#anyway i'm not done processing the first scene

[lucabyte]

Psst. What's your process for Comics? I would like to Know (Because your ISAT comics make me a little bit feral and I would like to learn)

Okay so the cop out answer is: i basically wing it every time since im very very new to making comics and my method is still evolving. but that's not helpful and i like to yap so ill talk through My Method anyway

So first of all: Ideas.

All my ISAT shit is like. extremely dialogue heavy & mostly focused on the same like. 3 topics and philosophical concepts over and over lbr. So mostly when it comes to drafting that I'll just let my brain bash the dolls together until i notice either 1. a fucking banger line (this usually becomes a punchline i then work backwards from when writing it out) or 2. that i keep coming back to the same like 'scene' in my mind.

(I'd love to know. how to make this work for like. OCs??? But I haven't quite cracked that one yet sorry)

For the former though what usually happens there is I write things out on my phone (this happened with the bonnie-centric ones a lot?) or i'll leave a voice note for myself. Or, if i'm at my computer it goes straight into notepad, which is where everything goes before i draw it.

so these are just like. Disgustingly strewn about on my desktop. But this is how i type up the comic scripts, which I do before i put the dialogue in csp because csp's text tool sucks ass, but you can see how these end up having Some Semblance of the final formatting? Some more than others. But they don't have much consistency in how i'm tagging the dialogue LOL. (bonus: one of these i never ended up making. because i come back to the same wells SO FREQUENTLY that it gets embarrasing to retread sometimes) Then I just... screenshot the notepad file and paste it into a csp window LOL.

So I've pulled up three comics just because theyre like, recent ones? (Links to all 3 -> x, x, x) And oh yeah immediately they're rather inconsistent. But this is the level of detail i do in my thumbnails. (Hello Golf Ball Loop) MOST of my long ass comics look like the first one though, and all of them follow the same thought process.

I will take the dialogue, and then just draw a panel that i think works with it. Then move onto the next line, and the next. Basically thinking mostly in speech bubble placement rather than anything? But I'll just keep... going downwards until it is done. You can see the speech bubbles tend to include either nothing or the vaguest indicator of what's inside them.

(The third one here is an outlier because iirc I actually had this very visual idea while drawing something else and went to go quickly draw it out so the text actually went right into CSP bc there was so little of it. But it was still panelled really sequentially for what action I know I wanted in each panel.)

Overall this is probably because of my habits from learning animation? I thumbnail as if im storyboarding, if that makes any sense. Or is any different to how people usually do it, anyway.

My friends who actually read comic books have told me off already for my vile leaning-tower-of-pisa bullshit formatting. I understand their criticisms because genuinely what the fuck am I doing half of the time? I like it though lol. It's a reflection of how stream-of-conciousness my workflow tends to be, but fuck if it means the aspect ratios aren't the wooooorst LOLL

Then i resize the thumbnails to be roughly 1920px wide, aspect ratio be damned. And at this point I usually also have to draw a big grid so that i can align the comic and make it not on a weird tilt. The most thought that goes in here is that I try to avoid making panels too samey in layout from line to line, and try to keep vaguely to making panels the same-ish height but a width of the page either in halves or thirds. Making it so they aren't completely inconsistent sizes does a lot for making things not look too sloppy.

My first sketch over the thumbnail usually is neat enough to be The Final Lines because I'm impatient. EXCEPT when i realise its going to get Fucking Complicated at which point i pull out the CSP models and my beloved cubes. Then i take a billion years to pose a consistent scene (and often realise where I need to cheat angles. Like for loop reaching down to sif's face. That doesn't make sense in 3d space so I had to cheat). This is basically par for the course whenever I want to do a scene where there's Any consistency in character positioning and they aren't just Talking Heads.

THEN. After the sketch (which was done with speech bubble placements in mind back at the thumbnail stage) I will finally put in the speech bubbles. This usually means re-sketching them, then putting the text down and doing all the typesetting (VCR mono looks very ugly in CSP a lot of the time so I fuck with the spacing of individual letters a lot) and THEN redrawing the speech bubbles around them properly.

Sometimes I'll fuck myself over here and have to move stuff but ideally, if I weren't working like some kind of fucking barbarian, I'd do the speech bubbles before finalising the lineart. But I don't on account of going straight from thumbnail to final lines. You'd do this during the sketch stage if you were normal.

then it's finally panel border time. And then when I get to this stage I just make like. another few new layers above everything but the text where i just clean up. Everything that I had neglected while drawing. So any extra white lines or places where i just think things look bad and i want to redraw them entirely. I will also sometimes literally make a flattened copy of an entire panel to just move it around slightly. It's a deeply evil part of the workflow and i apologise for it. But also it's the major benefit to drawing in straight black-and-white with no tones. It means i can just overdraw anything that is unclear in the end.

(and reposting again Links to all 3 -> x, x, x for easy comparison if u want it)

ANYWAY for further reading. I know I've already stated these before somewhere on my blog but for ease of access... The major inspirations for how my comics Look are as follows:

1. tumblr user Floralmarsupial's homestuck comics found [HERE]. She did a LOT of straight up black and white comics that are ingrained deep in my brain at this point. These are always in the back of my head.

2. Leo Fox [LINK] regularly gets really strange and esoteric with overlapping panels and unorthodox layout. I stared at these a lot when i was starting to make the first couple ISAT comics even if i'm not going nearly as abstract as him

3. tumblr user the-hydroxian-artblog's comic Hangin' Out [LINK] has GORGEOUS typesetting and their art in general uses a lot of speech bubbles that convey some really funny shit by just resizing the text in funny ways. Gold standard for emotive typesetting and also their lin weight and b/w illustrations are gorgeous.

4. sonic the hedgehog idw keeps me humble and reminds me to make the speech bubbles fucking SMALLER. if im left to my own devices i make speech bubbles and fonts WAY too big so reading a cleanly formatted professional comic book for children reminds me what i should be aiming for in legibility.

anyway hope this helps? the answer really is "fuck it we ball" tho

[astrhae]

...maybe it's all part of a great big ineffable plan

[jichanxo]

actually am intrigued by your writing process! writing ficlets just for the exploration and all that. can you tell me more about how this works for you/how have you come up with this/all that? and do you plan on publishing the senseific ficlets somewhere in one place?

wrote a description of the entirety of how I’ve been working on sensei fic and it’s very very long, so. under the cut. (excuse my self indulgence, i absolutely could have answered this more succinctly, but i thought it would be fun (to me) to talk about my process with senseific as a whole)

I mentioned it before, but I am not a planner when it comes to writing, so I just do whatever the hell I want. and this works great since almost all my writing is short one-shots! just start on something as vague as a feeling or as detailed as a fleshed out idea and just start rolling. see how it goes. and then I go over and edit, add and cut or refine. nice and easy.

unfortunately, sensei fic doc (or rather, “yagamikuwana school au.docx” as my literal document naming goes) currently looks like this:

this includes me writing down ideas and some half formed snippets/exchanges that i’m not sure will make the cut, so it’s not an entirely accurate word count, but the point stands. it’s hardly the longest fic in the world by a long shot obviously, but for me this is uncharted territory. I just… don’t write… anything this long. ever. so sensei fic has been kind of odd because I am still very much a “just do whatever you feel like” writer, except that process has been stretched over months and months. I jump around doing different things without necessarily a coherent order, deciding depending both on what I feel like and what needs to be done

I’ll try to outline the progress behind senseific as best I remember it: well I first had the idea during my first stint with kuwagami after LJ in 2023… I can’t say I remember much from then. I started as I always do. with an idea and a dream. I wanted mundane romance kuwagami. I one day thought about if he’d somehow stay as kitakata and still met yagami. I pushed together as many pieces together as necessary to make it work (and tried to use what was already there because it would be too difficult to make stuff up on my own) – reuse seiryo high, put it in tokyo (it would be difficult to justify having yagami regularly go to the mrc if it was in another city and he didn’t have the main case of LJ to keep him around ijincho). amasawa and the club are a natural addition and an easy way to keep kitakata and yagami around each other despite an initial distaste for each other. I had a few ideas as to some of the exchanges I wanted them to have… some ideas as to fleshing out the new setting… and I did what I usually do and just riffed.

now here’s the main part of the process that I’m sure is already obvious by my saying I’m not a planner: I try to think through the internal logic of the au setting or come up with a fun idea I want to include -> I make a note of it or start writing it immediately (regardless of its spot in the fic) -> I see where it takes me -> review, add, cut, refine, consider it in the context of the wider fic. see if anything else comes up. use my best judgment and do whatever.

some of the earliest things I remember writing for this fic is the intro, a scene with kitakata being an annoying flirt (kitakata taking yagami's cigarette was an image that stuck in my head hard), and one of the first scenes with the mrc. since I wrote quite a bit out of order, eventually I ended up focusing on bridging, following the natural logic between the scenes I wanted to write, trying to connect things. the scene after the intro. whatever makes sense after that. go over everything, edit some more, make sure everything feels as cohesive as I can make it. (I think somewhere in the middle of this I dropped off until I got my second wind on kuwagami, where I picked it up again)

I have something like: intro (setting up the au and making it all clear to the reader as quickly as possible. probably inelegantly but it was a start), which naturally progressed to elaboration on kitakata and yagami’s relationship, a school club scene, me trying to think of another way to get kitakata and yagami in a room together, kaito and kitakata meeting, whatever progressed naturally as a result from that, etc. go back over, adding more things as I thought of them, fleshing stuff out (hello sawa sensei!) and all that. Though I’m working out of order, eventually a sequence starts to form. The beginning is the most fully formed rn, since I have the clearest idea as to how things should be when they start, and what should logically follow. I also like starting my editing from the top unless I have a specific scene in mind to look at, so I’ve read over the beginning the most times of anything else.

obviously I always had vague ideas as to progression, but now that I was starting to fill in more gaps, I had to think about it more seriously to ensure consistency between older scenes and new scenes. I rewrite a bunch of things for senseific not just as editing, but to add new context that wasn’t there previously, and in some cases totally overhaul them to better fit the tone, to adjust the overall progression. one of the scenes in the middle, which I mentally call “are you seeing anyone", is one I really enjoy, so I worked hard to adjust that to better suit the new context so I didn’t have to scrap it outright. on the other hand, kitakata’s phonecall scene is one that got the total overhaul treatment, because the tone no longer matched – kitakata was originally more… hm… disagreeable there, and it wouldn’t have worked with the way the yagami-kitakata relationship development was panning out, so I kept the bones but wrote it in a different direction. since nothing is really planned, most of this fic is in a state of perpetual flux. everything is subject to tinkering if need be.

it’s probably pointless for me to refer to specific scenes since they’re not posted publicly but. well. I guess it’ll make sense later if/when I post senseific. at least I know what I mean for now.

anyway, since a lot of my initial writing in the “do whatever you want” phase was about kuwagami and the development of their relationship, my first attempts at planning and organising are also about that (though I did try to keep the school stories plot in mind at the same time). I had to try and take what I already had and marry them together, make some kind of logical order.

around this time I was already on tumblr and posting some other kuwagamis and just generally feeling great about writing. I ended up showing four-white-trees (excuse my favouritism) some of my starting scenes on sensei fic since it had mostly settled down by then, and it was certainly by this point that I was feeling More Serious about making sensei fic not only Real (and genuinely trying to make it complete), but hopefully good, LMAO. not just some “if it happens it happens" venture. But yeah I was thinking more seriously about my details and getting some feedback on it for the first time and just. Man. Shit got real for me. I want to finish sensei fic even though I started it not knowing if I could commit.

ANYWAY. I was trying to lock in a sequence of events for the kuwagami relationship progression, ended up making a spreadsheet for my fic so I had a more digestible timeline to look at and understand what beats happen where, how I can smooth out any inconsistencies, where my gaps were. I’ll probably be coming back to that sheet to sort out school stories plot… but yeah. not just pure improvisation anymore.

more details started to creep out of the woodworks. I originally wrote something incredibly stupid that I ended up trying to twist into something serious lmao, and that is the um. Maturity/immaturity throughline.

Fuck. God this is embarrassing. But. I once, half asleep, wrote Yagami comparing Kitakata’s insensitive/rude flirting with him as being like a kid picking on his crush. and um. I read back over that later and. My god. You can’t just mention bullying with Kitakata around and not have it mean something. So, well, I tried to talk myself through it and arrived at something with meaning. Kitakata has to learn to not be an asshole with his flirting. To be mature about it and be a little sincere and honest and maybe not mock Yagami to his face. Yagami also learns that he’s being immature towards Kitakata in some ways and has to grow past that. They both have to grow up and talk like some fucking adults, and that’s how they can move on from the conflict that defines their early relationship. Yeah. And of course the school setting and bringing in Sawa and the students as other comparison points will help develop the theme some more. anyhow, it's not something I’ve fully sorted out, but my point is that I stumbled on this totally by accident. unplanned. I hope I can tease it out in an interesting way because it’s not quite there yet, but it’s funny how it went from a thoughtless line to something that I think is… surprisingly defining… just gotta stick the landing...

but yeah, the big picture kitakata-yagami relationship stuff was coming together. right now I’m at the stage where that plotting is as planned out as it can be without the school stories side being completed. the next big step is getting my notes so I can figure out a proper school story progression that I can line up with my kitakata-yagami plot, see how they fit together.

with regards to exploration writing – while writing/thinking about the main plot, a bunch of details have come up in passing. and while I can be vague and try to write around it, it feels so fake? It feels so obvious to me when I’m writing around something because I haven’t thought hard enough about it.

I was writing a scene where… hm… how much do I say here… Yagami has to come to understand that it’s personally important to Kitakata to make sure his students are okay, and with that is Sawa alluding to what happened with Mitsuru. and to be clear, she’s not so tactless to say it outright, but I knew, deep in my heart, that I was writing some non-committal bullshit. I was writing about her talking about what happened without enough knowledge myself as to how I think it changed Kitakata. So I forced myself to understand how Mitsuru changed Kitakata by writing about what happened between them. That’s the ficlet. And then I could look over what I wrote with Sawa with full perspective and decide if it really did sound the way I thought it should sound. I really enjoyed writing that as a personal piece of art, but it was very much a tool for my own understanding.

It’s something similar for Itokura and Kitakata now. Because my focus is shifting towards the school story plot, it raises an obvious question: If Kitakata was changed by the Mitsuru incident, then shouldn’t he have tried to do something about what happened to Itokura? (I am once again thanking four-white-trees for poking me) I can’t write about the relationship between these two in the main plot without a proper understanding of this. And I prefer to write than to plan, hence the sunday six wip. I start with a vague idea and write and see where it gets me. when I do that I’ll have a better understanding of how I want these two to operate, in a way that’s more detailed that my initial vague ideas.

That’s basically it. It doesn’t need to go in main fic but I have to write it so I feel I can make the right judgment calls. I’ll probably do this as much as I feel necessary, and yeah, I don’t see any reason not to post them since, unlike the main sensei fic which always has things changing around, these explorations should be locked in. I did make sensei fic stuff into a series on ao3, so I’ll keep putting them there as they come up.

[thaliagrayce]

the most heartbreaking part of the writing process is when you have to go through your old outlines and make everything believably in-character. you will be missed.

[nanamisgirly]

PLEASE, STAY

↪ ( ˶ a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you. for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. and then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't. because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.˵ )

pairing ᥫ᭡。richman!Gojo x bodyguard reader. they had a sort of situation ship before.

content ᥫ᭡。fem!reader, no curses au, they're both around 30, smut at the very end, very provocative gojo (?), mean reader ig, a lot of cursing, angst, oral sex, unprotected p in v sex, mention of blood, fights scenes, broken bones, pet name (mostly sweetheart and once baby), sexual tension, slow burn, explicit language, explicit content, power dynamics, military mention (mild ptsd), gun mentions

word count ᥫ᭡。13k

notes ᥫ᭡。this is for my 200 followers 🥹 thank you for all the reblogs they are very very much appreciated!! I didn't know where I was going with this fic lmao, I just hope that some of you will enjoy reading it! I'm always open to feed back :))) be mindful this is my first long (?) fic, I threw some stuff together and hoped for the best oops

you were assigned to gojo saturo. of all the men you could possibly protect, it had to be him— you're ex-friend with benefits. 

you sat across from him at a table that probably cost more than your entire apartement, fingers twitching under the weight of irritation. the upscale place was dimly lit, the kind meant for quiet luxury. 

