#lofty: wanderer

[otokeneko]

Food Adventure #3!

[koochoos]

elsword jumpscare (screenshot from this video)

[raining--watermelons]

here's my lofty wanderer for elscollABS 4!!!!! please check out the other artworks, they all were so good!

(link + alts + wips under the cut!)

[incorrectelswordquotes]

"Life hack: when you see a Take One candy bowl in a restaurant, wait until no one's watching and shovel candy into your pockets. The Goddess may judge you but her sins outnumber your own"

- Ain (Lofty: Wanderer)

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Had a thought: reader has a hand-print bruise on their arm — like they stumbled and were caught or pulled out of the way of a curse or smth and the helper accidentally left a bruise when they grabbed reader. Jjk men see it b4 reader can / thinks to tell them so they just see a clearly-handprint bruise with zero context 🙃

Hand Print

Tags: Drabble, Fluff, JJK men getting angry, JJK men getting protective 🫦, smut (Suguru’s, Choso’s, and kinda Sukuna’s), dark content on Mahito’s, mdni

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna, Mahito

SATORU

You had forgotten it even happened. Silly, clumsy you — nearly falling while exiting the subway onto the station platform. Thankfully, that good samaritan was right behind you.

His hand clasped onto your upper arm tightly as he pulled you back up to your feet to find your balance. You didn’t even give it much thought-! You thanked him and went on about your day.

Satoru’s six eyes can immediately spot the bruise before you’ve even taken off your coat after getting home.

“Baby —“ Satoru’s voice was bone chilling when he spoke. He’s normally got such a happy tone, but when he uses that baritone that comes out during fights, you’re frozen out of fear.

“Wha..?” You weren’t even able to get your words out before Satoru has your arm up in the air. His eyes wandering over the bruise that was wrapped around your upper arm.

“Who the fuck touched you?” His heart is slamming into his ribcage. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knew enough. You were hurt, and he wasn’t there to protect you.

He wishes he could extend his infinity out to you at all times, but even he has limits unfortunately.

“Satoru- My arm-“ You whine while your lofty boyfriend with his abnormally long limbs is nearly holding you up by your wrist. You looked pitiful — dangling from his grip.

“Who.” He demands again, and those stormy blue eyes meet yours. His mind is racing — thinking of who he’s going to kill. Will he snuff them out like a cigarette with his infinity? Or maybe he blow a whole in them with hollow purple. Maybe he could figure out a new technique to rip them in half on an atomic level.

“It was an accident!” You cry as you try to pull your arm aways from his unrelenting grip. “I was about to fall off the subway, and this guy grabbed me so I didn’t fall and break my neck.”

Satoru’s face stays cold, and his eyes look back at the obvious handprint bruise on your arm. Judging by the way it’s awkwardly positioned, he knows you’re telling the truth.

“Oh! Well baby, why didn’t you just say that?” Your entirely too happy boyfriend is immediately back with a coy grin as if he wasn’t just fantasizing about murder. “You got to be more careful when getting off the subway, silly goose.” His finger lightly thump you on the forehead.

SUGURU

You’ve always been so clumsy your entire life: tripping over your own feet, bumping into the corners of tables and walls, accidentally stubbing your toe, the list goes on…

You were racing down the broken escalator at the mall to try to get to your favorite store before it closed for the day. You were just so focused on getting to your destination that you weren’t paying attention to ahead of you.

You barrel straight into this guy who miraculously grabs onto you and the railing before both of you take a nasty fall. The two of you pant in each other’s arms for just a moment before you’re backing away — professing your deepest apologies for not being more careful. The guy just awkwardly smiles and waves you on, knowing you were probably trying to get to a specific store.

You didn’t even think about the little incident afterwards. You have so many “near misses” in a day that you just completely black them out.

Suguru’s lips are clasped to your neck, giving you sloppy kisses right on the sweet spot of your neck.

“Fuuuck, pretty girl… can never get tired of this pussy.” He groans softly into your ear. Both of you are so lost in each other, feeling your essences mix with each time his massive cock slips into your clammy entrance. You’re practically sucking him in at this point — greedyyy.

“Sugu- Ah~!” You’re breathy as your hand reaches up to clasp the pillow behind you. The way your pussy flutters around him as you’re nth orgasm is about to take over has him nearly seeing stars.

Nearly.

His eyes normally focus on you while he fucks you until you’re nothing more than a puddle in his arms, but right now, that damn bruise has his attention.

“What fucking monkey touched you?” He asks in a low growl before he’s pinning both your arms above your head. He slips his cock out of you — eliciting a frustrated whine from edging you.

His eyes are too busy scoping out the rest of your body. How did he miss the fresh bruise that was so blatantly displayed on your arm.

“Sugu..” You whine — still mindless and cockdrunk. Your thighs part as you try to seduce him back between your legs.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes. “I need my girlfriend right now — not my slut. Who touched you?”

“What are you talkin’ about?” You lazily whine as you look over towards your arm, and you think for a moment of how the bruise must’ve gotten there..

“Which fucking monkey touched you?” He grits again. His temper is only building. How were you unable to remember who touched you?

“Hmm.. oh! I was running down those broken escalators at the mall, and I nearly sent me and this guy down the entire flight. Thankfully, he was able to grab us both.” You’re finally able to recount the memory to Geto.

Your poor stressed boyfriend pinches the bridge of his nose. He instantly knows that you’re telling the truth because this is just so damn like you.

“What have I told you about being aware of your surroundings? Now you’re going to make me have to punish you.”

Great! Now you’re not getting to finish at all tonight! :(

NANAMI

It was another normal Sunday evening in your home. The lights were turned down low, and the curtains were drawn so the golden hour sun could pool into the kitchen and dining room. You and Ken were listening to your playlist while cooking dinner together.

Cooking dinner with Nanami wasn’t like some normal, ordinary task. Cooking with him was almost as intimate as having sex with him — the way his hands so carefully massaged into your hips. Your back was pressed flush against his toned chest, and his chin was either resting on yours or resting on your shoulder.

He wasn’t dead weight either. Nanami could cook his ass off. You were the one who needed the extra help, so right now, Nanami was guiding your hands on how to perfectly and evenly chop zucchini.

His eyes grazed over your hands, taking in your form to see if he needed to correct you in any way. That’s when he saw the bruise peaking out from underneath your shirt sleeve.

Nanami’s hand is quick, and he swiftly disarms you so you don’t accidentally cut yourself before he tugs your arm sleeve. His usually calm face slowly twisted into a scowl.

“Who did that to you?” He asks lowly with an intimidating glare. Of course, he’s not mad at you, but he is mad that someone touched his wife.

“What…?” You ask with a small pout, not knowing what he was talking about in the slightest. You had clearly forgotten about that nice stranger who pulled you back onto the sidewalk when a car decided to ignore the pedestrian walking symbol. They had saved your life.

“The name of the person who grabbed you.” Nanami demands as he gestures to your marked up wrist. “Now.”

“I- wait, Ken… That’s not what it looks like…” You try to explain with a small frown.

“Then please, do tell me what it is before I go find them for myself.”

When you explained to him that the person who grabbed you actually saved you from severe injury, Nanami let out a sigh — partially of relief and partially of stress.

He brings your wrist up to his mouth before he places light kisses around the bruise. “You have to be more careful, darling… I need you here with me.”

CHOSO

Yuji was the one to grab you harshly and pull you back, creating that nasty bruise on your arm. He really didn’t mean to grab you so hard!! He just forgets his superhuman strength sometimes.

You were about to run into someone while at the school. Yuji was just trying to be a good brother-in-law and protect you. He was nearly in tears when he saw the huge handprint on your arm.

“Please don’t tell Choso. He’ll kill me if he finds out! Please! Say you swear!” He pleads as he clasps his hands together and grovels at your feet.

You tried reassuring him that his brother wasn’t going to kill him, but Yuji wouldn’t rest until you promised not to tell.

“Hi baby.” Choso greets you as usual, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple as he casually strolls towards the bathroom to shower. He’s glistening with sweat from training with Yuki and Todo all day.

“Mm! Wait for me!” You call out, trailing behind him like a horny dog (it’s okay girl me too). Choso happily waits for you in the shower. His dark hair comes down to his shoulders as he lets his hair down and steps into the hot water, immediately rinsing his body of the filth and grime.

“Missed you, baby.” He hums as he slowly corners you against the shower wall. His hand gently cups your chin to press a passionate kiss to your lips.

You softly giggle as you feel something already poking at your leg. “So sensitive~” You tease as you go to wrap your hand around his length.

Choso quickly grabs your arm, going to pin it above your head. He wanted to touch you first. You’re always taking care of him. He wanted to return the favor.

When you softly hiss in response due to him pressing on your bruise, he freezes. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No- no, you did nothing.” You try to reassure him with a wave of your hands. Your bruise catches his eye.

“Did I- Did I do that?” He immediately asks as he takes your arm and cradles it gently into his oversized hands. His face slowly shifts to a guilty pout.

Your eyes widen as you realize your poor boyfriend doesn’t understand the concept of human bruising. He truly thinks he grabbed you so hard that your skin immediately started to bruise.

“No, nonono, baby, you didn’t do that. ‘s okay.” You go to reassure him, gently holding your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb over the small tattoos under his eyes.

“Then… who did?” His voice shifts to a less panicked one, and his gaze hardens slightly.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize just how quickly he can turn on that more dominant, powerful side of him. “Uh.. well.. it was an accident.. We shouldn’t go on a witch hunt or anything like that…”

“Right. Who grabbed you so hard that they left a mark on you?” He doesn’t relent, towering over you with such an unamused gaze. His eyes are angry while staring at you.

“You have to promise me you won’t hurt him, Cho. It was really an accident. He was trying to save me.”

Choso stays quiet. He’s learned not to make promises that he can’t keep, and all of his thoughts are about how he was going to hurt this mysterious guy who laid a hand on you.

“Choso… It was Yuji. He was trying to keep me from running into somebody! He didn’t mean to hurt me-“

Your boyfriend’s face shifts to one of surprise. He didn’t expect Yuji to be the culprit of the bruise on your arm. His eyes flick over to the bruise, and he lets out a hefty sigh.

“Sometimes… older brothers have to be the one to teach hard lessons…”

“Choso, it was an accident.”

TOJI

“Mmm.. shit…” Toji hums before he goes in for another bite. You watch him with a playful gaze. He always gets so hungry after a completed hit, and when the job takes more than one day, he misses your cooking almost as much as he misses you.

“Toji, slow down. No one’s going to take your food from you.” You gently chide with a laugh. Little three-year-old Megumi is in his high chair, eating like an animal because he’s mimicking daddy.

You’re happy that your husband appreciates your cooking because you did nearly die while trying to get the ingredients to make this stupid dinner.

You were in the parking lot of the grocery store with Megumi in your arms, and while walking towards the store’s entrance, a car nearly backed over you and the small child in your arms.

Thankfully, a stranger was behind you, and he was fast enough to yank you and Megumi back away from the car. It was honestly a miracle that you and Megumi made it completely unscathed.

Well, almost unscathed. You did have a pretty nasty bruise on your hip where the stranger grabbed you with such strength.

“Look at what kind of table manners you’re teaching your son.” You continue on while wiping Megumi’s face clean with a baby wipe. The small child whines and tries to break free from your grasp.

“Can’t help it, doll. Your cooking’s too good.” Toji finally lifts his head up from his plate, and with almost lazer focus, he immediately notices the bruise on your hip due to your shirt hiking up a bit since you’re bent over dealing with Megumi.

“What the fuck happened?” He immediately asks, gesturing his fork towards the bruise on your hip. “Did some fuck touch you?”

You look at him with a hint of confusion for a second, but as soon as you look down and see the bruise, you immediately remember the event that transpired earlier today.

“I-“

You don’t even get the next word out before Toji’s on you, lifting your shirt up to see the perfectly drawn out handprint bruised into your pretty skin. The scar on his lips twitch in frustration, and your heart begins to stutter — understanding exactly what it looks like.

“Toji-“

“What the fuck happened?” His voice is a low grumble as he eyes you closely. He’s itching to hear a name — someone to kill for touching you like that. Only he gets to touch you there.

Your words are choked up in your throat, misunderstanding Toji’s possessiveness for anger towards you. You can’t even think of what to say before your son speaks up for you.

“Mama and I saved by a man!” Megumi shouts, looking up at his dad, even your toddler understood the gravity of the situation.

“Saved?” Toji questions as he shifts his gaze over to Megumi with a raised eyebrow — still angry but albeit a little amused.

