#weight watchers alternative

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME (PLEASE DON'T FALL) ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | Nanami Kento x male!reader | arranged marriage, angst no comfort (serious) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 23K | not proofread

warnings: hint/implied SH through passive means (no descriptions), loss of virginity, blowjobs, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, yn's low-key going insane masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: this is going to have an open-ended ending so you can let your imaginations run wild. also, I'm sorry it took so long to publish this but I hope it satisfies you! also also - i truly apologize for how frantic the shibuya arc is as I'm an anime watcher so (T T) they'll be no continuation of this fic but there'll be a one-shot fic of nanami kento x reader having some sweet moments just for the heck of it along with a short fic of gojo and yn's wedding day...maybe.

“This is nice,” he murmurs. Uncaring of the water trickling into the shape of his leather shoes or how it makes his clothes cling onto him like a heavier second skin. It’s cooling, feeling like relief that was manifested into a palpable form. Pulsing, moving, pushing, and pulling as the shadows undulated. Sunlight dances on the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it can.

Your arms around him make him grin. He reaches to hold you, the rarest of treasures appearing on his face as he feels your lips press onto his left cheek. 

He holds your flesh with a gentle squeeze. The weight of you on his back is like a comforting blanket draped over him; he kisses the delicate muscles and marks you have. You burrow your face into his neck, he closes his eyes and chuckles. "I'm sorry, my love."

“You’re going to make me late.”

It grins wide and proud at the sight of your disgruntled face. The cursed spirit was as ugly as a piece of dogshit on the street. Smelled like it too. It was a semi-special grade that had popped up in an abandoned hospital. It was the subject of a bountiful amount of paranormal fans, which meant a handful of people and teenagers had disappeared after entering its premises.

Ah, didn’t I go on a mission like this once? You thought to yourself.

“Or was it Utahime’s mission?” you muttered.

She — the curse — opens her split mouth to screech. Her white hair flies behind her as she furiously charges towards you. The corners of your mouth twist in disgust. What a wretched being. Her hands were bound behind her back as she was in a straight jacket. So far, her attacks had been long-distance but the ones that truly hurt were when she got close enough to sink her teeth in.

The chunk of missing flesh on your hand was proof of that. It was covered by your tie but those blackened veins were a clear sign of trouble if you didn’t exorcise her.

“Yeah, yeah. Come and get it, bitch.” Tucking in your chin while taking a quick breath as her horrendous form gets closer, you feel the familiar rush of energy flowing through you. She was running like a bat out of hell. Her chin probably would’ve been shaved off if she bent any lower — her disgusting mouth was slobbering all over as she unhinged her jaw. She lunges and you release a breath. With your outstretched hand, palm facing up, you press the sides of your pointer and middle finger together. The curse screams, her teeth now a hair away from biting the tips of your finger off.

“Divine Flame.”

The birds seem to freeze midflight and the ants appear static; even the clouds above the building had been glued in place. She sees your lips split into a grin, a puff of air that mocks hers as she struggles to breathe. The curse drags her ruby-red eyes to the spark of black that ignites on your fingertips. "Gods Blade."

A second ago, she was so close to taking your wretched hand off and leaving it a bloody stump. Her stomach wants nothing more than to savour the flesh of a sorcerer and hear him scream in agony as she triumphs in the fight. The memory of it, the bright flash of white that burned her skin off her flesh. She can still taste it in her mouth, she can feel the phantom pain of it slicing the back of her throat. Everything tasted like smoke and blood. As you kick her head, she tumbles until she is gazing up at the sky.

The sky?

What happened to the roof?

The sight of her shaking pupils made you scoff. The building was torn down. Sliced cleanly in half according to the angle of your fingers; everything your technique made contact with was bright orange, smoking, and singing. Cement crumbles into ash, and metal turns to oozing and bubbling liquid.

“Shit. I haven’t used that move in a while. I’m sorry, I’m in a rush, okay? I think I went overboard.” Thankfully, Kiyotaka had raised a veil or else you’d never hear the end of it. The building shudders with each step you take. She watches as you crouch next to her, grabbing a fistful of her white hair and bringing her eyes level with yours.

“Not that you don’t deserve it. You glutton. 14 people in three weeks? You brought this on yourself.”

Her eyes fill with tears as she feels your palm warm and warm and then it burns. Her screams were like nails on a chalkboard but you bore through it. Staring into the black flames that consume her you ponder about your agenda; those spikes of fury remind you of Megumi’s gravity-defying hair.

“You’re really shitty, you know that right?” she’s down to her bones now and it’s slowly piling up into a mountain of ash. Still, she finds it in herself to scream. “Your crappy domain was creepy. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in Japan. I’m just settling in. You were supposed to be a simple mission. Now you fucked up my hand and I’m covered in soot.”

Suguru would surely laugh at you. He often did when you were muttering to dying curses. It was a habit you formed, wanting to annoy them to the very end about your minuscule grievances. They weren’t to you but the curse spirits probably felt like tearing your head off as they died.

“(Y/N), you’re really unique, huh?” Suguru leaned against the red-bricked wall with his arms stuffed in his pockets. Shoko watched impassively by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with burn relief gel. It’s not as though your flames burn you. The heat they produce stung your skin. You suppose you’ve built endurance to it but you appreciate your friends pampering you; your clan was ruthless in fine-tuning your abilities, and there was no such thing as pain-relief creams or gels.

The (L/N) weren’t like the Major 3 of Japan. They were considered to be imitations. Mocked for their gaudy technique names and overzealous attack styles but weak bodies. In order to chase after the huge power gap, your clan brought the children to their knees. Grinding them forcefully on whetstones; until they either become sharp-edged or they break.

As the son of the head of your clan, breaking was not an option.

Luckily for them, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique. Unluckily for you, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique.

Your pout makes him smile. “Calling me unique feels like an insult, Su-Su,” you turn your attention toward the husk of a curse. He was pinned to the wall with one of Suguru’s spear-wielding curses as he was being toasted by your curse technique.

“I’m just trying to make them pass on easily.”

The curse warbles its disapproval as he shakes his head, its skin flaking and smoking. Shoko crouches beside you, unboxing the gel after you spread your fingers and exorcise it.

“I think it might’ve cursed you instead,” Satoru appears with canned drinks. He presses it tenderly to your warm cheeks as Shoko tends to your hands. “Here, you did most of the work today,” he thinks nothing of how flushed you seem and simply shrugs it off when you avert your gaze. Satoru ruffles your head, which erases the blush into nothing but annoyance,

“Man, can you believe we’ll be second-years soon? We’ll have juniors to bully,” Satoru says with too much glee. Suguru knocks the back of his knees with his own and Shoko and you barely muffle your laughter.

Kiyotaka smiles warmly as he spots you. It falls as his veil disappears to reveal the ruined building.

“Mr. Gojo…” Kiyotaka gasps with his hands curled to his chest. He must be pissed, Kiyotaka thinks as he glances your way. “Mr. Gojo!” you lift a hand to stop him from fretting over your bleeding hand, unknowingly showing him your fingertips.

“You used — “

“Principal Yaga won’t appreciate my tardiness, Kiyotaka.” The tie around your gaping wound unravels and he rushes to open the car door for you. “Ms. Ieiri will tend to me just fine, I’m not going to die. Oh, and please just call me (Y/N), Kiyotaka. Honestly, we’ve known each other for so long, I feel bad if you kept calling me using honorifics.”

How can he be married to Satoru? He thought as he nodded at your words. Half the time he’s expecting to be beaten up by Satoru, the way he speaks sometimes is as if he is deaf to how crass it is. As he rushes to get into the driver's seat, you try your best to tend to the soot and ash on your fingertips.

Kiyotaka watches you from the mirror. What worries him is the missing chunk from your left hand. The irritated edges and bulging veins weren’t easing his worries either. “Mr. Gojo,” you lift your head with a polite grin. Kiyotaka unconsciously returns it.

“Your husband left some burn relief gel at the back of the driver's seat,” he says. It leaves you stunned. He says nothing as your cool expression turns bashful. He was glad to see you find relief despite your twitching wound.

“I’ll drive you there as fast as I can, Mr — “

“Kiyotaka,” you huff.

“M-Mr — Mr. (Y/N).”

It’s strange what a familiar sight can do. Seeing the peeks of the sloped rooftops made your palms clammy. This was a form of torture and of that you are certain.

With every step taken to climb towards your destination, the wind carries forgotten voices and laughter. This school was a picture you kept in a box under your bed; meant to collect dust and only seep out through the cracks in the forms of nostalgia. Seeing it materialize the closer you get makes your throat tighten. The tree branches dance in the wind and sunlight falls into step. This would be scenic in any other circumstance.

You had no one to blame but yourself. Satoru may have pestered you to agree but he didn’t force your hand; you caved in all by yourself.

‘ Get a grip, ‘ you scolded yourself. This was doable. The anxiety that’s coursing through your veins does not compare to everything you’ve already been through. First-day jitters are all it is. Megumi will be there with his friends, Yuuji and Nobara.

Along with them, Satoru’s other students would meet you again!

They were all great kids (and an amazing panda). You’ve only ever seen them in passing, sometimes Satoru would’ve asked for you to meet him whilst his students were already there. They were a memorable bunch. Meeting with a cast-aside Ze’nin daughter had shocked you. It was no surprise she narrowed her eyes at you.

It was fair. The elitist nature of the major clans of the sorcery world was hard to escape and unlearn. Satoru could escape unscathed due to his curse techniques, spoiled by everyone and entrusted as head of the Gojo clan the second he was deemed worthy enough. But for Maki? She had to steel herself when your eyes landed on her. Especially because you were dressed in traditional attire, the silk of your clothes decorated with the sigil of your clan and Gojo's (your half-sibling had just been born, so you wore it to celebrate her first birthday).

You simply offered a downward gaze and nodded as a greeting. Flashing her a quick show of teeth that you showed to Toge and Panda as well.

“Mr (Y/N), are you okay?” Kiyotaka’s hands hover over your shoulder. You’ve half a mind to swat them away. He means well but at the moment you need someone whose heart isn’t racing louder than yours. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. You weren’t going to die, Kiyotaka just needed to get that memo.

“I’m well. Let’s just hurry before — “

“(Y/N)?” Satoru's presence causes Kiyotaka to stiffen up like a board. His footsteps approach you from behind. You prepare for the questions he's bound to ask. He doesn't say much, simply does a once-over on you, then focuses on the bloody bandages around your hand. An attempt to hide it behind you was made though he’s already reaching to pull it into the light.

“Satoru, it’s fine. Shoko can fix it up, I’m already late. Principal Yaga is going to have my head.” Satoru reluctantly lets your wrists fall. “You’ve got 25 minutes before the meeting actually starts. I built a reputation for being 7 minutes late for a reason. Why doesn’t anyone else abuse it?”

The twitch of your brow makes him grin. Satoru greets Kiyotaka with a nod and he promptly greets the couple a goodbye.

Satoru stays. It seemed as though Satoru was following along on your impromptu trip to Shoko’s.

“He’s excited to see you, even though he won’t say it,” he turns his head in your direction. “He sure is attached to you. All he ever does is be snarky to me. How come I’m getting all the teen angst?” he makes you guffaw.

“Can you blame him, Satoru?” you snort. “Megumi is pretty guarded after what his step-mom and his father did. I don’t blame you for taking on so many missions either but I did end up staying home more often compared to you. Besides, you’re love language of gift-giving looks more like buying love sometimes.” Satoru’s jaw goes slack and his brows pinch into that annoying expression.

“You’re saying I’m like a rich benefactor rather than a parent?”

“More like a gay uncle who likes giving expensive gifts,” you grunt as he tugs on the lobes of your ears. He’s not that offended by your words, it’s not as though you’re denying that he cares for Tsumiki and Megumi. Simply stating that they still hadn’t bridged the gap. Partly due to his frequent goings and partly due to Megumi’s abandonment issues.

It must sting to know your father sold you to a family who only cared about your abilities. It’s no wonder he keeps his walls high. You’re excited to see his friends climbing it, hoping his fortune is as bountiful as his name.

“Must you be so blunt, husband?” Satoru opens the door for you, eyeing the stains on your shirt. "I heard it was a semi-special grade," you shudder at the reminder, "did she cause you so much trouble? It's been a while since you've used God's Blade."

The fluorescent lights of Shoko's don't help your nerves. The theme of today seems to be revisiting memories. The chill in the building does not ease you in the slightest. It reminds you of the same eerie hallway you'd be escorted to, the sickening green-blue lines of light that light the path would make your palms clammy every time. Those five men were akin to statues as they held onto the thickly bound rope plastered with talismans.

"She couldn't talk just yet but managed to create a weak domain. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting it. It was so unsettling."

Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, stroking your shoulder as he steers you through the hallway. He knows you don't like long hallways with cold lights. Satoru doesn't ask the why's or what's. Those rigid lunches and dinners with your father and stepmother are all he needed.

Shoko's eyebrows jump at the sight of the both of you walking in.

"Hello, lovebirds," she stands from her chair, "d'you guys need some condoms or something?" The joke earns her an unamused expression while Satoru just chuckles.

"My dearest husband was injured in battle."

Your exclamations of protest fall on deaf ears as Satoru forces you to sit at Shoko’s check-up station. She idles over, pushing Satoru away with a gloved hand. Her touches are careful and light as she takes a close look at the wound.

Then, she grasps your other hand and you can’t help the gentle smile that graces your face as she tuts at the sensitive skin. “You’re here to meet the Principal, right? This won’t take long. You owe me dinner.”

“Yes, Ms Ieiri,” you coo. It was an odd sensation, to feel your flesh regrow, veins stitching together as muscles intertwine. Meanwhile, Satoru is moving around in her office, sticking his head in cabinets and drawers while you wash your hands. Shoko does nothing to stop your meddling husband.

“Found it!” Just as you turn, Satoru’s face looms over yours. Your gasp is choked on the lollipop he puts in your mouth. Shoko’s stethoscope is looped around his neck and her spare doctor's coat makes him look absolutely ridiculous.

"A treat for being such a good boy at the doctor's office today!"

“Those might be expired, by the way,” Shoko says. “‘Toru!” he giggles unabashedly, avoiding your wrath with glee.

“Mr. Gojo is married!?”

Megumi regrets ever saying it in the first place. Nobara and Yuji are staring at him with wide eyes, practically sparkling with curiosity.

“Did you guys not see the ring on his finger?” The chair creaks as he leans back, crossing his arms as they place their elbows on his desk. “Now that you mentioned it, I have noticed it. I didn’t think he was married,” Nobara tilts her head. “I mean, I guess he is pretty good husband material,” Yuji says. “He’s strong, handsome, and he’s generous too!”

“The lip balm he wears is expensive too,” Nobara nods as she speaks. “It’s not that expensive,” Megumi mumbled though the two simply ignored him. He was on another financial level. His standard of ‘expensive’ had been skewered.

“He just doesn’t seem like he has a wife. How does she put up with his childish attitude?”

Footsteps come from the hallway. Megumi says nothing as Nobara and Yuji press their faces to the indoor windows, trying to steal glances. His heart picks up its pace as he clasps his hands together. He kept his guard up for a reason. He expects disappointment so he can never feel that fear of abandonment — a childish wish. Your trips overseas were something he didn’t think would make him fearful again, so he iced them out the best he could. But now that you were back, he felt entirely too excited.

“Shh! Itadori, shut up! Let me sit here!”

They wrestle for the chair closest to the door. The ridiculousness of it has Megumi hiding his smile behind his palm, rolling his eyes fondly. Nobara wins and Megumi buries the feeling of excitement that Yuji is sitting close.

The doors rattle open to reveal Satoru. The silence that greets him disturbs him enough to hesitate to take a step inside. Instead, he stretches his neck and lets his head jump from one student's face to the other.

“Is this some sort of ambush? Why are your faces so intense?”

“Mr Gojo!” Yuji exclaims (he doesn’t need to). Raising from his seat, Yuji plants his palms on his desk and speaks: “Is it true that you’re married and that your spouse is going to be teaching us?”

Satoru beams, one long leg crossing over the threshold. Megumi spots a flash of (H/C) coloured hair and no matter what he does he can’t stop his heart from squeezing in anticipation.

“A guy like me? Of course, I’m married!” Satoru wiggles his fingers in the air. The ring is a simple silver band with a beautiful gem held preciously by silver roots. It was personal, something that would twinkle under the light but remain bashful in any other setting; it didn’t make it any less beautiful or inexpensive.

Nobara stands next. “What is she like? How does she put up with you? Is she cool?”

Soft laughter floats inside. Megumi’s shoulders hug his neck as you walk into the room. You were dressed in a nearly identical faculty uniform to Satoru’s though there were little adjustments and accessories here and there that made it more your own.

“They’ve been your student for less than a week, and they already wonder how your spouse puts up with you, husband,” your eyes meet Megumi’s and turn warmer. Nobara and Yuji gasp, eyes going comically wide as they stare at you.

“They’re overexaggerating. I’m an amazing teacher.” Electing to ignore your pouting husband, you address the first-year students with your hands politely folded in front of you.

�� Ah, always so proper, ‘ Satoru thinks. It’s probably where Megumi’s manners got reinforced because it sure as hell wasn’t from Satoru. You really were a marvel. How lucky would anyone be to be yours? An idea popped into his marvellous brain. Satoru suppresses his urge to rub his hands together schemingly though hopes Nanami won't mind that he meddles a bit with his mission.

“My name is Gojo (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet all of you. Mr Gojo has told me what promise all of you show.”

Yuji doesn’t pretend not to notice the way your eyes linger on him. He stiffens up, jaw locking as he feels his tongue spasm. Your eyes — the colour of it seemed to sway, like a flame dancing in the dark. It was spine-chilling.

To stand next to Gojo Satoru, to be his husband — to be his equal. Yuji imagines you must be strong. He wonders what your curse technique is. He is not the only one wondering. Deep in the recesses of his soul, four eyes split open and illuminate the darkness.

“We were thinking of taking all three of you on a field trip around Tokyo!” Satoru says with glee.

“It better not be like yesterday’s trip to Roppongi,” Nobara mutters. You glance towards Satoru, brow raised in question while he laughs innocently at Nobara’s accusing glare.

Megumi takes note of the smell of ash, and cobalt gaze immediately dropping to your folded hands and narrowing as he notices how irritated your fingertips look.

“You’ll enjoy this trip, trust me. Everyone can show off their skills to Mr Gojo, even Megumi,” Satoru said. Megumi's cheeks burned at the callout despite that, he was excited. He learned a lot in those 4-months and he has much to show you. Nobara snickers at his annoyed expression but catches Yuji’s lack of response. Satoru did as well though since there were no marks or mouths sprouting on his face he elected to wave it off as him being stunned by you.

For being a man? Surely, not. Perhaps for your handsomeness? That seems very likely.

It wasn’t as though he was sullen, just tight-lipped as he smiled and guffawed at the ongoing conversation.

“You may call me Mr (Y/N). It might be confusing for everyone if you both refer to us with our surnames." Satoru pretends not to grimace at the lame excuse. It was not for their sake. It was for yours and his. In 8 months, you would no longer bear the heavy weight of his name, placing it on a mantle of your victories and regrets.

“Gojo?” Kento’s voice causes you to jump. He felt bad for disturbing you from your reading, you looked so peaceful. It's been a while since he's found time to sit down and digest the words of a book. The mountain of unread literature in his home begs for a crumb of his attention — they remain untouched until he's sure he won't die without reading the final chapter. That would truly be a nuisance. The cafe had the smell of fresh paint quickly being overshadowed by freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee.

Kento apologizes for startling you. An apology you wave off, setting your book down after slipping the bookmark between the yellowing pages. The spine of it was cracked and the front of it slightly warped despite the plastic cover it was wrapped in. "A good read?"

“It was my mother’s favourite book,” you trace the title on the cover, sheepishly grinning. “She left some of her books in my possession after her passing. It got banged up after a mission with a curse in America, some alligator curse.” “What is it about?” His voice was so deep. Had it always been that deep? Admittedly, you’d only had the pleasure to see Kento again during Suguru’s proclamation of war. At that moment, you weren’t ogling him or relishing in the baritones of his voice. He’d grown up to be a handsome man. Those high cheekbones and strong eyes finally settled on his face. Despite the coat he wore, you could tell his body was chiseled and firm. Muscles stacked on muscles. He’d always been studios — his technique did require a more hand-to-hand approach. It didn’t surprise you. Most active sorcerers tend to train their bodies in order to survive strenuous missions.

As students, you recalled having sparred with him a few times. It didn't surprise you he became a Grade 1 sorcerer. With his flexible ability and his sharp wit, Kento was a force to be reckoned with then, you cannot imagine what he's capable of now. “It’s a bit dark,” you turned the cover to him, “it’s about a woman whose sister and old friend from school died. They were murdered. We follow her through her memories of them and her emotions. It’s quite interesting if you have the stomach for it,” he takes the book as you slip it into his hands.

Your fingers brushed and your ears warmed up.

‘ Ah, stop it. Stop it! You are (Y/N), a powerful sorcerer. Stop acting like a schoolgirl! ‘ “It was inspired by a murder in 1997.” Kento reads the synopsis on the back, his eyes drinking in every syllable. You wonder if his gaze is always so intense. Do they soften when he leans in to kiss? Thankfully, the book distracts him from your aggressive sipping of your drink. "Is the protagonist compelling?" After all, what's more horrid than a boring storyteller. Kento has consumed his fair share of bland-tasting media. It was just how life is, he supposes. Still. It didn't mean he was any less disappointed.

He flips through the first few pages. His touch was featherlight as he traced the edge of the pages. "She's angry," you reply after a moment of contemplation. "She is...unapologetically resentful, overly judgemental. But, for some reason. It's almost relieving to read," he watches you scratch the back of your neck as if admitting it out loud made you a bad person. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for it in bookstores. This looks intriguing.” Kento hands the novel back to you. You’re only a little disappointed that your fingers don’t brush again. He reaches into his coat as you put the book back in your bag. The file he pulls out makes you sober up from the butterflies in your stomach.

Right, this wasn’t a date — despite Satoru's jests — this was a mission. It must be a pretty daunting one if two Grade 1 sorcerers were needed. “Gojo — “ Your huff makes Kento pause. “Honestly, Ken, just call me (Y/N).” Your eyes widen. Stumbling over your words, you try to apologize for your bluntness, your hair practically lifting and puffing like a panicked cat. It has been so long since you’ve been classmates. A whole decade had breezed past. Calling him by an old nickname after so long was so rude!

To your surprise, Kento smiles. It’s unlike Satoru's, free and sharp, the corners curled like a sly fox as he set his sights on adventure. Kento’s smile was reliable, assuring you without words. Like a prince, though one that was gentler in his ways of living compared to the gallivanting knight that is Satoru.

“Only if I can call you, (nickname).”

Yū’s face floats to the surface. You had given Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Kento their nicknames.

Satoru, ‘Toru. Suguru, Su-Su. Shoko, Ko-Ko. Kento, Ken.

Yū, well, you had trouble giving him one considering how short his name already was. So he gave you a nickname instead. It stuck more than the others, every time you saw him he’d immediately call you that and you’d struggle to find a nickname that’d stick for him.