“you both understood?” your superior asked, sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. Gojo grinned, the same playful smirk on his annoyingly handsome face. the past nine years had only done him favors, he'd grown taller— making him tall like a damn tower— his features sharper, his frame broader. 'maybe he'd been training' you thought. ‘or it’s just life sculpting him into something even more irritatingly perfect.'

you left him when things started to be serious. back then, Gojo had some difficulties to understand he was just a sex friend. but it didn't really matter, you had to leave for the military anyway.

for a long time, you didn't want to process feelings, attachments— that was just bullshit. and now, nine years later, somehow, you were right back where you started.

you retired from the military after sustaining severe injuries. but you still craved the thrill— fights, missions, the adrenaline rush. it kept you on track. like drugs, you were addicted. so you became a sort of bodyguard. over the years, you had protected royals, rich heirs, celebrities— anyone with a target on their back. it owned you the reputation as being the best in your field. you were ruthless, cold-blooded, killing without hesitation if needed. 

your face remained stoic, your gaze locked onto gojo as he held yours. “yeah, got it. babysit the rich brat until the gala's over.” you mocked, leaning back against the chair. 

satoru chuckled, he couldn't help but tease you “oh, come on now. you make it sound so boring” tilting his head like a cat toying with its prey. “i thought you'd be happy to spend some time with an old friend”

you scoffed. “friend is a strong word, Gojo” that response only fueled his mischief. “you're right” he crosses his arms as he continues “we were never just friends” insufferable brat. “i'm here to do my job. nothing more” you said without a hint of emotion in your tone, fixing him with a glare that should've shut him up.

it didn't.

his piercing blue eyes gleamed with amusement “of course, sweetie," he purred, resting his elbows on the table, leaning in “just admit you missed seeing my beautiful face.”

you exhaled sharply, already exhausted 'maybe a small knife pressed against his throat wouldn't hurt— just a little warning.'

“what i miss, is protecting some quiet person who knows their limits and let me do my damn job in peace. this, is what i truly miss”. Gojo hummed, shamelessly dragging his gaze over you “personally, i missed that sharp tongue of yours.”

“alright, enough,” your superior cut in, his tone serious— a clear warning that he had no patience for the ridiculous back-and-forth between you two. “stay close at all times. there are threats left and right against him leading up to the gala.” he turned his attention to gojo “you don't act up, and you listen to whatever she tells you.” the rich man was clearly enjoying himself “don't worry, i love when she bosses me around” he winked at you before standing up and leaving the restaurant. like this was all a game to him.

your superior exhaled heavily, already bracing for the headache to come. then, he dropped the next bomb. “you need to stay at his place.”

you try your best to keep a straight face. “what?” 

“gojo is already informed. you're moving in tonight.” and with that, he left the table, leaving you seething.

your fist met with the surface with a dull thud. “damn it,” you muttered, frustration curling hot in your chest.

this is going to be a long, long week.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you rode to gojo's house, spending the time to talk yourself down. you had spent years perfecting your composure. you had survived war zones, assassinations, and high-profile threats. there was no reason for gojo fucking satoru to get under your skin.

and yet.

his house— no, his mansion— was perched high above the city, a fortress of sleek glass and security. the driveway alone was bigger than some of the safe houses you'd stayed in.

when you pulled up to his gates, the night was well-advanced, the cold biting at your cheeks as you lifted up your helmet. you met some guards at the entrance stating that gojo was expecting you. of course, he was.

the second you stepped through the doors, the place smelled ridiculously expensive. the living room was massive, with a sunken seating area surrounding a glass-enclosed firepit. there are floor-to-celling windows stretched across the space, offering a panoramic view of the glittering cityscape below. a massive, curved staircase led to the second floor, the railings lined with soft, glowing, light strips, guiding the way up.

the place screamed luxury— unapologetically extravagant, but with taste. just like satoru gojo.

you sighed, rolling the tension from your shoulders as you tugged off your gloves. the ride had been long. your muscles ached. your motorbike uniform clung to you, slightly damp with sweat. all you wanted was a shower and some sleep.

“you're so sexy in that uniform” his voice came from above. you looked up to find him leaning against the railing, messy white hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms, collarbone peeking through his loose neckline of his shirt.

and that goddamn smirk.

“gojo,” you warned, voice firm. he ignored it entirely, blue eyes twinkling as they dragged over you with zero shame. “seriously, bending you over in it wouldn't be so bad.” your fingers twitched. satoru in all his splendor. 

“wouldn't be so bad if i curb-stomped you into the floor.” you respond. gojo restrained a laugh, eyes sparking with mirth. he fucking loved this— pushing your limits. “actually, i wouldn't mind that either” you grit your teeth at the comment. “just show me where my fucking room is." 

when you reached him, he let out a dramatic sigh, “not even a little peck before sleep, sweetheart?” you blankly stared at him “alright, no need to look at me with so much love” he ironically says as he turned around, leading you to your room.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

4am. the digital clock glowed dimly as you pounded your fists against the heavy bag. you slept only two hours— which, honestly was decent considering you never slept well. the military had drilled into the art of light, vigilant rest, training you to snap into action as the slightest disturbance. and staying here, with gojo just down the hall, only worsened that already unstable peace.

“fuck it” your fist connected with the training bag, a loud thud echoing through the empty gym. you did a home tour by your own after gojo dropped you to your bedroom— and to your relief, you found a fully equipped training room. exactly what you needed to burn off frustration time to time.

sweats dripped down your temple, muscles burning from exertion as you moved with precision and force, the heavy bag jerking with each impact. your t-shirt had been abandoned long ago—tossed to the side as the heat from training built up—leaving you in nothing but sports bra and low-slung sweatpants. 

“gojo, are you going to stay there for long?” you snapped as he stayed put in the doorway, thinking you hadn't noticed him those past fifteen minutes, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. he grinned, unbothered “was testing if you could notice a threat even while distracted” you snorted “well, now that you oh-so-sweetly reassured yourself, could you fuck off?” your fist slammed onto the bag harder, sending it swinging violently.

you felt gojo's eyes on you, it almost burnt holes on your skin. his eyes darted at the sweat slipping on your back. “damn," his voice was low “i think i prefer you like this— hot, sweaty, breathless.” he insisted on the last word. your eyes flicked to his figure as he took slow steps forward. “i think i like you gone.” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as if you disappointed him “why always so hostile? i could be way more helpful than that punching ball.”

you were too fucking exhausted for this, your next punch sent the bag flying so violently it nearly knocked over the weight rack. you caught it with one of your wrapped hand, fingers tightening around the worn leather. you exhaled sharply, preparing yourself to face gojo and his bullshit. “i swear satoru—” you stepped closer to him, closing the space between you. only to realize how stupidly tall he was up close. you weren't small but standing like this— with a solid eight inches between you— made you feel very tiny next to him.

“satoru," he repeats “it's been a while since you've said my name. say it again” he leaned in, eyes lazily tracing your lips, the small hairs at the back of your neck sticking to your skin, your full breasts pressed tight against your sports bra. a strong desire lingering in his eyes as he imagined licking every drop of your sweat. he tested your patience “you know,” he murmured “i really love this view.” 

and that was it, you had enough. in no time you grabbed him, hooked your arm, and flipped his ass over your shoulder— slamming him onto the floor. before he could react, you were on him, your thighs straddling his hips, your hand wrapped around his throat. gojo eyes widened in shock— he did not expect that. but the surprise was soon enough replaced by a slow curl of his lips.

“fuck,” he chocked out “that was hot, sweetheart.” you tightened your grip around his neck “gojo, you're a fucking perv.” you felt something hard pressing between your legs. “i'm just a man." he lifted his hand, acting innocent "you kept bouncing around that bag, how could i not get some ideas?”

the worst part of all those stuff is that you were turned on by all his teasing. your panties dampened any time he made a comment over the little talk you both had in those past ten hours.

“gojo, you're a total pathetic man,” you mutter rolling your hips down harder, closing your thighs firmly around him just to hurt a little more. his pupils blown wide and his lips part sightly— that fucking bastard was loving it. “y-yeah, pathetic” he chokes out “i- i'm a- a very p-pathetic m-man." your panties were so damn soaked by now as his length presses sinfully against your core. you refuse to acknowledge the feelings, you don't need it, you don't need him, you don't need to go back to him.

you release his throat with a final squeeze, eyes heavy, dragging your fingers down his heavy chest— feeling the hard ridges of muscle tense under your touch, before you push yourself up and off him. you see his hips twitching up, as if he was chasing the missing heat of your pussy. gojo let out a broken— needy whimper, as you adjust your waistband and roll your shoulders back, trying to gather your thoughts. ignoring the aching pulse between your legs. 

your feet leading you to the door. you throw one last glance to gojo, you can see his erection straining against his pants from where you stand, aching to be taken care of— gojo's features twisting in desperation. “be ready at eight a.m. We've got recon to do.” and with that, you leave him there, fighting the urge to go back inside and kiss him senseless.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride to the venue is longer than necessary with gojo whom insisted on riding with you. you should have known better than accepting his demand. he can not keep his hand to himself.

at first, his hands rested innocently on your stomach, but as soon as you took off, he let them slide lower, palm resting on your inner thighs— fingers tracing circles way too close to your core. the vibrations of the bike only make it worse.

at the next red light, you snap your hand down, gripping his wrist. “keep your hands to yourself” you warn him “either way i'll have to cut them off” his chest rumbles with laughter against your back. “what if i don't want to?” you hear his teasing voice through the speaker of your helmet “you're never asking about what i want, sweetheart.” his hands squeezing you through your pants. “i think i'm gonna kick your ass off the bike. go to hell that damn mission” your jaw tightened, ‘why does he have to make everything so difficult’ 

the light turns green and you don't hesitate to accelerate like a damn crazy— earning some curses from gojo, his arms wrapping around you, his thighs locking firmly against yours. once he accommodate to the speed, he's laughing, slightly enjoying the way you speed down the street like you're trying to outrun the heat pooling between your legs.

you parked in front of the luxurious hotel, one of the most extravagant hotels in the city by the way. the gala will be held there, a beautiful place— a perfect representation of gojo's wealth and arrogance. “gorgeous place, huh?” he muses. “maybe we should get a room after the mission, to celebrate our teamwork.” you swing your leg off smoothly, ignoring him as you unbuckle your helmet.

when you step inside, multiple people are working on the preparations— setting up tables, adjusting lighting, and fussing over floral arrangements. you walk straight past them, heading toward the ballroom where the gala will take place. the room is massive— high ceilings with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, multiple balconies. it's beautiful, but a logistical nightmare for security. too many places to hide, too many potential vantage points for a sniper.

gojo lets out a low whistle, walking a step behind, hands in his pockets— acting like a damn tourist instead of a man with an actual bounty on his head. you walk past the ballroom, letting him doing whatever he is. you head toward the back corridors, checking the service entrances, mapping out the security offices. The staff is too busy setting up to pay you much attention— except for the occasional glance at gojo, probably wondering if he's some high-profile guest.

then something shifts. a group of security personnel moves in, just a little too fast. too coordinated. you recognize the stance immediately— trained, disciplined. not just the hotel staff. your instincts scream at you, your feet move before your mind fully catches up— you step toward gojo to warn him…and that's when you see it. a figure in the hallway, gun raised. aimed directly at gojo's head.

your body moves before your brain processes. you twist on your heel, muscles coiled, and throw your knife. it slices through the air, and the second it buries itself deep in the shooter's forearm, he lets out a sharp yell, his aim faltering. it's all you need. you charge.

your combat boots barely make a sound as you sprint toward the shooter. you're on him before he even recovers, grabbing his wrist and twisting it outward— hard. 

POP. he screams, his shoulder socket dislocating from the brutal angle, the gun slipping from his fingers. your knee flies up, slamming into his sternum. you feel his ribs shift under the impact, his breath leaving him in choked gasp before you shove him aside like trash.

“holy shit—” gojo starts, but you don't hear the rest as you see three more attackers already closing in. one of them lunges with a knife— fast, trained. but so are you. you shift sideways at the last second, grabbing his wrist mid-swipe. then in a brutal motion, you twist. his own blade sinks into his thigh. a strangled gurgle leaves his lips as he stumbles back, collapsing to his knees, clutching the handle buried in his leg.

suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you from the floor. you snap your head back, cracking the nose of your opponment with the force of a fucking hammer. blood sprays onto your shoulder and the wall. your fast to slam your elbow into his throat, his air supply instantly cut off, his body jerking as he crumples to the floor.

the last guy is bigger, stronger— seems to be military trained from the way he moves. but that doesn't matter, you've had to deal with fiercer men before. when he's close enough, you drop low— leg swings out in a sweeping arc. CRACK.

his legs are ripped out from under him. he fall onto his back, gasping for air. you don't let him breathe, your fist driving down, once.

twice, three times.

the last punch bursts his lip open, blood dripping down his chin. your fingers wrap around his throat. you lean in close, sweat dripping down your temple, eyes heavy of the need to kill. “you fucked with the wrong person.” you hear a broken noise coming from his lung. you tighten your grip.

and then— clapping. 

you whip around, chest heaving. and there stands gojo, grinning like the devil himself “well, well, well.” he whistles, stepping over the bodies of the men you just demolished. “i gotta admit, that was fucking sexy” your brain is still catching up, heart pulsing with adrenaline “what the hell is wrong with you?” you snap. “we almost got fucking assassinated.”

his grin deepens. “sweetheart…” he crouches down, tilting his head. “that wasn't an assassination.”

you freeze. you hope it's not what you think it is.

he gestures lazily at the unconscious men. “that was a test.” he lifts his shoulders, unbothered. “wanted to be sur you still got it” he winks, amused.

your blood runs hot. “a test?” gojo shrugs, way too casual for someone who just watched you beat the absolute shit out of four men. his gaze drags over you— knuckles bloodied, chest rising and falling hard— and his smirk only widens.

you don't think much as you launch at him, fury taking over— fully prepared to knock that smug grin off his face for good. but this time, he's ready. he catches your wrist mid-swing. “no, no,” he purrs, his grip tightening just enough to make you aware of his strength. “play nice.” your free hand grabs the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer “fuck you and your stupid games," you spit "i can't wait for this week to end.” you see red. 

gojo's amused eyes faded into something darker. his eyes once playful, turn sharp, dangerous. “and what?" his voice is low, cold— jaw clenched so tightly it might break. "leave like you did nine years ago?” his face inches closer, his warm breath hitting your skin. “leaving without a second look?” your stomach twists. he's standing too close— looking at you like he wants to rip you apart.

your chest rises and falls sharply. your body is still burning from the fight, but this— this is worse. you rip your wrist from his grasp, shoving him hard enough that he stumbles back a step. and he laughs. an empty laugh, far from his usual cocky, full-bodied laugh. “that's all you ever fucking do, huh?” his voice is sharp. “run.” you flinch, ever so sightly. but he sees it. and he seems satisfied ‘i finally got a reaction out of her.’ 

"i didn't have a choice". you force the words out, voice controlled. gojo's expression darkens. “bullshit, you always had a choice.” he steps forward, and this time, you don't move back. if he punched you, it will be well-deserved. you wouldn't dodge it. his fist on your face would hurt less than the words coming out of his mouth. 

“you just didn't choose me.” your heart stops, feeling something inside you cracks. but you don't want him to see it. so, as much as you hate what you're about to say, you steel yourself and let it out “what, you think i owed you something?” the words taste bitter, burning your tongue even as they leave your mouth.

gojo's lips parts, but nothing comes out at first. then quietly— too fucking quietly “no.” his voice is ragged, raw. “but i thought you cared.” you feel it like a punch to the gut. gojo never says things like this. he surely is all teasing remarks and well-placed avoidance but never is he a looking like you ruined him. like you destroyed a part no one could ever rebuild— except… you.

a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you.

for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. but then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't.

because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride back home is fine. if fine meant quiet, tense, and filled with too much unsaid shit hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. then yeah, it is fine.

gojo didn't pull his usual antics— no wandering hands, no teasing remarks. just silence. his hands stay firmly on his own thighs, gripping the edges of the seat. and somehow that irritates you even more. 

you can feel the weight of his gaze the entire ride back, burning into the back of your head like a brand. he doesn't speak, but his presence is suffocating.

by the time you pull up to his estate, he gets off the bike before you can even kill the engine. his movements are sharp, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. for a moment, he just stands there, staring at you, like he's debating something. you stare back, chest rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline still buzzing through your veins.

but then, with a low scoff, he turns on his heels, and heads inside without a word. you don't follow. not immediately. taking a moment for yourself. trying to gather back your composure. 

you stay seated on your bike, hands tightening around the handlebars, knuckles white. heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. the wind bites at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the cold settling in your chest.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the next day is spent preparing for the gala. you go over the blueprints of the venue again, double-checking entrance and exist, every potential blind spot. 

the chaos from yesterday has been cleaned up— not a single trace of the fight remains. the bloodied bodies have been taken care of, the shattered glass replaced with pristine tables, the blood smeared across the walls scrubbed away as if it never existed. as if it was nothing more than a fever dream.

you analyze the guest list, looking for possible threats. you argue with gojo about security placements, mostly because he doesn't take anything seriously. “take a look at this. tell me if you recognize anyone shady.” the tall man barely glances at the screen before muttering, “they're all shady.” you roll your eyes "that's not helpful." he shrugs, stepping toward the grand windows. “i don't really care.” that pisses you off. “gojo, could you at least pretend to care?” you put a hand on your hips, patience thinning. 

he exhales through his nose, barely sparing you glance over his shoulder. and then, with a calmness that cuts deeper than yelling ever could, he says, “you're the one who didn't care, remember?” and that shuts you up. 

he doesn't wait for your response, doesn't push, doesn't linger. just clasps his hands behind his back, taking a slow tour of the ballroom, his gaze dragging over the chandeliers, the polished floors, the extravagant decor— all while completely ignoring you.

the gala is tomorrow. 

and you don't know if you're ready.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

morning comes too soon. you barely slept, torn between the looming mission ahead and the cold, unbearable silence that had settled between you and gojo. since that night at the hotel, it had been nothing but tension— thick, suffocating, unspoken. a battlefield of sidelong glances, clipped conversations, and empty spaces where words should have been. especially your words. words of regrets.

and now, as you sit stiffly across from gojo on his sleek leather couch, arms crossed so tightly your nails bite into your skin, it's clear nothing has changed. he doesn't look at you. he hasn't since that night. since those words left his mouth, cutting deeper than any blade you took.

your superior clears his throat, dragging you back to the present. his voice clipped, all business. “you'll be attending as a couple.” the words slam into you like a wrecking ball.“you're kidding” you say flatly, glaring at your superior. “no,” he says simply. and you hear gojo letting out a laugh. the sound sends cold down your spine. 