“Yeah! Car almost hit mama and me! The man grabbed us to save us.” Your toddler explains it as if it’s a fond memory for him.

Your eyes meet Toji’s, and you nod your head slightly, agreeing with your son. “I was going into the market, and a car nearly backed over Megumi and I. The guy grabbed us up before it completely hit us.”

Toji takes a big breath, and his large palm finds the back of your head, guiding you to lie on his chest for moment. He just needs to he close to you after the gymnastics his brain just did.

“Christ, mama. Don’t worry me like that.” He mumbles lowly before pressing a kiss onto your forehead.

“Daddy, ew! Gross!”

SUKUNA

It was time for nightly worship for you and the other concubines, except here recently, it’s only been you attending nightly worship. The concubines had been dropping like flies recently… like actually dropping dead.

Why would Sukuna need concubines when you were already his most devout follower? Not to mention, he immediately made up his mind once he felt your precious cunt for the first time — so fucking tight and wet, begging to be bred by him — he didn’t need anyone else. You were the solution to all of his problems. Hell, he might even give you his heir one day.

He was sat in his throne with a mere red and black silk robe covering his monstrous body. One of his hands was occupied with a chalice of… well, you don’t really want to know what he was sipping on.

His other oversized hand was tenderly resting on your head. His palm was as big as your head, covering the crown completely, while you had your chin propped up on his thigh — on your knees in front of him. This was his favorite sight. He could really appreciate your beauty when the other concubines weren’t making so much racket. It was the right decision to have them disposed of.

You’re so pliant with your head in his lap. He finds it amusing how comfortable you look before him — as if he isn’t the literal incarnate of evil. He almost finds you adorable like a small kitten.

“What are you thinking about, woman?” He asks, surprisingly breaking the silence between you two. He’s the type of man to value the quiet, and he hates small talk, but he can’t help but want to hear your voice.

“Hm?” You hum lazily, being broken out of your daydream. Your eyes meet his as you look up at him. “I’m just thinking about bedtime… It’s been an eventful day.” You answer softly before a yawn escapes you, earning a small snicker from Sukuna.

“You shall retire in my chambers tonight. Go dispose of your clothes and slip between the sheets. I’ll be in there in just a moment.” He pats your head, signaling you may get up now.

Scurrying off to Sukuna’s chambers, the King of Curses narrows his eyes. He could’ve swore he just saw a bruise on you, and it’s definitely not one that he left…

Once he was inside his chambers, his eyes rested upon your small, frail body. You looked so cute, curled up in his massive bed. He slips his robe off, revealing his sculpted body. He looks like more than a king. He’s no less than a god.

Slipping between the sheets so he can finally feel your flesh against his, Sukuna can’t help but check. One of his hands captures your arm, and he looks at it. A deep scowl forms on his face as he sees the mark of another on you.

“What fool dared to touch you?” He demands, blood pressure already rising.

“What-?” You ask a bit confused, but you’re quickly reminded when Sukuna presses down on the bruise, making it worse. He’s sick in the head, thinking that if he can’t remove the bruise from you, he’ll just make his own mark right on top of it-

“Ow-! Kuna-!” You whine as his thumb presses down firmer. “Why are you- oww! please! I’m sorry, my lord! The gardener was just trying to save me from tripping and falling-“

His hand releases. “The gardener, huh?” He muses before making a few hand symbols. You’ll never see that gardener again. He should’ve known better than you touch you. You watch Sukuna with a slightly fearful look, and Sukuna feels his stomach twist with detest.

“Don’t look at me like that. It displeases me.” He frowns when he notes your fear does not simply vanish. Releasing a tense breath, he carefully brings your arm up to his mouth, and he presses a gentle kiss to the darkening bruise on your arm. “I had to make my own mark. I forget how fragile you mortals are… I… apologize.”

MAHITO

His eyes were wide and filled with utter rage as he saw the bruise displayed on your arm. He didn’t know how to cope with these new… emotions. Mahito didn’t believe he could feel a thing such as jealousy until you came around, his pretty pet. you just didn’t know it yet.

His foot was tapping violently against the ground as he tried to think of a way to bring it up casually in front of the others. He didn’t need Kenjaku on his case again for “falling for you”… whatever that fucking meant.

“Did you have a run in with the sorcerers, pet?” He finally asks as you and Jogo are playing Mahjong.

You look down at your arm at the blue and purple bruise that was welping up on your skin, and you nod your head at Mahito’s question.

“One of them got me good… He barely touched me though, so it caught me off guard.” You finally respond, and Mahito feels his very soul light on fire. Another man dared to touch you? You? His pet?? Even worse, it was a sorcerer.

“Did you kill him?” Mahito asks as he has to place his hands underneath his thighs to keep from reaching out to grab you up. Last time he did that, Kenjaku threatened to swallow him up like an uzumaki, but he can’t help it. He constantly feels an overwhelming urge to just touch you. If he could, he’d merge your soul with his so you’d be bound to him for life.

“No… he got away before I could finish the job.” You pout as you place your next tile down on the playing board.

“What did he look like?” Mahito’s heart starts to race. The thought of killing the guy who dared to touch you is intoxicating. He wants to hear the man cry and beg for mercy. He wants to coat himself in the man’s blood then fuck you until you cry.

“Oh, um, he had pink fluffy hair, and a jujutsu tech uniform on with red sneakers.”

“You ran into Sukuna’s vessel, Yuji Itadori???” Kenjaku perks up from the newspaper he was reading, and he immediately stomps over to you, needing more information.

“Yuji Itadori…. I’ll kill him.” Mahito mumbles to himself before breaking out in a small laugh. The thought of it— it’s so euphoric.

[elodieunderglass]

Hi there! I need to write A Guy who is Extremely Narrowboat, for reasons, and the Narrowboat Guy you just posted is. well. Very much that-adjacent, I suspect. Do you have advice for a) what this Guy is like, and some tips on conjuring them into existence, or b) a good place to look for Narrowboat Things? (if this ask has come in twice I am sorry. Cursed)

No worries at all!

Post references: description of original character Ken who lives on a narrowboat, post about Ken describing characteristics of a quite normal boatie, picture of Ken trying to recruit you into his band (he will teach you how to sing maybe.)

Ken is a Very Boatie Boatie so you should be able to pick or extrapolate some aspects of his character from some of those. The overall smell, of course, being woodsmoke and diesel and slightly damp wool. Personalities range from shifty and feral, to surly, to normies, to chirpy influencers, to wide-eyed wanderers, but boaters are often (not always) daytime drunk. Ken’s a sunny inclusive one that strikes a careful balance between many boatie extremes; practical enough to do a lot of his own repair and maintenance, but silly enough to always have oil on his nose. Your character can fall anywhere on these spectrums!

People who live full-time on narrowboats are incredibly diverse, ranging from prosperous retirees in custom-designed floating houses worth hundreds of K, to people who are functionally homeless. They can be people who live permanently on moorings or marinas, or continuous cruisers who are completely nomadic, (or sensible plan-ahead people who pay a “winter mooring” fee to pause the “continuous cruising” rules during winter and get the best of both worlds.) Ask five boaters and get ten opinions. There are a thousand nuances and reasons why. Some people choose the lifestyle with excitement; for some, it’s forced on them. Some are right-wingers and some are left-wing and some are anarchists, but all of them are living in someone else’s back garden on charity-owned property. The only things they have in common are some basic boater characteristics, like cork-ball keyrings and a lofty resentment against anglers, and the fact that every boater has willingly chosen to marginalise themselves.

The UK has always been hostile to nomads, but is increasingly so now, and the various inconveniences of living without a fixed address add up to some material penalties. It’s not just slightly harder to pay bills, do admin, arrange childcare, commute, vote, etc. The liveaboard narrowboat community once prided themselves on being “the last legal nomads” in the British Isles; anti-traveller legislation has increasingly soured this, with laws being passed limiting everything from the use of wood-burning stoves (positioned by the anti-biofuel lobby in the Guardian as an eco thing. In London. I ask you.) to laws making it easier to remove off-grid children from their parents. And yet, due to housing pressures and the cheap sustainability of the lifestyle, the liveaboard population hasn’t dropped.

By going off-grid you are commenting, politically, in some way, about the grid. By stepping out of society you are agreeing to be a little bit out of society. You simultaneously cross many social classes, and don’t leave your own life at all. Your rights and worries are now shared with the legal rights of Travellers, the Roma, fairground workers, and the unhoused - to the point where the collective term for your community is G****y, Traveller, Roma, Showmen & Boater (GTRSB). (Yes the first one’s a slur, yes people know that - it’s still a community self-description for some, and essentially you’re expected to ignore it and not use the word.) ultimately, a boatie only has to be slightly sideways. A bit self-reliant. A bit willing to be outside.

Reference books? Well, Narrow Dog to Carcassonne is an exciting account; I read Narrow Escape by Marie Browne before moving aboard and appreciated her honesty. There are a lot of influencers living aboard nowadays, but plenty of books abound. My friend Dru remains brave and true and is a trans woman in some tricky days, so you can buy some poetry books from her Etsy shop to keep her afloat and hear from boaters.

I lived aboard for years and am happy to answer questions - maybe Ken could do his own information post! A boater character is a wonderful, rich, textured thing. What would you like to know?

[wisecura]

Pretty

Suguru x fem-reader p.2

summary: You're Gojo's cute little sister.

AN:*ahem ahem* sis con *ahem ahem* (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

Warning: yandere behaviors oncoming please read at your own risk. Minors DNI this ain’t for ya

My little Sugu-princess

Being the little sister of The Satoru Gojo and a member of the prestigious Gojo clan was one thing.

Life in one of the great clans wasn’t as easy as it seemed. The expectations were towering, endless, and often suffocating. You weren’t necessarily weak—far from it—though you certainly didn’t measure up to your older brother.

Suffice it to say, you faced a significant amount of criticism from the elders and your family. It didn’t help that you and Satoru were so close in age—only two years apart—or that you bore such a striking resemblance to him, with your stark white hair and vivid blue eyes.

No—the family’s disappointment in the skill gap between you and your brother was painfully obvious, and they made no effort to hide it.

Their disapproval only made it easier for them to try and treat you as though you were lesser.

Keyword: tried.

Having ‘Toru as your big brother, however, was an entirely different experience.

From the moment his mother introduced you to him—the tiny, white-haired, blue-eyed baby swaddled in her arms—he was captivated. Utterly fascinated by the idea of being a big brother, even if he had no clue what that actually meant.

As the two of you grew older, it all clicked into place.

Satoru couldn’t get enough of you. His cute little sister, his perfect look alike. He never hesitated to shower you with attention, and he made no effort to hide his blatant favoritism.

Where others saw weakness or disappointment, Satoru saw someone precious. Someone who was his, and his alone.

You were largely harassed by your family and the clan members, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint when it all began. What you did know was that it was constant, relentless. You’d never forget the way the maids would shoot you nasty glares before scuttling off, or the way you were often harshly scolded for being “too loud” when wandering through the clan house.

And then there was your mother, whose gaze had once been so warm and soft, now replaced by cold indifference.

It was a loneliness you felt more deeply than you cared to admit.

Satoru, of course, picked up on the way you had started retreating into yourself. And he couldn’t stand it.

He began sticking to you like a second shadow, refusing to leave your side for long. Whether it was spending more time with you or dragging you along on one of his whims, he made it his mission to ensure you were never alone.

When that wasn’t enough, he didn’t hesitate to make his point with the elders, the family, or anyone else who dared to mistreat you. If protective was the word people used to describe him, it was an understatement.

But could you blame him?

How could he sit back and stay silent while his adorable little sister was harassed by a bunch of bitter old geezers—or worse, by the maids who should’ve known their place? Satoru wasn’t one to let things slide, not when it came to you.

And he was always there for you.

Always on your side, always finding a way to lessen that crushing loneliness. It was hard to feel bitter about your situation when you had him—your constant, your protector, your big brother who refused to let the world break you.

And deep down, you couldn’t say you didn’t know why they treated you the way they did. You were weaker than Satoru, much weaker. And to the clan, that would have been bad enough. But you had committed another, even graver sin in their eyes.

You had been born the wrong sex.

No—you didn’t come close to meeting their lofty standards—not by a long shot. And Satoru clung to you throughout your childhood, shielding you from most of the harsh words and even harsher punishments they hurled your way.

But as he grew older, Satoru began to understand his position more clearly—the privileges and power that came with being the sole heir of the Gojo clan. The strongest sorcerer in the world, blessed with both the Limitless Cursed Technique and the fabled Six Eyes.

And he was fed up.

That was how he found himself face-to-face with the current head of the clan, confronting the source of your undeserved bad reputation.

