#still being all materialist for a moment

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (10)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. depression, intoxication, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships,

notes. important announcement ! as you all know, this series has always had an extensive approach into detailing the events in its side stories (ie. sera x sukuna x naoya, yuuji x megumi, maki x yuuta x miwa, etc), but while writing the chapters, the word count and the plot building had become too exhausting for me to produce consistently, esp with the amount of scenes and side stories i was introducing to the story, so i've decided it's best for me to stick to the main characters, reader & gojo, and will only add side stories as necessary. this really hurts me knowing that i can't achieve the level of comprehensive writing and world building that i did for sincerely not, but i really want to finish sy as soon as possible and removing a chunk of side stories would be some of the things that'd help me achieve that 😭 i hope you guys understand. hopefully i'll figure out a way to write those side stories instead of completely abandoning them mid-way in this series. but as always, thanks for ur continued support <3

series masterlist -> episode eleven

“It’s a little weird.”

What was supposed to be her bed time had turned into a moment of reflection for Sera who, instead of being fast asleep at this time of the night, had unconsciously brought herself inside Sukuna’s home office to join the up-and-coming tech mogul in his late-night programming. 

She wore her silk pajamas, pacing back and forth in her boyfriend’s office as her mind flew back to the recent encounter she had with her ex-boyfriend. Who knew that Satoru’s kid would look just like a carbon copy of him? No, actually, the question should be: who knew it would be a different woman by his side acting as the mother of his child? Sera had to laugh at herself, shaking her head as she realized how truly and undeniably ridiculous her ex was. It was clear that day that he wasn’t really as loyal of a partner as he claimed himself to be. 

Did he really just go through all those crazy things with you, only to look like a whore-hopping fool now? 

If he was bound to end up with someone else other than you, then why did he have to make Sera’s life miserable in the first place? 

She may have done terrible things before as a selfish and materialistic lover of his, but that wouldn’t change the fact that Satoru also contributed to her role as the side-piece in his marital relationship. He allowed her to cling to him like a mistress. Being his side-piece wasn’t even something that she had forced upon him. It was his promise, an idea that he planted on Sera’s head, saying that she would need to stay by his side and that he would marry her guaranteed that he had already secured the merger and divorced you. He swore like a fool that he would divorce you. But guess what? The jerk ended up falling in love with his wife and suddenly had no use of Sera. Suddenly, he was such a good husband who couldn’t be more loyal. Suddenly, he was a lovestruck man who had always been in love with his childhood friend. If he had downright dumped Sera the moment his engagement was announced, if he had not been prideful and ambitious since the beginning of his marriage, he probably would have had better luck at having that healthy relationship he yearned from you. 

But how come the blame of being the third-party was all on Sera when her only mistake then was loving the person who promised her all the good things in life? 

Now, you see, this was all just bitterness brewing at the back of her head. She knew what she did was still wrong and that she wasn’t innocent. Sera swore to herself that she would never look back on those awful days ever again, but seeing how Satoru was running around freely with a different woman just reminded Sera of his days as a spiteful, two-timing man. Somehow, it felt like he had changed and yet didn’t at all. 

Ha ha ha. How ridiculous was that? 

“What’s funny?” asked Sukuna, her present boyfriend and thankfully so. He was Sera’s blessing, because she never would have thought that a man like him could still exist in a world full of Satoru’s and Naoya’s. “You look cute smiling to yourself, though.”

“I know,” she responded to the compliment, shifting to settle herself on his lap, though his attention remained fixed on his laptop screen. “It's just strange to me,” she continued, her voice thoughtful, “how Gojou appears his usual self, yet there's something off about him.”

The question clouded Sukuna’s eyes in confusion, tilting his head to the side as he tried to comprehend her description. “You mean dude got uglier?”

I wish, Sera thought. “No, he’s… he’s different. The vibes are different. For a second, he even looked like he was dissociating the whole time he was with that girl,” she said, referring to Satoru’s new girl as though she was your cheap alternative, “But then again, why is he with her in the first place if he looks absent-minded the whole time, you know what I mean?” 

“Was he like that with you before?” 

“At times, but it’s not like the way he’s acting right now… I don’t know, I can’t explain it. The energy is off. That’s just not how he acts when he’s really, really into someone.”

To be honest, Sukuna didn’t give a damn about Satoru Gojou’s life and any normal boyfriend wouldn’t really like hearing their girlfriend talking about another man, especially her ex at that, but he knew Sera found joy in old money gossip and he was aware of the demoralizing past she has had by associating herself with them. Sukuna was acting all engaged in their conversation because he wanted to make her feel heard and that he shared her simple joys in life. Besides, it was through her that he learned so many inside scoops about the people that ran the country’s biggest conglomerates. It was like watching one heck of a messy episode of Dynasty. 

“Didn’t he get into a car accident?” he recalled, remembering the headlines on the news that day, “Then, we saw him at the expo and he couldn’t really remember you. The guy’s probably got his head all messed up.” 

Sera was bitter at the time thinking that Satoru was toying with her when he asked who she was, when the truth was, he was actually diagnosed with amnesia. It was such a shock to her, truthfully, because having amnesia felt like something you would only see on a movie’s screen. Well, in that case, she could also say karma’s a bitch. The director might be onto something here.

“He’s probably not mentally fine, but still…” she thought carefully and played the scene in her head again. What was it about the Gojou that she saw the other day that was different? “He just has a different vibe to him that it feels uncomfortable. It’s like he’s rude, but not so rude? He doesn’t have much of a personality anymore. Like a complete stranger.”

“Maybe it’s the new girl rubbing off on him.” Sukuna was back to typing on his laptop as he said that. Frankly, he was just saying anything at this point. 

Sera shook her head in response. “Well, I don’t know about that girl he’s seeing and I don’t really care, but it’s common knowledge to the filthy rich that she’s Y/N’s best friend. That’s why I recognized her right away, and that’s why it disgusted me,” she pressed on, “Tell me, would you—and be honest about this—would you fuck your best friend’s ex?” 

The humor on her boyfriend’s face came right as she asked that. “Babe, you fucked a married man. It’s worse than fucking somebody’s ex.” 

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she got up from his lap and sighed, but Sukuna wasted no time in pulling her back onto his lap. His chuckle was mingling with the gentle kiss he had planted on her cheek, unaware that his actions made Sera’s heart flutter. “Forget it. I shouldn’t even be talking about Satoru with you.”

The man stretched his arms and finally closed his laptop, patting Sera’s thigh afterwards. “On that note, I do have another ‘dude from your past’ that I gotta meet tomorrow.” 

Her reaction alone was a response for him. “Naoya?” she protested, face contorting with disgust. “What for? I told you not to take on that project.”

“Yeah, I considered it, and you know, the partnership could really benefit CleaveTech,” Sukuna reasoned, leaning back as he outlined the situation to her from a business standpoint. Given her own background working for the Gojou Group before, he expected her to grasp the significance of this partnership and set aside any personal grievances or emotional attachments. “The Zen'in Group is a major client. It’s all pros and no cons here.”

“The contra is the guy you’re gonna work with,” she highlighted with a hint of annoyance rising from her throat, “Naoya is nothing but an opportunistic motherfucker. Mind you, he’s a stupid elitist, too.” 

He held back a laugh, not even threatened by a man who had a terrible history with his girlfriend. “Nah, I’ll deal with him. Just trust me on this.” 

As much as Sera wanted to object, she knew Sukuna had a point and that she really shouldn’t hinder his company from being partnered with such a large conglomerate. She just didn’t like the thought of her boyfriend being around a man who manipulated and humiliated her to the point where she had been blacklisted by multiple companies, leaving her to resort to being somewhat of a prostitute just to make ends meet. 

The world was harsh for the not-so-rich, and all Sera wanted was to give those upper class people a taste of their own medicine. But seeing as her desire for revenge would clash with her boyfriend’s chance at company growth, she had to set aside her personal grudge and support him on this one.  

Still, there was nothing wrong with being curious. “Is there any other reason you agreed to this partnership?”

Sukuna smirked as if he expected that question from her. “Blame it on my little brother, he’s been bugging me ‘bout it.”

“Yuuji?” Sera asked, clearly confused. 

To which her boyfriend quickly answered, “Yeah. He said it’ll give him an opportunity to work with his best friend. You know that kid, Fushiguro, right?” 

Ahh. Toji’s kid aka the heir to the Zen’in business empire. Sera had met Megumi before, and while that other brat Mai used to be unreasonably rude to her, the younger boy was always civil and respectful at least. He never even once treated Sera like dirt when she was spending time with Naoya at their mansion. Perhaps their upbringing really differed because he was raised by Toji and the other Zen’ins were raised by demons. 

Nevertheless, with a connection now established between Sukuna and Naoya through Yuuji and Megumi, Sera couldn’t help but feel that her peaceful days as a nouveau riche were about to become far more intriguing. Depending on the cards she would choose to play, they could even turn into a living nightmare. 

— —

You weren’t exactly abandoning your company; you were merely taking a break, a necessary pause given your current mental state after the whole break-up with Toji and the Osaka thing. Your mind was just too overwhelmingly occupied to even properly function. Each day, mustering the energy to show up at Hearte's head office became increasingly challenging, especially when faced with individuals who relied on you for major decisions and creative direction. 

To make matters worse, Akemi’s sudden resignation hit hard.

You received her decision by a simple letter, a mere piece of paper, without even having the guts and decency to meet with you in person. Was she scared? Or was this her way of rubbing salt on the wound, shoving it in your face that she was now taking things to the next level with your ex-husband? 

She did cite in her resignation letter that her reason for resigning from the role was due to conflict of interest. You wanted to laugh when you read that part. No, you wanted to choke in your fit of laughter after reading through her asinine reasons. She could have been upfront and mentioned that the so-called ‘conflict’ was the very man her best friend had previously married. 

Obviously, everyone in the office felt sad knowing that a core member of the company left without at least a 30-day notice, but they were all also aware that her resignation was due to personal albeit controversial reasons. Did Akemi not care about her image at all? The same colleagues she had trained, managed, and collaborated with would now likely gossip about her behind her back. She would become a hot topic of disrespect among the people that once heavily respected her. Did she also not care about the company you two created together anymore? This was the same company you two had passionately dreamed of during your late-night conversations on a New York rooftop. She was the one who wanted to build a fashion house together with you.

Yet, it seemed she was willing to throw it all away for a man already entangled in complicated familial dynamics. Her immediate resignation and refusal to speak to you in person just further confirmed it to you that Akemi was willing to forsake your friendship by choosing a man who already had a child with someone else. 

Since she chose that path, you couldn’t help but interpret Akemi’s actions as a deliberate slight against your friendship. It seemed clear that she no longer viewed you as a friend and was essentially cutting ties with you. Otherwise, why would she take such a step? Akemi wasn’t the type to be vindictive; she likely believed she was sparing you further pain by severing your connection. However, regardless of her intentions, her actions felt deeply disrespectful and hurtful.

If this was what she wanted, then kudos to her and her unbelievable confidence to choose a man like Satoru Gojou. Besides, it didn’t even take you a week to find another replacement. Your family connections were powerful after all. You readily had a pool of potential candidates for the role of the Head of Sales, Retail, and Merchandising—all from prestigious backgrounds and unparalleled expertise. While the competition was tough, you selected the person you deemed was the most qualified to be your second-in-command. This was someone you had esteemed since college, a person who excelled in both business acumen and creative vision.

Yuki Tsukumo. She was influential in every sense, and you trusted that she would be able to manage the high pressure environment of a start-up fashion house and transform it into an iconic brand, a household name that would one day rival Chanel and Miu Miu. 

You may have succeeded in replacing Akemi. You may have shown her that her position in the workforce was easily replaceable, but her role as your friend still left a lingering, repugnant mark that proved far more difficult to erase. This underlying sentiment could explain the unreasonable anger festering in your heart—a visceral reaction born from feelings of backstabbing betrayal. 

It was hard enough for you to travel all the way to Osaka with a broken heart, but it became much more agonizing to watch your own son run up to Akemi like she was his mother. It was a goddamn slap to your face, indeed, to see that your ex-husband had already chosen a woman to have his happy, little family with. That he wanted to be a good man and be everything you wished for in a husband for her. 

As they say, nothing hurts more than building a man for another woman. 

And honestly? You cried so much on the way home that you became numb. Now, you were just trying to get over it. You were trying to bury the searing pain in order to forget the betrayal you felt. It was all too much for a person to handle and it wasn’t like you hadn’t gone through the same old shit before. Wasn’t it worse before with Satoru actually cheating and all? He technically wasn’t crossing any lines here, so it shouldn’t hurt you. It shouldn’t. You had been here before. If you had managed to get through such an awful time as his previous wife, his relationship with Akemi shouldn’t be too hard to accept. No, you weren’t trying to lowball your pain, but it was better to be an optimist in this situation than be a suicidal, self-destructive person. You had a business to run and a child to raise. You had to be strong. 

Or at least, that was what you told yourself. That was what you had been telling yourself over and over, each time you got up from bed forcing yourself to have a false positive mindset. In fact, that was also why you had to take this extended break because you had to have your peace of mind. You had to have some form of release to remember why you needed to stay alive and keep yourself going.

Not just for Sachiro’s sake, but also for your own. 

Your safe haven for now was at the horse ranch, where the tranquility of riding and the beauty of nature provided the perfect ambiance for reflection. How long has it been since your last visit to Willow? Your father had been joking that you shouldn’t be leaving a beautiful, white Friesian horse unattended for years, especially not for the expensive price he paid her for. True enough, because the moment you saw the mare again, you almost forgot how majestic she was for her breed. Willow was a completely docile and graceful horse, so alike to you in many ways. However, one thing that was unlike you, was that she lived in peace, existing solely for herself and not for anyone else.

If only you could be like her. 

As you reached out to stroke your rare-breed horse, a new and unfamiliar stallion in the stable caught your eye. To think of it, your family shared this equestrian estate with the Gojou family. This realization meant that the strikingly elegant and tall gray horse in the adjacent stall belonged to none other than Satoru.

“It’s a Thoroughbred,” the equine caretaker informed while guiding your horse out of the stable, “Mr. Satoru got him recently and named him Six.” 

A gray Thoroughbred, renowned as the most expensive horse breeds out there. It could fetch a price as high as $70 million, and of course, Satoru was the perfect owner for such a prestigious horse. The stallion embodied his essence completely—its color, its build, its rarity. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but find his naming convention by number a bit odd. His previous black stallion was named Eight. This time around, it was Six. Couldn’t he be more imaginative?

“He’s beautiful,” you mumbled, nonetheless, in awe with the regality of the horse. 

“He’s a good boy, too,” added the enthusiastic horsekeeper in a thick country accent, “Mr. Satoru was here yesterday and played polo while riding him. They were perfectly in sync even if it was his first time riding him.”

Of course, he would play polo. That was one of his favorite recreational sports. The burning question at hand was, who was with him during his visit? Because if the caretaker mentioned Akemi, you would certainly lose it. This was your private space with him. This estate was a place that none of his other women had access to, not even Sera. This was a location filled with memories from your childhood. For him to bring another woman here would be crossing the damn line. 

“Did he bring anyone with him?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you dusted off your boots. 

The caretaker denied. “No, he was alone. He just came to play polo and check the horses he recently bought.” 

Oh… “He bought more than one?” 

Did he seriously get Akemi her own horse? Your heart was racing at the thought, but the caretaker led you to the stable near the exit to show you the other horse than your ex-husband had purchased. It was a brown Shetland pony. 

“He got a fully trained Shetland for your son,” the horsekeeper proudly declared, showcasing the pony as if he had been instructed to do so in anticipation of your visit. It was obvious that Gojou had already briefed him on introducing Sachiro’s new pony to you because he knew you would be asking about it. “His name is Elmo. He is kid-safe and very friendly.”

Frankly, you wanted to sigh in relief, but at the same time, it warmed your heart to know that Satoru got his son his own horse at such a young age. You could already sense him planning to make Sachiro take equestrian classes when he gets older, and probably join him on his horseback riding sessions, too. You could imagine just how perfect it would be to see the father and son bonding here, racing together, playing polo together… yet it would not be you who would be watching them on the side.  

This future he was setting up with his son would be an experience he would share with Akemi. 

There was no you in that vision anymore. 

The caretaker likely questioned your sanity when he noticed the bitter smile on your face as you mounted your mare. He might have even doubted whether you were sane enough to ride alone, without a guide, particularly through the woods since Willow had not been ridden for some time now. However, you had done it countless times before and were quite familiar with the trail, and so you dismissed his offer to lead you and assured him confidently that you knew your way back.

You needed this solitude. You craved this moment of peace, alone with your thoughts and surrounded by nature, to reflect on the ceaseless torture of your life. It was just never-ending, squeezing every drop of happiness out of your system to make sure that you would only live to suffer. You really thought you had your happy ending with someone else? You actually believed you had found the perfect man to be your actual husband? 

Well, unfortunately for you, Toji was not the one. 

At first, your mind flew to Toji as you went on to the trail, allowing the mare to continue trotting as you held the reins to control her. You remembered Toji’s text that morning, asking you for the hundredth time if he could meet with you. He likely wanted to apologize in person, but you doubted he would change his mind and take back the things he said. Because they were true. He could never fill the void left by his deceased wife by being with another empty soul. It was painfully, unmistakably true. You were better off dead if that was the case, because even if you did end up marrying him, you would never be regarded as the person he loved the most. After all, your role in this world seemed to always be the second option. You were never the first in other people’s books. Not with your ex-husband. Not even with your family, especially with Gen around. You were meant to be a bystander, watching others live their perfect lives while you were forced to be in your misery. Someone like Toji would not have a guaranteed blissful marriage with you and you had to spare him from that. You had to draw the line and step back from this charade that you were playing with him, knowing that you were never the right person to be with him, so at some point, you had to accept his drunken words. They came from a place of truth, and that truth would set the both of you free. 

Even it hurt. Even if it fucking hurt to hear his words. You couldn’t deny them. 

You could easily forgive him, but his words might take a while for you to forget because even thinking about it now was bringing a wave of pain into your chest. You didn’t even notice that you were losing control on Willow’s reins by the time you entered further into the woods, bouncing on the saddle as you galloped along the challenging path. With the speed you were riding right now, inexperienced riders would certainly find it unsafe and scary. But for you? It was just what you needed. The breeze of fresh air, the thrill of riding alone, the peaceful sound of nature—you could die there and be at your happiest. 

Maybe that was where you had to be; to disappear and leave them all behind. Wouldn’t that be best for everyone? If you were to vanish, they could finally be free. Your presence, even from the beginning, was a burden for everyone—for your dad, Gen, Satoru, Toji, and even Akemi. The people you trusted the most would be the same people who would secretly celebrate your demise. So, what else was hindering you from taking matters into your own hands and ending it all yourself?

“Giddy up!” 

Was it Sachiro? Definitely. But now he had his father, and he was likely starting to see Akemi as a mother figure as well. Your role as his beloved mama could be easily replaced if you were to leave him now. It wouldn’t hurt him as much that way. Three years with Sachiro seemed sufficient enough, and he was at an age where he could grow up alongside his father. In this short span, he would have lasting memories with you, yet not enough to deeply grieve your absence. He was a young child, surrounded by people who would offer the whole world to him. At least, for that, you were eternally grateful. It brought you comfort knowing that your son would have support after you were gone, and that he would find a mother figure in Akemi. Given the brief time he spent with you and the rest of his life with her as his stepmother, Sachiro would likely come to love and accept Akemi as his own mother. This was the best outcome you could hope for.

My child, my son, my baby… please don’t get mad at mommy. 

Tears were gushing out of your eyes and you hadn’t even realized it until they started blurring your vision. You were far too lost in your own thoughts, unaware that you were now in an unfamiliar and seemingly dangerous part of the trail. The path was getting a little bit too steep and poor Willow was clearly stressed at your inconsiderate handling. There were multiple obstacles on your rocky terrain and you weren’t as steady and controlled as you wanted to be because the horse wasn’t comfortable navigating such a difficult path with the pace you were forcing her to.  

“Ah!” 

Your attempt to balance was interrupted by Willow’s loud neigh, signaling her distress before she bolted into a full rampage. She was sprinting at an estimated speed of 20 miles per hour. Not even a skilled rider like Satoru himself would be cantering that fast on unfamiliar terrain and an unfit horse. But you, you clearly had a death wish, because instead of fearing for your own life, you were far more concerned at the thought of how dreamy Satoru and Akemi’s wedding would look like after your demise. They would definitely make Sachiro their ringbearer. Suguru would be the best man. Shoko, the maid of honor. People on the internet would praise them for being an attractive couple. They would anticipate their beautiful kids together, living in the same mansion he bought as a gift to you. He would kiss her good night, tell her loves her, and offer the whole world to her. They would exchange vows and promise themselves a lifelong commitment to be by each other’s side through sickness and in health, and only in death would they part. 

“Willow!” 

You let out a shriek as the reins slipped from your grasp, causing you to tumble off the saddle and crash onto the ground. The impact was first felt in your elbow, and a sharp, searing pain then radiated through your body. There you lay, sprawled on the dirt, helplessly watching Willow galloping out of control up the mountain, and then tragically plummeting off a cliff.

“Nooo! Willow, no!”

Utter hysteria overtook you. You sobbed uncontrollably, unable to determine which pain was more agonizing—the clearly broken elbow, the loss of the horse you had inadvertently led to its death, or the heart-wrenching reality of Satoru starting a family with someone else.

You were pathetic. You were such a pathetic excuse of a human being and this was why you deserve hell. 

“Willow!” 

Toji couldn’t love you. Your own son didn’t want to be around you. Satoru had gotten over you. And now, you drove a poor innocent horse to its demise because of your recklessness! 

You were crying hysterically as you held your pained elbow, crawling by the cliff’s edge as you screamed for your horse’s name, but in the end, there was nothing you could do. You could only apologize to poor Willow for having such an irresponsible owner, and now she was dead because of you. 16 years of her life, she was able to live in peace until you came and ruined it all for her. It should have been you. You were the one who should have jumped off a cliff. You should atone for your sins and follow her, but you were too weak, far to overcome by the excruciating pain on your hip and your broken elbow to move or do anything at all. 

That was, until your mind had completely shut down, leaving you as a mere body to be discarded alone in the darkness of the woods. You hoped that no one else would find you soon. 

— —

“A-Angina?” Satoru’s eyes went wide. His whole world stopped before him.

“Yes. She was diagnosed with stable angina,” Dr. Mori confirmed, much to your husband’s horror. “But there is another factor that requires her to have more rest. You need to take good care of your wife, Mr. Gojou. Her body needs a lot of nutrients so she can carry safely.”

He could barely process the whole thing in his head because the news kept coming one after another, leaving him in a befuddled state with a flood of unanswered questions running through his mind. “What do you mean…?”

“Your wife is seven weeks pregnant.”

…

…

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

“Are you out of your mind?!” 

You could barely pry your eyes open, but when you finally managed to, you were met with the concerned expression on Gen’s face. The harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent confirmed to you that you were in the ER, likely an hour or two after the incident in the woods. The memory of the trail quickly flooded your thoughts, and a pang of sorrow gripped your heart as you recalled Willow's final moments before she fell off the cliff. The poor horse had lost her life, while the one responsible for her tragic death remained alive, save for the bandage wrapped around your arm.

“Why did you ride into the woods alone?” Gen persisted with her barrage of questions, standing by your bed as you attempted to sit up. “Are you suicidal or what? Riding your horse in a dangerous trail like that—”

“You know what, maybe I should have just died back there!” you snapped, wincing from the pain in your elbow. Her choice of words struck a nerve in you. “Maybe I’d prefer that over sitting here, listening to your sanctimonious lecture like you're so perfect yourself! How obnoxious.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t be riding so recklessly and causing alarm to everyone else!” 

“Did I literally ask you to come save me?!” 

The atmosphere around you two just became even more uninviting, with discomfiting silence seeping through as you and Gen were engaged in a sharp glaring contest. Your father stood behind her, clearing his throat to cut the tension. 

“That’s enough, Gen.” Your dad placed a hand on her shoulder, and although she wanted to protest, she knew better not to keep stirring the pot after receiving his strict gaze. “Let’s just be thankful your sister is safe. There’s no need to be so overwhelming.” 

