#tableau testing

[satvikasailu6]

Leading Tableau Test Automation Tools — Comparison and Market Leadership

Automated testing for Tableau dashboards and analytics content is a growing niche, with a few specialized commercial tools vying for leadership. 

We compare the top solutions — Datagaps BI Validator, Wiiisdom Ops (formerly Kinesis CI), QuerySurge, and others — based on their marketing presence, enterprise adoption, feature set (especially for functional/regression testing), CI/CD integration, and industry reputation. 

Datagaps BI Validator (DataOps Suite)

Industry sources describe BI Validator as a “leading no-code BI testing tool” . It has recognition on review platforms; for example, G2 reviewers give the overall Datagaps suite a solid rating (around 4.0–4.6/5) and specifically praise the Tableau-focused module

Industry sources describe BI Validator as a “leading no-code BI testing tool” . It has recognition on review platforms; for example, G2 reviewers give the overall Datagaps suite a solid rating (around 4.0–4.6/5) and specifically praise the Tableau-focused module.

Customer Adoption: BI Validator appears to have broad enterprise adoption. Featured customers include Autotrader, Portland General Electric, and University of California, Davis. 

A case study mentions a “Pharma Giant” cutting Tableau upgrade testing time by 55% using BI Validator.

Users on forums often recommend Datagaps; one BI professional who evaluated both Datagaps and Kinesis-CI reported that Datagaps was “more capable” and ultimately their choice . Such feedback indicates a strong reputation for reliability in complex enterprise scenarios.

Feature Set: BI Validator offers end-to-end testing for Tableau covering:

Functional regression testing: It can automatically compare workbook data, visuals, and metadata between versions or environments (e.g. before vs. after a Tableau upgrade) . A user notes it enabled automated regression testing of newly developed Tableau content as well as verifying dashboard outputs during database migrations . It tests dashboards, reports, filters, parameters, even PDF exports for changes.

Data validation: It can retrieve data from Tableau reports and validate against databases. One review specifically highlights using BI Validator to check Tableau report data against the source DB efficiently . The tool supports virtually any data source (“you name the datasource, Datagaps has support for it”

UI and layout testing: The platform can compare UI elements and catalog/metadata across environments to catch broken visuals or missing fields post-migration.

Performance testing: Uniquely, BI Validator can simulate concurrent user loads on Tableau Server to test performance and robustness . This allows stress testing of dashboards under multi-user scenarios, complementing functional tests. (This is analogous to Tableau’s TabJolt, but integrated into one suite.) Users have utilized its performance/stress testing feature to benchmark Tableau with different databases.

Datagaps provides a well-rounded test suite (data accuracy, regression, UI regression, performance) tailored for BI platforms. It is designed to be easy to use (no coding; clean UI) — as one enterprise user noted, the client/server toolset is straightforward to install and navigate.

CI/CD Integration: BI Validator is built with DataOps in mind and integrates with CI/CD pipelines. It offers a command-line interface (CLI) and has documented integration with Jenkins and GitLab CI, enabling automated test execution as part of release pipelines . Test plans can be scheduled and triggered automatically, with email notifications on results . This allows teams to include Tableau report validation in continuous integration flows (for example, running a battery of regression tests whenever a data source or workbook is updated). The ability to run via CLI means it can work with any CI orchestrator (Jenkins, Azure DevOps, etc.), and users have leveraged this to incorporate automated Tableau testing in their DevOps processes.

Wiiisdom Ops (formerly Kinesis CI)

Wiiisdom (known for its 360Suite in the SAP BusinessObjects world) has since rebranded Kinesis CI as Wiiisdom Ops for Tableau and heavily markets it as a cornerstone of “AnalyticsOps” (bringing DevOps practices to analytics). 

The product is positioned as a solution to help enterprises “trust their Tableau dashboards” by automating testing and certification . Wiiisdom has been active in promoting this tool via webinars, Tableau Conference sessions, e-books, and case studies — indicating a growing marketing presence especially in the Tableau user community. Wiiisdom Ops/Kinesis has a solid (if more niche) reputation. It’s Tableau-exclusive focus is often viewed as strength in depth. 

The acquiring company’s CEO noted that Kinesis-CI was a “best-in-breed” technology and a “game-changer” in how it applied CI/CD concepts to BI testing . While not as widely reviewed on generic software sites, its reputation is bolstered by public success stories: for instance, Red Hat implemented Wiiisdom Ops for Tableau and managed to reduce their dashboard testing time “from days to minutes,” while handling thousands of workbooks and data sources . Such testimonials from large enterprises (Red Hat, and also Gustave Roussy Institute in healthcare ) enhance Wiiisdom Ops’ credibility in the industry. 

Customer Adoption: Wiiisdom Ops is used by Tableau-centric organizations that require rigorous testing. The Red Hat case study is a flagship example, showing adoption at scale (5,000+ Tableau workbooks) . Other known users include certain financial institutions and healthcare organizations (some case studies are mentioned on Wiiisdom’s site). Given Wiiisdom’s long history with BI governance, many of its existing customers (in the Fortune 500, especially those using Tableau alongside other BI tools) are likely evaluating or adopting Wiiisdom Ops as they extend governance to Tableau. 

While overall market share is hard to gauge, the tool is gaining traction specifically among Tableau enterprise customers who need automated testing integrated with their development lifecycle. The acquisition by Wiiisdom also lends it a broader sales network and support infrastructure, likely increasing its adoption since 2021. 

Feature Set: Wiiisdom Ops (Kinesis CI) provides a comprehensive test framework for Tableau with a focus on functional, regression, and performance testing of Tableau content.

QuerySurge (BI Tester for Tableau)

Marketing & Reputation: QuerySurge is a well-known data testing automation platform, primarily used for ETL and data warehouse testing. While not Tableau-specific, it offers a module called BI Tester that connects to BI tools (including Tableau) to validate the data in reports. QuerySurge is widely used in the data quality and ETL testing space (with many Fortune 500 users) and is often mentioned as a top solution for data/ETL testing. 

Its marketing emphasizes ensuring data accuracy in the “last mile” of BI. However, QuerySurge’s brand is stronger in the data engineering community than specifically in Tableau circles, since it does not perform UI or functional testing of dashboards (it focuses on data correctness beneath the BI layer). 

Customer Adoption: QuerySurge has a broad user base across industries for data testing, and some of those users leverage it for Tableau report validation. It’s known that organizations using multiple BI tools (Tableau, Cognos, Power BI, etc.) might use QuerySurge centrally to validate that data shown in reports matches the data in the warehouse. The vendor mentions “dozens of teams” using its BI integrations to visualize test results in tools like Tableau and Power BI , suggesting an ecosystem where QuerySurge ensures data quality and BI tools consume those results. 

Notable QuerySurge clients include large financial institutions, insurance companies, and tech firms (as per their case studies), though specific Tableau-centric references are not heavily publicized. As a generic tool, its adoption overlaps with but is not exclusive to Tableau projects

Feature Set: For Tableau testing, QuerySurge’s BI Tester provides a distinct but important capability: datalevel regression testing for Tableau reports. Key features include.

Conclusion: 

The Market Leader in Tableau Testing Considering the above, Datagaps BI Validator currently stands out as the best all-around commercial Tableau testing tool leading the market. It edges out others in terms of breadth of features and proven adoption. 

Enterprises appreciate its ability to handle everything from data validation to UI regression and performance testing in one package . 

Its multi-BI versatility also means a wider user base and community knowledge pool. Many practitioners point to BI Validator as the most “efficient testing tool for Tableau” in practice . That said, the “best” choice can depend on an organization’s specific needs. Wiiisdom Ops (Kinesis) is a very close competitor, especially for organizations focusing solely on Tableau and wanting seamless CI/CD pipeline integration and governance extras. 

Wiiisdom Ops has a strong future outlook given its Tableaufocused innovation and success stories like Red Hat (testing time cut from days to minutes) . It might be considered the leader in the Tableau-only segment, and it’s rapidly gaining recognition as Tableau customers pursue DevOps for analytics. 

QuerySurge, while not a one-stop solution for Tableau, is the leader for data quality assurance in BI and remains indispensable for teams that prioritize data correctness in reports . It often complements either Datagaps or Wiiisdom by covering the data validation aspect more deeply. In terms of marketing presence and industry buzz, Datagaps and Wiiisdom are both very active: 

Datagaps publishes thought leadership on BI testing and touts AI-driven DataOps, whereas Wiiisdom evangelizes AnalyticsOps and often partners with Tableau ecosystem events. Industry analysts have started to note the importance of such tools as BI environments mature. 

In conclusion, Datagaps BI Validator is arguably the market leader in Tableau test automation today — with the strongest combination of features, enterprise adoption, and cross-platform support . Wiiisdom Ops (Kinesis CI) is a close runner-up, leading on Tableau-centric continuous testing and rapidly improving its footprint . Organizations with heavy data pipeline testing needs also recognize QuerySurge as an invaluable tool for ensuring Tableau outputs are trustworthy . 

All these tools contribute to higher confidence in Tableau dashboards by catching errors and regressions early. As analytics continues to be mission-critical, adopting one of these leading solutions is becoming a best practice for enterprises to safeguard BI quality and enable faster, error-free Tableau deployments

[regimepure]

Régime FODMAP : Guide Complet et Conseils Pratiques

Le régime FODMAP est devenu un sujet brûlant dans le domaine de la nutrition et de la santé digestive. Mais qu'est-ce que le régime FODMAP, exactement, et comment peut-il aider ceux qui souffrent de troubles gastro-intestinaux tels que le syndrome du côlon irritable (SCI) ?

Qu'est-ce que le Régime FODMAP ?

Les FODMAPs (Fermentable Oligosaccharides, Disaccharides, Monosaccharides, And Polyols) sont des sucres fermentescibles présents dans de nombreux aliments courants. Pour certaines personnes, ces composés peuvent être difficiles à digérer, entraînant des symptômes désagréables tels que ballonnements, gaz, douleurs abdominales et diarrhée.

Le régime FODMAP est une approche diététique qui vise à réduire la consommation de ces sucres fermentescibles afin de soulager les symptômes du SCI et d'autres troubles gastro-intestinaux. En éliminant ou en réduisant les aliments riches en FODMAP de l'alimentation, de nombreuses personnes ont constaté une amélioration significative de leurs symptômes digestifs.

Les Principes du Régime FODMAP

Le régime FODMAP se décompose en plusieurs phases :

Phase d'élimination : Pendant cette phase, les aliments riches en FODMAP sont éliminés de l'alimentation pendant une période de temps déterminée, généralement de deux à six semaines.

Phase de réintroduction : Une fois la phase d'élimination terminée et les symptômes soulagés, les aliments FODMAP sont réintroduits un par un pour déterminer lesquels peuvent être tolérés et en quelle quantité.

Phase de personnalisation : En fonction des réponses individuelles, un régime alimentaire personnalisé est établi pour chaque personne, en tenant compte des aliments tolérés et de leurs quantités.

Aliments à Éviter et Aliments Autorisés

Pendant la phase d'élimination du régime FODMAP, il est important d'éviter les aliments riches en FODMAP tels que :

Les oignons et l'ail

Les produits laitiers contenant du lactose

Les légumineuses

Certains fruits tels que les pommes, les poires et les cerises

Certains légumes tels que les choux, les champignons et les asperges

En revanche, de nombreux aliments sont autorisés dans le cadre du régime FODMAP, notamment :

Les viandes maigres

Le poisson

Les œufs

Les céréales sans gluten, comme le riz et le quinoa

Certains fruits et légumes à faible teneur en FODMAP, comme les fraises, les bananes et les carottes

Conseils Pratiques pour Suivre le Régime FODMAP

Suivre un régime FODMAP peut sembler intimidant au début, mais avec un peu de planification et de créativité, il est tout à fait possible de manger délicieusement tout en respectant les principes du régime. Voici quelques conseils pratiques pour vous aider en cours de route :

Planifiez vos repas à l'avance : En planifiant vos repas à l'avance, vous pouvez vous assurer de toujours avoir des options adaptées au régime FODMAP sous la main.

Familiarisez-vous avec les étiquettes nutritionnelles : Apprenez à repérer les aliments riches en FODMAP sur les étiquettes nutritionnelles afin de prendre des décisions éclairées lors de vos achats.

Expérimentez avec de nouvelles recettes : Essayez de nouvelles recettes et techniques de cuisson pour diversifier votre alimentation tout en respectant les principes du régime FODMAP.

Consultez un professionnel de la santé : Si vous envisagez de suivre le régime FODMAP, consultez d'abord un professionnel de la santé, de préférence un diététicien ou un nutritionniste spécialisé dans les troubles gastro-intestinaux.

Conclusion

Le régime FODMAP est une approche diététique prometteuse pour soulager les symptômes du syndrome du côlon irritable et d'autres troubles gastro-intestinaux. En suivant les principes du régime et en faisant preuve de créativité dans votre alimentation, vous pouvez réduire vos symptômes digestifs et améliorer votre qualité de vie.

Si vous souhaitez lire plus d’informations sur le régime FODMAP, visitez → Régime FODMAP : Guide Complet et Conseils Pratiques

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

House Calls

Summary: Aaliyah has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his cousins bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student. ANGST.

Part Four

The burn in his muscles was a sign that he was pushing his limits, effectively working his muscles, and making the progress he set a goal for. The release of endorphins was a positive feeling Terry felt throughout. The sweat is a dark and growing map down the front of his tank top, turning it from a bright grey toward smokey. His skin is as wet as if he’d just pulled himself from a pool, yet there is no water around, only the dank elite gym he occupied that Thursday morning.

Salty droplets flowed down Terry’s face like soft summer rain, dripping onto the gym floor as he sits to regain his breath. Down his back is a dark stripe amid the light gray colour of his sleeveless top, a spreading map of perspiration. Terry blinked his wet lashes before adjusting his AirPod Pro Max headset over his ears. He’d pushed through his last set and now he needed a shower.

Pushing himself up, Terry gathered his things and headed for the showers. Once there, he found his locker and grabbed all the things he needed for a brisk shower. Within a changing room, he removed the drenched tank top from his upper body and the thigh–hugging black gym shorts on his lower half. Shoes and socks off, Terry secured a towel around his waist and proceeded towards the showers.

Warm water cascaded down his body, rolling between the cut muscles of his abdomen and the contours of his back muscles. Soap suds slicked his copper skin the more he squeezed his body sponge to release more coconut and vanilla scented soap. The soft sponge smoothed down his six pack, past his pubic hair, and down the length of his semi–hard dick.

He finished up after cleansing his face and with the towel around his waist, he headed back to his dressing room. Today he had a French class to teach on campus. Something he’d picked up last minute. Terry checked the time on his Apple Watch after dressing in a pair of khakis with a simple white button down. He decided to take his new baby for a spin: Oxblood Red Dodge Charger.

Inside, Terry checked himself out in the mirror above his driver’s side. His fingers smoothed over his trimmed mustache and goatee, smoothing in the Maracuja Oil and Shea Butter moisturizer he liked to use. His engine roared to life, and Terry rolled off the lot and straight for LSU. It took him ten minutes to arrive and he secured himself a spot within the staff parking lot. Briefcase in hand, Terry switched on his Professor demeanor and headed inside towards his classroom.

When he arrived, students were waiting along the walls and chitchatting. Terry greeted them all before opening the door to give them access. He waited until the last person entered before shutting the door behind them.

“Bonjour, comment va tout le monde ?”

The class responded.

“Est-ce que tout le monde est prêt pour le quiz ?

The students had a quiz every Thursday to test their skills from Tuesday’s practice.

“Très bien. euh... ouvrez les ordinateurs portables qui vous sont assignés et trouvez le quiz sur le tableau de bord. vous avez quinze minutes…”

Terry settled behind his desk and used that opportunity to look over his busy schedule. He had to pick up his tux later for Mike’s wedding. Stylus hovering over his iPad, Friday put a smile on his face. He couldn’t wait. The earth needed to rotate faster on its axis. After the time was up, they went over the answers and fell straight into lecture.

It was the type of heat outside that’s wet and heavy. Terry could feel the water in the air, in his lungs almost. The sensation of sweat trickling down his spine tickled and he reached around to rub the spot with his thumb.

As he was putting away his briefcase, Terry could feel an incoming call buzzing through the pocket of his khakis. He dug his long fingers between the snug fabric and as he retrieved his phone his eyes focused on his mother’s contact. Worry seeped within his pours.

“Mama, everything okay?”

“Hey, TJ. why everytime I call you, you think something is wrong?”

Terry waited until his mother’s laughter died down before speaking, a smirk teasing his full lips, “Last two times you called, it was bad news. And you called me back to back.”

“Well, this time it’s me calling to check on you. Are you at work?”

“I’m leaving. Had a short day today. I’m doin’ good. Been busy, goin’ to pick up my tux right now. How you and Pop?”

“Good, baby. He’s out right now to Home Depot. You know he’s still tryna build that shed, right?”

Terry chuckled, settling into his drivers seat.

“Wish I could help.”

“He’s got some help, some buddies up here.”

“Good thing,” Terry cranked his AC, “Tell him to take it easy now. We don’t need a repeat of last time.”

“I know, I know. I’m keeping an eye on ‘em. I love you, TJ. I’m not gonna hold ya up. Call me when you get settled, okay?”

“I promise I will. Tell the boss I said I love him.”

“Will do, baby.”

——

That Thursday evening, Aaliyah lit some candles in her living room after enjoying a quick meal of seafood boil ramen. It wasn’t the healthiest, but she’d been craving it for a week straight. Curled up on her couch in her birthday suit, she enjoyed a glass of red wine while watching YouTube from her flat screen. It was a video about how a girl hexed her best-friend. The lengths that people go when they’re envious and jealous of others success had Aaliyah tripping.

Buzz Buzz

Aaliyah checked her phone. Terry texted her a photo of himself laid up on the couch with his glasses on and his cat, Orion, curled up in his lap. He looked so cute with his big, toothy grin. She could see his entire upper body, the teasing display of honeyed skin across his neck, shoulders, arms and abs beneath the orange hue of his living room mood lights set something off in Aaliyah.

Oh…to see all of that in person. To press her nose against his chest and drag her tongue over those nipples…count the moles that littered his skin…feel the firmness of his muscles and the softness of his blemish–free skin. She wished she were lying in his lap. Her cheek against his growing erection. Her mouth watering to taste. Ever since she straddled her Professor in his truck, Aaliyah couldn’t stop thinking about him. She couldn’t control the way her clit ached deliciously whenever she recalled the way his thick bulge created the perfect friction on her clit.

His nose pressed against her neck sent chills down her spine. His big arms squeezed her tight and she craved the sensation of being glued to him in such a cramped position. Aaliyah clenched her thighs tightly and bit down hard on her bottom lip to contain herself of moaning. Ignoring the way her pussy throbbed with an insatiable need for him, she replied with heart eyes.