After his death, nobody called you that anymore.

If spirits were kept alive through memory, you’re certain Yū’s was thriving thanks to Kento. His classmate, his best friend. What an honoured spirit he must be. Kento was a quiet man, your mother often said those stoic ones were filled with such blinding love it left them tight-lipped so as to not overwhelm others. You wonder if your feelings have tainted Suguru in any way. The very thought makes your knuckles whiten. How awful. You hope he does not resent you.

You remember visiting Kento after Yū’s funeral, leaving food for him at his front door for weeks until you found out he had moved out.

That was a dark summer.

“Of course you can, Ken.” He stands as you do, falling into step next to you as you make your way towards your destination.

This was an interesting mission. It was located in an alleyway that once harboured a noodle shop. Something chased away the people. The building on the right was an abandoned temple, and the building on the left was a nightclub that was torn down after a murder happened.

An unlikely set of locations sprinkled with fear and isolation. The perfect breeding ground for curses. The mix of religious trauma and debauchery formed a mass that seemed forcefully threaded together by a thick rope in the center that looked oddly like noodles.

What peeved you about it was that it took less than two hours for Kento and you to investigate and exorcise it.

He swung his weapon in the air, the dissipating gore of the curse splattering on the walls in a spray. You’re waving away some dust and debris, coughing as you crush a minor curse’s head under your boot. This mission was dangerous, a perfect mission for a Grade 1 sorcerer.

A Grade 1 sorcerer.

It hardly required a duo.

‘ Satoru, ‘ you’re choking him in your mind. This must be his doing. He'd joke about setting you up with Kento but you thought it was that, a joke.

A heavy hand places itself on your shoulder, turning to face him you’re caught by how close your faces are. “Are you alright?” your body twists and you can't remember when he got so tall.

“I’ll be sore, but it’s nothing new.”

You were his favourite out of his upperclassmen. Kento never said that out loud, he wasn’t sure why; you weren’t the quietest or most polite. You were any other teenage boy. Except that was a lie.

(L/N) (Y/N). You were a product of your clan’s race to stand out. The destiny many searches for was laid out ahead of you the second you were conceived.

But you were kind. Not that the rest of the upperclassmen weren’t. You were different, a shining light that Kento finds himself gravitating towards like a moth to a flame. You were the night sky, twinkling and watching those around him. Kento was a mere mortal. All he could do was admire from the ground as he helplessly reached up to embrace deities.

He slides his hand down to your arm, and the reaction is immediate. Pain shoots up your arm, blood hidden by the dark uniform. Kento undoes his tie and wraps it above the bleeding cut. It’s crazy what adrenaline can do to you.

“Kento, you didn’t have to,” you wince as he tightens it. He offers no apologies though his jaw still clenches.

You were strong, your ranking was proof of that. But you were a (L/N). Kento heard of the rumours they tell about your clan's weak bodies but overeager abilities. It was a nice way to say that your clan was in over your head. As history notes, your clan was more devious than forthcoming. Hailing from ninjas or assassins or whatever it is that seemed more malicious.

“I’ll bring you to the school,” his tone was resolute. “It’s just a cut,” he frowns as he takes another look at it. It was deep, not bone-deep, but deep.

He’s terrified that there’s truth in them. The rumours. As you stand here with your heated cheeks and too-warm touch, he’s worried that your brain is overheating. Or maybe your blood is boiling and killing you. You could drop dead right in front of him right now, despite the amount of times you get up each and every time.

He’s terrified, (Y/N). He cannot lose another person he cares about. Kento absolutely refuses to do that all over again.

“Kento,” that stubborn purse of your lips never did go away. He can see the fight you have in you, that fire that fuels you.

As you smile, Yū’s face eclipses yours. For a split second. Just a second. It makes Kento loosen his grip. “I’m fine, Ken. Swear it,” he reluctantly lets you go.

“I apo — “

Your fingers thread through his. They’re intertwined and your grip is firm.

‘ I’m here, ‘ each squeeze relays, ‘ I’m safe, Kento. ‘

The coolness of your ring on his skin earns you a firm press.

He’s content watching you from afar, Kento had long decided that would be his fate. There was no honour in it. He sure as hell didn’t expect a heavenly reward for it. Perhaps he’s a fool for living the way he does. Kento knows he's lying to himself. Deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you, hold you, make you his, and let him be yours.

But Kento’s fear of losing you outweighs his love for you. Staying by Gojo Satoru's side ensures your safety, wealth, status and prosperity.

Kento will be content with that. Tripping through these messy tangles of heartstrings would just be how his life went. Even if Gojo Satoru did not deserve you, he provided you with more.

He would come home without fail. He was the strongest.

“After we patch up, let me buy you dinner tonight, (nickname). We can catch up.” The offer brightens your expression. You’d always been so divine when you smile, (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” Satoru always smells so sweet before bed. It’s the lotion he puts on his skin, specifically everywhere else Fushiguro Toji had stabbed him.

It was expensive and meant to heal and moisturize damaged skin. They’re barely there anymore. The only proof of that day was nothing more than stark lines, and barely blushed skin that hides beneath his bangs. It was just routine now, a habit he couldn’t break. Or perhaps, a reminder for him; to know what it felt like to bleed out, to die, to let others die. The day he ascended to the heavens and became the honoured one. The day everything shifted.

“Oi, (Y/N).” You’re burying your face into his neck and Satoru stiffens. He’s ticklish there, he’s told you that before.

“Are ya’ drunk? Did Nanami get you drunk?” His voice lifts in amusement at the end. He'd heard that Nanami was quite a heavy drinker from what Shoko had told him. He hadn’t expected you to come here after a date. He was nearly asleep when you stumbled into the bedroom. Did you forget your new address? Satoru feels your hands tighten around his waist. A blanket of sadness shrouds you.

“Oi. Did something happen?”

You shake your head. Never in a million years would you fathom hating grain or bread. It wasn't her fault for holding Kento's heart but what sort of cruel joke was this? The gods were mocking you. Satoru swallows thickly as your lips brush the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Did Nanami do something?” His anger was immediate, you could taste it from how close you were. Had he always been so responsive to your emotions? All it took to make him lose his coolheadedness was a suspicion that someone had hurt you.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”

“Ken, he dropped me off here.” Your legs stumble as you sway so Satoru holds your hips. He can smell the grilled meat from your hair, the alcohol from your breath, and the antiseptic wound dressing under your clothes.

“You didn’t bring him home?” Satoru teases.

“He brought me home.” Satoru can feel your lashes tickle his neck. Your breath is fanning that barely-there-scar and it makes gooseflesh ripple across his skin. Right, in the public’s eye, this was still your home. Kento was a gentleman, of course, he’d send (Y/N) back to his husband.

“This is my home, S'Toru,” he agrees with you with a nod, “Of course, beloved. We should get you ready for bed, yeah?”

His breath gets caught in his throat as he takes you in. The moonlight makes your skin look absolutely ethereal. Those tales of forest spirits with decadent forms and whispering eyes that lure men to their deaths pale in comparison to you. The drunken flush that looks silly on others makes you look like you’re a teenager all over again. Your gaze was unfocused, jumping or lingering from one thing to the next.

But your eyes meet him and they're so dark. He’s taken aback. It happens when someone’s in a dim room like you are currently. Your pupils dilate to let more light in. Satoru knows that’s not the case. You’re 17 again and the windows to your soul betray you by letting Satoru in. It’s silly what humans do when they’re in love. How our eyes insist on seeing more of them. Take in every microscopic detail despite not having the ability to do so. Fluttering those eyelashes as if curling a coy finger.

' Come, ' your eyes are saying. ' Let me show you where I ache the most, this void in my chest. Come. Inhabit me. Bare your soul to me. '

The act of kissing is perhaps the silliest. Moulding your lips with another person, feeling them against you as your soul breathes into their body. It’s Satoru’s favourite sensation. The intimate act of it all, of breathing life into someone you love. It was almost cannibalistic in a way. As you stand in front of him, hiccuping from all the drinks you took and only being supported by his hands Satoru can’t stop the way his gaze lingers on your lips. Satoru wants to kiss his husband. He wants to feel your soul burn him from the inside and he wants you to harbour his own in yours.

“Why can’t I just sleep now?” You mumble. Satoru’s palm cools your flushed cheeks, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips.

“You smell like grilled meat and beer,” he traces your jawline and cups the back of your head to pull you into his embrace. Too drunk to care about how fast your heart is beating, you simply let it happen. Satoru’s big hands travel down and he shushes you when you squirm.

Down to the sides of the waist, then to your hips, further down and down until he catches the back of your knees. He lifts you so you wrap your arms around him, going all but limp.

“Grilled meat and beer smell great! I’m so sleepy, please,” he chuckles as you kick your feet. “I prefer if the bedsheets smell the way they do now. Man, how much did you have to drink?”

The hiccup you make when he sets you on the counter makes him shake his head. Satoru tells you to lean back so he can undress you. It’s amusing to see the emotions on his face as he does.

The metallic scent still lingers judging from how Satoru’s nose is twitching. Suppose the new jacket you got did little to mask it. He unbuttons your undershirt and his eyes widen. At that, you turn to breathe in the mirror, entranced by the way your breath leaves traces of itself on the smooth surface.

Satoru ignores the way your chest stutters as he traces the outlines of the fucked up star-shaped scar on your chest. It was a sick imitation of your skin colour. So close to your heart, too close. Your hand rests on top of his as you trace his knuckles.

“There aren’t a lot of doctors like Shoko overseas,” Satoru slips his hand away from you. It rests on the big scar on your side now. He can feel the marred skin beginning from your back all the way to the front, like a sickle. He can imagine it, see the way a claw or a tooth had nearly split you in half if you hadn't gotten out of the way.

It must've ached. He would know. Muscles being torn apart viciously, bone thudding so harshly on the ground that sometimes he's convinced it's broken. You must've been in pain — muscles and nerves screaming at every movement despite whatever sorcery was used to heal it.

Scars are a part of the sorcerer society. It’s a rite of passage just as much as dying is. He’s not surprised you have them. He’s seen your bare torso before. When it’s an unbearable hot summer or on a beach, you’ve chosen to shed a few layers. Sometimes, you’d even sleep topless if it was too humid.

Each time, Satoru would find himself looking at your scars. Counting them, wondering where some came from and what mission caused it. Or was it an accident? A childhood scar that never went away. Was it your training?

Was it your father?

He never asked. Satoru didn’t want to say anything for fear that you’d no longer be comfortable around him. The ones he remembered, he'd let his gaze linger on but the others? No. It felt shameful to ask. So he never knew. Simply wondered.

In those four months, why had your scars increased? The severity of it looked more and more painful.

“You’re usually not so careless,” fear grips him and his expression is so morbid you laugh. Satoru finds no amusement in it and his firm gaze makes your chuckle fade away.

“Maybe my family’s curse is catching up to me.”

“That isn’t a laughing matter.” Satoru knows you’re not completely immune to the flames you cast. You’ve certainly grown a tolerance for it (and other flames), once or twice he recalls you casually patting away at the inky flames that catch on your clothes. But it’s a great technique.

Too great some would say.

Divine Flame. A technique that enabled the user to control cursed wildfires. To manipulate it to burn through nearly everything it came into contact with. A searing black that makes you sweat even from a distance. That is so bright when cast, it blinds those who dare gaze upon it.

The whispers of your clan making a deal with a cursed spirit followed you everywhere you went. People claim that your ancestors made a Binding Vow to become great sorcerers. To rival the other houses and to fill the void of power that Sukuna Ryomen left your society in after he massacred great clans.

But your ancestor got greedy and the vow was broken, which left canyons of karma engraved in the bones of their children. It was why your clan could never flourish. It was why the children die out, why the women grow barren and the men weak.

It was ridiculous but Satoru himself wonders if there’s truth in it.

Why would the Gods give you a body you couldn’t sustain? Were you truly cursed? This mighty curse technique engraved into your skeleton burns you from the inside out; is it hurting you?

If it was, Satoru would demand the Gods to come down and face him. Why should you pay for the mistakes of your ancestors?

Why would they dare take more from you?

From Satoru?

Had they not have their fill?

Just rumours, he tells himself. If they — the Gods — dared taking you from him he'd raze heaven and hell.

“...You would tell me if it was, right?”

Has Satoru’s eyes ever looked as dark as they did now? There’s a ring of blue surrounding that endless void. As he peers up at you, all you can focus on is that sliver of heaven. That cerulean that reminds you of the sky and the sea, that you swear shines in mischief or glows like a good omen.

What is this darkness you're peering into? An abyss that whispers for you;

' Come. Let me show you, come, teeter over the edge and fall with me.'

“Would you stop it, Satoru?” your hands on his cheek make his skin burn. “This so-called ' great family curse, ' could you stop it?”

“I’d do anything to protect you, beloved.” He'd make the Gods ever regret making him fall in love with you.

You grin as your thumb swipes over his cheekbones and all thoughts of killing unreachable Gods dissipate. Satoru lets you come down from the counter, ready to catch you if you fall as you attempt to take your pants off.

Satoru is squirming like a worm under the sun. He’s sat on the toilet lid, refusing to let you tend to him. “Gojo,” your sigh makes him chew on his inner cheeks. Finally, you manage to get his shirt off and without that second skin, he feels far too cold.

You’re in nothing but a towel. Your funeral garbs are being tended to by servants. They were probably steaming out the wrinkles while you attempted to wring Satoru back into shape.

“I can do it by myself.”

He hasn’t eaten. What little he does eat is barely sustaining him. Satoru could barely stand after his adrenaline wore off, you truly hope he will not be stubborn. You reach for his boxers and he exclaims, once again;

“I can do it by myself!”

The blood that rushes to his head humbles him. Satoru stands and Satoru falls. You catch him, gasping out his name as your arm wraps themselves around him.

His face is on your chest, resting on your clavicles while your chin is on his shoulder.

Look away, he wants to tell you. Look away from me.

Suguru’s love letters are still dark on his pale skin. Like flowers blooming under sunlight, they decorate him from behind his ears to the nape of his neck. Satoru can recall pushing Suguru away as he did, his skin remembering unfeeling metal but Suguru kisses him and Satoru forgets it all.

He thought Suguru could forget it too. He tries not to cry but he does anyway. Satoru sobs into your chest and a part of you feels anger. It was your mother’s funeral.

Why the fuck is he crying?

But your grief is hanging outside the bathroom, neat and crisp and proper. It will weigh like boulders when you slip it on and you’ll feel your stomach twist into knots as you hold back the urge to vomit. In this bathroom, Satoru’s guilt is his and you’ll be there to wash it away.

He hates himself for it. He hates how you rub his back and shush him, gathering him in your arms as you stand so you can brush away all these feelings.

He couldn’t imagine going to his mother's funeral.

He also couldn't imagine Suguru not being by his side but that was now reality.

Your mother was a kind woman. Not naively trusting, barely had any faith in others his mother once told him. But she was warm despite it. Cunning underneath the pleasantries she shared.

His mother enjoyed her company. He can’t recall if she ever enjoyed anyone’s company other than his father and his own.

‘ She’s a wonderful woman. Shame she’s married to such a horrible man, ‘ she once told him.

“Let me wash your hair, Gojo.” The water hides his tears but you wipe them away regardless. You offer him a smile and Gojo can feel that tree of guilt sprout.

He catches you as you trip on your discarded pants and perhaps you should feel bashful or shy as your naked body is pressed against his clothed one. But you’re too drunk and too sleepy to care.

Your face rests on his chest and his chin is over your shoulder.

“Why do you call me that?”

Satoru turns the shower on, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist as he tests the temperature.

“Beloved?” You nod against him and the hair that tickles his throat doesn’t make his insides shudder in memory of that day.

“Do you want me to stop calling you that?”

He pushed you into the shower and the warm water has you groaning. He’s gentle as he manoeuvres your bandaged arm up, telling you to brace it on the wall to not get it damp.

His eyes are still so dark.

“Your shirt is getting wet,” you point your finger at it. Neither of you addresses your blatant brush-off. He tells you to turn around and you do. From the corner of your eyes, you see his clothes getting tossed onto the floor and the sound of his hand's lathering soap has you fluttering your eyes closed.

He envies the careless way the water hugs you. How it slithers from your shoulders down to the curves of your legs. Rivulets of ambrosia ease your sore muscles in ways that he wished he could.

“People...people usually use baby or babe,” Satoru’s hands lather soap on your back and you lean forward to press your forehead on the wall.

“Hey,” it twists beneath your arm, brushing over your chest and tilts your head up. You can feel his chest hovering over your back and you wonder if there are raised lines where Fushiguro Toji stabbed him.

“Do you want me to call you baby or babe?”

You shrug, wanting to hang your head again but somehow keeping it exactly the way Satoru had positioned it even as his hand moves to your back again. “It’s because you’re dear to me. Calling you my dear sounds way too archaic though.” He smiles as you scoff, “As opposed to my beloved?”

You’re sobering up from the water. He can feel your muscles tensing under his touch.

“What did you call Suguru?”

You prayed that you didn’t ruin this moment. The sick curiosity of it all has rotted in you for too long. You need to know how great his love was, from his mouth alone.

If you’ve spent a decade of your life resenting yourself for being in love with a man who was never yours, you’d like to know if he was truly unreachable.

“I called him my one and only.”

He sees no point in hiding it from you. Satoru didn’t want to hurt you, he hoped if anything this would make you run into Kento’s arms. A restart, a good man who had more than enough money to make sure you wouldn't have to give up too many comforts (Satoru's money and Kento's were no laughing matter but his was as infinite as his abilities due to generational wealth). From what he gathered on Nanami, from previous partners to his parents and health, he was clean. You deserve that. His beloved, you deserve to be with a man who would never hurt you.

“Your one and only.” Your face is hidden from him. He wants nothing more than to turn you around so he can see what you’re thinking.

“But I am dear to you, Satoru?”

“You are. You’re,” he struggles to find the words. As he does, he struggles to say it.

Cutting him off, you tell him; “You are my first love, Satoru."

He inhales sharply. Crimson seeps from the gauze of your bandages. Staining the white with red. The pinpricks of pain barely register.

“Suguru was yours. I don’t hate you for it. I don’t blame you. You alone hold the sorcerer society’s expectations on your shoulders. Its happiness and misery are all on you. The strongest. I am vindictive. I am selfish.”

“Beloved, you’re not.”

You turn to face him. Here you are, standing in front of each other. Bare and vulnerable. You might as well say what you need to.

“I am, Satoru. I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to be in pain, for 10 years all I ever wished for was for you to feel what I felt. My love for you was tainted by my own feelings by my own hate. He was your one and only. How could I hate you for that? How could I hate him for that?”

Satoru looks to the side, clenching his jaw as his hands ball up into fists. He shouldn't say anything more but there's this voice pleading for him to say it. Say that he forgives you despite the fact that you didn't need to apologize in the first place. Isn't this what couples do? They kiss and make up. After a decade of this, of wearing rings and honouring vows, you would think it was something the both of you got used to doing.

That's not what you are, in a few months, the only remains of this marriage will be harboured in memories alone. So why does this voice grip him so tightly? This hope that the both of you can actually be together...he needs to extinguish it.

“I’m glad we had each other throughout these years, I'm glad you stayed even if it was out of pity. Even if we were unhappy, even if I could not...please you. We’re friends, and I could never hate Suguru for being your great love.”

“Stop, please.” Your blood is trailing down your arm. Turning the water into a pale red as it swirls down the drain. “I married you so I could marry Suguru.” He releases a shuddering breath. Satoru’s words sobered you up like a slap to the face.

“I was 16. There were marriage proposals from everywhere, even from overseas. I didn’t want to marry them. Not because they were strangers but because my duties would pull me away from his side. But I was forced to. By higher-ups, by clan members, by my mother, the world was looking at me. You said it yourself. The misery and happiness of the world we live in depended on me. But I wanted Suguru more than anything."

He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes. It's your heart that's being shattered.

So why the fuck was he crying?

“I told him if I married you, we would divorce and you would understand the reason. Because you were our friend. Suguru said it was cruel. He knew you loved me.”

These words were like striking a match and holding it to the leaves of that beautiful willow tree you made him.

“Stop, Satoru.”

“I knew too.”

“Please, stop!”

“I — I didn’t...I would take it back if I could. But I can’t.” That voice within him withers to nothing. He pretends he doesn't feel his chest ache as he stares at your betrayal. Your arm pulses in pain but you can barely find it in you to care.

“My beloved — "

“You knew I loved you? All that time, you knew I loved you?”

Was this better? For all these years, you thought he chose you because he held some sort of fondness for you. Perhaps the comfort of familiarity wasn't too far off. But the fact that he chose you due to your proximity? The reason he was so insistent on binding your hands together in matrimony was due to distance?

In another life, Suguru is where you stand now. Except there’d be no distance. They’d be pressed together, lips locked with a passion even your flames couldn’t rival. Would you be happy in that life? Knowing that your marriage was all a facade until the honor was fulfilled and Satoru would whisk his true husband to the altar.

“You used me.” He tries to grab you but you flinch away, stumbling over your own feet as your back meets the wall.

“I’m so sorry.” "You keep saying that, Satoru!"

You needed to get away from him. There was no way this could work. Not as friends, not as husbands, not as anything more. It was foolish to think otherwise. You attempt to squeeze past him and out from the glass doors but he holds you by your shoulders.

Satoru holds you to his chest as you try to slip out of his grasp. You'd think it'd be easy since you were practically covered in soap suds. If your tears were gold, you'd be the richest man alive. He's glad you go limp, gathering you so close you can feel the raised skin of the scar he had.

Blood is seeping through the fine hairs on his arm, staining it as you hang your head in defeat. He turns you around and the foggy glass doors of the shower make your back arch.

He should stop. This absolutely won't end well. He's broken your heart, cremated it into dust. Was this his punishment from a past life? Had he scorned a lover? Was it you? Were the both of you destined to love each other this way?

Why must he love this way? You can't tell what's running through your veins right now. Adrenaline? Anger? Beer? You don't know what it is, but it makes you stay as he stares at you.

"Hate me if you need to. I can take it, (Y/N). I promise you I can."

That's the problem. You can't. The definition of hate had been skewered for you centuries ago. Maybe this is how you love Satoru; with bitter longing and resentment. They had four letters, practically indistinguishable from each other in your mind because that's what Satoru has done to you.

From the second you saw for the first time, he'd burned his very soul on your heart. Branded you like cattle with his smile, left cuts with every exhale and inhale as he laughed; this is what loving Satoru feels like.

How did Suguru manage? Was he a stronger man than you? You wish you could ask him. Would his cold corpse cushion your back with his chest, praising you for taking Satoru's sadistic love so well?

The tip of his nose brushes against your ear as he embraces you. This is what Satoru feels like slotted against you.

So many questions are running through your mind. None were answered. They kept buzzing and it's making your eyes water. The steam, the familiar scent of your favourite soap, and Satoru's fading sweetness as the lotion is washed off.

"I hate you," Satoru's breath does not hitch. He turns his head and your lips quiver as he brushes along your jaw. He can feel you trembling as his face hovers across yours. You should put distance between him. Scream and tell him to get away.

Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved by him.

Just.

Just once.

' Come. '

His eyes are still so dark.

' Inhabit me. '

So are yours.

' Let me show you. '

They flicker to your lips, pure white lashes do little to hide heaven away.

' Bare your soul to me. '

His cheek twitches when you place a hand on it. No barrier between your palm and his face. Being naked isn't the reason why you feel so exposed. It's the way he's looking at you. As if your very skin was peeled away, muscles torn apart, bones bashed to smithereens; as if he used Hallowed Purple and eviscerated you into nothing but the very essence of your soul. He drinks it in with that unlimited darkness.

' I have. Now fall with me. '

He kisses you.

It's not the other times when he tries to initiate intimacy. No. It isn't methodical, hesitant, awkward. On the other hand, it isn't passionate either. It's wet. It's pathetic. Both pairs of lips bumbling fools that try to make jagged pieces to fit. Tears sting in your eyes, and Satoru can't understand why he does this to you.

' Look at what I do to you, ' he thinks, ' all I do is hurt you. '

You gasp when his hand pulls you in closer.

Just once.

He needs to hold you like this just once.

To show you how he loves the only way he knows how — to devour you with his sin so you know how much he meant. He knows he shouldn't. This would only muddy the dark waters you tread through. But fuck it.

Fuck it.

Fuck the world. Fuck the higher-ups. Fuck the clans, fuck expectations, fuck Suguru, fuck Shoko, fuck Kento —

"Satoru," you're breathing into his mouth, lips still pushed against the other as you try to catch your breath. Praying at the altar of the body that holds your soul; Satoru is weakest before you.

His godhood is forgotten.

The strongest kneels.

The taste of him is making your head fuzzy. The pain feels insignificant and for a moment the heartbreak is forgotten.

"(Y/N)," there, where you ache for him, he's there.

His tongue feels like velvet. With one leg tossed over his shoulder, you're at his mercy. Those plush lips paint your skin, ushering your blood just under the skin's surface. The tugs on his hair make him groan as he leaves apologetic licks on your inner thighs.

"Satoru," your whisper could make a mountain bow. A brush of his teeth has you gasping. It's soon replaced with a moan as he takes your cock into his hands.

It's obscene. Sex was never meant to be anything but — however, the sight makes you feel dizzy.

This ethereal man is on his knees, cerulean eyes staring up at you as he kisses the tip of your cock. A hand squeezes the underside of the thigh on his shoulder, slithering up to your hip and reaching for your chest and neck. The whisper of his touch on your chin has you whimpering.

"Don't look away," he says, "keep your eyes on me, my beloved."

Your hands attempt to grab the purchase of the glass doors, but all you manage is a handful of steam. They cover the marks you leave as your palms press on the glass. Satoru's mouth and tongue feel like velvet — so warm and wet. When you nearly slip his nose is pressed to your pubic hair so he simply lifts your other leg. The only thing you can do is thrust into his mouth.

He strokes your hips, nails lightly scratching the surface as he encourages you to do as you please. The noises he makes go straight to your dick and you feel like you're losing your mind.

As you curl over, gripping his head, you can only see white. Satoru's throat is gulping all of your cum down, and the sensation of your cockhead being squeezed has your heels digging into his back.

Those 10 years of denying him felt ridiculous now.

There's a distinctly (Y/N)-shaped stain on the bed. There's still soap on your skin. The coldness in the air makes being wet and naked uncomfortable. But Satoru is there.

He's kissing you like he wants to eat you alive and you're weak to his whims. Your cock is in his hands, painfully hard as he strokes it and swallows every pitiful mewl you let out.

Here he is again, ruining you, branding you.

He's not entirely at fault. You let him.

It was not his fault he loved another and it was not your fault you loved him. He was a teenager, so were you. What did he know of consequences, of choice, of pain? He was 16, in love.

Were you truly vindictive? Why were you so devout in your worship?

What were you worshipping?

The tragedy of this marriage? The humour of it all is a great soap drama that the Gods peer down at to coo at.

"(Y/N)," he says your name like it was a prayer. Such reverence in his worship. His lips are trailing down to your neck and the scriptures of adoration he places on your skin make your back arch into him.

"Satoru," he answers his name with a whisper of yours. He takes a nipple in his mouth, teeth catching to feel your chest try to escape it. He doesn't let it. He tongues at the scar you have, pressing kisses there and to the scar on your side, the scar on your hip, the one on your thigh, the one near your belly button...

"(Y/N)," he'd whisper every time he does.

Satoru is in between your legs but you don't want him there. He grunts as you pull on his forearm, a breath away from showing you his dedication to you but he doesn't complain because you're kissing him.

He likes kissing you.

Satoru moves his jaw up and down, you can barely catch up but that isn't without trying. The feeling of his undercut makes your hand move to grab his hair so you can breathe. His forehead is on yours and water drips from his bangs as he pants.

That endless void; it reflects only you.

"(Y/N)".

It's your name that leaves his lips.

"(Y/N)."

He's pleading for you.

"My beloved."

You're dear to him.

Your grip loosens and he relishes the way your soul burns as it goes down his throat.

When he's inside of you, you were certain you were going to die. Life has taught you plenty of lessons and one of them was that nothing good came without a price.

His cock split you open as gently as he could make it. It was tight. You were grateful for his fingers that stretched you despite how uncomfortable it had been at first. Tears still fall as you try your best to breathe, Satoru kisses them away. He's braced on his arms with you underneath him.

It takes all his strength not to pound into you. He's barely halfway in and all he wants is to stay inside you forever. You're squeezing and he inhales sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

"Easy, you're gonna cut my dick off, baby," you sniffle in response. Satoru reaches to pump your cock and shushes you as you moan out his name.

"I'm right here, beloved."

"Satoru," he meets you halfway when you lean up. His heart clenches as he tastes your tears, saying nothing as you laugh in between the lip-locking. His hips move and you clutch onto him tighter.

"Oh fuck, 'Toru." He's there. Nestled in the space he had molded inside of you. Satoru is sheathed fully. You're convinced you're about to die as your chest grows heavier. He cradles your face in his hand, wiping that steady flow of tears as he thrusts in and out. You simply let him, gasping for air and mercy as your body hangs onto him.

"(Y/N), fuck, (Y/N)," his nose curls as his lust-lidded eyes drink you in.

"'To - Toru, Satoru." He can feel your nails digging into his back. It stings but fuck does it feel good.

"More. Nuh - Need more, 'Toru. Need — "He nods. You don't have to say it. You need him.

"Me too, (Y/N). You feel s'good, s'fuckin' good."

When his hips rattle yours, it's enough to have you sobbing.

"Love you so fucking much," he says. You don't have to say it back. Because your eyes betray you. They only reflect him and you're sure this is how you die.

"Satoru."

With his name on your lips.

"Please."

Begging for his mercy.

"Satoru."

You ____ him.

The clouds are strangely dark today. Earlier this morning, the reporter had babbled on and on about the clear blue skies and bright sunny day. Weather predictions weren't an exact science, Satoru knew that, but the sky was not cheery much less sunny.

It was baleful.

The Gojo clan's grounds were meticulously opulent. Preserved history in every shimmering roof tile and old ghosts whispering tales from the creaking wooden frames. The servants are dressed to the nines as well. They lower their gaze with such grace, Satoru wonders if they're robots.

"Satoru, you've come home."

His mother does not meet him at the entrance, nor anywhere else other than her office. It's a traditional room with an open floor plan, despite her aging body she prefers sitting cross-legged as she works or writes or draws or whatever it is she likes to do.

If the sharpness of ice could be personified, it was his mother. It was spine-shivering every time someone told him that he resembled her. Her hair was colder than his own, having an almost silver tone to it compared to his lilac. Her eyes were almond-shaped with delicate double eyelids that lifted up at the end, which resembled a cunning fox. Satoru knows his nose was from hers, his chin as well although his lips were passed from his fathers instead.

"Yes, I have."

Before her, on the short-legged table (which she had commissioned from a talented craftsman), were the signed divorce papers.

It'd only been a day. There was no surprise, if anyone was going to find out it would not be the head of the (L/N) clan.

It'd be his mother.

"Was he not good to you, Satoru?" The shadows swallow his visage as a cloud covers the sun. "It was a mutual decision," he says, "we both thought it'd be best."

"Because of Itadori Yuji's death?" his brows pinched together. A sigh escapes her. "If you feel so much for children, I wonder why you never had some of your own. Men like yourself can have bloodlines now through extraordinary science." "It wasn't because of young Itadori."

"Well, it'd better have been for a good reason then. This divorce will not reflect badly on you. I know why you settled for (L/N) (Y/N) despite his clan's reputation. However cruel it was, you told me yourself you'd take responsibility. I recall you using your power as head of the clan to strong-arm the decision despite much more powerful families offering their sons for you. This ' mutual ' decision will only have a consequence on (Y/N)."

She sniffles prudently.

"I quite like him as my in-law. His late mother was an honorable lady. I do not wish for her to haunt you for hurting her son."

"I cannot keep him against his will. He wishes to be free."

She scoffs at him. He does not need to lift his eyes to know how sharp her scrutiny is. The clan may have spoiled him with care and affection, but his mother had not. A hand was never raised and she never yelled, however, she ensured that her son was able to lead studiously.

"Free? Of you?" she places her temple against the knuckles of her fist. "Do you beat him? Are your words harsh and cruel? Do you rule your house with an iron fist like his impudent father?" Satoru shakes his head, frowning at the very suggestion.

"Mother, of course, I wouldn't — "

"Do you take him despite his protests? Force him to labor heedlessly to your whims? Is there a lustier boy waiting for you in a seedy hotel?"

"Gods, no! What do you take me for!?"

Her brows cover her double eyelids as she glares at him. "Then what is it that he wishes to be free from? If you are not mistreating him, if you treat him kindly, what is the freedom he seeks?"

"My informants tell me he had signed it before you did. They tell me that he had moved to a penthouse 4 months ago, mere days after Geto Suguru's death."

The light filters through that grey cloud. It highlights the upturned tip of her nose, her pink-dusted cheeks, and her lilac eyes. She was such a refined beauty, it was no wonder her son was too. But this made her look especially cruel as she stared him down.

"I took responsibility, I told him what my initial intentions of marrying him were," he says. "You idiot," she seethed. "He was a respectable man. A good man. A strong sorcerer with a cunningness his late mother had passed down to him and you chose a dead man?"

"You humiliate him, Satoru. The poor boy will be eaten alive by the gossip. Will you take responsibility for that too?"

"How are you doing, my love?"

Megumi raises from below the covers. The distinct sound of the windows rattling open makes him rub the sleep from his. He takes a breath, then says; "I'll be training with the second-year students today with Kugisaki." He hears you exhale and he can see the gentle grin you have on your face even with your back turned to him.

“Is she going easier on you?”

“No point in training if they’re going easier on you,” he mumbles. It makes you laugh while you settle next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Fair. You still haven’t answered my question, Megumi.”

The silence drones for a minute. Despite this, you can tell what races through his mind. Memories bursting with every blink and laughter echoing in his ears. All the things he should not have to know, all those precious moments ripped away from him.

“Does it ever get easier?” His cobalt gaze is especially heavy as they dance around the room.

“Losing someone?”

You stared at the wisps of steam that escaped the spout of the kettle on the kitchenette. Losing a comrade was a rite of passage for sorcerers. Through death, through betrayal, through this or that. For you, you supposed, it was a gentle albeit tedious loss.

The morning after that night had left you nauseous. Satoru was awake just as you woke, and both of you silently, rigidly, stayed in the embrace. His toned arms wrapped around your torso, nose pressed to the top of your head whilst your lips were mere inches away from his neck. His grip tightens as you squirm but ultimately he lets you go.

You couldn't bear it. That night of bittersweetness, of passion you've been craving for, of weepy love confessions and apologies. Not anymore. So you signed the papers despite the 8 months left and sent them to him.

It's Megumi who witnessed the death — according to the reports he'd been fighting with Sukuna Ryomen all by himself. That trait you know he got from Satoru, not the cockiness, but the self-sacrificing resolve. You hate Satoru for tainting Megumi with it, even if most would call it valor.

There is no honour in a child dying.

“Yeah,” Megumi inhales through his nose. It stings. Every inhale is a reminder of Yuji’s last.

“No, it doesn’t. It stays, shrinking or stretching sometimes but it remains.” He had hoped you’d say something else. Tell him that one day he’ll forget about it all. That this sinking feeling will fade away.

But you know he wouldn’t want that. He’d want to remember. No matter how painful. To keep Yuji’s spirit alive, he’d remember.

“It’ll get easier to carry it though, that much I can promise you.” Your arm slips over his shoulders and cradles his head. He is pliant as you pull him in, closing his eyes as your lips press on his temple.

“I loved him, dad."

Megumi stares stoically, eyes rimmed with red. Those words strain to escape his chewed lips. It quivers and as much as he tries to stiffen it, a cry escapes him.

Megumi knew his time with Yuji was limited, he told himself he was content with what they had. He was a lamb sent for slaughter and the butchers were the higher-ups whose orders he fulfilled. Megumi felt like a butcher. He feels Yuuji's blood drying on his hands, he can still feel the weight of his body on his back when he carried it.

He remembers how tightly he held him when Satoru tried to pull Yuuji away from him. How unwilling he was to part with the boy who didn't deserve any of this to happen to him. Megumi starts gasping, bowing his head as he presses the heel of his hand to his teary eyes.

"Oh, Megumi." He turns into you and weeps. Body racking with sobs as you comb through his hair, curling over him as he clutches at your torso.

"I'm here, Megumi."

Tokyo is dark by the time you reach your home.

The beeping of your intercom makes you pause.

Ice-cold water travels down your spine at the overwhelming aura that comes from the front door. Although you hope for it to be Kento, or even Satoru — hell, even his mother would be great — you know who waits for you beyond that door.

To deny him what he wants will just make this more painful. What greets you as you open your door is your father’s hulking frame. Steeling your expression, you widen the door. No entourage waits in the hallway. It was just him. He always dishes out his punishments that way. He says nothing about it. Closing the door felt strangely final; the soft click and thud blanketed the penthouse in silence.

As you turn, a fist connects to your jaw. The force has your skull bouncing off the wall, crumpling to the floor.

There was a monster in your house. Trapped with you as it grabs fistfuls of your hair. It drags you to the living room, lifting and then slamming you down on the glass coffee table. The wood breaks and the glass shatters but at least it lets you go. Taking a desperate lungful of air you lift your arms to protect your head but it lifts a mighty foot placing it right on your chest.

Your ribcage screams its protests. When your hands fly out to desperately push its weight off, it merely places its knee on your chest instead. The pressure has you gasping, and blood blurs the vision in your left eye which doesn't help the disorientation. He grabs at your neck and you swear you feel your ribcage concave as you desperately try to breathe.

"You worthless child!" The beast roars. Finding a purchase of broken wood, you imbue it with cursed energy and strike it above its knee. It yells, shifting its weight enough for you to push it back and away.

Your back presses against the balcony doors and your hands tremble as you bring it to your chest and face.

The monster snarls, baring its teeth at you as it stands.

It's funny how much bigger he looks right now. It's as if you've shrunk back to being a child when you stopped being one a decade ago. It was frightening how much fear your father put in you.

When Tsumiki and Megumi first met you, you were apprehensive about adopting them. You were a teenager, barely fit to take care of yourself, much less keep two children alive. You were certain that kids were never in your cards either.

The night Tsumiki and Megumi found themselves nodding off as you were huddled up together on the couch watching some stupid TV show was when you were struck with a moment of realization.

You could never imagine laying a hand on them. The very thought made you feel sick. You wanted to protect them, cherish them, love them. Loving them felt like the most natural thing in the world.

How could your father not feel the same for you?

"I gave you everything!" He growls, veins bulging across the back of his hands.

"You breathed your first breath because of me! I gave you life!"

"Get out of my house," the words are strangled and garbled. His eyes darken as he takes steps towards you. Not like Satoru's that night. No. His eyes are dark like the walls of that hellish room. They only reflect you but not because he cares for you; because he wants to kill you.

There's a sharp whistling sound that comes from over his shoulder. The glass door behind you shatters as shards of red crystals fly towards you. His innate ability was to control broken shards of glass, changing their shapes and imbuing them with cursed energy. Blood flows from your cheek and torso. The wound from your mission with Kento spills open with fury. Cold wind rushes in as your hips bump into the railings of your balcony. He looks warbled in your vision, painted crimson.

"You're nothing without me! I made our clan rise from the ashes. I saved it from shame as I gave you that tyrant of a husband! I prevailed. I sacrificed everything for it! What do I get in return for giving you this auspicious life?"

You bring your hands up and yell as the shards intently aim for your scars, intent on ripping them open.

"Humiliation! They denied me entry to high society. Me! Denied of my destiny because of my weak-willed son!" The neighbors are rushing to their balconies and out onto the hallways. They yell if you're alright, trying to catch a peek of the scene by holding out their phones and aiming it at you. They yelp as his crystals fly into the air, clearly shocked at the unusual phenomenon.

This beast. He had 10 years to make himself worthy enough to stand between those of "high society."

Is it your fault that high society never — and would never — accept him in the first place?

He reaps what you sow. That's the kind of man he is. His pride comes before all, your mother once said to you.

She knew sacrifice. You knew sacrifice.

He knows nothing, yet he spouts his ideologies so loudly, so defiantly, it is as though it is gospel.

What a foolish man.

"Where is your respect!? Your gratitude!? I gave you life, I'll take it just as easily, boy."

He was close enough to reach out and grab you. When he did, he quickly regretted it. Fire engulfed his fist, the flame dark as ink as it roared. He yells in pain but you don't let him pull away. Instead, you bring your hands to wrap around his wrist and keep it there. His flesh smells rotten as the fire melts the skin away, charred almost. It sizzles on your skin, leaving its mark as more and more fat renders and pulsates. Bubbling like a foul soup.

Pull as he might, you keep him there, glaring with blood in your eyes.

The hand that holds his wrist lets go as he falls to his knees, summoning his weak ability again. They cut and slice furiously, emboldened by his pain, but yours was greater. With him on his knees, your hands thrust through the fire and grab his face.

It hurts. Your skin screeches in pain as the flames eat away. It feels insignificant. Before you, kneeling, was the beast that played the role of your father.

He feels as though your grip would completely crush his jaw.

The hand on yours is beginning to show bone. You feel nothing. His vomit slips down your hand, lumps of tears as well, and he looks so pathetic, so utterly inhuman. The grinding of your teeth makes your temples feel as though it's about to burst.

"Here it is! Do you feel it!? " his nerves burn to nothing, the crisping sound of his eyelashes distracting him from your voice. "I asked you a question, boy!" The flame lashes out, crawling to his elbows, and he strains out a scream.

"Here is my sacrifice!"

The fingers gripping his cheek warm and the fear in his eyes sends shivers up your spine.

There. In your eyes. That cursed candle. Its flames roar. The heat causes the windows to burst into a million pieces, sharp shards flying around. He tries to summon his ability, windows bursting as he forms a large spear. It flies to pierce through your back but your flame is too hot.

Your eyes are dark. He sees himself in them.

Had he always looked so weak?

His glass spear melts and bursts. The sound causes the building to shake and the screams that follow make your grin widen. Flecks of orange embers swirl around the both of you.

"Savour every drop of it, father."

It's always too sterile. The walls, ceilings, floors. He threatens to slip on the wooden floorboards with every step. Satoru watches the black car drive away, jaw clenched as it grows smaller and smaller into the distance.

The (L/N)'s clan manor lacked warmth. Despite the open courtyards and shoji doors, the meticulously cared for trees and shrubbery. It felt plastic. A show put on for the sake of being presentable.

The servant bows, telling him you are awake and he follows her.

The room is bright, facing the inner courtyard with a windchime swaying calmly from the threshold. You're sitting up on a futon, staring out at the small bamboo spout water feature.

Satoru can't believe his eyes. Every inch of skin below your face was covered in white bandages.

"Master (L/N), presenting Gojo Satoru."

The title brings a smile to your face.

He wasn't dead, your father, he was elsewhere. Getting his wounds treated by the best of the best but most importantly, far away from you. If Satoru thought you looked like a walking gauze, he hasn't laid eyes on your father yet. According to your stepmother, he was wrapped from head to toe, resembling a mummy from Egpyt.

It serves him right. The bastard.

You inclined your head and she bows, that same swirl pattern greets you goodbye. Master (L/N). Head of your clan. The position was temporary seeing as your father was still alive but the very title made him uneasy. Satoru settles near the wall, observing the sight before him.

The night of your 'scuffle' with your father had been the same night he fought that one-eyed curse. He had sensed a chill in his bones but with the opponent (and teaching opportunity) before him, he elected to brush it off.

"Satoru, did you see my stepmother on your way out?" He squeezes his biceps, shifting his knees as he adjusts his crossed legs. It wasn't his fault he was born with elegant legs, it felt uncomfortable to sit this way but to point his feet at you was a disrespect he wouldn't toe.

"Yeah. She seemed like she was in a rush, your brother and sisters have grown."

Of course, she would run. Make a scene of it to show her fear. To say she was displeased at the news of your fight with your father was the understatement of the century. She had wasted no time in calling for a trial, pointing a hysterical finger your way, and screaming that you did this to be called the head of the clan.

A quick mention of how your siblings lacked any resemblance to your father but an uncanny one with his trusted servant made her very tight-lipped.

"The higher-ups aren't pleased with the fiasco?" you inquire.

"What d'you think?" Satoru says dryly.

The entire population of the building had to have their phones wiped, memories too, and paid a huge sum in repairs due to your powers.

Apparently, people had thought there was a fire-breathing dragon that appeared in Tokyo.

Facing the garden, you pull the covers away. Crimson seeps through the white, like blood-tainting snow. Satoru is dressed in black pants and a white shirt, his bomber jacket was the same one you'd picked out for him some time ago.

This familiarity is not lost on him. The look in your eyes, that faraway gaze and twitching of your lips. When your mother had passed, you seemed lost but at this very moment it was as though the answer was right before you, that mishappen vision of your destiny a hair away from you.

Suguru had that same look.

"They whisper about you now," you giggle out as he takes his glasses, folding them in his lap. "They always do," he tries not to sound cocky but it's interwoven with every word.

"No. Satoru. They whisper about your curse," you wiggle your toes and stifle a grimace as the cut on your foot stings in protest. "Geto Suguru who killed his parents and (L/N) (Y/N) who nearly burned his father alive."

"They think you made us insane."

"I need reassurance." A laugh spills from your lips. He watches you curl your knees and place your elbows on them with your forehead braced on your knuckles as you give him your full attention. The sun glowed from behind you. The light does not reach your face.

"I'm not crazy, Satoru." His eyes meet yours and your smile slips away.

"I need reassurance that you won't go the same path Geto Suguru did."

"I don't resent non-sorcerers," you say curtly. "Don't play dumb." Satoru's neck is littered with traces of you. Akin to a collar. "Did the higher-ups ask you to execute me, Satoru? Do they wish to incite war on the (Y/N) clan?"

' My, you took to your role quickly, ' Satoru thinks.

"They worry that the new head of the (L/N) clan took his title with force."

