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fatallyfalling · 7 months ago

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Bitter Water 0.09 ~ ♆

“ maybe it was better that way. “

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, PTSD, forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, time skip, unshared feelings, nightmares, unintentional self-injury, alcohol, sexual harassment, character death, gore/blood, etc

{{ word count }} 3.8 k

{{ prompt }} Following the conclusion of the 70th Games, emotions are tense, and the weight of being crowned Victor weighs heavier than ever.

{{ a/n }} The ending of this chapter is a bit rushed I'm sorry :( also, we're not gonna talk about the time I post these at....

Annie Cresta was the lone survivor of The 70th Annual Hunger Games.

When she returned to District 4 a few months later, she wasn’t anything like the timid girl you’d met while mentoring Trout. The Capital medical teams had kept her longer than they usually held Victors due to the severity of her traumas. The wickedness that had sunk its talons deep inside her memories was less than favorable in their eyes. A tarnish to the reputation of The Games.

She’d taken victory by pure luck. The Gamemakers had chosen to cause an earthquake roughly two days after Trout died - having grown bored of the remaining Tributes hiding from one another in different corners of the Arena. The quake destroyed the large dam where the Cornucopia had been set, flooding the Arena. The remaining tributes couldn’t swim as well as someone from the Fishing District could. She’d outlasted without taking a single life - but that didn’t make the fracture in her thoughts any less tormenting.

She was only a year younger than you at eighteen. Her age made her experience of being Reaped almost as depressing as Trout’s name being drawn. She’d nearly gotten by without ever having to face the Arena.

Almost.

You weren’t even allowed time to grieve the small red-headed boy after you returned to the nautical District.

The closest thing to closure you’d given yourself was tracking down Trout’s family. You’d discovered he had been the middle child of a seven - now six-person household. His mother was an angular woman who managed the busy home by herself. You recognized her from the shipyard where she washed sails and nets with other older women in the large washbasins filled with filtered seawater and bubbling soap. You’d never spoken to her till now. She stood straight-backed and stoic, her apron stained and the scent of sage and linen wafting off her as she pulled open the front door. She had struck you as hard as she could with her palm when you’d tried to offer your condolences. She screamed in your face that you should have tried harder. That you should have protected Trout. The words were strained and broken - just like her heart. Her voice was grief-stricken and harsh - but you’d expected nothing less. She was right in your failures. Even if she was using you as the outlet for her grief and anger for the death of her son when you’d done everything you could, nothing would make up for sending her son into that Arena to die. Nothing would compensate for her contempt for The Games - For The Capital.

You still left small bundles of wildflowers on her porch once a week.

Trout’s mother never touched them.

You didn’t expect her to.

They stayed there to rot and be replaced with something new each week, the cycle of life continuing.

Sometimes you left seaweed bread instead. But the green-tinted, fish-shaped buns were left to rot just the same.

Trout’s funeral service was small - funerals always were. Despite District 4 being the fourth wealthiest district with the seventh largest population in Panem, their funerary traditions were kept private, with only close family and friends in attendance. There wasn’t much of a procession, nor a public wake, but the shipyards and boardwalk would be silent as dusk settled on the damp sands of the coast. The silence came as a sign of respect. Funerals were hosted at sunset to see the sky spread in a beautiful array of color, a beacon calling their loved one home. You’d only attended a handful of funerals in your lifetime - the last one having been your Mothers.

The citizens of District 4 honored their dead by returning them to the sea.

The ritual was elaborate, but not at all luxurious or gaudy. The deceased loved one would be dressed in white, often the same soft, lightweight linen material they wrapped around newborns right after delivery. A symbol of safety and new beginnings. They would then be wrapped in a specially woven net, handmade by their loved ones and often intertwined with mementos like ribbons, locks of hair, shells, pearls, photographs, letters, and more between the ropes. The net was made to protect and aid the deceased on their journey to the afterlife. Their body would be carefully cradled in a wooden longboat atop a bed of dried tall grass and seaweed. Sometimes grieving families gave them blankets to lie upon for their voyage. The boat’s prow is carved with their name, lest they forget it in their journey onward. Their crown is surrounded by a fan of cattail stalks, a symbol of survival and protection, with the prospect that their loved ones will follow them to the sea when their time comes. The rest of the shallow hull of the longboat holds wildflowers, heirlooms, and personal belongings the family chooses to send with their loved one.

Goodbyes are said individually, between hushed voices and tears, with as much love and care as they can manage. This way nothing is left unsaid to the deceased before they begin their journey home. The speech before the send-off is brief, usually made by the head of the household if there is one or the next best substitution. There are slight variations in the rituals between the Northern and Southern ports.

The send-off is accompanied by a song older than even the Districts of Panem. The melody is languid, and peaceful, speaking of a sailor’s final voyage home to rest the remainder of his days. The tune is sung by whoever gathers for the send-off. It’s tradition to teach the songs of the District’s rituals from an early age. The lyrics are bittersweet. Finally, the longboat is gently pushed from the shore, guided forward by six members of the family, who wade into the salty water with the boat till a current catches. It's a way of giving one last embrace to the deceased. A final warmth of touch and farewell filled with heartache and love. Once the members of the family return to shore an arrow is lit, the flames a small orb of flickering light as the sky above darkens overhead, casting shadows on the attendees’ faces as if that small flame was the very soul of the person they’d lost. The head of the household knocks the arrow and draws back, the flame is a welcome warmth to their shaking hands. With a sealing, permanent farewell the arrow flies.

The boat sails on as the flames catch the dried grass beneath the body.

Those in attendance remain on the sand till the longboat burns through, another sign of respect for their dead.

Some stay long after the flame disappears and the darkness of night cloaks them in shadow.

You weren’t permitted to attend Trout’s funeral.

Maybe it was better that way.

You visited the cove where the funerary boats were launched a week after he’d burned. You hadn’t set foot there since your Mother's funeral. And you couldn’t say how long you stayed on that beach either - staring out at the waves with only the sound of their crashing on the coast and the distant call of seagulls to fill the silence. You’d whispered your goodbye alone and to the wind that day.

There was no answer as the waves crashed.

Life continued - nothing stopped as the world kept turning and your heart begrudgingly kept beating.

The process of helping Annie adjust to Victor’s Village was difficult.

She was placed next door to Mags, which made her two doors down from Finnick and across the street from yourself. The three of you tried to help her adjust, taking shifts to monitor her considering the extent of her traumas and unstable condition. If she had family, they hadn’t moved with her. Annie was alone. You’d asked Marjorie for help as well, but the elder couldn’t give the poor girl any tonic or natural aid to quell or repair what The Games had broken. Your heart broke for Annie, but sometimes even you were too overwhelmed to stay with her during her episodes due to the unpredictable nature triggering your own symptoms.

Her episodes were fierce and sporadic. One minute she’d be sitting quietly trying to read with you beside her, Finnick in an armchair nearby as the two of you monitored her. And the next she’d be sobbing while clawing at your arms, desperately trying to hold onto something as her gaze turned far off and she screamed. All because the wood in the fireplace cracked. Or because a door shut too abruptly or she had to close her eyes under the showerhead. Both of your aversions to water were similar in that way. But the angry red scratches that her nails left stretched over both your and Finnick’s arms only grew in number as her episodes worsened. Her grip had drawn blood once or twice now - both of those times leaving you to deal with poltergeists of your own after Finnick had pried Annie off of you, furiously blinking back memories of a ravine and a river and the way your fingertips had clawed into a girl’s arms as she’d attempted to drown you almost four years ago now. The same way she’d clawed into yours as you’d drowned her instead. Bile had threatened to rise in your throat as you had forced yourself out of the room, panic and adrenaline seizing your chest and constricting your throat to what felt like suffocation. Your heart hammers in your ears, drowning out your ability to focus as your breathing grows hyper and you crumple in a hallway of Annie’s house. You fight the panic attacks alone. Finnick asks if you’re okay when you return, concern constricting his features, and you say you’re fine - even though you’re not.

He doesn’t pry.

The Darling has his fair share of moments that he has to step out as well - the way he recoils from Annie as if she were burning him with just the pads of her fingertips elicits a pang of something in your chest that you can’t place. It’s a feeling you don’t recognize and that scares you. So you shove it so far down that you’re almost able to forget it. Sometimes you feel that strange tether again, almost like an urge to reach out to him, but you’re quick to smother it. You don’t allow yourself to even think of the implications of the internal tether. You ask if he’s okay when he returns - he says he’s fine. He isn’t.

You don’t pry.

The two of you were just two damaged people who were equally sinking. Opposites - pulled together by shared traumas and guilt. Nothing more - nothing less.

Your role as Desirable was once again hanging its guillotine over your neck as well.

One misstep and it was all over.

Because of the high demand you and Finnick had garnered as Mentors, the onslaught of clients and sometimes back-to-back events was strenuous - leaving you barely any time to grieve your Tribute, let alone think.

Finnick appeared to be doing the best between the two of you.

If he was struggling - he didn’t show it. Nowadays it seemed he wore his mask as The Capital’s Darling more often than not, leaving you unsure of how many of his words were truths.

The responsibilities of being Desirable to the Capital had picked up right where they’d left off after the two of you were released from mentorship before The Games had even finished. Neither of you had any semblance of peace till the demand eventually slowed months later. You barely spoke - not that there was much to say. The two of you had been kept in the Capital for the same period they’d kept Annie in the medical bays of the Tribute Center. Finnick wasn’t even sure what he’d have said to you if he’d gotten the chance. How do you casually ask about the well-being of someone who is grieving a person they’d been forced to send to their inevitable death against their will?

Certainly not over tasteless hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

Definitely not.

He was back to being held at arm’s length. Unallowed to get anywhere near close.

Maybe it was for the best.

But Finnick had spent the last several years teetering over an edge he couldn’t see the other side of. Meticulously toeing the line between stranger, acquaintance, and sometimes friend. Though, he doubted he was ever really your friend. The verbal waltz the two of you had tediously crafted through both passive and direct interactions over the years had brought the Darling peace. He’d even found himself looking forward to whatever witty remark you’d say in response to his instigating. Maybe a part of him craved it. Your attention, the way you looked at him. But any shred of your attention he’d once held was gone, swallowed by the gluttoned maw of the Capital. He tried to ignore the itch that crept up under his skin when you glanced his way across the crowded halls and parties. Still acknowledging his existence but unable to slip away. Peacekeeper security had increased in the last few months due to rumors of a riot in one of the lower Capital neighborhoods. An artist’s collective protest as they’d burned their gallery and studio after displaying multiple works of treasonous anti-capital rhetoric. The artists all but ceased to exist from Capital records and their work was removed and destroyed from establishments across the city. The incident was quickly, and efficiently removed from the public eye. There had been no news coverage - the rumors only spreading by word of mouth. Secrets shared between sugarcubes and wineglasses to listening ears and prying eyes. The added security made the secret meetings that you and Finnick used to share nearly impossible. He tried to feign nonchalance, to keep his cooled exterior and charming wit in check. Hell, he really did try. But despite his best efforts to remain cordial - to quell the snapping thread in his chest that tethered some part of him to you, a part of him yearned for something he couldn’t name. Something he couldn’t have. He’d patiently waited till you’d opened up to him through your small trade of secrets. He’d gotten to know pieces of you that only made that thread in his chest snap harder.

He’d tried to forget the thread, or at least move past it.

Multiple times - actually.

He’d tried being logical - chalking it up as a foolish infatuation of youth. Overthinking and over-rationalizing that whatever it was, had been the result of some shared Victor trauma bullshit. He’d even warred with himself that it didn’t matter, that it was unattainable and foolish. Finnick wouldn’t allow himself - no he couldn’t, allow himself to ponder the meaning of the thread. He’d drilled it in his head that it would fade, that the painful yearning would cease as time went on.