“Your responsibility? Ha! Don’t make me laugh,” Satoru sneered, his voice thick with venom. “You’ve done nothing but treat her like garbage since she was four. A bunch of hypocrites, every last one of you.”

The Clan Head’s brow furrowed, his attempt at authority wavering under the weight of Satoru’s words.

“Satoru, you’re being unreasonable. She needs to know her place in the clan—”

“Unreasonable?”

Resentment flared in his striking blue eyes, the intensity of his stare enough to freeze the room. His cursed energy seeped from every pore, enveloping the space in an oppressive, suffocating weight. The silence was deafening.

Satoru didn’t care. He wanted the old man to fear him. No, more than that—he needed him to feel the full brunt of his hatred, the loathing that burned in every fiber of his being.

“Me? Unreasonable?” His voice dropped, cold and cutting. He stepped forward, each word sharp as a blade. “Let me make this crystal clear: From now on, my sister will be under my care. None of you will approach her, scold her, teach her—anything.”

His gaze locked onto the Clan Head, sharp and unrelenting. Despite his youth, Satoru carried an authority that left no room for argument. The unspoken threat in his eyes was impossible to miss.

I’m stronger than you, old man.

The Clan Head faltered, the weight of Satoru’s presence pressing down on him. He opened his mouth as if to argue but stopped, his resolve crumbling under the oppressive force radiating from the boy before him.

And with that, the argument ended.

The decision was made: your care was officially placed in Satoru’s hands.

From that moment on, Satoru refused to let anyone exert authority over you. Not the elders, not the maids, not even your own mother dared to interfere. His word became law where you were concerned, and he enforced it with unwavering resolve.

But while his victory granted you the protection you so desperately needed, it came with a price. No one in the clan was willing to challenge Satoru’s authority, and as a result, they chose to ignore you entirely.

For years, Satoru was your guard dog, your protector, your one and only ally. He was always there—shielding you from the harshness of the clan and the indifference of the world. But soon enough, the day came when he had to leave for school.

And soon enough, he wouldn’t be there for you.

Not in the way you needed him.

For the first time, you’d have to face the world without him by your side.

The thought haunted Satoru. Desperation to ensure your happiness and safety gnawed at him, even at the expense of his own reputation. His behavior became increasingly erratic—snapping at anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way and clinging to you like a stubborn child who refused to let go.

No matter how protective or affectionate he was, the growing anxiety inside him never faded. If anything, his fear of leaving you only made him more attached. He hovered constantly, watching over you with the intensity of someone who knew he was running out of time.

In quieter moments, he even entertained the idea of taking you with him. What if I just brought her along? It wasn’t impossible, was it?

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the answer.

“Toru,” you called, your voice playful and lilting, “are you excited to be going to school soon?”

Without waiting for an answer, you leapt onto his back, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck with a cheeky grin. Satoru stumbled slightly but quickly recovered, his instincts sharp even with his Infinity kept off—a deliberate choice he made around you. He knew how much you loved ambushing him with your “surprise attacks,” and he’d never deny you that joy.

You had always been with him, and he had always been with you. The thought of being apart for the first time was unsettling, almost unthinkable—for both of you.

Satoru’s playful demeanor masked the worry simmering just beneath the surface. He knew how much his absence could affect you.

Loneliness was his greatest fear for you, knowing how deeply you relied on him for comfort and connection. But even more than that, the idea of the clan taking advantage of his absence made his blood boil.

He would never forgive himself if they hurt you while he was gone.

He chuckled softly at your antics, adjusting you on his back as he strolled through the garden. Your feet swung back and forth lazily, brushing against his sides, but he didn’t mind. He’d been on his way to yet another pointless training session, but with his departure looming, spending time with you felt far more important.

Satoru ignored your question, choosing not to answer. He knew that whatever he said might dampen your excitement or make you sad, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Instead, he let the silence settle between you, though it weighed heavily on his mind.

This might be the last time he’d hear your cheerful voice calling out to him until summer break. The thought lingered, bittersweet, as he carried you a little further, savoring the moment for as long as he could.

Finally, he spoke, breaking the tension with a forced cheerfulness. “We’ve got to do something fun before I leave!” His voice wavered slightly, softening as the emotion he’d been holding back began to seep through. “I’m gonna miss you so much, imouto.”

You tightened your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder. Neither of you spoke for a moment, letting the weight of his words linger.

Then, the day finally came.

Satoru was leaving for high school. The idea of staying in the dorms, away from the suffocating halls of the clan house, sounded like pure heaven. Freedom, independence, a chance to live on his own terms—it was everything he’d dreamed of.

But leaving you behind? That was an entirely different kind of pain.

He hated the thought of you being alone in that cold, unfeeling house. He’d already made up his mind, though. When the time came for you to join him in high school, he would find a place for the two of you. Somewhere far away from the clan house. Maybe a little apartment near the beach, within train distance of the school. A place where you could finally breathe, free from the expectations and judgment of the clan.

Two years.

He could wait two years.

You missed Toru like crazy after he left. The future summers never seemed to come fast enough, and when they finally did, they never lasted long enough.

His absence left a void in the clan house, one that was difficult to ignore. Yet, in a strange way, it worked in your favor. With Satoru gone, no one paid you any attention. The sharp criticisms, the constant scoldings, and the disapproving glares—all of it stopped. You were left alone, ignored.

And while the loneliness stung, you didn’t mind the peace.

In that newfound quiet, you turned your focus inward. Day after day, you practiced your cursed technique, working tirelessly to ensure you wouldn’t be an embarrassment when it was finally your turn to join him. Your older brother was so strong, so effortlessly cool—everything you aspired to be. You wanted to make him proud, to prove that you were worthy of standing next to him.

When summer finally arrived and Satoru came home, you couldn’t help but notice the change in him. He seemed lighter, freer. Being away from the stifling walls of the clan house had done wonders for him, and his happiness was undeniable.

It made you happy to see him like that. But in some small, selfish way, it also made you sad.

He had found a kind of peace you still couldn’t grasp, and though you were thrilled to have him back, it reminded you of just how far away that freedom felt for you.

Eager to show him how much you’d grown, you demonstrated the progress you’d made in your cursed technique. His reaction didn’t disappoint, showering you with endless praise.

“You’re amazing, imouto! You’ve come so far!” Satoru beamed with pride, ruffling your hair affectionately.

Moments like these reminded you why you worked so hard. No matter how much time passed, no matter how far apart you were, your big brother’s approval was worth everything.

Later that evening, as the two of you lounged in the garden, Satoru told you stories about his time at school. He told you all about the friends he’d made, particularly someone named Suguru Geto.

The way he talked about Suguru—with a fondness you rarely heard from him—sparked a tiny flicker of jealousy in you, though you’d never admit it out loud.

At the time, you didn’t think much about what he said, but it intrigued you all the same. Satoru had never spoken so warmly about anyone other than you.

It made you eager to start high school yourself. To make your own friends, form your own memories. You had spent so much of your life confined to the Gojo estate, rarely allowed out of the manor, let alone given the chance to interact with others.

Most of that isolation, though unintentional, had been orchestrated by Satoru himself. He’d always insisted it was too dangerous for you to roam the streets the way he did. “It’s different for me,” he’d say confidently, brushing off your protests. “But you? I can’t risk it, imouto.”

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder. What would it be like to step into the world? To meet people your age? What kind of friendships could you form?

Would you even know how to talk to someone your age?

The few people you had interacted with so far were either indifferent to you or outright hostile. The thought of venturing into something new—meeting new people, creating your own memories—was both thrilling and...terrifying.

Despite your curiosity, one thing remained certain: no one could ever be better than your big brother.

You’d told him that countless times, a truth you held onto tightly. And every time you said it, it only served to inflate his already massive ego. Not that you noticed—or cared. To you, it wasn’t flattery; it was just the simple truth.

Satoru truly was the best big brother. No one else could compare.

And just like that, two years flew by. Before you knew it, you were finally enrolled at Jujutsu Tech, stepping outside the high fences of the estate for the first time in what felt like forever.

To say you were ecstatic would be a gross understatement.

This time, you weren’t staying behind—you were leaving with him. You’d finally get to see the campus he’d told you so much about, the place that had seemed like a distant dream during those long, lonely years.

It felt almost surreal how easily it had all come together. Automatic enrollment, all thanks to being Satoru Gojo’s little sister. His recommendation alone carried immeasurable weight, and his unparalleled influence in the jujutsu world sealed the deal without question.

The ride to the school felt like an eternity, your excitement bubbling over as the car rolled to a stop in front of the campus gates. Stepping out, you found yourself momentarily awestruck by the sight before you.

A heavily wooded temple stood at the heart of the campus, surrounded by lush gardens that seemed to stretch endlessly. The serene beauty of the place was breathtaking, far beyond anything your brother’s words had prepared you for. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant hum of cicadas, and the faint scent of earth and greenery created an atmosphere so calm, so peaceful, that it felt like a world away from the stifling halls of the Gojo estate.

Satoru nudged you forward, his excited chatter flying over your head as you took in the sights. He led the way toward the dorms, and though the two of you would be in different classes, the thought of being here—together—was enough to keep your spirits high.

At least now, you weren’t stuck in that damn house.

Settling into the dorms was surprisingly easy. The room you were assigned was slightly smaller than the one you’d had back home, but it was cozy and comfortable. Most of your belongings had been delivered ahead of time, neatly arranged and waiting for you.

What struck you as strange, though, was the emptiness. The hallways were eerily quiet, and you couldn’t spot another girl in sight. It made the space feel… unsettling.

“Not many students enroll,” Satoru had mentioned, brushing off your concerns like it was no big deal. And maybe it wasn’t—to him. But you couldn’t help feeling a little nervous.

This was your first real step into the outside world, and though you had Satoru by your side, the unfamiliarity of it all was both thrilling and unnerving.

Meeting your new classmates was… interesting. There were two other first-years joining you, both boys. Still no girls? You tried not to let it bother you, but it felt a little strange.

They seemed nice enough, but you couldn’t ignore the way they looked at you when you first met—as if you were some rare specimen to be observed. Not surprising, given that Satoru had no doubt made a name for himself on campus.

Kai, the taller of the two, was the first to speak. He circled you with a casual, almost lazy air, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “You a Gojo?” he asked, his tone light but curious. “Yeah, you definitely fit the look.”

You instinctively took a small step back, unsure how to respond. The question seemed so obvious it made you want to roll your eyes and say duh. Was it the hair? The eyes? Those features practically screamed Gojo, so what was the point of the interrogation?

Kazuo, the shorter of the two, spoke next. “What’s your cursed technique like?” he asked, his wide eyes filled with excitement. Cute, you thought absently. Though, definitely not cuter than your big brother.

Despite your lack of social experience, the conversation began to flow more easily than you expected. Kai and Kazuo seemed easygoing, and before long, you found yourself relaxing around them. It felt like the beginning of a solid friendship, and you felt genuinely excited to start classes.

And then you ran into Satoru.

“Toru!” you called out, your face lighting up as you spotted his tall, lanky form in the courtyard. His back was to you, and he seemed deep in conversation with a small group of students. Smirking to yourself, you prepared another one of your “surprise attacks.”

With a playful leap, you pounced on him, causing him to stumble forward slightly before easily catching his balance. Spinning around, he grinned widely, his excitement obvious as he set you down.

“Well, look who it is!” he said, ruffling your hair with a playful grin. He seemed just as thrilled to see you, though it didn’t take long before he quickly pulled you over to his friends.

Turning back to the group, his tone brimmed with pride. “Guys, this is my little sister!” he announced, gently nudging you forward to stand in front of the two upperclassmen with him.

The girl stepped forward first, her warm caramel-colored hair matching the kindness in her eyes. She introduced herself, and you recognized her name immediately—she was the healer your brother had mentioned. She was even prettier than you’d imagined, exuding a calm, friendly energy.

The boy, on the other hand, was an entirely different presence. He stood nearly as tall as your brother, but where Satoru radiated lighthearted energy, this boy was all sharp edges and quiet intensity. His black hair was tied back in a neat bun, and his dark purple eyes seemed to pierce straight through you, observing your every move.

You knew who he was instantly.

Satoru had spent hours talking about him, and now, face-to-face, you understood why.

Suguru Geto.

And, honestly? You could immediately see why your brother admired him so much.

He was pretty damn handsome.

He was everything your brother wasn’t—where Satoru was soft, Suguru was hard. Where Satoru was bright, Suguru was dark.

And did you mention he was incredibly handsome.

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, you froze. His steady, piercing gaze seemed to root you in place, leaving you completely flustered.

