#Need a different wall shelf. That one is for floating

[fisherrprince]

table :)

[sixxels]

it girl

nerd!gojo x popular!model!reader

wc: 20.1k

part 1 ! part 2 !

!!disclaimer!! will include major mentions of fling!sukuna x reader, smut, fluff, angst w/comfort. m.list

you were his most well kept secret, scrolling your instagram for hours on end, collecting each and every magazine that you'd ever featured in, satoru was obsessed with you, the gorgeous goddess who just so happened to go to his university. what happens when he sees you struggling to reach a book in the library and plucks up enough courage to finally go up and talk to you? how will the resident bad boy sukuna disrupt his fever dream come true?

the old campus library felt like a different world, ornate woodwork climbing up the walls, interrupted only by tall leaded-glass windows that caught the soft amber glow of autumn. outside, the trees were aflame with color, copper, rust, deep crimson, and their reflection danced on the polished floors. inside, the air was quiet and thick with the scent of time, yellowed pages, candle wax, and the faintest trace of dust that even the best-kept secrets couldn’t shake.

this was satoru’s sanctuary. dim corners, forgotten shelves, long tables where no one noticed if you stayed for hours. it was the one place he could be invisible. which is why his heart damn near exploded when you walked in.

you didn’t belong here, not in the best way. you were all shimmer and gloss, y2k fantasy made flesh, swishing through the hushed aisles like you were on the catwalk of a juicy couture fever dream. pink cheetah-print mini skirt, rhinestone hair clips catching the library’s warm light, a bedazzled phone clutched in one hand and a louis vuitton pochette tucked under the other. your heels made the kind of clack that had half the students peeking over their books.

and gojo? he saw everything.

he watched as you scanned the shelf, rising up on your tiptoes, your acrylics fluttering helplessly just inches from the book’s spine. of course it had to be the top shelf.

of course no one else was around.

gojo adjusted his glasses, heart hammering in his chest. his fingers hovered over his laptop, still stuck on line 43 of an astrophysics assignment he stopped understanding twenty minutes ago.

he’d memorized every one of your photos, every cover shoot, every tiktok q&a where you smiled that same glossy smile.

but this? this was real. this was his chance.

the goddess of his screen, right here in the dusty old sanctuary he never thought you’d step foot in, struggling to reach a book that he was tall enough to grab without even trying.

clearing his throat almost as a way to prepare himself, he closed the lid of his lap top and stood.

his palms were sweating. he wiped them on his jeans as subtly as he could, heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to escape. every step felt unreal, like he was glitching through a dream he wasn’t supposed to be part of. he could hear the faint squeak of his sneakers against the hardwood floor, echoing too loud in the silence, like the library itself was watching him with bated breath.

you didn’t notice him at first, too busy tiptoeing, a pout forming on your glossy lips as your fingers swiped at nothing but air. your pink mini rode a little higher as you stretched, glittery charm bracelet jingling with the effort, and satoru had to drag his eyes back up to your face like a gentleman. his throat went dry.

he cleared it quietly. “uh—need some help?”

you turned, and wow.

up close, you were somehow even more perfect. highlighter catching on your cheekbones, the faint scent of candy and designer perfume floating around you like some kind of spell. your eyes met his, confused for a split second, then amused. not mean, not mocking. just… curious. like you were trying to place him. like maybe he was a page you’d never noticed before.

“errr, yeah,” you said, with a breathy little laugh that made his stomach flip. “not built for reaching stuff that high.”

he blinked, then smiled, nervous but trying to play it cool. “lucky for you, i majored in tall.” you laughed again even though it was kind of dry, real, sparkly, light. and satoru swore he’d never heard anything more perfect in his life.

“you’re funny,” you said, stepping aside to give him room. “what’s y'name, hun?” he froze for a half second. she’s asking your name, idiot, say it!

“gojo. i mean, satoru. gojo satoru. either one. or uh. both, at once.” he winced. smooth satoru, real smooth. you just tilted your head, smiled like you didn’t mind at all, and watched him pluck the book down with one easy reach.

“thanks, but satorus too long, and i hate calling people by their last name.” you said, cradling the book in your arms like a purse dog. satoru's eyes widened like he was surprised you'd say that so outright. he cleared his throat and runnned his neck. "oh, i see... what would you like to call me then?" he said bashfully.

“hmm. toru, ill call you toru." you said lazily chewing whatever pink gum you had in your mouth.

he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “toru... it's sounds good on your tongue- i mean! in your mouth- holy shit wait, that's not what i meant to-.”

you cut him off with a loud giggle, quickly slapping a hand over your mouth once you realized you were in a library, not that it did much to muffle the still continuing melody.

his brain short-circuited.

he was sure of it. neurons fried. circuits blown. oxygen? never heard of her. because you were standing there, laughing like he was actually funny, like this wasn’t a scene straight out of one of his most unhinged daydreams.

you gave him a look, amused, playful. god, he was dying. his soul was ascending like a cartoon ghost floating up from his body.

you shifted your weight, resting one hip against the shelf. the fluorescent light overhead made the rhinestones on your bebe cami sparkle. you tucked the book under your arm like it was a designer clutch and popped another bubble of gum, watching him with a kind of lazy, feline curiosity.

“so,” you drawled, “what’s a pretty boy like you doing all alone in a dusty place like this?”

pretty. you called him pretty.

he almost choked.

“i, uh—” he coughed, adjusting the frames on his face, trying to stall while his brain caught up. “i like… books?”

you laughed again. it was dangerous, the way you looked at him like that. like he was adorable. like he wasn’t wearing a hoodie with digimon on it and sneakers he hadn’t replaced in three years. like he wasn’t the guy who built computers in his dorm for fun and had a separate folder of your magazine covers saved on his hard drive labeled “for science” even though no science was involved.

“you’re cute,” you said matter-of-factly, like it was obvious.

and satoru? satoru was gone.

he stared at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, face flushed a gentle pink that crept all the way up to the tips of his ears. the air was suddenly thick. too warm. too sweet. it smelled like your bubblegum perfume and fall leaves and something else he couldn’t name, something that made his chest ache.

“y-you think so?” he asked softly, stunned.

you tilted your head again, hair bouncing. “don’t be weird 'bout it, 'course i do.”

he felt his knees weaken. he had to stay calm. say something cool. say something flirty. you’ve practiced this in the mirror for god sake!

“you’re, uh—” he tried, mouth dry. “you’re like… really symmetrical. scientifically speaking. your face, i mean. p-perfect proportions.”

you blinked at him, stunned for half a second before giggling again.

“are you trying to flirt with me using the golden ratio?”

“…yes.”

“oh my god,” you said, biting your lip. “that’s actually kinda hot.”

he almost moaned at your flirty tone.

he was talking to you. you. the girl whose instagram he checked religiously, zooming in on every new post like it was a secret message just for him. he knew what your favorite lip gloss was. he knew you preferred oat milk. he’d bought three different issues of vivi just to see the full spread of your beach shoot, and had one of them hidden in the bottom drawer under his spare laptop cables. the girl he had fucked his fist raw to.

you were standing right in front of him, telling him he was hot for quoting fibonacci.

this couldn’t be fucking real.

“do you, like… study fashion or something?” he blurted out, trying to keep the conversation going.

he couldn't lose this opportunity.

“not that you need to. you look like… like you walked out of a y2k time capsule, but in a cool way. like, the hottest- i mean coolest way.”

you grinned, chewing your gum thoughtfully. “nah. i'm in marketing. but i do part-time modeling gigs. keeps my followers happy. and my bank account.”

'oh, i know.' he thought, but smiled like he didn’t. like he hadn’t memorized your last seven ad campaigns and tracked the rise in your follower count every week.

“that’s really cool,” he said instead. “you’re, like, really good at it.”

you raised a brow. “you’ve seen my stuff?”

he panicked. “uh. once. maybe. a few times. like… it came up. on the internet.” he cleared his throat.

you smirked. “just came up, huh?.”

he felt the heat rush to his ears. “i… no… maybe.”

you stepped a little closer, still grinning, glossy lips curving like you knew exactly the effect you had on him.

“it’s okay, toru,” you whispered conspiratorially. “i'm fine with hot guys like you looking at my stuff.”

he snorted, loud and awkward, then clapped a hand over his mouth. your laughter followed, softer this time, almost sweet. you didn’t seem like you were judging him. if anything, you seemed like you were delighted by how much of a mess he was.

you leaned back against the bookshelf, flipping the book’s cover open lazily. “what were you working on, before i came over and distracted you with my tragic lack of height?”

he glanced back at his table, his laptop still open, screen filled with half-written code and tabs full of equations.

“just… homework. physics stuff. not super interesting.”

you hummed. “oh wow physics! you really are a genius? not some nerd poser or something?”

“or something,” he said with a sheepish grin.

you eyed him again, like you were scanning him. tall. gangly, but in a model-off-duty kind of way. platinum white hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. piercing blue eyes behind round glasses that only made him look more ridiculously pretty, like a gorgeous professor with no idea how hot he actually was.

you popped another bubble. “you're hot toru, y'know that?”

he groaned, covering his face. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you nudged his arm with your elbow. “in an endearing way, though.”

his heart did a full backflip. she’s flirting with me. she’s actually flirting with me. this isn’t a simulation. this is real.

he was suddenly hyper-aware of everything. the way your perfume lingered in the air. the soft click of your nails against the book cover. the scuff on your pink heels. your lip gloss glinting like a disco ball every time the light shifted. his eyes trailed down to the perfect curve of your tits, god what he would give to cop a feel for just a secon-

“so,” you said, as casually as if you were asking for the time, “you gonna ask for my number or just keep eye fucking me like that?”

his jaw dropped.

you giggled again.

“i—I wasn't- i was gonna-,” he stammered, clutching the edge of the bookshelf for support. “i just didn’t know if, i mean, you’re, like, you. and i’m just—”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re toru.”

he blinked.

“my toru, if you play your cards right.”

he was dead. buried. emotionally incinerated.

“uh—can i—yeah—your number, please. definitely. like. right now.”

you pulled your phone from your purse, bedazzled case catching the light like a chandelier. “here."

he shakily took your phone.

you peeked at it and burst out laughing. “just 'gojo'? that's lame.”

he shrugged, somehow managing a grin. “oh! uh... i guess you'll have to make up the name...”

he saw your lips curl as you typed in a new name. you turned the phone around and he read the contact.

'toru 🫦'

“you’re so... flirty...”

“yeah i get told that.”

you tilted your head again. “i like you, toru, you're cool.”

he didn’t think anything in his life had ever sounded better.

"r-really? you're like, really cool to-"

"y/n! hurry the hell up or we're leaving without you!"

a foreign voice interrupted the moment, and you looked over your shoulder through the book cases to see sukuna and yuki looking around for you.

"ah shit, sorry toru but i gotta run. parties am i right?"

satoru stammered abit before straightening up and nodding his head quickly like he knew anything about parties. he gulped looking at sukuna, he alone looked 100x more likely to be dating a hot model like you, he was tatted up, smoking hot and oh so boyish. you were hanging out with guys like this on the daily? it made satoru's self confidence waver.

"no, yeah, totally. uhm... it was really nice meeting you y/n-"

"you too toru see yah! i'll text you!"

you replied, fast walking off to your popular friends that seemed to be pretty adamant in you returning quickly.

satoru watched you walk away, heart still pounding in his chest. the weight of the moment, of you, was slowly sinking in.

he stared after you, eyes wide behind his glasses, watching the way you moved—effortless, like a star gliding through space, not a care in the world, completely unaware of the way the whole library seemed to be holding its breath in your presence, just like him. he saw how students whispered as you passed by, you were already back in your element, heading toward your friends. your heels clicked rhythmically against the floor as you weaved through the bookcases.

'she called me toru. she called me toru.'

he could barely wrap his mind around it. you were her. the goddess he’d collected magazines of, the one whose photos kept him up all night, the girl whose life seemed so perfect and out of reach. and you’d called him toru, a nickname only his mom called him.

like it was nothing. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he felt his pulse racing again, the aftershock of the interaction rippling through him. 'there was no fucking way this was real. it couldn’t be. not in a million years.'

he stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching your figure shrink as you disappeared into the crowd of students waiting at the library exit. a part of him wanted to run after you, but he stayed rooted to the spot, trying to calm his breathing, trying to get his bearings.

'i'll text you' your words rang in his ears.

he fumbled for his phone, eager to check for the message. he knew it wasn’t going to be anything mind-blowing, just a quick “hey” or maybe an emoji, but it didn’t matter. it was something.

his hands shook as he unlocked the screen.

no new messages. his heart sank, and for a brief moment, he was ready to throw his phone out the window. 'don’t overthink it, satoru. it’s just one conversation. stop acting like she’s going to text you back immediately, you idiot.'

he paced back and forth for a few minutes, his mind in a complete fog. the sound of his footsteps was the only thing that seemed to ground him, the reality of the library pulling him back from his spiral of thoughts.

'okay. okay, you need to calm down. what just happened is… insane. but it’s not like she’s your girlfriend. hell, you barely know her. but fuck…'

he sat down at the nearest table, pulling out his laptop and trying to force himself to focus. his fingers hovered over the keys, but the words weren’t coming to him. the physics problems blurred together on the screen, the equations meaningless in comparison to what had just happened.

he laughed to himself, a quiet sound that felt a little too much like a nervous breakdown.

'she called you pretty. she said you were hot. and she didn’t run away. she didn’t laugh at you. she just called you cute! god, you’re fucked, satoru.'

he couldn’t stop smiling, even though he knew he was being ridiculous.

'this is real, right? she actually liked me. she didn’t just see me as some… weirdo in the corner of the library. she saw me.'

~

you didn’t think much more about it after that. after all, you were you, and satoru? well, he was just some pretty nerd who you had a quick flirty conversation with. sure, it was fun, but it wasn’t like anything was going to come of it.

but you couldn’t help thinking about his smile. the way he stammered and blushed. the way his eyes flicked up to meet yours, like he was afraid he might melt if he looked too long. he wasn’t the first guy to be nervous around you, but there was something… refreshing about the way he acted. not like he was trying to impress you, but like he was genuinely just happy to be talking to you.

it was cute.

you were knocked out of your thoughts when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders as yuki walked next to you out of the library.

“took you long enough,” sukuna drawled, his voice low and rough in that way that made heads turn even when he wasn’t trying. his rings clinked lightly as his fingers settled on your shoulder, all casual possessiveness and knowing smirks. “don’t tell me you were actually studying?”

“she was flirting,” yuki chimed in, tugging her black leather jacket tighter around herself. “with glasses.”

“glasses?” sukuna raised a pierced brow, looking amused. “you mean the lanky nerd who always camps out in the back corner like he pays damn rent?”

you gave a lazy little shrug, chewing your gum thoughtfully as your pink acrylics tapped against your phone screen. “y'know him? he’s cute.”

yuki nearly choked on a laugh, slapping a hand to her chest. “cute? you think he’s cute?”

“like, awkward cute,” you clarified, eyes scanning your texts, pretending not to notice how sukuna’s grip subtly tightened. “he called my symmetrical face hot.”

yuki actually wheezed. sukuna just stared down at you for a second, unreadable. “you fuckin’ with him?” you gave him a sugary smile, lips glossed just right. “no. he was just sweet, helped me reach a book.”

“sweet,” he repeated flatly, like the word offended him on a molecular level. but you were already ahead of them, weaving through the quad, your low-rise mini skirt swishing, a little pink blur in a sea of neutrals. you didn’t even need to look back to know they were following you. people always followed you.

you were the kind of girl people stared at. you were the girl. the one in the center of every group pic. the one who got handed aux at parties. the one every guy either wanted or bragged about knowing. and yeah, it got exhausting sometimes. but it was better than being invisible. it was better than being left behind.

sukuna and yuki flanked you like always, your unofficial bodyguards, your chaos and calm. people moved for the three of you like you were royalty. “what’s his name?” yuki asked as you all approached the parking lot. she was already pulling her keys out, ready to drive you to the party.

“satoru,” you said absently. “but i’m calling him toru.” sukuna scoffed, you were oblivious to the drop in his stomach.

~

back in the library, satoru still hadn’t moved. his brain kept replaying the moment you said his name. toru. he never knew two syllables could make him feel like his chest was going to explode. and then your friends had shown up. those friends.

satoru had locked eyes with the pink-haired one for only a second, but it was enough.

he was tall , broad-shouldered, ink running down his arms like artless declarations of rebellion, slick black piercings catching even the dimmest light of the library. he had a cigarette tucked behind one ear like it was an afterthought, like he didn’t even need it to look dangerous. his shirt clung to him like it didn’t dare wrinkle. his stare was deadpan, half-lidded and bored, like he’d already sized satoru up and decided he wasn’t worth the breath it would take to speak.

his eyes said it all, 'i’ve done things your virgin brain can't even fathom. i’ve had her in ways you’ll never even understand.' satoru felt small, smaller than he had in years.

this guy, sukuna, looked like the kind of man girls wrote warnings about in their diary. the kind your friends begged you to stay away from but you never did. he looked like he lived in red lights and black leather and bad decisions. like he didn’t even need to try to get a girl like you. like he already had.

he looked like the kind of guy you did date.

satoru’s fingers twitched at his sides, a nervous impulse to hide himself behind his sleeves. behind his hoodie. behind something. anything. 'they’re probably just friends,' he told himself. but the words didn’t land. not really.

not when you were surrounded by people like that, cool, popular, hot in a way that didn’t come from filters or good lighting but from raw, lived-in confidence. people who belonged in glossy polaroids, in afterparties, in stolen moments behind closed doors.

people who weren’t him.

he thought about the way you’d laughed at his dumb jokes, called him toru like it was something soft and special. how you’d looked at him like he was something worth looking at. but it didn’t change the fact that he was stammering and akward.

meanwhile, sukuna probably had you pressed against a wall the night before, hand on your throat, like he owned you. satoru blinked down at the ground, heart clenched, throat dry.

what if he does? what if you weren’t just flirting? what if sukuna was the one you called when the party ended? the one who got to see you undone and bare and real?

the image hit him hard, a flash of you in someone else’s bed, laughing the way you had in the library, except it wasn’t for him this time. he shook his head, embarrassed with himself, but the thought had already burrowed in.

'you’re not her type.' and god, wasn’t that the worst part? because he wanted to be.

he wanted to be everything you liked. everything you needed. but standing there in that hoodie with his backpack half-zipped and his heart in his mouth, he wasn’t sure he even belonged in the same room as you.satoru dropped his forehead to the desk, groaning softly.

'get a grip. you’re spiraling. again.'

but he couldn’t help it. not when he’d spent the better part of his freshman year zooming in on pictures of you on the cover of “tokyo street glam.” not when he had a folder on his phone labeled “math notes” that was really just full of screenshots from your instagram stories.

you were his secret. his guilty pleasure. the one girl he let himself obsess over even when he swore he didn’t do that anymore. and now? you were real. not just real, but you’d talked to him. you’d liked talking to him. he finally lifted his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, still slightly fogged from the heat of his own forehead.

'snap out of it, satoru. she’s not a fantasy anymore. you met her. she smiled at you. she gave you her number. that has to mean something.'

his phone vibrated. his whole body went rigid he snatched it up off the table so fast he nearly dropped it.

[new message: unknown number]

xxx xxx xxx: heya toru :)

his mouth dropped open a little. he just stared at the screen, like it might disappear. like it was a mirage. his fingers hovered for a moment, then tapped quickly.

toru 🫦: hey :)

and then, as fast as he could, he threw his phone face-down on the table and physically shoved his chair away from it like it might explode. his heart pounded. his ears were ringing.

'holy fucking shit she texted you.'

he let out a shaky breath, tugging his hoodie sleeves down over his hands and scrubbing them over his face.

~

“he texted back,” you told yuki, holding up your phone lazily.

“he’s probably combusting in that dusty ass library right now,” she grinned, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “you just turned that boy’s world upside down.”

you blew a bubble, letting it pop slow. “good.”

“you gonna see him again?” you shrugged, but your smile betrayed you. “depends. maybe.”

yuki eyed you. “you like him.”

“i don’t not like him.”

from behind, sukuna made a low noise of disapproval.

you ignored it.

~

back inside, satoru was still buzzing. his fingers hovered over the keys, unsure what to say next. he wanted to impress you. to be funny. to be hot. but mostly, he just didn’t want to blow it.

he checked your profile again, he didn’t mean to. it was just instinct now. all your selfies, your campaign shoots, your y2k party outfits, the way you always looked like you stepped out of a dream and into a flashbulb.

your most recent post was from a few minutes ago where you snapped a photo of you and yuki getting ready for a frat party. 'of course.'

~

the alpha phi frat house was already buzzing by the time you and yuki pulled up. the thump of bass-heavy music vibrated through the ground, mingling with the distant chatter and laughter of students spilling out onto the lawn. fairy lights crisscrossed above, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene, while the scent of alcohol and pot hung thick in the air.

you stepped out of the car, your mini dress hugging your curves perfectly. your hair was styled beautifully, and your makeup was a flawless blend of early 2000s glam and modern chic. yuki, ever the contrast, sported a sleek black ensemble, her dark lipstick and sharp eyeliner giving her an edgy allure. as you made your way through the crowd, the familiar faces of your inner circle came into view.

choso was the first to greet you, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red solo cup in hand. his long, dark hair was tied into two high ponytails, and his deep-set eyes held a quiet intensity. choso was the enigmatic artist of your group, often lost in thought but always present when it mattered. despite his reserved nature, he had a soft spot for you, often sketching portraits of you in his notebook.

“y/n,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“heyy cho,” you replied, giving him a quick hug. “still acting all edgy brooding in corners?”

he chuckled softly. “y'know it.”

nearby, suguru lounged on a couch, his long black hair tied back, revealing a perfectly sharp jawline and a mischievous glint in his eyes. he raised his glass in a silent toast as you approached.

“y/n, always a vision,” he drawled, his voice deep, sexy and smooth as silk.

“awe how sweet of you. not sleeping with you tho, sorry!” you shot back, smirking.

suguru was the charismatic leader, effortlessly drawing people into his orbit. he had a way with words and a confidence that made him irresistible to many. your relationship with him was flirtatious, filled with playful banter and lingering glances.