You rolled your eyes, drawing in a deep breath before you looked away from them. None of them would ever understand your pain unless they were in your position. They didn’t carry the same baggage as you, so they would never fully comprehend the weight of your suffering. You had already dealt with similar pain on your own before and that was why you didn’t need any of them to come to your aid, meddling with your life like they knew exactly what you were going through. “Just leave me alone, you guys. I wanna rest.”

Since when did your relationship with your sister start to get rough? It wasn’t really like this before, but ever since she started to become too overprotective over you and your choices in life, particularly choices linked to Satoru, Gen had started to become insufferable in your eyes. She was acting too much like a mother; controlling your decisions, lecturing you about your personal relationships, being too involved with your private life. There, ever since that, you started to distance yourself from her, and she didn’t like that. Her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to cease acting like this mature, picture perfect big sister to you. 

With that said, Gen would have normally gotten annoyed when you asked them to leave you alone, but this time around, she seemed to have reflected on her insensitivity a lot better with your father around. “I’m sorry, okay?” she said, her tone still tinged with stubbornness, “I just got worried. I don’t know what’s gotten into you to put yourself in danger like that, but… please, Y/N. If you’re going through something, you can always speak to us. Dad and I, we’re here for you.” 

To be fair, if you had to put yourself in their shoes, it really would have been alarming to know that your sister almost died. This wasn’t the first time you were at death’s door either, so they were probably scared shitless when they were informed of your situation. Your absolutely reckless situation. You didn’t mean to cause a scene, neither did you intend to bother them on their already busy schedules. You just had so many things in your mind while you were horseback riding, too engulfed by your own sorrow that you didn’t realize the repercussions after the incident had already taken place. 

“I’m sorry, too.” Your voice softened with humility. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys. It was just really an accident.” 

Of course, Gen suspected it was more than just an accident. Your dad did, too. It was obvious on their forlorn faces that they were worried for your mental and emotional well-being, but none of them dared address the elephant in the room. It seemed they didn’t need to, anyway, since one of the many reasons that contributed to your earlier breakdown took a peek from behind the curtains, clearing his throat and sending you a look of sympathy. 

“Y/N?” Toji looked at your father and your sister for approval before stepping further inside your space in the ER. “Can I talk to you?” 

There was no escaping Toji’s presence anymore. No more hiding, no more avoiding. You knew you had to have this talk with him no matter how many times you ignored his flood of texts and calls. While this may have struck as an opportune moment for him to speak to you in person, facing the painful truth of your situation weighed heavily on you. Besides, hadn’t the irony presented itself right there? If Satoru were the one trying to speak to you, even if he was the father of your child, Gen would have been quick to lash out at him. Yet with Toji, even with the general knowledge of what had transpired between you two, your sister still showed no hostility towards him, allowing him to approach you freely and without interference.

But then again, Toji was far from being a cheating, manipulative scumbag who not only caused you suffering but also sought to selfishly acquire your family’s company. Therefore, he wasn’t considered a threat. 

Alright, then. Since Toji genuinely wasn’t a threat to your current emotional state, you agreed to talk with him. It was the first time you had seen the not-so-confident side of Toji Zen’in. He was typically a man of virtue, often holding his chin high, offering the best advice, and having insightful perspectives on life. However, it seemed you had shattered that confidence in him. You could sense his cautiousness around you as he stood by your side in the ER, assisting you with your needs, and eventually agreeing to your request to walk you to the rooftop garden.

“I don’t really think there’s anything else we should talk about.” It was you who first broke the silence, staring at the cityscape while sitting on a wheelchair. The calm breeze allowed your mind to seize the moment with a peaceful mind. “I already heard what you had to say.” 

Toji found it better to kneel down in front of you to meet your eyes as he spoke to you in a sincere and earnest voice. “Y/N, I was drunk when I said all that shit back there. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean to hurt you with my callous words, and I feel awful that you had to hear them from me. You trusted me. You sought comfort from me. I wasn’t thinking like a normal person when those things came out of my mouth.” 

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t true,” you replied with quiet resignation. It was the acceptance in your face that seemed to have caused Toji’s heartbroken gaze. “It’s okay, Toji. I think, when you said all those things, it actually made me realize some aspects of our relationship that had to be addressed. It made me more self-aware and it opened my eyes on the bigger picture.” You touched his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as you mustered the courage to speak your next words. “It’s for the best that we part ways. It’s not fair to me to become a placeholder for your wife the same way it isn’t fair to you to have to deal with my ex-husband always being present in my life. Our unresolved feelings won’t really be resolved by being together.”

“Y/N…” Toji’s voice hinted at his vulnerable emotions, though he restrained himself from showing it fully. And you didn’t miss the apologetic look he had presented to you. “Despite all that, I hope you know that I’d been true to you. I do love you and will always love you. I’ll always be someone you can rely on, someone you can seek comfort from, someone you can turn to when you need help…” 

Damn it. Why did he have to make it sound like an actual break up? Now, it tugged at your heartstrings and hit you in a place it shouldn’t have. You weren’t good at these things and it certainly was your first time dealing with such a mature and mutual separation, but wasn’t that a good thing? No further drama was to happen, leaving a stark comparison to your separation with Satoru. While this one didn’t hurt as much, it still brought a hollow feeling in your chest. 

“Same for me,” you agreed, displaying a weak smile. “You’ll always have a spot in my heart, Toji. I’ll always be grateful that I met you.” 

Sometimes, two people didn’t need to be together to love each other. Friendships could still thrive between ex-lovers, and that was why closure was so important. It not only closed a certain chapter of your life in a healthy way, but also allowed you to heal and open yourselves to a new beginning without any bitterness left behind. 

It shouldn’t be considered bad to remain friends with an ex. It also shouldn’t be bad to give a parting kiss from said ex, right? 

You weren’t the one who initiated it, after all. It was Toji’s hand that gently stroked your cheek. It was him, who leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours. It wasn’t forceful, but neither was it passionate. It was simply a tender kiss of goodbye, feeling the warmth of each other’s lips for one last time before you two would transition from being lovers to friends. What you didn’t understand from this supposedly bittersweet moment was the faint tears that somehow managed to escape your eyes, perhaps because you knew that once Toji left, you would be alone again. 

You had no one by your side to love you, cherish you, choose you, and offer their entire world for you. You were meant to live this cruel world all by yourself. 

As he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Please learn to love yourself before anyone else, Y/N. It’s what you need and what you deserve.” 

That night, while you were getting your MRI, your mind kept flying to the possibilities of a future without having anyone by your side. Any normal person would tell you to focus on loving yourself first, as Toji did recently, focusing on what matters most, and ridding yourself of the toxic things that hinder you from moving forward with your life. Things weren’t as easy as they sounded. Besides, it was different being on the receiving end of the said advice. How could you do those things when the primary cause of your pain was someone whose life would always be linked to yours forever? 

Based on the result of your MRI scans, your doctor recommended that you undergo elbow arthroscopy. It was just a minimally invasive procedure compared to open surgeries, but considering how much of an overthinker your dad was when it came to your health, he insisted on your confinement at the hospital until you had been completely cleared of any other issues. He really placed a big deal on your condition and emphasized to the doctors that they make sure nothing was missed. It could have been worse; you could have had a broken hip or a fractured leg, but at least you only had a dislocated elbow. Nothing that couldn’t be easily corrected by surgery and physical therapy. 

The decision was for you to stay there for two days, and on your first night, a crying Sachiro ran inside your private room because his ‘mama has a boo boo’. Gen said he was picked up from daycare and dropped off at the hospital because the poor kid was looking for you. She didn’t mention who dropped your son off to you, but you could tell it was Satoru. You could sense it by the glances she exchanged with Ian after you asked how Sachiro came to the hospital. 

So, in that case, Satoru must have found out about your little incident and didn’t care enough to see you. Did he not even have an ounce of care anymore? Or was it Gen who stopped him from seeing you? 

“Did you ask him to leave?” you confronted Gen in a mellow voice, rubbing Sachiro’s back as he snuggled into you on the hospital bed. 

Your sister knew exactly which man you were referring to, and she denied having done such. “No, I didn’t even talk to him. He took Sachi here and left.” 

You didn’t know why you looked at Ian to confirm the truth of his wife’s words, but hurt yourself upon seeing his bowed head. It was an apologetic expression that did signify your ex-husband’s blatant act of ignoring you. To hear about your near-death experience and simply leave without even checking on you should be your wake-up call. He didn’t care anymore. No, why should he care? He had Akemi. His only responsibility with you was to be a supportive father to your son. 

Why did the pain in your heart feel far more agonizing than the discomfort on your dislocated elbow?

If anything, you wanted to ask for the strongest anesthetic they could offer to numb your pain. You were desperate to have anything even if they had to put you into an eternal sleep. That would have been much easier to deal with than feeling disregarded by a person you supposedly had moved on from. Satoru did nothing wrong here. It was you who had that expectation, only to disappoint yourself when things didn’t happen as you imagined. 

And just when you thought things would get better as long as you ignore your torturous thoughts, it didn’t help that being in the hospital kept giving you flashbacks of the time you were in this exact room, hearing Satoru crying helplessly from outside and begging for you not to terminate his child. What comes around certainly goes back around. Or worse. 

Such depressive thoughts had you occupied throughout your stay there, and your unusual placidness alarmed the nurses instead of being assured that you were doing well. You heard your doctors telling your father and sister to always keep a close eye on you as the incident may not seem serious, but the trauma would undoubtedly be present somewhere and somehow. Were they aware? Of your intrusive thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself? 

The elbow arthroscopy was successful and by the second day, you were free to go home. You were placed on certain medications to help with the swelling and the pain, and while you were walking around the hospital with a listless mind, you happened to pass by the Obstetrics and Gynecology Department. What a deja vu it was, remembering the time you had seen Satoru there waiting outside for Sera. Back then, it was one of the climactic events in your life that led to a domino effect on the downfall of your marriage. Not that you were reminiscing, but it did remind you that Shoko was probably there in her consultation room and it would be nice to talk to a friend who had witnessed the wild history of your marriage. 

You asked Gen to wait for you in the car while you headed to Ieiri’s consultation room, assuring your visibly worried sister that everything was fine and that you wouldn’t take too long. You had to give Gen some slack, because despite the strains in your relationship as sisters, she was still always there for you. At the end of the day, she was family. 

Shoko, on the other hand, was the next closest thing you had for a sister. She welcomed you inside her room in a very worried embrace, telling you that if she had known about the incident, she would have gone straight to your hospital room on your first day, but you told her not to worry about it and understood that being in the medical field already had her schedule tight. 

“Well, I guess it’s perfect that you’re here, too.” Shoko smiled warmly, sitting behind her desk. She had exciting news to offer, it seemed. “I just wanna say that… of course, I’ll still be sending you a formal invitation and everything. I actually have a few gifts along with it.” 

You shared her enthusiasm. “Hmm… is it what I think it is?” 

The wedding. The most eventful day of her life would be arriving soon and you were the first one to hear it. 

“Yes!” she answered, with the utmost joy coruscating from her eyes. “I want you to be my maid-of-honor, Y/N. I’d be extremely happy if you could make it. I know you just got into an accident, but it won’t be until two months, so—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You eased her worries by chuckling. “I’m completely fine, of course I’ll be there. I can’t miss it.” 

Shoko was grateful to hear your answer, relieved even, because by asking you to be her maid-of-honor, you should already understand who Suguru’s best man would be. That was a touchy subject for you and she was keenly aware of it, but you didn’t want her to worry. You didn’t want your relationship with your ex-husband to have a negative impact on the relationship of all the other people surrounding the both of you. It was already bad enough that Shoko and Suguru almost called off their engagement after they fought over their morals as you and Satoru’s friends, and you were glad that they somehow made things work. They somehow set aside their disagreements and ultimately chose their love over anything else. 

Their love was beautiful, and while that wasn’t something you could easily have, it was something you deeply admired. 

“Where are you guys planning to hold your wedding?” you asked, steering the conversation away from any mention of your ex-husband. “Here or overseas?” 

She delighted you with her answer, sounding as if this was the perfect wedding she had always dreamed of. “It’s an intimate wedding on the lakeside. Suguru chose the location, actually, since he wanted our wedding to have the view of Mount Fuji.” 

“That’s perfect,” you said with wide eyes. “Lake Kawaguchiko?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly where it’d be.” She smiled with her eyes. “You know this resort… Hoshinoya Fuji? We already booked the place, and we have a luxury cabin for friends and families to stay at.” 

You had been there before, but you were too young to remember. All you knew was that it was a high-end resort that had the best panoramic views of Lake Kawaguchiko and Mount Fuji. The hotel owner was also a close friend of the Gojou family, so that was probably why they were able to rent the entire place for the wedding, especially at a peak season for tourists. 

Since the fall season was arriving, you could only imagine the stunning views of the autumn foliage there. It offered the perfect weather, too. It wouldn’t be as hot as summer, nor as freezing as winter. Surely, it would be nice to do some nature walks and stargazing, maybe ride a boat or bathe in a hot spring. You looked forward to it, except for the fact that your ex-husband would also be there. 

And just what a perfect timing it was, because as Shoko sorted through her patients' medical records above her desk, a file slipped from the pile, revealing the name of your very friend, Akemi. 

“Oh,” Shoko murmured apologetically as she retrieved the record, not wanting to ruin the mood of your conversation. “She, uh, came by a few days ago... with Gojou.”

You didn’t need to ask. You didn’t need to hear any further detail. Akemi’s visit likely revolved around her desire to conceive, as she wouldn’t have visited Shoko otherwise. Why? If it were simply to monitor her polycystic ovary, why did she choose Shoko instead of her own gynecologist? Thinking of how your ex-husband and best friend were attempting to start a family together left your heart shattered in unimaginable pieces, stirring up painful memories of your pathetic marriage with Satoru and reopening old wounds you thought had already healed from. Wasn’t it ironic that a couple of years ago, you were crying over the same situation with Sera? 

You couldn’t stand this feeling anymore. You thought you had already freed yourself from the pain of loving him, yet here you were suffering from the same heartbreak over and over and over again. Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, the ache in your chest too raw to confront just yet. 

“It’s funny.” Although you displayed an outward smile, the sadness in your voice reflected your otherwise inward thoughts. You didn’t know why you said that. You were just too… too emotional. Almost like you couldn’t breathe. “He was never this passionate with me. They seem so in love.” 

Ieiri’s eyes carried sisterly concern in them. “Y/N, it’s not really what you think.” 

Was it? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore. You certainly weren't there to hear it anymore, either. Satoru chose her, just like what you wanted for him to do. Just like what you asked him to do. He had moved on, he had found someone who would love him for who he was, he had chosen the woman he would share the rest of his future with. Call yourself ridiculous for even feeling hurt about it, because you had no right to be and you definitely chose this. Either you own up to it, or you cry about it for the rest of your life. 

Both choices had no happy endings. 

— —

When Satoru learned about your incident in the woods, he thought he was going to lose his mind. 

Was it out of love that he swiftly left the office in the middle of a meeting just to get to where you were? 

He still had to pick up Sachiro from daycare, and he felt bad telling his son on the way to the hospital that his mother was hurt. It actually gave Satoru a hard time explaining to the 3-year old that they had to go to the hospital because his mommy was there and that she had an unfortunate encounter while riding a horse. 

“Dada, is… is mama okay?” Sachiro pouted with wide, tearful eyes as he clung to his father’s hand. “Sachi wants to go to mama!” 

“She’ll be okay, Sachi.” Gojou carried his son and soothed him as they went inside the hospital, searching for you. “Mommy’s strong, remember?” 

Was it out of love that he wanted to be the person that brought your son to you when you most needed him? 

According to the nurse, your room was on the seventh floor, but when he got there, your room was empty. It was Ian who told him that you went up the rooftop garden to get some fresh air, insisting that if Satoru wanted to go and talk to you, that it was best to leave Sachiro with them. 

And so he did. He ran hastily, almost out of breath, until he reached the rooftop, scanning every face within the vicinity until his tired blue eyes finally landed on you. 

Satoru laughed in disbelief. He scoffed bitterly, with each breath full of disgust. The tips of his fingers felt cold, while his breathing grew thin and ragged. He could feel his stomach clenching at the humiliation of seeing you engaged in an intimate make-out session with Toji Zen’in. 

How sickeningly sweet. 

At that point, he was laughing at his own expense, ignoring the elderly lady who looked at him like he was a crazy person. He stood there frozen for a few minutes, watching you kiss another man before it finally woke him up from reality. 

It was out of love that he let you go. 

You see? This was where his attachment to you would lead him. It was pure and unreasonable selfishness, but he would gain nothing at all from even seeing you. He didn’t need to care for you at all, no. You had Toji. You seemed to be goddamn happy with your life with Toji. And what a romantic fucking moment that was, too. 

Satoru couldn’t think straight when he hurriedly left the hospital and got inside his car. He desperately wanted to forget the painful image of you locking lips with somebody else. How? How would he? Fuck! He was mad, mad at himself for choosing to come to your aid like he still had any role in your life. He was disgusted at himself for ignoring Akemi’s calls after promising her a movie date after work. He couldn’t believe he had her waiting all by herself in that cinema, waiting for him to come while he was stupidly running around the hospital to see his ex-wife. 

You chose Toji, then you better be happy. Satoru hoped you were happy, and that wish came from a place of genuineness. He genuinely hoped the best for you. Because for him, it was time to fully let go and stop himself from trying to be the superhero whenever you were in danger. You weren’t his wife anymore. 

So, was it out of love that he headed straight to Akemi’s apartment that night with a bouquet of red roses? 

She didn’t know what happened nor was she given the full detail as to why he unintentionally stood her up on their date night. He had just briefly explained that he had to drop Sachiro off to you at a hospital because you got into a small accident. Akemi, being your friend, got immediately worried upon hearing the situation and asked if Satoru was able to check on you. 

He said no. He said Toji was there. He said he left as soon as dropped Sachiro off. 

And in an effort to apologize for not paying attention to the current woman in his life, Satoru pulled Akemi in a tight embrace. He held her in her arms, drunk from the sweet and citrusy notes of her perfume, before pulling away to kiss her. He kissed her with the same passion as you did with Toji. Perhaps even more, even better. He completely devoured her lips, with a hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. The taste of her tongue was sweet like strawberries, while her lips were red like cherries. 

This woman was all he needed. 

But was this love? He didn’t know. It was too soon to tell, too early to answer, too hasty to even consider. 

— —

The current situation you were in reminded you of your younger self after your mother had died. It was the same before; you never left the house, often locking yourself in your room, shutting yourself off from the world, and drowning yourself with the pain and loneliness of losing somebody important. 

Sure, no one really died for you to be acting this way right now, but the feeling was still the same. Was this really a comeuppance to all of your wrongdoings before? But just how terrible were you of a person to be hit by this unbelievable truckload of sorrow? You might as well spur on the physical pains of your angina again if this torment continued. Otherwise, how else do you avoid it? 

You were being a terrible mother, too. You were too engrossed by your own misery that you couldn’t even properly take care of Sachiro. He didn’t deserve to have an incompetent and irresponsible mother like you. He deserves someone better, someone like Akemi, who not only has all the motherly traits a woman should have, but also the physical and mental capacity of being a true, strong woman. 

Sachiro was bound to have that, anyway. Now that his father was planning his lifelong journey with another woman, and now that he was trying to build a happy family with her, you were no longer needed in the picture. There was no need for you. 

How many more times would you tell that you have accepted it? 

Because, god be damned, you knew you couldn’t. You knew you were lying to yourself when you said everything was fine, lying to Satoru when you told him you didn’t need him in your life anymore, lying to Toji for telling him that you wanted to marry him, lying to Akemi that you didn’t care if she was seeing your ex-husband, and lying to Sachiro when you promised to him that you would never leave his side. You were a liar. A terrible liar. A pitiful, terrible liar. 

How would you tell the universe that you couldn’t take it anymore? That, for once, you wanted to be showered by happiness and all the good things in life? 

Sera was right. Not everyone could have it all. There were people of lesser fortune who weren’t blessed to live a lavish life like you, yet still work hard to achieve what they want. Why couldn't you achieve your own happiness without blaming it on the universe? If this was simply a lesson, then weren’t you the top student at this rate? 

God. God, help me. You really didn’t know how to deal with this life anymore. You weren’t sure how to proceed. You couldn’t rely on anything other than the bottle of alcohol on your hand—what was once full was now half empty after you took another swig. This was your second bottle already, wasn’t it? Or third? 

You got up from the floor and failed to walk in a straight line as you made your way towards the balcony. Your steps were unsteady, wavering like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. With each attempt to move forward, your body swayed from side to side, struggling to maintain balance. You almost lost grip of the bottle you were holding. No, it did, in fact, slip from your hand and ended up crashing into the floor. Shards of glass lay across the ground, ready to pierce the soles of your feet to mirror the same physical pain your heart was experiencing. 

“Stop,” you muttered under your breath, begging for your chest to stop hurting. But it only worsened, and your antidote to that was to wash it down with even more liquor. No matter how expensive it was, you didn’t even like the taste of alcohol. You hated the sting on your throat whenever you drank it. You despised the bitterness it left on your tongue. However, it did great at numbing your emotions. 

It just felt wrong in many ways that you were seeing Satoru’s face whenever you closed your eyes. You could see his smile, his loving eyes, his beautiful lips. You missed his embrace, his kiss, his touch. You missed hearing his I love you’s. Him. You missed him. You yearned for him. Three goddamn years, and you were still undeniably in love with him. 

“Satoru…” you cried, sitting on the floor. Each breath made it harder and harder for you to catch as tears continued to stream down your face. You were tired of pretending, denying that you no longer had feelings for him when you knew deep down that you would always choose him. “S-Satoru… come back to me, please.”

Was it him coming inside your room? Or was it your vision making a fool out of you? 

“Baby, what are you doing?” Satoru’s expression was engulfed in immense worry as he knelt down and reached out to you, touching your cheek and looking at your eyes somberly. “Don’t do this yourself, Y/N.” 

Your head hung low, your gaze unfocused and glazed, as you fought to keep your eyes on the path ahead. You had to reach him. You wanted to touch him, hug him. And despite your best efforts, your movements were disjointed and erratic, betraying the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Gen had to use force just to be able to snatch the bottle away from you, forcing you to wake up to the reality where Satoru no longer existed to be there for you. It was her who came rushing inside your room in the middle of the night. The bottle of liquor was now spilled all over the floor. The same could be described with your emotions. “Get it together. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately!”

You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You were in delirium after having dealt with all the terrible things the world had thrown at you. If you couldn’t drown yourself in alcohol, how else would you have been able to numb the pain? How else would you have been able to… forget? 

As much as your sister tried to hide the obvious sympathy in her voice, even your drunken mind could recognize it. “We all know you’re going down the depression lane again, but never to this extent.” Her voice cracked in the middle of her sentence, cradling you into her arms as a tear fell down her face. The Gen who would usually lecture you, was now holding you in her arms as her only baby sister. “Stop this, Y/N, please. Don’t ruin your life the second time. I-It’s hurting me. It’s hurting Dad. Do you… do you realize what Sachiro’s gonna think of you when he sees you like this?” 

“Gen…” Muffled sobs unwillingly came out of you, leaving you with such excruciating pain in the chest, so much so that it didn’t even feel like you had done surgery to fix your (quite literally) broken heart.  “I w-want him back,” you continued to cry, “I want my husband back. I want to be with h-him, Gen.” 

“Y/N.”

“Where’s S-Satoru…? D-Did he leave? Please take me to him—”

“Y/N, listen to me.” She gently cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at her pained eyes. “You’re intoxicated. He was never here, and he’d never come for you. You have to let it go.” 

“But—”

“He’s not good for you. He never will be.”

— —

It had been two weeks since Satoru last heard about you. Miwa was the one who updated him that you had already returned to your family’s mansion, letting him know that you were okay and that you were recovering well. Frankly, Satoru was starting to get annoyed at the fact that his secretary was still giving him updates about you. What did he care? He wasn’t your husband anymore. 

Besides, Toji was probably visiting you every day, so why did he have to worry about you? If there was anyone he should be worried about, it was Akemi. She had been experiencing terrible pelvic cramps lately, which needed to be given serious attention, but you would never see her being dramatic about it. The only thing she needed was for Gojou to accompany her visits to the OB-GYN, and even then, she never showered herself in self-pity. She carried herself like an independent woman, and that was exactly what Satoru needed in his life right now. 

