#the cracks in the pottery are the point

[periwinkledragon]

Flawed characters who don't magically fix all their flaws, nor are they consumed by them, but learn to live through them and accept who they are/ find acceptance and companionship in others who are also flawed people my beloved!

[allurilove]

Calm Yandere x you

“Your expressionless boyfriend.”

Rated 18 + — mature short content!

Includes: calm yandere x talkative gender neutral reader, mutual pining?, strangers to friends to lovers, cute fluff in the beginning… other stuff later on. wink wink. ♡

Calm yandere was known to be a little cold. His default face is an unamused one, the ends of his lips always downward, and it certainly scared you away from him when you first saw him. He didn’t like to socialize as much as you did, and when you talked to him, he only seemed to nod. “Mhm,” and “uh-huh,” was all you could get from him. He didn’t hate nor dislike you— you’re an absolute perfect specimen, and a normal, and adaptable human being. You were everything he wanted to be. You were everything he wanted, period. He started to form a crush on you, and it was a minuscule one at first. He appreciated how you were able to carry a conversation, how bright and confident you looked compared to him, and you were this bright light in his grim dark reality.

Calm yandere was surprised when you made the first move. You wanted to be friends, and being just friends with you felt like torture. Although, he agreed—not wanting to miss the opportunity to be by your side even more. He followed you around, agreed to show up to all hangouts you planned, and he even invited you to his house. His house was surprisingly warm. He had soft white curtains, light pink decorations here and there, and it smelled like freshly baked cookies. Warm and sweet was what you would describe him now that you got to know him. He was the perfect host. He was showing you around the backyard, and he pointed out a couple of butterflies that liked to come by. His voice was flat and monotonous when he explained his favorite butterflies to you, but you could see a slight glimmer of happiness in his eyes. And most importantly, he showed you his bedroom. He had manga books on his shelves, Smiski figurines, and one of the compartments was just filled with snacks. He had an old dog named “Mini” that was sleeping on his huge bed, loudly snoring, and kicking her feet as she dreamt of running around.

Calm yandere had asked you to be his partner months later. You were shocked when he confessed his feelings for you, and here calm yandere was, thinking that he had done a good job of hinting at it. You did notice the glances he would send your way, and how they would linger a bit longer than before. You then started to think back to the times he would do things for you. He would bend down and tie your shoelaces. He gave you his jacket when it was raining, and he would walk home soaking wet. He carried you on his back when you tripped and hurt your ankle. He let you into his house when you fought with your parents, and tried his damn hardest to crack a worried expression on his stone-like face. It wasn’t like you weren’t into him, you tried to give him signals too.

Calm yandere was oblivious, just as you were oblivious. You had literally invited him to every place you could think of. You made pottery with him, and even put your hands on his to help him shape his clay into a vase. That was a very intimate act. An act that made you flustered and blushing when you had pressed your body behind his. Him, on the other hand, didn’t even blink at the action. When you had told him that you found him cute and adorable, he just said “okay.” OKAY?? Clearly that meant he didn’t like you back, and you quickly put on a strained smile and went on with your day.

Calm yandere was an active listener, not really a replier, but a listener. He might look like he was disinterested, but any subject you brought up was the most interesting, and fascinating, topic of all time. You would talk his ear off, and you liked to speak your mind. “So, as I was saying…” you continued. He nodded along, his cheek resting on his hand, and he leaned even closer to play with the strands of your hair. He liked feeling and touching you. It reminded him that you were real, that you were in front of him, and you were officially his. Your lips were perfect, always moving and speaking, and it would form the world’s most beautiful smile. He could tell that some days you didn’t want to hear any solutions from him, and only wanted to have someone to talk too. So, he does exactly what you want.

Calm yandere was happy to advance the relationship even further! He would show finally show some PDA. An arm would casually be slung around your shoulders while you two walked. Whenever you sat next to him, and he didn’t like the distance between you two, he would grab onto the leg of the chair and pulled it in closer. He then would kiss your cheek, and as fast as it came, he had pulled back before you could reciprocate. He knew that being a boyfriend meant that he had to do some certain things… He was feeling bold when he saw you wearing shorts, and without really thinking, his hand reached out to touch at your thighs.

Calm yandere was taken aback by the overwhelming positive reaction. He didn’t imagine that a single brush from his finger tips would cause your brain to go haywire. You had pushed him onto the couch, and he fell back with a little grunt. He saw that you had climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips, and had placed his hand on a sensitive spot of your body. He felt up the flesh, and his fingers slipped underneath your shorts. He kept a watchful eye on your facial expressions, and he hummed in delight when you spread your thighs even further for him. He rubbed his fingers up and down the length of your privates, and he started to collect some of the wet substance that had leaked out. He heard you breathe out his name, and when your voice soon became whiny and you had pleaded for more, he knew you had to be close.

Calm yandere had you on your back. He pulled your shorts down your legs, flinging them to the side after he revealed your lower half to him. He leaned down to greet your sex with his tongue. You were loud and talkative in bed, just as you were out of it. Your back arched, and your hands painfully gripped at his hair. Your body started to tremble, almost trying to squirm its way out from underneath him. His hands had to keep your legs from closing on him, “don’t try to keep me away from you.” your boyfriend said firmly. He then gestured to the growing tent in his pants, “this is all your fault. I’ll make you feel good if you can do the same for me.”

Calm yandere liked to lick his fingers in front of you. His tongue swiping at the salty cum before he fully puts his digits inside his mouth. He could feel the wrinkles and ridges of his pruned fingers, and he gleefully sucked off the excess cum and saliva that had gathered on there. You were lying on the couch with a bit of a daze, your chest rising and falling, and you could still feel his eyes wandering on the work he had done. You had love bites on your neck, trailing down to your inner thighs, and lower towards your ankles. He had bit you down there to keep his voice down while he had himself buried deep inside of you. What could he say? You knew how to press his buttons and drive him wild.

Allure: this is calm yandere after you had called him cute.

Allure: A little update: I’ll work on the master list soon after this, and I’ll have to update a couple of lists such as the yandere kink ones… so that should be done next!

[alexiroflife]

"red"

MDNI, very suggestive content

satoru gojo x singer!reader

Synopsis: utahime brings satoru and shoko to a bar to watch her friend perform, and satoru is immediately whipped for you the moment you step on stage. utahime warns him, however, not to get close to you, but how could he refuse the way you look at him?

to sum it up: you have a strong effect on men, satoru included, and despite the stories utahime tells him about you, you match other's freak

WC: 15,482

Warning(s): smut smut smut, unprotected sex, dom/switch, vulgar language,

happy 500 followers!! thank you all so much for your love and support, you're all amazing. i can't believe there are already half a thousand of you. here is my gift to you and i hope you enjoy <3

-

The moment Utahime proposed going out to see her friend perform at a grungy bar smack in the middle of the city, Satoru was incredibly skeptical. Normally, the white haired sorcerer was left in charge of staff outings since, according to him, he had the most creativity out of the group of professors that trekked out into the late night after long, grueling weeks of training their students. 

It was a good thing he took charge of their activities, too, since everyone else’s suggestions were always so boring. Nanami’s idea of an entertaining night out wasn’t even to actually go out, but to stay indoors with a cup of tea and a newspaper cracked open over his lap. Yaga tended to lean toward artistic outings, such as pottery barns or knitting classes, solely due to the bias of his cursed technique. Ichiji hardly ever even made any suggestions himself, often allowing other opinions to overpower his own to the point where he didn’t even want to bother chiming in. Shoko only really wanted to visit anywhere that allowed her to drink and smoke, so she wasn’t much of a problem. And Mei Mei, well, Satoru hardly knew what the hell motivated Mei Mei’s interests aside from some means to winning money, and he was never too keen on allowing her rather questionable interests to lead the group out.

While everyone liked to complain when Satoru dragged them along to engage in the things he wanted to do, they normally all ended up enjoying themselves by the time the night was over. Even Utahime, who would have stepped freely into oncoming traffic before admitting that Satoru’s suggestion that she would initially turn her nose up at the beginning of the night brought a smile to her face by the middle of the evening. He had a knack for these kinds of things, bringing his colleagues together socially in the best ways he deemed how.

Nevertheless, the indigo haired woman pushed her luck enough to finally let Satoru relent his control for one single evening when she groaned on and on about how she refused to miss the performance of some woman she hadn’t even bothered to mention until now. Satoru only did so for the sake of gloating purposes in case this so-called friend of hers turned out to be far less engaging than Utahime claimed. He determined that she wouldn’t hear the end of it for as long as the two of them kept in contact from this night going forward.

Tonight, the group had narrowed down to a select few as well. Mei Mei thankfully had duties to attend to elsewhere, Ichiji had to babysit his niece, and Nanami downright turned down the evening completely, leaving only him, Shoko, and Utahime alone to attend this mystery friend’s show. 

Utahime had in fact begged Satoru not to tag along once she realized that so few people would be coming and she was not entirely fond of him impeding on what could have been girl time with Ieiri, but he persisted, assuring her that he would be delighted to tag along to see what all the fuss was about. Utahime was horrified, to say the least, but she knew that once Satoru had decided upon involving himself in something, there was no way of turning him elsewhere. 

So the three professors trekked on that Friday evening, pushing through busy crowds of people until they approached what Satoru could only describe as a hole in the wall smack in the middle of a row of shops and restaurants. It was a small brick building with a hazy led sign spelling out what he assumed to be the name of the establishment with narrow black doors and the scent of liquor tingling the air as people walked in and out. It was clearly a busy and popular place, well worn by the years and buzzing with visitors. He could hear the overlapping chatter of hundreds through the walls from the outside, loud laughter, the scraping of seats against hardwood floors, and the clinking of beer bottles and flasks. 

This wasn’t exactly the type of place he had expected Utahime to take interest in, leading him to only grow more curious about who exactly they were about to see inside this enticing little building.

“This is it?” Shoko asked coolly, twisting her cigarette over to the other side of her mouth as her brown eyes examined the outside.

Utahime hummed, double checking her phone screen displaying a text bubble with an address that she had been following. “Yeah, I guess it is,” she nodded, looking back up.

“Huh,” Satoru said, scratching the back of his head as he examined the spot along with the two women beside him. “Didn’t peg you for the grungy type, Utahime,” he teased. The said woman gritted her teeth, tossing a glare over her shoulder through the side of her eye. 

“What the hell do you know about my interests?” she hissed.

Satoru smiled, shrugging. He took the first steps toward the door, grinning smugly at Utahime as he brushed past her. “Enough to know that you’ve always been too much of a goody-two-shoes to come somewhere like here all by yourself.”

Utahime growled, clenching her phone tighter within her grasp as Satoru pushed the door open, the noisiness of the inside immediately blaring out into the atmosphere. 

“After you,” he smirked, her eyes twitching.

Shoko patted the woman’s shoulder softly before making her way inside. “Don’t let this idiot sway you with his nonsense, Hime,” she advised with a light smile. “You don’t want him to win, do you?”

That question was enough to get Utahime to straighten herself up, following suit behind the brunette. “Like hell I do,” she grumbled. Satoru snickered, letting the door swing closed behind him once they all made it inside.

Satoru had been right about his earlier observation. It was absolutely packed inside, the space much larger than it looked from standing before the exterior. A series of occupied tables took up the majority of the space, where customers sat and talked vividly, surfaces cluttered by bottles of finished and unfinished alcohol. On the left side of the room, the bar resided with crowds swarming the countertops.

The atmosphere was so dark. If Satoru hadn’t been gifted with his six eyes, he likely would have had to squint to find his way through the dimness. The space was illuminated in a lazy, red glow, specs of golden spouting from the bar for the sake of the bartenders and low hanging lamps swinging over the tables. 

At the very front of the room was a small stage, concealed by a thick velvet curtain. A few men dressed in black stood at the floor chattering amongst themselves and gesturing above, likely in charge of managing the performers or the stage functions. 

“Well, look at you, Utahime,” Shoko patted the woman on the back enthusiastically, the trio standing at the entrance. “You got some spunk in you.”

“It’s not me, it's (Y/n),” the hazelnut eyed woman rolled her eyes. “She’s the one performing at these places.”

“Then you must have some sick friends we don’t know about.”

“And to think, I had no idea you had any friends outside of your colleagues,” Satoru chimed in, inspiring a vein to bulge in Utahime’s forehead. “So, where is this ‘friend’ of yours? I’m starting to think she isn’t even real.”

“Shut up, Gojo! She’s real!” the sorcerer barked. “She told me her performance slot was at ten. That’s in five minutes.”

“We’d better grab a seat then, huh?”

“She said she had the manager save us one up front. I guess we should go check it out.”

“You guys go ahead,” Ieiri waved her hand. “I’m gonna grab a drink. You want?”

“Nah. You know how I get, so no alcohol for Satoru. But here,” Satoru stopped her with his hand on her shoulder. He dug into the pocket of his pants and handed her his wallet. “Go crazy. The black one’s unlimited.”

Shoko quirked a mischievous brow, snatching the leather wallet between her index and middle finger. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Satoru,” she said. “Utahime? Anything?”

“Just surprise me. I’ll need something to get through being out with this idiot.”

Satoru grinned playfully and Shoko nodded before walking off. 

Utahime clicked her tongue, dissatisfied with the fact that she was left alone with the man next to her. Satoru immediately detected her displeasure and smiled, leaning over her shoulder and gesturing his arm forward. “Lead the way.”

“Get away from me.”

Upon spotting a vacant table to the far left in front of the stage, Utahime took the lead as she shuffled awkwardly through the cramped pathways to make her way to the seat. Once the two made it, she spoke shortly with the man standing guard nearby to tell him that she was the expected visitor in which this seat had been reserved for. The man backed off accordingly, recognizing her face from the description he must have been given beforehand. 

The two sorcerers sat down across from each other, Satoru leaning back in his wooden seat with a contented exhalation. “This is a nice change of pace,” he said. 

“If you’re mocking me, quit it. (Y/n) is very talented and I wouldn’t come here if I didn’t think it would be worth it.”

“About that. I’ve been meaning to ask. Why are we hearing about this (Y/n) person now, all of a sudden? You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“Because she’s a human being with her own line of work separate from sorcery. There’s no need to bring her up when we’re on duty. We all have personal lives,” Utahime spoke flatly, fiddling with her purse with her gaze down and brows angled with irritation.

“But she’s human and she knows about you somehow?” Satoru tilted his head.

“She has an idea of the weird things that go on around this country, if that’s what you mean,” Iori sighed. “Even so, none of it concerns her. She’s got nothing to do with any of this stuff.”

“Where do you know her from?”

“God, you’re so nosy,” Utahime scrunched her nose. She hung her bag by its strap over the back of her chair and leaned back. “We’re old friends, that’s all.”

“‘Old friends?’ Why so vague, Utahime?” the blue eyed man pried, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m just curious to know about who we’ll be watching, that’s all.”

“Your motives are never that simple. You can shut up and watch without knowing her entire life’s story.”

“Okay. Touchy.”

Utahime grinded her teeth together. “So help me, Gojo, if you don’t behave tonight I’m ripping your hair out in your sleep, strand by strand.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, hands flying to his snowing locks fuzzy with misty dust of red casted down upon him by the ambience. “What?! No! Not my beautiful hair,” he pouted. “You’re so mean to me…”

“I’d hope so.”

Satoru threw his arm over the back of his seat. The lights suddenly flared lethargically, blinking between darkness and red to signify the commencement of a performance. Satoru noticed the way Utahime shifted in her seat immediately, turning her attention upward with a gentle smile reaching her features. Satoru followed her gaze and looked up, supposing that he’d see for himself what all the fuss was about.

The lights finally melted into darkness, blocking out the sea of tables in inky blackness with the only light provided now by the stage. Footsteps came into Satoru’s earshot, and he turned to find Shoko squeezing her way over to them, two drinks and his wallet somehow cradled in her arms. She plopped into the empty seat between Utahime and Satoru with a huff, leaning her body over to set the drinks down carefully. The brunette slid Satoru’s wallet over to him across the table. 

“I’ll come back for that later,” she whispered, and Gojo snorted, tucking it away. 

A short man with a scruffy beard climbed his way onto the stage from the steps on the far right, a microphone in hand. He stood before the curtain at the edge of the platform, waiting for the chatter to completely die down before he spoke.

“Good evenin’, everyone. Hope we’re all havin’ a good night.”

A few straggling hollers of excitement and a symphony of claps resounded throughout the space in response. Satoru took the opportunity to clap loudly along with everyone else, Utahime shielding her face with her hand in embarrassment.

“Alright, that’s what I like to hear,” the man nodded, grin widening. “Now, I ain’t gonna stand here long. I know what you’re all here for. So just remember to keep your damn ringers off during the performance. That shit gets distracting for our singer. And if you’re already wasted, which I can already tell most of you are-” a few laughs jump out from the crowd. “-don’t go tryin’ to climb onto stage to join her either. I know how some of you can get. Yeah, I’m lookin’ at you in the back.”

Satoru found the statement strange, to say the least. Utahime’s friend must have been incredibly popular within this establishment to spark the kind of attention that inspired men to try to get onto stage with her. Then again, looking around at the crowd, he couldn’t say that he expected much decorum from them. 

“Alright, I’m done talkin’. Here she comes folks. You know her, you love her, she makes you wanna risk leavin’ the wife, our very own (Y/n) (L/n)!”

The crowd roared, the very mention of your name enough to bring a few intoxicated stragglers to their feet, cupping their hands around their mouths to whistle and shout for your entrance. 

Satoru watched carefully as the announcer left the stage, admittedly intrigued. The overhead stage lights softened, isolating a single spotlight that glared against the ridges in the curtain. The surrounding atmosphere up there mellowed into sultry hues of purple and blue, complementing the recurring overarching red that sank over the space.

The curtains pulled back with a squeak, and there you were.

The white haired man’s brows lifted slowly, subconsciously, when the sight of you revealed itself like a gift on display after a tauntingly slow drag of a satin ribbon between pinched fingers.

You stood beneath the light, fingers clutching the handle of the microphone stand. Your shoulders curved with passion, body hunched into the circular ring around the speaker as though you were drawn to it like it was a piece of you. Your eyes were closed, dark lashes coated with tiny specs of gold from your eyeshadow dusting your smooth cheeks. Your lips, glossed sinfully red, grazed your mic as you took in deep breaths that expanded your bare chest, sweat or glitter glimmering over the shiny (s/c) skin of your collarbone and shoulders, twinkling beneath the overhead beam. 

Adorned over your figure was a tight satin dress that accentuated every detail of your body, gliding over the curves of your hips and hugging your waist generously, cutting off over your thighs. Incredibly sheer tights ran over your smooth legs and down to your feet, snug in a pair of shiny heels you wore all too comfortably. 

“Holy shit,” Satoru heard Shoko whisper. “That’s (Y/n)?”

Utahime hummed in affirmation. “Yes, it is.”

“She’s fucking hot.”

Satoru couldn’t have agreed more. You were more than hot, you were unnaturally, criminally gorgeous. You stood on that stage, soaking in the all the praise that this dive had to offer as if you had done so a million times over, your air of confidence capturing you in a sultry glow complemented by the way those red lights submerged into your aura like smooth molasses milking into cake batter.

Delicately, you opened your eyes, revealing the maroon glint of your (e/c) irises as they danced over the room warmly. Your lips pressed together into a smooth, seductive smile, reading the room and your audience and what they wanted from you, and you catered simply with the look in your eye and the smallest tilt of your enticing, blood red lips. 

Satoru couldn’t look away. You had grabbed his attention, fully, easily. 

The warbled blare of a saxophone brought Satoru’s attention to the small band of instruments he had failed to register behind you when the curtains first pulled away. A large man worked his fingers over the instrument beside a sleek black piano that eventually trickled with a flirtatious flutter into the saxophone’s accompaniment. The commotion within the crowd died down as the music rose gradually, tenderly.

You swayed slowly to the lazy melody, tapping your fingers against the mic handle. Your heel tapped against the floor and your hips, fuck your hips, swung gently with the will of the music. All the amusement Satoru once harbored had completely drained from his body. He felt suddenly earnest, consumed by the sight of you complemented by the symphony that followed, and he watched eagerly in anticipation for your lips to part, for sound to fly from your mouth. He awaited your voice with a sense of severity, face blank, eyes slightly wide. 