"that's too bad, pretty."

shoko, the group’s resident medical major and drunkard, sauntered over with a bottle in hand. her short hair framed her face, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“y/n! shot?” she offered, already pouring two.

“you know i can’t say no to you, girl,” you laughed, clinking glasses with her.

shoko was the life of the party, always ready with a drink and a sarcastic comment. she balanced her wild side with a deep loyalty to her friends, always there when it mattered most.

sukuna, ever the token bad boy, leaned against the wall, his tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. his pink hair was tousled, and his eyes followed you as you moved through the room.

he gave you a once over and approached you, slinking an arm around your waist and hooking his head down to inhale you're perfume with a groan.

sukuna was your on-again, off-again fling, the tension between you two palpable. he exuded danger and allure, and while your relationship was complicated, especially with his tendency to be extremely unloyal, there was no denying the chemistry.

you giggled before pushing him off and working your way further into the party, dodging bodies as you progressed.

nanami stood nearby, his tie loosened, a drink in hand. he offered you a nod, his expression as stoic as ever.

“y/n,” he greeted simply.

“nanami, letting loose tonight?” you teased, leaning against his side looking up at him. “as much as i can,” he replied, a hint of a smile on his lips as he dipped his drink.

nanami was the responsible one, always the voice of reason. he kept the group grounded, his calm demeanor a counterbalance to the chaos. maki zen’in, fierce and unapologetic, approached with a confident stride. her athletic build and sharp eyes commanded attention.

“y/n, looking sexy,” she complimented, giving you a nod.

“maki, you look so fucking hot.” you responded.

maki was the strong, silent type, her loyalty unwavering. she was someone you could always count on, both in and out of a fight.

~

as the group settled into their usual banter, yuki leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes, capturing their attention.

“guess who y/n was flirting with today?” she announced, drawing everyone’s attention. the room quieted slightly, all eyes on you.

you shot her a sideways glance and felt for the phone in your pocket, remembering you needed to text a certain someone back.

“a nerd,” yuki continued, grinning.

sukuna’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

“a nerd?” suguru echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, glasses, stammering, the whole 9 yards,” yuki elaborated.

“he was cute,” you defended, shrugging, about to hit send on the message you were about to send satoru when sukuna interrupted.

he scoffed, pushing off the wall.

“i’m getting another drink,” he muttered lowly, disappearing into the crowd.

the group exchanged glances, the tension palpable.

“well, that was dramatic,” shoko commented, taking another sip.

choso snorted abit and suguru just shook his head.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile played on your lips. sukuna fucked around with all kinds of girls, what gave him the right to get all pissy? you didn't really like him like that anyways, he just knew how to fuck...

you watched sukuna’s retreating figure push through the crowd, jaw locked, shoulders tense. he didn’t even glance back.

you waited a beat. maybe he was just being dramatic. maybe he’d cool off and come back and pretend like nothing happened.

but he didn’t.

and something about that made your blood boil.

“i’ll be back,” you muttered, not really addressing anyone in particular.

yuki gave you a knowing look but didn’t stop you.

you slipped past sweaty bodies and neon-lit walls, the music thudding behind you like a heartbeat as you pushed open the sliding glass door to the patio. it was colder out here. quieter. sukuna was leaning against the railing, cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers, jaw clenched tight like he was chewing on all the things he wanted to say but wouldn’t.

you stood a few feet away, arms crossed.

“you always do this,” you said softly, voice sharp in contrast to the quiet. “get weird whenever someone else so much as breathes in my direction.”

he didn’t turn around. just took a slow drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke into the air like it was supposed to calm him.

“so now you’re into nerds?” he said, voice flat. you scoffed. “is that really what you’re mad about?” he glanced over his shoulder, eyes flashing. “i’m not mad.” you stepped closer, irritation prickling under your skin.

“bullshit. you stormed out like i cheated on you or something.” he turned fully to face you now, arms spread slightly like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“we’re not together.”

you laughed, bitter and tired. “exactly. we’re not together. so why the fuck do you care?”

he looked at you then, really looked. and for a second, something flickered in his expression, hurt? jealousy? possession? it vanished almost as quickly as it came.

“i don’t,” he said coldly. “you can fuck whoever the hell you want.”

“then why are you acting like this?”

he stepped closer, his voice low and cutting. “because you act like you don’t care, like it’s just casual, and then go around flirting with other guys like it’s a game.”

“you sleep with other people all the time.”

“yeah, but i don’t shove it in your face.”

“i wasn’t trying to shove anything—” you snapped, taking another step forward, “—you just can’t stand not being the center of attention.”

his eyes narrowed. “and you can’t stand the idea that someone might not want you.”

that one stung more than it should have.

you blinked, lips parting, breath catching in your throat for half a second. then you swallowed it down and stared right back at him.

“fuck you.”

he smirked. “you already did.”

you rolled your eyes and turned, ready to walk back in, to let this whole thing rot where it stood. but then—

“he’s not gonna fuck you like i do,” he called out, venom laced in his voice.

you stopped.

turned.

walked right up to him.

“maybe not,” you said sweetly, “but he doesn’t talk to me like i’m disposable.”

sukuna didn’t say anything, jaw tight again, eyes unreadable.

you stepped back. “enjoy your drink.”

and with that, you left him there, cigarette burned down to the filter, staring at your back as you disappeared into the party.

~

you stalked your way back into the party, turning heads as you walked. you navigated back to a some what secluded couch and sat down trying to calm yourself, and think. and maybe, okay, definitely, text that nerd.

you reached for your phone that had been vibrating on and off all night in your purse. as expected, a few dms, a couple mentions from the party, sukuna had liked one of your thirst traps from last week, typical, but it was the one message that you'd received a few hours ago that made your heart do a weird little flip.

toru 🫦[10:03]: wydddd?

you [12:47am]: u still up nerd?

you paused. stared at it. then hit send before you could chicken out.

you rolled onto your back, biting your lip, phone clutched to your chest.

the reply came way faster than expected.

toru 🫦 [12:48am]: im always up for you

you stared at the screen, mouth open.

“what the hell,” you muttered, smiling like an idiot.

you [12:49am]: that was smooth toru. didn’t know you had game

toru 🫦 [12:49am]: i don’t. im literally panicking rn

toru 🫦 [12:49am]: i had to rewrite that message like five times. you don’t wanna see the first drafts

you snorted.

you [12:50am]: ok show me the deleted ones

toru 🫦 [12:51am]: i think one said “yes i am awake haha as a human does” and then another one just said “gulp”

you [12:51am]: stopppppp LMAO

you [12:52am]: that’s so cute it’s disgusting

toru 🫦 [12:52am]: glad i could repulse you into liking me? i think?

you [12:53am]: don’t get cocky bud ur just some cute guy i met

toru 🫦 [12:53am]: you think i’m cute?

you laughed again, your cheeks a little warm despite the hour.

you [12:54am]: you’re literally the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: oh

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: oh my god

toru 🫦 [12:55am]: you’re just saying that

you [12:56am]: i’m not lol. you looked so good in the library today. like… ridiculously good

toru 🫦 [12:57am]: i was sweating so bad. i think my shirt was sticking to me. you looked like a dream tho. a bratz doll kinda dream

you grinned.

you [12:57am]: i am a bratz doll. kinda my whole label lmao. yk what i really like?coffee. speaking of!

you [12:58am]: wanna get some tomorrow? 1pm ish? bluebird café?

your finger hovered for a second before you sent it.

across campus, in a dorm room cluttered with textbooks, half-eaten candy, and his favorite hoodie tossed over the back of his desk chair, satoru gojo was staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

he read the message once.

twice.

three times.

and then he launched himself face-down into his pillow and let out a noise somewhere between a squeal and a dying animal.

“yes,” he whispered into the sheets. 'yes yes yes fuck yes.'

his thumbs scrambled to reply.

his response came in seconds.

toru 🫦 [12:58am]: yes. yes. yes pls

toru 🫦 [12:58am]: i mean yeah sounds cool lmao

he immediately smacked his forehead. sounds cool?? what was wrong with him?? you were literally the hottest person he’d ever seen and he was texting like someone’s nervous little cousin.

still.

you responded instantly.

you [12:59am]: ur such a loser

toru 🫦 [12:59am]: ur such hottie

he stared at the screen after sending it, heart pounding. he could still see you in that tight little outfit from earlier, that confident swing of your hips, your glossed lips twitching when you called him hot, like you already knew what that did to him.

and god, what didn’t it do to him?

he was so far gone. the way you talked to him, like you were toying with him. like you knew he’d let you. like you knew he’d beg if you asked nicely enough.

fuck.

he shifted on his bed, adjusting himself under the sheets with a hiss.

you had him half-hard from just a few texts and a smile.

his phone buzzed again.

you [1:00am]: wear a shirt like you were wearing today again. the tight one. pls. for science.

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: yes ma’am

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: but only if u promise to sit close to me

toru 🫦 [1:00am]: like. real close

you bit your lip, heat crawling up your neck and down your legs.

you [1:01am]: i was gonna sit in ur lap anyway?

gojo made an honest-to-god whimper.

toru 🫦 [1:01am]: brb. passing away. dying. deceased. funeral tmrw before coffee

you laughed into your hands, locking your phone as the giddiness spilled over.

you didn’t know why you were getting all hyped over this guy.

he was awkward. kind of dorky. always blushing.

just an awkward guy with a pretty face.

and you?

you were already dressing to impress. already picturing how he’d react when you leaned in close, lipgloss shining. already planning which perfume would drive him crazy.

just coffee.

totally chill.

except your pulse wouldn’t slow down, and your smile wouldn’t fade.

not even a little.

~

meanwhile, sukuna stood on the patio still, cigarette ash crumbling between his fingers, the cold air biting at his skin, but he didn’t feel it. all he could think about was the look in your eyes when you told him off. the way your voice didn’t even shake. the way you walked away like he didn’t matter. like he was just another hookup who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

'fuck.'

he dragged the smoke in deep, holding it in his lungs like it might cauterize the part of him that still gave a shit. but it didn’t. it never did.

you always did this. wormed your way under his skin like a parasite. made him feel things he swore he didn’t have in him. and every time, he let you. like a fucking idiot.

you weren’t his. he wasn’t yours. that was the deal. and he liked that. needed it. no strings. no expectations. he fucked, you moaned, and then you went home. clean. efficient.

but tonight?

you had the audacity to smile about some four-eyed loser in a cardigan. to say he was cute, cute, in front of everyone like you weren’t the same girl who’d been choking on his cock last weekend, mascara dripping down your cheeks, begging him to keep going even though you were shaking.

and now? you were giggling over some soft-spoken virgin with library dust in his hair?

fuck off.

he could see it. this “toru” guy blushing like a fucking idiot when you touched his arm. stuttering through compliments. looking at you like you hung the stars. and worse—way worse—he could see you liking it. eating it up. letting yourself be doted on like you were something sweet and fragile.

'what a fucking joke.'

you were a brat. a tease. a bad girl in a tight dress with too much lipgloss and not enough shame. sukuna knew that. he liked that. you weren’t soft. you weren’t gentle. you were fire and sharp teeth and split thighs. that’s what he fucked. what he owned.

and now you were giving that soft shit to someone else?

nah.

he got the real you. the parts no one else could handle. the parts that needed someone like him. the late-night chaos. the bruises you didn’t want to explain. the shame-soaked mornings where you wouldn’t look him in the eye.

he got the truth.

that nerd didn’t know you. he didn’t know the mess under the makeup. the desperate texts at 2am. the neediness that bled through every time you swore you didn’t care.

and you?

you didn’t get to act like you were someone new. like you were pure now, just because some pretty boy batted his lashes at you in the nonfiction aisle.

fuck that.

he scoffed under his breath, flicking the dead cigarette into the grass and watching the embers scatter.

this wasn’t supposed to matter. none of it was supposed to matter.

you were hot. you were cool. and he thought if he kept it physical, kept it casual, he wouldn’t get sucked in.

but there you were. invading his thoughts, ruining his night with one stupid, flirty smile at someone else.

you shouldn’t get to do that.

he dug into his pocket for another cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.

he was spiraling and he knew it.

he hated this.

hated how you’d crawl into his head without even trying. hated how you made him feel sixteen again, jealous, stupid, insecure. hated that you didn’t even ask him to stay. hated that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want him to.

and he really fucking hated the idea that you’d text that guy tonight.

maybe you already had.

maybe he was texting you back right now, saying something dumb and sweet like you looked really pretty today, and you’d eat it up because that was the shit you liked now, wasn’t it?

and sukuna would be out here, sucking down his second cigarette, pretending it didn’t gut him.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, tossing the second one too.

he stared up at the night sky, jaw locked, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he could force the feeling down if he just stood still enough.

but it sat there anyway, heavy in his chest.

you were slipping away from him.

and he didn’t even know if he wanted to stop you.

~

he walked back into the house like he hadn’t just spent twenty minutes outside trying not to feel things. the bass of the music hit him first, pulsing through the floorboards, drowning out whatever was left of his pride. he grabbed another drink just to keep his hands busy. he didn’t even know what it was, probably something sugary and cheap,but he needed something to hold so he wouldn’t punch a wall.

he spotted yuki first, dancing near the kitchen with shoko and maki, drinks in hand, glittering under the soft lights strung along the ceiling. he didn’t bother looking for you at first. he told himself he wouldn’t. told himself it didn’t matter.

but his eyes betrayed him, scanning the room like they always fucking did.

and there you were.

sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, grinning down at your phone like it had just told you the funniest joke in the world.

he didn’t have to guess who you were texting.

he knew.

the look on your face said it all. soft. dreamy. your glossed lips tilted into a little smirk, teeth poking through as you bit back a laugh. your fingers moved fast, typing something with a kind of excitement he hadn’t seen in you in a long time. not with him. not for a while.

you never looked at your phone like that after fucking around with him.

no, you usually ghosted him the next day, like you needed to forget it even happened. like he was something you regretted once the high wore off.

but now you were sitting there in a tight little dress, glowing from the inside out, because some nerd made you smile with a few well-timed texts.

he clenched his jaw, setting his drink down before it cracked in his grip.

' fuck that guy.

fuck his stupid glasses.'

fuck how easily he got your attention after one day.

he took a slow breath, trying to shake it off. he wasn’t going to be that guy. the clingy one. the bitter one. he had girls. options. people would kill for a night with him and he knew it. he didn’t need you. he never did.

but goddamn, it felt like you were the only thing he wanted in that moment.

he forced himself to move, leaning back against the counter, trying not to watch you as you texted.

you glanced up once, eyes sweeping the room, and you caught him. just for a second. your smile faltered, and you looked away fast, back to your phone, back to 'toru.'

sukuna’s stomach twisted.

you didn’t come over.

you didn’t even wave.

you just kept texting.

he swallowed hard and looked away.

suguru came up beside him, handing him a new drink. “you look like you’re about to rock someone's shit.”

“i might,” sukuna muttered, taking the cup.

“you know she’s not yours, right?” suguru said casually, like he wasn’t cutting sukuna open with the truth.

sukuna didn’t answer. he didn’t have to.

“just saying,” suguru added, sipping his own drink, “you act like you don’t care, but every time she entertains someone else you look like you’re about to commit a felony.”

“she’s not like that with me,” sukuna said quietly.

“yeah,” suguru said, looking back at you, “and maybe that’s the problem."

he hated that look on your face.

soft. sweet. like someone actually deserved it.

like he hadn’t just had you moaning into his neck a week ago.

“unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, jaw twitching. he pushed off the counter and made his way across the kitchen, bumping past some guy in a letterman jacket hard enough to make the drink in his hand slosh. the guy looked ready to say something, but one glance at sukuna’s expression shut him up.

he thrived on that.

the fear. the respect. the control.

he didn’t lose.

and now here he was, second place to some awkward little library rat who probably still asked his mom how to do laundry.

pathetic.

you weren’t even that special. not really.nat least that's what he told himself.

you had a pretty face, sure. tight body, knew how to use it.

but god, were you exhausting.

always wanting to “talk” after. getting weird if he didn’t text back fast enough. acting like he owed you something when all you ever were was convenient.

it wasn’t his fault you caught feelings.

it wasn’t his fault you mistook a few orgasms for meaning.

and now? you were all smiles and fluttery lashes for some guy who’d probably cum in his pants if you so much as kissed his neck.

he laughed, bitter and mean, dragging a hand through his hair.

you’d be bored in a week. two, tops.

guys like that didn’t know what to do with girls like you.

he did.

he knew how to make you fall apart. knew how to get under your skin, pull sounds out of you you didn’t even know you could make. he’d ruined you for other guys, he was sure of it.

and yet there you were, looking like he didn’t exist.

looking like he never even mattered.

he downed the rest of his drink and tossed the cup aside like it disgusted him, then stalked toward the hallway without a word to anyone. if he couldn’t have your attention, he’d find someone else’s.

you weren’t the only hot girl at this party.

and if you wanted to pretend he didn’t matter?

fine.

he’d show you just how easy it was to forget someone.

even if it was a lie.

even if it tore him up inside.

he was good at pretending.

you taught him that.

~

you lock your phone, the ghost of a smile still clinging to your lips, cheeks warm as you sink into the couch cushion. the room buzzes around you, low bass, clinking drinks, scattered laughter, and for a second, you forget where you are. all you can think about is the way satoru types like he can’t get the words out fast enough. like he’s trying to hold your attention before you disappear.

you tuck your phone into your purse and push yourself up, brushing your hands down the sides of your dress. no use staying curled up in the corner when the night’s still young and the liquor is just starting to hit.

“finally decided to rejoin the rest of us?” suguru calls as you weave through the crowd toward the kitchen.

“was that you smiling at your phone like a puppy?” choso adds, lifting a red solo cup to his lips with a grin.

you snort, accepting the tequila shot suguru passes you. “shut up.”

“no, really. that was some schoolgirl shit,” choso teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. “who’s got you blushing like that, huh?”

you shoot him a look as you throw the shot back, the alcohol burning a slow, sweet trail down your throat. “nobody.”

“mhmm,” suguru hums, not buying it for a second. “not like you to be giggling like that, especially not when sukuna’s in one of his moods.”

you shrug, licking a little salt from the back of your hand. “he’s always being weird.”

choso raises his brows. “you good with him?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” you say, a little too quickly.

they exchange a look but don’t push it. instead, suguru downs his shot and offers his hand. “come dance.”

you let him pull you onto the living room floor, the music thudding loud enough that it vibrates through your heels. choso joins, the three of you falling into a loose rhythm, spinning and swaying under the hazy glow of the string lights. suguru’s hands find your waist, steady but never greedy, while choso twirls you around with a flourish that makes you laugh.

it feels good, easy. warm bodies, familiar faces, and the distraction you didn’t know you needed.

you let go for a little while. lose yourself in the music and the alcohol and the safety of your friends’ touch. suguru dips his head to murmur something that makes you laugh, choso pretending to swoon dramatically in response. you throw your head back, laughing harder, spinning until the room blurs

and then your eyes land on him.

sukuna.

he’s leaned against the far wall, and he’s not alone.

there’s a girl tucked into his side, long legs, shiny hair, tiny black dress, and she’s all over him. her hand drags a lazy line down his chest, and he just stands there, smirking like it’s nothing. like she’s nothing. like you’re nothing.

his fingers ghost along the hem of her dress, drifting lower with zero subtlety. and still, he doesn’t look at you. not even a glance. not even a twitch.

you pause mid-step, not frozen exactly, just… confused.

because wasn’t he the one who got all tense when he heard you talk about another guy? wasn’t he the one looking pissed earlier, jaw tight, eyes sharp, when yuki teased you about your little crush? wasn’t he the one who always acted like he hated when you gave anyone else your attention, even though he never wanted to claim you outright?

and now this?

your stomach doesn’t twist, it just sinks, low and slow. not with jealousy. not with hurt. more like: what the hell is his problem?

you keep moving. force your body to flow with the music again as suguru slides behind you, hands warm at your hips. you’re still dancing. still laughing. still here. but your mind keeps circling back.

it’s not that you expected anything different. not really. you and sukuna were never official. never had rules. never had to check in with each other. but still… there was always a tension, a pull, something unspoken between the two of you that made it feel like no one else could come close.

and yet, here he is. practically letting that girl climb him like a tree. acting like you didn’t spend last weekend tangled in his sheets. like he didn’t tell you just days ago that you made his head spin.

you down another shot when suguru hands it to you, nodding in thanks. it burns going down, but it keeps your face smooth. keeps your smile intact.

choso leans close, voice low in your ear. “you good?”

you hesitate. nod. “just don’t get him.”

he follows your gaze. sees the way sukuna is still letting that girl grind against him. the way his hand now fully cups her thigh.

“he’s being a dick,” choso says plainly. “you know that, right?”

“yeah,” you murmur. “i just don’t get why.”

suguru cuts in, quiet and even. “because you scare him.”

you blink. “what?”

“he doesn’t get to control how you feel about someone else. and it’s killing him,” suguru says. “so he does this. acts out. pretends he’s unbothered. he’s not.”

“but like…” you glance over again, brows furrowing. “if it bothers him so much, why go hook up with someone right in front of me?”

“because he’s immature,” choso replies. “and stupid.”

you exhale, a short breath through your nose. “yeah. that checks out.”

it doesn’t hurt, not exactly. it just leaves you feeling weirdly hollow. like something unfinished is hanging in the air between you, something you were never allowed to name.

you pull away from the guys with a small, grateful smile. “i’m gonna go outside for a sec.”