“it's the best cover. gojo is a known public figure, and he's expected to bring someone. you, on the other hand, aren't on anyone's radar. it's the perfect excuse to keep you close and avoid suspicion.” you shake your head. “there has to be another way.” you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping your own arms as if that'll keep you from exploding. this is a fucking disaster. “there isn't.”

fucking hell.

how are you supposed to play lovers when everything between you is broken, shattered, and stitched back together with nothing but avoidance? you can feel gojo's eye on you, but you refuse to meet them. you already know what he's thinking. that you well-deserved that. that you were the one who ran away from him nine years ago, without any explanations.

your jaw locks as you finally risk a glance at him. he's watching you, studying you. blue glacial eyes pinning you in place. then slowly, he tilts his head. lips curling into a grin. “well,” his voice low, with something dark. “this should be fun.”

the moment your superior is done talking, you push yourself off the couch and stride toward your room, your pulse hammering too fast. it's too much.

the air is still charged, like static before a storm. even more now that you know you're going as a couple. behind you, gojo doesn't say a word. he doesn't try to stop you either. of course, he doesn't. 

you try to convince yourself it's easier this way. easier to act like none of it matters. like the past isn't clinging to both of you with bloodied, desperate hands.

the second the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. the tension in your shoulders lingers, pressing your forehead against the door. 'focus' you tell yourself. tonight is business, the mission comes first. it's not about him— not about your feelings.

you step into the bathroom, turning the shower knob. water rushed out, steam filling the space almost instantly. hot, scalding— exactly what you need. you peel off your clothes, letting them drop carelessly to the floor before stepping inside.

the first touch of water burns, but you don't move away. instead, you welcome it. let it wash over you, over your skin, over the lingering heat still trapped in your body from the way gojo looked at you earlier. your hands slide over your arms, down your sides, over the curves of your body, the pressure firm as if you could scrub away the past— him. 

the water runs through your hair, down your back, down your thighs, and still, you can't shake the way your body remembers him. the way it still reacts to the mere idea of him. it pisses you off. your fingers tighten into fists before you force yourself to exhale, resting your forehead against the cool tile. you stay like this for a while. letting the water scald you, hoping it can burn out the thing still curling inside your chest, still whispering his name in the back of your mind. 

by the time you finally step out, steam curls around the mirror, the bathroom thick with heat. you wrap yourself in a towel, sighing as you push the door open. as you step closer to the bed, you notice a box on your bed. black, sleek, expensive. your breath catches for a second, it's not hard to guess who left it. you approach it slowly, a wary sort of anticipation buzzing under your skin. 

on the box, a note. a small, folded piece of paper with gojo's handwriting.

‘’ sweetheart,  i can't let you ruin my reputation with those cheap dresses you own. i have an image to maintain, after all. a rich man can't have people thinking he's poor. wear this. — satoru ‘’

your breath stutters for a second. sweetheart. something in your chest tightens, flutters, pounds. you crush it, fight it. with steady hands, you set the note aside and lift the lid of the box— and you freeze. 

the dress inside is breathtaking. it's a shade of blue so deep, so striking— the same as his eyes. you swallow, fingertips ghosting over the fabric. it's impossibly smooth, slipping through your fingers like liquid, designed to mold to every curve, to hug your body like a second skin. a dress that demands attention. you take it out of the box and immediately notice the back. or rather, the lack of one. the fabric dips dangerously low. with a sort of thin white belt that wraps behind your neck, fastening at the nape before cascading down in a delicate, tantalizing line. tracing your vertebral column. a seductive dress, yet functional enough to fight in case.

you return your attention to the box. your eyes widen as you see a pair of underwear. a soft filthy shade of blue, slightly lighter than the dress delicate and teasing. the panties are sheer in all the wrong places, practically see-through, the thin straps barely qualifying as fabric. offering little to the imagination. there's subtle glittering embellishments, catching the light just enough to draw eye. 

just enough to drive a man insane. your throat runs dry. that fucking bastard.

you dig further into the box, only to find jewelry. a necklace so fine it barely feels real, elegant enough to steal attention. earrings that shimmer subtly, matching perfectly with the delicate bracelet nestled beside them.

everything about this is so intimate. you hate that your heart still reacts, that your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the necklace, as you let the fabric of the dress slip between your fingers. every single piece was selected with intent. this isn't just a gift, it's a statement.

gojo satoru is back at it again. back to his games. back to this push and pull. he's testing your limits once again. you need to show him, you need to keep your bold cold. mission. mission then next… gojo.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

8:17 p.m. you see as you finish getting ready. adrenaline rushing through your veins. your hands move on mechanism, fastening the holster around your thigh before slipping the small firearm into place, the slit of your dress perfectly concealing it. since gojo is the host, there won't be any security checks for you at the entrance.

you allow yourself one final breath, steadying your pulse as your hand move to the door handle. tonight, your job is to protect him. nothing more.

you push the door open, and nothing could have prepared you for what is waiting for you. in front of you stand an anxious gojo, fixing his suit jacket, smoothing the fabric before his fingers nervously reach up to adjust his tie.

your breath hitches. the tie he's fumbling with is the exact same shade as your dress— his signature blue, the color of his eyes, the color that haunts your dream more often than you'd like to admit. his scent hits your nose, flooding your senses. something fresh, subtly spiced. it messes with your head, makes it hard to focus. his hair a little bit messy, like he's been running his hands through it while waiting for who knows how long.

and when his eyes find yours, everything in you freezes.

gojo stays still. his usual teasing remark falter, no lazy smirk, no arrogance. just… silence as his gaze consumes you. it's like the weight of the last few days of distance disappears, and all that remains is the way the dress clings to your body. 

“i-” he starts. “that's…you- i mean,” he shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts. he takes a slow step forward, his hand reaching out. you don't hesitate, taking it in yours. his fingers are warm against yours, his grip tight, like he's afraid to let go. to let you go. 

he gently turns you, his eyes trailing over the open expanse of your back. he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “what's happening, satoru?” you tease “you finally dare to look at me, after all the ignoring these pasts days?” you tilt your head back, lifting your chin to meet his eyes. even in your heels, you remain towered by him, his presence overwhelming. gojo's eyes betray something deep— pain, maybe regret. 

“sweetheart…” he murmurs, pulling you closer by the hand that holds yours. the sudden motion takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as your body crashes into his. “you have no idea what you do to me.” gojo growls softly. the heat of his body pressing against yours, makes you weak. you can't stop the way your breath hitches.

the word mission keeps echoing in your head. you shouldn't give in, not when he got so defensive, not when you still had walls built around you. “gojo,” you whispers as his eyes flickers to your lips. he leans in, his forehead touching yours, closing his eyes. “we need to figure it out.” he says simply. “give me a chance.” his hands grip your waist, molding your body to his. “tell me why you left, please.” his voice filled with a raw, aching honesty that make your heart drop.

your brain is racing at a thousand miles per hour, your pulse drumming in your ears. the connection between you two is palpable, undeniable. your hands go to the back of his head, tugging sightly his hair, making gojo groans. you breathe out his name, your lips just brushing against his “after the gala,” you murmur. “but let's go for now. we're running late.” you pull back but the heat remains. a pretty shade of pink creeps onto gojo's cheeks. the sight of it makes you smile. 

you both reach the bottom of the stairs, and before you can move toward the door, gojo's voice calls out, low and filled with something close to mischief. “wait.”

you stop in your tracks, turning to look at him, and that playful smirk makes its comeback. he lifts your hands, then loosens his grip just enough to intertwine his fingers with yours. his eyes fixed on your face, watching for your reaction. “it's better like this,” he says, his voice mix of teasing and seriousness. “if we're playing couple, let's do it right,” he adds. you shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “satoru, let's go now." he opens the door, the cold night air hitting your skin “i love when you call me saturo, sweetheart.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the streets blur past, neon lights casting fleeting glows over his sharp features as he drives through the city. Gojo insisted on being the one to drive, choosing one of his luxurious car— not without making a comment on how it'd be nearly impossible to ride your bike in that dress but he'd gladly let you ride him in that dress. 

the ride is quiet. not the comfortable kind, but the charged, suffocating kind. you can feel his eyes flicking toward you between red lights.

the hotel appears, tall and grand, its golden lights illuminating the massive entrance. unlike when you came checking security, the driveway is packed with luxury cars, men in tailored suits, women in gowns worth small fortunes. there're even photographers lining the barricades, flashes firing like relentless lighting. 

despite your superior's briefing, you still feel nervous. of course you have attented events like this before to protect your clients, but never were you the center of attention.

suddenly, dodging bullets in a batteflied seems far less stressful than whatever the hell this masquerade is. at least, the car windows are tinted, giving you some more minutes.

gojo feels you tense up as he stops in front of the entrance. he turns to you, bringing a hand to cup your face, tilting your chin so you meet his gaze. “it's okay, sweetheart," his thumb traces soft, reassuring circles on your cheek. “i'm with you. focus on the job, okay?” then, with an easy smile, he steps out of the car.

the moment he does, you hear people calling his name, cameras clicking furiously. and gojo being gojo, steps out with that infuriating confidence, adjusting his cufflinks like he owns the damn place. pretty fucking bastard

gojo makes his way to your door before the valet even moves. he opens it himself, hand extended, waiting. and you can feel this is not only for the show. you let out a sharp exhales, taking his hand to get out of the car.

the moment your heels hit the ground, the flashes explode even brighter, voices pitching higher, demanding your attention. gojo's fingers intertwine with yours—firm, possessive—as he pulls you closer, leaning down just enough so only you can hear. “wanted to let you know,” his breath tickling your ear “knowing what's under this dress is no helpful to hide my boner in front of these photographers.” 

before you can react, he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. then with the smooth ease of a man who knows exactly what he's doing, he lifts your hand to his lips and plants the softest kiss against you knuckles. “also, don't forget to smile.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

inside, the gala is exactly what you expected— crystal chandeliers spilling molten gold over the sea of designer-clad elites, laughter too polished to be real, and conversations laced with unspoken agendas. the air is thick with expensive perfume and quit power plays.

gojo moves through it effortlessly, magnetic as ever. he plays the perfect host, flashing easy grins and exchanging pleasantries with people you couldn't care less about. you, on the other hand, remain sharp, scanning the room, keeping your senses on high alert.

or at least, you try.

it's hard to stay focused when you're super-aware of gojo's warmth. his palm resting low on your back, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded circles against your spine. his lips graze your temple as he leans in, voice low with some meaningless observation, but his breath is too warm, too deliberate. a shiver runs down your body.

the hours stretch on, an endless cycle of fake smiles and calculated small talk. the weight of the night starts pressing against your ribs, exhaustion creeping in. you need a moment.

“i'm getting us drinks,” you murmur, pulling away from gojo's touch, ignoring the way your body immediately protests the loss of warmth.

“how thoughtful of my wife” he teases, lips curling into something wicked. you almost fall to the floor, headfirst. 

wife. the word comes too easily from his mouth, like it belongs there. you catch yourself liking it.

shaking off the heat starting to take over you, you weave through the crowd, reaching the refreshments table. your mind still lingers on gojo, your thoughts are full of him. you're convince you need him. you don't want to run anymore.

a shadow of a smile tugs at your lips. 

when you turn back— two glasses of champagne in your hand— gojo is gone.

your pulse stumbles. your breath quickens, eyes scanning every corner, every exit. nothing. where the hell is he? 

you shove the glasses onto the nearest table, ignoring the startled look of a waiter. your training urges you to stay calm, but panic claws at your throat. gojo isn't just your responsibility. he's—

focus.

you spot one of the security personnel near the ballroom's entrance, a stocky man with an earpiece and a sharp gaze. you stride toward him, voice low but urgent. “did you see gojo leave?” the man frowns slightly “he stepped out a few minutes ago. took the private elevator up.”

your stomach knots. “who was with him?”

“not sure. a few men. well-dressed.” fury spikes through you. 'and that didn't alarm you?' you could beat his ass off if it wasn't for gojo right now. where did they find those incompetent men.

spinning on your heel, you move fast, heart hammering. the gala's noise fades behind you as you push through the discreet hallway leading to the private elevators. the display shows it stopped on the roof.

your pulse spikes. you slam the button. nothing. locked.

“fuck” you mutter under your breath. you don't have time to wait. without hesitation, you head for the stairwell, heels be damned. you rip the gun from its hidden strap at your thigh and climb two steps at a time. the adrenaline burns away any exhaustion, pushing faster.

by the time you reach the the top, your breath is ragged. hand tight on your gun, you push the rooftop door open just enough to see—

and your blood turns to ice.

gojo stands near the edge, bathed in city lights, his white hair a stark contrast against the night. the wind howls between the buildings, the breeze fluttering his tie— the same shade of his eyes, the same shade of your dress.

his usual carefree stance betraying nothing, hands in his pocket like he's discussing business over whiskey rather than staring down the barrels of guns. 

four men surround him. they're dressed too well to be common thugs, but you know better—real danger rarely looks the part. one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar curving at the corner of his mouth, has his gun aimed directly at gojo's chest.

your grip tightens around your own gun.

and then gojo speaks. “i suggest you let me go,” he drawls, voice laced with amusement. “or my wife's going to rip you apart.” he smirks “also, we arranged we talk after the gala, to make things clear, i don't think she'd be very happy that you keep me for the night.”

the men exchange glances, unimpressed. scar-lips steps forward, a cruel smirk twisting his scar. “you're worth a lot, Satoru Gojo.” a ransom situation.

gojo pinches the bridge of his nose like they're giving him a headache. “look,” he starts, tilting his head slightly. “i don't know who sent you, but this is embarrassing. four of you? to handle me? if i were you, i'd start running before she gets pissed.”

they barely have a second to process his words before you make your move. you can't risk any longer. and gojo is doing perfectly at distracting them.

one breath. one shot. 

you step out. aim. fire

the bullet buries itself into the shoulder of the man nearest gojo. he stumbles back with a pained grunt—

and gojo moves.

he moves faster then the wind whipping through the rooftop. in the time it takes for scar-lips to turn toward you, gojo there. a sickening crack echoes through the rooftop as gojo drives his elbow into the wide man's jaw with enough force to send him staggering. without pause, he pivots, driving a brutal kick into another's ribs. the crack is sickening.

you react instinctively, ducking behind an industrial vent as one of the men pulls a gun in your direction. another shot rings out— gojo's this time. he moves like liquid shadow, disarming one of the attackers with terrifying efficiency. the man barely has time to process that he's slammed into the ground.

scar-lips, despite his disoriented state, reaches for his gun again.

gojo doesn't let him. he's on him in a blink, gripping his wrist with an almost lazy ease before twisting it violently in the wrong direction. the man screams, his gun clattering to the floor. gojo doesn't let go. instead, he leans in, voice sickeningly sweet. “told you she'd be mad.”

you freeze. you've seen trained fighters. you are one. but this? this is something else. the speed, the precision, the sheer control— it's unsettling. suspicious. 

the last man standing tries to flee, you take aim and fire a warning shot near his feet. he freezes, hands trembling in surrender.

the rooftop falls into silence, only the labored groans of the fallen men breaking the stillness. the adrenaline still surges through your veins as you lower your gun, stepping closer to gojo, who brushes nonexistent dust off his sleeve like he didn't juts annihilate four men in less than two minutes.

“you good?” he asks, eyes flickering over you, concern hidden beneath his usual playful tone. “i should be asking you that.” 

“what? you think a couple of suits can take me down?” he winks, but there's something unreadable in his eyes. something he doesn't want you to see. you don't press. at least, not now.

instead, you step forward, pressing your heel into scar-lips' injured arm. he yelps “so, who sent you?” scar-lips stay still, unwilling to say anything.

the other men groan on the ground, the sting of their broken bones keeping them from trying anything stupid. gojo sighs as if he's bored. as if this whole thing is an inconvenience rather than a threat to his life. he reaches into his jacket, pulling out his phone. 