As though he had summoned it, a rich note dragged through the air, deep, earthy, vibrating with soul and captivating ardor. The tune ripped through his ears, floating into the atmosphere like a dove gliding its wings through the air, touching the surface of water and rippling waves. It took several moments before Satoru realized that this blissful sound was coming from you. Your lips puckered ever so gently, brows angling as the space between your lips released the most hypnotizing vibrato he had ever heard in his life. 

Chills crawled down his spine from the back of his neck as your voice nearly blended into the glide of the saxophone, slippery yet controlled and achingly sensual. You sang so effortlessly, tone mature and impassioned by your engrossed facial contortions and the subtle movements of your body. Whoops jumped into the air, followed by more claps from stunned listeners, and Satoru couldn’t decide whether he wanted to join them in rejoicing over you or turn around to tell them all to shut the fuck up so he could hear you more clearly.

He was lucky to be so close, watching you within near proximity as your lids lowered over your eyes then lifted with each note and lyric you sang, head turning and face scrunching accordingly. You were so physically reactive to your own voice, to the words that left you, to the people watching and the space you resided. You filled the room with your presence, capturing the building with your intoxicating charm. Your voice was as sexy as you were, and you sang and moved slowly enough for Satoru to take note of every detail. 

The sorcerer sat there hypnotized, dizzy from you. He couldn’t even be bothered with turning to look at Shoko or Utahime to see what they were thinking, but due to their rather stiff silence, he assumed that they were in the exact same boat as him and everyone else within the room.

After a minute or so of sluggish bliss, the pianist shifted the tone of the music and played something bright and mischievous. The saxophone quickly adapted, slurring into the uplifted beat. The crowd reacted swiftly and your crimson lips spread to reveal your shiny white teeth, a grin devilish enough to feel as though Satoru wasn’t supposed to be looking. 

Your jaw dropped to ease out a loud, booming note that sparked the bar into an uproar, your leg lifting and curving over the mic stand. You leaned forward, pressed the bar into your figure as you allowed that inhumane note to drift yourself forward with a tilted chin as you gaze over the crowd over your nose with those feline, hazy eyes. 

Satoru’s eyes gawked over the shimmer of your thin stalkings when you raised your thigh up, the hem of your dress teasing the lace cutoff that cupped over the upper flesh. 

Then, you stood back upward, yanking the mic from the stand to strut downstage, wiring dragging in your wake. You crouched down, voice fluttering handsomely through the speakers with your simultaneous and sudden engagement with those below center. You sang as though you were speaking to individual audience members, knees bent and arm dangled over them, head craning as your eyes isolated everyone, face by face. 

A shout of your name jumped out as you looked around, and you loved it, responding with a playful wink as you maneuvered yourself into a seated position. Your legs dangled over the ledge, ankle crossing over the other and weight leaning on one hand.

“She’s so good, isn’t she?” Satoru heard Utahime whisper excitedly into Shoko’s direction.

Good was an understatement. You were flawless. A gem. A fucking masterpiece hidden within the confined walls of this establishment.

You were so smooth, shifting about languidly like your body was melting into all the right positions. You were like a drug to survey, seeping through Satoru’s veins and numbing his senses, leaving you to be the only thing within this space that he was perceptually aware of. 

He watched you turn to look all around, finally drifting your face into the direction of his table. Your eyes found Utahime first, a glimpse of amiable excitement flickering through your gaze with a twitch in your smile. The said woman waved enthusiastically with a beam. Your smile brightened as you continued singing, (e/c) eyes dancing over Shoko and then finally onto Satoru.

The white haired man stilled under the spotlight of your gaze, your piercing eyes far more intense now that they had connected with him. His skin tingled, sapphire eyes holding your own as something within you sparked, eyes jumping ever so subtly as you took in his frame. 

Satoru wasn’t normally easily swayed into speechlessness, let alone nervousness, but damn. Your eyes were practically devouring him whole as they shamelessly roamed over his body, hungrily, as if you were going to pounce on him. 

Satoru grew hyper aware of his physical reaction to you in that moment. His heart was pumping steadily yet loudly within his ears and his throat had run dry, Adam’s apple bobbing whilst he tried to appear unfazed by you to no avail. A battle of dominance transpired between your shared eye contact, and he couldn’t deny the fact that you were winning. Your voice floating on in compliance with your gaze wrapped him into a chokehold, burned his peach skin, and for the first time in his life he felt rivaled by a human woman’s natural power outside of his ordinary world of sorcery and chaos. 

Your hand supporting your body weight slid out, your figure leaning along with it and your eyes failing to leave Satoru’s even for a second. Your hand carried you until you were laying on your side, hand propping up your cheek and left leg crossed over the other. The blue eyed man’s eyes widened as he took in the manner in which you presented yourself before him, for him. The mic pressed into your soft lips, your gloss grazing the speaker, corners of your mouth curving with sensual delight. 

You looked so edible like this, mesmerizing him with your voice like a siren out of sea. Your beautiful legs, your jutted hip, those gorgeous lashes, and lord help him, those juicy red lips that had him seeing stars. Red, Satoru observed, was your color as its shade cradled you and illuminated the frame of your body. He drank in your artistry in awe, the room growing warmer around him with each bat of your lashes and gliding of your fingers down your dress. 

Cheers surrounded, but all Satoru could focus on was your face and the sudden ache arousing from his crotch. He glanced down momentarily and caught sight of the growing bulge stretching his nice pants and exhaled heavily. He rested his elbow on the table and slid his hand over his mouth, peering back up at you with blown pupils. 

It was going to be a long night. 

Your grin twinged with an air of satisfaction when you noticed Satoru’s response to your rather blatant flirting, and you pushed yourself back up. You tilted your head over into the opposite direction slowly, eyes trained on his until the very last second, and then they broke away.

Satoru’s daze shattered when a balled up napkin bounced off of his infinity shield. He turned rigidly to find Utahime glaring at him angrily, lips curled into a disapproving frown. “Don’t even think about it,” she seethed.

Gojo examined her for a moment before a devious smirk crept its way back on his lips. He shifted, crossing his legs to attempt to hide the current problem poking into his pants, and grinned. “No promises,” he mouthed and Utahime groaned, ripping her eyes away from him as if the sight of his face disgusted her. 

Your performance ended far too soon for Satoru’s liking. When he looked back up, the accompaniment was dwindling down into the slow pace that it had begun with. You were back on your feet, turning your back to the audience to saunter over to the mic stand. You carefully slid the handle back into its holder, voice soothing into a low, conclusive note that fluttered regally off into a momentary stunned silence. 

You stilled, inhaling sharply as the song reached its end. You blinked your eyes, as though reawakening from a daze, and looked up contentedly. Your hands fell to your sides and you awaited applause that came as rapidly as you had aroused the entire room. 

Gojo made sure that he was the first to jump to his feet, clapping wildly with a ridiculous grin. Everyone else followed, showering you in praise, compliments, a standing ovation well deserved. Shoko ‘whooped’ next to him, joining in on Satoru’s boisterousness while Utahime clapped a bit more politely with a proud smile. 

You gave a little bow, your smile radiant enough to put the sun to shame. You looked over everyone in grateful acknowledgement before turning your attention back to your friend’s table. You took the opportunity to return Utahime’s wave merrily, bringing your fingers to your lips and blowing a kiss to the brown eyed woman. 

Satoru and Shoko’s cheers picked up in volume, and your eyes brought themselves back to them. Your shoulders jerked with a soft chuckle, giving the two of them an introductory wave. Satoru brightened when you looked at him again, gazes exchanging an internal, mutual address of one another’s tension. 

You drew your top lip down, suppressing a bigger smile as you stared at him. Your gaze traveled downward for half a second and your eyes went big. You were quick to brush a hand over your amused expression and lower your gaze the moment the curtains drew over you and shut, concealing your beauty once more.

Satoru jutted out his bottom lip in momentary befuddlement, looking down to be reminded by his… problem. He was lucky that he was wearing pants that were tighter around his lower waist and crotch area, keeping the print of his dick somewhat compressed, but you had still managed to notice from your view upstage. 

Well, more accurately, you had been looking. 

Satoru grew ecstatic at the notion. 

“You!” Utahime pointed an accusatory finger at the blue eyed man once the applause had died down and chatter arose once more. People began to leave after your show had ended, having only come to watch you sing, and hell, Satoru couldn’t blame them. 

Satoru lowered his hands and pointed an innocent finger to his chest. “Me?”

“If you sleep with (Y/n), so help me-”

“Woah, hold on now,” Satoru stopped her. “What makes you think I’m the kind of guy to go around sleeping with strangers?”

“Oh don’t play coy, I saw the way you two were looking at each other earlier,” she rolled her eyes. “I hardly care what you do in your free time- frankly it makes me gag to think about it- but please just leave (Y/n) out of it.”

“Oh come on, it’s not my fault she was looking at me. What’s a guy to do in that situation?” Satoru shrugged. “I’m sorry I can't help my incredibly good looks.”

“I mean it, Gojo.”

“Utahime, let’s be real. She’s your friend. I wouldn’t do anything to mess with her. I’m not the horrible guy you take me for.”

“I don’t think you’re horrible, I think you’re an idiot whose arrogance is going to get you in a world of trouble one day. And I’m not even talking about how you’d affect her, I’m talking about her.”

“Hm? How do you mean?”

“She will eat you alive.”

“Eat me alive?” he repeated curiously. The prospect had only further piqued his interest. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you… I’m just thinking maybe I should see for myself.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Shoko laughed. “Think of it this way, Utahime. If Satoru sleeps with your friend, he’ll be admitting that you chose a great place for us to hang out tonight. After he doubted you, and all.”

Utahime paused, a noble grin reaching her features with the touch of her finger to her chin. “That’s right! He’d have to admit that he was wrong about me. Looks like you’re not the only one who knows how to plan a fun night out, huh?”

Satoru watched the woman gloat in her newfound honor with a blank face. “Jeez, Utahime. I didn’t think you were so obsessed with trivial things like proving me wrong. I was just playing around earlier,” he badgered, successfully rousing her agitation and disrupting her temporary air of victory. 

“I can’t stand you!”

“So,” Shoko sighed, turning to observe the flow of people exiting the space as the lights rose once more overhead. “Are we gonna get to meet this girl, or what? She put on a hell of a show.”

“Oh… yeah, hold on,” Utahime pulled out her phone. “She told me before to just wait for her to text saying that we can head backstage. I think she’s in the dressing room.”

Satoru buzzed with the anticipation of seeing you up close. Something about the way you stood up there, the way you presented yourself, the way you looked at him made every fiber in his being tremble with excitement as though you were a celebrity he had only dreamed about gaining the privilege to encounter in person until this very moment. 

He looked over his shoulder at all the drunken men who had been hollering your name and brimmed with vanity. Those poor idiots could only ever ponder about speaking with you one on one and seeing you up close, when he was able to saunter his way back to you with absolutely no obstacles in his way. It was foolish of him to sneer down at these non-sorcerers, who had been established as far beneath him the moment he was born, but he couldn’t help the pride that swarmed his chest when he thought about the advantage that he already had with you in comparison.

“Ah, there it is,” Utahime smiled upon seeing your name pop up on her screen. “Alright let’s go. Gojo, keep it together.”

“When have I ever done anything but that,” he grinned.

The three found themselves being led up the stage and behind the curtain by the same guy who had presented your performance. They walked through the narrow right wing and toward a door at the end of the room. The man knocked loudly upon it, announcing to you through the barrier that you had visitors before walking off. Another shiver wracked Satoru’s body when your honey-like voice called out that the door was open.

Utahime turned the knob slowly, peering into the room hesitantly. “(Y/n)?”

The door opened widely, revealing you sitting at a foggy mirror and a beaten leather chair. The surrounding clutter of storage and clothing was enough to show that you had been in this space often despite its rugged, vintage look. 

The light of your vanity illuminated the brick space. You looked up when the door fully opened, and that jaw dropping smile graced your red lips again. 

“Utahime,” you greeted happily. Iori beamed, rushing into the room to wrap you up in a hug the moment you stood. You let out a surprised huff, easing into her arms and chuckling. “I’m so glad you made it,” you said, rubbing her back. 

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world! The second I knew you were performing here, I came running,” Utahime replied, pulling away to look at you. “You were so amazing out there.”

“Aw, you think so?” you raised your brows, serene grin broadening. 

“Absolutely! You made everyone go crazy.”

“I try my best,” you shrugged, eyes darting over to the brunette and the white haired man standing at the doorway. You raised a brow. “I see you brought some friends with you.”

“Ah,” Utahime recalled, releasing you from her grip. “Yes, these are my colleagues. This is Ieiri Shoko and… Gojo Satoru,” she grumbled the latter bitterly, slimming her eyes at his cocky gaze. 

You hummed. “Oh yeah?” those eyes of yours flickered over Satoru rather noticeably. “Well, nice to meet you both. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

“Enjoyed it?” Shoko echoed, crossing her arms with a tipsy grin. “We loved it. You’ve got a crazy set of pipes on you. And that dress? Fucking incredible.”

You accepted the compliment genuinely. “Thank you, you’re sweet.”

“How long have you been performing?”

You followed the owner of that voice and found yourself staring into captivating blue hues once more. A small smile rested on his lips and his hands were tucked into his pockets as he looked at you. 

You sharpened your gaze and lowered your lids. “Do you mean here or in general?”

He shrugged, glossy lips puckering as if in thought. “Both.”

A glint flickered through your eyes when you responded, leg crossing over the other. “Been performing for ten years, here for one.”

Satoru lifted his chin and parted his lips, humming in understanding. “So you’re a real professional then.” 

“I don’t know, what do you think I am?” you asked him.

Gojo immediately picked up on the light banter that you were encouraging, therefore he, so taken by the sight of you, could do nothing but play along. Especially when you proceeded to check him out with absolutely no remorse.

“I think you’re good enough to be with the stars somewhere. On a big stage with a big crowd. Bigger than any of us could imagine.”

Flattery, though common, still seemed to have a rather carnal effect on you. You tilted your head over your shoulder, eyes glistening with intrigue. “Who says I haven’t been?”

You clearly liked to challenge, to push your limits and see if your words and responses were strong enough to make the man before you falter or stumble over his words. If Satoru Gojo were anyone else in this world, he internally conceded that he would have, but he liked this daring persona you harbored. He liked the way that you were aware of the fact that you could bring a man to his knees with a look alone, the way you could shift your words to chip away at someone’s resolve and make them a mess at your feet. 

He thought it was so hot. 

If Utahime had been right about you earlier, that you would eat him alive if he had been presented the chance to make a proper move on you, he would have let you consume him blissfully. 

He wanted you to consume him.

“You’re right,” Satoru chuckled lowly. “If you have, you’d be right where you should be. In the limelight.”

Your smile spread as your locked gaze soaked him in, and Satoru knew that he was set. 

“Alright,” Utahime’s voice cut through the thick air. Her expression was bored, having very clearly witnessed what was slowly unveiling before her. While she didn’t approve of it in the slightest, she was hardly the least bit surprised.

Shoko had kept quiet as well, looking between you and Satoru with knowing widened eyes and a tight laugh-suppressing smile. 

“(Y/n)? When’s your next show?” Iori asked you, clenching her jaw when her eyes cut through Satoru threateningly. The said man hardly cared, for you were initiating far more of the tension rising between the two of you than he was. After all, Satoru hadn’t been bluffing before when he had questioned the accusation thrown about regarding his sex life. He was a busy man with very little to no free time aside from the few hour block he took out of his Friday evenings to spend time with his fellow sorcerers. 

Of course, women were drawn to him, but he found very little interest in entertaining their efforts. In his mind, the act would have been like poking fun at forgotten admirers for the sake of entertainment. It was beneath him, sleeping around, and he hardly trusted anyone enough with his powerful mind and body to be vulnerable with them. Consequently, he kept to himself, flirting around every now and then but never crossing the line between pretty words and physical intimacy.

So to be dragged into your will with little effort had stunned him, more so because he was not opposed to your unspoken invitation in comparison to how he would have normally reacted to someone’s advances. You looked like you were trouble, conniving, gaining control of a room with the tricks of your beauty and your talent. You knew full well that you were an unfathomable treasure, a sex symbol amongst the little world that you had built for yourself, and that alone was dangerous. Satoru knew so because he himself was just as dangerous for the same reasons and far more. 

You weren’t even intimidated by his presence, like most human women were. He was abnormally tall with prominent features that stood out like a sore thumb; snowy white locks that glowed blindingly in the sunlight and eyes as vast and blue as the sky above. Normally, people shivered under his gaze, cowered in his wake, but you demanded his submission as though he was just another man, and hell, he couldn’t even be offended because he wanted you just like any other man. 

“Usually I perform every Friday,” you started, pulling your eyes from Gojo to look back at Utahime. “But next week they’ve got another guest performing in my place ‘cause I want off. Sometimes I do stuff at the bar in one city over too, but during the weekends. You’re welcome to come check it out whenever. All of you.”

“We’ll definitely have to stop by more often. I can’t believe I’ve been missing you all this time.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it. I can only imagine how swamped you are with work and everything, being a professor and all. Just come when you can, no hard feelings.”

“Do you have a social media handle?” Ieiri asked. You nodded, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s my full name pushed together. You follow me, and I’ll follow you. I love making new friends.”

The brunette immediately exchanged information with you, and just like that, the night was over.

Utahime was the first to bid farewell, claiming that she had to get up early the following morning for some business to attend to that Satoru and Shoko knew as a quick mission orchestrated by Tokyo Jujutsu High. She gave you another tight hug and Shoko followed, telling you that it was great meeting before turning to the door with Utahime. Satoru was the last to leave the room, turning over his shoulder to casually part with you. 

You watched him closely, leaning your hip against your vanity with your hand on upon the other. Your red lips pressed together in a stiff smile, desiring eyes watching as you said goodbye, though you knew deep in your gut that this wouldn’t be your last time seeing Satoru Gojo.

On the way out, Satoru stopped in his tracks on the stage steps, standing over the now completely vacant building. Utahime and Shoko walked with their arms linked to the exit, Shoko stopping first when she realized that Satoru was not directly behind them. The women turned, catching sight of him looking around the room calmly.

“Satoru!” Shoko called out. “You coming or what?”

He smiled, lowering his head to look at the brunette from across the room. “Nah,” he sighed contentedly. “I think I’ll take in the ambience a bit more and… ponder over the performance we just watched. Why end the night so early, you know?”

Utahime’s expression fell flat. “It’s a quarter past midnight,” she deadpanned.

“And yet, there’s still so much the night has to offer.”

Shoko snorted, turning back around and waving her hand over her head. “Whatever you say. Text me after you get laid.”

“Like I said, Shoko, you know I’m not that kind of guy!”

Utahime huffed, shaking her head in disdain. “You’re playing with fire, Gojo. We all know you’re the strongest, but you shouldn’t underestimate that woman’s control. She will break you.”

Satoru scoffed, waving the indigo haired woman off. “Please. I’m unbreakable.”

Utahime rolled her eyes and turned her back to the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. “It’s your funeral.”

His funeral, huh?

Satoru never knew himself to be the masochistic type, but somehow, the thought of you metaphorically killing him only made him harder. 

You emerged from behind the velvet curtain about ten minutes after Shoko and Utahime left. You were rifling through your purse for the keys to lock up, which the owner usually entrusted you to do when you performed because you were close personal friends. 

Your heels clicked and echoed throughout the vacant space, no signs of life aside from the sound of your footsteps. Even so, you knew you weren’t alone before you had even rounded that corner to exit backstage. You could sense the overwhelming presence of that friend of Iori’s who had been ogling over, and you hadn’t been surprised. When you looked up from your bag and saw his tall figure sitting patiently at the same table he had occupied earlier that night, chin propped in his fist and eyes glowing through the dim space to find yours, you lowered your arms knowingly. 

“Hate to break it to you, but the show’s over, pretty boy,” you said smugly. “You’ll be waiting in the dark forever until my next one.”

“That’s okay. I was actually waiting for you,” Satoru replied suavely.

“Is that so?” you stepped down the stairs slowly to make your way over to him. “I don’t give autographs, if that’s what you’re looking for. I haven’t made it that big yet.”

“Whattt? No way. I thought you said you’ve been with all kinds of stars before.”

You walked up to the table, slinging your purse off of your arm and tossing it carelessly on the surface. “Don’t get me wrong. One day I will be,” you sighed. “Just not yet.”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me,” Satoru grinned, watching in the dim light as you slid into the seat across from him. “I’ve never seen anyone perform the way you did.”