"Not all of us were born with such legendary curse techniques. Is that a crime?"

Satoru's grip causes spiderwebs to appear on his glasses. "Do not be obtuse, (Y/N). You know what is implied. You've played this polite game of veiled threats and boasting for years. You know what they ask and you know what I ask."

"I don't." Shades of red bloom underneath your bandages. If Satoru concentrates enough, he could hear how the gauze seeps it and how your stitches strain as you straighten your back.

"Speak plainly."

"(Y/N)," your glare silences him.

"Speak plainly, Gojo Satoru."

Red-veined roots wrap around his throat. That precious willow tree was smoking, sparks of embers bursting from the center as it creaked and moaned. Its branches gnarled, its flowers leaving nothing but ashes.

"If the Grade 1 sorcerers weren't called to stop the fight, would you have killed him?"

The windchimes sing gently. Water gently flows from one end of the bamboo spout to the other. The birds chirp, the clouds move, and the world continues its song and dance.

Satoru's ears feel like someone has stuffed cotton in them. He makes sense of the words you speak by reading your lips, he hopes you're jesting so he looks into your eyes.

The windchimes still.

The shoji doors slide open and the same servant greets you.

"You have visitors, Master (L/N). A man named Nanami Kento and a woman named Shoko Ieiri. They've come with Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara as well."

"Please, send them in and escort Gojo Satoru to his car."

She stands, waiting for Satoru to do the same as his glasses threaten to shatter in his hand.

"Do not do this to me, my beloved."

"Have you ever loved me? Truly?"

His indignation fuels you with sick fascination. The corpse of Suguru grins, his cracked lips pressed to the junction of your neck as he praises you.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"Then give me the same grace you gave our beloved Suguru. Leave me and cast your gaze aside. If you truly love me, husband. Grant me this final wish."

He whips his head to the side, reaching forward and grabbing the back of your head. It aches. Every shredded muscle and rattled bones, bruised organs and cut skin.

But he holds you against him. His lips taint yours.

Suguru chuckles coyly.

"Please." His forehead is pressed against yours, and you can feel it, that raised scar.

"I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, don't do this."

"Satoru," Suguru whispers it along with you. His tears almost taste sweet as they slip down his cheeks and land on your lips. That ghost, the one that drapes itself on your back with his bony ribs and dirt-covered gojogesa, his smile graces your face as Satoru's heart dies once again.

"Fuck off."

"Is it strange?" Megumi quirks a brow at you from across the table. You set down a plate of cut-up fruits, stealing an apple for yourself before you sit.

"Finding out he's alive 2 months later."

The expression on his face makes you struggle to hold in your laughter. You've never said it out loud but Megumi looked like a prickly sea urchin every time he was pissed off and now he was pricklier than ever.

"I wanted to pummel Gojo to the ground. Yuji too." He stabs into an apple and the loud, angry, chewing makes you giggle. His brows pinch as you grimace but you tell him not to worry.

The dining room is unmistakably grand. Feeling far too empty. Megumi much preferred your old penthouse. This manor was far too big, far too pretentious. Which wasn't a slight on your clan, just their tastes in design.

"Did he really never tell you?" he narrows his eyes.

"We haven't talked much," you reply. Megumi finds that hard to believe. You were both teachers at Jujutsu High, so interactions were unavoidable. Everyone has seen you and Satoru side by side, talking to each other about this or that. No matter how short or icy the interaction was...it was still something.

Formalities were still shared, and Satoru's crass behavior softened just as his voice does when he talks to you.

There must be some lingering awkwardness, Megumi is not naive to think that there wouldn't be. But, it was clear that there was still some affection Satoru held for you. It was almost jarring to see how blatantly you ignored it when once upon a time, you’d been silently blushing at his efforts. Megumi wondered if the two of you had yelled at each other again. He hoped that was not the case. Your relationship was far from perfect but...it wasn't as though Gojo did not deserve your bitterness.

"Is it because you're seeing Mr Nanami?" Sweetness slips down the fork and you hand him a tissue. “Is this like those shitty TV shows?”

The idea of this being a revenge arc against your ex-husband was humorous. Kento was far from the plotting type. He may be annoyed by Satoru but he wasn’t a man who would intertwine his hands with another for the sake of hurting someone.

“Haha,” you said dryly. “Finish up your homework, I’ll drive you back to school.”

Megumi doesn’t pout. At least he think he doesn’t.

He does.

He pouts as you walk out from the room.

Megumi continues to pout even in the car ride back to the dorms. You’re watching from the corner of your eyes, lips curled in endearment.

“Do you like Mr Nanami?” He blinks at the question, turning his head to look at you. Megumi crosses his arms, pout dissipating into a thin line.

“I don’t know him, but from what Yuji tells me, he is a very reliable man.”

“He is,” you continue to gaze out the window, ignoring the itchiness of the healing wounds. The only solace in this pain is that your father’s was greater. Still comatose, skin still peeling as the heat lingers in his bones.

Saying this out loud would make the crows that follow your every movement very rich though.

“In some ways, he reminds me of you. Both of you have a stoic expression, so mature-looking. Mr Nanamin is 27, so it suits him. But you, my beautiful son, — “

Megumi grunts as you poke his forehead.

“ — you are only 15. Stop frowning!” He yells in protest as you stretch his cheeks, frowns only deepening as he tries to escape your grasp.

Yuji waits in the hallways. Megumi and you pause in your steps and Yuji’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth.

“Mr (Y/N)!”

Mirth swims in your eyes. “Itadori, did you need something?” He scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks blush. How cute. Young love was such a sight to behold.

“Isn’t it?” Suguru sighs. “In the same halls, we used to walk through too, (Y/N).”

“No! Ah, just, I heard footsteps so I thought I could hang out with Fushiguro for a little.” You push Megumi not to subtly towards his room/Yuji.

“He’s all yours,” your cooing tints Megumi’s ears pink. He mumbles he wants to wash up first and Yuji just seems excited he didn’t turn down his offer. “Don’t stay up too late, Itadori. Classes are bright and early tomorrow,” he salutes you and the bright smile he has is so contagious you grin as well.

The eye on his cheek split open to take a glimpse.

As you turn, it slips close.

Kento waits for you at the house. He smells like petrichor and as you get closer there’s the distinctly sharp taste of lightning-struck earth. You burrow your face in the crisp white shirt he wears, and he smiles. You can tell even without looking. He always huffs in amusement before he smiles.

“Did you have a good day?” You shrug your shoulders and he slips his hands around you. Those strong arms squeeze you, molding you to his frame. “Did you?” He makes a noise, something between a hum and a grunt and you peek up at him.

Kento visited you frequently during your recovery. He sent you to school during your first days back, then he sent your favourite foods during your lunch and they turned into flowers.

His shy courting was anything but. Kento pursued you with a hunter's grace but a priest's devotion.

Could anyone blame you for accepting his attempts? He made your heart flutter, swoon and race. For the first time in your life, someone was sending you flowers in hopes of you paying attention to them. Kento fed you while you healed and the same day you find out that his eyes do soften when he kissed.

People whisper about how quickly you brought Kento home. Infidelity, they say. Hah! What a load of bullshit. A servant must’ve opened her mouth, one whose loyalties still laid with your stepmother.

How unlucky was it that her home had been burnt down the very day she was fired?

You wrote her your condolences. She begged for your forgiveness.

Kento doesn’t know this. You’re determined for it to remain that way.

“Today was nothing special. Tonight is a different story,” your brows raise at his flustered gaze. “I made reservations for us.”

There it goes again, your heart swoons. Kento tilts his head into your palm and you wonder what your life would have been like if you had noticed his gaze back then.

After that kiss, after knowing that he returned your feelings and only spoke of his interest in a baker because of your marriage, he confessed how he’d been smitten with you the longer that school year passed.

“You were training hand-to-hand with Geto,” he whispers to you, as if shy to confess this. You’re sat with the covers a mess at your legs and the food on the tray forgotten. He’s flustered? He kissed you silly mere seconds ago while you were wrapped up with bandages. The scent of healing ointments practically radiated from you. He was so put together and you’d been going through your clan's financial statements since 3 am.

Kento remembers it like it was yesterday. The way you lifted yourself up into the air, your leg was a blur as you spun. Tendrils of your hair caught the gleam of the sun and it glowed like vinyl. The ringing laughter that followed as Suguru dodged made his heart squeeze.

“We’re supposed to be working on your close combat skills, Su-Su!”

“Quit aiming for my head, (nickname)!” Suguru dashes towards you and you yelp as he catches your middle but the shock wears off. Suguru grunts when you press your palms down on his shoulders and dig your heels into the ground before kicking off, pushing Suguru down.

“Go, (nickname)!” Yū cheers beside Kento. He rolls on top of you, smiling victoriously until your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

“Oi, S’guru! I bet money on you!” Satoru waved his fist around while Shoko curled her fingers expectantly his way.

Kento can’t believe you’re real. Your smile is so wide he can see your gums, the sweat that beads down your skin makes you glimmer like a gem and despite the dirt on your skin Kento can’t fathom it to be a smudge or mistake.

Because everything about you seemed deliberately made. The blood and flesh of those before you must have loved each other so greatly to bless you with such a face. He wonders if, in the future, they’ll find traces of him in your bloodline.

Fire in the wind. Wild and free and untameable.

“You win, you win!” Suguru goes limp and you giggle. Rolling off of him, you lay down on the grass as he spreads his arms out like a starfish. You cushion your head on it and spot the bruise on his neck that peaks out from his unzipped jacket.

“Su-Su, you’re not holding back, are you?” you turn your gaze to the sky. He’d be a Special-grade sorcerer with no problem. His ability was insanely useful, and flexible - a trump deck of a technique. If he exceeded in close combat, that grade would be his with no ifs or buts.

The strongest.

Suguru blinks once, and twice, then offers a warm smile.

“Give yourself more credit, (nickname). You totally beat my ass.”

“You‘re amazing,” Kento tells you as the memory fades away. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was content with watching from the sidelines,” your finger presses to his lips and Kento’s eyes widen. It slides across his bottom lip before it travels below his jaw and ear and you’re leaning in.

“A reservation?” Your eyes twinkle. It would explain why he was dressed so nicely. It must not be the fanciest place since he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie but the watch he wears hints at luxury nonetheless.

“Go, get ready,” he tells you in that gentle tone that makes his voice go so deep. Everything about Kento’s actions felt so intimate. You would think he’d be reserved, wanting to go slow as to be proper. In your world, death is a guillotine blade that’s dug into your neck over and over again.

Kento can be courteous but to assume he would go slow was not likely. He knows you, (Y/N). From those times in high school to the fleeting glances of you during meetings and the mission you went on; he sees you.

Perhaps it’s just the way sorcerers will always love each other.

The way Suguru loved Satoru. The way Megumi loves Yuuji. The way you loved Satoru. The way Satoru loves you.

None of you were made for casual affection. Everything and everyone that falls for wicked beings like you find themselves with deep marks embedded in their shoulders, arms, and neck; desperate hounds begging for their man to not leave them but unable to pull their teeth out.

So Kento grips you and kisses you with a heavy weight of relief and you return it.

The Gods have taken too much from you. Kento will not be one of those things they rip away from your fingers - no, not him.

“‘Atta boy,” Suguru’s decaying arms circle your waist as you walk the halls of the house. When you shed your clothes to clean yourself, Suguru sits on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity makes him look paler and his eyes more bloodshot.

“You deserve someone like him. A good man to fill that cavernous void. Kento’s always been hiding his flustered face every time you walk past him,” Suguru moves his hands around as he talks. You don’t remember him being so chatty but as of late, this apparition keeps the voices in your head quiet. He makes sure you’re not alone.

Your father must’ve knocked your head hard enough for some screws to come loose but you find it hard to care.

“Cavernous?” you mumble. Suguru pauses then leans back a bit. His hair swaying as he does so.

“Do you think it’s enough? Being loved after everything you’ve been through, is that enough for you?”

“...Was it enough for you? In your final moments, was it enough?”

What would this Suguru know about his final moments? He wasn’t real, he never had been. He’s just a manifestation of your hurt, a coping mechanism your brain conjured for some hellish reason.

“I died by Satoru’s hand and then, died in his embrace. What could be more poetic than that?”

You died in Satoru’s arms too. That night he took you as his husband. The weeping, the love confessions, the moaning. Your heart was racing in your chest as he thrust into you, his face nearly scarlet as he kissed you.

The heat that pools between your legs makes Suguru guffaw.

He dips his hand in and traces your thighs.

“Kento’s hands are rougher than ‘Toru’s. Fingers thick and finger pads sanded with hard work. Everything you taught him as his upperclassman he still uses today.”

Shuddering, you slip your knees apart. Suguru takes a hold of your cock.

“You’ve always had the best legs, ya’ know. So strong, even your punches hurt like hell."

You lean back, eyes lidded with pleasure as Suguru pumps his fist. The water spills over the side as he slips in with you, his hair acting like curtains as he peers down at you. His slanted eyes and those onyx eyes make you feel powerless against his desires.

"He'd be so sincere with you. Every thrust," a gasp makes him chuckle darkly. "Every stroke," you moan and grip the sleeves of his robe. "Every kiss," his lips trace the bridge of your nose.

"S'guru..."

"A testament to his adoration for you. He'd worship you, (nickname). But will that be enough? His skin on yours? Is his heart in your hands instead of the other way around exciting? Will that finally fill this void?"

Your spine arches and your knees bump into the edge of the bathtub. Suguru's breath feels like a hurricane as he kisses the side of your jaw, his fist damn near merciless.

"Will you accept his sacrifice, (nickname)?"

When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut. The floor is slick with water and steam makes everything fuzzier than it needs to be. As you lift your hand from beneath the water, you grimace at the sight.

How shameful.

You settle the bath by yourself, the servants didn't need to see more than they've already heard.

Kento is waiting by his car when you step out. He drinks in the sight of you, unable to stop himself from kissing you as you come close. As usual, he opens the door for you, and you stroke the cream-coloured leather seats of his Mercedes Benz.

"Ready, (Y/N)?" He reaches over to hold your hand and you bring it to your lips before he can. He can feel the softness of your lips, the slight gloss that sticks to his skin that makes his crotch tighter than his pants liked.

"Ready, Mr Nanami." Kento chuckles, squeezing your shameful hand and bringing it to his lips next.

Suguru sits in the backseat, his dark eyes keeping themselves glued on you. You see him in reflections, in puddles, in every monotone face that walks past.

As Kento settles you on his lap, his thick cock making you feel stars and heaven itself, Suguru is still watching.

"Ken, I - "

Kento sinks his teeth into your neck and you groan. His hands are big and rough, just like Suguru said they'd be. They grope and squeeze and bruise. He grabs a handful of each cheek and your thighs are thankful for it. Kento lifts you so effortlessly it makes your desire feel unquenchable.

His strength doesn't surprise you. The gym in his apartment complex was one he frequented. If he didn't want to mingle, he had a dedicated room for working out in his home. You've seen the weights he has, how interesting was it that they were the same weight as you, (Y/N).

"(Y/N), does that feel good?" You squeeze the tip of his cockhead in reply and sink down on him to cement it. His cock keeps kissing your prostate, the drag of his dick makes you want to be keen and whine.

His hair looked good when it was dishevelled, which makes his jaw sharper and his nose makes you want to grind on it. Kento shifts and moves to lay you down on his pillows. Your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

The aching muscles hiss in protest but the lust that flows through you overcomes it.

"(Y/N)..."

Kento tries to sit up but your hands on his chest keep him down.

"(Y/N)".

"Kento."

Suguru traces his jaw and it's no surprise Kento does not react. He grips at your waist, whispering your name again. You pin his arms next to his head and Kento's eyes widen.

There it is. That darkness that takes over that molten brown. It only reflects you. Suguru is peering over your shoulder, his hands circling your neck as his dark tongue licks your cheek.

"You want what I want, Ken," you murmur against his lips. "To come undone by each other's hands, to devour each other, to be one."

"Yes," he breathes out. "Then let me feel you like this," you brought his hands to your waist once again, and he planted his heels into his mattress.

"I want to see you unravel under me, Kento. I want to see you, all of you, just as you do."

He nods and you grant him a kiss, allowing your tongues to dance.

"Do you intend to keep following me forever?"

Kento's balcony is unexpectedly warm. You can smell the breakfast he's making as you nurse your cup of tea. For your throat, he tells you.

How pervertedly kind.

The crow tilts its head and you narrow your eyes at it. "They must've paid a heavy sum. Or was it my stepmother?" It flaps its wings, preening the under feathers. Lifting your hand, you press your pointer and middle finger together. It squawks, hopping as it flaps its wings again.

"I'll pay you more to leave me alone. My ex-husband has left a hefty fortune for me. If this persists, I won't hesitate to wipe the floor with you, Mei-Mei."

The crow squawks again but turns its head to leave.

A crisping feather floats gently down onto the floor of the balcony. By the time Kento walks over to place the tray of food down on the table, it turns to nothing but ash in the wind.

"You spoil me," your legs are over his lap and he brings those hands to massage them. "You spoiled me," he answers. "Just showing my appreciation."

A group of crows flies past but Kento is cutting up your food and moving to feed you. Your cheeks burn, you open your mouth and Kento's gentle grin makes your heart race.

"I don't recall him having a temper, are the rumours true?"

Mei-Mei had better things to do. Her time was worth more than stalking someone's ex-lover. However, the head of the Gojo clan was a generous man. How could she refuse?

"Do you truly make them go insane?" He can hear her smile from over the phone. "He attacked you?" Satoru rolls his ring over his knuckles and between his fingers. The classroom was empty as the students trained on the field.

"He's committed arson against a servant who was trading secrets with Lady (L/N) and now he's burned a crow into nothing but dust. He even offered to pay more than you have. What a lucky man he is to have divorced from an endless fountain of wealth."

"Yeah? Maybe you should try that instead of chasing after green."

"Careful, Gojo. I still have my pride."

He places the ring on his palm, curling his fingers over it.

"Kento and him make a handsome couple. I almost feel jealous." Satoru would be stupid to believe Mei-Mei trusted that this stalking was him feeling possessive. She wasn't an idiot. He was concerned about you. Your grandiose act of nearly burning your father alive was the talk of the town.

The evidence of it being self-defense was backed up by the cameras in your home (the ones that hadn't melted anyway).

But it was too convenient.

Satoru is a man who is filled with memories. As careless and crass as he portrays himself as, he's sentimental. He slips a hand into his pocket and your ring is accompanied by Suguru's button.

The cameras were damaged enough to make it out as if it was just saved by fate. But Satoru knows your flames better than most. It burns everything. Devours with a hunger that no beast could compete with. It's indiscriminate. Which is why your aim is immaculate.

If it hadn't melted, you wouldn't be as free as you are now. Even in your rage and fear, you were careful to ensure your longevity.

"I'm sure you do."

"The divorce barely made a dent?"

"You already know the answer to that. Make sure he doesn't suspect me, I'll pay double."

"And if he faces me?"

Satoru grits his teeth together.

"Run."

Kiyotaka waits for him at the front of the school, that usual sour-puckered face and obscene politeness manages to elicit a grin from Satoru. The drive to the house on the hill is filled with silence, which is for the best seeing as how tightly wound he was.

Kiyotaka knew divorce could put people on edge but seeing Satoru’s fists tremble on his lap, knuckles nearly turning bone white and all, terrified him.

The gates are opened after Satoru rolls down his windows. He should ask why they were here but his instincts knew better.

“I’ll be out in an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting, do ya’?”

“Of course not, Mr Gojo.”

He smiles, giving Kiyotaka a firm squeeze on his shoulder before walking inside the modern home. Its grey colours looked atrocious against the vibrant greens of nature. Ah, Satoru was glad you had better tastes compared to the rest of your family.

Your stepmother waits for him in the living room. The carpet before her is littered with toys of all sorts. The youngest of the family takes a liking to smash some toy cars together while the others were most likely tended to by their governess.

“Mr Gojo,” she stands with a certain air of grace that prickles his skin. He nods politely her way.

"Is he doing better today?" The machines that they've hooked him to made him resemble a sick science experiment. Perhaps it's poetic justice from his late wife. The curtains were drawn and the only light was dim to ensure his skin wasn't exposed to any more unnecessary heat. There were talisman papers pasted on the walls and ceilings which Satoru thinks is entirely too much.

"Have you..."

The exposed split of bandages reveals nothing more than charred flesh and peeling skin. A hint of bone and muscle too that help him speak. Satoru ignores the hazmat suits, stepping through the heavy plastic curtains. His infinity wouldn't bring any harmful germs into this room, never had so far too.

"Leave." His wife commands in that shrill voice.

The doctors and attendants bow deeply and the door closes behind her. She sits close to the wall, outside the curtain.

"Have I?" There's writing on the bandages. Sutras are written in some sort of special ink that emits curse energy.

"killed (Y/N)." He sighs, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs.

"My son-in-law — " It might be cruel to tune out the words of a man who's half-dead, but Satoru cannot believe he's spouting this again. A part of him wished you had burnt through his throat. Satoru sighs loudly, tossing his head back and scrunching his face.

"Old man, the divorce papers have been signed. I haven't been your son-in-law in a whole month."

Between this and your increasingly violent tendencies that Mei-Mei keeps reporting back, those curses spirits working together popping up, Itadori Yuji's attempted assassination (and the mysterious way he rose from the dead...) — Satoru was in no mood.

He does not agree with your decision to commit attempted murder. But make no mistake, he fully believed the bastard deserved it.

"You keep telling me to kill him. I shouldn't have to say this, but you do know in the decade Geto Suguru was gallivanting around, I did nothing because he was dear to me. (Y/N) is dear to me. I'll wait 50 fucking decades before I lay a hand on him."

"You dare curse at my lord husband?" Satoru glances at her from over his shoulder. That distorted reflection makes her look more attractive than she actually is. "Lord of what? Gauze and morphine? If we're doing a dick-measuring contest, I win. Sit down. Your voice is annoying."

She sputters, mouth opening again. So Satoru tilts his head, flexing his fingers as he clicks his tongue.

"Woman." The ' lord ' croaks out. She watches him raise a hand, shaky fingers flicking outwards and Satoru swears steam nearly shoots out from her ears. The door has a soft-close feature which makes her attempt at slamming it void but it brings a smile to Satoru's face.

"The rumours, of my clan."

Now that was far more interesting for Satoru. His silence is a prompt for the man to continue. A sharp intake of breath comes in quick twos and threes as his bandaged hands squeeze the trigger for the drip of morphine.

Then his shoulders sink into the mattress and he speaks.

"The Binding Vow we've broken. The karma we faced since then...I think, I fear, I..."

Satoru feels his ring heat up against his sternum, so he leans forward and it's cradled by the button of his shirt.

"I fear he's paid the price, wholly, his self-righteous pain...he's balanced the scales..."

"I messed up."

The chattering of the skulls at least fills silence. Satoru can see why it'll quickly become a nuisance that will make his ears shrivel in disdain but for now, he finds it better than nothing. Whatever it is underneath him pokes him and shifts against his clothes.

Slipping a digit under the rim of his blindfold, Satoru tugs on it and exhales through his nose.