Aaliyah: 😍😍😍

Terry: I miss you

She found herself blushing into her hand.

Aaliyah: I miss you too.

Terry: Can I call you? Been awhile since I heard that cute little voice.

Aaliyah sat up and pondered. She definitely wanted to talk to him, but the wine was shooting straight to her pussy and she knew what calling him would do.

Fuck it! Stop holding off! Get yours…

Aaliyah: Sure 😌

Stomach muscles tight with anxiousness, Aaliyah waited. Terry’s call came through seconds later.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

Aaliyah blushed hard.

“Hi,” She traced her hip with an almond–shaped nail painted a pinky–nude, “How’s my favorite professor?”

“Better now that I’m talking to my favorite student. You doin’ okay?”

“A lot better. You have that effect on me.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“As long as I can put a smile on that face…I hate to see you sad and crying…”

Aaliyah rolled over onto her back on the couch and beamed. The only crying she wanted was from that dick.

“You smiling now, ain’t you?”

“Maybe,” Aaliyah looked up at her ceiling.

“You are. I can hear it in your voice…”

His voice through the phone with its deep baritone and smoothness had such a hold on her. How was it that this man could have such an effect on her every being without even trying? She told herself she would never be this spung off a man again and now look. Giddy.

“Okay, I am…”

“I already knew that, I just wanted you to admit it.”

“Whatever,” Aaliyah rolled her eyes, “Where are you taking me tomorrow?”

“Didn’t I tell you it’s a surprise? You can’t always get your way, baby.”

“It better be worth my while.”

Terry chuckled, “Or what?”

“It’s gonna be a problem.”

“Aaliyah…”

His laughter on the other end of the line prompted her to giggle.

“Aight now, girl…don’t talk tough through the phone.”

“Do what I want and maybe I won’t.”

“Like I said, it’s a surprise. Settle down before I make you.”

“How will you do that exactly?”

“You want me to show you?”

Aaliyah twirled a strand of hair while nibbling on her lip.

“Aaliyah?”

“Show me when?”

“Tonight.”

“Can’t wait until tomorrow?” Aaliyah asked with a laugh.

“I’m afraid I can’t…feelin’ too heavy right now…”

Heavy? Aaliyah clenched her thighs. He was definitely heavy alright.

“Where you feelin’ heavy, Terry?”

He chuckled slightly and then a slight pause followed.

“…This dick you was sittin’ on.”

Aaliyah peeled the phone away from her ear and her eyes rolled shut. That glint in his voice…ooooh…this man…

“Mmm, It was heavy…”

“It is right now…right…now…”

Aaliyah liked where this was going. She placed a nail between her teeth, horniness reaching a fever pitch. Fuck it. She wanted this man. She’d played around for too long. It was time to get acquainted with that fat dick in all the possible ways. In her mouth, in her pussy, in her ass, dragging across her face…

“When I came back home Wednesday…I played with my pussy. That dick had me thinking about how good it’ll feel to stretch me out.”

“Fuck…”

Aaliyah could hear him in the background shuffling. She pictured he was freeing that heavy dick right now, gripping it up tight and swinging it back and forth. Ugh.

“I’ve never felt a print that heavy on me before…”

“Damn shame, baby…that pussy cat tight so I know I gotta fit all of me in there real slow. You like it slow?”

“Mhm,” Aaliyah tweaked her left nipple, “I can feel it all better that way.”

“Me too. Just watch my tip push in…keep them legs open while I sink deeper…”

The heat index in that living room was overwhelmingly high. Aaliyah molded her back into the cushion beneath her and spread her thighs. She could hear her pussy lips spread. A creamy sound. Staring down the valley of her gorgeous body, she rubbed two fingers between her folds to gather all that wetness on her clit.

——

Terry was seated on one of his accent chairs. Shrouded in an orange glow, he lazily twisted his stiffness and occasionally curled his fingers around his hefty sack, rolling it. Pre-cum connected to his briefs and it wouldn’t stop flowing the more that sweet voice in his ear teased him. He needed to bury himself to the fucking hilt deep in her. Fuck a plan for Friday. Terry wanted to fuck her fine ass stupid.

“I like to watch it go in and out…”

Terry grunted.

“I can’t wait to see that stuck look on your face when I put this dick up in you.”

“I bet it’s a pretty dick…”

“I bet that pussy pretty. Pretty pussy and her pretty mama…”

He squeezed the area beneath his tip, pre-cum coating his fingers for more slip.

“That dick in your hand, Terry?”

“Mhm…that tasty pussy out?”

“Yessss…I’m rubbing her right now.”

“How you play wit’ that pussy, baby?”

Aaliyah giggles, “I stroke my clit…then I push my fingers inside…go back and forth until I make myself cum…”

Terry chewed hard on his bottom lip and he closed his eyes to picture Aaliyah on her back and looking up at him with those sultry eyes.

“You know when I get you I’m eating that pussy good…”

“That’s what I want.” She replied with a breathy tone.

“I’m eating it ‘til you cry, baby…”

“Unh…”

“Do that again…make that sound again…”

“…Unh….”

His dick throbbed in his grip.

“When I stick my tongue in it I want you to look at me and moan just like that.”

“Yes, daddy…”

Terry’s hold tightened around his rigid pipe. He’d never been called daddy, but hearing it from Aaliyah, he wanted her to say it again and again.

“I don’t stop…even when that pussy cum…”

The faint sound of her wet pussy in his ear sparked him to pump faster. This was the most he’d beat his dick in a while. That Wednesday evening, while he was taking a long shower, Terry fucked up into his hand, water splashing and the slick soap creating the best sound and texture in the palm of his hand. His cum shot out like a spiderweb. The biggest cum load he’d seen in a long time. All because of her.

“Mm, fuck…”

Mewling and whimpering.

Terry felt the pressure rise from his balls to the tip of his dick in an instant. He was ready to let off a nut.

“Fuck…Aaliyah…I need you on this dick…right fuckin’ now…I hear that pussy talking…keep fingering that pussy…uh-huh…good girl…such a gooooddd girl…”

“Uhhhhnnn—”

“There you go…let it out…let it all out—FUCK—”

“Cum for me, daddy!”

Terry tilted his dick towards his taut abdomen and painted it with his thick cum. The more he stroked, the more the puddle grew.

“Goddamn…”

“I wish I was there to lick it up…”

His dick twitched.

“I bet you don’t miss a drop.”

“I just know it taste good…”

“You think that throat ready for me?”

“As many times I’ve fantasize about sucking that big dick beneath your desk, I’m more than ready.”

Terry couldn’t believe how hard he still was. He scrunched his face up with arousal and he was unable to contain his excitement to finally get a chance to feel that throat. She probably sounded like an angel slurping and sucking on dick. Her soft moans around his tip…that jeweled tongue lining the path his veins created…spit drooling from her greedy mouth while she looked him in the eyes like a good little slut.

“Fuuuck.”

Terry watched in disbelief as another eruption hit him. He didn’t even touch it. Mouth agape, eyes low and sleepy–like, he watched his dick jump and spasm as more cum escaped his slit. He titled his head back and grabbed himself, jerking to empty his balls fully.

“Professor…”

The sound of liquid hitting a surface titillated his ears.

Fuck. She was squirting.

“Aaliyah…fuck, baby…are you squirting?”

“Yes!”

“I can’t wait to get my hands on you…cute ass moans…I just wanna make you cry and cream. Wish I could kiss that pretty girl goodnight, huh, baby?”

“Just as much as I wish I could wrap my lips around that dick. Send me a pic of your cum.”

Terry aimed his camera on his abdomen and snapped a quick photo before sending.

“Holy shit…that’s a lot…so much wasted…”

She sounded mesmerized. Terry loved that.

A text came through from Aaliyah and it was a photo as well. A photo of her fingers and a large wet spot on her bed. That pussy was nice and messy like he liked. Terry loved it extra gushy. If he had to play in it to get it drippy like he wanted it before fucking it he’d do it for as long as he could. He wanted that shit tangled in his pubic hair, painting his dick, and hanging from his balls.

He wanted that shit so sloppy that his dick would thrust with ease. Bonus points if he painted her walls with his cum. Mixed releases making that pussy talk. She would be sick of him. Begging him to stop. All while he continued to drill. Beat it and eat it. Over and over. He had the stamina to prove it.

“Good girl, that’s how you play in that pussy…my tongue is itching for a taste of that sweet shit again…”

“It’ll be all yours tomorrow.”

Terry pouted slightly.

“I’m gonna go…I need another shower.”

“Me too,” He stared down at the cum stains on his skin, “See you in the afternoon. Hope I didn’t keep you from your studies for that test tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry. I studied earlier. I’m ready. I needed this though, it’s been a while…”

“Happy to be of service. Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Nite, handsome. Think of me.”

“I plan on it.”

——

The slim–fit, black button down of his shirt was the first distraction for Aaliyah.

She’d made it to campus early, not dressed in her usual style of relaxed attire. To her defense, it was drastically humid outside. Aaliyah wore a red, flabby skirt with a flannel shirt over a basic white tee. On her feet she had on a pair of low, all white converse. Her sleek hair was pulled back from her face with a black claw clip and situated over her eyes were her squared, black frames.

Aaliyah found an unoccupied table within the study hall near class and used that hour to do a final look–over of her notes. Her leg bounced beneath the desk as time went. After taking a sip of water through her Stanley cup, Aaliyah could hear the sound of dress shoes against vinyl composition tile. She looked up through her lashes and fought the urge to smile when their eyes connected.

Last night flooded her mind again.

And she knew the same had happened to him.

Sexual tension so thick between them.

The tickle at the pit of her stomach caused her thighs to squeeze together tightly. It wasn’t the brightest thing to do, because now her clit was throbbing. Silently urging her to feed into that tingling sensation. Those green eyes could see right through her. Aaliyah allowed others to fill into the room first. Her eyes fell to his retreating back and then her gaze traveled down until she was staring at his ass sitting profoundly within his black slacks.

Distraction number two.

She wanted to sink her nails into it while he fucked her deep.

“Excuse me…”

Aaliyah was blocking the path towards the laptops for their exam. Gathering herself, she made way for the other students to pass.

“As soon as everyone has their assigned laptops, you can get started. You have an hour. After that, you’re free to leave. If you have any questions, simply raise your hand and I will come to you.”

Aaliyah had a ton of questions.

Why is your dick so big?

What position do you want me in first?

Can I ride your face?

In her seat now, Aaliyah opened her laptop and after locating her exam, she dived right in. So far, the multiple choice and short answer questions weren’t too difficult. After selecting B for the 20th question, Aaliyah’s eyes glanced up and Terry was pacing the front of the class. He caught her staring and with a disapproving look, he tilted his head towards her lap top for her to finish. Aaliyah held in a giggle and went back to doing her exam.

So much for breezing through. The closer she got to the finish line, the more challenging the questions became. She re-read the short answer question, eyes flicking to the remaining time. She had ten minutes left and eight questions remaining. That wasn’t enough time to waste. Her hand shot up in the air and Terry headed over towards her. He settled in front of her desk and slightly bowed his head so that he could whisper to her. Aaliyah connected eyes with him.

“Yes, Miss Davenport?” He said with a hushed tone and a stern expression.

Distraction number three.

“I’m confused on this question here…”

Her finger pointed to her screen. Terry blinked his bluish–green eyes away from her distractingly–beautiful face to see exactly which question she was having trouble with. Aaliyah watched his lips move as he silently read the question.

Distraction number four.

“What constitutes the nature of right and wrong?”

He glanced at her.

“It’s not a trick question, Miss Davenport. That’s all I can give you. I’d hurry along…you have seven minutes left and eight questions remaining.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Terry gave her one final look before slipping away, the scent of his cologne remained however. Aaliyah typed in the best answer she could give and then she finished the remaining multiple choice questions to the best of her ability. The exam closed and the subtle sounds of groaning and lip smacking from other students meant that they didn’t have time to finish.

She hoped she did well. Closing her laptop, Aaliyah lifted from her seat to put it away. Terry was talking closely with a student. Aaliyah didn’t want to make it obvious by sticking around, so she grabbed her things and left the room. Out in the hall, she released a sigh of relief, noticing a few classmates huddled around to discuss the exam. Aaliyah sauntered over to hear what they were saying, agreeing about specific questions and happy that others mirrored her choices. Professor Terry exited the lecture hall with his briefcase in hand. Aaliyah watched him turn rightward, signaling to her that he was on his way to his office.

She didn’t have any other plans that afternoon. She waited until everyone dispersed before walking to his office. As she drew closer, the realization of what she was about to do begun to take hold of her body. Her footsteps came to an abrupt halt in front of a commercial wooden door with a privacy glass panel. A metal plaque hung above the window with the words: Professor Richmond’s Office engraved in it.

Aaliyah glanced from one end of the silent hall to the other. She raised a fist and knocked three times. The distant sound of footsteps followed by the jiggling of the door handle caused her breath to hitch. The door creaked open and Terry peeked his head out at her. Aaliyah entered and Terry pulled her around the door so fast her feet were levitating from the floor.

His door shut with a muffled click.

Terry reached down and snatched her school bag from her hand and her cup. He placed her things on a small table before picking her up. Aaliyah gasped, legs being forced around his waist and locking at the ankles. Terry pressed his forehead against hers before pressing his lips into hers. They settled into a fervent kiss, loud smacking followed by soft exhales filling the cluttered office. The distant sound of an old grandfather clock ticking and the occasional car past the tiny window filled her ears.

Terry’s big hands cuffed Aaliyah’s ass through her skirt. The soft almost silky material glided over her skin in the best way. Heads swiveling, tongues moving in a desperate motion, they continued to explore each other’s mouths, never coming up for air. His mouth tasted like kiwis and ginger. His lips were moist and soft. Aaliyah’s hands clung to his shoulders. Terry kept one hand on her ass and then the other smoothed up her slender back.

“Terry…”

Aaliyah unraveled her legs and Terry let her down gently. She peeled away from him to look around his office. She’d never seen the interior of it. How was he moving around such a small space with his big stature? She almost bumped into a pile of books but Terry stopped them from tumbling over with his hands. Aaliyah giggled into her hand, apologizing for her clumsiness.

“How do you get anything done in here?” Aaliyah asked.

“I don’t spend too much time here. There’s years worth of history, that’s how I found this,” Terry presented the little book to her that he carried with him and read passages from during lecture, “A lot of great points on these old pages…”

Aaliyah skimmed through the dusty spines of old texts. Terry watched her with his arms folded behind his back. She looked back at him over her shoulder with a teasing smirk.

“It’s a little stuffy in here,” Aaliyah removed her flannel shirt, “Much better…”

Terry’s eyes scanned her body slowly.

“That skirt is a choice…what made you wear that today?”

He tilted his head at her with a knowing look.

“It’s so hot out…”

Terry hummed. He didn’t take his eyes off of Aaliyah as he rolled up the sleeves to his button down shirt.

“Didn’t stop you from wearing sweat pants and hoodies before, Miss Aaliyah. Who do you think you’re fooling?”

Aaliyah simply giggled.

“C’mere…”

Terry curled a finger, beckoning her over. Aaliyah placed the tip of her tongue between her teeth and with a sinuous grin she slowly approached Terry, never taking her eyes off of him. He stared down at her short frame while leaning against his desk.

“I had a good time on the phone with you last night,” Terry stroked her chin with his thumb, “You’re such a nasty girl…”

His thumb smoothed over her bottom lip. Terry glided his thumb across it, rubbing in her gloss. That same thumb slipped into her mouth and Aaliyah’s lips wrapped around it and started sucking. She sucked hard. Terry cocked his head, watching her with those powerful eyes. His own lips parted and his pink tongue sat in the corner of his lips.

“You want something to suck on?”

Aaliyah nodded her head, batting those pretty lashes at him all innocent. She was far from innocent.

“Show me that tongue…there you go…”

Aaliyah poked her tongue out for him. Terry stroked her tongue, playing with her tongue ring.

“Can’t wait to feel this on my dick…”

He looked so articulate with his glasses but that mouth on him was deliciously freaky. Another box on her list checked off. He can talk you through it.

“Pretty mouth…such a pretty mouth…”

His thumb slipped from between her lips and Aaliyah dropped to her knees instantly. As she went to work, her eyes never left his. The sound of his belt and the zipper was so loud it was almost deafening. Terry lifted his shirt a little higher, revealing cut muscle with a deep v–cut. Aaliyah’s lustrous eyes noticed a vein along his hip leading down. With a final tug of his pants, that dick she’d been dying to see bobbed out.

The two–toned complexion of his pleasure rod was beautiful. Deep veins created a sinful texture along the girth of his shaft. To be fat and long was a blessing. Terry was blessed. Heavy balls sat tight and suckable. That tip was fat and wet from precum. That big dick jumped in her face. Aaliyah’s eyes slowly ascended to meet his. Terry was staring down at her with silent dominance. His musk mixed with whatever soap he’d used to wash with filled her nose and it almost made her eyes roll.

Touching him and feeling the heat of his manhood sparked a deeper appreciation for that heavy dick. Whatever earlier reservations she had about fucking her professor went straight out the window. Aaliyah’s eyes slowly followed the path her fingers took caressing his well–hung dick. There wasn’t much else to say. The expression on her face was enough to tell.

“Go ‘head put that dick in your mouth.” Terry commanded.

His deep voice. Aaliyah whimpered.

“Closed mouths don’t get fed, baby…”

Aaliyah’s eyes remained locked on him and her tongue licked from the base to the tip. Terry’s brows pinched together slightly when her tongue swirled around his tip. He gripped the edge of his desk like he’d do in class, long fingers holding on so tight the veins in his arms and hands bulged. Aaliyah kissed his pink tip lovingly. The tip is her favorite part. Spongy and sensitive. Terry’s bedroom eyes fringed with thick lashes watched with an unblinking stare. His full lips were parted a fraction.

Aaliyah finally wrapped her lips around him and Terry took it upon himself to remove her claw clip. His long, thick fingers threaded through her sleek strands, pulling it into his fist. Aaliyah never took her eyes off of him. She used her hands to push his shirt up further so she could see that six pack. She’d wanted this dick in her mouth since the bachelor party. The way he looked at her like he wanted to devour her. How possessive he became when Darell tried to suck on her finger.

“You suckin’ it like you wanted this dick for a long time…”

“Mhm…”

Aaliyah worked her neck and jaws. He had this look on his face like he couldn’t believe such a sexy bitch was on her knees worshipping his big dick.

“You’re so sexy…oh, fuck, so sexy, baby…suck that dick…good girl…that’s my good little student…”

The slurping sounds grew louder. Spit bubbles and thick saliva trickled down her neck. She didn’t care about the sloppy mess. Neither did he. Aaliyah gripped his muscular thighs and focused all her energy into making him cum with her mouth. She was sucking the dick for her pleasure, not his. After seeing all that cum on him in that photo last night, she’d been feigning to swallow it all. She just knew it tasted good.