“you sure?” suguru asks.

you nod. “i’m fine. just wanna clear my head.”

you step out onto the porch, letting the chill air wrap around your bare arms. your heart isn’t racing. your hands aren’t shaking. but your mind won’t stop running laps.

you’re not mad at sukuna for messing around. you never expected monogamy from him. but you are mad, maybe a little, for the double standard. for how he acts like it’s betrayal when you even mention another guy, and then turns around and grabs the first girl who bats her lashes at him.

it’s not jealousy. it’s not heartbreak.

it’s just… tired.

you deserve more than someone who only wants you when it’s convenient.

your phone buzzes.

toru 🫦 [2:07am]: i can’t stop thinking about u

you smile a little. softer now. gentler.

toru 🫦 [2:08am]: u looked so pretty tonight btw. i saw your post on instagram!

you [2:08am]: ur sweet. i needed that.

and you mean it.

you don’t even have to wonder about his intentions. satoru makes you feel wanted without playing games. without dangling affection like a prize. he doesn’t try to make you jealous. doesn’t punish you for being desirable.

he just likes you. for you.

toru 🫦 [2:09am]: good. i’ll remind u in person tomorrow :)

you laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. light and real and unfussy.

maybe that’s the difference.

with sukuna, it’s always been messy. volatile. a push-pull you never had the rules for. he likes you, but only when it hurts. only when he’s the one making the rules.

but with satoru?

it feels easy. like you could be soft without having to apologize for it.

you slide your phone back into your purse and square your shoulders.

you’re not gonna let sukuna take this night from you. he doesn’t get to own your attention. not anymore.

you head back inside, head higher than before.

the night isn’t over yet.

and tomorrow?

you’ve got a date with a boy who looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

and maybe, for once, that’s exactly what you need.

~

satoru stood outside the bluebird café, adjusting his tight black shirt that showed off his sleeper build perfectly, for the fifth time. his hands were shaking slightly, heart thudding in his chest like a drumbeat. it wasn’t the coffee date that had him nervous. it was you.

you had that effect on him, on everyone, really. the thought of seeing you outside the chaos of the library, outside of that brief, awkward interaction where he’d fumbled through every word, made his stomach twist.

he’d told himself he was going to be cool, collected. he could do this. it was just a coffee date. no big deal. he’d gotten through way worse. but none of that had prepared him for how his breath caught every time he thought of how you’d looked in that stupid skirt and that ridiculous attitude that was so effortlessly attractive.

you were the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in a music video, the kind who could walk into a room and immediately make every other girl look like they were wearing the wrong outfit. and every guy would look at you with that same dumb, slack-jawed expression.

satoru shoved his hands in his pockets, adjusting his glasses, and forced himself to open the door. he didn’t have to look around to know you were here. he could feel your presence. the tension in his shoulders had already relaxed, just the thought of your energy pulling him in like a magnet.

when his eyes found you—fuck. it was like a punch to the gut.

you were sitting at the corner table, like you owned the place. of course, you did. you had that undeniable “i’m too cool for you, but i’ll let you look” kinda vibe.

you wore a tiny denim skirt that was, to be frank, barely even a skirt. a rhinestone-studded top that clung to you in all the right ways, and those chunky platform heels that screamed “diva.” your lips were glossy and full, glistening under the soft café lighting, and your hair was perfectly messyx just enough to look like you’d rolled out of bed, but still looked like a million bucks.

satoru’s breath caught in his throat.

his eyes drifted lower, watching how the hem of your skirt just barely grazed the edge of your thighs, how the way you moved your hand to adjust your drink made his brain short-circuit for a second.

your eyes locked with his as he approached the table, and for a second, time stopped. you smirked, that damn smirk that sent a rush of heat straight to his chest. he could feel his body temperature rise, and before he could stop himself, his brain ran through a dozen inappropriate thoughts at once.

fuck. you looked so gorgeous. he wasn’t prepared for just how gorgeous. his mind ran through a series of scenarios that were definitely not appropriate for public spaces, none of which helped the fact that his heart was now hammering in his chest like a jackhammer.

you were so… confident. he hated it. no one should have that much power over him, especially someone who he was almost two times bigger than.

“hey,” you greeted, your voice a little too smooth for his liking, like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him. he could see the way your eyes roamed over him, amusement dancing in your gaze. you probably knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“hey,” he managed to say, sitting down across from you, trying to act normal, trying to ignore the way his thoughts were spiraling.

you leaned forward slightly, your fingers wrapping around the cup of iced tea you had already ordered as you took a sip, a slow, deliberate motion that only made things worse.

“so, i see you listened,” you teased, your lips curling into that seductive smile. “that shirt looks so hot on you, toru.”

satoru flushed, already regretting that he had let you get under his skin so easily. but when you looked at him like that, eyes gleaming, lips glossed and soft, he couldn’t help it.

“thank you, you look stunning.” he muttered, his voice suddenly rough. his mind was already back to thinking about what he’d seen when you smiled like that, the way his body reacted in ways he definitely shouldn’t have let it.

he couldn’t help but imagine what you would be like in his bed. not that he’d ever say it out loud, but the thought haunted him. could he make you beg for him? could he make you moan his name like you probably did for that pink haired guy you were with at the library? would you let him pull you closer, your breath hot and needy as he kissed you until you couldn’t think anymore?

god, he hated that you could make him think about these things.

satoru shifted in his seat, trying to seem nonchalant but his body betrayed him. “thanks for asking me to come along, didn’t know you were the one to make moves, especially not on boring nerds like me,” he said, a cocky grin finding its way to his lips despite the growing ache in his chest.

your eyes narrowed, amusement twinkling behind them. “i like that you know your place,” you said, the words light but with an edge, as if daring him to challenge you.

he shifted in his seat again, fighting the urge to lean forward and test the limits of that challenge. “trust me,” he said, “i know exactly where i stand.”

you laughed, low and sweet, and he almost lost it right there. his hands gripped his cup tightly, knuckles white, as he tried to focus on anything but the way your lips curved when you smiled. you were dangerously close to being everything he wanted, and he hated it. hated that he wanted you so badly.

~

by now you two had fallen into comfortable conversation.

you laughed at something he said, something dumb and not nearly as clever as he wanted it to be, and satoru thought he might melt into the floor. it wasn’t just the sound of your laugh, though that alone could wreck him; it was the way your hand rested casually on the table between you, your fingers brushing his every now and then like it was nothing. but to him, it felt like everything.

you tilted your head, giving him that soft little smile that made him feel like you saw right through him.

“you’re adorable when you’re trying so hard to be smooth,” you said gently, voice lilting like a secret between friends. your tone was sweet, not mocking, but it still made heat crawl up the back of his neck. “like, you’re actually pulling it off. just barely.”

satoru smirked, covering up his absolute internal collapse with a shrug. “i don’t try. i am smooth,” he said jokingly, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his foot was tapping under the table from nerves. “this is just my natural charm.”he said with a big goofy smile.

you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand, elbows on the table. your lips curved into the softest, most devastating smirk. “oh? so you’ve accidentally been giving me bedroom eyes this whole time?”

he choked on his coffee.

you giggled and reached over to lightly pat his chest, like you were soothing him after delivering the most casual, lethal blow. “relax, toru. i think it’s sweet. guys like you don’t usually give me the time of day.”

he blinked, stunned. “guys like me?”

“you know,” you said, like it was obvious, “the smart, weirdly-pretty ones. the ones who don’t realize they’re hot because they’ve been sheltered their whole life.”

he stared at you, utterly ruined. “you really think i’m hot don't you? keep on saying it. not that i mind.”

“oh, baby,” you said with a little laugh, “you don’t get to sit across from me all soft and shy and pretending not to stare at my lips, and act like you don’t know the effect you’re having.”

his mouth went dry.

but your voice softened again, gentler this time, like you could sense he was hovering right on the edge of overload. “you’re really sweet, toru. funny, too. i like how you get flustered when i push you a little.”

he tried to summon a coherent response, but his brain was short-circuiting. you were too much, kind and confident, beautiful and bold, and now you were complimenting him like it was nothing?

“i—uh—yeah, no, i like you too,” he finally managed, rubbing the back of his neck. “a lot, actually.”

you smiled at him, soft, fond, and then stood slowly, adjusting your mini skirt with deliberate care. your sweater slipped a little off one shoulder and you didn’t bother fixing it. you let his eyes linger.

“so listen,” you said casually, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “i have this little shoot i need to do for a brand deal tonight. just a few instagram shots. nothing crazy. cute little set, fluffy lighting, all that.” you tilted your head again, voice syrupy sweet. “you good with a camera, toru?”

he blinked. “uh… i mean, yeah. i guess? i’ve done some stuff for the yearbook.”

“perfect.” you smiled like a cat who’d just caught something in her claws. “i think you’ll be really good at capturing all my... angles.”

his brain stuttered.

“you wanna come by?” you asked, already typing something into your phone. “you can help me out. i’ll feed you. and maybe after… i’ll let you pick which photos i post.”

his mouth opened. no sound came out.

you looked up and smiled, soft, radiant, but still with that glint of mischief behind your lashes. “unless you’ve got better plans than coming back to my place and watching me pose in a juicy couture set?”

he almost knocked over his drink standing up.

“great,” you said brightly, as if you hadn’t just set his entire nervous system on fire. “i’ll text you my address. bring your hands. i might need help adjusting.”

and with that, you leaned in, kissed his cheek so softly he thought he imagined it, and walked out, hips swaying, head high, leaving him to sit there, stunned and overheating, wondering how the hell he was supposed to survive whatever came next.

~

'holy fucking shit.'

satoru was still in his seat, mouth parted slightly, the ghost of your kiss burning on his cheek like it had been stamped there. his hands trembled around the now-lukewarm cup of coffee he hadn’t touched since you started chatting and proceeded to ruin his entire internal equilibrium.

you were gone. walked out like it was nothing. like you hadn’t just asked him, him, to come back to your apartment and help you take instagram photos, like you hadn’t just tilted your glossy mouth toward his skin, kissed him soft and sweet and unearned.

he blinked.

then blinked again.

was he dead? was this a near-death hallucination? maybe the universe was punishing him for all those nights he zoomed in on your thirst traps at 2 a.m. with trembling fingers and a blank expression, whispering, “jesus christ,” to no one like it was a prayer.

you were god. you were everything. and you’d just invited him over like it was casual. like it didn’t undo months of fantasies. years of longing. this was not how it was supposed to happen. he was supposed to pine forever, secretly. obsess quietly.

not…this.

his phone buzzed, and when he fumbled for it, his screen lit up with a new message.

you [3:14pm]: here’s my address. text me when you’re outside. :) come over sometime later, yeah?

satoru almost dropped the phone.

you [3:16pm]: don't forget to bring your handsss!

bring your hands.

he rubbed a hand down his face, cheeks flushed, ears burning. his brain was running at 200mph, playing reel after reel of every single post you’d ever uploaded. every grainy mirror pic, every behind-the-scenes video, every thirst trap with the caption “don’t text ur ex, text me instead <3”—which he had once seriously considered replying to with “ok” before deleting it like a coward.

you were chaos incarnate, dripping lip gloss and destruction. the human embodiment of the for you page and he’d liked every post. every single one. anonymously. pathetically. from the dark corner of his bedroom, dim blue light glowing against his glasses as he muttered things like, “she’s unreal. she’s actually not real. they made her in a lab.”

he’d saved your bikini pics. zoomed in on the brand tags like a freak. reverse searched your lipstick shades. bought the magazines you were featured in, yes, plural. he had a stack of them in a drawer under his bed like some kind of teenage dirtbag, some with his computer cables in his drawer.

pages dog-eared, his favorite ones burned into his memory. one of them had a spread where you wore this ridiculous rhinestone bikini on a beach, holding a dripping popsicle with your tongue out, and he was still not okay from that shoot.

satoru stared at your text like it was written in gold. like it would vanish if he didn’t cherish it hard enough.

he groaned. out loud. in public. attracting a confused glance from the barista cleaning the counter. he stood up fast, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder like a man on a mission.

~

by the time he was outside your apartment door, his palms were damp.

you lived in the bougiest building on campus, the kind of place with gold-trimmed elevators and a concierge who looked like he’d sooner tase someone than let them loiter. satoru had to buzz up, which was another level of humiliation he hadn’t mentally prepared for.

you answered with a playful, “be right there,” and he swore your voice alone could short-circuit his brain. when the door finally opened, he almost blacked out.

you were in a tiny zip-up hoodie, baby pink, cropped at your ribs with juicy scrawled in rhinestones across the back, and the tiniest matching shorts he’d ever seen in his life. you were barefoot. you looked like a trashy 2000's supermodel. like an ashanti music video vixen. like someone who’d ruined countless men’s lives just by biting their straw.

“hey, toru,” you said, sweet as sugar. “you brought all of you, right?”

he swallowed hard. “i brought all of me.”

you giggled and tugged him inside by the wrist.

he nearly tripped over his own feet entering your place. the air smelled like vanilla and something dangerously flirty. your apartment was exactly how he imagined it: mirrors everywhere, pink lighting, framed photos of you on the wall. a vanity covered in makeup. pink fuzzy rug underfoot. was that… a pole in the corner?

'jesus christ.'

he tried not to stare too hard as you sauntered across the room, hips swinging, grabbing your phone and ring light.

he noticed how you kicked a hoodie that looked way too big to fit you under your bed discreetly, he managed to read 'kappa' printed on the back. wasn't that sukunas frat? he was pushed out of his head by the sound of your voice.

“so,” you drawled, throwing a wink over your shoulder, “you’ve stalked my instagram enough, you know my angles, right?”

satoru’s laugh came out strangled. “uh, yeah. yeah, totally.”

he did. he really did. he knew exactly how you posed, how you tilted your head just slightly for selfies, how you arched your back just a little for those mirror pics, how you gripped the waistband of your juicy pants like it was the most natural thing in the world to drive men to insanity with a pose. he’d studied them. like they were scripture.

you sat down on your velvet couch and grabbed a tube of gloss, reapplying it with a pout. “you nervous?”

“no,” he lied. “i’m... i’m excited. yeah. i’ve always wanted to see the magic happen live.”

“oh, baby,” you purred, “you are the magic.”

he made a noise. an embarrassing one.

you tossed him your phone and struck a pose, leaning back on your palms with your knees spread just slightly. “go on, toru. get my good side.”

you didn’t have a bad side.

he fumbled with the camera app, trying to focus on anything besides the way your tank top stretched across your chest, the way your shorts rode up on your thighs, the glint of a belly button ring catching the light.

click.

“you’re shaking,” you teased.

“i’m fine.”

“mm. i’ll be the judge of that.” you repositioned, crawling forward on your hands and knees across the couch like you weren’t trying to end his entire life.

click. click.

“toru,” you said sweetly, “are you blushing?”

“absolutely not.”

you laughed and flipped your hair over one shoulder. “you’re so cute. i like you.”

he was going to die here. he was going to drop dead in your living room with nothing but his own frantic, horny thoughts and your body burned into his retinas.

you held out a hand. “gimme. i wanna see.”

he passed you the phone with trembling fingers. you scrolled through the shots, nodding in approval. “these are actually good. like, really good. i’m impressed.”

“thanks,” he said, voice cracking. “i, uh… do some photography stuff on the side. for class.”

“mm, bet you do,” you said, not looking up. “bet you’re good with your hands, huh?”

he opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again.

you glanced up, expression sweet and wicked. “you okay, toru?”

“i’m great.”

“you look like you’re gonna combust.”

“i might.”

you leaned back into the couch, phone in your lap, and studied him with that same soft-lipped smile. “you’re adorable,” you said, voice quieter now. “all that brainpower, all that quiet nerd energy, and you’re sitting here losing your mind over me in shorts.”

he groaned into his hands. “can you blame me?”

you laughed. “not at all. i like it. you make me feel powerful.”

he peeked through his fingers, helpless. “you are powerful.”

you tilted your head. “then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

he sighed dramatically. “because i’m in your apartment. you just crawled across a couch like a centerfold. i’ve seen your instagram stories like, eighty million times. i subscribe to the magazine you’re on the cover of. and now you’re here. being cute. and sexy. and funny. and calling me toru like we’re... like this is normal.”

your expression softened, something real flickering behind your lashes.

“toru,” you said, and this time it was less teasing. more intimate. “you really like me?”

he nodded. “kinda obsessed with you, actually.”

you smiled. slow and sweet.

then you got up, crossed the room, and straddled his lap before he could blink.

maybe sleeping with satoru is what you needed to make your conscience stop thinking about sukuna and that bitch at the party earlier.

his heart nearly fucked itself over.

you cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “good,” you whispered. “because i kinda like you too.”

he swallowed. “kind of?”

you grinned. “well. i liked you in the library. i love you with a camera in your hands... my own personal photographer.”

his breath hitched.

you shifted on the couch, camera forgotten in your lap, as you studied satoru’s face, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that gorgeous white hair falling in soft waves over his forehead. you looked like a vixen straight off a low-res 2004 myspace album, lips glossy, attitude filthy-sweet, thighs barely crossed. he was already unraveling.

“okay toru,” you said, voice dripping in something syrupy, slow, and dangerous, “i think we’re gonna start with something a little more… intimate.”

his mouth went dry the moment you pulled out the velvet rope. pink. soft. sensual. his brain blanked.

“rope?” he choked.

“yeah,” you smiled, casually, like you weren’t turning his entire nervous system into static. “i want you to tie my wrists. loosely. make sure i can still move my hands around.” you leaned forward, offering your arms like it was a fucking privilege. “think you can handle that?”

no. he absolutely could not. but he still nodded, taking the rope with shaking hands. his fingers brushed your skin as he looped it around your wrists, and that alone had his dick twitching in his jeans. he swore under his breath.

'she smells like vanilla and heat and fuck me,' he thought, looping the velvet. 'i haven’t even touched her properly and i’d die for her right now.'

you let your arms fall back, raising your bound wrists over your head in a pose so casually provocative that his mouth parted on instinct. the rope pulled tight just enough to bite. your top slid higher, barely covering anything. the whole scene looked like it belonged in a magazine he would’ve hidden under his bed in high school, and now it was real. in his lap. begging to be remembered.

he swallowed hard. 'i’m gonna wet dream about this forever.'

“you look ravishing,” he whispered hoarsely.

“do i?” you teased, tilting your head. “want to see more?”

you let one strap of your tiny rhinestone top fall. then the other. and when you pulled it down just enough to expose one perfect breast, nipple glossy from a layer of shimmer lotion.

you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

his brain short-circuited.

'holy shit holy shit i’ve jacked off to pictures of her and now she’s half naked in front of me and i’m not gonna survive this.'

click.

the shutter snapped and he wasn’t even sure if his hand had moved. he took another, then another, each frame of your body more brazen, more artful, more his.

you arched under the dim light, toes pointed, eyes lidded. your lip caught between your teeth as you said, “these ones… they’re only for you.”

his heart fucking stopped.

“they’re not going online,” you added sweetly, glancing up through your lashes. “no other one of my fans gets to see me like this. just you, toru. my number one fan."

he clenched the camera harder, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and thank the gods for whatever good karma led him here. 'only me. fuck. fuck. she’s mine.' even if it was just for tonight. even if it was only temporary.

you shifted again, slowly opening your legs as you lay back, balls if your heels digging into the cushions. the hem of your panties, bright pink and sparkly barely clung to you. he could see the outline of everything. and then you stretched, arms over your head, making your stomach tighten and your tits rise beautifully, rope still binding you just right.

“toru,” you breathed, eyes locked on his, “do you want to see me take them off?”

'god yes. god fucking yes. i want to see what’s under that glitter. i want to taste it. i want to ruin her. fuck.'

he nodded. “yeah,” he rasped. “please.”

your fingers slipped under the waistband slowly, deliberately, dragging the panties down your thighs with an elegant arch of your spine. and he watched, stared, like it was the last thing he’d ever see.

“don’t worry,” you said, tossing them onto his lap. “these aren’t for instagram either.”

his cock throbbed. it was unbearable. it was heaven.

he took more shots, each one filthier than the last, legs spread, lips parted, bound wrists clutching the edge of the couch as you moaned softly for him. you looked like you belonged in a pornographic museum. like a goddess on her throne letting her chosen mortal worship.

and you’d picked him.

'she’s gonna kill me. i’m gonna nut in my jeans like a fucking loser. oh my god.'

you sat up, resting your chin on his shoulder while he adjusted the camera. “you okay?” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his ear. “you’re breathing kinda heavy, baby.”

'call me baby again and i’ll fucking bark.'

“just… warm in here,” he muttered, cheeks red, voice strained.

you smiled and trailed a finger down the center of his chest. “poor thing. want a break?”

he looked down at you, your chest still bared, your body shining with light, legs folded in perfect lazy confidence. “you think i could survive a break?” he asked, voice lower now. rougher.

you laughed. soft. wicked. “fair point.”

then you took the camera from his hands, placed it on the table, and straddled his lap in one easy motion.

“no more pictures,” you said. “now you can just look.”

his hands flew to your waist on instinct, gripping you like you were the only real thing in the universe. and honestly, to him, you were.

'how did this happen? how the fuck did i go from jacking off to her tiktok thirst traps to having her in my lap, tits out, moaning my name?'

you cupped his face, voice softer now. “you okay?”

he nodded.

you leaned in and whispered, “do you want to touch me?”

he nodded again, too fast.

you smirked. “then do it. but be gentle. i like being handled like i’m expensive.”

“you are,” he said instantly, voice ragged. “you’re the most expensive thing i’ve ever touched.”

you kissed him for that. deep and filthy and grateful. and as he dragged his palms over your ass, up your waist, over your bare chest, he was already gone.

and somewhere in the back of his hazy, lust-soaked brain, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:

these pictures?

these moments?

they were only for him.

and if you ever asked, he’d burn the whole world to keep them safe.

you gasped into his kiss as his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him. his breath was hot and ragged, mixing with yours in the close air of your living room. you felt the curve of his mouth against your neck, the brush of his stubble as he nipped gently at your skin.

'he’s so warm,' you thought, sliding your hands through his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft white strands. 'and he’s mine, right here, right now.'

he moaned low, almost lost in the feeling of you beneath him. you’d taught him how to pose you like a goddess for the camera; now he was learning how to worship you in real time. his hand slid up your back, then lower, fingertips grazing the top of your panties still bunched around your thighs.

“you know,” he murmured against your ear, voice thick with want, “i’ve wanted this for so fucking long. i don't even think this is real.”

you smiled against his skin, tugging at his hoodie so you could slide it off his shoulders. “i can tell,” you purred. “i promise i'm real toru. real and all yours right now.”

he lifted his head to meet your eyes, those pale blues shimmering with need.

your laugh was soft, sultry. “oh, baby,” you said, rolling your hips against him, “i wanted you before i knew your name.”

his pupils dilated, and he swallowed hard. “fuck,” he breathed. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you cupped his face, thumb brushing his lower lip. “only if you want me to,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him again. this time, your tongue brushed his, and he groaned, hands fisting in your hair.