“Hey! Hellooo?” Satoru’s voice snapped you out of your daze. Your face flushed hot as you realized you’d been staring.

“Aww, Suguru!” Satoru cooed, his voice dripping with exaggerated delight. “Looks like my lil’ sister’s got a crushy-wushy on you!”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your cheeks and squished them together, leaving you flustered and fuming.

“Shut up, Toru!” you yelled, your voice muffled and your face burning as you swatted at him, trying to pry yourself free.

Your attempts to smack him only made him laugh harder. He threw up his Infinity, keeping you at arm’s length as he continued his merciless teasing. “Aw, look how cute you are! Blushing so much! Suguru, isn’t she adorable?”

You shouted in protest, smacking at the invisible barrier, completely oblivious to the reactions of the two upperclassmen.

Suguru watched you with quiet amusement, his gaze softening just slightly, while the girl giggled under her breath. You hadn’t noticed their stares, too busy plotting ways to throttle your brother once he lowered his Infinity.

Suguru couldn’t peel his eyes away from you.

When Satoru had mentioned his little sister, he’d described a small child—someone he imagined tagging along like a baby duckling. What he hadn’t expected was… you.

Your white hair was styled in a neat half-up, half-down look, accentuating blue eyes that rivaled even your brother’s show stopping gaze. And your features? Sharp yet delicate, striking enough to put a model to shame.

Of course, you were a Gojo. It only made sense.

Still, Suguru found himself taken aback. If he had to describe you, you were like a lovelier, softer version of Satoru. The thought amused him briefly. If only Satoru wasn’t so obnoxiously irritating.

He caught himself silently hoping you didn’t share your brother’s personality.

What exactly had he expected when Satoru said his “baby sister” would be joining them this year? Certainly not someone who could knock the air out of a room just by walking into it.

Satoru’s relentless teasing snapped Suguru out of his thoughts.

“Satoru, enough teasing. You’re going to make her cry,” Suguru quipped, his tone carrying a playful edge as he poked at his best friend’s side.

“‘M not gonna cry!” you screeched, voice cracking slightly as you flushed a deep crimson. Your cheeks and ears were burning, and Suguru could tell you were teetering on the edge of tears—whether from embarrassment or frustration, he wasn’t sure.

The automatic thought that popped into his mind caught him off guard. Pretty.

He cleared his throat, brushing the thought aside, though his lips twitched upward at your flustered expression.

Satoru barked out a laugh, and Suguru couldn’t help but join him, their laughter ringing out as you continued to swat futilely at your brother’s Infinity.

p.2

come home

I will also be posting updates here:

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

[factsilike]

Quotes in the No. 6 novels that had me reeling from their sheer level of intensity and yearning (aka my favourite lines)-

"This is where my heart is. I was human when my heart was stolen by him, and I was human when I longed to be by his side. And this fact won't change, no matter what name I give to these feelings."

      "Why won’t you come home? Why aren’t you beside me? I just want to look into your eyes and see that I am me, that I can continue to be who I am. They are my only anchor."

"I’ll be waiting. No matter how many years pass, no matter how old I get, I’ll be waiting here for you. The wandering star and the fixed one. Someday our paths will cross again. When that happens, I’m not going to sit quietly and let you go. I’ll be waiting for you."

"It’s not friendship, not merely a deep affection even—nor is it simply romantic attraction or respect or caring. It is a deep and powerful love for someone dear to him."

“You called me, and I listened. I reached out, and you caught my arm. I opened the window so I could meet you."

"No one is greedier than I am. I’m sure no one desires another as strongly as I do."

"It's been four years, and I still have neither skill nor the heart to push this body aside."

"I'm drawn to you. A lot. That's why I want to stay here. I want to see what you see, eat what you eat, and breathe the same air as you."

"Have you noticed? No matter how dark or blindingly bright it is, I'm never led astray―my eyes always find yours."

"If I lost you here, right now, I wouldn't be able to stay sane. I would go mad. The world would turn upside-down."

"I'm probably more afraid to lose you than anyone―anybody else. I'm so scared, it's unbearable. I want to make sure you'll never disappear from my side. I don't care if you ridicule me, or sneer at me―these are my real feelings." It was none other than a straightforward and simple confession of love. I can't live without another―without you.

The emotionless voice became a frigid wind that wrapped around Shion's body. With his sense of pain, his fear, and his pride whipped away, for an instant, Shion was empty. Like a cicada shedding its skin, he became a hollow cavern that left only its outward appearance intact. He sometimes had this sensation when listening to Nezumi's voice. He didn't mind it much. In fact, it even felt refreshing. Exhilarating, even, to become empty.

I'll never leave you. I'll sink my teeth in, and latch on no matter where you go. He would never lose sight of that back turned to him. He would crawl across the ground to follow him if he had to. That was the only thing in his mind.

Invited along by Nezumi's voice, Shion had smiled, and seen the sky. It was that deepest hue of blue he had seen, lying in the grassy field. The colour of the heavens was spreading across the darkness. True, this world was ridden with brutality and falseness. Indeed, it was rife with it. But that wasn't the only thing that existed. Because, look―in this world, and in people's souls, there definitely existed beautiful things like the blue of the lofty skies. Nezumi's voice became a bubbling spring that quenched Shion's body and filled him to the brim. It was a strange voice. It melted the soul, and regenerated people to life.

He felt like he was being wrapped in an elegant grey cloth. The core of his body pulsated. All the thoughts that had been swirling around in his head came to a full stop. A moment of pleasure. It was strange. Just the kind of light in Nezumi's eyes was enough to make him feel like he was being pushed away or being embraced.

Curiosity. No, it wasn't such a casual feeling; it was a deep-rooted desire. It roved in circles deep inside his chest. It was intrigue towards a world his imagination could not render. Interest in the unknown. And more than anything... it was the expectation that he could acquire some piece of knowledge that had to do with Nezumi. His soul was stirring restlessly. It stirred from wanting to know, and not for anyone else but himself.

Nezumi was almost like a deep forest. No matter how far he waded in, he could never gaze out over its entirety. Here, clumps of flowers bloomed; here, a bowed branch bore fruits. Here, a spring gushed forth, and he could hear the gentle sound of its flow. He had definitely seen these various scenes, but they were mere parts of the deep, vast forest. Perhaps he would emerge from the dense trees to be faced with a sheer cliff. Perhaps there lurked man-eating beasts. Perhaps a scene totally unknown to him would stretch before his eyes. He didn't know. No matter how far he waded in, Nezumi never revealed his entirety to him. The further he waded in, the more unfathomable it got. I've wandered and gotten lost in an endless forest. I'm drifting, a tangle of throbbing pain and dreamy ecstasy.

" I've gone against what you've told me. I've sighed many times for another. I believed him, and opened my heart to him. I placed the shackles around my own feet. But I couldn't have done otherwise. I couldn't cut him away."

"I came to know what it was like for my heart to feel moved for someone, to yearn strongly for someone. I can't go back to when I didn't know. I don't want to go back. I would never want to go back to when I lived peacefully, knowing nothing."

"And above all, I have to tell you about Nezumi. I want you to know about him. Four years ago on a stormy night, I met him. Ever since then, I feel like I've been captured by him. When I'm with him, I lose sight of myself. No, that's not it. I'm illuminated vividly. Maybe I'm blinded for an instant because that light is so bright. That's how much my vision had deteriorated. It was so weak, I couldn't even discern myself, my surroundings, or the truth. Safu, his―Nezumi's gaze and words pierce me. They shoot through me, batter me, and save me. By his hands, I was melted, wrought anew, and instilled with new life."

"There's no way you can't hear me. There's no way my voice won't reach you. No matter when or what situation, you always caught my words firmly, You heard me through the noise, you grasped my words, and you answered me. You came back to me. This time, I'm going to bring you back. I'll take you back by force."

"The wind was howling. The flame was flickering. And I desperately wanted to hear you recite that line. I don't know why. Maybe I just wanted to lend my ears to your voice, and immerse myself in your breathing. As I listened to Macbeth tread the path to destruction, I felt elevated; I was fulfilled."

"You called to me. I heard that voice―your voice―calling me. It ducked through the wind, tore through the rain, and came to me. You called me, and I was called by you. That's why I opened the window. I flung it open wide to the outdoors. I extended my arms in search of you. You called me, and I listened. I reached out, and you caught my arm. I opened the window so I could meet you. That's our truth, Nezumi."

"Going to Hell doesn't seem so bad when it's with you."

"The fight would still continue tomorrow. But if I lost Nezumi, if I had to face a tomorrow without him, then I wouldn't be able to remain a soldier. You're weak. Unbelievably frail, he could hear Nezumi say in derision. Laugh at me, Nezumi. Look on me with contempt. Make fun of me. Give me a scornful laugh, a cold laugh. I just want to hear your laughter. Let me hear it, please."

"To me, you were more of a miracle than the Forest God ever was. I felt like I was being told to live―to live on, not give up.... If you hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been able to survive that night. Shion, you―only you―were the one who saved me. This time, too."

"The world means nothing to me without you. Nothing."

"He's more dangerous, troublesome, strong, and beautiful than anyone else in the world."

Nezumi's gazed pierced through him. Those grey eyes gave Shion the impression that they knew everything. He wondered why every time he was held by this gaze, he felt a shiver of bliss rather than pain.

"I'm alive and waiting for you. Even in those hellish surroundings, I was drawn to your eyes, your words, your gestures, your thoughts―and they supported me. Thanks to them, I was able to survive. And right now, I'm still alive."

[artist-issues]

You know what’s great about Dr. Facilier?

He’s the perfect villain opposite both Tiana and Naveen.

He’s not exactly like Jafar or Ursula, who know they’re evil and delight in it as like, a lifestyle. He’s more like Scar. He’s introduced getting money on the street through cons and feeling satisfied…until Big Daddy LeBouf drives by with all his money and makes him feel insignificant.

You get the idea that something in life made him this way—there was a beginning to his villainy. You don’t get that sense from like, Clayton or Gaston.

So he’s a relatable character with flaws, to an extent.

But those flaws specifically play off of Tiana and Naveen’s characterizations.

Tiana has no real respect from her peers—she is in a position to be jealous of Lottie the same way Facilier is jealous of the Cotton King. But where Tiana simply works hard and refuses to let others make her bitter, Facilier has clearly taken shortcuts. Or…”the easy way.”

Then there’s Naveen.

Naveen has no thought beyond the present; he thinks they’re “on this earth to have some fun,” and frequently jumps without looking at the consequences. Leaps without looking! Doesn’t stop to find out if the girl he’s kissing is a real princess even though he knew his original invitation was to a costume party, forgets that he’s supposed to be getting married and plans on continuing his playboy lifestyle, wanders into a shadow-man’s shop. But eventually he learns to open his eyes to what’s important, and what will last, in Tiana. And he takes that seriously; if he marries her instead of Charlotte, he has to get three jobs.

Facilier, on the other hand? He not only does the opposite of Tiana and has taken shortcuts to get where he is—but he also suffers from Naveen’s flaw; he keeps making what are basically get-rich-quick schemes with his “friends on the other side.” When we meet him, he’s stressed and certainly on edge about failing—but that doesn’t stop him from asking for more and more debt from the demons, and he basically goes to his grave still making promises he can’t keep…like Naveen’s promise he couldn’t keep to pay Tiana for kissing him.

He’s got Tiana’s focus and Naveen’s charisma. He’s got Tiana’s lofty goals and Naveen’s dependence on others to do his dirty work.

He’s exactly like Tiana and Naveen put together, aged about twenty years, but with none of their good qualities. Perfect villain for those two main characters.

But he’s also the opposite of Mama Odie.

He entices innocents with what they want while she lights their way by explaining what they need.

He wants total control, while she’s satisfied with simply giving advice and sending people on their way.

He directly transforms his victims, while Mama Odie shows Tiana and Naveen how to work toward their transformation on their own. I mean, you guys noticed that she could have done it for them, right?

But she doesn’t, because she’s the symbol of that Disney Faith-Based morals: you act on what you know is true instead of taking the easy way to what you want. Facilier does the opposite: he promises to give you the easy way to what you want, and tries to tell you why you should accept his deals—but his reasons are all lies.

That’s how you write a villain, ladies and gentlemen.

