#feel free to hard-block if that's what's comfy for you

[austerulous]

My follower count has been creeping up over the past few weeks and I’m starting to feel overwhelmed. This is just a heads-up that another soft-blocking spree is coming.

[roosterforme]

I feel like Bob would be really good at overstimulation because he's so patient. He'd have you naked and in tears, several orgasms deep before he even took his shirt off.

I'm going to pretend @attapullman sent this (but she'd never go nonny about Bob), because I wrote this little ficlet as a birthday treat in response to this sexy thought. Happy birthday, Morgan!

I Need a Minute (Bob Floyd x Reader)

contains smut, fingering, adult language, overstimulation and confident Bob

Your boyfriend was not someone to mess with. You knew that for a fact. Sure, he looked sweet and innocent in his wire rimmed glasses and unassuming shirts, but inside, he was a thinker. A planner. Someone who took all the time necessary to make a decision and formulate a plan. And in your case, he was currently working on exacting his revenge.

Anyone else would have a hard time reading it on his face, but you knew him well enough to notice the soft twitch of his lips and the subtle glances he was sending your way. It was your own fault for the way you teased him at the diner, sliding your hand up inch by inch beneath the napkin that was spread out on his lap until you got to the sweet spot. While you casually talked to all of his aviator friends, you stroked him slowly through his jeans. As you laughed with Mickey and Javy, you gave him a little squeeze just to hear his soft grunt.

When everyone started to stand up, Bob was blushing as he said, "I need a minute." And you left him high and dry, climbing out of the oversized booth and making a mad dash for Natasha's car while Bob tried to hide what you did to him.

As you traipsed across the sandy beach with everyone else, Bob finally reached for your free hand. "Why don't we spread our blanket out over here?" he asked, tugging you to a stop. "The fireworks would be starting up in just a few minutes," he added. "We should get settled in."

He seemed completely calm, so you shook out the beach blanket and curled up with him so you were sitting between his legs. "Are you comfy?" you asked him over your shoulder, and he kissed the tip of your nose, making you smile.

"Very," he promised, and you turned to face the ocean just as the first red, green and orange fireworks lit up the sky. Even though you were wearing his Naval Academy sweatshirt over your sundress, you shivered as he whispered, "I'm about to be a lot more comfortable than you."

"What?" you gasped, realizing that everyone else was sitting in front of you. There was nobody watching as Bob gently pulled your legs further apart and kissed the side of your neck. Nobody noticed a damn thing when he tugged the fabric slowly up your legs and ran his thumb along your underwear, sending you scooting back against him. "What are you doing?" you whined softly, giving yourself away.

His fingers paused on the thin strip of cotton hiding your pussy from him. "Oh. You want this, huh?" When you nodded, dazed eyes focused on the fireworks, he kissed your earlobe. "You say that now."

One long finger slipped inside the elastic band of your underwear, and you gasped his name. Bob let his digit glide slowly up and down your slit while he made casually offhand comments like, "The green fireworks are my favorite. Did you know they are made out of barium salts?" Your only response was to moan a little louder, and he didn't stop you. The loud booming sounds blocked out your whines and breathy gasps as he slipped that finger inside you, lazily fucking you with it while his thumb found you clit.

He punctuated every thrust with a little swirl of his thumb, varying the speed as he went. You tried desperately to fuck yourself on that long finger, but he held you in place with his other hand. You were playing his little game now, and you knew it would be a little while before you came. 

His lips worked at your neck until you could feel a bruise forming. His teeth grazed your skin softly when you started to hiccup. You found out the hard way that the city of San Diego put on a glamorous thirty minute fireworks display for holidays, and Bob teased you for twenty-eight of them. Your breathing was so loud as he pumped his hand beneath your dress and whispered, "You want to come, don't you? You want to soak my hand even more, huh?"

"Bob!" you begged loud enough that one of the others must have heard, but Bob just kept slowing his pace until you felt tears in your eyes. Your makeup was probably a mess. Sweat broke out on your brow. But he just slowed down until he was gently tapping your pussy with his fingers.

"Ask me really nicely."

"Please, Bob!" Your voice broke on the words as he rammed two fingers deep inside you and stroked your clit with his thumb. The grand finale of fireworks blasted across the sky as you finally came, eyes closed and back arched. You didn't care who saw you like this as long as you got the relief you needed.

He kissed that tender spot behind your ear and whispered, "You're lucky I'm so nice," as you rolled your hips against the heel of his hand. And then he was slipping it back out of your panties and tugging your dress into place as everyone around you started to collect their things. When he stood up and looked down at you, he smirked as you sprawled out on your back, your limbs completely boneless. "You ready to go?" he asked with his hands on his hips.

"I need a minute."

[pretzel-box]

HII, THIS IS MY FIRST TIME REQUESTING SOMETHING IF IM DOING SOMETHING WRONG FEEL FREE TO DELETE THIS ASK, BUT I WAS WONDERING…. In one of his lines sebastian makes a joke about having cards and such, the later says “ive never played cards actually.. meaning to learn.”. SO WHAT IF, i were to kindly and politely ask for anything that includes gender neutral reader teaching sebastian how to play cards, thank you for reading this in advance :3

UNO!

words: 1,7k

tags: uno, the card game.

authors note: I had too much fun with this and added Uno into the scenario! Sebastian learns everything about the wonderful world of cards.

Years ago, during a weekend at your grandparents' house, your grandpa placed a worn stack of playing cards in your hands and asked if you'd ever played. At the time, you hadn’t—being young and inexperienced—but that was the day you learned. Every time you visited afterward, your grandpa would teach you a new card game, keeping you entertained for hours.

So, when Sebastian mentioned that he had a deck of cards buried somewhere among his tools, junk, and files, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. Excited, you immediately hopped off his tail, which you had been using as a comfy seat, and began rummaging through his things in search of the cards.

“Don’t expect me to play with you,” he huffed, trying to avoid getting pulled into your sudden enthusiasm. He tried to mask his lack of skill by pretending he simply didn’t want to play, but your excitement made it clear that he wouldn’t be able to escape.

Before he knew it, you were sitting in front of him, shuffling the deck with ease, your fingers expertly spreading and reassembling the cards in one fluid motion. The sound of the cards snapping back together caught Sebastian’s attention, and despite his initial reluctance, he found himself watching you with curiosity.

You smiled at him, seeing the interest flicker in his eyes. “Come on, it’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.”

Sebastian grumbled under his breath but sat down across from you, folding his arms as if to keep up the pretense of disinterest. “Fine. But I’m not going to enjoy this.”

“We’ll see about that,” you teased, dealing out a hand of cards to him. You started with something simple, a basic game that didn’t require too much strategy. As you explained the rules, Sebastian’s brow furrowed in concentration. He kept glancing from the cards to you, trying to piece together what you were saying.

“Wait, so I can only play a card if it matches the suit or the number?” he asked, holding up a card as if it might give him the answer.

You nodded encouragingly. “Exactly. And if you can’t, you draw from the deck until you get something you can play.”

Sebastian stared at his hand, clearly overthinking his next move. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, his frustration starting to show.

“It will, just keep going,” you assured him, demonstrating a few moves to help him along. Slowly but surely, Sebastian began to understand, though he still looked uncertain with each card he placed down.

But as the game progressed, something surprising happened—Sebastian’s competitive side started to show. His earlier confusion faded as he began to grasp the game’s rhythm, and soon he was playing his cards with more confidence. You noticed the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth whenever he played a particularly good move, and it made you smile in return.

By the second game, Sebastian was leaning forward, more engaged than he would have admitted. “I got it this time,” he said, his voice tinged with unexpected enthusiasm. He played a card that blocked your move, his eyes lighting up as he realized he was starting to get the hang of it.

“Nice move,” you praised, genuinely impressed. Sebastian’s smirk grew, and he gave you a sidelong glance that was almost playful.

“Don’t think I’m going easy on you,” he warned, but there was no real bite in his words. He was enjoying himself, and it showed.

As the games continued, Sebastian’s initial reluctance was replaced with growing excitement. He began to anticipate your moves, even teasing you when he managed to outplay you. The grumpy, stoic man you were used to was momentarily replaced by someone who was genuinely having fun, and it warmed your heart to see him like this.

By the time you reached the fourth game, Sebastian was fully invested. He was still far from a card shark, but he was learning quickly and starting to enjoy the process. After winning a round a rare smile of his made a brief appearance.

“I knew you’d get into it,” you replied, happy to see him loosening up. “Maybe next time I’ll teach you something more challenging.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, the hint of a grin still on his face. “You think I can handle it?”

“I know you can,” you said confidently, shuffling the deck once more. “But first, let’s see if you can win another round.”

And so, the two of you continued playing, the shop filled with the sound of shuffling cards, quiet laughter, and the growing bond between a grumpy fish and his human friend.

Three days had passed since you first taught Sebastian how to play cards, and in that short time, it had become a regular part of your routine. Whenever there was a lull in your mission and you saw his open vent around, you’d pull out the deck, and Sebastian—despite his initial reluctance—would join you, slowly improving with each game. The more you played, the more his gruff exterior seemed to soften, revealing a side of him that was competitive yet surprisingly good-natured.

On the fourth day, you decided it was time to take things up a notch. When you walked into the shop that morning, a mischievous grin spread across your face. Sebastian looked up from his work, his brow furrowing in curiosity when he noticed the new deck of cards in your hand.

“What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the colorful box with suspicion.

You sauntered over to the table where you usually played, setting the box down with a flourish. You found this in a dumpster around one of the many office rooms. “This,” you said, holding up the deck, “is a game called UNO. I figured since you’ve gotten pretty good at regular cards, it’s time for a new challenge.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, still wary but clearly intrigued. “UNO, huh? Doesn’t sound too tough.”

You smirked, shaking your head as you started to shuffle the cards. “Oh, you have no idea. This game’s a bit different. It’s not just about matching suits and numbers—you’ve got action cards, wild cards, and, of course, the dreaded Draw 4.”

Sebastian watched as you dealt out the cards, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

You began to explain the rules, showing him how to match colors or numbers, how to use the action cards to skip turns, reverse the order, or make the other player draw more cards. Sebastian listened intently, nodding along as he picked up the basics. But when you explained the Draw 4 and Wild cards, he gave you a skeptical look.

“So, I can change the color and make you draw four cards?” he asked, holding up the card and studying it closely. “That sounds a little unfair.”

You chuckled, enjoying his reaction. “It’s all part of the strategy. You have to know when to play those cards—and when to save them for later. Trust me, once you get the hang of it, you’ll see why it’s so fun.”

Sebastian wasn’t entirely convinced, but he went along with it, sorting his hand and planning his first move. As the game began, it became clear that this was a whole new level of challenge. The fast-paced nature of UNO, combined with the unexpected twists from action cards, kept him on his non existent toes.

At first, Sebastian struggled with the new mechanics, hesitating as he tried to remember which cards did what. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him concentrate, his usual grumpy expression deepening into a thoughtful frown. But soon, just as with the regular cards, he started to catch on. The competitive spark you’d seen before returned, and before long, Sebastian was playing his cards with growing confidence.

“You’re getting the hang of it once again,” you noted, as he successfully played a Skip card, blocking your turn and earning a satisfied grunt from him.

“Yeah, it’s not so bad,” Sebastian admitted, though his tone was more grudging than he probably intended. “Still not sure how I feel about that Draw 4, though.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” you teased, winking as you placed down your own Draw 2 card, watching as he groaned and drew two more cards from the deck.

As the game continued, Sebastian started to enjoy himself, even laughing quietly when he managed to reverse the play order right before you could make your move. It was clear that he was getting into the spirit of the game, and the playful banter between the two of you made it even more fun.

By the time you were nearing the end of the game, Sebastian had only a few cards left, his earlier hesitation replaced by determination. But just as he was about to play his second-to-last card, you laid down a Wild Draw 4, changing the color and forcing him to draw four more cards. He stared at the card you’d played, then at the stack he had to draw from, his mouth opening in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, though there was no real anger in his voice—just the frustration of someone who was so close to victory but had it snatched away at the last second.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter as you watched him reluctantly pick up the four cards. “Welcome to UNO, Sebastian. Anything can happen.”

He gave you a mock glare, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “This game’s ridiculous,” he grumbled, though you could tell he was already plotting his next move.

Despite the setback, Sebastian managed to hold his own, and when the game finally ended—with you barely winning by a single card—he was already asking for a rematch.

“Again,” he said, shuffling the cards himself this time. “I’m not losing like that twice.”

You grinned, happy to see him so engaged. “You’re on. Just don’t blame me when you end up drawing another four cards.”

As the two of you began the next round, the shop filled once more with the sounds of shuffling cards, playful competition, and the growing camaraderie between you and the man who was quickly becoming more than just a grumpy store owner.

[soft-bugs]

Stress Relief/Calming Distraction/etc. Ideas for Regressors (based on my own experiences and things I've learned from others)

-- FIRST AND FOREMOST,

• Take some deep breaths. I know that's like listening to a broken record and obvs doesn't work for everyone, but it's worth a try!

• Drink some water and put some comfy clothes on and/or wrap your favorite blankie around yourself!

• Put on some soft lighting, if available. Especially if you're overstimulated!