“Damn, gorgeous,” Terry gripped his dick and slapped it on Aaliyah’s tongue, “look at that tongue ring…nasty girl…unnhhh…you love the way this dick feel in your mouth, pretty baby?”

“Yes,” Aaliyah puckered her lips for Terry to slap his heft on it.

“I’ve wanted to do this to you for months now…I finally got you on your knees…right where you belong…you’ve teased me for a minute now…you had me ticked off with all that fuckin’ teasing shit…”

Terry forced his dick further down her throat. Aaliyah gagged. She pushed at his thighs and quirked a brow up at him with a smile on her spit–covered lips.

“Open your mouth…”

Aaliyah stuck her tongue out further and presented her throat to him. Terry could see her uvula dangling and the cavity where his dick belonged. He plunged back in with a fist full of Aaliyah’s soft hair.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me…good girl…that’s what you do, hear me? You follow directions…”

Terry picked up the paced and started fucking her throat. Aaliyah felt hot tears prick her eyes. She breathed through her nose and allowed her fine as fuck professor to dig her throat out. He tugged on her hair, his dick falling out her mouth.

“Uhn uh,” Terry pressed his face closer to hers with a dangerous look in his eyes, “Spit on it…more…spit on my shit…good girlllllll…slurp it up…I said slurp it, Aaliyah.”

Aaliyah went to work on that dick, hand between her legs rubbing her clit with her panties to the side. Terry was falling into her trap. She locked eyes and swallowed his nine inches whole and that had him losing his damn mind. He let go of her hair and braced himself on the desk while Aaliyah two–hand stroked with her mouth suckling.

Terry had to remove his glasses.

Those green eyes narrowed and she could see them roll almost to the back of his head. His mouth opened and a punctuated sigh followed by a groan escaped his mouth. His brows raised when she sucked gently on his balls while stroking his dick. To see him come undone had her pussy dripping. She was dripping onto the carpet.

“Aaliyah, FUCK,” he said through clenched teeth, “yeah? You love this dick, huh? Make this dick cum, fuck, don’t stop…ughhhhhhhhhnnnnn…..”

Terry cradled her head as his body seized up. He locked eyes with her, dick throbbing in her throat. Heavy spurts of cum enough to choke on released and she sucked it down happily. The palatable taste was so delicious she wanted more. Aaliyah’s lips popped off his dick and she stood, wiping the corners of her mouth like she’d just enjoyed a meal. Terry didn’t take his eyes off of her. Aaliyah snatched up some tissue to clean off her chin and neck.

“You okay there, Terry?” Aaliyah teased.

Terry exhaled with a shake of his head. Aaliyah cleaned him off as best as she could before putting his still hard dick back in his pants. She patted his bulge before kissing his cheek.

“I’ll leave you to it then, See you tonight—”

Terry grabbed her hand to stop her from walking away. He’d finally found his voice after that killer throat work Aaliyah gave him. He pulled her into him and rammed his tongue in her mouth.

One hand lifted her skirt up. The fingers on his other hand wrapped around the back of her panties and pulled.

Hard.

——

A tearing sound.

Aaliyah gasped.

He’d torn her panties to shreds.

Was he going to fuck her against the desk?

A knock came to the door.

Aaliyah tensed up.

Terry placed a finger to his mouth to shush her.

“Yes?” Terry replied to the knocking.

“Sorry to disturb you, Terry. It’s Jacqueline. I was wondering if you still plan to attend the meeting this afternoon with the advisors?”

Terry picked Aaliyah up and sat her on his office chair. He threw each leg over the arms of the chair. Aaliyah cut her eyes at the door. She could make out the silhouette of Jacqueline beyond the privacy glass.

“I plan to attend, when does it start?” Terry got down on his knees and with both hands he tugged on Aaliyah’s hips roughly, bringing her ass over the edge of the chair.

“In an hour. There will be lunch. It’s in conference room A today…”

The wheels slid across the carpet from Terry positioning Aaliyah with her legs wide open. Her skirt had ridden up and right before his eyes was Aaliyah’s pussy.

“Good…because I’m starving…”

Terry looked into Aaliyah’s eyes with intensity.

“Alright, I’ll see you then.”

Terry waited until her footsteps disappeared. He shot up to his feet, long legs leading him to the door. He checked that it was locked before situating himself on his knees again. Terry needed to take a moment to just…admire it.

Smooth, brown, pink center, wet and creamy. Fat lips with fleshy folds made for sucking. Clit nice and hard. Definitely a pretty pussy.

“I ain’t wanna be rude and tell her to fuck off…damn, Aaliyah…damn…”

Terry used his thumbs to spread her. Aaliyah hid her face against her left knee. Each time he would spread her, you could hear the creamy sound of her entrance. He needed to stop playing with it like that. Aaliyah was losing her damn mind.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Terry licked his lips, “You like the way I call your pussy pretty?”

Aaliyah replied with a, “Uh-huh,” with the back of her pointer finger situated between her lips.

“I love how misty your eyes look right now…you need this pussy ate, don’t you pretty girl?”

“Yes,” Aaliyah replied with her sweet voice laced with lust, “Can you talk to me while you eat it, daddy?”

Terry used one thumb to raise the hood on her clit while his other hand had a firm grasp on the chair to keep it in place. He didn’t need it sliding away while he devoured. Without further ado, Terry’s tongue poked out and flattened against her wide open pussy. He put his face in it with his nose pressed against the top of her pussy.

Aaliyah had to bite down on the back of her hand to stop from crying out. Terry’s tongue felt like a tentacle slithering and wiggling on spots that had her eyes crossing. His lips sucked with light pressure on her clit.

“Terry…Terry…Terry…”

He looked at her and it was the most beautiful thing ever. She couldn’t keep her eyes focused on him. That mouth had her seeing the galaxy. Aaliyah’s breathy moans fueled him to go harder. He placed his arms over her spread thighs to keep them back and focused all his energy into making her cum in his mouth. That fat tongue poked her hole as deep as it could go and his lips suckled her clit. He would alternate between light stokes to flickers.

“You taste so good,” Terry smiled at her before licking her clit again, “So sweet…”

“HUH—”

She had to cover her mouth when he circled her clit with his tongue.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that…watch the way I eat you up…”

Aaliyah could only moan. Whenever she tried to speak, Terry would do something with his tongue and lips and it would shut her up. She did make sure to keep his mouth right where it belonged. She had a hand on his head.

“You just keep creaming on my tongue…”

“Why you taste so fuckin’ good, huh?”

“Keep those pretty eyes on me…”

“You know how much I’ve longed to put my mouth on this?”

“Cum in my mouth, now…”

Thighs quivering, body shaking…

“Fuck, Terry, I’m cummingggggggg,” Aaliyah whispered with a tremble in her voice.

She enclosed his face between her thighs and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Her mouth dropped open into a silent scream. Soft squeaks leading into tiny whimpers filled his ears. Terry ate her through her orgasm.

When she finally relaxed he gave her soft kisses to her pussy and she dragged her nails through his short curls. Terry peeked up at her and smirked and Aaliyah smiled.

“Kiss me…”

Terry leaned in and Aaliyah swiped her tongue over his lips. Terry parted his lips for her and they tongue kissed.

He broke the kiss, fixing her skirt before standing. Aaliyah stood and her eyes fell to the torn pieces of fabric that was her panties. They both laughed before Terry cleaned it up and tossed it in his briefcase. He’d discard it later, not wanted to leave any evidence behind. Aaliyah took her time fixing her hair in a wall mirror near the door. The scent of her pussy in his mustache caused him to use his fingers to push his upper lip against his nose.

“What time are you picking me up tonight?”

Aaliyah fluffed her hair while looking back at Terry over her shoulder with those eyes he always got lost in. His brown–eyed girl.

“What time are you picking me up?” She asked again

Terry couldn’t help but to lick his lips as he placed his glasses on, “Six. Dinner reservations are at eight–forty–five. It’s in N’awlins. And I was thinking…it’ll probably be best if you pack something light to take with you. Figured it’d be smarter to stay there for the night instead of driving an hour or so back home, ya know?”

Aaliyah settled between his legs and Terry wrapped his arms around her while her arms draped over his shoulders.

“I have plans with some girls on Saturday, Terry…”

“Postpone. With the way I plan on having you, it won’t be a girls night…”

Aaliyah giggled. She pecked his lips a couple times before staring into his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll reschedule.”

“Good,” Terry kissed her neck, “Wear something sexy…with the tallest heel…I love how your legs look when you wear them…”

“Your wish is my command.” Aaliyah whispered against his lips.

She slipped away from him and Terry reached out to pop her on the ass with a bite of his lip. Aaliyah looked back at him with flirty eyes while bending over to retrieve her bag and cup. When she straightened back up. She walked to the door, stopping short to lift her skirt and make her ass clap. She gave him a lick of her lips before leaving him in a daze.

——

Aaliyah flung a few choices on her canopy bed. The sheer, black curtains rubbed against her naked body as she stared between the three choices. A short, black cocktail dress, a form–fitting red dress with a plunging neckline, and a floral summer dress with a high split and her back out. Time was ticking and she still needed to pack her bag. Aaliyah went with the summer dress since she hadn’t worn it yet. She stood in front of her mirror and slipped it on over her skin that glistened from the cocoa radiance body oil she used. It was a sexy dress that would be enough to tease him throughout the night.

Aaliyah packed her bag with an orange bodycon dress, gold sandals to match with accessories, underwear, a satin slip to sleep in, hygiene and hair care needs, some flip flops, a hoodie, and a pair of sweats. Out in her living room, Aaliyah sat on her couch to strap on her stiletto red bottoms. She went for a more glamorous makeup look and a brown lip combo that accentuated her bow–shaped lips.

She’d gone through with canceling her plans for Saturday and it spurred her girls to question her about the man she was spending the weekend with. She didn’t disclose anything to them about Terry, not because he’s her professor, but because she wanted to enjoy him. Her friends didn’t need to know anything right now.

A knock to her door brought her to her feet and Aaliyah peered through her peephole. Terry was standing there dressed in all black with Christian Dior loafers on his feet and a Rolex on his left wrist. He was holding a bouquet of red roses. Aaliyah opened the door and greeted Terry with a megawatt smile and bright eyes. He smiled back at her, opening her storm door to enter her home.

The aura and energy of Aaliyah’s home matched her personality. Seductive and sensual. Low ambience, darker color scheme, the subtle hint of a bitter-sweet floral fragrance. Terry kissed her lips before presenting the roses for her. Aaliyah thanked him and they walked towards her kitchen where she replaced the dying tulips in a vase on her small, dining table with Terry’s roses.

They were on a tight schedule, so Terry led Aaliyah out of her home and down the stairs carefully. His Hellcat with a glossy, beet–red finish awaited them. He opened her door and helped her inside before jogging around to his side. They set off for an hour drive, Terry’s jazz playlist the perfect mood. He couldn’t stop stealing glances at Aaliyah and saying how beautiful she looked. She returned the compliment, saying how handsome he is.

They talked about anything under the moon and laughed at moments. Aaliyah spilled tea and Terry clung onto every word. It definitely helped to keep the long drive going. The thrill of seeing Terry again stirred within her as she listened to him talk. They arrived to their destination, a hotel not far from the restaurant. Bourbon Street was a five minute walk. Terry and Aaliyah entered the spacious hotel lobby. Aaliyah settled next to him at the receptionist desk while he checked them in. Two sleek, black key cards were given to him. They had a room on the third floor.

The hotel had a spooky element to it, reminding Aaliyah of something straight out of the 1800s. The red walls and old–time chandeliers made her feel as if she’d stepped into a Time Machine. They found their room and when they entered, Terry flicked on the lights. They had a king bed with a mirrored wall behind the bed and another full-body mirror near the entrance to the bathroom. There was a standing shower and a double sink as well as a balcony.

Terry checked the time and they had about ten minutes. Leaving the hotel for now, they walked hand in hand, Aaliyah making sure to bring her black clutch with her. After three minutes, they reached their destination. GW Fins was considered a fine dining establishment. Terry opened the door for Aaliyah and with her hand in his, they waltzed up to the hostess. Terry gave his last name and when he was found on the list, the hostess led them past several packed tables until they reached a private booth with candle light.

Settled, they stared at each other, legs touching and their mingled scents lingering. Terry caressed her knee and Aaliyah stroked his Rolex. A waiter sauntered over and filled their glasses with ice cold water. They were too busy eye–fucking each other to notice. The waiter cleared his throat and Terry pulled his gaze away slowly to look up at him. He ordered a Cabernet Sauvignon with carmelized onion tarts and lamb chop bruschetta.

“You look amazing.”

Aaliyah smiled into her glass of wine.

Terry peppered kisses along her neck. Shisha tobacco and intense Bourbon Vanilla flooded her nose from his Smoky cologne. His thumb caressed her knee softly and it had her clit pulsating with need. They ate their appetizers and got drunk off of the expensive wine. When their waiter came around again, Terry ordered their entrees. Some fancy seafood dish Aaliyah couldn’t recall the name of because she was too busy giggling.

“Here’s to more dates together in the near future,” Terry said.

They clinked glasses. Terry eyed her over the rim of his glass while Aaliyah gave him a slight smirk with those beautiful lips.

“Speaking of dates…maybe this is too soon…would you be my plus one to Mike’s wedding?”

Aaliyah blinked at Terry with slight shock.

“Really?” She questioned, not sure if she’d heard him correctly.

“Yeah. I want you to accompany me, Aaliyah.”

She took a sip of her wine.

“…you don’t think they’ll recognize me?”

“…from the bachelor party?”

“Yes…”

Terry’s right brow elevated and he shrugged, “I really don’t care what they think. You’re with me, not them.”

Aaliyah was too stunned by his remark.

“Okay. I’ll be your date.” She agreed.

Aaliyah simmered down her nervousness at being surround by the men that saw her half-naked and his parents who would surely find out that she’s an exotic dancer. Aaliyah drowned out her worries with another heaping glass of red wine. It finally warmed her blood. Her desire for the professor came on heavy and intense like those green eyes of his. Aaliyah propped her elbow on the table and combed her fingers through her hair while staring into his eyes.

Terry looked away and down at his glass while Aaliyah raised his chin for him to focus on her again.

“That drink isn’t going anywhere, Professor.”

She crossed one shapely leg over the other and his eyes were drawn there like a magnet.

“How long before you washed the scent of my pussy off your lips?”

It was the wine. The wine was making her bolder.

Terry scanned the area before responding. He gave her a look that shook her core. The faintest smirk painting his lips.

“As long as I could. But I knew I’d get a taste again.”

“You will…I plan to ride your face.”

Terry laughed. Aaliyah giggled softly before trailing her hand up his thigh and her heeled foot up his leg. Terry’s eyes fell to her heeled foot situated between his legs. With the tips of his fingers, he stroked the top of her exposed foot with a feather–like motion. Aaliyah nibbled on the rim of her glass.

“And I plan to fuck you all over that hotel room.”

That deep voice. That bass. Aaliyah was no more good. Fuck poised, she wanted to hop on that big dick.

“Everywhere, Aaliyah.”

“Good thing I’m on birth control.”

Terry laughed, eyes squinted and smile big and bright. What she really wanted to say was good thing they’re both clean and up to date on screenings like responsible adults because she’d much rather he cream pie her—

“You’re funny…”

“And you’re fine as hell…I can’t help the reckless shit that just comes out of my mouth.”

“You sound so cute when you curse.”

Their food arrived and it was a type of seafood linguine. Unable to finish the rest, Aaliyah slid her plate away and decided to take hers to go since there is a microwave in the hotel room. Terry raised a hand and motioned for the waiter to come over with a slice of chocolate cake and the check.

“The night is still young, think you can hang for a bit before we get back to the hotel?” Aaliyah questioned.

“I’m okay with that, baby. I think you should hit the restroom first after all that wine.” Terry suggested.

Good idea.

Aaliyah slipped away and to the bathroom.

——

Noisy. Raucous. Nocturnal. For many New Orleans visitors, Bourbon Street embodies the life of a party town. The street is lit by neon lights, throbbing with music and decorated by beads and balconies. Bourbon Street has become a place for revelry of all sorts. With its windows and doors flung open to the wandering crowds.

Aaliyah and Terry blended in with the crowd of drunk people. His tight clutch on her hand alerted anyone around them that she belonged to him and it would be best not to try anything. They decided on a bar that played trap music, both of them slipping inside. The red wine had begun to wear off and Terry needed something stiffer. Top shelf bourbon. Aaliyah wanted chilled patron shots. Terry paid cash and they enjoyed their drinks while vibing to the music.

Aaliyah would whine her hips on Terry, rubbing that big booty all over his growing erection. He grabbed her hips and did his own slow grind, catching the attention of patrons that watched with interest. Aaliyah loved to see the wild side of Terry. She made her ass move with quick skill whenever the DJ would put on a bounce mix.

They continued to bar hop, tripping off of people and drinking their fill. In one bar, Aaliyah made Terry her camera man. He recorded videos of her twerking and lifting her dress quickly to reveal nothing underneath. The risk thrilled her and Terry seemed to enjoy it as well. He stole every chance to bend her over a table or a bar so she could rock those hips on him.

Back out on the street, they accepted beads and Terry recorded Aaliyah walking towards him with a model–strut, flashing her titties and jiggling them. He couldn’t wait to suck on those big, brown nipples. Aaliyah complained of her feet hurting, so they stopped inside of a gift shop and Terry purchased a cheap pair of flip flops. He crouched down and took her heels off one–by–one. Terry held them as they walked back to the hotel.

Terry held the door open for Aaliyah and they stumbled over towards the elevators with laughter. On the elevator, Aaliyah pulled her dress down again and Terry pushed her against the wall and bent down to wrap his lips around a hard nipple. He sucked and Aaliyah palmed his erection. The elevator dinged and Terry fixed the front of her dress. He picked Aaliyah up and threw her over his shoulder while he opened the door. The green light flashed and he proceeded inside, placing the do not disturb sign on the outside of the door.

The distant sound of the lively French Quarter could be heard beyond the balcony. Terry flicked on all the lights. He needed that room to be fully bright. Aaliyah kicked off her flip flops. Terry proceed to take off his shirt. Aaliyah looked at him and the realization of what was about to happen washed over her face. She excused herself to the bathroom and Terry gave her space to get situated. Meanwhile, he completely undressed, sinewy body with vigorous muscles and a swole dick on full display.

The door to the restroom opened and Aaliyah walked out, stopping in her tracks when she noticed Terry standing before her fully naked. He approached her and started undressing her with his lips molding into hers. They swapped spit and flicked tongues as the dress slipped down her body and pooled around her feet.

