#field low exclusive

[noumbrellaworld]

[radiance1]

Inspired by this post.

So, we have Danny, who outlived his friends and family (none of them became ghosts.) is the prince of the Infinite Realms.

As soon as he didn't have any ties to the living world anymore, at the young age of 114 was Danny scooped up and taken to the ghost zone for royal tutelage.

Things like balance training, how to carry himself prim and proper, how to invoke power with his voice (not literally, mostly how to sound commanding at stuff), what he should wear, knowledge about the ghost zone etc, etc.

Although, History beyond a certain point had to be taught exclusively by Clockwork, since the only other person who could teach him about the Infinite Realms' full History would be Pariah Dark, who was the first ghost ever to have been conceived by the Realms, and no one really wanted to wake up him.

Of course, that would mean there would be a void where Clockwork can't teach, but that knowledge is.... not necessary for the young prince to learn.

[It was really just about Pariah acquiring the ring and crown, the rest is uh, cough the lovey-dovey arc of Pariah Dark and Clockwork that will stay lost to time if Clockwork has anything to say about. Look, they were babies then compared to now, no one needs to know what happened back then alright?]

So, after all this I imagine him wearing something like this, staff and all.

However, Danny has an arch-nemesis.

Dark Danny.

Who somehow managed to escape from his imprisonment and causes havoc and chaos wherever he goes. His thing to do was to escape to the living world to make it befall the same fate he caused to his own.

He, however, probably did not expect for Danny to be more experienced, and his skills more honed than 100 years ago. Not that Dark Danny knew such time had passed, as he went through the trouble of trying to locate Danny's parents, sister, and best friends to make try and set him on the path to become him.

He failed, obviously, as they were already long gone.

His next thing to do? Locate Vlad and consume his ghost half. However, Danny made it just in time before he could do so.

However, Dark Danny's sheer, raw power, still eclipsed his own. However, while his raw power may be superior, he had something that would let him reliably go head-to-head in a fight with his alternate self and not win due to being underestimated and the sudden appearance of the ghost wail.

A staff, one naturally formed when he was crowned as Prince. An artifact that granted him a boost in power, and furthered his strengths regarding magic, giving him a roughly equal playing field when he confronts Dan.

It by itself may have only been equal to that of the Ring of Rage or Crown of Fire individually, but the fact it could compare to either one when not paired together spoke well of its power.

Dark Danny was, obviously, not expecting him to be as well-equipped and powerful as he was now. So, he underestimated him yet again, and almost led to his defeat and subsequent containment. However, Danny didn't expect for him to escape as he did, and run into another dimension.

Danny, both as himself and Prince of the Ghost Zone, has the responsibility to go after his evil self. So, he entered the portal, with some equipment made by Vlad as both a thanks and silent 'Find him as quickly as possible', which was a device meant to track Dark Danny's energy whenever he uses a good amount of it.

He... didn't expect, to land in a dimension of Superheroes and Villains.

However, he could let such things distract him from the task at hand, Dark Danny was surprisingly laying low for some reason. Probably to recuperate the damage Danny managed to do to him, so that left him a while to get familiar enough with this dimension.

He got a few odd looks here and there, mostly due to how he was dressed. He was worried about it for a while, before overhearing others calling him a cosplayer and him, suddenly remembering that those do indeed exist, decides to use that as a cover for how he dresses.

A month later, still with no sign of his alternate self, and making Danny worry about if he wasn't in this dimension at all. The device finally picked up Dark Danny's signature, and he hurried to said location, when he arrived, the place was not in the best of shape.

Upturned cars, broken buildings, rubble on the street, fire here and there. Not the best welcome party.

There were multiple other villains than just his future self there, but he didn't put them in mind. He was here for one, and one alone.

A few members of what he believes to be Young Justice took to fighting his alternate self, while other members of their team and the Justice League fight the other villains. He saw what could only be the start of a ghost wail, and hurried over.

In front of them, he slammed the butt of his staff on the ground and conjured a shield, which took the entirety of the attack with a few cracks.

"Still as strong as ever, I see." Danny said, lowering the shield as his twin rings run up and down his body respectively, hair turning a white glow and eyes as green as toxic waste. He raised his staff, pointing it at his future self, who looked none too pleased to see him at all. "Now then, shall we continue our fight you so rudely left unfinished?"

Of course, Danny no longer had the card of underestimation, but he could do well without it. Unfortunately, after quite the battle, Dark Danny managed to escape once again, due to some kind of teleport spell of another magic user.

Danny didn't escape unscathed from the fight, but nothing that couldn't be healed in time.

Of course, then he had to interact with both the Justice League, and Young Justice after his sudden introduction.

[lilac-5ky]

i wanna tie the knot (Satoru xFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Forget me not

Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Plot: Your boyfriend takes you on a romantic getaway that will potentially change the rest of your lives.

Themes: MDNI, Established Relationship, Vacation, Teasing, Bickering, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Comedy, Onsen Smut, Sensory Deprivation (bondage and blindfolds), Breeding Kink, Oral (f. receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Yukatas, Snarky!Fem!Reader who is done with Gojo's Shenanigans but loves him regardless, Soft!Dom Gojo, Unsolicited Digimon References, and Bucketloads of Pet Names (baby, princess, bunny, honeypie, sugarplum, and every other food nickname you can think of)

Word Count: 13.3k (i was inspired, sue me. rest of it will be smaller. i think.)

check a/n at the bottom

“Last one up the hill is a loser!” Those were the parting words you left your boyfriend with before you shot in the direction of the fields, wind in your hair and pollen in the air, Satoru’s voice barely audible over the light chuckle you shed behind.

You sprint across a sea of flowers in every shape, hue, and kind—from exuberant red poppies to bashful pink asters—spanning as far as the eye can see. You want nothing more than to spare a moment and halt; breathe into the combined aroma of the autumn blossoms before winter hushes them for good, but you can’t. The faster you run, the smaller his head becomes, until it’s a mere blotch of white on the faraway horizon.

You rest assured in your victory, a breathless smile forming on your lips as you reach the top. You glance over your shoulder, confident that the man who minutes ago (literally) flew you to Ikoma on another of his spontaneous 2-day trips is still there, lamenting ever giving you a headstart. However, no matter how hard you squint, you cannot seem to find him.

“What are we looking at?” A low-pitched voice scares the wits out of you, hummed near the shell of your ear in a way that’s exclusive to the cheeky tone it carries.

“S-Satoru!” You yelp, almost throwing yourself down the stiff slope.

“Satoru?” The man in question repeats his own name, cocking his head to the side with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What are you—”

“I only know of a winner,” he points at his chest, successfully diverting your attention from the hand that rises to flick your forehead with such force that you stagger backward.

Both your fall and his punchline are postponed, one awaiting the other while you’re left floating mid-air, the infinity between your head and his boot serving as a safety net.

“And a loser.” Satoru concludes, his grin as bright as day, when he retracts his foot and lets you plummet into the fluffy flowerbed.

In the time it takes for you to blow a tuft of hair from your eyes and prop yourself onto your elbows, Satoru’s already taken his phone out and snapped as many pictures as humanely possible. You aren’t fazed. You’re used to his constant leg-pulling, as well as his 8895-picture collection of funny faces you’ve made over the course of your 7-year relationship.

Definitely in the 9000s now.

“Most guys would help their girlfriend up instead of calling her a loser.” You frown.

“Most guys wouldn’t date a slowpoke.” He gleefully chimes, zooming in on your face. “Come on. Smiiile.”

You poke your tongue out, and he snaps what is hopefully the last embarrassing frame of the day. Your frown resumes, downturned mouth and eyes narrowed at the wonderful azure sky.

“Good enough. Here, here.” He offers you his hand. “Don’t go crying on me.”

You accept only to give him a taste of his own medicine as you lock fingers and drag him down. He shouldn’t fall, but he does so anyway, collapsing beside you in a bundle of ridiculously long limbs he either sorts behind his head or splays on the grass surrounding him.

“Can’t believe you actually got me.” Satoru says in a pouty voice that goes against the complacent smile sitting on his lips. Idiot. “Woah, the view is much prettier from down here!” He marvels at the drifting clouds, pointing at one that resembles a duck. “Is this what it feels like to be you?”

You could do without his unnecessary comments spoiling the mood, but you’re willing to overlook them for the sake of your trip. With how hectic these past three weeks were—orchestrated curse attacks ping-ponging both him and his students across Tokyo—you doubted you’d have a moment to yourselves for the remainder of the year.

But keeping him on his toes is too much fun to pass up.

“You’d be more likeable if you weren’t such a showoff, Satoru.” You scoff, no malice whatsoever.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I thought you liked me sooo much when you were going all oh, Satoru! Love it so much, Satoru! You’re the best, Satoru! Deeper, Satoru! Y-yes, just like that, ‘Toru last night.”

“Shut up!”

You plug his mouth with both hands, though that doesn’t discourage him from blabbing his version of last night’s events, perfectly replicating the breathy tone of your voice and the soft little moans you let out in between his frantic thrusts.

Your palms relocate to cover your ears, the bright color of your cheeks soon becoming a focal point for his mockery. Satoru plucks a crimson cosmos flower and holds it to your face, twirling it around until you rip it from his grasp. Regret washes over you as soon as you unfold your fingers and see the now-crumpled petals, a little piece of the universe laying lifeless in your palm.

“I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing.” You point at the dark fabric that conceals his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You wave your hand in his face, constantly alternating between the number of fingers you flex.

Satoru catches your wrist and decisively intertwines your fingers. “I see enough to know you look the cutest when you’re annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed.” You declare.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deliberately sultry as he inches closer.

Flakes of color adorn his icy strands like confetti, a stark contrast to the murky blue of his two-piece uniform. You can feel his eyes—those lovely crystal orbs of his—burning holes through the blindfold to meet yours, and in this instant, when his minty breath ghosts over your lips and promises a kiss, you’re absolutely enamored by him.

That is, until he begins poking into your cheeks like a woodpecker, and your desire to strangle the life out of him overtakes the urge to give in.

“Okay! You did it! I’m—”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips crash into yours, a stolen peck that lasts no longer than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, a soft fumble that leaves you craving for more. “Definitely annoyed.” Satoru flashes a boyish smile as he ruffles your hair and pulls you to your feet with him, his hand carrying you through a path of marigolds.

“Can you… just… slow… down?” You pant out, struggling to follow after his long strides.

But he doesn’t falter.

“Better get moving before you evolve into a Slowbro.” He sing-songs.

“Knock it off! I’m at least Jigglypuff tier.”

“Hmm,” he considers out loud. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you useless, but—”

“Satoru!” You protest. “And I thought you liked Digimon.”

“Doesn’t hurt to know about the cheaper rip-off.”

“Pretty sure that’d be Digimon.”

“And I’m pretty sure even a regular Greymon beats your mascot into a pulp.” He beams.

Sigh.

You roll your eyes, letting him argue with himself about Digimon’s supremacy, until you reach a pool of flowers—myriad befallen fragments of the sky reflecting the vibrant blue of his eyes. You break free from his grasp and kneel among the blossoms, your fingertips skimming across the pointed petals with great care.

“Oh my God, Satoru! You know what this is?”

“Flowers…?” He changes his answer to pretty flowers upon your glaring.

“It’s forget-me-nots!”

The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell. He looks at you with the stupefied expression of a cattle who only knows how to moo and eat grass, invisible question marks spawning around his head.

“Their blooming period ends in May,” you explain. “Can’t believe we’d find some in October, and these—” You chop one of the stems and extend it to him. “These are so beautiful.”

Satoru glances between the flowers and your impressionable eyes, in which tiny stars seem to twinkle, his tone serious as he points out, “You must really love me.”

Your mouth hangs while you mull over your own words. Nope. Nothing you said remotely hints at the conclusion he alone reached.

“About time you showed me some respect.” Satoru huffs. “Don’t know about the royalty part, but—ah, it really can’t be helped. I’ll accept them if you insist.”

“Hold on a second.” His fingers close around a fistful of nothing as you retract your hand. “What respect, what royalty are you talking about?”

“Hm? You really don’t know?” You shake your head, and he brings out his phone, trading it for the flowers. “Says it all riiiight here.” He taps at the wall of text that lights up his screen.

Forget-me-not, also known as Myosotis flower, represents true love and respect and is an indisputable symbol of royalty. To King Henry IV—

“Tsk, these don’t even smell.” Satoru exclaims once he presses them to his nose.

“Not all flowers smell.” You turn off the screen and hand his phone back to him. “Your ability to google stuff and sell it as common trivia never ceases to amaze me.”

He lowers the stem to his lap and looks at you. Or so you think. You really can’t tell when he’s wearing that thing. “And? What do you make of it?”

“You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?” Your hands slide across his shoulders, fingers knitting behind his neck. “I love you, you silly, goofy, pervert specimen of a man.” You smile softly. “And I do respect you—sometimes—but best case scenario, you become prime minister. Better get that royalty idea out of your brain.”

“Not even if a mysterious big-scale accident takes all royalty on this planet out?” Satoru quips.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

The sharp edges of his grin dissolve as he tilts his head enough for your lips to meet, tentative flicks of his tongue granting him access to your mouth. You feel the hard press of his chest once his arm wraps around your waist, nullifying the barriers that stand between you and the resounding beating of his heart.

There’s no innate technique in the way he touches; no immense amount of cursed energy in the way he kisses. None of the things that make him Gojo Satoru, the sorcerer who is hailed by all—and even himself—as the strongest are there. Only the raw vulnerability of a boy who’s used to carrying the order of the world on his shoulders and on a whim lets it crush him, because when he holds you, none of it seems to matter; because when he’s with you, he’s free to be Gojo Satoru and no more than that.

You watch through heavy eyelashes as he breaks a small stalk and brings it to your hair, securely tucking the flowers behind your ear. Warmth spreads from his slender fingers to your already feverish complexion. His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping along your jawline with a soft expression perched on his lips, and you find yourself falling in love with him all over again.

“You deserve some love too, my…” Satoru ponders for a second, eventually snapping his fingers, “little MegaDarknessBagramon.”

A chuckle gets caught in your nostrils. “Your what now?”

“MegaDarknessBagramon.” He repeats without stuttering. “Way better than your fairy balloon cat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you made this one up?”

“Did not! MegaDarknessBagramon is—hmph.”

You cut him off with a fond kiss on his agape lips. That’s the only way to truly shut him up. At least in public.

“We should get going. I wanna go sightseeing before nightfall.”

You wander through the city for hours upon hours, losing yourselves among the countless maple-strewn paths and quaint religious sites of the countryside. Ikoma is a quiet place. No matter how many pebbles you lift or castle ruins you peek under, you won’t find a speck of evil lurking beneath. It’s as if the land is at peace with itself, and the people who tend to it do so without any curse tainting their souls. For once, Satoru’s presence feels redundant.

His hand stays on you the entire time you stroll through the temples and marketplaces, be it as fingers that childishly swing your palm up and down—left and right—or as an arm draped over both your shoulders, stirring you in a different direction whenever his phone rings. And it does ring. A lot. So much that you actively consider flinging it at the bottom of the Sunoura River.