"Things are not looking good."

"Yo, Satoru."

The weight of the blindfold rests over his eyelids and Satoru sinks into the mass below him.

"I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, Satoru."

' Would you really, my beloved? ' Satoru's lips twitch into a grin. No, you wouldn't. Maybe in the moment, that night fuelled by fear and anger. The morning after when your pain still pulsed under ripped-open skin; but he knew you, his beloved, his darling friend; his (Y/N). Your father was nothing but a frail man who knew nothing of what he spoke of.

You'd be safe, protected, and cared for regardless of who you lay with or whose heart you hold. Kento be damned. You were his first and his always. Suguru's corpse was a jarring sight. A painful one too. He'd bury him properly, his love for him will join him in that new grave. His love for you will haunt him for as long as you walk this earth.

He unbuttons his outerwear, tugging on the silver chain until he unclasps it. The blue gem twinkles sweetly his way and he slips it on his finger where his skin all but sighs in comfort.

"Well, there'll always be a way. I'm counting on you, everyone." "Sealed...?"

Kento moves forward and you stare at his frame as he does. Megumi's head swivels to follow him and Ino's as well, they walk in step with him but you stand there in shock.

"Move," Suguru whispers to you. The joints of his fingers dig into your back as his hair curtains your peripheral field of vision. "(Y/N). Move."

"(Y/N)?" Ino's voice causes the group to pause. Their eyes are expectant. Megumi wonders why he cannot pinpoint the flickering emotions on your face while Kento's gaze takes note of your trembling hands.

"NA-NA-MIN!"

His touch shocks cause your pupils to jitter into focus. Kento says nothing, simply squeezing your forearm as he whispers your name.

"If they sealed him, our top priority will be undoing that."

"You know this, (nickname)," Suguru bites, the click of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. "(Y/N) — " You move past Kento, curling your fingers into fists and feeling Suguru thread him through yours.

"Let's be quick about it then."

This feeling...

"It's like that day," Suguru croaks, "the day he died. Your heart is beating so fast. Do you still ____ him, (Y/N)? Do you truly?"

"Why is he off limits?" Geto does that serene smile that makes Jogo simmer in annoyance. "Jogo, you can't kill everyone you see in battle. There's some grace in keeping a certain few alive."

"Will he be used as a hostage to make Gojo Satoru fall in despair?" his words humour Geto, truly amuses him. Mahito lifts his head from the ground, leaning on the heels of his hand as he peers at the two of them.

"Man, Jogo. You really are wicked," Geto peers at the shimmering scales of the curses that lurk within the waters.

"He's not for Gojo Satoru's imprisonment."

"Don't keep us in the dark, Geto," Mahito voices out Jogo's thoughts, his mismatched eyes impatient.

"Gojo (Y/N) is for..."

You yell as the eel tightens its body around you, digging your heels into the sand as Dagon summons it to themselves. The force of it makes your back bow and no amount of strength could stop it. Dagon holds the back of your skull and you hear Megumi yell out for you.

"(Y/N)!" Kento takes several steps forward and Maki grits her teeth.

Naobito focuses his gaze on their escape, knowing that they would be able to help the poor fool if they were outside of the domain.

But then.

"That man — " Dagon pulls you to its chest and your eyes widen as Fushiguro Toji appears before you. His eyes, it must be some sort of sorcery cast, a trick, a body double. Your fear recognizes you. He shifts his gaze to meet yours and there's a smirk on his face.

"Still alive, are you, freak?" The cursed weapon in his hand rattles in the air and then straightens. He aims it right at you and you brace yourself for the pain.

Dagon blocks it at the cost of its hand.

' It's protecting me!? ' You grunt at the blood that sprays onto your face and into your mouth, coughing as Dagon tries to fight Toji.

"Hah? Did you leave your husband for this thing?" The eel that held you disappeared into nothing after the barrage of hits he had laid out. Dagon tries to grab you but you engulf your fists into flames and spin to punch its face. Dagon does not let you escape but Toji is running toward you again so you plant your heel into its head, kicking off from its chest to fall right into the waters.

Kento catches you in his arms, and the tension of the surface breaks with monstrous sea beasts that try to land a hit on Toji. With his arms occupied, he relies on you to deter them as he makes his way back to Megumi's simple domain.

Megumi —

You stare at him as he asks you if you're alright.

Megumi, you should tell him who this man was. You should —

Dagon is exorcised.

The ground beneath you disappears. It takes a second too long for you to catch your bearings. Brain rattled and breathe knocked out of you as peel yourself off the ground. Kento, Maki, Naobito —

"Megumi!?" Kento helps you up and you take a step forward to follow the sounds of destruction but the air grows thick.

Satoru was never an artist. The horrendous rendition of the curses that attacked him the same night your father had looked as though it'd been drawn by kindergartners. But it was unmistakably him.

The disaster curse. Bald and one-eyed.

His fire makes the water on your skin steam into the air. He removes Naobito, and you move to protect Maki by getting between them. Barely in time, she still crumples to the floor but she would live if taken to Shoko quick enough. His eye widens as you stand unscathed, your clothes flaking off like snow as your skin reddens and steams.

"Gojo (Y/N)."

"Divine Flame."

He lifts his hand just as you do.

"Do not let him use his curse technique, Jogo. He's not as strong as Satoru, but you'll thank me," Geto's voice coos.

"God's Bl — "

"Kuantan?" he sets down the rest of the breakfast he made. His home is as neat and crisp as he is — though there are still traces of himself. His hopes especially. The mountain of books, the pamphlets about Malaysia here and there. If you peered into his room, Kento had even laid out a few notes of plans he hoped to fulfill. It was as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, lying in wait.

"The beaches are nice. The food as well," he sits across from you and pauses as you pat the spot next to you. Endeared, Kento settles where you ask. "Perhaps after Megumi graduates to a second year," he stays silent for a moment and watches you eat.

"...Would you resent me for not marrying you until I retire?"

You pause mid-chew, blinking at him for a moment. Then you turn your gaze on the plate, eyes trailing after the dew drop of water on the lettuce.

"I won't if you do not regret marrying someone from a sorcerer clan."

He pinches the lobe of your ear gently, tracing the shell with so much fondness he chuckles as it warms under his touch. It was damn near perverted how he did it — your heart races as he turns your face his way.

"I could never regret being yours, (Y/N)."

That memory burst into flames. His house, his books, his hopes, and his dreams. Jogo stands there in the ashes and he smiles at you with those blackened teeth.

"(nickname)," Suguru whispers. Your trembling hands stiffen as he strokes the insides of your wrists, his empty gaze reflecting you as he stands in front of you. "Balance the scales."

"Gojo (Y/N)!" Jogo exclaims proudly. "Y — !"

Jogo barely had time to react to your kick. Bursting through windows and walls. He digs his fingers into the floor and just as he lifts his head he sees your shadowed face. Your pupils were nothing but a speck of (E/C) on white as smoke slithers between your lips.

"Divine Flame — "

A spear pierces through your stomach. Jogo covers his eye just in time before your blood splatters on it. Breathing through your nose, you grasp at the crimson-soaked spear, eyes widening as you take in the details of it.

"Impossible," you turn to look and it's there. Satoru had let you name it this time, among the Fredericks and other silly names he dubbed Suguru's curses as this one was the one you named.

"Togatta?" It does not give any sign of recognition but there was no mistake.

Jogo's fist makes contact with your chest and you choke, coughing up spit and blood before he lands a final blow on the back of your neck.

The puddle of blood grows next to him. Those stupid girls, demanding things of Ryomen Sukuna, threatened to fight him with no plan nor strength. Humans were really something else.

Jogo waits for Ryomen to ask and then and only then he tells him he didn't want anything but Ryomen's freedom. Sukuna's crimson eyes take interest in the cursed object Jogo has slung around his neck; a dark shard of glass that pulses a steadily beating blue within it.

"Ten fingers and what's mine?" He looked beyond pleased.

"You've outdone yourselves." Jogo gulps, unbinding the rope around his neck and using both hands to present it to Sukuna. He takes it after a particularly gentle stroke of the sharp edges, then places it in his pockets.

"Ryomen Sukuna?" Geto nods assuredly. The rolling waves melting into the sand give leeway for Jogo and Mahito to process his words. What could Ryomen Sukuna find useful in Gojo (Y/N)? He was a Grade 1 sorcerer but he was not like his husband.

"His family line, the (L/N) clan, is a disgraced one. All the men are weak, all the women dimwitted and the children cursed. Sorcerer society looks at them in disdain, calling them desperate and thieving. It was the child from the (L/N) clan that made it possible for Ryomen Sukuna to be sealed. A son with a curse technique so strong and a face so beautiful, Ryomen Sukuna took him as his property. He had forced the boy into a Binding Vow — one the boy broke to defeat Ryomen Sukuna."

"It left the clan with nothing but shame. The Gods inflict karma on generations to come even if the Vow was wicked beyond belief. Sorcerer society rejected them and curled their noses at the clan that saved them from extinction. I still remember that boy's face."

Geto chuckles, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes.

"Mahito, do you think a soul ever comes back in a new body?"

Reincarnation or divine coincidence.

Jogo does not ponder on the question. All he knows is that giving Sukuna an ancestor of the boy whom he favoured, whom he made into a treasured concubine, pleased him.

"This is your reward for the fingers. Come at me. If you manage to land even a single blow on me, I'll work under you all."

Megumi is still leaning against the shutter doors. The shinigami he released, it's a beast that Sukuna had never had the pleasure of seeing before he was locked away. Placing his hand over Megumi's chest, he heals the wounds to ensure Megumi is no longer on the precipice of death and darts his eyes toward the rope that sticks out from his pockets.

He slips the shard into Megumi's hand, recalling how fond you were of the boy. How perfect. This world — this era, truly was made for him. Everything would be his. Men, women, and children — all for him to devour indiscriminately.

With Uraume and (Y/N) with him, this age of haughty sorcerers with abilities he'd never seen, ah. His mouth waters from the very thought. Once he obtains Fushiguro Megumi's body. Once you submit to him. Once he kills Gojo Satoru. Once he destroys Itadori Yuji into nothing.

"Na..."

The sight before him, it made his stomach twist into knots again and again and again...

Kento sees himself in Yū's eyes, he points to Yuji and Kento can't bring himself to say anything to the boy.

"Nanamin..."

The nickname makes his heart squeeze in relief. That youth that he wants to protect, is still there in his final moments and that alone would have made Kento die without regrets — but he's lying to himself.

He made a promise to you to return to your side. You did not ask him to say "alive" because just having a body to bury is a miracle in your world. (Y/N), he saw that stubborn strife in your eyes even as you nodded.

Too little time spent with you. Those 2 months of pure love with you, it would never be enough but he cherishes them all the same. He hopes you can tolerate this pain — he never wished for you to go through this before him, (Y/N).

He should have introduced you to his family.

He should have kissed you deeply before tonight began.

He should have given you everything you deserved.

Ah, regret truly is the worst feeling in the world.

He wants to take care of you like he promised to, (Y/N).

What could he say to Yuji to make him understand what this means?

Mahito's curse energy was enveloping his soul and Kento used the bit of strength he had left to ensure Yuji would not be the one to kill his transfigured corpse. The least he could do, this cruel kindness... "I'll leave the rest to you."

"My husband."

Shoko pauses. Satoru is not looking her way, instead, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression.

"He did not greet me," she's glad that he does not see the way she clenches the box of cigarettes in her pocket. Or maybe he does because he straightens his composure and asks;

"Is he still pissed at me or is he dead?"

"....We don't know, Satoru." His nose curls in distaste. Still, he waits for her to continue.

"Nobody has seen him and there's no time nor resources to sift through the rubble of Shibuya to find him. The last person to have seen him alive was Maki, she says that he was against the onne-eyed disaster curse."

"He'd have no trouble exorcising that baldy." Satoru is being too kind, you would struggle but you'd still win. He was sure of it. Then again, your abilities were too similar — a tie maybe? You had more wit, you'd win.

Or is that denial talking?

"Nanami died by Mahito's hand," Shoko pulls the box out and tosses it aside as he takes out the final cigarette. "Does he know that?"

"Maybe he's already with Nanami."

"Shoko."

"All of you are dropping like flies around me. Was there an invite I was never given?" She doesn't cry but Satoru stands to walk towards her anyway.

"Yū, Suguru, Kento, (Y/N)," she allows him to hold her shoulder and pull her in but does not return the affection. Should she? Would this be the final memory of Gojo Satoru she had?

"He isn't dead." Satoru pulls away after a long minute. The smile on his face makes her hopes soar and Shoko doesn't understand why she can't force it down.

"I can feel it. He's still here. Don't host a funeral just yet, yeah?"

"You're way too cocky, do you know that?"

"I have every right to be."

"Mr Gojo." Satoru wonders what Yuji would say to him. He wonders where the scars come from, when his eyes had ever been so dull or hardened, he wonders if Yuji will bounce back from everything; if he'll regret being so selfless in the first place.

"Itadori," he braces his arm on his hips, and Yuji's shoulder droops.

"Mr (Y/N), Nanamin...he said he'd leave it to me. You told Ms Ieiri that you had a feeling he was alive."

"Eavesdropping, Itadori?" Yuji's laughs as Satoru slings an arm around his shoulder, attempting to escape his hand that is ruffling his hair.

"Aah, Mr Gojo, quit it!" Satoru settles with a few more chuckles so Yuji continues. "When everything settles, could you help me fulfill Nanamin's wish?"

"Yuji."

Satoru smiles brightly, squeezing Yuji close as he ruffles the back of his head.

"You leave (Y/N) to me."

"Does this form please you more?"

Your eyes can't take themselves off the sight before you. Satoru — no, his corpse. What a strange string of words.

Satoru's corpse.

It's too unreal. Those words do not belong to one another. He grasps the back of your head and forces it to face him. You can't decide what is worse; when you wake to Megumi's face twisted in a cruel expression, finding out Tsumiki was being used as a vessel, being shown Kento's death on replay through Sukuna's/Yuji's memory of the moment, or this monstrous being before you with Satoru's corpse behind you.

"My, my, my, don't tempt me," Sukuna does not let you squirm. His four hands held you firmly within his grasp as you wept.

"I truly am delighted your bloodline prevailed. The betrayal should be punished with death but, seeing you again, I'll not make the same mistake twice."

The binding vow that was made with your ancestor, one that made Sukuna keep the flame technique within his grasp and your ancestor in the other. Breaking it left your bloodline with a technique meant to be used only after mastering the innate technique — to put it simply, it was akin to making someone tame a pack of rabid wolves before they even potty-trained a puppy. It was no wonder you were all so weak.

"Keeping such a trump card of a technique hidden from me, how shrewd."

Yuji cannot believe it. Everything was moving too fast. Gojo Satoru was dead, and the era of sorcerers was coming to an end as reality settled in the bones of curses and sorcerers alike. But then, you're there.

Apparated out of thin air — no. The necklace around Sukuna's neck. You were kept there, did you spectate everything? The entire fight? Every person Sukuna had killed —

They had tried their best to look for you and you'd just been there, hidden in plain fucking sight.

Suguru is in your peripheral, you blink and you swear you feel your mind break as he loops his arms around Satoru's corpse. Another blink and Kento and Yū appear, pale and rotten and burnt and dead.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" His eyes are filled with nothing but amusement as you will yourself out of his grasp, your foot making contact with his face as you kick yourself off from it.

The rubble stings your bare feet as you dig your heels into the ground, your dark flames eating away at the sleeves of the silken garments his loyal servant, Uruame, had dressed you in. Feeling its weight disappear fuels you with more ire than you ever thought you'd ever feel.

This man, this monster, had taken everything from you. Even if it kills you, even if you end up burning the entire world into ash and cinder — nothing matters anymore.

Your mother, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi —

Heaven and Hell will rue the day they took them. The Gods have created a new monster in the form of you and Yuji shudders at the empty look in your eyes.

What had you gone through in the months you were gone? The garments you wore were that of highly respected concubines, heavy and silken and patterned.

What had Sukuna done to you? Had he taken the very essence of your soul and ripped it to pieces just like he had done with him?

Kento's words echo in his mind, and Satoru's face appears with a blink. He needed to step in and save you — from yourself and from Sukuna's grasp. His two mentors, he can't let them down, he can't. You were precious to Megumi, to Tsumiki from what Megumi had once told him. Satoru looks at you with such a warm aura, that Kento always threatens to smile when he even mentions you.

Desperation pumps through Yuji's body and he feels his nails elongate, giving it a quick glance before spotting Kashimo descending from the sky.

Sukuna's laughter booms throughout the empty planes and echoes around the destroyed buildings. The very earth shakes with each inhale.

"You truly haven't changed, my concubine! Come! Let's go insane together!"

[indigosunsetao3]

Submission for @glitterypirateduck‘s ‘#GhostChallenge’

Title: Body Heat

Pairing: Ghost X Female Reader (callsign Cypher)

Warning: Canon typical violence, fluff, smut, 18+

Scenario: The heat goes out and it's freezing & Ghost or Reader wakes up in the other person's house/safehouse/etc. after being rescued

Word Count: 2.8k

Your leg felt like it was on fire but there was no time to worry about that right now. The zodiac that you were currently belly down in on the floor is flying up the river but it is rapidly taking on water. There was no way you were going to outrun the helo tailing you, the boat had taken too much damage.

"Ghost we have to bail," you yell out as the helicopter clears the trees from around the bend. "We're not getting to the evac in this."

"Watcher this is Ghost," you hear him come over the comms, "we're four kilometers out from the evacuation site. Boat is fucked, we need an alternate option."

"No alternate at this time," Laswell came back. "Find a place to lay low and-"

The rest is cut off as the helicopter launches a missile that hits the water a few feet behind the boat. It doesn't matter that it wasn't a direct hit, the effect is the same. The aftershock of the wave sends the boat flying up out of the water and you scramble for purchase to try and ride it out.

"Cypher!" Ghost yells out, though it's barely audible over the rushing wind and the gasp you let out as you hit the frozen water back first.

The water feels like a knife stab right to the gut as you sink below the surface. You can barely think as you kick out before flinching at the pain in your calf at the movement, it hurts even more than the knives of cold all over your skin. You stretch toward the surface, your hand hitting a chunk of ice from the flows that were moving rapidly with the current.

"Ghost!" You yell out as you finally break the surface, though it sounds more like a squeak and a splutter as you spit out water. It's too fucking cold to be in the water, you had minutes to get out before you froze to death.

Kicking your legs again you push toward the shore as the helicopter blows past. You turn your head to see if it's going to continue, satisfied with its destruction but it's circling back. Fuck. You swim faster, though it feels like you're trying to lift an extra hundred pounds of weight with each movement. The water is sweeping you rapidly up river but your feet finally hit bottom and you stumble onto the shore.

"This way," comes Ghost's voice as he stomps through the snow and grabs your arm. He's soaked as well and you can hear the tension in his voice as he drags you toward the trees, practically carrying you with your arm slung over his shoulder. The helicopter is coming back and you hear the staccato of bullets hitting the water.

"We're fucked," you mutter as Ghost clears the tree line. You throw out an arm to catch yourself on a trunk before he yanks you onward. "We have to get out of these clothes," your numb fingers on your left hand fumble for your vest but Ghost stops you.

"We have to get out of range," he orders, his eyes trailing back behind the way you came. The snow has messy trenches in it where you both had pushed through but they are tinged red. Your leg was openly bleeding and you'd be a bit more concerned if you could actually feel it. The numbness that you had been hoping for before finally settles in but now it was making it difficult to walk.

"And go where Ghost? We're in the middle of nowhere," you stumble but his hand digs hard into your side to hold you up. "Fuck it's cold," you mutter as you see your breath puff in front of you with each word. "Didn't ever picture human popsicle was the way I'd go," you say with a false laugh as bullets start to pepper the trees.

Ghost drags you deeper into the woods, trying his comms as you both stumble and slip over snow covered tree roots. His voice sounds like it's coming from far away after a bit and you only know he's there because you can feel him pressed against you. His own body shakes hard from the cold and you can feel each involuntary tremble as he continues to tout you along.

"Little more," he grouses and you blink slowly up at him realizing he's slapping your face to get you to look at him. How long have you been walking? How was he still walking? Maybe just a small break, both of you could use a rest, your knees buckle at the thought.

"Knock that shit off," Ghost snaps as he hauls you back on your feet again. "Cypher," he warns as you buckle again, your grip on his body slackening from lack of energy to hold on anymore. Your knees hit the snow and the last thing you see before toppling down further is Ghost scrambling to catch you.

Cold. That's all you can think as soon as consciousness hits you again. Then the pain follows a few moments later and you groan as you shift trying to figure out where you are. Something is holding you back from being able to move too much and you push against it weakly.

"About fucking time," a voice comes to you and you realize what you are pushing against is soft and while it isn't exactly warm, it's warmer than you are. "Going in my report you're sleeping on the job," Ghost says simply as you tilt your head back to look up. You hiss as your soaking wet hair hits your back before his hand comes up to lift it up and away before fixing the blanket wrapped around you to keep your hair off your skin.

"Where are we?" You ask as your body wracks with shivers again and you curl your arms tighter against your chest to try and hold in some heat. That's when it hits you that your hair has hit your bare skin and your hands are pressed between more of your own bare skin. And Ghost's. Was this one of those mortifying dreams when you realized halfway through you were naked?

"Old hunting cabin," Ghost answers as his arms tighten around you, his hands splaying on your back to rub some warmth back in. "You passed out on me, had to carry you the rest of the way," he explains as he looks down at you. His face is free of his balaclava, the eye black smeared and splotchy down his cheeks. Your eyes trail down to see he's also shirtless as he has you pressed tightly against him. "Been out for a good while now, didn't even flinch when I tied up your leg. Through and through shot," he tacks on in explanation.

You shift a bit on him, as if to lean down and look at the wound, when you realize you aren't only shirtless. The blanket scratches the skin on your hips and you can feel his curls against your own pubic bone. You're completely straddling him and tucked tightly to his body in every sense of the word.

"Body heat," Ghost says simply as if he is not fazed by the fact his sergeant is fully naked pressed against his own naked form.

"I hardly think," you splutter as you move to pull away. Just the few inches you create between your bodies sends a jolt of goosebumps down your body and you see the same reaction over his chest. You may be inside somewhere but it was still cold enough to see your breath. The scant body heat you were sharing was not going to linger if you were apart.

His hands slide down your back and grab your ass to tug you tight against him again. You huff at crass gesture before giving in and pressing tightly against him, your arms moving to wrap around him as well. He shifts so your fingers can fit between his back and the wall and you rub at his back a bit. His skin feels frozen and you can feel the muscle twitching in an attempt to generate some warmth.

"It was this or we both froze to death," he says. "Can't light a fire, the helicopter is still circling," and as if someone turned the volume back on in your ears you hear the whir of the blades overhead. "And while you were resigned to be a popsicle, I refuse to let that be the final entry on my service record."

"How long until extraction?" You ask quietly doing your best to not think about the fact Ghost's hands are still on your backside holding you tight to him. Or that you are nuzzling your face into his chest as your fingers dance over small ridges and valleys of scars on his back.