Terry broke their searing kiss to press his forehead against her temple. He stared down at her perky breasts sitting full and round with protruding nipples.

“You’re all mine,” Terry whispered in her ear, his fingers twirling her nipples, “I’m gon’ show you…”

Those big lips of his sucked on her tongue and bottom lip. Aaliyah whimpered into his mouth and thrust her chest forward from Terry tugging on her nipples. The sensation shot straight to her clit.

“Liyah Allure? That’s who I’m getting tonight?”

She felt his dick bounce against her thigh. This man was concrete hard and ready to fuck.

“Yes, daddy…”

They flicked tongues and then Terry abruptly turned Aaliyah around. He arched her over the bed.

“Pop that wet puss…”

Terry’s hand came down on her ass and he gave it a sharp slap. Aaliyah hissed.

“Big ass butt…”

His rough tone stunned her.

Aaliyah grabbed her ankles and started moving that ass. Each time her cheeks spread Terry could see that sweet pink. He stroked himself as he watched her twerk. Aaliyah flipped her hair over and locked eyes with Terry, biting her bottom lip. She eyed the way the vein on the underside of his dick throbbed.

“Mhm, just like that. Do it like that, baby, fuck…”

His body is sculpted to the gods. The muscles in his thighs flexed in conjunction with his abs. Those biceps bulged and it caused the veins in his arms and hands to become more prominent. Honeyed skin so smooth. Heavy balls. Long, thick pipe. This man was on another level of fine.

Aaliyah made her ass clap again.

“I want you right now…”

Aaliyah felt his dick press between her cheeks. Terry brought one hand around to cup her jaw. The other hand reached down between her legs and started rubbing her clit.

“Ooo, Terry…”

He started stoking his dick between her cheeks.

“Big ol’ ass…shit don’t make no sense…pretty titties…you got it all…everything I fuckin’ need…”

“Take what you need…use me…”

“Ooo, use you?” Terry sank two fingers deep inside of her, “you sure you can handle it?”

“I can…can you handle this pussy?”

Terry chuckled, “What you think I’m doing now?”

Aaliyah’s knees buckled.

“…Miss Davenport, keep still…” Terry whispered his command.

“If I don’t?”

Terry shut her up with his thumb on her clit.

“I’ll cuff you.”

Terry’s fingers slipped out and he turned Aaliyah around to face him before thrusting the two fingers that were inside of her into her mouth. Terry gave her an unblinking stare while pushing further and further to the back of her throat. Aaliyah worried her brows and the urge to gag crept up her body.

“Mm–mm, eyes on me.”

She gagged.

“Open up…relax…relax…such a good girl…on your knees.”

Terry watched Aaliyah get on her knees on the bed. He wanted her arched so he could have access to her ass and pussy from the back. Aaliyah grabbed him by the balls and force–fed her throat big dick. Terry dragged his bottom lip into his mouth and hummed his approval.

Gawk gawk gawk gawk…

So rigid and unyielding.

“I knew you were the woman for me. Look how you suckin’ this dick, look…”

Aaliyah could see herself in the mirror on the wall behind the bed. Her body arched with her ass in the air and her lips wrapped around his dick aroused her.

“See that, pretty baby?”

Terry caressed her cheek with his knuckles. Aaliyah never took her eyes off of the mirror.

“Too fine…”

Terry popped her ass. Aaliyah jerked with one hand while sucking.

“Get the balls…mhmmmmm….so nastyyyy….”

Terry had Aaliyah leaking. The way he talked to her alone could make her cum.

Aaliyah popped her lips off, “Big Daddy…” she moaned.

She two–hand jerked him while looking up at him with doe eyes. Eyes that told him she needed him deep inside of her. Terry grunted on repeat, the urge to cum creeping up and up—

“I’M FINNA BUST—”

Aaliyah stuck her tongue out and Terry erupted all over her lips and in her mouth.

With urgency, Terry went to lay down on his back with his head hanging over the end of the bed. He forced Aaliyah to grind on his face. She put her hands on her knees and rolled her hips over his face. Terry sucked, licked, and kissed. He reached up to hold her in place, stilling her movements while he worked his lips and tongue In tandem to make her cum. Aaliyah clung onto her weak knees and her entire body shook.

“TERRRRRYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!”

He didn’t stop. Aaliyah didn’t know whether to crawl away from his lethal mouth or stay still. This man knew her body better than any man she’d been with.

“Umph,” Aaliyah whimpered, “You’re making me cum…I’m cumming again…whew, fuck…oh shit!”

Terry gripped her waist to keep her on his face. Aaliyah intertwined her fingers with his while riding out her orgasm. When the tremble in her legs surpassed, Terry came to the surface with a moist face. Aaliyah lunged at him and Terry caught her, lifting her up.

He curled one arm beneath her left knee and with his other hand he rubbed the tip of his dick between her folds.

“Let me hear that sound I like…mmm…so wet…I love it messy, baby…enough for me to slide right in you…”

Aaliyah had never been fucked in this position. She was a little afraid. Terry sensed her nervousness and peppered kissed along her neck.

“Terry, it’s big…”

Aaliyah held onto him tightly. Heart pounding against his chest. He tried to settle her with a deep kiss. With the perfect distraction, Terry was finally able to feel her snug walls around his dick.

He pushed up into her and Aaliyah’s mouth dropped open. A desperate moan against his lips with her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders was her initial reaction. That pussy, however, needed to be opened up.

——

“Relax for me, Aaliyah…where’s that big girl energy?”

Terry dropped her down and Aaliyah almost cut off his circulation with how much she squeezed him. Both arms curled beneath her knees now, Terry turned sideways in the full–length mirror and pounded up into her while bringing her down to meet his thrusts.

Aaliyah buried her face into his neck. Terry started off slow. He watched the way his dick disappeared then reappeared. Astonished wasn’t even the word.

“Look, baby…”

Aaliyah didn’t have the strength to look. She was buried with big dick and it was grazing her spot.

“I know, I know…”

Terry quickened his pace. Aaliyah could feel everything.

“Oh my god…” she whispered.

Terry palmed her ass and thrust up into her while keeping her stationary. Aaliyah’s toes curled under and she felt herself slipping. Terry crouched slightly to hike her up.

Aaliyah stares into his eyes while clinging onto him.

“Aaliyah…I’m going faster…you ready?”

Terry started pounding and Aaliyah cried out.

“Fuck…you gotta keep still…fuck this pussy is so good…been waitin’ to get in this pussy…”

“Uhm!!!! SHIT!”

She couldn’t believe how wet she was.

She couldn’t believe she was going to squ—

Terry was forced out from the sudden release of liquid. He slapped her clit to release more and then he rubbed it back and forth. His dick had a mixture of cream and wetness all over it.

Placing her on the bed, Terry arched Aaliyah’s back.

“With the way you put that ass in the air…you know how I want you.”

Aaliyah looked back at Terry. He looked her in the eyes and smirked at her. He sank right inside of her from behind. Terry caressed her ass and smoothed his hands down her back. Aaliyah wouldn’t keep still.

“What did I say? If you move, I cuff you…”

He’d been waiting to get up in her and put that dick on her something serious and she couldn’t follow directions? Terry was irritated. He slipped out and went to grab the cuffs. Aaliyah watched him return and secure her wrists.

“Can’t run now…I told you I’m getting in this pussy…”

He thrust in and Aaliyah could feel him in her belly.

“Big ass dick!”

“This big dick got you creamy, baby…”

Aaliyah’s muffled cries into the sheets were drowned out by the incessant clapping her ass was doing. Terry put a power behind his strokes that had her feeling it from the tippy–tip to the base. Direct thrusts and keeping the same stroke. This man went from lecturing her about the evolution of morality to talking her through it.

"Look at me while I fucking use you."

The sex was too good. Sex so good Aaliyah’s flustered and embarrassed from all the incoherent nonsense she was mumbling. Quite literally, she can't stop herself from burying her face in the pillow to hide how much she’s blushing and moaning.

Terry has her trapped with an iron hand.

She can’t focus on watching herself getting fucked. But Terry had other plans.

He grabbed Aaliyah buy the cuffs with one hand and his other hand wrapped around her throat from the front.

“I said watch the way I fuckin’ use you.” He barked out.

She could see the way her ass moved like a tidal wave. Terry trapped her with his eyes and as tears rolled down hers from how good and intense it felt he didn’t stop. He stayed on her spot.

“Shit yankin’ this dick…this good pussy and you think I’m not gon’ fuck you the way you deserve?”

Terry pressed his face against her ear and went…harder.

The clapping echoed.

He pressed his face into her hair and groaned when Aaliyah’s walls convulsed around him. She erupted so intensely that she had no control over her body. Terry took off the cuffs and massaged her wrists while kissing her temple.

Aaliyah gasped when he slipped out.

She couldn’t believe it. He was still HARD.

Terry went to lay on his back and he pulled Aaliyah close. She rested her head against his shoulder while He stroked her arm.

“Did you like it when I cuffed you?” Terry asked.

“I did. I liked it more than I thought I would.” Aaliyah smiled.

“Aaliyah…”

She looked up at him. Terry met her gaze.

“I really like you…and I want to take you on more dates and be serious about courting you. Is that okay?”

“…I really like you too, Professor. We can’t go public with this…At least not yet.”

“Definitely. You don’t have much longer to graduate, only a little less than two months…”

“I’d love to go on more dates with you and get to know you more…”

Aaliyah traced Terry’s nipple. With her cheeks pressed against his chest, she stared down at that beautiful dick.

“Are you tired yet?” Aaliyah questioned.

She sat up to stare down at him.

“I want you to fuck me more…”

“How you want it this time?”

Aaliyah trailed her hand down to grip him.

“I want my legs over your shoulders…I’m used to this dick now. I like the way it kisses the back of my pussy. Makes me cum each and every time…think you can do that for me?”

Terry sat up and Aaliyah crawled beneath him. He situated himself above her, holding himself up in a push–up position.

“We didn’t use a condom…”

Aaliyah realized that.

“If I cum in you…” Terry warned.

“Then paint me….”

Aaliyah brought her ankles over Terry’s shoulders. He lined himself up and with his eyes never leaving hers, he pushed deeper, her pussy enveloping him again. Aaliyah’s eyes shut and she extended her neck, releasing a longing sigh of joy.

“Yes…yesssss…yeeeesssssssahhhh…”

She loved it. Terry put his fists into the bed and went faster. They both watched his dick bury her over and over.

“Damn, Aaliyah…shit so…fuckin’…good…”

He punctuated his thrusts with his words.

Terry gave her nipples some more attention with his teeth and lips while his hips snapped into hers. The more he fucked, the more his big dick glided.

“Gettin’ that dick in you nice and easy now…this what I like…and you thought I wouldn’t fit…look at you now…taking it all…”

“Yea, Big Daddy, I love this dick,” Aaliyah moaned

They kissed. A deep kiss that had Terry’s hips coming to a complete stop. He was still deep inside of her, but those lips were a distraction. Terry’s lips slipped away and Aaliyah got lost in his green eyes while he fucked her. She nibbled on her lip and studied the way his handsome face crumbled with defeat.

“You wanna cum? Cum all over me with that big dick…”

“Ughhh–uhhhh–mmmmm—”

Faster.

“D–don’t st–top! Fuck your p–pussy!!!!”

“Aaliyah!”

Terry pulled out and pumped, thick, milky–white cum that painted her pussy lips, stomach, and titties.

“Mmm,” Aaliyah gathered some on her fingers and dragged it over her tongue while looking him in the eyes.

“Nasty girl…”

Aaliyah smiled at him before bringing her feet down to rest on his chest. Terry grabbed her feet and kissed her insteps, causing her to giggle.

He couldn’t wait to give her more dick.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @helloncrocs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter @dashhoney25

[honeyslibrary]

First Mother's Day | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Dad!Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, fluff, edited once! 

Summary; Reader's first mother's day with Quinn and baby Scarlett (installment in the Sweet Girl universe)

Word Count; 1.1k

Authors Note: This is super short, I didn't really have as much time to write earlier as I thought I would (celebrating my mommy and all) but I wanted to post this because I think it's so cute, and I absolutely adore Scarlett and Quinn so much. Hope you like it! And to all the mothers out there, mother figures, and those yearning grieving a child, today we celebrate you, happy mother's day. 🩵 -Honey

The scent of coffee overloads your senses. Not the harsh, burnt kind Quinn sometimes makes in a rush before morning skate, but the good stuff, your favorite vanilla blend. You wake slowly, caught between sleep and something sweeter, that blurry liminal space where dreams dissolve into morning. The aroma wafts through the bedroom like a gentle announcement: today is different. Today is special. 

A small giggle confirms it.

Your eyes flutter open, vision still hazy with sleep, but your heart recognizes them instantly. Quinn stands by the window, morning light haloing his disheveled hair, wearing a well-worn UMich hoodie and some black joggers. Against his chest, he cradles Scarlett as if she contains the universe—which, in many ways, she does. Her tiny fingers tug at his drawstring, her round cheeks flushed with morning warmth, eyes sparkling with five-month-old mischief far too vibrant for this early hour.

"I love you, my sweet girl," he whispers, pressing his lips to the crown of her head where wisps of baby-fine hair catch the sunlight.

You watch silently, savoring the tableau they create.

"Okay," he murmurs to her, "time to wake Mommy."

You quickly close your eyes, surrendering to this game of pretend. The mattress dips beside you moments later. Quinn's calloused fingertips brush hair from your temple with surprising tenderness. Then comes the familiar weight of Scarlett settling against your chest, her heartbeat a hummingbird's flutter against yours.

"Happy Mother's Day," Quinn says, his voice still rough-edged from sleep yet softened by adoration.

Your eyes open to meet his. Scarlett squeals with delight at your awakening, her little body writhing with excitement. You laugh, instinctively securing her before she can tumble from the bed.

“Good morning, my love.” you murmur, brushing your nose against hers. “And good morning to you, too.” You add, glancing up to Quinn.

"She was perfect this morning," Quinn says, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "We've been conspiring."

"Have you now?" You press your lips to Scarlett's rosy cheek. "What kind of conspiracy?"

Quinn leans over and presses his lips to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling away to place a small cream-colored envelope on the nightstand. "Step one. Breakfast is warming downstairs. Step two: read the note after we eat. Step three: you're forbidden from doing anything remotely resembling work today."

"That's an ambitious plan," you say, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"That's why you have me—your very handsome husband." His eyes dance with mischief. "Full-time, highly qualified in diaper changes and nap supervision."

"Qualified, you say?"

"I passed the test last night—she only protested once when I wrestled her into that ridiculous giraffe sleeper."

You snort softly. "She loves that giraffe sleeper."

"And I love you," he says, leaning down to press his lips to yours. "More than anything."

You pull apart with a content sight, hand reaching up in an attempt to smooth some of his bedhead. "You realize she's five months old, right? You could've handed me a dollar store card and I still would've cried."

His smile softens. "I know. But you deserve more than that."

And you do. You know that. But hearing it from him, seeing it reflected in the way he's planned this morning, makes it real in a way that settles deep in your bones.

Downstairs, breakfast waits on the kitchen table: your favorite croissant sandwich with the sharp cheddar from the farmer's market, a bowl of juicy blackberries that stain your fingertips purple, and that warm vanilla coffee he made just the way you like it—extra cream, just a little sugar. You sit wrapped in his hoodie while he bounces Scarlett on his knee, narrating every one of her babbles like it's the most important conversation in the world.

"Oh really?" he says, leaning closer as she makes a string of nonsensical sounds. "That's your opinion on climate policy? Fascinating perspective. Very nuanced."

You watch them over the rim of your coffee mug, memorizing the way Quinn's hands, hands that can send a puck flying with pinpoint accuracy, now move with such care as they wipe drool from Scarlett's chin.

When the last blackberry is gone and your coffee mug sits empty, you finally reach for the envelope. Inside is a note, handwritten in Quinn's messy, barely-legible scrawl that has brought heat to your cheeks with many different love notes over the years.

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And now you're the best thing that's ever happened to her, too. Watching you be her mom has made me fall in love with you in a way I didn't even know was possible. Check the diaper bag. Love, Q.

You're already misty-eyed as you unzip the diaper bag hanging by the door. Inside is a small box, midnight blue against the chaos of baby wipes and spare onesies.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You open it to find a delicate gold chain, simple and elegant against the velvet. Hanging from it is a tiny "S" and a heart-shaped charm engraved with two sets of initials—yours and Scarlett's—interlocked like vines growing together.

"Oh my God," you whisper, running your thumb over the cool metal.

Quinn is behind you before you can turn, a hand wrapping gently around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He smells like home—like detergent and that woodsy cologne you bought him three Christmases ago.

"I wanted you to have something just for you and her," he murmurs against your ear. "Something you could wear every day, close to your heart. A reminder that you're her whole world. First Mother's Day... felt like the right time."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the quiet earnestness in his voice, the weight of what this day means, the feel of your daughter's initial pressed against your palm.

You turn in his arms and hug him tightly, sandwiching Scarlett between you. She makes a noise like she wants in on the moment too, her small hand patting against your collarbone with surprising strength.

"You're unbelievable," you whisper into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

Quinn's chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "No. You are." His voice catches slightly. "You gave me everything. I just wanted today to feel like a thank you."

And it does.

My Patreon, where you can find exclusive fics not posted anywhere else: HERE

[technovillain]

further talking abt my prev post mentioning sasha's brain, i think it's interesting how his mind doesn't seem to cover his adult life at all. i feel like this is an easy further hint that he isn't showing his true full mind, that the shooting gallery is more of a puzzle box for the advanced campers to try. he limits it to his childhood because it's certainly all more age appropriate, and there is more that they will be able to relate to as they navigate the puzzle. the fact that he spends much of his time popping in and out into the... vague orange void, i like to imagine that's to another, more adult part of his brain. it does seem like the sasha way to compartmentalize parts of his life.

i'm conceptualizing this version of his mind that is very neverending-fractal-expanding matryoshka.

at his core is his childhood, the part of his mind that we see, turned into the shooting gallery as a testing area. it isn't as perfect and cleaned up a puzzle as he'd like it to be, with a few nasty details certainly still slipping their way through, but it adds a sense of reality to it all. contained in this cube is the mega-censor, which is perhaps the childhood id, it's like a big nasty baby, it's got dead flesh, it's like a big angry man. it's throwing a tantrum, and is also the punishment for throwing a tantrum. in short, it's likely reflective of his messy, detached childhood.

what if the whole of his mind that we see is not an extending void, but instead also contained within a much greater cube. the childhood cube/shooting gallery is the center point of the next, more complex room, still a rotating geometric shape, maybe now one with more facets, a black and white metropolis, with extending tableaus presenting his teen to young adult years, when he was doing odd jobs, taking classes, interning and learning, all of the pre-agent era.

this little world is all packed away inside a little box which is at the center of his current world, (maybe one with an orange sky? where he keeps popping in from?) and represents his current life as a psychonaut.

managing impulses/censors is something that he uses as a lesson, but i imagine it is also something that his brain naturally does. inside his own mind, he is constantly present, doing maintenance.

i think of the scott campbell exhausted handyman sasha popping in through the orange doors. he takes pride in his mind being something that is fastidious and clean. he speaks from experience when he says that bottling up your impulses puts your brain under a lot of pressure. it is something that is easier to acknowledge within your childhood. if you do it too much, you'll likely have a meltdown. but when we talk about years of doing constant impulse control, which is likely extreme at times, it will manifest in other, more complex ways... like compartmentalizing your entire brain into boxes that require constant maintenance.