The conversations are rather one-sided. Satoru mhms and uh-uhs his way out of everything the voices on the other line suggest, his expression contorting all the while he mocks Nanami’s grave tone, Yaga’s dismay, and Ijichi’s apprehension. He tries his best to keep you involved—putting Megumi on speaker while the boy informs him of how Nobara gave Yuji a concussion when she mistook him for a pickpocket—and presses playful kisses on your cheek when you unwittingly pout at his neglect.

This is the one drawback of dating such a sought-after man. You have to share him with the rest of the world, and even though you know exactly how many livelihoods depend on him, you selfishly want your boyfriend to yourself.

After his sixth answered call, something inside you snaps. You shake his hand off—he barely pays mind—and fish your phone out of your jacket, dialing the first number in your contact list. My Noodle Man. With a heart emoticon, he, himself, input. Still better than the long array of toothachingly sweet nicknames he’s come up with for you over the years.

Drawing the device away from his ear, Satoru glances at the incoming caller ID and shoots you what ought to be a perplexed look.

“Pick it up!” You mouth the words without voicing them.

The world comes to a standstill while you (presumably) stare into each other’s eyes. Star-shaped leaves rain down from the trees, a minor contribution to the red and gold garb that dresses the once pebbled pathway. It’s all too scenic—if one ignores the busy tone from his phone’s speaker, which echoes wide across the hollow forest, gracelessly interrupting Utahime’s incoherent squeaks.

Are you even listening? Gojo?

“Mhm!” He breaks into an awkward chuckle. “Sounds good to me.”

What? What are you on about, you white-haired swine?

“Hey, how ‘bout you hold onto that, and we talk about it when I return?”

You seriously doubt he knows what that and it are.

Satoru doesn’t leave Utahime the chance to reply, rushing through his words at the speed of light. “Okay, great! Gotta go now. Laterrr, bye, ciao, adieu!”

Don’t you dare hang—

“Too late for that.” He comments, an afterthought that doesn’t reach its target audience before fading into his next received call.

“Baby! How are you?” The grin on his lips is so blinding, you swear it accompanies a halo.

You draw a deep breath, fingernails digging sharply at the tender flesh on the inside of your palm. “Satoru.”

“What is it, baby?” He dares ask as if you haven’t been shooting daggers at him the entire time, arms folded over your chest and eyebrow trembling above your narrowed eye.

“Satoru, the fact that I can only speak to you through the phone is insane!” Your voice climbs up a whole octave over the final word, annoyance interlaced within your tone.

“Huh?” He smiles sheepishly, head drooping to his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’m standing right in front of you, begging you for an ounce of attention, and you haven’t put the phone down for ten goddamn seconds since we left the shrine, which, by the way, happened two hours ago!”

His smile dwindles, and you worry you might’ve been too harsh. It’s not like he has a choice. Regular people get to dictate their own fate, filling up their plates with however many or few obligations and freedoms they can stomach. Not Satoru. His share of responsibility was assigned to him at birth, and as aloof as he can be, he’s not the type to let all hell break loose just yet.

“Hey, um—look. If you were busy, we could’ve just taken a rain check and stayed in town. You know I wouldn’t mind holing up at my place, ordering some Chinese, and frying our retinas with another movie marathon. No need to string each other along for—what are you doing?”

Without evidence of anyone or anything approaching, Satoru twists his neck in every direction possible, searching far and wide among the tree foliage and the water streaming on the sides of the walkway, going as far as to check the gap between his own legs. Instinctively, you repeat his routine, glancing over your shoulder when you realize he’s got his eyes on you—not on you, but through you.

“Are you sure you are here? Can’t see you.” Satoru brings the phone to his lips, executing an amateur’s set of jumping jacks while waving his hands around and shouting your name at the top of his lungs, doing his absolute best to appear clueless when he passes you by and uses your head like an armrest. “Don’t tell me you got out-heighted by the trees.”

Are you sure you want to permanently delete the contact My Noodle Man <;3?

Cancel

“I’m leaving.”

You manage exactly two steps before you are halted by two arms whose length smothers you—a proper vice that closes around your shoulders and immobilizes you against what feels like a colossal tree trunk but is your (occasionally) loving boyfriend’s chest.

“Let go, Satoru!” You try to shake him off, but your conviction is about as strong as the frail set of bones he aspires to crush.

“C’mon, you just got here!” Satoru begs, his mouth so close to your ear that you feel his voice shooting straight into your heart, goosebumps erupting down your spine. “Don’t leave, mm? Mm? Pleaaase?”

You groan, dragging your feet forward, but it’s impossible to progress when a well-over-six-foot boulder weighs you down. He’s viciously clinging onto you, nuzzling to your cheeks one at a time, and humming at every kiss he prints on your grimace. His frosty spikes tickle, softer than silk and fluffier than the clouds above.

Couldn’t he have been like this five minutes ago?

“Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” Bitterness pools in your mouth from where your teeth bite into your gums. Your voice faint. “You’ll be on your stupid phone, anyway.”

“Is that why you’re acting all upset? You want my attention?” The lack of answer prompts him to continue, a low chuckle setting the mood for what comes next.

“If you want my attention, then… all you have to do is ask for it.”

It’s at this point that you realize more than your upper bodies are touching, his knees slightly bent for his hips to press against your ass—and with them, you feel something else pressing too. Something that oughtn’t be there when all you’ve been doing is bickering and fooling around with each other.

You gulp hard, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. His head rests fully upon the elbow on your shoulder, covered eyes definitely taking in the blush that’s become somewhat of a second nature since you got together. He’s effortlessly seductive, and you’re thankful for both his typically childish demeanor and the blindfold around his forehead, or else you’d be in big trouble denying him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” Satoru coos in a condescending tone.

You try to look away, but he won’t let you, jaw tilting atop his other arm. There’s no hiding from him, and the stupidly smug smile that begs you to erase it.

“…yes.”

“Yes what? Cheating won’t do. You need to say it.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who won by teleporting to the finish line,” you mumble.

He doesn’t yield, and you know you’re going to be stuck there for a long time unless you stroke his ego. “Fine. Please gimme your undivided attention, oh grand sorcerer, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He croons contentedly. “Now, how much do you want it?”

“I changed my mind. I want a divorce.”

“We need to first be married in order to divorce.” He points out, rubbing salt in your wound like your next reply won’t be “You’re the one who refuses to settle down,” but it’s not. Just this once, you bite back your tongue.

Your restraints loosen as Satoru shakes his phone into your face, demonstrating how the device turns off with a click of his thumb. An airy laughter rings in your ears, and just like that, he reverts to the kind of man who giggles at knock-knock jokes and thinks it’s peak comedy when he mixes gummy worms in your cereal.

“No more calls!” He declares. “For a limited time only, strongest sorcerer Gojo Satoru is at your service.”

You snort, fighting back a smile that ends up crinkling around your eyes. “You make it sound like you’re a genie.”

“Hmm, you could always try rubbing me and see what happens. Might grant you a wish or two.”

You laugh at his attempt to flirt, trying and mostly failing to distract yourself from what was previously pushing against your body. It should embarrass you that two of your two wishes are sexual in nature, but that’s entirely on him, his innuendos, and the raw lust you’ve missed seeing transform his eyes from the sparkling color of the sea to one found a thousand meters under the surface.

Maybe three.

“Where’s the catch?”

“What catch?” He chirps.

“I know you, ‘Toru. With you, there’s always a catch.”

One moment you feel his breath on your skin, and the other you see him standing before you, his arms flexing behind his torso while he tips forward—a toothy grin stretching on his lips.

“Well, a fee is always due where there are services involved.” He takes a page from Mei’s book.

“The Gojo family vault running out of cash, so you lookin’ to extort your girlfriend?” You quip. “Go on. Name your price.”

“Oh, y’know.” His shoe traces a circle on the ground. “Just you saying what an amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome boyfriend you have for the world to hear.”

You browse the acres of trees surrounding you; there is not a soul to be seen or heard within a close radius. What world?

“You said handsome twice.”

“Intentionally.” He deadpans.

You return his playfulness by saying he forgot to add infuriating to the list, even though you’ve already decided to humor him. Cute is more like it.

“My boyfriend is the most—”

“Does your boyfriend have no name? Take it from the top.”

You sigh, “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, wonderful—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Satoru intervenes, raising his forefinger in objection. “Forgot charming!”

Your teeth clatter, gritting a growl.

“Only one life left. Better get it right this time or,” he draws an imaginary line across his neck, faking a choking sound as he’s supposedly decapitated.

With both hands around your mouth, you shape a cone and shout so loudly that countless birds betray their hiding spots between the tree branches as they pour out into the sky. “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome again, boyfriend in existence who totally didn’t put me up to this!” In a quiet voice, “Happy now?”

“Full marks!” He gleefully shoves a thumbs up in your face. “Now I’m all yours and will be for the rest of the night. Feel free to make the best of me while you can.”

“Then, can I get my first wish granted now, Mr. Genie?”

“What is it?”

He stands still as you bring your hands to his face and cup his cheeks, fingers teasing the seams of his blindfold. “Lemme see your eyes.”

“Hmm? You wanna see them? Why—you missed them?”

A nod. “Don’t put me through that same speech again. They are pretty, and yes, I miss them. We haven’t been seeing each other as often, so. C’mon. Lemme see them.”

You try to lower the fabric, but the harder you pull, the more it seems to resist. “Satoru…?”

“Mm?” He licks his lips. “What is it, sugarplum?”

Your eyes roll so far back into your skull that you’re afraid they’ll slip down your esophagus. “I said, I wanna see your eyes. May I?”

He cocks his head in consideration, entertaining an affectionate smile before he denies you with a cheeky little nope!

“Why not?”

This is the first time he denies you.

“For a multitude of reasons.” He states wryly. Uncharacteristically for him.

You wait for an explanation—a slight opening between his lips. His tongue lays flat against his teeth, darting upward as if he’ll finally say something, but he doesn’t. This happens about four times before he sternly announces, “The sun.”

“The sun…?” You glance at the sky, a veil of darkness slowly descending upon the peachy gradients of the melting clouds. “You mean the one that just set?”

“I wasn’t done talking. My other reason is…” He motions for you to get closer. You lean in as instructed, patiently hanging on his lips as if he is about to open the envelope and reveal the name of a talent show winner, yet his answer isn’t any more satisfying than the previous one is. “The people.”

“Satoru, we haven’t seen a live human in over an hour. What are you talking about? And since when were others an issue?”

“You don’t know what it feels like to be me!” Satoru exclaims in an exaggerated tone as he shakes your hands off and turns in the opposite direction. “Having everyone stare at you wherever you go, people asking, Sensei, please! We need to see your wonderful eyes! and getting called Six Eyes like you’re a piece of meat. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be any better than them, Y/N.”

You blink a number of times, “stunned” being too little of a word to describe your surprise at his sudden burst. He always had a knack for the dramatic, but with the way the back of his palm is pressed against his forehead, he’s closer to an Academy Award than ever.

“Satoru.” Your hand moves to his shoulder without ever closing the distance. Damn infinity. “What is up with you today?” You ask half-jokingly, half-concerned. “Acting insecure; you are the one who doesn’t miss the chance to show your eyes off to everyone, and when I ask you to show them, you pull this—why?”

“It’s because I only have eyes for you.” He smirks full of confidence, roughing up your hair and then bringing his thumb below your chin, holding it up for a kiss. You don’t even stop him. Hell, you don’t even close your eyes. You are too baffled to.

You regain agency over your words only after he starts parading away from you, his feet spending more time in the air than they do on land. “Hey, wait! What was that? What does you having eyes only for me have to do with anything?”

His chuckle precedes his answer. “You’ll see when we reach the inn. Last down the foothills is a double loser!”

“Ahhh, that was soooo good! I feel—ugh, reborn!”

Satoru’s joints click as he stretches both arms behind his back and over his head, the striped sleeves of his gray-colored yukata rolling down his elbows. He doesn’t mind that he’s blocking the doorway or that the long face you’ve been sporting since you parted at the lobby threatens to hit the floor at his theatrics.

Your onsen experiences differed by miles. While he was off soaking and splashing by himself at the vacant men’s baths, you were forced to endure 45 excruciating minutes in the company of a group of bachelorettes who wouldn’t shut up about the “dreamy masked man” who booked the single most expensive suite in the compound, rewriting his life story with lewd fantasies that—for as long as you could help it—would remain as such. Unrealized.

“The temperature was just perfect, the right amount of hot without scorching, and the minerals already circulate through my bloodstr—ouch!”

You shove past him and his impromptu review of the hot springs, temporarily giving up on the blockbuster that your mind crafts—Blood Bath: Revenge of the Hot Spring Killer 2—in favor of a spot where you can drop off your toiletries.

The room, or rather, the rooms, are vast in space and rich in furnishing. Opaque sliding doors separate the main area from the wardrobe and the bathroom, drawn to provide a direct view of the ryokan’s rock garden. Tatami mat flooring is indiscriminately strewn, replaced by granite tiles around the indoor hot tub. Raised alcoves host colorful ikebana vases; a couple of ukiyo-e scrolls depicting Mount Yoshino hang from opposing sides on the walls. Lastly, futons are neatly spread in the far back, with a short-legged table spanning at the center of the sitting space.

Bingo.

You settle beside it, laying your belongings on the floor while scrutinizing the couple’s gift box on top, regional specialties packed beside a ceremonial tea set that bears the inn’s logo. You flip the box on its back and attempt to decipher the cursive letters just as Satoru steals it from your hands, wasting no time ripping through the luxurious wrapping paper and tossing a block of brown-colored kuzumochi in his mouth.

“Gotta mmph hring Hahami ‘n’ Meghumi ‘ere.” He refuses to keep his remarks (or food) in his mouth, flour dusting the corners of his lips. “That oughta brighten ‘em up.” He says once he swallows, bringing his cup of welcoming tea to his teeth and cringing away at the sheer bitterness of the matcha. “Bleugh, this tastes like poison!”

You break into a quiet chuckle as you scrub his chin, sleeve curled over your fist, and thumb running stray along his frown. Cute. No, beyond cute. Adorable.

“Don’t blame the tea when your blood type is caster sugar, Satoru.”

“But that’s the secret to my sweetness.” He quips, returning to his previous floured-lip state as he flings a second kuzumochi into his mouth, supposedly to wash the bitterness away. “Think they sell more of these in the gift shop?”

You roll your eyes, humoring him with a teasing sure.

Making it back to your spot, you down your share of matcha in one go, savoring the delightful tartness the beverage leaves on your tongue. “‘Tis not even that bad.” You comment, pouring yourself a refill.

A certain form of silence prevails over the space, during which words aren’t spoken but expressed through various hums of content, with Satoru loudly nibbling on his loot and you quietly sipping on your tea. Moonlight filters the atmosphere through the semi-transparent shoji doors, casting playful shadows that dance along the subtle movements of his fingers.