“you know,” he hums, tapping the screen with a lazy smirk “i could call someone. but they wouldn't be as nice as she is.” he gestures at you with a tilt of his head, his tone light, but his eyes? glacial.

scar-lips doesn't flinch. you press down harder on his arm. “fuck! alright, alright!” gojo grins like you just made his night. 

“contract” he grits out. “someone put a price on your head. it's big. too big to ignore.” gojo clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “that's vague. who?” scar-lips looks like he's debating wether answering is worth the consequences. “not local”

“international” you press. he nods, slowly. “someone wants you dead, gojo. badly. all we got was a time and place.” his gaze flicks up to you, sharp despite pain. "and instructions to take you too".

the air grows thick. “me?” the man on the floor exhales “whoever hired us knew you'd be with him. they want you alive.” something cold settles in your stomach. gojo, however, laughs. it's quiet, then louder, echoing against the rooftop.

scar-lips looks at him like he's lost his damn mind. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” gojo wipes at the corner of his eyes like he actually found that funny. “man, you guys must be new do you know how many times someone's tried to put me in a body bag?” he leans in closer, voice dripping lower. “and not one of them ever succeeded.” gojo nods toward you, lips quirking. “someone wants her alive? buddy, you should be more scared of that than anything else.” 

you glance down, they want you alive. that means whoever put out this hit isn't just after gojo— they're after something he has. the implications make your blood runs cold. but you don't have time to dwell on it.

one of the men on the ground— one you thought was barely conscious— lunges.

it happens fast. too fast.

a blade glints under the rooftop lights, aiming straight for gojo's ribs.

your gun fires before you think. the gunshot rings out, echoing accross the night.

the man crumples.

scra-lips yells, trying to scrambles back, but gojo's hand shoot out, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up. “i'd be annoyed if this wasn't so damn prediactable.” his voice has lost its amusement. it's cold now. deadly. “you made a big mistake touching what's mine.” gojo's fingers tighten. for a second, you think he'll kill him.

but instead, gojo sighs—a sound full of tiredness— and his grip loosens. “i'd love to drag this out, but we have a gala to return to,” he says, and with that, he lets go. the man collapses to the ground, coughing violently.

gojo steps over him like he's nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. he reaches for your hand, gently pulling you away. “someone's coming to pick you up.” he adds, his tone far too casual for what just happened “be grateful. i called someone to take care of you, buddies. i only do that to my special guests.” 

he slams the rooftop door shut behind them with a sense of finality, cutting off the chaos that lingers in the air.

as you make your way down the stairs, you abruptly stop, questions swirling in your mind. “what's wrong?” gojo asks. you meet his gaze, searching his eyes, trying to figure out what he's hiding from you. he steps closer "you okay?” you should nod. should brush it off like you always do.

but you don't answer, and you feel the weight of silence settles between you. it's suffocating, you don't know how to break it. so you shake your head. you want to ask him why he hired you. why he needs you when he could've handled everything alone. you want to know if there's more to this—more to you—than just being his bodyguard. the questions burns at the back of your throat, but you swallow it down, afraid of what the answer might be.

gojo's hand pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, his touch gentle—like always when he touches you—making you gasp. his palm cups your cheeks. “hey.” his eyes are full of concern, worried. his tumb brushes over your cheek, a fleeting touch, as if he's trying to ground you. you're not sure if it's for your sake or his. 

“you're acting weird,” he murmurs, tilting his head. your throat tightens. “and you're acting like this is normal.” a short laugh escapes him, not a single hint of humor in it. his grip on your face loosens, but he doesn't pull away. “what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to tell me why,” the words come out quieter than you intended, but no less desperate. “why hire someone to protect you?” something flickers in his gaze, quick enough that you almost miss it. his fingers twitch against your skin. “you really think i need a bodyguard?” the way he says it sounds wrong—too light, too easy. 

“exactly. you don't." your voice is unwavering now, the certainty of it strengthening you. “not after i saw what you did tonight. the way you fought— it was effortless. you're better than any soldier i've ever seen.” you hesitate, the memory clicking into place. ”better than me.” and now that you think about it, you remember your punch he blocked that night, back at the gala preparations. the sheer force he used. you should have realized then.

gojo is quiet for a moment. then, finally, he sighs, letting his hand drop from your face. the loss of his warmth makes your chest ache. “i thought it'd be obvious by now,” he mutters, looking away.

it isn't. 

it's not obvious at all. and the fact that he won't just say it outright makes your frustration curl tight in your chest. 

you take a step back, shaking your head. “well, as you can see… it's not.” you cross your arms, the hurt leaking into your voice. gojo's head snaps back toward you, eyes narrowing. “you overthink too much.” you scoff, anger bubbling up despite your exhaustion. “then give me answers. if you did, i wouldn't have to.”

his jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he's going to throw out some flippant remark, something to brush this all under the rug like he always does. 

but then— 

he takes a step forward.

and another.

until there's barely any space left between you.

“maybe i don't want you to know,” he says, voice low, almost quiet to hear. the words send a sharp pang through you. he's never been this blunt before— not like this. “why?” you whisper, almost afraid to ask, but you need to go through this. together. “once you know, you won't look at me the same.”

your heart clenches at the quiet honesty in his voice.

“satoru," you murmur, refusing to back down, “you dressed me tonight. you brought me here as your date. you even called me your wife.” your voice shakes, but you keep going. “and i was scared to lose you tonight.” the words slip out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered, the weight of them hitting the space between you with unbearable force. 

gojo stills. his breath is uneven, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes���widen just slightly. you close your own, exhaling shakily before continuing.

“i ran once. nine years ago.” your voice is barely a whisper now. “i was young. i was afraid. and it was a mistake.” his entire body tenses. “Satoru,” you open your eyes, meeting his. “i want you. all of you. and surprisingly, i'm willing to stay. to stand next to you. to kill for you if that's what it takes to keep you safe.” you pause, your voice thick with emotion. “i'm not afraid of threats. i don't want to run anymore.”

gojo looks wrecked. completely and utterly undone.

you step closer, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, unsteady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “nothing you could ever say will change the way i see you.” your voice is firm “nothing.”

he swallows hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he doesn't know whether to pull you in or push you away— to protect you from people that would want to hurt you, only to hurt him.

but then— he breaks. 

his arms wrap around you, crushing you to him, his grip almost desperate. his forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. and for the first time, gojo satoru—the untouchable, unshakable man— trembles.

“making me go through all that," he says against your hair, "being irrefutable with me and letting me beat the hell out of four men—" his fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes like he's terrified you'll disappear. “it took you all that to finally tell me what's on your heart?”

you let out a watery laugh, wrapping your arms around him just as tightly “i'm sorry.” he lets out a shaky breath, his lips brushing your temple. “stay,” it's not a command, not a plea— just a confession. you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, into the way he holds you like he's never wanted anything more. “i'm not going anywhere.”

and just like that, nothing else matters.

the gala, the stares, the whispers— none of it exists as you slip out through the back entrance, hands locked together, ignoring the world you're leaving behind.

gojo doesn't let go.

not even when he open the car door for you, not even when he slides into the driver's seat. his hand stays on your thigh, fingers warm and steady, tracing idle patterns against your skin. every red light is an excuse— an excuse to lift your hand to his lips, pressing slow, deliberate kisses on your knuckles, the pads of your fingers, the inside of you wrist.

you shiver, watching him through lidded eyes. “you're being soft.” gojo hums, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. “you love it, don't you?” and you don't deny it.

the drive is quiet, heavy with something unspoken. when he pulls up in front of his house, fingers still tracing slow, burning circles on you thigh, the weight of earlier comes crashing back. you shift in your seat, eyes flicking toward him. 

“what were you going to say earlier?” his hand pauses for just a second— just long enough for you to notice. then, instead of answering, he leans in, his breath hitting your jaw as his lips ghost over your skin. “you really want to talk about that right now?”

the air is charged, thick with frustration and need. his lips press against the corner of your mouth— featherlight, teasing, but you can feel the restraint in the way his fingers grip your thigh. you tilt your head, giving him more access as a sigh leave your lips. “i need to know.”

gojo groans, low and deep. his hands move— one sliding up higher up your thigh, the other tangling in your hair as he pulls you toward him, his lips finally crashing against yours.

the kiss is messy, heated, all tongue and teeth and pent-up frustration. you don't even remember shifting onto his lap, only that his hands are on your hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks. his breath is ragged when he pulls back, forehead pressed against yours. your lipstick stains his lips, smudged, messy, sinful.

“you really wanna do this now?” his voice is rough, uneven. his fingers slip beneath your dress, brushing against your bare skin. “because if i start talking now, i won't stop. and i'd rather have you like this, falling apart in my hands. or my tongue. begging for more.”

your pulse is wild, but you don't back down. “satoru.” you lift a hand, softly wiping the lipstick from his lips. “tell me.” his sigh is one of defeat, his head falling back on the headrest. “i didn't hire you to protect me.” his voice is quieter now, raw in a way you've never heard before. “i hired you because i wanted you close.”

your breath catches. gojo chuckles, but there's no humor in it. “you ran from me nine years ago,” he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck— wet, lingering. “did you really think i was going to let you do it again?”

your eyes burn with emotions— ones you don't have time to process because gojo's lips trail lower, his tongue flicking out, teasing, tasting. "being an influential young man got me some enemies. I had to know how to fight like a soldier— if not better. as the years went by, I became even more influential. and with some quick calls, I was able to find you."

“i don't think i deserve you, gojo.” the words spill out, breathless. gojo clicks his tongue, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his hands frame your face “sweetheart,” his voice barely above a whisper “let's go inside,” his teeth graze your skin “i'm going to show you just how much you deserve me.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you barely step through the threshold before gojo's hands are on you again, pushing you against the wall. his kiss is devastating, all-consuming, a plea and a demand in one. his hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers again.

“you're killing me,” he groans, voice hoarse, “i need you. need to taste you.” your dress is barely hanging on, undone but still covering you like some cruel temptation, and that makes it worse for him. he doesn't pull it off— not yet. his fingers skim the fabric, then push it up, bunching around your waist. that's when he sees them.

your light blue panties— delicate, sheer, adorned with tiny pearls. the one he meticulously chose for you earlier. he fucking loses it at the sight.

“sweetheart.” his voice shatters, his breath stuttering as his thumb brushed the pearls, the fabric already damp. a pretty little thing wrapped up so nicely just for him. his hands shake when he presses his palm flat against your cunt, cupping you through the soaked fabric. “you're so wet. you wanted me this bad?”

you whimper, nodding, your knees already weak.

he drops to his knees so fast it's almost embarrassing. he doesn't even push your panties aside right away. instead, he leans in, kissing up your thighs— not just to tease, but to worship. his lips press against every scar, every mark, each one a silent promise. “my pretty strong girl,” he murmurs, his fingers squeezing your legs. “i will take care of them later.”

“satoru—”

his mouth finds the inside of your thigh first, biting down hard enough to make you whimper before soothing the mark with his tongue. then finally, finally, his mouth is on you. a hot, wet, messy kiss pressed right against your cunt, sucking you through the fabric of your panties. you gasp for air, your hands tightening on his white hair, earning a moan from him, an actual moan.

his tongue pressed flat against your cunt, teasing you through the pearls and lace. you gasp, body jolting, thighs trying to squeeze together, but he won't let you. his strong hands hold you open, force you to take it.

“f-fuck—" you breathe, fingers diving into his hair.

gojo grinds his face into your pussy like a possessed man. “god, you taste sweet even through this,” he slurs, drunk on it, his voice muffled. “missed having my mouth on you.”

his tongue dragged over the fabric, lapping, teasing, sucking, his fingers slipping underneath to pull them to the side. “Gojo—” your head slams back against the wall.

he didn't let you finish as he spreads your pussy open with his thumbs and buried his face between right into your core, eating you out like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else. like he needed to prove something.

it's sloppy, desperate, obscene.

he's licking into you with long, deep strokes, his nose bumping against your clit. his fingers dug into your ass, yanking you closer, forcing you to grind against his mouth, fucking his tongue with every rool of your hips.

“t-too much—” your body is trembling.

“been too long, huh? missed me eating your pretty little pussy?” sliding his tongue down to fuck into you, groaning when you clenched around him. you were so wet, so fucking wet, dripping down his chin as he worked you over, puling moans out of you that made his cock throb painfully against his zipper.

his arms wrap around your waist, locking you in place, forcing you to take everything he gives. his moans vibrate against your skin, needy, delirious, he's getting off on this as much as you are. “taste so fucking sweet,” his voice is muffled by your heat. “could stay down here forever.” he doesn't stop, doesn't let up— not even when your thighs squeeze around his head, when you're shaking so hard you can barely breathe.

your body locks up, pleasure tightening, so close it hurts. his fingers dig into your flesh, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right, and that's all it takes— you break apart with a cry, shuddering, coming all over his tongue.

gojo groans like he's tasting something forbidden, something addictive, lapping it all up, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

by the time he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening, his pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he just ran miles. your dress is still on, but your panties are pushed to the side, and gojo is a wrecked mess between your legs, staring at you like he's ready to die for you.

 “come here.” you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a flithy desperate kiss. his hands scrambled to get his belt open, shaking so badly he barely undo it. “l-let me help,” you whisper, your hands brushing his as you pull his belt free, undoing his zipper. “i want to make it up to you” you look at him in the eyes “for running away.” your hands slide over his thighs, palming the thick outline of him through his pants. he's already rock-hard. gojo let out a pathetic whimper. “s-shit, you don't have to—”

the second you slide down his boxers, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick, flushed, dripping. “f-fuck—” he lets out when your hand wraps around him. he's so hard it must be painful, a bead of precum leaking from the flushed tip.

you dropped to your knees and looking up at him through your lashes “i need to, satoru” 

gojo chokes “fuck— yeah, please—” with nothing more you took him in your mouth. his hands immediately flying to your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to ground himself

his entire body jerked as your tongue drags up his length, flicking over the tip before you sink down, taking him deep. tongue pressing against the thick vein running along his dick. you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head, your hand stroking the rest of him. it's slick and obscene, the sounds echoing in the hallway. your lips stretched around him.

“f-fuck— sweetheart,” gojo is a mess above you. a whimpering, panting mess. his thighs tensed, his whole body shudders. “fuck, f-fuck— too good, it's too fucking g-good—” he wants you to let you continue. he wants to watch you take him apart. 

but he wants to feel you. it's been nine long years for fuck sake. he just needs your pretty little cunt wrapping around his cock. “i-if you don't stop— shit— if you d-don't stop r-right n-now, i'm gonna—” he grabs your wrists, and you pulled off with a sinful pop, lips swollen, eyes gleaming.

“bed. now.” 

except… you don't make it to the bed…

you get as far as the couch before you're shoving him down, straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders. his cock is still out, flushed, leaking, twitching against his stomach. and your soaked panties are still on, pulled to the side, teasing him.

“reverse cowgirl.” you say, full of tease. his brain short-circuits. “w-what?” you don't answer. you just move, shift until your back is to him. you give him a full view on the open dress, the curves of your body, the barest glimpse of your soaked panties sill clinging to your folds.

“oh, fuck— ohhh fuck.” his head drops back against the couch. his hands finding your waist as you took his base and let your hips ever so slowly sink down.

you both are drowning. “t-toru— ahh, ‘s big—” your voice breaks. you forgot how fucking big he is. surely the biggest cock you’ve ever took. “th-that's okay, s-sweetheart,” gojo is hardly holding on, shaking beneath you. “you're d-doing good— fuck— your walls are sucking me i-in. i— fuckfuckfuck—”

inch by inch, you take him, stretching, gasping, feeling him pulse inside you.

sweat drips down your back. gojo leans in, licks it up. and then— 

he loses his patience. 

he grabs your hips, slams you down, and fuck, you both scream. his fingers are bruising, his breath wrecked against your spine, and you're already a trembling, cock-drunk mess in his lap. “t-toru— please—”

“shhh, sweetheart,” he pants, barely coherent. “let me make you mine again.” 

he drags you down onto him, thrusting up to meet you, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach. “ohhh— fuuuck, toru���” your hands scrambling for purchase against the couch as you rock back against him.

“that's right, sweetheart,” his forehead pressed against your bare spine. “take me— please, take all of me.” he pulls you back onto him harder, a desperate, needy little sound escaping his throat when he sees the way your pretty blue panties cling to you, your pussy stretched around the base of his cock, underwear soaked. “s-shit, your panties— fuck, that's so—” gojo can't even finish his sentence. his hands slip under your dress, his fingers finding your hard nipples and pinches them through your bra.

“satoru, i—” you sob, rolling your hips, grinding down. “that's it, ride me,” he begs, his hands palming your soft breasts. “you feel so fucking good, s-so tight—” you lift your hips just to slam back down, picking up a rhythm, and gojo loses his fucking mind. his moans spilling out in rapid desperate gasps. “fuck, baby—”

his length throbs inside you, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. he grabs at you, at your dress, your thighs, anywhere he can touch, his lips pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses along your back. 