• If you gotta/wanna bodily/vocally stim, DO IT!!! I also like to use stim toys and touch/hug soft things like a blanket, stuffie or pillow.

• If you have a pet, give 'em a cuddle or some pets! (a stuffie is also very comforting!) Or if you have one that can't/doesn't like to be handled/touched, you can just sit and watch them move around (feeding them if needed, can also be fun to watch!) (I love watching my fish swim around/eat sometimes 😹)

• If you're feeling anxious; dip your face in a bowl of cold/ice water, eat something sour or spicy like Warheads sour spray, Sour Patch Kids, Takis or jalapeños, hold something cold like an ice pack against your chest/stomach, try to relax your jaw and shoulders, use stim toys/stress balls

• If you're feeling angry; you can crumple/tear up pieces of paper or an old notebook. Writing down your feelings and/or scribbling rapidly before doing this is good too! You can also punch a pillow or anything soft enough to where you won't hurt yourself. Ik it can be wasteful, but snapping wooden pencils into lil bits was very therapeutic for me for a while! If you happen to have balloons for whatever reason, you can tie one to a rubber band(/string?) and bounce it against your fist like onea these babies:

• From the one above, write out your feelings! Even if it's just "I am feeling _ because _". If you have a hard time finding the words, here's some cool emotion wheels I like to use!:

• If you are on your period, take some painkillers (Midol is a lifesaver!), try to avoid caffeine & nicotine if you smoke, use a heating pad/heated blanket if available, take a hot bath or shower, if possible exercise/walking or certain stretches can help with cramping, and I'm gonna be completely honest here free-bl33ding on the toilet just helps sometimes idk 😂

-- NEXT, DISTRACTIONS:

• If possible, go for a walk or ride your bike around the block!

• If possible, try to talk to/call or text someone you trust, like a friend or family member. You can talk about anything, it doesn't have to be about what's causing your stress/anxiety/etc.

• Watch TV, YouTube, stim GIFs/videos, etc. Whatever helps you relax or laugh!

• Play a calming video game (I like to play Slime Rancher, Animal Crossing, Cooking Mama, Night In The Woods, Webkinz and No Man's Sky on creative mode!)

• Be creative! Even if you think you're "bad" at it bc it doesn't matter if it looks "pretty," you don't have to show anyone or post it anywhere. All that matters is if it makes you feel better! Drawing/doodling and coloring have always been a very great emotional outlet for me! Other fun stuff you could do: Splatter/abstract paint, make a collage or start a scrapbook, make a DIY craft with stuff around your house, SCRIBBLE!!, play around with an instrument or music program/app, design a character on Picrew or some sort of character creator, print out/make paper dolls and their clothes, stickerbomb something, film a music video featuring ur pets/stuffies/toys!

• Continuing the creativity one, make a mood/stim/agere board for yourself, an OC, your fave/comfort characters(s), etc.!

• Do word/number puzzles like word searches, crossword puzzles, sudoku, acrostic puzzles, cryptograms, framework/fill-in puzzles, etc.

• If you like making lists (like me), write out a list! (Ideas: Your comfort characters/movies/shows, your favorite board/video games, favorite places or cool places you've been, interesting animals, favorite bands/musical artists, current favorite songs, etc.)

• If you're like me, you can play some music and write down your favorite lyrics from each song that plays! (And doodle/scribble around the paper borders in between hehe) And/or make a playlist! Maybe make a playlist of songs that make you feel better in that moment, so you can look for it whenever ur stressed/upset!

• If possible, take a hot bath (you can add bubbles, bath bombs and/or toys!) Or a quick shower. Oh, and speaking of, I have a tip for people who struggle with brushing your teeth/remembering to do so! Try brushing your teeth when you shower!

These aren't the only things I do/know about, just ones I can remember at the moment, and they may not all work for everyone of course, but hopefully this is helpful to someone. 🥺 Feel free to add more in the replies/tags/reblogs!

[snailsagere]

Please read my dni in my bio before interacting

All about my requests! :3

🌸You can of course still request things not related to shows or games too, like animal related outfits etc! :3

🌸This isn't about my requests but please don't repost my things, I work hard on all my posts and don't appreciate someone else taking credit for them, if you want to repost please dm me to ask (please say why you want to repost something and obviously if I'm ok with it give credit please) you can still reblog posts just not repost

What can you request?

🌸I accept requests for storygames, outfits and agere bags!

🌸If you want to request something else feel free to! Keep in mind, no guarantee I'll accept the request though!

🌸Be as specific as you want!

How to request?

🌸check my dni, if you're in my dni then please get off my account

🌸Check if my requests are open, I say whether they're open or not on my ask box

🌸If they're open request it through my inbox, please don't request through comments or messages

🌸Please do not send me more than one request at a time

🌸Please be polite and don't shout! (even if it's positive shouting, it makes me uncomfy) remember I'm a person too, please be nice

What games and shows do I accept requests for?

Games-

🌸Omori 🌸Undertale 🌸Deltarune 🌸Stardew valley 🌸Animal crossing 🌸Pokemon 🌸Littlewood 🌸Slime rancher 1 and 2 🌸Minecraft (not dsmp)

Shows-

🌸My little pony gen 4 🌸Most disney movies 🌸Bojack horseman 🌸In the night garden 🌸Winnie the pooh 🌸Hey duggee 🌸Angels of death 🌸Sanrio (the more popular stuff)

What do I not accept requests for?

🌸Dragons because they're really tricky to do

🌸Anything to do with real people because that makes me uncomfy

🌸Diapers, there's nothing wrong with wearing diapers, it's super valid I just unfortunately have a problem with nsfw people interacting with me and it may make the problem worse (I make sure to block all nsfw accounts btw)

🌸Anything m*d*c*l, I have ptsd so I find that kind of stuff very triggering

🌸Dolphin or orca requests, I have already done one of each but I don't really want to do any more of them because I really don't like them

🌸Zoos, I don't agree with zoos so I don't feel comfy doing anything to do with them

[julianplum]

thought I'd upload a little process video of my latest piece! I've seen some tags from folks who were saying it looked digital even though they know it's not, so I wanted to show a little process so y'all could see how this painting came together!

also THANK YOU to everyone who reblogs work and leaves tags on it, it is free serotonin for artists to read what y'all think of our work and I love it so much!!!

I'll talk a lil more about my process under the cut, for anyone who's interested.

Step 1 is always research & what I call "get to know you" sketches. For this particular piece, I have a lot of nasturtiums in my garden, so I went and sat outside and sketched with neocolor crayons to get the shapes, colors, and vibes down.

Step 2 is to dive a little deeper into the details. I found references in my own plant & also online, and sketched out some more detailed flower and leaf shapes to understand how this plant works and what makes it feel like a nasturtium. I did my base color study at this point, too.

You can see some of these exact shapes repeated or elaborated on in the final piece! This was a really helpful part of the process.

Once I feel comfy with my subject material, I'll sketch out the final composition. This step REALLY helps me figure out how everything is going to flow and land on the final page. Composition and layout is that secret thing that takes your piece from a study to an illustration. I'm making conscious choices here about which way I want your eye to move in the piece, where my focal points are, where I'm leaving white space (or black space, in this case!) and where I'm putting leaves, flowers, and critters.

As you can see this isn't final, and I made some changes particularly to that middle-top section in the final because it wasn't flowing right on the page, but this is what I worked off of to get:

Some folks use lightboxes and trace their final sketch onto the page to get clean lines. I like to keep the looseness of a sketch by just drawing (and erasing!) onto my final paper. I used Arches Hot Press paper and a light green colored pencil here, and the great thing about nice watercolor paper is that you can erase into it and not hurt the grain. Obviously don't go too hard, but it's pretty forgiving!

Once I have my final sketch down, I'll usually block in my important shapes first, hence why I started with the leaves, then lay down textures and other colors, add final details, and then in this case I added the black background last, which was terrifying. I took a lot of pictures just before blocking in the background in case I messed it up!

Anyway I hope that's interesting to someone, it's probably way too wordy and granular but I love talking about this stuff and it's always really helpful for me to peek into folks' processes, so! If you've made it this far, keep an eye out for this piece to pop into my Etsy shop in a couple weeks 👀

[sheyfu]

Hello, please check out this tumblr post right here

https://www.tumblr.com/caiimeal/758903075186622464/ai-user-vmlnrz?source=share

to spread awareness. This blue lock 'writer' (@/vmlnrz) uses artificial intelligence (AI) to write their work. Proof included.Reblogs are appreciated.

hi nonnieeeeee thank you so much for sending me thissss <3

i just checked the post and it's quite saddening to hear this T__T there are a lot of authors who pour their hearts and hours to create and post on this platform and seeing someone use AI to make a story instead of writing one themself actually makes me a little, you know, demotivated WUSHHAHAHA

i mean hear me out, using AI to create something isn't necessarily bad. however, if you use it (as in use it and then claim it as your own) (i literally also cannot tolerate the use of AI AHSHHAAH), then that's a very different story. i don't want to sound like a know it all or a show-off (or pabibo in tagalog bc i literally don't know the right term for this in english 😭😭) but whenever i have a lecture in communication (OVERHSARING TIME WUAHAHHAH) my prof always says to this to us. moreover, she's not someone who's strict about using AI engines like ChatGPT (she actually encourages us to do so), however, please see her explanation as to why she allows us to use AI in our projects!!

in her words (not exact, but the gist of it is here IWHAHJA [she makes sure to tell us before every meeting so it's practically engraved into my mind rn WUHAHAJAJ)

'i don't mind you using ChatGPT to write your papers, but you should know how to use it responsibly. by responsibly, i mean use it as a guide to helping you, not the other way around [the engine helping you instead]. you have the power to control the engine, but of course, don't let it control you. if you're having trouble writing or starting or concluding your paper, you can use ChatGPT to help you with that. but remember, the use of ChatGPT is to help you branch out your ideas, not create your ideas.'

of course, im not saying that the author using an engine was very wrong (i mean, to some degree, it definitely is wrong hahaha), however, i just hope that they know writing is crafted by your imagination. and if that imagination is encapsulated by AI, then what's the point of making stories? yes, writing is hard, it definitely is. but that doesn't give you a reason to just fuck it and ball WHAHHAAHHAHA writing is a lokg process. throughout your journey as a writer, you'll experience a lot of things (my whole life is an e2l 55k fanfic ao3 tumblr wattpad fanfic.com oneshot with writer's block atp), and you may also discover your own unique writing style!

i'll admit that at first, i did use AI and took inspo from other authors, but i didn't use AI/inspo just to post. i used AI to gather ideas, expand my vocabulary, and expose myself to fiction writing. and with those inspos/sample stories, i was able to find my own writing style that helped me in my success (AM I SUCCESSFUL?×?@(@(@ WHAHAHAH)

with a big platform like tumblr, this message could rub off in the wrong way to some people. so, if you don't agree, please consider clicking off. i don't need people to criticize my opinions, only my works, please WHAJHAAHAHHA. on the other hand, though, if you want to share any of your opinions, then feel free to drop by my inbox/comment here :))

im really not the best person to approach when it comes to these stuff (my thoughts are so messy and im literally clueless as to whats happening rn HWJSHSJAH), but i hope that this message could at least inspire the author to create a work of their own. plus, if they have trouble writing, they could always ask for help from others!! (you can ask me, but idk if i'll be able to give good advice in writing actuall written works LMAOAOAKAOO [im much more comfy w chat aus WHEHEHEHEH])

so to end, i hope that this author could figure out everything they need to figure out. i encourage you to post anything and everything you like. don't think about if people would like it or not. writing is an experimental journey. you'll experience a lot of ups and downs (ahem, writer's block and burning out, ahem), but if you take your time in crafting your very own pieces, i'm sure you'll be able to create things that are solely unique to you, and reflect pieces of you and your passion in writing :))

good luck, author! i wish you all the best in your writing journey! if you need help, i'm sure there are lots of people who are willing to do so :)

[meenawrites]

Kiri Modern AU

Alright our girl Kiri!

Everyone gets confused when she says she's Neteyam's sister because she looks nothing like him or the other Sully kids. It makes her a bit sad tbh though she tries to pretend it doesn't get to her. Meanwhile, Neteyam's proudly calling her his twin even though that's not actually possible and she's actually a few months younger than him. But it gets people to shut up a bit.

Spider is her best friend, obviously, and they hang out in any free time they have in common. He's literally her favorite person. But it takes her some time to realize the feelings she has for him hidden under those years of friendship. She only really starts to realize when she becomes friends with Tsireya and some other girls in high school who kind of force her to think about it either by one of the girls being into Spider and it making her uncomfortable (cause she jelly) or someone straight up is like so you like Spider right? And she denies it but then she can't stop thinking about it and she's like SHIT. Panic ensues. 

Probably makes her own jewelry, has like a whole set up in her room with beads and pressed flowers and stuff. Most of what she wears is handmade. 

She wears Grace's necklace (obviously) and crochets her own clothes. The only things she doesn't make herself are some sweatpants that are way too big for her that she stole from her dad or like some basic things like tshirts and tank tops that she embellished herself. 

