#Help With Law Assignment us

[lesbianlenas]

have to be real & honest w u….they post who gets the highest grade in each class & this one girl got the highest grade in our writing class both semesters and i had peer reviewed her one assignment last semester like our big assignment & i do not get it……like if my professor wants me to write like that i do not want an A 😶 she had like 30 cases she cited and would write like a single sentence on each case or just like a parenthetical her writing was so hard to read bc she put way too much info i’m like how is she getting an A w that. like i was peer reviewing it w another girl & she was also like u use too many cases i’m mot crazy 😭 and like even my dean’s fellows were like u should find 3 or 4 good cases to use i guess this is why my professor did not enjoy my legal writing bc i didn’t use 20 cases 😔 sorry i 1. don’t have the will for that and 2. try to make my writing comprehensible. guess that is not what they want in law school 😩

[feminist-space]

"Balaji’s death comes three months after he publicly accused OpenAI of violating U.S. copyright law while developing ChatGPT, a generative artificial intelligence program that has become a moneymaking sensation used by hundreds of millions of people across the world.

Its public release in late 2022 spurred a torrent of lawsuits against OpenAI from authors, computer programmers and journalists, who say the company illegally stole their copyrighted material to train its program and elevate its value past $150 billion.

The Mercury News and seven sister news outlets are among several newspapers, including the New York Times, to sue OpenAI in the past year.

In an interview with the New York Times published Oct. 23, Balaji argued OpenAI was harming businesses and entrepreneurs whose data were used to train ChatGPT.

“If you believe what I believe, you have to just leave the company,” he told the outlet, adding that “this is not a sustainable model for the internet ecosystem as a whole.”

Balaji grew up in Cupertino before attending UC Berkeley to study computer science. It was then he became a believer in the potential benefits that artificial intelligence could offer society, including its ability to cure diseases and stop aging, the Times reported. “I thought we could invent some kind of scientist that could help solve them,” he told the newspaper.

But his outlook began to sour in 2022, two years after joining OpenAI as a researcher. He grew particularly concerned about his assignment of gathering data from the internet for the company’s GPT-4 program, which analyzed text from nearly the entire internet to train its artificial intelligence program, the news outlet reported.

The practice, he told the Times, ran afoul of the country’s “fair use” laws governing how people can use previously published work. In late October, he posted an analysis on his personal website arguing that point.

No known factors “seem to weigh in favor of ChatGPT being a fair use of its training data,” Balaji wrote. “That being said, none of the arguments here are fundamentally specific to ChatGPT either, and similar arguments could be made for many generative AI products in a wide variety of domains.”

Reached by this news agency, Balaji’s mother requested privacy while grieving the death of her son.

In a Nov. 18 letter filed in federal court, attorneys for The New York Times named Balaji as someone who had “unique and relevant documents” that would support their case against OpenAI. He was among at least 12 people — many of them past or present OpenAI employees — the newspaper had named in court filings as having material helpful to their case, ahead of depositions."

[sinner-as-saint]

scary? my god, you're divine

Hitman/Mob!Bucky x Reader 

Run-through: Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right? 

Themes: arranged marriage, age gap (reader is in her mid twenties, bucky’s in his late thirties), mentions of violence and death, hitman!Bucky, smut, fluff, explicit language, virgin!reader, HEA

Something woke you up in the middle of the night. 

And you’d been staring at the dark ceiling above your bed for the past few minutes now. What had woken you up? It could’ve been the strong winds hitting the large Georgian windows. Or perhaps it was the soft ticking of the nearby clock. Or maybe even the weight of all the incessant thoughts running through your head. 

Gods, you thought, what a day. 

It had started out like any other. Your father was pacing around, worried and barking orders on the phone, trying to find a way to put a stop to this chaos that was quickly forming into a full war between him and his number one rival. Small attacks had turned to frequent drive-bys, threats had turned into taking turns and blowing up each other’s warehouses and clubs. And it would only get worse and worse. 

But this morning, as he watched you come downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast, something in his eyes was different. And you could tell what was coming. You had been thinking about this for days. So when he sat you down and discussed how you could do your part in helping to put an end to all of this. 

“It’s only a matter of time before he sends his son, his favourite weapon after us all,” Your father sounded defeated. “And none of us would survive him. No one ever does. You know that.” 

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I know.” 

The son of your father’s rival, Bucky Barnes, was a name which could make even powerful men like your father tremble in fear. He was like a ghost. No one ever saw him. No one knew what he looked like. Those who had seen him claimed that he always wore a muzzle-like mask to conceal his identity. He was known for being his father’s most prized weapon. They say he never misses, that his aim is and has always been as sure as Eros’ arrows. He was like an evil Cupid. 

“The marriage would only be on paper of course, you don’t have to live with him.” Your father explained, seeming desolated, “But you being married to him would make us family, and…” He trailed off, sighing. 

But you knew what he meant. Family meant everything in this society. If your family and the rival’s were joined to each other by marriage, all attacks would cease. Because keeping family safe was everyone’s number one priority, even in this line of work. 

So this was all up to you now. Your family’s safety, the safety of people who worked with and for your father, all the allies, and friends, and acquaintances. It was a heavy weight to carry. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Things happened so quickly after that. Phone calls were had, arrangements and deals were made, and by the afternoon, a sheet of paper was brought to you. That’s it. No groom, no fancy shit. Just a piece of paper on which Bucky Barnes had already signed. And with your signature added next to his, you two were now forever husband and wife by law. 

It was weird, being married to a man you had never seen before. He was just a name. Granted, a name with immense magnitude in the society, but still just a name. No face to go with it. 

By the evening, your things were packed. It was an order by your new husband. He wanted his new bride in his home, and things were so freshly mended that neither you nor your father wanted to argue. So Bucky sent cars and a bunch of his soldiers to escort you to his house. It was not unexpected that he was so absent from all this. Bucky Barnes had a reputation of living in the shadows. He was so rarely seen.

Bucky’s house was not too far from your family home. In fact, the closer you got to your new home, the more you realised that despite everything, you did not mind this as much as you thought you would. 

Your husband’s home was this stunning piece of architecture. A lavish Georgian-style mansion. Beige stone, carved details and mouldings around the many windows and main entrance. Dark shingles on the roof, well-manicured lawn, a long driveway giving it a sense of both elegance and exclusivity. The mansion sat on a beautiful, seemingly endless estate. Lush and green. It was a testament to the wealth and the power of its owner. 

You were politely led inside the home by one of the many staff members who took care of the house. And the interior was just as breathtaking. Luxurious, with the right amount of vintage accents. 

“We did what we could with the limited time we had to prepare a room for you.” The kind lady had said to you. She also mentioned that this room would be entirely yours. Bucky apparently had his own on the other side of the mansion. 

You murmured that it was alright, and when she finally showed you to the room they had ready for you, you were pleasantly impressed. The layout, the colour theme, the decor, all of it was to your liking. You even had a personal little balcony which looked over the endless green backyard. 

That night you dined alone, which was not a surprise. Everyone knew Bucky Barnes was a busy man, and he was apparently above trivial things like dining with his new wife. But the silence was welcomed. After dinner you found yourself back in your bedroom, and soon in bed with a book. 

Well, maybe this was your new life now. Grand mansion with an impressive library. Solo dinners and kind staff members. A giant, dreamy bedroom all for you. Dare you say, it wasn’t too bad. 

–

But here you were now, unable to fall back asleep after some mysterious thing woke you up. You sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. You couldn’t even blame your new surroundings for your inability to sleep. Everything here was so quiet, and comfortable. Even this new bed felt like laying on the fluffiest cloud. Perhaps you could read some more–

You froze when you heard it. 

Someone breathing. Someone else’s breaths. A soft exhale, but it was enough to make your heart race in panic. It was the middle of the night. And there was someone in this dark room with you. 

Slowly, you tried to reach for the lamp on your bedside table to turn it on, but then you heard a voice say, “Don’t.” 

A smooth, relaxed, male voice. Sounding like it came from one corner of the room. It could only be one man, couldn’t it? 

“Bucky?” You questioned, for some reasons pulling the covers up to your chin as if he was not a man but a ghost. 

A pause, then he said, like he was gently teasing you, “Hello, wife. Can’t sleep?” 

You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness better. You strained your eyes until you could see the silhouette of a man in the corner of the room. He was sitting in one of the sofas near the unlit fireplace, quiet, still like a marble statue. 

There was almost no light coming into the room. The thick curtains allowed very little moonlight in, and it was hard to see. But you couldn’t ignore that large silhouette now that you’d noticed him. Something near him was shiny, almost metal like, you couldn’t tell what it was. 

“Do you always lurk around in the shadows like a ghost?” You asked, wondering where the hell you found the confidence to talk to one of the finest hitmen like this. It’s not like he would shoot you if he didn’t like you. A small voice said. Would he? 

A chuckle. Deep, and careless. A boyish sound. 

“It’s my house,” He responded in that same gentle but teasing tone, “I lurk wherever I please.” 

Well, he did have a point there. 

“Well then,” You said in a casual tone, “If you’re done lurking and spying on me, I’d like to go back to bed.” 

A soft scoff. Then he said, “I’ve watched you toss and turn for the past half an hour. I’d say you’re having trouble turning your brain off.” 

Half an hour?! 

“Wouldn’t you?” You retorted, keeping your voice calm and steady. “If you were forced to marry someone who’s so mysterious that no one’s ever seen them before, wouldn’t you have some trouble turning your brain off?” 

“Ah.” He got up, and you could tell by the sound of his footsteps that he was approaching the bed, “No one forced you to marry me. A suggestion was made and you agreed to it.” 

You replied quickly, “The alternative was watching everyone I love and myself be murdered by you, so semantics.” 

Another chuckle as he stopped at the edge of the bed, so close to you. You refused to move. You tilted your head up but could still only see his silhouette. He spoke in that teasing tone again, “They said you were smart, and beautiful. Guess they forgot to mention you were bratty too.” 

You frowned. “What?” 

Silence. Then he began moving away from your bed and towards the door. “Good night, wife.” 

“Good night,” You muttered, slightly annoyed and confused, “Ghost.” 

You heard his soft chuckle right as he shut the door behind him and left you all alone again in the dark. You didn’t dare turn the lamp on even after he left. 

— 

“Is Bucky ever home?” 

You asked one of the staff members at breakfast the next morning. The lady smiled at you and answered, “He keeps to himself. We rarely ever know if he’s home or not. He works at odd hours, you see? Besides, our job is to take care of the house. We clean, we make the meals and leave them in the fridge, we get our paychecks each month. Everyone is happy. We don’t pry.” 

You nodded, sipping on some tea. “So… are you one of the people who don’t know what he looks like?” 

“Oh no. I saw him recently.” She said, smiling. 

“How recent?” You asked. 

“A couple of months ago. He’s a busy man, he’s rarely ever home.” 

Unbelievable. 

“Doesn’t it feel like you’re employed by a ghost?” 

She smiled again, refilled your cup and said, “Oh, we’re used to Mr. Barnes. Sure, sometimes it feels like the house is way too empty. But look, now you’re here! We get to take proper care of someone for once.” 

She was so cheery and kind that you couldn’t help but smile at her words. How on earth did a man that grim manage to have the best staff members in the whole world? 

— 

The following night, Bucky came to see you again. 

You woke up upon hearing the door of your bedroom opening. You sat up again, leaning against the headboard. You didn’t reach for the lamp on your bedside table this time. Instead you said, “Lurking again, I see.” 

“Oh yes,” He answered, taking a seat on the same sofa by the dark fireplace. “How was your day, wife?” He asked, as if this was the most normal way to have a conversation. 

“Good.” You said, “I spoke with your staff members. They say they barely ever see you at home.” 

He sighed, “I barely ever am at home.” 

You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see it. He was too… intangible. Faceless. There was nothing you knew about him aside from his profession. And not knowing was starting to annoy you. 

“Why can’t I see you?” You asked. “I mean it’s not fair. I married you. I’ll eventually see you someday.” 

He was silent for a moment. Then asked, “Will you?” 

“Well, yes.” 

“What for?” There was that teasing tone again. So subtle. But it was there. 

Your face burned. “Well… we’re married.” You stated the obvious. “And it won’t be long till our families start asking for, you know, grandbabies.” 

“Babies can be made in the dark.” His smooth voice felt like a gentle caress. Like the finest, cool silk sliding over your warm body… 

Oh no. You can’t like his voice. Not yet. 

“That’s not what I–,” You sighed, “Why are you so against showing your face? Are you ugly?” 

He chuckled then. Loudly, if you could see him you’d surely see his shoulders shaking. “You think too much, wife.” He got up again, ready to leave. “Good night.” 

You sighed, defeated, and listened to the sounds of him leaving the room. Then almost angrily whispered, “Good night, husband.” 

—

“It’s because he’s ugly, isn’t it?” You asked two of the staff members one morning while they set the table for your breakfast. “That’s why he doesn’t show his face?” 

The two ladies chuckled to themselves, and one of them said, “No he isn’t.” She sounded confident too. 

“Have you seen his face? Like properly?” 

They both nodded. 

“And? You don’t find it weird that he doesn’t show his face?” You questioned. “He refuses to let me see him. He only comes to talk to me in the dark. Like some messed up Eros.” You whispered the last part to yourself. 

One of the ladies said, gently, “Give him time. He’s not… terrible.” 

— 

“Your staff speaks highly of you.” You said to him when he came to see you that night. Again, sat in that corner like a ghost whose only purpose was to haunt your bedroom specifically. 

“Do they?” 

“Yes,” You made yourself comfortable, leaning against the headboard like you had the habit of doing. “Do you pay them to sing your praises?” 

He chuckled. “Is it that hard to believe that I’m not some sort of monster?” 

You sighed. “If not then why can’t I see you?” 

“Not yet.” He said. 

“Why?” 

“Because I said so.” He replied, and by the sounds of it, he stood up. Surely ready to leave. “Now, is there anything you need?” 

You tried to see if you could tell where he was standing but the room was too dark. However, it seemed like, judging by the sound of footsteps, that he’d gotten closer to the end of your bed. “There’s nothing to do around the house. The ladies take care of everything. I appreciate the library, but…” 

He was quiet, like he was thinking. Then said, “I’ll see to it.” 

“I’m assuming you won’t let me go back to work in my family’s companies.” You could tell he wouldn’t. 

“No,” He said, as expected. “You’re my wife now. I’m well equipped to provide for you and see to your needs for the rest of our lives. But if you have any hobbies, please, indulge away.” 

Something about his calm tone made you confess your little secret, “I like to paint. I’ve always wanted to be an artist.” 

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Perhaps the dark helped you open up better. Maybe the fact that you didn’t know him made it easier to talk. Like how people tend to prefer texting over calls. Him being so invisible made it so much more effortless. 

You continued, “I always wonder what it must be like to have an exhibition of my works.” You chuckled. “I know it sounds vain but… I’ve always wanted to let my mind and soul leak all over canvases, and share it with the world. I think it’s such a brave thing when people do that.” 

He was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke in that teasing tone, “Painting, huh?” 

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to make fun of me, ghost.” 

He chuckled. “Get some sleep, wife.” 

And then he left. 

— 

The following morning, you woke up to two surprises. 

The first one was waiting for you at the breakfast table. You noticed the box on the floor immediately. It was partially opened, and had a note stuck to it. 

The note read: ‘Since there’s nothing to do around the house…’ written in a messy handwriting. Surely Bucky’s. 

You opened the box and in there, on a folded blanket, was a sleeping, fluffy little puppy. A black lab it seemed. With a pink collar around her neck. You gasped as you gently picked it up and couldn’t resist bringing it up to your face. Puppies always smelt so good. 

The little one yawned and let out some cute noises as you held her up to look at her properly. By now the two ladies whom you saw frequently around the house walked up to you and one of them said, “He left something else for you.” 

You followed the ladies, new puppy in hand, and they led you to what seemed like a newly built studio. It was in an area of the mansion where you didn’t go very often. And as you walked in, you gasped in surprise for the second time that morning. 

It was located on the ground floor. A bright and spacious space. The beige walls felt like a giant blank canvas in itself. The large Georgian windows allowed the perfect amount of light in. And everything in the room was neatly organised. Art supplies, paints, canvases, palettes, easels. 

Oh, it was perfect. 

The ladies left you to explore on your own, saying something about bringing you breakfast in here. But you were distracted by the bright yellow sticky note on one of the easels. You walked up to it and it read: ‘For your mind and soul to leak all over. Paint me something. I’ll consider it a wedding gift.’ 

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you read and re-read the note left by your mysterious husband. You whispered to your sleeping puppy, “Maybe our ghost isn’t so bad, huh?” 

-

Hours went by. 

The ladies brought you and the puppy your meals, a bed for the pup, snacks for you, all while you were busy letting your creativity flow as much as possible. 

The first few canvases were horrible according to you. You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in so long so it felt like day one all over again. But gradually, over the next few canvases, you could see what your brain was trying to create. 

The blank canvas soon turned into flowy shapes. Curves, facial features, hands. Entwining bodies. Two of them. And the colour purple, lots of it. It didn’t make too much sense at first, but the more you worked on it the more you realised what you were painting. 

It was your version of ‘The Abduction of Psyche’. How fitting. 

By the time you were done and happy with it, your back was aching from sitting on that stool all day. It was almost time for dinner. The sun had set. The puppy was awake so you held her up to show her the canvas and asked, “You think our ghost will like it?” 

She let out the tiniest, softest howl. 

“Yeah, I think so too.” 

You left to shower and have dinner. Then once it was time for bed you asked one of the staff members, “Does Bucky have some kind of an office?” 

She replied saying yes he does, and that she could show you where it was. You grabbed the not yet dry canvas and carefully carried it all the way to where Bucky’s office was. The lady again left you all by yourself to explore. 

At first you didn’t want to spend too much time in there. It was Bucky’s space after all. But then you thought, if he was comfortable walking into your bedroom at odd times during the night, why shouldn’t you check out his office? 

So you did. You left the canvas where it could dry without any problem and where Bucky would see it upon entering the room. Then you began exploring. The room was not what you were expecting for someone like Bucky. You thought it would be less… old school. 

He had a vintage looking typewriter on his desk for gods’ sake. Not one he used of course, but it added layers to his character you thought. Dark wooden furniture, comfortable looking chairs, more bookshelves filled with cloth-bound books. It was… cosy. 

So cosy in fact that you grabbed a book and made yourself comfortable on one of the chairs. You’d read for an hour or so then head off to bed, you thought. 

But soon, you drifted off to sleep. Right there. In Bucky’s office. 

-

You woke up and felt something soft and fluffy moving around on your lap. You opened your eyes and quickly realised you weren’t in bed. The room was dark. With very little light coming in from the outside. There were no curtains in this room, but also it was situated in an area of the mansion where very little moonlight came in.

Before you could panic though, a voice spoke up from not too far away, “You’ve been busy today, I see.” 

Ah, Bucky. And fuck. You’d fallen asleep in his office. 

You refused to feel embarrassed. So you asked, “Did you like your wedding gift?” 

“Yes.” He replied, and gauging by the sound you could tell he was sitting at his desk, in the darkest corner of the room. “I’ll hang it in my office.” 

You smiled in the dark, feeling a little proud of yourself. “And where’s my wedding gift?” 

“In your lap.” 

Fair. 

“What should we name her?” You asked, reaching to caress your puppy who let out an adorable grunt. “Hedone? Donnie, for short?” 

He let out a chuckle. “You are really leaning into this whole Eros-Psyche thing, huh?” 

You shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t have to if you’d just show me your face. But you keep choosing not to, so deal with it.” 

A pause. Then he asked, “You like your new studio?” 

That made you sit up straighter. “I love it. Thank you.” Then you added, “My family always thought painting was a waste of time. They said it kept my head in the clouds too much. That it was… pointless.” 

He was quick to say, “It’s not. Besides, your hobbies don’t have to make sense to anyone else but yourself. And I’ve seen the other canvases you left in the studio. They’re good.” 

You turned to face the dark corner he was in. “You think?” 

“Yes,” He said. “We can hold an exhibition if you want. Let me know when you’re ready.” 

You let out a surprised chuckle. And when he didn’t laugh you realised he was serious. “Bucky, it's not so easy.” You explained calmly. “There’s so much work that goes into it, there needs to be some cohesion to the art pieces. There’s marketing, there’s research, there’s…” You exhaled, “There’s a lot of work to be done. Art exhibitions aren’t as easy or quick as you think it is.” 

He replied, “Leave all that to me. Just let me know when you want to hold one.” 

Just like that? 

“I… okay.” 

You felt warm in a way you’d never felt before. No one had ever taken your interests so seriously before. You’d never even been able to discuss this freely about your hobbies. And here Bucky was, ready to listen and interact with it. 

You got up to leave because this was… a lot to process. “Well then. Good night, Bucky.” 

A soft scoff. “Think I liked it more when you called me a ghost.” 

You smiled as you approached the door, puppy in hand and amazed at how well you were able to navigate in the dark. “Night, ghost.” 

He gave you a satisfied hum, then, “Good night, wife.” 

— 

It was bizarre to admit but you’d gotten used to those conversations in the dark with your husband. Days went by quickly given how engrossed you were with painting. Especially with the thought of a potential exhibition now in the back of your mind. Gods, that would be a dream. 

And while your days consisted of painting, playing and training your puppy, exploring more and more of the grounds and your new home, making quick trips to the stores to get more supplies, catching up with your friends who were still trying to grasp the fact that you got married so quickly, getting to know the household staff and the guards better, your night consisted of waiting and fighting your sleep until Bucky came to talk to you. 

It was always short conversations. Filled with easy banter and teasing tones, sarcastic comments and you asking each and every night if he was in the mood to show his face. Bucky always said no. And you always sent him off with a ‘good night, ghost’. 

You had gotten used to your ghost. As had your puppy. She would bark happily each time Bucky would enter your bedroom door at night. She’d run to him for playtime and cuddles as he sat in his dark corner and spoke with you until you fell asleep. 

Bucky would often leave you some kind of a note, for you to read in the morning. At the breakfast table, or in your studio. Sometimes he would leave compliments and comments on your dry canvases. Eventually, you stopped fighting the smiles which formed on your face as you read his notes. 

But all of it only made you want to see him more. Not that it would change anything. Bucky had quickly become… a friend, you’d say. A confidant if you will. He had become a habit. Part of your routine. 

And then one night, he didn’t come to see you. 

You waited. He usually came around midnight. It was well past 2 a.m. and he never came. 

At some point you went downstairs, pretending as if you just needed some water. One of the guards caught you trying to peek out into the driveway from the kitchen window. 

“Boss is not home yet, ma’am.” He said. 

You acted like you didn’t care. But still asked, “He does this often?” 

“Sometimes.” 

You nodded. You took your drink and with your puppy in your arms you walked back upstairs, passing by the many guards who were on duty inside the house at nighttime. 

“It’s alright, he’s probably just busy.” You whispered to the sleeping pup as you made your way up. “Or maybe he’s hurt and tending to his wounds somewhere else.” You felt a gentle pinch in your chest at the thought of Bucky hurt and alone out there. So you forced yourself to think of something else. Something way worse. “Or maybe he’s with someone else.” You scoffed, nuzzling the soft fur of your pup, “This marriage means nothing to him anyway. But that’s alright, we don’t need him. I’ve got you. We’ve got each other. Don’t we?” 

Safe to say, you went to bed slightly annoyed that night. And in denial too because you refused to admit that you missed him. 

– 

There was a note waiting for you in your studio the next morning. 

It read: ‘No I did not spend the night with someone else. I’ll explain later. See you tonight, wife.’ 

Huh. Looks like the guards have really good ears. 

Well, whatever. It’s not like you were impatiently waiting for night to come just so you could talk to your ghost of a husband. Right? 

Except you were though. So much that you couldn’t paint a decent thing. You were easily giving up on each canvas, and leaving a trail of unfinished work the more time went on. 

Eventually you sighed and left the studio. You tried reading but that wasn’t happening either. So you did the only thing you knew would take your mind off things. You asked the ladies to show you where everything was kept in the kitchen and you got to baking. 

Which you did until it was time for bed. Your mood was off, and it was all because of a faceless man. And that somehow annoyed you even more. 

You grabbed a plate of the mini muffins you’d made earlier and made your way upstairs. Your puppy had just gotten used to the stairs so she happily followed you everywhere you went now. 

You proceeded to sit in bed, and eat your muffins angrily and forced yourself to try to sleep. 

-

You woke up sometime later. And you just knew who was in the room with you. 

Except he wasn’t in his usual spot. 

He was standing by the windows which faced your bed this time, with his back to you. The curtains were pulled, the moonlight came and there was his dark silhouette. And… you frowned as you noticed the shiny metal arm. 

“You’re home.” You said. 

Bucky turned his head to the side, “I am.” He said. 

You took a second or two to admire the side profile. With the moonlight shining all around his silhouette he looked like a fallen angel of sorts. “You didn’t come home last night.” 

“I was out working,” He said. 

“Maiming and killing?” 

“You know me so well.” 

“Is that a… metal arm?” You questioned. 

“It is.”  

“Were you hurt?” 

“I was.” 

You sighed again. “Is it always going to be bland answers and mystery with you?” 

“Get used to it.” He said in that teasing tone. 

You got out of bed as quietly as you could. “I think I liked you better without the attitude, when you sat in the corner like a ghost.” You took some steps away from the bed, approaching the giant windows. The room was rather spacious so it would take some more steps to get close to him. If you’d only– 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” He warned, but remained in the same spot. 

You groaned. “Don’t you think this is getting tiring? I mean, I’m married to a man I’ve never seen before. In fact, no one has ever seen you. Why? What are you hiding?” You added, sounding defeated.  

Bucky lowered his head, which only accentuated how broad his shoulders really were. He sighed. “Do you know how much trouble could’ve been avoided if only Psyche trusted Eros?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I think she had her reasons. A mysterious, faceless lover who only shows up in the dark and hides in the shadows is bound to raise some doubts. Don’t you think so?” 