“You must not get out much,” you teased. “I’m really not all that special in places like these.”

“Okay, we both know that’s bullshit,” Satoru cocked a brow, giving you a look as your grin widened. “You’re unreal on that stage. I’ve been around enough to know that.”

“Clearly,” you chuckled. “I appreciate the flattery, Gojo.”

Your laugh was heavenly, and holy shit, you remembered his name.

“Satoru,” he corrected you, quickly ridding the both of you of any formalities that could have gotten in the way. Your lips parted slightly with fascination, and you caught the way Satoru’s eyes jumped to the motion.

“Right. Satoru,” you tested his first name on your lips, and Satoru thought that he would have combusted right then and there.

If that hadn’t been enough to blow a fuse in his brain, sitting so close to you and taking in your features within your proximity was a gift within itself. You were even prettier up close, the details he couldn’t quite admire from when you were on stage fully displaying themselves before him exquisitely.

Your eyes were so heavy, lined with a coat of black liner that deepened, accentuated the rich hue of your alluring eyes and your skin so smooth beneath the expertly applied coat of makeup you wore for your performance. You still had on that dress too, only it was concealed by a leather coat that reached your thighs, hiding what Satoru so desperately wanted to see now that he was mere feet away from you. 

“So, a colleague of Utahime’s, huh?” you prodded, seeking further information from him. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a teacher.”

Satoru laughed lightly at the sentiment, momentarily forgetting that you had no clue about what his profession could have possibly entailed. “I get that a lot,” he elected to say.

“And at a religious school no less?”

You were testing the water. 

“It’s just work,” Satoru shrugged. “I never thought about it as religious or non-religious, which I know is probably weird to say since I am a professor there.”

“No, I get what you mean,” you said. “Work is just work,” you repeated his words, and Satoru smiled.

“Exactly.”

“Then you come to these kinds of bars for, what, a break from all the sanctity?” you mused.

“Not really. I’m actually not much of a drinker. I only came here for the entertainment. Per Utahime’s suggestion, of course.”

“Right,” you smiled. “Speaking of, Utahime doesn’t seem to like you very much. I only got that from the way she introduced you like she wanted your head on a silver platter,” you observed smugly, Satoru releasing an amused breath. 

“She acts like she hates me, but I’ve known her for years. She’s just always been easy to mess with and she lets me pick on her.”

You laughed, clearly understanding what he meant. “So you’re that kind of guy, huh? Picking on poor Utahime. No wonder she hates you.”

“Well, when you put it like that, you make me sound like some kinda monster,” Satoru sulked slightly, much to your amusement.

“I wouldn’t mind it if you were. I could take it.” 

Satoru’s cock twitched, your words alone enough to further stimulate his lust for you. 

You could take it.

The phrase had so many different possible connotations, and you knew it. Your eyes said it all as they melted over his face, surveying his facial reaction to the way you lifted a nail between your teeth to bite down on it mid sentence. 

It drove him crazy. 

“You don’t seem like the type though,” you countered your previous statement. Satoru leaned forward slightly, inquisitive. 

“No?”

“Nah, you seem too nice.”

The blue eyed man snorted. “You think I’m nice?”

“Or maybe that’s not the right word,” your painted finger tapped against your bottom lip, the flesh so plush beneath your touch. 

He wanted to feel that softness against him. He wanted your lipstick to stain his body. To stain his life. He wanted you so bad. 

“I mean, I guess I do consider myself to be generous,” Satoru played along, a laugh bubbling in his throat.

“Mmmm,” you pressed your lips together, slimming your eyes and setting your elbows onto the table. You leaned into him, eying him closely, studying his cunning smile and pressing your chest into the table. “I take it back.”

“Damn, you don’t think I’m nice anymore?”

“You’re more… extroverted,” you decided. “You know how to talk to people, and it comes off as generosity. Sometimes. But in reality, it’s just you being lighthearted.”

“So lightheartedness and generosity aren’t the same thing?”

“Hell no,” you smirked. “You could be a dickhead and still be spirited.”

He chuckled again. You were so forward. “You’ve got a point.”

“You’re also a little flirty, you know that?” you specified. “I think that’s a part of your ‘lightheartedness.’”

“Oh really?” the strongest sorcerer shifted to open his fist and lean his cheek over in his palm, peering down at you through his lashes. “Pretty, if I’m flirty, then you must be in love with me.”

You were momentarily stunned by the comment, your pleasure with the conversation only growing as Satoru grew more brazen. “Wow. That’s a new one,” you grinned, pretty teeth on display again, and Gojo found himself mirroring the sun before him. 

“I’m just saying, I’m not the only one who’s been flirting. You can’t tell me otherwise.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” you admitted freely, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip. Satoru sucked in a heavy breath as his pants only grew tighter. “Hate to break it to you, though, I don’t do love if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not. Somehow I didn’t peg you as the type.”

“What did you peg me for?”

Satoru took a few seconds to reply, staring at you. “As a woman who your friend told me would eat me alive.”

“What?” you released a real laugh this time. It was a loud, bright sound that boomed through the empty space and left Satoru’s cheeks aching and dimples popping from how hard he was smiling in reaction to it. He watched the way your head tilted back and your eyes scrunched closed, your expression displaying true thrill. 

You were so beautiful, he couldn’t stand it.

“Why’s that so funny?” he asked in the midst of his idiotic simpering.

You swiped a finger under your eye as you calmed, shaking your head with lingering giggles. “Because Utahime would say something like that about me,” you exhaled. 

“Can I ask if she was wrong?”

You interlocked your fingers, elbows on the table, and rested your chin atop them. “No, she’s not,” you said, softly. “But you know that anyway, don’t you? You look pretty smart.”

“Aw, thanks for noticing,” Satoru cooed. “You’re right. I knew that the second I saw you.”

You hummed, dragging your eyes over his face, then down to his hands. “Then why are you here, Satoru? To get eaten alive?”

There went Satoru dick for the third time that night, jumping excitedly within the confines of his pants. The predicament began to grow rather uncomfortable, and you were quick to notice when he shifted in his seat in an attempt to be subtle and his dark pupils expanded amidst the pools of sapphire beneath his messy hair. 

Your perfectly plucked brow arched as you looked down when he shifted. “Problem?” you asked knowingly, sensually, and god, you were only making his situation worse. Your lips bounced apart with the end of your question, your mouth now slightly agape. 

Satoru could feel his skin burn, your presence unbearably intoxicating. 

A muscle in Gojo’s brow twitched as you lowered your palms flat to the table and pushed, your chair scooting loudly across the floor. Blue pools of desire followed your figure as you rose from your chair slowly, rounding the table with your fingers dragging along the surface. Satoru’s heart was hammering, entirely fixated on you as you approached and stood over him. 

Suddenly, you kicked your foot out and knocked it against the front leg of his chair. Hooking the point of your heel over it, you dragged the furniture away from the table to face you. You broke your eyes from his to look down, the image of his throbbing hardon meeting your eyes kindly.

“Looks like it,” you answered for yourself.

Satoru instinctively released his technique when he saw you coming into him. You leaned over and pressed onto his shoulder, throwing your leg around him to straddle his lap. Satoru hissed, corner of his lips twirling up as his eyes flew to where your thighs crowded around his crotch, tights stretching perfectly over the way the fat of your thighs expanded when you sat.

You pouted, sliding your arms around his neck and tilting your head down to meet his lowered eyes. “What’s wrong? Got no more talk in you?”

The white haired man trembled under you, wordlessly taking you in. You smelled so good, your scent invading every one of his heightened senses as your gentle fingers dragged over the nape of his neck. You leaned in closer, brushing your wine red lips over his glossy ones as he exhaled shakily, warm breath fanning against your skin.

“Am I making you nervous, pretty boy?” you whispered into him, and he fucking shuddered. “I thought you wanted this…”

Your fingers tangled up and into his hair, pushing his locks from his forehead and tilting his head back. You looked over him, marveling at his beauty as his cheeks reddened and his hands cupped over your waist. His lashes fluttered with the brush of your fingers through his silky strands, eyes inky pools as he looked up at you desperately. 

“Funny, your dick may be making all the moves for you,” you teased, words vulgar as they dripped from your tongue.

Satoru’s length jumped against your inner thigh, hardening beneath your weight. He clenched his jaw and drew his brows together, digging his fingers into your hips under your coat. You hummed, drawing your lips to his ear. “See? All of a sudden he’s more talkative than you are.”

“Fuck,” Gojo hissed, your voice in his ear snapping something deep within him. “Baby, you’re something else.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” your fingers curved down the side of his jaw and over his throat. “You gonna let me ruin you?”

Satoru smiled breathlessly, his grip around you tightening. “I should be asking you the same thing, pretty…” his heavy hands smoothed down over your ass, pushing you further up against him. You raised your brows, pulling away to look down at him daringly. 

“That’s pretty cocky for a guy who lost his words for a second, there,” you licked your lips. 

“Oh, baby, you have no idea how cocky I can be.”

You grabbed a fist full of his shirt, tugging harshly. “Then prove it.”

Your mouths were clashing into each other’s before Satoru could even process his next thought, which only would have been something about you. Your lips were so soft, plush as a cloud as they mashed into his own, your red gloss smearing over his lips and chin, painting him red, and Satoru knew then that he could die happy. 

Satoru reached up blindly and pushed your jacket off your shoulders. You swiftly shimmied out of the fabric, letting it drop to the floor whilst your lips remained locked hungrily in a primal, hot, greedy battle. The white haired man immediately snatched the opportunity to feel over your body, memorizing the curves that followed his hands beneath the smooth fabric of your tight dress. His legs spread beneath you, feet pressing into the floor to hump up into your hips as your body curved into him like the trickle of water smoothing down a pipe. 

He grunted into your mouth as you nipped and bit, curling your tongue into his mouth to fight for your authority. Satoru welcomed your dominance, floating into a twisted heaven as your hand curled over his throat and your tits pressed into his shirt through your dress, thighs rubbing over his sides and nails dragging down his chest to rip open the buttons of his shirt. 

“That shirt was expensive,” he breathed heatedly into you between the swift seconds your lips broke apart. Wet smacking filled your ears as you pressed back in, pushing your body flush against his large frame and licking your tongue along his lip.

“I don’t care,” you purred. Satoru released a shaky moan, slamming his lips back into yours, eager to taste every bit of your lipstick and the slick of your tongue. 

You jumped back to stretch the material of his shirt further apart, buttons popping with the revelation of his flushed, bare pecs and the hint of his well-sculpted upper abdomen. You dragged the shirt from his shoulders, Satoru yanking his arms free to grab your cheeks and press you harder into him. “Your lips feel so good,” he huffed mindlessly, a string of saliva pulling from the two of you as you parted. 

“All I did was kiss you,” you breathed.

“So kiss me more,” he demanded. “Everywhere. Wherever. I don’t give a fuck.”

“So bossy,” you groaned, teeth grazing his jaw as you slid your hands down his exposed skin, feeling over the ridges of his abdominals. Satoru jerked, breath releasing with a vocalized sigh as your touch smoothed over his stomach. You popped open the last button of his shirt and ripped it out from under him, throwing it over your shoulder with a pretty smirk, lipstick smudged messily over your cheek. “I’ll kiss you when I want to kiss you, where I want to kiss you.”

“Don’t be like tha-mmm…”

Your hand slid over the bulge of his pants as you pressed yourself up above it to free the space for your access. Satoru clenched his jaw and watched intensely as your fingers traced over the outline of his hard on teasingly, teeth sinking into your lip as you monitored his reaction. “You feel big, Toru,” you observed sweetly. “Can I call you that? Toru? You like that, baby?”

“Fuck, yes,” he heaved, eyes blurry. “Call me whatever the fuck you want.”

“Atta boy,” you praised, pressing your lips to his cheek as his cock jerked beneath your hand. “Ohhh, look at that. Someone likes praise…”

“You’re- killing me, baby,” he looked up at you, jaw hanging as stuttered breaths escaped him. “Need you to take care of my cock, pretty, can’t handle the way you’re touching me.”

“You must be so used to getting what you want,” you sighed. You leaned to place your finger at the base of his balls, watching the way his body jumped. You slid your finger all the way up his concealed shaft slowly before ripping it away with a sweet smile. Satoru made a noise like a dissatisfied whine in his throat. “I already told you, I’ll do what I want when I want it.”

He tossed his head back, brows curling. “(Y/n),” he whimpered.

“Ooo, don’t say my name like that,” you pushed your hips back down to roll against his cock, a pretty moan fluttering from his muscular throat. “You’ll get me even wetter than I already am.”

Satoru’s hands clutched down onto your thighs, squeezing harshly with aching want. 

“Relax,” you ordered, and he did, sinking back into the chair as your hands climbed over him and your lips touched the crook of his jaw. “Good boy.”

You slid your tongue along his skin, sinking your teeth into his neck like a damn vampire, smoothing your open mouth over the stinging bites, marking his skin redder than that makeup you wore. Satoru breathed heavily, twitching beneath you uncontrollably. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, and he was already a mess at your will. His moans strained in his throat as you sucked circles on his neck mercilessly, capturing any piece of his perfect skin you could find. 

He needed you to free his cock so badly. It was causing him pain, at this point, how achingly hard he was. He could feel precum already staining his underwear and soaking through his slacks, but you kept him waiting, pressing you clothed mound to his bulge as his grasping hands pulled your dress over your legs and scrunched it around your waist. 

Your lace cut offs and string panties unveiled themselves to him and he almost came then and there beneath you. You were so bad, dressing like this to perform as though you were asking to get fucked afterward. As though you knew Satoru had walked through those doors and would melt into putty the moment you laid your hand on his chest.

“Uh uh,” you whispered, feeling Satoru press his dick up into you again. He could feel the slipperiness between your thighs, soaking your thin underwear and threatening to pool through to touch his clothes. “Stop that,” you said firmly, glaring up at him from where you had begun nipping at his chest. 

Your back was arched, your ass sticking out over his lap, and oh, you were just begging to be fucked, but Satoru couldn’t bring himself to do anything but what you told him. Not yet at least. He got off on the way you dominated him, the way you took control with no idea that if he wanted to he could have snapped you in half. 

Only, if he wanted to. 

“Pretty, I want you so bad,” Satoru said through gritted teeth, gazing longingly at you through the mess of his hair. He involuntarily bucked up into you again and you gasped, gripping his shoulder tightly with one hand and onto the hand that gripped your waist with the other. 

There you were. He had finally gotten a reaction from you.

Your face darkened, your eyes hard. You looked back up at him with eyes that could kill, expression falling into intensified hunger. Satoru gulped.

You lifted your hips and grinded them forward, pressing them down and swiveling your lower body with rapid pressure. Gojo inhaled sharply, eying the way you slithered across his dick like a goddamn snake, movements glossy and abrupt. His fingers dug into the skin of your waist, curling into the waistband of your panties and stretching at them eagerly. 

“You’re so fucking impatient,” you growled, rolling your hips over him again and moaning softly when his bulge rubbed against your clit. “Shit, how fucking big are you, Toru?”

“You would- hah- know if you took my f-fucking cock out, princess,” Satoru moaned, pulling at your hips to keep them in motion. You finally complied, rocking your sopping cunt against him slowly, the friction against your heat sparking waves of pleasure to your brain.

“Mmm, fuck,” you whispered. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Baby, come on,” Satoru begged, encouraging you to keep going. You began to get yourself off, using his hardon to stroke against you dripping pussy as humped his pants, pulling back and pushing in, back and in. “There you go, pretty, grind that pussy onto me. Make yourself feel good…”

“I said- ah- s-shut up!” You pushed him back by his shoulders harshly, holding him still against the back of the chair as you rode him out through your pants, brows furrowed and mouth hanging open. Your pace quickened, your clit throbbing with each grind it took against his length. “Why do you feel like this with fucking pants on?” you breathed out, confounded by howquickly he was making you feel this good.

“Take them-ngh, fuck- o-off, and it’ll feel better.”

You fumed, slapping a hand over Satoru’s mouth as you glided your throbbing pussy into him hard. A muffled groan escaped Satoru’s mouth, eyes threatening to roll back as a string of curses fled your lips. 

You wanted him to shut up. No man had ever spoken to you this much, in such a manner that Gojo was encouraging you with that sweet, needy desperation lacing his deep voice. It was only dragging more arousal from your cunt, and you weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to responding to a man’s body and mouth this way. 

You usually did all the talking. You were normally the one watching in amusement as a man shook like a leaf underneath you. You were usually the one experiencing less pleasure, but hell, you had only dry humped Satoru for five minutes and your pussy was already pathetically crying for him. And his mouth, god, he just wouldn’t be quiet, and his inability to do so was threatening to weaken you.

You truly did not want to comply with his desires, but you could no longer deny that the both of you longed for the same thing. 

You kept your hand secure over Satoru’s mouth, his fucked out gaze drinking you in as you hurriedly unbuckled his belt, fumbling over the straps and leaning away from him momentarily to do so. Satoru’s hands moved to help you, but you pushed them away, pressing against his mouth harder.

“Don’t touch,” you ordered. His groan of frustration and want vibrated against your palm, his hands grabbing immediately into the plush of your exposed ass beneath you bunched dress. 

You scooted further down Satoru’s legs so that you could tug his pants down once you got his belt out of the way. You hadn’t even bothered to stand to pull them all the way down, for you were in far too much of a rush to free his dick to care.

Your fingers found the hem of his boxers, ripping them down quickly. Your lips curved back into a smile, your frustration fading, when his gorgeous cock flew free and smacked angrily against Satoru’s abdomen. A smear of shiny precum spread over his skin in his tip’s wake, the pink head oozing generously. Your eyes grew, internally and temporarily stunned by Satoru’s size. He was long, unnaturally so, with bulging veins wrapped around his shaft and trailing upward. A soft tuft of white hair resided above his dick at the end of a teased happy trail.

Your (e/c) eyes admired his entire figure once more, his heaving breathing, sweaty brawny chest, the love bites you left behind, littering his collarbone and either side of his neck within circles of your lipsticks stains that trailed up to his nose behind your hand, his flushed skin, and sex dazed sapphire pools. 

“You’re such a pretty boy, Toru,” you praised. A glimmer of light flickered through his pupils in reaction to your gentle words, a stark contrast to the way harshly you pushed into him. 

Gradually, you wrapped your free digits around his base. Satoru moaned, broken voice rumbling into your hand. Your tongue touched the top row of your teeth as you reveled in the feeling of his dick in your hand. It twitched within your soft palm, fluttering toward you with a mind of it’s own.

“You wanna do me a favor, baby?” you asked, and Satoru nodded eagerly. “You wanna move my panties to the side so I can slide your pretty dick inside me?”

Satoru trembled, nodding again with fervor. You leaned down and kissed his cheek again. 

“Go ahead,” you spurred him on.

The white haired sorcerer wasted no time in reaching under you to rip his fingers into the thin strap of your thong. He stretched the band out desperately before feeling his way further down, freezing when he touched a cool patch of slick dripping from the cloth hiding your pussy from him. 

He pushed the fabric aside as you had advised him to and experimentally slid his fingers over your slit, collecting your sticky fluid as it seeped down his palm. His chest jumped with another muffled moan, eyes hardening when your dark lashes flickered and your thighs jerked over him. You were so wet for him, and you were trying not to show it on your face, but Satoru could tell that you were deprived of him, of real, attentive, passionate doting. He could tell that you needed him as much as he needed you.

Satoru allowed his mind to wander as he sank his index finger past your lips and into your warm, gooey walls. You mewled, hips bucking downward. “Satoru,” you warned, but your voice lacked your previous grit. The blue eyed man smirked behind your palm just seconds prior to your removal of it from his mouth. Your lids grew heavy over your eyes as he dragged his finger out and pushed it back in slowly, swirling around your gummy insides. “Ahhh, shit- f-fuck you!” you moaned, the sounds you released so pretty.

“Don’t fight it, gorgeous,” Satoru coaxed, finding his voice again. He plunged his finger deeper inside you, twisting and twirling so slowly that you almost saw stars. “Fucking hell, this pussy is so greedy. She’s sucking in my finger like it’s nothing. Such a perfect cunt for me.”

“St-Stop with that c-cocky shit, oohhh god,” you gasped, lowering yourself back down and ducking your head into Satoru’s shoulder as he worked another finger into you slowly, your juices squelching loudly with their lazy pump in and out. 