“d-don't stop— please— ohh f-fuck, please don't stop—” he sounds so ruined, so completely fucking gone.

somehow you grind down even harder, sending the poor guy's body jolting. he's straight-up choking, his moans turn high-pitched, pathetic, whimpering. “sweetheart, i-i can't— oh fuck, i'm gonna—” his voice breaks, shaking “i can't hold it— i can't, i can't—” 

you lean back against his chest, turning just enough to catch the sight of him— his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, his entire body trembling beneath you. “t-toru,” you whimper, tightening around him. “cum for me.”

that's it. that's all it takes.

Gojo slams you down onto him one last time, a ragged, broken cry ripping from his throat. His cock pulses deep inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as he spills into you, moaning like he’s coming apart at the seams. his chest rising and falling erratically, his entire body completely ruined.

and even as the pleasure fades, he doesn't let go. “you're mine. not letting you go again.” he doesn't give you time to respond as he suddenly grabs your wrists, shoving you face-down into the couch. “but that doesn't mean i'm done with you.” his body is still trembling, his cock still throbbing inside you, slick with both of your release.

“one round isn't enough,” heavy voice in your ear. he rolls his hips once, slow and deep, dragging his dick through the mess he's made of you.

your whimper is swallowed by the cushions, fingers clawing at the fabric as he strats moving again. his pace is slow at first, torturous, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open again. then he pulls out almost completely—just the tip remained inside— before slamming back in, so deep your vision blurs.

“mhhh— satoru!” the force of it knocks the breath out of you, makes you choke on your own moan. his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, fisting your hair.

“look at you, sweetheart,” he pants, voice slurred, filthy. “so wet—so messy—fuck, listen to yourself.” and oh, you can hear it. the lewd, obscene squelching of your cunt sucking him back in with every thrust. it's dripping down your thighs, coating his cock, soaking the couch beneath you.

“s'dripping” he groans, pulling out just to watch the way your hole clenches, fluttering around nothing. your slick mixed with his cum spills out. glistening, pooling between your legs. “fucking— shit” he grits his teeth, fisting his cock, slapping it against your swollen cunt. “such a pretty mess."

“p-please,” you sob, wiggling your hips, trying to push back against him. you're so sensitive, already teetering on the edge again. “please what?” his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips brush your ear. “use your words, sweetheart. beg for it.” your brain is mush, squirming beneath him, but you give him what he wants.

“please— please, t-toru fuck me— use me. w-want you s-so bad— need you so bad—” his breath shudders “you're so hot,”

and he slams back into you, deeper, harder, faster. you scream, your arms giving out as he fucks you into the cushions. his pace is wild, frantic, desperate— his cock found your g-spot. hitting it over and over again. until you're body is nothing but raw nerves and white-hot pleasure.

“y-you like this?” gojo struggles finding his breathe, sweat dripping down his temple. “like getting fucked stupid? like being ruined?” you can't even speak— just babbling his name.

“sweetheart, im not gonna last— fuck, i wanna feel you cum again, i need to feel it—” he moans, he swears your cunt was made perfectly for him and only him. one hand slipping between your legs, fingers rubbing at your clit in messy, quick circles.

“come on— cum on my cock, wanna feel your cum all over me,” your whole body seizes, pleasure ripping through you so hard you think you black out for a second. you scream his name, back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching tight around him he nearly collapses. “ohh— ohhh ‘s gooood— wrapping around my cock aghn,”

his hips snap forward, his voice breaking as he lets out white long hot creams. he cums so much, it leaks out around his dick— balls.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the lewd, sticky wetness between your legs, the faint creak of the couch beneath you. gojo breaks it with a breathless, shaky laugh. “you're a fucking dream,” he mumbles, pressing lazy, wet kisses to your shoulder. his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“satoru…” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his damp hair. he exhales and lifts you into his arms. he carries you like you're something sacred, irreplaceable. something he'll never allow to slip through his fingers again.

"bedroom," he murmurs against your temple. “i need to love you properly.” your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat. this is different. you wrap your arms around him as he carries you through the dimly lit house, his body still inside yours, still pulsing, still clinging to every last bit of warmth you give him.

tonight, he took you like he was desperate. like he had something to prove, like he needed to reclaim you after all these years apart. but now…

now he's looking at you like you hung the stars in his sky.

when he lays you down on his bed, it feels like the world stops. like you both exist in your own universe. gojo hovers over you, his hands tracing over every inch of you. he maps your body with his touch, memorizes you with his lips, presses soft, reverent kisses over your skin.

and he pauses when he reaches your scars. trembling hands ghost over them, his expression unreadable. his eyes, impossibly blue even in the dim light, flicker up to yours. his fingertips linger on your scars, tracing them so gently it make your breath hitch.

“nine years,” his lips press over each mark, worshipping. “nine agonizingly years without you.” your chest aches. you cup his face, wiping the single tear coming down his cheek with your thumb. gojo closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like he needs it to breathe. “you don't get it.” murmuring it more to himself than you.

he looks down at you like you're everything. like he doesn't believe you're real.

you don't get a chance to respond before he's kissing you—slow, deep. it's not just hunger, not just lust. it's grief, it's relief, it's the kind of love that breaks you open and remakes you all at once.

when he finally pushes into you, it's not desperate. it's deliberate— he's trying to mold himself to you, he wants to leave an imprint of himself inside you forever. “satoru—”

“i know, sweetheart,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. “let me love you.” 

you do. you let him take his time. let him move in deep, slow thrusts that leave you breathless. let him pull every last moan from your lips until your nails dig into his back. his name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over again.

“feel that?” satoru takes your chin in his hand, making you look at him. “feel how deep i am? how i'm filling you up?” there's no rush, just the overwhelming feeling of being connected— having each other the way you were always meant to.

“toru, please,” you gasp into his mouth. “i've got you,” he mutters, nose brushing against yours. his fingers lace through yours, pinning your hands above your head, your legs wrapping around his waist, your body arching into him. 

“you're everything,” he whispers. “you always were.” your chest tightens, you feel yourself shatters as heat coils in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter.

you're so full of him, of love, of longing, of everything you've spent nine years trying to ignore.

“i love you,” and it sets something free inside you.

gojo chokes on his breath. his rhythm stutters. his fingers tighten around yours. his lips tremble against your skin. “say it again,” he begs.

“i love you, Satoru.” his hips snap into you harder, pace remaining slow as if he's trying to commit every part of you to memory. “say it again, sweetheart.”

“i love you—” his body tenses, his release crashing over him at the same time you hit yours. his lips find yours as you both shatter together.

when he collapses on top of you, he doesn't let go. doesn't even try. you're still tangled together, still connected when he speaks. “i was serious,” you hum, sleepy, completely boneless in his arms. “about what?” his fingers stroke over your hip. “about calling you my wife.” 

you tilt your head, searching his face. he's looking at you like you're his entire world. he's never been more sure of anything in his life. “i don't just want you here tonight,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “i want you here forever.”

tears sting your eyes, but you smile, brushing his hair out of his face. “then start calling me that now, satoru.” gojo grins— that beautiful, bright, devastating grin.

“come here, wife.”

( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Editing Part ????: Final Steps (That You'll Repeat)

HI THIS POST WAS SUPPOSED TO GO UP IN JANUARY. Uuuh things. Are happening. In the US. Alas.

ANYWAY, to wrap up our editing tips. Some of this you'll do on your own, some of it you'll need feedback on, a lot of it is going back and forth between various edits. It is a process.

Tone and Voice

In review, is your character's voice consistent? Do they remain solid as a character, or do they wildly change in how they speak and act in the middle of the book for no reason?

When it comes to tone, are you writing with a consistently used vocabulary and structure? I'm not talking about dialogue - does your story feel the same, no matter if it's in third person or first?

A tonal shift or word change might happen if you've been working a long time on a project, and that's just a matter of going back through the book to make sure things match up.

Tension and Pacing

Does the action rise and fall naturally? Are your characters given room to breathe when appropriate?

Have you resolved (or addressed) all your subplots? Did you leave any romance or relationships dangling? Are there any chunks of your book that feel like a side-quest that doesn't contribute to the rest of the plot?

How is your scene pacing? Like your book, your scenes can't be 100% tension - they need to rise and fall. Fights and action should build naturally. If you're dropping a character into a situation with no foreshadowing, or if they obtain some new nifty power without really earning it, you might be throwing the pacing off.

Again, this just takes going back over to see what little things you need to set up to make the pay-off worth it.

Line Edits

Hopefully you've saved this for last, I know you won't, I know I won't, but fiddling with the language is going to be better done at the very end. Look out for:

Overused Words and Phrases - I find with each project, I become overly fond of one particular word. It's useful and fantastic until it pops up a little too often, and then I need to work on changing it up. Same with phrases - if you're brain is like mind, it'll find a neat little turn of phrase and repeat that six or eight times when you only needed it once.

Hedging Words - Almost, nearly, not quite, seems, appears, etc - these words are perfectly fine in academic writing, but they weaken your descriptive work. Instead of saying "he almost hit me" for example, describe the motion and the character's reaction. If someone seems upset, how can you describe that through their body language?

Dialogue Tags - You can use fun dialogue tags, and you don't have to delete every -ly abverb attached to "said." However, as boring as it seems, keeping it simple with mostly using "said" and "replied" will do most of the job.

Re-Checking Sentence Structure - If all your sentences within a paragraph follow the same structure, your reader is likely to start to skim. Change things up with shorter sentences paired with longer ones. Chunk actions scenes with short, punchy sentences, make sure descriptive paragraphs don't have sentences that go on for way too long.

Feedback

There's no easy way to find a good critique partner. I wish there was. You can and should join writer's groups and offer exchanges, be they online or in person. Sometimes you can love someone's work, but you don't mess with them as a critique partner. It happens, keep trying.

When you do find a critique partner, it's always good to give them guidance on what you're looking for. Some good questions:

Pacing - When did they put the story down? Why?

Consistency - Was anything confusing? Did the character's choices make sense?

Plot - Where there any twists that were too obvious? Did the stakes feel important? Was the plot satisfying?

A Note on "Predictable" Plot

There is a consistent argument about predictive plots versus originality, but thinking too hard about it may lead you astray. Certain genres have expectations - cosy murders will be solved, romance will end with the leads getting together, etc. Readers often go into stories wanting some predictability, because it's the journey of the story that matters the most. Making sure the story is engaging to read is far more important than trying to be original.

That said, you'll find in your second and third drafts that you will be able to put your own design on familiar stories. Treading familiar ground in the first draft is common, but when taking another crack of it, you can raise the stakes and make that ending much more satisfying.

Good luck!

[insertdisc5]

I forgot if I asked this last time your inbox was open (though even if I did, you never answered it) but how long did you have the ideas for ISAT in your head before you started the development process? I've had this idea for a game for 12 years and haven't coded a single line. I'm writing the story first. Is that a bad idea? I know it's not a race, but I feel like I'm behind my fellow mid-20s creatives. I also can't draw for shit, nor can I afford to commission a thousand or so art pieces. Do you have any advice (other than replaying your game, which I plan to do anyway) for an aspiring indie dev who has felt like giving up but hasn't actually done it?

writing the story first is never a bad idea. however i think you should start actually making the game where you know stuff like "so im gonna have this boy and he's gonna become a jedi to fight the emperor and then the emperor is gonna be his DAD and then he saves the galaxy", even if you don't know what happens in between those cool things. aka when you know your beginning and end.

the reason you should start actually making the game then is because while making the game, you will realize the strengths and weaknesses of the software you're using. which means you'll realize you cant make this cool moment with a thousand enemies. but you CAN add little scenes every time the player uses a specific item. and knowing the intricacies of the software will make your game cooler

tldr: just start da gaem already!!!!! u can do eet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[zerosconsort]

Zero's Fic Binding - Sixpence In His Shoe

Sixpence In His Shoe by scifigrl47 [@scifigrl47]

Fandom: Marvel (Comics) Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Start Date: 02/05/24 End Date: 01/21/25 Pages: 253

I am, honestly, probably the most proud of this cover. This might be the most detailed, delicate, intricate thing I’ve made - ever. I know I haven’t been doing this long, but this? This is really good.

The amount of layers in this bitch is astounding. Sometimes I yearn for the embrace of a better graphic software then Canva. We’ll get there. Anyway.

There is an Owlcrate special edition of The Longest Autumn that inspired the shit out of me for this, along with the version of The Fine Print that i saw in Target that was this beautiful lined foil design. The idea of a mirrored, hyper intricate lace-like cover that wove all the individual parts of the story together drove me crazy. 

The vinyl is foil - which, if you are new to HTV and want to use it to make book covers, LISTEN: This foil sucks. All foil HTV sucks. It’s going to suck to cut. It’s going to REALLY suck to iron on. It will be worth it, but it’s going to try and drag your soul out of your body by your fingernails the entire time you’re using it.

Alright, lets talk about the process and the typeset. 

The entire theme of this fic is marriage - in both that the characters got married, are having a wedding, and are desperately in love with each other despite not actually telling each other that before said marriage and wedding. I initially was going to do a blue and white theme, more along the lines of really flowery modern wedding invitations - but then I read the fic again.

I forgot about the first chapter. Reading again, I paid more attention to what everyone around them was doing to celebrate marriage being legal. The process of it. The traditional feel of how it was done. And that’s the hook that I followed instead. 

Sixpence doesn't have chapter names - so instead I pulled some of the wedding traditions that I researched and used those as my chapter foundations.

Each chapter gets one, where I use the motif as the header and the scene breaks in the chapter. I also added the iconography to the chapter numbers in the header.

I made three of these in total. I fought this book every step of the way - I really needed to be a more experienced version of me to make this book the way I wanted to, but honestly? I literary did the best I could, and even I can tell that I did it.

The first copy of this book went to Sci - Its got a little extra character from being the first version, but out of the three sisters I made of this print run, she turned out the best looking. I'm keeping the most fucked up version (which is otherwise perfect, really, save for the fact that I put the FUCKING SPINE ON BACKWARDS), while the littlest sister is going to go to one of my best friends for a VERY belated gift.

This was a surprised gift for Sci - who had reached out to me almost 4 months ago and asked if they could maybe, possibly, have a copy of Maybe Tomorrow. I knew immediately that I wanted to make this for her too; I had the typeset in my Want To Make file since FEBRUARY OF 2024. So I dusted it off, dumped my other project to the side, and hyper focused on this book for about a month and a half. 

Sci - I admire the fuck out of you. You are a gift and a treasure, and I hope you are ok with me getting my little racoon hands on your fics. Thank you for being open to my interpretation of your work. It’s a privilege and an honor to bind them.

If by some miracle, you have not had the pleasure of reading Sixpence In His Shoe - or any of Sci’s work, #1 what the fuck, #2 please start here.

[aritsukemo]

I have a thing for.. | Furin First Year Six

Featuring: Sakura Haruka, Suo Hayato, Mitsuki Kiryu, Akihiko Nirei, Kyotaro Sugishita, and Taiga Tsugeura

Warnings: Sakura's being Sakura, Reader for Suo's part is heavily implied to be a female/fem-bodied ( they're on their period ), nicknames are thrown around in majority of these ( ex. love, pretty, babe, etc. ), author has only seen the anime as of right now so characters may be a bit ( or very ) ooc! That said, read at your own volition!

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!! 🎃 I've been obsessed with Windbreaker these past few days and I finally got the inspo to write about it! >.< Thank you @maruflix! Because of them and their amazing fics, I was able to motivate myself enough to get this done. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little scenario thing I put together! 🙈

The Oblivious Type - Sakura Haruka

A sigh slips from your lips, briefly breaking the tranquil silence that was brought upon you and your boyfriend shortly after your walk home began.

Your half-in-half haired love of your life paid you no mind as it seems that he was in his own world and looking straight ahead without so much as a glance your way. And to that, you found yourself pouting.

You sigh again, this time much louder and much more exasperated, like a bad actor in a play. Alas, it seems the ears attached to that pretty little head of his was all for show.

Guess you have to be more direct.

"I'm kinda hungry," You commented, your head—which was comfortably resting on his shoulder as you walked—tilting upwards some more so that you can better gaze at him. Sakura, at last, looks you way, and as usual, he locks eyes with you only to immediately look away, his face suddenly flushed crimson. You found the corner of your lips beginning to lift at the sight..only for them to fall moments later when Sakura fixes his lips to say, "So what? Why are you tellin' me?"

You could feel a wave of fire building in your chest at his response, yet part of you still had hope for him. And so, you huffed out a small, "Nevermind," waited a bit, and tried again. This time saying, "It's kinda chilly out here, don't you think?"

From this angle, you were able to catch a clear sight of his mismatched-colored brows knit into a split line. His eyes avoid yours and you felt his arm began to move to sling off his jacket.

..Or at least, you thought he was going to give you his jacket. Instead, he moved his arm to scratch the back of his head as he grumbled in that growly voice of his, "If you're cold, you should've brought a jacket or something. It's not my problem."

And that officially set you ablaze beyond recovery. As swiftly as a snap of a finger, your entire demeanor flipped and a deep frown embedded itself on your supple skin.

"Agh! Forget this!" You snatched your arm away roughly, nearly yanking Sakura into you in the process, and began to stomp off while grumbling under your breath about the whole ordeal you created.