He’s the puppeteer, and you his devoted audience, easily convinced that there’s genuine mastery in the way he handles his instruments and earnestly keen on trying them out before their numbers are further decimated. A pinch is at the ready, your thumb and forefinger making strategic advances towards the box of delicacies when a counter-offering presents itself to your lips.

“Say ahhhh!” Satoru waves the kuzumochi in your face, your teeth losing to the speed of his fingers as he retracts his hand at the last minute. “C’mon, c’mon!” He giggles, again dangling the bait. “Open wider. Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Your nose scrunches up. You don’t trust his intentions, and you have every right not to, considering he makes you chase after the confectionery with an open mouth, utilizing his infinity to keep you at bay whenever you get remotely close to succeeding.

“Satoru!” You yelp unamused.

“Sorry, sorry!” His apology sounds the opposite of truthful. “Promise, that was the last time. One big ahhh f’me! Ahhh—c’mon, it’s really good! You won’t regret it.”

And it’s no surprise you come to immediately regret it, your tongue hanging loose from your mouth, barely connecting with the dessert before your aghast eyes witness it being devoured by him, so quickly that you lose the opportunity to protest.

There’s no one to blame but yourself, though that doesn’t stop you from pouncing and tackling him to the floor. Two fists grab at the lapels of his yukata, fingers curling around the fabric, while you violently shake him like an unresponsive vending machine, urging him to spit out your eaten cash.

Satoru snorts, and he chuckles, and he laughs, a boisterous symphony of sounds pitted against one another as he, himself, refuses to fight back, merely showcasing the empty contents of his mouth and baring his teeth into a haughty grin that agitates you even more.

“You need to step up your game, munchkin. Or else you’ll never get your prize.”

“And you need to stop tricking me every chance you get!” You hiss, a sigh casting your head backward as you swipe the hair from your forehead. “If you played a fair game, then maybe—just maybe—I would actually win!”

“Aww, baby.” A lofty purr makes you awfully aware of the fact that you’re still straddling him, knees planted on both sides of his hips and thighs squeezing tightly around his crotch. “That’s so cute! Thinking you could ever stand a chance against me.”

“I could!”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Satoru’s palms glide along your curves, taking full advantage of the position to rub circles that spread over your ass and close around your thighs; slender fingers tantalizing as they ghost over your exposed skin. “I’m quite strong, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He makes you a living example of his words, giddily watching your self-control crumble when he forces you down against his body. A complacent smirk rises on his lips, countering the soft gasp that evades yours.

“See?” He chuckles. “Unmatched.”

“You’re quite annoying too.” You huff, biting your lips into a straight line while you deviate from staring at his face—a grave mistake.

All the wrestling has caused the lapels of his yukata to recede, the fabric so loose it barely counts as hiding a thing. Delicate collarbones pave the path toward his toned chest, rosy claw marks littering his creamy complexion (and it swells you with pride to know you’re the only one to have ever blemished his spotless body) down to the few unruly frosty hairs that span over his sculpted abdomen, and lead lower—much lower than your eyes can currently follow.

Goddamn it, Satoru.

“Is that why you’re grinding against me? Because I’m annoying you?”

His accusation makes your heart sink inside your chest as you are found guilty of a crime you unwittingly committed. Your hips were swaying back and forth against his hardened cock, guided by a firm grasp that failed to emulate the typically lazy manner with which he’d keep you anchored whenever you rode him.

(Aww, bunny. Keep bouncing like that, and you’ll hit your head. Me? Help? Don’t be silly. How you gonna grow stronger if I put in all the work, mm? Better be satisfied with what you have throbbing in ya already. Now, where were we? Right—Ijichi and his…)

Except you were in the middle of a fight, and you’re supposed to be holding a grudge that seems to matter less by the minute.

“Hey, baby?” His thumb harbors softness when he cups your cheek, candied voice flowing from pretty, pink lips that glisten under the pale moonlight. “Think you can be annoyed with your clothes off?”

You almost succumb to his will, the lines between vexation and lust becoming increasingly blurred as you try to get your point across a final time.

“Y’know, I too like sweets!” Your declaration practically melts into his touch. “Just because I let you do the honors doesn’t mean I don’t want to try some. It means I’m a better girlfriend than you.”

“No arguing here.” Satoru beams. “Don’t think I could be a better girlfriend if I tried.”

“Satoru!” You exclaim for the millionth time that day.

“Too early to be screaming my name.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I’m not?” He gasps, hand moving to his chest as if your words actually damaged his impenetrable ego. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. My girlie is such a meanie.”

Your eyes perform a semi-circle, knowing better than to venture beyond his neck. His face is cute, in that boyish way everyone swoons over, but his body is another story. The kind you read with the blinds lowered and the lights dim, colored cheeks, and giddy chuckles muffled by your bedding.

Sigh.

“How can I take you seriously when you say such things?”

“Never said you have to do it seriously. Just takin’ me is good enough.”

“Stop that!”

Swatting his hand from your face, you feel it join its twin behind your ass. You don’t want him to catch on to how affected you are simply by mounting him, but as your hips are forcibly rocked into his crotch, the wet patch your slick paints on his yukata reveals all that your tongue struggled to keep hidden.

“Jerk!”

Satoru grins, holding you tight against his lap as he sits the both of you up. Your noses are suddenly found brushing, and his lips expel a heavy breath your lips eagerly inhale, the proximity dizzying. “Maybe if I gave my girl some sugar, she’d turn sweeter.”

“Ugh, this is exactly what I meant!” You growl in frustration. “Satoru, I swear, if you use one more lame line on me, I’ll—”

Whatever was supposed to come next is drowned out by his tongue as it presses against your mouth, enticing your lips into an all-consuming kiss that threatens to eat you alive. Warm palms hook below your legs, turning scorching as they roll your yukata above your thighs and help secure your knees around his torso, caressing every inch of supple flesh they unveil.

You’re overcome by need in an instant, and judging from how ardently your boyfriend’s cupping your cheeks, as if he’s either trying to breathe life into you or suck it out of your lungs, it’s safe to say it goes both ways.

His cock rubs against your clit through his clothes. He’s so hard, and you are so wet that one thrust would be enough to sheathe him fully into your cunt and meld you into one. But that won’t do. If there’s one thing Satoru doesn’t rush, that’s the way he fucks. He wants to savor everything—every kiss, every touch, every whimper, every moan, every last drop of your essence that dribbles onto his fingers and drenches his tongue like the finest, most delectable nectar meant solely for him—before indulging the twitching sensation in his balls.

There’s no reason for today to be any different.

A string of saliva is cut in the middle as Satoru pulls away, your half drooling down your jaw and his collected by his tongue.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, baby! You were saying?” He coos in an awfully smug tone that barely registers over your incessant panting.

“Hm? Nothing? Thought so.” He deduces after turning his ear to your mouth, and for a second, you’re tempted to bite his earlobe right off.

But somehow you don’t, and in his book, that counts as obedience, which in turn qualifies for a reward.

He plants a kiss on your nose, tender enough to distract you from the no-good smirk plastered on his lips. “How about I do that other thing you asked for?”

Your mind traverses a foggy terrain. You’ve asked him for a lot of things in the recent past. Not overloading Aiko’s bowl with cat food the minute he sees it empty. Not surprise-hugging you when you’re walking alone at night and are unaware of his presence. Not rapping your morning routine to the tune of the hemorrhoid cream commercial. Not calling you munchkin or dwarf when it’s him who’s the long-lost descendant of the legendary tree people.

The list goes on and on with plenty of whimsical examples, and you realize, there are more things you’ve explicitly asked him not to do than do, with your one recurrent request being that he get you a ring made from neither fried dough nor grass blades.

“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told, thinking you’re oh-so-clever when you try to peer at him through downcast eyelashes, only to be shot down by his technique. “Uh-uh! No peeking!” The last thing your eyes see before they’re covered by his left palm are two fingers that hook under his blindfold and tug it upward.

“Why the secrecy?” You ask impatiently. “Afraid I’ll be blinded by your beauty? Must I remind you I’ve seen you sleeping with your mouth open? The magic is gone.”

“Is it?” His chuckle louder than the elusive sound of his blindfold coming undone. “And here my eyes were thinking you’ve turned even more beautiful than the last time they saw you. How unfortunate.”

There’s a certain humility that comes with someone as ethereal as Gojo Satoru calling you beautiful to your face, but right now, your mind remains fixated on one word and one word only. Eyes. My eyes. His eyes.

“You took it off?” Excitement colors your tone. “Lemme see!”

“Baby, baby, baby.” Satoru playfully chides. “When will you learn to be patient, mm? Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

Seven years is an awful long time to be waiting around.

Eventually, you feel his hand be drawn away, but before light can enter your eyelids, darkness engulfs them again. Cold satin now covers your brow, the kind of silky material you’ve previously only been able to experience via your fingertips as they yanked and hurled it across your bedroom walls.

“Tada!” The unmistakable sound of palms clasping. “You can open them now.”

“Satoru, what—what is this?” You mutter, tight-lipped, as if your ability to speak was also impaired. “I asked to see your eyes, not play suikawari.”

“Aw, shoot. Should I go ask for a watermelon?”

You sigh, fingers withdrawing into fists atop your thighs. You wonder how many years of jail time killing your boyfriend warrants, but then again, you doubt you’d possibly achieve what countless others have failed at.

“You wanted a rematch, didn’t you?” His hands move against your own, soft thumbs rolling reassuring circles around your wrists. He brings them to his lips, printing a kiss on each knuckle set. “Better strike while the iron’s hot. Besides, this game’s so easy, even you got a chance at winning,” he scoffs a laugh at how quick you’re to escape, pulling your hands back as if you were struck by an electric current. “All you hafta do is sit back and answer a few questions. Pretty easy, right?”

His voice rings close to your ear. You realize he’s in fact closer when he takes his affections to your cheeks, shamelessly bribing you with the sweetest kisses he can muster.

It’s working.

“I didn’t agree to this.” You state as his jaw perches on your shoulder, strong biceps caging your body while he reaches around your waist to undo the bow of your yukata.

“Really?” His breath travels south, hot steam depriving you of the opportunity to feel any real cold as you’re slowly stripped of your garments—and yet you still shudder when his lips close below your throat and suck onto your sweet spot. “‘Cause you seemed pretty agreeable when you were all ready to jump my bones a minute ago.”

“Th-that’s because—”

The fabric slides down your shoulders like butter, melting into the soft curves and pebbled peaks of your tits before it pools around your hips. His thighs tense up, blood rushing straight to his swollen cock head while he cradles you, eating you up with the eyes you so fondly reminisce.

“Aw, pumpkin! Won’t you look at that!” Your cheek is captured between his fingers, lightly pinched. “You’re blushing through the blindfold.”

You feel so vulnerable, and you aren’t sure whether that’s because you’re straddling your fully clothed boyfriend while being fully naked yourself or because everything around you is amplified, from the way his finger pads dance around your nipples, to the fruity shampoo remnants lingering in his tousled hair.

“‘Toru, I—”

You cut yourself off. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who has to beg her own boyfriend for dick.

“Will you still be blushing as I fuck your cute face?”

But you’re about to be.

“Hey, I was just joking!” Your hands are seized without accomplishing their goal of removing the blindfold. “Don’t want you losing before the game begins, do we?”

“‘Toru, just—I don’t care about any stupid games, okay?” You whine, voice purposely pathetic in case he feels generous enough to cave in. “I just want you. I need you. Please?”

“And you will have me, baby.” Satoru soothes, shifting both your hands to a single grip while he digs into the pile of clothes at your side. “A promise is a promise. I’ll pamper my precious girl to her heart’s content if that’s what she wants.” A string too thin to be a rope wraps around your wrists, piecing them together. “Love her all night long; teach her all the things she misses when her eyes are wide open. My sweet honeypie, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d also like it if you quit it with all those corny nicknames.” You answer, having absolutely no idea as to how the floor is replaced with the futon when you haven’t budged an inch. At least you think you haven’t.

“You love them.” The grin strong in his voice as he lays you down and climbs on top of you, pinning your bound wrists above your head. “Like you love me, my little sugarboo.”

“I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Wow, this early? Have barely touched you.”

“I’m rolling my eyes again!” You repeat at a higher volume.

“Of course you are. This isn’t too tight, is it?” A finger curls between your binds. You shake your head, and he pecks it, gently caressing your hair while situating his knee between your thighs, bouncing it against your pussy. “You’ll see, you’re gonna love every minute of this,” Satoru continues, his hand playful as his fingers toy with yours.

You have little to no agency over your body when Satoru lifts your leg and folds it onto your stomach, his lips held against yours and his tongue slotted in between. He kisses you slowly, like he has all the time to unravel you, and in a way, he does. He could stretch this moment to infinity, savoring your lips until they’re all swollen and coated with spit, his name replacing every word in your vocabulary while he wanders lower, dragging his warm mouth against your skin and smearing wet kisses down your tits.

“The mochi weren’t half as sweet as you,” he murmurs, soft lips clamping over your nipple, the suspicion of sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud. “I’ll buy you some in the morning.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you huff, your chest heaving with one heavy breath after another as he takes hold of your other nipple, alternating between pinching and rolling it around with his thumb, repeating the same ritual of licking and sucking as the nipple in his mouth changes.

“Mm, but I want to.” He insists. “I want to spoil my baby and give her everything she wants. I’d give her the world if I could.”

And yet, you won’t marry her.

His smile ghosts over your flesh, gradually fading as he approaches your navel. “But first, I need to fuck her pretty pussy, mm? That’s what my princess wants, doesn’t she?”

Reluctantly, you nod, a lump forming in your throat when his fingers find purchase beneath your thighs and spread them apart. His biceps curl around your calves as he mounts your knees on his shoulders, peppering your inner thighs with more featherlight kisses that continuously inch closer to your entrance.

He is so attentive when he wants to be, but in his core, Satoru is a selfish lover. He gives, and he gives, and he gives more than you can take, his satisfaction lying in your cute little moans and the tiny arch of your back whenever he pushes you to your limits.

“Thank you for the food!” He croons, and you swear to hate yourself for almost chuckling at his distasteful joke.

He was always like that, to the point where suggesting he bewitched you into falling for him isn’t an exaggeration so much as an undeniable reality. Him, who with his cheeky smiles, exaggerated gestures, and mirthful snickering, conquered your thoughts and claimed the mushy land of your brain as if it were the moon. Him, whose dimples crease around his lips every time you kiss and whose bright blue irises bloom behind your shut eyelids. Him, who’d remain the most extraordinarily beautiful person, even if your eyes never opened again.

Him, whose plump lips round around your clit as he finally takes it in his mouth, suckling on the small bundle of nerves as if he expects it to dissolve into liquid sugar.

“F-fuck!”

Your hips buck into his face, lifting from the covers while your hands maintain their position. If it weren’t for his stupid infinity, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him as far into you as humanely possible, but for now, you can only chant his name, feeling his shoulders tense up while his hungry tongue runs laps between your slick folds.