He had a son to raise. He had a company to run. It wasn’t the perfect time to commit himself to someone lawfully. Heck, he didn’t even believe in marriage anymore. He realized that two people could still love each other without getting married. As long as Akemi didn’t pressure him about such things, he was fine with having her around. She didn’t ask for anything much, anyway. 

As for you, well… 

“What are you planning with that mansion you gifted Y/N?” asked Nanami, seated on the couch inside Satoru’s office, casually reading a newspaper. “Do you even remember that?” 

He certainly did. “What about it?” he questioned, idly toying with a pen on his desk. “It’s her property now. She can sell it if she wants.”

Better yet, you should let Sachiro inherit the property someday. His son was already set for a life of privilege having wealthy parents on both sides, but wouldn’t the mansion be a substantial addition to his assets in the future? Satoru couldn’t help but envision the kind of man his son would grow up into. He hoped Sachiro would not inherit his father's immaturity and pettiness but would embody the kindness and altruism of his mother. From a business perspective, however, Satoru planned to groom his son to be a leader, as he was the sole heir to the Gojou Group. Additionally, he would also inherit half of Creston and the entirety of Hearte. No wonder Sachiro was recently listed as the wealthiest kid by Forbes Japan. He even beat Megumi Zen’in from the list even though the teenager was the heir of the Zen’in business empire. 

These were the thoughts that should consume Satoru—the future, not the past. His kid, not you. And he was right about doing so, because when he came home to his penthouse, he was told that he had a visitor. 

A visitor on a Wednesday afternoon? 

Your brother-in-law, the esteemed prosecutor who sent his evil stepmother to jail, appeared on his front door, carrying Sachiro in his arms. It was hard to tell what type of emotions were visible on the man’s face, but he definitely didn’t bring any good news. 

“Ian?” Satoru promptly made way for the man to come in, ushering him into the penthouse and allowing him to set Sachiro down. The young boy was quick to dart off to his playroom, leaving the two men in an uncomfortable silence. “What’s going on? Weekends are usually my schedule with Sachi.” 

Ian cleared his throat, a hand on his pocket. “Do you mind looking after Sachiro for the time being?” 

By saying ‘for the time being’, it seemed like Ian wanted to actually say ‘until further notice.’ But that confused Satoru even more, because what was happening for the man to come here and ask him to let Sachiro stay beyond the agreed schedule with his father? He couldn’t read through Ian’s expression and it was making him uneasy. 

“I can, but… why so suddenly?” Gojou asked, glancing at his oblivious son. 

“It’s Y/N’s idea, Gen doesn’t know about it.” Ian released an awkward chuckle. “You know how my wife is.” 

Gen would absolutely hate it, Satoru was aware for sure. Though the questions lingered in his mind. “Why would Y/N want Sachi to stay with me? Where’s she?” 

Was it him or was Ian having a hard time explaining the situation? It felt like he was walking on eggshells, deciding between what had to be said and what shouldn’t. He was careful with his words when he spoke again, “Y/N flew to Monaco this morning and will be back when she’s ready. She says Sachiro should spend all of his time with you while she’s gone.” 

Monaco? Why would you be there?

Confusion bathed Satoru’s eyes. “Is it for a fashion event or something?” 

“No, she’s just…” Ian struggled heavily. “Well, to sum it up, she has to go there to sort some things out. It’s a personal thing, but she really needs this time for herself and we think it’s the best for her right now. I don’t know how long she’s gonna stay there or when she’ll be back, but I hope you understand what I’m trying to say here.”

No, he didn’t. Satoru found it difficult to fathom his ex-brother-in-law’s words, seeing as he had no general idea of what was truly going on. But if you were flying to Monaco, surely Toji wouldn’t allow you to go there all by yourself? 

Ahh. It made sense now. I see what’s happening here. 

Satoru’s lips curled into sarcasm. You would be vacationing with the love of your life. Is that what it was? Planning your halted wedding? Choosing wedding gowns? Looking for venues? There was no way you would be flying to Monaco alone, especially without Sachiro around when you two had been inseparable since his birth. 

“What kinda mother is she?” Satoru muttered in disgust, unaware that Ian had overheard him. But Ian had heard loud and clear. How could you leave your son behind like this? Couldn’t you face your ex-husband to discuss it, instead of just dropping Sachiro off as if he were some unwanted toy?

“Hold it right there,” Ian interjected, becoming defensive at the accusation. “You have no idea what she’s going through.”

How would he know? No one was telling him shit. No one was giving him details, so did they expect him to understand things and accept them as they were? Did they do the same thing to Satoru when he was at the verge of losing his sanity asking everyone for forgiveness over and over? 

“I've never taken sides between you two, Satoru, you know that,” Ian continued, trying to maintain a calm demeanor and speak with clear judgment, “But one thing I’m not gonna let you do is call Y/N a bad mother.”

Satoru’s chest tightened at Ian's words, a mixture of guilt and frustration bubbling up inside him. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken out of turn, but the pain and resentment were too raw to contain. It felt like you were abandoning him and your child, like you were off to a new chapter in your life again, and leaving everything behind. Perhaps this was his trauma from the New York thing crawling back at him, but it definitely reminded him of the day you had abandoned him. For three fucking years. How long would it take you to return now? 

Why do you keep doing this? He was sick of it. You kept running away instead of talking to him. He gets it, people change, circumstances change, but couldn’t you at least have the decency to talk to him about it? Was it wrong for him to wish you’d handled this differently? To wish that you’d talked to him, involved him in the decision-making process, instead of just making this unilateral decision and leaving him to pick up the pieces? 

Satoru took a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of Sachi,” he reassured, “I’ll take some time off work and have ‘Kemi help me out.” 

He looked back at Ian, his eyes pleading for further details, for answers, for some semblance of clarity in the midst of this emotional turmoil.

Yet none of it was given. 

And so, would it still be wrong to assume that he could now completely forget about you? That this opportunity to be with Sachiro would allow him a chance to share it with someone else? If you spent three years of your life playing house in New York with Toji, would it still be unfair for Satoru to do the same with Akemi? 

[cornerstoreclown]

Workshop Fun

Summary: This is a short one-shot (7021 words) where the Reader (female) has an established relationship with Art the Clown, and has been kiiiind of collaborating with him passively. Reader is wearing a dress for the sole purpose of easy access. Reader has a vulva and breasts. 

Contents: Biting, light spanking, ...phone... sex? Having an unknowing participant on the other line is the only way I can word it, light spanking, lots of making out, clothed sex, BDSM, Art being cruel, p in v penetration, finger sucking and light body worship

Author’s notes: Sorry what took me so long to do this, I’ve been sitting on this for years! Male version will be out in a few days. This is LIGHTLY proofread, so keep your expectations at a level where you won’t be surprised if there’s any mistakes. Also once again I am an Art the Clown front zipper truther for my clothed sex kink.

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You loved him.

Did he kill people? Yes. Did he sometimes allude to killing you as well? Absolutely. Has he acted on it yet? Not fully, but you could tell that sometimes he had that compulsion to go through with it, when he’d get that twinkle in his eye.

 Especially when you were up close and personal with him, your bodies merely inches apart, sometimes with him even holding a weapon in hand. He’s a wild animal. A force of evil locked away in the confines of a corporeal body made of flesh and bone.

And yet, all the same, you loved him. The way that his hands would travel across your flesh and explore the parts of you that you never let anyone else. Sometimes he’d leave bruises, other times scratches. Then there were the bite marks. Each intimate encounter would leave you in a different state of mess. He was the lover who was like a cat. One day he’d be here, gone the next. You couldn’t put a thumb on the patterns.

The waits were long, but you’re loyal, and you’re patient. You didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. You’d wait until the ends of the earth for him. Sometimes during the months that he wasn’t here, you’d dream of him. All of these little fantasies you’d have in your head would sometimes come to visit you behind your closed lids, where reality had no limitations. It would make the ache feel less. Every time that he’d come back, you made sure to find him as quickly as possible the second you heard whisperings pertaining to sightings of him, or any kind of crime scene that felt like it had his signature on it. Sometimes he’d find you first.

Art wasn’t someone who was very materialistic. And money meant next to nothing to Art—the personification of evil had very little need for the vast kinds of desires that plagued man.

But he wasn’t necessarily immune to the pleasures of the flesh, you learned. Despite how for the most part, he remained heavily uninterested in intimacy, he had a few moments here and there, and you capitalized on them when you could. You had a feeling tonight would be one of those nights.

Or, well, you hoped.

Worst case scenario he’d turn you away or ignore any advances, and he has a few times. And that was okay.

You came into his hideout tonight with confidence instilled in you, but yet the excitement still makes your stomach do flips. It’s been too long, and the fire within your chest is reignited. You feel passion, you feel love so strong that it’s enough to keep you up at night, and it has happened plenty of times before. You wonder if he’s got some sort of spell over you, and you’d believe it if that were the case. You’ve never fallen so madly, deeply, for anyone before like you have him. It could be enough to make you physically ill if you thought about how much you loved him. Such a passion came with such a detriment to you.

Past the damaged doors of a since abandoned fairly abandoned warehouse, you have a smooth descent down the stairs, leading you to a type of basement setting. There’s plenty of water dripping. Rats squeaking as they chitter and skitter along. You catch glimpses of them in the dim lighting, but they don’t bother you. As long as you didn’t see a bunch of them with their tails tied together, you wager you’ll be pretty okay.

You dressed up nicely for him tonight.

You weren’t really a dress kind of person, but tonight you made it an exception. It wasn’t fancy or over the top, and by the love of god, it had pockets. You refused to wear heels however, whatever shoes you had that worked and didn’t give you the possibility of breaking your ankle down these flights of stairs was the option you went with. Art might have found it funny if you hurt yourself, but you aren’t too keen on getting yourself dinged up before he gets the chance to do it himself.

The dress was about one thing–accessibility. Easy to lift up, easy for him to slide in right where he belonged.

You loved when he was inside of you, when you’d feel the heat of his heavy breath against the back of your neck. You run your hands over the spot where you last remember feeling the warmth of his breath. You remember being beneath him and feeling as if the very heat that he quietly exhaled felt as if it were smoldering your skin, burning you like the way the flames of hell were supposed to. If being with this clown meant that you’d be burning in the afterlife, you’d gladly bathe yourself in the inferno.

Your stomach flutters.

You shouldn’t be this excited. He’s a murderer. A killer. A man with no morals, and you’re not even sure if he was a man sometimes at all. Yet, his darkness is what drew you in. He was your safe space, and no one would dare come into that space to try and harm you so long as you were in his arms.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you see it–a single dangling light, and illuminating this dark space is a double door that is plainly rusted. You see a bloody handprint on it. It’s since dried.

You recognize the size of that hand, and feel slightly lighter, just in the moment.

Placing your own hand in the exact space over Art’s bloodied print, you push the door open. The door is a little on the heavy side, but with enough force, the door opens.

“Art?” You call out, making sure that your presence is acknowledged as friendly and not hostile. The room is a little darkly lit, very heavy on the minimum lighting that’s needed to navigate in the space. It most certainly added to the creepy ambiance. Straight ahead, there sat none other than Art. His back was given to you. He was sitting on a stool, hammering away at something on his workbench. He turns his head upon hearing his name, and you see that he gives you a smile, baring his rotted discolored teeth as his eyes are closed. You can see the wrinkles form a little in the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

You liked that. You liked the details etched into his face. It added character among those otherwise gaunt features of his.

“Hey, buddy.” You call out to him, and he gives you a little wave, before gesturing for you to come closer.

You approach him, and once you’re near the bench with him, you can see when you’re close enough that he gives you a once over, assessing you… Judging you, for what it is you’re wearing tonight.

“Like it?” You ask him, twirling from side to side so that your dress splays out a little. It’s simple. Gets the job done. And if it got ruined? No love loss.

Art’s gaze seems fixed on you, first on your dress, then up at you. For a man who doesn’t speak, his eyes seem to say all that needs to be said, as he reaches for the end of your dress and starts to lift it, until you gently smack the top of his hand. Art draws his hand back to his side immediately, glancing up at you, looking a little like a kid that was chided.

Naughty of him, trying to get a sneak peek beforehand.

“Not yet,” You tell him.

Art looks a little irritated, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. At least he seems interested tonight.

You clear your throat, and Art’s attention is still locked on you. He’s watching you expectantly.

“You’ve settled in quite nicely.” It was just yesterday you surveyed the area on his behalf, and helped him move in properly. Already on his workbench, he has got quite a few improvised weapons he’d been working on. Your eyes go to one weapon in particular, and you point at it.

“What’s that?”

Art turns to look at the weapon you’ve pointed out, and when he lifts it to proudly show it, it’s exactly what it looked like–an improvised flail. Attached to a long metal rod, is a long wire, and when your eyes follow to the end of the wire, you see wrapped around in such an intricate and meticulous way are a variety of knives, serving as what would be the ‘spikes’. You’re impressed. He even hands it to you, to which you take it. It’s got a decent weight to it, too. Not too heavy, but not too light.

“Woah.” You say, as Art watches you, quite proud of how dazzled you are. He’s an artist at heart, you knew this. The knives have some rust on them. One of them looks stained from a previous bloody encounter. He’s clearly working with whatever he’s got on him.

“If anyone survives this, they better pray they don’t get tetanus.” You muse, and Art’s face twists in amusement in a silent laugh. You hand the weapon back to him, and he takes it once he’s done getting in a few silent chuckles at your joke, gently placing it back down on the table.

No one escapes Art with their soul still in their body. Literal or figurative. You were either dead, or you were burdened with his encounter your entire life, both physically and mentally.

You weren’t any different. Your bruises and bites and scars have been out of love. One could argue that you got off easy, but you’d argue otherwise.

Being in love with the Miles County Clown is torture in and of itself. There were nonstop dreams that came with it. It seemed as if every other week he’d plague you in your sleep. Not to mention that you had to be extremely clever to not be caught under affiliation with him–which was even more stress. So far, though, so good.

He’s worth it, you tell yourself. Even if he wasn’t anymore, there’s no way you could leave. He’d kill you. And you have zero doubts that your death wouldn't be painless.

After a few seconds of silence, you sigh.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave all the time.” You begin to tell him. Art’s expression is neutral, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. His teeth are bared, as they often are. Your tone isn’t one of whining, but of yearning. You know that this came with the territory, and you readily accepted his lack of presence at any given time.

But it didn’t hurt to dream. Art tilts his head, watching you from where he sits curiously.

“Maybe one day we can find some place that… Is ours. Separate from… This.” You gesture towards the weapons he’s making. Every so often he hides somewhere different to prepare for the trouble he intends to cause. “A place that maybe once you’re done for the day, we both can be in to unwind. And a permanent place for you that isn’t just my apartment. But like. A place for you. For us.”

Taking him to your apartment kept getting riskier and riskier each time. Also, he made it quite clear he didn’t really care for your decor. Giving him his own place to make his own that he could express himself would be ideal, and it wouldn’t be like a place he’d have to abandon every year. He could actually have and keep stuff… If he wanted to even do that.

The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to think it sounds silly. You see the way that he’s looking at you, and he appears very stern. Sharp.

Your confidence begins to drop, and as you’re about to speak again, you stammer, before laughing nervously.

“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, that was a silly idea–any long term space we made for you would probably get found out eventually, too. I–”

The stool screams as it’s slid across the ground, back towards the bench when he stands up. It sounded like one of his many victims. You go quiet as he’s hovering over you, and you swallow any words that you might have wanted to tell him.

The silence is heavy. His shoulders are rising and falling, and you feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Seconds tick by and they feel more like minutes, and you can’t stand it any longer. You open your mouth to speak, but you’re swiftly cut off.

Art yanks you by the collar of your dress, and forces his lips against yours.

Your eyes are wide briefly in surprise, but they close as soon as you register what’s happening, and you moan in the kiss. Art’s a bit of a sloppy kisser, but you’ve come to love it. His taste was acrid as well, but you craved the bitterness at this point, no longer gagging like you used to. As he leans forward to kiss you harder, you put more of yourself in it as well, mixing his intensity with your passion and desire that’s been left simmering for months.

Now it’s boiling over.

Art places both of his hands on either side of your face, and it’s like he’s trying to suffocate you with his kisses, barely giving you much time to breathe in between them. You’re getting a little lightheaded.

He pulls away from your lips to kiss you a few times on the cheek, then nuzzling his face against yours. Almost like a cat.

It gives you the chance to catch your breath. His hands reach for yours, and you let him, feeling the way that his fingers interlace with your own. You look down at the way that your fingers intertwined with his dirtied and calloused ones. He was a man who worked with his hands–in more ways than one. Those same fingers belonged to the same hands that would worship you, tear and pull at you without ever breaking you completely in half. Sometimes it’d be close, but never fully. They would sometimes draw blood when the nails would sink into your flesh and leave behind crescent marks. Other times, those hands would strangle you, smack you–slap you, and bring a sting across your body that reminded you just how alive you were. Then those same hands would caress you. Cradle you.

He’d cut you on a few occasions, but they were never lethal. And with every cut, his tongue followed.

You feel reverence. Especially as you press a kiss to the tip of his fingers–you kiss each one, tenderly, making eye contact with him as you do so.

Art watches knowingly. He raises his head a little so that when he watches you, he’s looking down at you, all too aware of how you worship him. And he accepts it. But only from you. Just you. No one else.

After kissing each finger, from pinkie to thumb, you stop back at his index, soft lips pressed against the pad of it. His fingers were stained. Caked in whatever gore and dirt and grime he’d touched earlier.

Not that you cared, nor would you let it stop you. You’re a freak. Not well in the head. You’d lick any and all of his love off of the world's sharpest blade if that’s the only way he gave it. If he wanted you to cut your tongue on it, you would.

Bringing his index finger to your mouth, you wrap your lips around it, and watch him. He tastes exactly how you’d expect—foul and wretched. You catch the faintest hint of iron. A taste that you’ve come to associate pleasantly with him. That part feels right.

Art’s gaze is fixed on you. You can’t read his thoughts, and though he doesn’t speak, you recognize what that look means. Even as he observes you, teeth bared subtly, head still held high, which he inclines just slightly as you take another finger in your mouth–his middle one.

You suck his fingers lewdly, and close your eyes. You imagine it’s his cock, even though you know that his fingers can’t compare to the real deal. You push your tongue through his index and middle as you take more of him in your mouth. Art watches your tongue work around him, until he decides to press down on the muscle, effectively stopping you.

You stare at him.

Seconds linger in silence, and he relinquishes pressure off of your tongue, letting you move it freely again.

And you do. You hold his hand and go back to kissing his fingers before fellating them. Index first. Then the middle. And finally the ring finger–all three at once. The taste of iron is stronger. You sigh a gentle moan as you pull your head back and give him back his hand. You kiss at the tips of his fingers again. As you’re about to take his fingers a third time, he leans forward instead, his lips taking yours. You feel the way that he seizes both of your wrists as he floods your senses all over again, and you let him.

You try to say his name in between the kisses, but each time you get a breath between the barrage of affection that seems to practically swallow you whole, Art steals your voice with another passionate kiss. Again, his taste is bitter, his teeth are damn near rotten, but you’ve gotten so accustomed to the flavor that it doesn’t make you gag. It makes you feel only slightly sickly. But the arousal overrides any lingering discomfort.

It’s disorienting. It’s all so much at once. You feel your body temperature rise. Art gives you back one of your wrists, but in doing so, he places his hand at the small of your back and pulls you in against him, until there’s no space left between you.

That’s when you feel it. You feel the heat of his erection pressed against your thighs. You’ve excited him enough, it being quite clear the effect your mouth had on him.

You smile, but his lips are back at yours again, and the taste of bitterness hits at the back of your tongue—the most sensitive taste receptors lighting up and ripping any smugness you had straight out of you as you close your eyes and sigh softly. His tongue mingles with yours.

He begins to move, forcibly taking you with him as you change where you’re standing, so that he’s no longer the one whose back is facing the workbench–it’s you. You feel the edge of the table bump against your ass. With your positions effectively switched, you don’t mind at all, far too enraptured by the kisses of your clown lover.

This was pure bliss.

He pulls away from your lips, now kissing the corners of your mouth, then going to your jawline, until he’s at your neck, sucking and licking and nibbling, giving you goosebumps. You feel your nipples go hard. You close your eyes and moan softly.

This is the few times of the year that you get this. It was the time that you’d be peppered in kisses, ravaged, and torn asunder in such a way that it would take you almost the remaining however many days, months, or years until you’d see him again to put yourself back together.

“Art…” You laugh a little when his lips tickle a part of your neck. He silences you again with his lips to yours. You feel the way that he nips at your tongue this time and draws a little blood. The endorphins from the pain gives you a pleasant buzz. He bites your bottom lower lip next, taking note of how he’s beginning to use his teeth more and more during this exchange, and you think about how he’s eaten the faces of his victims before.

You could be next.

He pulls away and kisses at the corners of your lips a second time. He’s obsessed with using his mouth. Your eyes finally open, and you gently move your head back a bit, until Art finally stops, the both of you staring into each other's eyes. His teeth are bared all the same as they were before, but there’s a sultry gaze you’re familiar with. Up this close, you can see the more subtle details of him.

Like his lashes, which otherwise, from a distance is obscured by the paint over his face.

How could someone–or… Something, be so monstrous… Yet so… pretty? You could get lost in his gaze. You could drown in it. And he knows that. And he likes that power over you.

Your lips turn upwards into a soft smile, and you feel a desire pool at your groin. It’s an undeniable throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. Nevermind that you can feel his own arousal against you. He’s warmer than you–he feels like he’s practically burning up, compared to you, and the body heat radiating from him only serves to make you hotter in turn. Right to the point where you’re developing a thin sheen of sweat across your brow.

“I love you.”

He watches you, and through his body language and eyes, you understand him through his reaction. You see a slow, smug smile appear on his face.

Very much an, I know. No sign of reciprocation. That would be too heavy of an ask from someone like him. But him being receptive to your love was a testament to how much he liked you.

Not that you expected anything less from a cold killer such as the Miles County Clown. The fact that he hasn’t yet killed you throughout all these years speaks in a kind of love on its own, you’d think.

Maybe not the one that people would refer to as being actually in love, but for him, for Art, it was. Love was tolerance. Love was allowing you to live.

You feel a hand slip up your dress again, and this time, you don’t stop him. You part your legs for him this time, willingly letting him indulge in what you denied him earlier. Through your panties you feel his thick fingers, his index and middle pressing against your clit, sliding down between your cunt and back up again. He threatens to penetrate you with the tips of his fingers through your panties with a gentle prod, but doesn’t follow through on it.

You ache, feeling more empty than ever.

He’s doing this on purpose. All because you told him to wait earlier.

“Art,” You say his name with a weak laugh, and he stops to look at you, knowingly, at that, well aware of what it is he’s doing. His little way of being petty with you, and he continues once more, trailing his fingers up and down between your thighs, waiting for you to continue.

“It’s been months,” You plead for him. His face is still inches from yours, and you lean more of yourself against him, as your voice gets low. He observes you through half lidded eyes, analyzing you, assessing you and sizing you up. He’s no longer smiling, and his lips are downturned ever so slightly. The expression looks more neutral now.

“I wanna have some fun.” You purse your lips. “Put your weapon crafting down for a bit?”

Your tone is pleading. It’s a mix of a command and a request–you’re voicing your thoughts. You try to get a reading on his response through his eyes, but he’s put up a wall that you can’t breach. He’s unreadable. It’s been months upon months since you’ve both done anything together.

“…Please?”

Art’s gaze is still indecipherable. It makes you a little nervous. The hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Did he change his mind suddenly?

Had it been anyone else, you know they’d be dead instantly. There was no wondering about that. Not a speculation or doubt in your mind. You hated when he did this, when he was fucking with you like this, leaving you in silence. It’s in times like these that you’re reminded that you’re with a wild animal, and he could snap at any second if he decided he was hungry. It was part of the risk you took and the bargain you struck.

Maybe he’d just stab you here and now. Slit your throat and call it a fucking day because he decided that, nope, don’t wanna keep doing this anymore! He could. Again, he’s pushed you away before. Other days he’s yanked you in against him. His mood was unpredictable, hard to guess, and as volatile as a storm across an ocean.