But it hadn’t faded.

Not even a little bit.

As much the two of you had gotten on one another’s nerves, as much as you’d hated him, It felt like a routine at this point. He’d let you do what you had to, to get through your Games, The Victory Tour, then that first year of being Desirable, and then the next, and then Mentoring, and now this. The push and pull of drawing near enough to almost step afoot the shores of your thoughts only to be dragged back out to sea by the tide of the ever churning life of a Victor.. He’d started smothering any flicker of that tether in his chest somewhere along the way after your initial announcement as a Desirable. It was pointless considering the life he led. The life both of you now led. Doomed to walk beside one another on similar paths with different destinations. He could handle the sharp edges as the thread frayed. He could handle it. Survive it.

His mind was swimming, unable to focus on whatever his client was squawking about in his ear as she dug her talons into his forearm. There’d be marks there tomorrow. A muscle in his jaw pulses as he grits his teeth, forcing a coy smirk and a nod as if he were listening to anything she said. He wasn’t. The Darling’s mind was elsewhere. He’d spotted you across the pleasure hall about a half hour ago. You’d already settled into your timid demeanor, the role of the Capital’s Doe, and hadn’t spared him a glance. You were linked arm and arm with a regular client, Mr. Sarginski. He was an older Capital Broker who wore too-tight suits and drank too much for his own good. It was an effort not to glare toward the older male as Finnick was all too observant of the man’s wandering hands, or “grubby paws” as you’d referred to them on multiple occasions.

“Bastard.”

The curse echoes through Finnick’s thoughts as his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

A firm pinch to the Darling’s bicep has his attention whipping back to his client. It’s an expensive effort not to recoil or pull away from her. She scolds him for looking at anyone besides her, her angular face flushed with irritation as she sticks her nose up at the other guests. That muscle in his jaw pulses again as he slides his arm around the vulture’s waist, tucking her into his side just to shut her up with a sly, feigned smirk, crossing his lips. He gives her an apology sugar-coated with his signature charm to make up for it. Her feathers smooth and she continues to yap his ear off, though her grip on him tightens painfully again.

The touch burns.

Tonight would hurt.

The revelry continues. The music swells, and the Capital aristocrats overindulge themselves in food and drink to make themselves sick and overindulge again. Finnick tries his best to keep up his act. Despite his client’s scolding, he caught himself still turning his gaze your way on occasion. Your dress was a gauzy, muted pink that whispered when you moved, the delicate movement of the fabric made it seem as if you were floating each time you were twirled on the dance floor. That thread in his chest snaps against his heart and he forces his gaze elsewhere.

“Stop it.”

The thought clamps down on the thrumming in his chest like a vice. Like it did everytime his thoughts began to stray. Everytime they flowed to close to you. It was like drawing back an empty net, the hope of something fruitful only to be disappointed. He still tried to convince himself things were better this way.

Better for both of you.

Not that he’d ever allowed himself the pleasantry of even hoping if not down right praying for something different.

Finnick tried not to think about what that meant, what different meant.

It didn’t matter.

None of it did.

In the end, all of it did.

Its another excruciating hour before the honey tanned victor finally finds a moment to himself, leaning against one of the marble pillars in the hall pretending to sip the drink in his hand.

He didn’t even notice your approach till the familiar, sweet yet earthy scent of your perfume fills his senses.

“I think If I have to spend another moment smiling my face is going to get stuck.”

Your voice was soft, despite the resignation in your tone. His gaze snaps to your features in an instant only to force his sea-green eyes elsewhere not a moment later, trying to feign indifference but somehow failing miserably

“Tell me about it,” Finnick almost scoffs and he can almost feel the way you roll your eyes at him. Hes trying to play it cool, swallowing thickly as if that’ll quell the acceleration of his heartbeat against his ribcage. “I’m surprised Sarginski loosened your leash this far,” he attempts to jest, hoping you don’t pick up on the slight hitch in his breath. You dont, instead scoffing while crossing your arms over your chest while casting the honey-tanned Victor a sidelong look. “He’s too drunk to care.” you muse with a small shrug. Atleast your whit and sarcasm remained intact. A slight smirk tugs the corner of his mouth as he allows his gaze to meet yours again. You’re still looking at him, your gaze intent yet unconcerned. He can’t help the brief once over he gives your form, trying not to let his vision rake too long over the planes of your face.

“You’re staring again,”

You arch a brow as your look turns knowing. Finnick looks away again.

“Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Nope.”

“You’re insufferable,” You huff, fighting the urge to roll your eyes again.

“You love it,” Finnick rebuttals, his tone teasing and he almost doesn’t catch the words till they’re tumbling off his tongue faster than he can even try to reign them back in. He’s stuck in a stunned silence, not daring to move even a fraction of an inch as he stands mortified with what he’d just said. Not to mention the possible prying eyes and ears around every corner.What they wouldn’t give to feed the propaganda machine that festered the most heinous rumors concerning the Victors and Districts.

You seem almost just as shocked by his claim at the moment.

But you don’t reply, and he doesn’t apologize. Neither of you say anything at all, actually, for a moment or two.

“Shut up, Peacock.” You mutter, and its clear the slight hush to the words are both in jest and subtle warning. Despite your usual sarcasm you really were telling him to shut his trap. And he does, shaking his head and shoving his hands in his pockets.There isn’t a chance to say anything more as you’re approached by one of the party goers, both of you almost immediately going rigid.

“Greetings, Victors. Apologies for the interruption, but I believe it to be time I finally introduced myself,” The stranger begins. His voice is deep and he appears to be about middle age. He could almost appear to be district if it weren’t for the finely trimmed suit he wore. Most members of the capital favored cosmetic enhancement. He’s a tall but stocky fellow, not quite strong but not flabby. His posture is straight as well and his overall demeanor rings authority - which immediately has warning bells going off in your mind. The stranger outstretches a hand to Finnick before stating his name, The bronze haired male hesitantly accepting the handshake as the name forms on his lips.

“Plutarch Heavensbee, I’ve been looking for you.”

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime @violettbae @the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore @nexxus13 @takanparadiae @yourdailymemedelivery @wozabowza @c4ttheart @lizzo-del-jailraka @inanimate-icarus @thestrals-and-firewhiskey @honethatty12 @goldencolorrock @cherrsnut @el25 @sienaxgerali

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liamnews · 4 months ago

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Liam Payne is set to be honoured with a special tribute at this year’s Brit Awards, the organisers have chosen to honour Liam’s life and career with an emotional video montage which will be played out on big screens inside London’s O2 Arena.

The Brits have created a video package which celebrates how incredible Liam was. It will include clips of him performing on The X Factor with One Direction, as well as some of his biggest and best moments with the band and as a solo artist. It is an incredibly emotional watch but the Brits think what they have created will truly do Liam justice. Doing something to honour Liam has been at the forefront of the organisers’ minds.

There was talk of his bandmates Harry Styles, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik recording something but it was decided that it should purely be about Liam. It has been a really emotional time for the lads and it was decided it would just be too much. They have grieved in private and don’t feel the need to do a big, showy tribute for the sake of it. This moment will be all about him, and will allow the stars in the room and fans watching at home to take a few minutes to remember how incredible he was.

#https://metro.co.uk/2025/03/01/everything-know-one-directions-emotional-brit-awards-tribute-liam-payne-22649557/#https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.thesun.co.uk/tvandshowbiz/33623537/brit-awards-liam-payne-tribute/amp/#liam payne #01.03.25

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djarrex · 3 months ago

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into the deep

Steb (Arcane) x reader

***This Steb art I had reblogged a while back was the inspiration for this fic, but I am unable to link it because I think the original post was deleted. Also, I'm pretty sure the person who posted it isn't even the original artist, so I don't know who to credit. So if you know who created this artwork, please let me know so I can properly give credit where it's due!

sfw, about 1.8k words. read on ao3 | masterlist

Now, two decades later, Steb allowed the memories to engulf him as stood half-submerged in those familiar waters. Welcomed them like an old, regretfully almost forgotten friend. He was strong enough for this, he’d reasoned with himself before coming. No feelings of regret or self deprecation tonight. No sorrow for being all alone on an evening like this one.

In fact, he wasn’t alone.

Accompanying Steb tonight was nobody more deserving; he had invited you here to wade in these memories with him on the anniversary of his mother’s death. What Steb felt for you was more than he could verbally articulate, but the gesture–even though you were not privy to its significance–seemed like an appropriate one.

Out here, surrounded by the cool, soothing waters of the lake, Steb felt a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. It had first hit him this morning, when he’d decided that it was time – after all the years of purposefully avoiding the place that created so many happy memories, the very place that also brought the weight of something too heavy sitting deep in the never healing cavern in his chest. Wistful sentimentality. He’d preemptively taken the day off, a sort of tradition that stayed with him year after year throughout his time in the force. His father used to do the same thing, before he’d retired; it allowed him to grieve privately. Steb sort of picked up where his father had left off, even though it always felt incredibly uncharacteristic of him to opt for a day off during times like these, rather than busying himself with work. Even so, after pondering for far too long whether he should make it a point to visit on this day, Steb had finally come to a conclusion: He’d go back, but he wouldn’t go alone.

He hadn’t gone swimming in years – at least, not like this, not here. Not since before his mother passed. Steb was only a child then – blissfully ignorant of harsh reality as he’d splashed carefree under her watchful, admiring eye. Back then, as a child, he’d treaded to stay afloat, his awkwardly lengthy hair flipping into his face with every plummet beneath the waterline. His mother’s glacier eyes would squint with a reassuring smile as she stood just as effortlessly as he could now. Lakeside picnics often happened here. Sometimes day had bled into night, wholesome family moments lasting longer than the light of the sun. It had always been just the three of them, venturing far from the city when his father’s schedule had allowed it. A small, tight-knit circle. It had stayed that way until the unthinkable happened, when a huge part had been torn from the whole.

In fact, he wasn’t alone.

You floated around happily, more than content to watch as Steb took some time to reacquaint himself with the lake. Each time he resurfaced, you were watching with the prettiest smile on your face, your features just barely illuminated by the moonlight.

The way you watched him, with nothing but admiration and total acceptance – it reminded Steb of his mother. And if he were to be completely honest with himself, you reminded him of his late mother in many ways, more than he’d realized, and it caused him to pause as he sunk his feet into the mushy sand and pebbles on the lake’s floor. Fixed his gaze toward the cityscape in the distance, the place where the two of you currently lived and thrived, worked and shared in silence when words weren’t necessary. Steb loved you. He supposed he had his mother to thank for showing him the real meaning of such an emotion. Unconditional and everlasting, overcoming all else. Deeper than any words could describe.

In a pleasantly unexpected way, it was enlightening for you to witness how natural Steb appeared to be when in the strong embrace of the lake. He swam for a bit. Dove beneath the surface and visibly basked in how the water gave breath to his gills. Hydrated and quenched a thirst that you hadn’t realized he’d been longing for. After a little while of wordless wading, Steb stopped. He looked as if he were in a trance, his expression broadcasting the presence of many thoughts taking their own laps around in his head as his gaze fixed itself on the coastline in the distance.

Even the tallest of Piltover’s buildings looked so small from the distance between the two of you and the bustling city. The airships that hovered over the city didn’t seem as large from out here, either. The faintest of lights outlined the mountains that stretched even further beyond the city limits, wrapping around the expanse of the large lake and enclosing it like a bowl. Up overhead, the inky sky was peppered with twinkling stars, reflecting along the gentle rippling surface of the water. Soft moonlight casted down on Steb, his skin almost glowing an illuminating blue-green and reflecting upon the water surrounding him.