He chuckled. You blinked and he’d turned around to face you. But despite that, you couldn’t see his face at all. Even though he was inches away. 

He was quiet. Observing you with interest. The moonlight allowed him to see all of you, and he just… stared for a moment or two. A shiver ran down your back. An unfamiliar, but pleasant shiver. 

Without a word said, Bucky reached out and gently touched the thin strap of your silky night dress resting on your shoulder. His metal finger gliding along your skin and making you gasp at his cold touch. 

“What’s this?” He asked in his usual teasing tone. “Trying to tempt me with this excuse of a night dress, wife?” 

Fuck. Had his voice dropped lower? 

Fuck! He was so close to you. You didn’t even notice that your heart had begun racing. Your breaths had deepened. Shit. Why was this so hot?! 

“Are you? Tempted?” You asked with a steady voice, without thinking obviously. You just needed to say something so he wouldn’t notice the way you were basically panting after him like a thirsty dog. 

He chuckled. But remained quiet. 

So you said, “Thought so.” You sounded smug but you were feeling the complete opposite. 

Bucky scoffed in that arrogant way he often did. It was insane how easily you were able to pick up on his mannerism when you hadn’t even known him for that long. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want to sleep with you?” 

Oh. 

Oh this was bad. Because now your brain was making up hot, steamy scenes in your head. Scenes involving you and your faceless, mysterious husband in the dark. Entwining bodies on soft bed sheets. Fuck, you should paint that. No, what?  

“Then why haven’t you?” You found yourself asking. 

Okay then, bold as fuck it is. You’d gone past the point of no return now. Guess it was time for this conversation. 

Bucky’s fingers remained on your shoulder, tracing the thin strap there. And you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk in his voice when he asked, “You want me to?” His metal hand dropped to your waist and before you could fully process it, he pulled you closer, leaned in to whisper into your ear, “You want my hands all over you, wife?” 

You could feel his slight stubble against your skin as he spoke. His lips brushing against your ear, making you gasp and tremble. Your hands found their way to his shoulders. And oh, he was pulling you even closer. Your chest pressing against his. The cool material of his suit felt amazing against your warm skin. 

“Look at you,” He cooed into your ear. “Is this what you want? Hmm?” He placed both his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. His lips moved lower, brushing against your neck as he spoke. “You like how rough my hands feel?” He moved his hands up and down your sides. “Do you know how many people I’ve hurt with these hands?” He chuckled when he heard the tiniest moan leave your mouth. “You’re so soft and warm, aren’t you worried what these hands might do to you?” 

He nuzzled your neck, hands roaming all over your sides and back and squeezing your butt. You became so pliant under his touch. Tilting your head back to allow him to kiss all over your neck, pressing your chest more and more against his like you couldn’t get enough. The layers of clothing, you wanted them gone. 

With a shaky voice you murmured, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to scare me or turn me on.” 

He laughed. And it was the best sound you’d ever heard. 

“You’re sick in that pretty head, huh?” He teased. “That beautiful brain is filled with filthy, dirty, dark thoughts, isn’t it?” His metal hand reached up and carefully wrapped around your throat. 

You gasped as he squeezed just a little bit. Those dirty thoughts he spoke about really started to fill your head. 

“Are you just all talk or–,” 

He cut you off by dragging you all the way to your bed, still holding you by the throat. 

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and he gave you a slight push, ending with you falling onto your bed on your back. You looked up at him, hovering above you, his lower body pressing into yours. 

“Do you just run that mouth?,” He asked, supporting himself with one hand while the metal one remained wrapped around your throat, his voice low and menacing but in a way that made your legs part on their own so his hips settled in between them. Your bodies fit together like the most perfect puzzle pieces. “Or do you know how to take it like a brat as well?” 

You felt the need to let him know then. “I don’t know,” You said, sounding both breathless and bratty. “I’ve never had to take it.” 

He paused for a moment. Then asked in subtle surprise, “What do you mean?” Even his grip around your throat loosened completely. 

You squirmed in slight embarrassment but that only caused your hips to grind against his and for a moment there both of you let out a strained moan. Fuck. The tension between the two of you was almost physical now. Even in the dark, even with Bucky being nothing more than just a shadow above you. 

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, still feeling his cold fingers all over your skin, “I’ve never been with anyone before.” 

He was quiet. As if thinking. You tried your hardest but you couldn’t see any of his facial features. You knew he had a slight stubble because you’d felt it earlier. But aside from that, you knew nothing. Not even his eye colour. 

“You want us to stop?” He asked, shifting his body slightly as if he was ready to pull away if you asked him to. 

“No,” You answered way too quickly. Then you got bold again and let your hands find their way back to his shoulders. You pulled him down, closer to you just a little and said, “This is okay.” 

His fingers moved up, from your neck to your mouth. “Yeah? You want this, huh?” He mumbled, tracing your mouth with his fingers. You shivered under his touch. “You’ve been a whiny little brat lately, haven’t you, wife? Pouting and all just because I wouldn’t show myself to you.” He whispered, leaning in to just brush his lips against yours. You gasped at the sensation of his soft lips rubbing against yours. Bucky chuckled at your reaction. “Don’t think my staff doesn’t report back to me. I’ve been well aware of all the times you asked the ladies to give you details about me.” 

Now that made you squirm in embarrassment. Still you said, sounding a little annoyed at being caught. “Can you blame me?”

“Can’t you just trust me?” He argued. 

The danger and authority in his tone had your thighs clenching together to try and alleviate the torturous pain in between your legs. You were almost certain you had never been this turned on and annoyed at the same damn time before. You sighed in frustration. “This isn’t fair.” 

“No, it isn’t,” He said, pulling away and began undressing you to your pleasant surprise. “Deal with it.” 

Oh fuck. 

Fuck… You had to hold back from whimpering each time his hands rubbed against your skin. He took his time in sliding the straps of your night dress down your shoulders, dragging the silky fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked under him. 

You shivered once he left your night dress bunched around your waist carelessly. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air. It was because even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was staring right at you. 

You spoke in a hushed voice, not daring to speak loud in fear that it might break whatever spell you were under. “So you get to see me naked all you want, but I can’t see your face?” 

He chuckled. “You want me to leave this room right now? Leave you here all wet and squirming? Or do you want me to take care of it and make you come? Huh?” 

That shut you up really quickly. 

“I thought so.” He sounded smug again when he said that. “I should spank you for the brat you are. But since it’s your first time… I’ll be nice.” 

His hands touched you everywhere, your thighs, your stomach, your sides, your chest, your neck… everywhere. He left you gasping and trembling under him. 

“Please.” You caught yourself whispering. 

Bucky leaned down, his soft mouth brushing against your cheek as he said, “Please what?” 

You squirmed, “Touch me, please.” 

He chuckled. You felt his warm breath against your skin as he kissed his way down your naked body. “Look at you,” He murmured, lips brushing against your stomach, “You’re so eager already.” 

You heard the faint chuckle which left his mouth the moment he noticed your legs spread apart for him naturally. Your face felt like it was burning but fuck, you were too turned on to even be properly embarrassed. Also, being in complete darkness helped. 

Damn. You were really getting intimate with your husband whom you hadn’t even seen yet. And somehow that fact was making you want this even more. 

But that mystery stopped being an issue the moment Bucky leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease.

He poked at your entrance with his tongue and your body felt hotter than before. Back arching off the bed as you let out a soft moan at the foreign feeling. Fuck he felt good. You whimpered as you felt his tongue stroke your most sensitive parts. Your immediate reaction was to pull your hips back from the overwhelmingly good sensation his mouth was causing. And that made him grip your thighs tighter, keeping them pinned to the bed. 

“Stop moving.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble. 

You whined as you felt his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to his mouth. The metal hand on your warm skin made you shiver and tremble so much that you were thankful for the darkness. 

The small amount of moonlight which came in allowed you to only see the silhouette of his broad shoulders, and his head moving slowly, sensually in between your legs. Fuck… somehow the mystery only made it hotter.

Oh you were fucked in the head for real. 

And oh, Bucky was a fucking tease. Once he noticed how easily you cried out and moaned for him, he slowed down and began kissing around your clit just to purposely mess with you. He kissed your thighs, purposely avoiding touching where he knew you needed him the most. He kissed down all the way to your core, and gently bit your skin around your inner thighs. 

“Bucky, please!” You cried out, hand reaching for his hair. When you managed to grab a fistful of his soft hair, you gave it a gentle tug. “Stop teasing me.” 

“You don’t get to give me orders, wife.” He said, sounding all proud and mighty. “I could just walk out of here and leave you like this. Naked and squirming.” 

“Please,” You begged again. You could feel your arousal trickling out of you. 

A scoff. Then he leaned in again. You whined and whimpered under him, with your legs wrapped around his head. Fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp instinctively as he flicked, and sucked, and teasing your clit as much as he could. 

“You’ve been a brat because you wanted your husband’s attention so badly, huh?” He taunted. “Is that what you wanted? Just my attention?” He chuckled. “You’re as calm as a happy kitten now, aren’t you?” 

His stubble rubbed against your sensitive skin, and the friction burned a little but it was the kind of pain you kept wanting more of. You wanted more of him. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” You murmured, throwing your head back, moaning as he kept teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. 

“Come for me, wife.” His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud. 

You couldn’t even hold on for much longer, and ended up coming undone all over his tongue. Heart racing, legs trembling in his grip as you came. Your moans were soft and incessant. 

Fuck… that felt amazing. 

You had barely gotten your heart to stop racing, and Bucky was already standing up and in the dark you couldn’t see very well but it did look like he was moving away from the bed. 

“You’re leaving?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from sounding a little upset at his departure. 

All he said was, “Good night, wife. See you tomorrow.” 

You scoffed after he shut the door behind him, leaving you in darkness yet again. “Ghost.” 

— 

That night ended up being the first of many. 

Your days consisted of painting, and finally finding a flow in most of your pieces. Perhaps if you’re able to make a decent collection, you could start thinking about the exhibition seriously, you thought. When you weren’t painting you were either training your rapidly growing puppy, or baking. You’d begun taking your puppy out for walks around the mansion, consequently doing some more exploring of the grounds. 

After all that, each night you’d get in bed and wait for Bucky. It became part of your routine. And each night with him was different. He’d spend his time touching you slowly until you were purring for him like a kitten. Kissing you all over your body in the dark. Making you come all over his tongue and fingers. Kissing you until you moaned and pulled him closer just to feel his weight pressing down on you. 

But he would always leave after making you come. And you two never actually fucked. Neither would he let you make him come. 

On nights when he wouldn’t make it home, you’d worry yourself to sleep. But then each morning you’d find a note from him either in your studio or the breakfast table. He would always say some cheesy shit. And he would always promise to come see you later that night. 

On nights when you two didn’t engage in anything sexual, it was still just as fulfilling. Bucky would tell you things about his work, his past, his family. You learnt that he was over a decade older than you, and teased him about being an old man until he pinned you to the bed and tickled you until you couldn’t breathe. 

You learnt that he liked to keep to himself and stay as far away from his family as possible. He liked peace and quiet, which would explain his lovely home being here away from most people. 

The more you learned about him, the easier it was to grow fond of him. But the more you grew fond of him, the greedier you got. You wanted more. More of his time, his touch, his attention, and most of all, you wanted to see him. 

The mystery, while hot as fuck, was killing you. 

—

One night, things changed. 

Bucky came into your room as usual. He’d gotten bolder lately, he wouldn’t sit in the corner like a ghost anymore, instead he would find his way to your bed and only leave that bed after making you come hard. 

Tonight started out the same way.  

You felt his hands all over you as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. You giggled as he bit and licked that one sensitive spot on your neck. Your fingers had a habit of finding themselves in his hair. It was insane how easily you’d gotten used to being with him in the dark. How easily you could find his mouth with your own. How easily you’d find your way into his arms. 

It was weirdly comforting. His warmth, his voice, his touch. 

“Tell me about your day,” He murmured, kissing your neck while his hands grabbed you and caressed you wherever he could reach. 

You squealed when you felt his metal fingers wandering dangerously close to your clit. Then said, “It went pretty well. I went out to buy some supplies, made a new friend at the store, I went to see my father but he wasn’t home. I took our dog for a walk, I painted…,” You gasped when his mouth trailed down till he took a nipple into his warm mouth, while he slid two fingers inside you gently. “Oh fuck…” You whined. 

He kissed his way up to your mouth again and said, “You sound so good when you moan for me, wife.” His lips brushed against yours. 

He was so close. And it was dark. And you wanted so desperately to see him. 

He moved his fingers expertly in and out of you. Making sure to brush against your most sensitive spots each time, turning you into a whimpering mess under him. He gave you a gentle kiss, swallowing your moans as he brought you closer to the edge. 

You whimpered and whined, then in the moment you just blurted out, “Can I please see you now?” 

Bucky stopped. He pulled away from you, making you whimper again as he got up and got out of your bed. 

In the dark it took a while for you to figure out where he was, whether he was still nearby or already making his way out the door. But he was here, standing near the bed. 

“We talked about this.” He said, sounding grave and disappointed. 

“But it’s been so long.” You argued. “I trust you.” 

He let out a loud exhale and said, “Then trust me when I say, it’s better this way.” 

You let out a sigh. “You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Bucky. Literally!” 

“Yes I can. I will.” He said arrogantly. That tone of his bothered you. “It’s better this way.” He repeated, but it sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself instead of you. 

“Oh screw you!” You said with enough bitterness to make a grown man flinch. “If you won’t let me see you then stop coming into my bedroom. I don’t want to see you unless you agree to let go of this weird persona.” 

“Fine.” 

—

That night was the last time you heard from Bucky. 

He didn’t come home the following day. Nor the one after that. 

And no one knew where he went. 

You could tell something was wrong when you began noticing that the guards were talking in hushed voices whenever you were around. You noticed that the amount of security around the house doubled. That’s when you began to worry. 

By the third night, the entire house was filled with this almost tangible tension, worry, and fear. The house staff wouldn’t talk to you as much. The guards were always in and out of the house. The head of security advised you to not wander too far away from the house while you roam the grounds. 

You noticed the guards would follow you whenever you left the property. Be it when you left to visit your father at your old house or when you went out to buy supplies. 

Then you worried some more. But no one had answers to your questions. Nobody knew where he went. Whether he’s away for an assignment or if he’s simply choosing to be away from home. 

You tried your hardest to pretend that you didn’t care. You were still a little angry. After all, why couldn’t you see what he looked like? You’d spend so much time with him in the dark, running your hands all over him, tracing the outline of his facial features, he never had an issue with that. But why couldn’t you see him? 

You were angry, but also very much worried by the fourth day. You missed him, you realised. He had become such a habit, such a constant in your days. His sarcastic humour, his gentle hands, his comforting embrace, the way he left you notes in the morning, the way he took your art seriously. 

Fuck. You sat up in bed one night, patting ‘his’ side of the bed softly. You missed him. Badly. You felt a pinch inside your chest which you had never felt before. It hurt. You wanted him home. You admitted to yourself with a painful sigh. 

“Where are you?” You whispered, looking at the dark corner of your bedroom where he used to sit in silence like a ghost. “It’s okay if you want to stay in the dark forever.” You looked around the dark room which now without him seemed so much bigger and empty, “Just come home.” 

—

The next morning, as you half-heartedly approached the kitchen, you overheard something. And quickly realised you shouldn’t have heard it. It was the two ladies talking in hushed tones, the ones who usually served you your meals and often kept you company while you baked. 

“...cannot tell her, she’ll be heartbroken.” One of them said gravely. 

Sudden panic made your body freeze. You pressed your back against the nearest wall to keep yourself hidden while you processed those cryptic words. No, no, no. Is he hurt? Do they know something you don’t? 

The other replied, “But she deserves to know. Even if it’s not confirmed yet. I mean, do you see how she smiles when she reads his notes? Clearly she had grown to care for him. She needs to know.” 

The other argued, “I know, but I cannot imagine how hurt she will be when she hears about the rumours that her own father kidnapped her husband due to some past rivalry which was supposedly laid to rest after their wedding.” 

“They’ve been looking for him for days now. It’s been too long, he should’ve been found by now.” 

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! 

No. This cannot be happening. 

You carefully walked away from the kitchen. Thinking, processing, analysing. 

If your father did it, it must’ve been for some shitty, arrogant reason. He probably just wanted to rub it in Bucky’s family’s face that he could still eliminate his biggest threat if he wanted to. To show that he could still get rid of them by holding their most precious weapon hostage. To toy with them by making them wait in anticipation. Your father had done it before. Not with Bucky, but other people. He usually never asked for ransom but he liked having his rivals beg him for mercy. 

Shit. He’s had Bucky for days now. 

You moved without thinking twice about it. For some reason, your brain knew exactly what to do even though your heart was still bothered by a multitude of emotions. It felt like you were on autopilot. 

You rushed into Bucky’s office and grabbed a handgun from his desk drawer, checked if it was loaded. It was. You knew Bucky kept it there for safety, he had told you that one time when you two were in bed together. 

You let out a frustrated sigh, then felt movement around your ankles. You looked down at your puppy and gave her a sad smile as you bent down to pet her. “I’m gonna go find daddy, okay? I’ll be home soon.” You left her with a kiss. 

You rushed back downstairs and found a group of armed guards in the foyer near the front door. You didn’t have the time to explain it all to them, especially since you were driven by a gut feeling. Instead you asked, “Do you guys have a way of tracking my phone, or my car?” 

One of them nodded. The rest frowned in confusion. 

You tried to keep your calm as much as you could even though your heart was racing. “Okay, I’m gonna go to my father’s house. Don’t follow me yet, but I need some of you to come find me as soon as I begin driving away from there.” 

Surprisingly, they just nodded and let you go. 

The whole time you drove to your father’s house, it felt you were constantly having to force yourself to keep calm. After four days of having no idea where he was, and now as all the puzzle pieces fit together, it was hard to remain calm. You just wanted to get to him. 

And while you drove, unanswered questions tormented you. 

Was he hurt? Where was he being kept? Was he beaten up? Was he even conscious? Would this end badly? How far would your father take this? Would he hurt him? 

Before you knew it, you were entering your father’s property. The guards let you in like they always did. You had to take a minute to breathe in your car before stepping out and going inside your old home. 

Luckily your father was home. 

You walked in and stopped in the middle of the foyer as you saw him making his way down the stairs. He slowed down when he noticed the glare you sent his way. And when he stopped in the middle of the grand staircase, with you still glaring at him, the guards who were scattered around the entrance noticed. You caught the way they silently got closer and closer, slowly reaching for their guns. 

Good thing you’d brought your own. 

The guards, as well as your father, froze in place the moment you pulled out Bucky’s gun and pointed it at the man responsible for all of this shit. No one made a single sound. No guard moved to even try to disarm you. 

You looked at your hand, which was surprisingly steady as it held the gun. And there, on the side of the shiny metal, you spotted Bucky’s initials. Your heart throbbed in a painful way, but you refused to be emotional right now, even though you needed a good cry after having bottled up your feelings for the last few days. 

You glared at your father, who was still shocked, and asked in a cold tone you’d never used before, “Where’s my husband?” 

Your father frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

You repeated, “Where is he?” 

Your father scoffed, “You’ll shoot your own father? Is this how I raised you?” 

“And you’ll kidnap your own son-in-law? For what? To show that you’re still the shit?” You questioned in a slightly raised voice. 

He sighed like he was disappointed, “You don’t know what–,” 

You cut him off. “We had a deal, right? That these petty attacks would stop after the wedding? That’s why I got married, isn’t it? Because we’re supposed to keep family safe?” 

He was quiet for a moment. Then began talking again, “If I could just get them to–,” 

“Enough!” You sounded just as tired of his bullshit as you were. “Whatever plan you have, just stop!” Then it came spilling out of your mouth, “You were supposed to protect me. All of us,” You said, referring to your older siblings, “Instead you married each of us off in exchange for whatever or whoever was going to benefit you more.” 

He argued, “If this works, you can come back home. Don’t you want that?” 

“No,” You said, and realised you meant it. “This was never home.” You admitted. “He treats me better than my own family ever did. He doesn’t tell me that my art is a waste of time. He doesn’t keep me imprisoned inside his home. He doesn’t choose who I should mingle with and who I shouldn’t. He doesn’t force me to join family businesses because it’ll be good for his image.” You taunted your father. “And he’ll never sell me to the highest bidder.” 

Your father made a sound like he was disgusted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him?” 

You remained quiet. I care for him, you wanted to say, deeply. But that would be lying, wouldn’t it? Truth was… you did fall for him. His calm voice. His gentle but playful demeanour. His dark humour. His brilliant mind and sharp tongue, always ready to argue and debate. His gentle touch… you loved him. 

“What I do and who I care for is none of your concern anymore.” You concluded, stepping forward and keeping the gun aimed at his face. “Now, where is my husband?” 

The smirk on your father’s face was maddening. “You’ll never find him,” He said. “I’ve hidden him well.” He added.  

You gave him a smirk as well. One which mirrored his. 

“Oh don’t make me do this.” You cooed. “Did you forget all those times you got drunk and confessed all the bad things you did?” You began listing, “All those times you spilled all your little secrets. About our family businesses, about your allies, the lies and betrayal. The bodies that are buried on this very property. The skeletons in your closet.” You gave him a sick, sweet smile. “Imagine if all that information just magically ends up in the ears of your rivals, dad. Imagine the carnage.” 

His smirk disappeared. “You would betray me by siding with them?” He asked in disbelief. 

You were getting tired of this. So you lowered your gun and said, “I am one of them.” 

You walked out without a single glance back at your father, but you could tell he had his jaws clenched in anger. He hated being outsmarted. But his mistake was underestimating you. 

And as for Bucky’s location, well your father gave it away when he said ‘I’ve hidden him well.’ 

There was only one place he believed you knew nothing about since at the time that he told you about it, he was drunk out of his mind as he confessed more of his crimes: the rundown warehouse which he used as a hideout/storage for weapons and arms. 

Your father had always referred to Bucky being a ‘weapon’ so it was only fitting that he would think to hide him there. Thinking no one would find him. 

But you would. 

As you drove to the warehouse, you hoped that the guards were tracking you as you had instructed them to. Because if Bucky was truly there, there was a high chance that there would be some guards, and that Bucky must be injured. And you’d need help getting him out of there. 

Driving to the warehouse, you had silent tears streaming down your face. Not just out of sadness, but also frustration. Fuck, what had your life become? 

The warehouse was a disaster, you realised as you approached it. Large, crumbling, windows boarded up with rotting wood, broken machinery scattered around the outside. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. And it was exactly the type of structure no one would bother to look twice at. The perfect place to hide illegal things, and son-in-laws you hate. 

There weren’t as many guards as you expected. Which would mean that Bucky was either chained and locked up like an animal, or that he was injured to the point where he was too weak to fight his way out of here. 

Or both. 

You shivered as you got out of your car. The few guards who were around noticed you and one of them began walking faster towards you the more you got closer to the entrance. 

“Miss, you can’t be here. Your father explicitly said no one is allowed–,” 

You scoffed and said, “Oh, I know what he said.” You kept walking. “What will you do? Shoot me?” 

“Miss,” He tried again, “I can’t let you–,” 

You turned towards him and placed the barrel of Bucky’s gun right under the guard’s chin. “You were saying?” 

Then you heard it. A fleet of cars approaching. The guards heard it too. You heard them yelling at one another while the one in front of you remained frozen in place. You smirked at him and said, “Now go play with them.” 

You had just enough time to duck and run inside before the gunshots began. You didn’t stop. The interior of the warehouse was just as dilapidated as the outside, and by the sound of it, there were quite some guards on the roof. Their heavy footsteps as they ran to duck and try to escape the bullets raining down on them echoed inside the empty warehouse. 

It was fairly easy to spot Bucky. But fuck was it painful to see him that way. 

He was chained to the wall, shackles around his wrists and ankles. His body slumped on the ground, his breaths ragged. You could tell he was tired. Perhaps tired of fighting against the chains. You couldn’t hold back your soft sob as you ran to him. 

They had left his muzzle-like mask on him, covering the lower half of his face. The leather jacket and gloves he wore were covered in blood and dirt. A lot of blood. You knelt down in front of him and that’s when you noticed the bullet wound on his thigh. It looked fresh. 

“Bucky?” You called, reaching a hand to touch his face. He was cold to the touch, but stirred at the sound of your voice. “Bucky, come on. Wake up. Please.” You sniffled and inched closer to him, “I’m here, I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?” 

He let out a weak cough. You could barely hear it over the sound of the gunshots outside. 

“Bucky,” You tried to get the chains and shackles off of him, “Come on, wake up. We need to go home.” Your own voice cracked as you felt the silent tears streaming down your face as you were unable to get the shackles off. “Please,” You begged. 

Then as the gunshots outside faded away, you heard Bucky’s faint voice saying, “Use the gun.” 

You turned to face him. “What?” 

He spoke again, his voice raspier than usual and sounding muffled due to the mask. “Shoot at the chains.” 

Your hands trembled just a little as you reached for the gun you had brought. His gun. And you said, “Okay, don’t move.” 

You did. And only missed twice. 

Breaking the chains left the shackles still around his wrists and ankles but that could be dealt with later. You were panicking, wondering how you’d get him out of here but the guards barged in just in time. And you let out a sigh of relief when they ran straight to Bucky and carefully picked him up. 

As a couple of them managed to get Bucky in the backseat of your car, one of them let you know that there was a doctor and his assistants already waiting at home to tend to Bucky. Another one asked you what to do regarding the warehouse. 

“Burn it.” You told him. “I’ll deal with my father later, right now we need to get Bucky home.” 

On the drive home, Bucky kept trying to talk. But he was so weak he could barely get full sentences out. 

“Weren’t you mad at me?” He asked.

You sniffled and said refused to answer that. Instead you said, “Try not to talk. You’ve been shot, we don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” You rambled. “Let’s get you to the doctor, okay?”  