[odoraful]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓

wriothesley has been hesitant to tell you about his past, afraid that it will tarnish your view of him. reconciling with this is no easy task, but he has you by his side to guide him

content: wriothesley x gn!reader; established relationship; 'baby' pet name; reader and wriothesley live together; nightmare sequence; mentions of blood; spoilers to wrio story quest!; reader doesn't know the full truth of wriothesley's past; wriothesley worried about how good of a partner he is :( ; hurt/comfort; reverse comfort; 4k words

a/n: i just wanna gently hold wriothesley and tell him that he's doing so well <3 also i give full credit to critical role and the wonderful talisen jaffe for the quote "pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Before opening his eyes, Wriothesley smelled iron. Pungent and pervasive. It filled his nostrils and sunk unpleasantly in his churning stomach. He knew he was lying on his back on a cold, hard surface, but that was about as much information he was certain about. Where he was or how he ended up in this state escaped him.

He tested his other senses. Every swallow of saliva went down like sand in his throat. His fingers were limp as he tried squeezing them into fists, the strength siphoned out of him. Slowly regaining some sense of himself again, he could finally label what the scent was. Blood.

At that realisation, he peeled opened his eyes, dreading the scene he would find himself in. A scene he knew that would be painfully similar to memories he quashed a long time ago. He grimly thought whether the blood would be trailing from his hands, or already dried up beneath him, a red dye stained on the floorboards. The lights above accosted him, dazzling his vision. Fontainian households were always so bright, and it didn’t help that the walls of them were white too. But, even then, there were always nooks and crannies shrouded in darkness. Wriothesley found that the more glittering lights there were, the darker the shadows they casted.

He sat up with a groan, his body the weight of bricks. Looking around, there was no such scene he imagined before him. The room he was in was… ordinary. Pristine white walls lined with book shelves against spotless light timber flooring. A fireplace was tucked between two shelves, where the hearth held blackened remnants of burned wood. Wriothesley was situated on the floor between the fireplace and two brown cushioned sofas facing each other separated by a low table. He swore there were other furnishings in the room, but for some reason he couldn’t focus on them. The edges of his vision blurred and he couldn’t make out any other details besides what was most salient.

It wasn’t necessary though.

He knew where he was.

He was almost even in the exact spot they found him slumped in when he was a boy. Back rested against a bookshelf, hollow eyes gazing into the distance. The officers were unable to hide the pure shock on their faces at the grisly tableau in front of them.

Bile rose in Wriothesley’s throat. Despite there being no evidence of violence, the scent of blood lingered in the air, filling his lungs. He went to stand, the movement ungraceful and slow, as if he were swimming in the ocean with thick layers of clothing on. Lying on the floor wouldn’t do well for his nausea. He walked towards to sofa to sit and assess this situation. Sinking into the cushions, he rubbed his temples with his hands.

He thought this house had long since been torn down. How had he been taken back to his old home? His mind sharply retracted those words. No, he wouldn’t call it that. Home was a place of safety and love, but the place he grew up in was built on a foundation of lies and malice. The only small glimmer of home he could recall was his bonds with his siblings.

“█████.”

A voice whispered from just beside his ear, as if speaking a secret.

Wriothesley’s skin prickled. His head snapped around, but he was only met with empty space.

Impossible, he thought. No one who should know that name. He buried it a long time ago when he was handcuffed to the bed in that emergency ward. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Digging up memories of his past.

“█████, where did you go?”

This time, a different, more louder voice came from the opposite direction. Wriothesley could make out its qualities—young and wistful. It was that of a child.

Wriothesley was not often scared. When someone like him had seen both the worst and best of what life had to offer, he was seldom caught off guard. Even backed into a corner, there was always a way out for him. A few carefully chosen words was his preferred method, but now, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Hearing that name being said aloud chilled him to his bones. The colour drew from his face, skin turning ghast-like. He was terrified.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

A young girl sniffled, sounding on the verge of tears. Wriothesley scanned the room frantically, trying to find the source of the voices.

“Why did you leave us?”

A young boy this time. Familiarity clawed at the back of Wriothesley’s mind. His eyes bulged in horror.

“█████, we miss you.”

“You said we would play together.”

“They took some of us away.”

“█████, will you ever come back?”

Wriothesley covered his ears, but it did little to quiet the ceaseless voices. Multiple of them spoke at once, rising in urgency, surging around him. Overlapping and defeaning, burrowing into his skull no matter how hard he squeezed and squeezed his ears shut. He was backed into a corner with no way out. He screamed in his head, roaring in agony. He couldn’t stay here, he needed out.

Hearing the pleading of his own mind, Wriothesley jolted awake.

Like a conductor ending a symphony with the close of their hand, the cacophony of voices abruptly stopped.

Void-like silence met him in the waking world.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He felt his heart lodged in his throat, as if he had been pushed off the tallest point of the Palais Mermonia. Steadying his shallow breathing, he pushed his back further into the bedsheets, trying to ground himself.

Just a dream, just a dream. He repeated, sighing loudly. His bedroom had never been a more welcome sight as he sat up, careful not to awake his resting partner. At least, that’s where you should have been. There was no weight of your body beside him. He swept a hand over the bed, and made contact only with the sheets and crumpled quilt blanket.

Still reeling from the terrors of his dream, Wriothesley’s mind drew the worse conclusions. Had you been taken? Had you left him? Panicked, he began to call out your name. His voice was hoarse, but he was glad he could speak after being robbed of it in his dream.

A triangle of yellow light cut into the darkness of the room as the door cracked opened. Relief flooded him seeing you standing there, wrapped in a fluffy robe, hair ruffled.

“Baby, is everything alright?” You asked softly, approaching the bed.

Wriothesley’s chest rose and fell in quick intervals. His body arched over like a crooked branch, shivering ever so slightly. Alarms blared inside you. You had never seen him in this state before.

“I- I thought you had gone somewhere,” he said, voice quavering.

The mattress dipped as you sat atop, kneeling beside him. “I didn’t leave.” You lay a hand on him, watching closely at his expression with a furrowed brow. “I’m here, I’m here,” you soothed gently, rubbing small circles into his shoulder.

He gave into your touch, his posture easing. Seeing him slowly relax, you raised your hands to cradle his face. Warmth radiated through him, expelling whatever anxieties had possessed him. His breath shuddered. Immediately, he nuzzled into your touch, burying his face in the faint scent of soap and lilies. He could stay here forever. It would be all he needed to revitalise his senses and keep him alive. He covered one of your hands with his own, encompassing it completely. His calloused fingers slid between yours—a sensation that contrasted against the softness of his lips as he kissed the inside of your palm. A feather-like touch that caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter.

“I was just in the bathroom.” You reassured him. Wriothesley hummed in response. “Did something happen?”

He hesitated, wondering how much he should tell you.

“I just had a nightmare.” His voice was muffled, lips grazing your skin as he spoke. “It was nothing, really.”

You gently turned his head towards yours, prompting him to focus on you. “It doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”

His heart stung at the pure concern on your face. Different from the times when you tended to him when he injured himself whilst boxing, or when you saw him passed out at his desk from his persistent workload. There was desperation layered in your knitted brows and parted lips.

“Let me get you a glass of water.” You said, caressing his face. Hints of stubble brushed under the pads of your thumbs. “You’ll feel a little better after being hydrated.”

Coldness returned to his cheeks as you pulled away. You couldn’t even turn around before Wriothesley’s hands were on you once again. He snaked his arms around your waist, embracing you tightly.

“Don’t go.” He rasped. “Please, stay with me.”

His pleading tugged at your heartstrings. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, you could tell from his voice just how dry his throat was. “I won’t be far from you. I’ll be gone only for a moment.” You kissed his forehead, sealing your promise.

You waited until he loosened his hold on you (albeit begrudgingly), and hurried out of the room to fetch some water. Wriothesley leaned against the bedhead. His head was clearer now, and he tuned his hearing to the far-away whir of machinery in the Fortress.

He was glad to have a shared room with you away from his working environment. This was an entirely new floor he had extended above his office. The design of which began after he had seen you curled up in sleep on one of his chairs, waiting for him to finish his duties for the day. Resting somewhere backgrounded by piles of administrative paperwork didn’t make for the most relaxing setting. And so, he swiftly drafted plans to create private quarters for the two of you.

After a long day, he would head straight upstairs to meet you. You’d be there snuggled on the lounge with a novel, and his footfalls would be enough for you to abandon your book on the table and rush over to the door. Now, while the sun could not be seen in the stronghold beneath the waves, it found its place with you. In the way your smile beamed and eyes twinkled as you greeted him. You were so, so bright, and yet he could never look away. At first, it almost startled him how easy you gave your love to him. There was no ulterior motive with you. You loved him wholly.

He sadly wondered how quickly your glimmer would fade if he revealed parts of him that had never seen the light.

The tapping of your slippers approached the door, and you entered with a glass and pitcher of water. Placing them both on the bedside table, you poured water into the glass and handed it to him. Wriothesley didn’t realise how parched he was until he took the first sip. Eagerly chugging the rest down, he you in the corner of his eye, chewing on your bottom lip. You were on the cusp of saying something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, taking the empty glass from his hands and putting it to the side.

“Your dream that is…” You faltered through your words. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you seemed upset when you woke up.”

More than upset, you thought to yourself, afraid.

Wriothesley reached out for you wrist. You let him guide you into bed, slipping under the blankets. He pulled you in closer, arm draped around your waist, until your bodies were flush with each other. Your expectant gaze fell on him. He plastered on an assuring smile, but couldn’t quite draw the corners of his lips up to reach his eyes.

“I was only a bit shaken,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “It had things relating to my past. My subconscious must have it out for me for not letting me get a good night’s rest.” Hopefully that was enough to mollify the true contents of his dream.

You toyed with the edge of the blanket. Wriothesley’s past was something he didn’t divulge in too much detail. Even after being together for some time, all you knew was that his childhood was a difficult time, and he had to run away from his foster parents home. You had a good sense that he no longer wished to recall these events from the way he was quick to brush off the topic. It was hard for you to balance between wanting to know more, and also respecting his privacy.

“You know that you can tell me about anything that’s bothering you, right?”

Your eyes never left his, watching the way they brimmed with fondness as he answered.

“Of course I know that baby, it’s just that…” His eyes casted downwards.

In his line of work, keeping up a poker-face meant keeping things under control. However, with you, he never hid his true emotions, and you saw conflict dance across his features.

“I’m worried it might change how you see me,” he confessed, fidgeting with his fingers as if he were itching to move.

“Wriothesley,” you covered a hand over his, halting his movement, “nothing will make me change the way I see you now. You aren’t the same person as you were back when you were young.”

Those words settled in his mind, prodding at the uncertainties he had about opening up. You continued,

“You can share anything about your past with me. And, what is it they say…” You tried to recall a line you had read recently. “A burden shared is a burden halved?”

He couldn’t fight back a smile, teeth peeking out from beneath his lips. “Putting those philosophical books you’re reading to use?”

“Actually, it’s a collection of poetry from Mondstadt.” You corrected, pursing your lips smugly.

He breathed a laugh, spirits lightening at how endearing his partner was.

From the day he selected a new name for himself, he chose to begin anew. Although he knew that nothing in his past constituted any part of his life now, it still clung to him. A fog clouding his mind during moments of solitude, drawing out doubts that stumbled into the open. If he did tell you the full truth, would you see him as nothing more than someone raised in a loveless place? Who was pushed to do what many considered unthinkable? Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly—ruminating.

You calmly awaited his next words, knowing that you would accept both if he chose to tell you or not.

Wriothesley spoke again,

“I mentioned to you before that I didn’t have the most… peaceful childhood.”

You nodded, grim at the thought of what those adults had done to those innocent children. “Mmm, you told me about your foster parents, and how you ran away from them.”

“Yes, but that’s not the whole truth.”

Pausing, he steeled himself. He caught on a thread that had long since been loose and began to unravel his past.

“After I escaped, I couldn’t shake off the guilt of abandoning my siblings, but there was also no way I could stay in that household after what I had learned.”

He recounted the story in the same way one would read aloud an article published by The Steambird. So separated from his past that he had little inflection in his tone. Even so, you saw a flare of emotion in Wriothesley’s eyes.

“So, I tried to keep myself alive and tried to get stronger, so that I could return and protect them.”

“Archons,” he bowed his head, dark hair falling over his brows, “I don’t even know how much time passed out there, everything seemed to blend together.”

You felt an ache in your chest, like someone had tightly gripped your heart. “I can’t imagine how tough it must have been.” Picturing a younger Wriothesley in your head, frightened and alone, made you shiver.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “It was.” He returned a sad smile to you, though regret laced his words. “I wouldn’t wish that life for anybody, but I did learn a lot.”

“I snuck back into the house after a while of being on the streets. I-“ He rubbed his temple with his free hand, unable to find the right words. “One of my siblings told me that while I was gone, a few of them had been… adopted into other families.”

Your skin turned cold, knowing exactly what that meant.

“I-I think I heard their voices in my dream.” His voice wavered, face scrunching up as he remembered those ghostly voices in that empty room. “They were asking why I left them there, wondering where I was.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you did return. You swore that you would come back for them and you did,” you asserted.

Shaking his head, he turned his hand over to interlock your fingers with his. “Perhaps I was too late.”

“I found my foster parents sitting happily in the drawing room, and suddenly, I felt so, so angry.” His expression turned sombre, staring down at the blanket covering you two. “At them, at myself, at the world, and something snapped in me and I did the only thing I felt I could do in that moment.”

A heaviness tugged down on his chest as if in protest at the continuation of his sentence. But, there would be no hiding it now. He swallowed thickly.

“I killed them.”

The words left his lips in a whisper, and hung in the space between you.

You stilled. The faint beating of your heart could be felt between your hand in his.

Sensing your stiffness, Wriothesley forced himself to look at you, searching your face in the hopes of finding any kind of reaction. He half expected you to pull away in terror. Disillusioned at the fact that your partner was a murderer. But, he found no such revulsion. Instead, your eyes glossy with tears captured a sadness so sincere and profound that his heart shattered into pieces, piercing him from the inside out.

“It was a long time ago.” With every word he spoke, the shards seemed to dig deeper. “And I definitely don’t associate myself with that person anymore.”

“But, I understand if this changes how you see me. If you need time away-”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupted, shaking your head fervently.

You blinked, tears lining your lower lashes. The sight of your partner blurred slightly in your vision, his face contorted in pain. You understood. The distance he wanted to put between you was merely a façade. Buried beneath it was a wordless plea for you to stay. He had bared everything to you, and you would not let him hurt by himself any longer.

“It doesn’t change how I feel towards you.” Determination rose in your cracked voice. “You were so young. No child should ever be placed in a position like that.”

Surely, there must be some part of him that agreed. Some part that would allow forgiveness. Wriothesley’s gaze flicked between your eyes, lost in your expression, as was you in his. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I-I can’t be the one to say whether it was the right thing to do,” you continued, “but what I do know is that you were just a child who needed to survive and wanted to protect those you cared about.”

How many people had treated him with kindness as a child? It upset you to think of all the adults that turned their backs on him. Reducing his character to only what they saw on a case report. Likely considering him to be nothing more than a psychopath. Your pulse thumped in your ears at the injustice of it.

“You are not who you were in the past.” You said slowly, enunciating every word. “Pain doesn’t make people, Wriothesley. It’s love that makes people.”

His expression melted softly. The creases between his brows smoothing.

“And I know that you love and care so strongly, you’ve shown me that every single day.”

Icy blue eyes held so much affection as he stared back at you—transfixed. Now more than ever did he believe you were the sun to him. Basking in your warmth, feeling the comfort of it tingle his skin. What you had said to him had begun to sink in. However, while he couldn’t refute your words, the mindset he had formed could not be altered in a single moment. Perhaps he would not completely believe your words now, but that was alright. You would be there by his side every day to remind him.

Clearing his throat, Wriothesley tested out if his voice was still fit to speak. Though this room was private to the two of you, he spoke quietly, as if he craved only your attention.

“When I was serving my sentence here, I always dreamed about what my new home would be."

He recalled the confinement of his cell, and how his mind would drift from counting the bolts in the metal wall to imagining a new life for himself. Wanting a place that was safe and people he felt at peace with felt like a mirage to him. However, if he could go back in time and speak to his younger self in that cell, he would tell him that things would turn out alright. The journey would not be without difficulties, but he would finally be in a place where he no longer had to look over his shoulder, fearing for his safety. And, he would be with someone who would be proud to call him their love.

“I think I found it here, with you.”

He took the chance to close the distance between you two. His forehead rested against yours. You closed your eyes.

“I love you, Wriothesley,” you whispered, instinctively.

His breath caught in his throat. How fortunate he was to have you in his life. Not only to receive your endless love, but to learn just how capable of loving he is.

He whispered back in reply, his breath gently fanning across your cheeks. “I love you too.”

Neither of you broke away, staying in this position for a moment. Everything had been untangled before you, and a odd mixture of both sorrow and solace stirred inside you. Sorrow at listening to what Wriothesley had gone through as a boy, and solace at how tender the man before you was, his hair tickling against your forehead.

You continued to speak softly to each other for a while longer. The conversation floated from his time at the Fortress to how he became its administrator. As he spoke, the accuracy of the quote you shared before was confirmed in the inexplicable lightness he felt in his chest. A burden shared is a burden halved, he recited to himself.

Time drew on, and you both sensed that if you didn’t sleep now, you’d be up until the Fortress’ inmates began their morning shifts. Curling up beside each other, you asked to play big spoon this time so he could fall asleep easier. Though he was taller in stature to you, you insisted on it. If it were a different day, he probably would have put up a greater fight, but there was little argument in him now at the chance of being wrapped up in your arms. He was lulled to rest by your rhythmic inhales and exhales. The night quietened, and no more voices followed him in slumber.