"What's your problem?" Sakura shouted after you, his pace speeding up to catch up to you.

"You! You dense dummy!" You yelled back to which the dense dummy in question responded, "Hey! Who you callin' a dummy?!"

A loud groan booms throughout the street, "Just shut up and go away! I'm walking myself home!"

And to this day, Sakura has no idea what happened that evening or why his friends laughed ( or gave him pitying looks ) the next day when he told them about it.

The Prince Charming Type - Suo Hayato

A drawled whine slips from the damsel in their bed as a wave of pain struck their gut. It was that time of the month yet again, and like always, the first day was kicking their ass—quite literally at times.

After waking up to a crime scene this morning and being forced to strip their bed of it's many sheets along with their pajamas, they had been just about immobilized by abdominal pains. You could imagine how much of a pain it was to force themselves into the shower and make their bed.

And to make a bad situation worse is that they're cravings were through the roof! They wanted everything, soba, chips, chocolate, omurice rice, dorayaki—everything!

Needless to say that you've spent the entire morning curled up in bed trying not to throw up from the sheer pain while dreading your entire existence..and that's when he appeared.

With that suave smile of his, the beauty you had the honor to call your boyfriend—and savior—waltzed in your room with a large bag in hand.

"Morning, love," He cooed in that ever so serene voice of his, "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," You grumbled to which you earned the wonderful melody of his chuckle.

"I figured. I checked the calendar," He said, his implications becoming further clear as he sets the large bag at the edge of your bed and took out—

"My heating pad!" You cried out as your upper half shot up—an action you instantly regretted as your shout vibrated throughout your entire being, further enraging your body along with the sharp movement you just performed and ultimately causing you to keel over on your bed.

"You left it at my house," Suo replied—answering the silent question that started floating in the air after you let out a whiny groan—as he swiftly unraveled it and handed it to you to place on your stomach before plugging it up.

"I also noticed that you ran out of pain medicine so I got you some," He mentioned, before following up with, "Would you like to take some now or after you eat?"

"After I eat?" You parroted, confusion dripping off your words. And, with that gorgeous smile of his serving as your only hint, his hand disappeared into the bag. Returning to the surface shortly after with another smaller bag in tow.

"Is that—?" "Your favorite takeout? Yes, it is," He neared you once again, his free arm coming down to gently help you into a sitting position before swapping hands to place the takeout on your lap and adding, "No need to wonder what's inside, I got your usual."

Gods, what did you do to bag such a man? The thought popped into your head at the same time a smile popped onto your face and your hand began eagerly digging in the bag like a starved man.

"Where would I be without you..?" You mumbled before popping the first bite of your food in your mouth, your rough movements causing a bit of sauce to splatter across the corner of your mouth, making you look rather..unladylike. Not that you've been exactly the classiest person today.

Regardless of your appearance, Suo looked at you as if you were the one who created the word beautiful, gazing at you oh so lovingly as he took a napkin from your bag and used it to gently swipe the stain away. And, despite your rather rhetorical utterance, Suo answers your earlier question with a teasing, "Probably still curled up in pain and whining like some hurt little kitten."

You hum in agreement, mouth having already been stuffed with another large bite of food as relief began to surface at the heat that finally enveloped your stomach.

"I'll go and throw your bloody sheets and clothes in the washing machine," He said, leaving a chaste kiss atop your head before spinning on his heel.

"How did you know—" "Just had a feeling," He shushed, smoothly putting the topic to rest as he disappeared into your hallway..only to immediately poke his head back in the doorway.

"Oh, and when I get back, I'll be all yours," He said, "We can watch your favorite cartoons if you'd like."

And like a little kid, you beam, "Yes please!" Gods do you wish you could give a thank you kiss to whoever raised this glorious man!

The Romantic Type - Mitsuki Kiryu

As soon as you got home, Kiryu wrapped up the game he was playing rather quickly—despite having been so invested in it moments prior—and went to your side on you guys' favorite beanbag chair.

Like the cat he was, he curled up to you—who had immediately leaned against him upon him sitting down—and caged you with his arms, which was practically a blanket from how baggy the cloth that surrounded them were..

"How was your day, beautiful..?" He hummed lightly in your ear, his chin resting against your shoulder—which he noticed was quite stiff, but didn't comment on it.

A raspy sigh leaves your lips, one filled with nothing but frustration, "Rough," Was all you told him and his hand was already trailing over to rub at your side, the other entangling itself in the hand closest to it.

"Wanna talk about? Or, do you want to just skip to the part where I make you feel better?" He asks, his question coming off as a silent invitation as he started placing kisses along your shoulder blade, saying in between pecks, "Doing both is also an option. I'm really good at multi-tasking."

And in a matter of a minute, he already had you giggling like a some lovestruck schoolgirl. The burning irritation and headache from the earlier events that occurred was still there nonetheless.

"Whichever you want to do.. I don't really care I just..want to stay like this for as long as possible," You told him, and with a hum of confirmation from him, he begins to shift.

He moves you to one leg, his hand leaving yours and trailing up your arm, your shoulder, until it reaches your jawline where he stops to gently push it in his direction. Your head softly rolled, and the moment the two of you locked eyes, his lips were on your skin.

He started up high; his lips connecting with your temple where he could feel the vein angrily pulsating. He then kisses down your face..

"Sorry you had such a bad day, pretty.." He said in a hushed tone, his lashes tickling your skin as his lips took the time to cover the entirety of your cheek in little pecks before moving to plant a kiss to your nose.

"If I could, I'd take all this irritation and pain from your cute little head," He moves to your other cheek, leaving kisses as best he can from the angle he's at before moving over to your jaw, his hands rubbing firm circles into your lower back, firmly palming and messaging at the tensing muscle, "Since I can't though, I'll just make you feel better some other way."

"We could play a game," He suggests, his assault on your flustered face pausing so he can look you in the eye, "I can cook you a meal..or would you prefer it if I ordered aomething instead? That way, we can snuggle like this and you can take your anger out on something."

You hum. Truth be told, you had stopped processing his words as soon as he left the first kiss on your skin. That said, at the cool call of your name, you dumbly responded with a dreamy-sorta-sounding sigh..which went straight to his heart.

Honestly, if he was able to bring himself to move his hands away from you, he'd take out his phone, snap a picture, and add it to his collection of other saved pictures of you.

"Nevermind," He chuckled as he leaned in to kiss your lips at last, his lips trembling against yours from his attempt at trying to conceal his laughter, "Let's just make out, yeah? We can think later.."

The Idiot In Love Type - Akihiko Nirei

Joyous giggles burst from cherry-colored lips, it's buoyancy and airiness serving as a stark contrast to the dull, loud chatter that fills the background. It was like music to his ears. Like an angel singing or a siren's call.

Regardless of what it reminded him of, he'd be put under the same spell over and over nevertheless.

It was, at last, the end of the week which meant that it was finally time for you and Nirei's biweekly date night. This time around, you wanted to treat Nirei to something extra special..and what better way to treat your man than to take him out to a fancy restuarant?

It took a minute to walk all the way here in the outfit you were wearing, but it was worth every blister and every dime! The staff has given the two of you nothing but ten star quality service and the food is to die for!

..Alas, you couldn't help but think this was a mistake. Quickly into the night, your adorable boyfriend had been struck silent for reasons unknown and had simply been staring at you. To avoid awkward tension from arising, you've been rambling on about your week only to get a couple of hums and nods from him.

You knew a scene like this one wasn't exactly Nirei's cup of tea, but you didn't think he'd be this turned off by the atmosphere..

And so, after having your fork between your teeth for so long that you're sure you left a permenant dent in the shape of your teeth in it, you set it atop your plate and called Nirei's name. He hums as he's been doing for the past hour now and it makes your lips quirk down along with your brows.

"Hey, Nirei. Are you..enjoying yourself?" You asked, and as if he was snapped out of a spell by the sweet symphony of your voice, he blinks and his mouth falls open to let out a stammering, "H- Huh?"

"You don't have to lie," You reassure, but your tone sounds more and more defeated with every word you utter. And your face..it reminds Nirei of a sad kitten and it's causing his heart to ache, "I can call a waiter over and we can leave."

"What are you saying?" He asks, his face giving away the genuine bewilderment he feels towards your sudden exclamation, "Why would we leave? We only just got our food.. I- Is something wrong?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" And that furthers his growing panic as he stutters out, "Wh- What do you mean?" And thankfully, you notice his sudden distress to which you reach your hand across the table cloth—being careful to avoid his glass—as you offer your open palm to him.

And without hesitation, he latches his hand onto yours, allowing you to curl your fingers around the edge of his hand while your thumb strokes the supple skin.

"It's nothing you did, hun'," You reassured, "I just noticed that you seemed a little..distant this evening. You haven't talked much at all and you've just been staring and—" You sigh softly, pausing for a moment to collect yourself. Nirei waits, not saying a word the entire time.

"..I just.. I just assumed that you don't like it here..and that's completely okay by the way! There's always the next date, right?"

"What are you talking about?" He says, his brows frowning impossibly deeper into his freckled skin, "I love this, really! I'm having a great time!"

And this time, you're the one giving him confusing glances and making sounds, asking, "I'm serious Nirei, you don't have to lie to me It's okay if you're uncomfortable! I could tell.. You were really quiet and staring like you were.."

And without hesitation, Nirei blurts out, "Well that's because I think you're really pretty." And a curtain of silence as cast over your table.

Well, it did for a moment. Once Nirei actually processed what he said, he let out a small squeak and slapped his hand over his mouth, looking absolutely mortified at the face of your gentle, awestruck expression.

"I- I'm sorry I probably shouldn't have said that I mean it's true that you're really pretty but now probably wasn't the best time to say that and I'm so so sorry if I creeped you out or—" "Is that why you were acting like that?"

"Huh? ..Well, yeah..I- I guess you could say that.." He bumbles like an idiot as his eyes drink in your every micro expression. The slight twitch of the inner corners of your brows, your trembling lips, the growing stain of red beginning at the tip of your ears which is only noticeable after you pushed some strands of your hair back and scratched at your cheek..

You should be apart of a painting in a museum. It'd be an honor to be the painter of such a piece..though, he doesn't believe he'd be able to capture your radiance like other, far more skilled people probably could.

And before he knew it, he was mumbling nonsense, "I find you appealing in every way. From your smile to your laugh to your marks and blemishes.. Everything about you is so alluring that I just..get lost in thought about it, y'know?"

And you were struck silent once again. Before his regret causes him to shoot out a bazillion apologies per minute, however, you recover and slowly bring his hand up to your face. Nirei watches with flushed cheeks as you place a bashful kiss to his knuckles.

"My sweet prince..'had me worried for a second.." You mumbled against his skin, letting his hand go as you let out a breathy chuckle and your own hands come up to cover part of your face, "Now I feel silly.."

And just like that, he was under your spell once again, never to break out of it until your eyes reluctantly released him later that evening..

He's not complaining.

The Quiet Chivalric Type - Kyotaro Sugishita

A stuttering breath slips through your chattering teeth as a rather strong, chilling wind nicks at your skin and blows through your hair.

This was the last time you were ever going to listen to your tv.

You see, that morning you had a bit of a dilemma; you had no idea what you wanted to wear today. Usually you'd just throw something on, but since your boyfriend decided he wanted to spend the entire day out with you, you wanted to dress up for him.

It wasn't the best decision you've made, but you decided to consult in someone you thought would never lie to you; the weatherman. He said, and you quote, "It'll be warm throughout the day with low chances of showers!"

Turns out he was full of shit. As the day went on, the sky began to gray and cloud little by little, until, guess what, it. freaking. rained! Not a few droplets either, it was literally pouring buckets for, like, an hour!

And now, you walk alongside your boyfriend, your cute summer-theme outfit thoroughly drenched, your arms caged around your chest, and you shivering and shaking like a leaf.

If you get sick you swear to the gods above you'll—!

Dampened warmth suddenly spreads around your being. It was like the sun had given you a hug or more like you had been enveloped in blankets after a nice, long shower; complete heaven on earth. What's more is that this warmth has a scent to it. A rather pleasant aroma that reminds you of..

Your eyes drift, widening at the sight of Sugishita now stripped down to his gray tee, his Bofurin jacket—the symbol that stood for all that he idolizes—now draped over your shoulder.

"'What are you doing? You got soaked too. At this rate, you'll get sick.." Despite your protests, your grip on his jacket only tightened, your finger fiddling with one of the buttons. And like your body, it seemed that your boyfriend was just as unwilling to accept the jacket back, a semi-loud, gruff huff slipping through the thin opening his lips parted to create.

And at the face of such stubborn kindness, who are you to refuse?

With a smile beginning to form on your face, you lower your arms from your chest, one hand quickly coming up to cover your exposed body with the jacket while the other reached for his hand..

"You're a lifesaver, 'Taro. Thanks for this," You told him, stopping the two of you momentarily so that you can plant a quick kiss to his cheek before continuing your journey home once again.

..And as you predicted, your poor boyfriend had caught a real bad cold overnight and was bedridden with a fever by morning. You felt absolutely horrible as you tended to him with his freshly washed jacket hanging off your arms..

The Athletic Golden Retriever Type - Taiga Tsugeura

"Ninety six... Ninety seven..." Loud shouts resonate throughout the cozy little living room, it's volume shaking the liquid of all drinks in the vicinity. One is sure that if it wasn't for the furniture being as sturdy as it was, the boom of his voice would rattle them to the point of collapsing.

All that's to say that you didn't mind the noise. As you sat comfortably crisscross on your favorite seat—which so happened to be your boyfriend's back side—your eyes were trained on your phone, eyes following every movement the dancers on the tiny screen made as their voices were blasted along with a catchy tune throughout your bulky headphones.

Even with such deafening noise surrounding your earlobes, you still gave a part of your attention to the man, who was currently pushing you up and down as if you were a mere dumbbell, below you. That said, through the music, you were still able to hear the gruff yell of Tsugeura as he yells, "Ninety nine... One hundred!"

As he eased himself to the ground for the nth time that day, you released him of your weight by sliding off his back and onto your furry rug. You then immediately reached to flick your headphones off your ears—ignoring the fact that your music was so loud that you could still hear the music as clear as day despite the headphones no longer being on your ears—before your hand closest to him came up to ruffle his hair.

"Good job, baby," You praised, "Want your protein shake now?" And to that your boyfriend nods his head up and down like some excitable pup to which you gingerly awarded him with the banana-flavored protein shake.

As he sat up and began gulping down his already half-drunken drink, you watch in silence. Patiently waiting for him to finish his treat before speaking again.

"Is that all for your afternoon workout?" You asked him to which your boyfriend loudly responded, "Yeah! Thanks for the help, babe! The extra weight really did the trick!"

"Am I really that heavy?" You questioned, beginning to frown at the thought. You were never one to exactly care about your weight, but to be so heavy that your buff ass partner likes to use you as a giant weight is a little..

Tsugeura blinks, looking rather bemused as he replies, "Not at all! You're practically a feather!" And despite the sheer amount of confidence in his words, you found yourself skeptical.

"Then if I'm so light, why make me do all of this? I mean, you make me sit on you while you do push ups and I sit on your shoulders when you do your squats," You mentioned and without missing a beat, he says with a big grin plastering itself on his face, "Well, it gives me the excuse to spend time with you!"

You freeze, and as his words process in your head, you feel your face grow warmer and warmer. It seems your boyfriend noticed it, but didn't understand why you were suddenly so abash. That said, he tilts his head to the side as he stares at you.

You're sure that if he had ears, they'd be flopping to the side along with his head. It'd truly be an adorable sight.

"Hey, what's wrong? Why'd you suddenly go silent? You're turning all red too."

"It's nothing. I was just..thinking about some stuff."

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[idk6123]

Abusive And Loving (Soldier Boy X Male Reader)

Long before The Seven, there was another superhero group, Payback. And although they appeared grandiose with their god-like strength, like every superhero group, secrets lurked behind the scenes. The Seven weren’t the first to have these secrets. At least Payback appeared to have things under control, back in 1980. That’s what the public thought, at least—not the members of Payback.

As the entire team stood frozen, their teammate, Black Noir, had just been beaten to the floor. But that didn’t stop Soldier Boy, who continued pounding on his teammate. While everyone was too scared to intervene, one person wasn’t.

“That’s enough!”

Soldier Boy was shocked when his arm was pulled back right before he could kick Black Noir again, with Noir spitting blood. The leader turned to see his teammate, Chrono, also known as Y/N—the man who could manipulate time itself.

Soldier Boy yanked his arm back and glared. “Don’t fucking interfere!”

Just as he was about to throw a punch at Y/N, the time manipulator casually dodged. Enraged, Soldier Boy kept trying to punch him. But no matter how many punches he threw, Y/N dodged every one. Sometimes it took effort, but mostly it was effortless, which only annoyed Soldier Boy more.

“I can just rewind everything. Stop trying to hit me.”

