tiny eyes were wide with shock as it took in the order. “There’s no way the gods will stand for this…”

“They won’t care.” She shook her head. “He made it just specific enough to not impact anyone important.”

“Except you.”

“Except me.” Phoenix let out a sigh of frustration, looking around her hut, where she stayed in the mortal realm. It was a simple shack, covered in living plants, with no space wasted on silly things like furniture. As a goddess, she did not need to sleep, or relax at all for that matter.

But she did need to grow plants.

The vegetables, flowers and grasses in her house sensed her mood, and shivered, wilting along their edges. Noticing their fear, Phoenix tried to reign in her emotions, studying the order in her hand once more.

__________________________________________

“By order of King Timos:

To preserve the future bloodlines, all second-generation gods and goddesses must be wed before the next harvest. Failure to comply with this order will lead to expulsion of the offending god’s entire clan.”

__________________________________________

Bushel read over her shoulder, pulling on her golden hair. “Only second-generation gods and goddesses… it’s an obvious set up, isn’t it?”

“He’s not being subtle.” There were ten original gods and goddesses, the first generation. They gave birth to the second generation, who bore the third generation and so forth. Phoenix, the daughter of the Goddess of Harvest and the Fire God, was one of two unmarried second generation… as for the other one…

“Zodar still hasn’t given up on you?” Bushel groaned. “Have all the rejections over the last few millennia taught him nothing?”

Phoenix rubbed his furry head. “He’s used to getting what he wants. And he hates being told no.”

“So that’s it then? His father, the king of gods sends out his little order and you HAVE to marry his son? Just because you are the only two second generations left who haven’t married?”

“Not necessarily.” A sly smile slowly formed across her face. “He insisted that all second generations needed to be married… he kept it vague to make it seem like he wasn’t forcing a goddess to marry his son. But because of how broad the terms are… he didn’t say WHO or WHAT I had to marry.”

“Phoenix!” Bushel’s head dipped nervously, as he stared up at her peerless features. “You can’t just marry some random godly being…”

“I’m not marrying a random god.”

“So you DO have someone you like?!”

“No.”

“But you said.”

“I’m not marrying a god at all.” Phoenix’s eyes glowed with excitement. “I’m marrying a mortal.”

THUD.

Bushel fell off of her shoulder, stiffened with shock, his puffy body hitting the cabin floor with a soft sound. Slowly, he got back on his hind paws, stretching up to stare at her face with a look of disbelief.

“A MORTAL?! ARE YOU CRAZY?!”

Phoenix shrugged. “Yes, but all gods are.”

“You can’t marry a mortal!”

“There’s no rule against it…” Phoenix began to argue, but Bushel scampered up her body to sit on her shoulder once more, interrupting her.

“…Because no one is dumb enough to try it!” He shouted. “A mortal will live only a moment. You will blink and he will be gone!”

“All the better. I will be a widow, and can’t be forced to wed again.” She sat down on the ground, the plants around her comforting her. “I don’t need much, just a handsome man who’s willing to live peacefully next to my garden.”

“Handsome, why handsome?” Bushel asked.

“If I have to stare at him for four or five decades, I want to at least look at someone nice looking so as not to hurt my eyes.”

“What if he won’t move next to your garden?”

“Then I will move my garden to his home.” She smiled. “Can’t be the goddess of gardens without a garden.”

“What if he wants children? Many mortal men desire children to carry on their name. You are physically incapable of bearing a mortal child. A third or fourth generation? Maybe they could. But your power is too strong, the child wouldn’t survive. “

Phoenix thought about that question for a moment before answering. “That’s fine, don’t human men take lovers or concubines? I’ll let him have as many as he wants!”

Bushel frowned in disapproval. “You would SHARE your lover with others?”

“Not a lover, Bushel. A husband in name only. Just a box to be checked.” She held up her hands helplessly. “After all, I’ve never been in love, and I do just fine.”

“Maybe if you were less obsessed with gardening…” The squirrel muttered.

“What did you say?”

“NOTHING!” Bushel quickly changed the subject. “Have you talked to your parents about this crazy idea? I bet they would have plenty to say about it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” A wave of sadness crossed her eyes, dampening the golden glow her irises usually held. “They have little to no interest in me. I am not my brother, the god of forging, or my sister, the goddess of fertility. I never had large ambitions. Just me, my vegetables and flowers. They would sell me off to marry Zodar, if my father didn’t enjoy watching Timos squirm so much.”

“They care for you too.”

“It’s okay, Bushel.” She poked his nose, causing his small black eyes to blink. “I’ve had quite some time to get used to it. Now. I don’t have too long before the next harvest. So my next task needs to be finding a husband!”