Kiri's bedroom is a fairy girl's DREAM! She's got plants literally everywhere, hanging from her ceiling, by her windows, on shelves. Her room is bursting with greenery and it's always flourishing. The plants are her babies. She's got crystals and candles hanging everywhere, some giant mushroom plushies (courtesy of Spider), and because I think she would, her bed is a mattress on the floor covered in comfy blankets and plant-themed pillows. Girl's probably got a mini-fridge in her room so she doesn't have to venture into her chaotic household when she's studying or busy, but it's also there for Spider (she leaves food in it for him because she's always worried the McCoskers don't feed him and they don't really). 

Kiri's pretty organized except for her yarn collection which is just an overflowing basket of different weighted and colored yarns. 

She cuts her own hair and likes the kind of choppy, wild look. She thinks her mother would be proud. 

She has all of Grace's published and unpublished work on a shelf or nook dedicated to her with what few pictures of her there are (so newspaper or magazine clippings, some Jake took of her with her trying to block the camera, etc). 

Kiri and Lo'ak still bicker all the time but her and Neteyam are really close, like actual twins though he still treats her like she's his baby sister. 

She wears bucket hats she embroiders her own designs on. 

She has a friendship bracelet on her wrist that Spider made her years ago that she refuses to take off. He made an adjustable tie for her so her growing doesn't become an issue. 

She's pretty smart too but also works hard. She likes getting good grades, it makes her feel accomplished. Her favorite subject is biology but she really wants to go into botany like her mom or just ecological studies in general. 

Spider is constantly secretly in her room cause he can scale the side of the house like a monkey and come in through her window. They watch movies together or sometimes he'll make jewelry with her for fun. She likes to fool around with his hair a lot and experiments with hairstyles. It's honestly their uninterrupted cuddle time and they also have some serious emotional talks as well. She's gotten pretty good at hiding him over the years, especially when he accidentally falls asleep and Neytiri comes to wake her up in the morning. 

She's probably super into environmental activism and is president of a school club dedicated to that. She doesn't do many sports aside from archery, which is a must for all the Sully kids anyway. I think she probably plays soccer with her brothers leisurely. And hide-and-seek tag with Tuk.

The type to be friends with her teachers because she can learn a lot from them obviously. She's let into the teacher's lounge because of that to just sit and chat tbh. Another reason she's not super popular with kids her age though. 

Starts watching Tsireya's swim practice when they become friends because she's a good friend like that. Can't stand Aonung though. 

Lowkey pretends she doesn't know Lo'ak at school cause he's kind of a class clown. Likes to make fun of how he drools whenever Tsireya is nearby though. Thinks Tsireya could do better but is secretly rooting for him. 

If anyone else has ideas please add on!

[beachbabey]

Your Girlfriend

Mickey x reader (jake's girlfriends) college!au

Summary: mickey's roommate has a new girlfriend, and it wouldn't hurt so much if she wasn't around so much. - inspired by 'your girlfriend' by blossoms

playlist - masterlist

C/W: smut, minors do not interact, pining, college!au, unrequited love, mickey has the mopiest masturbating session of his life

word count: approx 800

He knows he shouldn't be so petty, discreetly scowling at them from the moment he stepped through the door, seeing you both cuddled up on that lumpy couch he and jake found on the side of the road and carried all the way to their dorms in their first year. He blames it on being tired after his morning lecture, but anybody could tell.

All he wanted was a peaceful night, maybe he'd go to the gym after dinner, if he could stomach actually going into the kitchen, praying he could keep the two of you making out, completely ignoring the movie playing, in his peripherals and just focus on the music coming from his headphones, knowing his luck, a song you both listen to would come on, you had so much in common, same music taste, same style, fuck, you even had the same favourite takeout, the small deli just a couple of blocks away from your dorm.

"Dude! we're doing a Star Wars marathon, you wanna join?" Jake's ever-perky voice cuts through his self-loathing monologue

"Babe you know he prefers Star Trek, 'it's more realistic' remember?" you note with a small giggle, your voice dropping to mimic the laidback, chummy tone he always had with you. His eyes flit to you for a second, you look so comfy and content, giving him a sleepy little grin, and he hates that it makes all the childish jealousy he's held onto for the last few months completely fizzle out of him as he gives you a little knowing smile at your impression of him. 

Not for long though

"Uh, nah I'm good guys, class really took it out of me today, y'all enjoy though" his voice sounded genuinely drained as he turns to kick his shoes off, locking the door, quickly beelining to the kitchen for a drink, silently cursing whoever made the dorm, was there really a need for an open plan kitchen?? he could see you both from the fridge, so sickly in love the way only 20 somethings could be. he felt like his grandfather, grumbling about how close you always were to each other and he'd be embarrassed about it if he could just stop staring at the love-drunk eyes you were giving his roommate

It was ridiculous how thin the walls were in this place

If he listened close enough, he could hear Jake panting through the walls, the sound of your ass smacking into Jake’s hips, even the fucking springs in the old mattress straining under the activity. 

He just wanted a quiet night of gaming in his room, wanting to be distracted from you, and this is what he decided was best for that. Clubbing wouldn’t help, all the faces of the girls he dances with just turn into yours, and the low lights and shitty beer didn’t help him at all.  

As your moans get louder and whinier, he sighs dejectedly rips his headphone off and digs his hand into his pants, cock already half hard and he huffs a spiteful laugh to himself, stroking himself in time to Jake's headboard hitting his wall. He moans oh so quietly to himself, his hand coming up to palm over the tip of his cock, collecting the drops of precum that had started to pool there, wondering if your pussy would squeeze around him as tight as his palm does, the mere thought making his hips buck up and his head fall back, he could feel the rhythmic thumping of wood against plaster on his head, spurring him to fuck his hand faster, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

“M’gonna cum” he mumbles to himself, teeth knawing on his bottom lip in desperation for something to ground him

Go on baby, did so good for me, cum, cum for me 

He hears you, so clearly in his head, and has to clap his free hand over his mouth, afraid that his groan would be so loud, you’d both hear him, even over the crash of the bed against the wall. And that one line plays over and over in his mind. And it’s all that it takes for him to let go, your name in his lungs as he cums. 

It sprays all over his stomach and it feels so good it’s bad; It feels like shame, lust, greed and you.

He wished it was you, dripping all over his thighs, wishes he had the weight of your body on his chest, hearing your fucked out whimpers as he slides out of you, placing gentle kisses all over the hickeys he gave before fucking you, running as quietly as he could to the bathroom for a flannel, trying not to alert his roommate even though they almost definitely heard. 

Mickey wouldn’t mind, though, everyone should know how good he makes you feel, how good he loves you. 

How hard he makes you cum.

[mslanna]

Blood and Tears and Pleasure and Pain

Be My Guest chapter 19 now up on AO3

In which I invent infernal morse code and masochist Haarlep. 🤷

After Gale leaves the loneliness in the House of Hope is more pronounced than ever. Tav takes to moping in the room of outer portals again, leafing through travel tomes with lush linocuts. Nothing cheers them up for long. Haarlep tries but when it doesn't work off the bat, they react by not prioritising Tav's visits any longer.

Of course that only compounds the problem. Even trying to study in the library, Tav finds themself staring out of the window into the red world around them more often than not.

They watch wistful as Raphael adjusts his armour, ready to leave. Again. Tav knows they should be more worried about him not returning than themself not leaving. But it is hard. "Come, let me." They reach out in a way the devil can see in the mirror.

Raphael turns and Tav admires the view. The helldusk armour is gorgeous on him, clean as yet, dark as ashes at night. It offers great protection but their vain cambion refuses to wear a helmet. With a sigh, Tav demands the black horn balm bespelled for protection. "Your arms aren't even long enough to reach all the way up," they chide. "And I will not miss an inch of you."

"Indeed, you do not." He offers the contents of the bowl without letting go.

Tav presses a kiss to his lips. Then they dip their fingers into the thick black paste and stand to spread it over the four horns. The horns darken visibly which helps massaging in the balm in evenly. Not that Tav worries. They love the feeling of the rough surface under their hands. The ridges and pointy protrusions that dig into their palms and fingers as they work.

Raphael steadies them with his free hand and Tav hums under their breath. They don't want him to leave. They don't ever want to finish and lose him to his war. And he knows. He indulges by letting them work on his horns longer than necessary. The protective paste smells of blood and ash, a far cry from the softer notes of cherry in his usual horn care.

But everyday is everyday. This is becoming ritual. Tav runs their palms up the outside of the horns with approval. It will have to do. They drop back to their knees and catch themself just in time before cupping Raphael's face with their smeared hands. The devil understands and brings Tav close for a soft kiss.

"Adieu, mein Herz, ich kann dich nicht begleiten," Tav murmurs softly when he pulls back. The words hang in the inch of loaded space between them. When he doesn't move, Tav recites the remaining lines: "und meinen Schmerz, verberge lächelnd ich; so wart ich denn, mein Herz, in diesen kalten Weiten; die keine Wärme kennen außer dich."

They lean their forehead against Raphael's breathing in the appreciative growl that is the devil's reply. "You are getting better at this."

"I have little else to do." Tav sighs with their eyes closed. "Come back to me?"

"I will."

"Promise?"

He pulls their head down so Tav can look into his eyes again. "For you." Raphael presses a more insistent kiss to their lips.

Raphael leaves and for a moment Tav just stares at the door, dirty hands at their sides. He always promises to come back. And he always did. This time will not be any different. If only so he can make those horribly bemused faces a them when they trot out poetry in infernal. But it's not a language that comes easy, it should be fine if the poetry is far from perfect.

For a moment Tav wonders how to get off the bed with minimal smearage. Then they remember that no matter in what state they leave the bed, it always comes out nice and clean by the time they return.

They start their quest of killing time. A long hot bath. A comfy reading session thereafter with treats and maybe a nap because they're in bed already. The visit with Haarlep is almost cut short because Tav still can't shake the melancholy.

"Don't you ever get lonely and bored?" they ask the incubus.

"As if," Haarlep blocks. "I have never been busier and the number of shapes I have acquired since Raphael started his little war is astounding. I could be writing them letters, recounting what I did with their bodies in great detail. You wouldn't know, of course."

"Sorry to be a spoilsport."

"Oh, no worries. You just get spoilt by our dear cambion. But you won't live forever. And then, I will have the time of your life."

Tav manages a smile somehow. They'll be dead. They won't notice. Then it hits them. "I'm glad I gave you my shape, you know." Tav scoots closer. "Because you are right. I will die. And I don't think he'll take it well. He'll need you then."

The incubus snorts and Tav moves on to a less loaded topic quickly. "And you did use my shape."

"You want a letter about that? All the gory details? Are you certain, my sweet?"

Tav is not. They chew on their lip remembering the hurt searing through their whole body.

"Oh, don't look so sad," Haarlep admonishes. "It was all rather exquisite. The devils knew enough about human anatomy to bring tendons into it and nerve clusters. And your blood tastes so very luscious. I cannot blame Raphael for all the nibbles."

A self-conscious hand rises to Tav's neck. "But how can you like that? How can it feel good?"

"What are you aiming for?" The incubus raises a brow.

Tav crawls into their lap, wrapping arms and legs around the incubus and resting their face against their shoulder. "Does this feel good?"

"Not as good as if there were no clothes involved and I had my cock so deep in you you couldn't move," Haarlep replies after some musing, "But it's okay, I guess."

"Are you even trying?" Tav leans back to look at their face.

"I don't see your point. Take these." Haarlep's fingertips feather over the bite marks on Tav's throat. "I know how much he likes to mark you and those don't stop at the neckline by far. I am certain there are thin red lines on your soft skin. If I added one now, that would be pain."

Haarlep runs a claw across Tav's cheek, nail almost breaking skin. "But when he does it, is it pain? Is it pleasure? Is it not both without a separating line between them?"

Tav swallows. Not only because Haarlep reads them for filth and correctly so. There are lines criss-crossing their skin and when Tav received them, pain was not on their mind.

"So what you are saying is that pain is always like that for you?" Their brow furrows. "Even if it it is just pain on its own?"

"No pain is ever on its own," the incubus laughs. "There is always a promise in it and when I had your squishy body devastated, I knew I would get back at them. With a vengeance. With help even. The way your bones crumbled and your flesh broke apart was as sweet as cherry wine."

"It hurt a lot," Tav cedes. "I – I was in so much pain I didn't even think how it must be for you. Seems I needn't worry."

"You worry to much." Haarlep pries them off. "And you never need worry for me, my sweet. I know what I am doing and I am capable. Whatever delusions you may have about that in your little head. Now, off you go and take that black cloud over your head along. Shoo!"

Tav leaves and makes for the library still wondering. What does Haarlep do when there are no clients to please, no silly human to entertain? Do they really write letters? Maybe not to to those whose bodies they stole but to Mephistopheles. Haarlep is a spy for the arch devil, are they not?

Thinking back on their interactions, Tav wonders what Haarlep reports. Did Mephistopheles laugh about their stupid antics? Or did the incubus not tell on those because they were a guilty pleasure?

In the end, Tav pushes the thoughts away and buries themself in their studies of infernal. They have an easier time eavesdropping on the devils in the house already. Not that anything of interest came to pass. But Tav worries. Glasya is a daughter of Asmodeus himself. Will he come to her aid? Maybe the overlord of all devils intends to sit things out until he only has Raphael to contend with. If he wins, he can easily redistribute the hells as he pleases.