'holy shit,' he thought, 'this is real. she’s here, wanting me, touching me.'

you pulled back, slipping off the last barrier, his jeans, until both of you were just skin and heat. you guided his hands to your body, showing him where to touch, where to press, encouraging him with soft moans and glowing praise. every direction you gave him made his confidence soar, made him believe he could be the one to make you melt.

he paused, looking into your eyes. “i… i want to make you feel good,” he said, voice husky. “really good.”

you smiled, heart swelling. “then show me, baby.”

he nodded, then bent to kiss you again, this time more tender, more deliberate. he let his palms roam your body, over your breasts, down your waist, skimming the curve of your hips. you pressed into him, encouraging him, letting him know just how right it felt.

'he’s so gentle' you thought. 'so respectful. and so fucking good with his hands.'

you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “toru,” you gasped, “fuck me.”

he hesitated only a moment, surprised by your boldness, and then he was inside you, filling you in slow, delicious thrusts. your breath caught, and you clutched his shoulders as he moved, your rope-bound wrists sliding free in the heat of the moment.

“shit,” he groaned, chest pressed against yours. “you’re perfect.”

you arched against him, closing your eyes. “yeah… perfect for you.”

his pace quickened, fueled by your praise, your soft encouragements, your needy gasps. every time he hit that sweet spot, you cried out his name, and it sent a thrill rippling through him.

'my name on her lips…' he thought, 'this is everything.'

you rode him hard, matching his thrusts until both of you were breathless, skin slick with sweat and sheen of your own arousal. you held him tight, panting, and pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

“let’s finish the shoot later,” you whispered against his skin, voice thick with satisfaction and warmth. “right now… just us.”

he kissed you back, slow and tender, and you felt his body tremble. “just us,” he echoed.

and in that moment, tangled together on your couch, every magazine cover, every instagram scroll, every stolen fantasy he’d ever had of you crystallized into this single, perfect reality, warm, messy, intimate, and wholly, irrevocably yours.

~

you were now tucked beneath the folds of your plush throw blanket, legs tangled with his, head resting against his bare chest as the glow from your salt lamp bathed the apartment in a hazy, honeyed light. his arm was slung loosely around your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. satoru had never been this close to someone, physically, emotionally, and his brain was still catching up.

you were real. warm, beautiful, half-naked and still glittering from the camera flash and sweat. and now you were curled into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you okay?” you murmured, voice soft, a little breathy.

“am i okay?” he huffed a quiet laugh. “i just lived out the most insane fantasy of my life, and now i’m laying here with the hottest girl in the universe like it’s normal.”

you tilted your head back to look at him, eyes half-lidded and mischievous. “hottest girl in the universe, huh?”

“scientifically proven,” he said, smug but still pink in the cheeks. “objectively. you broke the hotness scale.”

you giggled, then leaned up to kiss his cheek, slow and sweet. “you’re so dramatic,” you whispered against his skin.

his heart thumped. he wanted to keep you here forever, in this little soft bubble that smelled like your body lotion and sounded like your quiet laughter. but instead, you stretched like a cat against him, bare legs brushing his, and said, “so…”

he blinked, brain short-circuiting again. “so?”

you propped your chin on his chest, gazing up at him with that glittery, effortless confidence of someone who knew she had him wrapped around her finger. “there’s a party tomorrow night,” you said casually, tracing patterns on his stomach. “you should come.”

satoru blinked. “a… party?”

“mm-hmm. like, a real one,” you teased. “not like a dungeons and dragons meetup or whatever you nerds do.”

“hey,” he laughed, “first of all, rude. second of all… are you serious?”

“dead serious,” you purred. “it’s at suguru’s place. it’ll be mostly my friends. you’ll meet everyone.”

satoru’s stomach dropped a little. your friends. the one he saw with face tattoos and designer sunglasses and mysterious piercings in places he couldn’t guess. the ones who always looked like they just stepped out of a campaign ad for a luxury fashion line. the ones who probably wouldn’t even look twice at him if he wasn’t draped in your attention like an accessory.

“won’t they think it’s weird?” he asked before he could stop himself. “me being there.”

you raised an eyebrow, amused. “why would it be weird?”

“because…” he swallowed, trying to sound cooler than he felt. “i’m not exactly in your league.” you sat up, straddling his waist now, your eyes burning into his. “toru,” you said, serious, “don’t ever say that again.” his breath hitched.

you leaned down, pressing your lips to his. “you’re sexy, smart, and you make me laugh. you made me nervous. so if you’re coming to the party, you better show up like you belong.” he stared at you, stunned. “you were nervous?”

“duh.” you smiled. “you were wearing that little tight black shirt and looking all hot and mysterious. i thought you’d ghost me after coffee.” he buried his face in your neck, groaning. “i literally thought i was going to faint when i saw you in that skirt.”

“good,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “i wore it just to fuck with you." he moaned dramatically, pulling you closer. “you’re evil.”

“and you like it.” he couldn’t deny it. you were fire and silk and sugar and bite, and he was hopelessly addicted.

“so?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his. “you coming to the party or what?” he nodded, breathless. “yeah. fuck it. i’m coming.”

you grinned. “good. bring your charm, toru. my friends are gonna love you.” you said it like a promise, not a possibility. like he already belonged.and for the first time in a long time, he almost believed it.

~

group chat: the pretty committee

(you, yuki, choso, suguru, shoko, maki, sukuna, nanami, shiu)

you ✩ [9:43pm]: kappa mixer on saturday night. i’m bringing a plus one btw

yuki 🧃 [9:43pm]: oh?? do we know him or is this another random model-slash-dj you found at pilates

you ✩ [9:44pm]: neither. it’s toru. the library one

choso 🥀 [9:44pm]: wait toru?? like. satoru gojo??

maki 🥋 [9:45pm]: the one you said looked like he types in html for fun?

you ✩ [9:45pm]: he does. it’s hot

shoko 🚬 [9:45pm]: you’re bringing your nerdy little fantasy to the mixer? this is big

you ✩ [9:46pm]: we’re just friends. chill

suguru 🐍 [9:46pm]: uh huh. just friends who take steamy photos together and then go silent for six hours. got it.

you ✩ [9:46pm]: not steamy. artistic, and how did yk i only told yuki 😭🙏🏼

shoko 🚬 [9:46pm]: mm. “artistic.” sure.

yuki 🧃 [9:47pm]: oops... anyways please tell me you at least warned him that sukuna might bite

you ✩ [9:47pm]: he’s a big boy. he can handle it

maki 🥋 [9:47pm]: he survived a coffee date with you, he can probably survive a frat party

you ✩ [9:48pm]: exactly

nanami ⏳ [9:48pm]: just tell him not to drink anything suguru hands him. that’s the only advice that matters

suguru 🐍 [9:48pm]: excuse me?? i’m a generous host

shiu 🕷️ [9:49pm]: generous with what. vodka or trauma?

you ✩ [9:49pm]: okay but actually. be nice to him

suguru 🐍 [9:49pm]: i’m always nice. he’s cute. nerdy. polite. kinda like nanami if he still had joy in his eyes

nanami ⏳ [9:49pm]: i can leave this chat

suguru 🐍 [9:49pm]: no you can’t

choso 🥀 [9:50pm]: sukuna? you good?

sukuna ⚡ [9:51pm]: fine. just didn’t realize we were inviting groupies to my frat

yuki 🧃 [9:51pm]: omg

choso 🥀 [9:51pm]: man. come on

maki 🥋 [9:52pm]: this is why we can’t have nice things

you ✩ [9:52pm]: gojo's not a groupie. he’s literally a person. y’all will be normal or i swear to god

sukuna ⚡ [9:52pm]: no one said anything. it’s your life. do what you want i ain't pulling up i'm busy

you ✩ [9:53pm]: thanks. i will.

suguru 🐍 [9:53pm]: and the drama begins before the drinks are even poured. we’re so back

shoko 🚬 [9:53pm]: love when the pregame starts in the group chat

shiu 🕷️ [9:54pm]: should i bring popcorn or bail money?

you ✩ [9:54pm]: anyway. toru’s coming. wear something cute. try not to scare him off.

~

meanwhile, sukuna was scowling at his phone. he stared at the last message you sent, thumb hovering over the screen like it was taunting him.

'toru’s coming. wear something cute. try not to scare him off.'

his jaw ticked.

satoru.

toru.

like he needed the nickname shoved in his face again. like he hadn’t already figured out you were letting that four-eyed pretty boy get his hands all over you. not that he’d said anything. not that he had a right to. not anymore.

you weren’t his. not officially. not really.

but you had been, in every way that mattered. in the way you used to climb into his lap without asking, drunk on vodka and power, whispering all your filthy secrets into his ear. in the way he could make you beg with just a hand on your thigh, in the way your eyes used to flick toward him at every party even if you showed up with someone else.

he used to be the one who got under your skin. the one you’d crawl back to after breaking someone else’s heart. the one you’d come to when you were sick of boys and needed a man.

and now? now you were bringing some soft-spoken, glasses-wearing, overachieving fucker to the mixer like you were introducing him to the family. like he was real. sukuna exhaled through his nose and tossed his phone on the bed.

he already knew who he was. satoru. the honors student. the tutor. the sweet one. the one you flirted with at the library just to prove you could. sukuna remembered watching it, how your voice dipped lower, how you tilted your head when you asked for his number, the way you said toru like it was already a pet name.

and now you were texting the group chat like he was coming to the damn cookout. it shouldn’t have bothered him. it wasn’t supposed to. he had girls on rotation. he had no shortage of hookups. but none of them were you. none of them had that glint in their eye, that attitude, that stupid, intoxicating mix of gloss and venom and sugar that made him feel like a rabid dog just for wanting a taste.

he lit a cigarette and opened your instagram.

he didn’t even have to search. you were at the top of his stories. you always were. he watched the one you posted two hours ago. a link to your new post, a perfectly captured album of you. a cropped hoodie. thighs out. caption: 'might delete later.'

fuck you.

he stared at the photo like it owed him something. your smudged lip gloss. the slight indent of a ring on your finger where you’d been playing with your jewelry. the shadow of someone in the background 'was that him?' no, just a lamp.

still.

he swiped back to your page. all those tagged posts from yuki, suguru, choso. none with gojo. not yet.but he was coming. he’d be there, saturday night, in your orbit, breathing your air, looking at you the way everyone did, like you were the sun, and maybe, just maybe, you’d start looking back.

that’s what scared him. not that gojo liked you. but that you might like him back.

he took another drag and let the smoke burn in his lungs longer than necessary, jaw tight as he exhaled. fuck it. he could play it cool. he always did. he’d smirk, talk shit, wrap his arm around someone hotter, louder, easier. make sure everyone saw. especially you.

pretend it didn’t bother him when your eyes skipped right over him in a room. pretend it didn’t fucking matter that you hadn’t come back.

like none of those nights meant shit. all that time you’d spent in his lap, tugging at his chain and moaning his name like it was gospel, just so you could turn around and let some floppy-haired loser in a tight black tee take your fucking instagram pictures?

you traded him in for someone soft. someone polite. someone who probably apologized after cumming too fast. he scoffed, tossing the half-finished joint onto the ashtray with more force than necessary. pathetic.

sukuna leaned back on the mattress, bare chest rising and falling slow under the dim red lights, smoke curling above him like it was trying to fill the silence. the room felt empty. stupidly empty.

he thought about texting you. something slick. something cruel. maybe 'hope he doesn’t cry when he finds out where that mouth’s been.' or 'you always go for the ones you can control, huh?'

but he didn’t. just sat there, jaw grinding, thumbs still, screen glowing back at him. eyes sharp. chest tight with that ugly kind of jealousy he swore he’d grown out of.

'what a fucking joke.'

you were his first. you were supposed to stay that way.

~

the uber pulled up to the kappa frat house which was the furthest frat from campus. the sun dipped below the horizon long ago, casting the sky in a warm, dusky glow. gojo sat in the backseat, watching you re-apply your gloss, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. he glanced over at you again, radiant as ever, your lips curled into a soft smile as you scrolled through your phone.

“you okay?” you asked, sensing his nerves.

“yeah,” he replied, voice a little too high-pitched. “just… a lot of people, you know?”you chuckled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “you’ll be fine. they’re just people. my people, but still.”

he nodded, trying to steady his breathing. the memory of the night before flashed in his mind, your body pressed against his, the way you whispered his name, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. it felt surreal, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

“last night was… amazing,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours.

you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “it was,” you agreed. “but tonight’s about fun. let’s not overthink it.”the car came to a stop, and you both stepped out, the sound of music and laughter spilling into the street. gojo took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses.

“ready?” you asked, offering your hand. he took it, fingers intertwining with yours. “ready.”

as you walked up the steps, the door swung open, revealing a sea of faces. conversations halted, eyes turning to the two of you. gojo felt the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny, the curiosity. “who’s that?” someone whispered.

“is that her new guy?” another murmured. he swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shrink back. you squeezed his hand, grounding him.

“ignore them,” you whispered. “they’ll come around.” you led him through the crowd, past familiar faces and curious stares, until you reached a plush couch in the corner. you both sat down, the noise of the party fading into the background.

“see? not so bad,” you said, leaning into him. he smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “yeah. not so bad.”

as you chatted about the party, your friends, and the latest gossip, gojo couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging. with you by his side, the world seemed a little less daunting.

you’re halfway through your drink when you spot them weaving through the crowd, choso and suguru, side by side, both dressed in their version of “casual” which somehow still looked like a fashion campaign.

choso in a black sleeveless mock-neck that showed off his tattooed arms and a single chain glinting against his collarbone. suguru, laidback and smiling, with his hair tied low and a fitted shirt open at the chest like he’d just walked off a yacht.they zero in on you immediately, and you can already see the glint in suguru’s eyes.

“well, well,” he says as he gets close, his voice warm, teasing. “so this is the mystery man.” satoru stands to greet them, and you watch choso’s brow lift ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting him to be… that tall. that broad. that annoyingly good-looking.

“hey,” satoru says smoothly, extending his hand. “satoru. thanks for not jumping me right away.”

choso grins, shaking his hand, then clapping his shoulder with a kind of quiet approval. “we only beat up assholes,” he says, and then adds, “you’ve got a solid grip, man.” suguru’s eyes flick between you and satoru, clearly amused. “you been holding out on us,” he tells you, then turns to satoru again. “you always look like that or is this a special occasion?”

“this?” satoru gestures to himself, cocking a brow. “i’m barely trying.” you snort into your cup. he’s cool as hell on the outside, but you know better. his knee was bouncing a second ago and he keeps fiddling with the ring on his thumb.

“seriously though,” choso says, leaning back against the couch, sizing him up again. “did not expect you to be built like that. what the hell do you do?”

you glance at satoru, who flashes a sheepish grin that doesn’t match the cocky tilt of his voice. “freshman year i got into boxing,” he says. “figured if i was gonna be a nerd, might as well be one that could take a hit.”

“or give one,” choso mutters, clearly impressed. “you’re cut.” suguru raises a brow in appreciation.

“not anymore,” satoru says, rubbing the back of his neck. “haven’t had the time. but yeah, i trained for like, two years. gym in shibuya. coach was an ex-mma guy. real psycho, made me spar with dudes twice my size.”

“you won?” choso asks, grinning.

“got knocked out once,” satoru says with a shrug. “but i broke a guy’s nose, so. fair trade.” suguru whistles, clearly amused. “you’re full of surprises."

“oh, he’s full of a lot,” you murmur, sipping your drink again, and satoru shoots you a look that’s somewhere between mortified and turned on.

“so you two…” suguru gestures between you vaguely, like he doesn’t want to say together outright. “what’s the vibe?” you stretch lazily, one leg over the other, and smile. “friends,” you say lightly. “he’s been helping me shoot some things for instagram.”

satoru’s mind flashes, vivid, bright, to the way your hand had pulled his to your waist the night before, the flash of your camera catching the outline of your lingerie, the way you’d whispered just for you in his ear as you pressed your chest to his. he can still smell your perfume on his shirt. his fingers twitch just thinking about it.

“instagram,” suguru repeats, mouth quirking. “uh huh.”

“we get along,” you add, and it’s almost too soft. too real. “he’s sweet.” satoru stares at the amber in his glass, willing himself not to combust. sweet. how the fuck was he supposed to keep it together when you called him sweet like that, like he was a boy you actually wanted to keep around?

choso nods slowly. “he’s got a good vibe.” suguru hums. “solid energy. confident without being a dick.”

“yet...” choso adds, shooting him a warning glance.

satoru just laughs. “don’t worry. she’ll keep me in check.”you lean into him slightly, your thigh brushing his. “he’s already well-trained,” you murmur, just loud enough for choso and suguru to hear. suguru lets out a low whistle. “damn. it’s always the nerdy ones.”

“it really is,” choso agrees. “they bottle that shit up for years and then one day just, boom. thirst trap worthy.”

“he could literally crush a watermelon with those thighs,” you say dreamily, mostly to mess with satoru, and he almost spills his drink.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, laughing through the mortification. “you’re gonna give these guys the wrong idea.”

“what idea?” choso grins. “we’re just bonding.”

“team-building,” suguru adds.

“hazard training,” you say, with a wink. satoru shifts a little closer, brushing your arm. “you guys always this intense?”

“you should meet sukuna,” choso says dryly. you go still for just a second, but it’s nothing you let show. satoru feels it anyway, the way your fingers tighten slightly on your drink.

“he’s not coming tonight,” you say casually. suguru raises a brow but doesn’t push. instead, he turns his attention back to satoru. “so what’s the goal, man? you trying to get into modeling too or just vibing in the deep end?”

“i think he’s already in too deep,” choso mutters. satoru shrugs, keeping it chill even though he’s fully sweating under his hoodie. “just hanging out. making memories. flexing for the grid.”

you laugh, leaning into his shoulder like you can’t help it. “you’re lucky you’re pretty,” you say, voice low and fond. he turns to look at you, and there’s a flicker of something quiet in his eyes. “so are you,” he says softly. the pause that follows is short, but not empty. then suguru claps his hands. “alright. drinks?”

choso’s already standing. “i’ll grab tequila.”satoru watches them go, the easy way they navigate the crowd, like they belong in every room they enter. and somehow, they’d made him feel like maybe he did too. you turn to him, smiling, eyes glinting under the low lights. “see? not so bad.”

“yeah,” satoru breathes. “not bad at all.”

“i’m gonna go get us drinks,” you say, hand brushing satoru’s thigh as you stand. “tequila or beer?”

“uh—tequila?” he answers a bit too fast.

“that’s what i thought.” you wink, and just like that, you’re off, hips swaying through the crowd like you own the place. maybe you do, in a way. everyone watches you go. including satoru.

once choso and suguru return the nudge his shoulder friendly.

“bro,” choso mutters, following his line of sight. “you’re so cooked.”

“cooked?” satoru repeats, blinking.

“done. fried. beyond saving,” suguru says, grinning. “the way you looked at her just now? hopeless.”

“i wasn’t—i didn’t—” satoru fumbles, then groans. “fuck.”

“nah, it’s cute,” choso says, clapping him on the back. “endearing. like a golden retriever in love.”

“he’s got the hair for it,” suguru adds. satoru sighs, slouching further into the couch as if it’ll swallow him. “is this what you guys do all night? just nag each other in rotation?”

“mostly,” choso says. “but you’re new, so we’re going easy.”

“plus, you’re already getting the invite into the guy circle,” suguru adds, gesturing toward the two men approaching with solo cups in hand. “that’s nanami and shiu.” satoru straightens instinctively. he recognizes nanami from campus, business major, intense stare, kind of always looks like he’s five minutes away from quitting everything to become a lumberjack. shiu, he doesn’t know. tall, dark, lean, with eyes like he’s permanently unimpressed.

“nanami,” suguru greets, casually fist-bumping him. “shiu. this is gojo.”

“the gojo?” shiu arches a brow, handing him a cup.

“uh,” satoru says, taking it. “i guess?”

“the one she’s been parading around all night like a shiny new toy,” nanami says flatly, sipping his drink. “welcome to hell.”satoru laughs nervously. “thanks?”

“ignore him,” choso says. “that’s just how he flirts.” nanami gives him a blank look. “no, it’s not.”

“so,” shiu says, sitting on the edge of the armrest next to him. “you and y/n. what’s the story?”

satoru opens his mouth. closes it. tries again. “we’re just friends.” four disbelieving stares hit him at once.

“friends,” shiu repeats.

“sure,” choso deadpans.

“got it,” nanami mutters.

“you should hear how she says your name,” suguru adds. “like it’s a little treat.” satoru flushes instantly. “we really are just friends.”

“do your friends usually strip for you in front of a camera?” shiu asks, sipping. “or is that a special bond?” he nearly chokes on his tequila

“jesus christ,” he wheezes. “do you guys have, like, a hazing ritual or something?”

“you passed it,” choso grins. “we just needed to see if you’d fold.”

“and you did,” suguru says proudly. “folded like a lawn chair.”

“i’m so glad i came,” satoru mutters into his cup.

“so is she,” nanami says, not looking up. “she hasn’t stopped smiling since you got here." satoru pauses.

“yeah,” choso says, more gently now. “she likes having you around.” he doesn’t know what to say to that. so he doesn’t say anything. just sips and lets it sit in his chest, warm and blooming.

“by the way, don’t let sukuna get to you,” shiu says after a beat, and it’s the first time the name’s been spoken with any real weight. “i won’t,” satoru says quickly, then—“why would he?”

“because he’s an asshole,” choso says simply. "we love him and all but jeez. he's a handful."

“and because he doesn’t like sharing,” suguru adds. “not attention. not space. definitely not her.”

“wait—” satoru frowns. “were they a thing?” the group goes quiet. nanami speaks first. “not officially.”

“but?” satoru presses. shiu shrugs. “they hooked up. on and off. nothing defined.”

“he never claimed her,” choso says, “but he didn’t want anyone else to either.”

“toxic,” satoru mutters.

“bingo,” suguru grins. “he’s like if a red flag started a punk band.”

“and she’s…” nanami trails off, shaking his head. “better than that.” satoru feels his fingers tighten around his cup. “is he here?”