[remlionheart]

⟡˙⋆ MDNI ⋆˙⟡

Teacher's Pet

♡༊·˚ the second installment in my euphoria x jjk drabbles. this takes place where megumi's left off, but it's still a standalone fic so it's not necessary to read both parts if u don't want to ♡ tw for drug use and slight coercion. gojo x shy fem!reader. 𐙚 praise kink girlies who have ever dreamt of an authority figure having their way with you - hi, hello, welcome, enjoy your stay 𐙚 your former teacher's house was a place where anything and everything happened. a place people came to let go of their responsibilities and lose themselves for the night. there was only one rule: no one was allowed to step foot in his bedroom... shout out to the loml @bratbby333 for literally being gojo. 3.9k words. porn with a plot. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡༊·˚

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Satoru Gojo had never been the most morally sound, neither in his personal or professional life. There were many things he was willing to turn a convenient blind eye to, secrets he was willing to keep in order to protect himself and those he deemed valuable enough. In a world predominantly made up of black and white, he was the condemning shade of silver that connected the two. Always towing the line but never really committing to either side.

With the amount of wealth and status he possessed, there was hardly anything he couldn't have - not a person or a drug or material object that was off limits to him. The entire world had always bent to his will, and he intended on keeping it that way.

His footsteps were heavy as he maneuvered through the crowd of sorcerers that were scattered about his living room.

Every weekend was the same, a hazy blend of laughter and smoke and blue lights. Girls snorting coke off of his marble countertops and couples fucking in the pool, not caring at all who saw. It was the place that people wandered to when they needed to let go of their inhibitions for the night and succumb to their own vices. "Gojo's house of debauchery" as Megumi would so endearingly name it.

He tilted back the rest of his drink while he made his way upstairs, pleased with the way bodies parted for him without him having to say a word. He was imperious, subconsciously operating with an effortlessly powerful presence anywhere he went, but especially within the domain of his lofty penthouse.

He came to an abrupt pause, noticing the door of his bedroom was cracked open. There were hardly any rules when it came to his Saturday night depravities, but the one thing that everyone knew was to not step foot into his room.

His jaw clenched, grabbing onto the door handle with every intention of having to drag someone out when the tension in his shoulders suddenly settled. A small smirk crept across his face as he closed the door behind him, his annoyance completely overruled by a new sense of perverse curiosity as he noted the way his sheets hugged the side of your hip.

"You lost sweetheart?"

Your eyes snapped open when you heard the click of the lock, your mind was racing trying to piece together where you were. You'd taken at least 4 shots too many before you'd stumbled upstairs.

The last thing you remembered was searching for a bathroom, barely being able to push your way through the crowd when Nobara noticed you. "You don't look too good," she had shouted over the music, "here, follow me." She'd forced you to drink some water while you peed and then guided you to the connecting bedroom. "You need to lay down for a little bit, 'kay?" It was the last thing you had heard before your head hit the pillow and your surroundings finally stopped spinning. You'd assumed that she'd taken you to one of his many guestrooms, but no, in her own drunken haze, she'd managed to leave you in his bed.

"Gojo-sensei," you immediately grimaced at your own formality, scrambling to correct yourself while you rolled over to face him. "I - mean, Gojo." Satoru? No, definitely not. You shook your head at the thought. "I'm sorry, let me just grab my stuff and -"

His smirk only grew at your hesitation though, a slight laugh leaving his lips as he waved a dismissive hand and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to you. "You're already here. Stay."

Your body froze when you met his stare, the low glow from the red light above his headboard emphasizing the sharpness of his face. You were surprised he even recognized you considering you hadn't seen him since graduation. Out of all of his former first-years who would so frequently pass out after overindulging, you had never been one of them.

Never, until now.

His eyes drifted along your silhouette, noting the curves that had replaced your once slender frame. The maturity that had stolen your timid teenage smile. You’d always piqued his interest, but you were now piquing something much more sinister inside him as he continued to look you up and down.

"This is new for you, hm?" He asked, looping a slender finger under his blindfold before pulling it down. "I mean, you were always a good girl, right?" Your heart stuttered in your chest when your stare caught his fully. An impossible shade of cerulean gazing back at you through thick lashes. "A bit shy from what I remember."

You shrugged, thankful for the way the lighting was covering up the heat that had migrated to your cheeks. You were better off than you were 2 hours ago but you still weren't as coherent as you should be, especially for this situation. "I was a kid back then." You finally managed.

"Seems like you're still one seeing as you couldn't handle a few shots without needing to lay down." His tone was more amused than it was scolding. "Look, it’s all about balance. If you're drinking or taking more downers than you're used to, you need an upper to counter it."

It almost felt like you were back in his classroom listening to one of his lectures, only the lesson he was about to teach you was definitely not Jujutsu High approved. He leaned over, grabbing a black Versace box from his nightstand. "If you're ever bordering on the verge of blacking out, the quickest way to regain your composure is this."

You watched him pull out a bag of white powder along with a dainty, almost doll-sized spoon, scooping out a bump before holding it to the left side of his nose while another finger covered the right. His pupils bloomed as he inhaled, letting the drug enter into his system with ease. "Come here." He instructed. 

You leaned toward him, it was almost muscle memory the way your mind and body both followed his directions with such blind obedience. A slight grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he brought another spoonful up to your face, his free hand closing one side of your nose for you. “Take a deep breath f’me.” He gave you a low nod as you complied without a second thought. “There you go, just like that.” 

Your jaw tightened, an odd sense of clarity washing over you when you looked back at him this time. The coke had managed to reel you back in, neutralizing at least some of the alcohol in your system as your body buzzed from the stimulants. Reality suddenly had a stronghold over you, reminding you that you weren’t just in your former teacher’s bed, but you were in it with him while he spoonfed you drugs.  

“Better?” he asked, cocking his head at you with the same smirk.

All you could do was nod, gradually coming to terms with the fact that you were powerless to the two opposing substances that were now working within you. Your heart rate was slowed by the alcohol but accelerated by the coke, neither one of them necessarily overpowering the other. They were instead coming in waves, almost taking turns as they flooded your thoughts and calmed your nerves. Gojo-sensei was always right, but you never imagined this would be something you’d learn from him. 

“A lot better.” You admitted, watching him set the box on the nightstand, wondering if the way he left the bag inside of it open was intentional or not. 

“Good.” He pulled at his tie, loosening it around his neck as he stripped out of his black blazer leaving him in just a white button up. “What were you doing here tonight anyway?”

Your mouth opened and then closed as you met his stare again. There was no subtle way to admit that you were still recovering from your latest breakup. That you’d come out tonight in a sad attempt to maybe, accidentally run into him.

“Oh, god,” he groaned, reading like you a fucking book. “Please don’t tell me you came here to get Takuma's attention.”

Your pupils dilated for an assortment of reasons, embarrassment churning in your stomach as you shook your head in denial. “What? No, I just wanted to get out for a few and -"

“Bullshit.” Despite the sharp edge in his tone, he was still wearing the same coy smile, his leg lightly grazing yours as he positioned himself closer to you. “You always had a thing for him. I remember the way you used to follow him around the hall like a lost puppy.” 

“That was years ago.” You countered, trying to process the fact that he’d watched you that carefully. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” His hand reached up, his slender fingers gently tangling into your hair, his voice dropping down to a pointed whisper. "I even heard you wanted him to be your first."

Your heart was racing, but it suddenly had nothing to do with the coke. Gojo-sensei had never been the most professional teacher. He was always joking with his students. Always getting into gossip that had absolutely nothing to do with him, but you never thought that his interest in his student's personal affairs extended to you considering you hardly ever had anything noteworthy going on. You sat in the back of the class. You barely spoke to anyone. You were a wallflower from hell. The fact that he remembered your crush on Ino was astonishing. The fact that he knew you wanted Ino to be your first was insanity.

His hand was still attentively drifting across the back of your neck, light fingertips gliding across your skin while his eyes roamed along your lips. You were forgetting how to breathe between the way he was looking at you and the sudden realizations that you were quickly having to come to terms with.

"You didn't actually let him take your virginity, did you?" His tone was dripping with taunting curiosity.

"He -" you faltered as his palm met the small of your back, the oxygen all but gone from the room. "He was my...first and...." You nearly choked on your own honesty, your face matching the deep red lights decorating his wall. "...only."

Satoru's body stilled, an incredulous look taking over his face before a vicious laugh erupted from him. "You're joking. So, have you ever cum then? Like, even just by yourself?”

"Of course I have." Your response was immediate. Almost too defensive to be true. "Plenty of times." You tacked on, which only made it worse.

You froze as his grip found its way around your waist, his fingertips lightly digging into your skin. "Show me then." he challenged.

Your heart felt like it was going to explode. His touch equal parts tantalizing and intimidating the closer he got to you, his hand cradled your jawline, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "Show me how you make yourself cum when no one's around."

Your breathing came to a complete stop when he closed the already small gap between you, his hand gliding down your neck as his tongue parted your lips. His body was warm and inviting, pressing against yours with ease. "Let me see it," he continued, slipping the straps of your tank-top down your shoulders.

You were stuck somewhere between the desperate desire to pull him closer and a nagging sense of insecurity that you couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried. You weren't stupid, you knew that he was much more experienced than you. He'd probably been with plenty of beautiful women who had given him more of a show than you felt capable of giving.

He pulled away slightly, picking up on your apprehension as his eyes met yours again. "You wanna be here, right?"

You nodded back at him, an aching feeling building between your legs at how dominant yet unexpectedly gentle he was being with you. "I do, I just -" You felt your jaw clench, the coke mixing with your self-doubt causing your body to tighten up even though it was the last thing you wanted it to do. "My head is just kind of everywhere right now." You admitted sheepishly.

"Here," He shot you a small smile before leaning over to reach back into his nightstand while you stared at the ceiling, trying to relax into the softness of his bed. "Open." he said, hovering over you again.

His stare was locked firmly with yours as you lolled your tongue out for him obediently, swallowing down the yellow circular pill he'd given you. "Good girl." He praised, tracing over the side of your face with his finger. "We'll take things slow, yeah?"

You didn't know what you'd just taken. Truthfully, you didn't even care with the way he was talking to you. His voice was like silk when he leaned back into you, carefully wedging himself between your legs as he kissed you again. His movements were fluid but thoughtful. His fingers grazing along your skin softly, leaving little goosebumps in their wake.

He may have been with more people than you had, but you were gradually starting to realize that it was more of a positive than it was a negative. He was able to read you so easily, he knew exactly where and how to touch you.

You let out a faint whimper as his palm met the inside of your thigh, slipping up your skirt and moving your panties to the side. "Keep your eyes on me, okay?"

The way your bottom lip lodged between your teeth while you looked back at him with a doe-like expression made it all the harder to restrain himself, but he somehow managed to keep his resolve.

His long digits spread you apart before his middle finger slid between your folds and began drawing light but firm circles against you. He could see your timidness slowly dissipating, the Valium he had slipped you clearing doing its job as you arched your back from him and let out another whine.

You were overwhelmingly comfortable, your body completely melting under his touch. He was running uppp and downnn your clit with just the right amount of pressure, creating a heavenly amount of slick for the both of you.

"That’s it. Gettin' so wet for me." He breathed, his lips just barely ghosting yours. "Do you have any idea how perfect you look right now?"

The moan you let out was beyond your control, your vision was blurred by silver hair and blue eyes and how unbelievably good it all felt. "Gojo-sensei," you panted, your body writhing beneath him as he slid in a thick finger inside of you this time. "F - fuck."

Satoru groaned, plunging even deeper into you. He never knew how badly he needed to hear you moan out his formal name until you suddenly couldn't stop doing it. Your hips were bucking up towards him, your lips urgently crashing into his as more dazed out noises poured out of you.

"Keep going." He instructed, reeling in the way your eyes widened as he added another finger. "You're doin' so good."

You were grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, your walls clenching around him. He was hitting spots that you'd never been able to reach before. Spots that Ino had apparently neglected too. You felt yourself slipping. Your mind was racing. Your body grinding against him desperately and your voice breaking with each word you tried to get out.

"Go-jo... I'm - gon-na..." But you didn't have to say it for him to know. He slammed into you, nodding at you in encouragement as fire flickered through his steel eyes.

"Let it out." There was a fierceness to his tone that he couldn't mask anymore, his composure was crumbling right along with yours. "C’mon, let me fucking feel it.”

Watching you come undone like this was such a sharp contrast from the shy schoolgirl he once knew that used to skip class just to avoid group projects. You squirmed under him, mewling out his name like it was the only word you knew as an orgasm finally raked through your body, stealing away every last bit of hesitancy you once had.

You were staring back at him like he'd told you to, never breaking eye contact no matter how hard it was for you to keep still. Your irises bloomed with pleasure, a noise you didn't know you were capable of making escaping you as you drenched his hand.

"Good fucking girl."