This outing was so different from your usual ones with Steb, and you were further from the city than you really ever had been, even though it was still in view. Trust came easy with him, so you weren’t worried, but you couldn’t help but wonder why exactly he’d invited you here. You wanted to ask, just as you’d wanted to earlier today – but the question always seemed to die before it touched your tongue. You didn’t feel that you were owed an immediate answer; Steb would explain in his own way once it was time. Deep down, something was telling you that this moment was far more meaningful than you could imagine, so you continued to absently move your arms beneath the water line. Stayed silent while Steb stewed.

Soon breaking from his trance, Steb tilted his head curiously in your direction. He’d caught you staring, but you couldn’t help it; he truly looked magnificent in these conditions. Natural. Free. Beautiful, in many ways. Your heart thundered in your chest at the sight of him, and a heated blush crept its way to your cheeks when he started to make a move toward you, the glowing waters breaking fluidly around his abdomen with every step.

His hand reached for yours beneath the surface.

“Hey,” you said quietly, your voice betraying you. Despite the flustered way your face heated and heartbeat accelerated, a smile upturned your lips. Steb reciprocated with his own little smirk; a knowing one, one that told you he’d just been reminded of how easily it was to render you nearly speechless with the simplest of gestures. Closer now, you could see how the moonlight made the scales on his face practically glow like the rest of him, only brighter and more glittery. They flitted wetly, dancing up along his cheekbones. Steb squeezed your hand and brought it out from beneath the waterline, his eyes following.

Inexplicably nervous, you coolly scrambled for a topic to chatter on about. “It’s nice out here,” you tried. A probe, perhaps. Your eyes stayed on how his slick fingers threaded through yours. “Peaceful.”

Steb acknowledged with a thoughtful hum, and brought your hand to his chest. Splayed your fingers out, allowing every inch of your hand to feel the very different texture of his newly-hydrated skin. He was cool to the touch, his internal temperature mimicking that of the lake’s waters. It seemed that even with the simple touch, you were able to smell him now, too. His natural scent never smelt so… like him. Earthy undertones became more prominent. Mossy vegetation. Something akin to fresh rainfall. Steb’s heart pounded under your palm, and you finally met his eyes. Bright pools of blue that you could drown in.

Something was very clearly on his mind. Many things, probably. You’d gotten to know Steb’s expressions pretty well, his looks and gestures that told you enough to where words were hardly needed or longed for.

Steb stepped closer, the water slightly sloshing around him. “This…” He took a breath, then tried again. Recaptured your hand and squeezed it. Resolute. “This lake is special to me.”

You hummed thoughtfully, grateful for his effort. His voice was always music to your ears.

“My mother was like me,” he continued. His hands instead found your arms, running his palms up and down from your elbows to your shoulders. “We enjoyed swimming together.”

It was starting to click.

You’d seen the photo of a young Stebarryn with his mother and father: A human male adorned in a pre-war Enforcer uniform standing proudly with a hand on the shoulder of a seated Vastaya female, both adults smiling warmly toward the camera. On the mother’s lap is a small child, only a handful of years old, and his smile is a little wonky, almost as if he were being too silly for the photographer to take the ‘perfect’ photo and ended up settling for the very one that an adult Steb kept close to him at all times. The photograph itself was quite worn from years of it being folded up and pressed tightly into his wallet, but even through the colorlessness and crinkles you could tell just how much Steb truly looked like his mother. You could understand how influential she must have been on him as a child – but after her passing when he was still so young, that influence may have morphed into confusion.

There was still so much you didn’t yet know about Steb’s childhood, but you were starting to piece together the purpose of him wanting to come here.

You continued to listen silently, receptively, grateful for the anecdote and Steb’s willingness to be vulnerable with you.

His hands fell back into your own. “The last time I came here was… with her, actually.”

You took a deep breath, and squeezed his hands reassuringly. Steb brought you here with him, to this place that could be described as sacred. Special, he’d called it. Filled with memories. His childhood and a sense of belonging branded forever here. He wanted you here with him, after all those years.

“Steb,” you whispered. Your emotions broke your voice. Choked you in a near sob. “I don’t know what to say.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer. The coolness of his abdomen pressed against yours, and his fingers threaded easily through your damp hair, cradling the back of your head. You leaned backward slightly, easily tipping with the gentle force of Steb’s mouth against yours. You’d kissed him before, many times – but this felt new. The weight of it.

It was dizzying.

When he finally pulled away, Steb’s lips parted with the promise of something else to say. Dazed, you blinked up at him expectantly.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he whispered after several moments of visible, careful consideration. While a gentle, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips, the mass of his words sunk into you. Carved themselves deep into your heart. You knew – knew what was really being said. Between the lines. You felt the same way, and you’d show him later on, after he’d had his time here.

Yeah, I came up with a full name for our beloved Steb Stebarryn Hauser

I also have many thoughts on Steb's childhood and upbringing and I'm sure it'll all come up later on down the road ;)

#djarrex writes #steb arcane x reader #steb x reader #arcane fanfic #steb arcane #steb

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sillygoofyqueer · 10 months ago

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I'M BACK WITH MORE ANGST

(but first of all!!! i loove that characterization of wei qingwei, the pirate-dad-peak lord; i can see him being the only peak lord/person who is allowed to casually fix stray feathers on shen qingqiu's wings, because he never makes a big deal out of it or acts like he's made of glass. he fixes it like he fixes someone's hair or clothes, which is a bit of normalcy shen qingqiu is probably desperate for)

so i was thinking: water prison. the whole jin lan city debacle goes roughly the same, only of course with the added accusations of sqq having been an untrustworthy, scheming demon all along and the accusations being a bit more dire. public opinion turns against him badly and he gets hauled off. the old palace master would probably go all in on his demonic heritage and accuse him of a slew of other things too, and then demand his wings be clipped because he'll "escape otherwise". it's not great but shen qingqiu doesn't use his wings to fly that often, and he'll molt soon anyway so he agrees with the conditions (if only to soothe things over). but then ofc in private they do whatever they want and the old palace master changes clipping to pinioning, which is significantly worse, very painful, and cripples him (bonus points if the little palace mistress comes to the prison with her whip and gets a few hits in too cus his wings are drenched and hurt and difficult to maneuver<3).

i do think in this case luo binghe doesn't visit bc if he already got furious at the little palace mistress for using her whip, he wouldn't accept his shizun's wings being mutilated (however, if binghe does come it would be a similar kind of frustrating miscommunication as in canon, and when binghe gets furious when he sees shen qingqiu it's not at sqq but at the state of him, but sqq doesn't know that, and reacts in fear and self-preservation (moving away, tucking his wings tight and close to his body, eyes flashing pale blue (like a crow's!!)), which of course makes it worse; maybe binghe assumes that shen qingqiu thinks this was his idea, which he would NEVER).

when gongyi xiao (love this good boy<3) comes by ofc he's horrified to see the state of shen qingqiu's wings (clumps of blood-slick feathers on the floor, one wing clearly shorter than the other, ripped clothes and bruises), and just like in canon he immediately goes to free him bc it's unacceptable and vile, and maaaybe he jumps to the conclusion that binghe must have done this to him to punish him. with the last of his strength sqq transforms into his full crow form, which is easier to smuggle out of the prison bc gongyi xiao can bundle him up in his robes (for extra drama binghe can be like "shizun will let gongyi xiao swaddle him in his robes and hold him but not binghe??🥺🥺😡😡" "binghe please don't say it like that")

*Gripping the sides of my coffin as I force myself into a sitting position and yes, I do look as - if not MORE - fit than Tianlang-jun in that one illustration (you know the one I mean)* Hey.

This angst just hit me incredibly hard in the stomach and that's why I've been ill so...it's ALL YOUR FAULT (kidding, kidding). Anywhosles, Gongyi Xiao is precious and of course he would smuggle crow Shen Qingqiu out of the prison the moment he sees the mutilation of the poor guy's wings. If he believes Binghe did it? Another reason to dislike the guy that practically stole everything from him (I love this precious guy and he deserves better in canon 😔). He has heard so much about the peak lord grieving the loss of his disciple, and Luo Binghe repays him by practically destroying his wings?? Shameful :(

From the Zhuzhi-lang angle, imagine he's in snake form, going to find the fit guy dilf half demon cultivator that saved his life and helped him out when he should have killed him, and finding a Huan Hua Palace disciple holding a brutalised crow with overly intelligent eyes. It's not hard to jump to the conclusion that the Huan Hua disciple has either caused or helped cause these injuries upon Shen Qingqiu, and is possibly even about to kill him. Keep in mind that all Zhuzhi-lang knows is that Shen Qingqiu has been taken into custody by Huan Hua, held within the Water Prison with his wings to be clipped, multiple accusations thrown his way linked to him being a demon, and that it's the snake boi's job to save him because Shen Qingqiu saved him that one time. What would you do in that situation? Because Zhuzhi-lang attacks with no remorse. Does Gongyi Xiao die?? The real question is if I could bear the poor guy dying twice just for doing the right thing...

The miscommunication between Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu always makes me want to die because just ONE CONVERSATION WOULD FIX EVERYTHING. But that's also why it's so silly and good and I love it. The idea that Shen Qingqiu believes that Luo Binghe is the reason why his wings are so fucked up could go deeper with the idea of, back when Luo Binghe was a disciple, he was practically the only disciple that was ever allowed to touch the man's wings, and he always seemed very upset when the other peak lords got to help Shen Qingqiu with his feathers - jealous of them, in reality, but the man thought that maybe he was jealous of how Shen Qingqiu was treated despite being a demon (it was a tidgy bit of the reason). So, when Shen Qingqiu is in the Water Prison, Binghe's first order of business could be perceived as: "you want to be treated as a pathetic human? I can help with that" and ruins one of Shen Qingqiu's defining features of a demon, making him vulnerable and weak - which is how Bingge felt humans were, and how Shen Qingqiu thinks Binghe views humans. So. Angst. Yay.

#four answers asks #imagine disappearing for...#*checks watch*#at least four days #and then reappearing to answer asks #with angst #get ready y'all #because there's a BACKLOG 🎉🎉#scum villain #svsss #svsss au #crowyuan au #of the canon compliant kind #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #zhuzhi lang #gongyi xiao #four's asks

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shotanzz · 1 year ago

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HOW RIIZE HANDLES BREAK UPS ~ based on astrology

reminder this is based off of MY opinions of their birth chart placements + aspects and is not exact fact unless I knew them myself !!!

Shotaro

He definitely wouldn’t go around telling everyone would happen and would prefer to process and think about it privately on his own; if the members knew about the s/o they’d maybe have to find out about the breakup on their own honestly..he’d try to be mature and even seem very distanced after it’s over, he’d possibly become a workaholic but still have times where he’d have to think about what happened. If the relationship really meant something to him he might become a little restless or even attempt to bring the relationship back to together or have some form of proximity. OR he straight up goes no contact completely like. GONE 😀

Eunseok

Similar to my second chance romance post from a while back he’d essentially force himself to move on especially if there’s no prospects of you two coming together again. Like Shotaro he’ll deal with his feelings on his own and would rather find solutions than to ruminate and sulk or even feel the full grasps of his emotions. He’d have his moment and then move on he might even have a somewhat nonchalant “shit happens” attitude towards it; even if it had hurt he wouldn’t allow himself to crumble especially in front of others. I feel like he’d try to date around to get him out of a funk however he might accidentally move on too fast causing room for error.

Sungchan

Oh man who cued the water works. I feel like he’d have to emotionally self soothe, he might seek comfort or advice from his mom or close friends and to see if what happened was “valid”. He’d take a bit longer to move on, even if the feelings weren’t as potent he might lowkey get stuck on the situation itself. Definitely a crier if he genuinely valued the relationship. He might give himself a little glow up or work on himself physically because the break up would essentially affect his ego especially if it’s in bad terms or if the event makes him feel insecure and doubt his self worth. Most DEF has a bounce back tho or tries to at least, like I said before he wants his new partner to look better than the last.