“not yet,” shiu says. “but he might show. he’s unpredictable.”

“he’s pissed,” choso adds. “we all saw the group chat.” satoru nods, remembering the texts he peeped over your shoulder to read. groupie. right.

“just don’t take it personally,” suguru says. “sukuna lashes out when he feels cornered. and you’re not doing anything wrong.”

“you like her?” nanami asks suddenly. the question knocks the wind out of him. satoru blinks. “i…”

'do i? yes. obviously. painfully.' he clears his throat. “she’s cool. really cool. and smart. and funny. and like, stupidly pretty.”

“so yes,” choso says, nodding.

“and you’re what?” shiu asks. “waiting for a sign from god?”

“nah,” suguru says. “he’s just scared.”

“i’m not scared,” satoru lies.

“you should be,” nanami says bluntly. “she’s a lot.”

“she’s worth it, though,” choso adds. “if you can handle it.”

“i don’t know if i can,” satoru says honestly. the four of them regard him for a moment. then suguru grins. “well, shit. at least you’re honest.”

“more than most guys around here,” choso agrees.

“better than sukuna already,” shiu mutters.

“he’s not gonna like this,” nanami warns. “you being here. with her.”

“he doesn’t have to like it,” satoru says, surprising even himself. “it’s not his choice.”

“now that’s the energy,” suguru says, clinking his cup against his.

“just don’t throw the first punch,” choso says.

“unless he does,” shiu adds. “then, by all means.”

satoru laughs, tension breaking just a little. he looks around at the group, four guys who could easily have iced him out or humiliated him, but instead welcomed him in like some weird brotherhood of unhinged protectors.

“thanks,” he says. “don’t mention it,” choso shrugs. “we like you.”

“you fit,” suguru says. “somehow.” they all laugh.

they all laugh.

and then—

“hey.”

your voice cuts through the circle, light and bright as you reappear with a full drink in hand. satoru looks up, eyes softening instantly.

“took forever,” you pout. “you miss me?”

“maybe,” he says, like it’s a secret. “a little.”

you hold the drink out to him. “your tequila, my liege."

“you’re too good to me,” he says, and takes it.

“i know,” you smile.

you glance around at the others. “you boys behaving?”

“'course,” choso says.

“mhm,” you deadpan.

you settle beside satoru again, arm pressing into his, and for a second, nothing else matters.

just the music, the warmth, the way his pinky brushes yours.

just the ease of it, even in the chaos.

just the five of them, chatting and drinking and laughing like they’d known each other longer than a single party.

just you, leaning in with a whisper meant only for him,

“told you they’d like you.”

and he believes it.

because for the first time in a long time, he likes himself too.

~

as the laughter from the group dies down, the tension in the air shifts, subtly but unmistakably. the door to the frat house creaks open, and it’s as if the entire room collectively inhales. gojo freezes, his attention snapping to the doorway. there’s something about the presence that disturbs the natural flow of conversation, something sharp, something unsettling.

a shadow falls across the room as sukuna steps in, his lean form tall and imposing against the backdrop of the house’s dimly lit interior. his eyes sweep over the crowd with the kind of disinterest that only someone as effortlessly menacing as him could pull off. his movements are deliberate, calculated, each step echoing in a way that makes the room quieter, the air heavier.

satoru’s heart skips, though his face betrays nothing. he’s heard about sukuna, of course, the chaos that follows him like a storm cloud, the way he can control a room without even trying. and now, standing in front of him, that reputation feels all too real.

“sukuna’s here,” choso says lowly, voice barely cutting through the tense air. the others shift, subtly bracing themselves, like they’ve been trained for this.

sukuna’s gaze flickers over to your group, locking onto you for a split second. the quiet hum of the party seems to die in that moment, like even the music knows to hold its breath when he enters. then, just as quickly, his attention flicks to satoru.

the tension is palpable, a crackling undercurrent of something no one dares to name. satoru meets his gaze with an unreadable expression, but inside, the nerves coil tighter. his mind races, what is it about this guy that makes everyone shift in their seats? the guy’s presence isn’t just intimidating, it’s suffocating, like being in the presence of something raw and dangerous.

“well, well,” sukuna’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, smooth and mocking. “the nerd’s here. funny, i didn’t think you were the type to be at a party like this.” his eyes twinkle with a dangerous amusement, his lips curling into a smile that could easily be mistaken for a sneer.

satoru’s first instinct is to say something snarky, to assert himself, but the weight of sukuna’s presence steals his words. he knows the others are watching, waiting for the first crack to form, the first move in this unspoken battle.

you clear your throat, cutting through the tension. “sukuna,” you greet, your voice light but firm, not giving away anything. “didn’t expect you tonight.”

sukuna’s eyes flick back to you, and for a moment, there’s an unreadable look between you two. it’s brief, but gojo catches it, the subtle shift in the atmosphere. it’s like a silent communication between you and him that doesn’t need words, a silent acknowledgment of something old and familiar.

“i’ve got my reasons,” sukuna says, eyes flicking back to satoru. “but i’m not here for small talk. just wanted to see who your latest… distraction is.” his gaze turns calculating. “is this the guy who’s been making you so ‘artistic’ lately?”

the words hang in the air, heavy and laced with a darker implication. there’s no mistaking it now, sukuna doesn’t just find satoru an interesting figure, he finds him a threat. a challenge. and gojo can feel it, this undercurrent of possessiveness that lingers in sukuna’s words, in the sharpness of his stare.

satoru’s heart rate spikes, but he forces himself to stay calm, keep his composure. he turns toward you, offering a lazy smile, though the back of his neck prickles. “didn’t realize i was a ‘distraction,’” he says, his voice light, though there’s an edge to it now. “but i guess that’s one way to describe me.”

you throw him a glance, warning in your eyes, and for a brief moment, satoru wonders if he’s being too obvious. too bold. sukuna doesn’t like that, doesn’t tolerate being mocked or even challenged, and the dangerous aura around him grows thicker the longer the interaction stretches.

sukuna narrows his eyes, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “oh, don’t get cute with me,” he warns, his voice smooth but laced with venom. he steps closer, his presence crowding the space. “you don’t belong here, pretty boy. you might’ve fooled some of them, but i can smell a pretender from a mile away.”

satoru’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his face cool, chin tilted just enough to show he’s not intimidated. “you’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t even know me,” he retorts, voice dropping a little lower.

the tension in the air thickens. suguru and choso exchange a look, both noticing the way things are escalating. shiu, standing a few feet away, flicks his eyes over to you, trying to gauge your reaction.

you step in before things can spiral any further. “sukuna,” you say firmly, your voice sharper than before. “can we not do this here? this is not the time or place.”

sukuna gives you a look, something between admiration and disdain. his gaze flicks back to satoru, but this time, there’s something darker in his eyes. “whatever you say, princess,” he murmurs, his tone low and dangerous. “but this one? he’s not what you think he is.”

with that, he turns and makes his way deeper into the party, his presence still lingering like a shadow over the group. the atmosphere remains thick, the tension hanging in the air like smoke from a fire that hasn’t quite burned out.

satoru takes a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease that sukuna’s words have left behind. he glances over at you, who’s still standing a little too still, eyes locked on the space sukuna just vacated.

“is he always like that?” satoru asks, his voice low, though there’s no denying the edge of concern there.

you let out a long sigh, turning to face him fully. “yeah,” you say softly, almost apologetically. “sukuna’s a… complicated person.”

“i can tell,” satoru mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. his earlier confidence is slipping, replaced by a twinge of doubt. he thought he could handle this crowd, but sukuna… sukuna was something else entirely.

“you don’t have to worry about him,” you say, your voice softer now. you place a reassuring hand on his arm, and for a brief moment, the world feels a little less heavy. “he just has a way of… testing people. seeing how much they can take.”

satoru lets out a breath, looking at you. there’s something about the way you say it, like you’ve seen this play out before, over and over again. something in his gut tightens at the thought.

but he nods, forcing a smile. “i can take it,” he says, though his voice is steadier than he feels. “but i’m guessing sukuna’s not gonna be my biggest fan, huh?”

you smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “he’ll get over it,” you say, but there’s a strange bitterness in your tone. “he always does.”

satoru watches you, trying to read the unspoken words in your gaze. there’s a history there, a tension between you and sukuna that’s thicker than what’s on the surface.

he’s not sure how deep it goes, but something tells him that tonight was only the beginning.

the rest of the night stretches out before them, full of promises of fun and tension, of friendships and unspoken rivalries. but for now, satoru is left with the quiet certainty that his place in this world, your world, is still uncertain. and sukuna? he’s just the first of many obstacles that stand between him and whatever this is with you.

but he’s not backing down. not now. not ever. he was going to have you, even if that meant knocking sukuna around abit.

part two out! 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

[mangooes]

Thinking out Loud

The manor was quiet—unusually so.

Sylus stepped through the threshold of the living room, one gloved hand loosening the collar of his coat, expecting the usual: reports scattered on the coffee table, Mephisto perched somewhere suspicious, or maybe the twins passed out from a long stakeout.

Instead, he froze.

The lights were dimmed, casting a soft golden glow across the walls. The big windows stretched open to the city skyline—lights flickering like stars below. But what caught Sylus’s attention wasn’t the view.

A vintage vinyl record was spinning slowly on his cherished turntable—one of the many he collected from his global hunts, this one a pristine edition from the 1960s, playing a slow, crooning love song with that subtle grain only vinyl could offer. The room was bathed in golden amber, the sound warping gently at the edges of the notes, making everything feel timeless.

And then he saw her.

(Name).

She was in the center of the room, barefoot, her curls tied up messily with strands bouncing as she twirled. One hand held a feather duster. The other moved with graceful, lazy flair as she swayed to the old jazz song playing softly from the speakers. Her hips moved with the rhythm, hips swaying, shoulders bouncing slightly with each beat—completely lost in her own world, humming along off-key and completely, devastatingly adorable.

Sylus leaned against the doorframe, lips twitching with amusement.

Of course she hadn’t noticed him yet.

That was his favorite part.

Her joy was a song of its own.

He watched for a long moment, lips curving in that rare, fond smile reserved only for her. The vinyl continued to play softly, a tender hum of nostalgia and love in the background, and finally, (Name) twirled and spotted him.

She stilled like a deer, eyes wide and mischievous. “Sysy~!” she chirped with that breathless grin of hers. “Were you watching me dance again, how long?”

“Mm.” Sylus’s voice was smooth, velvet with a bite.

“Long enough,” he murmured, his voice rich with amusement. “You always throw private concerts when I’m not home?”

(Name) stuck out her tongue. “Maybe. Depends who’s watching.”

He stepped forward, crimson eyes glittering as he approached her with slow, measured grace. “If it’s me… then consider me your number one fan.”

(Name) rolled her eyes, but the blush that dusted her cheeks gave her away. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m a criminal lord, sweetie. I think drama’s part of the job description.”

She dropped the duster dramatically into the couch cushions and walked up to him, eyes sparkling with playfulness. “Well, since you’re here… care for a dance, Mr. Onychinus?”

He raised a silver brow, his lips curled upwards. “You sure Ms. Onychinus? You know I’m more fight than finesse.”

(Name) grabbed his hand anyway and placed it on her waist. “Lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.”

Sylus smirked, then without looking away, he reached for the turntable controls with a casual flick of his finger.

The needle lifted, and with a touch of his Evol, a different vinyl floated from the shelf—a slow romantic waltz pressing etched in deep red vinyl. The red and black mists placed it delicately on the turntable, reverently like it was a sacred ritual. The needle dropped with a satisfying crackle and hiss, and a lush, string-heavy melody bloomed through the room.

(Name) blinked. “You’re changing the track?”

“Of course,” Sylus whispered as he tugged her closer, one hand cradling the small of her back. “If we’re going to dance, it has to be our rhythm.”

They began to move.

Slow. Fluid. Effortless.

Her laugh melted against his chest as the two of them began to sway in gently.

The kind of dance that didn’t need steps or instruction—just two hearts beating in sync. Sylus guided her easily, his fingers firm but reverent on her waist, the other clasping her hand. They swayed in slow circles in the center of the room, the city lights painting their skin in gold and red.

Her cheek brushed against his chest as she tilted her head. “You’re being extra charming tonight.”

“I’m always charming,” Sylus teased, dipping his head closer so his breath tickled her ear. “But tonight, you’re glowing, kitten. Couldn’t help myself.”

(Name) laughed softly, chest fluttering as he twirled her under his arm, then pulled her close again. “Glowing? I just finished cleaning.”

He grinned, crimson eyes gleaming. “Then I must have a thing for house faes.”

Then, in one swift motion, he slid his arm under her knees and lifted her into the air with a graceful twirl.

(Name) squealed, laughing as the room spun around her, hair flying loose from its messy bun.

“Sylus!”

“Shh,” he hushed playfully, cradling her against his arm. “You’re ruining the moment.”

He let her feet touch the ground again, but barely—his arms still wrapped around her, one hand brushing the fallen curls from her face, tucking them behind her ear. His fingers lingered at her jaw, stroking down to the edge of her neck.

She was breathless.

“You’re unbelievable,” she breathed.

“One of many reasons you married me,” he quipped.

He was already watching her like she was the only thing in existence.

And this time, it was (Name) who leaned forward—her hands framing his face—and kissed him.

Soft.

Full of warmth.

The kind of kiss that said you’re home to me.

When they broke apart, she didn’t step back.

She just wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and whispered, “I love you.”

Sylus froze—not because he didn’t know it. But because, even now, every time she said it so freely, it still knocked the wind out of him.

He rested his chin on top of her head and whispered back, “I love you too, sweetie.”

STOP IM CRYING SO HARD HIS BIRTHDAY IS IN 2 DAYS!! anywayss did u guys also buy the birthday merch from infold?? i bought the smoll keychain doll hehe, take my money. (ANYWAYS THIS FIC IS INSPIRED BY THINKING OUT LOUD ADSKJDNASK THE SLOW DANCE)

[yolkochan]

Advanced Perspective Critique (+ tips & tricks)

Original artwork submitted by @soleilonthesun

This is a large post critiquing (also perspective tips) this artwork submitted by one of my friends, I’m not a professional art teacher but I’m willing to share my knowledge with the internet :)

I will assume that you know the basics of perspective and will be moving on more advanced stuff. If you’d like me to critique your artwork, just send me a dm or an ask.

Some basic tips to start off with.

Use a small pen size so you can be more accurate with perspective.

Use the line tool if you are allowed to, don’t freehand this.

Always draw the horizon line first before you begin a perspective drawing and draw “outside” of the actual canvas since vanishing points are usually far outside of it if you want to do a close up of a building/room. You can enlarge your drawing area in later stages after you’re done sketching.

Try to draw within this safe area (rhombus) between the vanishing points (an acute angle, about 60-70 degrees). I recommend this because if you draw outside this area there will be extreme warping to the objects that you’re drawing.

When I was trying to draw out the box of your room, I noticed that the edges of the room were outside of the vanishing points, causing this extreme type of warping — making it impossible to connect the edges of the room into a complete box. I think this may have happened due to you drawing the inner faces of the box first (which is risky) instead of the outer faces.

Drawing the outer faces first is the easiest way to draw a box in 2pp.

The first thing I noticed is how different the perspective of the floor is compared to the room so I tried finding the horizon line + vanishing points of the room (even though the perspective of the room itself is extremely warped in the first place lol). The floor will always be at the same vanishing point(s) as the room it’s in.

Tips on drawing objects inside rooms:

Objects on the floor/floating can be at different vanishing points compared to the room but they still have to be on the same horizon line. I see you attempted to do this with the bench here.

Objects attached to walls (posters, clocks, shelfs) must have their vanishing points the same as the room otherwise it will not look like it’s attached to the wall. (This also applies to hinging doors and physically hanging items attached to the ceiling like chandeliers)

One of the things I changed was the pillar since it seemed like it wasn’t touching the ceiling properly even before I adjusted the walls edges to fit the perspective. Even though the edited pillar now technically fits the perspective in the edit, the front side of the pillar being parallel to the viewer’s eyes can be off-putting since pillars aren’t normally constructed like that (they’re mainly always cuboids or cylinders) — so I also made another alternative edit.

Ellipses in perspective is particularly too complex to explain in one post but the main thing about it is that it will ALWAYS stay a perfect ellipse no matter the orientation (assuming there’s no extreme warping or curvilinear perspective) — it will never turn into an oval like this. Practicing and drawing cylinders will help you break off this habit. I reconstructed this bucket in particular to fit in with the perspective better.

This video by @drawsh and infographic explains it way better than me.

Here is also another video by @stanprokopenko that explains how to draw a cylinder easily.

Final edit

End note

Obviously I can’t change everything in this drawing but I hope I made the perspective less inconsistent for you. To get better at perspective (or well anything really), you just need to practice it more, drawing more backgrounds and objects and such — you’ll improve very quickly. I saw that you put in a lot of detail into this drawing and I was really impressed!

But since this was a perspective assignment, you may have gotten not so great grades due to the inaccuracy. When it comes to perspective, you have to be strict with yourself and try not to “guess” stuff. I recommend drawing less detailed backgrounds as practice more often. I hope this explanation and critique helps you on your art journey :) (and also better grades lol)

[elspethdekarios]

Writing Prompt -

Gale and Elspeth are in the Great Library doing their own research and trying to ignore each other - They have had a bit of a falling out, and are giving each other they silent treatment until the other apologises.

aaaaaand what if they fucked afterwards?

Alright alright I see you. Enjoy 💖

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Pairing: Gale x Female Tav (named)

Word count: 2038

Rating: NSFW!!! 🔞

Warnings: PiV sex, angst, angry sex, makeup sex

The air was heavy in the grand library in the Temple of Oghma, perhaps because of the incense permeating from the main floor below, or perhaps because of the tension between Gale and Elspeth. Beams of afternoon sun shone through the windows, illuminating dust and particles floating about. Gale stood by the wall, alternating between propping his book up on a nearby shelf and pacing with it in his hands. Every few minutes, he’d let out a huff to blow the stray strands of hair out of his eyes, increasingly agitated at its unruliness. He found himself fidgeting with the book’s pages or absentmindedly combing through his beard, distracted not by thought, but emotion. He had read the same page three times now and retained none of it.

Elspeth emerged from the towering rows with two antique books, purposefully strutting past Gale, robes swishing behind her, as she sat at a desk facing away from him. She refused to make eye contact until he apologized for how he acted that morning. Their usual end-of-tenday morning walk to the library was marked by silence and rigid hand-holding–no discussion of the day’s plans or playful banter. Occasionally one of them would remark on something happening around them, the other only responding with a firm “hm.” 

A few other patrons were scattered throughout the library’s halls, the only sounds those of pages flipping and the occasional cough. The librarian, an aged devotee of Oghma, sat at her usual high desk, spectacles sitting on the very tip of her nose as she wrote in a ledger. She did not ever engage in small talk with the library’s patrons, but the few times Gale or Elspeth needed help finding a particular book, her stern mouth would curl into a smile and she’d speak in excited whispers about the library’s collection. She often greeted them with a head nod, and sometimes a quiet “Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios.”

Elspeth kept her head down, trying to scan the book’s pages for any mentions of infernal machinery, but words were foreign symbols on parchment to her, jumbled and meaningless. Her thoughts kept snapping back to Gale. She unpacked a quill and began to take notes, hoping the motion might help her stay focused. But her parchment remained mostly blank, and when she heard Gale shutting his book behind her, she slumped back in her chair, frustrated with the lack of progress. Frustrated, still, with him.

After an hour in the library, Gale had successfully read four pages of the newest published studies on time-altering illusion spells–next week’s lesson for his advanced students. He couldn’t force himself through it any longer. He approached El, admiring the way her shiny, platinum hair reflected the sunlight, forgetting for a moment that he was angry with her. He resisted the natural urge to touch her–to massage her tense shoulders or lift her chin up for a kiss. She was incredibly stubborn, that much he knew, but she owed him an apology. And no matter how badly he wanted to feel her near him, he would wait for that apology.

“Are you checking those out?” he asked as he stood next to the desk, gesturing to the books. She only nodded and slid them on top of the large tome Gale held in his arms. Gale brought their books to  the main desk and the librarian stamped a magical glyph on the inside of each book’s cover. He returned to El, handing her the two small books she had selected.

“Surprised you trust me with books at all anymore,” she mumbled as she slid them into her bag. “But these aren’t your books, so I suppose it’s different.”

“Yes, El, it is different.” His voice, though a normal volume, sliced through the quiet library, earning him a few stares and a “shush” from the librarian. “It is different,” he repeated, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Presumably you won’t throw them out with the bathwater.”

“I hardly threw it out, Gale!”

“Shh!” came from the librarian’s desk and somewhere further away in the room.

“What do you call it, then?” Gale whisper-shouted.

“I call it ‘donating-books-to-an-orphanage,’ as a matter of fact,” she whispered back.

“Well now you’re just making me sound like an asshole.”

“You’re being one.” El shoved her belongings into the bag and turned heel, Gale matching her stride.

“El–let’s just go to the orphanage and ask for it back. We can forget this little spat of ours, get the book back–no harm done.”

“I am not–”

“Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios.” The librarian appeared before them, short and slender, pointed ears peaking through her silvered hair. “You would do well to remember that this is a library. If you must argue, then I must ask you to leave the Temple. You’ll be most welcome once you can follow the rules again.

Gale and Elspeth marched down the stairs and through the Temple in silence. Once outside and out of earshot of the priests, El turned to her husband, his windswept hair and the peak of collarbone through his robes almost making her forget their quarrel. She pushed the thoughts aside as Gale began crossing the street to Blackstaff Tower, motioning her to follow.

“I am not walking into an orphanage and demanding part of my donation back, Gale! Do you hear yourself?”

“I have no desire to take anything away from an orphaned child,” he said, pushing open the heavy oak doors. “But it’s one book–a book most likely too advanced to be of use to them. And I didn’t give you permission to donate it!”

“You gave me permission to donate the stack collecting dust in the cellar.”

“Yes, because they’re children’s books–I didn’t realize my first edition copy of Abjuration Accolades Through the Ages was on top!”

“That’s not my fault!” 