“So you can be cocky, but I can’t, hm?” he turned to murmur into your hair, listening to the sinful sounds your needy pussy made around his fingers. Your arousal proceeded to flood over him like a pool, drenching his wrist and dripping onto his balls and the wooden chair. “Mmmm, you really like this, baby. You’re drenching me so good, almost like you’ve never been fingered before.”

“This’s exactly-y why I covered y’r mouth,” you mumbled, breath hot against his neck. “You talk too goddamn muchhh, fuck, Toru, right there! Right fucking there, like thattt…”

“Hm? Like this?” he curled the tips of his fingers against your walls and you yelped, notifying him that he had discovered your sweet spot. “Right there, right pretty?”

“I already told you, yes,” you moaned, gripping the back of his chair. “Yes, yes,” you murmured, and Satoru hissed.

“Enjoy it, baby. So pretty. Such a gorgeous girl, such a gorgeous little pussy…”

“Fuck, Satoru,” you exhaled raggedly. The said man made a noise of acknowledgement, hypnotized by the steady stroke of his fingers into you. With your hand still wrapped over his cock, you slid your it up his shaft slowly, squeezing softly. Satoru’s fingers froze inside you, his face burying into your hair.

“Oh my god…” he grunted, closing his eyes. “Your hands are so perfect.”

“You’re whipped,” you teased, lifting your hips up into the air so that his fingers could reluctantly leave. 

Satoru studied the stretch of slick that connected his fingers to your cunt as they left your walls. Before he could protest, you were guiding his tip toward you and sliding your sloppy cunt overtop of it.

“(Y/n), fuckkkk,” Satoru drawled, jaw slack while he watched you ease your way down over him. The tip of his puffy dick slowly disappeared within your slimy walls, and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull with the toss of his head backward. His fingernails imprinted into your sides as you sank down, swallowing his girth and taking him into you.

You huffed out, moaning loudly with your hands now pressed into Satoru’s bare chest. His girth was quick to stretch you before you had even made it halfway. A whine caught in the back of your throat as your face tightened. You had never taken someone so big before, and he was filling you up so deliciously. You could feel every twitch, every curve, every ridge and vein of his heavy, lengthy cock as it slipped further into you, your walls tightening instinctively around him the further down you went.

“Oh, baby,” you purred. “Your dick’so… nghhh, shittt!”

“She’s soakin’ me,” Satoru choked out, assisting your glide down with the drag of your hips to his own. “So tight, god, pretty, you can’t be fucking real. You- this fucking pussy, hahhh, that’s it, baby. That’s it, keeping going. All the way. Please, baby, please. Want to fill you up. Need to be all inside this messy cunt.”

“So big,” you mused, watching as he sank into you halfway, and for the first time in your life, you paused. “Fuck, you’re in my stomach!”

“Take it all, honey, take fucking all of it. You got it, pretty girl. Keep going.”

“Don’t- hah- need your help, fucking- fuck!” You sank down further, pushing with the pull of Satoru’s desperate hands. Your breath left your lungs momentarily, Satoru’s long dick sliding up to the hilt of your pussy and stretching you absolutely full. You could feel him everywhere, your bum reaching his balls the moment you saddled onto him completely.

Satoru’s face stilled into blissful emptiness, staring down at where you were connected and the bulge that prodded against your lower tummy. “That’a girl, fuck, you’re so good,” he babbled, hands sliding up your back. His fingers blindly grabbing for a zipper. He peeled it down once he pinched it, curving his hands under your slipping dress as he exposed your bare skin to the empty space. 

The straps of your dress fell down your shoulders accordingly, revealing the plush of your pretty tits that peaked over the fabric. Satoru was overwhelmed, struck by your entire being as you warmed his trembling dick, perky nipples pressing into his line of sight as your dress fell around your waist.

Satoru pushed in, pressing his hands to your lower back and arching you into him as he touched his lips to the center of your tits. His dick nudged your insides with the motion and you inhaled sharply, holding onto him tightly.

“Could you be any more fucking perfect,” he grumbled, catching your perky nimble between his lips.

Your body leaned back and he craned forward along with you, hands supporting your weight to him as he teased your nipple between his teeth. His tongue followed swiftly, lapping over your bud and sucking hungrily off your tit, spit drooling from his mouth as he made out with the plush fat. Your moans carried just as your singing had, lifting melodically into the space and bouncing regally off of the confined walls and casting Satoru deeper under your trance.

“Smell s’good, taste so good, feel so, so good. Can’t get enough of you baby, can’t.”

“You’re so sappy,” you whispered, head rolling on your shoulders and eyes closing as your cunt clenched around him in pleasure.

Satoru moaned into your chest, marking up your boobs as you had his neck. “C’mon, baby,” he grunted. “Kill me.”

You were quick to carefully lift your hips, Satoru’s length sliding along your gummy walls. You were slow at first with the withdrawal before lowering yourself down heavily, his cock slamming back into your aching pussy. 

You both moaned in unison, and you wasted no more time. You set a steady pace, pushing up and pushing back down to sink over Satoru’s dick, juices leaking and mixing into his precum as you clenched repeatedly around him. You rode him out carefully, nails digging into his shoulders. 

“That’s it,” Satoru purred, peering up at you from under your other tit, eyes dark enough to sink into. “Ride me out, gorgeous, use my cock.”

“Fuck, Toru, you’ve got such a good dick,” you whimpered, reaching up to tug into his hair. Gojo’s eyes rolled, skin slapping lewdly with the collision of your ass rippling against his thighs. The slimy sound of his rock hard cock sliding from your drenched heat was like music to your ears, better than any song you had ever sung, better than any cheers you had ever received.

“Ah-ngh, baby, baby,” Satoru blabbered, already fucked out. “So fucking wet, dripping all over me. Pussy feels so good, so so good…”

“Yeah? You like when I ride your dick, baby? You like being the only one I get to fuck after my show? You like being my toy, tonight?”

“Fuck yes, love it so much. Fucking love the way you fuck this cock, pretty, don’t fucking stop.”

“That’s a good boy, Toru,” you purred, sitting fully onto him mid bounce to roll your hips into his. Satoru moaned loudly, uncaring of his volume. His mouth found your tit again, sucking like a madman as you rode him deeply, ensuring that he felt every corner of your pussy around him and that you felt every glide of his slender cock into your wet heat. “You’re so good, taking my pussy, yeah?”

His cock jerked inside you and he nodded dumbly, tongue swirling desperately over your reddened nipple. You hummed in ecstasy, pushing into him once more and pressing him back as you threw your ass down onto him, slick and pre melting between your connection and stretching with the rapid slaps of your hips into his. You moaned, brows pinching as you brought your lips to Satoru’s parted ones, his groans and whines sliding into your mouth with the insertion of your tongue against his. 

“Yessss,” you cooed into him. “So big, you’re filling me up so good.”

“I ca- nghhah,” Gojo was a mess, moaning helplessly as you bounced mercilessly onto his cock, trapping him against you so that neither of you had anywhere to go. “Sl-Slow down, pretty, fuckkk, shit, slow down,” he begged, but you ignored his pleas, bouncing faster as he held your hips shakily.

“Can’t take it, Toru? Hm?”

“Gonna make me fuckin’ cum already, baby, please…”

“So soon?” you nudged, lifting your hips up to roll slowly over his tip before slamming back down, continuing you pace. Satoru choked over his own voice, leaning his head back and slumping into the chair as it rocked angrily beneath your weight, attempting to support your angry thrusts. “Mmm, not surprised, baby. Saw the way you- shit, were looking at me earlier. Saw… saw your pretty hard on from onstage. You wanted my pussy so bad, didn’t you? You wanted to be snug inside me the second you saw me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whimpered, eyes screwed shut. “Needed you. Needed to fuck you in this pretty little slutty dress. Needed my dick in this pussy the moment you laid there in front of me. Fuck, wanted to take you right there,” he whined. His hands slid back to your thighs, pressing and clawing and squeezing. 

“I know, pretty boy, I know…”

“S’much better than I imagined. F-Fuck, fucking perfect. You’re so perfect. Fucking me just right, pretty.”

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth,” you groaned, head tossing back when Satoru’s dick brushed against your cervix, veins rubbing against your g-spot as you switched to rocking back and forth over him. Satoru’s hands grabbed your ass, his eyes flickering between the way your tits jiggled with your body and his dick bulged against your lower stomach with your grinding.

You knew just how to treat his dick, keeping him snug within your wet cavern and massaging it with the fluidity of your hips. “Nghmm, right there, Toru. Right thereee,” you sighed, face contorting with pleasure.

“Don’t stop, honey,” he reached a hand up to your face. “Don’t stop, keep going. Make yourself cum on my dick.”

“Fuck!”

“Yeahhhh,” he smoothed his thumb over your cheek. “Gorgeous baby, you look gorgeous.”

“Stop that,” you whimpered through broken moans, attempting to shift away from the warmth of his palm.

“Nuh-uh, pretty, let me look at you,” Satoru laced his fingers into the back of your hair, holding your face steady and your eyes to his. “Need to see those pretty eyes, they make me so hard.”

You couldn’t fight the moan that caught you, eyes swimming into his as you rolled your hips over his cock, eyes growing heavier and heavier as a knot built in your lower abdomen and your cunt clenched more frequently.

“Mhmmm,” Satoru hummed in satisfaction. “Keep looking at me, baby.”

“I said stop the sappy shit,” you gritted out through clenched teeth. You didn’t have time to pull his hand away, however, when his feet planted into the floor and he pushed up into you, throwing his arms around your lower waist to hold you to him. You cried out, curling against his chest as Satoru thrusted up into you desperately, balls slapping up against your skin as his hazy eyes peered over your shoulder to watch the connection.

“Come on, baby,” he grumbled into your ear. “Don’t give me that, let me admire you like you deserve.”

“Aghhhh, fuckkk,” you sobbed, your body rocking wildly with the force of Satoru’s thrusts. “God, m’fucking close.”

“Me too, pretty, me too,” Satoru’s voice dipped down ruggedly, an animalistic hoarseness to his tone. He couldn’t stop, fucking into you like a rabbit as if it was the very last thing on earth he was going to do. 

You whined, cunt drooling over him as it prepared you for your orgasm. Your clit rubbed against his rigid abdomen, stimulating your nerves further as you quickly approached.

“Give it to me, princess. Milk my fucking cock.”

“Cum inside, Toru,” you demanded, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. “Want your cum in me…”

“Fuck, baby, fuckkkk- mmmm, shit!”

Like an ocean crashing down onto the shore, your orgasms met each other simultaneously, juices drenching his cock with slippery white cream and sticky fluid. Satoru’s arms tightened around you, his seed splurging into your cunt endlessly, his hips rocking with the continual stream of his hot cum into your aching pussy. 

Your moans mixed into each other’s loudly, building into a symphony as you rode out your high, grinding weakly into him as your vision went white.

Satoru’s legs twitched, your own practically numb around his waist. His cum proceeded to leak into you, dripping down your legs and onto the floor. The two of you sat there in your breathless aftermath for a moment, Satoru tucking his nose into your shoulder and pressing a soft kiss there. He felt you sink against him, his hands smoothing gently over your back.

The moment you twitched against him, however, his cock jolted with continuous life. Satoru grunted, pushing himself up into you carefully to ease the remaining ache in his dick. You made a low noise, shifting your hips around him.

“Baby,” Satoru sighed. “Let me bring another one out of you.”

You twisted your head to the side, peeling back to look down at him curiously, slowly. Your eyes were tired, yet still dripping with lust, a soft smile playing at your lips. “Another one?” you repeated, somewhat shocked by his persistence.

“Please,” he whispered. “Need to feel you cum around me again.”

Before you could even respond, he was gripping you tight and standing from his now sticky seat. You kept your legs wrapped around him as he carefully laid you on the table, pushing your purse out of the way.

Satoru leaned over you, kissing your lips hungrily then pulling back to peck down your chest and stomach. He was suddenly so soft, caressing you and kissing you, and you watched suspiciously, unfamiliar and normally opposing this kind of contact.

Yet, you allowed Satoru to proceed.

His hands smoothed over your waist, his pants falling to his ankles. He yanked your bunched dress up and over your head, ridding your waist of the clothing article and throwing it carelessly to the side. He yanked your panties down further and slid a thumb over your clit, rubbing gentle, soothing circles over your sensitive, sopping bundle of nerves. 

You jolted, feeling his cock harden inside you again as he locked your lips together. He kept his finger rolling over your soaked clit, swallowing your mewls and soft moans into his mouth.

Your hands flew to his shoulders as he pushed into you gently, his cum dripping from your entrance and squishing back up into your cunt with his soft thrust. You broke your lips from his and moaned against him, angling your brows as your pleasure built back up in an instant. 

“Let me take care of this pretty pussy,” Satoru mumbled gently. “Seems like y’always take care of everyone else.”

“Satoru-“

“Shhh,” he hushed you as a broken moan fanned over his lips. He pulled back and thrusted back into you again, watching how your mouth froze open cutely and your eyes hardened. “Wanna keep feeling you. Let me keep feeling you.”

“Oh godddd…”

“Yeah, baby, yeah,” Satoru mumbled against you, pussy-drunk. He slid in and out of you with ease, pressing between your legs and pushing fully into you, ensuring that you felt every inch of him gliding back into your pretty cunt, stuffing your cunt back up with his cum. “Could stay in this pussy forever. Shit, she’s so loud. Such a good pussy. My good pussy.”

“Y-gonna split me in h-half,” you stammered, and Satoru grinned a dopey fucked out smile as he gazed at you.

“Look at you, baby,” he cooed, setting a slow pace that gradually picked up speed, rocking into you with the continuous swift caress of your clit. Your body was twitching, brows furling into the sky. “God, fucking look at you. M’so lucky, so lucky I got to have you tonight and not those other- f-fucking, ngh- bastards staring you up and down. Tonight, this pussy is for me. She’s treating me so good.., ruining me for any other pussy.”

“Uhhh, Toru,” you quivered. Satoru responded swiftly, bucking his hips and plowing into you rapidly, watching as your chest stuttered with shattered breaths and your legs writhed around him the quicker he moved circles over your puffy clit. “Gonna- fuck, what the fuckkk, gonna cum againnn…”

“Fuck, can’t get enough of you. Want you to come undone, baby, let go. Let gooo.”

You clawed at his arms, watching his fingers work over your clit and his dick spear into your quivering walls. You dragged your nails down his bicep, leaving bright red scratches, but Satoru couldn’t have cared less. 

You came again without warning, liquid gushing around his dick with your stunning cries. Satoru’s eyes glazed over, hand ripping from your clit so that he could cage over you, pressing his body down into yours as he demolished your pussy, squirt sprouting over his skin and with each pull away before he thrusted back in. Your fluids flew everywhere, and Satoru kept going. 

“Fuck!! Fuck, fuck, fuck, give it to me, baby, fuck meeee, fuck me harder, Toru!”

You were fucking insatiable. You clawed at his back as his inhumane strength kicked in, his hips snapping against yours with feral aggression, grunting and crying out into your ear. 

“Keep squirting on my dick, baby, just fucking like that. You’re so fucking good, love this sloppy cunt. It’s all for me, pretty, all for me.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and Satoru wasn’t far behind you. He snapped himself into you three more times before stilling with a hefty groan, ropes more of his cum pooling into you and spilling onto the ground. He kept his body locked on top of yours, legs kicking around his torso as he fed you his seed, moaning pathetically into your skin. If you weren’t on birth control, you were absolutely sure that Satoru Gojo would have gotten you pregnant.

You huffed heavily, closing your eyes to catch your breath and soak in the silence. Never in your life had you been fucked the way this man had just fucked you at your place of work, and never in your life had you been worshipped or handled the way he had done so to you, despite your understanding of your impact on men.

You laughed suddenly once recovered, body jumping with your amusement. Satoru lifted his head from you, peering down at you, dazed, with his own gentle smile on his lips. 

“What’s funny?” he murmured, eyes taking you in like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Nothing, I just- don’t know what I expected from you,” you sighe.

Satoru tilted his head. “In a good or bad way?”

“A fucking good way.”

Your response was enough to have Satoru beaming, lowering his forehead to rest on your chest momentarily. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he breathed. “You really are something else, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“No, really,” he lifted his head for a final time to lock eyes. “I mean it.”

Your face fell slightly as he looked at you. You sucked your teeth, pushing him away the moment your cheeks tingled. “You’re still too sappy.”

Satoru laughed softly. “How could I not be when you’re talented, gorgeous, and you have the best pussy I’ve ever felt in my life?”

“You’re telling me stuff I already know, honey. I’ve heard it all before..”

“Guess I’ll just tell you again and again,” Satoru grinned, stealing a swift kiss from your nose before sitting up carefully, looking down at where the two of you were still connected. “Uhhh… you wouldn’t happen to have a towel around here, do you?”

You grimaced, sitting up on your shoulders to survey the mess that kept the two of you united. You looked up at him, corners of your lips twitching. 

“How about we give each other head, lick it up, and call it a night?”

Satoru whipped his head back up to stare at you with wide eyes. You knew you had steered into the right direction when you felt his length harden inside you again.

“Sounds good to me,” he smirked.

•

The following day, Satoru dialed Utahime’s at around one pm. The line rang for a bit before it finally picked up.

“What?” the woman growled into the mic. 

“Utahimeee,” Satoru greeted cheerfully, instantly feeling the aggravation wave off of the brown eyed women from the other end of the line. “How are you today?”

“Fine, Gojo. What do you want?”

“Nothing, really. I just wanted to call to tell you that you were right all along. I’m humble enough to admit that. Last night was undoubtedly the best staff outing that we’ve ever had, and it was all thanks to you. I’ll let you plan the things we do more often now,” he beamed. 

“…”

Satoru could envision her pinching the bridge of her nose while her other hand pressed the phone to her ear.

Satoru’s lips tugged downward as he tried to hold back the amused laugh that was threatening to leave him. “You there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Oh. Did you hear what I said?”

“You two had sex, didn’t you?”

“Whatttt?” Satoru scoffed. “Me and who?”

“WHO ELSE, IDIOT?!”

The blue eyed man chuckled slightly. “Look, I never kiss and tell.”

“Then why did you call me?!”

“To thank you for your evening suggestion, obviously,” he said. “Oh, and to tell you that I put your little inquiry to the test.”

“What inquiry?”

“That (Y/n) would break me.”

Utahime exhaled loudly. “I really don’t want to hear about that details-“

“I told you already. I don’t kiss and tell,” Satoru reassured. “But, I will say, she’s really not all that evil.”

“I never said she was evil.”

“You said something along those lines.”

“Yes, I meant she schemes. You had sex with her once, Gojo. As long as it stays that way, it’ll be fine. But the longer you spend time with her, the deeper you’ll fall, and the faster you’ll be torn to shreds. She’s my friend and I love her, but I know very well how she gets with men. I’ve seen it a hundred times over.”

Satoru pursed his lips, thinking back to the two of you exchanging numbers after he had walked you home. 

“Utahime, let’s not forget who’s the strongest sorcerer of the modern age here. I’ll be fine. I don’t risk falling for anyone.”

“…yeah, that’s what they all say.”

Satoru didn’t take Utahime’s warning seriously, of course. You were too pretty for him to turn away from you so quickly, and if you were willing to keep a casual relationship that didn’t interfere with his line of work or your separation from so, he didn’t see any harm in the matter.

Satoru Gojo was the strongest to roam this planet, yes, but you had still somehow managed to bring the strongest to a point of vulnerability, to a place where he was willing to release his technique for you effortlessly, which he never did in the presence of anyone outside of his students, let alone for a non-sorcerer.

Satoru could absolutely understand and physically see where Utahime was coming from, for your impact on him was strangely inhumane despite you being one yourself but hell, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get you out of his head if he didn’t at least stop by to see you perform and feel himself inside you one more time, if anything. 

After all, what could have been the harm in that?

[tootsmcscoots]

OK, so. I'm not sure if it just isn't in my circles, but I haven't seen enough people talking about Chronos' design in Hades II and I need to point out an interesting design choice or I'm going to implode. Okay? Okay.

So what do y'all know about Kintsugi? For those who don't know, Kintsugi is an art form wherein pottery that has been broken or shattered is repaired with gold.