“S’okay,” He mumbled, “It went through.” 

That only hurt more. “Bucky please, you need to save energy, okay? We’re almost home.” 

“They… shot me with my own gun.” He refused to keep quiet. 

At first you thought his brain was being delirious and making him ramble. Because of the pain, exhaustion, thirst, hunger. But then a weak sound left his mouth. Still muffled by the mask because no one removed it, and it sounded a lot like a very weak, faint laugh. 

“Eros got pierced by his own arrow after all.” He mumbled. 

You held back a sob. Then muttered, “I hate you so much, Bucky Barnes.” 

Another weak laugh. “No, you don’t, wife.” 

Then he passed out cold. 

— 

The next few days which followed Bucky’s rescue went by so fast and so painfully. The medical team kept close watch on him for days. Bucky was in and out of consciousness a lot. All the meds and the exhaustion kept him constantly out cold. 

The nurses and the house staff were constantly around him. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to go into his room. Not yet. You’d linger near the door and the doctors and the staff would constantly update you about his condition, but you never went in. 

Mainly it was because of shame. At what your father had done to him. But also you were still making peace with and processing your own emotions and you couldn’t face him until you were fully ready. What was important was that he was rescued and safe in his home. 

About a week later, the medical team finally left. And promised they would do frequent check ups and told you that Bucky needed a lot of rest. 

And that night, you managed to find the courage to finally step inside Bucky’s bedroom. It was a lot like yours, just larger. The room was dark when you walked in. But the open curtains allowed some light in from the outside. 

Okay. You spoke to yourself as you approached Bucky’s bed. It’s high time you find out who you married. 

Your hands shook a little as you reached for the dim lamp on his bedside table. But you turned it on quickly before you could talk yourself out of it. 

The golden light illuminated the room partly, and there he was. A little bruised, with a cut on his lip. His handsome face made you smile and tear up at the same time. You couldn’t hold back from reaching to touch his face softly, carefully. You ran your knuckles along his cheek and whispered, “There you are, ghost.” 

He stirred. And soon, a pair of sparkling blue eyes look up at you. For a moment you panicked, wondering if he would be upset. But instead he said, “This is cheating.” 

You let out a soft laugh and asked, “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for days.” 

“I feel like beating your father up.” He mumbled. 

“Oh, same.” You agreed. Then added, “I’m so sorry for what he did to you.” 

Over the past few days, the guards had gathered what had truly happened the day Bucky went missing. Turns out, he did leave for an assignment but your father and his men had been keeping a close eye on him for days, and since the wedding was supposed to have ended all rivalry, Bucky had his guard down as he entered your father’s territory. And your father had the upper hand for once and took advantage of it. Bucky was cornered, outnumbered and taken. He was kept in that warehouse up until you found him. 

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered, reaching for your hand on your lap. He gave your hand a soft squeeze and said, “You saved me.” 

You couldn’t look away from Bucky. It felt so intimate to finally be able to see his face. Then rather sheepishly, you asked, “Can I sleep here? I’ll be careful.” He was still injured and in pain, but you just wanted to be close to him. You needed to. 

He smirked, “Come on.” You walked to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, keeping some distance between you and him. He turned to look at you and said, “Want me to leave the light on?” 

You nodded. And he did. 

— 

A lot changed after that. 

Bucky was healing from his injury and was starting to walk again. Which meant that he was home a lot. He did ‘work’ but it mainly consisted of him ordering people around on the phone. 

Him being at home meant that he followed you around as much as he physically could. He would spend time in your studio, sometimes he’d stay for hours and watch you finish your pieces. He also spent a lot more time with your dog, taking her on short walks and teaching her new tricks. 

He’d stay with you in the kitchen while you baked. He’d go with you whenever you went shopping for supplies. Bucky became your shadow. And consequently, spending this much together made you feel closer than ever to him. 

He became your best friend. 

He also became a lot more… bold. 

—

One night Bucky found you in his bathroom. After that night when you first slept in his bed, you hadn’t gone back to your bedroom. So now, most of your things slowly found their way into his space. Like your night time skin care products. 

Bucky crept up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. 

You met his eyes through the mirror and gave him a smile. “Your limp is nearly gone.” You announced, noticing the way he walked was so much better now. 

He gave you a look which meant nothing but mischief, “And you know what that means?” 

You could already tell where this was going. You immediately turned him down. “Bucky, we cannot. You’re still injured.” 

“But it’s been weeks.” He said it like it was the ultimate torture. “Don’t you miss those nights we spent together? Hmm?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck. He knew it was one of your weaknesses. “Remember how good it feels when I make you come?” 

You sighed, letting him kiss you and hold you for a moment. “Buck… you’re still healing.” 

“Come on, baby,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck, “I’ll make it so good. I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.” 

You almost gave in the moment he playfully bit your neck, his hands finding the belt of your robe and shamelessly undoing it before sliding in to touch your warm skin. “But,” You tried to find something even though all you wanted was to drag him to bed, “Your stitches…” Your words ended in a soft moan as his metal fingers found their way in between your legs, circling around your clit. 

Bucky growled. Growled. Then said, “Fine, you get to be on top then.” 

You froze, and let out a nervous chuckle. “But I…,” You opened your eyes and met his through the mirror. “I–,” 

“Shh, it’s okay.” He reassured you, remembering the time you told him you’d never done anything with anyone before. “I know.” He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I’ll teach you.” 

And he did. Patiently. 

He took his time in undressing both of you and held your hand in his as he laid down and pulled you on top of him. 

“I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” You murmured. 

He gave you a reassuring smile. “You won’t, baby. Now come on.” 

He watched as you carefully straddled him, settling comfortably around his waist. One hand holding his metal one tightly while the other remained splayed over his chest. 

Bucky looked up at you with nothing but adoration and lust as he tugged on your hand, pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned down gently and pressed your mouth to his. His warm hand immediately rubbed up and down your side lovingly. He pulled away just a little and whispered against your mouth, “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, okay?” 

You nodded, already breathless. 

“Tell me, baby. What do you want?” 

You told him the one thing you desperately wanted. “I want to touch you.” 

Bucky smirked and supported his upper body up on his elbows, with you still straddling his waist, your core pressing down on his crotch. “Go on then, touch me.” He murmured. 

He watched you intently as you reached out and touched his face first. Bucky’s heart was racing, you could tell by the way he breathed, as your finger slowly trailed down his face, along his neck and down till his abs, so slowly that you could feel his muscles tensing underneath your touch. 

You gave him a teasing smile when you noticed the effect you have on him, and how he couldn’t help but stare at your naked body. 

“Don’t tease me,” He mumbled. 

You chuckled and leaned in to give him a brief kiss before hesitantly wrapping your hand around his cock. Part of the reason why you kissed him while doing it was because you were worried about your lack of experience, so you did it to distract him. 

But he caught it. And wrapped his own hand around yours, making you grip him tighter. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his pretty eyes. Bucky was breathing heavily. You let his hand guide you as you gave him an experimental stroke, a gentle up and down movement. 

He felt thick and hard, and big. You looked down for a quick minute as you let him continue guiding your hand, lazily stroking his cock, up and down. Your thumb rubbed his tip slowly, making him groan as you looked back up at him and kissed your way down his neck, around the base of his throat, making him gasp in pleasure. 

“See?” He whispered, “You’re learning already.” He said as he slowly let go of your hand and let you touch him on your own. 

You continued exploring this new feeling. He was completely fine with just being there and letting you take your time. And you did take your time, touching him everywhere you could, stroking him as slowly or as quickly as you wanted to. Until he was so close to the edge, eyes rolled to the back of his head, lips parted and occasional moans escaping his open mouth as  pre cum started dripping down his cock. 

Oh he was a sight to behold. But you were getting impatient, and you wanted him in you as soon as possible. So you stopped, earning a groan from him. 

“I want you,” You said. 

Bucky looked like he was barely able to hold back either. “Come on,” He held your hand again, pulled you in for a quick kiss as you straddled him properly. His hand reached down and aligned the tip of his cock to your hole, teasing you with it by sliding it up and down your slit a few times until you were whimpering. “Now sit on it baby come on,” He encouraged you as you began sinking down on him, gasping as his cock stretched you out. “You can do it.” He murmured, breathless as he watched his cock disappear inside you more and more. “That's it. All the way down, come on baby.” 

You were a moaning mess by the time you sunk all the way down, impaling yourself down on his cock. Fuck. You had never felt so full before. So fucking full. 

“You okay, baby?” He asked, holding you by your hips, moving you back and forth just a little bit to create some friction. 

You nodded, moaning at the slight movement. 

“Want me to help you move?” He asked, lips parted and he had that wild look in his eyes.

Fuck, he was beautiful. 

“Yes, please,” You whined, placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself for what was coming. 

He wasted no time. Bucky grabbed you by the hips and helped you move up and down his cock. Your wet warmth wrapped all around him, making him swear under his breath and groan at how good you felt. 

You couldn’t look away from his ocean blue eyes while you rocked your hips against his. You moved against him perfectly, your walls gripping him tightly and feeling him twitch inside you. 

“Look at you.” He cooed. “Look how well you're taking it.” 

You couldn’t help but lean in to kiss his open mouth. He was so perfect. He was everything you had ever dreamt of, you realised. 

His metal fingers moved to touch your clit while you rode his cock, teasing you and bringing you closer to that edge. It wouldn’t take much. You were so overwhelmed already. 

“Bucky…” You whined, dragging your hands down and pressing both your palms against his toned abdomen, carefully avoiding touching him around his thigh area, where he was shot. 

Bucky watched you, your breasts bouncing gently, lips parted, softly gasping as you got so, so close to the edge. 

And he knew. So he quickened his pace, still moving you up and down his cock while he rubbed your throbbing clit. 

“Baby, I’m gonna need you to come for me, okay?” His voice was low, barely even a whisper. His desperation was quite clear. He began to thrust his hips up even harder, matching your movements.

The air around you got hotter, and that look in his eyes made you want to live in this moment forever. Bucky was the most beautiful mess you’d ever seen. A sweaty, moaning mess under you, messy hair, swollen lips, and a throbbing cock. 

You were sure you looked like a mess too as you felt your walls clench around him, gripping him and milking him perfectly. 

“Come for me,” He whispered, “Come on, baby.” 

You came without a warning, crying out loud and impaling yourself down on him one last time as you did. Bucky thrust up into you one last time and came undone as well, both of you breathing hard and fast. 

You carefully got up from his lap and laid down beside him, body limp and slightly sore in between your legs. 

You were still catching your breath as you asked, “Did I hurt you?” You sounded just as worried as you were. 

Bucky chuckled. “I should be the one asking you that.” 

You smiled and snuggled into his side, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer. 

“I’m fine, baby.” He said and kissed your forehead. 

You both laid there in silence for a while. 

Cuddling and relishing each other’s warmth, caressing each other’s skin. 

You felt his fingers drawing random shapes on your back as you laid your head on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeats against your cheek. You felt the need to ask him, “Why were you so against showing yourself to me?” 

He gave you a soft chuckle. “You just can’t let that go, huh?” 

“Nope.” 

He sighed, pulling you closer. “I was… afraid.” 

You frowned. “Afraid of what?” You pulled away and looked up at him. “Why did you hide this pretty face from me?” You gave him a quick kiss on his chest as you waited for his answer. 

He sighed again. “Everywhere I go, I… whenever people see me up close, it’s already too late. They don’t see a human anymore, they see death staring back at them.” He paused. You remained quiet. He continued. “I see it, you know? In their eyes. When they look at me and plead, or beg, or curse me.” A humourless laugh, then, “After some years of that, I began seeing it in the mirror as well. I saw the same thing they see. After years of brutality, and killing, and spilling blood,” A soft chuckle, “Years of being an evil Eros as you call it, I grew to hate my face.” 

You felt tears forming at your waterline but you couldn’t look away from him. Not when he was being so brave and vulnerable. 

He continued. “And then before our wedding, I looked you up.” He confessed, a little embarrassed. “And you were so beautiful.” He looked you right in the eyes and repeated, “You are so beautiful. I guess, I didn’t want you to look at me and see death, and ugly and all the other dark stuff. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes, the same one I see in everyone. That look of fear and disgust.” He finally admitted, “So I thought, I’d just hide and be a ghost.” 

“My ghost.” You corrected him, reaching out to cup his chin in your palm. “And I’m gonna need you to never stop haunting me.” You said, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on his lips. “I want you to always be in the shadows. Be with me, even in the dark.” You gave him a smile. “I look at you now and you know what I see? I see a man who treated me with respect. A man who wouldn’t touch me unless I asked for it. A man who gave me so much space for my creativity.” A faint smile, then you added, “You made me fall in love with art all over again, and now everything I paint, I paint with you in my mind.” 

He gave you a smile which both broke and mended your heart. 

“Oh Buck,” You cupped his gorgeous face with both hands and said, “You’re not death, or scary, or any other dark shit. You’re mine, and I love you.” 

He pulled you in for a kiss so quickly you barely processed it. “And I love you.” 

You giggled into the kiss and only pulled away when you were breathless. You kissed your way down his chin and nuzzled his neck, sighing in delight. 

Bucky said, “I think I should retire.” 

“Hmm,” You asked, “And what would you do in retirement?” 

“Watch you paint, raise our dog, adopt some more animals, attend your art exhibitions, and eventually make some babies with you.” He listed it all so easily. 

“Sounds like a plan.” You agreed.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll”, use of y/n, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: Professor Higuruma has entered the chat. I’m sorry this part is a little short, but if I included the next scene in this part, it would be WAY too long.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. |

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

You’re starting to believe that you dreamt the whole marriage negotiation with Sukuna.

It had been nearly a week since he sat you down in his office, and he’s been radio silence ever since. So, maybe you dreamt it all, or perhaps he decided against the whole marriage thing. If that was the case, you needed to start looking for other jobs.

Your Friday afternoons were reserved for Higuruma’s criminal law class. You sat at your desk, typing away on your computer that your student loan paid for. It was second-hand from a different girl who had just passed her bar exam. Her parents bought her the newest MacBook on the market as a present.

When you passed your bar exam, you’d probably buy yourself a two thousand yen cake from the grocery store. Maybe you’ll even splurge and spend five thousand yen on an ice cream cake.

You halfway hear your professor assign a plethora of readings spanning from case files to different codes of law.

"It's a good thing C's get degrees, huh?" a sheepish playful voice whispers from beside you. Your eyes glance over towards the guy next to you. You're able to immediately recognize him as Yuji Itadori.

Before Sukuna, you only took notice of Yuji since he tried to make friends with everyone, regardless of social status. Even if you've barely spoken with him, you feel a sort of kinship with him.

Now, your eyes immediately fix on his soft pink hair. While Sukuna's felt more like a dusty rose color. Yuji's was brighter -- untainted from crime.

"Is a C going to help you pass your bar exam though?" you whisper back softly, giving him a smile.

"You're so cruel~" Yuji softly whines as he dramatically slumps back into his chair. You quietly laugh from his theatric display. "And here I thought you'd be so kind and offer to help me study..."

You glance back towards him before scanning everyone else in the lecture. The majority of the other students were dutifully taking notes.

"Uh... why me?" You ask, cocking your eyebrow at the male before you realized how rude that probably sounded. "I mean, why would you ask me for that? Wouldn't you be better off asking the top performers in our class?"

"One of those pretentious jerks? Give me a break," Yuji rolls his eyes as he leans towards you. He's not too close to make you uncomfortable, just close enough to whisper without disturbing anyone. "Besides, you seem nice. Also, we sit beside each other everyday. Aren't those good enough reasons?"

Before you could even think to reply, Higuruma addressed the entire class. It was the end of the lecture period.

“Alright everyone, please remember to have a safe weekend and to stay out of trouble,” Professor Higuruma says from the forefront of the class. Students immediately begin to gather their belongings and shuffle out of the lecture hall.

"Let me know what you decide next week!" Yuji said as he rushed out of the door like he couldn't get away from the academic setting fast enough.

You finish up a few quick edits on your notes before saving them and promptly sliding your laptop into your bag. You thought about checking your phone to see if Sukuna had left you any cryptic messages, but you decided against it. It’s not like you were desperate or anything.

“Ah, Y/n, do you mind staying for a bit? I would like a word with you,” Higuruma’s voice spoke up. He wasn’t nearly as loud as he could be while lecturing.

Your body tenses as you slowly pull your messenger bag over your shoulder. “Sure…” you respond hesitantly.

He knows. He knows that you’re practically engaged to a yakuza lord. He knows that you’ve been dancing dangerously close to sin at Malevolent Mass. He’s going to report you to student affairs. He’s—

Your mind swirls with all of your thoughts Your brain was running so fast you could barely keep up.

The last student leaves the lecture hall, and you can hear the soft sounds of the second hand ticking from the clock mounted to the wall.

Your steps are slow and calculated. Higuruma was at his desk, collecting papers into his bag. He then looked up at you and gave you a calm, fond smile.

You try to ease your weary heart, telling yourself that he’d look much less happy if he had caught onto you.

"I apologize. I'm sure you must be busy," he starts out as he finishes packing up his bag. He straightened his posture, having to look down at you now that he wasn't hunched over. "I wanted to just touch base with you about your paper."

"Oh okay," you inwardly let out a huge sigh of relief, but your curiosity soon resurfaced. "What about my paper?"

"Don't worry. It was a great paper, y/n. I have read summations from licensed attorneys that pale in comparison to your paper." You narrow your eyes at him, feeling a gnawing sensation of anxiety sink in.

"But..?" you prompt.

Higuruma gives a knowing smile, appreciative of your inquisitive nature. "But I was wondering what made you write about spousal privilege... The last I checked you were looking to be civil litigation attorney -- not a criminal defense attorney. So, why would you want to research something like spousal privilege?"

You swallow thickly. You had found interest in spousal privilege due to your arrangement with Sukuna. Spousal privilege allowed for wives and husbands to refuse to testify against their spouse if it would indict their spouse on any crime. There were specifications on this law, and there were certain instances were spousal privilege couldn't be upheld. Overall, Japan looked to uphold the sanctity of marriage, and you looked to uphold your image by not being called to testify against your husband one day.

"Oh... I just found it to be interesting. I think it's good for all attorneys to be well-rounded, right?" you finally respond, giving your best attempt at bluffing the criminal defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma.

"You're most certainly right." He places his messenger bag on his shoulder. "I was just looking forward to you switching majors. It'd be a pleasure to steal one of Kento Nanami's best proteges."

You feel your face warm from his overzealous compliment. You were definitely not one of Nanami's best students. Still, you enjoyed the praise.

"I'm sorry to disappoint," you give a small laugh, consciously making an effort to joke with him naturally.

“Disappoint? No, no, you impress me.” His eyes meet yours, and for the first time since starting school, you see him for who he is. He had been nothing but kind, patient, and nurturing. He cared a lot about the subject he taught, and he tried his hardest to help his students learn.

Criminal defense attorneys get a bad wrap for being arrogant and pretentious to a degree, and that’s not exactly a lie either. You’ve seen Higuruma in court before. You know his persona can overwhelm a courtroom easily with his confidence.

“I really appreciate that, Mr. Higuruma.” You drop his gaze, letting your eyes rest upon the floor as a small smile curled up on your lips.

“You can call me Hiromi when we’re not in class,” Higuruma said as he walked towards the door. He held his hand out for you to follow him. “Well, if you ever have any doubts about civil law, please let me be the first to know. I’d love to have you on the criminal law side.”

You follow beside him closely, and you feel a warmth rush your cheeks as Hiromi hovers his hand over the small of your back. He wasn’t exactly touching you, but you could feel him there — guiding you.

“I promise I’ll come to you first if I ever want to betray Mr. Nanami,” you laugh softly, but your mind is racing, wondering where he was guiding you.

Coincidentally enough, a tall muscular figure with blonde hair was walking towards you two in the hall. “Who’s betraying me?” Nanami asked as he walked closer towards you and Hiromi.

Your eyes flicker back and forth between Nanami, Hiromi, and the girl who was standing beside Nanami. You took a moment, trying to place her here as a student, but you came up short.

“Stop trying to steal my students away from me,” Nanami lightheartedly scolded Hiromi with an eye roll.

“It’s not stealing if she decides to leave civil law on her own volition. I’m simply showing her the good side to law,” Hiromi responded. You feel your back arch a bit underneath his touch as his hand rested against your back now with more casualty.

“Ah yes, the good side. Also known as the side who gets troublemakers off the hook. Don’t forget, y/n. Civil law is all about holding people accountable. Criminal law is about being the least accountable,” Nanami said with a calm smile. Your eyes wandered towards Nanami’s hand, noticing it was also placed on the young woman’s back. What was going on here?

“Alright. That’s enough from you,” Hiromi warmly laughed. It was a laugh that put your nerves at ease. Still, your skin crawled where his hand was placed. Your mind flashed back to the club, remembering how it felt when Sukuna had his hand in that exact spot, guiding you to his office.

Sukuna’s touch oddly felt like a warm security blanket, while Hiromi’s touch felt like static electricity building. You knew you were about to get shocked.

“Miss Nanami, it’s always good to see you.” Hiromi bowed slightly with respect. You feel the weight of realization set in on you. That was Nanami’s wife who he was touching like that.

“You as well,” Nanami’s wife responded fondly.

“Alright. Let’s go, Destinee, before Hiromi also tries to indoctrinate you into some sort of criminal law degree.”

Hiromi merely laughed before guiding you away from Nanami and his wife. You felt your heart start to thud in your chest. Where was he leading you?

“You don’t have any other classes today, do you?” Hiromi asked as he looked to his side. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at you thanks to the size difference.

You bit your lip slightly out of nervous habit, wondering if you should lie to him. His hand felt heavy on your back, and a weird sensation of guilt was pooling in your stomach. You weren’t even exactly committed to Sukuna yet since you hadn’t signed whatever contract, but you two have a verbal agreement.

You had already begun to feel some sort of loyalty to the yakuza lord, and maybe that was because you knew he wouldn’t take seeing Hiromi’s hand on you lightly.

Still, you reminded yourself that your professor hadn’t done anything wrong yet. The hand on your back could be seen as a supportive touch. Perhaps he didn’t know how he was coming off right now.

“No, I was going to use the rest of today to write a paper for my economics class,” you say finally after a beat of silence.

“Aren’t you such a good student? Are you struggling in any of your classes?” he asked as he reached out and opened up the door for you. Your eyes blinked as you had to adjust to the afternoon sun beating down.

Maybe he was just walking with you out towards the parking lot. You quirked an eyebrow as you realized this was the staff parking lot though. Your dorm was in the complete opposite direction.

“Uh.. well, not really..” you replied sheepishly, trying to soothe your nerves. This just kept getting worse and worse by the second. “My lowest grade this semester is copyright law.”

“Mmph, yeah, that one is unnecessary tedious. You’ll rarely work on cases of copyright infringement,” Hiromi nodded thoughtfully. “Listen, I know it’s easy to get caught up with being a law student, so I was wanting to know if you wanted to grab a bite to eat together. We can chat about whatever you want whether it be about school or—“

A loud roar of an engine and tires squealing into the parking lot completely cut Hiromi off. You instinctively jumped back a little out of fear that the car was going to ram right into you.

A car that didn’t even look like it belonged on regular civilian streets came to halt right in front of where you and Hiromi were standing. The engine purred lowly as it sat idly in the parking lot.

Hiromi furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the car. No professor had the money to afford a Maserati GT2 Stradale.

Your eyes admired the car in front of you. In all of your time of living, you had never had the luxury of seeing such a car. It was completely blacked out, but in the direct sun, a subtle deep red tint shined through. It was flip painted. It was your saving grace — your prince charming. The license plate on the front read, R. SUKUNA.

The butterfly car door opened upwards, and you held your breath. You had never been more happy to see Sukuna in your life, yet you also felt confused. How did he get into the staff parking lot..? It was guarded by security.

Slowly, your future husband stepped out of the car, rolling up the sleeves to his black button-up top. Even while you were outside, Sukuna’s dominating presence filled the air.

“Can I help you, sir?” Higuruma asked, his face hardening at Sukuna. You wondered what he must be thinking about all this. Did Hiromi know about Sukuna’s status? He is a defense attorney, so it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility.

“No, but she can,” Sukuna gave a feline grin as he held out his hand and curled his finger towards himself, beckoning for you to come with him.

You took a deep breath, knowing that you really couldn’t refuse Sukuna. Also, you didn’t want to know what getting dinner with Hiromi would lead to.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Maybe a rain check?” you said as you gave a polite smile up towards your professor. His eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly agape as he looked down at you.

As soon as you went to peel yourself from his side, Higuruma suddenly grasped your arm. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, but it was firm enough to stop you dead in your tracks.

“You can tell me if you don’t feel safe with him. You can give me some sort of nonverbal cue..” his voice was low enough for only you to hear. You were briefly taken aback by Hiromi’s kindness, but you also found it ironic how you felt less safe when it was just you and him.

“I’m fine.”

Sukuna watched interaction, and he cocked an eyebrow. He felt an unfamiliar tight feeling in his chest. The thought of him untucking his gun from where it was concealed in his waistband crossed his mind briefly, but he decided against it quickly. It would cause too much of a scene. Too many variables.

“Hiromi Higuruma, is it?” Sukuna asked, but he already knew the answer. “The famous criminal defense attorney who spends his free time teaching other future aspiring attorneys. How kind of you.”

“That’s me. I’ll ask again. Can I help you?” Hiromi’s hand hadn’t unwrapped from your arm yet. His jaw was tight as his dark eyes looked at Sukuna with suspicion.

“You can start by letting go of my wife.” Sukuna said as he took a step closer. His hands were shoved in his pockets, giving off a confident display. You could see the curvature of his muscles bulging through his shirt as if he didn’t already look big enough.

Hiromi’s eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you. All of the admiration and praise had melted from his gaze. You felt your heart drop to your stomach. It was as if you had disappointed him in some form or capacity.