He pulled out of you, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. Your lips parted without him having to say anything, sucking them clean as you continued to look back at him with the same innocent expression. He was afraid he was going to no choice but to get you pregnant if you kept this up.

"Takuma ever make you cum like that?" he asked, releasing himself from you so you could speak.

You bit back a smile as you shook your head. "No," you conceded, helping him lift your tank-top above your head. "Not like that."

"I didn't think so." He smirked, unbuttoning his own shirt while you slid out of your skirt, both of your outfits being tossed to the floor.

You felt your center throb watching him strip out of his boxers. An overwhelming sense of neediness flooded over you as you took in the intimidating masterpiece that was Gojo-sensei's body. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't imagined what it looked like a time or two when you were in his class. It was hard not to with the way girls fawned over him, but you'd managed to keep your infatuation to yourself up until now.

Seeing him stroke himself as he lined up with your entrance was prettier than any daydream you could've ever conjured up.

"Need you to focus on your breathing.” he said, rubbing his tip between your folds to wet himself with your slick. The temptation to absolutely destroy you was plaguing his mind, but he knew he needed to ease you into it. The only person you'd been with was Ino for god's sake, you deserved to be fucked properly.

You followed his lead and inhaled slowly, thankful for whatever magical relaxation pill you’d taken you as he prodded into you. It didn't take long to realize why he'd told you to breathe, his tip alone was stretching you out more than you were used to. You found yourself grabbing onto his forearm, your nails digging into his skin as a hazy whimper filled the space between you.

"It's alright, you can handle it." Your walls were smothering him, so impossibly snug and tight that he struggled to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. "Just like that. Juuust like that."

He pressed into you carefully, harnessing all the restraint he could possibly manage while you tried but failed to hold back your whines. "God, you feel fuckin' good." He groaned. "Takin' me so well."

You were still clutching onto him, your mouth dropping open the further he went. You'd never felt this full before - this entirely enamored by someone being inside of you. You thought that you knew what you liked up until this point, but he was drawing noises and feelings out of you that you didn't even know existed.

Gojo's urge to break you was getting harder to ignore. You were so pouty and delicate and naively trusting of him. He'd been trying to keep a steady pace, watching you intently to make sure you were still comfortable, but the moment the words "deeper" and "please" left your mouth, he felt something inside him snap.

His hand laced around your throat, his thumb and index finger pressing firmly into the sides of your neck. The smirk he shot you was lethal. "Deeper? You sure that's what you want?"

It was your one and only chance to back out, but you couldn't. There was a coiling tension in your abdomen. A depraved craving coming from your core. It wasn't just that you wanted more, it was that you needed more. You could barely get out another, "please." before he was suddenly plunging into you.

His rhythm was merciless, his grip tightening around your airways turning your moans into strained gasps.

He leaned in, his hair brushing against your forehead as he watched your eyebrows knit together, your eyes locked with his once more.

"You've always been so fuckin' cute, y'know that?" His hips met yours with another damning thrust. "So good at doing what you're told."

The red lights blurred together, a mixture of stars and sedatives clouding your vision as the aching feeling between your thighs amplified. Your cunt felt like it was pulsating, that burning build suddenly breaking away from just your stomach and spreading throughout your entire body.

"Oh, fuck." He grunted. "There it is. Keep goin’.”

Your walls spasmed, drool spilling down your chin while you wriggled under his grasp. Your pelvis tilted up feverishly to meet his as you took every inch of him. You were teetering on the verge of passing out. Nearly crying from how overwhelmed your senses were when another orgasm ripped through you.

His grip loosened on you, his movements becoming more frenzied. The fucked-out look on your face coupled with the pouty, suppressed cries you let out when he removed his hand from your throat was enough to drive him over the edge too.

His lips caught yours with feral urgency, his hand tangling into your hair as a lewd warmth filled you, spilling out onto his sheets. “I want you over here again next weekend," he said in between breaths. “Got it?"

You nodded back at him, your mind humming from overstimulation as he slowly pulled out.

He took a moment before getting to his feet, admiring the mess that he'd made of you. "C'mere." He smirked, helping reposition you up to the front of the bed.

He placed a pillow under your head and brought the blanket up over your shoulders. There was no way you were making it home tonight.

He lazily slipped his pants back on, only bothering to button up half of his shirt as he ran a hand through his hair and reached for the Versace box on his nightstand. He divvied out another bump and held the spoon to his nose, inhaling sharply before turning off the light for you and venturing out of the room to see how many people were still up and about.

The music had died down for the most part, the once packed hallway now mostly empty. He rounded the corner, just about to head downstairs when he came to an abrupt pause.

"Ino." he called out, noticing the brunette wandering out of one of his guestrooms. "Didn't realize you were here."

"Oh, yeah." He shrugged, tilting back the rest of his beer. "Was just lookin' for someone, Nobara said that -" he stopped himself before he could finish his thought, shaking his head. "Y'know what, it doesn't matter. She's too needy to deal with anyway."

Gojo's eyebrow raised, an arrogant smirk cutting across his face as he played along, offering him faux words of shallow comfort. "Ah, yeah. Bet she's pretty whiney too, huh?"

"Right." Ino snorted, completely oblivious to the condescending trap he'd just walked into.

"Probably says you're not deep enough." Gojo pressed, earning another clueless drunken laugh from him. "Always so pouty."

"Exactly. Like she's never satisfied."

"Girls," he mused, adjusting the collar of his shirt from where you'd grabbed onto earlier while you were soaking him. "Sounds like she needs someone to teach her a lesson..."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[doujindungeon]

summary: insecurities about your relationship with toto come bursting forth during your date night out together. as a storm rages across the city, he is only determined to weather through this anguish with you. rating: nc-17 pairing: f!reader/toto content warnings: established relationship, smut, facesitting, oral sex (reader receiving, toto giving), angst/drama word count: 2k previous one-shot - carlos s. | next one-shot - lewis h.

Your eyes were cast straight ahead, your vision blurred by London’s downpour.

The weather was especially merciless on this night, harsh winds having ripped your umbrella–a flimsy little thing–out from your hands while you trudged aimlessly through the streets, leaving you prone to the deluge from the weeping clouds above.

And while you could have found refuge at the likes of a homely corner shop or something of the sort, you were much too wrapped up in your emotions to think of anything else save for the argument you had with your lover after what was meant to be a fanciful date night out at one of the high class restaurants in Kensington for a private dinner.

A welcome break from his busy schedule as team principal.

Your phone silent, your direction aimless, your dress drenched, you simply were in no mood to do anything else yet lumber onwards in your misery, rainwater seeping into your stockings and heels with every step.

Even bearing the clothes you wore added to your current anguish, as each piece was a gift from him.

Your current outfit, the restaurant you were taken to, even your lover himself–did you deserve any of it?

Compared to him, you were no one of outstanding significance. You were but a mere flight attendant who had to step in for your superior to cover first class after she fell ill.

For you, it was merely adhering to your duties. For him, it was infatuation at first sight.

Before the plane even began its descent for landing, you were already whisked into the romance he so desperately wanted to share with you.

And what a love it had been thus far. He had taken you across the world, insisting that you would be the one treated and cared for, gifting you luxuries you never thought attainable. 

You were thankful surely, but above all, you were most touched by the love and devotion he bestowed to you within the sacred privacy of your time alone together, away from the snooping eyes of the media and public.

Yet as your relationship continued, with you soaring further and further into the realm of opulence, you began to feel as though your humble upbringing and background were setting you up to come crashing straight down. Each luxurious present felt more like a burdensome taunt that you could never earn such high-end goods on your own, that you weren’t worthy of even casting your eyes on them.

Even while you were mindful to keep your relationship private, the times you would join him at races, parties, and the sort would result in a media frenzy about your relationship, how he blessed you with a true rags-to-riches Cinderella tale.

In his field, in his industry, in his team, he commanded and carried himself like that of an emperor with the power, wealth, and authority to show.

How foolish for you to ever truly believe that you ever had a place within his empire.

His initial inquiry about why you appeared so sullen during dinner led to an exchange between your trembling revelations and his painfully pragmatic approach to your woes. Ignoring the nonsense of the media was easier for someone who could gaze down at the world below from his lofty throne up above, whereas you were a commoner who was better off lingering around the streets.

And so you did.

Ignoring his flustered calls of your name to seek out the roar of London’s cascading rain for comfort instead.

Your wandering continued even as your body endured through the frigid chill that was wracking through your body. It was a miracle that you had yet to slip or stumble on the slick pavement, even as your heels and stockings were absolutely soaked.

But that changed when you heard the low, firm timbre of an achingly familiar voice call out your name.

The spin of your heel upon turning around on the wet pavement had you tumbling forward but you were spared from any impact as a pair of two strong arms immediately pulled you right against the solid surface of a broad chest.

Though reluctant, your eyes slowly cast their gaze upwards.

Chiseled features that befitted a god, once meticulously-styled raven black hair now drenched, weary stare relieved from its usual stern focus in favor of sheer and utter relief. 

Toto.

He was looking for you.

Your heart fluttered.

All because you left him while in distress.

Your heart twisted.

Before you could say anything, he immediately let out a curt, “You are going to get sick.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he released his hold on you to instead reach for the front of his Ferragamo wool coat before slipping it right off to drape it around your shoulders, his white dress shirt now subject to the pouring rain.

Any protests you had were met by him simply hugging you close against him while he called for a taxi to bring you back to the hotel you both were staying at for the weekend.

The ride was quiet, save for the jazzy oldies that your driver was playing from the radio and the soft thrum of the car’s heater. While Toto didn’t say anything–whether to admonish or to inquire–, from when he ushered you into the backseat up to when the two of you were dropped off at the hotel’s porte cochère, he never let go of you once.

Even as the two of you made your way towards his penthouse suite, he kept you close by, his arm locked around your waist. A fear that you would slip away again, a demonstration of his protective instinct, a display of affection–regardless of the significance, his hold on you was firm.

It was only when you both arrived at the front door that you were finally released as he took a step ahead while reaching for his wallet to draw out his room key.

The loss of warmth from his arm retracting away from your waist did not go unnoticed by you.

Your eyes were cast forward, taking in the grand and broad outline of his magnificent physique, accented further by his rain soddened clothes clinging to his skin.

A quick tap of the card and a pull at the handle got the door open, your lover sending a glance your way as he gestured for you to enter.

“After you.”

You nodded towards him, a quiet “thank you” emitted for your lips as you stepped on ahead, quickly being greeted by the glorious burst of warmth from the suite’s heating system. Before you moved any further, you stopped to instead bend over and finally slip out of your shoes–

“Stay still.”

The door to your suite closed right as you turned your head back in surprise, only to watch as Toto strode over to stand directly in front of you–just a couple steps needed for a man of his tall and imposing stature.

As your expression turned curious, he clarified with the gentle murmur of, “Leave this to me, schatzi.”

His hands reached forwards to gingerly help slip his coat off of your shoulders.

Only to drop the Ferragamo wool unceremoniously to the floor, your dress following suit, with his knees trailing last as he crouched before you.

Your eyes were cast down, watching his thick fingers seek out and undo the thin straps of your heels.

It shouldn’t have so much meaning yet to witness a man so powerful and rich lower himself before you just to spare you the hassle of such tedious actions–there were more flutters than twists in your heart from this single observation alone.

Continuing to offer you assistance, one of his big hands reached for your stocking-clad calf as a means to steady you while the other grasped at your heel to help slip it off. Once you were out of both of shoes, it was then that you felt the weight of his palms press against the sides of your thighs, his thumbs running along the thin fabric that covered them just as his gaze flickered back up to your face.

“I can’t have you getting sick,” was the simple reason he hummed out as his fingers slipped right up to the waistband of your stockings before he proceeded to gently peel them down.

Just the mere brush of his warm fingertips along your waist had you gasp softly. While by this point, his coat and the heated car ride over did help with keeping the chills away, nothing felt as pleasantly hot as his touch.

Your stockings joined the heap of high-end apparel behind you, leaving you clad in only your bra and panties.

While not a new sight for Toto, his eyes roamed over your body as though it was, taking in every detail, every curve, every bit of you with a focused stare.

An anticipatory breath was held in your throat as you awaited for him to continue and strip you down completely.

Instead however, he merely shifted forward and left a kiss onto the front of your panties, the heat of his lips and his breath eliciting a delighted shiver from your body.

He continued this a few more times, each contact made slow and indulgent.

After one more kiss, he drew back to remark out loud, his voice a low rumble,

“You’re especially cold here, schatzi.”

His eyes met yours again.

Your anticipation was exhaled with a breathless murmur,

“What should I do about it, Toto?”