Here is an example of a piece, notice how the gold is filling in the cracks of the pottery, not just covering them up, rhe gold is taking the place of the broken ceramics. That is the point of Kintsugi, to highlight the fractures with the gold and show that, yes, once this was broken, but the gold made it whole again and better than before.

Now, what's some baseline knowledge about Chronos? King of the Titans, ruler of Time, ate his kids, and was torn asunder by his children with his own sickle. This is where that design choice comes in.

At first, I just assumed it was just a nice little flourish in the design, he has scars from his dismembering and the scar tissue was a gold hue because of his divine blood. But no, Chronos, over however many eons he spent in Tartarus filled in his missing flesh with gold, like a piece of shattered pottery.

It just... it just works on so many levels to me. Given his personality and self-importance, he treats his body like its a piece of fine pottery repairing it as such. It also helps to show off his overwhelming nature, these wounds that took all Six of the original Olympians, hundreds of Giants, and the Hecatoncheires to inflict meant absolutely nothing in the end, only making it so that he may be more glorious still, illuminating his wounds and showing that he is truly invincible and unstoppable.

God Supergiant is so good at character design.

(Source for Pottery below cutoff)

[yescallmejosey]

The cracks of a shadowy vase

(Ctimene draft yippieee)

Odysseus was the golden child.

Smart and cunning, he had the ability to play any game and win it with just the wits of his mind. He was to be king, to be the ruler of a prosper land and bring it to its full glory accompanied by the goddess of wisdom and strategic war herself, Athena.

Odysseus had everything he could ever dream of, a future as bright as the stars Ctimene watched in the night sky. Yet her future was fleeting as the one of a shooting star, burning through the air before her light dimmed and fell into her sibling’s shadow, only to be remembered as his sister and nothing else.

Her hands molded the clay on her hands, the image of a vase in her mind as her swift fingers worked. Her thumbs shaped the handles and for a second she felt like a god, designing the curves of a human body and giving it life.

Making vases, creating the future of inanimate objects was her way of releasing her frustration, of digesting her fears and rage. Although it did reach the point that most of the vases used in the castle were shaped and painted by her, where her room was filled to the brim with them. Even the slaves used her works for washing the hands of guests when they arrived.

But it did not matter to her. In fact it made her happy that she could serve purpose, that somehow she could contribute to her family even if it was in a way so minimal that it almost wasn't noticed.

To say that Anticlea and Laertes did not like or love her in any way was extreme. Her mother was the one who taught her the art of pottery and the ability to weave and her father was the one who taught her how to whip a spear. However, to say that they loved her the same way they loved Odysseus would be a laughable lie.

She sees it in the gifts they give her. A spear with a bronce point and a detailed carving of an owl for her brother and a lyre for her.

Ctimene hated the lyre.

And yet no matter how much she tries to hate them, to be upset at them because she is just as capable as Odysseus to achieve grand things, she simply would not. Because how could she? How could she be upset when a god chose him? Athena chose him and not her. There was a clear reason for that, she simply was not enough

Jealousy creeps, envy is green as the olive tree Odysseus says he will plant when he marries the girl from Sparta (Penelope, she thinks her name is). Even in that Odysseus is successful, even in love he was so tremendously lucky.

Men were terrified of her, of the way she barked her words and bit when she was crossed. Suitors were quick to leave through her door when they realized she was not the pretty dove they thought she was.

She had tried time and time again to hold back her phrases, to bite her lower lip and swallow the words stuck in her throat. Her strength was lacking, her self control was almost non existent.

At the age of seventeen, Ctimene had given up her attempts of making a name for herself. At the age of seventeen she had let her green envy take over her and deteriorate the relationship between her and Odysseus. At the age of seventeen she let herself drown in the shadow of her brother, the cracks of her clay heart being unrepairable.

Or at least that is what she thought.

Part two

[darkdemeter]

Hi! Can I request the four horsemen reacting to an s/o who makes them hand Crafted Gifts (Like a lot of them!) Everything from protection charms,to mugs to portraits of them and their horses (prefferably a gender neutral s/o!)

Ty in advance and do take ur time!!

HANDICRAFT

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | Death/War/Strife/Fury x GN Reader

NOTES: ↳ This was a fun request to write for, I enjoyed it so much, thank you @screechinginthevoid and I hope you enjoy! WARNINGS! ↳ The slightest hint of spice? but mostly just fluffy, wholesome content

✎3.3k ──────────────── ◆

You always had a knack for creating things. Dabbling in this and that, you were raised on the ideology and principle that true gifts come from the heart. That the effort and love is what makes the present all the more special, sure, but it didn’t hurt knowing a thing or two about knitting a pretty snug scarf and hat during the whole apocalypse ordeal.

Losing your friends and loved ones did bring a dark cloud to loom high over your head constantly. Your love to create things for people had been robbed from you, leaving your set of skills as a means of survival. Until you incidentally bumped into the fabled Horsemen of the end times. From then on, and sticking to the four like a stray cat tagging along, they came to take care of you. 

And you found your loving spark to create gifts again. So…

DEATH

A gift. For him? 

“Why?” 

Poor, sweet… grouchy and sassy Death, like his other siblings as you come to find, doesn't exactly understand the concept of gifts that have no practical purpose other than sentimental value. The fact that every time he sees you, you’re nearly always making something for either him or his siblings. This occurs quite a bit, if not a lot. So in the beginning, Death was receiving a lot of gifts that you made, most of which he had little clue what to do with, so he’d cast them aside, muttering how humans were just as bad as the Makers.

The brand new scarf you made after having scoured the desolated Earth in search for the finest, softest fabric you could find, isn’t meant to help him ward off evil forces that seek imbalance? Well, if you don’t count warding off the age-old rag he was wearing around his shoulders for who knows how long. But hey, that’s just your opinion. 

You know deep down he appreciates the garb upgrade, very deep down, it’s one present that he hasn’t immediately disregarded, but he remains placid about showing any form of emotion that may be perceived as weakness. But the fact that he hasn’t tossed it aside makes your stomach flutter and your heart skip a few beats, seeing that Death can be fond of your hand crafted gifts. He’s just particular. Minimalistic, you could say. 

That doesn’t stop you from cracking the odd joke here and there, yeah you’ve seen him scowl and sigh in his dismay at the ever increasing numbers of little handmade bracelets on Harvester. 

Another example: mugs. 

Was not keen at all, but he slightly warmed – after some major prodding on your part – of having a special mug all his own whenever he and his siblings drifted through. The first mug you created was a hard effort won, since you were a little rusty with the pottery branch of your handicraft. With a finishing touch you painted the label: Bone Daddy. 

To this day he still doesn’t grasp the logic behind it, and with a scarlet blush, you brush off the subject entirely and invite him to sip from his brand new mug: Sass To The Bone.

When you first created a protection charm for him to wear as a pendent, this nephilim gave you the most critical and harshest lecture that you almost cried. He put teachers who demanded your overdue assignment to shame by a hundred levels. 

In the end, you sniff loudly with a pout and cry, “Just take it, okay?! I want you to be safe!”

Up until that point, you always approached him with a newly crafted gift with a bounce on the balls of your feet and a wide, bright grin. The sight ever so slowly wearing him down until he came to find it endearing how bubbly and excited you were to present a gift meant for him. To see you on the brink of tears with your confession sort of broke something inside him. Something he didn’t know he was capable of feeling and took the charm. 

It doesn’t bother you how he chooses to wear it, whether it be attached to the metallic limb of Harvester or threaded over to dangle alongside his wrist. All that matters to you is that he wears it somehow, assuring you that he knows how comforted you are in seeing it on his person. It makes you feel heard and that your love for him came from the heart when toying with potentially dangerous wells of magic just to ensure his safety. 

He’s risked himself to save you from danger many times. Whether that be because of his sworn duty to uphold the balance or some estranged level of love all his own; you find it only fitting that you return the favour – the want to protect him. And though unknown to you, he knows this. 

On the note of drawings, well uh… let’s just say you don’t want Death seeing those anytime soon, lest he questions your entire state of mind. Maybe you should draw a few tame ones sometime soon, so then he stops judging you everytime you hiss like a soaked cat and dive atop your sketchbook you left out the night before. 

But he’s mighty impressed with a painting you did recently of Despair, and you don’t know much about the rider’s steed, but you won’t put it past the beast taking a liking to it too. 

STRIFE

This nephilim has a treasure trove of your handmade gifts. Hands down. And he fucking loves it. So do you! Alright, at first, Strife was rather hesitant, but he warms to it quicker than his siblings, though it still takes a considerable amount of time, and dammit, this gunslinger soon begins a rule that each time you see each other, you either have a gift made or he gets to see the work in progress. No ifs, buts or look out there’s a demon behind you. 

Good news for you is that if you need a specific material or artefact to create something like a protective charm, he is on it. He will scour the known and unknown realms in search for what you need, and you’re more than happy to tinker away at the charm while he washes himself off in the shower, because whatever he had slain reeked a scent so foul you had to air out the entire house for hours. It did bother him at first when he discovered you were dabbling in magics so advanced, but you assure him you’re being careful and have been undergoing tutoring by the Makers. Though Strife would much rather you learn from either him, Fury or Death.

“Just be careful with that stuff, ok? I don’t want you getting hurt from it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief every time you see the little horse charm dangle on the leather cord attached to his scarf with a small, bone pin.

Overall, he is in awe that you make something to aid in protecting him when he’s away, and he adores the ever-living shit out of all your gifts and there is no force in all the universe that can alter that way of thinking. 

The first time you made a knitted beanie for him, he was reluctant to remove his helm, but after the amount of time you’ve known one another, through thick and thin, he trusts you. The way his golden eyes seemed to brighten even more made you realise in that moment how much you loved him. Of course, you couldn’t refrain from taking a polaroid of you both with him in his new hat and you make a copy of the photo so that he had a version that he can reflect on wherever he happens to be that’s away from you. 

Jealousy is a cute fit on Strife. From how he carries on and scowls childishly sure has its charm, and being envious of Death’s mug, Sass To The Bone, you once again try your hand at crafting a mug all his own. He finds it mighty impressive what you can do, despite the multitudes of failures, you’re determined. Strife’s pride skyrockets every time he sips from his printed cup, #1 Sharpshooter with two – dare you say terribly doodled variants – of his dual pistols. He gets a kick from his siblings reactions to his mug, but he just elbows you gently in the rib and mutters lowly, “They’re just jealous because it's true.”

Okay, so about those drawings. You drew a few of them, albeit you were very critical of these rare and few gifts, but Strife was intrigued and encouraged you to draw more. So you did, obviously, but still you mostly drew in secret… and he caught onto that. He’d first catch you scribbling away in your little sketchbook when either at home and he was relaxing, or if you both were out on some venture together. The way you’d poke your tongue out slightly and your brows come down in a concentrative manner. Oh, be still his beating heart. 

But then he caught sight of some rather tasteful, and less cladded poses of himself. The moment he whistled over your shoulder with a purred, “Oooh, what’re these?”

“Strife no—!”

He’d plucked the book from your hands before you could do much else, your pencil dropped to the floor with an echoing clatter that snaps the lead. 

You felt ready for Death to tuck you into a permanent sleep forever with Harvester. Because of the large and ever-world changing event known as the apocalypse, it put your school on persistent hold and you were in the midst of your visual arts major, studying nude figure art when havoc and calamity ensued. Ah yes, the fine artistry of studying the anatomy is a tricky one but also one of mystique and astounding beauty. 

“You know, if you need a model reference, you can always just ask,” he growls playfully with a fanged grin. All you can do is press the sketchbook to your flushed, burning face with a sigh. 

WAR

Maybe because he’s the youngest of his siblings, but you spoil this nephilim with gifts, though at first he was quick to brush them off with a cold turn of his shoulder or scoff, but over time you managed to worm your way under the thick hide of his stubbornness and the more he found it nye impossible to say no to you or your handmade gifts. 

It was an overwhelming occurrence for him to adjust to but now, he secretly finds himself almost excited to be given something new. You’re just a considerate human, always thinking about what you can make and give to others, he ponders to himself often if you stop and consider creating things for yourself.

“I make stuff for myself, don’t worry. Now, I made you these mittens!”

You may have a way of crafting, but you're still human. Making anything of considerate size to even fit this Horsemen’s pinky takes a good amount of time, so knitted wares only come around a rare few times a year. 

Despite being a volcanic mass of producing his own body heat, he accepts the mittens, the few scarves and other knitted accessories – and the very, very large sweater for Christmas. Making four of them had to be a major plan in the works a few years prior, it took that long. 

He finds comfort in the scarves mostly rather than actually any sort of functionality. Just dipping his nose to muzzle into the softness of wool reminds him of you and your scent that faintly lingers on it. It grounds him and gives him something to look forward to once his mission is done. 

He got defensive about it once when Strife dared to tease him. “You missing the human, little bro?” 

Geez, that’s the harshest glare that’s been inscribed across War’s features, and the witty gunslinger won’t be forgetting it anytime soon. 

He’s rather curious about your process and quite a bit, he will take a moment to study what you do, how you do it and will occasionally ask questions.

Every gift you make for War is precious to him and though he may not be able to carry them all with him, you ensure that they will be safely kept. Those that he does have on him, he will spare a moment when he can to look upon it, to feel it and to just bask in the knowledge that you hold him so near and dear to him. 

Humans and their traditions, War never really got his head around it, and his initial lack of knowing why you were presenting him with such offerings, only to be told that it’s just something humans do. You give each other things, especially those who you care about. 

“You care about me?”

“Of course I do, War,” you’d answer simply with a smile. 

Eventually making a mug for the red rider, you did get a bit too in your head about it. 

“It’s too small…,” became a mantra at this point as you morphed the pottery clay. Your so-called mug basically became a large bowl with a handle, let’s be honest. You at least had a bigger canvas to work with for the print and paint. 

And painting it was a beast! You decided to kill two birds with one stone, to really test your abilities and did a pattern of War astride his steed, Ruin around the mug’s perimeter. War’s fascination with the design never ceases to bring a smile to your face, sometimes you see him turning it over and over again just to watch the seemingly galloping images.

With your drawings, you just love doing portraits of War and Ruin. Out roaming together, you may catch a beautiful landscape and you call for War. “Stand right here with Ruin, I gotta draw this out!”

You save the largest sketchbooks for these two exclusively because there is no way you can contain so much detail into a sized down sketch. Nuh uh, you gotta go big or go home. Whether it’s a finished piece or just a quick sketch to have down for later, War is drawn to it, you notice the faintest blush dusting over his cheeks as he asks, “Could I keep it once you’re finished?”

For all that brawn, there is for certain a keen eye for detail. War notices all the finer points you seem to pick out, capturing just the right angle, the posing, he is definitely a fan of your artwork, especially when you give them to him. 

War has become quite the collector of your handmade treasures and he is honoured deeply by your affectionate gifts made from the heart, all for him. 

FURY

“Human— ugh, what is it you wish to give me this time?” 

Need more be said? In the beginning of this dynamic, approaching Fury was a very tricky gamble all its own. In fact, the first few handmade gifts you did make for her, you either would ask either one of her brothers to pass it off in your stead, or leave it in a spot which she occupied so that she knew it was for her.

Her face betrayed her obvious distaste for your human antics, often times she would sneer as she inspected whatever it was you made. 

Colourful, rainbow bands of friendship — perhaps your attempt of silently asking for her companionship — to knitted wares of a shawl to protect her from the elements. You believe she’s taken the latter gift well considering you’ve seen her on numerous occasions sporting it, and when you do point it out, her eyes thin slightly, narrowing in your direction.

“I-I just… mean to say, I’m glad you’re wearing it… it looks good on you.”

Over time, she’s become more comfortable about the concept, though at this point, you practically throw handmade bits and bobs at her and she’s forced to concede to it. Days where it’s just you and her lounging about your home, she may strip down from her armour and replace it with that sweater you knitted for her last Christmas, her reaction to it upon unwrapping it was priceless. A genuine, “You made this for me?” 

You could just hear the sheer surprise and dare you say it, amazement. She does appear to relax just the littlest bit when that soft wool wraps around her torso, and if you’re lucky, she will serve you with a compliment that brings a prideful hum to you and a smile.

With any sort of protective charms, Fury is wary, and she inquires exactly who, when, where and how. She wants all the details so she can make sure it’s safe, but she’s not opposed to taking over as your new teacher when it comes to the very advanced sort of magic. “Let me teach you, before you get yourself killed. Now what are you making for me this time?”

She knows that look in your eyes by now. That creative, human glint you get when your mind conjures up another idea. When explaining you want to make her a charm bracelet that will aid in protecting her, she doesn’t know what to say. For a powerful being such as herself, she doesn’t often take a moment to exactly assess the danger she’s about to pursue. 

The fact that from your perspective, you feel the need to somehow protect her, is… something of endearing to her. She’s still discovering herself but you two have known each other for some time now, she has become attached. Though she was nonchalant about it, she accepts and wears the bracelet always when out on a mission, and she is proud of your efforts and accomplishment to create a rather powerful artefact. 

Creating a mug for this nephilim was a bit of a challenge, but you settled on a more tea-esque style, a soft and round base and a bit of an intricate handle with a deep purple as it’s main colour, with accents of gold and white swirls in a marble design. She thinks it’s pretty cool what you’ve done and she enjoys sipping from it, flaring at Strife as he flaunts his own mug, she merely rolls her eyes. She knows she’s got the best cup, that’s just her opinion. 

“Um, Fury, I made this drawing for you.” With a tilt of her head and quirk of her brow, she took the handed piece of paper from your hands and… smiles? A genuine smile? She is rather critical of humans and their entire existence, how they plot along, seemingly living pointless lives; but she is mighty impressed with the rendition of her and Rampage overlooking the sunset on a cliff side you both had gone to about a month ago. 

“That is… quite talented, human. You drew this?” 

When telling her about your major arts degree before the entire world falling into a giant shithole of hell, you expected her not to fully understand or care, until you feel her hand rest on your shoulder. “You should keep at this art of yours. You have potential.” 

“Oh, er— thanks!” That was a boost of encouragement, no matter how lacking her tone was at the time, you know her better by now she isn’t the most forthcoming with her more intimate, softer side. At least not so readily. 

But you do. You continue pursuing your art and she does at times indulge you in being your model, as does Rampage, when he’s not trying to either run you over because he wants more pats and treats. 

Fury has amassed a private collection she will reflect on with fondness, her own little treasure trove of gifts that she’s come to adore; because they represent the kindness and love you put into them. 

———

Overall, your skills have expanded quite a bit, and these four may not admit it outright - might try and hide it - but they appreciate each and every single one of your gifts, and you: their little human. 

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @sil-sol-set behind the cut; the Gotham Kid.

“Yeah, alright,” Pete says, still wearing that mean and merciless grin. “So who's got a pottery wheel in here?” 

“I'd rather go straight for the kiln, boss,” one of his guys mutters. 

“There any sprinklers?” the other asks doubtfully as he looks around the room. “Clay ain't shit when it gets too wet, right?” 

If Kid had heat vision or ice breath . . . 

Yeah, well. If Kid had heat vision or ice breath, he wouldn't be here, would he. 

“Fire hydrant's on the corner,” Pete says with a mean grin, which is . . . really smart, actually. Smarter than Kid would've expected. 

Not smarter than Superman's memories do, though. 

“How the hell are we getting a fire hydrant open, boss?” the first guy asks incredulously. “Much less fuckin’ aimed.” 

“Hm,” Pete says, his mouth twisting just a little bit humorlessly. “Anybody got a crowbar?” 

“Why the fuck would we have crowbars?” one of his guys says incredulously. Pete laughs. It sounds mean too. 

Kid . . . hesitates. 

Then he claps his hands together once to get their attention. Pete glances down at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“What do you want, kid?” he asks. Kid thinks he understood him fingerspelling earlier, so . . .

c-r-o-w-b-a-r, he signs, then points at himself. He doesn’t have a crowbar, obviously, but it’s the quickest way to say he can handle the hydrant without involving a lot of questions. Or–he thinks it is, anyway. 

Pete narrows his eyes at him. Tilts his head a little. 

“You do realize you'd have to go outside for that,” he says. “Where it might or might not be Clayface.” 

Kid shrugs helplessly. What else is he supposed to do? 

He's–not a superhero. Not Superboy. And even less is he Superman. He'll never be any of those things. But this place is full of people who can't take a hit like he can; can’t take the kind of damage he can. People who don't have TTK to crack that fire hydrant with. 

People he can help. 