“I’m so lucky you aren’t bound to a region. I’d have to stockpile on you every single day.” Satoru hums against your clit, the vibrations from his mellifluous tone translating into pleasurable tingles up your spine. “My favorite specialty,” he chuckles, sounding so lovable that you can’t hold it against him.

He doesn’t kid about you being like a dessert to him, his tongue greedily soaking up all the juices that gush from your hole right down his chin. He moans in pure delight, perhaps more than you do, the uninterrupted flow of compliments making you feel at least worthy of a Michelin star. So pretty. So sweet. So perfect. The same combination of words he’s been repeating since you first got together, as if his fascination never truly ran out.

The sounds get more salacious while he fucks his tongue into your entrance, and you throw your head back, feeling so unbelievably light that if it weren’t for his hold on your thighs, you would be floating straight to the ceiling. His thumbs stretch out your lips for him to reach deeper, pointy nose rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit while he persistently works your body to its high, making out with your nether lips like he’s kissing your actual mouth.

“Feels s-so good, ‘Toru,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs from closing around his head.

“Yeah? Like that?” Satoru chuckles, and it would’ve pushed you over the edge if his tempo wasn’t disrupted. “I like it too. Love eating your little pussy. I can tell she loves me too, doesn’t she?”

You can’t believe that the man who’s making all the stars of the night sky appear in the confinement of your tied eyes is the very same man who’s addressing your pussy as a she.

“Hm? You’re hurting my feelings here.” He sounds pouty, though you can picture the sadistic glint in his eyes as his teeth sink into your clit, softly enough to not induce any pain, but hard enough to bring your hips to a stutter.

“Y-yes, she does—fuck, my pussy loves you, S-satoru!” You cry out.

“Hah, that’s more like it.”

Your voice shatters into a million broken sobs which only motivate Satoru to keep going. He nibbles on the sensitive nub, darted tongue inflicting short and rapid flicks that cut right through the coiling tension in your guts with precision that’s exclusive to him and the countless times he’s had you fall apart with his mouth alone.

Your fingers clench while your toes curl, thighs trembling as succulent juices spurt all over him, and, God—how you wish you could see his pretty face ruined like that.

“Mm, baby, you always cum so much for me.”

Without letting a drop go to waste, Satoru licks a luscious stripe between your slit, rolling your essence in his mouth to relish the taste.

“Y’know, I could just make time freeze and eat you out for hours. Days,” he lays a kiss on top of your mound. “Weeks,” one for every thigh. “Months,” his lips on your clit making you wince from pleasure. “Years.” He snickers, marveling at how easily you respond to his touch. “You’d want that, sweets? All that pleasure, just for you. Think you could take it?”

Not knowing better, you nod, and he laughs. You aren’t familiar enough with Jujutsu to be horrified by the prospect of reliving the same moment over and over again, literally getting fucked dumb in a way his technique has never achieved on another.

“Alright, time to turn off the cheats.” He announces after you manage to regain your breath, and it isn’t until his question that you’re reminded of the whole “game” ordeal.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What?” Your voice scratches its way out of your throat, coarse and laden with desire.

“You asked me the same question earlier, remember?” His fingertips tickle as they drum against your stomach. “At the plateau?”

I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing. How many fingers am I holding up?

“The one you didn’t answer?”

“Four, five, two, four, one.” The number of fingers he presses on your skin changes depending on the number he calls. You’d be impressed if you’d actually kept track of the digits you’d shown him, and they weren’t picked at random.

“So, how many?”

You try to pull yourself together, calmly considering your options. He wouldn’t start with five or four. The first three numbers are more likely, and taking a leap of faith—

“One.” You lock in your answer, with an excitable cheer following suit.

“Wow, my girl is so smart!” Satoru praises. “Got it on her first try!”

“Quit treating me like I’m one of your students.”

“Oh, trust me.” He runs his middle finger down your abdomen, emphasizing his point with a tap on your clit. “I’d never treat any of my students the way I treat you. Or anyone else for that matter,” he trails off, gathering some of the slick that’s trickled out of your slit, and brings it into his mouth, finger coated with spit the next time he touches you.

“All of my special treatment is reserved for my special girl.”

His finger prods lazily into your cunt, thick enough for every ridge to be lusciously dragged against your velvety walls, and long enough to delve straight into your pulsing core.

To his disappointment, there isn’t much of a reaction—save for the occasional hitched breath. You can take it. For seven years now, you’ve been trained on his deft fingers and the many tricks they play, but when his thumb begins circling your clit in tandem with his thrusts, your facade cracks.

“Aw, you didn’t think it’d be this easy, did you, bunny?” Satoru coos in fake sympathy, as his thumb zigzags feverishly about your clit, the finger in your cunt curving in a repetitive come-hither motion.

“‘T-toru, please—ngh!” You whine, your lower half squirming on its own accord. “You said you’d let me win!”

“Let you?” A complacent smile takes shape on his face, and although you cannot see it, you can hear it chiming in his tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Y-you evil man!”

He giggles at your supposed insult, one moment asking if that’s the best you can do, and the next cheering you on by saying he’s rooting for you.

Asshole.

Heat runs rampant between the lowest pit in your stomach and the apex of your flushed cheeks, the blindfold soaking sweat off your forehead like a headband. You are close; pressure steadily building only to wither away once Satoru retracts his hand.

Asshole!

“Sorry, pretty. Got a little carried away, but no hard feelings, hm?” Your tormentor asks, rubbing your clit at a pace far too slow to be soothing. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“T-two.” You answer, your sanity chipping the longer your hole remains puckering around nothing.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”

You kiss your teeth as Satoru angles his wrist with your pussy and shoves two of his fingers in, curling them against the spongy spot that swells with each pump, and when that isn’t enough to muffle your cries, you bite down onto your lip, choking on every sob you’ve been withholding. Last thing you want is to give your next-room neighbors another reason to fantasize about your boyfriend.

“It’s fine. You can let it all out.” Satoru reads your mind. “Room’s soundproof, though there isn’t much you can say, right?”

Your walls flutter around his fingers in utter bliss. You hate (love) how his words get to your body before your brain can process them; every remark you’d typically deflect, seeping under your skin and igniting as fire in your loins.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, maintaining a steady rhythm even with his thumb swiping at your clit. “I’ll be the one doing all the talking from now on.”

“Sh-shut up!” You manage to say before returning to your three-word prayer of little oh-my-god’s and ah-ah-ah’s.

“But you love my mouth.” Satoru argues back. “And now you love my fingers. How long they feel stretching you out, how deep they can go.”

He’s buried to his knuckles, slowing down for the sake of plunging his digits further into your wet cunt, the lewd squelching bouncing across the walls along with the obscene sounds you let out.

“You’re practically fucking yourself on them.”

Your boyfriend’s words cloud your brain, your body acting purely on instinct as you begin to hump his hand. Satoru doesn’t stand in the way; rather, he assists with a sturdy hold that has your hips slamming against his fingers, repeating the motion until your creamy essence comes pouring down warmly over his palm.

You aren’t sure whether the white speckles in your vision stem from the gates of heaven welcoming you to the other side or the light fixtures on the ceiling, becoming certain only after the outline of a halo brushes against your forehead. It’s hard to call the man slumped above you an angel when his one hand is cupping your cunt, the fingers of the other tasked with undoing the knot around your wrists.

You are free to move—or about as free as one can be when every joint in their body begs to drag them down, your limbs strewn over the sheets like those of a tattered rag doll. The blindfold is still on, albeit slightly lowered over your nose. A little more wriggling and you can take it off, yet that too requires effort you lack.

Satoru says something that fails to register in your trance. He’s mocking you. He’s praising you. He’s mocking you while praising you, and praising you while mocking you, because those two go hand in hand in his brain—a proper carrot and stick. You think you should be thanking him or cursing him, but your words turn out a jumbled mess—nothing worth writing home about.

“Ready for the final round?” His voice finally conquers the ambient—heavy, almost as though his own ministrations have worn him out, and distorted by every prolonged inhale and sharp exhale he takes.

“Do I have a choice?” You provoke.

“Sure you do. Just—hah, not when it comes to this.”

A low fuck evades him, and you are oblivious to the way he’s been fisting his cock this entire time, smearing your slick over his length and squeezing the reddened tip in the ring shaped by his thumb and index, biting onto his tongue whenever your name comes remotely close to spilling from his lips. Only he knows the endurance he’s shown keeping himself from busting in his hand at the sight of your fucked-out form, trembling thighs calling to him in a carnal manner your lips could never muster.

You look ravishing, and ravishing you is all he aches to do.

“How many—” Satoru begins, only to be cut off with a croaked three that jumps an octave the moment his fat tip prods into your folds. “Three?” His fingers burrow into the supple flesh of your thighs as he splays your legs over his bare chest. “Could’ve sworn it was at least eight. Guess I need to make it go a bit deeper, huh?”

His lips lay soft against your ankle, trailing honeyed kisses down the expanse of skin that lose finesse once they near the crevice of your knee. An idea blinks in his brain as he grabs your thigh and presses it down against your stomach, repeating the same pattern of tenderness on the other until you are folded in half.

He stares down at you, and for a moment, that’s all he does. His eyes—the prized six eyes that are the very synonym for quintessence—well with adoration over the point where your bodies connect, the tight fit of your cunt prompting him to lose control and fuck an entire generation of sorcerers into you.

All in good time.

A quiet whisper reminds Satoru of his promise, hips drawing back before they snap right into you, the crude sound of his balls slapping against your ass reverberating across the room. You moan in unison, your fists thudding against the floor as his thrusts send you flying past the covers.

It’s too much. It’s too little. You want less. You want more. Your desires bend and twist around one another like indecisive vines, settling on a direction only after he leans forward and fixes the cushions behind your head.

“Congratulations.” The gentle action of his hand combing through your hair contradicts the cock throbbing inside your pussy. “To think my baby would make me eat my own words—well; I can get behind dating a winner. Especially when they’re as beautiful as you.”

“S-satoru!”

You look away—if resting your flushed cheek on the significantly colder pillow and fixing your gaze at whatever lies beyond the blindfold counts as looking—the sincerity in his words moving you more than it should.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are embarrassed.” Satoru chuckles, punctuating his own question with a sensual roll of his hips that drags against your clit, coaxing the tiniest of moans to slip from your pursed lips.

“Hmm, is it because I called you beautiful?” He leans onto his elbow, relying on the weight of his chest to keep you pinned down. “Nah, can’t be it. I call you beautiful on a daily basis, don’t I? Then—hmm—is it ‘cause I’m so nice to you? Because I’m the best boyfriend you could ask for?”

“Q-quit it with all that self affirm—oh my god!”

Tears prickle your eyelash line at the familiar way his cock glides between your walls. He’s in so deep, relaxed thrusts pushing against your abdomen from the inside, with your cervix serving as the last line of defense for your merge, gallantly bearing every kiss his tip prints on your core.

“C’mooon, you gotta help me out. I’m all outta guesses here.” Satoru whines in your ear, his voice a pitch too high. “Is it because you can’t see me? Because this feels so good? Or because,” his hand sneaks between your bodies to work languid circles around your clit, “you just love me that much?”

“Aw, so that’s what it was?” He interprets the clenching of your pussy as he wills. For once he isn’t off the mark. “Okay, look at me.”

Even when you weren’t embarrassed before, you are about to be as heat pools in your stomach anew, threatening to make your score three to zero. You feel yourself turning liquid, dissolving between ripples of pleasure, drowning in you and drowning in him, and he’s both the riptide pulling you in as he’s the lifeline washing you ashore, the salty tang of the sea clinging to the fingers fumbling about your chin.

“I said, look at me.” His tone serious this time.

Every sense of yours is held captive as Satoru’s lips finally smash into yours, the taste of your essence refusing to die out no matter how many times your tongues swirl around each other. Your breathy moans are traded for his needy grunts, compiling into a broken record that plays sinfully in your ears, the whiff of sex lingering potent in the thick air between you.

He doesn’t fuck into you so much as he grinds against you, allowing you to grab at his biceps when your legs start to shake, the white clouds in your peripheral dispersing behind the sky blue of his eyes, placid orbs electrified by lust.

“Hi,” Satoru greets with an amiable smile, the blindfold dangling from around his forefinger.

“H-hi,” you return, your palms creeping up his face as if to appraise it, soft thumbs pushing the dampened strands away from his forehead, a thirst within you at last quenched.

“It’s-a me.” He says stupidly, basking in the affectionate way you cradle him.

“If you crack a Mario joke I’ll kick you in the nuts.” You warn.

“Oh no! How dare you genocide my children?” He gasps, and you can’t help but chuckle, eliciting a moan from him as your walls tighten around his cock. “M-minus one Gojo junior.”

Another laugh. Another moan. Another kiss.

“Would you put a baby into me if I didn’t?” You trace against his lips, uncertain of the answer you want to hear.

There’s no reason to be discussing having kids when you haven’t even tied the knot, let alone when more qualified candidates exist to continue his clan’s lineage. Maybe Shoko—she and Satoru have always been close, and a healing technique sounds like a valuable inheritance. Utahime—you aren’t sure what her abilities are, but they too go back. Even Mei, her family have a sizable fortune, and their genes combined would—

Mischief sparks in his eyes, tugging at the corners of his mouth and spreading to your lips as he kisses you—not his close friend, not his self-declared nemesis, and certainly not his senior. Just plain old you.

“If that’s what the future Mrs. Gojo wants, then—”

“What do you—”

Before your questions can manifest, Satoru picks up a tempo that knocks the air out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your mind. Big palms wrap your knees around his torso, sculpted pecs smothering your plushy tits while he vigorously drills his cock into your sopping cunt, having the nerve to laugh at your whimpers in between strangled noises of his own.

“You feel so good f’me, baby. S-so fucking good, aren’t you? My good—nah, my perfect girl. Our kids will be perfect too. G-gonna have lots of ‘em, mm? Gonna-fuck, gimme a whole class to teach, right?” He blabs deliriously, broad shoulders flexing as your nails rake them.

You want that. Everything he’s willing to offer, a future where his last name precedes your first, and chubby babies that bear his disposition, his ideals, and his smiles follow on your trail like little disoriented ducklings; one where he’s your husband, and you’re his wife, and you’re tied to each other for life.

Satoru’s lips drift toward your neck, biting sloppy marks that have you writhing below him. And when his cock hits that one spot inside of you, the one he’s been abusing all night long like a kid with a brand new toy on Christmas Eve, “Oh my God—G-god, p-please j-just like that, shit shit f-fuck!”

“Why bring religion into this?” He mumbles, voice inadvertently sultry and cumbered with every bit of self-restraint he showed before entering this frenzy where his climax is the only thing that matters. “Just—hah, say my name. Let the heavens know who helped you ascend them.”

The next time your eyes meet, he’s grinning, pink lips bitten cherry red, and he’s pretty; so pretty; too pretty.

“C-can’t say th-things like that!” You struggle to maintain control over your bobbing head.

“Why not? Your little heart can’t handle it?”

“Sh-shut up, dumbass!”

His eyebrows unite amid his forehead, even his frown attractive.