The squirrel sighed. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I’ll just go where all mortals go when they need to get something:” She waved her hand, changing her golden hair to a more natural blonde and her eyes to a muted blue. Her green silk robes changed into a modest dress made of cotton cloth. Admiring her reflection in a nearby pool of water, she smiled brightly at her animal friend.

“The market!”

__________________________________________

“Marriage?!”

Ryventh glared at his brother Brevar, his irritation causing his eyes to glow scarlet. Even as his attention was directed at his offending sibling, however, his hands never stopped sorting the small gold pieces on the table he sat at.

Brevar sighed. “It’s not my rule, Ry. It’s the Dragon Council.”

“It’s stupidity, that’s what it is! What does being married have to do with my ability to assume the throne?!” The clinking of coins continued, a steady background noise to his complaints. “I am the most powerful, AND I have the largest hoard. What more do those idiots want?!”

“They want stability.” Brevar started to sit down across from Ryventh, but paused at the other’s glare as he got too close to the treasure on the table between them. “It’s been almost a year, since our father has passed. You should have taken the throne long ago, but no matter how strong you are, or how rich you are… you don’t inspire the same confidence in the dragons that he did.”

“I still fail to see how they think that marriage would change that.” Grumbling, he stared intently at the treasure passing through his fingers.

Brevar lost his patience. “Could you stop counting your gold for a minute and focus on this!”

Ryventh stopped and stood. As the eldest son of dragon royal blood, his stature was much larger than his younger siblings, a fact which remained true even in their current human forms. Brevar leaned back slightly under his intimidating stare, but remained stubborn.

“This is exactly what I mean, Ry. They are confident in you because no one thinks that you care about anything other than your precious treasure!”

“And what if they’re right?” Ryventh asked quietly. “Why should I care about anything else. What do they care about me?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“…” After a long pause, Ryventh sat back down and resumed counting his gold. “Tell the council no.”

“It’s not that simple anymore.” Brevar pulled his poorly fitting robe’s sleeves over his wrists. “If you refuse this… they will appoint a different king.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“They would, and the other dragons would follow. You could try to fight it, but it would mean war, and no one is on your side.”

“…”

“There are dozens of young female dragons who have courted you for centuries! Just pick any one of them and marry them to satisfy the council! Or if you can’t stand them, the world is filled with immortals and gods, plenty of choices for the future dragon king.” Brevar looked at his brother’s stony expression, and closed his eyes. “Please?”

Ryventh thought it over. “… It’s not impossible for me to get married.”

“That’s great…!”

“But not to a dragon… not an immortal either.”

“What?” Brevar froze in confusion,.

“Do you know how much it costs to marry an immortal?” Ryventh rolled his eyes. “Not to mention the luxury that they would demand to maintain the lifestyle they are accustomed to.”

“You are the RICHEST DRAGON IN THE WORLD! Are you seriously worried about the cost of a wedding?”

“I’m not emptying my treasury for an empty gesture to satisfy the council. No. Instead… I’m going to marry a mortal.”

“…What?”

“Preferably a sturdy, rural, self-sufficient one. Who wouldn’t be too interested in my money or living lavishly.” Ryventh smiled as he plotted. “And I’ll let her have a few lovers should she want children…. Provided that those men will pay to raise the brats.”

“…What?”

“It’s a foolproof plan. I marry a mortal, appease the council, wait for her to die, and then ‘mourn’ her for as long as I want to prevent further requests like this in the future! And all without spending any of my gold!”

Brevar sat down heavily, ignoring Ryventh’s growl at his proximity to the gold this time. “Please tell me you are joking.”

“I’m very serious. In fact, there’s no time like the present!” Ryventh quickly collected the gold, storing it in a magic space in his belt. “Let’s go find me a wife.”

“Ry… wait, where are you going?! Ry?!”

“Where else?” Ryventh grinned. “A market!"

"A MARKET? Are you an idiot? You can't find a wife..."

The dragon ignored his cries and leapt off the cliff leading to his cave, his wings spreading out behind him. "Let’s go! If we don’t hurry all the thrifty wives will be taken!”

__________________________________________

The mortal market was bustling with activity. Hundreds of stalls, each with one to two sellers calling out to passing shoppers, highlighting their wares. The scent of food wafted through the air, enticing one to pause and eat. Performers juggled or played instruments, small bowls filled with coppers sitting in front of them. And through the jostling crowed, a young beautiful woman moved with purpose.

“Would you like to buy some eggs, Ma’am?” An elderly woman called out.