He silently let go of your arm, conceding in the battle with Sukuna over you. “Nonverbal cue,” he muttered to you, still cautious that you’re maybe being forced to do this.

Little does he know, you’re the one who proposed marriage to Sukuna.

You walked straight towards Sukuna, not daring to look back at Hiromi as you didn’t think you could handle the look on his face.

Sukuna immediately enveloped your smaller body in his arms, giving you a hug that could only be described as a hug that a husband gives his wife. He had to lean down to fully hold onto you. You shivered as his nose and lips just barely brushed against the crook of your neck.

Your arms could barely wrap around him, hugging him back to fulfill the facade of being a happy wife. Your face was tucked into his chest, and his cologne assaulted your nose. His scent was deep and heavy with notes of cedar wood, leather, and tobacco.

Despite this being a facade, it felt safe and secure. Nothing could touch you right now.

In all of his time of working with accused criminals, Hiromi had never felt true fear until Sukuna’s eyes met his while he looked over your shoulder. He could practically see the red hues of Sukuna’s eyes darken as he stared him down. Hiromi could feel Sukuna marking you as his territory. It felt like time stood still for everyone.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. I have reservations for us,” Sukuna’s dark gravely voice broke the silence, and Hiromi watched as Sukuna placed his hand on your hip, guiding you over to the passenger side seat. He opened the door for you and made sure you were settled before shutting you in.

Sukuna shot one last glare in Hiromi’s direction before he got into the driver’s side and sped off.

Hiromi let out a deep sigh. How did such a pretty young student like you get caught up in this? His fingers came up, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled out his cellphone. He had to report this, even if it put you as risk.

It took several rings for the phone to pick up. “Yeah?”

“Gojo? Sukuna was just at the school. He was heading north.”

The other end of the line promptly went dead.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord @nina-from-317 @pandabiene5115 @paintedperidot @dissociativewriter @lmaoshush @ninani-nanina @sadrna @boisenberry77 @tojifush @erwinawesomeness @meanwhilesomewhereelse @safasz @kassfunk19 @moncher-ire @gradmacoco @riahlynn-102 @diduzzula @juiceeypeach

[undercoveravenger]

Room in The Den

Pairing: Hybrid!141 x Male!Reader

A/N: Intended as an early-stages poly relationship, but could also be interpreted as platonic.

Part 2 -> Click here

-----

It’s a bullshit new law that does it. Some asshole lawmakers deciding that just because there’s some small fraction of animal DNA in them that they can’t do their jobs right without “an actual person” watching over them that gets you assigned to the 141.

Sure, joining a team that elite is an honor, but it’s something you’d have wanted by your own merits, not just because someone who’d never seen real combat in their lives thought your new colleagues needed someone fully human to reel them in. 

You’ve seen their numbers - they don’t need you and you’re sure as hell they don’t want you encroaching on the bond that their experiences have fostered between them. That’s why you come in expecting the animosity. 

You were right. Captain Price is cordial enough, he shakes your hand without crushing it and says he’s eager to work with you but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes and the terseness in his voice tells you he’s just saying it to be polite. He’s run this task force long enough to know how to do his job without you there. His Lieutenant doesn’t even grant you that. The sergeants seem wary and you don't blame them but you know that it’s better to be someone like you that knows their worth than one of the holier-than-thou bureaucrats they’d been considering assigning to this post, so you’ll just have to try to find your place in the team.

-----

Soap is the easiest to win over. He finds you in the gym one night long after everyone else had retired back to their bunks, ripping through reps at the bench press without a spotter. He’s thrown for a minute, used to being the only one up this late since the rest of the squad is mostly diurnal, but he’s content enough to admire the way your compression shirt is darkened with sweat and to watch your muscles shift with each movement. Can feel himself drooling a little at the spice of your scent, heady and masculine and tempting enough to make him want to bite.

 He wonders a little, whether you’d be able to keep up with him and he can’t help the steady pace his tail picks up behind him as he decides he’s going to find out.

You’ve got your eyes closed and earbuds in like you’re the only one for miles and yet you still seem to sense him as he drops his bag and moves to stand near you. 

“S’dangerous,” he says as you re-rack your weights and pull an earbud out, “To lift without someone to spot you.” 

You nod, it’s one of the biggest rules of gym safety for a reason, but you’d never been great with rules. “Never much liked askin’ for help,” you admit after a minute. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone.”

He hums, and you don’t feel judged, just understood, “Well, you’re stuck with the lot o’ us now, whether you like it or not,” he grins, wolfish and happy, and moves to stand at the head of the bench to spot you, “Bother away.” And just like that, you’ve got yourself a new workout buddy.

It’s like he’s your self appointed shadow after that, waiting outside your door every morning with a freshly made protein shake in each hand, one for each of you. He’ll get all whiny about it too if you say no, pointy wolf ears drooping and tail falling still behind him. He looks like he’s about to cry until you finally relent and take yours from him (he perks up right away every time, the little faker). Eventually you learn that it’s easier to just take it from him without the fight and let him ramble on about whatever he’d seen on tiktok the night before as he walks you to your office.

He joins you for meals too, complains about the amount of food on your plate and scoops bites off his own plate to supplement yours despite your protests. His Ma had always told him growin’ up that he had to eat plenty of protein if he wanted to be big and strong and protect his pack, so he’s just tryin’ to do the same for you and doesn’t understand why you feel the need to argue about sharing food.

You’re part of his pack now, and Soap’ll be damned before he neglects one of his packmates, just don’t be surprised if he starts bullying his way into your room at night too - he’s a cuddler.

-----

Gaz warms up to you next, though he always blames the blood loss if someone asks what won him over. He’d joined you and Soap for your evening workouts a few times, and grinned at each other when you passed in the halls, but it’s not until the morning after a brutal op that he really starts to see you as part of the team.

It’s early. Barely three-thirty in the morning when the heli touches down and maybe only four when the squad tumbles through the doors but you’re right there with the rest of them. Price is already headed down to the administrative wing for a debrief and Ghost has a snoring Soap over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes on his way to the barracks, and then there’s just the two of you.

You’ve got one of Gaz’s arms over your shoulder and an arm heavy around his waist, tucked snug under his bleeding wing, taking most of his weight as you help him limp through the halls. You hang a left instead of the right that would lead to the infirmary, instead guiding him into your office. You sweep whatever paperwork had been on your desk aside, and help him up to sit, legs hanging off one side of your desk and wings cascading over the other.

You’re quick to shrug off the outer layer of your tactical gear and cast it aside, pulling out a sizable med kit from under your desk and settling on your knees in front of him. You ask him if it’s okay, before you help ease his cargo pants down enough to get to the wound on his thigh and he finds himself taken aback since their usual medic would just muscle them off or cut them away to get at it. You wait until he nods to start tugging at the fabric, fingers careful and intent as you work the material free from the torn flesh. 

He watches as your gaze flickers over the wound and you reach for what you need without even looking. He’s been told his eyes are intense before, it’s normal for bird of prey hybrids, perhaps especially so for golden eagle hybrids like him, but he’s never quite understood the way people describe being pinned in place by his gaze until now. 

You work fast, sterilizing, stitching, and then bandaging his wound with a speed that would rival the military doctors in the infirmary, and the stitches seem more sturdy than he can remember his last ones being. 

Once you’re satisfied with his leg, you stand and move behind him to get a better look at his wing. He'd taken a bullet to it, right through the meat of the muscle, and he knew he’d be grounded a long while until it healed. You hesitated then, unsure if he’d be okay with you touching such a personal area as his wings. 

Gaz swallows hard, trying to think of the last time someone other than himself had handled his wings, and nudges it back into your hands. You’re remarkably gentle, he thinks, as your fingers card delicately through rich caramel feathers until you’re able to uncover the bullet hole. You use a pair of tweezers, to make sure that there are no lingering bits of shrapnel, and a tiny set of scissors to trim back any of the soft downy feathers that could catch in the wound as it heals. 

He’s started churring by the time you’re done, a sort of contented trill from the feeling of someone else preening his wings, despite the lingering pain from the injuries. His golden eyes snap back to focus as you nudge a water bottle and granola bar into his hands with a muttered apology that it was all you had on hand, and he’s still plenty happy because you’re trying to be part of his flock by preening him and providing for him. He churs the whole while as you guide him back to his room and help him into bed.

Gaz quickly becomes a regular participant of you and Soap’s late night gym sessions and joins you for mealtimes once in a while after that night.

-----

Truthfully, you still don’t know what convinced Ghost you were worth knowing, but he supposes that’s because you hadn’t known he was there. He’d been on his way to deliver a mission report from Price to one of the other admin when one of his rounded ears caught the sound of your raised voice. His curiosity drew him to the door, cracked just enough that he was able to see you stood across a table from a trio of generals, arms crossed and back straight. 

“I appreciate your congratulations,” you growled, and Ghost was taken aback by the ferocity in your voice. He’d never heard you speak like that before, not even in the field. “But I am not the one who should be hearing it.”

His ears prick forward, tugging against the thick fabric of his mask as he listened closer, intrigued. 

“With all due respect, Major, task force 141-” one of the pencil pushers started.

“No,” you interrupted, hands coming down hard on the desk between you and the other officers, “They are due the commendations. They are the ones who built this team from the ground up. Sure, there have been successful missions since my joining, but those are not only my achievements. If you want to offer a public congratulations on a successful operation, it will be to my entire team, not just the picture you think would be easiest to publish.”

With that, you turn from the board of your superior officers and head for the door, ignoring their protests, and Ghost has to scramble back in order to avoid being hit with the door. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” you say as you see him, moving out of his way. “Didn’t see you there,” and for once that doesn’t sound like some slight against his panther genetics, just a plain statement - he’d been behind the door and you hadn’t meant to nearly clip him with it. You clap him on the shoulder and head off down the hall back toward your office and Ghost is tempted to drop the file where he stands to follow you, one simple interaction you hadn’t meant for him to see enough to convince him there was far more to you than he’d thought. 

You weren’t just some babysitter added to their little family to observe them like they were no more than wild animals - you actually saw their worth and were willing to fight for it?

An amused little huff escapes him and Ghost forces his attention back to the task at hand, spotted tail lashing smoothly behind him as he turns and continues on his way, sharp claws digging puncture wounds into the folder he’d been sent to deliver and your words ringing in his mind.  

----

Price was the last to come around to you being a part of their little family, though he’d never been outright hostile the way Ghost had at first. He’d done his best to be professional with you, complying with the needed paperwork and taking your insights on each operation under consideration, though he never deliberately sought you out. 

That didn’t mean he could avoid you when the team had a mission though, especially not now with the five of you piled into a much-too-small cabin in the mountains near where intel suggested one of Makarov’s bases were. Laswell had just radioed in to let Price know there was a snowstorm incoming so evac might be delayed and to expect to hunker down at least another two nights.

With only two bedrooms and a total of three small beds between them, you’d volunteered to take up roost on the lumpy couch in the living room so he’s not surprised to see you there, so much as he is by your company. You’re sprawled out in about the middle of the couch with Gaz tucked comfortably against your side, your arm around his shoulder and one of his wings curling around the both of you. As Gaz’s wing shifts, Price notices Soap curled against your legs, snoring away, but he freezes as he sees Ghost.

Everyone on the team has gone through hell, but Price knows Ghost has dealt with more than his share. Nightmares aren’t uncommon for any of them, but for Ghost a decent night’s sleep was an incredible rarity. That’s why he’s so startled to see Ghost stretched comfortably along the rest of the couch with his head on your lap and his face nuzzled into your stomach, skull mask gone in favor of his more casual balaclava, and his breathing deep and even.

A pleased little huff escapes Price, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of his three favorite people curled up together happy and comfortable. And if you were part of that? Well, there was plenty of room for one more in that old bear’s heart.

[tonycries]

Go For It, Gojo! [Part 2] - G.S.

Synopsis. Just two weeks ago you could barely stand him - so, really, why is your heart beating so loud? Surely, it’s just the way he’s got you pushed against the wall, face stuffed in your cunt - right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, academic rivals to lovers, student president! reader, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight angst + comfort, vibrators, banter about physics, cunnilingus, Yaga is tired, oral sex (male + female), college! AU, both reader and Satoru do some growing up, overstimulation, super sappy actually, pet names (sweetheart, hardass), swearing.

Word count. 10.5k

A/N. Passed out five times, here’s Part 2 (joke). PART 1 HERE. Art by @_3aem on X.

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers, if you will. 

Which is probably why, for someone who didn’t know the definition of shutting the fuck up, he sure was intent on staying quiet about whatever this was.

It’s been exactly 2 weeks, 5 days and 17 hours since you and Satoru had entered this weird limbo, and there still wasn’t a peep out of the man about what the two of you are to each other.

Friends? Acquaintances? A booty call that he happens to argue way too much with? You’d smack that pretty nose of his if that was the case - as soon as you admittedly stopped being a pussy yourself…

But, semantics.

And right now, his fingers intertwined with yours as he practically drags you through the aquarium ticket counter - you couldn’t help but wonder - was this a date?

Not exactly lovers, but definitely more than friends, a tense understanding crackling in the air between you two. Something prickly and jittery that pooled in your stomach and made your head spin. 

And as someone used to having the answers to everything, it bothered you that you didn’t have the one to this. 

You haven’t been to an aquarium since you were a kid - quickly having outgrown it at the ripe age of seven. So, really, it made sense that the 6’3 manchild beside you insisted it was the perfect spot to celebrate finishing your assignment.

“That damn quantum entanglement hell.” you’d called it - and ranted about all the way inside - more so to fill the charged silence than anything. His fingers still tight around yours despite the dissipating crowd, burning into your skin.

“You know for someone who loves the elegance of science, you’re an extra hardass about quantum entanglement.” he titters in-between worried mutters of “doesn’t that old lady look like the mafia queenpin from the café.” as you two try to navigate your way through the aquarium.

You desperately cling onto his remark - a sense of normalcy you could finally breathe in.

“Well, Satoru, for someone who treats life like an improv show, you sure have a knack for avoiding scientific precision,” you retort, some strange part of you delighting in the way his fingers tighten around yours. 

“Precision is for pussies.” he chuckles, bringing up a hand to your face, fingers wiggling in a ludicrous attempt at hypnotic suggestion. “Besides, sweetheart, life is a cosmic joke, and quantum mechanics is the punchline.”

“As expected from a Pilot-Wave theorist, that just sounds like an excuse to be lazy. ‘Oh, let’s embrace uncertainty and blame it on quantum mechanics!’”

“It’s also the punchline.”

“At least my punchlines make sense.”

He lets out an exaggerated whine, “And here I thought we were bonding over shared disdain for the hard-headed laws of physics.”

“Shared disdain? I actually respect the laws of physics. They’re the backbone of our universe.”

“Maybe.” he responds, voice a bit uncharacteristically somber. “But, quantum mechanics, uncertainty, whatever. In the end it doesn’t matter the universe, aren’t we all just wandering through a sea of unpredictability? It’s exciting.” he weaves through the crowd with you, gaze flickering between you and the vibrant schools of fish.

And maybe you’re an overthinker - you’ve always been told you were - but it felt like his words carried a heavy tone that went beyond your stupid little debate about quantum entanglement. This was not about physics.

“That excitement often leads to chaos, no matter the universe.”

“Embrace the chaos in every universe then. It keeps things interesting.”

“You’re incorrigible.” you scoff, meeting his intense gaze head-on, skin flaring at the sheer intensity of it. “I bet in every universe you’re an unchangeable hell-raiser.”

“Maybe.” He leans in, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, gaze now locked on you, his lips dangerously ghosting your ear. “Or maybe I’m just more of a hands-on learner?”

It might never have been about physics.

It’s innocent fun, right? Two classmates celebrating the end of an assignment? Innocent, innocent fu-

“Y’know with the way you’re so dripping wet f’me, I’m starting to think our lil’ arguments are just foreplay, prez.”

Sleek plastic cold against your back, Satoru’s mouth hot on yours - hungry and insistent. Lips tangy with the taste of minty toothpaste and the thrill of the forbidden as he cages you against that heady bathroom stall.

“You’re the one that riles me up. Got a degradation kink, Satoru?” you shoot back between gasps as his greedy hands map every curve and dip of your body. Groping. Kneading. Such a fucking tease.

“Mhm~ Love when you talk dirty to me, sweetheart.” he hums into the heated skin of your neck. White-hot tingles of electricity running along your body. “Though, I really prefer when that smart mouth is choking around my cock instead.”

“I’m gonna hah- drown you in the fucking clownfish tank.”

“Kinky, but that’s not that’s not the magic word, sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth - in both pleasure and irritation, but most importantly the need for more more more. He always did drive you insane. Words choked, “P-please.”

A sharp moan rips from your throat as long fingers graze your swollen folds through your soaked panties. Teasing the dainty hem. Pulling it down. Delving in. Curving deftly upwards, easily pressing into that one spot inside. Over and over. In and out in and out in and-

“Teasing hah- teasing bastard.” you hiss, even as your traitorous hips buck into his touch.

Satoru chuckles darkly, breath warm against your ear, sending shivers running down your spine. “Your teasing bastard.” Your heart pounds in your ears, mind caught on the “your”, drowning out the distant hum and bustle of the aquarium outside. 

And before you can open your mouth - maybe to say something so utterly stupid - he falls to his knees. Pretty lips ghosting your inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. A stark contrast with the cool air of the bathroom stall. 

Mindlessly, your legs press together, a bead of slick trailing enticingly down them - aching for an ounce of friction. Down, down, down-

And Satoru notices - of course he notices - because his tongue darts out urgently, tracing the seam of your swollen folds. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, pooling your juices on his tongue before letting them flow down his throat - groaning as if it was his favorite taste. 

Shit, you really were his favorite taste. 

Nose-deep in your cunt and on his knees in that cramped aquarium bathroom, all he can do is lap up your juices. Cock aching, tasting you, breathing you in like a man dying of thirst. 

Pulling down his trousers just enough for his throbbing erection to spring free. Leaking tip smearing against his toned abdomen, trailing down the prominent vein in the middle. A large hand firmly gripping the base, pressing his heavy balls so obscenely on your calf, pulling in sinful little tugs to you.

Blood rushes straight to the throbbing erection in his hands at the way your breath hitches, pretty little mewls of his name leaving those kiss-bitten lips. Such a shame he had to muffle them, two fingers in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. 

Ah, he didn’t get to see those manta rays yet, but it’s alright - right now, hips bucking helplessly into him, your hands knotted in his hair - you’re his favorite view anyway. His pretty girl.

“Hngh- Jus’ like that, Satoru.” you moan.

He groans into your dripping pussy, vibrations sending a jolt of electricity shooting through your veins, making you clench further around the tongue pushing its way into your heated hole. Cunt aching for release, and his leaking cock not far behind as he fucks his fist urgently. Grinding into you like a fucking dog in heat.

“Please.” 

Granting your unspoken request, he moves purposefully. Nose catching on your clit, rubbing it over and over as he alternates between gentle sucks and rapid thrusts of his tongue dipping into your entrance. Satoru’s unspoken pace sends you spiraling into insanity - and the edge. 

Almost there.

You lock eyes with him, seeing just as much need for you reflected back in his own eyes. Flitting between his hungry gaze and the thumb teasing his flushed slit. Jerky, desperate strokes of his hand along his veined length - up, up, up - just the way you do it.

Time seems to stand still as with one two three thrusts you shatter all over his tongue. Choked-up cries of his name bouncing off the walls of the empty bathroom as you chase peak after peak on his pretty face.

Your vision blurs at the edges, blood roaring in your ears. Torn between wanting to scream in pleasure and not wanting to be arrested for public indecency. Breathless whispers of pleasure slurring together as your mind clouds with only Satoru Satoru Satoru-

As the haze clears slightly, you realize you’re cradling his head, stroking his silky locks soothingly. Pulling away - embarrassed more at this than what just transpired - you let Satoru rise to his feet, towering over you. 

“On your knees, sweetheart.”

Still delirious from your orgasm, you mindlessly drop to your knees before him. Wordlessly, he guides himself into your mouth, precum salty on your tongue and cock glistening in the dim light of the bathroom.

His hips begin to thrust, matching the pace from before as he fucks your hot mouth. You relax your jaw, letting him take control as he plunges deeper and deeper. Fighting the urge to gag as he hits the back of your throat. Saliva drips down your chin so lewdly, smearing on his cock,

Satoru’s breathing grows heavier and heavier as your nose hits the tufts of hair on his pelvis, already wet with precum and spit. Grip searing on your scalp, you look up to meet his gaze - eyes half-lidded and tears clinging to your lashes.

Maybe it was the carnal look in your eyes, or the way your glossy lips stretch so prettily around him - because with a guttural groan, Satoru spills his load down your throat. Grasp steady on your hair, making you sputter and drink every drop as his cock twitches on your tongue. Cum dribbling down the corner of your lips, the tap! tap! tap! of it ringing in your ears.

As his high passes, you feel as if you’re in a daze as Satoru helps you up. Voice shot and throat burning as he cleans the both of you up. 

Gentle hands on your cheek, a thumb caressing your lips. Your face burning at the way he looks at you. Why does he look at you like that.

A soft smile plays on his lips - kiss-bitten and prettily glossed with your juices. Wordlessly, he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, sending a sudden tug at your heartstrings.

“I bet in every universe we sneak around and choose the worst lil’ hideouts.”

Yeah. Yeah, maybe you did.

And you don’t know why it hurt. 

It’s almost like you’re on autopilot as you quickly smooth down your clothes and follow Satoru outside, back into the bustling aquarium as inconspicuously as possible. 

As you walk side by side, you can’t help but feel the previous euphoria inside you coiling into something more. Something uncomfortable.

Passing by a group of kids excitedly pointing at a giant tank of tropical fish, you feel a wistful ache as you’re reminded of simpler times. Back when you didn’t analyze everything interaction. Maybe back when things were better.

Pulling back, “Satoru…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“About what happened…about us-” you sputter out, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “I don’t want-”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, y’know.” 

Your head snaps up. Unspoken words lingering in the air - is it me or you that doesn’t want to talk about it.

Your eyes catch on the shine of his hair in the cool light. The subtle flex of muscles beneath his shirt as he leads the way through the mesmerizing corridors of the aquarium, the soft glow of the tanks casting an ethereal light on his silhouette. 

His hand warm in yours, and that little dimple at the corner of his grin as he turns to you. Devastating.

It was like something snapped. And it hits you with a pang. All glory and beautiful.

He wasn’t yours.

And he probably might never be.

Somehow that terrified you. 

Because in the end, weren’t you just playing along in his elaborate cosmic joke? Just part of his unknown?

But why did that hurt so much?

“Gojo, I’m going home.”

Fear.

---

There have only been three times in his life that Gojo Satoru has truly felt fear. The first, of course, was right after kissing your pretty lips in that dingy closet - if there was ever a true “ah, if I live I’m making this my legacy” moment then that was it. 

The second was when he accidentally walked in on Yaga practicing his interpretative dance routine in the faculty lounge. The man had some moves - but it was something that Satoru saw nightmares about for days.

And the third time? Well, that’s the ongoing saga of trying to decipher you and why the hell you were sitting in another row during Advanced Quantum Physics, so gorgeous and unbothered ignoring him.

No texts, no calls, no snarky debates on anything since the aquarium a few days ago.  

Almost as if he was back to square one - worse even.

So yes, Gojo Satoru is scared. In fact, some might even say he’s utterly terrified. 

But even more than that, he’s so so stupid.

Because for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d done to mess up that fragile little connection that you two had formed. 

Maybe you just liked seafood too much to visit the aquarium? That couldn’t be it…

Did you find out he accidentally knocked over that stack of books in the library and blamed it on you? No, he’s heard you blame worse things on him to his face. 

Have you finally gotten sick of him?

…

Nahhh.

He steals a glance in your direction. Eyes mapping your ramrod posture, the way you’re hanging off of Yaga’s every word, and that slight frown marring your features. Ah, you looked so beautiful there even when you looked like you’re about to have an aneurysm.

It’s as if you’ve erected an invisible fortress around yourself, and he’s outside looking in. Desperately calling for you.

Satoru sighs inwardly, realizing he’s going to have to pull out the big guns. With the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he clears his throat, shifting his chair a little too loudly to yours in the row in front of him. 

Paying no mind to the irritated glance that Yaga (and you) shoot at him, he whispers loud enough that it probably carries to the entire classroom. “So, prez~ Did I accidentally stumble into an alternate universe where you still hate me or have you just been avoiding me like I’m a contagious disease.”

You flinch - probably both at the audacity and at him addressing you. Eyes still firmly trained on the now-disgruntled Yaga, you reply curtly, “This is not an alternate universe, Gojo. And I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy ignoring me? Space might’ve worked for Neil Armstrong but it won’t work for me, sweetheart. Just tell me what I did so I can get on my knees and beg for forgiveness.”

Your brows furrow, eyes rereading the same sentence on your textbook over and over. “Just focus on these causal dynamical triangulations, Gojo.”

“Oh yeah, I had one of those once.”

“Satoru. I swear to-”

A sharp call of your name - followed by his. Professor Yaga’s irritation, now palpable, hangs in the air like a storm. “If you two can't maintain some decorum, I suggest you continue your discussion outside.”

Satoru grins unabashedly, batting his long lashes, “Why, Yaga, I thought you enjoyed our discussions.”

“Out, both of you.”

Each word clipped and shattering your dreams of becoming Professor Yaga’s protégé into tinier and tinier pieces. 

“You heard the man, prez. Let’s take this show on the road.” 

Hastily, you gather your belongings, shooting an apologetic glance at Professor Yaga, who gives you a sympathetic look in response. As the door slams behind you, noise ringing in your ears, you stand frozen in a mixture of shock and disbelief. 

Satoru, however, seems unfazed. “Well, that was an unbridled success.”

Irritation spikes as you hiss out, “What?”

“I mean, you called me Satoru for the first time in days so I consider that an unbridled success.”