“That’s not my name.”

“S-stupid!” You yelp, mainly addressing the myriad stupid butterflies that chose to swarm your stupid stomach at his stupid commentary.

“Mmm, I think you’re the one getting fucked stupid here, sugarplum.”

Satoru zooms on into your lips, playfully swiping his tongue in between. You can’t cum any more; it’s physically impossible. You think. But “impossible” isn’t a word in his vocabulary; every snap of his hips causes you to ride on a rollercoaster with no end-destination, only a consistent state of newer highs.

“S-satoru.” His name rolling off your tongue works like a charm, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down as he presses your foreheads together.

“Again?” He pleads. Quietly. A pin capable of overshadowing his tone.

“‘Toru.” Two smiles turn into one. “My ‘Toru.”

“More.”

There’s not a single gap between your bodies; every piece of him fits into every piece of you like a puzzle, but somehow he seems to get closer, squeezing into your hips a little tighter and kissing your lips a little rougher.

His heart beats wildly against his chest, red leaking onto his cheeks and blue spilling from the ocean in his eyes. He looks at you with love—so much love that it’s seared into your very being and becomes your own identity as the only woman Gojo Satoru ever truly, madly, deeply loved.

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

It’s the combination of those four little words that pushes Satoru over the edge, his hips jerking violently while his cock pumps ropes upon ropes of creamy cum inside your spent pussy, filling you up until you can’t be filled any more.

He collapses on top of you, head reduced into a fluffy snowball that takes refuge in the crook of your neck, and that’s your cue to hold him close, pampering him with all the affection you’re otherwise so frugal about. He’s touch-starved to the point of shaking in your embrace, nearly purring as your arms loop behind his back and your lips touch his shoulders, peppering incomplete kisses across his hot skin.

Your hands relocate to his cheeks as he regains enough composure to face you, an idiotically bright smile stretching from one ear to the other. He nuzzles your palms, pressing kisses at the center of each and then rubbing his nose against them like a content kitten who just received the world’s greatest belly rub.

Aiko should learn from him.

“I love you more, hunny bunny.” Satoru beams, soft rays of sunshine pouring from the cracks in his dimples. “Non-negotiable.”

You bask in the afterglow together, locking toes as if you’re trying to hold hands and making out like two teenagers in heat. Correction: two idiots in love.

Your so-called honeymoon period never ended, probably because you never ran out of things to love about each other. Right now, you’re loving how Satoru’s dick remains plugged inside your pussy despite its painful twitching, for the simple reason you asked him to stay like that a little longer.

You love how Satoru tries to keep his eyes open when you kiss just so you can appreciate them a while longer, and you love the light giggle that tickles your lips as you remind him that only sociopaths kiss with their eyes open.

You love the way Satoru buries his head between your tits and squeezes them against his cheeks, apologizing to his “girls” for not giving them the proper attention and promising expensive lingerie and whipped cream treatments when you get back to Tokyo.

You also love how when Satoru pulls out and sees the mess he made out of your hole, his seed rolling between your thighs in an endless stream, his first reaction is to grin, and his second is to teleport across the room, cleaning you up before you can realize he ever left. You love that the answer to the question “how?” is a cocky “because I’m Gojo Satoru,” which seems to be the answer to most things concerning him.

The list of things you love about your boyfriend grows exponentially after Satoru puts the two of you in bed and pulls you into his arms. You love his hugs. How you drown in them, how he engulfs you better than any dress, shirt, or skirt can. You love the comforting scent his pores exude and the temperature of his naked skin on yours.

You love the narrow hugs that date back to lazy mornings in your student one-bedroom apartment, splayed in a bed that could barely fit his enormous legs, and the wide, almost too comfortable ones you share in his king-sized bed. You love the silly, whiny tone that typically begs you to miss work and try to outlast eternity with him, now declaring it’s “sleepy time.”

You love the Satoru that chased after you until you loved him back, and the Satoru who patiently waits until your eyelids close first so you don’t go a minute without him.

“‘Toru?” You mumble into his chest, seconds before the last semblance of conscience fades away. “Did you turn it off? Your technique, I mean.”

“Did I?” Snowy lashes flutter slowly above his tired eyes. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to see in nine months.” Satoru kisses your forehead. “Goodnight, my little cuddle muffin.”

On second thought, there is one thing you hate about him.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

“G-Gojo?! Hey, what happened to ‘Toru? Baby? I know you’re not sleeping—hey, wake up, I was just joking! Come on!”

43 Missed Calls—Principal Nanimon

You have 9 new voicemails.

Press play.

“Satoru!” The phone rattles in his grasp, nearly falling into the wooden plate splayed on his lap. “I think I told you to keep your phone on at all times! You are a sorcerer; show some responsib—”

“What is he going on about?” Satoru yawns, scratching the back of his head, and then scrolls to the next voicemail in line.

“Satoru! This is your final chance to answer before I—”

“Final my ass, there’s like—what, seven more of ‘ese?” He comments with a mouth full of fruit that the room service so kindly delivered a few minutes ago. Delicious. Another reason for him to drop a five-star review.

It’s no surprise when the third voicemail starts with the exact same enraged pronunciation of his name and continues with empty threats that want him scrubbing the entire school grounds. Yaga seems to have forgotten their teacher-student relationship ended a decade ago.

Neeeeeext.

“Satoru, I saw what Nanimon is, and I am not happy.”

“Oh? So he outgrew Windows XP?” He chuckles inaudibly.

Licking the sticky nectar off his fingers, Satoru pads toward the window, standing guard between the vicious sun rays and your sleeping form. You appear immune to Yaga’s ear-shattering voice, eyelids shut, and sheets kicked off your nude body, with your hair coiled around your head like a hornet’s nest.

Muffling the speaker with one hand, Satoru leans to untangle the hair from your open mouth. He thinks he might be partial to your charms, because even when he’s holding onto your spit-laced locks, he can only smile at how cute you are drooling in your sleep.

“Satoru? Satoru!” A voice far too guttural to be yours calls out to him, until he realizes Yaga’s voice has broken out of the voicemails.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru greets once he puts some distance between himself and the bedding. “Good morn—”

“Satoru! What do you think you are doing not answering my calls?” The man fumes.

“Eating persimmons while watching my adorable girlfriend sleep,” he answers earnestly, switching apps and snapping a quick picture of your face. “She’s so pretty—ahhhh, I feel so lucky! Want me to show you? Do you even remember what a real woman looks like?” He taunts.

“She’s still your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” The phone changes ears. “Man, your memory is really failing you. How about I pay for you and Principal Gakuganji to go on a little vacation? I know this amazing resort for senior citizens; their cognitive enhancement therapy did wonders for my great-great-great uncle. Just say my name; they’ll treat you—”

“Satoru, this is important!” Yaga cuts him off. “You’ve been off the map an entire day,” fourteen hours, he corrects, “and haven’t popped the question? What are you waiting for?”

His gaze rakes over your exposed body, trailing the necklace of mauve lovebites around your neck. Smiling, “We’ve been busy.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget the ring.”

“Nah, it’s right here.”

Satoru reaches inside his yukata’s sleeve and examines the small jewelry box, tempted to ruin the surprise by grabbing the blue diamond ring and placing it around your finger—right here, right now. It will look so much prettier on you than it does gathering dust in its confinement.

“What about you?” He stores it away and resumes his call. “Did you do what I asked you to?”

A sigh. “It’s all ready on our side. Are you sure she’ll say yes? You sound confident, but a woman’s heart isn’t the same as jujutsu, Satoru. When it comes to love, the mouth is the source of disaster, and when it comes to you, it’s better to just give her the damn ring and say nothing.”

“And Sugiyama Kiyotaka says it’s fine as long as we understand each other. I get your point. Don’t need love advice from an old man with a doll fetish. I know what I’m doing. Besides, she’s the only one for me. She will say yes.”

A low roar reverberates from the speaker like a faulty engine that’s about to combust, and when it does combust, the entire room shakes. “Satoru! You’re gonna be a married man soon. Better shape up or—”

“Blah blah blah,” Satoru mocks. “Don’t you have anyone else to nag? I think Ijichi forgot to file that—”

“‘Toru?”

The sweet sound of your voice gives him all the reason he needs to hang up the phone after a hasty, “Don’t call me if you don’t need me, and if you do, then don’t.”

“Babyyyyyyyyyy!” He drags out the syllable as much as possible, an invisible cloud of dust appearing around his body when he falls on the empty space beside you, open arms wrapping your shoulders in an excruciatingly tight embrace. Kisses—lots of kisses slobbered all over your face while you are too drowsy to repel him.

“‘T-Toru! S-stop!” You chuckle hoarsely, reciprocating the sentiment however you can. “Who was that on the phone?”

“No one important,” Satoru grins, balancing his chin against your chest. “Ready for today? I got a very fun day planned ahead of us.”

A/N: If you made it this far, then congratulations! You finished reading my first Gojo fic (that made me fall in love with him jsjsjs)

As I mentioned above, chapter 1 is a flashforward to the main storyline that will start kicking chapter 2 onward. Expect laughable misunderstandings, questionable comedic moments, cat rescuings, college tutorings, and the angst behind Gojo's refusal to get married.

Hope you'll stick with! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments, are always appreciated 💙

[buckarooranch]

Giddy up! 🤠

Today marks the launch of our Western Show Set, a project that's been in the making for quite some time with its fair share of highs and lows. We're absolutely thrilled to finally unveil this collection! ☺🎉 It includes a brand-new Show Saddle, Bridle, and Western Pad. The Saddle and Bridle are available in six different swatches, while the Pad offers eight variations. 🎨

Now, you're all set to mount up and step into the spotlight! With this tack set, you'll fit right in. For the next four weeks, it will be available exclusively to our cherished patrons before becoming accessible to the public for everyone to enjoy! 😃

We eagerly anticipate seeing your competition snapshots, so don't hesitate to tag us. Likes, shares, and reblogs are warmly welcomed and greatly appreciated. ❤

Details:

-6 custom Show saddles & bridles, and 8 different Western pads.

-You can download the set separately.

-Don't reupload or claim as your own

-The Saddle, Bridle and Saddlepad are for elder/adult horses.

This set requires the Horse Ranch DLC.

🌻 ~ Howdy

(The in-game pictures have a Depth of Field to blur the background, poses were made by us besides pic. 1 & 3)

Pictures of some of the possible sets:

Patreon (Free!)

[dazednstoned]

Modern Rdr2 hcs:

-Abigail dresses like it's the 2000s (I'm talking miniskirts, low rise jeans, heeled flip flops w the fucking sparkles). She will never change too.

-Charles and Arthur go on dates to those adoption events to pet all the dogs and cats

-the whole gang frequently gathers for family bbqs. Every time someone ends up getting punched, passing out, or storming off

-Abigail puts Jack on one of those backpack leashes for kids (John too if we're being honest)

-Tilly, Karen, and Marybeth do full goodwill, garage sale, and vintage market days. They do not mess around either

-the only thing hosea knows how to do on his phone is play chess

-Sean still can't read in modern time

-john plays guitar and writes really horrible love songs for Abigail

-Javier and john r for sure in a band together, they're pretty good when they sing the songs Javier wrote

-Lenny and Sean co-parent an extremely neglected widgetable

-Arthur listens to facebook reels on full volume in public w no shame. Isaac is mortified every time

-john has various tattoos, half of them are god awful. He definitely got Abigail's name or initials tattooed somewhere and she was livid

-Karen gives herself piercings with a really shitty piercing gun

-arthur and John work together in construction, an auto shop, or in the equestrian field.

-Dutch has a very rigid and lengthy skincare routine

-john uses 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner, but he says it's 3 in 1 bc it also counts as bodywash

-Tilly is the only one of her family to graduate college (Arthur dropped out of hs when Eliza got pregnant and john never went)

-Hosea is one of those old people you just see walking around the neighborhood at like 8am

-john and Arthur don't wear sunscreen or put on lotion. Abigail sometimes manages to force some sunscreen on John's face before he goes to work tho

-bill refuses to go to gay bars but uses Grindr

-Abigail cuts John and Jack's hair bc she refuses to pay for something she thinks she can do herself (she cannot do it herself)

-Kieran is a hair braiding god. I'm talking French braids, fish tails, you name it.

-john owns a really shitty pick up truck. Jack was either conceived or birthed in the backseat of it (maybe both)

-Sean falls for those free iPhone scams every time

-the only videogame charles plays is stardew valley. He thought it would be relaxing, it wasn't.

-Tilly and Mary Beth are in a book club together

-Abigail is the type of parent to not let her kid play w nerf guns or watch pg13 movies (John is the exact opposite)

-Sadie spends her weekends at rage rooms

-everyone's fridges are covered in drawings Jack made for them

-John, Javier, and Sean game together. Violence always ensues

-dutch does not tip waiters

-john tried to play catch w Jack once and ended up getting hit in the groin by a baseball. He didn't know 4 yr olds could throw that hard

-Abigail and Karen (& sometimes Charles) drink cheap wine together every Sunday and discuss the dumb things their boyfriends did that week

-Lenny and Hosea do the wordle everyday

-Jack is in little league soccer. John sits back drinking a beer as Abigail shouts at the referee

-Abigail got a tramp stamp of a little bow when she was 17 (she regrets it)

-Hosea exclusively sends emails

-Abigail hides John's weed socks bc she doesn't want Jack to see and "fall into a life of drugs" when he's older

-Arthur is a hiking dad through and through. While John is a sit on the couch drinking a beer w his kid in his lap kinda dad

-uncle is the old drunk that lived in the same trailer park as Abigail and John did when Jack was a baby. He kinda just stuck around after

-Miss Molly O'Shea would be a makeup god and u cannot convince me otherwise

I might do a pt 2 late in the future!

[doumadono]

Jestem wredną suczką :3 więc się przyszłam odegrać

SINFUL SUNDAY

I'd like to ask about smut with Luka from Star Rail? :3

I just want help him relax after another fight or maybe some hard training or even a win! Bc why not! Hihihi

A/N: please forgive me, as this is my very first attempt to write about Star Rail, and I couldn't find to many useful information about this guy. I hope that you'll enjoy this one ♥

SINFUL SUNDAY

Luka returns from a demanding mission, the weight of tension palpable in his every step. The strain of the assignment lingers on him, evident in the tight set of his jaw and the focused intensity in his gaze. The air around him seems charged with the residual energy of the challenges he faced. As he navigates through the aftermath of his endeavors, the tautness in his muscles reveals the enduring stress of the mission. Luka is a coiled spring, brimming with pent-up energy that demands release, a testament to the rigors he faced in the field.

Upon returning to the shared, little flat, he envelops you in his arms, pulling you closer with a tender embrace. He crushes his lips onto yours, the warmth of the reunion filling the room. Soon, his kisses migrate, and he starts to sensually kiss and suck on the column of your neck, creating an intimate connection as you greet each other.

"L-Luka, honey…" you whisper, slipping your hands into his red hair.