Tav wished devil politics weren't so deadly. But they are and one wrong step can doom them all. No wonder Raphael is always so tense. At least physically that’s something they can help. Tav smiles, twisting and turning their fingers in anticipation of getting them on their devil again.

They concentrate so hard on their reading, that it takes a loud cough and something metal whacking on the stone window frame for Tav to realise somebody is with them. Blinking themself back into the physical world, Tav looks around stupidly. Accordingly, they look around the room first before remembering the sound came from the window and turn to it.

"Wyll?" Tav blinks some more just to be sure. "What are you doing here?"

The warlock sits semi-comfortable in the window frame, watching them warily. "Checking in on you," he replies with a lopsided smile.

"I'm okay. I told Gale."

"I had to see for myself." He gives Tav a serious once over. "Parts of you don't look quite right."

Turtlenecks, Tav thinks furiously, suppressing the urge to touch their throat. I am going to get fucking turtlenecks ASAP. "Says he who had no problem with me letting Astarion keep his spirits up with my blood." Tav smiles at the memory.

The bites felt quite different and Astarion actually drank their blood. Tav allows themselves a moment of pain, wondering what their favourite vampire spawn is up to now.

"He was one of ours," Wyll replies. "Still is, if up to less good ever since you left."

"Figures. Should have made him go with you and Karlach. No sun in Avernus and good influences all around."

"Not much tasty food though." Wyll chuckles. "I don't think he ever got a taste for demons. Or devils. Unlike you?"

"Feel free to judge me, now that you are free of your contract." It's so good to see a friendly face. "Just let it be known that I did not stoop so low as to make a deal with Raphael."

"Stoop, you say?" His eyes return to Tav's ravaged throat. "I do not think I want to know what this is otherwise. You look good apart from – that."

"It's a little lonely, I won't lie. So it's good to see you. Where's Karlach?"

A frown flits over Wyll's face. "Otherwise occupied. Raphael taking over Avernus has helped. She has more freedoms to move and does she ever."

It wasn't much of an answer. Tav looked past Wyll into the red skies of Avernus as if their mere wish could materialise the tiefling. "I'm glad life is better for her now. Any progress on her infernal engine?"

"A little, but nothing definite yet. I don't think anything could keep her from telling you about that in person. Is it true you cannot leave?"

Tav frowns. "Not if I want to live. Maybe I'll campaign for more visitors. I love seeing you again. Letters aren't the same."

"Every word you sent was appreciated and the intervals between them is always too long. And you can hide much more in words spoken than a letter can't transport," Wyll muses.

"True." Tav can't properly remember when they last tried to send a letter to Wyll. He's difficult tor each in the hells, where would they even start? And yet, here he is. Gale said he and Karlach were still in Avernus, keeping their distance from Raphael's new reign. Maybe they should have asked for some kind of amnesia or protection.

"There are no hidden meanings in my words, Wyll. I am here for my own protection, and I am mostly happy." Tav smiles ruefully. "I miss blue skies and trees, I won't lie. And all of you. But I will be back. I promise."

"Then so will I. I hate to think you don't get to smile as much as you should. You were a pillar of optimism for all of us during out journey." Wyll reaches for Tav's hand and holds it firmly. "Let me know when it suits you. While seeing you makes up for a lot of discomfort, this ledge is not very cosy."

"Come in now," Tav suggests. "Raphael is not around and won't be for a while. Company is welcome, especially old friends."

"I dare not step foot in the devil's house without his permission," Wyll replies. "Remember how this went down the last time. Or would have if not for your impossible mercy. None of us understood. We don't understand this, either."

"That's alright. Sometimes accepting is more important than understanding. I'll let him know you asked."

"Do that. I'll be back." He squeezes Tav's hand. The he stands on the thin ledge of the window and vanishes in a small burst of hellfire.

Energised by the visit, Tav can't concentrate on their language studies any longer. After reading the same paragraph for five times and not remembering a single word, they give up. Tav bounces to the door and looks up and down the empty corridor. Then they sprint off, arms flailing wildly to disperse the energy bubbling inside them.

They run past the boudoir, the statue of Mephistopheles, the balcony that was their room not long ago. Debtors scatter as they pass, and the archivist closes the archive door when Tav zooms by for the third time. While not as fit as they used to be, running sense circles doesn't exhaust Tav as much as they hoped.

To involve their spinning mind in the tiring attempts, Tav decides to get their war hammer. Nobody will see them swing it haplessly. The statue of the archdevil of the eights hell may be in the way. With a grin, Tav bounces down the stairs to the throne room.

Half-way down, they stop. There are devils talking in the break room. It makes sense that not all of them are in battle. Still, Tav is surprised. They slow down and creep closer to eavesdrop.

It is difficult to follow the quick conversation, but they talk about the battle against Glasya. Tav can't not listen. Raphael is fighting right now. Anything to make them feel closer to him. But the news make no sense.

Nicht anfangen. Rückmeldung Lagabol. Nicht lange. That is all Tav understands from the first devil's speech.

Feigling. Nicht Teile. Die besten Stücke. Ein wenig Spaß haben. Boudoir. The reply doesn't help.

"Sein kleines Haustier," laughs the first. Mephistopheles, aber vorher. Wir sind hier. Kommt nicht zurück. Arendo nie versagt. The rest is mangled again. But Tav needs to know now. Somehow they are involved. Before, but before what? And who will not be coming back?

They sneak closer, straining to make sense from the river of words flowing over their head.

"Vorsicht ist besser als Nachsicht," the second devil cautions. Tav wished everything was as easy to understand as the platitudes. "Auf ein paar Minuten kommt es nicht an."

"Schade, einen Tisch," the first sighs. "Aber wenn Raphael tot ist, fühlt er nicht mehr, was wir mit seinem Inkubus machen."

"Egal, uns bleibt ja nocht das Haustier." They both laugh while Tav fights to swallow. Somebody plans to kill Raphael? In battle? They lean further, picking up any words pertaining to their devil and those involved in the plot. Unfortunately, the two are more interested in detailing what they want to steal and how they plan to torture everybody in the House of Hope.

Tav waits on hot coals until the names of the conspirators drop again, repeating them in their head until it hurts. But when the two argue on whether or not to visit the archive to get their hands on the best pieces before the rush, Tav inches away. They pry off their boots and run on silent socks back up the stairs.

The short way to the boudoir never felt this long. The air in their lungs burns and breaks through the constricted throat in hard bursts. Their head turns dizzy from the lack of air, but Tav can't slow down. They breathe hard when they storm past the pool and straight up to Haarlep who lounges on the bed, reading.

Tav loosens the soundproofing curtain and barely waits until it dropped before shouting at the incubus: "We need to warn Raphael! They're gonna betray him!"

"Slow down and maybe you'll make sense?" The incubus closes the book carefully and puts it aside.

"I overheard the devil below. Arendo and Lagabol. Conspiracy, during the battle with Glasya. They will," Tav takes a deep breath and climbs onto the bed. "How do we tell him? I only know how to get his attention."

"Sweet." Haarlep drinks in the calculating look Tav gives their body. "We can use infernal morse. I'll translate."

Tav balls a fist and wonders where to hit the poor creature to get their point across. The temple feels like a good shot.

Haarlep watches, a condescending smile growing on their face. "Oh, sweetling, no. Our dear cambion is doing battle. Do you think a little headache will mean anything to him?" Haarlep laughs and leans over the side of the bed. When they come up again, they present Tav with a dagger. "Try this."

Tav swallows. They don't want to know why anybody should need a knife in their bedside table. But they take the dagger. The blade is serrated and looks more painful than efficient. The handle is plump, the pommel wide and round.

"Well, do you want to warn him or not?" Haarlep takes off the upper part of their harness and reclines expectantly on the pillows. Grabbing the human with both hands, they settle them over his stomach. Then the incubus pats their left shoulder right under the collarbone with a smile.

Tav hates the idea. There has to be another way to get Raphael's attention. Their stomach curdles at the thought to ram a blade into their friend's shoulder. Despite Haarlep looking more expectant that apprehensive. Tav swallows again. "I'm sorry," they breathe.

They steel themself, take a deep breath and plunge the blade into the red flesh. As Haarlep hisses excitedly, Tav tastes blood from biting their own tongue.

"Turn!" Haarlep orders.

Tav obeys, overly aware of the flesh breaking against the serrated blade.

"Again!" The incubus demands. Their face speaking of arousal and greed. "Now that we finally get physical, do it right!"

"I-", Tav's excuse is cut short by a loaded glower. They twist the blade in the other direction and the incubus writhes under them.

"Oh, this is so good, little, mouse." Haarlep licks their lips, eyes dimming. "Now, your message."

Tav scrambles to gather their thoughts. Then they nod and pull the knife to their chest.

"Danger-"

"Tut tut," the incubus interrupts them immediately. They take Tav's hand with the knife and place it back over the bleeding wound. "Use your right weapons," the incubus says.

Tav's breath stutters, but they nod, tears dripping down on the taut stomach of the incubus. Their hand shakes as the plunge the blade back into the gaping wound for long and short pulses as the incubus turns their words into code.

Danger. Betrayal. Arendo. Lagabol.

It takes forever. When they drop the knife for a final long signal, Tav is barely breathing.

"Such a good little mouse," Haarlep, cups their head with one hand. "Do you think he heard? Do you think he understood? Do you think he realised what this is before you were almost done?"

Tav stares down at the incubus with wide eyes. They want to say yes. They want to nod and leave and forget about this. But they cannot. Fear and doubt gnaw at their twisted insides.

"Very well." Haarlep licks their lips. Greed burns in their eyes and Tav doesn't dare move, scared of what may or may not happen behind their back. "You know those messages come three times, traditionally? Give it to me."

They turn the blade over in Tav's hand and the human grips the blade unthinking. Haarlep doesn't correct them as they guide the blunt end of the dagger into the messy wound. Then they count out the code again.

Tav pounds the butt of the dagger into Haarlep's shoulder accordingly, messing up the torn flesh with each hit. The incubus hisses and gasps, sometimes stumbling in their enunciation of long and short signs. Their body writhes and bucks under the human.

"Absolutely divine," Haarlep breathes. Their other hand sneaks behind Tav, working in snyc with the horribly squelching code the human pounds out.

Tav tenses, senses overloaded with the pain they inflict. Necessity may force them through it, but each time the pommel of the blade dips onto the torn flesh, they shudder. Droplets of blood cover everything and a slim stream runs down Haarlep's arm into the red sheets.

Biting their tongue only adds to the cacophony of emotions, blood seen and tasted, every signal thumped reverberating through the body of the incubus who echoes the pain in pleasure.

Their noises of pain echo through the boudoir, clenching around Tav's stomach like a fist. It doesn't help the incubus gets something out of this.

Whenever Tav flags in the heaviness of their punches, Haarlep closes their fingers around their head, nails driving into their skin and drawing blood. Tav's body is rigid, taut between the tensions of their muscles pulling at different directions in their desire to remove themself from the situation. The rushing of blood thunders in Tav's ears, drowning out almost all other sound. They clench their teeth to concentrate on Haarlep's prompts and force their arm to move, break through the painful tension and work through the message a third time.

Haarlep groans and moves under them each blow echoed behind Tav's back. The final triple sign for End-Of-Message is accompanied by Tav's rattling breath. Relief floods over them stronger than that of Haarlep. The incubus throws their head back, relaxing their hands around Tav's head and their cock with a satisfied sigh.

Tav drops the dagger and runs the back of their arm over their smeared face. It adds a layer of blood. With confusion, they stare at their cut palm. Tav didn't remember they held on to the blade.

Haarlep takes their bleeding hand and presses it to their shoulder wound. Blood mingles burning hot against Tav's veins but they are to exhausted to pull back. They watch from swimming eyes as the incubus raises the blood-smeared hand to their lips and carefully licks it almost clean. Fresh blood keeps pooling on the broken palm.

Finally, Tav shakes their stupor. Protesting muscles are forced into obedience and they stumble off the incubus. The flesh-wound in their shoulder gapes red and angry, bleeding heavier than their hand. Instincts take over. Tav tumbles off the high bed, knees protesting the fall. When their broken hand touches the ground, Tav has barely enough energy for a breathless oof.

The way to the healing pool is long but Tav makes it still. They dip their hand under the healing fountain, watching incognisant as their flesh knits back together, leavening nothing but a pink trail that dissolves in the water and ghost pains. Tav’s mind wanders back to Haarlep.

Cupping water in their hands, Tav rises only to look at empty palms as soon as they stand. Their brain is still busy revving its wheels uselessly. The overstimulation of messaging burrows through their thoughts, leaving barely anything sticking out from the ceaseless white noise of overexertion and replete tension.

Tav repeats the manoeuvre a few times and blinks at the water running through their fingers like liquid silver. In the end, they pull of their shirt and soak it under the fountains. Then Tav returns to the bed, leaving a wet trail behind. The bed looks insurmountable, but Haarlep placed the little footstool at the side again. Tav climbs clumsily and settles beside the incubus.