Despite Y/N’s logic, Soldier Boy kept going. It got to the point where he chased Y/N out of their hideout and into an empty park in the dead of night. Even as time passed, Soldier Boy’s anger didn’t subside.

As he charged into the park, searching for Y/N, he ran past a tree—only to get smacked by a branch. Falling to the ground, Soldier Boy quickly looked up, his face stinging with pain, and saw the culprit.

“Holy fucking shit—how many times do we need to do this!?” Y/N sounded annoyed. “You always try to hit me, but you can’t, and you know fucking why!”

“Then stop rewinding and let me beat the shit outta you!” Soldier Boy shouted, standing up, ready to fight again.

“Oh my—I'm going to try something...” Y/N muttered.

Right before Soldier Boy could strike, Chrono touched him. The soldier froze completely, suspended in time. Though he could look around, listen, and breathe, he couldn’t move. When he tried to talk, all he could manage were muffled hums.

“Oh, cool, my stasis works.” Y/N said, sounding surprised. Soldier Boy tried to glare at him, but it was futile. “Anyway, I’m fucking done with you trying to beat me into a pulp, so I’ll give you a couple of options. One, I can kill you. Two, I can turn you into a child or something and raise you right. Three, we can talk, like… actual adults are supposed to do. …Dunno about a fourth.” Soldier Boy merely stared at him, not that he had much choice. “Right, you can’t answer. Just… hum the number of times for the option you want.”

After some hesitation, Soldier Boy gave up his pursuit of beating Y/N and hummed three times.

“Finally…” Y/N muttered as he removed the stasis, causing Soldier Boy to fall to the ground. “If this is some trick, I swear—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Soldier Boy stood up. Though he wasn’t trying to fight anymore, he was still pissed.

“Okay, that’s an improvement.” Y/N said casually. “Look, I’m gonna make this easier for you. Since you’re not a talker—clearly, may I add—I know a few things about processing your emotions.”

Soldier Boy groaned. “Please shut up.”

“We can go on a road trip.” Soldier Boy looked annoyed as Y/N listed out suggestions. “We can paint or do some kind of creative outlet—really fun, by the way. Uhm… a rage room, but I think we’d need a rage building for you.”

“You’re making this really hard to not beat you.” The soldier shamelessly commented.

“Fine, fine. Uhh… alcohol and drugs probably aren’t good. Oh, how about sex?”

Soldier Boy stared at Y/N, trying to read if he was joking or not. “I hope you’re not saying we should fuck.”

“Why not?” Y/N replied nonchalantly.

“I’m not a faggot.”

“Yeah, and every rich guy says that too until they go on a business trip with their ‘friends.’”

Soldier Boy sighed, looking around to make sure no one was nearby. When he looked back at his teammate, he saw a smirk. Resigning to his frustration, the soldier unbuckled his pants and got ready to take them down.

“Get those fucking pants off.”

-

Ever since that day, Soldier Boy’s and Chrono’s relationship evolved into something more than just teammates. Although it wasn’t official, they formed a bond that was more than just hook-up partners. While Soldier Boy didn’t notice it, Chrono did.

During their stay in a war zone, the team holed up in a hotel. Feeling his usual anger, Soldier Boy sought comfort beyond beating someone down. After some fun minutes, he and Y/N lay under the sheets, completely naked. Feeling slightly relieved, Soldier Boy grabbed a cigarette and began smoking.

“Wasn’t the sex good enough?”

Soldier Boy glanced back with a smirk. “You could be more… licky.”

Y/N chuckled. “Next time I lick your pistol, soldier.” The brunette chuckled again, taking another drag from his cigarette. That’s when the other hero leaned closer, looking more serious. “…Do you notice we’ve been spending more time together?”

Soldier Boy looked intrigued. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I… I feel like I see you differently. Instead of that maniac who beats his teammates, I see you as a troubled man… that also beats his teammates.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Soldier Boy asked, genuinely interested rather than angry.

“Yeah.”

Soldier Boy raised an eyebrow. “Well, what is that supposed to mean? Out with it.”

“I… I feel like we’re a couple.” The soldier looked surprised, while Y/N seemed a bit nervous—a rare sight. That meant one thing.

“You didn’t rewind this before.”

“Yeah… this is the first try to tell you how I feel…” Y/N admitted, expecting Soldier Boy to be angry, but instead, he just looked intrigued. “I’m okay if you don’t feel this way, but…”

“You love me?” Soldier Boy asked bluntly.

“…Yeah, I guess.”

Soldier Boy hummed, taking another drag before speaking. “Look, I’m okay with this whole hooking-up thing, but I’m not a faggot.” He then glared at Y/N. “Not a fucking joke.”

“I wasn’t.”

Sensing Y/N’s sincerity, Soldier Boy eased up slightly. “It’s not that I hate this. It’s just wrong to be with another man. I get that things are more accepting, but… I’m not supposed to be… this.”

Y/N hummed quietly. “You haven’t said what you really feel.” Soldier Boy wondered what he meant. “…You only said how society views this, not how you feel.”

Soldier Boy stared at Y/N, thinking for a while before answering. “I can’t promise you anything. I don’t want a relationship where we hold hands while walking, or I take you out to the movies, or we get married and everyone’s there to see it.”

“You still haven’t said how you really feel.”

Letting out a sigh, Soldier Boy wished Y/N would stop questioning him. “Look, it’s not fucking easy. Just because I want to be with you doesn’t mean we fucking can!”

While Y/N flinched, he soon calmed down. “You want to be with me…”

The soldier breathed deeply as he calmed down. “I guess…” With hesitation, he moved his hand to Y/N’s face, touching it gently. “This stays fucking between us. If you ever tell anyone—”

“You kill me. Fair.” Y/N smiled softly. “So… we’re a couple, Ben?”

Benjamin eventually cracked a smile. “Couple is a strong word… but, if you say we’re a couple, I won’t argue.”

-

A year has passed, during which Y/N and Ben often went on business trips that doubled as romantic getaways. Today, Chrono has a surprise for his lover. Inside the car, Y/N is driving while his boyfriend’s eyes are covered with a towel.

“When you said my eyes had to be covered, I thought we were doing something freaky.” Soldier Boy comments with a smirk. “Or that it was taking you this long to get to the freaky part.”

“Nothing weird. You just have to wait and see the surprise.”

As the trip continues, Soldier Boy smiles carefree, alongside his partner. Wearing something casual, it feels like one of the rare times they’re just normal people.

A couple of minutes later, they arrive at their destination. Y/N helps Ben out of the car. The soldier instantly feels grass beneath his shoes. As they walk, Ben begins to guess what the surprise could be.

“All right, we’re here.” Y/N says with excitement.

“Finally.”

“Now, three… two… one…”

The blindfold is removed. Ben now sees a big farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Despite the isolation, the place feels peaceful. There aren’t any farm animals or crops yet, but the house looks like it has potential.

“Don’t tell me we’re going to be farmers.” Ben says.

Y/N chuckles. “Even better.” He steps in front of his partner, holding up a set of house keys.

Shocked, Soldier Boy doesn’t know what to say. “You bought a house?”

“I bought a house for us.” Y/N responds with a smirk while Ben still looks stunned. “Somewhere peaceful, so we don’t get bothered by anyone anymore.”

“You’re thinking about retiring?” Soldier Boy already sounds hesitant.

“No. This is just our getaway place.” Y/N looks back at the large farmhouse with a smile. “Just… somewhere we can go to pretend the world isn’t shit. I don’t expect us to come here every day, but… once in a while… it could be fun.”

As Y/N looks back, Ben relaxes a bit. “And here I thought you wanted us to retire, get married, grow old, and start a family.”

Chrono chuckles. “Maybe later.” He places the keys into his partner’s hand and holds it. “I get that you’re still struggling with being with another man. And… I’m proud of you for handling it so well. But I still want to feel like we’re a normal couple.” Soldier Boy listens closely as his boyfriend shares his thoughts. “So… can we at least try to act like a normal couple?”

“You say that, but who’s going to act like the wife between us?” Ben asks. “I’m not one to cook for others.”

“We’ll both be the husband, dumbass.” Y/N laughs. “Well, guess we’re boyfriends for now.”

Ben raises an intrigued eyebrow. “For now?”

Y/N sighs. “You know what I mean.”

Ben chuckles. “Fine. If it makes you happy, let’s stay here for a couple of days.”

“Thanks.” Y/N says with a genuine smile.

-

When nighttime arrives, the couple is watching TV. Feeling cheesy, they’re watching TV shows and movies featuring Payback. With popcorn on Y/N’s lap, they’re spooning while eating from the bowl. Dressed in sweats, they feel comfortable and relaxed.

“You’re a great singer.” Y/N comments.

“Thanks.” Soldier Boy replies. “And you’re a great actor.”

“Yeah, but I kinda had a bad attitude behind the scenes. Made sure to kill those damn directors before rewinding back.” Y/N laughs, taking another handful of popcorn. “Kinda wish it could be like this every day.” He looks back at his lover. “I know we’ve got jobs as heroes, but… maybe retiring isn’t so bad.”

“I get that.” Ben says, feeling completely comfortable. “Out here, I can just be myself.”

As the couple smiles lovingly at each other, staring into one another’s eyes, Ben suddenly has something to say.

“Maybe one day, we can get married and just… live here.”

Y/N’s smile grows. “For someone who didn’t want to admit we’re a couple, you sure grew out of that.”

“I’m serious!” Ben laughs. “I… really like where we are and where we’re heading.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Ben says confidently. He then gets an idea. Standing up from the couch, causing some leftover popcorn to spill onto the floor, the soldier gets down on one knee.

Y/N looks a bit surprised. “Ben, what are you doing?”

“Y/N, I know getting married to another man isn’t legal, but fuck the details. What we can do is get married illegally or something. You’ll be my husband, and I’ll be yours. We’ll live our lives in secret, but at least we’ll be married.”

As Y/N smiles, the soldier knows what his answer will be.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Y/N quickly pulls his fiancé into a hug, which Ben happily returns.

“Fuck!” Y/N exclaims.

“What?”

“You didn’t get me a ring!”

Ben chuckles. “I’ll buy you one later.”

As they stop hugging, the brunette kisses his fiancé. No matter how bad things might get with Payback, they know they’ll always have each other.

[jaal-ama-daravv]

dissecting act 3 & emmrichs final romance scene (mortal & lich)

dissecting the graveyard scene dissecting the mortal romance path scene dissecting the mortal emmrich argument scene (all routes) emmrich x rook cinematic (mortal)

lich version dissecting the alternate romance path dissecting the argument scene (lich path) dissecting the emmrich romance scene (lich) mortal vs lich romance path emmrich x rook cinematic

look this is half a thirst trap post im not gonna lie to ya

ACT 3 - OH MY GOD.

Now. We all know that dreaded argument scene that fills us with angst and really gets us in our feelings for the final 4 hours. which was 100% done on purpose, thanks bioware, you succeeded. i did in fact regret that conversation and cried immensely

We have the argument with Emmrich, then we have our mini resolution of Emmrich trying to apologise, and Rook responding with, "We'll talk back home Emmrich, I promise."

Fast forward an hour, and ive just about pulled the plug because emmrich gets trapped by Ghil, someone dies, and then we are sucked into the fade - trapped. FOR WEEKS.

I truly wish bioware included flashbacks, or rook being able to see the lighthouse whilst they were trapped so that we see our LI panic, and fret. Can you imagine Emmrich? The last conversation they had was a fight, and a fight that stemmed from love at that. regardless of the route you took, both rook and emmrich regret that argument deeply. I mean deeply. And most likely regret not saying, i love you in that moment. or any moment. god when emmrich got sucked up by ghil i was locked IN. nothing was stopping me.

Emmrich wouldn't of been able to sleep, he wouldn't of been eating, he would've been working day AND night like a dog on the dagger. he wouldve been irritable, he wouldve been incessant, he wouldn't of been put together, not clean shaven. id bet money on this.

despite bioware not giving us a good reconciliation scene or a glimpse at what happend during those weeks - BOY DID THEY FUCKING EAt with the pulling you out of the fade section. Oh my god. Emmrich's voice being timed right after Varric saying with "You have everything you need", AND THEN PULLING YOU OUT OF THE FADE WITH HIS ARM.

anyway - AFTER T H A T.

You have the romance scene (mortal dissection | lich dissection)

and then my god - i have no words - literally - just look

goodbye ovaries

The Final Goodbye (Mortal/Lich)

Now these are the exact same for both mortal and lich, ill tell you when its different below - to which this is dissapointing as I feel like the final romance scene is so 'meh'? it's very idk, scripted. I feel like there needs to be a dip in emmrichs voice when he says i love you to rook - maybe its just me, but regardless, its meh meh to me. the whole scene is just kinda -

I'll skip to the romance part anyway as there is nothing of substance in the first half

1. I love you, too.

I feel like - underwhelmed with this response. its just slapped on like a bumpersticker

2. I'm glad we met.

I cannot believe that this line of dialogue is hidden beneath the most basic of thought processes - i love it

its emotonal - its hopeful

YESSSS - PLAN WITH ME!!!! This is digustingly impactful if playing the mortal path. the man has hope for the future. oh I need not say more for its delivered so wonderfully.

HEHE

3. Be safe. I can't lose you.

I thoroughly enjoy this path, I feel so much emotion from Rook and Emmrich in these lines. the worry, the love. although it is kind of a shock to the system because we still went from. OH MY GOD DEATH, to oh yeah death with Emmrich.

exactly how the argument scene should've went, BUT, I get it, now if only we had a reconciliation scene in the middle or a conversation, i'd have no notes and be out of business

Now here is the divergence, of like two lines, that occurrs directly after the above dialogue

Lich Version

Mortal Version

its sweet, its sensual, its loving. but there no oomf. theres no, fear. the mortal version is my preference here as I like the slight reminder of emmrich being alive. in saying that, considering what we have been enamored with and reminded of at every single quest of his. but in the last romance dialogue its, gone? the fear overcome? one line, one word makes a difference. idk man. like I have my full speculation that there is a sequel with rook and companins again, and if there is ill let this go. but if this is it, WITH no epilogue screen? please, as much as i like fanfiction and headcanons and art. id like it IN the game.

a fantastic romance, but a stale last conversation. IN SAYING THAT. I choose to look past it as much as possible as it is sweet and I just love him.

ANYWAY, love you all, im pen for questions and the full emmrich dissection with all my very detailed explantions is coming in a few days

♥

[dduane]

Off some tags to a previous post...

...these from @faelyn42, off this post:

#curious if these digital art pieces are going to be used for something#e.g. a book cover or promotional material#or if they're just for fun#either way it's very cool#helps to visualize certain scenes/characters if nothing else

They serve all kinds of purposes, depending on what I'm writing at the time.

First of all, they're definitely practice for actual book covers and promotional art: because while I can see things in my head, I can't really draw. The program can, though. :)

So the covers are all over the place on Ebooks Direct (and various of them are at Amazon, and other places); as, if anything needs to look polished enough to encourage that "second look" at a book, it's the cover. There's a lot to learn (and keep learning) about this art as styles and tastes change, and I do my best to keep learning.

I've been known to design covers right here, more or less step by step, while people are watching... to demonstrate that even the initially-clueless (like me) can successfully do this.

ETA: I completely forgot that I much more recently did a step-by-step build—on this cover…

(Inserting a cut here, because a fair number of images will follow. Warning: upcoming imagery includes unsubtle sight gags, vaguely cyberpunk cityscapes, car repair. beings with their hair on fire, and tw: for references to gayness and pastrami.)

...Anyway. Sometimes the images are just jokes that tend to be hip- deep in meta.

Sometimes they're sketches for work that'll need to be done again at a later date (like this one for my first I-got-paid-for-writing-Sherlock-Holmes story, "The Adventure of the Lioness's Mane:" some discussion of the process is over here).

Some of them are actual scenes from works already written or ones in progress.

Sometimes they're just character studies...

...or me goofing off.

But at all times—pretty much—their major purpose is to help me see something (or several somethings) more precisely, so that I can write more clearly about it/them. Pushing a given scene through the sometimes fairly complicated technical issues required to create and render it can also have the useful effect of making one think harder about the character business that makes it necessary for it to look a specific way. ...At least that's how it tends to work for me.

Anyway: thanks for the question! Hope this has answered it a bit. :)

[sissylittlefeather]

I'm sorry this took me a million years to write @sloppiest-of-jos! Anyway, I hope it lives up to what you were wanting!

Searching for You

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and touch of angst

Word count: ~2.5k

"Elvis, you have a WIFE and a CHILD. Tell me again how you think this could possibly work out?!" Elvis sits in a chair, watching you pace around the room from behind his silver sunglasses.

"Honey, I've told you and told you. Those are my problems, not yours. I love you. I want you." He stands up and walks over to you, taking your hand gently and rubbing small circles on the back of it with his thumb. You look up at him and almost melt. Then, you yank your hand away and walk across the room.