Without another word, you’re turned around, and the flat of Art’s palm travels down your spine as he presses the front of your body forward and down onto the workbench. He gives you time to adjust, so that you’re at least able to rest your forearms on the table top. As of right now, your tits are squished against the surface of the table. It’s a little uncomfortable.

This is surprisingly tender, all things considered. You remember one time when he’d been fucking you on his workbench, how he tied your hands together with some zipties and then choked you out by wrapping some rusty metal chains around your neck. And that was only after he’d finished whipping your breasts, thighs and ass until you were a bloody bruised mess barely hanging on. You still have some scars from those times. He loved to twirl you over the line of death like it was all one dance, pulling you back at the last second.

You go from feeling his palm to the fingertips travel down your back. If it weren’t for the fabric of your dress in the way, you know those blood and dirt stained fingertips would have tickled you by now. And he’s done that in the past while fucking you–tickling you mercilessly. He even makes a point to wiggles his fingers a little against your back on the way down playfully. You can’t help but laugh a little as you exhale, letting some of the excitement stirring within you leave your body through your lungs. Your breaths are getting deeper, and in times like this, when he thrills you in such a way, you’re reminded just how much he makes you feel…

Alive.

Because when you’re with him, death is always hot on your heels. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Don’t be gentle,” You tell him. He knows. You know he knows.

You hear the metallic zipper from the front of his suit go down as the teeth on the track separate and reveal the body of a man beneath that clown visage. You steal a glance over your shoulder to admire his pale skin that covered over such a thin frame. Amazing how a build such as his carries such supernatural strength.

Unceremoniously, he gets right to work, giving your ass a firm slap after lifting the back of your dress, letting it crumple up over your hips. You yelp gently as you know that there’s likely already a red spot on your rump. Art rubs the spot on your ass he’d slapped, then gives it a gentle squeeze.

You make the decision to look over your shoulder, right on time to experience watching when the killer clown makes the decision that you no longer are in need of your panties. His dirtied fingers slip within the space between the elastic waistband of your undergarment and your skin. He lets it snap against your flesh once–that’s about the extent of use it gets before he grabs whatever meager fistful he can of that excuse of ‘modesty’ you brought to him and rips it clean off your form.

“Ow!”

You told him to be rough. And he’s planning on taking that quite literally, as he’s taking it for not just the sex, but all of what precedes it apparently. He’s quietly laughing to himself, teeth showing, eyes crinkled.

“Glad you got some entertainment out of it.”

A few more noiseless giggles then he sobers up. Back to the task at hand—fucking your brains out.

He aligns himself right up against your warm dripping cunt, hands gripping your hips so tightly that his filthy fingertips leave stains on your dress. His nails are so sharp you swear that if he tried to sink them in any further, he’d pierce the cloth and right into your flesh. You inhale sharply again, bracing for the moment he sinks in. You feel the tip of his cock press against you and begin to push in, the head barely getting the chance even to get inside you before it slips and glides between the crack of your ass as he misses. Your excitement stutters for a second, but then ramps back up higher than before, impatience and desire washing over you wholly like a wave.

You’ve been grabbing at the edge of the workbench, hands holding tight and then releasing them of their grip every so often to relax your muscles. You don’t say anything.

He’s annoyed at missing you the first push in.

With a look of disgruntlement he instead opts for one hand reaching to push your head down against the table with such a cruel force that makes you worry for a split second that he was trying to crush your skull. It was his way of trying to steady you as he then uses his other hand to line the head of his cock right against your cunt for the second time.

You shiver as you feel him, hands turning to fists that you clench tightly as inch by agonizing inch, he spreads you and fills you out easily. Your body did the heavy work, and has been prepping for him for the last ten minutes. It’s slick, and he can feel the wetness of your cunt hit against his balls when he bottoms out within you. That’s when you sigh in relief.

He almost pulls all the way out, then rams into you roughly, making you exhale sharply as the table shakes upon impact. The few tools laid out shuddered until they stilled. Give or take a few more times of this, and he finally releases his hand on your head, but you still opt to keep your head down.

The rhythm he has is a little awkward at first, but he is quick to course correct, both hands firmly planted on your hips, keeping you steady. You can’t see his face right now, but you’ve seen it plenty of times when you’ve fucked before. How his mouth would go into that ‘o’ shape, and the way his eyes would go half mast, holding nothing but a glimpse of paradise behind him as you could see that he was as close to heaven as his wicked self could get. You were beautiful to him, as far as sacks of flesh and blood went. And you could tell the times that he looked at you in such a predatory manner that there was restraint behind it.

You feel the pressure build up within you at a steady rate as he leans over you, chest pressed against your back, sucking on your neck, marking you. Then he nips. Then kisses, then sucks so goddamn hard on the same spot that you swear that he’s trying to suction your flesh right off your body.

It doesn’t take long for you to be so close. He’s so warm. The sound of his body slapping against yours, mixed with the creak of the workbench that’s forced to undergo the assault of you being rammed into it, a few quiet moans slip past your lips to join along.

You’re unbearably close, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, just a little more and—

Your phone goes off.

You forgot to silence it.

You feel it vibrating in the pocket of your dress. The ringtone scares the shit out of you and Art, who abruptly jumps a little while still on top of you.

“Of course.” You say sarcastically. “Of course! Who the fuck is calling me?!” You’re irritated now, mood under threat of being ruined. The excitement you felt shrivels up.

Reaching inside your hiked up dress pocket, you pull out your phone and check to see who had the audacity to try and get a hold of you in your time of undoing.

Your friend. Sort of. He was like a close acquaintance? If you could call him that. You met him when you were out and about one night. He’s an okay dude, hasn’t done anything wrong.

If only he didn’t harbor a romantic interest in you when you were already spoken for. But how could you begin to tell someone that you’re involved with a psychopathic killer clown? Specifically the Miles County Clown?

You’re ready to send him right to voicemail, until the phone is seized right out of your hand from over your shoulder.

“Hey!”

Your protest is in vain, as Art too, looks at who is calling you right now. You had HOPED he’d take a look at it, have his curiosity sated, maybe turn the phone off or better yet, you’d even forgive him if he tossed it over his shoulder, just this once!

But the look he’s giving you, then the phone, makes your heart sink as you realize.

“Art, don’t do it—“

His expression turns wicked, mouth upturned into the most shiteating grin you’ve ever seen.

“Art, I swear to god—“

But god’s not here, nowhere to be found in this workshop. God’s forsaken you. Doing the devils tango with a demon can do that.

Giggling silently to himself, in an act of deliberate defiance against you as well as likely for his very own amusement, he accepts the phone call for you and places it right to your ear.

What a gentleman. Truly.

You’re going to fucking kill him. You try to take the phone away from him, but he merely pulls it back out of your reach.

“Hello?”

You can hear the voice on the other end of the line. Art brings it down to your ear again and you try to make a reach for it a second time, only for him to do the exact same thing as before, silently cackling all the while. It’s become apparent that he’s not going to let you have it.

“Hellooooo?”

With a resigned sigh, you don’t fight him any further. Art puts the phone to your ear for the third time.

“Hey.” You answer wearily.

“Hey!” His voice on the other end of the line is suddenly lighter, filled with levity. You can hear the way that his breath is hitched in the back of his throat. Static tinges at the edges of his words.  Must be a shoddy connection down here.

“How are you?”

“I’m–” You start to answer, but are interrupted by Art going back to rocking his hips into you while still over you. Once again, you look over your shoulder to give him the stink eye.

“I’m good, just uh, you know. Hanging out.” You respond, exhaling deeply as Art stirs the fire within you again after it had just begun to cool down.

“Nice, me too.” He says, and lets the silence between you both sink in for a few seconds. “You doing anything tomorrow?”

This would all be so much easier if you weren’t getting dicked down.

“I… I’m uh–”

He’s pounding into you from behind now, still leaning over you, holding the phone for you in one hand and keeping the other on the workbench for stability. Each fluid roll of his hips is equally tantalizing as the previous, his body connecting with yours in such a familiar way you craved. The table shakes, and you’re gripping the edges of it for dear life. You can hear his heavy breath from behind you, excitement building in each time he fills and empties his lungs.

“Art–” You say his name through grit teeth like a warning, with annoyance in your tone, but the excitement you feel, the rush and the thrill of it all has you coming close to release. Why does this feel so good? This man, this sweet man, who has done nothing wrong to you, interested in you, blissfully unaware that your heart belongs to someone else, being fooled like this. It’s wrong. This is wrong. Art knew about this man. He knew about him for some time. Art made it clear that he hated him. The only reason he’s still breathing is because you asked Art not to put this man’s head on a pike, but you fear it’s only a matter of time until your clown lover eviscerates this trespasser for encroaching on what he perceives as his territory–you.

“Art?" He repeats.

This is all an act of revenge done on the Art’s part. His pettiness knew no bounds.

“Yeah, art. You know–Mhn–” Your nails dig into the edge of the workbench as if that’ll somehow make a difference in the fact that he’s pounding into your cunt with such an aggressive force that begins to make you ache.

“You know, p-painting? Drawing. That sort of thing.”

You can only pray the ungodly sinful noises of his skin slapping against yours can’t be heard over the line.

“Ohhh… Well, hey, you wanna hangout sometime soon? It’s been a bit. Wanted to catch up with you if that’s fine.”

You’re not paying attention to a damn thing this dude is saying. It’s just words, in one ear, straight out the other.

“Uhuh.” You say without thinking. You’re close. You’re unbearably close as Art angles himself in such a way that hits just right. He knows how you work all too well. He knows how to unwind you and how to pull you apart piece by piece like it’s second nature to him.

Art’s pushing you towards the cliff, and there’s no stopping it. Your vision starts to blur a little. Your breathing deepens, and Art knows what’s about to come next, which only seems to spur him on as well, exciting him to the point where now he’s going fast not just for you, but for himself, chasing his own orgasm hot on its heels.

“How’s about next Thursday, at 7pm? There’s a new restaurant across the street from where we both met—“

The phone becomes nothing short of white noise. This shouldn’t feel so right, it shouldn’t. But it does. Gods above, it does.

You feel yourself lose sense of the world around you. There’s nothing but ringing in your ears, and you realize how little time you have to prepare before it’s too late.

Your orgasm crashes into you and is ripped out of you all within seconds. You try to keep quiet, your voice strangled and choked out in the process. Your release is violent as it tears you between what feels like the state of life and death. Your cunt tightens around his cock, squeezing him in contractions that trigger him in turn. Art hisses like a serpent, feeling his muscles lock up and knowing that he only has a few seconds to bury himself to the hilt within you, and he does. His face twists into an ugly and horrid expression as he comes inside you, dropping the phone on the workbench in the process while filling you with all the pent up energy he had been keeping away from you for months.

All of what he’d been denying you was now yours.

“Hello?”

You’re finally coming back into your own body a few meager seconds later when you register the voice, and hurriedly grab the phone before Art gets the chance.

“Can I call you back?” You ask, holding the phone to your mouth, but you weren’t really asking. Your friend had no real say in it, and before he even gets the chance to respond, you hang up. And then you lower your head and sigh. All the while, Art has since recovered, but his legs are shaky. You shove him off of you, and he stumbles back with an uneven balance, post orgasm weakened. Goofily he fumbles past the stool from earlier, which he tries to grab but fails in doing so. Instead, he lands right on his ass.

You’re sure to follow that up by throwing your phone at his head, which it does, but it lands with a clack right beside him. The only reason you felt remotely confident in doing that is because you’re both that close. Well, that and irritation made you a bold motherfucker sometimes. Yet despite all of that, he sits there, a wickedly amused smile on his face.

You pull your dress back down. Your legs tingle and you swear you feel some of his come dripping down your thigh, but you’re not sure.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” You ask, leaning against the bench for balance until you get your footing.

Yes. Yes he was proud of himself!

The rest of the night was spent at Art’s temporary hideaway space, lamenting the loss of your panties and calling back your guy friend who had unknowingly been part of something much more than he knew. And you’d never tell him. Not that you would ever have the chance to tell him really anything at all anymore in the future.

You had no idea at the time that Art would meet your friend the day you were both set to reconvene. But you should have known better, and a part of you already did. The reason you know he was dead was because he ended up on the local news the next day missing.

That, and Art had saved the man’s heart specifically for you when you came to visit him again.

[sayyestoheav3nn]

Nights Like This: Part One

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: language, fluff, smut

Word count: 2.2k

a/n: this was originally planned as a one shot, but i’m indecisive as hell, so i guess we’ll see 👀. also, tiny reminder but this is my first time writing fan fiction/ smut, so please go easy on me guys 😭

Zoe can’t fathom a better way of spending her birthday, this is truly all she could ever ask for. While she’ll never understand how she got so lucky to have Roman in her life in the first place, words can’t even begin to describe what this man means to her. Zoe in no shape or form is a materialistic person, yet somehow every year Roman manages to go all out and spoil her with shit she doesn’t need, but is still extremely grateful for.

And while this amazing day of shopping and sightseeing in Colorado is coming to an end, she’s exhausted and more than excited to get back to the hotel and gain some energy back before going out to dinner. She try’s her absolute best to ignore the fact that her feet feel worn out and in immense pain, her pride won’t allow her to show it, so she decides to keep it to herself. Especially, since Roman’s know-it-all ass told her not to wear boots with heels in the first place, but, she hates being wrong and would rather die than give him that satisfaction.

The walk to the car felt fucking eternal, Zoe couldn’t help but to sigh in relief once she was finally able to sit down. After Roman cut on the engine, he took a minute to study her, letting out a small chuckle, “I know you’re in pain baby, you don’t gotta hide it.” She immediately shot a glare at him, and rolled her eyes, “I’m not in pain, just tired.”

“You sure about that?, because when you came out of the bathroom earlier, I could’ve sworn it looked like you were limping…”, he teased. Zoe’s mouth dropped, and she playfully slapped his shoulder.

“First of all, I wasn’t limping. I was just very inspired by that Katt Williams show we watched, and decided to practice my own pimp walk…”

He couldn’t help but to let out a loud chuckle and defeatedly threw his hands in the air, “Oh so that’s what we’re doing huh?” One of the many things that Roman loves about Zoe, is her sense of humor. No matter what mood he was in, or what he was going through, she never failed to make him laugh. Roman knew her stubborn ass was lying through her teeth, but it was her birthday after all, so he decided to let it go and let her have this win.

The drive back was over an hour long, and while the beginning of the car ride was full of conversation and laughter between the two, the heater made Zoe feel extremely warm and cozy, which ended in her falling asleep.

When they finally arrived to the hotel, Roman gently ran his fingers through her hair, swiping some behind her ear, hoping he would wake her up without startling her, “We’re here, baby.”

“Shit, I don’t even remember dozing off,” she muttered. Roman smiled at her and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’m tired too, let’s go take a nap.” Damn this man knows the key to her heart, she will never deny herself an opportunity of taking a good ass nap.

They eventually make it back to their hotel room, and as they are about to unlock their door, the fucking hotel key card starts glitching again. After multiple failed attempts, and seeing red blinks over and over again, they eventually were able to get in.

The first thing Zoe does when she makes it in the suite, is kick her stupid ass boots off. There is nothing she wants more in this moment than getting out of this outfit. As she’s digging through the drawer trying to find some comfortable clothes to change into, she suddenly feels his warm chest press against her back. He slowly wraps his big arms around her waist, his tall frame now towering over her. She couldn’t help but to let out a soft moan when she felt his breath on her neck, his prickly beard making his was down her collarbone, his soft lips showering her with gentle kisses. Her knees were growing weaker by the second, but as good as this felt, she wanted to talk to him first.

“Thank you, Roman,” she says, and before he starts to tell her she doesn’t need to thank him, like he always does she rushes and cuts him off. “Even though you never listen to me when I say I don’t need anything, the effort you make truly means to the world to me. I just wish you’d let me do the same for you.”

Roman turns her around to face him, he uses his thumb and index finger to gently guide her face to look at him. “Zo, I don’t need anything , I just need you. I need you to understand that there is no me without you. As long as I have you, there ain’t shit else I’ll ever want, or need.”

Zoe knows how Roman feels about her, but it’s something about hearing him express it, that makes her tear up. She grabs his face, pulling him in by his beard and kisses him. “I love you, baby.” He puts his hand on the small of her back and presses her towards him. “I love you more, but we should go take this nap before your ass gets cranky.”

…………..

Zoe was the first to wake up, seeing he was still in a deep sleep, she decided to quietly step away and take off her makeup that she shouldn’t have slept with in the first place.

As soon as she stepped out the bathroom and glanced towards the bed, she saw he was awake. Roman looked at her and gave that mischievous ass grin he gives when he's about to be on demon time. “Come here,” he motioned her over with his fingers, his hair was now resting on his shoulders fully out of his bun. His voice was groggy as hell from just waking up, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit how extremely turned on she was.

She wasted no time and climbed on top of his hulking body, straddling him and almost immediately feeling his erection through the thin fabric of her pants. “Looks like someone is excited to me,” she chuckled. “Baby, i’m always excited to see you,” he whispered, while lightly squeezing her ass. She began to kiss his jaw and slowly made her way down to his neck, making a trail down his chest and abs. As she started to reach for the hemline of his boxers, he flipped her over so that he was now on top of her.

“Nah baby, let me take care of you,” he growled. Before she could protest, Roman got up, took off his shirt and walked towards the foot of the bed. This had her slightly confused, but before she could ask why he got up, he grabbed her by the thighs and slid her down to the edge of the bed. His fingers gripped the top of her pants and underwear, she watched him as he eagerly pulled them down. Propping herself on her elbows, she was now staring at his hair draped over his tan broad shoulders.

Roman’s warm breath over her exposed pussy, made her more soaked than she already was. He teased his finger up and down her wet lips, causing her to instantly moan. “Mmm, daddy please.” She started to grip the back of his head when he stuck two fingers in, her hips subconsciously bucking forward once he started to curl them towards her g spot.

“Please what, baby?,” he groaned and started to pick up the pace, her pussy already dripping and squelching for him. “mmm p-please eat my pussy,” she whimpered.

“Anything you want baby, doesn’t daddy always make you feel good?” Roman flattened his tongue on her needy clit, and started licking and sucking on her essence. “You taste so fucking good baby.” Her panting becomes heavier and heavier as he feasted on her, almost as if he was starving. The combination of him eating her out and fingering her while hitting that spot, had her on the edge of coming.

“f-fuck baby i’m gonna come.” Her pussy was clenching around his fingers, he could feel it. “Come for me, right on my tongue baby,” he used his free hand to grip her thigh and bring her even closer.

Zoe, felt like she was on another fucking planet. As he brung her even closer, she used her grip on his head and started to grind her pussy against his face. “Just like that baby, give it to me,” he moaned. She let out a loud scream as her orgasm took over, her body jerked as Roman kept devouring her pussy while she rode her orgasm out.

“Such a good girl, baby.” He made his way back on top of her, and gave her a sloppy sensual kiss. Tasting herself on his tongue, made her want to come all over again.

While Zoe was catching her breath, still recovering from her earth shattering orgasm, Roman got up and brung her a rag from the bathroom and helped her clean herself. She watched him, eyeing his God like physique that she’s convinced she’ll never get used to.

Roman stood up and kissed her temple, “I’m gonna be on the balcony for an hour or so baby, I’m behind some meetings, so I gotta go make some calls.”

“That’s okay, I have some emails I gotta catch up on too.” As Roman heads out the back door, Zoe goes to sit at the desk in the corner of the suite and starts to catch up on some work emails that she’s been ignoring. Not even 15 minutes in, and she’s already bored out of her mind. She closes her laptop and decides to do something productive. Other than actual work of course, because that’s obviously boring as hell.

Boom. An idea hits her. Zoe decides that she is going downstairs to talk to the hotel receptionist, and ask if they can do something about their annoying ass key card that barely fucking works. She starts by tearing the room apart looking everywhere she can think of. Roman was the last person that had it, and as much as she’d like to ask him, she knows she can’t bother him during his important meetings.

The first place she thinks to check is his wallet, when she sees it’s not there she moves on to the next spot, which was the drawers next to his side of the bed. Fail. Shits not there either, and after scrummaging around the whole suite for damn near twenty minutes, she was thinking of giving up. And that’s when her memory hits. His fucking duffle bag. Roman tends to work out twice a day, and lately he’s been making sure to put the key card in his duffle bag before he leaves, simply because his over dramatic self can’t seem to let go of that one time he forgot it, and Zoe had slept through his phone calls and loud ass knocks.

Zoe goes to grab the duffle bag from the closet and opens it, she unzips the small pouch in the inside and immediately spotted the key card, she couldn’t help but to let out a small sigh of relief. As she goes to pull it out, something falls out and she hears a small thud. Looking down, shiny gold wrappers immediately catch her eye. She bends down and examines what turns out to be, two magnum condoms that are now on the floor.

Her mind starts racing, and she immediately begins to go through his bag. As she starts to pull his clothes out, she stumbles across an empty condom wrapper that had clearly been used. What the fuck. In this exact moment Zoe felt her heart drop in her fucking stomach, her eyes instantly becoming watery. She has been with Roman for over two years, and not once have they ever used a fucking condom. And it’s in remembering this specific fact, that sends her into full panic. She starts crying uncontrollably not knowing what to do, as much as she would like to go outside and confront his lying ass, the thought of having to look at him makes her sick to her fucking stomach. Who the fuck is he using these on?

Her chest starts to feel tight, and she knows she needs to leave before he comes back inside. Zoe puts on her coat and grabs her purse, throwing her phone inside it. She runs out of the room and gets on the nearest elevator as fast as she can. Once she makes it to the main lobby, she beelines outside and manages to get a taxi within five minutes. She quickly put her phone on silent, knowing Roman would call and text her nonstop once he realized she was gone.

Zoe doesn’t even have a sliver of an idea on what the hell she was going to do. The only thing she knew in this exact moment, was the fact that she had to get the fuck out of here, and fast.

[jeankluv]

You are my dad - Gojo Satoru & Fushiguro Megumi

summary: Megumi finally gets the courage to tell Gojo how he really views him

words: 0,6k

tags: manga spoilers for chapter 268, dad-son dynamic, Megumi’s pov and centric, canon fixed, a bit angst (?), happy ending

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Megumi hesitated on whether to go to him or not, it hadn't been more than five minutes since Gojo had returned to his body and of course everyone had wanted to welcome him, but he was still standing there, while he looked at him from a distance and felt a shiver run through his body as he remembered the last time he had seen his benefactor, but was he really?

Being in the abyss, alone, he had thought about everything, about his sister and about that eccentric man who 10 years ago, had appeared at his house and welcomed him and Tsumiki under his cloak.

For years he thought he only did it because he was interested, but as the years started to go by he felt like Gojo Satoru was truly fond of him and his sister. He would take them to the park, he would help him with his technique and encourage him with it.

Gojo never pressured him into anything and he always made sure they were okay, happy, healthy, etc..

Maybe Gojo Satoru never realized it, but there was a point where he stopped being the young twenty-something who paid their bills and became an important part of Megumi and Tsumiki's lives. Megumi didn't want to acknowledge it and only realized it when he saw Gojo's lifeless body on the ground. Megumi felt like many things had been left unsaid, his personality hadn't let him express himself properly.

But now Gojo Satoru was there, smiling as if nothing happened.

“Oh! Megumi!” His soft tone called him. “I’m so happy to see you are okay…” Gojo started to walk towards Megumi. “That Sukuna…”

Megumi couldn't take it anymore and hugged Gojo as if he were a little child again, a child seeking refuge in his parents' arms. He heard his friends in the room being surprised and Gojo standing still for a moment, but that didn't last long because Gojo quickly hugged him back.

“Wow, who would have thought that Megumi would react like that when he saw me again.” Gojo joked.

“That letter…” Megumi began, he didn’t know exactly how to say what he wanted to express correctly, but he could feel his sister's courage hand on his shoulder, telling him to keep going.

Gojo looked at him with a question mark drawn on his face. “Huh?” And then something turned on in him. “Oh that, yeah your dad, he…”

Megumi took a deep breath and shook his head. “You didn’t kill him.”

“Pretty sure I did.” Gojo said. “I’m pretty sure I used purple…”

“No, you didn’t… because you are my dad. And you are still here.” Megumi finally said it.