Wonbin

Um. It could turn out in a multitude of ways. If he really liked you he would attempt to spin back or would want you to come back if he simply can’t move on to someone else and is deluded by you OR he’d have himself move on knowing how available other people are to him. He might become a victim in certain situations or may struggle to see where the relationship had went “wrong” due to him not acknowledging the short comings. Honestly Wonbin takes a bit longer to get over breakups but most likely when he finds a new object of affection or is preoccupied with something else he enjoys he’ll ultimately be fine.

Seunghan

He’s one that would go out sad but then try to bounce back. He’d have to emotionally retreat into himself for a bit and even take time away so he could fully process and think through the break up before tapping into his more optimistic stance. Similar to Sungchan he definitely asks/talks to friends on if the relationship was fair, what terms him and the ex s/o are on, if he should spin back, if he should move on; he’d rely heavily on what other people in his circle think. After grieving he’d want to enjoy himself, to party, explore, try new things honestly bring new joys to avoid thinking about what he’s lost.

Sohee

Mr.optimist and get over it honestly. If he executes the break up he’d want it to be blunt and simple but if he got broken up with he’d be slightly taken aback but would accept your stance and try to move on. Honestly he’s what Eunseok aims to achieve after a breakup. He would try not to sulk and would definitely attempt to move on and date others or even attend events where he could get lucky with meeting someone. He’d want to not let it hinder other aspects of his life and may even have a lack of acknowledgement on the fact the relationship even happened. If it’s on bad terms or he felt/was done wrong he’s definitely talking at least a little bit shit I’m sorry 😭.

Anton

Retail therapy, comfort food, ranting about it and gyming it out, a more simple man to a degree in the getting over it process. How he’d treat the person depends, if the break up was on pretty bad terms and you guys can’t even remain on being friends/acquaintances he’d probably essentially avoid you 😭 he might even become a bit gossipy if he felt as though you were in the wrong or shady. However if the terms were good and he really loved the person he might attempt to be platonic or at the very least an acquaintance.

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necrotic-nephilim · 9 months ago

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in my mind brudick marriage happens almost byaccident: after bruce “dies” dick is left alone and without access to damian or the manor or funds as he was never adopted and is only a former ward, so in dicks grieving mind the clearest way forward is to forge a secret but technically legal marriage, bruce doesn’t find out for years after he comes back, damian knew why he was in custody with richard and assumed it was common knowledge that no one ever brought up, alfred just lets this all play out even knowing that bruce did have a clause in his will to protect dick incase of death (plans upon plans), bruce was upset in all the ways bruce would deny his feelings

this is SUCH a good thought oh my god-

first of all, i am kissing you on the mouth for adding morally fucked up Alfred who just *lets* this play out. he could easily intervene and he *should*, but the idea that he doesn't because for some reason he thinks this is for the best is *such* good food. i love the thought that Alfred knows about unresolved BruDick feelings and feels in Bruce's death, Bruce at least deserves the one thing he never allowed himself to have in life: Dick's hand in marriage. and Dick is so deep in denial and just trying to legally keep hold of Damian and Wayne Enterprises. it's such a stupid last ditch effort and he doesn't even expect it to *work* but it does. Dick is able to keep it under wraps with only a few lawyers and WE higher ups knowing, the public assumes Bruce naturally left everything to Dick bc why wouldn't he? Dick is his eldest ward, after all. Damian knows bc he sees all the papers concerning Dick having his legal guardianship and he just shrugs it off because really, his father's relationship with Dick is none of his business.

and of course, when Bruce comes up there are so many *other* things to handle that Dick just doesn't think to mention it. he's not willingly withholding the information and Bruce assumes Dick *knew* about the contingencies Bruce set up for his death so he doesn't question Dick having all this control. it's not until years later when one of his WE lawyers passingly mentions "oh you might need your husband to sign off on this too" and Bruce is like. i'm sorry my *what*. because he knows the Batfam got up to some chaotic things trying to keep his death a secret, but no one mentioned a *husband*. so Bruce checks the paperwork and is going through every single stage of grief because *did no one think to tell him he's legally married to Dick.* Bruce demands answers and Dick has to awkwardly explain the whole thing to a baffled Bruce who just asks why Dick didn't *check Bruce's files* for this. (maybe Dick didn't think to, maybe Alfred deleted them, who's to say) Bruce wants to be mad at Dick, mostly for not telling Bruce. but all his unspoken feelings make it *very* difficult to figure out what to do. especially when Dick offers to quietly get a divorce since enow the marriage isn't needed and Bruce's *gut* reaction is to blurt out no, no no let's not do that. and he can't explain why he's so against it without admitting how badly he wants to be married to Dick even amidst the worst of his feelings.

it takes them months to actually *talk* about it, and tbh it's probably Damian's assumptions about their relationship that make them face it. bc to Damian the mutual feelings are obvious and the marriage is known so yes of course, Bruce and Dick are in love and together what's so difficult to understand about this, it's no one's business but their own. (i especially love the idea of Damian chastises other characters like Tim for trying to ask questions because doesn't Tim know romance for Bruce is a very private affair and it's *wildly* disrespectful of Tim to think he has the right to know these things.) and so when Damian makes a passing comment about their relationship and Bruce and Dick share a mortified look, they realize they have to talk about it. and instead of ending on clearing the air, they accidentally confess feelings for one another. it's stilted and painful, but they manage to agree maybe they can keep the marriage going. and maybe they don't have to correct Damian.

(also, this is a side thought but: i think a lot about how Tommy Elliot was made to pretend to be Bruce while Bruce was dead and all that fun, and i think it's fun if Tommy knows about the marriage bc he helped Dick sign off on it. and Tommy tries to force Dick into a relationship with him to "maintain the facade" and Dick rejects the advances, maybe Tommy even forces himself on Dick once or twice. it doesn't go too far and they get Tommy back under control, but it's clear Tommy's annoyed when Bruce comes back and he doesn't get to "have his fun" anymore. also fun if Bruce finds out about this and is *furious* bc not only did he not know he's married to Dick, but it was *Tommy* who got to have Dick as a husband before Bruce did and now he's jealous and pissed about the whole thing. just a fun little aside thought bc i wish the fandom had more fun with Tommy's era of pretending to be Bruce.)

#necrotic answerings #brudick #dick grayson x bruce wayne #potential tommydick #i love fake marriage aus so this is *so* fun #also love alfred being peak enabler.#bruce and dick would end up married before they actually talked about their feelings. canon.#i just love the hilarious misunderstandings in all sides of places #and how that forces bruce and dick to actuallly talk and end up getting together #and they fuck nasty during it. ofc. that's implied.#bruce: did you think i wouldn't have plans for this??#dick who was pretty high strung during the whole thing: ... idk what i was thinking #it could be fucking hilarious crack i think

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candycandy00 · 2 years ago

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Little Miss Nobody Part 3 - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic

You’re a weak, lowly sorcerer who barely qualifies as an assistant, but you get the opportunity to work on a mission that includes THE Gojo Satoru. Unbeknownst to you, he finds you incredibly attractive despite privately looking down on you as a nobody. On the last night of the mission, he invites you to his hotel room.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Any feedback or comments whatsoever is greatly appreciated! Thank you to @doumadono for the name Mystigram!

Smut. 18+. Gojo x short/thick/curvy fem Reader. Rough sex, oral sex (69), implied bondage/use of toys, mention of Gojo being bisexual. Just pretend the Shibuya Incident never happened!

You allowed yourself to grieve for one week. You took time off from work and spent those days crying, yelling at no one about how much of an asshole Gojo was, and eating ice cream from the carton to numb your pain. Once the week was over, you cleaned up, went back to work, and returned to your normal daily life.

It still hurt to think about him, and despite your best efforts not to, you did still have the occasional intrusive thought. Sometimes you wondered if he regretted anything he said to you, or if he simply regretted ever meeting you. Sometimes you wondered what kind of mission he might be on and who was in his hotel room with him. Sometimes you dreamed about him, dreamed of his hands gripping your hips, his cock rough and powerful between your thighs.

In a weak moment you decided to check his page on Mystigram. A few particularly tech savvy sorcerers had made a social media site just for Jujutsu sorcerers. It began as a way for sorcerers to stay connected to their coworkers and share information, but it had grown to be something used for networking, planning social outings, and getting to know sorcerers from different branches.

You’d looked at Gojo’s page before of course, back before you met him, when you were just a curious fan. He mostly shared memes about Jujutsu society, pictures from the places he’d traveled for work, and photos of the various treats and desserts he discovered at different restaurants and shops. There were occasional selfies, almost always with his sunglasses rather than his blindfold, and a few photos of him with friends. He often had his arms casually thrown around Ieiri Shoko and Nanami Kento, with both of them generally looking annoyed.

You scrolled through his page, feeling desperate and pathetic as you searched for any sign that he felt anything at all about what happened between you. Even him sharing a vague, sort of sad quote or meme would have satisfied you. There was a four day period immediately following your last encounter where he didn’t post anything at all, but he could have simply been busy with work.

One of his most recent posts was a selfie of him pulling down his shades and looking at the camera with gorgeous, bedroom eyes. It was the first one you’d seen with his eyes clearly visible, and it made you ache in more ways than one. The caption read, “The real reason I keep my eyes covered is to keep the whole world from instantly falling in love with me!” What a Gojo thing to say.

His students had responded with laughing emojis (and in a couple of cases, barfing emojis). Ieiri Shoko commented with only a gif of a woman dramatically rolling her eyes. Nanami Kento commented with one word: “Disgusting.” You found the interactions charming, but also felt sad when you realized you’d never be a part of that group, a part of Gojo’s life. You’d never be able to casually talk and joke with him like the others did.

Just once, during a night when you couldn’t sleep, you actually wondered if you should have just let him keep using you for sex. You thought about the “weekend of debauchery” he’d mentioned and imagined what it would have been like. Did he really want to tie you up in his basement? And why did the thought of that make you wet?

You finally fell asleep right after thinking these things, and had a nightmare in which he kept telling you how unworthy you were to be his girlfriend, as he walked off with a glamorous, powerful woman on his arm.

When you awoke, you had renewed resolve that you made the right decision to walk away from him.

Nearly a month after your second time sleeping with him, you crossed paths with him on the street. He was wearing his blindfold, but he pulled it down as he stopped in front of you and asked how you were doing.

You wished he hadn’t. You didn’t want to see his eyes. You gave a vague, cordial reply and continued walking down the street, taking deep and steady breaths to keep yourself from bursting into tears until you could get far enough down the street to dart into a cafe. You bought a coffee just for an excuse to be there, but left it untouched on the counter and instead rushed into the restroom to cry in private.

Seeing him hurt. Hearing his voice hurt. The fact that he didn’t seem bothered at all, that he had absolutely no hesitation in speaking to you, as if you were just friendly acquaintances, hurt. Deeply. But you pulled yourself together, dried your eyes, and walked out of the cafe with your head up.

It would take time to fully heal, as all wounds to the heart did.

Three weeks later, you met a grade one sorcerer on a mission who asked you to have dinner with him sometime. His name was Haruto, and he was kind to you. Handsome in a completely different way than Gojo, he was respected and liked among the assistants for his down to earth attitude. You accepted the dinner invite, and soon after, the two of you began dating.

You liked him, but so far you hadn’t fallen in love with him. You kept waiting to feel that burning passion you felt for Gojo, that ache to be in his arms, but it hadn’t happened yet. Still, a slow burn romance might be a better fit for you, and you enjoyed Haruto’s company enough to date him a while longer and decide how you felt. It was clear that he wanted to be intimate with you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do that yet, not so soon after your experience with Gojo. But Haruto was patient, never pressuring you.