A strange stab at your heart, and maybe for the first time since working together on that quantum entanglement assignment, Satoru’s joke doesn’t land. 

Your eyes narrow at him, “This isn’t a joke, Satoru. I needed Professor Yaga’s guidance - how else am I going to get a research position with him?”

“It wasn’t a joke.” 

Following your weighty silence, Satoru lets out a heavy sigh. The expression on his face looked more serious than you’d ever seen it as his eyes search yours. “Look, prez, I didn’t mean to mess things up for you - though Yaga basically worships the ground you walk on so-” 

At your raised eyebrow he gets back on track, “Anyway, something’s wrong and I just wanted to understand what’s going on between us.”

A humorless laugh leaves your lips, “Now you want to talk about us?”

You clench your fists, frustration and confusion boiling over within you. You know you’re part of this too. You know you’re not blameless in this tangled mess. And right now, the sheer warmth of his gaze made a strange little part of you consider just giving in and running to his arms. Fuck what he wants of you. Fuck all the uncertainty. 

And that’s exactly what scared you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts within your mind. “I don’t even know what ‘us’ is, Gojo. And I don’t think you do either.”

Your voice is surprisingly steady - as are your feet as they carry you away from Satoru. You’d caught one, final glance at the slump of his shoulders, and the silent plea in his eyes. 

Purposeful steps sound in your ears as you walk to God-knows-where. Yet, they still stutter - as does your heart - as Satoru’s voice rings in the hallway behind you, “Take all the time you need, prez. I’ll win you back with my world-renowned Gojo charm again~”

Light words following a heavy admission, his humor attempting to bandage over the cracks of what you two had not too long ago. The echo of his words accompany you down the corridor, and despite yourself, you find your lips tugging into the slightest beginnings of a smile. The slightest.

It’s okay. This is okay. Things can go back to whatever they were now - normal, steady.

“World-renowned Gojo charm.” you repeat under your breath, ready to find a quiet corner of campus where you can throw yourself into causal dynamical triangulations. 

Gaze unwavering, Satoru stands still, searching for any signs of you looking back. Turn around. Turn around turn around turn-

“Mr. Gojo, are you going to find the building exit with the same enthusiasm you exhibit when spouting lines from your imaginary romance novel?”

“Ah. Yaga, I was just- wait imaginary? I can assure you that my charm is as real as quantum mechanics - just ask your star student! Although these days even quantum mechanics might have trouble explaining why she’s-”

“Mr. Gojo.”

“Understood. On my way.” A comical salute, “May your lectures be as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks~”

“Good. And please, spare us all from any more ‘unbridled success’ in the future.”

---

The following week turned into a delicate dance, a waltz of cautious side steps and tense half-glances - all of which were met by that fond gaze that made your heart clutch so involuntarily. Like a silent drama where neither of you knew the next line.

The sprawling campus now seemed so tiny, a tension connecting the two of you like an invisible thread. From Professor Yaga’s class - now so dull without that usual bickering - all the way down to that café just off-campus where the stuffy air hums with old banter and unspoken words.

Yet, the routine remained unchanged, you still found yourself visiting there time and time again - by that little booth in the corner, right next to the window. Just without your familiar companion.

You never realized how quiet the café could get without someone talking your ear off about everything from the Pilot-Wave theory to why the little girl at the grocery store who mistook him for a Kakashi cosplayer is definitely conspiring against him. 

It’s thrown you off - and you’re sick of thinking of that stupid smirk when you’re trying to meticulously sort through the overflow of student archives.

Ugh, you’ve been losing sleep over these for days. Feeling hot under your temples, you try to push away the pressure behind your eyes - If you don’t get this categorized before the next meeti-

“Whatcha reading, sweetheart?”

Speak of the devil.

Startled, you look up from your sea of paperwork. 

Ah, there he was. All nonchalance and grace, eyes twinkling with mischief and an easy grin curling his lips. And for a moment - a brief, fleeting moment - you’re filled with a familiar warmth, tension from the past few days melting into nothingness.

“Oh, just some archives.” you blink, with a measured calmness.

“Absolutely fascinating.” Satoru chuckles, sliding into the chair across from you with the casual elegance of someone who’s completely unaware of the mess he left in his wake. “What’s next, a riveting analysis on the historical significance of paperclips?”

Ignoring his banter, you focus diligently on the task at hand - Gakuganji would have your head. “If only. Now what do you want, Satoru? I’m busy.”

His grin widens, undeterred. “Busy with what? Cataloging the thrilling history of staplers and notepads?”

You shoot him a pointed look, “The secret lives of archives can be more scandalous than you think, Gojo.” 

“Just how do you contain your excitement, prez?”

“I don’t.” you drone out. Shuffling your papers, gathering them with a deliberate focus. “Now, if you’re done with your stand-up routine, I actually have work to do.”

Satoru straightens up, the playfulness in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. “Wait wait, sweetheart, we need to talk.”

You let out a sigh - there it is. And maybe you were being petty. Maybe you were slightly scared. “Oh, now, we do? How convenient.”

“Can’t we just go back to the way things were? I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He runs a hand through his silky locks, a gesture that usually accompanies his frustration. 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Weird? Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now. You just never bothered to notice until it got inconvenient for you..” You stand up, your archives now neatly organized. “I have to finish seven files of these now, excuse me.”

A subtle ache takes residence in your bones as you walk away, his gaze hot on your back. The barista, a friendly soul who had witnessed countless interactions between you and Gojo, offered you a sympathetic smile as you made your way out.

The café's atmosphere, once cozy with laughter, now suffocatingly laced with unease. That invisible thread connecting you both feels strained. Hanging by the thinnest of threads - on the verge of snapping. 

And, yet, through it all one thought rings clear. 

You missed him.

Satoru didn’t know what hurt more - the way you called him “Gojo” or the way he didn’t even get a giggle out of his paperclip joke.

“Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now.”

Yeah, definitely the way you called him “Gojo”.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the cloud of doom himself. I can barely enjoy my Earl Grey. What’s eating at you, young man?” 

Satoru’s head snaps up at the curious croak, tone a mix of concern and amusement. His eyes meet sharp, perceptive ones that seem to cut through his sulky haze. Oh, it’s the mafia queenpin.

At his wordless staring she plows on, taking a seat opposite him, “Oh c’mon, boy. Don’t think I haven’t seen you lurking and moping about. You’ve got as much subtlety as my late husband - and he once tried to hide a mistress by having her disguise as a potted plant.”

A half-hearted grin makes its way onto his face, “No potted plants here, just the usual existential crisis. You know how it is.”

The old lady snorted, unimpressed. “Please, spare me the theatrics. I’ve seen drama queens with more subtlety. Now spill.”

Satoru hesitated, wincing at the stare that seemed to cut right into his soul. It reminded him of a little someone. 

Finally, he sighs relentingly, “It's complicated. Things with someone... changed. I miss the way it used to be, you know?”

A sharp cackle, echoing in the empty space around them. “Ah, love troubles. You youngsters make it sound so dramatic. Look, boy, if you want something, go and get it.”

He huffs in defeat, now way more into impromptu love counseling than he initially thought he’d be. “I tried but-”

But the old lady cuts him off, sharp and incisive, “Trying isn’t the same as doing, kid. And let me tell you, I’ve seen enough guys like you wasting time pondering instead of acting.” 

It seems this mafia queenpin brought out all the childish, petty sides of him. Because Satoru whines in a way that he definitely wouldn’t if you hadn’t been avoiding him and if you hadn’t called him “Gojo” and-

“But she hates me, and she’s sick of me.” A rare vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Maybe things were better the way they were.”

“Life’s too short for that crap. And trust me, that girl does not hate you, you’re just scaring her off. I would have smacked you after that first dumb comment about paperclips.” The old lady snorts, dismissing his complaint. “Uptight academics, always scared of their own feelings. Afraid that if they acknowledge them, the world might end.” 

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected insight. “Scaring her off? I'm just being myself.”

She leans in, sharp eyes drilling into him - picking him apart. “Being yourself doesn't mean avoiding the real conversations. You’ve got feelings, boy. Instead of playing the joker, try being sincere for once. Maybe you’ll be surprised.” 

Taking a patient sip of her tea, “Now, go and fix whatever mess you made. Or better yet, just grab the girl and give her a damn good kiss. Works wonders.”

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected advice. The old lady cackles again, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Now, scram, and let an old lady enjoy her coffee in peace.” 

He nods, more to himself than her, feeling a strange mix of determination and embarrassment at being given advice by the same lady he had a silent bet with you about being an underground overlord.

Immediately standing up, he salutes her goodbye before rushing out - only to stop abruptly halfway out the door. Turning and speedwalking back to the table, with a mix of curiosity and urgency. 

“Hey, granny, I have a question.”

“Anything as long as it isn’t my age, boy.”

“Would you happen to have any mafia connections by chance?.”

Ah, you think you’re dying. 

Or maybe that’s just what the towering stack of papers on your cluttered desk want you to think…

It mocks you. A painful reminder of the mundane world you were now in. That invisible thread connecting you to that little booth in the corner of the café now feels like a noose tightening around your neck. 

What’s done is done. And right now you have bigger fish to fry - fish shaped annoyingly like the unresolved chaos of these archives.

You rub your eyes, room swaying slightly as you squint at the tiny print, letters melting into one another and conspiring against you. Rereading the same sentence over and over, sweat beading on your forehead.

God, was the heater on too high?

The documents on the desk seem to dance, a mocking waltz that laughs in the face of your feeble attempts to restore order. Chaos. 

Stop it.  

An incessant pounding on your temples, blood roaring in your ears. 

You reach for a pen, your fingers fumbling as it slips through your grasp. Falling onto the floor with a clatter that reverberates in your throbbing head. Chaos. 

The room is stifling, walls closing in on you. Breaths hot and labored. Temples drumming louder. And louder.  Urgent and insistent. Chaos.

“Open up! It’s Satoru!”

Satoru.

Body acting before your brain, you stagger out of your seat, the world spinning dangerously as you clutch onto the desk for support.

Satoru?

Your unsteady feet carry you towards the door - almost subconsciously. You wince at the stab of pain in your temples as it throbs in time with the urgent knocking.

Hands unsteady on the doorknob, vision bleary, yet you’d recognize that shock of cloudy hair anywhere. His words hit you before the realization that Satoru was here, and why was he here looking so adorably disheveled like he’d run here and what was he rambling about now-

“I'm so so sorry. I messed up, I should’ve noticed. I know I’ve been avoiding the real conversation and I didn’t realize how much-”

His voice, tinged with a vulnerability you’re not used to hearing, is abruptly cut off as Satoru looks up from where he was fumbling with his fingers in nervousness - wide blue eyes taking in your glassy eyes and clammy skin. In your hazy vision you make out the deep concern creeping its way onto those pretty features.

“Sweetheart?”

A sudden wave of dizziness hits you. The room tilts, and for a brief, disorienting moment, you feel like you’re floating in space. Ah, didn’t know you could breathe in space. Wonder if you’ll win a Nobel for this discovery?

A sharp call of your name cuts through the haze, the last thing you register before the world folds around you like a delicate paper. Fading to black., and perhaps the warm arms around you are the only thing grounding you right now. The chaotic waltz has won.

Now, the great Gojo Satoru usually calls his mother for only one of two reasons - 1. His beloved ramen shop is closed, or worse - out of his favorite special spicy sauce, and 2. A dire and life-threatening emergency.

“Mama! I’ve got an emergency and no it’s not the ramen this time.”

His mother’s voice crackles through the phone, a mix of concern and amusement. “Satoru, are you sure it’s that dire? I’m at a work meeting, y’know”

Dramatically, “Of course, mama. Someone I care about is sick. Yes, I have a heart under this fabulous exterior. A real one.”

A brief pause, “Oh my lil’ Toru~ You mean you finally confessed to that student prez you’ve been swooning over for months? The one with ‘a brilliant mind like a quantum computer’ and ‘eyes like-’”

Squirming in embarrassment, “Well- not exactly, but-”

“Spill.”

“I need the recipe to our secret family chicken soup, like, urgently. It’s a life-or-death situation.”

His mother’s laughter echoes through the phone. “Life-or-death, huh? Alright, my little drama king, I’ll send it right away. But you owe me a detailed account of what's happening.”

“Deal!”

With a click, the call ends, and Satoru is left in your hallway, holding you in his arms, desperately awaiting the secret weapon - his mother’s legendary chicken soup.

In the meantime, he shifts you in his arms, steady hands carefully lifting you off the ground, cradling you to his chest. 

Face burning at the practiced way his feet carry him to your room. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Don’t make me regret not calling an ambulance. Should I call an ambulance? No, chicken soup first, then maybe an ambulance. Ugh, I should've paid more attention in first aid.”

Slow, deliberate steps through the corridor. Heart dropping as his eyes catch on the mountains of scattered papers and files. Next time he passes by Gakuganji’s office he’s gonna swap the keys on that fossil’s keyboard. 

The soft click of the door closing seems too loud in the quiet room as he lays you gently on the bed. Heart clenching at the way you bury yourself mindlessly into the covers, pretty eyes still screwed shut, he mutters to himself “What am I going to do with you?”

His gaze drifts to the scattered papers on the floor, starting to gather them, creating a semblance of order amidst the chaos. Satoru glances at you, noticing the creased lines on your forehead even in your unconscious state. A pang of guilt hits him.

“Avoiding the real conversation, huh?” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He risks a glance at your sleeping figure again, “I’m sorry, my sweetheart.”

Finishing his impromptu cleanup - and after taking maybe one picture of you all snuggled up - he gets up determinedly to make the legendary chicken soup. “I’ll make it right, prez. First, chicken soup. Then, we'll have that real conversation, no matter how scary it gets.”

You wake up to the cacophony of pots and pans, and a voice…cursing bad cooking for being genetic? The aromatic smell of chicken soup hits you - as does the cold sweat beading on your forehead.

Joints aching, you try to sit up, the room still spinning - but ever-so-slightly less than before. Recollections from earlier slowly come to you, you don’t even have to look at the figure now standing at the doorway to know who it is.

“Whoa, there, sweetheart. Lay back.”

Your weakened smile is met with a worried frown. Satoru’s gentle tone, masking his franticness, rings in your ears like a song you loved but haven’t heard in a long time. He rushes to guide you gently back onto the bed, a thumb wiping away the sweat trickling down your temple. “Soup’s on the stove. But first, let’s get you cleaned up. Is that okay?”

Before you can protest - as if you had the strength to - Satoru scampers off to your bathroom. You lay there in the deafening silence as he does. You had an image to uphold, archives to categorize, and a Satoru to distance yourself from. 

But right now, your eyes meeting his like constellations aligning in the night sky as he returns with a small basin filled with warm water, a soft cloth draped over his shoulder, you think that you wouldn’t mind falling apart for him. 

Sitting down beside you, his gaze never leaving your face, “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” A tenderness in his voice matching the warmth of the damp washcloth gently dabbing your forehead.

A heavy feeling settles in your gut. You want to shy away from the fondness in those blue depths as they never leave yours. You want to block out the hushed whispers of reassurance as his fingers trail lightly across your skin, uncomfortably hot. You want to cry. 

And you don’t realize you are until Satoru’s hand stiffens, eyes widening with emotions you can’t name. 

Oh. 

Satoru has seen you strong, capable, and fiercely independent. He’s seen you turn his elaborate equation into a doodle of a ramen bowl with the caption, “Even my ramen has more substance than this theory, Satoru.”

But Satoru has never seen you like this. 

“Hey, hey, c’mon. It’s okay, prez. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Satoru whispers, as if afraid that speaking louder might shatter the fragile reality you both find yourselves in.

His words hanging in the air, and the sincerity in his eyes coax you to unravel the knot of emotions you’ve been suppressing ever since you were pushed into that damn closet with him.

“Satoru.” And it spills out. “I’m scared. And I missed you. And I’m scared that I missed you - scared of what that could mean, and scared of where this might lead. Because I missed you and you’re here.”

His brows furrow in concern, but he remains silent, urging you to continue.

“I've built walls, convinced myself that I can’t afford to be vulnerable out of fear of the unpredictable. Yet, here we are. I can’t escape it, and it terrifies me.” you confess, eyes flickering away from the intensity of his gaze as if avoiding the reality of your words.

Satoru inches his hand closer to cradle yours. “You don’t have to be scared, prez, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice a steady anchor, “Though, I was scared too. Scared that if I confronted these feelings, you’d run away. So, I waited, telling myself that I was giving you time, but honestly it was just a shitty excuse.”

His thumb caresses the back of your hand, a gentle rhythm matching the beating of your heart. “Because for all I spout about chaos and uncertainty, facing these feelings head-on is scarier than any angry Yaga.”

A fresh wave of tears - both at his admission and at that familiar attempt to lighten the humor. “You’re an idiot you know.” you sputter.

“I know.”

“And your theories on life and the universe are stupid.”

“Absolutely.”

“And your overpriced glasses make you look like the fourth blind rat from Shrek.”

“Now that’s too far, he’s a mouse, sweetheart.”

A watery chuckle as his fingers interlace with yours. Satoru leans in, his forehead resting against yours - no care in the world for how contagious you might be. Because fuck if the sickness might not be then these feelings sure were.

“You scared me, y’know.” he confesses.

“I’m sorry. I should have taken care of my-”

“Not that.” Satoru’s unspoken words echo in the small, charged space between you two.

Your heart clenches, understanding. “For that, I am sorry, too.”

Disappointment spikes your heart as he withdraws slightly, hand feeling cold at the sudden absence. But before you can question the impending doom at his mischievous glint, Satoru produces a pen from your top drawer. 

“What are you up to now, Satoru?” you drone, raising a brow at his antics.

“Just a little insurance policy.” he smirks at your confused hum, taking your left hand back in his. Pen poised over your ring finger, ink cold on your skin.

“Insurance policy against what?”

“A promise.”

A delicate infinity sign, it draws your gaze and locks it there. You almost miss the flush creeping up on Satoru’s ears, “Just a symbol, y’know- We can get an actual ring if you want, my mother is actually best friend’s with-”

The sight of him makes something bloom in your chest. It hurt. Not because of fear, but because you felt so full. 

Cutting off his rambles with your lips on his. Steady, and electric, molding together as if they were meant to fit perfectly. A lingering promise. 

When you finally pull away, he huffs out an euphoric laugh. “I was gonna say you look like you wanted to kiss me so bad, but you already did.”

Rolling your eyes, “Think if I tell you something now you can write it off as me being sick and delirious?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Satoru, I love you.”

And that’s all Satoru ever wanted to hear.

“And I love you, in every universe.”

---

The sleep that follows Satoru’s “world famous Gojo family chicken soup” - and that heavy conversation - is the best you’ve had in days. You dream of manta rays in tuxedos, the guests of honor at yours and Satoru’s Nobel prize ceremony.

And, 12 full hours later and finally clear-headed, you find yourself groggily standing in the middle of your room. Blinking in disbelief at the perfectly categorized files of archives, and the sparkling organization of your once-scattered space - Satoru, peacefully snoring at your desk, pen still tightly gripped in his hand.

He…finished all of it?

Your heart clenches, warmth flowering all over your body. 

As you approach, Satoru stirs, those familiar blue eyes slowly opening to meet yours. A dazed smile stretches across his face as he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“Got a bit carried away. Guess you really are rubbing off on me, prez.” he chuckles, his voice still laced with sleep. 

“Good then, soon your brain won’t be a black hole of theoretical abstractions.”

Eyes sparkling, he throws his head back to laugh, carefree. “There’s my girl. Feeling better now, hm?”

Your face burns at his words, and his proximity as he stands from his chair to tower over you. Heat radiating off his skin. “Yeah, all thanks to your mother’s recipe.”

“And my charm, of course.”

“Oh, yes, the begging on your knees.”

“Hey it worked, didn’t it? Don’t insult the world-renowned Gojo charm that way~!”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smirk. “Yes, yes of course. That world-renowned ‘Gojo charm’ strikes again. Is that why Yaga sent me a gift basket apologizing on your behalf?”

“Listen, sometimes collateral apologies are inevitable. And I learned the hard way that wishing Yaga’s lectures are as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks does not go well.”

A startled laugh escapes your lips, sound bouncing off the once-heavy walls, and you almost miss the captivated expression on Satoru’s face. A tender smile spreads across his lips.

Laughter bating, you throw your hands around his waist in one, fluid motion, relishing at his flustered expression. “We should go to the aquarium again sometime.”

“Mhm~”

A beat of silence. One. Two. 

“Satoru?”

He leans in, minty breath fanning your face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you.”

Body moving almost subconsciously, your lips crush against his. Hungry and yearning. Kissing each other with a desperation that eclipses the need for air. He didn’t mind dying if it meant suffocating by your lips anyway - both of them. 

You let out a muffled moan as he pulls on your lips, hands snaking down to grip your ass, squeezing possessively. His tongue was sloppy, intertwining with yours with matching urgency. Trapping yours between his ruby lips, sucking so lewdly. 

Large fingers bruising on your waist, pulling you flush against his body till you could feel the incessant banging of his heart against his ribcage - or maybe that was yours. 

His shirt is all but ripped off of him - as is yours, and if you were in a clearer state of mind you’d feel sad at the tattered state of your favorite Steins;Gate t-shirt. But all that flies out of your mind at the creamy skin of Satoru’s chiseled chest. 

You raise your hips to meet the throbbing erection now straining against his pants, fabric stretched and precum forming a pool right at the tip of his leaking head. A low groan is stifled into your mouth, almost as if it hurt to be apart. 

Satoru’s fingers dig into your hips, moving you to grind against his achingly hard length at a maddeningly sensual pace. Up and down, up and down, up and-

A white-hot jolt of electricity runs down to your cunt each time the prominent vein down his side catches on your covered clit, thin panties now soaked with your slick and his precum.

You almost don’t recognize the disappointed whine that leaves your lips as he pulls away, delicate strings of spit snapping.

“You drive me insane, sweetheart.” he murmurs, breathless with lust. 

“The feeling’s mutual, Satoru.”

And it was like something snapped - maybe his sanity, probably you by the end of this.

Because with a low, carnal growl, Satoru picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Seating you roughly onto your nearby desk and pinning you down. Papers scattering everywhere in the heat of the moment, rendering his earlier hard work useless. 

Satoru crowds your space, ravaging your mouth, grinding against your heated core till the only thing you can see is him, the only thing you can feel is him, the only thing you can think of-

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction is maddening, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Yet, Satoru, as always, disrupts your plans. Breaking the heated kiss, he trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You cry out - both in pain and pleasure - as he continues his assault, digging your nails into his sculpted back.

“I won’t be the first one to cum.” he mutters into the crook of your neck as a hand roams up your thigh, deftly pulling off your shorts. You writhe beneath him as lithe fingers tease the hem of your dripping panties, relishing in the choked gasp that leaves Satoru’s mouth as your swollen lips catch on his tip.

“Oh yeah? Damn well won’t be me either.”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before he tears off your panties, pocketing this pair as well for a lonely night - though, with the way your cunt quivers at his touch, he doubts it’ll be any time soon. “Wanna bet, prez~?”

He plunges his fingers inside you with a savageness that steals your breath away. Easily finding that magical spot, thrusting inside to hit it with scary accuracy over and over. Your plush walls convulse around him, crying out his name. Ah, he missed this. 

But you weren’t gonna sit there and be one-upped. A trembling hand moves down to urgently tug down his tight boxers. Rock-hard cock springing out, glistening with precum, your favorite shade of pretty pink. It made your mouth water. 

Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels your tight grip on his length, thumb swirling deftly under the sensitive slit. Spreading his precum along his flushed head. Torturing him. Warmth pooling at your core at the way he fucks your fist in mindless, shallow thrusts.

“Fuck. You really do drive me insane.” he groans, voice strained with desire as he keeps up the punishing pace of his fingers in your dripping cunt. Both of you unrelenting. Both of you in a fight for the other’s release.

It’s a close tie.

“Oh- oh, sweetheart I’m-” 

And Satoru spills into your hand in thick, hot spurts and pornographic moans. Your fist still pumps up and down his twitching length, milking him for all he’s worth as you tip over the edge as well, walls fluttering around his merciless fingers.

“I win.” you challenge, eyes half-lidded as you still reel from the intensity of your orgasm. Satoru’s fingers quiver inside you as he pulls out with a hiss. Pupils blown-out, the look in his eyes feral.

A slow grin spreading across his lips, words breathless and tinged with a bit of insanity that made your pussy clench, “Best out of three?”

“Always knew you were a sore loser.”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“You’re on.”

Before you know it, you’re being thrown onto the bed, bouncing at the sheer force of the throw - cut short as Satoru looms over you, pinning you down onto the mattress.

His lips graze yours with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as they grind on yours. You moan as his still-painfully hard erection throbs against your wall, head falling back in surrender as your swollen folds envelope him in his favorite heaven. Sensitive - so sensitive. 

Hands moving to your breasts, cupping them, teasing. Rolling your nipples between his deft fingers as your hips buck wildly into his. Precum and slick smearing obscenely. Faster. More desperate. Absolutely filthy. Racing towards the end.

And your voice cuts through the heady air, “W-wait, Satoru, wait. As the winner last time…” Words trailing off enticingly, a hand reaching hastily underneath your pillow. 

Oh, just when Satoru didn’t think you could surprise him any more. 

A jolt goes through his body at the thick, pink vibrator that emerges from beneath the pillow. Sleek metal catching the light, his eyes trailing up, up, up, intimidatingly large in your hands.

Eyes widening, Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you handle it with practiced ease. Flip, switch - bzzzzz-

It rings in his ears and resonates through the room. A surprised smile stretched across his lips, despite himself. “Oh, who knew the esteemed student prez was such a little minx. Shit, sweetheart, gonna give me a heart attack.”

“You’re not the only one with lonely nights.” You nod pointedly at his pants - strewn across your bedroom floor and panties stuffed safely in his pocket. 

You bite your lower lip in a way that has probably all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his pulsing cock. Aching for something. Aching for you. 