The room fell completely silent and Megumi completely separated himself from Gojo, looking at his face that was in a trance-like state.

Gojo carefully turned to Ieiri. “Shoko could you slap me? I think I’m still dead.”

“Sure…” Ieiri put her cigarette aside and slapped Gojo in the face.

“Ouch!” Gojo cried out. “That was hard!”

“You asked for it.”

“It seemed like you were just ready to do it.” Gojo said, and Ieiri simply smiled.

“You deserved it, for putting all of us through so much stress.”

Gojo rolled his eyes. “Whatever…” And turned back to Megumi. “Megumi… you… really see me like your father?”

Megumi felt embarrassed talking about that in front of everyone. “I guess…” He shrugged.

“Oh…”

“Wait! Gojo-sensei is crying?!” Kugisaki screamed.

“Oh it’s true!” Itadori said this time. “Gojo-sensei made Fushiguro laughed and Fushiguro made Gojo-sensei cry. Amazing.”

“I made you laugh?!” Gojo wiped his tears away. “When?!”

“With that silly letter, well it wasn’t even a letter but yeah you did.”

“Oh my.” Gojo gasped. “And you see me as your dad, ah! I’m so glad to be back.” Gojo hugged Megumi once again. “Are you going to start calling me dad?”

“No way!”

“Why not? How about calling me dad Satoru?”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, dad Gojo?”

“No!”

Megumi separated from him and started to run away while he smiled and Gojo followed him still giving names.

“Alright, how about dad Gojo Satoru, nah that sounds terrible.”

“No.”

“Dadjo!”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Note: I really needed to write this, I really need them to reunite and be happy as the father son duo they are 😭

[writingescapades]

Life with Rafayel

A/N: I've been thinking a lot about Rafayel. His personality, character, story, and the relationship he has with his previous incarnations and this word vomit came out.

Detached from the world. Spontaneous mini trips. Short drives to isolated spots where you both take long walks, often camping in the car itself in order to catch that sunrise and sunset. Huddling together with warm tea and quiet music playing as you both watch the landscape and have soft conversations. He loves taking photos of nature, but also candid moments were you both can just be silly because no one is watching.

Aimless walks together. Walks with no direction or time limit where you both can catch up and soak in nature. He loves winter walks where he can hear your voice and you enjoy the windy days where you find his hand holding onto yours. You’ll often find little spots that you claim as your secret rendezvous. Places where you can find one another when the world can’t.

A life of wonder and curiosity. The human world demands logic and labour, Rafayel understands that better than anyone. But he doesn’t want that world to find its way into your life and the life you both share. He wants you to retain that wonder for the world. To rekindle that affection it holds as your eyes become mesmerized once more with its beauty. He wants you to remember the joys you took in your interests and hobbies and to make time for them over materialistic consumption and shallow pastimes. Nights of playing games, throwing riddles at one another, painting together, learning a new hobby, reading, or just chatting the night away until you both pass out.

No expectations. Rafayel goes into the relationship with no expectations from you. He doesn’t want to place your relationship into a mold. You both experienced too many life times of that. In this new world, with this new opportunity, Rafayel prefers watching your relationship’s unregulated growth. Life is short and every decision comes with consequences. Knowing that, Rafayel still chooses unconventional paths, even if they don’t make sense to him, he knows he prefers the unknown unconventional to the conventional path his heart is rejecting.

Artistic temperament. Mood swings. Intensity. Passion. Listlessness. Weeks of focus followed by months of being lost in his own world. All humans are artistic, but most avoid displaying their true behaviours. But Rafayel is not ashamed of his personality. If you share his artistic temperament, he encourages you to be yourself around him. If you too get lost in your own world, he wants to dive in with you. He doesn’t ridicule or scoff when doubt enters your mind, or when you find yourself questioning your existence or purpose. Even if you don’t share his temperament, he encourages you to dig dip and discover yourself through art. A life with Rafayel is a life of depth and meaning.

Fun. Life with Rafayel is fun. He’s been alive for so long he’s learned how to keep the magic of life alive. Life never falls into a set pattern or rhythm with him. It will never become humdrum and boring. He is someone you can fully trust, but never fully understand. He’s always slipping in and out of your fingers. When we lose someone, we lose the language we built with them. The language was only understood between the two of you, and, above all, that is what we mourn the loss of most. This holds true to Rafayel. A language built over lifetimes filled with teasing, sass, sarcasm, riddles, stories, and questions, all make Rafayel into a familiar enigma.

Emotionally reliable. Lemurians can see more colours than humans, who is to say they can’t experience or express more emotions? Can’t articulate your emotions well? Grew up being told to shove them down? Accustomed to wearing a mask and putting up a wall? Rafayel knows the feeling all too well. He knows how cruel the world can be, as a god and as a fish out of water. He’s best friends with the agony of failure, the sharp bite of isolation and ache of loneliness. With Rafayel, you don’t need to speak for him to understand. Yes, he will confront you to pull out what you want to desperately hide, but he will never ridicule you or expect your negative emotions to just go away. He encourages you to bring them up to the surface and express them akin to how waves crash onto the shore, recede, then crash again.

Companionship. Holding hands, pecks, entwining arms and legs are salves to Rafayel. The distance a god must carry. The pedestal a famous artist must stand on, and the centuries of being alone have made Rafayel crave companionship. It doesn’t always have to be physical affection, but just having that proximity with someone. To come into a room and hear a voice. To wake up to someone placing a blanket on top of him after another all-nighter. To ask someone about their day and hear concerns on his health. To look behind him and see you sitting nearby doing your own thing. Rafayel knows how to cherish mere existence after going so long without it, but to see someone doing the same for him is new. After all, what god can grant their own wishes? What god is even allowed to wish?

A life with Rafayel is to die knowing you have lived

[astrow0rldx]

pac tarot: traits you should embody & get rid of

one

some could be Sagittarius? libras? embody bringing peace to the situation. embody being calm and peaceful. embody being. you are a warrior, yes. embody that with strength and grace. you are wise with a high capability to have a lot of integrity, and can make wise decisions. embody going after your ideas, wishes and dreams with confidence. embody not being distracted, but still be adventurous, spontaneous, and excited to experience the world. embody for your own self and the people around you to mediate the situation because you know you have the power to. embody learning how to harmonize and balance things out.

get rid of that stubborn, resistance to change shit. get rid of attaching yourself to worldly things, materialistic things, your job, career, false idea of family, status, SUCCESS, etc. get rid of your obsession with achieving. especially if it causes conflict and competition. get rid of your motivation to always win and have a victory with something. these are great traits, but to your own degree you need to change something about how you approach this behavior.

two

embody being a leader. embody your own personal power. embody the ability to be able to shine, let yourself shine. let yourself control things, conversations, be able to speak. fuck the haters, fuck the sneaky people, fuck any fakes. if it is not a good enviroment for you, use your shineness to an advantage and get what you want. learn how to juggle things and balance your priorities with your light. embody expressing yourself, and being balanced with whatever at the same time. embody being a kid, playful and carefree sometimes.

you need to get rid of your depression. you stuck in a black hole. stop being a victim that wants to control everything. get rid of being manipulative and using things to your own upper hand advantage omg. you need to fix any mental ick, therapy, meditation.

three

embody gratitude, present in the moment, stability, and confidence. you need to embody your financial stable self, your dream career/income/lifestyle etc now while time is ticking, opportunities are out there. embody going for it, embody doing. embody learning, gaining information. embody better communication skills period, and talk more nicer. go give some love, talk to a friend, be social, or loving, go court someone or something. you need to embody your mental drive to find new love.

get rid of walking into connections so blindly, and excited though. quit letting your anxiety, delusions, confusion, swiftness, or adrenaline get you into bad situations. get rid of always being the dumb bad influence friend. get rid of your naivety, anger issues. don't even put your all into people who not putting their all into you.

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡'

full reading anthem^

[pparadiselost]

little black dress.

noel noa x fem reader a dinner date ends more intimately than expected. warning(s): nsfw, mirror sex minors do not interact.

you couldn’t remember the last time you had been this excited for a night out. it was like there was something different in the air, something like a spark tingling in the atmosphere, and you could barely sit still the entire day just waiting for the time to pass by.

could anyone blame you? you hadn’t been out on any proper dates in a long, long time, and whatever experiences you did have, you could probably count the number of times you went out on a date like this on one hand. as much of a diehard romantic as you were deep down, reality often didn’t pan out the same way your imagination did, and that sometimes just meant foregoing the same romantic endeavors that your more sociable peers might have.

but not while you were with noel noa. you always thought that you must have been some kind of war hero in your past life to somehow end up in a relationship with him. he was stoic and perhaps not the most expressive, but he was perfect in your eyes. hardworking, dedicated, and loyal, you liked to think that he was kind of like a reward for all of your arduous patience.

“be ready by six,” was all he had said to you over the phone last night. “wear something nice. if you want to buy a new dress, treat yourself. you already have my card. i booked a dinner reservation at a restaurant i think you’ll like.”

knowing noa, it was probably a super expensive, high end place that he would insist on paying for. he was never a particularly vain nor a materialistic man, but he was the world’s best striker and that did conveniently come with a pretty hefty paycheck. he was a frugal man, but when it came to treating you right, he would only accept the best.

you insisted that you didn’t need big gestures or expensive gifts to make the whole thing work. if anything, you cherished the homey moments you had with him more. you liked seeing him as noel noa the boyfriend, not noel noa the celebrity. no one else in the world knew what he sounded like as he dozed off on facetime while playing abroad or how tight his hugs were when you’d come to welcome him back home at the airport. 

but getting princess treatment and being pampered every once in a while didn’t hurt either. time just seemed to pass by so slowly, so you made up your mind to play into your excitement. trying to bottle it up wouldn’t do you any good, and besides, a little treat never hurt anyone. 

you ease yourself into a nice warm bath, even sprinkling in some nice smelling salts and a glittery bath bomb you had buried in your bathroom cabinets. you didn’t leave the bath until you were absolutely sure you had soaked long enough and would come out sparkling like a newborn unicorn. the thought made you smile as you worked on your hair and skin, busting open all of the expensive skincare products you had been saving for a special occasion. it was healing, to spread all of these fragrant creams and lotions over your arms and legs, taking it slow and showing some proper appreciation for your body.

your make-up came easily after that, and you had fun picking out some nice colors and your favorite products. you were practically glowing in your reflection, and you couldn’t help but muse about how nice it was to feel so appreciative about yourself for once. it was too easy to get caught up in the hubbub of your everyday life and to feel down while trying to navigate a complicated relationship with such a well-known figure with grace. 

you swing your closet door open and take a good look at the clothes inside. noa had told you to get pretty, and you want to look breathtaking for your date. you rifle through the different dresses and outfits, looking for the perfect thing to don for the night. your eyes go from the front of your closet to the back, where you find a simple but adorable little black dress nestled inside. it’s everything you were looking for. the color sleek, the design sexy but refined, and elegant enough to meet noa’s more mature taste.

you don’t waste another thought grabbing the dress and shimmying into it. you’re blown away by your reflection in your mirror. to say you look beautiful would only be the beginning. you’re practically glowing with confidence, the dress hugging you in all the right places and making you look less like the humble mousey homebody you were to a glamorous socialite. you squeal internally, celebrating a job well done at getting ready, and you make yourself comfortable finishing up the final touches as you wait for your boyfriend to come pick you up.

sure enough, just as you were taking a breather and getting comfortable in your own skin, the doorbell went off. giddy as if you were going on your first date with him, you skip to the door and swing it open.

“ready?” the tall man at the door greets you simply. you beam up at him, your enthusiasm practically dripping off of you. noa must have spent some time getting ready himself as well: he’s dressed cleanly and simply for the date, and if you’re not mistaken, he must have treated himself to a haircut as well.

before you can do anything else, a bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers emerged from behind his back. a soft smile graces his usually stoic face, and you can see the smile wrinkles crinkling up around the corners of his eyes. you can’t exactly differentiate all of the flowers, but they’re breathtaking. the gesture has the butterflies in your stomach running wild all over again.

“for you,” he breathes. you struggle to properly form words as you return his smile with one of your own, truly feeling like a kid in a candy shop. you take the bouquet gingerly from him, and you take a moment to admire the blooms and their vibrant colors. they’re lovely, and even though it’s such a classic romantic gesture, it means more coming from him. noa is always so strict about his professional life and how he maintains himself, so this little present only cements the fact that you’re someone special to him.

“noel, you really shouldn’t have…! you’re already treating me to dinner!” you try to scold him, but he plays it off smoothly. you smile as you hug the bouquet, and he slips a hand around your waist to bring you so he can kiss you on your forehead. 

“all of this is the least that i can do for all of your patience with me. i know being with me is difficult,” he murmurs. his eyes glance over your body, his sharp gaze falling over your face, your chest, your waist, and your legs. his usually harsh expression seems to warm up after being around you. “you look beautiful too. really beautiful.”

“you’re the one that told me to dress up,” you remind him teasingly with a foxy grin as you prance off to find something that could serve as a vase for the flowers. you really ought to invest in a proper flower vase at this point; using an empty wine bottle feels like an insult to the bouquet. he makes himself at home while you hum a tune under your breath and carefully arrange the flowers in their makeshift place, admiring the gift yet again.

noa glances at his expensive watch and then towards you. “are you ready to head out? i don’t want to be late to our reservation.”

you slip your hands into the crook of his toned arm, the muscle shifting to adjust to your grip. you can feel how well built he is and how chiseled he’s gotten from a lifetime of sports, and you fight back the slight heat creeping around your body at the thought of getting to hog such an in-demand man all to yourself for the time being. 

“let’s be off!”

…

…

…

you thought the dinner went well. you enjoyed the food and the drinks, and the conversation flowed naturally as it always did. you shared jokes with noa, the man cracking a laugh every now and then, and you couldn’t imagine a more perfect night. he even let you order dessert, and he let you steal the better part of his once you had wolfed down your share. he really was the perfect boyfriend in every sense of the way, and you were glowing with how much fun you had had when he escorted you back home. 

you had half-expected him to simply drop you off with a kiss and scuttle off to whatever his manager demanded he do, but instead of the night ending early, noa evidently had other plans in mind.

“you did this on purpose tonight, didn’t you?” rough hands yank impatiently at the back of his dress, nothing like the charismatic and the usually gentle demeanor you knew of noa. heat blooms and stirs deep inside of you like a dormant monster coming to life, and you don’t offer any resistance as he unzips the back of your dress. his wandering hands immediately tug at your bra, unhooking them with a practiced expertise and latching onto the soft flesh of your tits. 

your breathing shallows. you’re at his mercy even though he’s just gotten started. noa doesn’t care whether or not it was your intention to rile him up this much. you look good, good enough for him to sink his teeth into, and he was going to have you after having held himself back for so long.

and he thinks you’re in the perfect place for that. he’s perched on the edge of your bed, and you’re placed perfectly in his lap. you keep grinding your ass against his toned, muscled thighs and the obviously big tent in the crotch of his pants. through the dimness of your room, you can see your silhouette merging with his in the mirror, your now messy reflection nothing like the sunny girl you had been just hours prior.

calloused fingers grab hungrily at your tits. his palms rub against your sensitive skin, and you barely choke back a moan when his fingertips brush over your hardened nipples. you can feel him exhale deeply when he feels you shudder against his chest, and reacting to you, his fingers toy with your nipples. pinching teasingly, flicking your nipples, groping at your chest, he has you more or less writhing in his embrace even though he hasn’t even undressed you fully.

“i wanted to do this to you ever since i came to pick you up. bet you had no clue,” he breathes against the shell of your ear. you whimper incoherently, your insides doing backflips when his teeth ghost over the thin skin of your ear, his movements lethal and sensual. “i was tempted. i wanted to rip this dress off of you and fuck you right there on the floor. and you didn’t know a single thing.”

“noel, i-,” you don’t know what you should say. god, him talking about how he wanted to rail you into tomorrow, to stretch your pretty cunt out on his thick cock and make you cream all over his girth made your head spin dangerously. he keeps coaxing you bit by bit out of your dress, and it was only out of respect for your belongings that kept him from physically tearing it off of your body. not that the dress was the issue to begin with: he could easily buy you a hundred expensive dresses if you only wanted it.

he grinds up against your ass once your metaphorical armor drops helplessly to the floor in a black puddle, followed fully by your bra. a lump grows in your throat as he nudges your legs apart with his own, and his fingers travel down the valley of your breasts, your stomach and waist, all the way between your parted thighs and down to your clothed hole. you grit your teeth when his thick fingers rub against your clothed slit, and something that sounds suspiciously close to a possessive chuckle comes from him when he can feel how wet you are against his fingertips.

“did you like that?” he mutters. “you’re so wet down here. your panties are so wet. bet you weren’t thinking of this when you were getting all giggly during our dinner date and playing footsie with me under the table. this is your reward for working me up all night.”

you grip at his forearms. your hole is pulsing as he rubs at you through your panties, your impatience visible on every inch of your body. fuck, you could feel yourself getting aroused at an embarrassingly fast pace, and it didn’t help that you could see your reflection perfectly in your mirror from where the two of you were seated. it was amazing how much self control noa had over his body. you could feel how hard and how big his dick had gotten while you were pressed up against him, your bodies gyrating lewdly together. dry humping each other while he toyed with your slit, just threatening to slip underneath your panties to touch you directly but not quite.

you throw your head back, using his broad shoulders as a makeshift support. “noel- noel, please- don’t touch me like that… i need more. i want you inside me-”

he laughs. “falling apart already? i just told you about how much you’ve been torturing me all night. don’t you think you can handle a little bit more? it’s only a fraction of what you did.”

“i want it- want it so bad, please…,” your voice trails off. you’re drooling at the thought of having his fingers stuffed inside of you. nothing could quite imitate the addictive stretch of his cock, but his fingers would feel so good inside of you. just thinking about him pumping his knuckles in and out, acutely feeling your insides twitching and drooling around him, your pussy hooked on every part of his body forever. you wiggle your hips shamelessly in rhythm with how he’s teasing you. you need him inside of your cunt. these small touches aren’t doing anything for you, and the pounding escalating in your head has nowhere to go.

noa isn’t a cruel man by any means. but he has no qualms about making you earn what he deems is appropriate, and you know that that’s what he’s doing to you right now. “why should i give myself to you? show me. show me how much you want me.”

he stops momentarily to grab at the sides of your panties, and you shudder when he peels them slowly and painstakingly off of your hips and thighs. your juices cling to the seat of your panties when he pulls them off of your thighs, your now painfully pulsing and empty hole left unprotected. noa then reaches for your own wrist, and he coaxes your legs even further apart until every part of your glistening cunt is shown in the mirror reflection, his soon-to-be indulgent reward.

your breath shakes, leaving your body as if the last sense of dignity was leaving you as well. you let him guide your hand towards your cunt, and you know what he wants to see from you. noa is a man of action, of results, and you press your fingers slowly towards your swollen clit. you let out a quiet sigh, a dull shudder of pleasure flickering up your stomach when you circle your sensitive nub. his eyes are sharp, and he never leaves your form in the mirror as you put on a perfect show for him, your own face scrunched up mid-moan and gasping out breathlessly as you touch yourself.

you imagine it’s him touching you. you try to emulate the way he would slowly touch your clit, rough fingertips swapped out for your soft ones. you take your time with yourself, making sure to savor the way your arousal swirls deep inside your body. you want to make it worth your while, you want to put on a good display for your boyfriend. he watches you like a hawk as you move your hips into your hand, your movements alternating between slow, loving movements to faster ones, from pinching your clit to sliding your fingertips up and down your slick folds to show noa just how wet you are, just how much you want him to touch your body.

“oh, fuck-,” you groan out. your fingertips circle your fluttering hole, your walls feeling horrible and empty. your fingers are so small in comparison to noa’s, but not having anything stretching you out feels even worse. you can feel noa’s breathing shallow slightly when you press your fingers against your entrance. you’re not quite penetrating yourself, but you feel the pressure against your pussy, just threatening to breach the tight ring of muscle and stretch your insides out the way you craved it. 

you push your finger past your slick hole, and you throw your head back again, moaning noa’s name. “oh, god- noel… want you inside of me, noel- need you so bad… fuck- ohhhh, fucking hell- noel…”

his hard on grinds against your ass as you begin to build a comfortable pace. you thrust two fingers inside of you, trying to mimic the movements of his thick fingers or even better, the movements of his thick cock. your fingers are a far cry from how deep and how well he fucks you, but it’ll suffice for now. and you know noa likes riling you up, prepping you implicitly like this. 

your reflection shakes in the mirror as the pleasure starts to light up your brain, your body melting away into a quivering mess of flesh and blood. the picture perfect part of the night was done, and now it was time to get into the dirty, the messy, the part that steals your breath and makes you unlock that deeply seeded bit of your mind that relishes in the unspeakable. you let your voice pitch a little higher, making your moans airy and pretty the way noa likes it best. 

“want you deep inside me…” you scissor your fingers, making sure he catches a good glimpse of the way your inner walls cling to your outstretched knuckles and all of your glistening juices dripping off of your skin. you rub at your clit with your other hand, overwhelming and flooding your senses. you can feel the hot arousal in your stomach drinking up the pulses of pleasure hurtling up your spine. your fingers thrust into your cunt faster, deeper, the pads of your fingertips desperately searching for that sweet spot inside you that makes stars explode underneath your eyelids.

noa thinks you look absolutely heavenly. angelic, even, like he’s almost undeserving of a girl as perfect as you. he’s craved this piece of euphoria the entire night, eager to see you spread out and drowning in your own pleasure, that pretty body of yours no longer hidden by the shadowy swathes of your date night dress. it’s agony, to not touch you and to not fuck you out into pieces on his cock like some feral animal, but noa is rational man. he wants to take his time with you. he wants to bury into the sinews and the tendons of your love, and he wants to sink his teeth into your sweetness and feel its sticky headiness, its heavy aftermath as it passes over his tongue and his throat, to settle somewhere deep in his heart.

“show me.” his voice is calm but strained, and he’s breathing through his nose in an attempt to calm himself. something hot and dull and not fully clear pounds against his abdomen, and blood keeps on rushing to his pants, his cock choking and gasping for attention. but noa is a master of control, and he pushes his own carnal needs aside to focus on you. “where do you want me?”

“deep. inside me,” you eke out. your voice sounds desperate, and you’re close to losing control over your body. he can see the way pleasure runs rampant all over your body. sweat beads on your skin, and when he presses his hands against you, you lean into his touch as if the small gesture is what’ll get you to finish. “want you to touch me more, noel… my fingers don’t feel as good as you do.”

he can barely suppress a laugh as he kisses your face, and you reward him with a breathy moan. “are you close? are you going to cum?”

your walls pulse and squeeze around your fingers at the sound of his voice, stoic and controlled. he’s a stark contrast to how quickly you’re falling apart, the pressure inside of your gut coiling in on itself almost painfully. you nod feverishly, your hips bucking in rhythm with how frantically you’re fucking yourself out on your fingers. “yes- wanna cum! but it’s not enough- don’t wanna cum on my fingers- wanna cum on your cock instead, please… god, touch me, touch me please…!”

he presses his lips together, and you meet his intense gaze through the mirror. “...fine. have it your way. stop touching yourself.”

your pussy feels like it’s crying out in protest when you pull your fingers out, strands of your sticky arousal clinging between your gaping hole and fingertips. your hole throbs and quivers, instantaneously craving the addictive high of being stretched out and fucked again. but you stay strong and push past the dull thrum in the back of your head, mouth going dry as noa maneuvers his cock out of his pants. 

your breath hitches in the back of your throat when you can feel something thick and hard rubbing at the inside of your thighs, and you carefully guide his cock against your slit. he bucks his hips against yours, grinding upwards so he can coat his length with your slick. you let out a small cry when his cockhead prods at your clit, and sparks settle deep inside your gut. going between edging yourself to feeling noa’s bare cock burying itself in between your soaked folds is too much, and you want him inside you as quickly as possible.

“so needy,” he murmurs as if he’s not the one who put you in this situation to begin with, “is this what you wanted? do you think you can understand how i felt now?”

you nod frantically. you’re entranced at the lewd silhouette of the two of you in the mirror, bodies entwining. his cock is huge, engorged all the way from having watched you touch yourself so eagerly, and you can feel it twitching and throbbing against you. pre-cum dots the tip, and you swallow when you see it mixing together with your juices that are coating his length.