So . . . yeah. 

Like he said: what the hell else is he supposed to do? 

Pete looks at him for a moment longer. Then he smirks, and it’s mean again. 

“Fine,” he says. “Just try not to die before you get it done, we don’t have time for fucking around here.” 

yes, sir, Kid signs. Even if might-be-Clayface catches him, he won’t be expecting TTK. He won’t hit hard enough, at least to start, and that’ll mean Kid’ll have the chance to get the hydrant open. 

“Oh, you’re really not from around here, huh,” Pete observes with a snorted laugh, like he’d have any reason to know that a Crime Alley kid would never call anybody “sir” that easy. And Kid’s not a native, obviously, but . . . 

Technically, he’s lived here just about his whole life. The handful of weeks he spent in Metropolis and the things he “remembers” about . . . Smallville, those are . . . 

They’re not his. Not really. Metropolis is Superman’s, and Smallville is Clark Kent’s, and Kid . . . 

Kid’s not from Crime Alley, but he’s only ever been in Gotham, it feels like sometimes. 

It’s easier, when he pretends like that’s true.

[tciddaemina]

FUCK ME ALRIGHT SO

i was walking home and this idea hit my like a sack full of bricks and i am now dying. bc okay, fuck, just listen

moshang transformers!au

Shang Qinghua is a depressed millennial on the verge of poverty barely scraping by with two minimum wage jobs, who has a rocky relationship with his parents (separated with new families, neither of whom want him around), with no friends to speak of, who takes pottery making classes in an attempt to have some sort of human connection. He writes in his free time, with the face hopeless aspiration that he could maybe make something of it (it isn't working), struggling every day with the thought of whether or not the world would be better off if he just ended things

Mobei Jun is a high-ranking decepticon general who's crashed on earth and is injured and in hiding, which Shang Qinghua stumbles across in the middle of the night and who (basically) holds Shang Qinghua hostage - threatening to kill him and coercing him into giving him a hiding place

which ends up with broke!freaked out!Shang Qinghua hiring a private garage last second at great cost, to hide this killer robot and him getting threatened/kidnapped/coerced into hiding him and playing lacky, going out and buying extremely suspicious quantities of industrial grade motor oil and shit like that, as he gets even more freaked out about how much money this is chewing through and how he's going to pay rent.

and its basically just suicidal!desperate!millennial v. giant!homocidal!robot

Mobei-Jun: mentions something about being part of an empire of evil robots, with enemies looking for him

Shang Qinghua: wait what do you mean you're the bad guy??? (thinks: oh, actually, maybe all the threatening and murderousness should have tipped him off, whoops)

and ends up with situations with Shang Qinghua accidentally claiming to be king of earth and having to stick to the lie bc-

Mobei-Jun: something something we're going to conqeur this planet-

Shang Qinghua: what? you can't! it's my planet

Mobei-Jun, suspicious: it's yours? the planet belongs to you

Shang Qinghua, sweating, thinking quickly: I- Uh. Yeah. Yeah it's my planet. It belongs to me. You can't conquer it. I- That's the price of me helping you. If you want me to keep doing things for you, then the price is that you have to agree not to mess with my planet.

and Mobei-Jun, who knows enough about humans to know things like monarchies exist, and who comes from a plant once governed by one single planetary body is like- okay, makes sense, and doesn't think on it more.

and basically it's half crack of Shang Qinghua hiding a giant robot fugitive, and complaining that he's getting broke, and Mobei-Jun breaking open an ATM for him, and Shang Qinghua freaking out even more, as Shang Qinghua has to make up increasingly more intricate lies about why nobody else acts like he's king (it's part of our culture, we have, uh- uh, indomitable free will. nobody can tell anyone else what to do, so it would be rude if they acted like i was special) and Mobei-Jun nods along, and then transmits them back to the rest of the decepticons as part of his intel about the planet, which leads to them also thinking Shang Qinghua is king of the planet and-

and it all spirals to Shang Qinghua getting fucked by Mobei-Jun who's decided that actually maybe he's going to keep Shang Qinghua around, and when the whole Decepticon-Autobot (Demon v cultivator) war reaches point as Autobots arrive to try defend the earth, only for there to be a great deal of confusion as Mobei-Jun tells them there isn't an invasion, and actually the Decepticons have parleyed with the local ruler and are here on treaty, so there's no fighting at all

(how was Shang Qinghua supposed to know that an offhanded comment about inaccessible minerals deep below the earth's crust when Mobei-Junw as talking about destroying cities to mine for some rare thing was like, an agreement-)

anyway, it ends with the Autobots very confused, but not able to fight bc technically no one is in danger, and the Decepticons being very smug, and Shang Qinghua stuck in the middle of it just sweating because this all hinges on a truly insane lie that literally any human would be able to tell was total bullshit, and somehow it works

(and also maybe as an aside in a companion fic, Luo Binghe is super head honcho decepticon commander, who absolutely doesn't get Mobei-Jun's weird fetish attraction to this one flesh-bag, except then he sees one too bc enter stage right Shen Yuan, and Luo Binghe goes head over heels, and then there's desperately awkward interactions as Luo Binghe tries to ask Mobei-Jun for details on how one actually goes about fucking a human, which. its just too funny.)

anyway yeah, that's the idea i had while standing there in the street, waiting for the lights

[gripefroot]

Fire Night

For once, his timing is impeccable. 

Not that you’d ever turned him away, of course, or even said anything temptingly snarky when he showed up while you were digging out mud from a creek bank and covered in leeches, or once, before dawn when you’d been passed out cold and therefore screamed like a banshee when he tapped on your bedroom window. 

But this. You could get used to this. 

Kiln nights can be a challenge, taking days to properly prepare and execute. Chopping wood for fuel, repairing the stone oven a quarter-mile from your cottage where it was safe to keep the blazes going for days on end to fire your pottery. Carrying the glazed pieces from the cottage to the kiln. Building the fire. Keeping it going through a night and a day and a night on very, very little sleep; because rest doesn’t compare to getting paid. 

Repairing the stone oven remains your job. But Law has spent all afternoon with a wheelbarrow bringing loads of wood to dump near the oven. He’d doffed his shirt almost immediately, already tanning in the sweltering summer sun. Kiln nights are miserable if the weather is too cold; but summer makes sitting close to the oven all night tending the fire miserable, too. 

Every crack sealed, you sit up from the grass and rub mud from your hands. 

Not exactly the hands of a lover, but he’d never minded. 

“Is this enough?” Law asks. His sixteenth load of wood. Not that you’d been counting. Or watched his backside when he’d walked away for more each time. Sweat glistens on his face as he wipes his brow with his forearm, eyes bright as he looks you up and down. As if laying belly-down on the grass and elbow-deep in mud is exactly what he admires most in a woman.  

“Yes,” you admit. 

“Finally.”

“But,” you say. His shoulders deflate by a centimeter. “I need to bring down the items to go in the oven,” you tell him, amusement bubbling up. It seems obvious to you. 

“How many?” Law wanders over to crouch beside you, his nearness making your heart jump a little. Without a word he licks his thumb and drags it across your cheekbone. The mud must have splattered you at some point. 

“All of them.”

“All?”

“All,” you tell him ruefully. “It’s less work to do it in one big batch.”

Law’s expression is nothing short of incredulous. “All,” he repeats. You give into the temptation to laugh, nearly blocking out his next grumble: “You have five shelves in your house. All of them?” 

“You can keep asking, but I’m not going to change my mind,” you tease. “Why did you think I was so happy to see you this morning that I jumped on you?” 

He purses his lips, making a show of rubbing his backside where he’d landed after said jump. “Slave labor,” Law says. 

“It’s not slavery if you’re willing,” you say. 

“Keep that logic to yourself.” He tugs on a clump of your hair. “Fine. I’ll get all of your pots and things. But I’m cheating.” 

“I’m surprised it took you this long to cheat.” 

Law stands, brushing dirt and feathery bits from trees off of his jeans. “How could I have cheated when you keep sneaking looks at me like I’m a three-tier cake you’re going to eat tonight?” he asks, brows raised. 

“I was subtle!” you protest. The air goes funny and shimmery, echoing his laugh as he disappears from the glade in the blink of an eye. A thump draws your attention: one of your galoshes for mud-digging appears right where he’d been standing. “He’s taking that back, too,” you say, to no one in particular, and stand to wash your hands in the creek. 

Embers rush into the dusky sky to promptly fade, spinning back down to the earth. They’re snuffed beneath your feet, or your knees, or Law’s feet, or his knees. The oven barely fits all the pots, nestled together as close as is reasonably safe, before you’d sealed it with a final brick and more mud to keep the heat inside. Law works the bellows, blue and white flames spurting out of the top to chase the embers. 

“Hot enough?” he asks. His face is red, glistening in the glow from the oven. 

Carefully you pick your way to the oven as close as you can bear, leaning over to peer inside the chimney. “It’s glowing,” you say. “It’s enough for now, but we’ll have to bring it back up in thirty minutes or so.”

Law blew out a breath, sitting on his haunches. He’d worked hard all day alongside you, and it shows. It shows in his tired eyes. It shows in his strained smile. But any smile from him is a treasure. 

“Thirty minutes,” he repeats. “What should we do while we wait?” 

“Rest, probably,” you tell him. 

“I want to know if I’ve earned anything from you.” His eyes hone in on yours. 

“Don’t tell me, Law,” you say, walking around the oven in his direction, “that you only broke your back on my behalf today for something as small as a kiss.”

“I’m hoping for more than a kiss.” As soon as you reach him, his arm snakes out to wind around your thigh, holding you close. His face by your knee is a beautiful sight, orange in the reflection of the fire with deep shadows from the lengthening night around. His hand strokes up your thigh, you run your fingers through his thick, damp hair. 

“I have an idea,” you say softly. “Let’s take a quick dip in the river and then come back.”

Law’s brow arches. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Let’s set up my bedroll far enough away from the oven that we aren’t sweating.”

He breaks out into a grin. “We’ll sweat.”

“Yes, but not from heat, if you catch my drift.” 

“I do.” His fingers find the waistband of your pants. “I do catch your drift.” 

No one from town ever comes this far up the river at night. They don’t need to. So you strip off your shirt and pants by the bank, wading in stark-naked. The cool water hits your skin with a hiss, goosebumps pebbling across your body. Once up to your hips, you turn, trailing your fingers through the water to splash your front. 

“Aren’t you coming?” you call back. Law is mid-doff at the riverbank, jeans partway down his knees. He’s staring. With a laugh you crook a finger to get him to hurry up. It jolts him into action, tugging his jeans the rest of the way off. Then the air shimmers, and a second later his body is pressed up against yours in the middle of the river. 

“I’m coming, all right.” The words are muttered in your ear before his teeth sink into your shoulder. It only makes you shiver more, torn between the chilly water and Law’s heated body. The only problem is your front is cold and your back is hot. So you spin, trading sensations. His hands land on your hips, his half-smile visible in the night. 

“Well,” you say, lifting your arms out of the water. Droplets fall back, plunk-plunk-plunking into the stream while you wrap your arms around his neck. “While I’m here…” 

Little washing is accomplished. It cools you off, and rinses some sweat from his body and yours, but other than that? It’s forgotten in a tender, long-anticipated kiss that makes you hot all over again. He must be more impatient at the delay than he’d acted, because his long fingers waste no time digging into your rear end beneath the water, a low groan sounding in his throat. 

That groan makes your skin skitter in anticipation, heat blooming deep inside. He’s slick from the water, and warm and solid. When his tongue is at the seam of your lips, you let him in with a gasp, tasting pine and man. Traipsing around the woods all day has made him delicious. More delicious than usual. The sensual way he kisses reminds you of his tongue elsewhere; stroking deep and slow while his hands coast up your spine. 

“Law,” you choke out when his mouth goes to your throat to bite down hard enough to make you shiver. “Oh, Law. We can’t do this in a river.”

“Why not?” The question is a rumble in his chest, vibrating against yours. One hand on your rear, his other comes up to cup a breast, squeezing with your nipple pinned between his thumb and index finger.

Why not? Why not what? What had you asked? It had seemed so important then…but now, putty in his hands, you can’t remember what it is or why you’d cared. 

Down his chest, tracing the muscles. Your hand finds his erection, slipping beneath it to seize the sack. He grunts, thrusting forward as you laugh, and laugh, and laugh. He likes it. Especially now. Law pulls away, his eyelids lowered but not far enough for you not to see the sparkling stars reflected in the dark depths. 

“Someone’s greedy,” he says. 

“You started it,” you tease back. 

His lips tighten in a line. But he’s not grumpy about it. Not really. Especially when your fingers curl around the base of his cock, giving a tug that makes him sway. 

“Alright,” he grumbles. “Alright. You win.” 

Law bends over, hoisting you up and out of the river until you’re pistoned on his shoulder, the bone digging into your belly. Your shriek of surprise echoes down the river. Hopefully no one comes running. 

One sloshing step after another to the bank. Then out, clothes forgotten as he strides to the oven. Drips of water patter onto the ground. His free hand strokes up the back of your thigh, then gives your rear a whack that makes you squirm. 

“Not nice,” you huff. He’s too tall for you to reach his backside to retaliate. Not nice, and not fair. 

Despite his manhandling, Law sets you down gently, holding you up until he’s sure that your legs are bearing your weight. Then, grinning, he finds your bedroll in a pack of supplies that you’d brought that morning. The night air is not kind to wet skin. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering. And then you inch closer to the oven, radiating heat even from ten feet away. 

He shakes out the bedroll, laying it down. He’s never been a shy man. Not with his body, at least. But the sight of him standing fully nude and fully erect in the orange glow of the oven…your cheeks warm. His teeth gleam in the darkness. 

“I’ll warm you up,” he says, offering a hand. 

Too chilly to play coy, you bound across the space between you and him to encase yourself in his open arms. A clumsy kiss lasts all of two seconds before he bends at the knee, cradling you to carry you down, down, down. 

It’s practice or skill or instinctual; your legs cradling him as he nudges his hips into meet yours. The clumsy kiss lengthens, lips parting to drink each other in, with his hands everywhere. On your jaw, on your breasts, on your hips. Then, finally, with a jolt that drags a moan from your throat, his fingers dip between your legs. 

His breath is hot on your ear, your fingernails digging into his back for all you’re worth. “I missed this,” he sighed, catching your earlobe in his teeth. 

“Me - too.” The words are a gasp. His fingers slide sleekly against your sex; flaring up desire that already burns. “Law,” you breathe, hands moving up to plunge into his messy hair. “Oh, Law.” 

“Like I said. Greedy.” His chuckle is low and dangerous. “But I am too. Makes me crazy, y’know? Knowing you want me so bad. Knowing you’re here when I’m at sea and all I have to do is change my course, and in a matter of days I can be right here, inside you, where I need to be…”

Dizzy, you scarcely notice when his fingers pull away to be replaced by his cock. He’s slow to enter, rocking against you with his lips fastened to your neck. Each tiny thrust drives a groan out of him, and a gasp out of you. Tucking your knees higher, you reach down to hold onto him; to drag him in further - 

But he growls, grabbing your wrist in his. “No,” Law said roughly. Half inside of you, he pulls away, glaring down at you. “I’ll be moving at my own pace.” 

If his stubbornness didn’t guarantee your pleasure, you’d fight back. Nip back at him the way he nips at your fingers as if in reminder. He threads his fingers through yours, pressing your hand into the ground. Then he starts to move again, inch by inch; slow enough that your core twitches for more. You want to be full, he can fill you, but why does Law have to be such a tease? 

“That’s better,” he purrs, as if reading your emotion in your face. He smirks ear to ear, eyes never moving from yours as he pushes into you. 

“I like to touch you,” you say. 

“So do I.” 

“I wish you’d let me.” 

“Maybe I’ll let you later.” Pain in the rear as he was, Law tilts his body off of yours to wriggle his arm out, and yours, to properly pin down your opposite hand above your head, too. If his fingers weren’t so blasted long he might not get away with it, but he manages to hold you with one hand. The other, he trails down your cheek, your neck, and to your breast, which he cups. 

“I like to touch you,” he breathes. His nose brushes against yours, a tender display that makes your heart squeeze. “Thanks for letting me.” 

You stick your tongue out. He laughs. 

“That’s how I know you like being right where you are,” Law says. “You resort to being petty. You know I’m gonna make it worth your while, right?”

Yes. You do. 

“There we go.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “I can see it in your eyes, you know. The way you ache.” He draws his hips back, thrusting deeper inside. Your back arches against him, but his grip on your hands never lessens. Instead he bends over to match your angle, tongue against your lips. 

How he manages to have so much self-control boggles your mind. He’d wanted this all day just as much as you, yet he holds himself back. How? How? 

“Law.” It’s little more than a whimper. “Please.” 

“I know. I’ve got you.” This time the words are strained. Was he breaking at last? By the jerk in his hips that finally, finally seats him fully inside of you, you think he might. 

Law doesn’t tease anymore. He doesn’t coax, he doesn’t seduce. No. His mouth is hot on yours, every pant of breath filling your mouth as you kiss him, kiss him, use every ounce of your strength that’s available to welcome him inside. The ground is uneven against your back; the oven crackles, wind rushes through the tree branches above…

And the deep heat uncoils between your legs, building with each skillful thrust until he feels larger and thicker than ever. The only noise you can make is a long, drawn out “O - o - o - oh” that he must recognize, because he doesn’t slow, doesn’t change. Heartbeats later the pleasure rakes through your body in a single, cresting wave; starting and ending where he’s joined with you. 

“Good girl.” The words crack from his mouth, his tone deep. “I knew you could do it.” 

A few more, slowing thrusts send shooting stars through your veins, gasping for air while your heart batters in your chest. Then, finally, he stops, buried deep inside while his hands loosen on your wrists. 

“There.” Law grins. “Not so bad to let me do my thing?” 

“Well!” Your cheeks are hot, and his are red. “I’ve never been a man but I’m not convinced that takes too much skill. Just humping, really.” 

He stares. Humor tickles, making your lips twitch. 

“Just humping?” he repeats. 

“Now, if you’d licked me first,” you shrug, pretending angelic innocence as his expression darkens. “Or done more with your hands…” 

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible! I’m simply stating that you can exhibit your skill in so many other ways.” 

It works. Law’s jaw clenches, a growl between his bared teeth. He throws himself back onto his haunches, leaving you bare and a little cold, until he grabs your ankle to pull you towards him. 

“Just humping,” he mutters. The last thing you see are his narrowed eyes, the challenge sizzling in them. In a single moment, he flips you onto your belly, the scratchiness of the bedroll far too pleasurable on your nipples than should be allowed. You plant your palms on the ground to hoist yourself up, but his hand pushes down on your spine. “Just humping,” he says again. 

“Just humping,” you say. Smugly you glance over your shoulder, just in time to see him rise to his knees. He pulls your hips up with him, tracing around the flesh of your buttocks with a growing smile. He meets your eyes in a brief, stunning moment. 

“You menace,” Law says. “You wanted this.” 

“A lady never tells.” Stretching out like a cat, you push yourself against him with a pretend yawn. His intake of breath is audible, the strangled noise like music to your ears. 

He can be in control all he wants, but it doesn’t change his weaknesses. And you happen to be acquainted with his weaknesses. Intimately. 

Law starts slow again, but picks up faster, holding onto you for the ride while the bedroll scrapes against your skin. With nothing to hold onto, you make fists instead, letting the pleasure drive everything else from your mind. All that matters is him and you and you and him, and how perfect he feels and how wonderful you feel and how much better everything is when he’s here…

It could have been an hour later, or three, dozing off naked and side-by-side beneath the sky while the embers burst like fireworks against the inky blackness. He lays on his back, you curled against him, his fingers tracing lazy patterns down your back. Sleep swarms, but you brush it away. 

It’s Fire Night, after all. 

“Our clothes are still at the river,” you mumble blearily. 

“Oops.” He doesn’t sound even a little repentant. 

“I don’t want to add more wood to the fire nude. What if I get burned?” 

Law sighs, then with a groan pushes himself to an elbow. Facing the glow of the oven, his features blur handsomely with a smile just for you. You smile back, tracing the line of facial hair down his chin. Fondly he pats your rear. 

“I’ll get the clothes,” he says. “But then you have to add the wood.” 

If he feels like he won, then that’s fine with you. Because this false competition only makes it easier to make excuses, easier to be sweet, and easier to pretend like it isn’t love.