Sensually, you press the buzzing toy against your clit, hips bucking at the immediate and intense stimulation. A jolt of pleasure making you gasp.

Satoru watches, spellbound, as you writhe beneath him - eyes locked so dangerously with his. He can see the slick beading at your folds, pooling onto your bed sheets. 

Impulsively, he reaches out, wrapping a large hand around yours, guiding it to your dripping hole. “Now…” your eyes light up in excitement at his predatory tone. “That’s just playing dirty, prez. I might just cream myself.”

Agonizingly slow, Satoru eases the vibrator inside you, walls clamping down so deliciously. A clever hand draws tight, little circles on your throbbing clit. 

You arch off the bed at the sensation and the stretch - full. So full. Full and so in heaven.

A fresh wave of slick coating the already-glistening metal, Satoru begins to fuck the toy into you, matching the rhythm of the vibrations. Relentless, he was absolutely relentless. Base meeting your swollen lips, tip kissing your cervix. 

It drives you insane. He drives you insane. 

“Fu-fuck Satoru-” Breathing ragged, tears pricking your eyes at the sensitivity, it only takes one two three more thrusts of the vibrator stuffing your cunt before you’re cumming with a loud cry of Satoru’s name, till you see stars behind your eyes. 

“Ah, I’m so glad we made it to the bed this time.” 

“Idiot.”

“Love you too~” Satoru continues to fuck into you mercilessly with it over and over, drawing out your high until you’re left limp and boneless beneath him. The only thing you can do being to take it.

As the shocks of electricity in your body fade, Satoru carefully removes the vibrator. You whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“Round 2 goes to me.” smugness evident in his words, slightly muffled by your lips.

“Shut up and kiss me. It’s the tie-breaker.”

His lips capture yours in a deep kiss. You can taste the salt of your sweat on his lips, and the desperation of the moment. It’s intoxicating. More addictive than any drug in the world. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him against your body - sticky with sweat and cum - till you can feel his rock-hard cock once more. Eager and aching for you. Teasing your folds with his leaking tip, readily spreading for him.

Finally, after what feels like hours - maybe even weeks - of buildup, he sheaths himself in your snug cunt the way you’d been dying for these lonely nights with just your vibrator. And with the way Satoru lets out a low, desperate moan - head thrown back - you think he might share the sentiment.

“God. Hah- Ah you look so beautiful under me, sweetheart. Hngh- wouldn’t get used to this in my lifetime.”

“Then hngh- find me in the n-next.”

He presses in slowly, languidly - a sensuality that envelopes you and makes you keen at the stretch. Finally bottoming out, he savors the heavenly feeling of being completely inside you. You really were heaven on Earth. 

Pulling back, prominent veins grazing that spot just right, he rams back into you with purpose. Savoring you. Torturing you. “Satoru oh- f-fuck me like you hah- mean it goddamit.”

But it’s not long before the great Gojo Satoru loses his handle on himself. Maybe it was the tears clinging to your lashes. Maybe it was the way your legs wrap so tightly around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. Or maybe it was the fucked-out whines of his name spilling from your mouth.

Because he’s fucking into you desperately. Feral, deliberate strokes that make you ass sting at the smack of his heavy balls. The harsh slapping of skin on skin echoing in your heady bedroom at his unforgiving cadence.

The air charged so tensely that you could barely breath - or maybe that was the way Satoru’s furious tip kissing your cervix over and over knocked the air out of your lungs. Every nerve ending in your body felt alight with white-hot pleasure, electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head - filled only with Satoru Satoru Satoru-

Vision blurry, head dazed so lustfully, you barely notice the way Satoru reaches down between you, his fingers familiarly finding your clit to rub harsh circles on it in time with his thrusts. It’s too much. Ah, you were going to pass out.

Instead, you cum - all over his twitching cock. The sensation almost too much as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. Especially when your walls clamp down, milking his cock so sinfully as Satoru spills into your snug cunt.

Balls tightening as he thrusts thick ropes of seed into your dripping pussy, your juices mixing with his as he thrusts animalistically into you, fucking it deeper and deeper. Decorating your plush walls white, cum spilling out of your sloppy hole as it overflows. 

Flashes of light behind his eyes at the sensitivity - pain, pleasure, yearning all melting into one, gooey mess that mirrored his heart right now. Desperate calls of your name leaving his lips like a prayer. Because maybe you were his salvation.

With a moan of pure ecstasy at the feeling of being so full you think you’d explode, you pull Satoru to you, nails dragging down his shoulder and every part of you wrapped around him so impossibly tight. As if you never wanted to let go - and you didn’t.

You don’t, even as you both gasp for air - and sanity. Even as he collapses his sweaty body onto yours, careful to not crush you with his weight. And you especially don’t let go as those dazed eyes bore into yours, a tender moment in the weighty silence. 

Because right now, no words were needed.

“I love you.”

“And, I love you. In every universe.”

Except maybe those. 

It’s only once reality is setting in, exhausted and intertwined so tenderly in his arms, that a sense of familiarity permeates the heavy air. 

“I win.”

An agitating, grating voice that you loved so much.

You let out a dragged out groan, rolling your eyes. “That’s only because I went easy on you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d love to prove you wrong, sweetheart, but I think my dick is out of commission for the next week at least.”

A sharp bark of laughter startles its way out of your lips as he bounces you two on the mattress, laying on his stomach and swinging his feet as if he was at some slumber party.

“Soooo~ Now that we’re finally dating, I can finally stop holding back on the quantum entanglement puns, I’ve got a list on my Notes app that-”

“I’m gonna entangle your face with my fist.”

“Jokes on you I’m into that.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

---

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers. 

So, of course, he had to barge into the hell that was his new 8am class with style. Bursting in through the swinging doors, imaginary cape flowing in the wind. Sue him, so what if he’s an attention-whore?! 

His bright gaze sweeps over all the students barely keeping their eyes open, before finally landing on you - on the edge of your seat, brows furrowed so adorably and eagerly drinking in every word Yaga droned on about. Who the hell found advanced quantum physics that riveting?

Intrigue piquing as he makes a beeline to you, Satoru’s heart lurches at that weird little part of him that wishes your attentive gaze was on him instead. Strange. 

Sliding into the empty seat beside you, of course he immediately turns on his world-renowned Gojo charm. You’ll be putty in his hands in no time~!

“Any closer to Yaga and you’d be fucking his wife, y’know.” 

“...”

Okay, maybe that didn’t come out as suave as he expected, but damn, not even a giggle?

You couldn’t blame the guy for getting nervous in front of a pretty girl! Nor could you really blame him for plowing on despite that - not after the jolt of electricity that ran through his body the second your irritated eyes met his. 

Oh wow. So that’s what it’s like to have your soul pierced and buried six feet under.

It was sort of addicting.

And if Satoru thought his knees were weak at just a glare from you - well, he was not ready for the way you snapped at him and told him to shut the fuck up. Ah, truly a woman of his dreams. 

Not even half an hour into the lecture and if you asked Satoru to recall a word spoken by Yaga then he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. The words went in one ear and he couldn’t even remember if it went out the next - too focused on getting your attention on him at least once more. 

He just wished you’d look at him - let him see all the shades of your eyes, and the exact degree at which your lip curls in annoyance. What would that smart mouth say to him next? 

“Now, would anyone here be able to discuss the interpretations in the debate between the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

Which is why he positively jumped at the chance to show off his academic prowess to you. Only to find…you teetering on the edge of your seat as well? 

Your voice is even, a fiery glint in your eyes. He’s entranced. 

“The Copenhagen Interpretation uses Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and emphasizes measurement to state that quantum-level particles can act as both waves and particles. It’s the most widely accepted and pragmatic theory.”

Oh. This was going to be interesting.

Heart banging against his ribcage, voice slightly shaky, “Not to be the devil’s advocate but the Pilot-Wave theory makes way more sense practically.”

Thus, Gojo Satoru, in his failed attempts to flirt, starts a rivalry with you that shakes the entire physics department - and his heart. 

He was sure if he told Shoko and Suguru the real reason why he was suddenly spending hours poring over his physics textbooks then they’d definitely laugh their asses off - after giving him a good smack for being so ridiculous. 

It’s not that he didn’t like being on the receiving ends of your snarky remarks and death stares - but it’s just that he also wishes you’d kiss him silly while you do it. God, for someone voted campus hottie three times in a row, why was it so hard to just ask you out?

Which is why, seeing you being dragged into their little circle at that off-brand frat party, he thinks - ah, this might just be fate. 

Silently thanking Shoko for her accidental wingmanning, Satoru watches in amusement as you reluctantly scribble your name on that crumpled piece of paper. And if he slipped in a couple extra with his name on it, well, he was only glad you were too busy cursing his entire bloodline out to catch him.

The smell of cheap beer filling his senses, strobe lights matching the banging of his heart against his chest. Even if he did cheat at the game a little, Satoru didn’t think he’d end the night with your soaked panties burning a hole in his pocket - and the whisper of your lips on his searing even more. He was dazed. 

Was that…a dream? 

It must be, right? There’s no way the gorgeous student prez who hates his guts would suddenly be in the same proximity as him - let alone let him tonguefuck you into insanity. 

You tasted so sweet.

Yeah, must’ve been some hallucination. 

Months later, your soft grumbles in his ear, and your hand warm in his, swinging playfully between you two in the buzzing aquarium - a part of Satoru still thinks he’s hallucinating.

“Slow down, Satoru! The fish aren’t going anywhere.” you huff as he flits excitedly from tank to tank, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store. Yet, you couldn't help the beginnings of a smile curling at the corners of your lips at his childlike excitement.

“Can’t! I couldn’t show you this last time, even a hardass like you’d love it.” 

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by the breathtaking sight before you.

A grandiose tank - a kaleidoscope of an underwater world that stretched beyond your field of vision. Hues of blues and greens glimmering before you. Marine life you wouldn’t be able to name - no matter how many hours of watching NatGeo - in an ethereal dance across the water.

“Last time we were here we talked about multiverses. I know now, I hope that in every universe, we’ll be here together. Standing side by side, watching the deep blue and arguing about physics.”

Eyes widening at the beauty - and his words - you turn to Satoru, only to see his piercing gaze already on you. Satisfied grin bathed in a soft blue light from the tank, his twinkling eyes reflecting you and the lights and you. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

“See? Didn’t I tell you you’d love it? I’m always so great at these thi-”

You shut up that big mouth - with your lips on his. 

Tender and weighty - as if you two had all the time in the world. And, your hands electric under Satoru’s touch, cold metal of the infinity sign searing into your ring finger - you think you probably do. Because Satoru’s tastes like candied apples and everything you could ever want. A promise.

“T-told you I was irresistible.” 

Confident words, muffled by your lips. You pull away with a disbelieving huff of laughter, and you’re glad you did - because you catch a glimpse of the nervous twinkle in his eyes and the flushed cheeks betraying him.

“You wish.” you chuckle, brushing your fingers over his cloudy white locks. That familiar, easy grin tugs on the corners of your heart, and for a moment - just this moment - it feels like just the two of you in this bustling aquarium. In this uncertain world.

“Sure do.” he whispers, as if a secret - meant for just the two of you. 

“Now, my prez, wanna go to our little booth at the café and debate the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

A/N. Can you tell the title was inspired by Go For It, Nakamura?

Also so sorry for posting only sporadically this week, for some reason my posts refuse to show up under any tags and as a creator that’s really discouraging. But here’s to next week being better hopefully!

Plagiarism not authorized. 

Taglist:

@bbyxxm @maskedpacific @mrs--imperfect @dunixxd @scarammouch

[danatron1]

Help trans people in the UK!

TERF island sucks, however thousands of innocent people are harmed by their tyranny. Have sympathy for brits like me who would rather be born anywhere else.

An unprecedented attack on trans rights took place last Wednesday, with the UK Supreme Court writing trans people out of the Equality Act by redefining "woman" to only mean assigned female at birth.

Protests erupted across the country, with thousands taking to the streets to fight for trans rights. With our current government, our suffering falls on deaf ears.

It won't be enough to just fight in the streets, but we need to fight in the courts. The UK Supreme Court is the highest court in the country, with no chance of appeal. However, there is hope.

The European Court of Human Rights can step in if we can get them to recognise this blatant violation of human rights. Leaving the EU doesn't get you out of it! This legal case will be time consuming and expensive, so please donate all that you can to help us win this fight. We're fighting JK Rowling money, but together we can make a difference!

If you can't donate, please share instead!

If you need to know how bad this situation really is, keep reading.

The Supreme Court's ruling, where 3 men decided what "woman" means, puts all women at risk. Male police officers in the UK now have the power to strip search any women they believe to be trans.

It is an offence to enter a single sex bathroom and changing room different from your birth sex, but also to enter one where your presence is "likely to cause offence". This leaves trans men and women with nowhere to go, as well as gender-non conforming cis people.

Non-binary people naturally have zero legal recognition whatsoever, the existence of trans men has been ignored again, and intersex people have been written out of existence.

Trans people are always sent to male prisons regardless of sex. If you don't know the horiffic ramifications of this, Google v-coding.

Gender Recognition Certificates, which were supposed to update your legal sex for all purposes, have been rendered functionally worthless. Trans people are being forced into their assigned sex at birth.

Trans women are banned from rape crisis shelters, domestic abuse protection, and discrimination claims such as equal pay. Trans women have also unsurprisingly been banned from Women's sports.

Trans women are banned from all lesbian groups and organisations, and not just that, cis women are too if they're dating a trans woman. The court ruled that "lesbian" means "AFAB attracted to AFAB", making cis women dating trans women legally straight. The definition also means bi women aren't a thing in UK law now - just a sidenote!

Trans people sent to hospital wards are now always housed according to their assigned sex at birth, regardless of their comfort.

If you're a trans minor, your life is even harder. Puberty blockers and HRT, despite being completely safe and legal for cis people, are banned nation wide for trans youth. The only "help" offered is conversion therapy, which the government calls "exploratory therapy".

And if you're thinking "well, people won't comply" or "My workplace is friendly," then I regret to inform you that this isn't allowed. The UK expects all organisations to update their policies to be trans exclusionary by this summer, and the so-called "Equality and Human Rights Commission" has announced they will persue any organisation which doesn't immediately comply.

By the way, earlier this year the EHRC made the trans panic defense legal. Even kissing someone without disclosing that you're trans is enough to get you convicted with sexual assault. Trans people must always out themselves before any relationship forms or be charged with a sex crime.

Any organisation with bathrooms, changing rooms, rape crisis centres, etc. will be for Ed to exclude trans people. If an organisation lets a trans woman (who in UK law is now legally a man) into a women-only space, they lose the right to operate the single sex space, and can be successfully sued for not letting cis men into it.

The EHRC's recommendation? Trans people use their "powers of advocacy" to request "third spaces" with regards to toilets. THIS IS NOT A JOKE.

We CAN put a stop to this. We CAN defeat transphobia. Bigotry has fallen before and it can fall again. Be the side history remembers fondly.

We'll let you mock our accent if you stop innocent people from suffering first.

DONATE

[radishaur]

ʚɞ butterflies ʚɞ

Warnings: slight spoilers Genre: fluff Characters: Luffy, Zoro, & Law Summary: How they realize they have feelings for you (touch edition) Author's Note: I have like 2 other longer works I should be writing for but instead I'm doing this, so enjoy! Might do the other love languages/senses(?) later if people want. masterlist

Luffy loves physical touch with everyone. He also never asks permission first, just sends himself flying into people, so you would definitely have to be used to him just wrapping himself around you.

As a result, I think there are so many opportunities for him to accidentally realize his feelings through touch because he's just always touching. However, I think that when it comes to a partner, Luffy would really value making you feel safe. We've seen how devastated he was after he wasn't able to keep his crew safe in Saboady and even worse after Ace, so I think his first aha moment would have to revolve around that.

~

Luffy always wound up on some wild adventure no matter what island they visited. This time, the crew had planned for it and assigned you to go with him. The idea was that you would keep him out of trouble, but who were they kidding. It's Luffy.

He's walking around with you when all of a sudden he sees something further into town that he has to see right this second. He doesn't even think twice about grabbing you closer with one arm and beginning to slingshot his other one to propel the two of you up.

"Hold on tight!"

He's expecting you to protest, as most of the crew usually does when they're about to get flung to god knows where on his whim, but instead, you simply wrap your arms around his neck and get as close as you possibly can.

He lets go and hears you laughing, of all things, so he looks down and he could swear his heart stuttered.

You were looking right at him as you giggled, high on the excitement of your predicament. You don't look even slightly scared as your approach gets closer and closer, instead, you're looking at him with so much adoration that he feels like he can't breathe. He wraps his arm around you tighter and he's extra careful as he lands to cushion the impact for you.

"You didn't complain," he finds himself saying, arm still tight around you.

"What good would that do?" you ask, the last of your giggles subsiding. You turn to him then, your smile growing as you add, "Besides, I know you'd never let me get hurt."

All of the places where his skin meets yours feel like it's on fire and his heart aches all of a sudden in a way he's not used to.

He lets you go, his body tingling where your body no longer presses against his and the two of you go on with your day, but he can't help thinking about it. The way you had curled into him, put your trust in him to keep you safe, it fills his heart with a pleasure he hasn't felt before and he finds himself wanting to feel it again.

Over the day, he finds every excuse he can to keep touching you like that. He finds more faraway places that look interesting. He grabs your hand to show you something cool he saw. He even insists on climbing onto the rooftops and using that as an excuse to hold you close, just so you don't fall. His heart still races each time and it eats at him well into the night when he's back on the Sunny.

He knows even from the first touch that something is different. He doesn't feel like this with his other crewmembers, but it takes a discussion with Robin to finally realize that he likes you. When he does, he's quick to find you and pull you close again, reveling in the feeling now that it has a name. He almost shouts it out right then and there, but he decides to give it some time.

He still has to become the Pirate King after all.

Zoro is not a touchy person, but he's not opposed to it either. He's become more comfortable with it, you kind of have to if you're on Luffy's crew in my opinion, but he still doesn't seek it out himself.

You'd probably be the one to touch him more than the other way around, but I think the places he lets you touch and how long is what would set his realization moment apart.

~

Zoro can feel the sweat dripping down his back as the sun beats down on him. He'd been training for hours now on the deck of the Sunny as everyone had some time to relax.

He stops when Sanji comes out to announce that lunch is ready. He sets down the weights he's using and everyone starts to eat. He's quick to join in, hungry after a hard workout, but his back is aching. It's something he's used to, but it hurts a little extra today.

He rubs his back a few times and readjusts his sitting position and the rest of lunch is uneventful. He's about to continue his workout when he hears you call his name.

"Zoro!"

He turns and you're right in front of him.

"Before you start, I couldn't help but notice it looks like your back hurts. Do you want a massage?" you ask, motioning to your own back as you mimic the movements he had made during lunch.

"She's very good at them," Robin calls, observing from her favorite spot under the orange trees.

He hesitates. He trusts the crew, especially you, but the thought of someone touching his back makes him grit his teeth. Scars on the back are a swordsman's shame, after all. He's always been cautious of letting anyone near his back and today is no exception. Thankfully, you seem to sense his turmoil because you smile politely and say, "It's no pressure. If you change your mind, just let me know."

He goes back to training until dinner and he can definitely feel the ache in his back now, but he's still insistent that this is the burden of the best. Becoming the greatest swordsman requires discipline and sometimes pain. He won't let Luffy down, won't let him bear his pain alone, so he shrugs it off and goes to bed.

Or, he tries at least. After a few hours with no luck, he finally relents. He knows that tonight is your turn to be on watch and he hasn't heard you come back down to switch out, so begrudgingly he makes his way up to the crow's nest where he knows you'll be. If he was going to let anyone touch his back, he would prefer it be you out of anyone.

"Oh, hi Zoro," you say, surprised to see him up but seemingly not annoyed by his presence, "What are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep," is all he says, closing the door behind him as he settles in next to you.

You smile, adjusting yourself so that you're facing him. "I've been there," you hum, letting your face rest on your knees as you look out the windows to the sea.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he works up the courage to say, "If the offer is still available, I wouldn't mind the massage."

He's surprised to see your face light up, grinning as you immediately agree and ask him to turn around. You tell him that you'll be careful and he tells you to do your worst.

The moment he feels your hands on his back, he begins to think that maybe he made a terrible mistake. It feels good and he can feel the ache in his back start to dissipate as you work out the stress in his muscles, but he also can't help the way his heart skips a beat and his mind starts to malfunction. He starts overthinking just why he felt so confident letting you touch him like this when he can't even imagine letting someone else touch his back for a fraction of the time you are. It stresses him out so much that he can feel his back tensing.

"Zoro, you're supposed to relax," you tease, and he can feel himself flush as he grumbles something under his breath about how it's not his fault that he's got so much stress worked up in him.

You laugh at him, which only makes his embarrassment worse, but you begin moving slower and taking more time to delicately work out the knots. You must think that you're helping but it only makes his heart flip more.

Eventually, he finds himself relaxing into your touch. Robin was right about your skill, your hands working out not only his physical stress but his mental stress as well.

He doesn't think he's ever felt so content.

You massage him for so long that he loses track of time. At some point, you begin making conversation with him and it helps him focus less on his erratic heartbeat and nerves. Eventually, there's a knock on the crow's nest door and Robin peeks her head in.

You stop at that point, smiling and greeting her warmly and Zoro is embarrassed at just how much he misses your hands on him. Robin looks over at him finally and he can feel his ears heat up as she smirks at him, as if she knows something he doesn't. You say goodbye to them both, telling Zoro that you hope he can get some sleep, and then he's alone with Robin.

"I see you changed your mind?" she mused, a tease in her voice that made him blush even harder.

When he was finally back in bed, his back was the loosest it had felt in a long time, but he still couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about your hands on his back, warm and gentle but firm, and he cursed silently into the room. He'd been in denial for too long and this had only opened the floodgates.

Law does not get touchy with his crew. Ever.

He loves his crew, don't get me wrong, but he keeps his cards close to his chest. The only time he would touch you or you him would be in some kind of emergency situation or something medically related. I think it would take a situation like that for Law to break his walls down a little bit and have to touch you, out of necessity, for him to realize his feelings.

~

Law is no stranger to late nights doing work and tonight is no exception. There are only so many hours in the day and it's his job as Captain of the Heart Pirates to be prepared for any situation, so if he has to sacrifice some sleep to do that, then so be it.

What he's not used to is other people being up when he does.

He had worked well into the night, until his eyes could barely stay open, and had finally decided to head back to his room instead of falling asleep at his office desk. On the way there, he noticed a light still on in the library.

Thinking that someone had left it on, he muttered under his breath about it but went in to turn it off. He was about to make a mental note to remind his crew to not waste energy when he heard something shuffle.

He made his way over to the couch where he heard the noise and was surprised to find you curled up asleep, except you looked miserable. He called your name out as he knelt down to inspect you closer.

"Captain?" you asked, eyes cracking open as if you had felt his presence.

"You look awful," he said, his voice dry as he asked, "Are you sick?"

You had the decency to look sheepish at his question, which confirmed what he already knew: you were definitely sick. "I came to see you, but you looked so hard at work, I didn't want to disturb you...," you explained, your voice hoarse.

"You should have just come in," he scolded, frowning as he asked, "Why are you here and not back in your room?"

You avoided his eyes, seemingly embarrassed as you answered, "I tried. Couldn't make it back."

He sighed, all his exhaustion having left upon finding you in this state. "Can you sit up?" he asked, already assessing your symptoms as he watched you comply with his request.

You were shivering and even from his spot kneeling next to you, he could feel the warmth you were emitting. It also seemed like you were sweating slightly, so the most likely culprit was a fever. Normally, he would have just used his devil fruit powers to get you back to your room, but judging by the wince you did as you sat up, you also had a headache. Using his room would only amplify that pressure, even if only for a moment, and he didn't want to cause you any unnecessary discomfort or pain, so the old-fashioned method it was.

"I'm assuming you can't walk since you couldn't make it back to your room yourself, so I'll have to carry you," he explained, twisting so his back was facing you as he said, "Get on my back."

There were a few moments of silence where he almost repeated himself, thinking maybe you hadn't heard him before he felt your weight on his back and your arms loosely wrap around his shoulders. Your breath brushed against his ear and he almost shivered as he stood up, adjusting your body against himself so that you didn't have to hold yourself up.

"Sorry, Captain," you apologized, attempting to readjust some of your weight back to yourself. He easily shifted you back, his grip on your leg tightening slightly so you didn't fall. He didn't know why, but the adjustment made him all the more aware of just how much the two of you were touching. His face warmed just slightly as his heart skipped a fraction of a second.

"Just stay still," he scolded, but it didn't have anywhere near as much heat as he intended.

You didn't respond after that, seemingly content to let him carry you the rest of the way. At some point, you let your head rest on his shoulder. Your breath ghosted across his ear with each exhale and he couldn’t stop his heart from racing.

When he finally got you back to your room, he carefully dropped you off onto the bed with a promise that he would be right back. When he returned, he had his stethoscope, a thermometer, and some basic flu remedies.

"Take this," Law said, handing you some medicine and a glass of water to wash it down with. You sat up from your curled-up position in the bed and accepted it, swallowing the pill with only a little bit of a struggle.

"Is it bad?" you asked, your voice quiet.

"No, but I need to check your temperature and make sure there's no fluid in your lungs," he explained, holding up the thermometer first.

You leaned forward, letting him place the thermometer on your forehead. It blinked back at him and while you definitely were running a fever, it wasn't deadly. He told you as much and you smiled slightly at that.

"I need to check your lungs now, so I need to be able to access your chest," he said, doing his best to keep as professional as possible despite how irrationally his heart was beating.

You hummed, unbuttoning and unzipping your boiler suit just enough to expose the top of your chest to him. Law sat next to you on the bed, angling himself so that he was facing you, and began checking your chest for any odd breathing sounds.

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he felt your fingers graze the skin just above his top where his tattoo peeks out.