“inside-,” you whisper like a broken record, “put it inside me- want your cock inside my pussy…”

“yeah? i’ll give it to you as much as you want,” the frenchman promises. “i’ll fuck you out so good that you can’t walk tomorrow. how about that? would that be enough for your greedy pussy? or do i need to break you further?”

your head nearly spins. it doesn’t matter to you how much he takes from you. all that matters is that you get him in one way or another. you know that he has what you need, that he’ll make you good, make you cum your brains out so that you’re left a mangled, breathless mess stuffed full of his cum and dick by the end of the night. you couldn’t imagine a more perfect ending to this tryst. 

his cockhead presses against your greedy opening, covered from tip to base with your slick. he grips at your hips, and a breathy moan escapes you as he pushes your body down on his cock. despite how long the two of you have been together, the first intrusion of his thick cock into your pussy leaves you breathless each and every time. your entire body trembles as he forces more and more of his dick into you, your already sensitive walls clamping down immediately on his engorged length. 

he doesn’t give you time to adjust to him, determined to make you feel every inch of his massive dick sliding into you. you’re taking him so well, like your cunt was made just to be stuffed with his cock, and you’re already writhing on top of him. arousal wells like the ebb and flow of the sea waves when you can see your reflection in the mirror. you can see his cock intruding into you, your pussy lips spread apart and glistening as you’re being split into two on his length.

“soooo big-,” you swoon starstruck. “you’re always so big, noel… love how you feel inside of me.”

“do you now?” he replies, the teasing edge in his voice unmistakable. you’re fluttering around him deliciously, your legs spread out all pretty for him in his lap, and you can feel his balls tensing up underneath you as he bottoms out. it’s insane, his sheer size, and you think it’s even crazier that you’ve gotten hooked on this man so deeply that you don’t think you can get off on anything that doesn’t involve him anymore. you swear you feel his tip all the way up in your throat, and just having him slide into you like this is enough to make your brain feel all tingly and fuzzy.

one hand starts rubbing slow circles into the skin of your hip, right where your thighs connect with the rest of your body. “why don’t you start moving for me then? i’m not done with you quite yet. keep putting on a bit of a show for me.”

you moan as you start grinding up and down, moving yourself slowly off of his cock before sinking down on it. your breath catches in the back of your throat as pleasure starts to flicker all over your insides again. your stomach coils each time you buck your hips, and seeing everything you’re doing reflected in the mirror doesn’t help you. you can see just how much of his cock is sliding in and out of you as you ride him, his hands beginning to wander all over your body. you whimper for him incoherently as his deft fingers rub at your clit and grope at your chest.

“look at you,” noa breathes against your ear. “look at how good you’re being for me. look at that pretty pussy… all wet and spread out just for me. feels good to ride me, doesn’t it? i can feel how tight you are every time you bounce in my lap.”

his lewd words have your insides clamping around him. you want him to keep talking to you like that, the deep cadences of his normally calm voice a stark contrast to your scattered thoughts. you can feel your rhythm speeding up, the desperation in your movements evident to him. you want to feel more of him inside of you, and you’re shaking your hips like any scrap of shame left inside of you has withered away. it did a long time ago, but you know you’re only enjoying it because it’s him, because everything that makes him feels good makes you feel good too.

you angle your hips so that his tip is sliding against that one spot you like best, and you’re throwing your head back and groaning out his name. noa’s cock throbs inside of you precariously with each swell of your voice. he likes having you like this, the possessive side of him eating up every part of you. he likes the contrast between your normally demure everyday, the side you keep honed and professional to perfect the balancing act of managing your own life and his hectic one, versus whatever madness he has you entrapped in once the two of you are alone. he likes it, likes how shameless you are, likes wielding the knowledge that he’s the only who gets to see you like this.

“feels so good- feels so good having cock inside me- having your cock inside me-,” you keep repeating the same words again. it’s all you care about. the rest of the world might as well be dead to you in this instant. all you want to feel is his strong chest against your back as you ride him, your sweaty bodies connected and twisting with one another.

“i know,” he whispers back. “and you’re taking it so well. that’s my lady. i can’t decide if i wanna look at you or the mirror. fuck, you’re so tight… do you like it when i talk to you like this? like it when i talk you through everything you’re doing while you see it in the mirror? c’mon, show me more of your pretty pussy…”

your thighs burn slightly with how much you’re working them, but you’re determined to see things through. his cock slides in and out of you with little resistance from just how wet you are, your pussy drooling over the sensation of being penetrated by him over and over again. with him touching your body all over, the pleasure receptacles in your brain keep lighting up. he knows how to make you fall apart so easily, and yet each time, it feels so new. you can’t get enough of whatever euphoria this is, being stretched out on his girth and drinking up all of his obscene praise.

“all spread out just for me… tits bouncing and everything too… so dirty,” he hums, swallowing thickly. his adam’s apple bobs, and he groans under his breath. you’re rocking your hips so well for him, moving in a way that makes both of you feel so good. he can feel his abs tensing up with each sensual roll of your hips. god, he loves it when you ride him. he loves seeing the pleasure and neediness scrawled all over your face, like you’re going to stop breathing if you don’t feel more of him with each thrust. he’s thrusting into you to match your pace. wet squelching noises fill the room to match your dazed breaths and cries each time his cock delves deep into your stretched out hole. 

“oh fuck- noel-,” you moan, arching your back. “i-if you talk to me like that, i’ll-”

he laughs when you can’t bring yourself to finish your words. you can feel your brain turning to mush, your ability to string together sentences dissolving like a spoonful of sugar mixed into water. the pleasure shooting through your core is too much for you to handle, consuming all of your consciousness. it’s all you can register, the addictive feeling of his cock spearing you into two, rubbing your ass against his lap shamelessly as you fuck yourself on his dick. 

“you’ll what? stay with me now.” his stern, unforgiving voice snaps you back out of whatever hazy drunkenness is pressing like a deadweight on your mind. “talk to me. is it making you feel good? do you like hearing my voice while having my cock inside of you? does that turn you on?”

you swear you can feel him smirking against your skin when your pussy clenches around him greedily. god, it’s so obvious. how could you not get off on this man’s voice? he’s so firm, so stern, and so ready to give you everything he has if you just so much as say the word. he’s as dedicated as he is draconian, and hearing how he’s going to force you to garble out your pathetic mewls in order to earn yourself your true prize makes your pussy throb painfully around him. 

“yes- love hearing you- turns me on so fucking much…,” you slur out. you don’t know how you’re going to face yourself in the mirror after everything that’s happening tonight. you’ve never seen anyone move their hips in the way you do now, hungry to have cock inside of you. his dick stretches you out just right, in the way that has your vision flashing white each time his cockhead slides deep into you. you want him to bruise your cervix and fuck you full, until you can’t walk and can’t do anything except obsess over him. “you’re so fucking sexy… you’re gonna kill me…”

“i’m not going to do such a thing. might fuck you until you pass out, but i would never hurt you. unless you want me to. but even then-…” he whispers. you choke out a loud whine when his fingertips graze over your clit again, pinching at your sensitive nub before rolling it in between his fingers. an electric surge washes over your body, and you’re clenching up so much around him that you’re basically milking his cock. you’re getting dangerously close, the aftershock of having fingered yourself earlier making the edge hurtle towards you that much faster. 

“noel…!”

he chuckles darkly. “-i think i prefer making you scream from pleasure.”

you’re practically writhing in his arms. your stomach pulses, coiling in and outward, waves of pleasure washing over you as the arousal in your gut quivers in accordance to some primal rhythm. he’s thrusting so hard up into you, and each snap of his hips into yours makes you let out a strangled cry. you can feel him rubbing so deep inside of you. what might have started out as a sensual night is now at its peak desperation, just two people fucking one another as if they’ve been starved of oxygen. you feel like you might actually crumble if you were to pull away from noa.

“like that, yeah?” the frenchman responds. the sounds of your sloppy lovemaking are ringing throughout the room, your cunt leaking like a faucet around him. he’s sliding in and out of your clenched hole, and you can barely breathe from how good it feels. your breaths are shallow and desperate, each thrust netting the striker a rough cry of his name. it does something to him too, lights up some part deep inside of his brain that likes hearing you cry for him. 

he’s a good man, and noa abides by being the best version of himself he can. but something about knowing how easily he can get you to break, how his cock has you turning into a fucked out version of yourself, how much he can corrupt you over and over again until you’re sobbing and begging for release, does something to him. it’s a kind of perverse obsession, but the more he feeds it, the more he craves it. he loves breaking you down in his arms, and he savors each opportunity he gets.

“gonna cum soon, aren’t you?” he groans. “i know you are. i can feel you tightening up around my cock… squeezing me all nice. fuck—pretty pussy just clenched up around me now.. i’ll make you cum- make you cum all over my cock… that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“yes!” you sound feverish with how needy you are. you grind down on him, your cunt basically gushing all around his girth as his tip grinds against your g-spot. it feels so addictively good, almost enough to make you cum right there and then from how deep his cock is reaching inside of you. it’s insane how this man is built, like his cock was crafted just to rip orgasm after orgasm from you ruthlessly, until your sheets are drenched and you’re begging him for mercy. “make me cum! love cumming on your cock- ‘t’s the best- cumming on your cock is the best…!”

“gonna make you cum- then i’ll creampie that greedy pussy of yours. that tight fucking hole- made to take my cum too,” he grunts. his balls tense up against your ass, and he’s so close. he’s close to spilling inside of you, stuffing you out even further with his cock and cum mixing inside of your pliant cunt. you take him so well, beg for him so sweetly on command. noa is just a man, and what man could resist the pathetic sobs and cries of the woman he loves to death?

you’re a mess. you know this. and yet the thought, just the fleeting idea pressing up against your brain through the messy haze, of him cumming deep into your pussy and flooding your womb makes your walls twitch and jump up around him. he moans, the sound almost primal from how deep it comes from his chest, and you think you’re going to suffocate to death with how much of him you’re taking. 

“yeah- want that too, don’t you? don’t even think about hiding anything from me. i know you too well for that.” his breath is hot on your skin, and you’re consumed with the need for him to bite you. you want him to be rough with you the way he is right now, breaking you in a way that you can only describe as lovingly. you’re milking him wildly, and you’re not going to last longer. his cockhead bullies the entrance of your womb, ramming into what feels like your cervix, and it’s all you can do to take in shallow breaths and let him fuck into you like the world’s about to end tomorrow.

“cumming…!” your chest feels tight. the pleasure is so overwhelming that it’s almost too much. “i’m cumming! cumming, cumming- fuck, fuck, oh shit- it’s getting everywhere! feels so good- you’re gonna break me, you’re gonna break my pussy!”

your vision flashes white. you can’t breathe for a second, your lungs giving out on you as if you had the wind knocked out of you. all it takes is for one full stroke for you to come tumbling across the edge, pleasure coursing like it's overtaking your pulse all throughout the crevices of your body. your back arches dangerously off of his chest, and you’re clenching up all around him. you’re vaguely aware of the wetness gushing past your womb and from your hole. your juices are leaking out of you like a faucet, undoubtedly making a mess underneath you.

but you can’t care less. the sensations zipping through your mind and your body are just too good. you’re a far cry from the beautifully put together woman you were a few hours ago, composed and intelligent. now all you can register, all you care about, all you live for is the high of orgasming after being fucked stupid on noa’s cock. 

his thick cock keeps slamming into you rapidly, threatening to split you in half. your stomach is still buzzing from the high, but he’s being so rough. you can feel the overstimulation tingling somewhere in your gut, your sensitive walls crying out as his cock refuses to let up the brutal pace. it’s hot, and you can feel your stomach coiling up again in painful knots, sending shockwaves of pain mixed with pleasure all throughout your core.

“w-wait- don’t keep going so fast!” you slur out, your words mixing into one another. it’s taking everything inside of you just to hold onto a semblance of coherent clarity, his cock fucking you dumb with every passing second. “it’s too much- i-i can’t handle it…! i just came… don’t be so rough with me!”

“you can take it. you’re going to take it.” noa’s deep voice keeps you locked in place. the wet sounds of him fucking you through your orgasm, desperately chasing after his own high, has you trapped where you are. your brain feels fuzzy all over, and the tightness in your core isn’t helping you at all. at this rate, you’re going to cum again right after having your first orgasm ripped from you, and knowing that noa’s also about to blow his load right into you makes you feel weak and helpless in his arms.

you love it. you don’t know when this greedy streak inside of you must have developed, but there’s a kind of masochistic pleasure that you’re soaking up. you can’t get enough of it, can’t get enough of being absolutely smothered in noa’s affection.

“fuck- tight fucking pussy-,” he mutters. “taking me so well. taking my cock so well- gonna cum inside you- you’re gonna take that too, yeah?”

you nod breathlessly. you’re sure your womb’s ready to take him, ready to have his cum flood you, soak up all of him like you were nothing more than a vessel made to take his love. he pumps into you hard, over and over, and you’re crying out, your moans mixing with his harsh breathing into one wet steamy mess.

your mind flashes blank when you feel the pressure rupturing inside of you. his cock pulses inside of you like a second heartbeat. his cum rushes into you, ropes of hot, strong cum filling up your womb and making you leak. it’s hot, burning its way across your sensitive insides, but you feel so happy and fucked out. you don’t need to look into the mirror across from you to know that you’re just a ghost of yourself, plugged to the brim with his cum and cock stretching out your worn out hole.

“sooooo good-,” you warble out. “feels sooooo good- love how full i feel…”

he’s breathing heavily. you can make out the faint sound of his ragged exhales and inhales, and you can feel his chest rising and falling against your back. there’s something so gentle yet so rough, so sweet yet so uncaring about the way he touches you. he loves you to death, but the polite restraint he has when it comes to your body always ends up snapping when you find some way to snap it like you want him to go crazy.

you do. 

there’s a sense of euphoric numbness that stains the air, that leaves you mindless and happy. you trust noa with everything you have, and you’re sure the weird fuzzy warmth that fills your head is the same feeling that must be consuming noa too. you don’t need to exchange any further words with him to know that the connection between the two of you runs deep. 

your womb sloshes with all the cum noa’s dumped inside you, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to let you go anytime soon. and you’re fine with that. there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than in the safety of his arms, all tuckered out after a rewarding dinner with him. you’re no saint nor a sinner, nothing more than your ordinary person who managed to win noa’s heart with patience and love, but in some ways, you like to imagine that these glimpses of otherworldly intimacy and happiness are your reward for always keeping your heart open towards someone as harsh as noa can be at times.

it’s a mutual feeling, you’re sure. but you’ll save those thoughts for later, when you’re more lucid and more capable of fending for yourself. for now, you continue to grasp at that tenderness, letting noa hold you close to his chest and his heart, just the two of you in your own special world and nothing else.

KINKTOBER 2024—la deuxième semaine.

if you enjoyed my writing and would like to show appreciation, you can do so by donating to help tawfik evacuate gaza. time is running out for his family, so if you ever had any thoughts about tipping or commissioning me, please extend that generosity to those in need.

[crystalsenergy]

Challenges

& learnings of your personal year

(Solar Return chart) ☀️ Asc ✨

The goals are to transform challenges and discover growth in your personal journey!

Based on my personal experience and that of others, I've noticed that the Ascendant in the Solar Return chart largely defines what we deal with during the year.

Indeed, the topics already known to be associated with the Ascendant for the year receive much emphasis from the sign in the Solar Return chart.

I have a post on the meanings of Ascendants in signs in the Solar Return chart.

The intention is not to foresee what will "inevitably" be touched upon, no, but rather to use the astrological moment to understand what will truly be brought to the surface within us.

Think of yourself as a vast cauldron with many colors.

Like a gradient, colorful cauldron… 🌈

And with each astrological movement, it's as if things from within us begin to bubble up from this cauldron - things we already knew about, or maybe didn't…

Being a deep cauldron full of ingredients, a mixture (just like we are!), among other reasons, perhaps you may not be fully aware or consciously remember all aspects of your personality that need healing, balancing, expanding, evolving.

Because of this, I believe in the importance of seeing astrological movements as catalysts to stir up everything that is already within us.

Nothing that astrological movements bring continuously and intensely was not with us to some extent, whether on a personal level or in the morphogenetic field*

(*= difficulties that our family members bring, which we may not necessarily have activated, but which can be brought to the surface because, to some extent, even if slight, it existed in our personality too).

Therefore, the extent to which these issues will arise and affect each person will be extremely personal.

Below are some possible challenges for each Ascendant:

In terms of TEMPERAMENT, behavioral tendencies, first IMPRESSIONS that you will convey.

Ascendant in Aries: agitation, more nervous temperament, greater impatience, difficulty asking for help, impression of being angrier, more serious, more impenetrable, tendencies towards reactivity and impulsivity, excessive focus on the physical body and appearance.

The importance of reconsidering what it means to be authentic and a person with presence. Do you worry too much about achieving a specific image? An image of being strong, of being impenetrable, for example.

Ascendant in Taurus: difficulty in leaving situations (due to attachment, lack of initiative, comfort zone), more stubborn behavior than usual. Slower to move forward, more tendency to approach the world purely materialistically.

May have a tendency to accumulate more unnecessary things. The importance of understanding the real value of the things you have in your life now and what you intend to do with what you have (possessions and values, also, value in terms of ethics, even morality).

Ascendant in Gemini: challenges with being present in the here and now. Mental inconsistency, difficulty focusing, more agitated temperament, greater possibility of being distracted, difficulty having just one goal.

A busy mind, filled with interests but lacking concentration. The importance of working on effective communication.

Ascendant in Cancer: may take everything personally, memories from the past that you are still emotionally attached to but that do not serve you well may resurface, difficulty moving towards new things, such as new relationships, new emotions.

The importance of looking at your emotions as signals of what still needs to be healed. It will be a year with many emotional things coming to the surface! Observe.

Ascendant in Leo: difficulty with stubbornness, excessive focus on appearance, on what people will see and think of you. Slightly inflated and distorted self-awareness. Pride. Defense mechanisms. Reactivity.

Issues with self-esteem needing to be looked at with more care and healthy self-awareness. Approach to the world less focused on ego.

Ascendant in Virgo: more tendency to deal with the world purely materialistically and utilitarianly. Review your concept of time, of usefulness (yours and others'). More connection with the material world, exaggeration in focusing on productivity, on completing tasks, on feeling useful. Issues with self-criticism and perfectionism.

Be mindful not to fall into jobs and tasks that do not contribute to your growth, that reinforce patterns of endless demand, without ever "really getting there". The importance of paying attention to how much time you allocate to other areas of your life, outside of tasks and work. Physical health care is also important, look into this area as well.

Ascendant in Libra: a tendency to be more predisposed to environments and people, which, in a more negative sense, may end up representing a predisposition to others' desires.

Positively, this has good meanings, but as the focus of this post is on aspects to pay more attention to, I mention: difficulty saying no; greater need for approval; whether you perceive it or not, changing a lot depending on the environment, Libran issues in imbalance that already existed in your personality coming more to the surface in terms of your relationship with yourself and your way of presenting yourself to the world.

Ascendant in Scorpio: challenges with deeper emotions, including those that have been stored away in your emotional field for some time, which will now be brought to the surface with great force, since Scorpio brings forth everything that was hidden in a very strong way, challenges with anger, hurt, fantasies of revenge, which can be quite self-destructive.

In general, challenges with emotionally deep situations. It is also important to pay attention to how much negative and self-destructive patterns are brought to the surface to be seen. Do not hold onto them. Let go, release everything that does not serve you and/or others well!

Ascendant in Sagittarius: challenges with sincerity, excessive humor in meaningless situations, approach to avoiding emotional issues or emotionally more complex issues, toxic positivity, impulsivity, impatience, invasive extroversion, setting aside planning in situations where it would be important, acting with a certain irresponsibility.

It is important to see which points of your personality will be brought to the surface and act in the most appropriate way to be more healthy!

Ascendant in Capricorn: challenges with emotional approaches and being more sensitive to yourself and to life itself. A heavier, more serious, overly responsible approach that leaves no time and space for rest, leisure, and lightness. Dealing with difficulties and problems in a more controlling manner. Competitiveness. Individualism.

Limiting beliefs coming more to the surface. Greater focus on traditional ideas, visions, and practices that no longer serve your own good. It is important to review your paradigms, limiting beliefs, including in relation to your professional life, and how your more serious approach to yourself only reflects an inner child to be rediscovered, released! The lighter we are, the happier we live. And the less serious we are.

Ascendant in Aquarius: challenges with looking at yourself and others more closely, including emotionally, focusing on rationalizing everything, avoiding understanding subtlety and nuances (moving away from your intuition and the more sensitive aspects of your personality), excessive impersonality, excessive detachment, mental inflexibility.

It is important to review how much your internal life is based on logic and how healthy this is for the feminine-masculine balance in your personality. We are one. We don't need halves to fill us, right? Your feminine side may also need to be more integrated.

Ascendant in Pisces: more tendency to connect with energies from the external, from the collective unconscious and conscious, but especially the former. Greater tendency to get lost in the roles of this collective unconscious and have difficulties in centering on your own essence.

The importance of reviewing and reconnecting with your sensitivity, where there are things from the past and from your unconscious to be reinterpreted, transmuted, and perhaps even a moment to balance your mediumship, if you believe in that.

[11cupids-tarot11]

Habits of your future spouse that might annoy you 😅

1 -> 3

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Love y'all

- Cupid 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪.

Pile 1- Four of swords, Seven of wands, two of cups and Queen of coins.

So I'm seeing this person will annoy you with how closed off they are. They don't let their emotions show easily, it's hard getting this person to really settle down and be grounded. I don't think this person doesn't ever want to settle down, I think they're just scared of commitment but more specifically love, getting close to someone. Maybe they've been hurt by people before, rather it be an ex who left them feeling guarded or just walls being up because they think how cuel the world is, whatever it may be they feel they have to protect these feelings from everyone, and that will annoy you I'm assuming lol. You might not really understand this person's intentions at first, you might think they're disinterested or you wanting to move the relationship to a more serious level and they could be resistant, really confusing, like you just don't know what this person's next move is. But this energy is really frustrating! Like, either you love me or don't srsly man 😭 I see this person really does want you, they are serious about you and I think that scares them because again they're so closed off and guarded, but they really do worship you. They might think you're also out of their "league" I'm hearing, there could be some insecurities around their ego as well.

I'm mostly picking up on that and not much of anything else? I wanted this pick a pile to be a little longer but it seems this is all spirit wants to flow through for now lol.

I hope you enjoyed! See you next time, don't forget to do the pole at the bottom!

Other messages- Cancer, Pisces, 14, I'm sorry. (Seems like someone wants to apologize for something? I heard "I'm sorry" multiple times during this.)

Pile 2- Ace of coins, Five of wands, The magician, Eight of cups in reverse.

This person tends to be fixed on money at times, it might annoy you how materialistically this person might be. I'm also seeing this person likes to take on battles on their own, will fight anyone on earth for you and you don't have to move fingernail, they like to try and be the solution to all of your problems and this will annoy, it could be you just hate how this person makes all of your problems their own to the fullest which is a nice trait to have but it's also not healthy. This person could have a hard time letting toxic people go, they have a bit of a people pleasing energy. With the Magician card I'm getting this person really likes fixing everyone's problems, having their "Aha!" Moments and that might really irritate you, you could help this person coming out of that energy and teach them it's okay to not be everyone's hero, that it's not their job all the time to give themselves away so much.

I hope you enjoyed this reading! Don't forget to do the poll below! See you soon 🩷

Other messages- Aries, Leo, Sagittarius.

Pile 3- Three of coins, Knight of Swords, Three of cups and Five of swords

This person would rather sit in silence and struggle rather than ask for help. This person could like going out and partying a lot or maybe likes taking you on dates out doors a lot in crowded places, you could be more introverted than them so this annoys you a bit lol.

I think this person might have a temper they're still learning to control? Like I think they're a calm person but as soon as they get ticked off their words cut deep, and they know that actually.

Maybe this person has a lot of talent, you see a lot of potential in this person or they share lots of good ideas with you and it might annoy you that this person doesn't believe in themselves to finally turn their dreams into reality? I see you really want the best for this person so it might really annoy you that you know they're not giving it all they've got, you see how far they can go, they just need that extra bit of encouragement from you!