El followed Gale up the spiraling stone staircase, the building noticeably quiet as their voices and footsteps echoed. Out of breath, they reached Gale’s office.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” El lamented, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes were remorseful as she looked at him, silently begging for this feud to be over, but refusing to be the one to apologize. “You should have checked the stack first before agreeing.”

With a quick wave of his hand, Gale’s office door shut and locked itself. He stepped forward to where Elspeth leaned against the side of his desk, sliding one hand around her waist and using the other to push her hair away from her neck, baring the flesh for him to trail breathy, warm kisses from collar to ear. 

“Gale, we–we’re–” she began to protest, to remind him that they were still arguing. But she melted at his mouth on her skin, the scent of sandalwood dabbed behind his ears so close and potent that she forgot about their quarrel in an instant. She breathed out his name, clutching the back of his robes briefly before undoing its buttons and sliding it off his shoulders, revealing the toned forearms that always made her come undone.

In a quick movement, he had her on the desk, the books and bottles of ink vanishing with a hand gesture. His fingers trailed beneath the sleeves of her robe, pulling them down just enough to expose her shoulders. The sweet musk of her skin set his pulse racing as he sighed into her shoulder, taking desperate mouthfuls of her and leaving scarlet marks bursting beneath her skin. While his mouth wandered, his hands pushed up her robes, expecting to pull off the leggings she’d normally wear underneath. Beneath the fabric, however, was nothing.

“How scandalous of you, Mrs. Dekarios,” he teased, pushing her legs up for a full view of her cunt, glistening just for him. He ran a finger through her and grazed his lips softly against the pointed tip of her ear, his voice deep and quiet. “Almost like you wanted to be fucked on my desk.”

She could have come with those words alone. Already, the gentle circles he drew around that most sensitive spot threatened to send her over the edge. Whimpering and biting her lip in an attempt to reign herself in, she reached down to feel him, hard and eager beneath his trousers. She slipped the tied leather beneath her fingers and pulled the waistband loose, savoring the silky, hot skin of his cock in her hand. Gale moaned into her neck.

“Maybe I thought I could coax an apology out of you.”

“Hm,” he chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

Before Elspeth could respond, he thrust himself into her, sending a wave of pleasure through her entire body as she held herself up on the desk and clutched Gale’s arm. She cried out, thankful they hadn’t seen a soul in the Tower on their way up, and not caring that there could be others in adjacent rooms overhearing them. Gale lifted her leg up, heeled boot resting against his shoulder as his hips moved rhythmically against her exposed bottom half.

Oh, she was angry with him. His suave words and bedroom eyes and beautiful cock that she worshiped, second only to her deity. Godsdamn him, smoothing over their argument by splaying her out on his desk and half undressing her, knowing the frustration she felt would melt away with a few magic words and a good fuck. It always did–though this was the only time that he had been the subject of her anger since starting their lives together.

But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hoping for this.

Gale’s own frustration was dissipating with every thrust. In truth, he knew he should apologize, but that realization only came about when he saw El’s ecstasy as he plunged into her. She was more special to him than an old book–than any book, really. He couldn’t be angry with her now if he tried. Truly testing El’s flexibility, he leaned forward, squishing her upright leg between them, and kissed her madly. His tongue lapped at the inside of her mouth, his moans harder to suppress, and he felt her hand slip between their bodies, finding the center of her pleasure. It was only seconds until she cried out. Her body tensed and her warmth pulsed around him, his release spilling into her as he groaned and clutched her close to him, the two of them finding their climax in perfect unison. 

Elspeth lowered herself to rest her back to the desk, still holding Gale as he lay atop her, panting into her chest. She smoothed out his now-disheveled hair as she caught her own breath, gently combing through the graying strands behind his ears. He raised his head to gaze at her.

“I’m sorry–” they both said in tandem. Giggling, he urged her to speak first.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have been more discerning.”

“No, love,” he said, reaching up to caress her cheek. “I’m sorry. I acted like a right fool. It was ludacris of me to suggest we ask the orphanage for the book back. The orphanage, of all places.” He shook his head in disapproval of himself.

“I know your books are important to you. I promise it won’t happen again, Gale.”

“And I promise to remember that you are more important to me than any book, first edition or otherwise.” He kissed the wrist of the hand resting in his hair. “Your generosity is one of my favorite things about you. I’d do well to take notes.”

He lifted himself up from the desk and extended his hands, pulling El up to her feet. 

“Well, my love,” he said as he redid the ties of his pants. “What else does the day hold for us?”

Elspeth smoothed out her robes and her hair, hoping she didn’t look too hot and bothered. “Let’s go to the bookstore. We can get you something new to fill the book-shaped void.”

Gale broke into a wide smile and pulled his beautiful wife into a deep hug, thanking the gods that she came into his life. 

“Does that sound okay to you?” she asked as he loosened his hold.

“That sounds absolutely perfect.”

Hand-in-hand, they walked back out into the City of Splendors.

[multiversefanfics]

My Husband

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader Warning: nothing but fluff Summary: You call Sam your husband Word Count: 673 This lovely idea came from @irishhappiness, hopefully you like it! Kind of a part 2 to Current Boyfriend or can be read as a standalone.

You and Sam have been together for quite some time now, the thought of marriage has floated around your head from time to time. The conversation of marriage has come up, but truthfully, you were content with what you and Sam have. It was like the two of you were already married.

Sam loved doing TikTok trends with you, even after missions, he would find the time to do them, anything to make you happy. Sam would dress up as a hot dog and dance around singing about hot dogs if it got you to laugh. By the way he's done it. Sam was madly in love with you, and you were madly in love with him too.

Nothing compared to the love Sam had for you, he would walk to the end of the earth and back, barefoot, before he let anything bad happen to you. Sam tells you every chance he gets that he loves you and how he can't wait to spend the rest of his life with you, and you remind him of the same.

The two of you were out getting random things that you said you needed for the house, even though both of you knew there was nothing that you actually needed. Sam was leaning on the cart while you were looking at throw pillows for the couch.

You figured this would be a great time to try the "husband" trend. You pulled out your phone and started filming a TikTok video. You were trying to find the right ones that matched the aesthetic of the living room. You propped your phone on the shelf, making sure you got Sam in frame and showed the camera different pillows

"I can't decide on what pillows to get, let me ask my husband." You looked over at Sam who didn't exactly hear what you said, he was ready to go.

You showed him the pillow, and he shook his head, "Too floral, we don't do flowers."

You shrugged your shoulders and put the pillow back. You looked around for more random pillows to show Sam and the camera, you kept trying to come up with ways to call him your husband again. Sam's phone rang, it was Joaquin. You playfully rolled your eyes and moved down to look at mirrors to hang on the wall.

You pretended to look at the different shapes and styles of the mirrors, but you didn't really care about the mirrors, you just needed an excuse to call him your husband again. Sam continued to talk to Joaquin.

"Let's see what my husband, Sam what he thinks." You turned to Sam who was smiling from ear to ear.

"What did you just call me?" Sam moved the phone from his ear and watched your every move intently.

"My husband?" You tried your best to bite back a smile.

"Joaquin, let me call you back." Sam came up to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. "Oh, baby, I love the sound of that."

You giggled and hugged him back. He was so cute and happy that you called him that, he didn't want to let go, he spun you around and when he finally planted you back on the ground, he cupped your cheeks and kissed your lips repeatedly.

He pulled back from you and started doing a little happy dance

"She called me her husband." He continued to dance then stopped and looked at you "I can't wait to make you my wife, ooh girl you're gonna look so damn good on our wedding day."

Sam wrapped his arms around you once more, placing several kisses all over your face, you couldn't help but giggle and kiss him back when you could. Sam smiled the rest of the time in the store, he even took you to your favorite restaurant and your favorite dessert place.

If you knew calling him your husband would get you this special treatment, you would've said it a long time ago.

A/N: If you want to be tagged in future fics comment here or send me a message. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 🥰

Main Masterlist - Sam Wilson Masterlist

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @kjah97 @sleepysongbirdsings @samfreakingwinchester @iwudbutnah @cherryresidence @roofwitty779 @fairylatte7

[florvaine]

a moment to focus.

Even after a panic, you and Carl both have time to recalibrate again.

Genre: fluff, hurt w comfort.

Relationship: Carl Grimes x Reader (gender not mentioned)

Warnings: typical TWD related warnings, swearing, possible grammar/spelling mistakes

-— IT HAD TAKEN A WHILE FOR RICK AND MICHONNE TO ALLOW YOU AND CARL TO GO OUTSIDE OF ALEXANDRIA ALONE. Michonne was a little more open to the idea, Rick needed all three of you to try convince him before actually even considering it. Nevertheless, it's amounted to you and your boyfriend finally being permitted to go on a small, unimportant supply run into the nearest city for whatever you wanted.

The trip wasn't too long, slightly strenuous due to the lack of mobile transport, but scenic and peaceful. It seems as though Rick passed through before you two left, clearing it out all the way to the town. Clouds sprinkle the sky, a few covering the sun momentarily before the heat returns onto your backs. The leaves on the trees had started to turn orange and yellow, as if the sly chill now in the air didn't already signal the end of Summer and the introduction to Autumn.

Now, you and him are separated by the dusty shelves of a decrepit book store, Carl attempting to find a new comic book series to indulge in and you trying to find a longer book for you to distract yourself with.

Sighing, you put another paperback into it's spot before you picked it up, reading yet another unconvincing blurb. You scan the place, the sunlight filtering through the dirtied windows across the rectangular building, tiny particles of dust float in the air like miniature pixies. The floor, a dark blue carpet, it covered with debris from the falling roof tiles, showing just how old the store was.

The shuffling of boots behind you takes your attention away from the appearance of the place, instead making eye contact with Carl. He's in his monochrome flannel, a white shirt underneath and slightly baggy black jeans over his brown boots; a new bandage over his eye and his hat shading his face.

"I found one," He looks down, flicking through the colourful pages quickly before stuffing it into his canvas bag with the others, "Got the whole series as well. You found anything?"

"Nope," You reply, turning back around to the sign that read 'FICTION' in bold capitals, "It's like the same story is just titled differently and published over and over."

As you're about to take another off the shelf again you accidently knock a thickly binded one off onto the floor. A cloud of dust follows and an array of growling sounds from the back room. From where the two of you are stood it's a clear view to the door with a hanging 'EMPLOYEE'S ONLY' sign on it, the source of all the noise.

"I didn't even know they were in there." You mutter.

"Neither."

There's a moment of silence as you crouch and pick up the book, putting it back on the shelf. In the process you pick up your bag from the floor, slinging it over your shoulders and sniffling from the dust. The snarling continues, the muffled sound hanging in the air around you two.

Glancing back at Carl, you reach for the axe hanging from your belt, "Should we check it out?"

The brunette steps ahead of you, hand on the handle of his knife as he rears closer to the door. He presses his ear to the wall and listens, holding a finger up to you to tell you to be quiet. Obliging, you move to stand just behind him, awaiting his input.

"It doesn't sound like there’s a lot of them, we could go in and take them out, see if there's anything else we can take back." He looks back at you, tilting his head slightly as he gauges your reaction.

You nod, shrugging, and a second later the two of you enter the room with your blades and weapons drawn. There's no lights, as expected, only the limited natural light that fell from the small oblong windows at the very top of the large, grey-walled stock room. Steel shelf after shelf, each holding multiple boxes - opened or not - as well as packing stations for online orders and bags for those at the till in the front.

The first thing you notice is the green bag dangling from a sturdy nail in the wall to the right of the door. Unzipping it you were greeted with a collection of bandages and gauze, sanitary supplies, plasters, a tourniquet, as well as latex gloves. Showing the bag to Carl he gestures to his bag, and you quickly shove it in with his comics, carful not to damage them in the process.

Moving further in together, you covering his back and him covering yours, the two of you look down an aisle at a time. The first had two walkers which you both took out immediately before going down it, taking your time to open each box in case something was hidden. It seemed to be time wasted as you both end up with nothing afterwards.

Carl walks to the end with a huff, turning around the corner to go into the next aisle, announcing it to you in a mutter.

He squints, the room not exactly the best for him to be in. Not only does he now have a blind side, but the lack of light and ruined depth perception is really messing with him. He moves his head to try see better, counting four zombies as he gets closer to them.

It takes him a minute or two to get them all, the first and second going down easily as he had caught them by surprise. Struggling with the last two due to them crowding him, he huffs and makes quick work of driving his knife into their skulls. Their bodies fall onto the tiled floor like sacks of dirt. He could never get used to the sound when he takes his knife back never gets easier to hear, nor does the sight afterwards. Carl has to stop himself from overthinking - there's no use in spending precious time dwelling over the dead.

He pokes his head around the closest boxes, smiling as he sees you opposite him, occupied with another box on the other side of the shelving unit. Shining his light onto them, he finally catches your attention, you giving him a huff of a laugh before placing whatever you were inspecting down.

"You found anything?" You ask, glancing at a box of paperback books. You take it out, skimming over the blurb, with your interest piqued you place it in your bag.

He shakes his head whilst you do so, "Nothing, it's all branded bags, books and tissue paper, best we got was the ki-"

The brunette cuts himself off with a curse, suddenly disappearing from your limited view from the other side of the unit.

"Carl!" You shout, blinking rapidly as you try pull yourself of the frozen state you found yourself in.

The panic shoots straight to the nerves in your legs, sending you bolting the shortest way to reach the end of the unit you were on.

With your torch long forgotten you take a single moment to register what was happening in the dark - a crawler underneath another unit grappled onto his ankle like a bear trap, dragging him towards the snarling, snapping jaws of death like a ravenous piranha.

As if the surprise encounter wasn't already the worst, his gun is far from him and on his blind side, hand grasping on dust and ceramic grey as you continue to rush to his aid. Coming closer you draw your axe from where it was on your belt just as Carl plants his free foot onto a bottom shelf to try push himself away.

In a second you put all your strength into bringing the weapon into the air and down onto it skull, crushing the decaying bones and flesh underneath the force of which you did so. Blood spurts in every which way, the walkers head like a scarlet grand canyon when you remove the blade. There's droplets scattered along the material of his and your shoes, and a drop or three on your face.

You huff, looking at Carl. He's panting, eye wide and slightly hunched to remove the now loosened hand from his leg. There's a singular drop of sweat from his knitted brow which he wipes away with the sleeve of his flannel. The panic you felt filters through your veins and into the ground, dissipating as soon as relief overshadows it.

"You alright?" You ask, crouching to sit beside him.

The long-haired boy nods, "I'm good,"

"Why didn't you use your knife?"

He closes his eyes in a grimace, "I panicked."

"I thought we were way past panicking when seeing a walker, Carl," You reply, half worried, half angry.

"I thought I was too," He trails off, taking off his hat and resting his head onto the box behind him.

Sighing, you hold back the rest of your scolding to give him another once over. Your view is limited from the lack of light, however his leg is okay and his face seems fine, not a scratch in sight, just dust and grime smeared over the texture of his freckled skin from the time spent exploring. Messy brown locks from his fringe hook onto the material of his eyepatch. Now he sits back, with his eye closed you can see his lashes gently pressing against the slightly flushed skin beneath his eyes.

His own eye catches yours, but you don't look away, and neither does he. It seems he's doing his own check, light cobalt scanning every inch of your face for anything he knew was out of the ordinary. If the two of you didn't just escape the other being bitten it would've made you nervous. It takes a moment for his eyebrows to furrow and the warmth of his palm to press against your face.

Carl pulls you closer to him and for a second you believed he was going to kiss you like he did that morning, instead he hyper fixates on an area on your forehead.

"You're hurt," He mutters with slight haste in his words and takes his hand from your face, immediately taking off his bag and pulling out the kit you found earlier.

Your face fills with confusion as you raise your hand to touch your forehead for the injury you weren't even aware of. It's not a cut but a shallow gash and you hiss as you finally feel it.

"Don't touch it!" He scolds you lightly, rifling through the kit and pulling out a wide plaster and an antiseptic wipe.

You lean back into the unit behind you, mumbling, "I didn't even know I got hurt,"

Carl says nothing in reply, his only focus being the now dripping wound on your head. He gently pulls you into a golden ray of sunshine from a window, away from the now fully dead corpse and to see better with the light casting over your figure. You don't care about the stinging from the antibacterial wipes, taking advantage of his distracted state to run your eyes over him again, trying to indent his being into your mind. Cast in amber behind him, an intense yet nurturing stare directed towards you, with everything in this world today, you don't think you've ever seen this look on him before.

It's undoubtably attractive, being so important to someone that they look at you like that.

"Focus looks good on you." You say, voice low and your gaze on him.

For a second he glances back at you, eye contact sticking like dripping honey, before he looks away, shuffling slightly and licking his lips. It nearly pulls you away from the light pink fading into the tips of his ears. The sound of thin plastic tearing from paper sounds around the two of you as he opens the plaster.

He takes a sharp breath in, "You hit your head or somethin'?"

"No, I think I'd remember that."

His eye is back to the gash as he lines the plaster up perfecting with it. Before you know it he's swiping the rubbish underneath the shelf and slinging his bag onto his back again. After he gains his footing he reaches his hand out to you, and soon enough the two of you are up and moving again. The both of you agree to just scan the place quickly and get out, but before you split up again he reaches for your wrist, lightly pulling you back into him.

His lips are on yours right after. It was only a peck, but who were you to complain? The second you register it, it's gone, but it speaks volumes. It's a 'thank you', his way of displaying you the feelings he felt the moment he was in danger, and the moment you took him straight out of it, and the time he took to patch you up even if it wasn't a major lesion. He cares, and he is grateful for the things you do and are even you aren't aware of them.

The look in his eye when he pulls away speaks for him in a way so that he doesn't need to actually say anything. He's never been fond of PDA (if it even counts when you're in a warehouse alone) but it seems even Carl Grimes reaches his boiling point sometimes. Hands lingering on your shoulders, he slips them off the straps of your rucksack and to his side, where his knife and gun now rest again, before speaking again.

"Let's just go, we have everything." He declares, leaving no room for debate. You shrug and follow behind him, the two of you now on the way to exit the bookstore.

"Fine by me." You reply. wc: 2.3k

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for asking my spouse to open up our relationship?

Tl;dr: He said no years ago but our sex life is non-existent and I'm climbing the walls.

Full story:

Me (early 30s, NB) and my partner (late 30s, M) have been together for over a decade. We have a kid, a mortgage and enough interests in common to keep each other entertained. He's a genuinely good person and the last thing I want to do is hurt him. BUT.

We met before I hit 20, and he was my first ever serious relationship. Our sex life tanked about two years in, but we both had other things going on, and over time I blamed many different factors: living conditions, shift work, my weight gain, health issues, differences in upbringing, levels of queerness - you name it. In the last few years I helped him through a serious medical condition (think two surgeries and a long recovery), but once he was nominally in the clear my mental health went down the drain and I haven't really been back to normal since.

For a while, I had a really good counsellor and for once got to talk about some of the less savoury shit going on in my noggin. It all ended up on a Realisation that we only had sex while sober on a laughably small number of occasions, and any and all attempts on my part to spice things up ended at best with affectionately confounded denial or just a straight up brick wall. I got sober a few years before he did (I'm talking 'uh oh maybe we're having too many too often' rather than 'out of control alcoholism'), which effectively ended our sex life altogether. At this point I'm looking at a solid year since my husband last touched me, and even then it was after he came home from a pub in a silly mood so neither of us ended up getting much out of it. And it's not even the longest stretch.

I floated this as an issue a number of times, and every time he agreed it's something to work on then did precisely zilch. I told him point blank once that I wouldn't be opposed to an open relationship, but he was vehemently against, because that's the first step to a break up in his mind. I suggested he might be ace (there are several clues to that, not just my increasingly unhinged internet history), bought the book as a way to start a discussion - he put it on a shelf and never looked at it again.

After my Big Bad Breakdown earlier this year we ended up in family counselling. It quickly became clear that there are so many things he just Didn't Consider that the sex thing didn't even get mentioned, then we ran out of slots and he hasn't followed up on any of his revelations from the sessions, so I feel like digging in is a lost cause.

I love him, don't want to leave him and quite frankly couldn't even if I did because the UK is a financial ruin. I also have some extremely unfulfilled needs, and can't even rub one out in peace because he finds it weird (???). Even if I didn't find cheating morally Too Far it sounds exhausting and I already have too much going on. I haven't been the easiest person to be around for the last few months, but this has been a years-long issue. So, WBITA to start the conversation on the open relationship again, despite the negative feedback I had previously?

(If it helps, we both have different flavours of neurodivergence, although mine is under treatment and his largely ignored.)

What are these acronyms?

[pocket-lad]

CH 1- Piecing Things Together (Gravity Falls g/t)

1 ● 2 ● 3 ● 4 ● 5

After a terrifying series of events, a borrower named Evie goes to check on the resident giant of the house. What she finds instead is his twin brother. Now, Evie and Stan must put aside their differences and work together to bring Ford home.