Haarlep grins, either ignoring or enjoying the pain from their torn shoulder. Tav presses their shirt into the bleeding mess and squeezes the healing water into it. The incubus lets out a low sigh and places their hands over Tav's. "Such a good little mouse. Always there with the after care. How very precious."

Tav pulls away and scrutinises the result of their work. The shoulder looks better but is far from fully healed. Small, manageable tasks. Tav returns to the pool for more water and only stops once the wound is completely healed while the incubus watches with mellow curiosity. They pluck the wet shirt from Tav's hands and drop it over the edge of the bed.

"Feeling better now?" They pull the human close with a hand and wing. And while Tav doesn't resists, they still shake their head even as Haarlep tucks them in against their side.

“What if Glasya wins? What if Mephistopheles comes? You work for him, right?"

"As I said before, if Raphael dies my use to Mephistopheles is limited."

"But there is still use. I on the other hand, I am dead, am I not? He won't wait to claim my soul, will he?" Tav asks into Haarlep's shoulder. "He'll have me killed and claimed there and then."

"No doubt," the incubus agrees. "And a boon to whoever takes your life."

For a moment Tav doesn't reply. With them clearly doomed and Haarlep only probably doomed, the outcome is clear. They will not be safe and no safer in any room of this house if Raphael dies. They sigh and wrap an arm across the incubus. "Might as well stay. Might as well be you."

Haarlep tightens their hold on the human warily. It's alright, though. After all Tav just accused them of treason. And told the incubus they’d get away with it with their approval.

[saintzenni]

Hey have been asking enterprise writers these questions from the fanfic asks going around, feel free to answer or not! (I just like hearing how people write). 🖖

What’s your favourite line you’ve written in a fic? 

What is your ideal writing set up? 

What is your favourite fic you’ve written and why?

Any advice for writers working through writers block or burnout? 

oooo first ask!!! this is so exciting hehehe

what is your favourite line you've written in a fic?

that is a very good question. i think probably this one:

“Captain Reed was sombre, never speaking more than he needed to, and he carried himself with a martial erectness that made his eyes alert and watchful, as if he was concerned that one of the women in their satins and leg-of-mutton sleeves would suddenly draw a bayonet on him; his collar was crisp and unwieldy on his neck and the pin on his cravat was simple, just a tear-drop pearl.”

from “Danse Macabre” or this one:

“Garak doesn’t answer, instead watching the slow march of the stars like arachnids across the windowpane.”

from “Cobwebs on the Windowpane,” but it’s really hard to choose!! i have a few others i constantly re-use lol, which i guess are kind of my favourites in a different way? for example, i say “clavicle” an ungodly amount, lol.

what is your ideal writing setup?

i’m pretty low-maintenance when it comes to my writing setup. usually i like to write sitting in my bed (because it’s warm and comfy). i always prefer to have a big glass of water with me and a snack nearby so i don’t have to get up while i’m in the zone lol. i tend to slouch real bad over my laptop oops

i use word on my laptop almost exclusively (times new roman, 12pt font, 8pt spacing between indented paragraphs. i am begging ao3 to let us indent our paragraphs PLEASE). i barely ever write on my phone except to record small notes for ideas that come to me during the day.

what is your favourite fic you've written and why?

this is really tough because i go through phases with almost all of my stories where i intermittently think they’re the best thing i’ve ever written and then i hate them. i think right now i love rereading “Sing Me Lullabies in Form of Your Catcalls” probably the most out of any of my stories. i'm really like “Daydreams (Are a Mild Form of Dissociation)” because it’s the longest thing i’ve written in years and i’m really proud of myself for sticking with it even when i felt like giving up. i think “Danse Macabre” is also up there for me because it’s so out of my comfort zone but i don’t think it can be at the top yet because i’ve only written one chapter of the story, haha. and of course i loved collaborating with @glitter-and-metal on “You and Me”! it was really neat seeing how other people work :)

any advice for writers working through writer's block or burnout?

when i’m having a period of writer’s block, i tend to try to do other things that don’t involve writing. i go out with friends, focus on schoolwork, and try to enjoy myself. sometimes, in the process of living my life, ideas will come to me and i’m inspired to write them down! also i find taking a long ass shower and just thinking helps. watching the show i’m writing for inspires me when i’m stuck on stuff like dialogue or characterization. but sometimes, all i can do is sit down and pound something out, sod how good it is. that works best i find when i’m really in a funk, because at least then when i come back to it, i’ll have something to work off of.

thanks so much for asking me!! it’s really nice of you <33 i hope i answered your questions well enough and i wasn’t too verbose lmfao

[robotstrategy]

Rediscover • Part 1 • 7 - Nero

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 1 Masterlist • Next

Nero follows the director, whom she now knows as Marilyn down the Hospital-like hallways. They still unnerve her, it’s surprising considering how much time she spent rearing young Rewinds in sterile environments.

“I’ve heard you’ve had a job in nursing, tell me about it,” Marilynn asks her. 

Nero scratches the back of her neck. “It was more like an advanced daycare, my job was really just to educate the fresh Rewinds and make sure they felt comfortable in their bodies.”

“Hmm, that’s good nonetheless, keeping teens in a good state of mind will be a big part of your job.”

Nero is confused. “Won’t there be children too?”

Marilynn laughs. “I sure hope not!”

Soon they close in on a room simply labelled “Training Room”. Nero watches as Marilynn walks over to a filing cabinet to the side and picks out a DVD case. She opens it and hands the DVD to Nero. 

“Insert this into the player when you go in, it’ll start up immediately.” Nero notices that almost all of Marilynn's peppiness is gone like life has drained out of her.

“Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

She looks at Nero, confused. “No?” She opens the door to the room for her, the first thing Nero notices is the only furniture in the room consists of a TV and its disc player, a comfy chair, and a side table simply holding a box of tissues. Nero snickers at the side table, “Is training the only use of this room?”

Marilynn looks to the side. “The walls are sound-proof, sometimes people will scream in here to get rid of pent-up frustration.”

Nero looks back at the tissues. “Riiiiiiiiiiiight.”

Marilynn’s voice, despite being dead of all emotion, somehow becomes soft, yet authoritative. “There are no security cameras in there, take your time and come out when you’re ready.”

Although still miffed about the ambience of this situation Nero steps through the doorway and is promptly closed in by Marilynn shutting the door for her. Nero inspects the room more, its floor and walls are made up of white fabric panels. She knows they’ve been there for a long time as when she softly punches one of them dust waterfalls out of it. 

“This room is a big fire hazard.” She whispers to herself. She looks at the block of light on the wall and follows it back to a small window on the other side of the room. It’s placed in a way one would place a basement window, though Nero knows she isn’t underground. She finally goes to sit down in the chair, picking up the player from the floor. She inserts the disc and watches as the TV screen illuminates. Free-Range Camp Nursing: The Hand-Holder Nurse is what the screen reads, at the bottom of the screen she catches the words Happy Jack, those words seem familiar to her, has she heard them before? Perhaps they were listed as funders for this camp, this camp is called Jack’s Canadian Summer Camp after all. The video starts with a narration, it sounds like an older woman, maybe, the voice seems so cigarette-filled that it is hard to tell the gender of the voice. 

Nero sits cross-legged as she sets the player down.

“A Hand-Holder Nurse is a very important job in a Harvest Camp, you will have the greatest impression on everyone you see.”

Harvest Camp? Harvest Camp! Nero has heard those words many times before she believes the last time she’s heard them was when Roland was talking about the events leading up to his original body’s unwinding. Wait, then what is she watching, oh god what is she watching? 

“The job is very simple, you are to keep the unwind calm during the process of unwinding.” 

What! WHAT! SHE’S TO WHAT! The screen then suddenly cuts to a boy panicking on a table, the boy is about Sam’s age, and he even sounds like Sam. Nero finds herself off of the chair and onto her knees she feels the static coming from the old TV as she has her hands pressed to it. The boy cries for help as directions on how to act are spoken, from the boy's reaction it’s clear that the instructions aren’t an audio overlay, they’re being told to you in real-time as the boy screams. As the video plays on it shows how to direct the unwind’s attention away from the cutting, it’s mostly focused on the face of the unwind, that poor, poor child, until it flashes to his body being taken apart. Suddenly, Nero feels her body tense up and ache; she curses as all the scar tissue stings like there’s no tomorrow. She’s really in for it now. 

Nero can’t even pay attention to what’s on the TV screen anymore the voices scream in her head crying out wanting to go back to their bodies. They can’t, and they never will, not without tearing Nero apart herself, and she doesn’t want that. It seems like all those opportunities Nero takes lead her back to rotting in situations he’d rather not be in. Being at that support group brought her friendship with Roland, yes, but it also brought her pain through no one understanding or wanting to understand how she saw her own life. She found peace for a moment in the academy, but it only led to her friend becoming miserable and her going back to the military. And now she lays convulsing against the floor knowing she made another mistake of bringing her and Roland here. She could’ve been with Sam now, she wouldn’t care that she’d be on Molokai if she had her brother by her side. If she still didn’t want to be on Molokai, she could’ve been brewing coffee at three in the morning for Roland as he told her about all the crazy stories that came with being an EMT Helicopter Pilot. For a brief moment through all the struggling Nero hears only a blurb of the film. “Reassure the patient after their eyes have been removed that you are still here, then only, will you be allowed to leave.” Nero receives the worst headache ever as her brain implodes on itself screaming traitor, liar, and whatnot. She feels her fingers dig into her shoulders and her legs kick into the ground as Roland, Beth and her Biobuilder fingers do whatever they can to rage in her convulsing body. Nero lays on the floor teary-eyed wanting all of this to end, the video, the convulsing, and being stuck on this smelly padded floor. So she does the only thing she can, She takes a deep breath and lets out the loudest, anger-filled, blood-curdling scream she can muster up. 

“You have come to the end of the training video, please return to your camp director when possible.”

Nero stares at the ceiling feeling sobered up, she’s finally able to reach up and grab tissues from the box. She feels hopeless in her situation as she stares at the end card of the video. Nero knows she’s in the palm of the enemy, and she must find a way out of it. But first, she’ll cry, she’ll cry her big heart out, she’s not sure if it’s the homesickness or the fear of what waits for her on the other side of that door, but she knows it can’t be good. 

She looks at the garbage pail hidden from her sight when she first walked into the room. Nero goes to put the Kleenex in the garbage only to have second thoughts, she wonders if the staff would check the garbage after she’d left. See if she had cried. Nero stuffs the Kleenex in her bra before opening the door, outside is Marilynn waiting for her, Nero would’ve jumped if this wasn’t exactly what she expected. 

Marilynn has the same stone-cold face when Nero returns the disc to her. She expects Marilynn to say something to her, but instead, she lifts Nero's veil and Nero immediately slaps her away. That gets Marilynn to react.

“Strong hands,” Marilynn mutters. She puts the disc away and ushers Nero into a backroom. Nero wonders if the shelves are planted on the wall or if she could knock one over and easily kill the director, pretending it was an accident. 

Nero snaps out of it after being handed a few garments, she looks at the shirts, noticing they are a bright, sunshine yellow. 

She cringes at them. “Is there any other colour?” She asks. 

Marilynn blinks at her. “We all wear yellow.” 

Nero huffs. “Isn’t Maha wearing blue?” 

“We don’t have any blue shirts your size.”

Nero holds the garments close to her, frowning, she goes towards a bathroom to change. Upon entering she looks in the mirror to see a veiled figure looking back at her. Somehow the hard plastic mask she wore when she came here seems more comforting now. She begins to slowly undress and redress herself, although now wearing more modest and flowy attire she feels even more trapped and exposed than before. She feels nauseous like a patient anxious before their first surgery, not sure what exactly to expect. She takes the tissues out of her bra and throws them into the garbage already in use. Before leaving the bathroom Nero takes one last look at herself, her nose is stuffed, her eyes are puffy, and she has a very noticeable pout. She takes a deep breath and calms herself like she was taught to. At least serving in the military had some use in the end. She takes one last look at her yellow shirt and then dismisses it before her legs get any second thoughts and starts falling on her. 

She returns to the main room to see Marilynn with Maha at her side, and she notices Marilynn has something in her hand. Once she gets close enough she’s handed the paper, Nero should’ve been surprised by what she saw, but when else would Marilynn have given her the list of every unwinds’ appointment with her? 

“You’ll have to tell me how the first one goes.” Maha smiles. “I’ll be more ready for Fatima when her time comes.” 

Nero can’t exactly give the stink eye if her eyes are out of view, so instead she turns her head to Maha for an uncomfortably long second before looking away. It gets her point across. Nero looks back at the paper and notices something. “Why am I hand-holding a 19-year-old?” She asks. 

Marilynn clears her throat. “That’s Connor Lassiter, known for forcing unwinding out of the United States.” 

Nero looks at her, confused. “Isn’t he a liberty fighter?” 

“A war criminal really. We plan on unwinding him first before anybody else,” Marilynn gets closer to Nero. “I need you to gain his trust, he’s obviously hatching a plan to destroy us, and I need to be one step ahead of him, understand?” 

“Yes ma’am!” Nero says out of habit before biting her tongue. 