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post a/n: thank you for making it to the hidden easter egg author note haha, i appreciate you greatly, and i hope it was an enjoyable read!!! 🥺 i just wanted to yap about my thought process writing this piece. you definitely don't have to read all this, it's primarily for my own notetaking! <3

i felt like this was probably one of the hardest pieces i've written so far (?) i found it tough to build up that tension of reader not knowing wriothesley's full past and him still grappling with his actions as a young boy, and even what that dialogue would look like! i had to step away and come back a few times just so i could look at this with a fresh pair of eyes. it may not be perfect but i'm glad to have finished this! :')

[pmamtraveller]

ALEXANDRE CABANEL ‐ CLEOPATRA TESTING POISONS ON CONDEMNED PRISONERS, 1887

Cleopatra VII is portrayed reclining on a luxurious banquette, exuding an air of detachment and authority. She wears the Néret crown, symbolizing her royal status as an Egyptian queen. Next to her is a courtesan who is waving a fly swatter, adding to the sense of luxury and indolence. To Cleopatra's left, the scene shifts to a darker, more tragic tableau where prisoners, already sentenced to death, are being subjected to the poisons. One prisoner is shown in agony, another is being carried away, presumably dead from the poisoning.

Cleopatra's reign was marked by her alliances with Julius Caesar and Mark Antony, both of which were pivotal in her strategy to maintain Egyptian independence from Rome. The story behind Cleopatra testing poisons stems from ancient historical accounts, particularly from the writings of Plutarch in his "Life of Antony." Plutarch describes Cleopatra as having a curiosity about poisons, particularly about which ones would cause the least pain or be most effective for suicide to evade capture by her enemies, especially after the defeat at the Battle of Actium (31 BC).

Initially, the painting was met with significant acclaim. Cabanel was already an established figure in the art world, known for his mastery of the Academic style, and critics often celebrated his technical skills. However, not all reactions were positive. Some critics and artists from the burgeoning avant-garde movements, like the Impressionists, found fault with the Academic style's rigid adherence to convention and its perceived lack of innovation. The depiction of such a dark and morally complex scene might have also provoked discomfort or criticism among those who felt art should uplift or instruct morally.

[fastlikealambo]

Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader

Chapter One

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This might not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and  if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

This is a quick sample chapter to test the waters and see what people think! If you’d like to see more, please comment, reblog, or like!

The streets of The Capitol looked different during the day. 

You were used to the shadows, two feet in the dark at all times kept you secret, kept you safe, hiding was not cowardly, it was instinctual.

But you weren’t hiding now, a coward in high heels and stockings dark enough to hide the  purpling bruises that kissed the back of your legs, a high collar dress and coat the color of fresh blood concealed the rest that served as a reminder of how you got there in the first place.

Somewhere, a clock struck noon and as if on a timer of his own, Coriolanus Snow emerged from the university doors, chiseled face even more sculpted in person and  you took your place on the opposite side of the road.

You stepped off the curb, turning your face ever so slightly towards a camera and a tucked curl behind your ear signaled the car Gaul had waiting to come barreling around the corner and down the street.

A few capitol citizens jumped back onto the sidewalk but not you, you had your nose in a book, seemingly oblivious to the car that would surely end your miserable little life if this plan did not work.

You did not know Coriolanus Snow, but you did know men. 

Peacekeepers who’d do anything to relax after a hard day, Capitol boys who wanted to know if district lips tasted like treason or honey wine, they were all the same when the lights were off and pockets went unattended.

You tripped and dropped the books, loud enough for Snow to look up and see the car mere feet from you now as you bent down to retrieve the books,  silently cursing everything and everyone that had led you to this moment.

It occurred to you now that perhaps the madwoman in the lab had no designs on Snow that required you and this was an opportunity for her to kill someone in a fun, if not slightly convoluted, way.

You were going to die.

And then, you weren’t.

The lean body of Panem’s golden boy crashed into yours before the car did, strong arms around your middle and sent you both tumbling out of harm’s way. That pretty face of his blocked out the sun and the whole world went still, freezing the pair of you in a tableau of heaving chests and scraped hands.

Beauty made men blind and you had made a blind man of Coriolanus Snow.

And now, the games begin.

[shintin]

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?

Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.

Word count: +11 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.

Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

Back to masterlist

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.

Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.

Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.

The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.

As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.

The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?

But wait!

He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.

So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?

Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.

The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.

"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.

Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?

Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?

And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.

He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.

"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.

He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.

As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.

Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.

Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.

Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.

Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.

Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.

On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.

His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.

And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.

It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.

"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.

"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.

"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?

"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.

"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.

You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."

"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.

Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.

"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.

He couldn't do this.

Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.

He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.

"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.

You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.

One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.

He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.

As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.

Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.

"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.

He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.

"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.

He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.

As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.

Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.

Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.

Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.

With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.

The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.

In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.

You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.

Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.

His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.

The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.

With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.

He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.

Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."

"Satoru…"

"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."

"Satoru!"

"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."

"SATORU."

"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."

"Satoru…"

"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."

"Satoru."

"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."

"Satoru."

"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"

"Sa…toru."

"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."

"Satoru…"

"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"

"Satoru?"

"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."

…

…

…

"Okay. It's—"

"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru…"

Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.

You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.

As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.

As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.

"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.

He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.

He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.

Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?

He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.

Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.

"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."

"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.

Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.

And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.

Oh, My!

He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.

You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.

You used to love this, remember?

His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.

It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.

As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.

You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.

Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.

Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.

Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.

With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.

While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.

With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.

"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.

Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.

He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.

The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.

He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.

"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.

While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.

Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.

He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.

He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.

Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.

"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.

All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.

He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.

What if this was a dream?

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.

Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.

He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.

Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.

And you took your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.

He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.

Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.

"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."

He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.

Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.

The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.

He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.

Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.

Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.

The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.

As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.

His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.

He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.

Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.

He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.

*

Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.

You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?

"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.

His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.

"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"

"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.

"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.

He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.

"What about your students?"

"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"

"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"

Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.

He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.

His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"

"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."

As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."

Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.

Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.

But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.

"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."

You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.

You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"

"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.

"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.

He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.

You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.

Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.

The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.

*

You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.

Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.

The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.

You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.

You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.

He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.

His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.

"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.

Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.

"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.

"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.

Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.

Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.

You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.

As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.

You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.

"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.

"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?

"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.

The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.

Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.

The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.

No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.

One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.

It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.

Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.

Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network

 Disclaimers:

This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

[satvikasailu6]

The Ultimate Tableau Dashboard Testing Checklist

Ensuring the quality of a Tableau dashboard goes beyond building. It requires thorough testing to validate its reliability and usability. This tableau dashboard testing checklist focuses on essential aspects like verifying data accuracy, evaluating functionality, security testing to protect sensitive data, stress testing for performance under load, and visual testing to maintain clarity and design standards.

Aspects Involved in Testing the Tableau Dashboard

Testing Data Sources:

Ensure the dashboard is connected to the correct data sources and that credentials are set up properly.

Checking Data Accuracy:

1. Check whether the source data is reflected in the dashboard. This involves cross-checking the data on the dashboard with the data from the sources.

2. Verify that the calculated fields, aggregates, and measures are as expected.

Functionality Testing:

1. Report or dashboard design check.

2. Filters and parameters testing to see if they work as expected and do not display incorrect data. Also, if the dynamic changes to data visuals are applied and reflected.

3. Drilldown reports checking.

4. Ease of navigation, interactivity, and responsiveness in terms of usability.

Security Testing:

1. To check the security for report access and Row Level Security Permissions.

2. Integration of Single Sign On (SSO) security.

3. Multi-factor authentication.

Regression Testing:

Any change to the BI Dashboard/Model can impact the existing reports. It is important to perform regression testing so that after updates or modifications, the data/visuals shown in the dashboard remain the same before and after the changes.

Stress Testing:

To test the load time, run time, filter application time, and to simulate the access of reports and user behavior.

Visual Testing:

To check alignments, layouts, consistencies in terms of texts, visuals, or images to ensure all the elements are properly aligned.

How Does DataOps Suite BI Validator Enable Testing of Tableau Dashboards?

BI Validator is a no-code testing tool to automate the regression, stress, and functional testing of Tableau reports and dashboards. 

Checking Data Accuracy:

DataOps Suite allows users to validate the data from the visuals of the report to be compared to the source databases. On connecting to Tableau and selecting a report, the datasets underlying the visuals of the reports are accessible through the suite as well. Each Visual has its own dataset, which can be compared to a source database used to build the tableau report.

This is possible with the help of the Data Compare component in the suite, which can compare the aggregated data from the databases and the datasets of the visuals. The differences are captured, thus allowing users to check the data accuracy between the reports and databases.

Functionality Testing and Visual Testing:

Once the connection is established, the users can access the reports and the exact workspace to work with. The specific workbook/report is accessible. The report will be loaded without any changes, and the visuals and filters of the report can be accessed from the BI Validator itself, thus verifying the responsiveness of the visuals and filters and verifying whether the dynamic changes are reflected.

The BI Validator comes with the Tableau Upgrade component to compare two reports, which can be the same or different from one or different data sources.

A common use case is the comparison of views and worksheets across multiple environments. Comparison can be done in terms of both text and appearance, where the differences are captured and pointed out wherever mismatch occurs in both reports. Also, BI Validator allows the differences in the filters of both reports to be pointed out on enabling “Capture filters after applying.”.

Security Testing:

BI Validator connects with Tableau Testing through direct trust authentication, default authentication, or personal access token, where the users must provide their respective Tableau credentials, secret key, and secret ID (in direct trust connection) and the necessary web login commands (for default or personal access token connection). Thus, ensuring the authentication is secure so that only the users with valid credentials are accessing their reports to be validated.

BI Validator restricts the users from downloading the testing results when it comes to BI Reports to prevent the sensitive information from being downloaded.

The DataOps suite also has user-based access through roles and containers to prevent access to reports for everyone. The BI Validator can only allow users with defined roles and permissions to access reports.

Regression Testing:

BI Validator supports regression testing of the reports through the Tableau Regression component, which automates the testing of Tableau reports during any in-place upgrades and workbook deployments. This testing happens by comparing a benchmarked/baseline version of the dashboard/report with the live version. The filters can be changed accordingly if needed before/after the benchmarking. These filter changes can be bookmarked as the latest checkpoint before running the test.

Similar to upgrades, regression test runs can validate the differences in terms of appearance or text. Also, differences in the filters can be pointed out on enabling “capture filters after applying.”

Stress Testing:

BI Validator comes with a stress test plan to simulate concurrent users accessing reports to evaluate how reports and dashboards perform under heavy load. The plan typically involves running multiple users through different types of interactions, such as viewing reports, applying filters, refreshing data, and interacting with custom visuals.

The stress test plan allows the users to select the pages/dashboards from required workspaces to perform stress testing. These pages can be either from the same or different report.

Users can run the stress test plan on specific run options like number of parallel users, time spent on each page, total simulation run time, number of seconds to reach parallel users, refresh time, and other options to run the stress test plan.

The runs will result in showing metrics like Average Open Time and Max Open Time, Average Filter Apply Time, SLA Failures.

[sky-kiss]

Orin: Test of Faith

A/n: Hello, all! This was my contribution to the @bg3womenswrongs zine! Preorders are closed, but I believe you can still make a donation if you'd like access. Otherwise, the zine will be posted for free March 8th! Shoutout to my buddy, @simplysolo, who did some stellar art for my silly little ficlet. Go check it out!

~~~~~~~~~~

Orin: Test of Faith

~~~~~~~~~~

Silence.  

The world does no more than blink at her bloodkin's passing. Orin takes a degree of savage delight in this—oh, Bhaah's beloved, Bhaal's heir, the favorite and the first…but their Dread Father does nothing to stop her blade from sinking into their stupid skull, scrambling gray matter. Bhaal says nothing, even as his flaming eyes stare down upon them, a glorious and grotesque tableau upon his altar. 

Orin casts her sibling down. Bhaal's faithful—even the Deathstalkers—fall in line behind her without a word. Myrkul's corpse-general says nothing. Bane's little lordling shrugs. "One murderer is as good as another. So long as you continue to play your part." She searches Gortash's face and finds…

…nothing. 

It is a song with no grand crescendo, a mummur’s play with no climax. Life goes on as ever, and the victory tastes hollow on her tongue.

She makes her sacrifices to Bhaal during the witching hours of the night as is her custom. When she returns to the temple a charged quality hangs in the air, bright and violent, threatening to burst into something savage, but the release never comes. No Deathstalker moves to stop her. The Lord of Murder's holy symbol sleeps, lifeless stone devoid of his energy or blood.

He had always welcomed them home. 

A familiar voice trills through her skull, unbidden, unwelcome.

Oh, little Orin. Father never saw you. 

Lies. She shunts the voice from her mind and buries herself in her work. Under her bloodkin's rule, the Lord of Slaughter's flock had grown ugly and weak—it was a knife held with a steady and calculating hand, passionless. Orin would rectify this. Bhaal's faithful would no longer offer him one murder-tribute every ten-day. A corpse every evening, yes, yes—that would sate his appetites for a time. Baldur's Grave’s gutters would run with the blood of the faithless, nourishing his flock. 

A few of her kin's more loyal supplicants protest—it will draw the guard’s attention, they say. It will anger the little tyrant. Orin makes them the first of the temple's offerings. None of the other sheep wag their tongues. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Orin prowls. She hunts. 

She rarely sleeps.

To sleep is to dream. And her bloodkin is never far, lingering on the edge of Orin's psyche. She has gutted them half a dozen times, painting her dreamscape red with their blood and flesh, but they always crawl back. Orin tries to pull free, but they are the pinnacle of Bhaal's work, and he has stitched their souls together with his very essence. 

In her dreams, Father laughs at her efforts. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It is mentioned nowhere in Bhaal’s teachings, but Orin considers it gospel: there is a moment, poised on the knife’s edge, just between life and death, more beautiful than any other. A rapturous and bloody sense of exultation always fills her as recognition dawns on her prey’s face. Death comes for them on crimson wings, the lash of Bhaal unerring. 

She collects these moments like a dragon adding to its hoard.  For a scant few seconds, she feels the diaphanous threads stitching her to the Lord of Murder pull taut. He sees her. His pleasure sings through her marrow, heady, sweet, leaving the taste of blood thick in her mouth.

It is a night like any other, and Orin prepares to make her tribute. She steps from the shadows as smoothly as any child of the night, catching her prey’s shoulder and clucking her tongue. Surprise flits across their features as she steps close, near enough to feel the rasp of their breath on her skin. Their right hand comes up but makes no move to push her away. The fool only brushes the curve of her hip, almost gentle, stupid and surprised, seeking to stabilize her. 

“Poor lost thing.” She presses closer, tracing the line of their cheek with her nose. She drags the tip of crimson mischief along their belly, shallow enough to bleed them, just shy of spilling their sticky-sweet entrails. Orin smiles and searches their eyes, expecting sickly sweet fear. 

She cuts, cuts, cuts, rends flesh from bone, strips ribbons of flesh from their arm to tie them as a gift to her sire…but their eyes are no more than empty sockets, and the ecstasy never comes. 

Her brow furrows. 

Perhaps Father’s busy, sister. Go on, perhaps if you make a bigger mess…

She snarls. The voice is wrong. She is Chosen. She is loved. She has been the Lord of Murder’s true legacy since she was eight. She will not be questioned. 

Her prey drags ragged breaths into its lungs, lifting its head from a mess of gore. Orin feels something like fear clutching at her heart for the briefest moment. She has lived this moment once before. She triumphed. Her bloodkin’s ghost stares up at her, mouth twisting in a horrific parody of a grin.

Then it should be no struggle to do it again. Kill, sister. It’s your only talent.

Orin stays her blade.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Squeal.” 

Orin’s voice reverberates off the cave walls, no longer sing-song, no more play— the words are rasping things, breath torn from a slit throat. “Pride is it? It holds your tongue.” Bhaal’s Chosen closes the distance between her and her prey in a single fluid movement—a painter’s smear of color, white and red, breaking the monotonous cave-black. Orin clutches their jaw. Muscles twitch under the strength of her grip and she feels the bones shift with agonizing slowness.

But oh, oh, they remain frustratingly still. 

Her prey makes no sound, not even as she pries their jaws open to catch their tongue between her thumb and forefinger. “I should tear it out by the root.” Orin digs the tip of her nail into the muscle, savage triumph flooding her, blood and the tell-tale tang of iron scenting the air…

…they do not flinch. They stare back at her with all too familiar eyes, the weight of their stare making her feel small and wanting to shift back. A ghost— yes, that is what kneels in front of her, the skin flayed from its arms, bloodied and unbroken—her slaughterkin’s ghost.

You thought yourself rid of me? Little Orin. She watches their lips form the words, but they never come; vocal cords cut like puppet strings. No hate in their eyes as their hand settles over hers, driving the knife deeper into the flesh of their cheek. No hate, only…

…pity.

The changeling pushes them away, snarling. Almost absently, she wipes her hands on the chitinous fabric of her armor. Her skin itches in the places where she’s touched the creature. They continue to stare. 

Why haven’t you put out their eyes, sweet sister? 

She raises her knife…and hesitates.

Father’s sheep are beginning to whisper amongst themselves. Orin has gone soft, they say. The younger of Bhaal’s prodigy has proven an unfit successor, they murmur, eyes darting back and forth as if to catch a glimpse of her shadow. She entertains herself with this new toy and cannot make. her. sacrifice. 

Butcher them—it is not the flock’s place to question you. The voice—the ghost— in her head, coldly calculated and entirely sure of itself, broaches no argument. Cut off the head now. Make an example of them. Your violence can have a meaning beyond sating your own appetites. 

Orin bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Half a world away, mind full of holes, and still you think to order us?”  

Her prey says nothing. All is silence in the emptiness of her chambers, still draped in her sibling’s trappings. Everything is…

…Dead,  Orin thinks, but the thought brings no comfort. Death is not Father Bhaal’s domain. Death is Myrkul’s crypt. Death is a cage, not violence and color, and…

...control yourself, slaughterkin, whispered in a lower voice, and she’d never once managed to place the meaning behind the shift. As if her kin—Bhaal’s beloved—meant to keep secrets from their Dread Father. 

Orin frowns, squaring her jaw and shoulders. The coolness of the cave-air licks at her skin, contrasting the slippery warmth of the blood splattered across her hands, and she welcomes it as one of the surface sheep might the sea-breeze. She wraps herself in the familiar trappings of these chambers, gathers the thick air into her lungs, heavy with iron and rot. Control, yes. She grasps for it and manages to sink her finger deep enough to catch hold. 

If this ghost is the last trace…be rid of it. 

Cast aside the final vestigial trace of her past and throw herself into the future, untethered…

…only Father’s voice to guide you. 

The changeling cocks her head to the side. Something twinges in the back of her head and deep in her chest. Her prey stares, bloodied and bruised—a far cry from her bloodkin’s savagery. It’s the subtler notes. It’s the defiance in their stare, the regality with which they hold themself. It dares her to act. 

Her slaughterkin looked much the same at the end of things—no surprise, only defiance, only pity. 