Idea formed in collaboration with @obwjam. Check them out!

~~~

Ford ordered her to stay away, but after the floating and crashing and yelling from the previous night, she couldn’t do nothing any longer.

The last time she saw him, he looked bad. He had deep bags under his bloodshot eyes, one of which bled lightly but consistently. His clothes were rumpled and reeked as if they hadn’t been washed in months. He rambled on about his muse and his portal and he was paranoid beyond belief. He confessed that if Evie didn’t stay away, he was scared ‘he’ might hurt her. She had no idea who ‘he’ was.

Of course she put up a fight, but she eventually did as she was told. It may have had something to do with the way he tried to tear into the walls one night, hollering for her in a voice that was not his own. Now, she began to regret that decision. What if he seriously hurt himself, or someone else?

It wasn’t hard to find him, because ever since that 'falling out’ with Fiddleford, he was the only person who occupied the house. He still looked horrendous, but strangely, not as bad as before, though everything was slightly…off…like she was looking at a mirrored version of him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and his hair was longer and he sported a stained t-shirt and torn sweatpants, and Evie asked herself how long it had really been since she’d last seen him. It couldn’t have been that long…

“I know you told me to stay away but I can’t sit here and let you destroy yourself. If you just told me what’s going on, then maybe-”

Ford turned around and, upon seeing her, screamed. He launched the journal he held at her and stumbled backwards.

Evie just barely retreated into the wall before the heavy journal collided with the bookshelf and fell to the floor. It shook the whole structure and her heart pounded at the close call, but she ran back out to the edge of the shelf anyway and gestured at the book on the floor. “See, that’s what I’m talking about! You need help!”

“What-?” Ford exclaimed, still recovering from being startled.

“Wh - it’s me. You need your glasses that bad?” she laughed nervously. Evie didn’t know of any other people her size, especially ones that Ford acquainted himself with, so it wasn’t like he mistook her for someone else. Did he really not recognize her?

“Uhhh,” Ford’s eyes darted back and forth in confusion.

“Ford, look at me. What’s wrong?”

His face fell in realization and suddenly he had a very hard time making eye contact. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ah, look, tiny...thing, I’m not…I’m not Stanford.”

Evie blinked. For now, she was willing to play along, if only to see where his head was at. “Okay…then who are you?”

“I’m Stan. Stanley Pines. I’m his…brother.”

“Right,” she trailed off. “ ‘Ford’ never mentioned having a brother.”

Ford, or ‘Stan’, hardened. “Yeah, well he didn’t mention having a pipsqueak pet, either!”

Evie didn’t offend easily. She wasn’t usually self-conscious about her size anymore, and she took a lot of things in stride, but she was not anyone’s pet, and she would not let this man, whoever he was, refer to her as such. “Let’s get one thing straight. I am nobody’s pet. And if you’re not Ford, then where is he?”

The man’s voice continuously rose as he spoke. “None of your business, that’s where. Now why don’t you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, because Ford ain’t coming back!” He turned to leave the room.

Evie refused to believe this. “Hey! Don’t you walk away! You owe me answers! You threaten me then push me away then pretend to be somebody else? What is going on?!”

Stan whipped around and marched right up to the bookshelf. He poked her chest - hard - and she fell backwards, all of the wind knocked out of her. Nervous at the aggressive shift in his demeanor, she retreated toward the wall, rubbing her chest.

Stan brought his face incredibly close, filling out her whole field of view, and Evie gulped. “I don’t owe nobody nothing, sweetheart,” he said quietly. His hot breath washed over her, ruffling her hair. At this scale, his anger was impossible to ignore. For the first time in a long time, Evie was scared to speak to a giant. She was scared to even be in the presence of a giant. She wanted to shrink into herself and disappear, if only to get rid of his dark stare that resembled Ford’s in every way.

She waited with baited breath for him to make a move, but whatever he was going to say, he seemed to have changed his mind. He turned away again.

Evie wanted to let this go. Every instinct screamed at her to shut her mouth and return to safety. But if this wasn’t Ford, then he was out there somewhere, and this supposed brother of his was keeping it a secret. She had to know why. So, against her better judgment, Evie spoke up.

“Does it have to do with the portal?”

Stan froze but did not turn around to face her.

Carefully, Evie pushed herself to a seat. “If you tell me what happened, I might be able to help bring him back.”

Stan laughed. “Ha! What’s someone like you going to do?”

It wasn’t the first time Evie was underestimated because of her size. His dismissal hardly even phased her. “I can read those journals. I understand the code. I can help piece things together.”

Stan finally turned around and slowly approached the shelf. He set his fingertips on the edge, which made Evie flinch away, scared he would push her over again, or worse, grab her. At that point, she’d be helpless.

“What, is that minuscule head of yours too small to understand?" He lightly tapped the side of her head, and Evie's breath hitched. It was everything she could do not to fall over, but her neck strained against him as a result. "Ford’s gone. He’s not. Coming. Back.” By the end of his sentence, Stan's resolve had already slipped. He added, “I’m sorry, kid.”

Evie lost it. She began to hyperventilate as tears poured out of her eyes. This was all her fault. She ran up to Stan’s hand, the only thing in the vicinity she could take her frustration out on, and punched and kicked it repeatedly, so hard that she thought she might break her own knuckles.

“Don’t say that! Don’t say that because I’m his best friend and he’s my best friend and we’re all we have! I can’t lose him! Not after Fidds! I can’t-”

Evie’s tirade was cut short when Stan hoisted her up by the back of her jacket like a kitten. “Woah, woah, take it easy.”

But she continued to swing at the open air, willing the fingers to drop her. “Ford, put me down!”

Stan grimaced at the use of his brother’s name. The poor thing looked so pitiful, dangling there by her jacket, unable to shake herself loose. She desperately wanted to believe that he was Ford. He wished it were Ford that was here, too, instead of him. He’d know what to do.

Instead of obeying her demand, Stan let her tire herself out. He watched, ever so slightly amused, as she clawed at his fingernail, he watched as she tried to slip out of her jacket, and slowly but surely, her struggles died out. All that was left was a sobbing mess that swayed in time with the miniscule movements of his hand, and Stan realized that this was almost definitely worse. A fight, he knew how to deal with. Crying? That was a different story.

Evie sniffled. “He can’t be gone…”

The guilt hit Stan like a truck. And she didn’t even know that he was responsible for this whole mess. Sort of. Ford did invite him over, and he diddemand that Stan get as far away as possible, like he knew everything and Stan knew nothing, like……Unhelpful train of thought.

Stan picked up the journal off the floor and brought it and the little thing over to a cluttered desk. He dropped her on an open page and watched as she got her bearings. “Welp, you said you can help piece things together. Piece them together, then,” he said, crossing his arms.

Evie glanced up at him in surprise, then down at the journal underneath her. She wiped her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, let’s…yeah.”

As she worked on turning the heavy pages to find what she was looking for, she asked Stan about what happened. He explained that Ford did go through the portal, and it collapsed behind him. He had no idea where it went or how to turn it back on, but if he did, maybe they could bring Ford back. But it was a very strong maybe. It was clear they were both in way over their heads.

“Let’s hope,” Evie muttered, struggling with getting the page overhead. It flopped back down overtop of her, no matter what angle she pushed from.

Stan took pity on her and flipped the page. Evie stared at him incredulously, baffled by the fact that he could turn it so easily. She shook her head and continued to search for the passages she was thinking of.

And that’s how they worked. Evie found and interpreted the information and Stan did all the hands-on work. It would be a long road with a lot of snags and a lot of quirks to get used to, just by nature of working with someone who was so different . Evie tried her best to ignore the fact that he shared a face with Ford. But they found a sort of equilibrium, and though the loss of Ford was painful, they at least had someone by their side who understood. Nobody else understood. But Evie and Stan? They understood.

.

Next

[linkspooky]

wip wednesday

Updated WIP for my Azulaang fic.

The worst part was that Aang had found her beautiful. Aang was suddenly forced to bear witness to a naked truth. Azula was a girl. Not only was she a girl, she was a beautiful girl.  Until now, he’d believed Azula hard and made of steel like a machine of war with a fire burning inside her. Now he saw her soft flesh.What he'd thought was a blazing inferno that burned everything that touched her was a gentle warmth that permeated her skin. The girl that had always been hiding underneath the fire nation black and red armor. A beautiful girl. 

It was tradition in this household to cleanse one’s body before being let into the spiritual archives. Aang respected tradition, even if spiritualism in the fire nation was different from the air nomads. 

(He also needed a bath, running away from conflict worked up quite a sweat). Step by step, he followed the little footpath of smooth, colorful pebbles under the luxuriant canopy of flowering wisteria blossoms until he found the entrance to the bath. Inside the changing room a low shelf carved from the bluestone had been placed to hold the bather’s clothes. In his eagerness to get into the water on a cold winter day (by fire nation standards) he failed to notice two other tubs packed with clothing sitting on the shelf. Aang took off his clothing, it was easy to get undressed with the simple way airbenders dressed. Imagine how many layers Zuko had to take off to bathe, especially with those huge shoulde roads.  He left his clothes in a wooden washtub, and after lifting the thin hemp curtain with one hand strode inside. 

Stream drifted through the air, it gently unfurled out from the pool, drifting slowly, filling every corner and crevice blurring his vision.  With that and the dim moonlight it was difficult to see more than a few shuka in front of you. It gave the baths a spiritual aura, like he’d stepped in the river that separated this world from the far shore.Flowers bloomed along the borders of the pool, their shed petals floated on the surface, and there was a small waterfall at the end of the pond for rinsing. 

It was pleasantly warm. Aang couldn't help the soft sigh of content that escaped him. He felt like a kid again bathing in the air temple hot springs with the other children. He let loose for a moment, extending his slender limbs and swimming all the way to the waterfall with a splash. 

Just as he rose from the water and wiped his face, he noticed someone was already showering in the surging waterfall with their back turned.

Lio. Aang should have known better to watch Lio from someplace unseen like a total stalker creep weirdo, but he stopped to watch their back as if possessed by some kind of spell. 

Their back was held tall and straight, the contours sharp and defined. But with the stars illuminating the steam Aang could make out countless scars, burn scars, and what looked to be whip marks on the center of their back. A body full of wounds. A body full of scars. So many it was impossible to find a piece of untouched flesh. 

There was no need to mention how much those wounds should hurt. 

Water fell down from above almost as if to cool off those burns, cascading over their body, rivulets gathering into a stream down the wide expanse of their back, down the valleys and peaks of their intricately carved muscles and finally into the divet between their buttocks. The water seemed infatuated with their body, clinging to them in a light stream that was loath to part. 

Lio’s head turned halfway to meet Aang’s gaze, just as Aang jerked his head up to preserve some of Lio’s dignity, “Hey, Aangie have you come to do some naked male bonding?”

“My best features are my back and my butt? What do you think, Aangie?”

Lio said , strode out from under the waterfall and pressed his hands on the rock wall blocking everything behind his massive back from view. 

That back took up Aang’s entire view. Their hair had grown out and fell in black, wild tangles just past their shoulder. Those shoulder blades slid down the small of their back. Aang’s esys followed the downward curve of their spine, their full and firm buttocks, and eyes ficxed on those fair plump curves for a moment because his head jerked up again. . “I think you are uh, very attractive, and you are connvingly using your attractiveness to try to distract me from asking about how you got that scar on your back.”

“Oh, I was a naughty boy and I was whipped before I was banished. It’s nothing… compared to the trouble I caused Li and my family back then it was absolutely nothing.” .” 

“Your pain isn’t nothing.” “Haha, what pretty words. Did the airbenders teach you to talk that way, or are you just that cheesy naturally?” Lio noticed Aang’s wince at the mention of the airbenders, “I’m sorry, Aangie, baby. I’m a bad, rude man. I just don’t like you looking at me like I’m some poor dying animal you found on the side of the road.” 

Lio’ s shoulder’s rose and fell, as they heaved a sigh. They weren’t some broken thing, it was easy to see the lean strength in those lines. Those shoulder blades were strong and massive, moving beneath the scarred skin. 

At that moment all Aang could think of was how adult Lio looked, even though they were only two years older. It wasn’t just the enormous height, it was the comfort they displayed wearing their own body, it was enough to make Aang feel like a fucking child in comparison. 

Graceful Lio suddenly gracelessly lost their balance and fell a step back from the wall. Lio quickly turned around, still hiding something behind their back, “I’m sorry Aangie, can we continue this conversation later? I thought we could bond in our nakedness, but human relationships aren’t so simple.”

Aang caught sight of it then, a smaller, curvier figure trying to slip away into the steam just then. Oh. Li mentioned Lio wanted to get married. Aang walked in on both of them in the bath. Mix gender bathing was normal in the fire nation, he told himself. Completely normal.

He caught sight of a feminine figure through the steam turning to leave. He didn’t initially recognize her - because under normal circumstances, that girl would never do something as ungraceful as stumbling and falling face first into the pool, sending a spray of water into the air. 

“Lazuli, watch your step.” One hand around Azula’s arm, Lio supported her from behind. The difference in their heights was such that their breath puffed against Azula’s ear as they lowered their head to speak, “If you’re not careful you might just fall for me.” 

“Cough, cough.” Azula inadvertently swallowed a mouthful of water in her panic. Swallowing bathwater she became indignant and disgusted discarding all appearance of calm composure, scrambling and flailing as she tried to find her footing.

Aang saw Azula, it was the closest he’d ever seen her, she looked quite different than when she had appeared on the opposite side of a battlefield. Aang saw Azula, but his brain refused to process the image. He wanted to ask what she was doing here, but it got stuck in his throat. He suddenly felt pathetic and spineless. Silence only continued to fan the flames of the situation. 

Aula naked and exposed. When people shed their clothes and exposed themselves they usually exposed their inner ugliness, but Azula was different.

He couldn’t look away. Even though his brain registered she was naked. When people shed their clothes and exposed themselves they usually exposed their inner ugliness, but Azula was different. The horrfiyng part, of this situation wasn’t that he’d humiliated Azula completely by accident. No, the true horror had been something that should not have even been possible. Something that would make a clown like Lio laugh.  The unsettling horror of it all was that Aang had found her beautiful.

Aang was suddenly forced to bear witness to a naked truth. Azula was a girl. Not only was she a girl, she was a beautiful girl. 

Until now, he’d believed Azula hard and made of steel like a machine of war with a fire burning inside her. Now he saw her soft flesh. The girl that had always been hiding underneath the fire nation army. 

A beautiful girl. It wasn’t something as perverted as being attracted to her naked body, it was just seeing the naked truth finally in front of his eyes, that Azula was a girl not yet fully mature barely older than him. Though it was sacreligious to compare her to Katara, it was like the first time he woke up to Katara’s face. It was different from Katara though, because she was lacking many of the qualities one would typically ascribe to ‘beauty’. 

When she was fourteen years old she was certainly eye catching in a dangerous way. Now she’d lost a lot of her ‘beauty’ from when she was fourteen. He wouldn’t call her skin pale in a way that evoked purity, or compare it to porcelain, she looked almost physically ill. She wasn’t thin, or lithe, but emaciated. There were dark rings that eclipsed her sun-colored eyes. She was like a plucked flower withering away within a bell jar, and yet, there was something about her. Something so… 

“Why are you staring, avatar? Have you not gone any farther than hand holding with your little water tribe girlfriend?” Something so…“...Beautiful.” 

He should not have said it. He should not have acknowledged that feeling. These were feelings he wasn’t supposed to have because Azula was… well, Azula. 

“What is it…? Speak clearly, don’t mumble, and look into the eyes of the person you’re talking to.” “Err… beautiful…” “Is your mouth broken? Oh no, I believe I broke the avatar. Again.” He confessed again. “I’m staring because you’re beautiful.” “You’re right, I am beautiful. I guess your eyes aren’t broken.” She was… She was definitely still Azula. Whatever had happened in the three months since he last saw her hadn’t changed her fundamental “Azula-Ness.” Then his sight of Azula was cut off as Lio pulled Azula close to them, stepping in front of her to obscure most of Aang’s view. 

Aang had several questions, but the first one that jumped to mind when he saw the two of them acting so close was, “Why are you bathing with Lio?”

“Mixed bathing is normal, and besides I’d never stare at a girl to make her uncomfortable. I’m a beautiful girl myself, and you don’t know how many creeps have stared at me, ” Lio said. 

That’s right, mixed bathing was normal in fire nation culture Aang reminded himself for the thousandth time. 

Bathing under the stars. Girls and boys together. No tension there whatsoever. Nope, not at all. 

Azula looked at Aang, “There’s nothing untoward about bathing with my betrothed.” “...Your betrothed.” “Yes.” “You’re getting married?” “Yes.” “To who?” “To Lio.” “You’re getting married to Lio.” “Can you not hear me? I thought those big ears of yours would at least be good for listening.” 

“Are my ears too big? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Were they just trying to be nice?” He was suddenly, very self conscious about the size of his ears but that was besides the point. “Why are you getting married to Lio?” “I fail to see how it’s any business of yours.” That’s right it wasn’t any business of his. 

So, why did he care? 

[inkformyblood]

harbour after a storm (CWFKB #7)

Fill for Absent-Minded Kiss @codywanfirstkissbingo Canon Universe, Post-Order 66, Order 66 Happened Differently

Cody taps his scoop of caf against the side of his cup, the powder falling free with a soft thump. A few particles drift free, dark against the pale surface of the small kitchenette unit installed in the corner of Obi-Wan’s rooms, and Cody notes their presence the same way he would track the individual pin-pricks of troops across a map. It’s light duties, stamped in his file with a liberal amount of glee by a medic who clutched their cup of their caf until their knuckles went white, and he’s been following that to the letter. It’s how they were trained after all.

It’s every space between the letters that he’s having difficulty with. 

Along with the assigned light duties, ostensibly to recover the brain surgery and actually to stop Cody from dismantling exactly why the Senate’s policy was karking banthashit to their faces, Cody had little to do and even less of an idea about what he could do. He arrived at Obi-Wan’s door one morning, his discharge papers crumpled up in his fist and a headache that had nothing to do with the chip that had been removed and everything with the fact he hadn’t had a sip of caf for a week, and he had never left.

He isn’t sure what that makes them now. 

They have been Commander and General for so long that to be anything else nearly can’t be thought about. There is a missing piece of Cody’s brain, a sinkhole for his thoughts to pour into in hopes of filling it back up, and he tips his worries about Obi-Wan into it so they don’t infest somewhere else. He is in love with Obi-Wan. He has been since that first battlefield with blood pouring down the side of his face and he didn’t know if he even had his eye still. Obi-Wan had cupped his face between his palms for an instant before pressing his knuckles to the bleeding hollow on the side of his face. “You’ll be okay, love,” Obi-Wan had murmured, grinning down at Cody and he had believed him. He had been right which had only cemented the knowledge that Cody had been right then, and he is right now. 

The kettle hisses as it boils and Cody picks it up, hooking his fingers beneath the handle and pouring some into the mug. Reflexively, he steps back, drawing the small timer up from the shelf beneath the counter before he catches himself. Obi-Wan is at a Council meeting that morning and for the rest of the day, there is only a single cup needed this morning instead of the delicate process of brewing and steeping and stirring that Cody has dedicated himself to the study of for Obi-Wan’s preferred morning cup of tea. 

Cody places the kettle back down, nudging the base flush against the wall, and returns the timer to the shelf. He stirs his own cup as he rifles through the growing collection of extras flavourings that Obi-Wan has added to his own supply of different teas and pulls out a sweet pod, dropping it into his mug. It cracks open beneath the surface, a few luminescent pearls floating to the surface. Cody scoops one up with his spoon and sips at it, cracking the pearl between his teeth. It matches well, the caf rich and dark and the pearl a burst of needed sweetness. He scoops up his mug, throwing the spoon into the sink, and turns towards the sunken sitting area. There is a spread of files across the low table, the curling corners of the flimsiwork nearly the same pale shade of the table but broken by lines and lines of cramped neat text, and the pit of Cody’s stomach falls out. 

He knows those files.

Obi-Wan needs those files. He’d poured over them for hours for the past few weeks, adding his own notations and thoughts to the already layered margins, his hair dishevelled from the disjointed push of his fingers as he paces to rehearse his arguments. It had been beautiful to watch him work in an entirely different battlefield to the one Cody is used to seeing, words forged into weapons, some as delicate as a blade and others a cudgel to hit his point home further. Cody picks up a travel mug, tipping his caf into it, and seals the lid with a quick swipe of his thumb, moving down to the table to pick up the files. They’re heavier than he expects, a dull ache throbbing across his temple as he wavers, knocking the flimsiwork against his hip until the file is mostly closed. He’ll just need to be careful to not drop any. 

Cody hesitates in front of the door, pressing his tongue against the jagged line of his canine. His breath is heavy in his chest, drawing him down to the floor, and he could just stay here. Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind if Cody couldn’t leave their rooms before he was ready, but he wants to do this. He cares for Obi-Wan, loves him with every choice he has ever made, and he wants to be able to bring him his files that the other man has forgotten just because he could. Cody taps the door controls, takes a swig of his caf, and steps out into the corridor. He doesn’t stop walking. 

The Jedi Temple hums with activity, still somehow peaceful despite the footsteps echoing through the corridors and the rumble of voices that spill out of the rooms. Cody keeps close to one wall, following it like a battleplan, and only breaking away to turn down one intersection or another. The doors to the Council rooms hang open, several familiar voices leaking out before Cody’s attention catches onto Obi-Wan’s voice. 

“I’ll just be a moment, thank you!” Obi-Wan bows as he walks backwards, tipping his hip around the catch of the door and spinning with the same movement. His face lights up as he sees Cody, his grin only widening as his gaze drops to the file Cody holds against his hip. “You brought my file? You wonderful man.” He crosses the distance between them in a handful of steps, cupping Cody’s face in his palms. “Thank you so much.”

Obi-Wan leans forward and kisses him, already moving to pluck the file from his arms. Cody, his mind empty, his eyes wide, lets him and Obi-Wan walks away. He doesn’t get further than two steps before he freezes, both hands rising to cover his face before Obi-Wan turns back around. “I’m so sorry, Cody. I shouldn’t have, not without asking, I just—”

Cody cuts him off, closing the distance between them again, and tugs the file down so he can rise onto his toes and kiss Obi-Wan again. Properly this time. 

[that-of-stars-and-flowers]

A star in the ocean ch 1

Summary: after the fight in Awa’atlu spider becomes a drift a sea while trying to get back to the sully’s, talking it as a sign that he made it so far you take him with you back to your clan

Author's note: Any hate will not be tolerated and will be deleted, i'll be posting this to my wattpad, AO3, and quotev (alot I know). anyway I swear something possessed me to write this so i hope you enjoy and on with the story.

Warnings: nothin that i know of, typical canon violence

word key:

Tsahìk=high priestess/interpreter of Eywa

sa’nu/sa’nok=mommy/mother

sempul= father

kelku=home

tsmuke= sister

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cold and exhausted, that's what he felt, in the water after swimming for Eywa knows how long, he knew the fighting had stopped with the lack of shouting and guns firing, but he didn't know how far he was from the island or the ship that was sinking last he saw it, he was sure that he wanted to rest even if it was only for a minute he had been swimming for what felt like hours trying to get back to the sully’s, so he just stayed in the water floating on his back, too tired to move much or be too aware of his surroundings.

“I found someone!”