"Not sure," Ghost answers as he looks down at you. "Johnny is going to have a field day when he finds us," he smirks at the thought which only makes you groan a bit. "I mean you can put on the soaking uniform if you want," he inclines his head at the red tinted snow fatigues.

"No," you answer quickly. Even now, the places where your skin isn't touching Ghost's are frozen, you can only imagine trying to put those back on. You shift a bit on him trying to find more skin, more warmth, to burrow into. He flexes his grip on you for a second before sliding his hands slowly up your back to your shoulder blades. It's a soft gesture and you feel yourself arch to it despite yourself.

"Just for the warmth Sergeant," Ghost says after a second, obviously feeling the subtle shift of your body.

"Right, of course," you answer back. If you could see yourself you knew you'd be bright red. "Sorry, I didn't mean," you continue before Ghost adjusts himself and you realize he wasn't admonishing you. He was saying that however your bodies were acting it wasn't your fault. You were pressed in a compromising position because you needed the body heat and you couldn't help what was happening outside of that.

You swallow as you both sit in the silence, listening to the helicopter circle overhead. How many times have you thought about this? Perhaps not this exact scenario, but getting Ghost alone and his body pressed against yours. It was a thought that kept you company many nights, different situations that always ended up with you panting under him. He barely paid you any mind aside from the job so it was just a fantasy that occupied your lonely mind to pass the time.

Yet, you could feel him pressed up against your center. Feel how his hands shift to rub at your sides and the sweep of his thumbs graze over the sides of your breasts with each pass. You grip his back a bit harder as his hands move down to now run along your thighs, his fingers massaging some heat into them as he works his way from your knees up toward your hips.

"Lieutenant," you barely breathe into his neck and you feel him twitch against you. A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold goes through you and you press your hips against his length and hear the small gasp of air that escapes his lips. His pulse is jumping in his neck and you dare to brush your lips over it and he grabs your hipbones hard in response. "Just body heat right?" You ask softly, your lips still whispering along his skin. "Just us trying to keep warm."

"Right," Ghost nearly growls as he flexes his hips up into you and you sigh against his neck. The blankets shift as he moves to grab your face to make you look at him. You stare at his hazel eyes, watching as he surveys your face as you slide your hands from behind his back to wrap around his neck. You are careful to keep pressed against him in all the movement, not wanting an ounce of heat to escape your small cocoon. "I don't want you to," he starts but cuts off as you grip the back of his head and pull him in for a kiss.

This may not be exactly how you wanted him, but you were going to take what you could get. He doesn't hold back from rolling your hips over him now, his hands helping move you knowing the injury to your calf. You whine into the kiss as he moves your effortlessly over him, the head of cock passing over your clit over and over working you into a frenzy.

Ghost dares to slip a hand between your thighs to your core and you gasp into his mouth. He finds the slickness there that he glides his fingers through as he ever so slowly pushes a finger in. You groan as he curls his finger and slowly pumps into you, letting you rock on him as he feverishly kisses you through the pants.

"Fucking warm down here," he taunts as he slips another finger in. "Are you going to share?" He continues as he lets you rut your hips over him, letting his palm give you that friction you were desperate for. "Or just going to let me freeze out here?" He chuckles as you let out a particularly needy whine as he scissors his fingers.

You push up on your knees, ignoring the burn in your leg as Ghost pulls his fingers away. It's a bit awkward as he lines himself at your center, careful to not let the blankets slip as you grab at his shoulders, but when you feel him notched you lean back. The slide in isn't painful, but it takes a moment for your body to get used to it.

Not that Ghost seems to mind you taking a moment to adjust. He tilts his head back at the sensation of you fully seated on him, his mouth slightly agape. You watch him for a second before grinding down on him, biting the inside of your cheek at the fullness.

"Warm enough?" You ask after a second and he lifts his head up to smirk at you.

"So fucking warm," he answers back.

You start slow as you ride him, wanting to savor how his eyes seem to devour you as you move. Commit to memory how those normally cold and calculating eyes seem at peace watching you. Ghost lets you take control at first as you use him for your pleasure and survival, seemingly enjoying being able to sit back while you put in the work. But as your movements become a little less coordinated and put a strain on your calf he takes over without you having to ask.

Pulling you tight against his chest, Ghost loops his arms around your back to grab at your shoulders as he shifts. You gasp at the first experimental thrust he makes, and he chuckles in response before he beings to fuck you in earnest. He gives you no warning as he thrusts up into you and you cry out loudly against his ear as he hits that spot inside of you over and over.

You can feel the slickness of sweat on your chests as Ghost grunts and groans into your ear. One of his hands slides back down to your ass to help lift you as the other on your shoulder slams you back down on top of him. The rhythm has created an obscene slapping noise but you both drown that out with your moans and gasps.

"Don't fucking stop," you say into his ear as you grab hard at the back of his head, your fingers scratching against the short hair on his scalp. You can feel he's close, feel him twitching inside of you, and how he's moving to pull out to finish. "Fuck, please," you say as you move your hips over him not caring about the strain on your injury.

He doesn't stop. He fills you up with a growl that seems to erupt from his chest and you let out a satisfied sigh as he continues to fuck you through it. The additional slickness, and feel of it between your legs, finally gets you over that edge and you come with him with a loud cry that you stifle by biting down into his shoulder. He moves your body over him until you finally come down, shaking from the high of your orgasm and not the cold.

"I told you body heat was the solution," he teases after a moment as you look at him. Both of your cheeks are flushed and you can almost feel the heat wavering off your bodies from under the blankets. You don't move from your position, keeping him buried inside of you as he holds you close.

Just for the warmth of course.

[strifetxt]

divergent evolution, a solving counting sheep fic

a.k.a. as a Christmas gift for the inimitable @theminecraftbee, I wrote an ordinary, more canon compliant Watcher Grian meeting Three! This was an idea I've wanted to write for over a year, and I'm delighted that it finally came to fruition :D

———

This is the last season he’s going to spend messing with extradimensional portals, Grian thinks. Grumbot was one thing, and the people from Empires were friends, but a complete stranger turning up out of the blue is something else entirely.

The interloper’s face is entirely obscured by a gaudy harlequin mask, decorated with bright patterns of red and gold. Strangely, the eyes of the mask are filled in with dark fabric, but Grian still gets the sense that he is being intently stared at as he nervously inputs the request for Grumbot to reverse the Rift and send the unwanted guest home.

Grumbot’s digital mustache wiggles, and a note is dispensed.

RIFT INSTABILITY DETECTED. TIME NEEDED TO REPAIR MALFUNCTION: UNKNOWN.

Great. Just what he needs.

“So, er.” Grian does his best to look apologetic. “It seems as though you may be stuck here for a little while until Grumbot gets the Rift sorted. In the meantime—” He gestures idly around the basement lab. “Hello, my name is Grian, and welcome to Hermitcraft?”

It is deeply uncomfortable, not being able to gauge any expression from his guest with the mask in the way. All he gets is a stiff nod and a simple statement of, “Yes. I am familiar.”

Grian raises his eyebrows. “You are? With me or with Hermitcraft?”

The guest takes a long pause, clearly considering the question, before landing on, “Both, though in different ways. I am also from Hermitcraft.”

“Oh, good, more alternate timelines.” Grian sighs and rubs his temples. The existential weirdness of Grumbot Prime’s universe was already bad enough. “Well, do me a favor and don’t tell me about alternate me’s inevitably ominous circumstances; I think I’d rather not know at this point.”

Three stares at him another long moment, then slowly nods. “Yes. Complying.”

———

“Well, this is the base,” Grian says. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Three stares down into the gaping hole beyond the birch floor of the entryway, then up into the cavernous space above, where the inner faces of the hollow rocks are dotted messily with torches to prevent mob spawns. “I see your habits regarding interiors appear to have remained consistent,” it notes.

Grian squawks, indignant. “I— okay, nice to know that I’m apparently the same everywhere, but also, hey!”

“It was not intended as judgment,” Three says judgmentally.

“Okay, listen,” Grian explains, doing his best to sound rational and not defensive, “the point of this build isn’t to be livable, it’s just to make a cool set piece! I don’t need a fancy interior when I’m happy keeping my storage and spawn outside.”

This logic does not seem to appease Three. “I do not see why you bother to build a base, if not to live in it.”

“Well, you know.” Grian waves a hand vaguely. “It’s just nice to have a big project going on in the background. Something to flex the building skills! Like I said, it’s mostly about making something that looks cool.”

“And if a day should come that you are no longer here?” Three asks. “If you were to somehow vanish from this world, and the only things left behind in your wake were empty set pieces, containing no traces of who you were, or how you lived. What then?”

And, well. Grian has no idea what to say to that.

He settles for changing the subject. “How about we find you somewhere else to stay?” he says weakly.

“That is probably for the best,” Three says.

Strange that even without visible eyes, the weight of its gaze still feels so heavy.

———

“Here we are,” Grian says as they touch down at their destination. “This is the Empires Christmas Village.”

Grian catches an odd motion ripple over Three’s skin, but it passes too quickly for him to make out any detail. “Are the players of Empires also on this server?” it asks.

“Well, not anymore. We had a crossover event where they came over to visit.” Grian gestures at the houses that ring the snowy basin. “They built this village while they were here, and I figured, hey, since it worked for the last otherworldly visitors...”

He leads them along the path around the Christmas tree, only for Three to come to a sudden stop. Grian follows its gaze to the scene on the hillside above, where various Hermits and Emperors mingle and play in the snow.

“It’s all posable armor stands,” he explains. “Do you have ZombieCleo on your Hermitcraft?”

“I know Cleo, yes,” Three says, “and I recognize their work.” It climbs up the hill towards the statues in the back corner of the scene, where it then crouches down to be level with their miniaturized faces.

Grian follows, bemused. He squints at the statues, trying to look at them with fresh eyes. Joe and Jimmy’s tiny heads are tilted towards each other in a facsimile of conversation, and they share cocoa and cookies with bright, relaxed smiles. It’s cute, Grian thinks, but he can’t see why anyone who already knows Cleo would be so fascinated. Maybe Three is just an armor stand fan?

“She’s very good at what she does,” Grian says, mostly to fill the silence. “It is a bit uncanny though, the way the heads still look exactly like the Players she got them from.”

Three does not look away from Jimmy’s face.

“Uncanny,” it murmurs. “Agreed.”

———

After the initial hiccup of getting it settled, Three proves to be a shockingly elusive guest. Grian does not encounter it again until several days later, when he happens upon it in his basement lab, writing a message for Grumbot Prime.

“Checking on the Rift?” he asks.

Three shakes its head, but otherwise continues to write. “Only initially,” it says. “Now Grumbot is telling me about himself.”

Grian blinks. “Have you not seen Grumbot before? I thought you said you knew me?” His eyes widen as a horrifying scenario dawns on him. “Wait. Do you not have a Mumbo?”

This makes Three fix him with a sharp look. “Of course I have a Mumbo,” it says.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Grian sighs. “But then, if Mumbo and I are both there, how is there not a Grumbot?”

Three’s head tilts curiously. “Is it a given that if you and Mumbo exist together, the two of you will create a child?”

“Well, obviously.”

“I see,” Three says. “Perhaps for the best, then, that you never met. You are a terribly neglectful parent.”

Grian sputters. “I— Look, Grumbot can take care of himself just fine! It’s just, when you make a lovable robot son with your best friend, and then later you get stuck with an alternate version of your robot son who doesn’t like you very much, it doesn’t make for the best conversation!”

Grian catches that strange ripple along Three’s skin again, only now he realizes it’s not skin at all; it’s feathers, bristling and flaring with some unknown agitation.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” it says flatly, and before Grian can respond, it equips its borrowed elytra and rockets off, leaving Grian to blankly stare after it.

“Hang on!” he shouts. “What do you mean, Mumbo and I never met?”

———

“Can I ask you a weird question?” Grian asks.

“Sure,” Mumbo sighs, resigned. “Not like this build was getting done anyway.”

“What would you be doing if we never met?”

Mumbo frowns, considering. “Huh. I guess I’d still be on Hermitcraft, but— gosh. I can’t imagine what it’d be like, not ever knowing you.”

“See, that’s what I thought!” Grian says.

“A lot more productive, I bet.”

Grian laughs. “You know you need me distracting you from time to time.”

“Unfortunately,” Mumbo sighs. “Go on then. Any other existential questions while you’re here?”

Grian fidgets, thinking back on Three’s ominous hints. “If I were to disappear one day,” he asks, awkward and tentative, “what would you remember me by?”

Mumbo raises his eyebrows. “Wow, really pulling out the big guns.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Probably all the trouble you’ve caused, if I’m honest.”

“Hey!” Grian elbows him in the ribs. “I’m being heartfelt and vulnerable here!”

“Ow— No, I’m serious!” Mumbo says. “I mean, when I think ‘Grian’, I remember things like— like chickens in my message system, or breaking Sahara with a potato. All the different tag shenanigans. Your ridiculous death games. The way you’ll have an idea, and then suddenly half the server is having a grand time covering Doc’s perimeter in dirt.” He nods. “Yeah, that’s what I’d remember. You, pulling people together.”

Grian’s chest blooms with warmth. It’s really miraculous, he thinks, the way Mumbo so often melts his doubts away. “Aww!” he croons, dramatically throwing his arms around Mumbo’s waist. “You do like me!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head.”

(As the conversation shifts to playful banter, Grian feels a prickle on the back of his neck fade, as if a pair of watching eyes chose that moment to look away.)

———

“Alright,” Grian says the next time he encounters Three, “I’ve decided I want to know. What happened to me in your universe?”

He knows enough now to spot the way Three’s feathers shift in response. “Are you certain?” it asks. “It is, as you’ve surmised, not pleasant.”

Grian shrugs. “Better to know than not? Especially if it’s something I can avoid.”

Three shakes its head. “I doubt it will be a concern for you,” it says. “Grumbot tells me you survived your time with the Watchers, and that they are no longer an active threat.”

This draws Grian up short. “How does Grumbot even know about— Right.” He sighs in annoyance. “Omniscient interdimensional hivemind. Just giving out my backstory to total strangers. Great.” He rubs his temples. Even now that he’s reached a sort of tentative peace with them, the Watchers still aren’t his favorite subject in the world. He much prefers to ignore them whenever possible.

“So,” he says, “I suppose that means in your universe they killed me instead of just, er.” He fidgets awkwardly with the hem of his sweater. “Taking me in and changing me, I guess? Is that it?”

Three visibly hesitates. “Yes,” it says slowly, “and no.” It squares its shoulders. “Perhaps it will be simpler to show you.”

And then it removes its mask.

Grian’s jaw slackens in shock. The hair is longer, the feathers that mimic skin are paler, and the eyes are squeezed firmly shut, but—

“You’re...me?” he stammers out. “I— How are you me?”

He sees Three’s mouth twist in a grimace before the mask is quickly replaced. “If I have learned anything from my time in this universe,” it says, “it is that I most definitively am not.”

Grian’s stomach feels cold. He swallows. “Explain.”

And Three does.

———

Grian feels himself trembling.

“After I left the Watchers,” he says, “I had to try very hard to remember that just because they changed me, it didn’t make me a different person. Even now, some days I forget.” He clenches his shaking hands into fists. “And you’re telling me there’s a world out there where I’m perfectly happy not being me at all?”

Three’s feathers flare. “I am not you,” it insists. “I had to try very hard to learn to become a person who was myself, and then had to try very hard again to remain that person, even when others wanted me to be you. Even now, when I sometimes suspect they would still prefer I was you.”

“Are you sure you’re not?” Grian asks, desperate. “I’m not in there at all?”

“I have been told we share similarities,” Three says, “but, meeting you, I have observed far more differences. You lack the commitment to complete projects—”

Grian sputters. “Hey!”

“—you avoid responsibility whenever possible—”

“Okay, that’s just—”

“—and, you have the ability to move people, in a way that I cannot fathom,” Three says. “I am glad that a world exists in which you are alive, and where your friends do not have to miss you. I understand more, now, why they would. But I am more certain than ever that I am not you, and that I do not want to be.”

Grian can almost envision his own face behind Three’s mask, and the resolute expression he would be wearing in its place.

He takes a shaky breath.

“It’s a bit unfair,” he says. “You spent this whole time learning things about me, while I know almost nothing about you.” He smiles tentatively. “Tell me about yourself?”

Three’s shoulders relax. “What would you like to know?”

———

The next day, the Rift reopens.

“Sure you don’t want to stay longer?” Grian jokes weakly. “You could build the interior to my base.”

Even with the mask, the look Three gives him feels scathing. “Far be it for me to diminish your lack of hard work,” it says.

“Ouch!” Grian laughs. “Probably for the best anyway. I, ah, imagine it’s probably been weird for you, being here, and you’ll want to be getting home.”

Three takes a moment to dutifully deposit all of its borrowed and scavenged items into an empty shulker box. Only when it’s done does it look up at Grian to respond.

“It was good,” it says, “to meet you. I had thought before, based on the way others remembered you, that I might have liked to be your friend. You are not quite what I expected, but I am glad, I think, to have had the chance to learn that.”

Grian’s smile wavers.

He considers being honest, considers saying, I can’t begrudge you who you’ve chosen to be, but all I can think about when I see you is the idea of being hollowed out so thoroughly that irrevocably that the only thing that’s left is a stranger walking around in my skin. You’re my worst case scenario, you’re everything I was scared I might become, and now I have to live with the knowledge that somewhere out there, in some other world, you’re real, and I don’t know what to do about that except add it to the list of things that keep me up at night.

Instead, he nods and says, “It was good to meet you too.”

If Three picks up on the lie, it says nothing; it merely inclines its head in a nod, steps through the Rift, and is gone.

[darlingfreddie]

I hate you “guilt free” snacks. I hate you weight watchers. I hate you “skinny” food alternatives. I hate you slim fast. I hate you my fitness pal. I hate you calorie counting apps.

[stardustandash]

A Voice From the Past

Whumptober Day 5: Alternate Prompt - Finding Old Messages

A bright hologram lit up the room. The person’s face as familiar as Aloy’s own: Elisabet Sobeck. Aloy stared up at her as Elisabet surveyed the empty room. When her eyes landed on Aloy she couldn’t help the rush of want and guilt that flamed through her. As always, she wondered what Elisabet would think of her, if she would be proud.

Ao3 Link

The damn Ravager had caught Aloy off guard. All the tracks had pointed to the only machines in the area being a couple of Striders with their Watcher guardian. She had thought she was being quiet enough to slip by the chargers unnoticed, but that had put her straight in the path of the Ravager. It managed to clip her side with a blow that had sent her flying across the dusty ground and straight through the herd of Striders.

Like any of HADES’ deranged machines, it wasn’t satisfied with that. It launched itself across the ground in a giant bound, forcing Aloy to roll out of the way as she tried to draw her spear. The ground underneath the Ravager’s metal paws was splattered red. Blood. Her blood. Aloy couldn’t feel it yet through the adrenaline flooding her, but she knew it was bad. She hadn’t taken a hit like that from a machine in a long time. She knew she only had a few minutes before blood loss would make her slow and uncoordinated. Or in Rost’s words: get her killed.

The Ravager lined itself up for its next attack, cannon locked on Aloy. The Striders, emboldened by the larger machine, were also squaring off to charge. Aloy mentally ran off a list of every curse she knew from every tribe, and threw in some she’d picked up from the Old Ones for extra flavour. It was not looking good. She resettled her grip on her spear. There wasn’t enough time to switch to her bow.

Then she saw it. Between the rocks to her left a dark gap of a cave. As the Ravager’s canon whined into action Aloy ran for it, the projectiles cracking the stones just behind her. One of the Chargers galloped by close enough Aloy could feel the wind as it brushed by her but she could not stop. One wrong move, one hesitation and it would be over. With a last push she threw herself into the darkness.

It was not a solid landing on the other side.

Whatever ground she expected, it crumbled beneath her feet and Aloy fell into darkness. With only the thin light of the entrance above it was hard to see how far down she was falling, and by the time she even formed that thought she landed hard on an unforgiving cold floor. Metal floor. She groaned, rolling onto her good side and panting from the run and fall.

Aloy took a few minutes to take stock of herself. The adrenaline was leaving her body, and the pain was creeping in. The claw marks in her side were lines of icy fire. Her palms were scraped from rolling across the stones, and her fall was sure to produce some wonderful bruises all down her side. She groaned. These kinds of injuries would slow her down needlessly right when she needed to move the fastest.

She sat up, the movement straining now that Aloy was aware of all her aches and pains, and dug out a roll of cotton bandages and some dried hintergold to chew on. The herb numbed the pain as she slowly bandaged her bleeding side. Not her best job, but there was no water on hand to wash up with and not bleeding was her highest priority, followed by getting out of whatever cave she’d fallen into.

With Aloy’s side taken care of she pushed herself up to her feet and tapped her focus to activate it. The world around her lit up with a familiar purple glow and she understood why the floor had been so cold, and why she’d fallen.

It was a ruin of the Old Ones. There had once been stairs above Aloy, but her weight had sent them collapsing down without a hope of getting back to the surface. In front of her was a circular room that branched off into different directions, a design she had seen before in ruins. The trick was always picking the correct tunnel. Every Old Ones ruin had more than one entrance, and not all man made. She just had to find her way out, then she could keep going.

Walking hurt, but that was nothing new to Aloy. Her only concession to the pain was to put a hand over her ribs and press over where the bandages were keeping her together. She passed several rooms with the small computers the Old Ones liked clustered on tables, and a few still had occupied chairs in front of them. Most of the Focuses were too damaged, but a few still had the odd message on it. Mostly thoughts on the Faro swarm, or families left behind. Aloy collected them as she had so many others, letting their voices live on inside her Focus.

Then, as the tunnel split in two directions she saw it. Through the layers of grime and dirt and dust built up on the walls, she could make out the image of GAIA, surrounded by her subfunctions. This was a Zero Dawn facility. Aloy reached up to touch the image, frowning when her hand left a bloody smear across it. She wiped her hand against her leathers anf glared at the sight. If that wasn’t a metaphor for her whole life let a Stormbird strike her from above.

She continued on step by painful step, until she saw a green light blinking from one of the rooms. Curious what information might be logged on the machine she approached and placed a hand over the green light.

Immediately a bright hologram lit up the room. The person’s face as familiar as Aloy’s own: Elisabet Sobeck. Aloy stared up at her as Elisabet surveyed the empty room. When her eyes landed on Aloy she couldn’t help the rush of want and guilt that flamed through her. As always, she wondered what Elisabet would think of her, if she would be proud.

“Firstly, I would like to thank you for your dedication to project Zero Dawn. Without this facility, there would be no hope of bringing it to fruition. Here you are building part of what will one day take down the Faro swarm. I know it’s hard to keep going with all the reports coming in from around the globe, but your strength and dedication are what is going to defeat those machines once and for all.”

Aloy watched as Elisabet looked around the room to address nothing but ghosts as she talked about synthetic replicative materials and what they were doing at this facility. The speech Elisabet wass giving her long-dead audience is rehearsed, the cadence different from the small personal logs Aloy had picked up in the last year or so since leaving the Embrace, but all the same she soaked in her voice, her face. This was the woman that was the closest Aloy would ever have to a mother, and she stood before her covered in blood and dust with the failing world in her hands.