Phoenix smiled at her. “No thank you miss, I have to save my money for an important errand today.”

“And what is that, pretty young miss?”

“I’m looking for a husband!”

The older woman was startled. “At the market?” Shrugging, she added. “Well… you’re a bit odd, but you are pretty, and look fairly well off…”

“Thank you! I think I’m pretty too!”

“…Yes. Maybe you would consider my son?” The woman showed a professional smile, showing gaps of rotting teeth. “He’s handsome, hardworking, and young!”

Phoenix thought for a moment. “That’s a good start, but…”

The elderly lady thought she was losing interest, and frantically interrupted, adding… “And did I mention loyal? He plans to only have one wife his entire life, and not search for other women or concubines. A dream husband for any…”

“No thank you.” Phoenix turned away, disinterested. “Have a nice day.” Ignoring the woman’s call to turn back, she walked away, looking around a busy market with interest.

“Why did you say no?!” Bushel, tucked into the bag on her shoulder, whispered. “She said he was handsome!”

“And loyal.” She shuddered. “I need someone who will pretty much leave me alone.”

“I still don’t think that the market is the right place to find…”

“Why hello there, pretty lady.”

Phoenix was stopped by a large man with a leering grin.

“I heard you were looking for a man.” The surrounding crowds paused at his lewd words, but almost everyone turned away, minding their own business. This man very clearly had a reputation in this place, and not a pleasant one.

Phoenix looked him up and down, frowning as she took in his unattractive appearance. “I’m looking for a husband.” She paused. “A handsome husband.”

“Looks aren’t everything, lady.” His smile became more vulgar. “I’ve got what you need to be satisfied.” He thrusted his hips in her direction, as the men around him laughed. “You won’t be thinking about looks when the lights are off.”

“I doubt that.” Phoenix tried to push past him, but the man reached out, grabbing her arm.

“I didn’t let you leave, missy.”

Closing her eyes briefly to hide the glow of gold that appeared with her anger, she forced the illusion back in place and glared at the man. “Let go while you still have your hand.”

“OOH I’m scared!” The man leaned closer. “Leave your money, and MAYBE I’ll spare your person… Although you look like you could use a good…”

CLANG!

__________________________________________

“What about her?”

Ryventh pointed at a blond young woman who was currently arguing with a group of gangsters. “Her looks are nice, her clothes are not expensive but well cared for. She wears flowers instead of expensive jewelry… and she appears to be unmarried, at least judging by her hairstyle... didn't you say that's how unmarried mortals wear it?"

"That's right." Brevar raised an eyebrow. “I agree that she’s pretty, and not wearing expensive things... Should we go help your potential future wife? She looks to be in trouble.”

“Not yet. Remember, I want a self-sufficient bride.” He shrugged, “I can’t be running around to save her all the time. I have all of dragon kind to rule over.”

“Wow, you're such a romantic.” They both turned back to the woman. “Fortunately, it seems we are unnecessary.”

Ryventh winced slightly as the woman smiled, and calmly broke the gangster’s wrist. She then kicked him in the crotch, and proceeded to take out a forge hammer from her bag and beat the rest of the men around him senseless.

“Do you know how long I had to save for this gold!” She yelled, grinding her boot on the main offender’s face. “And you think you can just TAKE it?!”

“I’m sorry!” The man cried, blood, snot and tears pulling under his squished face. “I was blind and foolish to block you path, ma’am.”

The woman laughed. “Oh you are blind and foolish alright, to offend a god… I mean a powerful human like me! You're lucky I had my brother's hammer with me today, instead of my father's tools! ” She moved her foot. “You can go. But if you ever cross paths with me again… I’ll bury you in my garden to fertilize my plants!”

“Yes!” The group of men stumbled weakly to their feet, helping each other as they hurried away, cowering in fear. The crowds muttered and stared some, but similar to before, no one intervened.

Brevar chuckled a bit. “Wow, that was violent. Not exactly what you’re looking for…”

“She’s perfect!”

“…What?”

“Didn’t you see?” Ryventh explained excitedly. “She protects her gold fiercely, can take care of herself, and did you hear that last sentence?”

“Where she threatened to bury the man?”

“Under her garden! That’s great! She’s self-sufficient and grows a garden! Maybe she even sells the flowers or grows vegetables! I won’t have to pay for anything!”

“Um… Ry?” Brevar called out, but it was too late, Ryventh had already strode forward.

“Excuse me, Miss!” He spoke up, straightening himself up and smiling handsomely. “Please marry me!”

__________________________________________

Phoenix looked in surprise at the proposing man.