As time passed by and the season changed from autumn to winter, you thought less and less about Gojo.

****************

Gojo wasn’t dealing with the fallout from his last hookup with Little Miss Nobody very well. He’d went through several different reactions, from anger at her for saying the things she said to guilt for saying the things he said to her. At first he tried to convince himself that he’d done nothing wrong. He’d been honest with her about the sort of relationship they could have. His only mistake was in telling her that after fucking her again.

Just like before, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Despite being busier than ever with missions and his teaching job, his mind kept wandering to her. He worried she would do something reckless on a mission. She wasn’t a fighter, but she clearly wouldn’t hesitate to endanger herself to save someone. He admired the courage that took, but he found himself wishing she would just be a coward from now on. She didn’t have the strength to back up that desire to protect.

Sometimes he laid awake at night, jacking off while remembering their encounters. It was almost too easy to get off, picturing her with her hands tied behind her back, her face pressed into the pillows. Every time he wore his blindfold, he remembered how it had looked around her wrists.

Then, he saw her on the street one day. He spotted her from across the road, but she hadn’t noticed him yet. She looked like every wet dream he’d ever had, jeans tight over her perfect ass, a form-fitting sweater with a cutout right over her ample cleavage. She looked soft and squeezable. Pliable. His first thought was that he wanted to pull her into his arms and just hold her. His second was that he wanted to hear her voice.

He crossed the road and approached her, trying to act as casual as possible. When she looked at him, there was an instant where she looked stunned, but she quickly covered that up with a pleasant smile. He pulled his blindfold down and said, “Hey, how’ve you been?”

It was petty of him, he knew, but he knew she liked his eyes. He wanted her to see them again, perhaps to make her want him again. There were plenty of hotels in the area and-

“I’ve been good,” she said, her face frozen in that same mild expression. “Thank you for asking.”

And then she was gone, walking away quickly and then going into a cafe down the street. He thought briefly of following her, trying to talk to her again, but abandoned the idea. She clearly didn’t want to talk to him, and he wouldn’t press her into a situation that upset her.

He’d left feeling frustrated, in several different ways. Finally, he grew desperate enough to talk to his friend about what was going on. But when he’d gone to Shoko for advice, she had been blunt with him as usual.

“Are you a fucking moron?”

He gaped at her. “Huh?!”

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette and regarded him with a withering stare. “You find a girl who’s sweet, brave, laughs at your shitty jokes, who fucking bakes, and likes it rough? And you manage to screw it up? You’re hopeless.”

Gojo was sitting on a bench in the outdoor area of the high school, near some vending machines. He leaned back, slapping his forehead as Shoko stood beside him. “I don’t know where I screwed up,” he said, “I just told her the truth.”

“You told her she wasn’t good enough for you immediately after fucking her. Do you think anyone wants to hear that?”

He glanced up at his friend. “I didn’t say that to her.”

Shoko met his eyes. “Did you deny it?”

He sat there silently for a moment, thinking. “I didn’t know how to respond to that,” he finally said. “I don’t think she’s not good enough for me. If anything, she’s way too good.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“It’s not about her as a person, or even me as a person. Maybe I’m being a narcissistic asshole. But I feel like I should be with someone closer to my level in terms of status, you know?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t know.”

Gojo sighed. “I just… can’t imagine myself with an assistant who can barely use cursed energy. She’s weak. She’s not from a sorcerer family…”

“Geto wasn’t from a sorcerer family,” Shoko pointed out. “That didn’t seem to bother you.”

Gojo looked at her suddenly. Shoko rarely mentioned their departed friend. “Suguru was strong. At one point as strong as me,” he replied.

“So?” Shoko asked. “A lot of people would call me weak. I sure as hell can’t fight.”

He stared at her, realizing she was making excellent points. Why did it matter what someone’s status was? He never cared about status when it came to picking friends, so why care now? Maybe he had to face the fact that he’d gotten too full of himself over the years. He’d started looking down on those who were weak within Jujutsu society, even if he felt no ill will toward them.

He looked at Shoko, who was a precious friend, and couldn’t imagine looking down on her, even though she was exponentially weaker than him. Then he remembered Little Miss Nobody’s crying face, and he realized how monumentally stupid he’d been.

“I seriously fucked up, didn’t I?”

Shoko exhaled, smoke drifting around her face. “Sure did.”

He leaned forward on the bench, resting his hands on his thighs. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”

“For starters, you better be damn sure of what you want,” she told him. “I’m serious, Gojo. Don’t toy with her again. Don’t contact her, don’t stir up her feelings, and for God’s sake don’t fuck her unless you’re sure you want to start something serious with her.”

Gojo nodded. “I’m sure.” He’d never felt more certain of anything. He saw her face everywhere he looked. He heard her voice in his dreams. He hadn’t even been able to fuck anyone else since her. He’d tried once and couldn’t finish, and boy was that embarrassing.

“Then call her,” Shoko said. “Apologize, tell her you were wrong.”

“I don’t have her number,” Gojo said, remembering with a small degree of shame how she’d shyly offered it to him after their first time together and how he’d rejected it.

“We can probably find it,” Shoko told him, digging into the pocket of her white coat for her cell phone. “I have a couple of friends who work at her branch.”

Gojo perked up, listening as Shoko called someone and made a bit of small talk before asking if they knew Little Miss Nobody. Shoko gave him a thumbs up, and asked the person to text the number over. Then he heard Shoko say, “Oh, she is? Right now?”

After the call ended, Shoko said, “They’re sending the number over but they said she’s in Tokyo right now. She’s supposedly meeting some friends for drinks at that bar for sorcerers in Ikebukuro.”

Gojo stood up. This was the perfect opportunity. He could talk to her in person, apologize properly and see if this could be fixed. He knew exactly where the bar was, having gone there to hang out with Shoko and Utahime just one week prior. He thanked Shoko for her help and hurried over to the bar.

It wasn’t very crowded yet when Gojo arrived. It was late afternoon, and customers wouldn’t start pouring in until at least seven. He scanned the room for her when he first walked in, and quickly spotted her sitting amongst several other sorcerers in a corner booth. She was smiling, and he was glad to see her happy.

He took a seat at the bar and ordered a soda, then tried to keep from attracting any attention. It didn’t happen all the time, but occasionally people recognized him and acted like they’d seen a celebrity. He supposed he was the closest thing Jujutsu society had to a celebrity, and while he usually found it flattering to be approached in that way, today he hoped no one noticed him. He planned to wait for her to go to the rest room or even to the bar. He didn’t want to approach her when she was surrounded by people.

So he sat, and waited, and watched. After several minutes, he noticed that the man sitting to her right was a little too handsy with her. The man kept touching her arm and subtly leaning closer to her. Gojo didn’t like that, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was a little naive about things like that, so maybe she didn’t even notice.

But the more he watched and listened, the more a knot tied itself together in his stomach. She was also leaning toward the man, giggling at something he said, playfully slapping his arm. Then, the man threw his arm around her, and she smiled, doing nothing to push it away.

The realization hit Gojo like a punch to the face. She was with this man, romantically. Gojo was too late. He’d spent too much time being an egotistical jackass, and now she’d moved on. He couldn’t blame her. She had the right to pursue happiness with someone else. But where did that leave him? He sighed and lowered his head. For the first time in his life he considered trying to get drunk.

He heard chattering from her table and glanced over. Little Miss Nobody, as well as the rest of the women in the group, were leaving together. Something about going to see a movie together. Gojo moved to the other side of the bar before they got near, making sure not to be seen. He watched her walk out, and it felt like she was stomping on his heart with each step she took.

The thought occurred to him that he could potentially take her away from the man. If Gojo talked to her, maybe she’d decide she liked him more. But should he do that? She seemed happy. What right did he have to burst back into her life and possibly screw it up?

While he sat there, deep in thought, he almost didn’t notice the man she’d been with coming to sit at the bar, just a few seats down. But he did notice, and he couldn’t help paying attention to him.

The man’s friend, the only other man who’d been at the table, sat down next to him.

“Any luck yet?” the friend asked.

The man shook his head and took a drink from his glass. “Nope. She’s still holding out. I think she’s hung up on some ex boyfriend or something, but she won’t say it.”

Gojo’s ears felt like they were on fire. His full attention was now on this conversation, but he sipped his Coke and pretended not to be listening.

The friend laughed. “Sucks to be you, dude. You score a hot girlfriend and can’t even fuck her.”

The man laughed too. “I’ll wear her down. She’ll be sucking my dick soon enough.”

Gojo’s hand gripped the glass so hard, he had to force himself to calm down to avoid shattering it.

Then the friend said something else, and Gojo felt his skin prickling with rage.

“Don’t forget to record it when you finally get her naked. You promised you’d show off the goods.”

The man nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ve got cameras hid around my bedroom already. She doesn’t have a clue.”

“Good,” the friend replied, “cause I’ve been dying to see those tits for months.”

They both laughed, and Gojo stood up from his seat. He walked the few steps over to the two men and stood looming over them. He was wearing sunglasses instead of his blindfold, but he was still recognizable to most people who noticed him. The man she’d been with gaped up at him. “Gojo?”

Gojo grinned widely. “I couldn’t help but overhear you guys,” he said in a friendly tone. “Can you share those recordings with me when you make them?”

The men glanced at each other, looking like students who’d been caught smoking by a teacher who then asked for a cigarette.

“You… want me to send you recordings? Of my girlfriend?”

Gojo’s grin was probably becoming more frightening as the moments passed. “Well you’re sharing them with your buddy, right? What’s one more?”

The man shrugged, still looking a little uneasy. “Sure, why not? Give me your number.”

Gojo kept staring at him. “So she has no idea you plan to do this?”

The man must have mistaken Gojo’s slightly unhinged expression for perversion. He laughed and said, “She’s clueless. Totally naive. Wait till you see her! Huge tits, fat ass, cute face. She’d be a perfect porn star.”

The friend chuckled and added, “Hell, I guess she will be after this. We could make a fortune selling the videos!”

That was enough. That was all Gojo could bear to listen to. He’d let the guy dig a big enough hole for himself. “Call her,” he said in a low voice, and both men looked at him with confusion.

“What?”

Gojo’s smile was gone. He pulled off his shades and glared at the man. “Call her. Tell her you need to see her in private. It’s urgent.”

The man didn’t move, he just stared up at Gojo as if he’d sprouted another head.

Gojo leaned down. “I think she has the right to know about this, don’t you?”

The man looked positively horrified. A bead of sweat ran down his face. “You want me to tell her? I can’t do that! She’ll-“

Gojo looked at the man the way he would look at a curse that had just attacked him, and the man’s words died in his throat. Gojo put one hand on the man’s shoulder. “I said call her. Right fucking now.”

The man’s fingers were trembling as he pulled his phone from his pocket. As he began dialing, Gojo pointed at the friend. “And you, if you ever so much as glance at her again, I’ll rip your eyeballs out of your fucking head.”

****************

You were standing in line with three of your friends to buy tickets for a movie when one of them asked how things were going with Haruto.

“Okay I guess,” you answered. “I’m still not sure how I feel about him. I like him, but I don’t think I’m in love with him.”

Your friend Sumi smiled reassuringly. “Give it a little more time. You guys are still getting to know each other.”

Aiko, another friend that you had been on many missions with, sighed and patted your back. “You’re still holding out for Gojo Satoru, aren’t you?”

Sumi and the third friend Keiko looked surprised, and you instantly reddened. “Huh? Gojo? What do you mean?”

Sumi asked, looking from Aiko to you.

“They hooked up,” Aiko said, “twice.”

You looked at her with wide eyes. You’d never told her about that. “How did you know?”

She grinned. “Actually I just suspected it, but now you’ve confirmed it.”