“Good.” She then leaves Maha and her alone, Maha takes the hint that Nero doesn’t like her and leaves soon after. 

Nero looks at the page again, Connor Lassiter/Robert Saltries, set for unwinding on the 24th, that’s the guy she’ll help if she wants this place crushed beneath her feet. 

[honey-buddha-kiss]

HC’s on how the RFA & Saeran would react to MC being a fashion designer/someone who loves to sew

Kim Jihyun (V):

his mc wanted to challenge themselves by sketching out styles they usually didn’t use

they were thinking about nice and calm colors, but didn’t know how to get it on paper

they remembered v used to paint and asked him if he could teach them how to use watercolor

he was a little hesitant at first because he thought a professional would be better for them, but they insisted

during his break from selling his work, he’d be one of the many photographers taking pictures at mc’s fashion shows

FRONT ROW SEATS

he offered to be the photographer for some of mc’s photoshoots and the pictures he takes often make it to the cover page

let’s face it, he’s a genius

all of the models in mc’s fashion house that have worked with v have all said it was a great experience

mc is eternally grateful for his help

“Oh my gosh, Jihyun thank you so much. I love you I love you I love you” ;u;

sometimes he recites random poems to help mc think of new designs

he feels inspired by mc’s works and vice versa

they keep each other motivated during /artists/ block lol

Han Jumin:

mc had been quite busy lately and their maid had caught a cold

he had jaehee hire a temporary maid that would come the next day

so that evening, he was putting his and mc’s clothes away, but noticed mc didn’t have any tags on their clothes

he confronted mc when they got home and asked if they’d like the tags cut off for them whenever they got new clothes

for a moment mc was confused, but laughed and shook their head, telling him that they sew their own clothes

“Wait, then what about that dress you wore to the company party last month? I didn’t buy that one for you.”

“I made it myself.”

how had he not seen mc’s name in the list of the best designers he was given?????

makes mc his personal tailor

probably has them make Elizabeth 3rd clothes too

like cute little bows, booties, and dresses

mc even made the three of them matching outfits and they honestly looked like an adorable family omg /clenches heart/

“MC, how do you feel about creating a whole clothing line for cats?”

when he picked up cross-stitching as a hobby, he asked mc for advice

mc personally put the threads through the needles he planned to use

Kang Jaehee:

a bit surprised since around her, mc is always wearing casual, comfy clothes

she imagined designers dressing either formal and professionally or bold and colorful

sorry mc looked like a plain regular person like everybody else

mc does little things like repairing buttons and stitching up tears in her business attire and it just Warms. Her. Heart.

mc actually teaches jaehee the basics and they have fun sewing stuff together during their free-time

eventually when jaehee opens a café, mc surprises her with a bunch of wrapped gifts at the grand opening

flowers are overrated sorry

the boxes had table cloths, cleaning rags, oven mittens, aprons, curtains, and so much more all made by mc themselves

this darling almost cried

when did mc even have the spare time to sew all of these

it must’ve taken up so much time and energy

is forever grateful for the wonderful gift and all of mc’s hard work

Ryu Hyun (Zen):

one time he asked if they could design the costumes for one of the musicals he was starring in

the two of them would bounce off numerous ideas with one another, so the sketching phase wasn’t as stressful

he even tried sketching out a few designs himself

they had a bit of trouble choosing between ten, yes ten, different outfits because he LOOKS GOOD IN EVERYTHING

“Can’t you just wear all of them.”

“It’ll take too much time to change between scenes, plus the character doesn’t wear that many different outfits in this play. I’d love to wear all your designs though.”

zen wears the ones he doesn’t use in the musical, at home lol

not that mc minds tho cuz eye candy

he felt jealous when his mc had to take the other actors’ measurements and when they had costume fittings

he couldn’t help it. those guys were too close to them for his liking

he didn’t say anything about it, although he did get a little more clingy

enjoys being mc’s “mannequin” for sewing projects

“You can use me as your model any time!”

Choi Saeyoung (707):

he found out it was their career when he did the background check

would totally ask mc to sew outfits for cosplaying and his missions

when he notices mc stressing because of deadlines, he gives them silly and ridiculous ideas to make them laugh

is really helpful when mc needs to make important presentations for team meetings

he drew a few sketches in crayon and slipped them into one of mc’s folders lololol

at mc’s workplace, they were having a bad day and ended up bumping into one of their coworkers

mc happened to be holding some folders and a few of saeyoung’s sketches fell out

bending down to pick them back up, mc felt a smile tug at the corner of their lips

“Choi Saeyoung.”

uh oh mc’s holding his drawings and he panics

“MC, I’m so sorry. I was just joking around and-”

“Thank you.”

"What?"

HUGSSSSSSSSSSS and mc snuggles their face into his chest

O///////////O

error error Agent 707 has shut down

Choi Saeran:

one day, mc dragged him along with them to go out shopping for fabrics, threads, and all that

all the big bulks of fabric were making his nose itchy, but he didn’t mind if he was able to see mc happy

the elder ladies often pointed out how cute the two of them looked together and even teased them, asking when he was planning to propose

gaaaaah we’re just here to buy fabric

this precious marshmallow had this loving look in his eyes the entire time as he watched his precious squishy mc ramble on and on about different types of fabric, patterns, and colors

they sounded so cute and that little twinkle in their eyes had his heart racing

mc gave him a handkerchief as a gift before

it was a simple, white handkerchief with his initials and his favorite flower embroidered on one of the corners

it’s very special to him and he always makes sure not a single speck of dirt gets on it

Kim Yoosung:

when he finds out that mc is a famous designer, he starts to feel a little bit self-conscious about what he wears

he even debates on how he should style his hair, but mc reassures him that he looks fine just the way he is

when he doesn’t know if an outfit looks good or if he doesn’t know what to wear, he’d ask mc for advice

he loves it when they give him clothes that they had sewn as gifts

asks if mc could teach him how to sew and they start with hand-sewing

their apartment feels like a home ec class lmao

mc suggests they should start with sewing machines next

but yoosung's like nOPE sewing machines are for Professionals

tbh he’s just scared he might end up sewing his shirt and the fabric together and getting stuck

this little squish tried sewing a puppy stuffed animal for mc, but it turned out a little misshapen

he was too embarrassed to give it to them and hid it somewhere, but of course mc found it by accident and asked him what it was

he had no choice but to tell the truth. curse his luck hdhjshdj

mc thanks him and kisses him on the cheek

they now sleep with it whenever they go to bed, which makes yoosung kind of jealous lol

“MC why don’t you cuddle me instead?”

[awek-s]

also on a final note ofc feel free to unfollow or block over the situation w no hard feelings. i made my judgements re: how the situation was handled already and i already talked about what i am and am not comfy with, with my mutuals on the dash (as is my right; it’s a blogging platform after all whether you like it or not and that’s what it’s for).

[silktulip]

Scenarios (rules)

I have WIPs of my own, yes, but I'll also scenarios and write short fanfiction (request a long one separately ^~^) Below, I will explain what I am doing:

What I am accepting right now:

Anime (general rule is that I'll tell you if I don't accept the show, just ask me ^~^, but I will accept these 100%) :

- Eighty-Six

- Attack on Titan

- Bungou Stray Dogs

and a few others I can't think of right now

Games (I don't accept a lot of these):

-League of Legends

- Valorant

- Overwatch (hard maybe, depends on what you ask)

- Some fighting games (MK, KoF, Guilty Gear)

Shows:

- Stranger Things

- Alice in Borderlands (please 🥺)

What I will write:

- Headcanons

- Scenarios

(most asks I write headcanons for so feel free to specify)

- Fanfiction (anything longer than 1000 words will take longer than a few days)

- Poetry

Restrictions:

- If you want NSFW, specify so I can age mark the post appropriately.

- if the ask makes me not comfy, I will not do it. That is hard though, so good luck with that.

- Don't ask me to make things about my WIPs. There's a reason why they're in progress. I will show those when ready.

- You will be automatically blocked if you ask me anything about rape or anything of that kind. This is a safe space.

- If you want overly emotional stories or angst, I will be posting the piece to a Google Docs and using the text post as a trigger warning. All my docs will be accessible and easy to get to, and everyone who reads will be anonymous.

That's it. Otherwise, let the imaginations go wild~ ^-^

[delicrieux]

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. oh...oh shit. oh, god damn it.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. swearing wc. 6.2k author’s note. first of all, i want to say THANK U!!! to all of u for loving this story sm. bcs i love this story sm. second of all, im running out of young gojo images. third of all, sorry if the tags are weird, smth going on with my tumbler :( fourth of all, i think that's that for now. the mission arc is the only long arc we will have (i think, so far, idk yet), and im planning about 15 chapters in total. but we will see tbh.

ੈ ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | < back | next >

CHAPTER 6: the missionTM (2)

you wake up sweating, hot all over. you aren't entirely sure, but there is some unidentified warm mass and a lot of hair tickling your nose and face.

you crack open an eye, a wave of trepidation sweeping through you. your first instinct is to pull and fight. however, upon recognizing the messy, snowy-colored mop, you release your gathered breath.

oh yeah. he decided that last night, and hasn't released you still. your side feels stiff from laying in one position for hours. how has his limbs not grown numb? he doesn't even seem like he's dreaming, knocked the fuck out.

well, can't move him. even if you can wiggle and maneuver yourself and that arm just an inch or two, he will surely awaken, and there's no knowing what strange behavior he'll show if he does. you are not ready to face him yet, you need a minute to get your thoughts in order.

the sheets are tangled, as are his limbs around you. leg over yours, too large of a hand slipped underneath the hem of your shirt to rest on just above your navel – when did that happen?

you take a steadying breath and try not to shudder too hard when he breathes a little on your ear. he murmurs in his sleep, so quiet you can't quite make out, and when his mouth opens just the barest amount, something new bubbles up your spine.

yes, this is hell. it's almost an indecent way of him, even a sick one, given his strength. the irony being that even if you struggled for hours, you would barely be able to move the arm locking you to him. the rest of him isn't making an attempt at crushing you, however.

... and somehow, now that you've calmed yourself, the comfort has won out.

... and yet, just yesterday he had complained, 'could let me use your lap...? a chance...'

really... the nerve of him.

you will kill him for sure once he's conscious. but first, a coffee run, and a moment's reprieve, maybe a some yoga with meditation or a prayer.

(but first, your fingers comb lightly through the soft locks of white, only to ascertain his conditioner isn’t better than yours. damp at the root from perspiration, but still undeniably soft.)

just five more minutes... and then you'll free yourself and escape his embrace, but for now – just five more minutes...

...

...

"mmm?"

the next time you awake, it is to the low, gentle murmuring and the slight movement of his body pressing forward.

you yawn, smack your lips together and rub your eyes – or rather, an eye, since the other one is blocked by gojo's hair. the sleep is still sticking to you, so you barely feel it.

you blink a bit in a daze. sunlight bathes the room, suspiciously bright through the cracks of the curtains.

it's very hot. feels like there's no air in here. his heavy weight isn't helping either.

"no?" you feel him press the side of his cheek more firmly to your neck, voice sleepy and quiet, "dun wanna...?"

wait a minute.

you lean your head back a little so you can squint down at the man half laying on you.

"hey," his skin is ruddy, almost rosy, the blush creeping to the nape of his neck and down, lost underneath the collar of his baggy shirt, "you still sleep-talking, idiot?"

his limbs move a little, almost like he's snuggling closer. an instinct to keep you where you are. his thigh is comfy between your own.

he pauses to let out a huff of breath and pulls back a few inches so he can duck his nose into the hollow of your throat, "mmm… yeah."

huh. as if this isn't creepy or disturbing already, your neck feels incredibly sensitive all of a sudden. and ticklish. a lot ticklish. you desperately suppress any urge to pull and wiggle, and he resumes his little game of breathing at your pulse and trying to lay himself on top of you.

"get off, you're heavy," you hiss at the man like a venomous snake, voice still cracked and rough.

his arm does shift then, pulling you into a tighter grip, but that's the most reaction you get. he's clinging now, christ, who knew gojo satoru of all people was a desperate cuddler? you definitely did not want to know this, no sir!

not really wanting to admit defeat, you poke his cheek, and he should be incredibly thankful you didn't choose to slap him awake instead.

"hey, hey, wake up," your face is too warm to properly communicate any true anger, "gojo."

a single blue eye, unfocused and bleary and cast downward, flickers open and shut. the sound he makes has something deep within the pit of your stomach going into absolute shambles.

“too early,” and no, you definitely will not be shushed by a lanky, handsy, unbearably annoying and nuzzly man-child who won't let you up.

will you have to tear him off by his hair? because by god you will do so. you miss his infinity. why doesn't he have it around you anymore? pause. didn’t you throw a shoe at him yesterday? he didn’t even need to dodge it like a clueless middle schooler faced with a girl’s wrath for the first time.

is it just always off now? he was fine with the mosquitos, but it seems that whenever no immediate threat is in sight (besides your mindless, violent tendencies), he doesn’t bother keeping it up.

your eyes narrow. something’s fishy, and this hypothesis requires thorough examination. this, however, has nothing to do with the odd thrill that shoots up your spine at the idea. no, you are like shoko, and enjoy a good experiment.

but, "oh god. this is disgusting, can't believe i woke up to this."

he burrows his cheek in the dip of your clavicle, lips dangerously close to skin that should be uncontaminated, though it’s likely too late already. you might’ve caught the gojo cooties.