Luka's kisses deepen, infused with greater passion. He tilts your head away, skillfully maneuvering his hands to secure a firm grip on your hip and shoulder.

A subtle moan escapes your lips, a melodic hum that lingers in the air as you attempt to turn towards him, only to find yourself held in place by his unyielding grasp. "Stay like that for me, babygirl, will ya?"

You're aware of your own arousal, feeling the subtle moisture pooling between yor legs. Your eyes flutter closed halfway, savoring the sensation of longing between your thighs.

Luka's hands exert a gentle pressure, coaxing you to bend, and you willingly comply. He showers your shoulder blades with tender kisses, a prelude to the playful bounce of your ass against his growing arousal. With a teasing touch, he hikes up your skirt, revealing the soft expanse of your asscheeks adorned in delicate white lace panties. His long, skillful fingers trace over the fabric before daringly slipping between your thighs.

A gasp escapes your lips, and you instinctively bend forward, accommodating his every move. "Oh, Luka," you gasped, bending forward even more.

Amidst this intimate dance, a thick, appreciative growl resonates from Luka's chest, echoing the shared desire that electrifies the charged atmosphere. "You're driving me wild," he confessed, his voice a low, seductive murmur.

With a skilled touch, he playfully slaps and grips each cheek before gracefully kneeling behind you, showering kisses from your left cheek down to the back of your knee. As his lips traverse the path, he delicately pulls down your lingerie, his touch a tender caress on your exposed pussy before he places gentle kisses to your entrance, spreading your folds with his fingers.

You let out a soft gasp, your anticipation building.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers, his voice a velvet promise.

You gracefully step out of the lace, your anticipation palpable. "I want your mouth on my pussy."

His lips now explore the delicate folds, and his tongue dances sensuously against your soft, slick skin. "You taste amazing," he groans, the sound sending a thrill through you.

The intoxicating scent emanating from you envelops him, stirring a primal need that rebels against the constraints of his dark pants. With fervor, he sucks your folds into his mouth, and you respond by grinding against his face, a symphony of moans escaping your lips exclusively for him as you steady yourself on a couch armrest. "More," you plead, your voice a breathy whisper.

Luka continues to lick and suck your cunt, occasionally slipping his tongue in your entrance, drinking all of your juices. "Fuck," he murmurs.

Ascending from your intimate haven, his kisses trace a path up your back until he is standing again, the undeniable pressure of his rigid length pressing against your ass. "God, you feel so good," he confesses, his voice husky with desire.

You arch your back, deftly unbuckle his belt, and gently lower his pants, revealing a painfully rigid erection that rests proudly against his abdomen.

"Are you ready for me, baby?" Luka asks, spitting on his hand and jerking himself a few times, spreading his saliva all over his hard shaft.

Stepping forward, you kneel on the arm of the plush couch, arching once more to offer your body to him, an invitation he eagerly accepts. "Absolutely," you reply, a sultry smile playing on your lips.

His right hand gracefully reaches up, teasingly playing at your breast, while his left boldly explores the wetness between your parted legs once again.

Frustration grates at your voice as you beg him not to tease you. Unable to resist, you reach below to guide his hot, hard cock to your entrance, and this time, he consents.

With deliberate slowness, he enters your pussy from behind, and despite your readiness, you remain oh so tight. Setting his jaw, he takes his time, savoring the intimate connection between you.

Each careful thrust fills your head with a sensual haze, the raw ache in your core spreading through your body. You instinctively bend further as he penetrates you fully. "Fuck, yes, yes, just like that, oh! Fuck me," you beg him.

Luka pauses faster, showering kisses along your shoulders, expressing admiration for how well and tight you feel. His whispered words about your scent being an aphrodisiac linger in the air.

His hips rock, initially slow, his cheek still resting on your back. Your breathing syncs with his measured thrusts, and a small sound escapes you — a cry of relief. The noises you make drive him to the edge of sanity, each one chipping away at his restraint. His hips reflect an acquiescence to the primal instincts urging him to take your body with faster, rougher.

Your own moans crescendo with the escalating rhythm of his movements. Whispers of encouragement escape your lips, your voice breathy and laden with lust. In perfect unison, you both move, the room filled only with the synchronized rhythm of your breathing and the occasional chuckle from him, creating an intimate symphony of passion.

He firmly grips the fat of your ass cheeks, holding you securely as he guides his shaft faster into you, establishing an primal and quick pace. "Oh, yeah," he grunts, "You feel incredibly good, sueezing my cock so nicely."

Close to the edge, Luka senses your body building up for a climax. Your back tightens, and your knees shake slightly. His left hand touches your clit gently, stroking in rhythm with his hips. He maintains even pressure as a long, loud moan escapes from your mouth.

Your muscles ripple, gripping his cock, and he closes his eyes against the pressure, aware that he can't hold on for much longer as your pussy embrace hungers for him.

Another moan, but it transforms into a cry as you reach your peak, and the wetness drips down between you, staining his pubic hair.

It's all he can handle, and he grasps your hips, grinding hard against you. "Fuck, babe, I'm gonna cum!" Luka speaks to let you know he's about to climax.

You respond with moans, "Please cum on my ass, I'm not on a pill."

He complies, small gasps escaping his mouth as each hot ropes of thick cum cling to your skin.

As you stand there, catching your breath for a few minutes, he gently asks you to wait. "Give me a moment, love," he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring. Luka gracefully strides to the bathroom, reappearing with a towel in hand. "You okay?" he inquires, concern etched on his face. Tenderly, he wipes your ass, placing soft kisses along the way.

"Yeah, honey, I'm super fine," you reply, licking your lips.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his words carrying a warm affection.

After the caring gesture, you undress completely.

Luka gives you a smile and heads back to the bathroom, the sound of the shower fills the room.

With a faint smile on your lips, you follow him – the desire for him still evident in your eyes and in a familiar tingling within your drenched pussy.

[fatehbaz]

On April 21, Ali Hussein Julood, a 21-year-old living in the Iraqi town of Rumaila, on the outskirts of one of the world’s largest oil fields, died from leukaemia. He was told by doctors that pollution from gas flared in the nearby field, which is operated by British Petroleum (BP), had likely caused his cancer. “Gas flaring” is a low-cost procedure used by oil companies to burn off the natural gas expelled during drilling. [...] [I]t also contributes to global warming [...]. Some of the pollutants released during this process, such as benzene, are known to cause cancers and respiratory diseases. Ali, who had been battling cancer for six years when he died, was only the latest victim of the environmental degradation caused by international oil companies like BP in Iraq.

In towns and villages near the country’s vast oil fields, thousands of other men, women and children are still living under smoke-filled skies and suffering avoidable health problems because company executives insist on putting profit before lives. [...]

[A] confidential report from the Iraqi health ministry recently obtained by the BBC blamed pollution from gas flaring, among other factors, for a 20 percent rise in cancer in Basra, southern Iraq between 2015 and 2018. A second leaked document, again seen by the BBC, from the local government in Basra showed that cancer cases in the region are three times higher than figures published in the official nationwide cancer registry.

Like many other problems and crises that are devastating the lives of ordinary Iraqis today, the chain of events that led to the poisoning of southern Iraq’s skies by international oil companies also started during colonial times.

---

In the early 20th century, as its navy transitioned from coal to petrol, Britain found itself in increasing need of oil to run its empire and fuel its numerous war efforts. [...] In 1912, Britain formed the Turkish Petroleum Company (TPC) with the purpose of acquiring concessions from the Ottoman Empire to explore for oil in Mesopotamia. Following World War I, it brought modern-day Iraq under its own mandate [...]. By 1930, the TPC was renamed the Iraqi Petroleum Company (IPC) and was put under the control of a consortium made up of BP, Total, Shell and several other American companies. Together, they pushed for a series of “concession agreements” with the newly formed Iraqi government which would give them exclusive control of Iraq’s oil resources on pre-defined terms for long periods. By 1938, the IPC and its various subsidiaries had already secured the right to extract and export virtually all the oil in Iraq for 75 years. These concessions were granted to the IPC and its subsidiaries while Iraq was ruled by British-installed monarchs and under de facto British control. Thus the state had almost no negotiating power against the British-led consortium [...] In 1955, the Iraqi government started to voice its desire to use the gas being flared in Rumaila and Zubair for electricity generation. In 1960, while negotiating a concession with the IPC, then-Iraqi Prime Minister Abd al-Karim Qasim formally asked the company to let Iraq exploit the gas that it was not using. The same demand came up again and again [...], but IPC and its subsidiaries repeatedly turned the Iraqi government down. [...]

Following the 2003 invasion, the Iraqi oil industry was once again privatised as a result of pressure from the US and the International Monetary Fund (IMF). As was the case in the early 20th century, any negotiations on oil extraction rights took place when Iraq was still under foreign occupation [...]. When the process of auctioning off oil fields in southern Iraq began in 2008, the Iraqi government offered foreign oil companies long contracts of up to 25 years, reminiscent of the early concessions agreements with the IPC. These included stabilisation clauses, which insulated foreign companies from legal changes that might emerge over the course of their contracts. This meant that the companies were, and continue to be, unaffected by any environmental regulations passed by the Iraqi government to reduce pollution [...].

---

Looking back at the development of the oil industry in southern Iraq makes apparent that the kind of pollution that killed Ali has been in the making for some 70 years. His death – like the deaths of many others who succumbed to pollution-related cancers in his country – was not an unavoidable tragedy, but the natural consequence of a long history of colonial violence and extractive capitalism.

Predatory colonial practices that began over a century ago caused southern Iraq’s vast oil reserves to be left under the sole control of foreign companies today – companies that over and over again put profit before the lives of the Iraqi inhabitants of the lands they exploit.

Ali’s death is yet more proof that colonial violence is far from over and that it has many different faces.

---

Text by: Taif Alkhudary. “Southern Iraq’s toxic skies are a colonial legacy.” Al Jazeera (English). 12 June 2023. [Some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[solar-sunnyside-up]

So my neighborhood is SO COOL and I wanna share some of the awesome stuff that's been making some movement. This is mostly to highlight why taking an interest in your neighborhood is so rewarding.

#1 - park renos! The park in walking distance of my house has been under construction for a few months. They're doing a LOT of work. Primarily, they are building a skating Rink, fire pit, picnic area, basketball area, and extending the existing kid park. Before it was just 3 baseball fields and a small park. They also have added over 10 apple trees and over 15 native trees!! They also have a Cafe going into the apartment complex they are putting across the street (which is low income housing but every unit has a washer/dryer, and has a firepit/BBQ area for entertainment on the roof I wish I had photos of it but I'll put a video of an example where I used to live btw the person in the video is my old roomie I'm sorry K for not editing u out forgive mee)

#2 little Libraries

There are 3 little Libraries in walking distance of my place, one is opening tomorrow! The one tomorrow also has a little blockbuster and a food pantry attached to it, it's outside a community resource center.

#3 Resource center

Omg!! So the resource center does a lot. It has counciling, good food boxes where you pay 30$ for 15lbs of produce from local farms monthly, job hunting services including free computers and printers for applying to things, parenting groups, that kinda junk. But the key feature I saw for the first time today was the "Closet room" which I thought was exclusively clothes but nah it's basically a whole thrift store! It's got baby clothes, toys, unused toothbrushes, movies, books, interview clothes, pjs going up to xxxL, pots and pans, anything else you could think of. It made me realize why no one uses the thrift store up the hill from me. Why pay when this closet community feature is free??? They have vollunteers run it so it's take way you want, donate what you can and omg!

I could go on but that's just from today!

[palebonedry]

Shadow of the Forgotten

My submission for @aimportantdragoncollector ‘s Three Weeks of Triholders, (Although this piece is featuring Duoholders 😅)

I created an au based around a Nyavka Yoichi and a woodsman Second . .

Nyavka are a type of Mavka, a spirit in Ukrainian folklore.

One prominent feature is that Nyavka have no back so you can see their spine . . . They often live in bodies of water like rivers or lakes in the forest (my mother for instance first told me about them as a way of warning me away from a nearby river lol). Some interpretations have them leading men to their doom and drowning them, while other interpretations have them being more benevolent caretakers of the forest although these two are not mutually exclusive!

While I'm no writer and am still coming up with ideas I believe this au would go something like this:

Yoichi and AFO were born in a mountain village surrounded by forests and bordered by a fierce river The village believed the twins to be unlucky due to their odd striking white hair and the death of their mother during their birth and they are shunned.

The two are only really allowed to stay in the village as hands to help in the fields, life is unpleasant but the two make due as they grow up. One winter when the two are around 11 or so Yoichi gets very sick. However he is refused treatment, resources are low and they village do not want to waste supplies on the weakest of the twins who would likely die before he is an adult anyways.

AFO tries to steal him medicine anyways but this goes wrong and the two are driven out of the village when he is caught. They attempt to flee across the river into the surrounding woods. Unfortunately the water is freezing and they drown.

Due to their tragic death the brothers come back as Nyavka and now dwell in the surrounding forest.

A newly undead AFO takes on a much more vindicative and aggressive role, the number of deaths caused by drowning in the nearby area skyrockets lol. Yoichi on the other hand dwells deeper in the woods and keeps to himself as much as his brother allows.

Many years later, Yoichi sees a young man with a scar across his face and striking orange hair seemingly fleeing from something. He is intrigued and decides to observe this stranger . . .

(And your standard vault escape (forest escape)) story happens from there. :) (with some more twists)

[ultrone]

Can I request a baby blurb about Spider!Lottie x Black Cat!Nat x reader who’s ordinary? I saw a LottieNat spider-woman au on TikTok and started thinking a lil bit about it. Reader has no clue her gfs are heroes works for the school newspaper and finds out somehow.