“…and though it may seem hopeless, there is a light at the end of all this. There will one day be a new dawn for humanity. One without the terror of the Faro swarm. Once more will humanity walk under the shade of trees and hear birds when we open our windows. And all of it will be thanks to you.”

The hologram froze for a few seconds, eyes locked forward onto Aloy. Elisabet stared down at her with pride in her digitally generated face before the hologram winked out and the room went dark once more.

Aloy wasn’t sure how long she stood there. Long enough that the hintergold wore off and the slashes in her side pulsed in time with her heartbeat. And yet she stayed, hand hovering over the activation. But she couldn’t just stand there and listen to Elisabet all day. She had to keep going, because all of it was down to her. Like those who worked here, and on Zero Dawn all those years ago, it was her strength, her dedication, that had to save the world.

[bittybug-sunflower-blog]

Chapter summary: Rebekath, a former Jedi who left the Order for love, revealing deep personal conflicts. Fast forward three years, and Rebekath, now a performer, grapples with the remnants of her past amid the chaos of a galaxy at war. Witness her emotional turmoil as she encounters the betrayal of former comrades and hears a somber message from Obi-Wan Kenobi about the fall of the Jedi Order.

Warning: death/murder

Word count: 1878

Rating 18+

Extra: alternate universe story

….

Chapter 1

"Beka?!" A gruff voice called out, his eyes scanning the open patio area. "Beka?!"

The bustling atmosphere of the cantina drowned out the urgency in the man's voice as patrons laughed and chattered, oblivious to the unfolding drama. He stepped outside on the nearby patio to escape the busyness.

"Excuse me, are you CT-9...?" a robotic voice inquired, its metallic tone cutting through the din.

"Yeah, yeah," the gruff voice interrupted, his attention now fully focused on the approaching protocol droid.

With a graceful glide, the droid extended a metallic appendage bearing a small holoprojector.

"Master Rebekath left this for you," the droid stated matter-of-factly, its servos whirring softly as it deposited the device into the man's waiting hand before swiftly retreating into the crowd.

The man's rough fingers traced the smooth surface of the holoprojector, a silent pause hanging heavy in the air as he hesitated to activate it. He pulled his helmet off, staring longer at the device. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he thumbed the power switch, his heart heavy with anticipation and dread.

A flicker of blue light illuminated his weather-beaten face as the holographic recording materialized before him, casting an ethereal glow. "My love, if you're seeing this, it means I've made a difficult decision. I've left the Jedi Order because my feelings for you have grown too strong. The fear of losing you in battle is overwhelming, and I can't bear to put everything we fight for at risk. Moreover, my emotional attachment to us has plagued and clouded my judgment in our recent battles, further endangering the people we fight beside. Please don't blame yourself; we both entered this relationship willingly. However, the thought of you or your teammates getting in trouble or killed from our recent mission, at my expense... The council turning a blind eye if anything were to happen to you or my own Padawan. They wash their hands of our fate. Please, keep fighting, stay safe. May the Force be with you; always..." Then the hologram started to repeat the message, each repetition a dagger to the man's already burdened soul and mind.

He turned the holoprojector off, his hand falling limply to his side as he grappled with the weight of the message. No words escaped his lips, but the turmoil in his eyes spoke volumes as he struggled to come to terms with the revelation.

With a heavy heart, he placed his helmet on his head, the cool metal providing a semblance of comfort amidst the hurt raging within him, and quietly slipped away inside amongst the throng of beings milling around the cantina.

The horizon seemed to set slower that evening.

One year later...

As she faced the expectant crowd, every eye fixed on her, she parted her lips, and a melody of captivating voices poured forth, enveloping the audience. Standing tall and proud, her round face framed by a mix of short and long strands of black and purple hair, she commanded attention. Two bold red rectangles graced each cheek, accentuating her features, while beneath each eye, a striking purple triangle lay hidden beneath her mask. Her dark brown eyes peered intently through the mask's apertures, focused on her performance with unwavering determination.

Each lyric seemed to captivate her watchers. She danced in a dress that made her movements look like a flower.

"Did I think I'd wind up as a performer...?" She thought to herself, "With no direction or orders guiding me, was this just something to fill in the gaps?"

During a chorus, a sudden pang and shift of energy filled her head. She fell to the ground panting as she heard voices scream in pain while others begged for mercy.

"Beka?" A dancer came to her side. A nickname that was naturally given to her by people around her. Beka stared into the audience as murmurs and whispers erupted. She looked down to the ground, "the shift in the force has been unbalanced," Beka murmured in a quiet whisper. The screams of anguish overcame her mind.

The dancers and other performers quickly pulled Beka off the stage as the curtain fell.

When the audience had left, she got an earful from her new boss...

"What was that? We lost half of what we earned due to your stunt!" Finis Zapal yelled. The old yellow skinned Rodian walked slowly but sternly to Rebekath.

Finis Zapal, usually levelheaded and kind-hearted Rodian, he manages the traveling performance group, called the Ribbon Singers, Beka herself being known as Miss Ribbon Singer specifically. Despite his species' reputation, Finis stands out for his generosity and empathy, though he still has traits of greed like any species of the galaxy. He navigates the challenges of touring across different planets, fostering a supportive environment for his diverse troupe.

"I'm sorry Finis, I... I just need some air," Beka stood up, pushed her mask over her head, and walked out the backstage door.

The crisp air hit her face. She closed her eyes and could feel the lives of the people she once fought beside slipping away one by one. Hearing the cries of anger and fear as if the wind was carrying them away.

Tears streamed from her face. Then the sounds of blasters rang through the city. A loud blast came nearby. She ran to the sound, staring into the large city, familiar voices started shouting, "Surrender!"

As she crept closer to the source of the commotion, Beka's hearts pounded in her chest, each step heavy with the weight of her past and the uncertainty of the present. The cacophony of blaster fire filled the air, mingling with the desperate cries of those caught in the crossfire. Through the chaos, she caught glimpses of familiar faces, or at least a familiar attire that protected their faces. The very troopers she had once led into battle, now turned against her fellow Jedi. A cause she could no longer support. Her grip tightened on her dress, the fabric offering little solace against the chill of the night air.

As she rounded a corner, she caught sight of them - a small group of clone troopers, their scuffed-up armor gleaming in the harsh light of the cityscape. They stood with weapons raised, their faces obscured behind expressionless helmets as they trained their sights on a lone figure in the distance.

It was a Jedi - a fellow warrior, now facing the full force of the Empire's wrath. Their lightsaber glowing a bright green. Beka's hearts lurched in her chest as she watched helplessly, her mind racing with the memories of battles fought side by side, the camaraderie shared in the heat of combat now nothing but a distant echo.

With a determined resolve, she adjusted her mask, concealing her features as she prepared to intervene. But before she could act, a barrage of blaster fire erupted from the troopers' weapons, tearing through the air with deadly accuracy.

Beka's breath caught in her throat as she watched the Jedi dodge and weave, their movements a blur of grace and precision amidst the chaos. But even their skill was no match for the overwhelming firepower of the clone troopers' blasters, and with a final, desperate lunge, they fell to the ground, lifeless and still.

Beka watched as they shot down the young Jedi, she watched them fall to the ground lifeless. A silent cry of anguish tore from Beka's lips as she watched the scene unfold before her, the weight of the moment crashing down on her with a force she could scarcely comprehend. These were her comrades, her allies - and now they lay fallen, victims of the same allies that had now torn the galaxy apart.

With heavy hearts, she slipped away from the scene, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she slipped into the shadows, her presence unnoticed amidst the chaos of the night. The war was lost, the darkness closing in around them. She reached the auditorium; she walked past her colleagues. Their voices drained out by her consumed thoughts. Her thoughts raced as she was prepared to find a way to Coruscant, to get a better understanding of the shift in war. However, a hand on her shoulder made her turn around.

"Beka, you need to see this," Finis held up a holoprojector. A transmission from none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi himself began to play. "This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi. Trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed. And our future is uncertain. We will each be challenged. Our trust... our faith... our friendships. But we must persevere. And in time, a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you, always."

Beka stared and stared at Finis, sliding her mask back over her face. Finis looked at Beka with sympathy.

"The war is lost, the darkness has only begun," Beka whispered to Finis, "The clones have turned on us."

Finis put his hand on her shoulder, "You will have to earn your keep if you want to stay under their radar," he said.

Beka said nothing but stared emptily ahead.

The days blurred into weeks, and the weeks into months. Beka found herself drifting further from her past as a Jedi, embracing the life of a singer and performer with Finis's crew. Each day brought new challenges and dangers, but it also offered moments of fleeting peace amidst the chaos of the galaxy.

Yet, no matter how far she ran, the memories of her time as a Jedi haunted her. The faces of her former comrades, the ideals she once held dear, they lingered in the recesses of her mind like specters refusing to be banished.

One night, as she sat alone in her quarters aboard Finis's ship, Beka found herself drawn to the holoprojector that still held the message from Obi-Wan Kenobi. With heavy hearts, she activated it once more, allowing the familiar voice to fill the room.

As Obi-Wan's words echoed in the darkness, Beka's resolve wavered. Could she continue to turn her back on her Jedi heritage, even as the galaxy descended further into chaos? Was there still a place for her amongst the stars, or was she destined to forever wander as a lost soul?

Lost in her thoughts, Beka scarcely noticed when Finis entered the room, his presence a silent comfort amidst her turmoil. Without a word, he sat beside her, his weathered face betraying the weight of their shared burdens.

"You've been through worse, Beka," he said softly, his voice a reassuring sound. "And you'll survive this too."

His words offered no easy answers, no quick solutions to the dilemmas that plagued them both. But in that moment, as they sat side by side in the quiet darkness, Beka found a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty of the future.

For as long as she was still breathing, perhaps there was still a chance to carve out a new path in a galaxy torn apart by war and betrayal. And with the Force as her guide, anything was possible.

[fiannalover]

Pokémon Fic Recs

Because I read a lot of fics and am always on the prowl, so I felt like sharing a non exhaustive rec list under read more. Feel free to add recs on reblog if you want!

Savoir-Faire: To Know and To Do -  This is the one. If there is a fic I beg everyone to read it's this. multi-chapter but not that long PLEASE do it. MC of an alternate XY was cursed by rampaging Legendaries with immortality. 10 years later, jaded Marguerite Linden du Bois is finishing her paper on Pokémon World Sociology, taking a newbie trainer for the road. Read for Humanities Things, Ghost-Types, the apathetic weight of immortality, worldbuilding, the workings of Pokémon League, Research Assistant Darkray, Royalty and more. I am begging you to read it.

Ashes of the Past - Peggy Sue fic where Cyrus destroyed the world and Arceus decided the best way to deal with that was send Ash back to the start of his journey (after some Aura training). Saphroneth writes fights *amazingly*, specially around Orange Island, where he took a break and came back with a glow-up. Fic is dead now, but consider reading, if nothing else, the Suicune or the Tobias Fight.

A professor and student + The 48 - I have this unproved feeling there is an overkill amount of “Ash is traumatized after Kalos" but this is The one about it. Kukui takes care of Ash in Alola and helping the boy set some boundaries and stuff. This and the wider “The 48” series are amazing Ash, and you can find great longer fics and one-shots alike here. Adults but not grown-ups (Alola Supporting Cast one-shots) and Left Behind (Ash and a Future Ash end up swapping time places during XY while brock is visiting) are real stand-outs. 

You Thought - Aliens invaded and took over the Pokémon World, but actual Pokémons still give them trouble. The premise may seem weird, but it is a means for amazing descriptions of how even the common Meowth could be terrifying and disruptive for an outside-context watcher.

A home can be found - Lillie during and after OG SM, finding a new family with Kukui, Bunet and her friends.

What the Sun Leaves Behind - Hau is inheriting Hala’s spot as kahuna after the latter died, and Gladion shows up to give him a pep talk when Hau runs off into the woods from nerves. It is tagged as Hau/Gladion but it is really a platonic deal.

A Little Bit of Maschiff - Juliana decides that getting a Maschiff of her own is the perfect thing for her friendship with Arven. She gets more than she bargained for, with Arven helping her tame the wretched beast.

The Clues - isshushipping. 5+1 One-Shot Fic of N being In Denial about Team Plasma during BW.

colder in the summertime - One-shot. Morty is cursed. Read for pretty boys in cold fever, nosebleeds, exhaustion, the whole shish-kebab.

Read It Now.

Collateral - Faller!Touya, and the International Police helping him, while his friends try to find him. Sad. Great.

Pinky Promise - Gloria/Hop One-Shot. Hop fighting for dear life to get Gloria a Christmas Gift.

Massive “The Kids Are Doing Fine” energy. Adorable.

The Earth, the Sky and the Sea - An enigmatic narrator retells and expands the Hoenn Weather Trio story. Excellent atmosphere. 

HIS2435: Sinnohan Myths and Legends - Cynthia giving a College-level History Class. Chaos Mayhem Etc. Lots of author touches and headcanons and references but can be comfily (and hilariously) read on its own.

Masahop/Train shipping section (I may have a problem)

Do you believe in love at first sight? - Hop getting a crush on Gloria, slowly realizing over the years he’s actually in Love with Victor. Vic is the MC/Champion. The fic has a charmingly unique Victor (chronically ill/frail immune system - Hop gets to care for his health a Lot it’s cute), and feels very Earnestly Adorable in Hop’s bisexual crisis. writer is requesting feedback so please give them some love!

Kiss Your Neo Champion - Hop got his Neo Champion clothes. He has a boyfriend. What is not clicking

Sunshine Riptide - Instead of Words, I’ll put these excerpts here:

[fairyringsandwings]

Nashuri Fanfic Recs

safety net (should i fight or fly?) by avatarsarny 

“Yield,” he rasped, breath warm against her temple, his hands firmly gripping her wrists and holding her in place beneath him. “Please, Itzia, will you yield to me?”

Shuri squirmed and tried to wriggle her way out from under him, but there was no fire in her attempt – she lay there, pinned beneath his weight and the heat of his gaze, midnight eyes boring into her own. If she closed her eyes, they may as well have been back on that beach beneath another sky; her back sinking into hot sands, the sun glinting off Namor’s vibranium-gold armor as he drove a spear deep into her belly.

But that was then, and now is now; and the Black Panther once again found herself caught in the Feathered Serpent-God’s net.

igazi and xocolatl by blackberrys, orphan_account

She places the fruit on his tongue. His open mouth is warm, his breath sliding along her fingers in a rush.

When he does the same to her, the edge of his thumb catches on her bottom lip by accident. He doesn’t let his hand linger. She resists the urge to smack her lips to rid herself of the sour-salt taste of the cacao fruit and his skin.

The woodwind howl of the voices around her is making her dizzy.

There’s an audible click when they both bite through the pulp, cracking into the bean within. Bitterness fills her mouth, a metallic sheen covering the deepest chocolate she’s tasted in her life. It takes effort not to cringe. Inexplicably, it reminds her of blood.

A Game of Serpents and Gods by tacotime

After Namor threatens Shuri with his ultimatum to burn the world together or go to war with Talokan, she turns his offer on him to stall for time.

“Convince me, and I will stay here. With you, and burn the world together.”

(Where Wakanda hasn't found her and Riri yet, and Shuri gives Namor a week to woo her into this insane plan of his).

someday we’ll linger in the sun by greenTeacup

As the legends have it, after she earned the blessings of Bast, the Princess Shuri took a god for a lover. The legends say less about what happened in between.