She has no need for it. Orin is the last, the favorite, the true inheritor of their sire’s glory—that truth sings through her sinews and echoes in the hollow places beneath her rib cage. It is written in blood. She is Orin, Lash of Bhaal. 

She will not yield to this ghost, and she will not break. 

Orin plucks up her knife from the temple floor. Kill the ghost, kill it, and be free; kill it, kill it. 

She feels something like fingers slipping through hers, interweaving their touch. Another hand settles on her shoulder, clutching hard enough to bruise the flesh and pushing her forward. The stench of blood fills the air, surging until her nostrils are full of it. Bhaal is here, watching, bound up with her, in her. 

Father Bhaal sees her.

[laiqualaurelote]

Ok but for the file thing, I'm DYING to know more about "The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign" pls <3

thank you for this ask for the WIP game! this is an extremely cracky AU in which the Richmond Players all start manifesting superpowers.

The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign. The second was Zoreaux.

To be fair to Isaac, he had failed to chop Jamie in half. (More on this later.) Thus, while Jamie went off to sulk and Zoreaux ambled up to poke at the broken sign saying, “Maybe we can make a new one?” Isaac thought nothing of clapping him on the back and replying, “Sure thing, bruv.”

His hand went through Zoreaux like a hot knife through butter. Zoreaux didn’t exactly fall apart, but he did sort of peel away in two halves like a melted clock in a Dalí painting. He was screaming the whole time. It was the modern art mash-up nobody wanted to see.

Isaac gaped at him in horror. The other players were yelling. “Bro! What did you do!”

“I didn’t – ” began Isaac. 

Zoreaux was still screaming. Weirdly, there was no blood or anything. The edges of him seemed to have been pinched off, like Play-doh.

“We must put him back together!” shouted Dani. He and Richard were on their knees, trying to jam the two halves of Zoreaux back together, only Zoreaux seemed to be drooping and stretching through their fingers. “Mon dieu,” gasped Richard. “He is like cheese! But not good cheese! Like the cheap mozzarella from Pizza Express!”

“Osti de tabarnak de sacrament!” shrieked Zoreaux. “What the fuck is happening!”

“I got the duct tape!” called Will, rushing in. He tossed the roll to Sam, who began trying to tape Zoreaux back together as the rest of the players rushed in to try and help. 

“Wait, wait.” Something was happening as Sam’s hands brushed against the halves of Zoreaux. They seemed to be melding back together. “Sam!” cried Dani. “It’s you! You are healing him!”

“Wow,” said Sam, staring at his hands as they knit Zoreaux back together. “Wait, I need to make sure he’s aligned properly. Can I get more light?”

Everyone was temporarily blinded as Dani burst into a blazing ball of brilliance.

“...okay,” said Sam after some time, “way more light than I needed, but thank you.”

“De nada, Sam!” 

It was at this point that Trent Crimm walked into the room. He stopped and put on his glasses, as if that would clarify the tableau of the AFC Richmond team duct-taping their cloven goalkeeper together while one of their strikers was blazing like a lighthouse beacon and their captain stood in the corner with his hands apologetically raised in the air. 

“What,” said Trent, “the actual fuck?”

*

Trent’s first thought was that he would have to re-pitch his book as a fantasy novel, because nobody was going to take it seriously as non-fiction any more.

“So you’ve got healing hands,” he repeated to Sam.

“I think so?” Sam stared at his hands. “Or maybe I just have the ability to stick things back together. I don’t know. Perhaps I should test it on another injury?”

Across the locker room, O’Brien cleared his throat. “Sam? Can you touch my butt?”

Trent and the players turned to stare at him. 

“Not for gay reasons,” O’Brien clarified. “For science.”

“Both of those are valid,” said Sam. “I would be happy to touch your butt for you.”

Trying to ignore O’Brien casually dropping trou in the corner, Trent removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dani’s brightness was giving him a migraine. “I’m sorry, bruv,” said Isaac to Zoreaux for the thousandth time.

“It’s okay,” said Zoreaux. They had yet to remove the duct tape, just in case, so he looked like a very poorly-wrapped package. “It didn’t actually hurt. I was just freaking out, bro.”

Babatunde was holding on to Zoreaux’s little finger and walking across the room while Bumbercatch followed him with a measuring tape to see how far the finger could stretch. “Three metres!” yelled Bumbercatch as Richard tried to cross the room to his locker and ended up having to do the limbo under the finger. “Okay, take it around the corner!”

“I just thought,” went on Isaac, “‘cos I touched Jamie, and I didn’t chop him in half…” He trails off.

“What?” said Jamie. And then, as Isaac made a move towards him, “Whoa! Are you fucking mental?”

“Sorry.” Isaac backed off. 

“Could I test a theory?” ventured Trent. “Bearing in mind that I mean this as a purely scientific inquiry.”

“Sure,” said Jamie. “Whatev – oi!” he yelled as Trent stabbed him in the hand with his pen.

The pen snapped in two. Ink splattered over Jamie’s hand, the skin of which remained unbroken. Jamie screwed up his nose. “That’s disgusting, man.”

“I think you’re invulnerable, Jamie,” said Trent.

Jamie considered this. “That mean I can’t be hurt?”

“I believe so, yes. We’ll have to run more tests to be sure.”

“Huh,” said Jamie. “Sick.”

“It worked!” O’Brien yelled from across the room. “It’s a miracle! I’m healed!”

“Okay,” said Trent wearily, “so we’ve got…five superpowers that have manifested so far. Anybody else feel a superpower coming on?”

“I got one,” called out Jan Maas. “I’m always right.”

The locker room erupted in laughter. “Shut the fuck up, Jan Maas,” they chorused.

Jan shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

[gotabigdiego]

TIMING: April 13, 2025, Evening LOCATION: The Old Factory PARTIES: @gotabigdiego & @banisheed SUMMARY: Diego finds himself a little tied up. The culprit? Siobhan. WARNINGS: Spicy thoughts, discussions, and logistics. (Heavily implied wrspice?)

If you asked Diego, he had ruined his chance at a story, right from the start of it. Five basic questions. Five basic questions, and you could spin a story from almost anything. Six, if you were willing to do some legwork. But could he answer them? No.

Who? Diego and… someone else, presumably. Not anywhere in his field of vision, but there was no better theory. Only way he could explain the “what” of his current predicament.

What? Rope, mainly. Diego flexed against the binding around his chest—not struggling, yet, just a test. Snug, but not painful. Hands bound behind him, tighter. Could still feel his hands, though. That was a plus. Nothing removed from his person, but he had been traveling light, so there was nothing much to take. No gag, and no blood behind his teeth. Courteous of them, really.

When? Hard to tell a specific timeframe. If there were windows, they shone no light into the space. Nighttime, then? No. Too many assumptions, not enough facts.

Where? Well, that was the thing about a kidnapping. Or was it an abduction? Diego had always been a little fuzzy on the technical difference. This was definitely a secondary location, as they went. Not like he knew Wicked’s Rest well enough to guess at where he had been taken from.

Why? Million-dollar question. Thanks for asking. Try back later.

How? Diego thought. Thought hard. Gave himself a low, thrumming headache from the effort to bring up a single memory of how he had gotten into this particular situation, but nothing. Nada.

So, where to start? Which of the questions was most crucial for building this out, piecing together his memory? Well, that was simple enough. Diego had to find out who was playing opposite him in this little tableau. 

Diego cleared his throat, hoping to draw attention from wherever they were lurking. His voice, though, caught on an attempt at a word and came out rough, balanced between coughing and choking. Alright, first, maybe another, more important question: “Could I have some water, please?”

—

Siobhan had one chance. You couldn’t exactly kidnap someone twice, that was embarrassing. Or, was this an abduction? The semantics were unimportant, the facts weren’t: her last two kidnappings/abductions/amputations were disappointing. Sure, she had fond memories of the agonized screams of an old man, but what she wanted was his utter submission to her. What she got was his leg. She did not have fond memories of the leprechaun and she had even less to show for that kidnapping. This time, she wasn’t interested in limbs. This time, she wasn’t shoving him into a closet. This time, she’d get someone to beg. 

She picked this one carefully: someone who was normal enough, new enough to town, young enough to care about his life. She watched him, not through his windows—she had standards—but around town. He had a nice smile, she liked that about him; she wanted to see how nice his frown was. How nice could she make it? He seemed so regular to her, and the regular men cried the loudest. How loud could she make him? When he was desperate to do anything, what could she make him say? She was going to turn this boy inside out. 

It would start like this: in the old factory, with the windows boarded up, the doors shut so the stink of rot and iron lingered, the purr of an old generator and a black cord twisting up to a single lamp pitched over a table full of metal. Knives, saws, needles, pins, wrenches, hammers. Siobhan believed in ceremony; she didn’t pluck him from the street like some common abductor, she didn’t pick him at random like some half-rate serial killer. She had one chance and he was going to give her everything she wanted. 

Siobhan kicked a bucket forward, water sloshing over the rim as it teetered to a stop a foot away from his chair. The chair wasn’t tied to anything; she liked when they wiggled. “Since you asked so nicely,” she said. 

She stepped forward. The lamp wasn’t pitched high enough to show her face but just so to catch her long, bare legs trailing into her short, black dress and the blue, latex gloves dangling in her hand. She hoped all of her rehearsals were paying off. It was all about the ceremony. 

“I imagine you have questions,” she said. “I’ll let you ask one.” She smacked the gloves on her open palm. “If I find it boring…” She started pulling the gloves on. 

—

One question? Only one? Well, damn. Diego wanted to make it count. Had to, if the woman was to be believed. He was grateful, in a way, that she had not held his question about water against the count. Still, he had to think about it, if only to stall, take in new information.

He regarded the bucket.

… The bucket was a bit much, right? There was a theatrical appeal, he supposed, but surely the bucket itself cost more than bottled water—and it had to be carried from a spigot. What if his abductor slipped on the water? It seemed like a lot of effort for a minimal return. And did she, what, intend for Diego to get to his knees and lap the water up?

Oh. Right. She did. Interesting. Curious, even.

Well, he was a beggar, not a chooser, and he was certainly not the one leading the charge, here. Diego kicked his heels against the floor, pushing the chair back, forth, and back, again, before letting gravity carry him—and the chair—forward onto the ground. It groaned in protest, or maybe that was Diego. Inching forward, he squirmed for a better angle, frustrated at the chair impeding his movement. He was usually much more flexible in these situations. Absurdly, Diego hoped that this part was still fun to watch, even for a potential aficionado like her. How would she find him? Amateurish? Lacking?

He considered his approach, face-to-face with his prize. Kitten licks? Or would she prefer sloppy, but enthusiastic? Normally, he would ask for feedback, listen and switch it up. But maybe in this case, it would be best to…? No. No faltering. If his abductor leaned theatrical, commitment was key, no matter the choice.

Diego dunked his face fully in the bucket.

When he came up for air, he landed at a strange angle, half-hunched. His eyes trailed up her pale legs to the swell of her— Well, it was a bit difficult to see from this angle, actually, but all information, all evidence, was pointing to one conclusion. Diego blinked up at her, smile growing. Now, it was a fifty-fifty on if the water dripping from his face was working for him, he figured, but there was something to be said for enigmatic allure. His abductor knew that, knew that her face would turn this all more definite. Best to preserve the fantasy. The question crystallized, stunning in its simplicity.

“So… Come here often?”

—

The reactions were always a little different; each human had their own unique way of begging for their lives that revealed their values. She’d been offered cash, told about children, screamed at, given outlandish promises to have her every wish obeyed. But push a human to the edge of their meaningless life and boundaries suddenly evaporated, identities shattered and all that was ever left were the same crying husks begging to be spared. In the end, they were all animals. It could start in a different place but it never ended that way. 

She’d start with the knife: it was sensible, sharp, good for cutting things off. Then she’d see if he was ready to start playing with her. She didn’t want to kill him. Killing was boring—and anyway, killing was work. This wasn’t a work call. She didn’t want to hurt him either, not exactly, but who could blame her if she got carried away? Look at that adorable face. Look at that adorable face…coming closer? Moving on the chair. Going down, face first into the bucket with what could only be described as enthusiasm. Siobhan lurched forward, reflexively darting to pull his face out before he drowned and robbed her of the privilege of doing it herself. 

He pulled his face out, water dripping down his scruff. There was something artful about the way he managed to flip his wet hair out of his face, and something alluring about watching a defiant strand slip from the top of his head and fall back on his face. Siobhan blinked at him, wide-eyed. Fates, she’d caught a weird one. This happened on occasion; throw a hook into an irradiated lake and sometimes you pulled up a fish with three eyes.

Quelling her surprise, she realized she’d stepped fully into the light and ruined at least twenty steps of her careful plan. Well, she’d always preferred to improvise anyway. “As a matter of fact I do,” she said. “It’s the ambiance; helps me answer those boring emails.” She leaned down and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, embroidered with her initials in the Victorian fashion: Siobhan Asphyxia Dolan. She typically forwent mentioning her middle name.

Siobhan held his chin gently in her hand, angling his face to her, as she wiped the water away. “You know why you’re here, don’t you?” You had to talk to the weird ones softly, they were prone to getting confused. 

—

The water was working for him—the wide-eyed look on his captor’s face told Diego that he had won that particular coin flip. And what lovely eyes they were, brown approaching black in the dim light, set in a face that, in his (correct) opinion, needed to be carved into marble by a true craftsman. He had lucked out; her mistake was only to his benefit, if she would have him.

And she was funny, too—what a delight! He held back his laughter, not wanting to ruin the moment. Diego had never considered it before, how you might go about arranging this sort of thing, but emails would have been… lower on his list of guesses. Too easy to trace back to a source, for one, and he would imagine a degree of anonymity was part of the thrill. How else would he have ended up in this situation, if she had known exactly what her partner was supposed to look like? 

Still, to actually answer emails here? It was dark, of course. Quiet. Easier to compartmentalize, keep all elements contained to the room where “it” happened, so to speak. And, well, Diego could not begrudge her for not wanting to take all of this, as intriguing as it was, into her home out beyond these derelict walls. While he had always had trouble sorting the many facets of his life into separate boxes, exceptionally likely to mix the personal, professional, and pleasurable, it did not mean others were so burdened.

Diego took note of the handkerchief, a tender touch amid the rough scene that had been laid before him. Embroidery spoke to sophistication—a high-class woman, then, not eager to show this side of her personality to a world that would not understand her proclivities? If that were the case, it was especially important that she know, before this went any further, that he was not—

Her hand on his chin, damn. Diego had always been weak for that. And, well, he was only human. It had… been a while since he had been in this position. Or any position, for that matter. Thoughts of an explanation drifted from his mind, briefly carried away by her careful caress, sparks licking up the base of his spine. He pressed his face into her hand, eyes fluttering, breath caught on a pleasant hum. But, no. No! He had to resist. 

“I do,” Diego said, finally. “I do know why I’m here.” He was not strong enough to push away from her, so instead pressed his lips to her palm, a soft, mute apology, before meeting her eyes, hoping to etch sincerity into his every action. “But there’s another who’s meant to be here tonight. And as happy as I am to play his part—and, really, I am—I think it’s important that we get off on the right foot if this is going to continue.”

Please let it continue.

—

Siobhan was rarely surprised; at over a hundred years old it was hard to be surprised by anything. Surprise bore novelty and the flame of novelty was one she could never ignore. Burning her metaphorical wings on the fire made her feel like something. It wasn’t that she couldn’t describe it, it was exactly that: she felt like something. Often she felt that if she reached her hands down inside of herself, she’d fall inside and fall for the rest of time surrounded by an empty abyss. The man said something that none of her branching possibilities accounted for, after he’d done something that she hadn’t expected him to do; suddenly, he was interesting and that was a terrible, terrible thing.

She squished his cheeks so his lips puckered like a fish. Three eyes, she thought. He kissed her hand. Perhaps he was a little more than weird. Siobhan dropped his face and shook out her hand as though she’d been burned—she was burning. Burning with curiosity, burning with suspense, burning with suddenly wholeness in her bones. She was feeling things. 

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. Her voice cracked—she couldn’t help it. She had the sudden, stabbing desire to unscrew the top of his head like a bottle; skip the line and read his mind directly instead of flapping on the end of his hook. Of course, if she did it, she’d only find wrinkles and brain juice. Today was not a brain juice sort of day. “You’re the one I wanted,” she said, her voice cracking again. She forgot where she was and what she’d abducted (kidnapped?) this man for. Her big brown eyes were wet; her long lashes fluttered.

He was going to give her something new: a new game to play, a new way to forget, a new way to live. She quivered, ever impatient. He needed to speak soon before she ripped the words out of his throat. 

—

Diego had not expected her to drop her hand from his face. Irrationally, he missed the touch. But, once boundaries were discussed, it would return; the absence would only make its reappearance sweeter.

“I mean,” he said. “I’ve put it together. All of it.” Diego took the crack in her voice for what it might be—breaking character, unsure if this was an elaborate bit. It was nothing close. There were few moments in his life that Diego could recall approaching with more gravity than this. (Though his head throbbed when he tried to recall them. He would note that, maybe, if he were less absorbed in the moment.) “I know we haven’t established safewords, and I wouldn’t usually break the scene, but let’s talk person-to-person. My color is yellow, not red.”

Despite that assurance, Diego worried that she would take his caution for cold feet, and so rambled on, tone thoughtful, “You’re newer to all of this, I guess? I do not mean that as an insult; it just means you’re bound to make mistakes. But it doesn’t seem like this is your first time doing a scene. I mean, I feel the thrill of it all, the excitement. And your ropework is exceptional. Honestly, when we’re finished here, I’d love for you to teach me. I’ve always wanted to learn. Again, really, I am sure that he would have had a fantastic time. I can see why he was drawn in.” He flashed her another smile. The big reveal was coming, time to face the music. “But, ah, I did not set this up. Whoever you, um. Whoever you had been talking to? He’s still out there, waiting for you to sweep him off his feet. Literally, I guess.”

He held his breath for a moment, and then added, a little self-conscious of interrupting the mood, “Usually, I mean, if I’m looking for a night of fun, even a particularly kinky one, I visit a bar, or a club. No judgment, of course! I know it must be hard to meet people in a small town. Especially for something like this. And if you’re good to continue, so am I. But we should hash out a couple of details. Safe, sane, and consensual, right?”

—

The light had never left Siobhan’s eyes as quickly before. She’d expected nothing and yet disappointment hardened to a stone in her stomach, urging her to curl up on the ground and scream. She had just enough propriety left to stay standing, albeit a little wobbly around the knees. She felt as though her skeleton had packed up (bindle over its scapula) and clomped away. It would not be coming back. “Yes,” she said, more than a little dead inside. “You’re right.” 