★🕸️🐈‍⬛ — 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗲 𝘅 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗰𝗮𝘁 𝗻𝗮𝘁 𝘅 𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

n/a. i know u asked for a baby blurb but by the time i finished writting this i realized that it was too long, i hope u don’t mind 😭 also ty for requesting this, i love marvel and dc but i currently only write for yjs so it felt like two birds one stone 😼🫶🏼

cw. 1.9k

after receiving a low grade on your most recent english literature essay, you faced the risk of failing the class if your grades didn't improve significantly. fortunately, your english professor, who also supervised the university’s newspaper, was in need of additional contributors and offered extra points if you joined. without hesitation, you agreed. although you weren't particularly passionate about journalism, you found it intriguing enough.

however, a few weeks ago, everything changed. an announcement was made regarding a contest, exclusively open to the twenty students involved with the newspaper. only one student would emerge as the winner, with their story featured on the front page—a prestigious honour typically reserved for seniors or professors. additionally, the winning story would be published in the state newspaper, which would undoubtedly enhance your linkedin profile, or so you thought. but what truly excited you was the ultimate reward: exemption from all remaining english literature exams for the semester, ensuring a perfect a+ as the final grade. this meant you could forego the rest of the english lit classes, and it became your primary goal—to craft the best story and secure victory in the contest.

recently, it was discovered that the two superheroes of the moment were, in fact, students at wiskayok university. how the media obtained this information remained a mystery, but its authenticity had been confirmed. you knew that if you were able to expose the identities of these heroes, it would cause a frenzy and undoubtedly lead to your victory. was it ethical to reveal their identities? maybe not. did you want to spend your summer retaking english class? absolutely not. with that in mind, you channelled all your determination and energy into this story.

as the days passed, your obsession with this personal project grew stronger. you had to admit that ever since you were little, you secretly loved superheroes. so, even though your main goal was to win the contest, you also found genuine interest in it. staying late at school, hiding between the bleachers or on the rooftops, became a routine as you searched for any peculiar signs. you even managed to swipe the absences list from the principal's office and kept track of the students with the highest number of absences, considering them as your prime suspects.

your girlfriends, nat and lottie, tried to convince you to stop this endeavour multiple times, insisting it was dumb and a waste of time—especially since it left you with little free time for them. nonetheless, you remained stubborn as ever, even when lottie offered to get you a tutor who could help you over the summer.

it was a tuesday afternoon after class. you dropped off your girlfriends at the field for their soccer practice, promising them that you would go straight home and wait for movie night, something you hadn't done in a while. little did they know, instead of keeping that promise, you had arranged to meet up with two friends. you had paid them beforehand to stage a scene on the street: one pretending to be a burglar, and the other acting as the victim. the plan worked, and now you found yourself hiding inside an empty trash container, straining your ears to catch snippets of distant voices. carefully, you lifted the lid a few centimetres, giving yourself a limited view of spider-woman and black cat as they removed their suits and changed into their regular clothes, which they had stashed in a backpack. unfortunately, your line of sight only reached up to their hips, as lifting the lid any further would risk exposing yourself to their gaze.

that was until a putrid smell reached your nostrils, prompting you to discreetly turn on your phone's flashlight. as the light revealed a dead rat in the corner, you couldn't help but gag, dropping the lid with a loud thud.

"fuck," you muttered, covering your mouth and nose, attempting to stay quiet, praying they hadn't heard you. but it was too late; barely a second later, the lid was forcefully lifted, and the intense daylight flooded your vision, momentarily blinding you.

you were scared shitless, fully prepared to face none other than spider-woman and black cat, and boy, were you fucked. you didn't even bother thinking about making a run for it, already envisioning the worst possible outcomes.

"babe?" you heard, the surprise evident in the familiar voice, pulling you back to reality. in an instant, you opened your eyes and found lottie standing right in front of you. perplexed, you glanced beside her, catching sight of nat, whose arm was lifting the lid.

you rose to your feet, surveying the area, only to discover that the superheroes had vanished. "what are you doing here? you said you were heading straight home," nat questioned, furrowing her eyebrows.

you were about to reply, stumbling over your words as you tried to come up with an excuse when something caught your eye. it was the backpack lottie was carrying—the same one spider-woman and black cat had used to retrieve their clothes just moments ago. shock washed over you, and the realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.

you stared at the backpack in disbelief, still trying to wrap your head around the entire situation. it all made sense now. their sudden disappearances, getting late to almost every single date, the frequent class absences, the mysterious phone calls. you knew they were up to something, but sure as hell you never thought it would be this. they weren’t even on your suspect list.

lottie and nat slowly shifted their gaze toward each other, guilt and embarrassment written all over their faces. it was clear that neither of them had expected you to stumble upon them like this. "we can explain," lottie finally spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper.

"why didn't you tell me?" you inquired, furrowing your brows as you patiently waited for an explanation.

nat shifted nervously from one foot to the other before finally taking a deep breath and replying, "we wanted to, but… we didn’t know how."

lottie nodded in agreement. "we didn't want to put you in danger, y/n, and we also didn't want you to worry," she added.

she began to explain further about her and nat's secret side gig. "we started doing this not long after meeting each other," she said, her voice laced with guilt.

nat stepped closer to you, her gaze apologetic yet determined at the same time. "and we know that keeping this from you wasn’t fair, but we thought it was the best thing for our relationship."

you felt a wave of emotions surge through your body: anger, confusion, worry. part of you wanted to yell at them for lying and keeping secrets from you, while another part reminded yourself that they were only trying to protect you. but if something bad happened to them or even worse—if they died while doing this—you didn't know how you would cope with the guilt.

lottie seemed to sense your distress and quickly stepped forward, her face full of determination. “hey, everything’s gonna be alright,” she said with a gentle smile, taking your hand in hers and soothingly stroking it with her thumb. “i promise.”

you sighed, tears welling up in your eyes. "i just want you both to be safe. i don't wanna lose you," you said, looking at them.

"but you won't," lottie reassured you. "we know how to take care of ourselves," she said.

"yeah, don't worry about us, babe," nat chimed in. "lotts' spidey senses are top-notch, and i have killer claws. see?" she showed her claws off with a mischievous grin, snarling playfully as she tried to make you laugh.

“dumbass," you said with a smile, nudging her shoulder. nat retracted her claws and used her thumb to wipe away your tears. "seriously though, don't worry. we'll be fine. and our top priority will always be to protect you and make sure you’re okay. we love you, y/n, a lot." she moved her hand to your cheek, softly stroking it.

"i love you too," you replied sincerely, hugging both of them tightly. they kissed your head simultaneously as lottie rubbed your back and nat stroked your hair. "but if you ever hide something like this from me again, i swear i'll kill you," you warned them as you playfully tugged their ears simultaneously, making them complain.

"okay, okay, we get it!" nat cried out as you finally let them go.

“owie," lottie said, rubbing her ear with a pained expression.

"you two act all tough in those suits but can't handle a little ear tug," you teased them.

before you could even laugh, one of them lifted you up and carried you away in her arms.

"holy fuck!" you yelled out in fear. "get me the fuck down!"

you tightly held onto lottie's body, closing your eyes shut as she held you securely in her arms. she had put her mask back on and was swinging between buildings with her spider webs. nat was right behind, using her claws and speed to leap from building to building, quickly catching up.

you could feel the wind rushing by your face as you sped through the afternoon sky, the scenery below becoming a blur. just as you were starting to get used to the exhilarating feeling, lottie gently landed on the ground, bringing you to your destination. opening your eyes, you realized you were on your room's balcony.

"what are we doing here? aren't you two going back to practice?" you asked.

"the last thing i wanna do after dealing with some burglar jerk is going back to school and putting up with taissa's annoying-ass team captain attitude," nat replied wearily, entering your room and tossing her backpack on the floor before flopping face-down onto your bed.

"yeah," lottie agreed. "and we thought this would be a perfect time to start movie night," she said as she hopped onto the bed beside nat and patted the spot in the middle, looking at you.

"fine… but we're gonna have a serious conversation about this later," you warned them. nat just hummed dismissively in response. "and you better start installing life360 on your phones," you commanded.

nat and lottie exchanged glances and made complaining faces at each other. "see? this is why i didn't want to tell her," nat muttered, her voice muffled by the pillows as she plopped her face back down.

“if you don’t do it i swear to god i’ll—” you started to say, but your words were cut off as lottie shot a spiderweb toward your mouth, silencing you. you began to mumble angrily, trying to remove it, which caught nat's curious gaze. she burst into laughter at the sight, and lottie couldn't help but join in. just as you managed to take off the spiderweb and were about to scold them, lottie shot another one, this time towards your body, pulling it swiftly and causing you to fly towards the bed, landing right between them.

as soon as you landed, they snuggled up to you and showered you with kisses all over your face, making you giggle and try to stop them with your hands.

"still mad at us?" lottie asked once they stopped.

“mmm, not if you let me pick today’s movie,” you negotiated.

"fair," nat said, grabbing the remote as the three of you snuggled together under the covers.

[bonefall]

i dont mean this to spark a night vs crow debate but doesnt the ultimate guide state that nightcloud's "bitterness toward Crowfeather tainted Breezepelt with its poison" (directly quoting this). i agree that we shouldnt take crow's word on this bc hes a biased source, but the ultimate guide doesnt have a character pov. what are your thoughts on this? idk if its a retcon since its been forever since ive read the mainline. i like the idea that the two fucked up in their own ways.

Generally inaccurate and sometimes containing information that outright contradicts canon, Field Guides should considered very low in a canon hierarchy.

The same field guide completely fails to mention that Crowfeather wasn't only neglectful to Breezepelt, but actively emotionally abusive to him, and doesn't even MENTION that he suddenly blamed everything on Nightcloud.

So I DO feel justified in saying that the field guides probably did contribute in some way to how absolutely obtuse WC fans can be towards the text.

It just Makes. Shit. Up. These authors have had SHAMEFUL levels of misogynistic bias for YEARS and it's never more apparent than when they're writing bullshit summaries like "Ashfur was soo nice and sweet and only loved too much :(" and "Clear Sky was simply being fierce when he was shoving his son's face in a sloppy wound" and then turning around and saying "actually it was the nearest woman's fault"

I pull from earlier field guides as inspiration, but exclusively treat the "summary" ones as insight to what is bouncing around in the brightly colored Moonjump Castle that is the author's minds.

Like the idea that they're "both fucked up" or not, it doesn't change the fact that what the Erins put on the page was an abusive father who tries to deflect blame to his WIFE for making a bratty son, and then took the abuser's side in supporting material for years.

[erodasfishtacos]

Somethin’ To Write About

Prompt: MLB!Harry visits YN in the newspaper office after practice

Warnings: smut, 18 + minors DNI

If you would like to get two week early release, exclusive content/tropes, among other benefits - consider signing up for my Patreon for $3 a month :)

——

Harry and YN have been dating  for almost a year now.

It isn’t surprising that sometimes Harry is nearly insatisable with wanting YN because he had to wait for so long for to find her that now he couldn’t possibly get enough of her body.

YN isn’t much better because even though she’s been with other people, it had never been as electric and mind-blowing with anyone else - it wasn’t even an comparison, nothing and no one was even comparable.

Sometimes Harry finds his mind drifting off to daydream about her when he’s at practice, working out, in class, and he has to think of other sad thoughts so that he doesn’t get hard wherever he’s at.

She has that much of an affect on him.

Harry had a lot on his plate right now with baseball, he had some pretty important games coming up, and the whole university was relying on his to get them to victory.

He had class this morning but then went straight to the weight room before practice, he’d barely had time to stop, let along think but during a water break on the field - Harry jogs over to check his phone.

It had fallen all the way to the bottom of his duffle bag because he hadn’t touched it in hours now.

When he sees he has a message from YN, he unlocks his phone, and goes to his texts - his eyes nearly bug out of his head when he realizes it’s a picture.

Not just any picture though.

It’s a picture of her that looks like it was sent when she was getting ready this morning after she left the frat and went back to the dorm room she barely ever went to for long.

It’s a mirror selfie, it’s not necessarily the raunchiest picture ever but it’s still just down right obscene to him.

She’s in one of his shirts, as always, but the hand that isn’t holding the phone is drawing it upwards a bit - just enough to show off the soft, bite-able skin of her belly.

Her underwear was low on her hips, her plush hanging over the sides and he wants to leave bruises on them for days, her thighs thick and smooth.

The following text had said, miss you already ☹️

Cue a twitch.

Holy fuck, she was unfairly attractive.

And that was his.

He has to reign himself in for the rest of practice because he finds his mind wandering to those hips, to the thin skin of her inner thighs, to how pretty her puffy folds are -

Harry has to keep reminding himself to focus because all his mind is wanting him to do is think about his girlfriend which doesn’t mesh well with him needing to be the best player on the team.

When practice is over, he’s never run out of the showers sooner, and not staying to chat with any of his friends - even ditching Niall with no more than a wave before he’s headed towards Chancellor’s Hall.

YN is alone in the newspaper office as normal by this time, she was working on final edits, and waiting for Harry so that he could walk them back to his dorm.

”Hi baby,” YN smiles when he steps into the office, closing the door all the way, and switching the lock before he’s pulling down the little blind that blocks the window so no one can see in.

Confusion twists on her face as she watches him do that, he drops his duffle next to the door before he’s starting to stalk towards her.

“What‘s going on?” YN asks with a furrowed brow as she pushes away from her desk and spins her chair to face him more directly as he comes towards her.

”Wha’s going on in, I was trying to practice and I got a picture to my phone that distracted me,” Harry replies roughly, his voice was already getting deeper which was a telltale sign on his arousal.

YN still isn’t quite following, “It was just a mirror selfie?”

Harry chuckles lowly as he arrives in front her, his hand coming to lightly grip her jaw as she stares up at him, “A mirror selfie showing off your belly, your thighs, your hips.”

Cue YN giggles with a pleased expressions, “Oh my god. You’re so easy. I wasn’t even trying to be sexy. You just obsessed at this point.”

”You’re too pretty not to be obsessed with,” Harry hums as he bends down to kiss her - she responds instantly but squeaks out In surprise when he slips his tongue into her mouth and she realizes this isn’t just a peck.

”Harry,” YN pulls back to scold, a disapproving frown on her face as his lips just move along her jawline, down the column of her throat with want.

”What? You won’t give to me here? Can’t wait to get to the dorm,“ He responds with his hands moving to cup her breasts, feeling them out before he’s dipping under her shirt to pull down the cups of her bra and thumb at her nipples.

”We, oh- we shouldn’t,” YN gasps as he pinches at her hard peaks, flipping her shirt up and ducking down to wrap his lips around one - her hand automatically coming up to cradle the back of his head.

He gets a bit lost in it, switching back and forth to nip and suck at them while his other hand moves down to slip into the front of her leggings.

”Fuckin’ hell,” Harry groans when he feels the wet patch in the front of her panties, feels her swollen clit peeking through her folds, and pressing up against the the thin fabric of the material.

”We have to be quick, c’mon,” YN gets out through a moan when he starts pressing on her bud and feeling it out through the damp fabric.

”Yeah,” Harry drawls, his arousal just seeping through every inch of his body as he pulls her to stand up, they really could be caught if a janitor or another newspaper staff opens the door with a key.

YN moves to bend over the desk but Harry quickly shuts that down, “No, want to see you when I make you come.”

He shimmies the tight leggings and her underwear down her thighs until the clothing is just hanging off one ankle - giving him the room to lift her onto the desk and spread her legs for him.

Harry hurriedly tugs down his shorts before he’s stepping between her spread thighs, rubbing himself up and down her center for a moment before fucking in.

”Oh, H,” YN mewls in pleasure as his pace starts off fast and hard - the desk shaking and a jar of pens falling over in spilling as he grips her thighs and brings her into him over and over again.

“Stay quiet f’me, baby. Can’t get caught,” Harry pants against her lips as she claws at his back through his shirt, she smelled so good - like brown sugar and honey.

”Feels so good though,” She whines out when he hits her spot right on, keeping that rhythm and her legs curl around his hips as her tilts her head back and moans much too loudly .

“Baby, please,” Harry scolds again, he knows there may be other people in this building - he passed a few on the way in.

”M’close, gonna make me come, H,” YN tries to whisper but her voice is high pitch and shaky as the desk hits against the wall with each move.

”Okay, s’okay. Give it to me, sweet girl. Show me how much you love it,” He encourages, dipping down to rub at her clit and it sends her right over the edge.