"yuck."

his shoulders move a bit. you suspect he might be laughing a little.

"i need a to be ducked into a sanitizer tank," but still you won't push him or kick.

his hair tickles the curve of your jaw, and his weight isn't all that oppressing, to be honest. maybe you’re exaggerating a bit. your hand brushes back stray white locks so they won't touch your skin, and you push them off of your nose. then, because why not? you comb through his hair again, with the intention of grabbing the scruff and tearing him off like a leach.

in response, gojo lets out another of those sleepy little noises.

"ugh," you whine without heat and scratch his scalp, which was not your goal at the start of this endeavor, but it’s too late to back out now.

he leans into the touch. his eyelid flutters, revealing a sliver of ocean eyes and a hazy expression.

it's just the weird, groggy miasma, you think, the light blurring your vision so you have no hope in deciphering the subtle twitch in that tiny smile of his. no chance to recognize the sudden flare and darkening of his pupils and the twinkle that now sparkles, glints off his eyes.

then:

"well,” the lilt and timbre of his voice is something you certainly don’t like. you feel that offending hand on your stomach twitch, “if this is how it is then good morning to you too.”

you only realize that maybe it was his entire intent to make this as uncomfortable as possible, to provoke a reaction and give you a hard time, only because of that tone – playful, honey sweet with that smug, drowsy smile.

it's absolutely sickening how pleased he is, even if still sleepy. you feel that this image will be burned into your retinas forever, and you’ll be forced to relive this moment each time you close your eyes.

then, in a rush, realization hits you like a tidal wave: gojo has slept with you. hugged you to his chest for hours. and just a few moments ago, he'd been drooling.

you push and shove him in a panic. with force. he stumbles backward and blinks, disorientated. his stupid blue eyes stare and don't quite register what's happening.

"get away from me. get away!"

he lets you, blinking rapidly before throwing his head back and bursting into an all-out, cackle of a laugh.

"so energetic!" his voice cracks a little.

"need a shower. need to disinfect," it’s a quiet mantra you mumble, in such a hurry to scram that you almost fall of the bed in your haste.

he laughs harder. it is contagious, you are finding. it echoes around the empty room.

his cheeks are colored red, eyes scrunching into lines. your stomach turns. the sight unnerves you greatly.

... or maybe your stomach is cramping because your teeth are already gritting.

"i should kick your face in!” you announce, grabbing at the blanket that twined around your ankle like a vine and holding it menacingly, as though you plan on strangling him with it.

gojo stops laughing after a moment, head tilting sideways, "how mean. you’re giving me mixed signals, ya know that? looked pretty cozy and relaxed all curled up to me."

there it is. a sudden pulse of shame and indignation, mixing with annoyance and rage. you feel like an explosion waiting to happen.

"i was held against my will and now i have your spit and sweat all over me!"

"all over you?"

"don't make it weirder than it is!" and now you have your finger pointing, finger jabbing angrily toward his smug mug. you don't even feel the same sympathy toward him anymore, not that you ever did in the first place, but there was a very concerning inkling somewhere in that gooey, mushy bowl in the back of your brain. the darkest corner.

"alright, alright," his smile is that shit-eating kind, but, like, a tad bit sweeter now. his blue eyes flicker a few times with that damn amusement, but his pupils are still large. it must be because the room is still quite dim.

he stretches and raises his arms over his head to crack his back. you do not note his shirt lifting a bit to reveal the downward slope of his narrow hips and lean stomach. that’s none of your business, and you are not interested in the sight.

"you gonna stand around or are you gonna go scrub your skin with bleach already, kami?”

"don't call me that. don't speak to me ever again," your fingers dig into the space where your heart is, ready to claw it out in panic, "oh god, i probably caught something from you. like debilitating dumbass syndrome."

that, somehow, makes him burst back into loud laughter again. he almost falls over, wheezing. he's lucky, too, that you can't kill him. you’ve never seriously tried, only because you know he’d manifest as some deranged curse to haunt you for the rest of your likely miserable and short sorcerer career. retirement rates aren’t good for your line of work, and you’d rather not risk it with gojo satoru.

but christ do you wish to try.

his laughter dies down when he checks his phone for the time.

"oh fuck," he says. you startle out of a particularly sweet daydream in which you bury him in your backyard, only so you could cow and yell at him every day after college.

"what? what is it?"

"it's like 2pm."

"..."

"yeah."

*

there wasn’t really much discussion on what to next after your showers. the atmosphere was tense – for you, at least. gojo seemed unaffected, which was something you expected. despite his oddly unassuming disposition (which he holds up for pretenses, of course, innocent till proven guilty in the court of law), you have uncovered something interesting. his plan. it struck you when you glared at his scattered things when he was scrubbing your sweat off of his skin in the bathroom.

gojo satoru has decided to fully abate his old form of torment and switch to full terror. maybe it’s been obvious for months, but now you’re absolutely certain. he is, as a sort of bon voyage to your last year of college, trying to fuck with you. royally fuck with you, screw with the neurons and synapses, because verbal abuse isn’t enough – he needs to change the chemistry of your brain.

the worst part? it’s working.

you’re very concerned for your fragile mental state. it’s barely glued together by hello kitty plasters, held by trembling hands. shoko can’t heal you if you completely lose it, and you feel that if he continues on this route, you will. you’re already letting him take great liberties, what will happen in a month? two months? will the stockholm syndrome finally take hold? will you lose any semblance of autonomy, be dependent on his attention like too many people already are?

no, no way. you’re way cooler and stronger than them. you just need to survive, and your track record for that is so far spotless. thus, you just need to wane out the year and then say, “goodbye! forever!” and retire somewhere unknown to become a farmer, start a new life under a new name, and hopefully, gojo would have moved on to more important matters and people by then, and he won’t try to find you.

you will miss your friends: shoko, getou, utahime, haibara, nanami, damn, even ijichi and mei. but some things are necessary. you mourn them all for a moment, the things that could have been in this fantasy you have fully submerged yourself into. if you have any pets, you will name all of them after them.

someday, this will all be nothing but a distant memory. you’re not yet sure how you feel about that.

once out of that horrible room with those horrible memories, you make your way down the rickety stairs. the inn is small and smells like damp floorboards and soup, which only reminds you that you’re hungry. after ordering the sweetest things on the menu, the two of you begrudgingly settle on one of the empty tables. thankfully, gojo’s being gracious and allowing you some personal space, so rather than sitting pressed next to you, he sits across. you contemplate going somewhere else to eat.

the commotion from outside catches your attention. curiously, you peek through the window, seeing the happy villagers carrying boxes and jovially exclaiming. odd. for a little nowhere village cowering in fear because of two (?) curses terrorizing the woods a mile north from here, they sure seem to be in high spirits. maybe it’s true what they say about city folk – too cynical.

“huh,” gojo sounds, resting his head in his palm. you can’t be entirely certain, but he seems to be idly watching the people set up and prepare for something – a small festival by the looks of it, with red lanterns and food and stands where children can gamble for toys, “a local holiday?”

you shrug. you don’t want to talk to him. the prospect of opening your mouth and breaking your streak of icy silence would make you feel like a loser, and you don’t need any more negativity today.

two men stumble into the establishment, sweaty and grimy from the scorching heat. they’re conversing loudly, so it’s not even eavesdropping when you hear, “bless those sorcerers!” your head ticks, instantly, and so does gojo’s, “exorcising those curses—“ and that’s as much as you need to know. you stare at gojo, and he stares at you, and the two of you seem to be sharing the same line of thought:

                  what!?

“the curses were exorcised?” you pipe up as the men pass, and your streak isn’t technically broken since you’re not talking to gojo, so you still win.

one man claps you on the back, “aye, the sorcerers arrived this morning!”

“we’re prepping a little celebration in their honor,” the other adds and pauses, appraising your appearances – your crisp summer uniform, gojo’s designer sunglasses, the very real and very suspicious naginata leaning by the windowsill where you can quickly reach in case trouble arrives unexpected, “…you kids got business here?”

“just passing by,” gojo chirps, “we’re travelling. got a thing for remote locations hard to find on a map. sparing a look around your lovely village was simply a whim of ours. quite the picturesque town, if i do say so myself, eh kami?" and he kicks your foot under the table.

“yes,” you chime stupidly, “very picturesque. as stated previously.”

"thanks!" and another clap of a heavy hand on your shoulder before the men continued chatting away, entirely satisfied by gojo's cheesy tourist attitude and your tacked on fake interest in small village life.

the inn keeper brings out your breakfast-lunch and swoons at gojo, which he’s happy about. she seems to remember you, too, and her smile dims, “enjoy your meal.”

she returns to the counter.

you stare at gojo. gojo stares at you. if one listened closely enough, one could hear the tick tick tick of a time bomb.

so not only did you sleep in the same bed, you slept in so late that another pair of sorcerers arrived to do the job for you. it happens, sometimes – the information on who’s dealing with what doesn’t reach kyoto (or tokyo, too, even in tokyo) – and the faculty just throws in whoever’s available. usually, the pair that was assigned first on the documents is already done by the time the others arrive, but in this case. this case. this case, holy shit, yaga-sensei will be pissed.

gojo picks up his fork and knife, maybe to arm himself, “…so—“

“don’t.”

“just—“

“do not speak.”

“’s just funny to me, and i would really enjoy telling someone about it, which is currently a very limited audience consisting only of one, so if you could, ya know, lend me an ear for a hot minute—"

"don't say it."

"maybe i’ll yell it like on a megaphone. what then?“

smug, heartless, shameless bastard. your glare could cut him in half. if it had a tangible quality, he'd already be long since shredded into bloody little gojo pieces and stomped beneath your boot.

he huffs a laugh and rests his cheek in his hand again. it feels like he's squinting at you despite the shades, which only infuriates you further.

you kick him under the table, landing a solid hit on his shin. he yowls.

*

so, what now?

what a fuck up. and to think you assumed things can’t get worse. they always can.  a valuable lesson learned, and next time yaga-sensei assigns you as gojo’s babysitter, you will plead on your hands and knees to not go. if he still insists, you will mysteriously disappear for a bit till gojo satoru himself locates you somewhere in south korea and drags you back by the ear.

so, what now?

it’s almost 5 pm. the walk to the nearest town with a bus still on the clock is about 3 hours, give or take, but since the heat simmers, it would round out to 4. you’d be exhausted by the end of it, and then you might miss the only bus to hitoyoshi, and then miss the train back to tokyo and be stranded. you would crack. start crying. you already feel like crying looking at the bagged goldfish swimming idly on the counter. the man behind the stand notes your expression and amicably says, “the games not set up yet, but if you want, you can buy one.”

“no thanks,” a sigh.

“why not?” gojo asks, patting his pockets for a wallet, “i could buy us one.”

“us?” you raise a pointed brow.

the man glances between you, smile brimming. he holds up a finger, like he’s about to lay some wisdom on you, “a pet is a great purchase for new couples! i learned a lot by keeping a cat with my wife when she was only my girlfriend.”

your mouth dries. no, literally dries, as though every drop of spit leaves in a hurry through the corner of your lips. gojo, on the other hand, is smiling wider, glasses  drooping down his nose a tad bit, and the angle makes his gaze hard to discern. there is that gleam, and it terrifies you. he clasps a hand on your shoulder suddenly, the heat of it immediately burning through the cloth.

"isn't that so kind of you! i'm sure my girl would love something like this. you're so knowledgeable, sensei."

god damn him, the suck up. you twist in his hold but can't shake him off no matter how much you squirm. he tightens his grip in retaliation.

the shop keep is smitten instantly by gojo's clearly insincere but handsome act and nodding along.

"yes, yes," he replies, "i should know, being old and married for years now, that animals make for excellent companions."

"wow, lucky me. come on, kami," and now that hand is looping around your waist, pulling you into his side. you resist the urge to kick him between the legs, "pick the fish you want. maybe a white one, so it would remind you of me."

you say through grit teeth, "i rather would not."

the man laughs. if a pin dropped, you would hear it. the world is suspended, and only the little squeaks and chirps and twitters of the fair and children exist, "ah, got together recently, did ya? we were like that years ago as well. looking at you two takes me back.”

“we did, in fact, just start dating,” gojo confirms, and you try not to balk, “won her over eventually with my endless wit and charm.”

is the charm in the festival with you? you don’t think so. the wit’s buried six feet under, right next to where either one of you will end up by the time the night’s over.

the man displays a particularly expensive fish, “well then, i recommend this one as your first pet. it swims prettily.”

"do you take card?" your tormentor asks.