You winced, but she laughed and went on. “The first mission we were all three on, you left the sushi joint with his arm around you on the last night. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Especially with his reputation. Then the second time, you two disappeared together in the middle of a mission.”

Sumi and Keiko stared at you for a moment. When you didn’t deny anything Aiko said, they launched into a string of rapid questions.

“How was it?”

You shrugged. “Uh, nice?”

“Is he good in bed?”

“…. Yes.”

“Does he really have a huge dick?”

You blushed, but nodded, and the girls made a squealing sound.

“I heard he keeps his sunglasses on during sex. Is that true?”

“I asked him to take them off,” you answered.

“Can’t believe you scored him twice,” Aiko said, interrupting the interrogation. “From what I’ve heard, he never sleeps with the same person more than once.”

You blinked. “Really?”

Aiko nodded. “Yeah, he’s a one and done kinda guy. Guess he doesn’t want to get serious with anyone. Speaking of which, you should be careful. Don’t get too involved with him. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to settle down, from what everyone says about him.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.” You gave a vague answer. Aiko had no idea what had really happened between you and Gojo. You hadn’t realized that being a repeat lover for him was so rare. You wondered what the girls would think if they knew he’d invited you to spend the weekend at his place.

But all that was over, you reminded yourself. You and Gojo were over. You had more respect for yourself than to be flattered by a guy, even one as amazing as Gojo, wanting to use you as a sex friend.

Your phone suddenly rang, and you fished it out of your purse to see who the caller was, thankful for the distraction. It was Haruto, and you felt a little guilty that you’d just been talking and thinking about another man. You answered, and his voice sounded strained on the other end.

“I need to see you,” he was saying, the words coming out a little too quickly. “It’s urgent.”

“Right now? But we were just together,” you said, confusion building in your mind. You hoped he wasn’t just trying to get you in bed. His attempts had started to feel a little pushy lately.

“It’s important,” he said. “I’ve rented a hotel room near the bar so we can talk privately.”

“Haruto, I’m really not comfortable going to a hotel with you.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, I swear,” he told you, his voice sounding frantic. “I just… need to talk to you. And it has to be in person. Okay?”

You sighed. “Alright. If it’s just to talk.”

After you ended the call, you got a text from Haruto with the name of the hotel and the room number. You told your friends what happened and waved goodbye to them before heading back to see what was so urgent.

As you walked down the carpeted hallway of the hotel, you felt a faint feeling of panic, like something might be very wrong. Had Haruto received bad news? Or perhaps he’d grown tired of waiting and had decided to break up with you. The thought made you feel relieved rather than worried, and you thought that was a bad sign for your relationship.

You reached room 404 and took a deep breath before knocking. A few seconds later, the door opened, and Haruto stood on the other side. He looked terrible! His face was damp with sweat, his skin was pale, his eyes darted about like a frightened animal’s. “Haruto?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

He stepped back and motioned you in without a word. When you stepped through the door, your breath caught in your throat.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was Gojo. No blindfold or sunglasses, which was rare, and his face looked deadly serious, which was even more rare. He stood up as Haruto shut the door behind you.

“Gojo? What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

Gojo’s expression softened when he looked at you. “I overheard your boyfriend talking to his buddy at the bar after you left. I think you deserve to know what he was saying.”

You looked curiously at Haruto. He wrung his hands nervously and looked at the floor.

“Haruto,” Gojo said, and there was a coldness to his tone that you’d never heard before. It was like that one word alone was the most terrifying threat in the world.

Haruto nearly jumped at the sound, then he finally looked you in the face. “Alright! Fuck it, I’ll admit it! I have cameras hidden all over my bedroom. I was gonna record us whenever I could talk you into sleeping with me!”

You stared at him, hearing the words but not processing them. “Record us? What are you talking about?”

“I was gonna make videos of you without telling you,” he said.

Gojo chimed in. “Tell her what you were gonna do with the videos, Haruto.”

Haruto was avoiding your gaze again. “I was gonna share them with my friends. And maybe sell them online.”

Ah. So that was it. He didn’t like you. He didn’t care about you at all. He just wanted to sleep with you, just like Gojo. Just like all the guys who approached you in high school and even now. Only this was much worse. He wanted to share your intimate moments with others against your will. Thank god you hadn’t slept with him.

You glared at him, your face feeling hot with humiliation and your eyes becoming wet. All this had to happen in front of Gojo! Haruto took a step toward you. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t-“

“Stop,” you said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear another word. Stay away from me.”

He must have known you were serious by the look on your face. His expression changed from guilt to annoyance. “Fine. Whatever. I was only interested in you for your tits anyway. Not like you’ve got anything else I want.”

Gojo stepped over to Haruto and shoved him toward the door. “Alright, you can get the fuck out now, you useless piece of shit.”

Haruto flinched at the harshness of Gojo’s voice, and was out the door in seconds. Now alone in the room with Gojo, you turned your back to him so he couldn’t look at your face. You were already embarrassed enough.

“Thank you for warning me about him,” you said, trying and failing to keep your voice steady. You wanted to leave, but you also wanted to give Haruto enough time to be gone by the time you got down to the hotel lobby. You definitely didn’t want to run into him again.

You heard Gojo’s footsteps coming closer to you, then his voice, so much softer than before, asking, “Are you okay?”

Wiping your eyes, you turned to face him, surprised that he was already so close. “I’ll be fine,” you said with a fake smile plastered on your mouth. Then you stepped toward the door to leave.

Gojo suddenly grabbed your wrist. “Wait,” he said, “I was at the bar tonight because I knew you’d be there. I wanted to talk to you.”

You pulled your hand free of his gentle grip. Tears were still burning your eyes. “Please, I can’t handle this right now,” you told him.

“Handle what?”

“You telling me again how I don’t meet your standards but you’ll lower yourself enough to fuck me sometimes. I get it, okay? Just please leave me alone.”

Gojo just stared at you, a hurt expression on his face. “I guess I deserve that,” he said. “But no, I came to apologize. I was wrong. I was an idiot, a dumbass, whatever you wanna call me. I said a lot of stupid shit that hurt you, and I’m sorry. If it’s not too late, could we start over?”

Your heart was doing flip flops. You’d longed to hear him say those words, but… after what just happened with Haruto, you had to be more careful.

You looked away from him, not wanting to let him charm you with those beautiful eyes of his. “Do you want me as a sex friend?

Or something more?”

He moved closer, close enough to put his hands on your shoulders. “You’re all I can think about when we’re apart. I miss the way we talked during that first mission, the way you laughed. I want us to go back to that. I want to see where this goes. So I guess I’m asking if you’ll be my girlfriend.”

You turned away from him. “I’d love to, but I can’t be a secret, Gojo. If you can’t tell anyone about us-“

“I’ll tell the whole world!”

You looked at his face. “What?”

He looked totally serious. “I’ll tell everyone. I want everyone to know.”

You almost dove into his arms, but something held you back. “It’s easy to say that here, right now, in a hotel room. Will you still say that in the morning?”

He hesitated for a moment, and you felt that familiar sense of dread. But then he pulled out his phone and closed the distance between you. He wrapped one arm around you and pulled your face closer to his, then he kissed your cheek. At the same time, his other hand held up his phone and took a selfie of the two of you.

He pulled away and began tapping on his phone, leaving you stunned into silence. Then, your phone chimed. You pulled it out and found a notification that you’d been tagged in a post on Mystigram. With trembling fingers, you opened it to see.

Gojo had posted the picture of him kissing your cheek to his page, and tagged you in it. The caption read: “Me and my hot girlfriend! Try not to be jealous!”

Your eyes flew back to his face. He was grinning at you. The post started getting comments immediately.

Itadori Yuji: Congrats, sensei! 😁

Kugisaki Nobara: Ugh, she’s way too pretty for you!

Ieiri Shoko: Try not to fuck this up.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. But you had one more question.

“What made you change your mind?”

Gojo was laughing as he read over the comments pouring in. “Oh, it just took Shoko talking some sense into me. I was going crazy, worrying about you being on missions, wondering what you were doing, craving your homemade sweets… so I went to her for advice. She’s always had a way of making me see logic.”

“You told her about me?”

“We’ve been friends since high school. Of course I told her,” he said. Then he laughed again. “I told Nanami too but I don’t think he was paying much attention. I was mid sentence when he said, ‘Please stop telling me about your sordid escapades. I’m going to vomit.’ And that was all he had to say about it.”

He’d told his friends about you. He’d been worried enough about this situation to consult them. And he didn’t mind those closest to him knowing about you, even before realizing he’d been wrong. Those thoughts warmed your heart.

Before you knew it, you were crying again, so overwhelmed with emotion. Gojo dropped his phone on the bed and wrapped his arms around you. “So? Are we a couple now?” he asked.

You nodded against his chest, and his arms tightened slightly. “Great,” he said, stroking your hair. “Want me to fuck you?”

A laugh escaped your lips, and the tears stopped. You pulled back and looked up at him. “So romantic.”

He leaned down and kissed you. “I’ve been dreaming about rearranging your insides,” he whispered, his voice tingling in your ear. “Have you been dreaming about me?”

You kissed him back, tasting his lips. “Yes,” you breathed out.

“What were you dreaming?” he asked, his voice turning husky as his hands began to roam over your body.

“Ahh,” you moaned as he kissed your neck. “It’s… embarrassing…” You had been dreaming about him. A lot. Most of it had been quite filthy.

One of his hands slipped under your dress, rubbing up your bare thigh and then squeezing your ass. “Embarrassing? Heh. I’m gonna have to fuck that shyness out of you.”

That sounded fun, you thought, raising your arms to allow him to pull your dress over your head. You unzipped his jacket, your hands desperately trying to get his clothes off as fast as possible.

The jacket discarded, he pulled his black T-shirt off next, then stood back to look at you in your silky black underwear. “Seriously,” he said, “tell me what you want. I’ll make it happen, whatever it is. Any fantasy, any dirty idea that pops into your head. I wanna hear it.”

You looked at the floor and muttered something.

“What was that?”

You stepped closer and met his gaze. “I said… I want you in my mouth.”

His beautiful eyes widened, and there was a glimmer of excitement in them as he grinned and said, “Holy fuck, I hit the jackpot!”

***********

Gojo was lying on his back in the bed, completely nude, his naked girlfriend halfway across him, her warm, wet mouth greedily sucking his cock. He raised his head up to watch. He couldn’t imagine a more lovely sight than her soft, full lips sliding down his shaft.

He moved one hand down to touch her hair, just happy to have her within reach. She glanced sideways at him, her face tinted pink. How cute of her to be shy even while deep throating him.

He’d had plenty of blowjobs in his life, even given a few, but this… this was different. Was it because he’d formed an emotional connection to her? He felt so much affection for her that simply being touched by her at all felt far better than anything he’d experienced with anyone else.

Well, with one exception, but he wasn’t ready to think about that, to compare them. He’d tucked those memories into a neat little box in the back of his mind where they could remain untouched and protected.

But this wasn’t enough. He wanted to taste her too. He grabbed hold of her legs and swung them up and over him, so that she was lying face down on top of him, her head at his groin and his at hers. She gave a little cry of surprise and drew her knees forward to lift herself off him, but that only spread her thighs apart and gave him easier access.

“G-Gojo, what are you doing?” Her voice sounded so flustered. He could practically hear the embarrassed arousal.

“I thought I told you to call me Satoru,” he murmured, pressing his lips ever so gently to her heated, quivering flesh. She jerked, but he grabbed her hips and held her in place. He waited, feeling her taut legs relax slowly, giving her time to get used to this extremely intimate position.

“Don’t stare at me,” she said in a shy voice, then he felt her lips around his cock again.