Hi! Hope you liked this reading! Don't forget to do the poll at the bottom please! See you soon! 🩷

Other messages- Gemini, Libra, Aquarius, blue, water, wings and 14.

[suikung]

can you do headcanons for madara kidnapping a senju?

| 𝖸𝖺𝗇.𝖬𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋𝖺 𝗑 𝖲𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗎.𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Madara had once tremendously respected the Senju. A worthy clan for his to face off with. But above all he had respect for their leader, Hashirama. He had faced off with him more times than he could count. However all that would disappear the moment he knew that a Senju, not just any but the brother of the man he had respected, fatally injured and killed his brother. From that day he held nothing but hatred for them.

So, why was he now standing over your sleeping figure? Standing inside your home, inside the Senju compound. What had led him to fall to this point of insanity over a Senju? No matter, his feelings for you laid deeper than his hatred. Within two minutes you had been awoken and quickly placed under a genjustu as to not draw attention to yourself.

By the time he released his genjutsu, your settings had now changed to a dark room, a candle dimly lighting up it up only enough to see the various Uchiha symbols around you. “Who’s there?” Calling out to no one in particular, heart beating at the idea someone did respond back. A dark shadow emerging from the corner, backlit by the candle unable to see their face. “Reveal yourself”, voice holding a stern tone, but anyone could hear the fear in you. Being in an unknown room with no weapons to defend yourself, unable to even know who you are up against.

“I suggest you lower your tone when speaking to me. It’d benefit you as you wouldn’t want to worsen your situation.”

Madara would be an unpredictable captor. Never would you know if he would be in the mood to be pampered or if he felt like spewing insults at you, disgracing your clan name.

When he was in a particularly good mood, he’d want to have you close at all times. His precious wife is what you were to him, even if you weren’t married. It wasn’t time yet to announce to the clan he had found his wife. Surprisingly he could be very romantic, despite your situation he’d give you anything you’d ever could have wanted. He prefers to win you over with materialistic things. A man still unsure of how to properly express love which was pretty obvious.

However he isn’t above hurting you. Madara is not one to deal with brats. Act out against him and consequences will be given accordingly. Sometimes it’ll be locked away in isolation or he’ll starve you.

“You can cry all you want, but you’re in Uchiha territory now. Your pitiful clan can get no where near here”

On the night of your capture, he executed the perfect plan to make it seem as thought you had simply left on your own will. He forged a note, leaving it by a table near your front door, your room was left tidy as if intentionally cleaned before you had departed. It left quite a few people in your clan puzzled you would just up and leave but nothing about the situation seemed to make it be deemed foul play.

After so much time in captivity with him, continuously walking on egg shells around him. You had just given in to his sick fantasies. Constantly praising him to ensure he’d never put you another day in isolation or starve you again. And somehow along those pseudo smiles, they began to feel more real. The ‘I love you’s’ coming out easier and easier. After so many lies, you had managed to convince yourself you were in love with Madara.

—————————————————————————

A/n kinda rushed sorry. Bae so crazy

[m1d-45]

Can I offer you the thought of gifting Kazuha a music box to keep during his travels?

songbird

notes: yes. ignore that it took me [checks notes] like several months to get to this request. and that it was meant to come out on his birthday. shush.

word count : 3k

-> warnings : none ! minor spoilers for inazuma AQ but nothin serious

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist : @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

there was little you could give a wanderer. he only carried what he needed, and what was needed was already kept close and well-maintained. there was little room for extra trinkets or unnecessary weight, either sacrificed in a moment of exhaustion or left behind when fleeing from those who wished him ill.

your kazuha was no different. even after joining the cruz fleet, he travelled light, with barely the clothes on his back to keep him company. he kept his pen in one pocket and paper in another, rarely carrying so much as a coin purse. this was fine and good, except his birthday was coming up and you had not a single clue what to get him.

you couldn’t ask beidou or the crew, as he’d certainly be lingering by and his hearing was far sharper than his blade. you couldn’t ask him—you’d tried, actually, but he’d just smiled and promised that he didn’t have want or need for anything. he spoke of his birthday very casually, as if it was any other day and not the reason he was by your side at all.

but kazuha was nothing if not thoughtful. for your last birthday, he’d gotten you a book of pressed inazuman flora, each carefully labelled, and had spent the entire afternoon telling you exactly where he’d picked each and why he’d chosen it. a lavender melon flower for resilience, a sakura bloom for change, a maple leaf for love. it was a painfully sweet show of affection, especially considering that the sakoku decree was not yet lifted.

“kazuha- are you sure you want me to have this? it could be years before you could collect these again.”

“please, my muse, the decree will not last forever. i have faith. and even if it doesn’t…”

he slips his hand into yours, looking out across the harbor. he’d taken you to a ridge just outside the city, letting you appreciate the sights without being unable to focus on his book. he looks away for a while, out to the sea, out to what lies beyond, the world seeming to slow to a crawl around you. the very air held its breath, allowing a wayward samurai’s sigh to linger, his mind far, far away.

“…inazuma is my home, but it is not my only place of rest. even if i never again got to experience a wondrous autumn, i’d still have this book.” he dragged his eyes from far-off shores, the same color as the maples sewn into his clothes.

“i’d still have you, wouldn’t i?”

and oh, archons, just the memory of that was enough to make your cheeks warm from more than just the liyuen sun. it’s early morning and the crowds are just starting to pick up, the shops of the lower harbor slowly selling off their wares. you’ve been looking for the better part of an hour now, and nothing seems to quite stick.

he already has pens, and is rather fond of the kind he already has. while you have the name and seller of said pens—he’d lent you one a while ago and never took it back—he already kept several spares tucked into his pockets. no matter how often he writes, how many papers he folds and gives away, his pad never seems to thin. the thread he uses to repair his clothes never fades or grows sparse, and he’s never so much as lost the tie in his hair. the week is growing shorter, and you have nothing.

and sure, kazuha isn’t materialistic to begin with, but you can’t think of anything else. it’s not like he dislikes liyuen food, but you’ve caught him frying his own fish enough times to know that he far prefers simpler tastes. he’s the one more familiar with liyue’s plains and hills out of the two of you, and you’re not eager to hurt yourself looking for somewhere new only to find out he’s already been.

he never asks for anything, never shows a hint of wanting. if he likes something, he gets it, leaving little for you to grasp at. it’s hard not to feel helpless, when he knocks at your door with your favorite flower in hand and you can hardly think of a single thing to do for his birthday. you can’t very well buy the sight of gardens of maple, nor somehow import those odd jelly-fungi he’s mentioned eating while in inazuma. based on the way he describes them, you’re not even sure if they’re meant to be edible…

his sword is kept in pristine condition. his shoes don’t seem to wear. you’re not familiar enough with medicine to try at getting him something for his aches, but it doesn’t matter, because every dawn means a fresh set of bandages, the faint herbal scent of whatever medicine underneath staying strong. he doesn’t need anything, and what he does he already has, and what he wants is quickly paid for through months of saved wages. he catches his own food, embroiders his own clothes, and you’re certain he’d filter and drink seawater if beidou didn’t stop him.

what can you get someone so minimalistic?

you prepare to loop around a final time, pricking your ears for the slightest call of something interesting. an array of local fruits, the freshest on the market. silk textiles, horsetail baskets, handmade chopsticks. you push through the crowds, eyes flicking over each stall. food, clothes, more food, building supplies? the harbor is crowded, overlapping shouting and negotiating and the barest sound of music through it all, quickly becoming overbearing.

…music? you stop and turn and seek out the delicate sound, surprised enough that your purpose for browsing has been lost. it’s rare to see street performers this far from the city center, not to mention the sound is so thin… normally there’s at least a set of drums to cut through the chatter. you’ve looked over everything twice anyway, it wouldn’t really hurt to look.

you don’t find a performer. instead, the sound leads you a few stalls over, to one full of various odds and ends, each carved from a dark wood. a lone chair, a set of cups—one has a weird chip in the lip—on an uneven plate, a good dozen set of chopsticks, somewhat clumsily painted. it’s tended by a young man who’s very nervously watching the customer in front of him fiddle with a wooden box, turning it over and inspecting every angle. there’s a key sticking out the back, and when they open it again, a single thin note floats out, quickly dashed away by the crowds. it’s beautiful, clear and crisp, even with the noise around you.

“maybe another day,” the other customer shrugs, and though the vendor’s face falls, yours lights up.

it’s perfect. sure, yeah, as the would-be buyer steps away and you look closer, the lines of engraving are uneven and hesitant, but the music was what made it worth it. kazuha always talks of the song within whispering wind, and you’ve seen how his pace slows when passing an opera, lingering just so. you never bought tickets because you didn’t know which he’d seen before, but this… this would do just fine.

“sorry about the wait,” the vendor apologizes, a slight sigh to his voice. “feel free to take a look around, just please be careful when handling the pieces. i don’t need another scolding from master lu…”

you pick up the box before he’s even done speaking, flipping open the lid. inside is some sort of flower on a plain pedestal, the same color as the rest of the box and largely unremarkable. you turn it, twisting the key in the back a few times, letting the song play again. it’s a slow, dancing tune, clear through the bustle. the little flower spins slowly, and you’ve made up your mind.

“what song is this?”

the vendor perks up, picking through his pockets until he finds a folded note. “’moon in one’s cup,’” he announces, “composed by yu-peng from up in yujing terrace.”

you dedicate the name to memory, closing the box and latching it shut. already, your heart is beating a bit fast, excitement and relief filling your chest.

“how much?”

you were hiding something from kazuha. he didn’t know what, he didn’t know why, but he knew it.

well, that was a bit of a lie. if he had to guess, it was whatever you’d gotten for his birthday. he’d done his best to assure you that you needn’t do or buy anything for him, but you’d gone and found something anyway. he couldn’t mind too much, not when the wind around you seemed to curl and skip along, ruffling your hair with self-inflicted pride. you were happy, and that was a fine enough present in itself. it was better than the poorly-hidden worry that always colored your features before, and it was a relief to know that it was a shallow issue you had been hiding. birthday or not, he’d hoped you’d tell him if something was wrong…

but it was nothing, thankfully. you asked him to find you after dinner on the day of, and that was that. the rest of the week slipped away like clouds from the sky, leaving him with a clear mind and a faint smile as he slept.

beidou was, surprisingly, not the first to wish him a happy birthday. it was furong that first saw him enter the breakfast hall, raising a glass with a shout that quickly spread across the crew.

“happy birthday!”

“here, c’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

“a toast!”

“to another year of smooth sailing!”

“to our stormwatcher!”

beidou was, however, sat closest to the door, and so she was the first to throw her arms tight around him, not minding the way his armor certainly dug into her skin.

“happy birthday, kazuha. don’t mind the noise, yeah?”

it would be impossible for a day such as today to turn south. the crew settled down and food was pressed into his hands, the shouting cooling off as they refocused on whatever they had been doing prior to then.

aside from the commotion at breakfast, his day was relatively normal. monitor the supplies coming in to ensure nobody tampered with them, then unpack them below decks. there was less to do, but that was simply because the date of their departure was approaching. within a few more days, he’d be off across open waters once more, keeping eye on the horizon.

that was for later, however. after lunch, he left port and took a stroll north, sitting for a while in an open field. the sky was cloudy, but not enough to worry about rain, so he lay on a flat-enough stone and let inspiration ebb and flow. a haiku here, a scratched out line there, though he was admittedly less focused than usual. the joy from that morning hadn’t really left him, sticking to his clothes and filling his thoughts. he wasn’t blind to the fact that he was welcome aboard the alcor, but it would be foolish to deny the appreciation of such a loud gesture, in meaning and volume.

his birthday didn’t mean much to him. sure, there was another year’s worth of memories to look back upon, a year’s worth of friendship and connections, but that could be declared any other day just as easily. when on the run from the shogunate, there was little time for such things as celebrations…

perhaps that was why he was still smiling. not just because of his friends, but because he had the energy to appreciate them. the ability to take off work and sit in the sun, soaking in nature. the energy to look forward to later obligations, instead of being permanently stuck in the moment.

dinner was far calmer than breakfast. he returned to the fleet late in the evening, ducking below deck to help cook. very few crew members liked (or were even good at) cooking, which meant it often fell to him. today, though, he was ushered out quickly, a few more people than usual seeming determined to block him from entering. it was strange, but not unexpected. the crew was close-knit, with every milestone met with raucous celebration.

he didn’t mind, though, returning above and busying himself with odd tasks. ferrying messages from furong, sorting papers with huixing, any and everything to keep himself occupied until the bell rung and dinner was served. the smell of alcohol quickly stained the air around the crowded dinner table, joining the heady mix of relaxation, joy, and a bit of anticipation.

another surprise awaited him, it seemed. he stuck around after he’d finished his food, noticing when little yue slipped out but not mentioning it. he also looked the other way when he snuck back in with a plate with a somewhat dented cover, letting someone else take his empty plate as the new one was pushed into its place. the conversation fell and he ignored the smell of sugar in the air, lifting the lid.

inside was a cake with shaky, cramped writing, struggling to fit his name in such a small space. it had obviously been made in-house, and was likely whatever secret the chefs had been determined to keep.

the cake itself was okay. a bit too sweet, dense, and with an odd sourness that he couldn’t tell was intentional or not. but the crew was happy and laughing and he didn’t need wine to get dizzy off their high, sitting at a well-worn table in a familiar seat surrounded by those he loved.

there was only one thing left…

he packed one of the last slices and kept it close to his chest as the halls grew quieter, the night air far cooler above deck. anemo softened his fall onto the pier, the wind leading him through the city and into familiar streets. the sight of your house had long since engrained itself into his mind, but he still felt his smile grow, tucking his cake behind his back as he knocked.

you were as beautiful as ever. he was certain you could pick yourself up from a pile of mud and still be sstunning, but tonight you had put in effort. still dressed for the weather, but with a bit more care into the set of your hair, standing straight.

“my muse,” he breathed, taking the small box from behind his back. “i have brought you a gift.”

and of course, you made a fuss about it, about how it was his birthday and that he didn’t have to do anything for you. but was that not the same logic that he had given you? did it matter, really, when the air was sweet with more than sugar and even your mock anger couldn’t hide your excitement?

at your behest, he took your hand in his and led you out of the city. his ‘favorite place’ was rather vauge instruction, but his mind had been made up from the moment he’d seen you. not too far, as he’d hate to stay out too late, but still somewhere nice. past bubu pharmacy, up the stone path, and on the low ridge beside it. few people would be passing by this late at night, but it was still close enough to the city that there were no real threats. a blanket was laid out and you both sat, exchanging gifts. his was in a plain bag, carefully wrapped in layers of protective paper, a small wooden box that looked as if it was meant to have legs but the designer had changed their mind halfway through. it was fine work, if a bit clumsy, but he knew it wasn’t yours. your sudden shift in attitude earlier could only be explained by a storefront. further inspection found a latch on the front and a key embedded in the back, and he understood. inside the music box was (what he could only guess to be) a carved silk flower, though again, one of the stems seemed to have been snapped and hastily covered. he reached for the back and turned the key twice, letting the song begin to play.

it was beautiful. careful notes plucked a carefree song, sounding very much alike to the lighter bands along feiyun slope. the music rose and fell, cheerful but quiet, like a soft satisfaction instead of a bright outburst. it was a lovely song in its own right, but his mind was far elsewhere. you were waiting for his reaction intently, face held in suspense like you thought he might hate it. he’d think it foolish, but that would imply that he disliked it, and that was far from the truth. to know you cared so heavily about his reaction to a simple music box, that your worry was for him, that you had been so excited for him, that you were hoping for his approval as if you didn’t already hold all that he was in your palms. the box could be stolen on his way back to the city, knocked out of his hands and dashed under a heavy cart, and his day would still be all the brighter simply by virtue of you being in it.

it was his birthday, after all, and you were one of the best gifts he could ask for.

[unabashegirl]

Different 12 — college hs

Harry's quiet, routine-driven life changes one weekend when he meets Y/N through a mutual friend at her party. She comes from a superficial, materialistic world with absent parents who believe money solves everything. Despite their differences, something clicks that night, and Y/N can't stop thinking about him.

Author's note:  Hey everyone! I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for your incredible support. I’m currently 164 subscribers away from being able to cover my medical school tuition, which is a huge milestone for me. I’m not sharing this because I’m asking anyone to contribute more, but rather to see if you could help spread the word by reposting.

warnings: talk abt abuse and violence

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to the rest of the chapters, various one shots and much more :)

---> different masterlist <---

She was petrified down to her core. Y/N suddenly couldn’t feel her extremities. The grip on her mechanical pencil tightened as she thought of ways to defend herself if necessary. She couldn’t understand how going to the library had turned into a nightmare.

Brian pulled out the chair beside her and sat down, incredibly close to her. He could smell her lavender shampoo and her vanilla lotion.

“Brian,” she started, but was quickly cut off by his rough, demanding voice.

“Shut up, Y/N.” He ran his fingers through his brown hair as he leaned closer to her ear. Brian knew there were plenty of people in the library who could interrupt them or, worse, overhear their conversation. Therefore, if he needed to whisper so the rest couldn’t find out his business, he would. “I am so fucking done with your silent treatment. Who the fuck do you think you are?” His tone was stern, harsh, and cold enough to make her skin crawl.

She didn’t say anything but just turned to stare back at him.

“You treat me like shit, and then I find out that you have a boyfriend? Who is it?” Brian never considered himself a bad boyfriend. He knew he had his flaws, like everyone else, but Y/N hadn’t given him a chance to redeem himself. “I heard it’s that kid you were speaking to at that fucking party you had, and I really hope it’s not him. He’s a fucking nobody.” He was jealous but would never admit it.

“Don’t talk about him that way!” She hadn’t planned to respond to him, but bringing Harry into it had made her blood boil like never before. She had never been the type to hold grudges. Her grandmother had taught her from a young age the virtue of forgiveness, but what Brian had done that night was unforgivable.

“I can say whatever I please. Are you seriously telling me that you prefer him over me? Firstly, why did you leave me?” The veins popped from his neck as his cheeks turned red. His hands ached to touch her and force an answer out of her, but he couldn’t with so many people around. So, he gripped her jaw and forced her closer to him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed, pulling her face from his grip even though it hurt her skin. “The party? Where not only did you hit me, but you tried to force me into having sex with you?” she whispered, glancing at the other people in the library.

“Force you to have sex with me? You’re mistaken. I don’t remember ever having difficulty getting you into bed. You were always so willing to open your legs to everyone.” Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing he would continue to deny it.

“Fuck you,” she cursed, reaching out to start packing her things back into her tote bag.

“He’s a nobody. Your parents will never approve,” he laughed, recalling the day she introduced him to her parents. He had shown off that night. Brian also came from an affluent family, though nowhere near Y/N’s. “You’re a fucking princess, and he will never fulfill the role I left.”

“You think I’m a princess?” she retorted. “Then why would you hit me? You busted my lip, my eyebrow, and broke my nose that night.”

She still remembered the darkness of the room where he held her for almost three hours while the party continued downstairs. If it hadn’t been for her friends, who had grown worried about her whereabouts that night, he would have raped her. Y/N owed everything to James and Sebastian. They moved in with her for the rest of winter break until her nightmares finally stopped tormenting her. She eventually healed physically, but she would never forget the darkness of that room.

Brian looked away and stared off into the distance. He couldn’t look her in the eyes because, deep down, he felt guilty.

He remembered waking up in only boxers in his friend’s master bedroom. His entire body hurt and ached. His knuckles were bruised, and at first, he assumed he’d gotten into another silly fight with some random person. So, he called and texted Y/N, but she never answered. It wasn’t until he looked in the mirror that he saw his bruised face. James had almost killed him that night.

“He might not be popular or as rich as you, but I know that Harry would never lay a finger on me without my permission,” she said proudly. “I am not entertaining this conversation. For a minute, I thought you were going to apologize to me. Silly me, huh? Always trying to justify your actions, but I am done. You crossed a line that night. I suggest you find another girl to torment. You wouldn’t like the entire university to find out what happened, would you?” she retorted as she rose to her feet, but before she could walk away, he gripped her forearm.

“Are you threatening me?” Brian growled as he stood up from his seat. She yanked her arm away and took a step back.

“Don’t touch me again,” she hissed, then quickly walked out of the library.

Y/N felt drained as she walked out of the building and across campus to find a quiet place to settle down. She found a small, secluded area with a sofa and cushions, like a cozy living room, so she settled onto the couch and pulled out her iPad to watch something before her next class and her meeting with Harry.

“Doll,” a voice whispered as someone caressed the top of her head. Y/N had fallen asleep watching another episode of her favorite show. James looked down at his best friend with a big smile, amused at her ability to fall asleep anywhere. “Did you sleep well?” he chuckled, pushing some hair away from her face as she fluttered her eyes and tried to come back to reality.

“What time is it?”

“Class is already over.” James sat beside her on the couch. He had just finished his Torts class when he found her. Sebastian had actually sent him a photo after he passed her on his way to statistics.

“I have to get to Mansueto,” she groaned, checking her phone and noticing the multiple texts Harry had sent her.

“I’m actually headed that way too. I’ll drop you off on the way to the gym.” Y/N quickly texted Harry back as she scrambled to pick up her things.

On my way. Fell asleep. Sorry

“How was your day? Besides falling asleep and missing your class?” James asked as they walked toward the parking lot. She giggled but was quickly reminded of her encounter with Brian.

“It was fine.” She couldn’t tell him. She knew he would go looking for Brian and pick a fight with him on campus, which could get him expelled.

“Are you sure?” James knew her too well not to notice her strange behavior and sudden change in tone. They had grown up together. Their mothers had been friends since high school and had married within the same social circle, keeping their friendship alive for many years. Naturally, Y/N and James had gone to the same pre-K, primary school, middle school, and high school.

“Yes,” she smiled as she jumped into his Range Rover. They drove for only a few minutes before he pulled up to the dome library on 57th Street. “Thanks, bubs! See you tomorrow.” She smiled, getting out and waving.

“Let me know if you need a ride back!” James called after her as she entered the building.

“Hi!” Y/N smiled as she approached Harry, Sarah, and Mitch. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she apologized, waving to his friends before giving Harry a quick kiss. “I fell asleep on a couch and missed my last class.” Harry chuckled, pulling her chair closer to his.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he confessed. He had actually worried something had happened to her on the way.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” she whispered, noticing his friends had already dived into their work. “I was just tired and forgot to text, but I wasn’t going to stand you up. Plus, I’ve got lots of work to do, too.”

Harry smiled and gave her a soft kiss, letting her know he wasn’t upset and understood.

--> Different 13

[jeankluv]

The prophecy - Gojo Satoru

summary: Gojo Satoru knew he was the strongest, he perfectly knew. But that didn’t mean he didn’t cry and that night while everyone still preparing to fight Sukuna, he cried. He cried because he felt completely alone and only seen as a weapon

paring: Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

tags: angst, canon universe, manga spoilers, Gojo centric, lyrics, fluff, mutual feeling, no use of y/n, Gojo thinks reader hates him, open up for a second part.

note: i wrote this some time ago and never actually posted, everything i have to say is that I love Gojo Satoru so much and i miss him like crazy. If y’all like it I could write a second part and explore more about this pair, but this part is mainly focused on Gojo’s character

words: 1,7k

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist | part 2

“I’ve been on my knees, change the prophecy”

Gojo Satoru only cried four times in his life. The first time he was 5 years old and he wanted to learn to ride a bicycle, but he fell to his knees and bled. The elders of the clan and his parents always told him that he should not cry and that he should be strong, but that day when he got to his room he cried hugging his favorite puppet. 

The second time was when he was 17 years old, Suguru had left and he didn't understand why, again he cried alone in his room wondering if he could have done more for the one who was once his best friend. 

The third time he was 27 years old, it was after killing Suguru, he stood there statically looking at the lifeless body of his old friend and let the tears run down his cheeks. 

The last time was now, when he was 29 years old. And once again he was alone.

He always wondered if his whole life was already written, if there was a prophecy that said that he who possessed six eyes and limitless was destined to always be alone. That was the burden he had to bear for being “the strongest.” 