[promisesbutnevertokeep]

Isn’t that what he wanted? Part two

part one | part two | part three

Tags: @the-flaminhos @zer0brainc3lls

Trigger warning: Mentions of suicide, Violence, character death, sad, a bit gory, guns are mentioned.

(I have quoted parts from the death cure)

———————————————————————

The Flare, medical name Virus VC321xb47 was a man-made disease created by the Post-Flares Coalition after the Sun Flares. The idea was to decrease the population to a point where the remaining food supplies would be steady by systematically infecting people with the virus.

However the plan had its flaws. The disease was easily able to mutate and spread, causing a pandemic, and a desperate need for a cure, or some sort of treatment to handle it because otherwise, fatalities would outnumber those born, and humanity would risk extinction.

The last city, 23:19PM, Thomas and Newt had just found and rescued Minho from the WICKED facility. And now they could be safe and happy, just the three of them reunited and Bubbles together with no WICKED to worry or run from again, right?

If only it was that easy and simple. But life’s not fair, easy or simple, they’d learnt that the hard way.

They ran together, trying to reach the tunnels to join everyone as they went to evacuate the progressively breaking city.

Newt, however, fell behind. He couldn’t keep up, his body slowly deteriorated as the virus moved up further. Blackened, dying veins made their way up to his porcelain skin, making his features look like cracking pottery. He coughed and moved against a wall, struggling.

The others were long gone, but Thomas stayed put. He was struggling to walk or support his frame, the black liquid spilling his mouth “Tommy.. please.. I..”

It seemed like a light switch, flicked on every time the flare took a hold of Newt, he’d become aggressive and seem more like a monster. Thomas tried to grab him to carry him to the others but he pushed him away, grabbing the gun from him, more of that vile liquid spilling, he pointed it at the boy he did love so so dearly. Then the switch flicked off and he noticed what he was doing, instantly turning the barrel to face himself. He hated this creature inside him.

The brunette pushed him down, taking the gun off him so he couldn’t hurt himself. Newt frantically took his capsule necklace off, almost snapping it “Take it..” he said breathlessly, barely audible. Thomas was trying to calm him but his attempts were futile.

That switch was flicked on once more.

“TAKE IT!” He yelled at Thomas desperately, snatching his hand to give him it. He tried to find Thomas’ eyes for some clarification he was real. The switch turned off “Tommy.. please do it..” the eyes Thomas found utter comfort in we’re now pleading him to pull the trigger.

Thomas refused.

“Kill me Tommy, if you’ve ever loved me, kill me, please.” The blonde begged, the pleas became more intense “KILL ME! Please! Put me out my misery before I become like them! I don’t wanna become one..” he sobbed, he was quite literally begging for death. For that sick, twisted peace he’d sought for many years before on the maze walls. The pain he felt currently, brought back those all too familiar feelings of loneliness and despair.

Thomas refused once more.

“Do it! Kill me or I kill you!”

“Newt…”

“Do it before I become one of them!”

“KILL ME!” And then newt’s eyes cleared, filled with a familiarity, a last gasp of sanity and the aggression stopped, voice soft “please Tommy please.”

And then with his heart falling into the black abyss, Thomas pulled the trigger.

He felt guilty the second he heard the gunshot. He couldn’t even find the tears to cry, he’d just killed the one he loved, Newt, the one he did all this for, he’d just killed him.

The last city, 23:57PM, Thomas and Minho sat over the cold, cold corpse of their beloved friend. Minho closed Newt’s eyes to make it more peaceful for him, like he was sleeping.

There was movement in Newt’s satchel, a small fluffy cat crawled out, walking to her owner in confusion. The poor thing didn’t understand what had happened to her friend. She pawed at Thomas. After noticing that he was crying, she realised.

Her owner was dead.

———————————————————————

right so the bubbles mention at the end, I feel so bad for doing that I’d like to formally apologise to specifically @the-flaminhos and @zer0brainc3lls I will get some fluffy Bubbles content for you seen.

[one-sleepy-dragon]

just once, i'd like to see a "tradwife" blog where the wife in question looks 10 years older than she really is. i'd like to see the prematurely white hairs, the dried and wrinkled hands, the cracked and dull nails from constantly cleaning and washing dishes, the dark circles and eye bags. i want to see the trad wives who gained weight during pregnancy and never managed to lose it, the ones who have nowhere to complain that their knees and backs ache from scrubbing bathroom floors, the ones dead tired from spending all day on their feet sweeping and cooking.

i want to see the trad wives who look messy and disheveled because they had no time to wash their hair this week, whose faces hurt from falling asleep with their makeup on every night from sheer exhaustion. i want to see the trad wives who haven't bought a new dress in years, whose prettiest clothes don't fit them anymore, who only have one bra at this point and it's five years old and the underwire's starting to come out. i want to see the trad wives who are ashamed of their appearance, of the way their bodies changed, the baby weight they never shed. the ones who look longingly and jealously at wealthier women their age who look 10 years younger, those who have the time and money to invest in their looks and hobbies.

i want to see the trad wives whose children take them for granted. those whose children think the beds make themselves, the meals cook themselves, the house cleans itself. those whose children never help out around the house because "that's mom's job". i want to see the trad wives whose sons take after their fathers and never lift a finger to help because "that's women's work", and whose daughters are forced to become mini mothers and housekeepers from a young age because "that's women's work". i want to see the trad wives whose sons never grow up and whose daughters never get to be kids, because that's what they're taught.

i want to see the trad wives whose children are disabled. those whose toddlers aren't beautiful and docile little angels, but who have behavioural issues, developmental issues, health issues of all kinds. children who are crippled, paralyzed, on the spectrum, with down syndrome, deaf, blind, nonverbal. those whose children will require permanent care or even hopitalization throughout most of their lives, who require therapy or medication, who struggle with chronic pain or emotional regulation, for whom every day is a fight.

i want to see the trad wives whose husbands struggle to make ends meet. i want to see trad wives faced with a near-empty pantry, trying to figure out what to feed their children with. i want to see trad wives whose husbands are breaking down under financial strain, constantly irritable and withdrawn because they don't know how they'll afford the mortgage this month. i want to see the trad wives who have no idea how to help pay the bills because men are the ones who handle finances. i want to see trad wives struggling to hold back tears when their children complain about eating spaghetti and tuna for the second week in a row, or when they ask for a christmas gift they can't afford.

i want to see the trad wives who can't remember their own hobbies. i want to see trad wives whose eyesight's so far gone that by the time they have time, they can no longer read, or paint, or sew. i want to see the trad wives who gave up on their self-care routines long ago because there wasn't time nor money, the ones who haven't bought a candle or a new novel or a colored pencil set in years because their kids' dental surgery or college tuition was more important. i want to see the trad wives who say "i used to be a wonderful dancer once" or "i really loved pottery once" or "i was very good at math once, doubt i remember any of it now" with a sad, faraway look in their eyes.

i want to see the trad wives who are real. these pastel moodboards full of flowers and shining kitchens and blonde babies and thin young women with perfect skin are an illusion. they don't exist. to be a traditional housewife is to accept a life full of sacrifice. it means you're willing to waste away, to shrink in on yourself until there's almost nothing left, just for the sake of your family.

even if you do everything right, if you marry a good man who provides for you and doesn't abandon you, or cheat on you, or abuse you in any way (which is already like finding a needle in a haystack), you will still be faced with exhaustion and suffering. your children will not be perfectly angelic and lovely. your house will not be clean and flawless at all times. your husband will not be loving and doting forever. you will have to work yourself to the bone; you will have to sacrifice your looks, your health, your hobbies, your emotional needs, your physical and mental well-being. nothing about you will be a priority anymore.

if that kind of sacrifice is worth it to you, then i commend you; you are far braver and more noble than i. but if you are not willing to sacrifice everything about yourself for the sake of your family, then you should take a long, hard look in the mirror, and ask yourself if you've fallen in love with a fantasy. because i can promise you, the reality is so, so much uglier than you ever could've imagined.

[tarditzgrade]

chat i dont think i’m gonna finish all these before the week is up

Day 2 Hero/Villain

The ninja team are on a museum heist and Lloyd’s on distract duty. Problem is the security guard he’s meant to distract is kind of cute.

Around 2652 words :) i don't know how museum security works and im not doing the research to find out

“Would’ve thought there would be more people back here.” Cole muttered.

“Not too much interesting about a bunch of pots.” Jay responded over the radio.

“I’d have to disagree.” Zane argued. “The design and history present in them can be quite fascinating.”

“Tell that to this empty ass room.” Kai scoffed.

“Pottery history is great and all, but,” Lloyd cut through the conversation. “Any updates on the statue?”

“We’re still working on it, Lloyd.” Nya informed. “We’re getting real close, though. Jay’s almost cracked the last password you’ll need.”

Lloyd huffed. This was possibly one of the most boring ways a heist could go awry. Well, boring for those on the floor. It was probably hectic as hell for those behind the scenes.

The original plan was for Cole, Kai, and Lloyd to go into the museum during opening hours, steal some real expensive sculpture that was being held in a storage room, sneak it out the back, get away in the van, and get it to the buyer.

In and out like that. No more than an hour should’ve been spent in this building.

Yet here they were, on hour four in this place because someone decided to switch which room the sculpture was in.

For once, they had every detail of the plan laid out to the letter. Every guard, every password, every exit had been figured out and accounted for, but the one thing that they hadn’t thought of, the one thing that they thought couldn’t go wrong, went wrong.

So now Lloyd was stuck wandering the museum with Cole and Kai, while Zane, Jay, and Nya were in the van, scrambling to figure out the new location of the statue and how to get it out of the museum before the place closed.

No, of course, they couldn’t wait until some other time to grab the sculpture. The buyer wanted it by tonight or else they’d back out of the deal. And the sculpture might not even be in the museum by tomorrow.

Kai stuck his tongue out at one of the old vases he was staring at. “It just gets repetitive after a while, doesn’t it? Staring at dusty old pots. I’d’ve rather tripped a wire than have this relocation stuff happen. It would’ve been more exciting than just waiting around.”

“Really.” Cole agreed. “That would’ve at least led to some high speed chase or maybe some kind of stealth escape.”

“Can we not openly talk about our crimes in public?” Lloyd asked.

Cole spread his arms, gesturing to how empty the room was. “Who’s gonna hear it, Lloyd? No one’s here.”

“Yeah, everyone’s at the space exhibits or the dinosaurs.” Kai added. “Y’know, the cool stuff we could be looking at instead of ceramics.”

“Well, it’s not our fault the museum decided to relocate the statue near all the pottery.” Nya chimed in, over their earpieces.

“Where even is that storage room?” Kai wondered. “You guys said it was around here, but I haven’t seen anything.”

“The entrance out of the public area is in the next room over, but there’s a few more hallways and doors after that.”

Kai beelined to the spot she pointed out, eager for something else to do. He looked around the corner for a second, then beckoned the other two over.

“We lucked out.” He told them. “It’s just one guard standing next to the door. No one else in the room.”

“I’ll distract him.” Lloyd offered.

“I’ve got it!” Jay shouted in excitement, cutting off Lloyd’s time to detail a quick plan. He lowered his volume. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve got the last password. I’m sending them to Cole in the order that you’ll need them. I think there’s also a lock or two you’ll have to pick.”

Cole checked his phone. “Got ‘em. Is everyone ready?”

“Been ready for the past three hours.” Kai patted Lloyd on the back and shoved him towards the entrance of the next room. “Go get ‘em, Lloyd.”

“Cameras are going down now.” Zane said. “I’d say you have about twenty to thirty minutes before they figure out how to get them back online.”

Lloyd stepped out into the room, with no real plan in mind. If it was a bigger crowd, Lloyd would fake an injury to draw attention to himself, but that would probably be suspicious in a room with just two people in it.

He figured he’d act casual and peruse the ceramics in this room before trying anything.

…Kai was right. All the artifacts just kind of blended into each other with no real distinction between one and the next.

At least the ones in the last room were decorated and intact, these ones were just plain, broken fragments. If you got lucky, one would have a legible pattern scratched into the surface, but that seemed to be it.

But he wasn’t here to complain about pottery, he had to figure out how to get that guard away from the door.

Lloyd supposed he could always go up and talk to him, but that probably wouldn’t get him away from the door. He could also call him over somehow, but he would have to figure out how to and that might not even work.

“Are you interested in the bowls?”

Lloyd spun to find the security guard calling to him from across the room. He was still standing by the door, but his attention was now on Lloyd.

Now, Lloyd was not at all interested in the bowls. In fact, he didn’t even know he had been staring at bowls.

But, in his time of distracting security guards, never had the guard themselves set up the bait.

“Are these bowls?” Lloyd asked. “I figured they were something else.”

“The ones you’re looking at are bowls, but there’s other kinds of kitchen items in here.”

Lloyd could see the broken pieces in front of him coming from more bowl-shaped objects. “I guess they are bowls. Do you know a lot about these things?”

The guard shrugged. “A good amount.”

Easy catch. “You mind telling me more?”

The guard looked left, then right. A useless action, no one else was in the room, but him and Lloyd. He picked himself off the wall and walked over to the display case Lloyd was standing in front of. His back was to both the storage room door and the entrance to the room.

As he got closer, Lloyd picked out a few general details about him. Black hair and a little taller than Lloyd’s height. Lloyd still figured that he could take him in a fight if it came down to it. He had a standard security jacket thrown over his clothing and no other gear besides a walkie-talkie.

The guard leaned over the glass display case. “Well, for starters, everything in this room is pottery from a bunch of ancient eastern villages.” The guard motioned across the room. He brought his hand back to the display in front of him. “These ones specifically were used for religious purposes.”

Cole poked his head into the room, noticing the guard abandoning his post. As soon as the guard’s eyes were off Lloyd, he motioned with his head for Cole and Kai to move.

Lloyd fed him a question or two to keep him talking. “Religious purposes? How can you tell?”

The guard pointed at the little plaque beneath the case, which stated all the stuff he said very clearly

“Oh.” Lloyd knew he looked dumb, but that was the least of his worries.

Kai and Cole shuffled across the room as quietly as possible, reaching the door that was meant to be guarded. Cole began to figure out the keypad, while Kai kept watch for him.

“I mean, besides that,” the guard continued, “you can tell by the etching on the bowls.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you see those patterns on the bowl?”

Lloyd could. They were the same ones Lloyd had dismissed earlier as barely legible scrawls.

“They’re images of old gods, or what people thought they looked like.”

Lloyd pointed to one. “That one doesn’t look like a person.”

“Because it’s not. Some people thought the gods appeared as snakes or other animals.”

Lloyd looked back up to check Cole and Kai’s progress. Cole had figured out the password and gotten the door unlocked with minimal noise. The guard didn’t notice as Cole and Kai slipped through the door.

Hard part was over. Of course, Lloyd couldn’t bail immediately. The longer the guard stood over here, the more progress Kai and Cole could make without the guard noticing something was off.

“These guys thought that this god in particular appeared as a tiger sometimes. He was a god of the hunt, though, so that makes sense.” The guard kept talking and Lloyd listened. Not much else to do.

“And so what was this bowl used for?”

“Ah, there could be a bunch of things. Maybe they used it for prayers before a hunt, maybe they used it to sacrifice their winnings from a hunt to thank the god. Some people think they used it for rituals to commemorate hunting games.”

Lloyd nodded along, feigning interest. Or…well, he thought he was feigning interest. Some of the stuff the guard was talking about was kind of interesting.

“Hey, Lloyd. You’re free to go now.” Jay radioed to him over his earpiece. “Kai and Cole are making enough progress that we’d be gone before anyone finds anything out.”

Lloyd could not respond to Jay, but honestly, he wasn’t paying much attention to anything besides the guard.

As the guard rambled about all the uses of a bowl, Lloyd did not miss the way his eyes lit up when bringing up the different possibilities. The guard’s enthusiasm for the subject was clear on his face as he kept talking.

Lloyd liked hearing people nerd out about stuff they liked and he would be lying if he didn’t find it a little adorable.

…

Holy shit, there was no way he was catching feelings for a security guard.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to talk your ear off, though.” The guard stopped his ramblings and apologized. “I’m sure you’ve got other exhibits to see.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Why was he saying that? “I was boring myself to death staring at this stuff. But I hadn’t thought about all the things you brought up. Makes it a little more interesting.”

“Lloyd, that was the perfect opportunity to get away.” Nya remarked.

Unhelpful commentary aside, Lloyd had come to that realization himself. Why was he even still here? Kai and Cole were probably out of there by now and him staying here would only hold up the mission.

The guard looked at him with confusion. “Then why are you back here? You’re like three rooms deep into this pottery exhibit.”

A fact Lloyd was painfully aware of. He played dumb. “I don’t know. I was just wandering.”

The guard bought it, thankfully. “That’s fair. Not many people come all the way back here. It’s so deep into the museum and they don’t keep anything too exciting over here.”

“It seems exciting to you. How come you know so much about this stuff?” Why was he perpetuating the conversation?

“Lloyd, I don’t mean to question your tactics,” Zane radioed in, “but are you flirting with the security guard?”

Lloyd ignored him. He was in too deep now. The guard seemed shocked at Lloyd’s comment. “Oh, thank you. I work in the museum, so I usually get to spend a lot of time with the stuff.”

“So you don’t usually do security work?”

“Not really. I’m usually the info guy and I’m posted farther up, but apparently they moved something important behind that door.” He pointed to the door that Cole and Kai had disappeared behind however long ago. “It was a quick switch and they were short on staff so they just told me to stand by it for a few hours.

“Keep this between you and me,” the guard leaned in closer to Lloyd, “but the museum said that caught word that someone was gonna steal whatever they put back there.”

Lloyd feigned shock. “Really? Shouldn’t you still be over there if it’s so important?”

“Eh, if it was that important, they’d put more people back here. But so few people come back here, I guess they thought one guy was enough.”

“Or maybe they thought that you were enough to handle any threat.”

The guard laughed at his joke and Lloyd would definitely be willing to hear that laugh again. “You’ve got jokes. Although, you are right, I should get back over there, eventually. Is there anything else you wanted to know about anything in here?”

Yes. He almost said that, but Zane reminded him of reality. “Lloyd, I appreciate you finally trying to find a date, but you need to get out of there. We are not sabotaging the mission because you have a crush.”

A harsh reality, but Lloyd supposed he could always come back. “I’d love to, really, but I’ve got somewhere to be. How about I get your name so I know who to look for if I return?”

An idiot, he was. He may or may not have walked right into a trap he set up himself.

“You’re not the most perceptive, are you?” The guard gestured to his nametag. In Lloyd’s defense, it was slightly hidden behind his jacket. “It’s Brad. Brad Tudabone, but just Brad’ll do.”

Then, the guard asked the question Lloyd regretted setting up. “What’s yours?”

Nya, oh so helpfully, chided Lloyd. “I don’t care how cute you find the security guard, Lloyd. You are not going to give him your name.”

Now, Lloyd could’ve given him his real name and just hoped that the mission went so smoothly no one would ever consider him as a part of the heist. Lloyd could’ve given him a fake name, but it probably wasn’t the best move to start off with a lie like that. Lloyd could’ve also given him no name at all, and just bluff his way out of the situation, somehow, but that would’ve probably been the most suspicious thing to do.

His silence was going on for a beat too long.

“It’s Lloyd.”

He gave him his name. It seemed like the easiest option.

He could hear shouts of disagreement over his earpiece, but he just had to ignore them once more. Maybe Lloyd was a common enough name that he wouldn’t remember it. Or maybe he’d luck out and Brad wouldn’t tell anyone that he had seen Lloyd around here.

Brad looked Lloyd up and down. “Lloyd, huh? Alright, well, I guess I’ll see you around then.”

He waved Lloyd off and Lloyd waved back as he left the room to make his way out to the nearest exit of the museum.

“Lloyd, that is the dumbest thing you've ever done for a mission.” Nya stated once he had gotten to the van.

“He didn’t even do it for the heist,” Kai called from the back. “That conversation could’ve lasted five minutes and everything would’ve gone exactly the same.”

“Why’d you even give him your name?” Cole asked. “I feel like getting his number would’ve been so much easier and also wouldn’t have given up identifying information.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Lloyd admitted.

“No, no.” Jay responded from the shotgun seat. “I think Lloyd did the right thing by not getting his number. That would’ve been moving too fast.”

“Getting a number is too fast?”

“For this situation? Yes.”