“Oh I’m gonna do so much more than stare,” he said back, using his fingers to open her folds. “I’m gonna do so many embarrassing things to you…” He ran his tongue over her open slit, tasting the plentiful juices. She was drenched, and deliciously sweet. He felt her body twitch nervously, but her mouth never slacked off. He felt her tongue lapping at his tip, her soft hands squeezing wherever they could.

Her clit was so cute, sitting there so glossy with his saliva and her fluids, completely defenseless to him. His thumb rubbed over it, then he prodded it with his tongue, drawing circles around it.

She shifted, her mouth leaving his dick long enough for her to moan out, “Satoru… I’m… I’m about to…”

He licked her clit again, slowly. “You can cum first,” he said.

She wiggled a bit in his grasp, but then took him into her mouth again, stifling her own moans. She took him so far in it felt like he was being swallowed, and the little gagging sound she made sent shivers through his entire body. Now it felt like a competition, and Gojo never lost.

His tongue was on her clit again, and he pushed two fingers inside her, curling them in a way that made her thighs tremble on either side of him. He felt himself slide out of her mouth, and then her tongue was gliding over him from base to tip. He could feel his cock twitching under her touch, but he kept himself under control. Then, he heard her sweet little voice say, “Satoru… cum in my mouth… please?”

Fuck, she wasn’t playing fair! His breath hitched in his throat, a shudder rippling through him, but he wasn’t defeated just yet. He leaned up and lapped at her clit again, gently, slowly, feeling her clenching his fingers, and then he grazed his teeth over it, lightly pulling on the tiny nub.

She moaned around his cock, her legs shaking, and he knew he’d won. He kept pumping his fingers into her as she rode out her orgasm, her lips still around the base of his cock. With no more reason to hold back, he let the feeling of her hot mouth overwhelm him, and he came straight into her throat.

He let his head fall back onto the pillow as he panted, and she took the opportunity to turn her body around so that her legs fell off the side of the bed, her face still buried in his crotch. She waited until he was completely empty before she removed her mouth, but a few strings of cum were drizzling down his cock. He held his head up enough to look down at her as she licked him clean.

When finished, she straightened up, sitting on her knees beside the bed. She looked like an angel, or a goddess. How could he have ever thought he was out of her league? How did it take him so long to realize how amazing she was? He’d been a fucking fool.

He sat up in the bed and smiled at her. “Take a shower with me?”

She blushed. “A shower? I guess so.”

He laughed. “How are you shy after everything we’ve done? I had my face shoved in your pussy just now.”

She turned beet red. “Ahhh! Don’t say that! I was trying not to think about it!”

He stood up from the bed and pulled her into a hug, their naked bodies pressed against each other. “Do you still doubt how hot you are? You can’t even imagine how many times I’ve jacked off while thinking about you.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Really.”

She smiled then, and took his hand as they walked into the bathroom.

**************

You were still nervous about showering with Gojo. It felt like such a private thing to do, but he seemed really into the idea, so you agreed. He joked around as he turned the water on, pretending he didn’t know how to work the knobs and “accidentally” spraying himself in the face. He was trying to put you at ease, and it was mostly working. You found yourself giggling at his antics as you both stepped into the large, walk-in shower.

Before you could even reach for the small bottle of shampoo sitting in a tiny corner shelf, Gojo suddenly shoved your back against the glass shower door and kissed you passionately, his mouth overtaking your own. The steamy water was spraying both your bodies, soaking his shiny hair, running down his torso. Without even looking, you knew he was hard again, the large erection pressing against your stomach.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you up so that your legs could wrap around his body. You were pinned against the shower door when you felt him push inside you, deeply, roughly, the way you loved it. Your back collided with the glass with every powerful thrust, an ache you’d been craving building between your legs as he pounded into you.

You were going to be covered in bruises after this, but that thought only turned you on even more. Gojo had that wild look in his eyes, the one that almost made you cum on the spot. You wanted him to break you. It wasn’t that you were a masochist. It wasn’t pain that excited you, but rather watching him lose control, seeing that unhinged expression and knowing you had that effect on him, that you could drive him mad with your body. The pain, the bruises, they were just the evidence.

Burying your face in his neck, you tried to muffle your moans, your breaths shuddering. He was making such lovely grunts and growls, his fingers digging into your soft thighs. You chanced a peek at his face, and he looked like an entirely different person from the man who’d just been joking around with you. His wet hair was partially covering one eye, the other practically glowing with uncontrolled lust, his lips parted, teeth showing as ragged breaths pushed through them.

God, he was beautiful. Frighteningly so. Inhumanly so. For the second time, you wondered if he actually was a god that had been banished to earth. He certainly fucked like one.

Your legs slipped from his waist, the water making it hard to keep your grip, and they dangled helplessly above the floor. He didn’t even seem to notice that he was holding more of your weight as he plowed into you, every thrust feeling deeper than the last. Your arms were still around his neck, but your strength was failing you. You clasped your hands tightly and leaned your face up to kiss him. His mouth was hungry upon yours, his tongue shoving its way in.

When you came, your arms fell to your sides and your body went limp in his arms, quivering with pleasure as he kept fucking you. His grip on you tightened, and after several more minutes of being slammed into the glass door, you felt his whole body stiffen. Then, you felt hot cum shoot deeply inside you as Gojo groaned.

He stayed inside you for several more minutes, even after he’d finished cumming. It was like he didn’t want to separate from you, but eventually he pulled out and set you back on your feet. You legs gave way immediately, as if they were made of spaghetti, but Gojo caught you. He held you gently until you regained your strength, then he reached you the soap with a grin.

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” he said.

You laughed, taking the soap from him as he turned his toned back to you.

An hour later, you were both dressed and sitting on the bed in the hotel room, talking about what each of you had been up to lately. During a lull in the conversation, you leaned your head over on his shoulder and whispered, “Is this real?”

“Hmm?”

You hesitated, then said, “I keep waiting for you to say this won’t work out.”

He wrapped an arm around you. “I’m not gonna lie and say this will be easy. I travel a lot for missions, and my teaching job is important to me, but we can make it work. We’ll spend time together whenever we can. Speaking of which… wanna come to my place next weekend?”

You laughed, feeling the tension dissipate from your body. “For pancakes? Sure.”

“And debauchery,” he said. “Don’t forget the debauchery.”

****************

Epilogue:

The first thing you thought when you arrived at Gojo’s house was, “Holy shit, it’s huge!”

Gojo stepped up beside you and gave you a peck on the cheek. “That’s what she said.”

You giggled at his silly joke and let him lead you inside. The house was of an old fashioned design, with a closed in yard, sliding doors, tatami floors, the whole works. It was a sprawling estate that looked as if it would have dozens of servants roaming the halls.

“You really live here all by yourself?”

He shook his head as he laid out some slippers for you to change into, then pulled off his own shoes. “I have an apartment near the school that I use most of the time. I don’t use this place often, but this is a special weekend.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, looking around. Despite the classic design of the structure, it had modern furnishings. You were admiring a lovely vase on a glossy wooden end table when you noticed a large cardboard box sitting just inside the living room. It looked totally out of place, and Gojo noticed your interest.

“Go ahead and look inside,” he told you, a strange smile on his lips.

“Okay…”

You approached the box and pulled the flaps open, squatting down to get a good look. Inside was an assortment of items you couldn’t quite identify at first. But as you began pulling them out and looking more closely, your face began to burn.

“Are these… all sex toys?!”

Gojo laughed at your reaction. “Well, not all of them. There’s some costumes, handcuffs, edible underwear…”

You grimaced as you pulled out what appeared to be a riding crop, then the biggest dildo you’d ever seen in your life. There was also a skimpy maid costume, among other bizarre garments. “Why is all this stuff just sitting here in a box?”

Gojo rubbed the back of his head, messing up his hair a bit. He looked oddly shy. “I ordered it all. I figured we could have fun trying a bunch of stuff, see what we like.”

That did sound like fun. You examined each item, sometimes having no idea what its function was.

Gojo sat down on the floor beside you, watching your face as you looked though the box. “If there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable, just put it back in the box and I’ll toss it. Or better yet, I’ll have it delivered to Nanami’s place.”

You laughed then, imagining the strait laced-looking man you met a few days ago opening a box full of items like these.

When you were finished sorting them into piles of “will definitely try”, “might try”, and “hard no”, you and Gojo both stood up. “So, are you going to give me a tour?” you asked.

Gojo gave you a somewhat menacing grin, his dark sunglasses blocking out your view of his eyes. “Sure. Let’s start with the basement.”

The End.

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#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo smut #Gojo x you #satoru x reader

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muffinsin · 1 year ago

Note

those two hurt/comfort and hurt no comfort were so well written like the rest of your other stories, so my request is, the sisters partner dies but the sisters are able to revive her with the cadou, how clingy would the sisters be?

Very glad to hear you like the other posts! :) this is an interesting concept!👀 needless to say, all three are CLINGY!

Let’s get into the details! ;)

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Bela

Golden eyes stare widely at you when you enter the room

Bela doesn’t move, no, doesn’t even breathe. She just eyes you

Her brows furrow and her eyes thin to mere slits

You gulp

Bela ignores Cassandra’s proud words of the cadou implant having worked perfectly

She continues to eye you dangerously, taking in your slightly changed appearance

You’re taller due to the cadou, and your skin looks a little sickish

She immediately finds the scars on your flesh caused at your death

You gasp when she pushes past you, bumping into your shoulder roughly

Now, she is happy you’re back, but isn’t quite sure you’re hers again. She is cautious around you, on edge

It takes a little while for her to warm up to you again, to get used to your enhanced scent and new abilities

She grieved for you…Bela didn’t expect the cadou implant to bring you back to life. Seeing you walk about is a shock to her

When she at last mentally registers that this creature is you, she is as if glued to your side

She will demand all of your attention and not leave your side

She develops a heavy separation anxiety, the trauma of losing you fresh in her mind. The trauma of not being able to save you. Even if you have been saved in the end

Should she not see you, she panics. She can barely stand the short amount of time without you when you use the bathroom

She demands baths and showers to be taken with her, and if not Bela herself, you will always have some of her flies trailing behind you

She insists on sleeping on top of you. She doesn’t want anything to happen to you again

Soon, this separation anxiety of hers becomes a problem

She can’t eat or sleep without you, much less work or feel at ease when you aren’t around

The poor thing is completely scarred from losing you

When after 2 weeks there is no improvement in sight, you at last find ways to ease her stress and anxiety

Upon picking up fighting lessons from Cassandra, and being trained as you explore your new cadou-granted abilities, Bela feels a little more at ease even without you around

Knowing you can now defend yourself without her helps

After two more weeks, you are able to distance yourself a little, take baths and strolls through the garden without her

Bela can even work normally, although she will often send flies to check on you. Her favourite thing is to have you in the room with her, still. Just to ensure your safety

At last, in time, her anxiety reduces and is replaced by her typical clinginess consisting of secret, shy cuddles in her bed and sneaky kisses, hands held under the table and when the two of you share private moments

Cassandra

She spends day and night attempting to bring you back. Not resting, not eating, certainly not taking a break

When your eyelids open at last, she is startled

Before you know it, you feel strong arms around you and sharp nails digging into your sore shoulders

You’d complain, but allow the small pain when you hear sobs against your neck

This, and at your death, is perhaps the only time Cassandra ever cries

She can’t believe you’re back

She doesn’t care you are still on the surgery table, instead straddles you and completely wraps herself around you, inhaling your new scent

She smells the old, familiar one still underneath and it comforts her

Despite her typical facade of strength and toughness, Cassandra allows herself to be vulnerable with you now, alone in the basement with screams echoing in the distance

She isn’t one for words, but her trembling limbs and shaking shoulders, wet tears and broken cries and whimpers tell you all you need to know

With an arm around her back, and another hand in her hair, Cassandra eventually calms down

When she does, her gaze hardens and she punches your shoulder. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”, she scolds angrily

She’s so relieved to have you back, even as you stare daggers at her for injuring your sore shoulder slightly.