His response was him proceeding to lie down on his back, a small yet genuine smile forming on his lips as he beckoned you over with the curl of his index finger.

“Come sit here. As I said–please leave this to me.

He had lowered himself further for you yet again without a moment’s hesitation, having yet to even strip himself out of his damp clothes.

How could you resist him further?

Your bra and panties were tossed back to the floor right as you proceeded to lower your hips down onto Toto’s awaiting face.

Immediately, his hands locked onto your thighs as he planted his mouth right over your cunt, the molten heat of his tongue lapping against your entrance. His licks alternated between his lips circling over your clit for earnest suckles and slurps, drawing more moans to spill freely out of you.

Earlier, you withstood through the storm that swept over London, your body frigid from the cold rain, your heart wounded with sorrow.

But now, you were subject to Toto’s relentless adoration, your skin left aflame by the scorching heat of his mouth, his fingers wandering along your waist for tender caresses, his palms kneading your breasts and groping your ass.

You felt good.

Damn good.

And he didn’t even need to crack open his wallet to do so, just dote on you with his very own touch.

Your hips ground down against his mouth with need, your back arched with euphoric bliss, your voice elevated more and more with pleasure until you were left crying out breathlessly with the peak of your orgasm.

A clap of thunder rang across the city outside, signaling that the storm still had yet to relent as the rain intensified.

Yet within the sanctuary of your hotel suite, within the entry hallway, there was peace.

You felt wobbly when you finally dismounted off of your lover’s face.

In mere seconds however, you were quickly drawn back against him as his arms ensnared around your body for a tight embrace, his body heat enveloping you fully despite his wet clothes.

Toto’s hand found its way to your cheek, cupping it with gentle care as he peered right into your eyes, your name uttered from his lips with reverence.

“Above anything else, you are what’s most precious to me. My world, my life–I am only complete with you around, and I will make sure that you will never forget this, schatzi.”

Your eyes were cast directly into his, marveling at the pure and absolute love for you reflected within his dark brown irises.

In return, you smiled while happy tears welled within your gaze as you took his face into your hands, happily bridging the gap between you both with a kiss.

Here, in his arms, you belonged.

-----------------------

tfw i was just expecting for this one-shot to be like, about the same length as the first fics of this series but NOOOO the pumpernickel team principal wanted to pump up the word count and slather on some angst while i was going over my rough draft 🤨🤨

either way!!! i'm pleased with how this and the other pieces have turned out thus far 🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️

thank you all again for taking the time to read!!! hope to see you tomorrow as we kick off the weekend with SIR hamilton 🫡🧎‍♀️

[winwin17]

I want to talk about a particular shining moment Legolas has that never gets talked about

In The Return of the King, Legolas and Gimli briefly reunite with Pippin and Merry when Merry is recovering at the Houses of Healing. During their discourse, the Hobbits asked Legolas and Gimli to tell what they'd been doing since they'd last seen each other, and Gimli goes on to tell about how the Paths of the Dead scared him out of all pride and senses. He says he was held to that road only by the will of Aragorn.

But Legolas points out, "And by the love of him also, for all those who come to know him come to love him after their own fashion."

And here's the part that really stands out to me.

Legolas continues:

"All those who come to know him come to love him after their own fashion - even the cold maiden of the Rohirrim.

"It was at early morning of the day ere you came there, Merry, that we left Dunharrow, and such a fear was on all the folks that none would look on our going, save the Lady Éowyn, who lies now hurt in the House below. There was grief at that parting, and I was grieved to behold it."

The narrative notes earlier, when the event he is describing takes place, that only people like Legolas and Gimli, who were close to Aragorn, could see how much the interaction pained their leader. It's always evident that Aragorn felt compassion for Éowyn. But here, Legolas notes that he, too, was grieved at the parting.

There was no reason Legolas had to have compassion for Éowyn. She was none of his kin. He had little to no reason to be personally invested in Rohan. He wasn't the one who had to reject her pleas and turn down her love. He could've sat there watching and thinking, "Man, this is super cringe, when can we get out of here and get this crazy woman out of our hair?" Even Gimli admitted that he was too busy freaking out about the Paths of the Dead business to notice.

But Legolas noticed, and his heart cared even though he didn't have to. What was this woman to him, but another of the race of Men, just another human being who would be here and gone in what amounted to almost nothing of the Elven lifespan.

Yes, he felt for Aragorn and the pain this interaction brought him. But I think he was grieved for Éowyn, too. Because that's the kind of person Legolas is. He's not so lofty and arrogant about his race that he can't invest in the quest of rustic Hobbits, or befriend a Dwarf, or fight for the race of Men, or hold out for years against his own innate sea-longing to help build Aragorn's kingdom. And it's that same heart that was moved to see Éowyn so sad and lost and rejected. His Elven mind could've been wandering off to Battle or some beautiful Elven land during that interaction between Aragorn and Éowyn, but instead, he was present, and he noticed, and he cared.

Even after the fact, Legolas could totally have chosen to confide in his Hobbit friends about how pathetic Éowyn was with her unrequited love and her passion to follow Aragorn.

But he didn't say that. He didn't paint her in a negative light. He didn't say, "Crazy women, amirite?" No, he revealed a heart just as caring and compassionate as Aragorn's himself, and he said, "I was grieved to behold it "

People, this is one of the most underrated Legolas moments, and yet it's this small glimpse into his inner heart that makes me admire him the most.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Tergrid, God of Fright

"Terror is the natural state of a child, they know they are small, vunrable, glass fragile. It is only once we grow that we delude ourselves into thinking we are safe, that we are strong, that we have control over the world we live in. Show a grown man how little control he really has, and you will see the child he always was: pissreeking, repentant, and pleading for his mother. " - Gerheart, village executioner

A goddess for those who hold close to the light dreading the unknown or those who wander gleefully into the dark seeking it, Tergrid is a deity of imagined horrors and terrible omens.

Depicted as a young woman always bearing a lantern, myths speak of Tergrid's shadow as a monstrous, murderous thing with a will of its own. Unable to kill the goddess due to the light she carries, it vents it's directionless wrath on those who linger beyond the lantern's glow. This duality, as both as the victim of fear and the source of it defines the brightmaiden's worship; as she is both threat and saviour to those who draw her attention.

Adventure Hooks:

The party arrive at a country roadhouse at dusk, only to find the inhabitants have nailed shut every door and shutter as if preparing for a siege. They say some horrid murderous things are lurking just off the road, and as the light wanes they refuse to let the heroes inside. The roadhouse's residents are terrified and are willing to fight to keep the party out, half convinced the party are themselves the things they should be afraid of... which isn't to say there ISN'T anything else waiting for that door to open. After negoitating their way inside (or forcing the issue) the heroes discover the roadhouse residents were warned of the danger by a mysterious woman who passed through earlier, though none can remember exactly what she looked like.

A knight renowned for his fearless deeds wanders the street in a waking nightmare, seeing threats everywhere and lashing out at phantoms and passersby. Even after being subdued it’s clear he won’t awake, and many suspect interference from jealous rivals in the upcoming tourney. The knight’s meek squire asks the party to help investigate the causes and possible cures of her master’s madness, never suspecting that her suppressed resentment at his recklessness might’ve manifested as a curse.

In desperate need of answers, the party consults an oracle dedicated to Tergrid who has them undergo trials of fear and phantasm so that they might know the truth. Chiefest among these is battling in a dark cave full of shadow monsters, while flickering visions of the future are cast on the wall by the guttering lantern light. The longer they can endure, the more they will know, but that isn't likely to be long unless they fight harder than they ever have before.

Inspiration: Tergrid is a shameless lift from Magic the Gathering's Kaldheim setting, which I've never played but apparently keep returning to as a consistent well of inspiration.

Fear both as a mechanic and motif is something I think is underutilized in D&D which is odd considering it's a game about venturing out into the unknown to face potentially deadly challenges. Fear and risk are what our heroes must endure to experience the wonder and rewards on the other side of their journey. As such it makes sense for a goddess of fear to play a role in the thematic weave of the stories we end up telling.

Speaking in less lofty terms, I also think using the lantern as a symbol for being frightened fucks hard. It's a tiny, fragile, and temporary respite from an ocean of darkness and the threats it contains.

Worshippers: The lost and abandoned, Unseele Fey, Shadowcasters and other denizens of the shadowfell. There is also heavy overlap with the worship of the night goddess Nyx.

Signs: Nightmares, unnatural or living shadows,

Symbols: A Lantern, often surrounded by a circle of darkness.

Artsource

[alightindarkplaces]

Frodo was always corruptible, otherwise, there would really be no drama and it would not be such a tremendous achievement that he resisted for so long- key word resist. So what is he tempted with? The books don't tell us outright, but there are clues.

He has abandonment issues - parents dying, leaving him nothing but a place in the Brandybuck familial home, where he is largely ignored and left to his own devices (and later Bilbo abandons him too.) This also leaves him feeling unimportant and unloved. Please note he doesn't get adopted by Bilbo until nine years after his parents' deaths. He is obviously a troubled youth or he would not have been stealing mushrooms or wandering at night.

At his coming of age, he is friends with mostly younger hobbits, so he also has no friends during this time and no real support, as Bilbo is scarcely around and his future friends are little kids at the time. So some deep seated issues begin to emerge here. He is lonely and coping through avoidance and escapism- long walks, theft/indulgence, stories, pretend play.

His avoidant attachment style becomes more pronounced after Bilbo's disappearance. He does enjoy his time as master of Bag End, which tells me he is employing very successful coping strategies, but also that something in him is fed and content. He is happy being in control of his life and he doesn't give anyone the chance to leave him again. Sam is his employee at this time and he doesn't let him in a friend until after the journey begins. Merry, Pippin, and Fatty are his best friends, and still he keeps them at arm's length. He is protective of people he loves, but doesn't think himself capable of doing anything for them, so this namely shows up in his willingness to sacrifice himself for their benefit.

Jumping far forward, in the aftermath of the Ring, his biggest fear and anxiety is being shunned and isolated and in his dream, he tries to remedy that with a lofty self important air, and this is really important.

This is his shadow side; self important, needing validation from others, thinking he knows what's best/being too sure of his own judgement, possessiveness over people he loves and wanting to be theirs in turn (codependency,) over indulgence/greed.

After the Ring is gone, having seen intimately all these things in himself, Frodo does a lot of overcorrecting and ends up (in my opinion) reenacting his trauma again through abandoning his friends and main support network in a misguided self sacrifice, since this seems correct and good to him as it is the opposite of the possessive greed he is so adamantly avoiding. In the end, he doesn't grow from his experience, but is set back tremendously and harmed deeply.

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

I am NOT a smut writer and you're the resident monsterfucker so i bestow upon you my dream last night in hopes you can do something with it:

You're at a gathering of spellcasters, coming together from all across the land to show off your works to the high council, in the hope of impressing them and being taken into the fold. Unfortunately, they reject you, sending you away and accepting a group of your closest friends instead. What they don't tell you is that this is because you've already been claimed, marked in your very soul by an ancient force. You leave the lofty gathering, dejected and feeling quite sorry for yourself.

You wander the columns of a lush, intensely flowered ruin. The smell of the blossoms makes you feel a bit better, brings heat to your cheeks and a dull, throbbing sensation in your belly. You spin around when you hear gravel crunch behind you, only to catch a glimpse of a thickly furred, feline tail disappear into the foliage. You feel eyes on you, and start to panic. You turn to run- and collide with the muscular chest of a tall, powerful being. His face is that of a tiger, his fur mottled and shifting and *soft*. His wrists are adorned in gold, and he catches your chin, tilting your face up to look at him as his tail starts to wrap around your leg. He leans in to taste your scent, and purrs, "*There's* my queen. I've been looking for you, little morsel."

You try to back away in fear, but his tail holds you tight. You demand to know his name, who he is, where he came from. He rumbles deep in his chest, and his tongue flicks out to catch a nervous tear from your cheeks. "I am the lord of this place. And you, doll, are my mate. I've been waiting a *very* long time for you."

Before you can run, he's got you pinned against one of the columns, rutting into you, whispering sweet nothings about how beautiful and strong your kits will be, how he will rebuild his kingdom with you and elevate you to his side as a god. How your glory will be known and beloved by all, how there will be songs and stories of your beauty, how you will be his Queen and how your sons will be stronger than mountains and your daughters as radiant as the sun. First, though, the mating.

Ok! Spent quite a while thinking about this, and going to take a few liberties!

Probably going to be a few parts, because I cannot seem to do porn without plot lol, but anon I have not forgotten you!

I have about 500 words written so far though! Hopefully I’ll be able to post some stuff soon!

Edit: now with a part 1!