Unbreachable by neonheartbeat

"Time. Space. Reality. It's more than a linear path. It's a prism of endless possibility, where a single choice can branch out into infinite realities, creating alternate worlds from the ones you know. I am The Watcher. I am your guide through these vast new realities. Follow me, and ponder the question... What if?"

~~~~~~~~

T'Challa never becomes ill. SHIELD survives. Shuri goes to assist an upstate New York outreach center and SHIELD-run research facility with their science division... and something terrible, unbeknownst to her, is happening beneath her feet.

Awaken Love by valentineninja

She had said so many things to him on this night that she hadn’t meant to say out loud. But no matter how much she regretted it now, there was no going back.

“It could have been different, princess.” He echoed the words from so long ago as the water rippled as he sank back into it, and this time her title sounded like an endearment.

“Yes, it could have,” she whispered back as a single tear escaped her hold.

I would have recommended Devotion but it appears to have been deleted ;A;

[gemlover100000]

push 2009 shifting SCIRPT

Push shifting SCIRPT 

Disclaimer don’t copy mine give me permission copy and paste and edit the text thank you 

Clara 

Name: 

Age: 

Birthday: 

Zodiac: 

Sexually: 

Height: 

Weight: 

Body type: 

Personally: 

Mental health: ( no cancer , epilepsy etc)

Stigma: 

Strength: 

Intelligence: 

Speed: 

Power(s) 

Be a crossbreed ( mover ,watcher crossbreed  ) optional 

Skin

I have clear skin 

I don’t have any acme 

I don’t have any blackheads 

I don’t have body hair or peach fuzz 

Hygiene 

I will smell fresh 

My hair will not be greasy

My breath will smell good 

My teeth will be white 

Backstory: 

Safe word: 

Face claim: 

Hobbies: 

Strengths: 

Weaknesses: 

Wardrobe: 

Main: 

Nighttime: 

Alternative clothes 1:

Alternative clothes 2:

Alternative clothes 3:

Alternative clothes 4:

Alternative clothes 5:

Alternative clothes 6:

Alternative clothes 7:

Alternative clothes 8:

My house/ apartment and room: 

Car: ( optional) 

Motorcycle: ( optional) 

Belongings: 

Scenarios: 

Extra: 

Unlimited credit card 

Really good social skills 

I can’t get pregnant ( if I want too.) 

I make really funny jokes

I can sing really good 

I know self defense really well

I have a high pain tolerance

I never gain weight

I can run in high heels 

I can control my power very easily 

Division is unable to track me or kill me 

I don’t get tired 

My friends won’t find me annoying 

I can’t die from the screams of the bleeders 

Everyone looks like just in the movie 

By saying jumanji 3x I will immediately leave my dr 

1 day in cr = 1 year in my dr 

Music / movies / shows exist in my dr 

I will have my memories from my cr 

I will know how to use a gun 

I can put on make up perfectly 

My punches are strong

I have internet on my phone 

Timeline: ( move / fan made after the movie ) 

Clone 

My clone is safe 

My clone looks the same 

My clone will look at me and sound like me 

Relationships: 

Mother: ( cannon original character) 

Name: 

Age: 

Birthday: 

Power: 

Zodiac: 

Sexually: 

Alive or dead?: 

Works for division, traid your team?: 

Height: 

Weight: 

Body type: 

Father:  ( cannon original character) 

Name: 

Age: 

Birthday: 

Zodiac: 

Power: 

Sexually: 

Alive or dead?: 

Works for division, traid your team?: 

Height: 

Weight: 

Body type: 

Sister: ( cannon original character) 

Name: 

Age: 

Birthday: 

Power:

Zodiac: 

Sexually: 

Alive or dead?: 

Works for division, traid your team?: 

Height: 

Weight: 

Body type: 

Brother: ( cannon original character) 

Name: 

Age: 

Birthday: 

Power: 

Zodiac: 

Sexually: 

Alive or dead?: 

Works for division, traid your team?: 

Height: 

Weight: 

Body type: 

Best friend: ( cannon original character) 

Name: 

Age: 

Birthday: 

Power: 

Zodiac: 

Sexually: 

Alive or dead?: 

Works for division, traid your team?: 

Height: 

Weight: 

Body type: 

Best friend 2: ( cannon original character) 

Name: 

Age: 

Birthday: 

Power: 

Zodiac: 

Sexually: 

Alive or dead?: 

Works for division, traid your team?: 

Height: 

Weight: 

Body type: 

Soulmate: ( cannon original character) 

Name: 

Age: 

Birthday: 

Power: 

Zodiac: 

Sexually: 

Alive or dead?: 

Works for division, traid your team?: 

Height: 

Weight: 

Body type: 

Nick gant 

He is really kind and loyal to you 

He can protect you at all cost 

He can help you practice at your powers despite he sucks at it 

He can watch movies with you 

You can watch him gamble to win money 

He can cook you breakfast when your tired

He can comfort you when your hung over

He will comfort me when I have a bad dream/ nightmare 

He is immune to dying 

He is immune to getting sick 

Cassie Holmes 

She likes your personality 

She can easily predict things from the future 

She is really smart and intelligent 

She gives out good advice being a watcher

She loves watching tv shows with you 

She is immune of false visions 

She doesn’t drink that often 

He is immune to dying 

He is immune to getting sick 

Kira Hudson 

She likes your personality 

She can easily push you or other people if desired 

Pinky Stein 

He likes your personality 

Hell keep you and your friends safe at all cost

Teresa stowie 

She’ll heal you if your injured

She’ll redeem if desired 

 Side effects of getting your powers 

Mover 

Hands aching 

Hands popping 

Fingers aching 

Watcher 

Headaches 

Seeing visions 

Bleeder 

Throat tingling 

Singing voice improving 

Throat burning 

Urging to scream

Pusher 

Head Aching 

Eye color darkening 

Wiper 

None 

Shadow 

None 

Shifter 

sniff

nose itching

None 

Stitch 

Hands aching 

Warning if you really want shift there are some things. 

Use your powers carefully they are controlled by emotion for example if your a mover and you get angry you feel a aura that means your powers are working

You’ll feel pain in your dr 

If your not Familiar with it watch the movie 

DONT BLAME IT ON ME IF YOUR ATTACKED BY A BLEEDER OR HEALED BY A STITCH ITS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY! 

[okayto]

Mini-Review: Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

Scott Pilgrim meets the girl of his dreams, Ramona Flowers, only to find out her seven evil exes stand in the way of their love.

An alternate take on the Scott Pilgrim story, which started as a series of graphic novels and received a live action feature film in 2010, this anime starts off by seeming to be a pretty straightforward animated adaptation of the film, but that soon changes.

I can't speak to how either adaptation compares to the original books (because I've never read them), but the film, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, went heavy on the video game and comic influences in a way that I found fun when it came out, and still fun when I rewatched last year.

I'm here to talk about the anime, but it's worth bringing up the movie because my experience watching the show is inextricably linked to having previously watched the movie. I don't know how the anime would be without that; probably fine, but likely somewhat of a different experience without having a "previous" storyline to compare to.

Because for the first episode, the anime hews pretty darn close to the film, making it seem like you're just watching the same thing but in cartoon format. But it diverges at the end of the first episode, at which point it becomes super intriguingly clear to the viewer that they're going to get a different story.

And this is a fun story! These characters are mostly young adults, many of them if not aimless, then just kinda doing what they can in basic jobs to get by. Scott is a loser—like, an entertaining loser because of the plot, but the guy is 23 and initially dating a 17-year-old, which (in both versions) is made clear that everyone outside of the couple thinks this shouldn't be happening.

One of the things that becomes clear within a few episodes in this version is that compared to the film, Knives-the-17-year-old gets way more focus and is allowed to develop as a character beyond "enthusiastic high schooler with a giant crush on a loser." It's really nice to see, and it's part of a larger trend in this show of developing characters beyond the title guy and his actual love interest, Ramona.

Actually, Ramona gets more development, too. She's a much more prominent and active character in this show than the movie; as the plot goes on she deliberately inserts herself into various Shenanigans as she pursues answers to a mystery, and the audience gets a better grasp of who she is as a character, not just the object of Scott's instant attraction.

She and Knives aren't the only ones; even the League of Evil Exes gets more development! (Or, for people who haven't seen the film, they get introduced to the League as characters with personalities beyond "showing up to a single fight because some guy wants to date their ex-girlfriend.")

The fights make great use of animation as a medium. The colors are saturated, the movement has weight. I wondered, before watching, how the art style would translate because it's fairly thick and chunky, but it actually turned out fantastic. Animation is smooth, and the art consistently feels like a style rather than a bunch of chibi versions of adults.

Finally, I have to mention my favorite character: Wallace Wells, Scott's roommate who actually functions as an adult, and whose deadpan sarcasm I could watch all day. He's a great foil to Scott (immature, enthusiastic), but he is also just a pleasure to have on screen (although unfortunately, a lot of his snark doesn't appear to have been gif'd).

Verdict

English dub? Yes! They notably got all the main film actors to reprise their roles for the English voices, which is a bonus for film viewers. For anime-only watchers, they're just good, solid voices—generally normal people voices, not frenetic cartoon voices.

Visuals: Great, I actively enjoyed literally watching the show.

Worth watching? Definitely for enjoyers of the film, and almost-definitely for anyone else. It's a fun action-y show with good animation direction and plenty of humor.

Where to watch (USA, July 2024): Netflix

Click my “reviews” tag below or search “mini review” on my blog to find more!

[chirp-featherfowl]

... ykw sure <- never read homestuck. give me a classpect for martyn. maybe it'll help us settle on his winner symbolism

it has been a long and grueling three days of trying to find a classpect for martyn inthelittlewood. every time i think i've got it, another option pops up. maybe he's a knight? maybe he's a maid? maybe he's a muse? who knows! he called himself a wanderer, so he's gotta be breath. he meets gods in the void--obviously, he's a maid of void. he succumbed to the watchers and betrayed scott: so his aspect is light! he broke the cycle: his aspect is doom. he won. his aspect is time.

so: here are some classpects based off the different symbols that the fandom has given martyn. be warned! really long post ahead!

THE VOID: he's a maid of void! obviously! maids struggle with a strong force of their aspect weighing on them (jane with crockercorp, aradia literally being dead, porrim with-- ohhhh no this does not reflect well on andrew hussie), and who has a stronger force of void weighing on them than martyn? these gods, who speak in riddles, contact him through the void, and purposefully are obscure as all hell RIDICULE him, and he needs to learn how to fight back.

MARS: okay, well, i feel like we should all come to the consensus that martyn is a bard of blood, right? it's only fitting he shares the same aspect as grian (SEND ME ASKS ABOUT GRIAN) considering the way he won. bards usually start out with a lack of aspect, and they're fine with that until SOMETHING (like a video of some clowns, dave, and there's another bard in homestuck but i don't like to think about him for long periods of time) sets off a path of destruction in them (this could have just been a gamzee thing though. i could be wrong and that could have been gamzee being gamzee). in this case, martyn has never been the one in charge--even rejected by his soulmate, he defaults to her. ren was charismatic, and scott kept alliances open while martyn was being hunted down by literally all of ties. this changes until the last episode, where martyn wants to win. he joins TIES, stays alive 'till the very end, and wins with a betrayal at the very last moment, destroying any bond they might have hand. (this is not even touching on how he ghosts breath.)

THE OCEAN: ALTERNATIVELY... martyn is a textbook prince of breath. he ghosts blood: he's loyal even to the risk of his own death, even when it's to his own detriment--i. e. the red alliance not inviting him for fear of his betrayal, knowing that martyn would kill them all for scott. in ghosting blood, he destroys any indifference, any easy way out, and any independence he might have had (examples of princes ghosting their inverse can be seen in dirk, being cool and calculating, eridan, in uhh. uhh. KILLING HALF THE TROLLS IN A VICIOUS RAGE. SPOILERS I GUESS. BUT HE DID THAT. and i seriously could not give less of a shit about kurloz). eventually, when there's just three of them left, martyn kills the alliance. he breaks their agreement. he even kills scott first. and when everything is done? that's it. he's alone.

A METEOR: this MIGHT be controversial, but i'm under the firm belief that martyn is a muse of l--

sorry. we're skipping meteor. martyn doesn't deserve to have a masterclass unleashed upon him (also this one's going to take me over a day to figure out and i want to finish this ask QUICK)

??? NOTHING I GUESS: martyn is a maid of time. oh wow! canon classpect! we did it, boys! okay, here we go:

limited life was built on the previous seasons. every action didn't have the same weight to it when taken from the context of the series as a whole. joel tried to save jimmy from the canary curse and failed. skizz tried to rectify the four hours of time he lost and failed. etho tried to forget bdubs and failed. grian left his alliance again. impulse kills bdubs, grian kills scar. martyn watches that happen. they plan on ending it like third life, doing another cycle, and martyn's not about to fit into another cycle. scott or impulse could have another ending--one about trust and forgiveness or avenging your alliance or surviving, but martyn doesn't want a story, and he doesn't want a satisfying ending, and he doesn't care about the past. he wants to win.

so he wins.

[carnivalfromvenus]

TENDER WOUNDS

bruised thumb

burn scar wrists

chipped mug

cold tea in the sink

ready salted cheeks

damp in the sun

c-shaped

fingernail imprints

into tender palms

insurance insecurities

know where the foundations crumble

weight watchers magazine

cut out typology scrapbook

carb killer combos

drunk tears into alternative arms

oh wont you kiss it better mummy

make the pain go away

sour stance in a hugging embrace

communication crashes

sniper jabbed questions

september sell by dates

beckoning on the calandar

hoping by then

the bruise on my thumb will fade

[drpeppertummy]

Pls do Leon for all ;; I love this man so much

ALL,,,,,,,,,, i was gonna tell u to come back with less but u know what . hes my special little guy im going for it [under a cut for 8 million miles length, warning for various bad eating habits, mentions of past abuse/trauma, addiction, self loathing, etc]

🎵 Do they have a noisy tummy? Is there anything unique or notable about the sounds their tummy makes? - i dont think theres anything too special about his tummy noises but it does have a lot to say. he either neglects to eat or eats absolute garbage, has a tendency to eat too much garbage in one sitting, chews a lot of gum (alternative to smoking) & gets bloaty from it, etc he does not treat his poor tummy kindly & it has no issue with speaking up about it

🏃 Do they eat faster or slower than average? If so, are there consequences? - he tends to eat way too fast & winds up 1. full of air and 2. too full bc he ate too fast for the fullness to catch up with him until its too late

🤬 How do they act when they're hungry? When they're too full? Which is worse? - he tends to be relatively quiet in his suffering so neither is awful. he forgets/works through/skips meals often enough that its just standard business for him, he'll be tired & achy & low energy but not That much more than usual. too full is probably worse bc a belly full of crap may incapacitate him for a while & then hes all sad & miserable

🥺 How do they feel emotionally when they eat too much? - shitty ! his lousy ex husband bill always made him feel awful about himself for overeating, putting on weight, etc & that mean-ass voice is still in his head. & he also feels like a stupid asshole for putting himself into that situation

🫢 Do they have any kind of belly kink or awareness of it? Do any of the characters around them? - i dont think so, although shel is very fond of his tummy but not necessarily in a kink way

📅 How frequently do they get into tummy shenanigans? - All The Dam Time [see first question] its rare for his tummy to Not feel at least a little crappy or be at least a little bloaty

🫥 Are they able to hide their hunger? Do they try to? - he tries & he usually succeeds at least until his belly starts growling enough to notice. cant hide it from shelly tho that guy can read him like a book

🤢 Are they able to hide it when they're too full? Do they try to? - Not At All. he tries to downplay it but he cant even try to hide it bc its useless. his tummy sticks out so much

🛌 What's the number one thing they want when they're too full? (belly rubs, sleep it off, lay down, etc) - mostly he just wants Comfort. wants someone to hold him so gentle. & if he feels all yucky n queasy he wants to sleep it off

🕒 What's the longest they've gone without eating? How did they feel? - probably like a day and brother . He Did Not Feel Awesome

break bc it straight up will not let me put all this in one block

🥘 What's the most they've eaten in one sitting? How did they feel afterwards? - i have 2 scenarios in my brain. one is the time someone talked him into weight watchers & he snapped like 3 days in & ate a ton of random crap in the middle of the night and the other is eating an entire pizza in one evening for no good reason. hes a little guy and in both scenarios his belly is so distended he can barely move. hurts and feels like a dumbass

🍽️ What's the most they can eat without getting a bellyache? - Good Quastion it depends on What hes eating. i think if he goes out for lunch somewhere & gets like a decent-sized sandwich & fries or some shit he can finish the whole thing & be just about at his limit before it becomes uncomfortable

🛑 Do they tend to stop eating when they're comfortably full, or do they keep going? Why? - he has a tendency to go overboard for various reasons. knows the food wont stay good any longer, eating his feelings, cant stop picking at it, etc

🧑‍⚕️ Do they usually ask for comfort when they don't feel good, or does somebody just know to comfort them? - hes too ashamed to ask for comfort. he feels awful making anyone worry about him. lucky for him shel knows when he needs a little extra care

💝 Do they want comfort when they don't feel good--even if they won't admit it--or do they prefer to deal with it alone? - he wants comfort So Bad even tho he doesnt think he deserves it & doesnt wanna worry anyone he wants nothing more than to be held & comforted when he feels shitty

😢 Are there any specific foods that upset their belly? - i dont think theres anything really Specific & his body is so used to eating like shit that its more the quantity of whatever hes eating than the food itself

🎈 Do they ever find themselves feeling bloated from something other than food? (swallowed air, too much liquid, period, illness, etc) - swallowed air is a big one, both bc of the fast eating & the gum, and liquid is also one. it doesnt really come up in my writing much but he is a (semi-recovering) alcoholic & this naturally causes some considerable bloating

🍎 If the goal was to eat as much of one food as possible, what food would they choose? Why? - i dont know if its the Best choice but i think hed go fries. that guy can put away some fries. even when his belly is absolutely stuffed he cant stop pickin at fries

👕 Have they ever had a belly-induced wardrobe malfunction? (popped button, shirt riding up, etc) How did they feel about it? - almost certainly. his empty tummy is nothing to write home about but it gets Impressively big, bordering on looking pregnant, if hes really full/bloated. i dont have a specific scenario in mind but whatever it was hed be absolutely mortified, even if nobody witnessed it

😈 Have they ever gotten into tummy shenanigans on purpose, for their own pleasure or somebody else’s? - no. he doesnt need to tho bc it happens by accident enough

😝 How would they feel if someone teased them for being hungry? For being too full? - he can laugh at himself a little when hes hungry but if someone teased him for overeating hed probably cry

😟 Are they shy about their belly for any reason? - he Hates his belly he thinks its so ugly. all he can see when he looks at it is this pasty doughy un-masculine mommybelly. he hates how chubby it is he hates the stretch marks he hates his dumb little appendectomy scar & bill Really hammered it into his head that his body is unappealing, esp after having their baby

🖼️ How would someone close to them describe their belly, in appearance or otherwise? - to contrast that last response, shel would describe his tummy as Absolutely Adorable and soft and pillowy and warm and squeezable and very nice to touch

🕴️ Is there a certain type of situation that frequently results in tummy shenanigans for them? - some days he'll go to wawa after work for a snack/dinner & overestimate how much he can eat bc hes starving. winds up getting a bunch of greasy crap & giving himself a bellyache

⚖️ Has their weight changed at all over the years? How do they feel about it? - hes never been really skinny but hes def put on some weight over the years. he mightve been ok with it if bill hadnt been so awful to him about it but alas

🫄 Has there ever been a time when their belly was so bloated that it got in their way/made a task difficult? - his belly sticks out Far when hes really bloated. things like washing the dishes when his bellys pushing against the counter, trying to reach to the bottom of the washing machine, etc become Awkward And Uncomfortable

🧐 Is it obvious when they’ve overeaten, be it by the appearance of their belly, their behavior, etc? - even if his belly wasnt Crazy Distended i think itd still be clear that whatevers in there is weighing him down, esp if its something really heavy thats got him feeling kinda queasy

🍔 Has another person ever caused them to overeat deliberately or unintentionally? - shel has def gotten him to eat too much unintentionally. not his fault he wants leon to eat good food for once🤷

🫧 How do they feel about burping in front of others? Does it happen often? - i think it happens fairly frequently with the amount of air he swallows & he tries to keep it quiet or swallow it back down bc hes a little embarrassed about it

☹️ Have they ever forced themself to finish eating something that they didn’t want to finish? - probably, if he didnt think he was gonna be able to save it for later. doesnt wanna waste it & if nobodys around to share it with hes gonna cram it in

😍 Does anybody give their belly extra attention even when it feels perfectly fine? How do they feel about it? - shel is all over his tummy he Loves that thang. leons all bashful about it but it Does make him feel loved & it helps to combat some of those negative thoughts since shels affection is so genuine

💭 Have they ever had a memorable tummy shenanigans incident that other people still bring up to this day? - i think he once overate at a work party & popped a button upon sitting down. hell on earth humiliation. one of his annoying coworkers still brings it up from time to time. he wants to bite her head off

🚗 Does their tummy get upset from things other than food or hunger? (nerves, vehicles, etc) - he gets carsick if hes not the one driving. nerves probably also but thats indistinguishable from any other aspect of his day to day life

🛏️ Does anybody ever use their tummy as a pillow? If so, how do they feel about it? What’s it like for the other person? - shellyyyyy i just Know shels using his belly as a pillow its so soft & plush & cozy he'll fall asleep on it so fast esp bc leons playing with his hair while hes layin there. & then leons Stuck There. he thinks its kinda sweet tho

🙄 Is there a certain type of recurring tummy shenanigan that they’re notorious for? - everything .

🫱 Do they like having their belly touched? In what circumstances, if any? - hes a little skittish about it even with shel bc of The Insecurity & also bc bill would like jab n pinch him so sometimes he still flinches a little (shel wants to hunt bill down & skin him alive every time that happens) but he Does like when shel rubs his belly once he settles into it

[stargazer-sims]

15 OC Questions!

I was also tagged by @dandylion240 for this ask... thank you! These things are so fun. I've decided that I'm going to do a few for characters that don't typically get as much attention. So, without further ado...

Nikolai Pavlenko

Are you named after anyone?

Yes, I’m named after my paternal grandfather, Nikolai Mikhailovich Pavlenko. At some point in our family’s history, apparently some genius thought it’d be amusing to make it a tradition to name firstborn boys after our grandfathers. This resulted in us having alternating generations of oldest sons called either Nikolai or Mikhail (with corresponding patronymics, Mikhailovich or Nikolaevich). My sister and I are fraternal twins, and she's the elder twin, but lucky me... I'm still the oldest boy, so Nikolai it was. Not much for mixing things up, this family.

My grandfather immigrated to Canada with my parents, and he's always lived with them. Since Grandpa and I are both Nikolai, to avoid confusion at home, I'm always called Kolya by my family.

When was the last time you cried?

A couple of weeks ago, when I said goodbye to my love, Anya, at the airport. I tried to pretend I wasn't crying, but I think she figured it out.

Do you have kids?

No, thank the Watcher. I actually love kids, and I enjoy working with all my young students, but I don't think I'd be a particularly good parent. Besides, who would I have them with, anyway? I'm reasonably certain Anya’s not prepared to have children. She's not even prepared to settle down, so it's a safe bet that we're not about to be parents any time soon.

Do you use sarcasm?

Who, me? I wouldn't say I use sarcasm regularly, but I've been known to unleash a biting remark from time to time.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

The first physical characteristic I notice about people is usually their hair. I'm self-conscious about my own, so I think I automatically compare it to everyone else's. In terms of behaviour, the first thing I tend to notice is the way they interact with others. I consider myself a good judge of character, and I prefer to be around people who are courteous and kind to those around them.

What’s your eye colour?

grey

Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings. I will watch scary movies, mostly with Anya because she loves them, but I'd personally prefer to watch something with a lighter theme.

Any special talents?

I can juggle. I can even do it on skates. My students love it.

Where were you born?

Evergreen Harbor. My family moved to Brindleton Bay when I was a teenager, though, and even though I wasn't born there I consider the Bay to be my hometown.

What are your hobbies?

I like to draw, and I enjoy video games. I suppose cooking could be considered a hobby as well, couldn't it? I like to think of myself as a foodie, and I'm always happy to try new recipes. Writing started out as a hobby for me, but now it's become my secondary job since I started actually earning money from my coaching blog.

Have you any pets?

Not at the moment. I had two cats, Biellmann and Butterfly, but I had to leave them with my sister Natascha just before I moved to Japan.

What sports do you play/have played?

I've done lots of different sports, but my main one is skating. I was a competitive figure skater until I had a career-ending injury. Then, I transitioned to coaching, but I still love to skate. Other than skating, I really enjoy weight training and swimming. I'm not sure if yoga and dancing are exactly sports, but I like those as well.

How tall are you?

Not very, unfortunately. I'm probably not what most people consider short, but I always wished I would've grown a little bit taller than 173cm

Favourite subject in school?

Language studies. I speak three languages fluently; Russian, English and French. I also speak enough German for basic communication, and currently I'm learning Japanese since moving to Mt. Komorebi. I also liked Physical Education when I was in school, and I enjoyed history.

Dream job?

I have my dream job right now. I'm a figure skating coach, and I've had students competing (and winning) at both national and international levels. I also teach group and individual skating lessons for younger kids. I absolutely love teaching and coaching, and I really can't see myself wanting to do anything else more than this.

_____

This time, I'll tag: @wannabecatwriter @simssong @babblingstacey @rebelangelsims

As always, if you've already done it, or don't want to, feel free to ignore

[skakweightloss]

Types of Weight Loss Diets.

There are many weight loss plans, but each is different. It’s a good idea to study the different types of plans before getting started on your weight loss journey. Find the type of weight loss diet that best suits you. Consider how each affects your body and health, and how each plan fits into your schedule or routine. Let’s see what types of diet plans are available and what is required with each.

Diets for Fast Weight Loss.

Though fast weight loss is not recommended for the long term, there are some quick diets to help you lose 5 to 10 pounds in no time. These include the low-carb diet, three-to-five-day meal replacement shakes, water or juice fasts, and alternate vegetable/fruit diets in which you eat only fruits one day and only vegetables the next. These diets work great for a quick fix, but are very difficult (and possibly unhealthy) to maintain for the long term.

Low Calorie Weight Loss Diets

There are many low calorie diets with which you will reduce your daily calories to lose weight. There are several ways to monitor your calories. You can read food labels and count the calories of everything you eat. You can also use a calorie guide to determine how many calories are in certain foods or dishes that do not have labels. Weight Watchers provides an easy point counter that calculates points based on calories, fiber, and fat grams in foods.

Fixed Menu Plans

With a fixed menu diet plan, you will be given a list of all the foods you can eat. The meal plans are put together especially for you based on your likes and needs. This type of diet can make things easy for you as you lose weight, but keep in mind that you will eventually need to start planning your own meals again. So it’s a good idea to learn how to plan your.

own meals again. So it’s a good idea to learn how to plan your meals after you’ve lost the initial weight. This will help you keep the weight off once the fixed-menu diet has ended.

Exchange Food Diet

With an exchange food diet, you will plan meals with a set number of servings from several food groups. The foods are determined by calorie intake, and you can pick and choose among foods that have the same calories to give you a variety of choices at each meal. This diet is great if you’ve just completed a fixed menu diet because it allows you to make your own food choices each day.

Low Fat Diet

Another type of diet is the low fat diet, which requires lowering the intake of fat. This doesn’t mean eating fat-free everything, but simply lowering fats (especially saturated fats) and oils to a normal level according to the food pyramid. Fat should take up around 30 percent of the calories eaten. Lowering saturated fat promotes healthy weight loss and helps lower cholesterol levels to promote good heart health.

There are many foods that advertise “low fat” but many of these are also very high in sugar. Look for foods that are low in fat and low in sugar for healthy weight loss. Also, limit fast foods or make healthier choices from the menu such as salads or grilled foods. Many fried fast foods are loaded with fat.

Weight Loss through Reduced Portions

There are also weight loss diets with which only the portions are reduced, but you basically eat anything you want. You eat only small portions of foods and basically follow your stomach. When your stomach is empty, you eat slowly until you feel satisfied, but not overly full. You only eat when you’re really hungry. This type of diet gives you freedom to choose what you want to eat, but limits how much you can eat The concept is when you eat less food in smaller portions then you’re also eating less fat and calories with every meal, no matter what the food.

There are also per-packaged meals and formulas to help promote weight loss. Almost any diet can work if you adhere to its rules, add activity or exercises, and drink plenty of water. Study each type of diet to find one that will work for you, and check with you doctor before starting a new diet plan if you have a health condition or take medications. You can easily research diet plans online and find many free weight loss tips to help you develop a plan.

[weightloss0007]

What is the most effective weight loss method or program?

The most effective weight loss method or program depends on individual preferences, health conditions, and lifestyle. However, successful and sustainable weight loss generally incorporates these key elements:

1. Dietary Adjustments

Caloric Deficit: Consuming fewer calories than you burn is fundamental to weight loss.

Balanced Nutrition: Focus on whole, unprocessed foods rich in nutrients:

High-protein foods to preserve muscle mass and reduce hunger.

High-fiber foods to enhance satiety (vegetables, fruits, whole grains).

Healthy fats in moderation (avocados, nuts, olive oil).

Popular approaches:

Mediterranean Diet: Emphasizes whole foods, healthy fats, and lean proteins.

Low-Carb Diets (e.g., Keto, Atkins): May help some people by reducing appetite.

Intermittent Fasting (IF): Alternates between eating and fasting windows.

2. Regular Physical Activity

Combine aerobic exercises (walking, running, cycling) and strength training to increase metabolism and maintain muscle mass.

Aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity exercise weekly.

3. Behavioral Changes

Mindful Eating: Pay attention to hunger and fullness cues.

Consistent Meal Timing: Helps regulate appetite and energy levels.

Stress Management: Chronic stress can lead to overeating.

Sleep: Aim for 7-9 hours of quality sleep per night, as poor sleep can disrupt appetite-regulating hormones.

4. Professional Support

Registered Dietitian/Nutritionist: Provides personalized meal plans and advice.

Behavioral Therapy: Helps address emotional eating and habits.

Weight Loss Programs: Examples include Weight Watchers, Noom, or medical-supervised plans.

5. Medical Interventions (for some individuals)

Medications: Approved weight loss drugs (e.g., semaglutide, orlistat) under medical supervision.

Bariatric Surgery: For individuals with severe obesity (BMI ≥ 40 or ≥ 35 with obesity-related conditions).

Tailoring Your Approach

Each person responds differently, so tracking progress and adjusting the plan is crucial. Combining methods, such as a balanced diet with intermittent fasting and regular exercise, often yields the best results.

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