She finds it adorable

Cassandra dislikes the thought of leaving your side in the first week of your return

She will stick close to you and snarl at any maiden and creature stepping too close to her beloved

Additionally, she insists you learn how to fight properly. Whether you want this or not, you are given lessons on how to defend yourself against all kinds of enemies

Lycans, most of all,

But also humans, wolfs, bears

She allows you to pick a weapon of your choice. She secretly loves training with you

She is very clingy for some time, although grants you your own space

When with her, in private, she will silently demand many cuddles and not once let go of your hand

She too sleeps on top of you, protecting your body from potential intruders, as well as to hear your heartbeat

Sometimes she still needs to remind herself this is real

Now this is quite random, but accurate: there is a lot of sex happening

She craves closeness and doesn’t want to show it, and what better way is there to be close to you than sex?

Aside from this eagerness- craving- to be close to you, Cassandra finds herself also ridiculously turned on from the effects of your transformation

One of them being the enhanced strength all with the cadou inside of them share

She will absolutely ask you to take advantage of this strength ;)

Daniela

She is OVER THE MOON!

The moment her golden eyes set on you, they widen

You barely have a moment to brace yourself before she swarms over and you feel her body clashing against yours as she jumps into your arms!

Her arms and legs wrap around you instantly, her lips on yours

She’s missed you so much! It was agony!

For the first few hours, Daniela and you are inseparable. She won’t want to let go of your hand, even goes as far as to whine when you gently tear her hand away to use the bathroom

From the outside you hear her claws against the door and her pitiful whines for you

She will spend all day catching you up and reading with you, and most importantly: cuddling

Then, when night comes, the storm brews

Just at night, when you two are in bed, her head jerks up, golden eyes staring widely and in fear

She refuses to touch you, and won’t tell you what’s wrong when her eyes water and thick tears roll down her cheeks out of the sudden

After much sobbing and scooting away from you, so far she ends up curled in the corner of her room, words pass her lips and she begins to explain

Daniela fears you aren’t real, merely a tool conjured by her, at times, delusional mind

You prove her wrong by effortlessly picking her up and holding her close to you. She is impressed at your strength

With your scent surrounding her and your arms tight around her, she calms again after an hour or so

She will still poke you occasionally

Daniela is the first sister to ask you to try the taste of your cadou-infected blood

She too insists you learn how to fight. This is not up to debate- she will not lose you again

Together with Cassandra, you are taught to be fast and strong

It is ensured you can never be taken down by a lycan again, and still Daniela promises to keep you safe with her life

As days pass, there is barely a reminder of your death. Barely;

If it wasn’t for Daniela’s ruthless nightmares that plague her sweet mind nearly all night every day

At times you find her clenching your shirt between her fingers as she sobs in her sleep

At other times the poor thing is shaking in your arms, barely awake with her cheeks wet

And at other times, you hear her rasp out your name between her cries

Thankfully, you know how to fix these awful moments for her

With her claws dug into your shirt to keep herself close, Daniela calms down quickly once you pull her tight against you and spoon her, arms wrapped around her tightly

She is the only sister to still blame herself for your death even as you return to her, for days, until you hear of this and reassure her plenty

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #resident evil village

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doumadono · 1 year ago

Text

Quiet grief - Shoto & Touya with a friend who lost a pet

A/N: this little ficlets were written as an emergency request for my dear @aethien11-blog but sadly, the original post crushed. I'm so sorry to hear about the loss of your kitten. It sounds like she was much more than just a pet to you—she was a cherished member of your family. Grieving such a deep loss is incredibly tough, especially when the bond was as strong as yours. It's completely normal to feel overwhelmed, to experience numbness or even physical pain as you do. These reactions are part of the profound impact she had on your life. Please be gentle with yourself during this time. It's okay to grieve in your own way, at your own pace. There’s no right or wrong way to feel. Allow yourself the space to remember the joy and love your kitten brought into your life, and know that it's okay to feel sad, to miss her

EMERGENCY REQS - PART 2

Shoto

The day had been a blur. Your thoughts were muddled, and the world around you seemed to move in slow motion. Losing your kitten of ten years had ripped a hole in your heart that you didn’t know how to mend. The pain was visceral, leaving you numb and detached from reality.

Shoto Todoroki had noticed the change in you almost immediately.

During class, you were called upon by Aizawa-sensei to answer a question, but your mind had been elsewhere.

“Y/N,” Aizawa’s voice cut through the fog, “can you explain the principles of hero ethics we discussed?”

You stood up, your legs shaky, and tried to focus. But the words wouldn’t come. You stammered, your voice barely audible, “I-I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened slightly, but he marked your answer as incorrect. “See me after class,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm.

The disappointment in his eyes only added to your sense of failure.

Shoto’s eyes followed you as you left the classroom after the bell rang. He saw the slump in your shoulders, the way you dragged your feet. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know how.

Later, in the cafeteria, Shoto spotted you again, sitting alone at the back of the spacious room. Usually, you were with Mina, Ochaco, and the other girls, laughing and chatting. Today, you were picking at your food, pushing it around your plate without taking a bite. The sight tugged at Shoto’s heart. He knew something was deeply wrong.

He approached his own group, but his mind kept drifting back to you. He couldn’t focus on the conversation around him, his thoughts consumed by your sorrowful expression.

“Shoto, are you okay?” Izuku asked, noticing his friend’s distraction.

Shoto glanced at him, then back at you. “Y/N isn’t herself today.”

Izuku grimaced with sadness. “Oh. Do you think she’s okay?”

Shoto shook his head. “No, she’s not... I mean it appears she's not. I want to help, but I’m not sure how.”

After school, as Shoto headed back to the dorms, he heard muffled sobs coming from a secluded corner of the UA campus. His heart clenched when he recognized your voice. He peeked around the corner and saw you sitting on the ground, your face buried in your hands, shoulders shaking with the force of your cries.

Shoto hesitated, unsure if he should approach. He didn’t want to intrude on your private moment of sadness, he didn't know if it was a right thing to do. But he couldn’t leave you like this. Deciding to give you space for now, he made a mental note to visit your dorm room later.

That evening, Shoto stood outside your door, a box of your favorite cookies in hand. He took a deep breath and knocked softly. “Y/N, it’s Todoroki Shoto. Can I come in?”

The evening was cool, the kind of chill that gnawed at your bones and refused to let go. You stared at the empty spot on your bed where your kitten used to curl up. The loss was suffocating, a void so profound that it felt like you were missing a piece of your soul. You wiped your eyes quickly, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, come in.”

He entered the room and immediately noticed the emptiness. The absence of your cat was palpable. He offered you the box of cookies. “I thought you might like these,” he said, his voice gentle.

You took the box with a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Shoto. You didn’t have to.”

He sat down beside you on the bed, his expression serious. “I wanted to. I noticed you were having a hard time today.”

Your eyes welled up with tears again, and you looked away. “I lost my cat last night. She was… she was everything to me.”

Shoto’s heart ached for you. He knew what it was like to lose something precious. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

He reached out and gently took your hand. “I’m here for you.”

His words broke through the dam of your emotions, and you started to sob uncontrollably.

Shoto didn’t flinch. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you cried into his shoulder. He didn't mind his shirt getting wet from your tears. “I know,” he whispered. “I know how it feels to lose someone important. It’s like a part of you is missing, and nothing can fill that void.”

You pulled back slightly, looking into his mismatched eyes. “How do you deal with it?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Shoto was silent for a moment, blinking as if he was focusing very hard, his thoughts seemed to be far away. “I let myself feel it,” he said finally. “I let the pain wash over me because pretending it doesn’t exist only makes it worse. It’s okay to grieve, Y/N. It’s okay to hurt.”

You nodded, taking solace in his words. You leaned into his embrace, finding a strange comfort in the rhythmic beating of his heart. "I think... I think I'll try."

Shoto smiled softly. “That’s all you can do. One step at a time.”

He stayed with you for hours, talking about your cat, sharing stories and memories.

You laughed through your tears as you recounted her antics, and Shoto listened intently, his presence a comforting constant. When the pain became too much, he was there to hold you, to remind you that you weren’t alone.

As the days turned into weeks, the pain of losing your beloved cat began to fade, replaced by a bittersweet acceptance. You still missed her every day, but with Shoto and others by your side, the grief was no longer an unbearable weight.

And in the quiet moments, when the pain threatened to return, you found solace in the conversations with Shoto, knowing that no matter what, you would never have to face your grief alone.

Touya

The city below you buzzed with the quiet hum of evening life, lights twinkling like distant stars, but on the rooftop, it felt as though you were in another world entirely.

You kept staring into the horizon, your eyes empty, as if you could see your lost fluffy friend in the clouds that marched slowly across the dusk sky.

Touya watched you with a pensive frown. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” he said, his voice rough like gravel, yet imbued with an unexpected gentleness. “Losing someone who was a part of you.”

You turned to him, surprised by his perceptiveness. “Yes,” you breathed out, the word laden with so much more than its brevity suggested. “It’s like I’ve lost a piece of my soul. I miss her so much... It's so hard to cope..."

He nodded, understanding you more than she realized. “I’ve been there. More times than I care to admit,” Touya disclosed, his usual fierce gaze softening. “The pain, it can consume you if you let it. Turn you into something else, something you might not recognize.”

“How do you deal with it?” you asked, your voice a mere whisper against the wind.

Touya looked away, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for answers in the fading light. “I fight,” he replied after a long pause. “Not against the pain, but through it. I embrace it, let it remind me of what I’ve lost. It’s purifying, in a way.”

You pondered his words, your heart aching with every beat as you sobbed. “And does the pain ever go away?”

“No,” Touya said simply, turning back to you with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But it changes. It becomes a part of who you are. And maybe,” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. To carry those we once loved with us, even in pain.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and Touya reached out, his touch hesitant but sincere, as he wiped it away with the rough pad of his thumb. “You have me,” he hesitated, a vulnerability crossing his features that he seldom showed. "So you're not alone."

As the sky darkened fully, turning the clouds from orange to a deep, mournful purple, you sat together, your shared silence a comforting blanket around you.

“You will get through this,” Touya finally said, his voice firm. “And I will be here for ya. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it? We survive. We endure. And eventually, we heal. You know, Y/N," he sighed, his words slow and deliberate, "For me, it’s way too late to heal in any goddamn way." His lips twisted into a bitter smile, almost mocking his own realization. "But you... You still have a chance."

“Thank you, Touya,” you said, your voice steadier now. “For sharing this, and for being here with me when I needed it the most.”

The breeze ruffled his pure white hair as he turned to face you more directly, his expression solemn. "Just don’t follow the paths I've tread. They're worn down by regrets and the ashes of what could have been. You’re here, now, with the pain fresh and raw, and it’s painful, hell, I know, but this pain, it’s alive. That means you can still shape it, mold it into something that doesn’t just scar over."

You listened, the gravity of Touya's words sinking in. Despite the harshness of his reality, Todoroki was offering you a lifeline, a chance to seize your grief and forge it into a pathway forward, not just a shadow to be buried and ignored.

"Take this pain and this bereavement, Y/N," Touya continued, his voice more insistent, "and use it. Don’t let it become a chain that drags you down into the abyss where some of us are too far gone to escape from." His hand, very warm due to his quirk, reached out to grasp your shoulder, gripping it with a firmness. "Promise me," he said, his gaze piercing, "that you’ll fight, not just to survive, but to live. Truly live. Because that’s something some of us can only dream of now."

In the quiet companionship of Touya, under the vast, starlit sky, you felt a subtle easing of the weight on your shoulders. It was a gentle indication that perhaps healing, although distant, might one day be within your grasp.

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