He had red curly hair framing face with regular features. His eyes were bright green and filled with a deep intelligence, studying her closely. He was tall and well built, towering over her with a slim but muscular frame.

Well, he’s definitely handsome! She thought optimistically, reaching out a hand. “Hello, I’m Phoeni… I mean, Phoebe.” Whew, almost gave a goddess name there! Good save!

He took it, his palm warm and gripped her hand with gentle force. “Ryv.. Rhyse.”

Very normal mortal name! Great!

“Well, Rhyse.” She tilted her head curiously. “How did you know I was looking for a husband?”

He smiled brightly at her question, surprised. “You’re looking for a husband! That’s great! I’m looking for a wife! We should marry!”

“This is weird.” Bushel whispered in quiet voice only she could hear. She patted his bag gently, urging him to shush.

Phoenix took back her hand, thinking for a moment. “Wait. Before I agree to anything, I have a few questions.”

“Of course.”

“Are you married or betrothed already?”

“No.”

“I have a garden that is very important to me. Would we be able to live in my house, or can I move my plants to your house?”

Rhyse shrugged, the gesture strangely elegant. “I have very little money to my name, and no property. We would have to life at your house, I’m afraid.” He looked cautiously at her. “Do you mind that I cannot financially support you?”

“I don’t mind at all. In fact, that’s great that you can just move in!”  She paused again. “But there is one more thing… a very important thing.”

“Please say.”

“I cannot have children.” Pheonix took a deep breath. “I understand if you want to withdraw your proposal, or if this means you need to take on concubines…”

“That’s great!” His happy exclamation shocked her into silence.

“…pardon?”

“I can’t have children either!” He took her hands. “I’m simply looking for a lifelong companion. I will not bother you much or intervene in your life. I will keep my space clean. I have no parents, so there is no one to worry about impressing. What do you say, Phoebe?”

“…”

Handsome, clean, can’t have children and won’t intervene in my life?

Phoebe smiled at him with relief. “It sounds perfect!”

__________________________________________

Pretty, has a house and garden AND she won’t expect children?

Ryventh smiled back. “I agree! It’s perfect!” He turned to his brother, who was staring at the two of them open mouthed. “I told you the market was the place to go!”

“I…you…”

Ignoring his stuttering, he turned to his future bride. “He told me I was a fool for going to the market to get married.”

She shook her head. “Someone told me the same thing.”

They both laughed smugly. Feeling a great sense of relief, Ryventh turned the conversation towards planning.

“When should we get married?”  Hopefully she won’t want a drawn out engagement…

“As soon as possible.” She answered firmly.

“Really?” Has she read my mind? This is great!

“I just have one request.”

Ryventh kept his smile, but internally he rolled his eyes. Here we go. Something that will probably cost me gold. “Of course, dear, anything for my future wife!”

She looked up at him a bit anxiously. “Would it be okay if we just had a small quiet ceremony?” Obviously worried he was offended, she rushed to explain. “It’s not that I don’t care about the wedding, but I can’t afford a big party and some of my relatives can be… unpleasant at times. I would really prefer just a few witnesses, and I can decorate with some flowers from my garden. Is it… is it alright?”

“…” Ryventh stared at his newly minted fiancé in shock.

“Rhys? If you don’t want to…”

“YOU ARE PERFECT!”

“…”

“…”

At his loud shout, there was an awkward silence. Finally, Ryventh coughed, trying to recover. “I mean, I think your plan sounds like a good one.”

“Great!” She looked relieved. “So would three days from now work?”

“I couldn’t ask for anything different.” He grinned with satisfaction at the deal that he struck.

 She’s absolutely perfect, and best of all… She’s mortal. So even if things don’t work out… it won’t last forever.

__________________________________________

As Rhysy agreed, Phoenix let out a large sigh of relief. Looking through her bag, she pulled out a small map, marking a space by the lake.

“Here is where our new home is. In three days you can meet me here. If you will bring at least one witness and a priest, I’ll bring the other witness and decorate for the ceremony. And then, we’ll be married.”

“I cannot be happier with that plan.” He smiled at her, and she felt a brief flutter at the sight. They said their goodbyes, and Phoenix watched him and his companion walk away, giddy with her achievement.

Her plan had worked perfectly.

I was worried, but at least he is fine with a short timeline and small ceremony. Thank goodness he’s easy to please!  She thought to herself with a smile as she headed back to her humble home and garden. But best of all is the fact that he’s mortal. So even if he’s not so great…

It won’t last forever.

Two immortals are slowly coming to terms with the fact that what they each thought would be a short 50-60 year marriage to a mortal is turning out to be a much longer commitment.