He's not done checking your lungs yet, but he freezes. His first instinct is to pull away immediately but for some reason, he can't make himself move as he feels your fingers trace the top of his tattoo. He swallows thickly when your fingers drop down into your lap and you murmur, "They're so beautiful up close."

He knows that the fever is clouding your mind right now. He knows you're acting like this because you're sick and that you would never say that to him were you not, but his face goes so red he thinks he might have caught your fever and he can't seem to form the right words, so instead he just continues his check on your lungs.

There's nothing wrong with them and he finally finds the strength to move and stand up from the bed. His heart is still pumping a million miles a minute and he can feel the tips of his ears heating up, but he tells himself that he must be sick too. That's the only way to explain what he just felt.

As he's leaving you call out to him.

"Law?"

His heart stops again, hearing his name fall from your lips. He doesn't say anything, afraid he might not even be able to, but he stops and turns to look at you. You're still in your boiler suit, but you've curled back up into the bed. You're still looking at him though, and he can't seem to take his eyes off you as you smile at him and say, "Thank you. You're my hero."

He doesn't sleep at all that night. He checked periodically for any signs of a fever of his own and found nothing, even the next day. The feel of your fingers grazing his chest is still lingering even days later and he can't seem to meet your eyes the same way he used to. He realizes how absolutely fucked he was when he finds himself missing your breath on his neck and wanting your fingers to trace his other tattoos as well.

ღ radishaur — i do not own any of these characters. do not plagiarize. please enjoy and remember to be respectful! 

[noheadcanons-juststories]

Vampire!141 x fledgling!reader, who was found abandoned and starved. intro

Ever since the Merge, all sorts and manners of creatures have made themselves comfortable in the realm that humans called home. While most were already longtime residents, others came from pockets, nooks, and crannies previously hidden from mortal eyes. Yet despite the efforts to peacefully integrate non-humans into human society, there have been instances of “unfortunate casualties”.

Like you for example. And with one of the worst you could've encountered: vampires.

There was a risk to living a solitary life in the countryside, in that no one would hear your cries for help. Not to mention some vampiric myths didn’t apply to the undead. Such as the “no entry without invite”, which led to you being attacked in your own home. The vamp who attacked you was only a few decades old. Experienced but no sage. His bloodlust controlled, but he lacked discipline for his age. He got the jump on you as you were entering your cottage, 6 pm sunset. An unfortunate circumstance. Took a bit too much and didn’t want to leave a dead body behind. More or less.

Afterwards, he was gone.

You spent the next few days isolated in your home. Laying in bed, clutching your stomach in pain as you starved. Emancipated and paler than you should be with your new complexion. You didn't call anyone, friends or family. Not that you had many left after you decided to go off-grid.

Not even your place of work. If you told them what happened, it would be over for you. Your boss was required by law to inform authorities of any “incidents” involving monster attacks. In your case, they would send someone from the Night Council to retrieve you. A fledgling without a sire is a disaster waiting to happen. You'll either be assigned to a “foster clan” or put down, depending on certain factors.

You hear that the latter is a common practice, as very few clans will take in a fledgling that isn't their own. Even then, it's not guaranteed that the clan will treat you well.

It's better to wither away, you tell yourself. Don't be a problem. Don’t be a burden.

Of course, your boss noticed your absence long before a month. The old man, a faun, had immediately taken a shine to you when you first walked in his shop, “Pots and Kettles”. You, a small thing, asking if he was hiring two years ago, perfectly timed after one of his employees moved out of town. You, one of his best baristas at the café, suddenly gone, without a call or a letter or a note.

Sweet and silent as you are, your missing presence was mourned.

He goes to your cottage within the week, ready to knock upon your door when he smells it. Like copper and rot, it lingers in the doorway. He calls for you, worried for your well-being, your health, you.

“Go away,” you tell him, your voice weak and quiet. “I'm unwell.” When he asks what happened, he's met with silence. He assumes the worst, and he's ready to put his training into use.

But he stops himself. If he calls the Night Council…

No, he won't do that to you. And he won't let you wither away.

You need care, support, and guidance, and he knows just the people to give it to you. They owe him a favor anyway. The old faun just hopes the contacts are still the same after so long.

It was two weeks later.

You're practically skin and bones. Your softness and weight, gone. Your eyes, deep crimson and sunken in. Your fangs, constantly itchy and in pain. And your stomach feels like blades, twisting and jabbing to carve out room for a meal that will never come.

Turns out that starving only amplifies the bloodlust, frantically urging the body to feed for nourishment. Yet despite the agonizing hunger and the creeping madness, you will yourself to remain home. Still wrapped in your bed sheets and letting yourself go to waste.

That was the plan.

Until a knock at your door sounded. Possibly the Night Council, you assume. Boss must’ve called them.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable, you force yourself off the bed, keeping the bedding wrapped around your body as you slowly creep to the front window. Peeking through the curtains, you see four gentlemen in odd gear. The one in the skull-plated mask catches your attention first.

They aren’t from the Night Council.

Another knock from the man in front then your name. “We know you’re at the door, kid. Just open up.” He’s got well-groomed chops and blue eyes with wisdom far beyond his visible years.

Enter the 141, a subclan of the MacMillan House. The old faun, a soldier in his youth before the brass booted him with honorable discharge, knew them in passing. The four men, with decades to centuries under their belt, were also let go, but they stayed in service with their loyalty to Lord MacMillan.

John Price, the elder and Captain, yet MacMillan's youngest. Simon Riley, Lieutenant and right-hand, second-oldest. Johnny MacTavish, Sergeant and tracker, a few decades younger than Simon. And the youngest, Kyle Garrick, also Sergeant and John's only progeny.

Countless years on and off the battlefield brought more than just friendship between them. It gave love, stability, and belonging. Which you would definitely be better off with.

next Masterlist

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

wish lantern rewrite

I can’t be the only one that wishes we had actually traveled to a new location… that we had learned about a new culture and holiday… that Riddle had actually had more character development in Wish Lantern instead of being cooped up in the library, being forced to play pretend princess in order to get out, and give like maybe a handful of lines max in the second half of the event 😭 What we ended up getting was fun too, but I keep thinking about the missed opportunities and how great this story event could have been.

If Twst won’t give it to me then I will have to cook my own food 😤

Here’s how I would write Wish Lantern if I was in the Twst writing room:

Since Riddle is the SSR, I feel the story and its set-up should center him. I’m thinking maybe he’s invited to (or told by his mother to attend) some kind of conference or event in the Kingdom of Heroes or the Sunshine Lands for aspiring medical mages. Let’s say it is being held in the same place where the story of the Princess in the Tower originated because the Sundrop flower mentioned in the tale has miraculous healing properties (and the city/kingdom has since become known for its medical advances).

Riddle is uneasy about going there by himself (the implication being that this event is set after book 1 and, more specifically after book 6, when Riddle expresses to Azul he has been considering pursuing law instead of magic medicine/the career his mother chose for him). Maybe he mentions this unease around Deuce, that he feels obligated to go because “Mother knows best… She has always known what is best for me, hasn’t she?” It could even be in the library. Say that Riddle is brushing up for the conference and happens to run into him, who is looking for a book to help with completing an assignment. After listening to Riddle’s woes, Deuce, being one of the people who knows about his dorm leader’s complicated feelings toward his mother and finding his own independence, offers to come along as emotional support.

As for how Jack gets involved, he’s Deuce’s club member. Maybe he overhears Riddle talking about sports medicine or panels presented by medical mages who work with athletes, or Deuce mentions it in a club meeting. Jack becomes interested because he’s the type of person that’s always looking for ways to enhance his training and to learn more about this subject.

Kalim can either join because he's conveniently in the library + wants to learn more about poisons and antidotes (on his own self-development journey to be more self-sufficient instead of relying on Jamil all the time) or because the Asims are sponsors of the event and he gets a free invite through his Rich Privilege.

Use the usual "Grim overhears and whines until he and Yuu get invited to go along" excuse or maybe have Yuu and Grim come because they, too, want to be emotional support for Riddle. (They could have heard from Deuce?) With that, we have all of the main characters for this event assembled.

Even though this is a rewrite, I'm going to try and follow the conventions of OTHER "hometown" events. That means most of this rewritten event will be exploring the new area, learning about its customs and traditions, souvenir shopping, and sampling food. This would be a great chance to, of course, throw in Tangled references. Because I proposed that this event be focused on a conference for aspiring medical mages, we can also learn more lore about what medical technology and practices exist in Twisted Wonderland and how magic has played a part in advancing medicine.

So it turns out, there's a festival going on in the area at the same time as the conference. That's because there's a holiday in this kingdom that celebrates the Princess in the Tower finding her way home by following a trail of lanterns. Since the conference doesn't start until the next day, we can go out and enjoy the festivities! (Riddle can be hesitant at first, but the others convince him to loosen up.)

The new outfits + hair can be explained away as part of local traditions. Everyone is provided with a potion that lengthens their hair so they can emulate the Princess in the Tower. Or maybe there can be a potion-making station, and length still correlates with the skill at which you were able to brew it. (In this version, the hair lengthening potion isn't made with super rare ingredients; it is something easily accessible for even non-mages to brew and can be made cheaply.) YES, THAT MEANS WE GET LONG HAIR GRIM.

Local specialties could include dishes mentioned or depicted in Tangled, like hazelnut soup (Rapunzel's favorite).

HERE ARE SOME CUTE INTERACTION IDEAS BASED ON RAPUNZEL'S OWN EXPERIENCES IN CORONA: the gang doing chalk drawings and clowning on each other's artistic abilities (or lack thereof), trying out cupcakes (the reasoning being that they're "single servings" so it's okay for Riddle to indulge), exploring bookshops, painting on the walls, and everyone joining in a big group dance! (For the dance, maybe there’s a competition to see who can drag in the most bystanders into the dance and Riddle gradually finds his footing in that + is crowned the winner?) There could even be a tavern that pays homage to The Snuggly Duckling.

While we're out having fun, there should be a consistent pattern of Riddle having to be convinced that it's okay to be participating in these activities. He feels that he should be focusing on studying for the conference, but the others are there to reassure him it's okay to take breathers.

"You won't perform at your best if you're always at 100%. In terms of a workout, you'd be asking to pull a muscle if you push yourself to exercise without end." (Jack)

"Mmm? But how often are we going to be in [name of city]? We're here now, so we might as well experience everything that's here!! The food, the music, the games, the people... You can't find that anywhere but here." (Kalim)

"I get the importance of preparation, but I'm kind of curious about the celebration that's going on. If Rosehearts-senpai wants to study, then he should do that. I'd feel bad exploring the city without him, though... He might miss out." (Deuce)

"Shouldn't you at least grab some grub first? I'm pretty hungry too! Let's check out the food stalls!" (Grim, maybe Yuu can also get a dialogue option)

At some point, the group decides to browse and buy souvenirs. They discuss who they are shopping for and come upon the subject of family. Kalim and Jack want to buy stuff for their siblings and Deuce thinks his mom might appreciate a locally made handkerchief with the kingdom's sun emblem on it. (As a trucker, Dylla often drives for long hours so she might find use in a handkerchief to wipe her forehead.) Yuu and Grim can also bring up potentially getting something for the Ramshackle Ghosts, who are like their found family.

Riddle becomes visibly uncomfortable when the topic of family is brought up. Everyone else sounds so happy talking about theirs, but he has no idea what a happy family is supposed to be like. Deuce (and maybe Yuu + Grim too) realizes why Riddle is uncomfortable and quickly apologize. Kalim and Jack, who aren't familiar with Riddle's background or his attempts to speak with his mother over winter break, are a little confused but the others feel it's not their place to explain why and Riddle doesn't know them well enough to elaborate on personal matters. (Here, Jack and Kalim serve as an in-universe reason to keep his family history vague so as to not spoil people who haven't gotten that far in the main story yet, but the awkwardness is palpable enough to imply something is wrong to serve the narrative of the event story.)

Now, "hometown" events tend to introduce a new character, typically a family member, to us. However, the new characters are not those who appear as the "trauma source" for the respective OB boy. (For example, Falena was not the character introduced to us in Tamashina Mina/Cloudcalling on the Savanna and we met Kifaji instead.) Following this trend, we will not be encountering Mrs. Rosehearts but rather MR. Rosehearts.

I realize that we don't have a ton of lore about Riddle's dad yet so everything I write about his personality is completely headcanon (primarily based on the personality of the King of Hearts). The only things that are canon in this depiction is that 1) Mr. Rosehearts is a medical mage like his wife is and 2) Mr. Rosehearts does not have a happy marriage with his wife.

Anyway, we run into Mr. Rosehearts out in the city. Turns out that he is one of the presenters at the conference and he was supposed to meet and receive Riddle. He's a quiet and slightly anxious man but overall is kind to his son (though we should get the impression that Mr. Rosehearts isn't good with confrontation and folds easily).

Maybe have a part where Mr. Rosehearts is surprised that Riddle has friends because uh... the last time he recalls his son having friends, it was because his wife ranted at them for 5 hours and banned them from their home. But hey, he's chill about it and promises Riddle this can stay between them and he won't tell his mom. Could insert a line or two that implies that the winter break talk didn't go over well. (This is just my headcanon, but you could also stick in a line that insinuates that the Rosehearts parents don't just outright divorce because Riddle's mom can't deal with the potential social fallout + realizing that she is "wrong" in her marriage.)

Every "hometown" event thus far has presented us with some kind of minor external conflict to be resolved. In this case, Riddle's conflict is more internal. He's wrestling with what he wants to do with his future and trying to cope with the reality that his mother isn't the loving, "always correct" woman he thought she was. This, of course, mirrors Rapunzel's struggle with Mother Gothel, who tries to keep her in the tower and doing as she commands.

We finally make our way to our quarters for the night (Riddle has his own room; everyone else has to share one), perhaps in tall tower to mimic Rapunzel's home with Gothel. Riddle knows he should retire early because the conference is first thing tomorrow, but he admits to everyone that after spending time in the city, he has become curious about the tradition of releasing thousands of wish lanterns into the night sky. It happens pretty late in the day though, so he brushes it off and says they should sleep.

... But the others get really hype about Riddle "finally getting into the spirit of the holiday" and decide they should see the lanterns!! The only problem is, Riddle is locked in his hotel room for the night. There could be a local superstition, tradition, or security reason for this. Like maybe due to the story of the Princess in the Tower (and Gothel locking her up), people who are indoors at a certain time of night can't leave until the next day?? Or maybe Mrs. Rosehearts had prepared Riddle's room for him in advance and instructed staff to ensure he doesn't leave because she has been paranoid about him "breaking the rules" again after the tart incident. I don't know, pick your reason.

YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS??? It's time for Jack, Deuce, Kalim, Grim, and Yuu to be Riddle's Flynn Rider + animal companions to break Riddle out. Our group represents the freedom and childhood wonders Riddle missed out on, the antithesis to Mrs. Rosehearts'/Mother Gothel's control. I can see Riddle using his long hair to hoist himself down, Jack using his UM to help everyone race to the water in time to catch the lanterns, Deuce being the muscle if they run into any thugs, Kalim using his social skills to quickly befriend the locals and ask for directions to the best vantage point or using his $$$ to rent the group a rowboat, etc.

We can keep the rhythmic/twistune from the original version of this event where Kalim, Deuce, and Jack were able to safely descend using Riddle’s hair but Riddle hesitates before he’s able to get himself to follow. The reason is the same; he worries about breaking the rules and how his mother would disapprove of him leaving the home. Riddle wonders if the Princess in the Tower felt the same, but ultimately his friends convince him it’s fine (by baiting him with the rules). He will be trapped in this tower forever if he doesn’t summon his strength and take the leap. If not now, then when? When will my life begin? “There are people waiting for me outside, so… it must be okay for me to leave. Right… Mother?”

Riddle keeps nagging everyone about how many rules and social norms they're breaking, but eventually he loosens up and even laughs a little at some of the dumb things they do. We can maybe have him thinking, This is just like… and then flashback to his childhood days with Trey and Chenya.

They're out on the waters just in time to see the lanterns being released. Alternatively, the even runners could be having trouble lighting up all the lanterns or something so Riddle has the opportunity to help with that (this way, we’d still get the other rhythmic/twistune featured in the original event). That particular rhythmic/twistune ends on Riddle with five lanterns floating overhead, which I think could be important symbolism (five lanterns -> five mentions of Heartslabyul).

It's beautiful. Everyone oohs and aahs at the sight--most of all, Riddle. He can say something like... "This city is known for its many contributions to magic medicine. I know that, and yet... I don't believe any magic or medicine could replicate what I am feeling in this very moment." There is some part of Riddle that acknowledges the healing and therapeutic properties of just... being allowed to have freedom, of allowing himself to live in the present and not stress about the rules or gearing up for a future someone else has decided for him all the time. He just doesn't know how to fully verbalize it + has not fully come to terms with it yet, so this is how he expresses it. At last, he sees the light.

While the new location they travel to + the conference provide us with the backdrop of medicine and health for this rewrite, I think there’s also something to be implied about the injuries we don’t see, the pain inflicted that isn’t physical. Both Riddle and Rapunzel were trapped in towers but were also emotionally controlled and prevented from leaving/made scared or the world and disobeying their mothers. When Riddle sees the lanterns, it’s sort of a “wake up” sign to his soul, a reminder of how healing it can be to just… live by one’s own terms, to not be ruled over by fear of disappointing someone else or failing to meet expectations. Rapunzel and Riddle bear scars on their heart from having been raised in the households that they were, and it is seeing the lanterns in-person that helps to “heal” what hurts them.

Riddle recalls the story of the Princess in the Tower and how she made a wish to see the lanterns, so now people make wishes upon these lanterns before releasing them into the sky. He lets go of his own lantern and wishes that, someday, he can be like the Princess in the Tower and this lantern floating up to the sky… and follow his own Road to Freedom.

Everyone sneaks back into their rooms and rest for the day. Uhhh, and there can be a scene of slicing off their hair for tomorrow. Riddle can talk about how the Princess grew her hair long because her mother told her to, but that it must have been cumbersome to walk like this. This way, by cutting off the hair like how the Princess does at the end of her story, it's a liberating act.

It doesn't matter what happens at the conference because what was important was the experiences Riddle had with his friends leading up to it. At most, maybe we see Mr. Rosehearts again while heading to the venue and they have a brief exchange where Riddle lets it slip he's a little tired. "That's so unlike you," Mr. Rosehearts remarks. "Well," Riddle replies with a small smile, "I am a growing young man, after all. I am changing every day."

I want to be clear that this does NOT mean Riddle has had a full character arc to come to terms with how he was raised. He would NOT feel 100% okay with rebelling against his mother by the end of this (hypothetical) event. The point of my version of Wish Lantern isn't to empower Riddle to fistfight Mrs. Rosehearts or to tell her off. The point is that it's supposed to be a small step in helping Riddle through the very complicated process of recognizing he was traumatized and/or abused, accepting that reality, and learning about how he can grow from it and his abuser (who is someone he thought he loved and could trust). This can take YEARS to process in the real world, and it would probably be similar to Riddle. Again, this is meant to be a SINGLE STEP he takes, NOT THE ENTIRE JOURNEY.

So in my rewrite, the event would be split up like this:

Episode 1: invitation to the event; gathering all the relevant characters, hopping through the mirror

Episode 2: arrival in the new location and having fun in the area

Episode 3: souvenir shopping, meeting Riddle's dad

Episode 4: retiring to room, changing mind and deciding to break out instead

Episode 5: seeing the lights, ending

As you can see, the structure is very similar to a traditional "hometown" event. I didn't want to stray too far from Twst's usual writing conventions, as it could mess with the cohesion with the rest of its story events. I did, however, try to change things up a little (like having an internal conflict instead of an external one) and tied in this (hypothetical) story with Riddle's overarching character development, as those are elements that I personally prefer in a story. I realize that the biggest change here is tying my rewrite much more strongly to the main story than similar events have 💦 BUT LET ME HAVE THIS, I think I cooked 😭

... What Wish Lantern could have been OTL Don’t get me wrong, though!! The version we did get wasn’t all bad. There was lore about the NRC library, lots of involvement from the staff, and fun character interactions with the whole student cast. I just feel like those could have all been used for a different event and not the Tangled one which could have been so much more interesting for Riddle and his character.

[gingerswagfreckles]

There is a lot of misinformation going around about Mahmoud Khalil. Please read this if you have read or posted about the case.

Mahmoud Khalil was arrested on March 9th by ICE agents in public, as he was returning to his apartment. His arrest was legal and was conducted in a legal manner. Neither ICE nor the police need a warrant to arrest someone in public, on the street.

Mr. Khalil has not been "dissappeared." He is being held in Central Louisiana ICE Processing Center in Jena, Louisiana. He has been assigned a public defender. Her name is Amy Greene. He has a deportation hearing set for tomorrow (March 12th) with a judge, in which the judge will review the case.

The Department of Homeland Security has accused Mr. Khalil of leading pro Hamas rallies on the Columbia University campus and publishing/passing out pro Hamas fliers that included the Hamas logo. He has not been "charged," because he does not have to be charged under US law. Under US law, a greencard holder has a right to a hearing with a judge to determine whether or not they violated the terms of their greencard. One does not need to be convicted by a jury to be deported for supporting terrorist organizations. This is not a comment on whether or not this law is fair. But it is important to recognize that this is standard and does not violate Mr. Khalil's right to due process.

Also under US Law: one of the conditions of being granted a greencard is that one not be involved in activities that could be argued to be in support of a designated terror organization. Well.

Mahmoud Khalil is an open Hamas supporter and a leader of the Columbia University Apartheid Divestment organization, an explicitly pro Hamas organization that regularly organizes pro Hamas rallies, passes out pro Hamas pamphlets that include inspirational quotes by Hamas terrorists, and organized a "day of mourning" for Yahya Al-Sinwar, the leader of Hamas and the architect of the Oct 7th terror attacks. CUAD has self described it's goal as the "total eradication of Western civilization" through violence. Mr. Khalil has been filmed at multiple of their pro Hamas rallies, which he presumably helped organize as a member, and acted as a negotiator on behalf of CUAD a few days ago (March 6th) during the Columbia student building takeover and bomb threats.

I am not the judge who will be reviewing Mr. Khalil's case. But I find it hard to make an argument that being a leader of an explicitly pro Hamas organization is not supporting terrorism.

Guys, listen. The amount of misinformation I have seen immediately regurgitated about this man, about how his rights have been violated, by fellow Jews, is absurd. Trump is evil. That does not mean we have to make shit up about how an open Hamas supporter is being unfairly attacked. This ENTIRE issue is about whether or not supporting antisemitic terrorism should be considered supporting terrorism. Of course it should be! This is literally just equal application of the law, something we have gotten so used to not happening when it comes to Jews that we are now making up reasons to defend someone who's rights were not violated and openly wants to kill us.

There are so many. SO MANY illegal and unethical arrests and deportations happening every single day. Why on earth is Jumblr deciding to go to bat for this man of all people, and act like THIS CASE, of all cases, is one that needs to be fought against? Why are we acting like this case, of all cases, is some flagrant violation of the law that should be used to highlight how evil Trump is?

I'm sorry but have we lost our minds? Literally nothing about this man's arrest was illegal and his right to due process has not been violated in any way. The ONLY reason this is getting attention is that people believe SO strongly that they should have the right to organize rallies in support of a terrorist organization that's stated goal is to kill the Jews. That's it! That's the only issue. Not even his lawyers are claiming there was some violation of this man's right to due process. This issue is ENTIRELY about whether or not it's "free speech" for someone who agreed not to support terrorism as a condition of being granted a greencard, should have the right to support terrorism specifically if it's terrorism directed at Jews. That's it! That's it. Please. Please PLEASE. Can we focus on the ICE raids happening at the school my roommate works at? Can we stop going along with this violently antisemitic delusion that the legal deportation case against a pro terrorism rally organizer is the ideal case to prove how unfair and illegal these deportations are? What the fuck?

[augustjoy]

I’ve got you!

Based on the following ask: I want fluffy romance

It’s an Aaron Hotchner x reader (lmao daddy issues on fleek) anyways

I’d like to see like romantic tension building between them like it begins small but slowly gets bigger and it isn’t until reader gets into trouble (like say almost drowning because she never learned how to swim like my dumbass) that Aaron almost loses it a little and saved reader which makes him end up confessing to each other and they get together and it’s just fluffy romance because as much as I love the smutty stuff, I crave fluff so badly for my poor heart and for Aaron because baby deserves comfort too. Anyways Love you gorgeous

Aaron Hotchner x BAU! Fem Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 2533

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, SLOW BURN, Age gap (non-specified), some explicit language, reader can’t swim, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description, canon typical violence, reader almost drowns, mention of Jack, Beth never existed in this okay!, mention of hospitals, team calls reader flower as a nickname! let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Your first impression of Aaron Hotchner was at a lecture at your university. Jason Gideon had been leading the BAU and Hotch had just been an agent at the time, but you had been captivated by his intelligence and the way he carried himself. He was so confident and had this strength about him that drew you in. Not in a romantic way though!

At least that’s what you told yourself.

--

Aaron’s first impression of you was when you had been hired onto the team through Director Cruz. Mateo had brought you along with your file and handed you off to Aaron, informing him that you’d be joining the BAU effective immediately.

Initially Aaron was annoyed, this kind of thing hadn’t always worked out in his favor, having agents assigned to his team without his approval but, looking at you and your impressive file, he knew he had to give you a shot.

Glancing over to you he took note of your beauty. It wasn’t the obvious fake filter-like beauty, but something more natural. You had this air of warmth that radiated off of you, it was the type of energy that just made you feel comfortable around someone. He couldn’t help but think that if he’d met you some other way, that maybe he’d have asked you out.

--

Things between you and Aaron had progressed organically. The two of you had grown pretty close, being one another’s confidant within the team. You weren’t together, but the amount of time you two spent together suggested otherwise.

It all happened pretty quickly.