[sparks-and-smoke]

Chapter 1: Old Letters (Re-written)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (referred to as Petal) Word Count: 2,787 Summary: Lost and alone after moving to DC Steve visits the Smithsonian and stumbles upon a face he thought he’d never see again. This is a soulmate AU, just so we are all aware. Warnings/tropes: grief, loss, angst, mental health, conspiracy theories, stalking if you squint. Reader insert, no use of Y/N A/N: Yes, this is a little re-write of something I already posted. And yes I like it better this way. Rewrite of chapter two is incoming as well. This is going to be a pretty slow updating fic, because I actively want to make the chapters longer, but I have a small child so writing time is limited. So, IF YOU WOULD LIKED TAGGED, let me know I'll add you to a list <3 Beta read by the ever lovely @voice-of-velhart

Next chapter

The mind numbing cadence of the narrator should have been comforting. Steve was sure it was to others, the simple clear baritone voice explaining the exhibits around him for those who either could not read or could not retain written words. It was one of the accessibility he would have loved to see when he was a young disabled man in the 40’s. One of those rare things that gave him hope for the growth of humanity. But today, as he wandered through the exhibit that laid out his life like a textbook he couldn’t help but want the voice to stop. 

Stop talking about his friends and loved ones like they were these lofty historical beings that were lost to the sands of time. Stop talking about Bucky and Dugan and Morita and Jones like they were heroes or icons... And talk about them as people. The way Pinky snored like a lumberjack once you were anywhere above sea level. Or the way Dugan could drink anyone under the table and still manage to steal a tank single handed.  Or the way Falsworth could get him laughing so hard it would almost give away their location if Bucky didn’t punch the shit out of his arm to keep him silent. 

It was all so long ago now. To the patrons and children who ran around oohing and ahhing over the glory that was the tale of Captain America. And not the tangible raw memory that lived in his head day in and day out. He kept his mouth shut, throat bobbing as he made his way silently through the different collections of his life. The memorials and exhibit pieces that should be his and not locked behind glass. 

He winced as the voice over head got small things wrong. Like his actual birthday. Or the make and model of his motorcycle even though it was sitting right there behind a velvet rope. It wouldn’t have taken a curator very long to fix those little things but he had a feeling this particular set piece hadn’t been a hot spot until a year or so ago when he had been pulled from the ice, and clearly whoever had been in charge had been too busy finding new set pieces to fix the clerical errors in the script. It wasn’t like he was gonna call them and correct them. He would settle for just grumbling in his head like an old man. 

It wasn’t a bad showcase, all things considered. Nothing the Smithsonian did was. They were America’s most famous museum for a reason. But it did make Steve's chest ache. He had been avoiding coming here for most of his time in DC, what did they have here that he could possibly find productive? But then he heard something interesting.

"The disappearance  Mrs. Rogers has been a mystery that has plagued historians and scientists alike for generations…"

Petal, well not actually Petal, that was what he had called her in private. In his letters home. No, the voice overhead had called her Mrs. Rogers. Referred to his wife and that had Steve's full attention. Following the lead of the vocal guide he wandered to a small set piece in the back. A large gallery wall, set with pictures and letters and memorabilia from his life at home, things he had been told were sealed away, littered the glass cases of the exhibit. His wife, his love, plastered all over the wall for the world to see. It didn't matter that her name was blocked out. That they had kept her legal name from the public record. Her face. Her words. They were everywhere.

It made him see red.

“Those were private.” he heard himself say as his eyes scanned over the exhaustive catalog of personal conversations between himself and his soulmate. His nails digging crescent shaped indentations into his palms as he began to shake.

Letters and photos that he had thought lost were now plastered up in the god damned Smithsonian. Things he had never, ever wanted anyone else to see. Fears and sorrows he had written with confidence that only the love of his life would read the words. This was too much, it was too far. He could forgive the misinformation and the lack of fact checking. The bike, the medical information, the uniform, the memorial to Bucky. Those were nothing compared to this, And a red hot rage bubbled up inside him as his eyes landed on a very intimate letter that had passed between the two of them. One that had turned his ears hot with lust at the time but now just made his blood turn to ice. 

No. Those were not for anyone else’s eyes.

He had to leave. To storm into the curator's office and demand this portion of the exhibit be taken down immediately. It was a violation of privacy at its deepest level. An injustice that he couldn't stand for. Not in his own exhibit…

He barely heard the giggling of the women as he passed by them. Anger fueling him forward with an almost mission like focus. Causing him to ignore anyone who dared talk to him unless they had the power to shut this down. But something deep inside him tugged. Told him to stop. To listen. His feet halted on their own accord and he perked an ear. Almost frustrated at himself as he listened in instead of pushing forward.

But Steve never ignored his gut. Not even in a time like this.

“No, I’m serious! You look just like her, it's totally eerie! Look!” Steve turned his head to glance at the women. A group of three, dressed in work attire, clearly here on lunch or maybe they worked at one of the buildings. The tall willowy brunette was gesturing at a picture of Petal. A picture from the war bonds tour with his wife all dolled up for the press. “Curl your hair and slap on some red lipstick and you could totally pass as her…”

The woman in the center stood rigidly, her face hidden behind her hair, but he could tell by her posture she was deeply uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I guess a little.” She said in a quiet voice that Steve could barely hear over the crowd and the tour guide. 

“Oh, come off it! You’re like her Doppelganger. I’m kinda getting creeping me out.” Steve dared a step closer so he could see the girl's face. If she looked half as much like his wife as her friends claimed she must be stunning. His wife had been the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. And yes, perhaps he was biased but he didn’t care. He knew it to be fact. She was everything and even just seeing a shade of her in this woman was too tempting to pass up.

The girl stared up at the wall, the lights of the display case illuminating her with an otherworldly glow. And Steve felt the air drag from his lungs as if it was being squeezed out of him.

She didn’t look like his wife. That was his wife. He would know her anywhere. Could claim her in the darkest night, half drunk or dying he would know her. The visage of her was etched on his mind like a memorial. The sound of her burned into his heart like a siren's call. That was his wife. She was alive and she was standing right in front of him staring up at their love letters like they were the words of strangers.

How did she not know. More then that how was even she alive at all. It had been over 70 years. She should be an old woman, a distant memory if not already long gone from this world and yet there she was. Looking resplendent in the glow of the display case. Steve's mind whirled as he tried to file through all the information he had on his wife, or rather the absence of information. The utter mystery that had been plaguing his memory since he first busted into time square a year and a half ago.

What happened to you.

It had been one of the first things Steve looked into when he realized he had been gone 70+ years. He had gone on a tirade trying to find hide or hair of what had happened to you or your family after he went MIA. He hadn’t cared if you were old or grey or heaven forbid dead, but he needed to know where you were. He had spent the better part of a month trying and failing to find anything about what had happened to you after the events of February 5, 1945. He had pulled S.H.I.E.L.D. files, missing persons reports, death records, it didn't matter. If he had the means he took it. Slogging through every bit of information he could manage.

Turns out after Steve took the plunge Peggy took it upon herself to find "Petal" and offer her condolences. Only to find an empty apartment and no trace of life. Food left on the counters, coffee half drank in the living room, lights left on… As if you had just gotten up and walked out of your life.

It had been Peggy Carter and Howard Stark who had taken it upon themselves to try and find you. Peggy and Howard that took the letters and sealed them away. Redacted you're name from historical documents when you couldn't be found. Protected Steve and his wife even in death.

It had led him down a rabbit hole of sorts. Conspiracy theories and true crimes cases all about what had happened to Mrs. Rogers. to podcasts and documentaries that frustrated him more than helped, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know. He needed anything, everything that might be an answer. Only to find that his soulmate, the other half of his heart, had vanished around the same time he landed in the ice.  

You and your sisters were a mystery. A conspiracy theory. The display case in front of you said as much. One of the most divisive missing persons cases in American history. Up there with Amelia Earhart and the Somerton man… It had broken his heart. Left him empty and wandering without a sense of closure. He could still feel the bond you had shared, a tunnel of energy that led to somewhere but it was impossible to tell where. Soulmates didn’t work like bloodhounds; you couldn’t just follow the connection until you reached the other end. It was more complicated and the feeling only left him with more questions than answers. 

And now, there you were right there. In front of him looking radiant if not self conscious and the aching tug in his chest was starting to become agonizing. But he couldn’t get his feet to move. As if he had been rooted to the spot where he stood staring like a lost child gazing at the stars. You were just as beautiful as you had always been. And it was hard to move past the simple detail as he stared at her. He was positive in that moment that even if this had been their first encounter he would have been just as speechless as he had been in 1939. And he felt like he could hardly breath as he heard her voice again.

“I don’t know guys, she's beautiful, but I don't see it.” You told your friends. Your eyes scan over the pictures. A strange sensation coming over you as you gazed at the old stills. Meet and greets for the USO tour, Steve kissing his wife goodbye in Chicago, an old photo of the pair together in a park somewhere. The park seemed familiar, but you couldn't place it. Maybe it was back in Brooklyn. You and Captain Rogers were after all from the same borough.

Mary, your friend who has so far been fawning over the love letters and the contents thereof clicks her tongue. “Naww, there is totally a resemblance. Maybe you should ask your grandma if she lost a lover to the war.” she wiggles her brows but you don’t seem impressed. 

“My grandma passed away a very long time ago, and she couldn’t have been Mrs. Rogers because she was soulmates with my papa. But nice try.” you sigh, pulling your arms tight over your chest. “Besides, even if she was, I would only feel bad. I mean look at this! I would hate for the whole world to be able to come and ogle at the love confessions I made to my husband as he was facing down death everyday! It’s kind of cruel in a way. Hanging all of this out for the world to see. Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable to read them all?”

Amanda, the redhead, just shrugged. “I mean she is probably dead. So I doubt she cares.” Steve's hands gripped at his jacket. The callous response has Steve hackles rising up. His girl has shitty friends, or disrespectful ones at least, but at least she still had a heart. Still had empathy for others. Even if she didn’t know that those letters were hers. 

“Yeah but Captain Rogers is alive! I highly doubt he appreciates his private thoughts up on display. I sure wouldn’t.” Your stomach was lurking as you're heart when out to this poor couple whose life had been made into books, and movies, and comics. Their heartache and separation sensationalized for the modern housewife and hormonal teenagers to romanticize. All while ignoring the privacy and wishes of the people involved.

“Since when do you feel so passionate about this. ” The brunette shuffled, starting to look a little ashamed. Good, Steve thought. She should. Everyone ogling at their past heartbreak should 

Steve watched as you seemed to check yourself. “I- I don't know, it just rubs me wrong. It a human decency issue! A violation of privacy!" You turn on your friend with a frown as you realize she really isn't repulsed by this at all. "It's invasive and dehumanizing. It just like Anne Franks diaries being made into a book. It's tragic and horrible. These people went through some of the worst things human beings can process. And we stand her and gawk at their pain.” Steve's chest feels restrictive. Pride and grief twisting around inside it in a harrowing cocktail as he listens to her defend him… Them,

"We shouldn't be here. I'm leaving. And I'm gonna right the museum and tell them how awful this is! That they should be ashamed!" Steve stays back and watches as you turn on your heels and head toward the aviation exhibit. You're friends rolling their eyes at your abundance of empathy. Steve simply ducks his head, to keep you from seeing him as you breeze past. He doesn’t wanna approach you, not yet. He needs to figure out what the hell just happened but as you pull farther away the tug in his chest could crack a rib.

"God, you're so dramatic petal. Are you serious? Really, over old letters from god knows when." Your friend shouted after you. The other rolling her eyes and following the pair. Good to know his girl hadn't lost her spark. Or her sense of justice.

The instinct to turn and follow you is intense. Almost overwhelming but he ignores it. Instead choosing to stay behind and clear his head. Has to have a plan of attack. A strategy. He can’t chase his girl off, he can’t lose her a second time he won't let that happen. No, whatever was happening. Whatever cruel trick of fate this was, he had to outsmart it. Right it. But he knew one thing down to his marrow. That was his soulmate, and she would not slip away from him.

 First thing first, he was gonna get this portion of the exhibit taken down and his letters and pictures returned to him. Then he was going to find out what was wrong with his girl and why she didn't remember. But one thing was for sure he was gonna get her back. Even if he had to start from scratch and make her fall in love with him again, he was getting Petal back now that he knew she was alive. Nothing could stop him.

With a new found purpose and mission Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket to make a few calls. He was gonna get this all squared away so he could focus on the main objective. You.

Found you Petal…

Tag List: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers, @delilah-hey @tldrthor This is the version going on the masterlist :)