He wondered if he would be able to change jujutsu society and thus change everything. That if someone in 100, 300 or who knows when had the same powers as him again, they would not have to be alone, that they would not have all that burden from the moment of birth.

Satoru was born with a price on his head, he was used by the higher ups since he was 15 and now he was facing what could be his last battle and ironically if he died they will continue to use him as what they have always made him believe he is. A weapon.

Satoru did not mind dedicating his life to exorcising curses, in fact he liked it and they satisfied him, especially if they were of a high level. But he wanted to stop being alone, he wanted to stop being seen as the strongest, as a weapon to use.

When the idea was proposed to him, the first thing he thought about was what would happen to Yuta. He knew that Yuta could only replicate the techniques for 5 minutes and then he lost them. In the best case scenario, he would return to his original body, right? The second thing he thought was that it wouldn't be necessary, and he was prepared to beat Sukuna, he wasn't going to lose. And the last thing he thought was that he would once again be used.

Now there he was in his room, alone, crying because he just didn’t feel like anyone really cared about him. Why didn’t Shoko object? Why didn’t anyone object to the idea? 

He sighed and throw himself to the bed, looking up to the ceiling of his bedroom, preventing his tears from falling down. 

“Don’t want money, just someone who wants my company”

The door opened letting in light from the hallway, Satoru did not move, he knew the cursed energy immediately. He let you come in and sit on the bed a little away from him.

“I think it’s an awful and dehumanizing plan.” You said.

Satoru chuckled, holding his tears, the room was dark but still he didn’t want you to see him crying. “Can’t believe you are the one standing for me.”

“Don’t get over your head Gojo and besides one of your kids, Yuta also stood for you.” You said. “And I’m pretty sure Shoko hates the idea but believes in you more than anyone else.”

“Really?” He whisked.

“You don’t think like that?” 

“Well…” He sighed. “After feeling all my life used as a weapon by this cracked society, I wasn’t surprised if people were willing to use me as a weapon even after my death.” 

You fell silent, processing Satoru’s words. “Satoru…” He hummed. “You feel lonely?” 

Satoru turned his face towards you, thanks to his six eyes he was able to see you clearly. And why were you crying? You off all the people? You who hated his guts? Why?

“Why are you crying?” Satoru inquired and you wiped your tears away.

“I’m not crying and besides it’s dark you can’t know.”

“I have the six eyes, I see everything.” 

“I doubt…” You whispered.

“What?” Satoru stood up and moved closer to you.

“Nothing.” You tried to avoid him. “Do you like plan B? Be honest.” 

“To be honest, I don’t know.” He sighed. “If I lose… that might be the only way to kill Sukuna and bring Megumi back but I’m worried about Yuta, it would be awful for him to get stock on this body, although I’m pretty handsome.”

“You are not serious.”

Satoru chuckled. “But for real, if that’s the only way… then it’s okay.”

“But it’s not.” You said. “You want to be used as a puppet? As a weapon?!” 

Why were you so sad? So angry?

“All my life it’s been like that, it’s like a prophecy and maybe if I let them use me one more time maybe I can redo that prophecy, so no one else has to go through what I, we went as kids.” 

You stood up from the bed and walked away from it. “I hate you…” You whispered but still Satoru was able to hear you.

“I know you always say how…”

“No.” You shook your head next to the window. “For you to have the six eyes, you’re pretty blind you know?” You chuckled. “You once said that you had the theory that love is the most twisted curse right? Well you were right.” You laughed. “Love really consumes you, especially when the person you love won’t look at you the way you want them to look at you.”

Satoru's heart started to rise with each one of the words you were speaking. He was still confused and overwhelmed by what you were saying.

“It’s funny right?” You said once again. “I’m such a coward and selfish person, silent for over 10 years and now that you are about to face the greatest threat of your life I’m here, making everything about me and my feelings.” You look down. “Please Satoru, let someone assist you during the fight, let me assist you.” You were on the edge of tears. “I’m also a special grade, my kitsune fire technique could help…”

“I work better alone.” He cut you off. 

A silence fell between you too and your nails dug into your palm, causing small wounds. “That’s what everyone has always told you.” You whispered. “But you don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to hold all that weight alone.” 

“Who do I have to speak to, about if they can redo the prophecy?”

Satoru took a deep breath and with a shaky voice, spoke. “I’m the strongest, it’s what I must do, so everyone is okay, so everyone can…”

“Stop with that Satoru! Stop…” You throw your hands to the air. “What about you? I don’t want you to die Satoru, I don’t want you to be used as a puppet.”

“Enough.” He said your name in a whisper. “The decision has been made, I don’t care.” He stood up and walked towards the door.

“You do care…” You whispered. “Because then why would you be crying here, alone?” You walked. “Hiding all your burdens, all your pain for just yourself. Why?” 

Satoru stopped himself and tried to catch his breath but it seemed like the room was running out of air. You walked to him and took his hand on yours and rested your forehead on his back.

“I’m here Satoru…” You whispered against his back.

You felt his grip tighten around your hand and you held onto him tightly as well, letting him know that you were there.

“What should I do?” He whispered.

You stayed silent for a moment and then spoke. “What if you do a binding vow? Just in case Sukuna…” You were unable to say those words.

“A binding vow…”

You nodded against his back. “I know that for it you need to give up something and you probably won’t want to give up what I’m about to suggest…”

“I will.” He turned to look at you. “You suggest that I give up the six eyes, to come back alive.” You nodded. “I will do it.” 

You felt like crying. “Good…” 

Satoru smirked and kissed your forehead. “Thank you…”

“I hope you don’t have to lose it…” You whispered. “I hope you kill Sukuna off and you come back to us, to me.” You whispered the last part.

Satoru hugged in a hug that almost hurt, but that you knew that the both of you needed. 

“It’s late, I should…” 

Satoru didn’t let you move. “Stay…” You froze, not sure what to say or what to do. “You said I never looked at you the way you wished, but…” Your heart started to pump in your chest, you could almost hear it in your ears. “Stay with me tonight, pretend like I’m yours for tonight and let me pretend like you are mine.”

You swallowed and hugged him back. “I don’t want to pretend.”

He giggled with a sad tone. “You will have to wait…” He whispered.

You thighed the grip, not wanting to let him go, afraid of him leaving. “Have you been sleeping?” You whispered.

Satoru shook his head. “Badly… really badly.” 

You caressed his back gently. "Try to sleep." You said and he responded humming. “I hope you can break that prophecy, Satoru.” You whispered and Satoru wrapped his arms around you tighter. 

Satoru hid his face on your neck and in silence he also hoped for that, he hoped to return alive and to be able to finally have someone besides him. To be loved and to be cherished. He hoped he didn’t have to beg anymore and no one else in the future needed to go through what he went through. 

That no was seen as a weapon for the Jujutsu world and their youth was never taken from them. 

Satoru Gojo just hoped for that, for the prophecy to stop, to break. To be happy with those he loved.

[trainsinanime]

The following post is intended to be seen as levity and joking, not salt.

Chloé this, Chloé that, "Redemption started?", "Redemption interrupted?", "Redemption cancelled?". The discussion is getting old. What I haven't seen enough yet is how the show did Sabrina really dirty, by giving her the worst thing of all: A conscience.

The early parts of the show toyed a lot with how exactly Chloé and her relation to Sabrina works, which was clearly not well established when the first episode came out (hell, they didn't even seem to know who Max and Kim were yet, they only had their character models). Sabrina's deal is easy enough in the abstract, but difficult to pin down in the early episodes: Is she more meek or mean? More of a victim or more of a bully? Does she share Chloé's values whole-heartedly, opportunistically, or is she pressured into it? Does she have scruples or is she just a coward? Those are all elements in her character to some extent, but the exact mixture did not really solidify until she got an episode to shine and be away from Chloé, in Evilstrator.

That episode did the fairly obvious plot of Marinette going, "you can stand up to your bully instead of doing their homework for them!", and then showed us how Sabrina reacted. And the reaction was: Sabrina is every bit as unhinged as Chloé, just in completely different ways, and their dysfunctional relationship might just be the only one in which either of them can function.

This choice is not fully unproblematic, but ultimately okay in my book. I think die-hard Sabrina stans might call this character assassination, but I don't think there are any die-hard Sabrina stans. I feel like I should become one just to even out the numbers. Anyway, the choice clearly telegraphs that the show is not interested in long-running redemption arcs, which, you know, fair enough, it is designed for six-year-old French kids after all. (Yes, season 2 and 3 looked rather different here, but that's later)

The show did not exactly use Sabrina consistently after that, but for a while, they leaned into it. Early Sabrina was often mean, materialistic, codependent (I don't actually know what that word means I'm just guessing) and toxic in her own way. She broke into Marinette's room, helped steal Marinette's designs, lie and cheat for Chloé.

And then that was basically it. The show mostly forgot about her. She was an appendage to Chloé, usually frightened and a bit incompetent, but not much more. When Chloé showed signs of a bit of a hint of a redemption arc, Sabrina was not part of it. When Chloé gained a sister for, I actually don't know (I still maintain that "replacement bee" makes no sense for anything but selling merch), and there were hints that this might be relevant to her story, Sabrina wasn't there.

What did happen in the moments we saw Sabrina was that Sabrina got more meek, more scared of Chloé, and less mean. There were no more hints of her playing superheroes with Chloé and being at least somewhat of a friend, and also none of the meanness of Miraculer, one of the worst Akuma names in the show. Instead she was now in a closet doing Chloé's homework.

As she becomes less effective, she becomes more sympathetic, with some moments e.g. in the New York special, until she finally becomes Miss Hound. At this point we have basically the exact same thing that Evilstrator rejected: Sabrina is really just an oppressed underling who is too scared to tell Chloé to stop, instead of someone with at least some of her own ideas that happen to overlap with Chloé's in all the worst ways.

This all comes to a head in confrontation, when Sabrina's defining character trait is suddenly, out of nowhere, that as a police officer's daughter, she hates lying and stealing and hates that Chloé makes her do it. Since when!? Sabrina, weren't you around for Darkblade!?

Sabrina breaks off her friendship with Chloé and is now officially a good girl. And that sucks.

Old Sabrina had a certain edge to her. She made sense as an Akuma threat on her own, and even as a threat to Chloé as Vanisher and Miraculer. Now, she's only an Akuma effectively when Chloé tells her to, and she stopped listening to Chloé anyway. Her personality is now strictly: A good girl. Not like Chloé.

Ironically, in her emancipation, she has lost almost everything that made her unique, and become entirely defined by Chloé in every way. She's her own person, but with barely any personality traits except "not like Chloé anymore". No hobbies, no meaningful relationships with anyone, she's just there, and nice now I guess.

There are so much more interesting things you could have done with a mean Sabrina, which we know for sure because the show already did some.

But that's really part of a wider issue: When people talk about Chloé, they mostly forget Sabrina, and Sabrina isn't interesting enough to stand on her own. The ideas of a Chloé redemption throughout season 2, 3 and in some form 4 focused on Chloé's relationship with Ladybug, Marinette, a bit Adrien, Audrey, and a bit Zoé. Chloé's super-duper villain arc in season 5 focused on her relationship with Lila. Sabrina, who has been here from day one, who has the longest and most complex relationship with Chloé out of any character, is not a part of it at all.

I think that sucks. I think Sabrina has more potential, but in particular I think Chloé is more interesting if we include Sabrina in the discussion as well. Their relationship is something deeply weird and unique, and any Chloé redemption that brushes it off leaves a lot of very tasty crumbs on the table. It sucks that it ended like that. Yes, Sabrina is now redeemed, but as a result of that, she's boring, and isn't that much worse than being evil?

In short: We should all write more Chloé/Sabrina fanfics.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere David Would Include:

As a yandere, he would be absolutely and completely obsessed with you. He would become possessive and jealous, keeping a constant watchful eye on you. He'd be overprotective and clingy, always wanting to be near you. He'd probably stalk you to make sure you're always safe. He wouldn't be able to stand the thought of you even talking to another person without him being there. And heaven forbid anyone tries to flirt with you or come between you two.

He'd be so intense, he might even end up isolating you from others, just to have you all to himself. He'd also be extremely controlling, wanting to have a say in every single aspect of your life, from what you wear to who you see. And if you ever tried to break free and assert your independence, he'd go ballistic, doing anything to keep you under his control.

He'd also likely have a dark side to him. He'd be willing to resort to violent measures if he felt threatened or if someone challenged his claim on you. He might also be emotionally manipulative, using guilt and shame to keep you in check. He could also be very jealous, getting upset and angry at even the smallest things, making you feel like you're constantly walking on eggshells around him.

Despite all his intense and possessive behavior, there would also be sweet moments. He'd shower you with attention and affection, constantly expressing his love and devotion to you. He'd go out of his way to make you happy, doing things to put a smile on your face. His love for you would be like a burning inferno, consuming him and leaving no room for anything else.

But it's important to note that even with all the sweetness, the relationship would be incredibly toxic and unhealthy. The power dynamic would be so skewed in his favor, with him having complete control over your life. He'd be constantly monitoring and questioning your every move, leaving you with no breathing room to be yourself. It would be an emotionally exhausting and draining experience, with him constantly demanding your attention and validation.

In public, he'd put on a calm and cool demeanor. He wouldn't show any signs of his possessive nature or obsessiveness. He'd be charming and polite, masking his true feelings and intentions. He'd be careful not to draw attention to himself or make anyone suspicious about his true feelings for you.

Reassurance is essential for him. He needs constant reassurance from you that you still care about him and that your feelings for him haven't changed. He's constantly afraid of losing you, so he needs to hear from you that you love him and that you're not going anywhere.

In his twisted mind, he sees rewarding you as a way to keep you loyal and under his control. He'll often shower you with gifts or special treatment to show you how much he appreciates you. However, the rewards aren't just materialistic. He also rewards you with his love and affection, giving you extra attention and praise when you please him. He wants to make sure that you feel good about being with him and that you want to stay by his side.

His punishments are harsh and severe. If you violate his trust or do something he disapproves of, he'll punish you in various ways. He might give you silent treatment, withhold affection, or even lash out emotionally or physically even if the others do something he doesn't like.

Arguments and fights in a relationship with him can be explosive and intense. He has a tendency to lose control when he's angry or frustrated. During fights, he might become aggressive, lashing out with harsh words or even physical actions. He also often resorts to emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping in fights, trying to bring you down and make you feel bad about yourself. He might even use his possessive nature to keep you from leaving or distancing yourself from him during arguments.

The others are often aware of his possessive and obsessive nature. They might find it amusing to tease him about it or make fun of the situation, especially if they haven't experienced genuine affection or care for themselves. Some of them might even feel sorry for you, seeing how he treats you. However, they're also a bit wary of him and his intense personality. They know he's not someone to mess with when it comes to his attachment to you. They might try to avoid getting on his bad side or provoking his jealousy.

He's incredibly affectionate with you. He wants to always be touching and holding onto you in some way to remind himself that you're his. He's constantly showering you with cuddles, kisses, and hugs, wanting to feel as close to you as possible. He can be quite clingy, needing your attention and validation frequently. He craves physical touch and intimacy, feeling insecure if you're not close to him.

Dates with him are unique and often somewhat obsessive. He'll plan everything down to the smallest detail, making sure everything is just perfect for you. He'll choose romantic, secluded spots and plan activities that he knows you'll enjoy. However, he'll be watching you closely, making sure no one else approaches you or tries to steal your attention. He might even become quite jealous or suspicious if he sees you interacting with other people.

If someone threatens your safety or tries to hurt you in any way, he won't hesitate to resort to violence to protect you. He has a strong protective instinct and will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means hurting or killing those who pose a threat to you.

He's also extremely observant and intuitive. He can read you like a book and pick up on your emotions or thoughts quickly. He'll likely notice if something is off or if you're upset or feeling down.

He's constantly paying attention to your needs and wants, wanting to make sure you're always comfortable and happy. He may also be quite controlling and demanding in his attempts to cater to your needs, assuming that he knows what's best for you.

When it comes to marriage, he's probably already planning it in his head, even if you're not quite there yet. He dreams of having you as his wife, belonging solely to him and completely his. He'll likely propose in a grand, romantic gesture, wanting to make sure you say yes. In a marriage with him, he'd want total control and ownership over you. He'd be constantly possessive and jealous, even more so than before. He'd demand that you stay home and never leave his side, wanting to keep you all to himself.

Having children with him would be an interesting experience, to say the least. He'd be overprotective of any children you have, always watching over them closely and ensuring their safety. He'd likely be very involved in their lives, maybe even to the point where he might be a bit overbearing or controlling. He'd also want to pass down his possessive and obsessive traits to his children, perhaps in the hopes that they'd be just as devoted to you as he is. He'd want to instill a sense of loyalty and devotion in them, to ensure that they never turn against you.

If you didn't want or couldn't have kids, it would be a devastating blow to him. He'd likely become upset and feel like something was missing in his life. He might even try to persuade you to change your mind, using manipulation or guilt-tripping tactics to get you to agree. He might also take it as a sign that you don't fully belong to him or that you're not as committed to the relationship as he is. And he tries to find other ways to keep you bound to him.

a

Pain Infliction - When I take on a dominant role, I relish the opportunity to inflict pain upon my submissive partner. This might involve spanking, whipping, or using various impact toys to leave marks and bruises across their body. The cries of agony and the sight of their suffering flesh fill me with a twisted sense of pride and control.

Psychological Torment - Beyond physical torment, I delight in psychologically breaking down my submissives. Verbal degradation, gaslighting, and manipulating their perceptions create an atmosphere of constant uncertainty and dread. Witnessing their mental unraveling is a perverse source of entertainment for me.

Punishment and Correction - When taking on a dominant role, I derive satisfaction from administering punishments and corrections to my submissive partner. This could involve physical discipline, verbal reprimands, or other forms of chastisement designed to mold their behavior according to my whims.

Training and Breaking - A more extreme aspect of domination involves training or breaking a submissive to completely submit to my will. This might involve prolonged periods of mental and physical torment, designed to strip away their autonomy and leave them utterly dependent on me.

Ownership and Possession - Claiming my submissives as personal property, branding them, and asserting absolute dominion over their bodies and lives is a fantasy that resonates deeply within me.

[comfortless]

what if König does see his knight being more ladylike? or maybe even in a dress? sorry they’re just so cute i love this au lol

you are never getting her into a gown… not ever.

except at a special event (:..?

There’s a summons for König and the lady knight to attend a ball. At the castle, no less. The sheet of parchment dents weighty in her hand as she tugs it free from the message board at the center of town— a list of names, hers and König’s included; quite high, too, above even dukes and duchesses from foreign kingdoms and a wonderful knight who had braved an attempted siege and won the King victory.

It makes no sense… they’re essentially hired thieves, roaming through caverns of filth filled with the dead, stealing what’s never been their own and never will belong to them for profit. There’s no honor in their work, despite the way she puffs her chest in pride and so often declares that one of these expeditions will earn her a seat at the royal table.

Still… they had retrieved that object for the Queen, and it seemed the materialistic royalty deemed that well and good enough to consider them worthy.

König is unperturbed— he’s never been one for these formal affairs, dressing up in a tight fitting suit of ruffled fabric, chest adorned with a shimmering brooch and his blade kept tucked away far out of reach. His knight on the other hand… Her face is practically glowing, he’s never seen her smile so wide or so sweetly.

Of course… she doesn’t have some silky gown to her name, only cold steel and endless straps… not even a proper corset. König can’t help but notice her pout when they begin to prepare. Though he thinks she’s pretty, perfect even as battle-worn she is, it’s clear she wants to be more so as she stares longingly out of the window of the inn at all of the beautiful ladies riding on horseback to approach the castle gates, their gowns each as intricate and immaculate as the braids and curls and lengths of their hair.

He doesn’t get it- he’ll just go in his normal clothes, but like any proper suitor would do… he buys her a gown from the tailor a few buildings past the inn. The most expensive one he can get his paws on with the hoard of gold they collected from their last adventure. (Who knew slaying a few reanimated skeletons to give a cursed femur and jaw bone to an old witch could count as a job?!)

The dress is certainly… tailored to his preferences: it’s a lacy thing, dyed a shimmering bluish gray, creamy lace trims along the cuffs and hems, the collar dipping down into a ‘v’ to properly frame her tits. He didn’t expect it to be any lovelier than what his imagination supplies when she does put it on, and yet he finds himself utterly stifled by the sight.

He’s seen her nude, pawed at and groped her hundreds of times, but as she stands before him shyly lifting the dress at her hips and glancing at the wall, the floor, anywhere except from directly at him… his pulse begins to race. Of course, he picks her up and buries his face against her neck, whispering about how pretty she is, how much he adores every new side of her, and promptly ruins it by detailing how he would like to tug her laces loose with his teeth later in the evening after the dancing is all over. She shoves him away, hissing like a startled kitten but he’s certain she casts him a little smirk the moment that he does relax his grip.

The ball is no less extravagant than she had expected. Food and luxury wine adorn every table: cheeses, fresh baked bread, smoked meats and pies, fruit of many kinds, and the wine all sweet and bitter and so very unlike the thick mead that burns as it goes down that they’re accustomed to. The dresses, the elaborate dances, the beautiful sounds of music feathering through the air- all of it. She even gets to drink from a goblet made of silver, and her eyes light up when a servant fills it to the brim.

König despises it all.

He tucks himself away, flooding himself with food and the few gilded pitchers of actual ale he’s managed to threaten a servant into retrieving. He notices the eyes on her always, as she dances with the other ladies and smiles adoringly over at him each time their eyes meet. Her grace translates well here from battle, each step taken with some extracted precision that she’s learned from flailing her blade around in the darkness… her partners giggle against her ear as they curl their arms around her, many adrift to either side waiting for a turn.

It’s only when a man does approach his lady knight that König’s had enough. She’s tipsy and far too cute, stands out like pure treasure amongst this adoring flock, and the bastard’s eyes are on her breasts when he asks her to dance. The other man is yanked back by his scruff and tossed to the marble floor, eliciting startled gasps and even… some sweet sighs from the women surrounding as they fawn over how romantic it must be that a brute like him wouldn’t allow another man near her.

His knight only smiles at him when he leads her away, out of the grand hall and down the corridors of the castle until they find themselves before a window that seems to overlook the entire kingdom. The music still plays, the voices still chatter, but they’re all muffled and subdued someplace far away… and König only feels the world seem to come to a grinding halt when she asks him to dance with her here.

He doesn’t have the same tact or skill as the others when he moves: swaying her in a grip like iron ‘round her waist, dipping with her when her back arcs that almost leaves his face flush with her chest. It’s clumsy at best, far less flowery and sweet than when she danced with the other women, but he tries his best to not entirely ruin her night— unaware that she’s far too drunken and giddy to care. She wouldn’t have batted an eye if he had snapped that man’s neck, if only he rewarded her patience with a dance like this.

They meld together, a perfect fit when she stands on his boots and drapes her arms around his neck to press her chin to his chest. The frolic comes to a quiet end as they whisper back and forth about what happens next, after tonight. When the sun rises and they’re back on their feet… He swears to her that they’ll buy a horse, subtly hints that the offer to settle will always be present and she only shushes him with a kiss, one that she laughs into as she tastes the ale on his tongue.

Those strings are, in fact, loosened by his teeth as she lies on their shared bed with him later into the evening. He traces every dip and curve of her body through the silk as he works away at relieving her of the gown, then the corset with slow, precise movements and tugs. She laughs again when he hisses praises from behind her, licks and nibbles a hot path along her skin, rests his head against the smooth flesh of her back when the corset finally lays to either side of her.

His fingertips graze from the back of her neck, to her shoulder, further along the middle of her back before he stops himself. Despite the near constant ache, this isn’t how or where he wants this done: in some rundown inn outside of the castle, her veins flooded with red wine. Instead, he only pulls her close in a cuddle, massages at her tits as she thanks him for accompanying her, for dancing with her despite his gait being more like a newborn foal than a proper stallion.

And when the moon finally reaches a peak in the night sky, her breathing slow and soft while she rests her head against his chest, he kisses the top of her head and pulls her in closer. Tells her that he likes either side of her, knight or lady it mattered not, so long as she remains at his side like this.

She nods to her own damnation, contentedly swearing her oath to him with one word, “Forever.” It comes in a soft murmur, eyelids already fluttering as he squishes her closer against him.