--

“Does Hotch always stay late?” You asked.

“Uh, yeah pretty much.” Emily laughed.

“What about Jack? He doesn’t go home to be with him? I mean…I, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean that to sound judgy, I just meant like doesn’t he want to go home?” You stuttered.

“I’m sure he wants to go home to Jack. His sister-in-law watches Jack when he can’t, but since Strauss died, they gave Hotch a lot of additional responsibilities for this team. Things that Cruz never took back on, so he has nearly double the workload now that he did back then.” Derek explained.

You stood there stunned to silence as the others packed their bags to head home for the evening. You hadn’t even noticed them making their way to the elevator.

“Aren’t you coming?” JJ questioned.

“You know, I just remembered I forgot to get the file for that case we had in Minnesota back to Hotch. He’ll be pissed if I don’t turn it in before our days off.” You lied.

“Do you want us to wait?” Spencer asked.

“No, you guys go ahead! Enjoy your weekend!”

You sat back down at your desk, attempting to make yourself look busy while the other piled into the elevator. Once the doors had closed you made your way up to his office…unable to hear the others…

“She’s got it bad.” Derek teased.

“So does he.” Rossi confirmed.

You gently knocked on his office door and waited for him to permit your entry. Once he did, you pushed the door open slightly and peaked in, waiting for him to acknowledge your presence.

“Oh hey, what are you still doing here? I figured you’d have left with the others.” Aaron let a slight smile slip past his lips.

“I was going to, but you’re still here. It didn’t feel right going home for the weekend while you are still here working your ass off.”

“I’m the boss, I’m always here working my ass off. Head home, enjoy the time off. Seriously.” Aaron suggested.

“How about instead, I do whatever I can to help you get through your work a little faster and I order dinner for us. Would you prefer tacos or Thai food?” You pulled up your maps app to see restaurants that were nearby.

“You should-”

“Don’t even try to argue with me Hotch.” You threatened.

“Tacos.”

“Perfect.”

--

That night you helped Aaron double-check the case reports and cross reference them to make sure they were all filed properly. It allowed him some extra time to complete some administrative work and when your food arrived, the two of you sat and laughed while enjoying your tacos.

--

Garcia, Emily, and JJ were all clutching their temples while chugging down coffee in hopes to alleviate their hangovers.

Spencer and Derek couldn’t help but chuckle at the girls and the fact that they chose to drink far too much last night, knowing full well they’d need to be up early to cheer on their fearless leader as he completed the annual FBI triathlon.

Dave waved to the others notifying them that he could see Aaron coming around the last corner.

“Wait where’s flower at?” Derek asked.

The team looked around to see if they could spot you, knowing that you would never miss this, given how close you and Aaron had become. Dave chuckled to himself and pointed over to where you were standing with Jack on your shoulders as he held up a large glittering sign.

Everyone cheered as Aaron crossed the finish line only, he didn’t stop to greet the team. He made his was straight to you and Jack, he assisted him in getting down off your shoulders and complimented the beautiful poster he had made.

“I had some help!” Jack replied, gently grabbing your hand.

You’d smile and wish Aaron a job well done.

The team would just watch from afar and wonder how the two of you could be so incredibly oblivious to the love you so obviously shared for one another.

--

“Wooo go Jack!” You cheered.

Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle at you, genuinely loving the bond you’d established with his son. It had started when Jack needed to spend a day at the BAU and you’d gone out of your way to get him snacks and print a few coloring pages for him. It had shifted to something deeper than that not long after. Jack would ask if you could come to the park with them or if you could help him with the poster for his dad or, like today for instance, if you could come to his soccer game.

You had packed up a cooler bag full of drinks and snacks for the three of you. Dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans, Aaron had never thought you looked better. You’d been so casual and comfortable, and when you hopped in the passenger seat of his car that morning something stirred in Aaron. A feeling he wasn’t sure he was ready to feel again, let alone give in to.

“Did you see that? I made a goal!” Jack hollered running over to your waiting embrace.

“I did buddy, you were incredible out there!” You praised.

“Dad, can we all go get lunch now? And maybe then we can go see the new spiderman movie?” Jack pleaded.

“Oh – bud I don’t, I uh. I’m not sure that’s a good –” Aaron fumbled.

“I would love to, as long as it’s not an imposition.” You smiled.

“It’s not! An imposition, I mean.” Aaron clarified.

“Well then! What do you want for lunch Jack?” You asked.

You’d spent the rest of the day with the Hotchner boys, going to lunch and then seeing a movie. Which led to you offering to make them dinner, and building Legos with Jack, and then a nightcap with Aaron. He’d offered you his guestroom and then to drive you home first thing and given that you were both tipsy…you were quick to agree.

What you hadn’t expected was breakfast. He and Jack had gone all out with chocolate chip pancakes…things were feeling a little too domestic. When had things gotten so comfortable?

--

As the feeling stirred in both you and Aaron, you had begun to notice all the little things you did for one another. Things that had just become natural for you both in the time you’d known each other, second nature at this point.

You always slid sticky notes in your case files before turning them in to him. Sometimes they’d contain a doodle of something silly or a quote you’d read somewhere that made you think of him. What you didn’t know is he saved them all. They were tucked away in the back of his desk drawer, a neat pile of multicolored paper, serving as a reminder of how happy you made him.

Aaron shared similar antics…only his served in the form of your favorite tea, left on your desk each morning before the others arrived so they wouldn’t know it was him placing it there. Though they all had their suspicions anyway. Every once in while…usually after tough cases, or if he knew you hadn’t eaten dinner – which he’d know because you’d fall asleep mid-conversation via text – he’d leave a chocolate croissant…your favorite.

--

Aaron had almost let his feelings slip once. Dave had caught the internal battle that Aaron was facing, he wore it as a pained expression and tense shoulders. Dave had reassured him that you were alright and there was no need to worry, only that didn’t help much. You had gotten hurt, and that only proved that it could happen again. This was a dangerous job full of pain and suffering. Aaron realized he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.

You had been away on a case; the team had found the unsub and were closing in on him. You had rounded a corner in your chase and came face to face with the man you were after, and he had gotten the upper hand. He’d gotten a few good punches in and knocked you on your ass. Aaron had been quick to return the favor once he caught up.

That is when this need to protect you had grown all consuming. Aaron decided then to offer to train with you, in the hope of improving your self-defense skills a little more. And that is where you found yourself on Thursday evenings. Aaron and you would go to the FBI gym and train for about an hour before going to dinner.

This tradition sort of kept going…it sort of progressed from self-defense training to just working out together. An excuse really, an easy way of spending more time together without it looking too suspicious.

--

Dave had pushed Aaron time and time again, practically begging him to ask you out once and for all. To which Aaron always had the same reply; “She doesn’t feel that way about me and even if she did, it wouldn’t be appropriate”.

“You must be blind if you don’t see how much she cares about you. Or perhaps I was wrong about you being such a skilled profiler.” Dave chided.

“Excuse me?” Aaron was stunned.

“She is in love with you Aaron. You’d have to be an idiot to not realize, and even worse to keep yourselves from the happiness you both deserve.” Dave scolded.

Aaron sat with that for some time…wondering if Dave was right. Maybe enough was enough.

--

This case started out fine…but would quickly become both yours and Aaron’s worst nightmare.

This particular unsub had been murdering people with seemingly no connection. Disposing of their bodies at the South Coast Shipyard in Newport Beach, California.

The team had been working for days, trying to catch this guy. He was meticulous and stuck to his MO, not straying from his routine even the slightest. Spencer had suggested that he might have OCD.

That is what led you guys to the shipyard to try and corner him. Catch him in the act. You’d been on edge about being so close to the water…truthfully you’d always been afraid of it. And one night in a drunken stupor, you’d let it slip to Aaron that you’d never learned how to swim.

So, when Derek shouted out that you were FBI and Mathias Edwards took off running, you’d been a little nervous to chase after him. You’d do your job as expected…but there was a sick feeling in your stomach as you sprinted on the creaky dock.

It was just you Derek and Aaron at the docks, you had been checking things out, knowing that he’d likely be scoping out the area to see what boats were docked so he could find his next dumpsite. You hadn’t expected him to be there so early.

The three of you had split up, chasing after Mathias. You, thanks to all the training with Aaron, were quick on your feet, catching up with him quickly. You were running down a long straight on the docks, carefully avoiding any rope or ties holding boats in place when Mathias jumped out from between two boats, shoving you full force backward into the water. You’d immediately screamed, flailing your arms in a desperate attempt to stay above the surface.

Derek had been coming from the other direction and was able to tackle Mathias and was working to get him in cuffs. It wasn’t until Aaron came around that Derek even knew something was wrong.

“Where is she?” Aaron shouted. “Flower, where is she?”

Derek stood up, pulling Mathias to his feet and shoving him in the direction of the SUV. “Mathias pushed her into the water, I figured she’d swim around to the ladder at the end of the dock.”

“She can’t swim!” Aaron panicked, wasting no time jumping in the water to find you.

Moving swiftly, Derek secured the unsub in the SUV before running back to help Aaron get you out of the water. He’d found you quickly dragging you by your arm to the surface and lifting you into Derek’s waiting hands.

He’d checked for your pulse and when he couldn’t feel it, he began chest compressions. Aaron heaved himself out of the water and back on to the dock and pressed his ear to your chest to listen for any kind of breath sounds.

“Go call for a bus!” Aaron commanded.

Aaron took over CPR and leaned down to listen for your heartbeat once more. When he again heard nothing, he attempted mouth-to-mouth. He continued on like this for a few more seconds before you lurched forward, sputtering up the water that had entered your airways. Aaron helped you sit up and pulled you into his embrace.

“Oh, thank God.” Aaron muttered. “I’ve got you sweetheart.”

--

You were taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital. They wanted to check your vitals and run a few tests to make sure you were alright. Aaron had insisted on riding along with you and held your hand the entire way. He was by your side the whole time.

“You can’t do that to me.” He whispered.

“What?” You rasped.

“You can’t scare me like that sweetheart. I don’t know what I’d do if we lost you.” His eyes brimmed with tears.

“The team would be okay.”

“Not them. Me and Jack. We can’t lose you baby. We need you; Jack loves you, hell, I love you too much, I don’t think my heart could take it.” You were both crying now.

“I love you too.”

[communistkenobi]

struggling to reconcile my dislike of the use of “choice” in relation to transgenderism. sex assignment itself is not a choice and I don’t find it meaningful or helpful to think I “chose” to be transgender. in fact there were many things I “chose” to do prior to transitioning to make this feeling go away and it did not. Choice is further wrapped up in intentionally de-politicised ideas about social action and agency, constantly positioned in opposition to “structure” or “social pressure” or what have you. “Choice” is what happens only in the absence of domination, it is the expression of the “individual” trapped within us all. What this leaves you with is a subject who appears to rise above the power of history, making decisions ‘of his own free will’ in spite of all this violence as a result of, um, well that’s not important! Let’s not look at the law or the state or history to see where these ideas of personal individual freedoms come from or how they are themselves enforced through violence. It’s just an individual acting on his desires! To “choose to be trans” in popular consciousness means to be given the privilege of being free from patriarchal social pressures. And this is a line terfs often use - trans people are reinforcing patriarchy by deluding ourselves into thinking we can “simply choose” to be another gender. I think committing to the idea of choice as a concept and all its attendant ideological baggage (overwhelmingly structured by bourgeois legal frameworks in the popular imaginary) forces you into some deeply flawed analyses of power and domination.

And I likewise hate that the other dominant framework is “born this way/born in the wrong body” because of how it naturalises the very political and violent nature of sex assignment and its embeddedness within state census data, administrative architecture, the pathologisation of sex and desire (all of which are not natural or eternal), and so on. furthermore I deeply respect the position other trans people have when they say that they chose to be transgender - outside of conversations of individual validity, I think that is a politically useful and powerful way to position yourself. Even if we were to accept that being transgender is fully a choice, people would still do it, because being trans is not disgusting or shameful. I am not a sick individual, or a tragedy, or a danger to others, I am transgender and that is an incredibly meaningful and fulfilling part of my life. To frame this as a sexual perversion or life-long condition means reinforcing the idea that transgenderism is a shameful deformity (we have much in common with our disabled & intersex comrades in this regard), that the cissexual body is the exclusive site of beauty and authenticity.

And so this is where I find the idea of autonomy much more useful - while ‘choice’ is situated as a thing that individuals do, autonomy is power that is granted to you. I can’t meaningfully demand choice as a political goal, but I can demand autonomy. I don’t want choice, I want the autonomy to act on my desires, and the way that will happen is through the state provision of free hrt, surgery, name and gender marker changes, and so on. Autonomy feels like a much more productive articulation of “choice” because it necessitates that we think about who and what grants autonomy, for what purposes, in which contexts. Who gives a shit about choices! Transgenderism is not a social position an individual can have in society, it is produced through cissexualism, through state and medical sex assignment, through coercion and pathologisation and violence - all of which can be changed.

As a direct comparison, I don’t think people should be given the “choice” to have an abortion, but the autonomy to do so - sure you can choose to get one, but unless there is the medical, financial, and social infrastructure available to you to act on that decision, then that is not a meaningful choice you can “make.” Abortion being legal (and therefore an action you are granted the ‘choice’ to take) doesn’t mean it is actually realisable as a decision, it just means that whoever already has the power & resources to act on that legality will, and those that don’t, won’t. Who decides which people have those resources and which don’t? Well let’s not worry about that, the important thing is that people have choices!

[our-trans-punk-experience]

TRANS UK

You may already be aware but the UK Supreme Court has ruled on the definition of a woman in UK law and it is not in our favour.

"The UK Supreme Court has unanimously decided that the definition of sex under the Equality Act 2010 refers solely to biological sex, and does not include people with a Gender Recognition Certificate."

What this means is that being assigned at birth the biological sex of female means you are legally a woman, regardless, and being assigned the biological sex of male at birth means you can never legally be a woman, regardless.

Trans people still have protection under the law as "gender reassignment or presumed gender reassignment" remains a protected characteristic of the Equality Act 2010. However, trans women do not have the right to sex-based protections anymore, even if that was the reason for discrimination, and can be legally excluded from women-only spaces.

Obviously this is horrifying and disheartening, but it's important that you have all the facts. For anyone who isn't aware, here's a short timeline so yk what happened and who to blame

2018, Scottish Government passed the Gender Representation on Public Boards Act, which happened to include those with Gender Recognition Certificates/ living as women and undergoing transition as women for this purpose

2023, Scottish Government passed the Gender Recognition Reform as an amendment to the Gender Recognition Act. This would have made it easier to legally change gender

January 2023 Rishi Sunak and the Conservative Government used powers given by Section 35 of the Scotland Act (powers that allow UK government to veto Scottish legislation despite their devolved power) to block this.

Despite that particular reform being blocked, the Scottish definition of womanhood remained and this freaked out the group For Women Scotland, who got a case appealed all the way to the Supreme Court to challenge the Scottish Government. Case began November 2023

The group For Women Scotland is significantly funded by J.K. Rowling, who's money will have been a big help to them in their legal fees for this case. There will be other prominent donors

The case is called to interpret the Equality Act and the Gender Recognition Act, and is against the Scottish Ministers. They are being represented by their lawyers rather than appearing in court and have mostly not been commenting.

The Labour Government has been called on for comment and Equalities Minister Bridget Phillipson says the government supports maintaining the sanctity on single sex spaces, and they appreciate clarity in the law

That brings us back up to date. Ask if you have further questions or worries, and please stay strong

[mwahgo]

TOUCH ME

— Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader (One Piece)

[+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+]

: ̗̀➛ Summary: You can't help but stare at Law's hands.

: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 1.6k words

: ̗̀➛ Content Tags: Fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving), teasing, hand fetish, begging, nipple sucking

Mwahgo's Notes: Can you guys tell I love Law's hands????????

You walked down the hallways of the Polar Tang while carrying a couple of binders in your arms. You were assigned by your captain, Trafalgar Law to deliver him the personal medical files of every crew member to be examined and compiled. As his medical assistant, it is important for Law to monitor his crew’s health, so that they can be in tiptop shape as they sail the seas. You were lucky you were part of his crew, you were just a nurse living in a poor country with no proper medical supplies. The government ignored your shouts of pleas as many people died in your hometown. The Heart pirates found you, crying out loud because you couldn’t help the people dying.

They invited you to their crew and although the idea of being a pirate never crossed your mind, but who is there to stop you? All you wanted is to help people, make them feel better and heal their sickness. Law welcomed you to be his medical assistant and warned you the dangerous life of a pirate but you didn’t care, you just wanted to fulfill your goals.

So here you are, standing in front of Law’s office, binders in hand as you raised a hand to knock but it started opening and Law stood at the other side, “Oh, you’re here. And here I thought you got lost..” He said, “.. Again,”

You chuckled awkwardly, remembering you got lost in the first day in the Polar Tang and you ended up getting locked inside the storage room. Thankfully, Law was able to get you out with using his devil fruit powers.

You entered the office as Law takes his place back on his chair. His weapon, Kikoku, leaned by the wall as you placed the stack of binders on the desk, “Thank you, (Y/N)-ya,” He mumbled as he immediately grabbed the first binder and flips it open.

You took a seat in front of him to start helping him sort through the medical files. Pens writing on paper, the crisp sound of papers flipping, the small thump of the binders being placed aside—the familiar sounds you would hear when you’re working with him. Your eyes trailed over the sentences of words, reading the symptoms before jotting down some notes when your eyes caught a glimpse of Law’s free hand.

Being thruthful to yourself, you were attracted to your captain—his calm demeanor, sharp features and deep voice made you weak in the knees. The way he calmly fights in the battlefield or stressing over battle plans makes it even harder to focus, so staring at his hand, wasn’t an unfamiliar thing you do.

His tan skin accompanied by the dark ink of his tattooes, his long, slender fingers tapped softly on the desk as you can see the callouses on his fingertips from all of his hardship. His fingernails perfectly manicured and you must’ve noticed some small dust of hair on his forearms.

Law felt the sudden, unusual silence as he looked up from his paper and noticed you were staring at something, “(Y/N)-ya?” He called.

You flinched at his voice, “A-Ah! Y-Yes, Captain?!” You exclaimed.

Law furrowed his eyebrows, “You’re spacing out, everything okay?” He asked.

You gulped nervously, knowing that he caught you in the act, “O-Oh.. uh yeah, everything’s fine.. hehe,” You chuckled. Law’s frown deepens as he didn’t press on the issue anymore before continue writing. You sighed quietly as you try to focus back on writing reports.

Eventually, you went back to staring at his hand again—watching how it grabs the stack of papers and arranging them at the stack beside him as you wondered how big his hands are. Law notices the sudden quietness again, but this time, he didn’t called you out. Instead, he followed your line of sight and realized you were staring at his hand.

Law doesn’t think to himself as a “hot guy”, he believes on small minded people labels themselves as such. He thinks he’s average looking, often times, he doesn’t care what people think about him and his physical looks. But seeing you staring at his hand gave him a sense of entertainment.

Experimentally, he moved his hand to the corner of the stack of papers as his fingers played between the flaps. He heard your breath hitched as he smirked to himself. His fingers slipped between the paper corners, fidgeting and folding it.

You bit your lip, watching his fingers played with the paper as you clenched your thighs together, preventing your wet pussy from leaking arousal. His fingers sliding between the papers almost made it seem like he’s playing with a woman’s wet folds.

“Are you enjoying this, (Y/N)-ya?” He spoke making you snap out of your daze.

“H-Huh?” You stammered as Law smirked knowingly. He dropped his pen before getting up from his seat and approaching you. You blushed nervously as he placed his hands on your shoulder, “Did you enjoy seeing me play with those papers?” He whispered.

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but all the words came out are stuttering as he chuckled darkly, “What’s so special about my hands, (Y/N)-ya?” He asked.

His hands ran down from my shoulders down to my chest—grazing over my breasts as my breath hitched in anticipation, “Is it the way they fondled the papers?” He whispered seductively in my ear, “Or is it the way they caress your skin?” He added as his fingers played with the strap of my tank top.

The rough texture of his palms slithered down my arms, giving me goosebumps as they landed on the hem of my tank top, “Answer me, (Y/N)-ya,” He asked.

You bit your lip, the sexual tension ramping up as the room became too steamy for the two of you, “P-Please, Law,” You mumbled.

He only chuckled before pulling your tank top, rendering you topless as you breasts spills out. Law licked his lips before cupping your breasts as you whimpered. His fingers played with your erected nipples—rolling them between fingertips. You moaned quietly as you felt his teeth nipping your ear, the arousal pooling in your panties.

“Let’s get you on the table, yeah?” He said as you mustered up a nod.

He carried you in his arms as he cleared away the papers before laying you down on the table. He proceeded to strip off your pants along with your panties. He sighed at the sight of your wet pussy—your arousal clung to your inner thighs. You bit your lip when he trailed his fingers on your soaked folds, teasing your clit.

“L-Law, please..” You begged.

A smirk appeared on his lips, “Oh really now? You haven’t told me what’s so special about my hands, (Y/N)-ya,” He taunted.

You whined, just anticipating him to fuck you with his fingers, “Law, please! Fuck me!”

He chuckled, “Oh, you wouldn’t get your way like that, (Y/N)-ya,” He said as his hand gripped your cheeks, “.. Now tell me, what do you like about my hands?” He asked again.

His fingers played with your clit as you grumbled, “I like how.. they’re very slender and long..” You trailed off, “I think about… how are you gonna fuck me with it.. I can’t do it myself, L-Law,” You whimpered, pathetically.

He only chuckled as he slipped his middle finger inside, making your back arch. His fingertips brushed against your g-spot, “O-Oh it feels so good, Law!” You moaned.

He smirked as he started thrusting his finger, in and out of your pussy. Law bit his lip as he watched your arousal dripped on the surface of the table. His lustful eyes trailed up to your breasts, watching your chest go up and down as you panted heavily.

You moaned loudly as you felt his mouth sucked on your left breast. His tongue swirled around your nipple as another digit entered your wet pussy, “Ohhh my god, Law..!” You moaned.

The squelching noise of your pussy along with your sweet moans echoed in the office as Law pulled away from your nipple, “I wanna fucking taste you,” He groaned.

He leaned down to your pussy and wrapped his lips around your sensitive clit as your eyes rolled back in pleasure, “O-Oh shit! Law yes! It feels so good!’ You yelped.

He continued to suck on your clit and fingering your pussy. You threw your head back as your hands grabbed his messy hair, pushing him closer to your pussy. Slowly, you felt a coil bubbling inside your stomach as you screamed, “Oh god, Law! I f-feel like.. I’m cumming!”

“C’mon, give it to me, (Y/N)-ya,” Law quickens the pace of his fingers, fucking your pussy roughly as you squealed loudly, your climax erupting. Law gasped as he sucked on your arousal, your hips stuttering from the sensitivity. After you came, your body slumped down on the desk—panting heavily as Law got up and looked down on his wet fingers.

You looked at him and gasped as you watched him licked and suck your arousal off his fingers. You blushed heavily as he leaned down, “Did I fulfill your fantasy, (Y/N)-ya?” He smirked.

You nodded, still exhausted from the intense climax. Law leaned down and kissed your lips—you tasted yourself from his lips as he grinded his harden cock on your senstive pussy. He was about to unzip his pants but you both jumped at the knocking from the door, “Captain! We need you to check on the maps!” Bepo called from the other side.

Law sighed in defeat, “Another time, yeah?” He said as you nodded.

[leidensygdom]

Okay, here's some ice cold takes for today, because I'm so immensely fed up of seeing queer discourse/people trying to find out which identity is now okay to exclude

Queer people of all identities and sexualities experience oppression for their identities. No queer person is really gaining privilege from being queer in any way. This oppression can change a lot based on many factors. Location is important. Intersectionality is very much relevant here.

The oppression that queer people face will vary a lot based on their identity and on who is committing the oppression, and sometimes it manifests in completely opposing ways. Ace people are often belittled or dehumanized for their overall lack of sexual interest, homosexual people are often seen as predatory instead. Transfems are often hyper-visible, transmascs and nonbinary folk are often invisibilized instead.

The main oppressors of queer people are not other queer people. We're in a cisheteronormative society, and that's the main force against us. Lateral violence can happen, but it's far from being the main form of oppression

Oppression can vary A LOT based on one's country. I know this site is very US-centric, but please be aware that one's experiences can be very different based on a country's laws and society AND language. For example, a few countries that are otherwise safer to be a binary trans person in, don't recognize the existence of nonbinary people because their language does not have neutral pronouns or gender to work with.

Exclusionism has never helped anyone, and has often been used as a gateway to entering hateful movements. TERFs have often mentioned they started out as ace exclusionists, for example.

Exclusionism is often temporary. There's been rises in trying to exclude specific identities from the LGBTQ+ collective for ages, and while they CAN be harmful, they have fizzled over time, again and again. I know it can look dire at the moment for some identities, but trust me: It will pass.

No queer identity makes anyone morally superior or inferior.

People from different collectives are allowed to coin terms to better explain their specific circumstances, and it is ultimately up to people within these collectives to decide which ones are appropriate to use or not, as long as they're not directly using them against others. If you find yourself coining a derogatory term against another queer collective, that's where you need to stop and revise your own bias.

Trying to measure who has it better or worse is really not worth the time. This ain't the Blizzard diversity chart bullshit where you assign numbers based on 30 different factors. Stand with other people in the collective and help each other as much as possible.

Stop with the micro-labelling policing. Really. It's a waste of time.

Give intersex people the space to talk about their own experiences and use the labels and terms they are more comfortable with. Intersex people tend to have a very different experience compared to perisex people, as it is often (but not always!) present since literal birth. Defend them, but do not speak over them.

And maybe the most ice cold take here: Trying to guess what is in someone's pants to determine whether their identity is valid or not or if you care for their opinion or not is literally transphobia 101. I can't believe we've got trans people transvestigating other trans people just to determine whether their opinions are okay or not, holy shit.