The truck descended into conversation as to whether getting his number would’ve been jumping the gun, and also the fact that Lloyd would probably get implicated in this crime, but Lloyd couldn’t find it in him to join.

He was about to gain a much greater interest in pottery.

[ashtarels-archives]

Delving into Blackfathom Deeps

An excerpt from Glory to the Queen Born of Stars:

"Of the wonders our queen brought to this world, perhaps none was so great as Lathar'Lazal. As masons constructed the temple, Azshara shaped the waters around it with the Scepter of Tides. She spoke the names of the rivers and the seas, and they moved at her command. Salt water from the roaring ocean and fresh water from the mountain streams trickled to Azshara's side. With the flick of her wrist, the queen partitioned them into great lakes that hugged Lathar'Lazal's sturdy foundation."

Architecture:

Blackfathom Deeps, as we know it today, was once called "Lathar'Lazal," or "Seat of the Sky" in Darnassian. Long ago, this was a temple to Elune built by Queen Azshara with the aid of Sharas'dal (her tide-scepter) in the ages before the Sundering. Pelagic imagery still endures in the architecture of these sunken ruins, described at one point to have contained "gem-encrusted bridges and effervescent lakes." Motifs of fish-head fountains, wave-inspired stonework, scale-like patterns, and ionic columns are repeated in the masonry and pottery of the forlorn halls. It is unclear what the seafoam-colored stone the temple is made of, though it is interesting to note that it almost bears a resemblance to a body of water's surface: like the way a pool shifts and shimmers with the light. Some kind of material borne of the sea, melded together with the queen's Sharas'dal, or a common mineral of the region? They could also simply bear cracks and signs of weathering considering the age of the temple, but watery stone would be fitting symbolically.

Azshara's Influence:

"Whenever she [Azshara] walked the bridges of Lathar'Lazal, nearby schools of exotic fish would array themselves in colorful patterns. She even kept a colossal sea giant bound to one of the lakes. She used her scepter to make him perform tricks and feats of strength, much to the delight of the watching Highborne. Curious night elves from the far corners of the empire journeyed to Lathar'Lazal to study the mythical creature and his habits."

Perhaps Lathar'Lazal was a bustling tourist attraction then in the days of the empire, both for education and entertainment. With such tourism drawn to the temple, I wonder if the nearby land/city of Zoram benefited from this economically.

The passage above seems to imply that the Highborne rather enjoyed the spectacle of the imprisoned sea giant, and this poses an interesting dichotomy to the original purpose of the temple: a house of Elune, simultaneously hosting a creature trapped against its will. Such an exhibition created by Azshara here speaks to her penchant for show and amusement, and possible disregard for the faith. If only a historical record existed of a priestess's personal journal or the like; and whether she would be disappointed with such behavior, or complacent in the suffering of other races/creatures as night elves often were during this era.

Tideweaver:

Queen Azshara, even before her naga transformation, always had a fascinating dominion over water, both with her scepter Sharas'dal and the Well of Eternity. Supposedly Xavius was the one who actually gifted the queen with this ornate weapon that later shaped the temple:

"A night elf named Lord Xavius presented the queen with a jeweled scepter, etched with delicate magical sigils. He promised Azshara that so long as she kept it close, it would bring her prosperity and great power. Azshara held the scepter aloft, and the jewels shimmered in the light of the moons like brilliant stars. The sight of the queen and her gift was so beautiful that it brought many of the attendant Highborne to tears."

An enigmatic man of terrifying skill and power, I do wonder where Xavius procured this weapon in the first place; as its design does not appear to be of Kaldorei craftsmanship. Perhaps it hails from the ancient jinyu culture, the primordial titans, or some other past world power. Examining its details, what do you think of Sharas'dal's origins?

"Queen Azshara's enchanted scepter afforded her great power. Imbued with the Well of Eternity's potent waters, it held sway over the rivers and the seas, aquatic creatures of all kinds, and the life energies that stirred within Azshara herself."

In the Tablet of Balancing Tides, it is stated that:

"The whispers of Elune and Neptulon play on the tides, their words etched in stone are a tribute to the balance of their power."

I find it interesting that Azshara utilized a form of magic half-intrinsic to the moon goddess. Did she derive some of her aquatic power from Elune, or use a different magick entirely? The descriptions of Azshara wielding the scepter use language that speaks to a command over water, rather than a unity with the elementals, spirits, and goddess.

This item's flavor text also mentions Neptulon--Elemental Lord of Waters--interestingly now a sworn enemy of Queen Azshara and her naga forces in the present day.

The Moonshrine Ruins:

This place supposedly once hosted a moonwell, with an area known as the Moonshrine. The foundations here might suggest that before the Sundering, Lathar'Lazal could have been built just upon the shores, or expanded out into the sea itself with the tides embracing the temple all around. Swimming beneath the waters of the Moonshrine, there appear to be large pillars supporting the walkways here; much like a pier.

The Inner Sanctum:

Crescent imagery is prevalent inside of the sanctum, as well as sets of 3 seats, perhaps symbolism of the triple moon (waxing, full, and waning or the maiden, mother, and crone archetypes) holding some importance in the rituals carried out here. These could also represent a large meeting space, high-ranking priestesses for ritual, a council of leadership, divisions of the temple, seating for observers, or something else entirely. They face partitioned rooms with crescent moon symbols.

If we look at the central dais of the sanctum, (Azshari statue and cultist altar notwithstanding) there is a raised platform with a pyramid-like structure carved into the ceiling. Perhaps a skylight once existed here to let in moonlight for lunar rites, or this area hosted something of great importance to be kept safe inside the sanctum.

The Moondoors:

The moondoors are an especially interesting piece, and the last apparent threshold of the Seat of the Sky. Upon passing through, there are only a handful of pillars flanking the sides of the cavern. They seem to accompany each other in pairs on each side - marking a possible entrance, exit, or some other pathway to the temple. While I am unsure of their true purpose or the mechanism to unlock them, the various square pieces are almost akin to a puzzle. This model is used in other Kaldorei architecture and I've long been intrigued by their possible uses. These moondoors are typically used as entrances to the tall, thin ivory towers of Kaldorei ruins. Perhaps Elunarian priests or arcanists weave (or wove) intricate spellwork rooted in the arcane, or the moon cycle in order to lock these types of barriers. What was intended to lie beyond them is anyone's guess: powerful artifacts, sacred relics, enshrined lore, or even concealed secrets.

"The Great Sundering shattered the glorious temple, sinking it beneath the waves of the Veiled Sea."

I hope you enjoyed these musings! There's something equally fascinating and solemn looking back at the remnants of the Kaldorei Empire - in the shadows of glory that once eclipsed the continent.

[autisticlalna]

Skyblock Kingdoms species headcanons: expanded edition

okay so a while ago i had a post with an overview of my headcanons for the SBKers, but it was very basic bc i only had ideas for a few people . however, here is me now going completely insane. enjoy

Dark Oak:

Viking:

catboy. has ears under his hat, which is why he never takes it off.

i cant decide if he has a tail or not. itd make sense with the catboyism but not with the "able to hide it" thing

sometimes partially phases through things, and his elytra wings arent fully tangible. also: elytra are Very green.

not a species headcanon but, as is typical for when i write about Vikings: his compass points somewhere, and that somewhere is Down. if he holds his compass horizontally, the needle spins in place, but otherwise it's always pointing to the Void.

Fix:

is extremely normal. like, normal to the point where everything else just kinda.. fizzles out.

(Milkman is able to push it, but still doesn't get a strong reaction.)

if it somehow canceled out, something would be extremely up with Fix. like, this guy is Not human, hes just been made human by... whatever is causing this.

i don't know what he'd be, though. ccViking mentioned gryphon and i think that's fun considering there's a few other mythical creatures in here, but Solar has also been prodding me with the alien Fix agenda so

Cherry:

Rubyco:

pointy-eared allay hybrid

...although that's usually overwritten by her mimicry. shifts species and aesthetic often to better blend in with whoever xe's spending time with

might be an issue related to the timeline instability-- bleedover from other timelines where he's island partners with someone else instead of Vintage.

hair is made of gemstones, and injuries can show up as cracks or chips to reveal crystal underneath. (so, basically the same as my take on tRuby.)

has allay wings, obvs

Vintage:

dryad and guardian of the cherry grove biome

the original cherry tree on the island was Her Tree, and has now regrown into the big tree

i keep thinking [elora from spyro voice] "im a FAUN you dork" so . i guess she's a faun also??? dryad taking form of a faun

LUNA MOTH WINGS. I NEARLY FORGOT

what if a deer was a person. and pink. and a tree. and a luna moth. and had cherry blossoms growing on her. and was bi

Jungle:

Avid:

has everything wrong with him.

i dont know how to describe whats going on with Avid besides "it was BAD". the deeper he got into dark magic the more screwed up he got mentally and physically

got a white hair streak from stress of being trapped in incendium and his eyes gradually went from purple to red after selling his soul

nonhuman in the sense of "was human once and we have no idea what the hell he is now"

now he's monkey! this is an improvement. still has the hair streak though, and his eyes look red in some lighting

Doovid:

the actual only human on the entire server. Fix doesn't count

..and now he's monkey! oops lmao

im gonna be real most of my headcanons for who he is and where he came from are gonna hinge on me remembering to rewatch Shadow of Israphel. thanks mallow <3

full title Skylord Doovid, although nobody calls him that

elytra are a wood-and-canvas style glider

Birch:

Fool:

ex-human

covered in cracks and held together by gold seams, like broken pottery

bleeds liquid gold

can be mistaken for a marble statue if he stands still.

he's still flesh and.. uh, not blood, but looks a bit Off

Milkman:

gestures. WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS GUY

mimic shapeshifter like Ruby but, like. worse. guy who has realized he can use his abilities For The Bit and has never looked back

cannot be killed in a way that matters

Bamboo:

M1G:

humanoid alien with pointy ears, a tail, and bioluminescent freckles

eyes and blood also glow. M1G is very glowy.

has paws :3

dragon elytra

Kale:

space piiiiig

anthropomorphic, can be easily mistaken for a piglin

has the gift of opposable thumbs

Mangrove:

Marmalade:

ccRuby mentioned the idea of Marm having hooves and i think that's neat.

drifting further away from human the more times she falls into the Void

maybe some demon vibes? idk. in the category of "not a specific species, just has nonhuman traits" but Avid probably considers her demonic lmao

eyes have a slight glow. when doing magic or listening to the Void, the glow gets brighter / her eyes entirely change color and have a light trail

Tea:

kitty :3

like. Viking is catboy. Tea is cat.

Acacia:

Trog:

human... right?

not human. eldritch entity that's knitted itself together into a human form. either the original Trog is still in there somewhere, or was never there at all.

glowing eyes, sharp teeth, face always somewhat in shadow. movement either too fluid or too stiff. nearing the uncanny valley

has triangle pupils and their eyes reflect light like a cat's

bleeds black gunk (if they remember to bleed, anyway)

is "stuck" as human, but when stressed, too close to the Void, or losing focus they can start to glitch out into a chaotic mess of triangles and polygons until they're grounded again

Kittrix:

red panda hybrid! ears, tail, paws

very sculk-y under the hoodie. has the exposed soul-heart-cage thing the Warden does

sensitive to sound, but hasn't made the connection that it's a sculk thing and thinks she just has misophonia

completely unbothered by everything Wrong with Trog. it's all perfectly normal, says entity who is also not normal in any way shape or form,

Spruce:

Acorn:

was previously a squirrel in a raccoon mask

after the void jump, she's now just like.. kinda a mishmash of small winter-y animals. squirrel, ermine, fox, snowshoe rabbit, etc

congratulations! youve gotten promoted to "embodiment of winter". im sure that wont have consequences

does not have facial features under the mask. it's fine she doesn't need them where she's going

has arctic tern elytra wings

sculk is still surface-level, but it keeps regrowing when she tries to pry it off

Anathra:

android, looks human unless you play close attention - most SBKers haven't figured it out yet

used to overheat easily (especially with glasses off), but after his hair started changing color he's now freezing cold to the touch

glasses are an external attachment that lock into place, so Anathra taking them off is Very Intentional and they can't be knocked off by accident

is usually able to repair himself, but sometimes has to go to Trog or Neon for help

currently unbothered by the sculk, although he's getting a bit concerned about what damage it might do to his components if it continues spreading

Mushroom:

Elffe:

solar i am holding a hand out to you. elffebrine

(translation: what if Elffe was Herobrine. glowy eyes, teleportation, cryptid energy)

has mushrooms and crimson vines growing on him. that's probably fine

in contrast to Spruce being unnaturally cold, Elffe is unnaturally warm. radiates heat, melts snow and ice, etc

Artemis:

god i wish i knew literally anything abt artemis. please log back on all i know is that fallow thinks youre cool

End:

Neon:

cyborg, but in a cassette futurism way. 90s clunky electronics.

hard to tell how much of him is organic and how much isn't. has large bulky metal parts, but also faint lines of neon green circuitry that show through his skin.

is a bit run-down and weathered after being stranded with Leon. he was starting to rust :(

Leon:

chinstrap penguin :3

non-anthropomorphic because it's funny. scaled up to be average human size, though

has ender particles drifting off him

slowly transforming into more of an End creature because of his dependence on chorus fruit

[generalluxun]

Chlogami. Kagami Tsurugi &Chloé Bourgeois fic something something.

The point is Kintsugi, the Japanese art of filling in the cracked portions of a piece of pottery with a mixture that includes gold dust, in order to turn the damage into a new expression of beauty and uniqueness.

It's all just right there waiting to be written.

*waves hands at the world in general*

[trashboatprince]

Apparently, I'm still in a bit of a writing mood!

Here's a fic inspired a bit by The Fires of Pompeii.

As always, I write Fourteen with they/them pronouns.

On with the fic!

--

"Ooh, it's been ages since I've last been to a Roman exhibit!" The Doctor grinned, walking through the entry way into the large room containing countless artifacts on display.

"You've been to Rome, multiple times," Rose pointed out, smiling as she unfolded the information pamphlet she had been given, "what excites you about a museum exhibit?"

"Oh, lots of things. For one, I can leave the features one at any time to go and explore the rest of the building, all in the same ticket! Two, it's like time travel, in a silly, human-y way. C... no, three! As much as I have issues with archaeologists..."

"Except your wife." Donna sniffed.

The Doctor rolled their eyes. "Yes, besides River, I do appreciate that many want to preserve human history. Also, sometimes exhibits display old things I've lost! One, I had a really nice pocket watch that was found in an old tomb, however, it hadn't originally ended up in there because of me."

Shaun chuckled. "How did it end up in there then?"

"I... may or may not have lost it in a game of lots, and it got passed around. Amazing that the thing still worked!"

It was a lovely day, a Noble-Temple-Mott family outing, and Rose had wanted to go to the museum. She said that though she gave up the DoctorDonna from her own mind, she still felt some effects, phantom sensations. She had said she had a dream of a marble statue of the goddess Fortuna and knew it had to do with her uncle.

Sadly, that exhibit was no longer here, the Doctor would have loved to have seen their old Rose statue. But that was alright, there would be other fun things to see.

"Think they've got a star chart or two, Doctor?" Wilf asked and the Doctor smiled, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair.

"I'm sure they do! Let's go!" They laughed, with Wilf joining in as they pushed through the people in the room. They heard Donna call out to them, telling the Doctor and her grandfather to stay out of trouble.

They found some old mosaics of the night sky, with the Doctor happily telling Wilf what they showed, and how different the sky looked back centuries ago.

Rose caught up to them, dragging the two with her to look at old pottery, having the Doctor translate any Latin they found on objects about the exhibit. Yes, they had the TARDIS translation device, but sometimes it was more fun for the Doctor to play teacher, and they loved playing tour guide!

"Oh my God!" They paused in the middle of talking about some graffiti carved into a block of stone at the sound of Sylvia's voice.

"Was that Grandma?" Rose asked, glancing about.

"I think so." Wilf added. "Sounded a bit shocked."

"Think she broke somethin'?" The Doctor asked, trying to spot her in the crowd. "Hope she didn't, don't know if they'll let me repair anything..."

"Doctor!" Came a shout from Shaun, and the Doctor saw him waving a hand about in the air. "Come here! You gotta check this out!"

"Stop shoutin', you two!" Donna said from somewhere near her husband. "We're in public!"

The Doctor, Rose, and Wilf snickered, following the sounds of their family's voices, before seeing Donna and Shaun, with Sylvia's back to them. "Alright, what's the problem? Did my mother-in-law break a priceless object?"

"Hmph!" Sylvia turned sharply, glowering at the alien in the room with her. "Excuse you! I haven't touched a thing! Unlike you, I'm sure you've licked something already!"

"Not yet." Rose said quietly, making Wilf laugh once more.

"Oi!" The Doctor pouted, then grinned. "Okay, give me time, I probably will. Anyway, what's got you shoutin'?"

"Care to explain this?" She pointed at something on the wall.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and slipped on their glasses, moving to examine the large slap of marble. It was old, worn in place, cracked in several others, and was missing a whole corner, but the image was obvious.

There were two figures standing there, a woman and a man-shaped being, along with a tall, rectangular box.

"Oh. My. God." Donna gasped, apparently having not seen it yet herself.

"Looks like you and the Doc, yeah?" Shaun spoke. "The sign for it says 'household gods', from a villa in Rome. Did you two go to Rome?"

"I've been, during modern times." Donna pointed out. "Dumbo here landed us in a different Italian city, we ended up in Pompeii! On volcano day."

The Doctor moved closer to the slab as Donna gave a brief story about their adventure in 79 AD. Unconsciously, the Doctor touched their face when Donna brought up Caecilius, all blue eyes and angry eyebrows, and a reminder to save people. They looked at the marble images of their tenth incarnation with Donna, the details were not as strong, but it was still clear it was them.

"Marvelous craftsman, that Caecilius." The Doctor said. "He must have done this himself, the details are too good to have been a commission, and we saw his work with the circuits."

"Did he really think we were gods?" Donna asked.

"Possibly? I mean, we knew things about the future, we traveled in a... what did his wife say? Something about a temple that was far larger on the inside? We came back and saved them, we made sure they lived."

Shaun stepped closer. "He did a great job, Donna, you look beautiful in Roman artwork!"

Donna blushed, laughing. "Stop, don't get my ego going."

"That's amazing!" Rose smiled. "Household gods, huh? What's that mean?"

"It means we protected them, that we kept their lives and home safe from danger." The Doctor replied. "What an honor! Normally, I don't care much for the whole 'worship' thing, it makes me feel weird and kinda like I have too much on my shoulders. Makes my ego feel huge in a way. But this? I think it's nice. And hey, Caecilius got to be someone who helped people later! At least... his face did."

Donna blinked. "What? Wait..." She gave this some thought. "That Scottish you! All eyebrows and runnin' about like a penguin with his ass on fire!"

The Doctor groaned. "That's what you remember of him from the Metacrisis?! He was so much more than that, I was cool, I could play the guitar! And I'm president of the Earth! And still am!"

She scoffed. "Makes your ego feel huge, eh? And all that stuff you just said doesn't?"

The Doctor pouted and muttered something under their breath. "Oi! Don't get smart at me in Latin, spaceman!" She said, giving them a light push, and they laughed.

"Are we able to take this home?" Sylvia asked. "I mean, technically it's art of you two, it should be your right to keep it, yes?"

"Ehhh... technically? Maybe, but I doubt the Roman government is gonna hand it over just cause those two look like us, they'd think it'd be a joke." The Doctor sighed. "Still... I could commission it, go back, ask for one of my own from him?"

"Nope." Donna shook her head. "You're not stealing the TARDIS to do that. Might mess up a timeline or somethin'! Come on, let's keep going, I wanna hit up the museum's cafe!"

"Fine, fine." The Doctor sighed again, watching the family continue on. They looked at the marble, smiling, then turned to see Donna still standing next to them. "I took your advice, you know? About helping people, even if it seems impossible."

Donna looked back at him. "That's why you had his face, yes? As a reminder?"

"Just as this one was to remind me to slow down, to rest." The Doctor nodded. "You've left quite the influence on me, Donna Noble."

"Yeah? And I'm sure I'll continue to do so for your other future selves, including your bi-generation twin."

"Oh, you have no idea how big of an influence you've left on him. Come on, let's keep wandering, I'll get your coffee."

--

It is amazing how much influence Donna has left on the Doctor.