"No! This has gone on for way too long." Memories of how you met on the set of the Singer special in '68 come screaming back to you. You think about him noticing you, a humble back up dancer for the bordello scene. He had walked straight to you and asked your name, not even bothering to pretend like he didn't like you. You'd seen him with the other girls and couldn't believe he was actually talking to you. But something about you caught his attention and he wasn't letting you get away. He invited you up to his dressing room after filming was finished and it didn't take long at all for you to end up naked on the couch, squirming as he brought you pleasure you had only ever dreamed about.

That was two years ago.

No matter how hard the two of you tried, you couldn't stay away from each other. The space between you was electric and you made ways to be together as often as possible, despite his marital status and your guilt. You fell hard and fast for him and he insisted he felt the same way, but he never entertained the possibility of ending his marriage.

On this particular occasion, you pace the floor half-dressed insisting this will be the last time. You're leaving California, removing yourself from the equation, and he is not pleased. Once you pull on the rest of your clothes, you point your shoe at him and yell.

"I'm done, Elvis. I'm done with being your back up girl to keep you company when your wife is gone. It hurts too much."

"Honey, it's not like that! You're the one I want! If anything, she's the back up girl."

"Then why won't you leave her?"

"I-I I can't."

"Yeah." You stuff your shoes on your feet and head for the door. "Goodbye, Elvis."

This isn't the first time you've had this argument, by far, but what Elvis doesn't know is that this time you're really leaving. You pack up all your things with tears streaming down your cheeks and head for home. The drive is long, but you've hit the end of your capacity for loving Elvis like this. You wonder how long it'll take him to figure out you're gone. Will he even care?

******

Elvis gives you two weeks to get over this most recent fight, sure that all he has to do is call you when Priscilla goes out of town. But when he does, your phone's been cut off. He hangs up and looks at the receiver in confusion. Surely you didn't actually leave.

He gets in his car and drives to your apartment. Maybe you've just changed your number and he needs to appeal to you in person. But when he knocks on your door, a man he doesn't recognize answers. He gets over his initial wave of jealousy and asks about you.

"Uh, I'm looking for y/n?"

"No one here by that name. Wait are you-?"

"Thanks." Elvis turns and walks quickly back to his car before the guy can ask him for anything.

When he gets back to his house, he calls all of his Memphis mafia into the living room and gives them an assignment. They need to find you and he wants it done yesterday. The guys all look at each other in mild panic and then head out to see what they can do while Elvis sits on the couch smoking a cigarillo trying to process his shock. You're really gone. Where on earth did you go?

******

After a week of Elvis wracking his brain and the guys bribing neighbors and friends, Sonny finally has a breakthrough.

"I was able to get ahold of her best friend at work."

"Yeah, and?"

"She went home to Kentucky."

"Home to Kentucky. Where in Kentucky?"

"She didn't know, but she said she knew it wasn't far from Nashville." Elvis rolls his eyes.

"What the hell does that even mean?! There are a lot of places in Kentucky that aren't far from Nashville. How does she define far?" Sonny looks at the ground and shakes his head.

"I don't know, boss. That's all she knew."

"Goddamnit." Elvis kicks the nearest table and Sonny looks at him hard.

"Might be time to give up on this one." Elvis meets his eyes with his eyebrows raised and then shakes his head.

"No. She's... no." He turns and heads for his bedroom. When he comes back with a suitcase, Sonny tries to stop him.

"Where you goin'?"

"Well, I guess I'm going somewhere in Kentucky that's not far from Nashville."

"You're really gonna go after her then?"

"Yes." Elvis gets in his car and starts on the road East towards Kentucky and you.

******

When Elvis finally makes it to Kentucky, he drives from small town to small town looking for you. He has a picture of you that he took one night that he shows to people. He has lots of pictures of you, but this is the only one appropriate for public consumption. He thanks God that he thought to take one with your clothes on one time. Honestly, it's his favorite photo of you because it's so naturally beautiful, your smile gentle and your hair a little messy from lovemaking.

The more he looks for you, the more it becomes apparent how much he loves you. He's been saying it for a while, but the emptiness he experiences at not knowing how to find you makes him know exactly how true it is. He loves you so much that he's driving around Kentucky just to find you again. How did he think he could give you up?

He's starting to lose hope when he comes across a preacher in a small town called Franklin. Exhausted and hopeless, he shows him the picture of you.

"That's y/n!"

"Yes!" Elvis looks up, shocked. "Do you know her?"

"Of course I do. I baptized her, didn't I?" Elvis laughs and hugs the man.

"Is she here? Where can I find her?"

"I haven't seen her in a long time, but if she's in town, she'll be at her parents' house." He gives Elvis the address just as it begins to rain. For the first time in weeks, Elvis is filled with hope and he decides he'll do anything to get you back.

He pulls up in front of the address that the preacher gave him and his heart beats wildly. He's so close to being with you again. The steady rain soaks him to the bone and he knocks on your front door and waits for someone to open it.

You see him through the windows and panic. How the hell did he find you here?! You know you won't be able to resist him if he talks to you, so you run outside and jump in your car, backing out of the driveway quickly.

But he sees you and tries to run to the car.

"Honey, wait! I just wanna talk to ya!" You focus on the road ahead and step on the gas to get away. Elvis runs back to his car and jumps into the driver's seat, starting the engine and throwing it in drive. He tries to catch up to you, but you're driving like a crazy person. The rain is still coming down pretty hard and he starts to worry about you driving like this. As you head out of town, your car spins off the road into a ditch and he realizes he was right to be concerned. Thankfully, because of the spinning, you don't hit the ditch too hard. He parks and jumps out of the car to run to you. You manage to get the door open and stumble out.

That's when you feel strong arms around you. The familiarity of them makes you cry and you shake with sobs as he holds you. He stands there in the soft rain, stroking your hair and whispering to you.

"You're okay, honey. I've got you. You're okay." After several minutes of this, you pull away from him and yell.

"What are you doing here Elvis?!"

"I needed to see you."

"Why?!" He pushes a piece of rain-soaked hair behind your ear.

"Because I love you, baby." You look up at him, your eyes wide as the rain continues to fall on you both.

"No! I'm not falling into this with you again!"

"Honey, I drove across the country to find you. Is that not enough to prove that I'm serious?!"

"Where's your wife, Elvis?" He groans and pulls his wedding ring off of his finger.

"I don't care." He turns and throws the ring into the patch of trees and you gasp.

"Elvis, that was worth a lot of money!"

"Maybe, but I don't want it anymore. I don't want her anymore. I want you, ya stubborn brat."

"Why?" He rolls his eyes. His patience is wearing thin as the two of you stand in the cold rain together.

"Because I'm so in love with you I can't even think straight when you're not around."

"I don't believe you."

"Y/n! Do you know how many small towns I've been to in Kentucky looking for you?! I love you so much I can't even imagine my life without you." You contemplate what he's saying. This is a long road to travel for casual sex. Maybe he does love you as much as he says he does, but there's still too many complications.

"How, Elvis-?"

"I'm leaving Priscilla." Your heart stops. Is he serious? "I can't live another minute without you. You're all I think about from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep. Honey, I will do anything to prove to you that I want you and no one else."

You look up at him, your heart so full of love for him that you feel like it might burst.

"You'd really do that? Leave your wife and the mother of your child. For me?"

"Yes. I should never have married her in the first place."

"Elvis..."

"All my life I've been searching for you. I just didn't know it. I should've waited. But I'm here now and I'm telling you. I love you more than life itself. Let me love you, honey."

And then you utter two syllables that will change your life forever.

"Okay." In the blink of an eye, he wraps himself around you, his mouth pressed to yours in a passionate kiss. He grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you so that your legs are around his waist, his lips never leaving yours. The rain has softened, so he carries you to the hood of his car and sets your bottom down. You've never kissed anyone with such fervor before. It's like you're trying to melt into one another with the way you press yourselves together. You arch your back as he rolls his hips forward into you, his erection pushing against you through his pants. He runs his hands up your thighs and pulls your panties down under your mini skirt. His thumb runs up your slit to the bundle of nerves at the top and he begins to rub circles there. You drop your head backwards and moan loudly. Without another thought, you unzip his pants and pull his cock out, stroking it slowly with your hand. He groans and kisses down your neck, while you pull him to you and run the tip of his dick up and down your entrance. He mutters against your lips.

"You're such a tease, honey."

"Yeah, but you love me."

"God, I really do. So fucking much." He thrusts his hips forward and pushes into you, almost filling you in one motion. You cry out with pleasure when he does and lean back against the car. He pulls out and thrusts forward again, grunting. This time his hips meet yours as his entire cock is inside you. He makes a sound that's somewhere between a whimper and a moan and begins to slide in and out of you, pounding you to the steady rhythm of the rain.

The sensation of him slamming against you is enough to push you over the edge and you tumble headfirst into an intense orgasm, moaning and writhing and pulsing around him.

"Fuck, honey, I love you." You pull him down on top of you and whisper in his ear.

"I love you too." It's the first time you've ever said it back to him. He whimpers and kisses down your neck to your cleavage, never changing his steady pace of pumping into you. You can tell by the way his thrusting becomes more erratic that he's getting close too.

Finally, he slams into you hard and shudders against you, filling you with ropes of cum. It's also the first time he's ever cum inside you: another indicator that he's serious about you.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle as he collapses on top of you, spent and breathing heavily. He slides out of you and stands up, pulling you into a sitting position on the hood of his car.

"Come home with me, honey." He kisses your cheek affectionately and then backs up to look you in the eye, his blues ones seeing straight through to your soul. You couldn't tell him no even if you wanted to.

"I gave up my apartment."

"I want you to live with me." You raise your eyebrows.

"You still have a wife."

"I won't for long. I'll buy us a house. Just please say you'll come home with me." You nod and lean your forehead against his chest.

"I'm yours, Elvis." He tips your chin up to look at him.

"And I'm yours." He kisses your lips tenderly. "Now come on. Let's get out of the rain."

He drives you back to your parents' house, where you both change into dry clothes and settle on the couch together. Surprisingly, he's perfectly comfortable there with your mom and dad. He stays for a few days with you, letting you give him the grand tour of your hometown. Eventually, you head back to California together. Your car is totaled, so he promises to buy you a new one once you get home.

He wastes no time in leaving Priscilla and starting divorce proceedings. In the meantime, he buys the two of you a cozy little love nest and you're perfectly happy there with him.

The Kentucky rain was a baptism of sorts and you both came out of it changed for the better. It's not always smooth sailing, he is Elvis Presley after all, but you're happy more often than not. You never run away again, though you know he'd chase you if you did. And every time it rains, he holds you close and you remember the cold Kentucky rain.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley

[crumpetz]

a little update on the progress of The Big Road Home

it has been so long since i made a post that i had to figure out what to click on all over again lol. this week it hit me that ppl follow me specifically for fic upates and it just slipped my mind that i could be saying more. i have, like, internet social anxiety, and just default to never saying anything most of the time.

anyway, i'm really happy to report that progress on the fic has really moved along recently. for anyone who doesn't know, i have long covid and the brain fog has really interfered with my writing process. i originally taught myself to write using a certain system where i kept a lot of things in my head at once, and since losing that ability, i've been relearning how to write in a way my current self can do. which especially has sucked for the fic and where it left off, because the part i stopped at was actually a huge group of scenes scattered through multiple otherwise completed chapters that i was saving for later (before i got long covid). because even in my peak condition with my brain capable of keeping all the details straight, those scenes were still so challenging and important to get right that i wanted to wait until i was feeling extra sharp lol. so yeah, i've been basically having to reread my entire fic over and over every time i wanna figure out how to add in like one small part of all the things i've gotta cover (and thanks to the brain fog, on average, i'm capable of thinking thru all that maybe three days out of every month if i'm lucky?)

so, all that rereading and getting the details and characters consistent finally has been paying off, because i reached the stage this past week where i could finally bring it all together. the final product is going to be less seamless than what i'd originally intended, but that's just a given now that my brain is different. and, full disclosure, the stuff that i'm talking about is exposition. which i think for most ppl reading my fic is more like information they just want to know and less something that needs to feel seamless in delivery, unlike character interactions and emotional arcs. so, the reality is that the exposition in the next handful of chapters is gonna be a little clunky, but the non-exposition stuff will all be like normal, with the same amount of care i usually work toward.

i don't want to assume when everything will be ready. final tweaks always take me longer than i'm expecting. but to put it into perspective, i spent the last 2-3 yrs (i forget how long it's been oh no) getting thru like 20 percent of what needed to be done. and then i just spent a few days last week getting through 60 percent. i'm gonna wait until the full set of chapters i'm working on is complete because i want to be able to post them without a long wait in between, and i want to take the time to really get the emotional beats right. but i guess if i had to say anything for sure, it would be that for the first time since i got long covid, i'm truly seeing the light at the end of the tunnel for this fic.

my final note is that the next set of chapters isn't the end of The Big Road Home btw. i forget if i ever mentioned this, but from the start, The Big Road Home was going to be three main parts. the first part with jason and tim being street kids together, then this part we're in with tim living with the Wayne's is part 2. there's gonna be a whole 3rd part coming. idk how long it'll be, lol. it's the only part i haven't written a single word of because i've kind of been saving it as a treat.

thanks for your patience and encouragement all this time. as i said, i have pretty awful social anxiety on the internet and don't reply to ppl who reach out nearly as often as i want to. but every kind word or fanart or playlist or thoughtful comment on stuff you noticed etc etc has really carried me through the past few yrs. i can't tell you how many times i was spiraling, feeling like i might not be able to figure out how to write the next part with my current limitations, and one of you said something so lovely and encouraging, and i'd just suddenly have it in me to give it another try.

[onlycosmere]

LURKER_GALORE: Can't you just picture Sanderson giving himself a good chuckle placing that dialogue in here?

Arcanniel: Oh definitely, especially considering that he said that the scene where Kaladin falls down the Tower trying to save Lirin was one of the first ones he imagined for Stormlight Archive. dalinar__:  That's crazy. I honestly don't understand how he's able to plant easter eggs and hints that won't come to fruition for years to come. It's like he already has the entire series in his head, he's just gotta write it down. That's absolutely wild.

Brandon Sanderson: Ones like this are a little easier than you might expect.

Foreshadowing happens in three general ways for me. There are the obvious planned scenes, like the death rattles or the clues to what was happening with Elhokar in book one. Those are put in at the actual outlining process, when I'm planning my work to make sure that the flow is correct and the pieces fit together.

The second type of foreshadowing is during revisions, as I turn up or down the dial on certain elements depending on what alpha/beta figure out and when--whether they find it satisfying or not, whether they are confused. This can generally only be done for what is coming to fruition for the given book, so for multi-book foreshadowing, I have to rely on the first and final type.

That final type, like this post's line, is me writing along and realizing off-the-cuff there's a place to insert a nugget that will improve re-reads. This is probably the largest batch of foreshadowing pieces, and it's not hard to insert them if you know where you are going in the series. HOWEVER, the challenge to them is REMEMBERING they're there. Because I put them in off-the-cuff, I don't often track these well. That can be a problem because I could very well forget and put the same kind of foreshadowing in several places, to the point that people will be like, "Okay, we get it. Something is going to happen with the roof and Kaladin and his dad."

I think these are what lead to some problems for long series, as you do this often enough with these little inserts, and readers pick up and start to assume "Well, this has been mentioned so much, it's too obvious, so it can't happen." I've tried to watch that closely with the Stormlight Archive as I watched how it influenced the progress of the Wheel of Time.

Anyway, glad you spotted this one, /u/LURKER_GALORE . It does give me a smile when these pop up on the subreddit.

[bigfatbreak]

Hey I was wondering if you would do a post about how you make your feralnette au? I really like how you color it and was curious about your process.

Yes this is absolutely for plagiarism purposes /j

(I want to incorporate something similar on a smaller scale within my artwork, I don’t plan on posting anything but I can run the art past you if your worried about me actually stealing your style)

sure! as a note I'm not a pro or anything, this is just how I render my comic for ease of access

as a general note I draw everything in black and white first

I use a LOT of texture heavy brushes for effects, and specifically because I render with gradient maps a lot. people ask me why I do AU's in different styles - usually anything outside of feralnette is done in color - but that's because the rendering process is different.

for instance in the dad villain au, I do basic linework and chunky colors. if I was to do Feralnette in the same style, the gradient maps wouldn't nearly have the same effect, as you can see up there ^

when a gradient map is applied I can fiddle with the color values to set a Tone for the update I'm going for, while also making it really pretty, bc textures can really bloom the subtle colors in a gradient map. I get a lot from the CSP page itself, but I also MAKE a lot too. this specific map I made by color picking off of a neuron map from a brain scan I thought was pretty~

I don't do the feralnette AU in full color because generally, anything IN full color will have significance - either to show that a scene is important character development,

is a flash back,

or to put emphasis on something supernatural happening.

with Feralnette, when something is colored purposefully, its to emphasize it, whether that be to highlight character moments, or to stress that something eldritched and unnatural could be occurring, as its colors that do not exist in the pre-existing gradient map. Color out of space, yknow?

((SOMETIMES I put gradient maps on my colored chunky stuff, but once again, for the purpose of creating a tonal shift, like when papa Tom shows up in the dad villain AU!))

anyway I hope that helped!