There were small black dots clouding his vision as he felt someone pick him up out of the water and set him in front of them moving so that he was leaning onto them “don't worry you are safe now i'll take you to the Tsahìk, you'll be fine” said the voice they sounded a bit far and muffled to spider dew to the exhaustion that raked his body. But he felt like he could trust the mysteries voice for now, they sounded calming, and leaned into them, despite being in the water they were much warmer than he was, so not having much other choice he finally let himself rest, at least for a bit. ~~~~~~~~~

Spider felt warmer than he was before and alot more comfortable. He wanted to lay there for a while longer before any of the recoms came to bother him. He moved to get more comfortable than paused and thought for a moment, then he realized, wasn't he just on in open water in the middle of a fight with the RDA and an ocean clan? Spider quickly sat up a bit and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to wake up more to survey his surroundings.

After a minute he glanced around, he realized he was in what looked to be a healer's hut, it was a bit small but there were a two other mats a few feet away from him, there were also some different herbs and plants tied in neat bundles that hung from the ceiling that looked to be drying out, a few short stands with bowls, cups, and other containers on top as well as a few different sized cloths that were stored on a shelf beneath them and finally a small fire pit that sat a bit into the ground closer to the wall with what looked to be a pot hanging above it,with something cooking inside, it sat opposite to what he Assumed was the entryway.

He could hear others walking around outside and talking but couldn't make out any specific words. He sat there for a few minutes trying to remember how he got here, and where exactly ‘here’ was, though he didn't have to wait as long as he thought because before long he could hear two sets of feet making their way closer to him. They were talking and as they got closer he was able to make out what they were saying.

“Is what sa’nu said true?!” The first voice sounded young and full of curiosity, they remind him a bit tuk but he could tell it wasn't, the second voice sighed “yes, but your not supposed to be here, sa’nok said she wanted you to stay in the kelku sooo go back” they drew out there words a bit, but unlike the first voice this one sound older and a bit annoyed. By now they had stopped a few meters from the hut he was in, their silhouettes barely visible with the flap closed “why! i want to see what he looks like'' the shorter one wined “because he needs to heal, besides you'll probably see him when sa’nok and sempul come to speak with him” “maybe but that means i have to wait and that's boring”

The older one chuckled, “then i guess you'll just have be bored then, now go i have to see if–” “i'll just take a peek really quick” “wha- hey!” the older one called after her but it fell on deaf ears and with that spider could hear the younger one rapidly approach the hut, before he could do anything else the flap was pulled back a bit and a small na’vi girl made herself know, she looked surprised to see that he was awake “it is true!” she gasped Before he could say anything she stepped back outside, letting the flap fall close behind her and started talking to who he assumed to be the other girl “Y/n, Y/n! Hurry up, come see!” the other person- Y/n he assumed- rushed to the little girl huffing a bit “zo’ile what did i tell you, i'll get in trouble if you go in there by yourself” she sounded annoyed but not to surprised.

“But Y/n look, he's awake!” she exclaimed excitedly, opening the flap with one hand while pulling the older girl inside the hut with the other “see!” she exclaimed, spider moved to sit up properly and looked towards the pair. The younger of the two was now hanging off of the latters arm leaning forward a bit to get a better look at him as if he was further from them than he actually was and was all but jumping in place with excitement now that she finally got to see him, the older girl didn't respond and seemed to be more surprised to see that he was awake and moving, she studied him a bit, seeing as when she found him she had to rush him to land due to the broken mask he had on.

when their eyes finally met it felt like something had knocked all the air from their lungs, it was like time had stopped. They were both stuck staring at each other as if when one of them blinked the other world disappear without a trace, spider noticed her eyes first, they were a striking blueish green with specks of E/C in them, they were calming yet striking to him like he’d know her his whole life despite having never met, the next thing he noticed was her skin, aside from the fact that they weren't anywhere near, it was obvious she wasn't a forest na’vi with her teal skin and fluid but distinct markings that framed her face and trailed down her body, her hair was H/C and say for a few strands that fell into curls, was pulled back into a braid that seemed to continue into her queue, the last thing he noted was how her arms were wider like fins and that her tail was much flatter than that of the Na’vi or avatars he'd seen. Overall he was in awe.

Despite it properly being a minute or two, It felt like hours before a quit giggling interrupted their little staring contest, both jumping slightly turning toward the sound, clearing her throat Y/n turned to look and the younger na’vi “zo’ile go-go get sa’nok, let her know he's awake” she said lightly pushing her toward the entryway, still giggling she agreed and left,Y/n turned back toward spider finding him to have sat up properly and already looking back at her. Shifting a bit under his gaze she asks “you- you can understand me right?” spider nodded his head not quite trusting his words yet, the na’vi noticeably brightening at this “oh good, here you must be hungry” she said a sigh of relief escaping her as she moved toward the pot, poking at the fire under it a bit before fixing him a bowl “here” she handed him the bowl Before sitting down, and ensuring she was sitting a reasonable distance in front of him without overwhelming him.

Spider mumbled a quick thanks and downed its contents, he set the bowl down and went to wipe his mouth. That's when he noticed it, his mask,it was gone. His eyes went wide as he started to look around him, he stopped when he heard quite chuckle he turned looked at the na’vi in front of him “sorry” her ears when down a bit “it just-are you alright you look confused” she looked at him expectantly her head tilted a bit “uh no- no i'm fine its just my mask-” he cut himself off and sat back with a dumbfounded look on his face running hand through his dreads “it gone”. The girl paused then remembered “oh you mean-” she was cut off when they heard someone approaching the hut.

“Excuse me,” you quickly got up and stepped outside. Letting the flap close as you left, taking swift steps you met your mother halfway greeting her “mother, I see you” she returned the greeting before saying “your tsmuke tells me the boy is awake”

“He is, his wounds were light and seem to be healing already” you explained. She smiled at you “that's good i take it he's asking questions then?” “a few” “i see, well there's no use standing here the sooner i see him the better, your father wishes to speak with him” with that you both walked back to the tent.

[beenpxshedaside]

The Devil You Know - Chapter 2

A/N: Shoutout to my fiancé for being my one person cheer squad, encouraging me to write and being a willing ear when I needed one. Message from my fiancé - das gae

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Writer's Note - I'd send Marvin my therapy bill after this but I know he won't pay it.

The stairway is dark except for the beam of light from the torch in Jackie’s hand further down. The steps are small and uneven; all it’d take is one wrong step and Chase is tumbling down them. What’s worse, he’d take everyone else with him. Instead, Chase tries to focus on his breathing, bracing himself against the wall as he goes. It’s all he can do to prevent his third panic attack of the day.

Dan’s a few steps ahead of him, shuffling sideways with Bim cradled against his chest. When they’d found him Bim had been delirious. Barely conscious as he stumbled towards them, muttering some nonsense about a vampire. One touch of his arm and Bim had dropped, legs crumpling beneath him as he passed out. No movement, no response; no matter what they tried he wouldn’t wake up.

Bringing up the rear is Marvin, stalking in steely silence behind them. Chase knows nothing about anything between Dan and Marvin but from the hole slowly boring itself into the back of his skull from Marvin’s harsh glare, he can guess they’re not really friends.

It’s eerie as they continue to descend. They must be deeper than any basement has any right to be, especially under a residential street, but still it keeps going until a soft glow becomes visible further down. That’s not worrying at all.

When he finally steps into the light, Chase stares in surprise. The tight walls of the staircase erupt into a vast cavern, jagged and rough as though carved from the rock itself. The stairs they’re on hug the wall, curling around the cave’s edge as it lowers towards the floor.

On the floor, several pewter-coloured shelves are scattered around the room laden with numerous vials, bottles, glasses, pots, and tubs. Several items look like dried herbs or flowers, like they wouldn’t be out of place on a spice rack, while others swirl with shimmering glittering liquids that glisten into the low light thrown from the free-floating candles 10 feet above them.

Labels cover every surface; on the bottles, on the edge of shelves, various scattered papers that are strewn around the entire room. While several are written in English, just as many are not. None of them are languages Chase recognises, though to be fair he’s not read anything other than English since high school, and some of them have curious little doodles on them instead.

Chase very purposefully jams his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to touch everything. Dying is not on his list of shit to do today.

When Chase steps onto the floor Jackie’s there pulling him out the way as Marvin waves his hand through the air. Loud painful scraping echoes all around them as each shelf drags itself across the floor. In the centre of the floor a space is cleared, revealing a large perfect circle drawn in chalk.

“There.”

Daniel doesn’t wait to be told twice, gently laying Bim down in the circle.

Marvin walks past his shelves, fingers tracing over the various labels as he goes. Occasionally he grabs something, never stopping for more than a second as he gathers what he needs. When he’s finally satisfied, he brings his collection to the large wooden table at the far end of the room. It’s thick and heavy; it looks like it could break bone if you were to punch it. Various previous concoctions are scattered across the top, abandoned from when they’d first been made. Marvin brushes them aside, putting down his selections and reaching for a new small pot.

In goes a handful of two different dried herbs, a single petal from a moon-drenched flower, a teaspoon of something smooth, silvery, and translucent, and a single drop of something inky-black before Marvin mixes it with what looks like a cocktail stirrer.

“He’s slipping.” Dan calls, two fingers against Bim’s weakening pulse.

“Don’t rush me.”

Reaching for another bottle Marvin uncorks it and turns, arm stretched out as he whips the contents into the air with a wide arc. Marvin says something Chase doesn’t understand and the shimmering dust slows in the air, drifting down incredibly slow creating an unusual glittering haze around them. As it slowly begins to float down, the chalk circle begins to glow, strange symbols lighting up around the inner edge, one by one.

With what he’s made in one hand, Marvin kneels beside Bim cradling his head with the other. Gently he pours the elixir into the man’s mouth. It takes some encouragement to get him to swallow, but eventually it’s all gone.

Marvin stands, backing away. “Step back.”

Jackie pulls Chase back, moving himself in front of him; legs bent, arm raised, ready to brace. If anything should fly at them, he’s ready to take the hit.

A gust of wind whooshes past them, circling the room before spiralling in towards the circle. It whips around the circle, over and over, pulling at Bim’s hair and his clothes. The shelving starts to shake, several things falling over but no one moves, waiting to see what happens.

Everyone flinches, covering their ears as Bim screams. Loud, harsh, horrified; his body twisting and twitching while his back arches and his fingers clench in agony. As he jerks this way and that, his mouth draws wide and from his mouth erupts a rancid, writhing, monstrous black mass; not liquid, not gas, definitely not human. It pulses and thrashes in the air, looking to lash out.

“Jackie now!”

The arm holding Chase suddenly shoves him back and he yelps as he collides with the corner of a nearby shelf. Hand jumping to cradle his side, Chase watches in awe as green sparks chase each other across Jackie’s entire body. From his feet to his fingers, they run and leap and spark all over, building and building until he thrusts his arm at the mass. The air splits around them, a thunderous CRACK as it collides, exploding in a blinding light.

Chase throws up his arm but it does little to help. Cradling his side he tries to blink the bright green light from his vision. He jumps as an arm wraps around his shoulders.

“Sorry man,” Jackie gently pulls Chase back to his feet, “Give it a sec.”

As his vision comes back, Chase sees Dan exactly where he was before. Did he even flinch? Meanwhile Marvin is stood by the table using some cloth to wipe something from his hands.

“He’ll need something to eat.” Marvin looks very pointedly towards them, a look Jackie knows all too well.

Having pulled Chase to his feet, he turns him towards the stairs and gently guides him towards them. “Say Chase, how do you feel about burritos?”

Chase tries to resist but his side twinges.

“What about Bim?”

“Trust me, we do not want to be here for this.” Jackie lowers his voice as he nods towards the other two.

Chase sees the look on Marvin’s face, and he knows it all to well. It’s the exact face his ex wife would wear just before she would pick a fight with him about something. Food sounds like a good idea.

“I could go for burritos.”

[atiredsalmon]

Savill didn’t understand Compassion’s strange compulsion to clean the table built into the wall which surrounded the statue of Fen’harel in the Lighthouse’s courtyard, but he hadn’t bothered to ask, either. Demons had their urges and he supposed Spirits had them, too. Caretaker, is what Compassion called itself, and overseeing the state of the Lighthouse must have been a lingering sentiment from the ancient times of the elven rebellion. Now it guarded the current residents’ armor and weapons and enchanted them when asked with the appropriate runes. It’s name wasn’t Architect, however, and it’s knowledge ended at simple maintenance. Savill, however, was handy with more than just a mop and broom, and he could dignify the help by claiming the statue and it’s multipurposed wall was a type of relic. Perhaps not magical in and of itself, but Savill appreciated history just as much. He appreciated the view it gave him, as well. Savill could watch the ancient tower forever in its endless spinning top. He could measure the timeless passing of the Fade in the number of revolutions the floating islands made around the courtyard. Bellara was kind enough to join him for conversation at every trip between her quarters and Neve’s, entertaining him with summaries of the latest Tevinter serials and the wisps kept him company when she wasn’t. And when neither were around, he could look up from his work to distract himself with the sight of Lucanis’ training. A passing wisp, covered in Neve’s notes, floated across his gaze and while Savill glanced away from the shifting forms of the assassin to gently peel the pages off, he didn’t need to watch the final movement to notice the poor posture the man was making. “Are you attempting to strike a mark or a bronto,” Savill asked, shuffling the papers into order and storing them away into a hidden shelf beneath the table. Sound carried differently in the Fade, and Savill could clearly hear Lucanis’ unamused snort from across the courtyard. “Your elbow is held too wide.” “If a target is to move, I will need the reach.” “If,” Savill repeated with a small laugh. “A Crow preparing for a target with the opportunity to run? Perhaps the world is ending after all.” “And what do you know of Crow preparation?” “Only what the usual rumors teach.” Savill ran a palm against the stone of the table as he answered. The crack he had been asked to fix was no longer visible, but he could still feel it against his skin. It would have to do for now - unless the Fade could produce concrete. For now, it was providing him a bit of entertainment. He hopped over the edge of the wall and strolled across the uneven path of floating stones to stand besides Lucanis. “Some of the poisons the Crows use are well known enough to be made by the common man such as myself. I think I’m just as handy with a knife as a Crow, too, but I’m sure you’d have comments of your own. Killing, however…” Savill waved the rest of his thoughts away. Lucanis had lowered his daggers with an amused shrug of his shoulders. They stiffened, now, as Savill took a hold of one of his wrists and gently lifted his arm back into its previous, offensive position. He ran his hand up to the elbow, fingers light, tucking the joint closer to Lucanis’ side. Savill kept his hand there, a smiling slowly spread across his face as he felt the assassin’s skin warm through his shirt. “Killing, I must say, I have less knowledge than a Crow on. But I do have an incredible sense of anatomy.” Savill raised his other hand to press his palm against the assassin’s chest, fingers curled gently over the collar bone. His pulse pounded hard, and Savill felt more than just his own draw towards the man. “You don’t need to slit the throat to silence a man. Right here should do.” For a moment, Savill wondered if he truly had silenced Lucanis until a soft hiss escaped him. “Spite does not like you.” Savill pat Lucanis’ shoulder before drawing back, chuckling. “I don’t need him to like me.”

[various-short-stories]

A House by the Woods

As a bit of a precursor, this is by no means finished, and is more of a way to practice descriptions. I plan to make a more finished version later, but for now, this is just to get something out there.

In a little sun-lit meadow just south of a deep and ancient forest lay a red brick house, slightly covered in moss and vines. Ankle-high grass waved slowly in the wind all throughout the meadow, broken up by tall flowers scattered sporadically throughout. A little way away was a shimmering creek that flowed over countless smooth pebbles. A coarse gravel path led from the stream up to the back door of the house, and out from the front of the house led a dirt road that disappeared somewhere south beyond the hills.

From the house’s open windows, the pungent scent of garlic and onions lingered in the air, a scent that was somewhere between the realms of pleasant and unpleasant. The afternoon light flowed over the tree tops and through the little gaps between the white picket fence that separated the house from the untamed wilderness. Upon the house’s thatch roof was a layer of old and decaying leaves. The house itself was a little worn, but by no means was it in disrepair. In fact, apart from the foliage growing on them, the walls were polished and clean, and the area inside the fence was well kept and orderly.

On the west side of the house lay a number of gardening tools and a few flourishing vegetable gardens, while on the east side there stood a small shed and well. There were a number of shrubs and flowers of all shapes and colors growing around the house, interspersed with small clay statuettes. At the front of the house was a large oaken door with an intricate pattern carved into the front, and on each side of the door was an arched window set neatly into the wall.

If you were to step inside, the first thing you would notice would be the hall. While not particularly grandiose, a single long red carpet led from the front door to the end of the hall. The hall had ample lighting from two small, evenly spaced hanging lanterns, and was adorned with a few tapestries depicting scenes of distant and mysterious places. On each side of the hall lay 2 separate doors which lead to bedrooms and storerooms, while the end of the hall lay a set of great double doors made of a fine spruce wood. Through these doors lay a kitchen of considerable size, with anything an aspiring chef could ever need. The kitchen had far too many implements to count, and spice racks littered the walls. There were twin stoves upon which sat a great pot, the source of the scent from before.

Beside the kitchen was the dining room, cozy in design and filled with a number of shelves. Books of all sorts covered each layer of the shelf, fantastical volumes. So great was the number that many libraries might be put to shame. In the center of the room lay the table surrounded by chairs. It was a sturdy old thing that had clearly made its way through generations. Upon it sat four earthen plates, each complimented by a set of silverware of a fanciful design that did not match the rest of the table. A pitcher filled with some manner of juice sat in the middle, ready to pour.

The most curious thing about this room was the lighting. Several candles floated about the room, seemingly of their own free will. Each one possessed a different-colored flame, and would occasionally flare up before dying back down. Of course, if you had never been to the great cities beyond the hills, this would have seemed remarkably strange, but for people there, it was quite commonplace to have things of an even stranger nature. However, out in these relatively untamed parts of the world, candles did not often float about or glow with strange vibrancies.

[acorpsecalledcorva]

Your heart stops in an instant. The ground rushes up to meet you in it's warm embrace and you know, somehow, that everything will be ok. Roots descend down from your body and anchor you in place as the soil washes over your body, engulfing you completely. You're safe. You can let go.

Your consciousness floats up from the earth, completely free of worry or preoccupation, that chapter of your life is over now. You can go anywhere. You can do anything. You can soar high up above the urban hellscape beneath you and marvel at how little importance it holds now

As you swoop and swirl and spin with playful abandon, you notice a cloud above you that stands out amongst the rest. More dense and defined, but not dark and violent, it invites you in. As you fly through it's pillowy mass you're met with images of your life, past lives, and lives yet to live.

When you emerge from the other side, the city is gone. Transported somewhere new what you see below you is a vast white sandy desert, stunning emptiness in every direction apart from one solitary building. A small barn made of sand and stone with a loosely covered roof made of dried palm leaves

Settling inside the barn for cover from the oppressive sun, you realise that you're not alone. People in what seem like disheveled religious robes are tending carefully and dutifully to a small selection of plants. There is one plant in particular that catches your attention. You know this plant.

Time rushes around you advancing at a gallops pace. The barn is bigger now, there are more people, more plants. Forward again and the stone walls crumble away to be replaced with glass, and the holy symbols are replaced with lab coats. Outside you see a grand estate, civilization built up around you

The only thing that remains constant is you, and the plant. Growing at a snails pace for the centuries that have passed, but enough that by now it's vines of flowers reach to the ground and it spreads across the shelf dedicated to carrying it alone. It's waiting for you.

A millennia or two must have flown past by now, you marvel as the civilization turns into an empire. Magnificent structures of glass and metal grow like a forest around you and crumble back down into dust around you, returning to the sands. The barn is gone, but is replaced by an oasis

The plant surrounds you now, an interconnected web of different flowers and trees and leaves, all one singular organism, and where the shelf once held it aloft, a pool of crystal clear water glittering with more brightness than the sun could possibly provide. Your feet finally touch the ground.

Stepping forward into the welcoming water, cooler and more refreshing than you'd expect in the desert heat, you find yourself drawn to one flower in particular. As though it were vibrating at a frequency outside your hearing but calling to you all the same.

You're reassured that everything is ok, that what you're doing is right, as you pluck the flower from its stem and a thick white nectar pours over your fingers from the break at its base. The sweet scent is divine and you waste no time taking the juices into your mouth and relishing the taste.

Bones crack and organs compress as your body is unmade and reformed into what it must become. The pain is excruciating and burns through every cell incinerating all that you are and all that you ever were. Your skin is ripped apart a hundred thousand times by keratinous spines turning you inside out

The second it's over you fly up into the air in your new body, different from before, corporeal now you can feel the wind rushing through your feathers and the updrafts of warm air carrying you up, higher and higher helping you get to where you need to go

In the distance is a mountain range. One in particular shines more brightly that the others, a blinding dot glistening in the sun that gets brighter and brighter as you get closer and closer. Devouring the miles with ease carried by the warm loving breeze

In a sea of jagged unforgiving rock and stone stands a singular perfect rock face encased in pure flawless diamond. As you circle around it in the air, you notice that it's not just the sun reflected that glows. A third of the way down something shimmers more like gold.

Waiting for you is a branch, growing out of the rock face a tree is perfectly preserved in the crystal and a single splinter of wood and bark escapes so that you can land and rest from your long journey. Inches deeper a piece of fruit hangs from a delicate stem, glowing in warm radiance.

It's impossible to tell how long it takes you to peck through the clear hard crystal casing with your beak. Entire new empires could have risen and fallen as you dutifully chipped away atom by atom, excruciatingly slowly making your way towards your prize, life preserved by fruits light.

When you finally strike the soft juicy fruit the light shines out in a narrow shaft of brilliance blinding you. Frantically you rip through it's flesh, choking as it's juices go up your nostrils and sting your eyes until finally you can extract your prize. A single golden seed. It's light dimming.

Grasping the seed in your talons you fly up into the sky once more. As the miles rush by the strange cloud appears again and rushes towards you, surrounding you. You emerge from the other side back in your city and float gently back to the ground as a person. You take the seed and swallow it.

Your heart stops in an instant. The ground rushes up to meet you in it's warm embrace and you know, somehow, that everything will be ok. Roots descend down from your body and anchor you in place as the soil washes over your body, engulfing you completely. You're safe. You can let go.