"ah, no, cash only."

gojo deflates. just a bit, shoulders sagging. his fingers dig into your flesh uncomfortably for the short moment, "how unfortunate. we seem to be out of pocket change..."

oh thank god.

the man snorts a little, and waves it off, "look, i've got to stock up the shelves before the event properly starts. come back a little later with the cash, yeah? it will be ready for your lovely lady," he glances at you, "would that be fine?"

you blanch. if not for your heightened awareness and precarious placement, gojo wouldn't have noticed the slightest tremble of your distress. even through that, he remains impassive and compliant, and yet somehow still smug as fuck.

this is terrible. his presence is overwhelming. this particular brand of evil can be described in no other way but indescribable. you wonder if the gods are watching the scene and feel sorry for you. surely someone is out there trying to save you, otherwise the sheer discomfort of it is not fair.

a light bulb flickers up in your mind when you feel his thumb rub a thoughtful little pattern on the side of your waist. if this approach works so ridiculously well to humiliate you, would reciprocation work to embarrass him? he's definitely not expecting it. he's probably waiting till you grind your jaw to dust by the way you're clenching your teeth so tightly.

there is a newfound surge of energy and purpose, and before he see what's coming, your hand squeezes his. it makes him freeze, and your lips curve just a fraction upward, "it's alright, thank you, though," you turn to look at gojo, "ne, satoru, let's continue walking."

he blinks. once. twice. his throat constricts, and there is a light dusting on his cheeks that didn't occur earlier. this makes your grin even wider, because holy shit, it worked! gojo satoru is unnerved, possibly shaken, a little unbalanced, and surprised.

good, now you'll have power for the rest of this whole ordeal.

you pull your hand back, and he lets you. a final piece of wisdom slips through the stall, "the pleasure is all mine. come back any time if you change your mind!"

once a few feet away, a little more confidence bleeds back into him, and he sighs, "well, that was a bust. he could have slipped us the fish on the low."

"did you honestly just imply that i was your 'better half' and wanted a goldfish with you?" you scoff.

"well, you seemed so passionate about it that i wanted to help."

"what?"

"you were ogling the fishes."

"i was sulking,"

"ha," he slings his arms onto your shoulder.

"get off," and he doesn't. he ignores you, because he does whatever he wants, and currently that is leeching onto you without a care, even though there's plenty room for him to move anywhere in a wide berth.

"so, how about it, kami?"

"how about what."

"want to hang out and pretend to be lovers? it'll be fun."

what a bizarre thing to say. how weird and unsettling, so foreign, so disturbing, the audacity of some people is really a thing to behold. "not on my life. i think i'd rather die, so keep walking, thank you," you give a gentle shove. he is a heavy bastard, but at least he's not hugging you to suffocation this time around.

"but we might get some free shit," he whines, and now he is actually wrapping an arm around you, locking your body to his in some cruel joke. it is. you know it is. a joke, because he enjoys the look of mortification and absolute shame in your eyes, "you called me satoru so sweetly. no going back now."

"i—" no. you can't. there's no benefit to you, save for possibly some free candied fruits or some such, which you don't even want.

you can't win at his game. his momentary lapse was just that – a momentary lapse. everything's been returned to how it was before. your life has just gone into an endless loop where there is no clear winning route.

satoru.

god, don't think about it.

"come onnnnn," he pleads again. his breath puffs down the nape of your neck, sending involuntary goosebumps.

you need a bath.

"will it shut you up?" you groan in despair. the sky is blue, but today, it's the shade of gojo's stupid, stupid eyes. it's inescapable. it's smothering and making you nauseous. a goldfish in a plastic bag would have made for better company.

he ponders for a long, long second before shrugging, "probably not."

of course. what the fuck, “release me.”

"that's no way to talk to your boyfriend."

and that's the straw that broke the camel's back. he's the epitome of infuriating, the person who would haunt your waking thoughts at night till the day of the very hour you take your last breath, and the cherry atop his ice-cream sundae of unpleasantness, the sole reason why, while cursing the gods at the sight of the sun rising and bringing forth the dreaded day that will spell the end of your sanity, your palms would clench and open, itching for his neck.

you really, really, really, really, really don't want to touch him, because everything about him rubs you the wrong way, but—

your hands reach behind him and grab a fistful of his hair, "listen here, and listen close, asshole," you threaten, "in no universe whatsoever will i, in a thousand, ten thousand lifetimes, consider you my lover, romantic or platonic, in a romantic and platonic sense, my confidant, my support, my comfort, or my best friend. our lives and our goals will never intersect, except for work, which i hate enough. do. not. look. down on me."

he snickers, even though his cheeks tint the slightest shade, "there you go, using big, grown-up words and getting all touchy."

if there is any space at all between the two of you, he closes it instantly, squeezing your sides tight and rocking you side-to-side, the world still spins despite this, "look, all joking aside," he huffs. a serious turnabout? unlikely, you doubt he can manage one, "we're stuck in this for the whole evening. if you play nice, i'll give you strawberry cake on the train ride home."

he pauses, a playful and almost genuine glint entering his eyes, "how about it, kami, work for your cake like a proper adult."

"like i want your dumb cake," you kick his ankle.

he gasps, exaggerated and theatrical and definitely a lie, "but i offered to share!"

"fuck you--"

"after i offer you food and a slice of me, this is how you treat your lover."

"holy--!"

"can't believe you, baby," he whines like a scorned, battered housewife, as though anyone would ever put up with his personality and stay loyal.

he doesn't stop squirming, and he doesn't stop humming, and he doesn't stop caging you like some big, stupid, annoying, dumb, hideously unbearable golden retriever who's never, ever had his food on time. the bustle and chatter of the fair fade away, and all that's left is the muffled blood flow in your ears.

and you're certain your brows are fused from the crease between them. he won't leave. not without some concession on your part because he's a miserable, spiteful asshole.

noting your frazzled expression, something eerie overcomes his features. you don't recognize that look.

he calls your name, tentatively. it rings like a bell through your foggy state. the gears churn in your head till the fuse inside goes off. no. he has no right to say your name in any manner, nor speak it so softly, nor call out so quietly. not while this man's got a face and personality so vile it almost rivals his skin-to-skin contact he insists upon.

his mouth opens again, the threat of your name on those lips already forming, and, nope. no fucking thank you. this is as bad as listening to a radio station where the words are scrambled and all that’s heard is white noise.

and you're thinking, there's only so much you can take. the amount is non-zero and yet also infinite in value, but now is certainly past the threshold of how far a man ought to be allowed. you're done, finished, kaput, all those buzz words that express resignation, and there's only one route forward.

if he refuses to leave, and you can't beat him, it only makes logical sense that,

you should join.

you release your death grip on his hair. the dappled sunlight forms the shadows of leaves and branches on the road, illuminating a line down your profile, and his, too, the way you stand angled a bit away but not a foot of distance between you both.

you, slowly, reluctantly, swallow the bile lodged in your throat and put your hands on his shoulders. no doubt you see the quiver on his smirk, which in turn sends a smugness unfurling from your core. the hapless discomfort isn't wholly yours. the awkward silence and stifling heat doesn't linger.

is this a draw? a mutually assured victory. perhaps a peaceful and amicable stand-off that leaves the both of you worse for wear.

"enough," you say, "satoru."

for once, he falls silent. hums, approvingly, and loosens his hold a little, like he’s trusting you not to run away.

"a truce? interesting choice," his lips are so, so close. your cheeks flare in belated realization, and in terror. it's mortifying.

and what the fuck, how the fuck is he so close?

your eyes avert quickly, avoiding his stare, and just about miss the tiny curl in his lips, so, so close. you can count his eyelashes, but you don't want to.

"you're blushing,"

"don't flatter yourself. it's the weather."

"tsundere."

"creep."

"it's kinda adorable, in a pathetic way."

"gross."

"let's hug it out. one hug could end the war, kami, i'll even let you top."

christ, he can't take one normal interaction and not make it weird and off-putting.

"not for all the yen in the country."

he makes a sad noise. god, his eyes are pretty. beautiful, in an objective way. if not for everything else, he could have gotten anywhere by batting his lashes a few times, and he definitely has. it's an unavoidable truth. gojo is striking in the worst way. his hands twitch a bit at your back, and you realize you've been staring like an idiot.

suppose being entangled in a fake relationship with someone that looks like gojo isn't the worst possible thing in the world. if anything, it will make this country crowd impressed how you managed to snatch him (for the simple and foolish reasoning that he's handsome). it's still a terrible idea and an outcome you will lament till the end of the day and maybe afterward, too.

objectively, objectively you are willing to admit he is stupidly, unfairly beautiful. if only his personality wasn't a sewer.

"by legal requirement as my new girlfriend," at least one hand has released you from its iron grip, but only to present itself as an offering, "you must hold my hand."

you do not do anything. not even react.

he makes a grabby motion, "c'mon, i'm getting shy."

"no."

"this is in the spirit of unity."

"how do you even come up with this stuff?"

"are you refusing to take me, your lover's, hand?"

"stop saying that."

"hold. it."

"no."

"i deserve to be held," he states, frowning.

the most annoying part, perhaps, is the fact that you can't bring yourself to do anything against this bizarre behavior. there is no option where it would be tolerable. even holding your pinkie as a compromise might result in him losing his marbles. god, what else will he demand of you? a kiss on the cheek? a kiss, full on lips? a deep and long and filthy one, with plenty of tongue? and he won't leave you be till you take his stupid hand and grip it?

he clears his throat.

gojo satoru may not have a moral compass or sense of logic or order, but he is nothing if not determined and hell-bent and resolute on the things he wants to have. which is, apparently, you, or rather your utter, unending torment in the form of public mockery.

"just hold it," he says, this time a little less insistently, "until we're out of the market. we look suspicious and out of place, standing around like this," as if they're not glaring at you two due to your obnoxiously loud bickering and general displeasure on being in each other’s presence. as if this ruse will even work, as if the people around you don't have eyes or ears or common sense.

you sigh, heavy, burdened and dreading. he, stupid and so very arrogant, considers the job a success as he makes that self-satisfied little sneer. his fingers close in, and you're about to surrender your pride and hopefully nothing else, when—

the sound of your name echoes through the whole festival. maybe even miles further. the two of you spring apart like electrocuted, and maybe you just were, because your heart is all the way in your throat and you feel like you might pass out.

a turn of the head. clambering past the people is utahime, looking disheveled, eyes crazed, breathing shallow. she slams into you full force, which would have probably killed you if your arms had not automatically opened to smooth her landing and envelope her in a big hug, "you!" her finger waggles as she turns to gojo.

"me?" he blinks.

she scowls, and that is answer enough. but her expression melts instantly faced with your surprise, "and you!"

"utahime-senpai?" so maybe your prayers have been answered. someone familiar is here. someone trustworthy and respectable and honest and righteous.

"oh, i'm so glad to see you," she sighs into your shoulder, "i could sense that freak as soon as we arrived, but i didn't think you'd be paired with him. it's so unfortunate."

he's almost offended. just a tad.

she pulls back just slightly so she could lock her hands around your shoulders. once again, you're like a fly tangled in a web. this interaction, however, you don't mind, since you love her immensely, "but now that i've found you, let's enjoy the festival! mei's also here, i think she was checking the yukatas, but none were up to her standard. figures."

your life has resumed. finally. you smile so wide your cheeks ache, and you feel as though you hadn't smiled in months, "i'd love to!"

she nods, decisive, and steps aside a bit, her attention directed fully to gojo who stands, useless and kind of a bore, observing. he looks as though he can't comprehend the fact that you have normal, pleasant friends, because he's incapable of normal interactions.

"look. you," utahime crosses her arms, "stay out of our way and don't even breathe in her direction, got that?"

"what? the hell did i do now?"

"exist."

"always so cruel, utahime, can't we play nice and be friends, eh?" he coos.

she gives him one long, condescending look, eyes lingering over every bit of him with thinly-veiled distaste, "no," is all she says before clasping your hand and tugging.

her hand. and it's in yours, which you were supposed to give to him. and there goes your good mood, and all the hope of surviving today, because now he looks upset. his face and aura conveying annoyance in a way you've seen rarely.

but it splits into a smug grin. so sudden, "alright," he chirps, "where are we going?"

"you are not invited," utahime spits, "get lost,"

"what?"

"i said scram. beat it. beat it!"

"but i came with—"

she turns to you, easily speaking over him, bright and cheerful, "there was this candy store with really great taiyaki, wanna check it out?"

"sure!"

and then you two are gone, leaving gojo behind.

...

you take a glance back, a second of pity entering your brain as you glimpse his tall figure slowly shrinking amidst the people, and then you return your attention back to your friend.

*

"ne, by the way… if you and gojo arrived earlier, why didn't you exorcise the curses?"

"ah. that. yes. that’s gojo’s fault. we got lost because he can’t read a map since he’s stupid. but that’s not important. how many curses were there, anyway?"

"one special grade and a few second grades. not gonna lie, it was pretty tough."

"how come?"

"the special grade ate a cursed object. we managed to extract it, but, i think it was more dumb luck than anything."

"what was the object?"

"sukuna's finger."

oh. shit.

"hey, fireworks! where’s my camera? aha! okay, say cheese!"

"...cheese."

additional author's note. imagine getting dumped at a festival by your enemy and then getting dumped a few months later by a kfc by ur best friend, gojo keeps catching Ls lmaooo

tags (marked couldn’t tag). @shokosbunny , @jotarohat , @alygator77 , @fortunatelyfurrygiver , @finnydraws , @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy , @letsmyy , @staruus , @k0z3me , @bqvz , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n , @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury , @byakuya61085 , @stillnotherapy