She did not explain that, had kink been her plan, she would’ve… well, the set-up would’ve been similar, she gave him that. She was known to love a little roleplay. Siobhan reached down, picking up his chair and by unfortunate circumstance—as he was tied to the chair—the man as well. “It is my first time,” she said, walking behind him, hoping that her frown couldn’t be heard through her voice. “Was I so obvious?” She swung her knife down, slicing through the ropes that bound him. He was free and she was embarrassed. 

All she could do was agree with him; his theory was outlandish but no more so than her true reasoning. In fact, his harebrained, horny concoction made more sense. She wanted him to surprise and he’d done just that, and yet, he’d hollowed her out. This wasn’t what she wanted, but all rebuttals and explanations had evaporated from her mind. She didn’t know what to do. She felt foolish. If she turned around and told him that all she wanted was his fear, he’d think it was an aspect of their “scene”. If she put her knife to his throat, he’d probably tell her that he liked knifeplay, actually. Siobhan had kidnapped this man but she was the woman trapped. 

“Go,” she said, turning to him; her shoulders were sagged into her body. “Run along.” Siobhan couldn’t even look at him. “It is really hard to meet people,” she said dejectedly. She was thinking about how perfectly she felt that she’d plucked this man: he was new, he was young. How silly she’d been. “I didn’t have your consent from the top; it would be wrong to continue. I’d like to do it right,” she said. She was thinking about kidnapping someone else, but suddenly the idea was as fatiguing as a mountain climb. “I’m sorry. Go.” 

She couldn’t look at him and she wanted him out of here when she started to cry. 

—

Ah. There it was. The moment, dead and decomposing on the concrete between them. Diego itched to reassure her. Surely, this was not the first time this had happened to someone! But, for once, he kept his mouth shut. The woman had made a decision; that decision was to release Diego, to send him into the night with nothing but the memory of her touch. He would respect that, respect her.

Even if the rejection stung, just a bit, behind his temples and in the soft beating of his heart.

Diego rolled his wrists as she cut him free, stiff from the held position—an unwanted reminder that his body had limits. He patted himself down. Phone, wallet, keys, all accounted for. Not that he had expected her to strip him of his effects, but it was a reminder of the care she had put into this. Diego lingered at the edge of the small circle of light cast by the lamp, basking in the last drops of her consideration of him. I’d like to do it right. “I don’t need an apology. Just, if you…” A pause as he turned to the darkness, not brave enough to face her reaction. “If I ever see you again, I’ll give it—my consent. We could do it right.” And with that, he began to put one foot in front of the other, lest he embarrass himself further.

It was not a walk of shame, not really. Diego, as a rule, felt very little shame. And even if he had? Here, stumbling in the dark, there were no onlookers, no prying eyes. Further, nothing had happened. Nothing. He would push aside the disappointment—of course he would—but he deserved to sulk, a little, at this branch of possibility snapping beneath his feet, right when he had dared to reach upward. 

Or perhaps it was not a branch, but a two-by-four, the same one that Diego had just tripped over. It broke him from his thoughts, interrupted the rhythm of his too-confident steps, and he plodded senselessly forward, trying to regain his balance. Damn. How run-down was this place? A hard step, pain lancing through his foot as something pierced it, going straight through his shoe. On impulse, he yanked his foot back, before his brain could remind him of all the ways that could make it worse.

But, really, what could be worse than heartbreak?

[jtl07]

OK, so those were AMAZING, but also, when you say "prompts are still open" I take that as a challenge, so let's get a little more creative with these options:

Pokemon battle

Shapeshifter battle

Minds' eye battle (like when two masters duel in their heads and can tell just by subtleties in their stances who will win)

Test battle where one person doesn't realize they would have died if it had been for real, like in Seven Samurai (bonus points if Ava gets killed the second time through and resurrects): https://youtu.be/GOgeAf1L2Ik?feature=shared

Western gunfight

seriously, Alms, you have some of the funnest prompts :D sorry this is short, but hopefully it works! (we'll see if I can get to any of the others; I forgot I actually have to be social this weekend so this might be the last, but I just have to share that for the "test battle" one, I immediately thought of the realistic lightsaber fight by Corridor Crew - see the finished short film just before the 16min mark [here]) 

"We'll see how smug you are when I chop you up into a million pieces," Ava growls, brandishing her sword in a flourish of outrage. She stalks toward the Cardinal - but she's stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder. "Bea -"

"Wait." 

Ava bristles at the command but stills at the intensity on Beatrice's face. It's always been fascinating, watching Beatrice's strategic mind at work, and despite the situation - the world at stake, the Pope still at large - Ava finds herself admiring the impassive way Beatrice takes in the Cardinal's stance, the sword in his own hands. It's almost as if she can see the whole fight in her head - and Ava is eager to make what she knows will be a win come true. 

Beatrice swallows as something unreadable twitches over her brow. Straightens with a slow, deep breath. "I'll take this one." 

Ava immediately squawks, indignant. "What?! That's not -"

"You can get the next one," Beatrice says - the words should be soothing but the corners of the smile she flashes at Ava fall slightly. Ava frowns but Beatrice continues. "Just - I'll handle this one." Then almost as an afterthought: "Don't block the entrance."

Ava can only nod, confusion swirling in her mind as she sheathes her sword and watches Beatrice walk forward. When the Cardinal gives Beatrice that smarmy grin, Ava has to clench her fists to remind herself not to step in. 'Beatrice will handle it,' Ava thinks to herself, 'Just like she always does.'

It takes three moves for Ava to realize: Beatrice is going to lose. 

The thought strikes her as sharp as a blow to her chest. 'No,' Ava argues with the growing dread in her stomach. 'This is Beatrice, the most badass of the order, she can't possibly - she wouldn't -' 

Ava fumbles for her sword but her hands seem to scoff at her with how they tremble. How could she possibly help? She can barely follow the fight with her eyes, what with how both Beatrice and the Cardinal are moving at a speed that's unreal, almost inhuman. But while Ava might still be a novice at swordfighting, she can see it - the way Beatrice's blade keeps getting knocked offline, the way she's not in control of the inside space, the way her parries are becoming more and more desperate - that it's only a matter of time before one of them is too late. 

'I have to do something!' Ava's mind screams. But her feet are planted to the floor, her hands numb with fear. All she can do is watch. 

Watch as Beatrice makes a mistake, watches as her balance slightly breaks - watches as the Cardinal takes the advantage. 

His blade slides around Beatrice's with a sharp scraping sound - flicks it away. Leaving Beatrice completely open. 

"No!" 

Ava's scream pierces through the air as the Cardinal's sword falls towards Beatrice. 

At the same time, a gunshot rings out.

The tableau holds for a single moment. 

Then -

Steel clangs to the floor. 

Followed by the Cardinal's lifeless body. 

Ava whirls around, nearly topples over with how her whole body is shaking. Finds Lilith standing in the doorway - gun in hand, eyes wild, breathing hard, like she'd run for miles. Like she'd run as if someone's life depended on it. 

"Took you long enough," Beatrice says as she sheathes her sword. The words are a failed attempt at sounding impassive, too soft and too uneven to hide her lingering adrenaline and fear; her relief. 

Lilith stands there long enough that Ava thinks she might let the moment go, might just pick an argument like they usually do. Except she doesn't: abruptly, Lilith holsters the gun, steps past Ava and straight to Beatrice. Pulls her in roughly into a hug. 

Beatrice stills. Lilith just holds her tighter, murmuring into Beatrice's hair, too soft for Ava to hear. Soft enough that Beatrice allows herself to finally curl into Lilith's chest. 

Ava lets out a tremulous breath as her heart starts to catch up to reality. She feels a sudden overwhelming need to confirm with her own hands so she runs over to them and presses herself to Beatrice's back, burrowing herself there for a moment as her arms tangle with Lilith's. 

After several shuddered sighs, she lefts her gaze, catches Lilith's haunted eyes over Beatrice's bowed head. Ava reaches up and cups her face, thumbs away the tears that start to fall. 

They're still far from safe, but they'll take a moment to relish this.

[tinytinyblogs]

Stray Kids Mafia Series: Felix

In the midst of the chaos and perilous circumstances, he unexpectedly spared your life, an action he had never taken for anyone else.

⚠Mention blood and gun, mafia theme⚠

Stray kids masterlist here

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

The red velvet banquette, usually avoided like a spilled martini on a first date, beckoned with unexpected allure tonight. Tonight was rebellion against the predictable, a whispered promise of "different" scribbled on the fluorescent bar lights. You perched on its cool edge, a tentative bird testing unfamiliar branches, a kernel of hope blooming in the concrete jungle of routine. Your gaze drifted to the crystal goblet on the bar, catching the neon strobe's prismatic dance. It winked and shimmered, a tiny disco ball reflecting the kaleidoscope of your own desires for change. Was this the chance you'd whispered about in silent prayers to the night sky? Was this the crack in the dam of habit, the beckoning of a current you'd never dared to ride? Surrounded by the chaos of a frantic nightclub, panic gripped your heart as the sudden sound of gunfire shattered the air. Screams pierced the night, and people scrambled for safety, their bodies colliding as fear turned to desperation. Overwhelmed by the sheer terror of the moment, you froze, your instincts urging you to find shelter amidst the chaos. Adrenaline surged through your veins you scanned the room for a place to hide. Running seemed like a futile attempt, your legs feeling heavy and unresponsive. With trembling hands, you sought refuge in the nearest alcove, your body curling into a protective ball as the cacophony of screams and panicked footsteps echoed around you. The tremor in the floorboards was a familiar language, a whispered rhythm beneath the symphony of the city.

You knew each creak, each groan, and the precise tremor that meant hurried footsteps. Tonight, however, the rhythm stuttered, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Someone had discovered your hiding place. Heart hammering against your ribs, you squeezed your eyes shut your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to burst from its confines, as you imagined the worst-case scenario: your own life hanging by a thread in this tumultuous night. Every nerve ending hummed with anticipation, waiting for the deafening crack that would signal your end. But the expected blast never came. Instead, a tense silence stretched, punctured only by the ragged rhythm of your own breath. Curiosity wrestled with fear, urging you to peek. With agonizing slowness, you cracked open an eyelid, then the other. A gun glinted menacingly in his hand, its metallic sheen a stark contrast against the crimson stain spreading across his shirt. He emerged from the gloom like a mirage, moonlight catching the pale sheen of his skin. Blood, you realized with a jolt, marred his cheekbone, a crimson stain against the alabaster canvas. Yet, even in the throes of chaos, even with a gun clutched tight in his hand, he was breathtaking. His blonde hair, long and tousled, fell in a mullet that somehow managed to be both rebellious and strangely delicate. It framed a face sculpted with an almost arrogant perfection, jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds, eyes the color of a stormy sea. He stood frozen, a tableau of lethal grace, every line of his body taut with tension.

As your eyes met his, you flinched, expecting the worst. The man, caught off guard by your unexpected presence, almost reacted impulsively, his finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger. Your gaze, drawn by an invisible magnetism, followed the cold metal to his hand, where a finger hovered impossibly close to the trigger. Tears, salty and warm, had already carved silent tracks down your cheeks, betraying the desperate scream trapped within your chest. Your throat, constricted by a primal fear, refused to let out a sound, your voice stolen by the terror that clawed at your insides. It felt as if your very being vibrated with an unheard plea, a silent cry for help that echoed only in the hollow chambers of your heart. However, something held him back, a flicker of humanity amidst the chaos that surrounded him your presence in this atmosphere of violence seems misplaced. He could see the terror in your eyes, a reflection of his own inner turmoil. He realized, in that fleeting moment, that the violence he had been a part of had spilled beyond his control, ensnaring innocent lives in its destructive wake. Lost in a haze of terror, you opened your eyes to find the man still frozen in his tracks, his gaze locked on yours. His deep voice, surprisingly calm amidst the chaos, echoed through the room. Your lungs finally released the breath you hadn't dared to exhale, a shaky torrent that escaped in a single, shuddering sob. The gun, once aimed with chilling precision at your heart, now hung limp at his side, the tip dipping almost apologetically towards the ground. His eyes, those storm-laden depths, searched yours with a bewilderment that mirrored your own.

He pivoted away, his back stiff and unyielding, like a fortress against the tidal wave of emotions threatening to break within him. His breath escaped in a sigh, heavy and laden with frustration. Why? Why should he feel this pang of regret, this sudden urge to shield you from the chaos he himself had unleashed? Spare your life? It was laughable, almost grotesque. He, the predator, the harbinger of violence, now grappling with the unthinkable notion of mercy for his prey. The discordant symphony of the ravaged nightclub, a twisted echo of its former revelry, pierced the suffocating silence. It was a rude awakening, a stark reminder of the carnage swirling outside the bubble of his internal conflict. The sound brought him crashing back to reality, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions and the unexpected weight of your fragile presence. "Don't move. Stay exactly where you are. I'll clear this up. Don't come out until I get you." With that, he turned and disappeared into the mayhem. You had no idea who he was, only that he was one of the men involved in the shootout, evidenced by the gun still clutched in his hand. You remained rooted to the spot, feeling like a hummingbird caught in a sudden downpour. The blonde stranger with the gun was a whirlwind of contradictions, spitting gunfire one moment, offering hesitant mercy the next. His words hung heavy in the air, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability that left you both bewildered and wary.

The incessant thrum of gunshots continued, a macabre rhythm punctuated by the occasional scream. Logic screamed at you to run, to seek refuge in the labyrinthine darkness of the club. But movement seemed to invite disaster, like a butterfly fluttering into a spider's web. So, you stayed, a statue sculpted from fear, flinching with every deafening crack, your ears aching from the sonic assault. Then, silence. It descended with the suddenness of a curtain falling, leaving behind a ringing emptiness that pressed against your eardrums. Your breath hitched, caught in your throat like a trapped bird. You strained to hear, your very being attuned to the slightest whisper of sound. It came then, a footstep. Deliberate, heavy, it echoed through the shattered silence with an eerie familiarity. It was his step, exactly the same, carrying the weight of unspoken choices and fresh bloodshed. You squeezed your eyes shut, a silent prayer forming on your lips, but he was already there, standing over you, a new crimson bloom staining his cheek. Your gaze, drawn by a morbid fascination, landed on the stark evidence of violence etched across his abdomen. The crimson bloom staining his shirt spoke of a wound severe enough to send shivers down your spine. His voice, a rumble from the depths of his chest, broke the suffocating silence. "Come out," it commanded, the gruffness barely masking the pain twisting his features.

Hesitantly, you crawled into the open, limbs stiff with fear yet propelled by a morbid curiosity. As you rose to your feet, the question on your lips tumbled out before you could think. "Are you alright?" It felt absurd, a meaningless platitude against the backdrop of his obvious injury. He remained silent, the only confirmation of your question the flickering in his stormy eyes. Yet, there was an unexpected intensity in his gaze as he studied you, dissecting your features as if searching for answers in the moonlight's dim canvas. As you stepped into the sliver of light filtering through a shattered window, your form becoming tangible, his eyes narrowed, the unspoken question in their depths mirroring your own. "Felix! Are you alright?" The name resonated through the shattered silence, carried on the panicked breaths of a group of men rushing towards him. It struck a chord within you, a name whispered in hushed tones around back alleys and murmured beneath watchful eyes. Felix. The name of the city's shadow king, the maestro of the underworld, the man woven into the very fabric of fear. His voice, a low rumble from the depths of his chest, cut through your haze of morbid introspection. "We need to get out of here." The words snagged on your attention, dragging you back from the tangled threads of your own thoughts. You met his gaze, the stormy depths catching the moonlight, and realized those words had been directed at you.

"Their men will be here any minute," he added, a grim reminder that the fragile peace of this shattered nightclub wouldn't hold forever. The echo of gunshots still danced in the air, a chilling counterpoint to the frantic whispers and hurried footsteps around you. You followed in the wake of Felix, his hulking frame and loyal shadow of men carving a path through the wreckage of the nightclub. Each step crunched on shattered glass, a discordant soundtrack to your escape. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a hummingbird trapped in a cage of nerves. Escape, in the form of the cool night air and the quiet whisper of distant streets, beckoned. Yet, leaving felt like walking off a tightrope strung over a chasm, exhilaratingly terrifying. Were you a stray caught in their spotlight, a witness they might choose to silence, or something more? His voice, roughened by smoke and violence, broke the uneasy silence. "Get in my car." Eyes the color of a brewing storm locked with yours, their depths unreadable. The fresh air that should have cleansed your lungs felt stagnant, heavy with unspoken questions and the lingering acrid tang of gunpowder. Confusion warred with a reluctant curiosity. You were nobody in this world of theirs, a fleeting wisp in the hurricane of Felix's existence. So why the lingering glance, the unexpected offer? A hesitant shake of your head came before you could fully form the words. The puzzle pieces of this encounter refused to fit, leaving you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.

A low chuckle, unexpected and almost jarring, rumbled from Felix's chest. He swiped at a smear of blood drying on his cheek, the gesture almost casual, almost… charming. "Lovely," he drawled, the pet name catching you off guard. It sent a shiver down your spine, a dissonance against the steely glint in his eyes. His smile, when it came, was like a wolf baring its fangs in moonlight, both beautiful and unnerving. "Get in the car, sweetheart. Walking away? Not the brightest idea you've ever had." The wind, a mischievous imp, danced through your unbound hair, sending strands skittering across your cheek like ticklish whispers. His words, unexpectedly melodious against the backdrop of chaos, still reverberated in your ears: "I spared your life." The warmth of his voice, a stark contrast to the icy grip of fear, lingered on your skin. But the respite was fleeting. "And it's time you paid." His gaze, sharp as a falcon's, dipped to the crimson bloom staining his abdomen. The wound, a gruesome testament to the carnage that unfolded, tugged at the fragile cord of your composure. "Treat it," he commanded, his words carrying the weight of a king's decree. "You understand, sweetheart, a hospital isn't exactly my playground." The implication hung heavy, unspoken but undeniable. Knowing his identity was your invisible collar, binding you to this twisted game. A beat of silence, then his voice shifted, the harsh edges softening like melting ice. "And," he murmured, the word almost caress, "I need to know what made me rethink my initial decision, my lovely. What prompted me to spare a fly like you?"

© Tinytinyblogs

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Fake fic title to pull you out of your pile of work :D

"I'll sing your song" with carcar for the pairing pretty please <3

“I’ll sing your song”

(carcar, oneshot, m/e, 5k)

carlos sainz and oscar piastri work at the same office, but never seem to be able to figure out each other’s temperatures. some days they run hot (arguing about tableau data pulls) and some days they run cold (blanking each other in the elevator even though they work on parallel teams).

it’s all put to the test when their new CEO, fredzak binotto, asks them to work together and deliver an important new project before the company’s IPO, or the whole division gets cut.

tensions build… until they threaten to boil over… at a company karaoke night. carlos picks “livin la vida loca” and says “i bet you won’t commit to this.”

will this be the point when their work partnership can soar to new highs, or hit some low, low notes?

from: fic prompt game