She looked like an indecent work of art with her tennis shoes on, pants and underwear hanging off her ankle, her shirt up around her collarbones, and her bra cups pulled down.

Harry comes at the sight, muffling his moans into her shoulder as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

”Should write an article ‘bout this,” Harry chuckles as he begins to clean her up.

YN rolls her eyes, kissing him one more time, and saying, “You’re really the naughty college frat guy hm? Fucking girls on the newspaper editors desk?”

Harry dimples at her, pleased at himself, “Am I that stereotypical if you’re the only one I’ve been with? Now let’s get out of here before the janitor comes.”

[jazeswhbhaven]

Response Email from PrettyBusy! (courtesy of WHB Updates)

Alright! So the admin has updated us with the responses from PB from a long email about our concerns. I read through them all and understand where they're coming from and at this point, I'm just going to keep proceeding as before with how I'm playing and approaching the game. Here's where you can read the responses -> Part 1, Part 2

In general, I saw a repeat from PB stating that other emails were sent in from others stating that they

A. Were fine with the prices B. Didn't want repeat characters C. Mostly concerned about the battles being boring I'll touch on this with my take real quick. Personally...who is out here saying they don't want repeat/re-releases of characters???? Because while I get that some folks don't like certain characters...some of us may want a chance to nab them in case something came up and we didn't get a chance to the first time. NuCarnival does this and no one really complains (as far as I know I'm not active in that fandom, so correct me if I'm wrong). And for pricing, I talked to my friend who also plays other gachas often and he expressed PB's prices are actually low compared to the thousands of dollars other games tend to require for players to not even get the card they want. And for the battles being boring, that's not my problem personally. I just don't want 5-6 battles in between story points...I like how the event battles are usually around 3 between story points. I get they may do this to space it out so we can gain resources and it's not just a click-and-read game, but ugh 6 battles are just too damn much, I'm sorry. I hope they don't take it as "Oh let's make the battles more complicated and harder and throw in more of these screeching bitch ass angels with the wings on their heads" because I will scream lol So the tidbit about them not excluding F2P players and stating that they offer a lot of incentives such as free main story, free Minhyeok story, H-scenes that are free; I get that.* But honestly, the Solomon Seal thing that happened really alienated me because it was like telling me "broke folks can't have the nice stuff, sorry" and let's be honest....some ppl out there REALLY think like that especially over here in the states.. Now I'm glad they ARE addressing obtaining Solomon Seals easily, and implementing a way to gift it to us a free 10 pull per month which is a $34 value (rounded up). Hey, I'll take it. Because I'm gonna save 'em up anyways.

Now....there was something that concerns me and I think players should keep it in mind. Mammon's dildo is officially retired and not coming back for any of the platforms. PB has been threatened most likely by Gplay and AppStore to get rid of stuff like that or they'd pull the app from their platforms. EROLABS sadly, is affected because they don't have a way to specifically do the censoring for some things per platform. That was one of them. So in the future we may see MORE censoring just in case and EROLABS may be affected too. Not necessarily their exclusive content of course, but maybe just small things like the card art censoring, or stuff like that. Sucks really.

Someone brought up Event Stories being available in the future for reading again and this was a great idea to bring up to them. Some folks don't play the events so having the story available at a later time would be cool. Also, I read a couple things about PB talking about their customer service trying to catch up with social media interactions and other things and I was like well damn... Because at the end of the day someone who's working a 9-5 maybe even overtime is sitting up here reading all those tweets cussing them out and it gets really mentally tiring. Criticism is okay, but yeah going left field on someone who's just doing their job is a reminder of why I hate working in customer service myself. Some of the population forgets you are a person and sometimes your hands are tied so why are you yelling? Chill for a moment. It's just a game.

With that being said they did say that they would do better on being transparent on letting us know if the cards are gonna be in the banner or not. (I'll believe it when I see it, not trying to be mean) Overall I was nodding and taking in their responses. The fact that they bothered to even answer with sincerety has already put a good impression for me so I'll stick with that. I personally keep a boundary between me and companies for my own personal reasons. I understand that there are others who are ride or die for this company, and that's cool. Just don't expect others to have that same energy. If you've been through what I have...you'll understand why I don't do this for most companies anymore unless it's for a personal friend who has their own business/commissions/etc. What do you all think about the responses? Satisfied or just waiting it out? *edit: and to add...honestly the L-card stories are better than the H-scenes lmao at least to me. Because there's our bois literally cussing, the writers use actual words like penis and masterbating, like I'm still not recovering over Beel saying "fuck this is good" and satan calling us a dirty bitch. i a m s o r r y and t h r i s t y. Because imagine Belial being like "oh so you like my thick cock up your ass?" or Dre fingering you and being like "Fuck you're so soft here..." I neeeeed it.

[kicktwine]

one of my favorite little headcanons abt plants has to do with their vocalizations because they live in separate tanks and talk pretty much exclusively telepathically (and not very often this way) but they also sing out loud! so they can vocalize they just choose not to — so I think most of their communication by sound is done for the vibrations it produces which can be felt for much longer distances and through walls and such. I think they’re capable, mostly, of making three main communicative vibration sounds out of necessity - high pitch, low pitch, and midrange (the only one audible to human ears, and the only one that’s almost exclusive to independents because what use are the seeded plants gonna have for this noise).

high pitch sounds are like a dog whistle, but specifically made out of fear or pain. To humans it doesn’t really sound like anything, but it’ll set ones hair on end and feel Wrong the whole time. Like walking into an electric field that’s going EEEE. baby vash was super desperate to get to the hurt plant because it was being loud in his head but also making a screeching death shriek you can feel in your chest and nose and head and that feels: bad!! i think when he came back from that altercation w nai the plants on ship three were all Worried and unfurled about him because he was chirping, no one could figure out why a bunch of the plants were doing that until he went to see them. The super low pitch one is a very very low bass noise that echoes in your ribs, but again it’s so low that you can hardly hear it. You can definitely FEEL this one a lot more than the high pitched noise, putting your hands on their chest while they’re doing it will feel very rumbly! It’s almost analogous to a growl, displeasure or annoyance. While the squeak is a solid flat sound/vibration, the growl is a lot more sine wavey, broken up into a car engine rrr-rrr-rrr pattern. nai uses this one a lot more than vash does. since it’s a very nearby but not the exact muscle as his vocal cords, he can talk while doing it. It’s gravitas. The midrange noise however does use your vocal cords to make, because it’s a purr! Sorta. It’s a positive, pleased sound, it isn’t very heavily felt it’s mostly heard, it feels a little rumbly, and it kind of sounds like a cricket. Mixed with a cat. Mixed with like… rolling your tongue without saying anything. it’s made by those extra muscles rubbing together with the vocal cords and it’s a faster sine wave than the growl. It doesn’t EXACTLY do what it was designed to do because human people don’t purr, but they do recognize immediately that a purr = good. So it works out. A seeded plant would do this if something very positive happened (like, she was returned to a safe spot after being stolen), but she’s more likely not to do anything or to hum a couple notes. Vash doesn’t often purr because it’s. embarrassing and he’s trying to hide a little, but absolutely you can catch a tiny mrrp out of him if he gets a present (octovern krispy kreme)

[18thcenturythirsttrap]

how could one make the ideal football team using only frev figures?

Thank you so much for this ask, @citizen-card! I'm sorry it has taken me a little while to answer. Your question was sent to me during the anti-truth hour but tbh, creating a football team of FRev figures has been on my agenda for some time.

I present… MONTAGNE F.C.

Montagne F.C., est. 1793, are an exciting team with an attacking ethos but also strong in defence (of the patrie). They tend to play in the popular modern 4-3-3 formation, which morphs into a 4-3-2-1 in the final stages of attack with Fabre as the lone striker up front.

Goalkeeper: Hérault de Séchelles. Team heart-throb. At over 6' tall, has the reach to make saves across the width and height of the net. Tends to leave the field as soon as the final whistle has blown so that he has time to sign hundreds of portraits before heading off to some highly exclusive nightclub. Fabre always tries to tag along.

Left Fullback: Saint-Just. The youngest team member, just as well given the amount of running he has to do on the overlap. Wishes Robespierre would allow him to trust his own instincts more rather than constantly shouting, “Forward, forward – no, come back! Come back!” Has a good understanding with his right fullback counterpart Le Bas. Desmoulins lives rent-free in his head.

Centre Back: Desmoulins. Only plays here because he thinks he can leave most of the defensive work to Danton, which is interesting because Danton thinks he can leave most of the work to Desmoulins. Writes the official fan newsletter, gets annoyed that Robespierre keeps sending back articles covered in red ink. Sings “You’re shit, and you know you are” at Saint-Just, then pretends it was someone in the crowd. Robespierre often has to separate them in the tunnel at half-time.

Centre Back: Danton. Undoubted talent, but lazy a.f. Stands by one of the goalposts chatting with Hérault, only springing into action if there’s an imminent danger of the opponents scoring a goal. When he does decide to put in a tackle, he goes in studs up. Loudest voice on the pitch, constantly shouting at the lads up front to show more audacity in counterattack.

Right Fullback: Le Bas. Lovely clean player, never booked, never carded. Not flashy, but he runs his heart out for the team every game. Sometimes wishes he’d get as much attention in match reports as Saint-Just, but then pushes the idea out of his head and keeps smiling through. His Instagram account is basically pictures of his wife, their baby, and Saint-Just.

Left Midfielder: Marat. Pushing 50 and still an absolute demon on the attack. Nips around defenders easily, puts this down to his low centre of gravity. Runs an edgy underground fanzine. Team physio and doctor, takes a no-nonsense approach to injuries, believes everything can be cured by sponging off with cold water and vinegar. Gives Fabre a kick when he dives, claiming “it’ll do him good”.

Central Midfielder: Billaud-Varenne. Always turns up for training and matches with Collot d’Herbois. In rondos, has to be reminded to pass the ball to someone else once in a while. Does allegedly unscripted fun fan-meet videos with Collot.

Right Midfielder: Collot d’Herbois. Devises the scripts for the fun fan-meet videos he films with Billaud. Threatened to shoot a fan who tried to improvise. The archetypal loose cannon, as much of a menace to his team-mates as to the opposition. Once tried to throw Robespierre over an advertising hoarding for windows.

Left Winger: Maximilien Robespierre. Self-appointed player-manager. Did all his coaching certificates, attended at least one course twice “to make sure I’ve taken it all in”. Obsessive in preparation for matches, likes to have a week analysing the opposition before he presents his tactics to the team. Doesn’t like overly physical play, says 99% of the game is won by character. Often booked for arguing with the referee for so long, it gets dark. Cult icon with the female fans, nobody – least of all him – is quite sure why.

Right Winger: Augustin 'Bonbon' Robespierre. His brother’s biggest fan and cheerleader, but a gifted player in his own right. More physically courageous in attack than Maximilien, also has something of a reputation as a talent-spotter. Reckons he saw a player who might be “the next big thing” down in Toulon.

Striker: Fabre d’Églantine. Fancies himself as much as he wishes everyone else fancied him. Posts daily (but suspiciously short) topless workout videos on his Instagram. Hérault always puts three laugh emojis in the comments. Feigns injury to try and win penalties, a nightmare for Robespierre who’s convinced he’ll be red carded for fakery one of these days. Dives, rolls and wails shamelessly. Should spend longer in the shower after matches.

----

At some point I might get round to drawing the team, team kit and badge, etc... But yep, that's my FRev starting 11!

[trulybetty]

dec' x 04 - scarf

Prompt: scarf Pairing: jack daniels x reader Word Count: 643 Warnings: I think jack comes with his own warnings doesn't he? nothing going on here except a very loose use of today's prompt! these are characters from a wip that hasn't even seen the light of day, let alone been finished - talk about working backwards 😆 Summary: let's get this out there, I know nothing about Kentucky except that my favourite Backstreet Boy when I was younger is from there - but I Googled until I couldn't Google anymore to confirm it does snow there! So, on with the story, it's a trip into town, which requires the use of the ranch's old truck. AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

The morning sun cast a low, pale light over the ranch, reflecting off the snow-dusted fields as you stepped outside, the crisp coolness of a Kentucky winter morning nipping at your cheeks. Jack was waiting for you, leaning against the barn door with a lazy grin on his face, his breath misting in the chilly air, his gaze fixed on the old Chevy truck parked nearby, its edges lined with a fine layer of frost.

“I suppose they don't have trucks like this in the city,” he drawled, the teasing lilt in his voice muffled somewhat by his thick scarf.

You arched an eyebrow at him, wrapping your coat tighter around you. “You know, the city has trucks too, right? They're not exclusive to the country—even in the winter.”

His chuckle was a warm rumble in the cold, mixing with the muted chirping of winter-hardy birds. He sauntered over to the truck, his boots leaving prints in the light dusting of snow on the gravel drive. “But they're all sleek and heated,” he pointed out, resting a gloved hand on the hood of the truck, the blue paint chipped and dulled, a contrast with the white of the snow.

“And?” You tilted your head, the frosty air turning your breath into clouds.

His eyes twinkled with amusement, “This here is a manual sugar—with no heated seats.”

You feigned a gasp as you clutched at your chest, “I do declare,” you said with a dramatic impression of a southern accent, “whatever will I do?” you followed him to the truck, a wide smile spreading across your face.

He gave you a long, considering look, then shook his head with a sheepish grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You sure you can drive it, Mouse?”

You blinked at him, then burst into laughter, “Mouse?” you managed to gasp out between chuckles, your breath forming puffs of mist.

He shrugged, “You're our city mouse, aren't you?”

You took a deep breath, your chest heaving in the heavy coat, trying to quell your laugh. “I’d take that ridiculous nickname you gave me over Mouse. Also, you know, my actual name works just as well?”

“I know.” His voice was quiet, the words hanging in the air between you, the mention of the city a reminder that your time at the ranch was temporary with the lawyers meeting at the end of the month.

A moment of silence settled between you as you both took in the truck, the ranch, and the snow-capped day stretching out before you.

Jack moved to the passenger door, opening it with a gesture for you to get inside that sent a small cascade of snowflakes to the ground. 

You shook your head, smiling despite the chill, “Are you getting in?” you asked.

Jack's eyebrows shot up, his surprise visible even with his hat pulled down low. “You don't want me to drive?”

You smirked, the keys jingling like ice in your hand. “Get in the truck, Jack.” The challenge was clear in your tone, even as your breath fogged the air.

As you both climbed in, the old leather seats creaking and stiff from the cold, you felt a surge of anticipation. Your brother, twelve years older than you, had insisted on you learning how to drive stick, and you couldn’t have been more thankful for it despite all your protests so many years ago. You slid the key into the ignition and with a satisfying roar, the truck came to life, the engine's heat slowly battling the frost on the windshield. Jack glanced over at you with a mix of surprise and respect as you shifted the truck into gear with ease.

With a final smirk in his direction, you pulled out of the driveway, the truck's tires crunching over the snow, ready to tackle the winter roads into town.